Profile 119: FINISHED—"5016" as flown by Pham Phu Thai, 921st FR

MiG on scope!

Other than the four red stars on the nose and "Bort Number" of 5016, it's a workaday North Vietnamese Air Force weapon, circa 1972.  There's some controversy here among us Wingnerds; note the green coloring on the tail's radar panel, colored banding on the Sidewinder-copy Atoll missiles and victory stars.  Were they just as depicted?   A few of my sources say, "Yes."  A few say "No."

But what's life without a little bit of controversy, eh?  And, to be frank, right now, drawing MiGs is a welcome distraction from controversy of today's politics...

I digress; my apologies. Back to the topic at-hand...

In the end, I made the call and moved on with the aspect of this airplane that interests me most—the pilot.  To me, without the mind that made it move, this MiG is nothing more than a park sculpture. So, that in mind, have a look at the picture below.  It's of 921st FR pilot Pham Phu Thai, taken when he was a Flight Officer and pilot of 5016.*

VPAF Officer Pham Phu Thai, circa 1972 after his first aerial victory over an F-4 Phantom.
Photo:  Dr. Sy Hung

The VPAF credited him with four victories, the first of which was achieved in 1972 during the game-shifting Linebacker I campaign.  Remember that for much of the war, tactical bombing against North Vietnamese targets were regulated by bizarre (and largely ineffective) "Rules of Engagement" conjured by politicos instead of warriors.  The Linebacker campaigns of 1972 were an attempt to change the tactical mistakes of the past.

Considering the overwhelming power of USAF/Navy aircraft of the day, that Thai managed to succeed as he did indicates remarkable prowess.  But, it was after the war that the man achieved his most demonstrable success; he stayed in the VPAF and worked his way up to become Vice Commander in Chief.

Well now...!  This vertical climb is especially impressive considering he did so during Vietnam's past fifty years of dramatic transformation.   If there was any concrete proof of how much Viet Nam has changed since the war, it was when, after 90 minutes during my first morning in Hanoi, I stopped counting Porsche Panameras at eleven.**   (Let that sink in; not sure Lenin would approve but that's another topic).

Anyway, General Thai's story is why my artwork—in and of itself—is so incomplete; the rendering is really only a snapshot of a thing during a moment in time.  This is why I work to move my pencil from sketching lines to writing words; the words that come as a result of conversation.

My conversation with General Thai, however, was disappointingly brief.  In fact, I can't even qualify it as such.  Instead, it was more like a "quick-chat."

Read for yourself:

______________

ME:  So tell me about your upbringing and how you got to be a MiG pilot.

General Thai:  (I) was born in 1949 in Phu Tho province. I joined the Air Force in 1965 and was sent to Russia for MiG-21 training.

ME:  What was that training like?

General Thai: After a hundred and sixty hours of flying on L-29 and MiG-21, I graduated with license to fly (the) MiG-21 in January 1968. After returning to Vietnam, I served in the Air force and was staffed to 921st Regiment of (VNPAF) and started combat fighting from April 1968** with 180 hours of flying.

ME:  Describe your first combat...

General Thai:  (In) June, 1972***, I shot down an enemy fighter jet for the first time.

(Note - I got the impression he didn't want to engage any more about combat, so moved on to other questions)

Pham Phu Thai (far right) describes a dogfight in an NVAF propaganda photo.  Not sure but there's a good chance the photo was taken at Phuc Yen, NE Vietnam.

 In reality, I don't think the pilots would be huddled up in the middle of the ramp talking shop.

 5016 is the first MiG-21 in line.

Photo: Dr. Sy Hung

ME:  So then how did you feel about the war when it ended?

General Thai:  Independence for Vietnam is the desire of generations of Vietnamese and I was very happy when Vietnam gained independence.

ME:  Ok, so what are your thoughts about the United States today?

General Thai:   I visited USA in 2015 (with several other war veterans), accompanying Party General,  Nguyen Phu Trong. My impression of the US?  This is a prosperous country with a strong economic and social development system. However, I think the gun control need(s) to be well regulated and gun safety can be problematic.

ME:  (Note to self: the gun-thing again.  Leave this one alone and hold-back on inviting him to go pheasant hunting).  Ok, so how do you see the United States in relation to the rest of the world? 

General Thai:  A power country like (The United States) can improve its image and reputation if it can listen to the voices of other countries (and) respect their cultures and religions.

ME:  And who do you particularly respect?

General Thai:  (My idol) is a good pilot who willing to sacrifice for his/her country.

ME:  I'm curious—what do you think of my questions?

General Thai:   I am very glad to learn that you are interested in researching on Vietnam Air Force history. I think in order to do so, it is important to understand the culture and people of such country. I would like to thank you very much for (the) gift of (this drawing). I wish you good health and have more beautiful artworks of Air Force history.

General Thai today.  It kills me how the Vietnamese just don't seem to age.
Photo:  VPAF

______________

'Told you it was quick.  Too few questions, not enough conversation...

Hmmmm.

Anyway...have another look at 5016 but this time, notice the title.  

One lesson my wife and I have tried to instill in our kids it's this—things change.  Economies change, jobs change, fads change, politicians change (most need to change more often) but none of such forces are to be feared or particularly fawned.

If I ever get another chance to engage with General Thai, the stuff I will want to find out from him are what he feels shouldn't change—the stuff that distinguishes solid character from the illusion of personality, objective fact from transient perception and sacrificial duty from self-interest. 

It doesn't matter what country we're from, nor what political persuasion we follow, we should expect certain qualities from those who desire power and influence, don't you think?

(personal note: I am going to be very pleased when this year's political storm has passed).

General Thai offered me a copy of his book and for that, I am grateful.  But in the time it will take for me to learn to read Vietnamese decently, I'm afraid I'll change into dust.  So, clearly I am going to have to figure out a way to have another conversation.

Watch this space. 

Personal note:  This is Gen. Thai's book.   The title, "Linh Bay" is translated to mean something like, "Basic Airman" or "Just a Pilot."   I wish more successful people would write their Bios.

*The North Vietnamese Air Force didn't assign specific aircraft to specific pilots. 

**I really doubt there were any Porsches in Hanoi during the Vietnam War, nor for many years afterwards for that matter.  I'm not an Economist but I think a Porsche Standard could be a novel way to describe a population's economic and social progress.

***June 1, 1972 to be precise. Gen. Thai's first combat mission was April 18, 1968.  Get your head around this date as he was flying jets in-combat at the age of 19. 

Profile 124: "F" as flown by F/L John Wilkinson, 41 Squadron

I still can't believe what just happened.

"So you actually saw them?!"

"Oh yes!"

"Spitfires and Messerschmitts dogfighting above your head?!"

"Yes! They were (insert pause, wry smile) rather hard to miss." (he smirked, chortling at my artless* astonishment).

Break break.

The movie, "The Battle of Britain" was the first that I remember seeing—I think it was at some sort of old-film festival that our local theatre played.  It doesn't matter—from that moment, the movie took a permanent spot on my list of all-time-top-favorites; the thought of running into one's own airplane to roar off and fight the enemy was absolutely compelling to my little-boy brain.

Decades later, with a man who was there, I got to relive, not only one of the crucial moments of world history but someone who watched it unfold.  I was totally geeked out.

Anyway, back to the conversation.

"I wonder what I would do if I saw enemy airplanes flying above my city," I mused aloud.  But the silver-haired gentleman across the table didn't speak.  Instead, his eyes replied with the wordless expression of, "Thank God you only have to wonder about that and not actually experience it."

Hmmm.

In the next 2-3 weeks, we'll be releasing our "mini-documentary" of our conversation and sharing some of the extraordinary artifacts of his service as a fighter pilot with 41 Squadron. Indeed, though he was not old enough to fly during those dark days of 1940, by 1944, the man not only fought back, he did so with an uncanny lethality.

I know I always write, "Stay tuned" during these work-in-progress posts but in this case, I'm standing up and hollering.

"STAY TUNED!"

Me, John and Cinematographer (and OGTA editor) Dalton Coffey.
This is SO legit...

*Cut me some slack.  I never expected to get to actually draw an RAF Spitfire let alone talk to someone who'd seen the Brit's side of the war from start to stop.

Profile 122: "235" as flown by The Rocketeers of the 336th TFS

I write/draw/produce for a diverse crowd.

On one hand, there are the Warriors.  They were there and whatever I share is their story.  I am merely the guy in the room with the pen and paper.*

On the other hand, there are the rest of us—those that weren't there but for whatever reason—want to learn more about what it was like.

In that "rest of us" there are a number of sub groups:  warophiles, history geeks, model airplane builders...but the sub group that means most to me are the "family."

"I came across your blog when I was looking up my dad's old..."

"Though my uncle was killed, I have always wanted to know how he..."

And "family" doesn't necessarily mean blood-relative.  It can mean anyone who's had a profound impact.

"My favorite teacher was there during the war and he challenged me to think about..."

Hmmm.  About this idea of family, I've learned that the word means different things to people.   A few years ago, I was a guest of a Vietnam War fighter squadron and sat at a table with one of the pilots and his wife.  We four had ended up arriving late and were seated half-the-restaurant away from the rest of the squadron.  I thought it was a bummer because the pilot wasn't with his buddies and I wasn't going to be able to watch the dynamics of the group.

Though the pilot received his share of across-the-room hollers and jeers, my wife and I were able to have a comparatively personal conversation.   As it was my first real "Vietnam Project" (my words), it was a pretty-great opportunity to learn about the squadron and the couple's perspective on the times.

However, I'll never forget a particular moment—looking over at the rowdy group of paunch-bellied old men and their brides, the pilot pointed with his fork and said something profound—"Those are the guys I went to war with.  They are my brothers."

And then, I remembered what the Squadron Commander had said to me on the phone a few weeks prior about the same group—"They are (my wife and my) other sons."

Hmmm.

Have a look at the pencil sketch above.  It's an F-4E Phantom flown by "The Rocketeers" of the 336th TFS, circa August of 1972.  Vietnam War buffs will immediately recognize this airplane as Linebacker bird, participating in the period of time between May and October where American air power was launched against North Vietnam's infrastructure: bridges, railways, power stations, fuel storage depots...and of course, the blizzard of anti-aircraft sites that surrounded such targets.

On one hand, it's a tool of war.  On the other, it's the story of an ex-POW, a MiG killer, ground crew...and a particular man who's name still evokes a cheer.

But in the end, this is a story of a bunch of brothers who went off to war.

Please stay tuned.

The Rocketeers circa April, 1972.
Courtesy:  Fred Sheffler

*Sometimes a camera crew, too.

Profile 116: "168" - F-105D as flown by Gene Smith, 333 TFS

Almost done!   A few more details, some cleanup...so why not just wait until it's finished?

Well, Independence Day is just a few days away and when I think about "all-things-Patriotic," I've come to think of a group of Americans that ironically suffered a dramatic loss of independence during the Vietnam War—the POWs.

Now, I know the BBQ and firecrackers are calling our names but...

Have one more look at the F-105D above.  It's the airplane Gene Smith was flying when shot down over Hanoi on October 25, 1967, beginning nearly six years as a POW.   There are a blizzard of tiny details that need to be either fixed or added but I can tell you this—it's going to be a really terrific looking Thud.

When finished—and I figure that'll be in a month or so—I will post the final art and the last of my interview with Gene.  Hopefully I'll do his story justice as the practical value of what this group can teach the rest of us is not only real but timely.

However, can you spare another nine minutes before you hit the hotdogs?

The video below contains audio that I recorded while talking with Gene.  Originally, I had no intention of using it for anything other than my own reference so I apologize for the poor quality (it's a crappy iPhone recording).  But a few conversations with other readers this past week have lead me to believe that this would be valued regardless.

Again, I'm sorry for the crummy quality but I bet it'll help you appreciate your Fourth of July in a new way.

Roll data...

Vietnam War ex-POW describes being shot down from John Mollison on Vimeo.

Profile 120: "Stuff Dad Used to Do." F-86D Sabre as flown by "Pete" Aspinwall, 83rd FIS

This is a shorter-than-normal post as the personal story behind the airplane belongs to a family that isn't in-it for the notoriety.

Nevertheless, have a look at the F-86D Sabre above.

Historically, the D-model of the Sabre is a quirk of Cold War thinking. The jet served its days guarding America against the expected Russian aerial invasion that, of course, never happened. And when I write "Days", I am referring to the time-scale of all-things-airplane.

First accepted by the USAF in 1951, the F-86D was mustered out of service by 1956 and disappeared from Air National Guard units by 1961. Compare that to the almost FORTY YEARS of service the F-16 has provided!  In the scope of things, the Dog—nicknamed not because of doggish performance but because it distinguished the D model from the rest of the Sabre lineup—was just a blip on the aerial calendar.

However, it’s here and that means it’s worth attention.

To start, look closely at the nose. See if you can imagine part of the under-fuselage suddenly lowering to reveal a brace of twenty four 2.75" diameter Mighty Mouse rockets nestled in their launch tubes. The idea was that the pilot would fire said rockets as kind of an aerial icepick based on pilot acumen and a carefully coordinated ground-control-radar plot.  Nowadays, with internally-guided missiles, the idea is awfully clumsy. But then? It was the best solution to counter the desperate image of red-starred invaders crossing the West Coast.

The Might-Mice roar!  I can't imagine how well this weapon would have worked in aerial combat
but if we don't try stuff out, we'll never learn.
Source:  USAF

Another point of note—mash your nose against your screen and look at all those stencils! You can’t read any of them on my artwork but realize that they reflect the growing complexity of 1950s tech.    

To get your head around what that compared against the venerable WWII P-51 Mustang, though each airplane occupied similar space (size-wise) a fully loaded Dog was nearly 20,000lbs while the Pony was half that.   So where did all of that 'weight' get stuffed?  Basically into every nook and cranny and therein lies the reason for all the stenciled warnings and notices.  

Every red dot is a stencil.  But, this picture shows off the 83rd FIS color scheme nicely, including the
white tail.  Modelers take note:  The "stenciled" font for the aircraft number is not the more rounded
font of the Dogs that came straight from the factory.
Source:  The Sabre Pilots Association

Ok.  Pull your face off the screen and note the color scheme. Though this Dog is appears to be wholly clad in aluminum, the tail is actually painted white.  I've tried to make it dingy as a result of the typical level of soot and grime that belched from those early jets but the fact remains, tonally, the tail and body are very similar. 

Now, note the blue chin—not quite sure why they did it but it looks cool.  Many thanks to the Sabre Pilots Association for making me realize it wasn’t black but blue—it’s good to talk to people who were actually there and not try to rely on black and white photos!

Yes!  It's 950!  I'm jealous of anyone who ever got to see this sight as part of their job.
Source:  The brain-trust of The Sabre Pilots Association

Yet, the most poignant point of this post is the title, "Stuff Dad Used to Do."

Soon, this print will go up onto a wall at a prestigious military museum as a modest memorial to the men who did their duty in those nervous days of Duck and Cover. The artwork was commissioned by the pilot's son who, now as a single-father, realizes the burden that parents have in making sure the future is, as well as can be expected, protected.

And so, the title.  Granted, it's a personal thing that makes most sense to the sons and daughters of military pilots.

But, I think it applies to anyone who stands on the shoulders of today, looks down and realizes the ladder of life is not made of metal and stencils...but flesh and bone.

Profile 121: F-8E Crusader as flown by Steve Russ, VF-53

F8 Crusader time!  Man, I've wanted to draw one of these sharks since I was 9 years old and struggling to glue the wings on.  

Hold that thought.

For some reason, people enjoy asking questions about what I do here.

Here's a sample:  "Are you really into Military?"

Sure!  But, I'm not a wanna-be for that matter.  The simple fact is that military moments are the crux of human history.  Remove them and we're left with a perforated storyline that simply doesn't add up to much.  But when taken in-whole, the picture of the human condition becomes much, much clearer.

So, to me, "Military" is fascinating.

Gawd, I love me my electronics but building plastic models is an awesome way to learn
History, Skill, Craftsmanship, Patience, Pride...
And I think this is the one that I attempted to build as a kid.
Source: Old Model Kits

Though I wholly agree with the Give Peace a Chance ideal, it's also the equivalent of listening to kindergarteners talk about what they'd do with a hundred dollars—"I'd buy all the candy in the world!"  We jaded adults know the truth—"Kid, you wouldn't get much and afterwards you'd puke your guts out."

In other words, right now, a world without war is simply unrealistic and until the moment when such is eliminated, our goal should be to do it better.   For me, writing about the human-side in addition to the war-side is is my contribution to this endeavor; it's awfully hard to make an enemy out of people we know'n like.  And, when confronted with those people who are inherently unlikeable (i.e. Nazis, ISIS, Khmer Rouge...) it's all the more enjoyable when they get blown up.

Steve Russ, in a condition he describes as, "Younger Me."
Source:  Steve Russ

Therefore, I interview old guys and draw their airplanes and hope for the best. 

Ok, back to the airplane.

Have another look at the Crusader above.  This particular example is one attached to the USS Bon Homme Richard (pronounced Bon Ahhm Rish-ard) circa 1968.  Her some-time pilot was, in his own words, only remarkable in that he was the youngest pilot on the ship.  

Over the next posts, I'll try to describe what it was like to fly this incredible aircraft known as "The Last of the Gunfighters."   As a war story, I'll share the pilot's perspective on using the machine as a tactical bomber (kind of like putting a luggage rack on the back of a 911 Turbo).   And you'll see some mighty-awesome fresh photographs of a day-in-the-life as well.

But as a human story, well, as my kids say, "It's complicated."

And that means this is a very human story. 

"Launch aircraft!"

Wait.

No.  Don't launch...at least not quite yet.

You might think this is Steve readying to catapult off the carrier but in fact he's signaling that the F-8 was
No-Go and not mission-ready.
Source:  Michael Mihalevich, Photographer's Mate, 2nd Class and working for the U.S. Navy

Flew West - Robert "Punchy" Powell 11/21/1920 - 6/22/2016

The package arrived in a fashion that I'd soon learn marked the sender's breed—an oft-resused envelope, repeatedly patched with clear tape.  It looked like hell. But it really didn't matter because I greedily tore the thing open to get at the juicy contents—a promised set of pictures from WWII.

I remember the day distinctly— it was a late-summer afternoon in 2001, typically upper-Plains; balmy, dry, a stiff breeze...but a timbre in the air bears a warning of the fierce cold to come.  It's as if the atmosphere is nudging, "Enjoy it now."

So I did.  Right there in the driveway, thumbing through the stack of ancient images bearing the patina of six decades.  A colleague happened to be at my house and we looked at them together.

They were images of life at a place called "Bodney, England," home of the 352nd Fighter Group during WWII.  Most of them were candid shots of pilots and crew clowning around, smoking cigarettes—glimpses of a past well-known to History geeks lucky enough to get their hands on "great-grampa's shoebox" of memories.  

This wasn't my great-grandfather's box, however.  The photos belonged to a man I'd just met over the phone, a referral from a WWII fighter pilot who knew another WWII fighter pilot that knew another...at the time it didn't matter.  I was neck-deep in the cool-factor that I was actually becoming an amateur historian (!)

I zipped through the photos, looking for extremes—maybe a wrecked airplane or cockpit shot of a victorious pilot...my associate, however, didn't move as fast and collected my cast-offs in one hand while giving the others a bit more time.  He paused over a particular picture and stated, "Uh...did you notice these ones?"  He removed four or five images from the stack in his palm and handed them back to me. 

Indeed, these pictures were different.  The paper was thicker and brittle, showing tiny cracks in the shellac-like film finish.  The photo's edge was trimmed in the old-style fashion of tiny jags and the photo quality was especially grainy, looking as if it had been developed in a cellar.  Then, I remembered that the sender, fighter pilot Robert "Punchy" Powell, had told me to keep my eye out for a set of particular images as they were special to him.  They featured Jaime Laing, a WWII POW who was part of Punchy's squadron.

Behind each of these photos were yellow sticky notes scribed with impeccable cursive handwriting.

"Geez!  You gotta read this!  These are pictures of a guy with the French Underground!"  He flicked the yellow notes with his finger and gently rubbed the photo between his finger and thumb.  "This is original stuff!  Holy Sh*t!  And he just mailed them to you?!"

"Yeah...?"

"He's crazy!  This needs to be in a museum!"

This is Jamie Laing.  The other two guys are French Maquis.

Indeed.  The photos were of Lt. Laing shortly after he'd been shot down over France in April of 1944.  The images showed Jamie, dressed (as well as possible) to look like a native Frenchman in order for the Resistance to easier sneak him out from under the noses of eager, angry Germans.  That the French Resistance would perform such services to Allied fliers was not uncommon.  That the French Resistance would allow their faces to be photographed was extremely uncommon.  However, these weren't typical Resistance fighters; they were the Maquis—guerrillas so bad-assed, they resigned to death regardless if the Krauts knew their faces or not. 

I'd remembered my conversation days prior with Punchy— "Ah'was flyin' the day Jamie was shot down.  Sad, sad day for us.   But, ah'got photos of him with the French Resistance.  Ah'want yuh'to see them as they were secreted out'a France.  It's important you know about this."

I then knew that my associate had an important point—the old man had sent something extremely valuable.  Suddenly the photos I casually clenched became delicately precious and I was instantly aware of the thread that had connected me to a secret French hedgerow so many years prior. 

My drawing of Punchy's P-51B.  Though I've improved a lot since these first pieces, it remains so steeped in meaning, I keep it displayed in my studio and is mostly likely the first one I show visitors.

Did they belong in a museum?  Probably.  But would these pictures have made the same impact viewed through a glass case or jealously guarded by a tweed-coated PhD?  I can't say.  But I do know that later that night, I called Punchy to admonish him for not sending copies or scans.  How could he trust me, an unknown person known only by postal address?!  

"You need to see them.  And ah'm not worried about their care.  Ah'trust you."

Ok—fast forward to today.  And this is were things get hard for me right now...

The man who sent me these photos died this morning.  I expected it as did so many others, but it still feels like a whack to the chest with a baseball bat.  I let my dad know just a few minutes ago and he, who'd met Punchy just once, knew enough to state, "He was a great man."

Punchy Powell lived to keep the memories of his generation alive and vital.   He loved the idea of moving knowledge forward, of passing wisdom onto others for their benefit.  And he was tireless, too.  In the years that I knew him, he collected and connected people by the thousands (around the world) with an uncanny charm that made anyone with him feel like they were his sole chosen heir.  Do yourself a favor and Google "Punchy Powell."   The man was extraordinary.

It takes an extraordinary person to trust a rank-nobody with priceless things.  Punchy invited fresh acquaintences into his home to see WWII memorabilia, signed countless autographs for kids (and adults), appeared on this-that TV show...handing out the experience of his generation like candy and never asking for a nickel in return.

Today, I am one of so many people who are looking towards West Virginia, feeling the gentle push of breeze at my back as the world adjusts to fill the vacuum Punchy Powell leaves behind...

Those left behind will fill that vacuum as Punchy will never be forgotten.

He trusts us.

Blue Skies, Punchy Powell.  

Punchy and his wife Betty on Normandy Beach, April 2003.  I took this photo shortly after he described flying over the D-Day beaches on 6 June, 1944.  If you've never had the chance to talk to someone who has seen History happen, do your soul the favor and make it happen.

Note:  Punchy flew 87 combat missions and is credited with 6 aircraft destroyed (4.5 on the ground, 1.5 in the air).  Though he'd be the first to tell you that he was a "nobody" in the 352nd FG, post-war, he became the face and voice of anyone who'd ever served with the famous "Blue Nosed Bastards of Bodney."   Though my artwork of his P-51B was almost seven years old at the time, his post was among the first that went online with the inauguration of this Blog.  Click here. 

Profile 118: FINISHED—"Yessir" as flown by Joe McPhail, VMF-214

The advice of an old boss has paid-off a thousand times—"Listen to people and listen hard.  Whether they're lying or telling the truth, they're telling you everything you need to know about them."

It takes practice.  It also takes a lot of energy.  Don't get me wrong—I'm not analyzing the pleasantries of the grocery store clerk as a character study!  However, when I think of the pressures required to make a diamond I wonder, what if the forces of life have the same effect on words?

Ok - hold that thought. The Corsair above would like a bit of your attention.

Firstly, have a look at the red bars on the fuselage insignia. That means the airplane is depicted post-1947.  That’s the year the bars were included to ensure standardized aircraft markings for all branches of the military services.  In this case, you're looking at a Korean War-era F4U-4B Corsair, circa 1951.

Next, have a look at the subtle, pout-like lip on the lower engine cowl.  That indicates that this Corsair is a dash-4 and arguably, the greatest piston-engined combat aircraft to ever see mass production.  We can debate this assertion later.  In the meantime, the dash-4 climbed quicker, flew faster and was stronger than the F-51.  So there.

Now, look at the “WE” on the tail.  It might look like a statement of teamwork but it's practically the squadron identifier for Marine fighter squadron VMF-214.  “214” has a terrific legacy attached to it; in WWII it was also known as The Black Sheep Squadron. Lead by the iconoclastic Gregory “Pappy” Boyington, the unit racked up a record that warranted its own TV show in the 1970s.  The authentic history is pretty interesting while the TV show is spectacularly dumb.  I recommend looking into both.

Ok, draw your attention to the rockets slung beneath the wings. See the one poking out? That's no mistake.  This dash-4 is also a “b-model subvariant" and that means that instead of the more-common gun armament of six .50 caliber machine guns (3 per wing), it was equipped with four 20mm cannon (2 per wing). Since cannon take up more room than machine guns, the second-inboard rocket mount had to be moved forward and attached to the inboard cannon barrel. 

#7 prepares to take off from the USS Sicily, circa Fall, 1950.  Note the guns/missile arrangement.
Source:  US Navy archive

But to me, the standout aspect of this airplane is the title. 

"Mornin' Joe. Got some time for a few more questions?”

“Yessir.”

"Joe, can you walk me through a typical mission in Korea?”

“Yessir…”

"Hey Joe, would you mind doing me a favor and see if you've got your…"

“Yessir.”

"Joe, is this Yessir stuff just a Texas thing?”

“Yes…huh?!”

Thankfully, the man’s got a great sense of humor as well as pride in his state.  Fortunately, he knew what I was getting at, too.

"John, when I first got to Samoa (in WWII), I was getting paid $220 month to fly fighters. And you know I would have gladly paid that to fly those airplanes! I just loved to fly. And I said so much to one of the old hands. But you know what he said to me?”

“Uh, Nosir.…”

Ok, Hold THAT  thought for a moment.

Have another look at Joe’s Corsair.   It’s the one he used to fly off the USS Sicily on 7 January, 1951 during the Korean War.   Though the conflict had been going on for barely 6 months (cease-fire wouldn’t come for two and a half more years), a lot had happened.  Pro-Communist and Pro-Democracy forces pushed-pulled with such velocity, the entire country changed hands twice during the period.  The war was also the searing flash of what would later become, “The Cold War.”

A VMF-214 F4U-4 takes off from Pusan (K-1) circa Spring, 1951.  Is that Joe?  Dunno.
Source:  No idea.  Wish I knew as it's a pretty awesome photo.

It was Joe’s first and only combat-carrier launch, too.  The rest of his 102 missions were from inland bases, first from Sasebo, Japan, then from “K-1” on the Korean mainland at Pusan. The work wasn’t glamorous, especially for a fighter pilot.  Instead of aerial elan or dramatic dogfights, the Corsairs of VMF-214 were tasked with tactical support missions that were soberingly routine.

“Ground pounding” is hard work and psychologically challenging.  It’s one thing to master the physics of flight and another to accept the capricious fate of flying against an enemy that fires back, often from sites unseen.  I imagine how I would have done in similar situations—some times, I think I’d do well.  But there are other times when I’m not so sure. In those moments, my apprehension exceeds any confidence conjured otherwise.   According to Joe, that’s way most from his era thought as well. 

Joe circa 1951.  It had to be taken between 1 and 7 Jan as after that, Joe flew his Korean War missions from either Sasebo, Japan or Pusan, Korea.  He wrote the text on the bottom for me.

This is a good time to let you in on a strange quirk of my work—when I started interviewing these guys nearly 20 years ago, I had them on a pedestal, believing them to be made of an alien stuff with herculean qualities.  In time, however—meeting ‘the family,’ going over old photo albums, talking about life-at-hand—I began to see that these old guys are indeed ordinary people, just like you, just like me, just like them...with one difference - the people who achieve a measure of greatness (ok, I’ll evoke the H word, Hero) are those who can put self aside and pursue a greater good.

How do I know?  Joe told me so.  Not directly of course.  I had to listen.

So, back to that conversation…

(laughs) 

“I’ll tell you!  He said, 'you just wait until you get a few bullets in your ass. You'll see how much you'd pay for this privilege then!’”

"So, what did you say back?”

"Nothing. But later on I understood what he was talking about. I (then) realized that I had a job I had to do. It could be hard. I could get killed. But when you’ve made the commitment, you’ve got to follow it.”

You can’t just let a statement like that go unexamined!  So, I asked, “Have you followed your commitments in your life?”

“Uh…?”

“Your commitments.  Did you keep them?”

(pause) 

“Yessir.”

And thus the title of the print—as subtle of a definition of Hero as I've ever heard.

Joe McPhail today, as seen by photographer Karie Hubnik.  Sweet jiminy this woman "gets" a camera! Her website (and musings) will not disappoint.  Click here. 

PS - Joe McPhail flew 140 combat missions in WWII as part of the storied squadron, VMF-323 “The Death Rattlers.”  He was credited with two confirmed victories over Japanese fighters.  During the Korean War, Joe flew 102 missions and was awarded his second DFC.  After his service, Joe logged 17,000 hours as a corporate pilot, shuttling executives all over the world.  

PSS - If you're interested in owning "Yessir" signed by Joe, click here.

Joe signs prints of my artwork.
This is too cool...