Profile 67: FINAL - "50" F4F-4 Wildcat as flown by Joe Foss, VMF-121

DONE!  I presented it to the Commissioner last Wednesday and...they like it!

At almost 30" long, this Wildcat is impressive on size alone and because of its size, was a real stretch for me.  For my work, it's quite detailed.  At the risk of sounding like the geek I am, I'm rather proud of the paint chips on the tailwheel shroud.

Anyway, presenting a finished piece is an interesting moment.  In this case, we were standing around the conference table, arms behind backs (it always happens, people put their arms behind their backs and lean into the artwork), lots of "hmmm's"  and "huh's" - then one of the guys breaks the silence and says, "You know, Joe Foss is definitely a candidate for The Most Interesting Man In the World*."

Really?!

Let's roll the facts on the man:

  - Born at a farmstead with no electricity.
  - Father dies; Joe drops out of school to run the family farm
  - Saves $60, learns to fly, becomes Marine Corps aviator
  - Refused combat duty because of his "old age"
  - Learns fighters (F4Fs) on his own
  - Ditches airplane in ocean, swims with sharks until rescued by Missionaries

  - Shoots down 26 Japanese airplanes in aerial combat*

  - Receives Medal of Honor for service between October '42 and January '43

  - Starts his own businesses after the war (some worked, some didn't)

  - Starts the South Dakota Air National Guard
  - Becomes a Brigadier General
  - Wins two terms as Governor of South Dakota
  - Loses a House seat race to George McGovern
  - Turns down $750K for rights to make a movie about him
    (and that's 1950s money, too!)
  - Becomes Commissioner of the American Football League
  - Hosts the TV show, American Sportsman
  - Gets arsenic poisoning and becomes paralyzed
  - Fights his way out of paralysis
  - Becomes a born-again Christian
  - Does PR for KLM Airlines
  - Becomes President of the National Rifle Association
  - Makes the cover of TIME Magazine
  - Has an airport, high school and national foundation named for him...

    ...just "google" the guy.

"Joe Foss" is not just a name.  It's an adjective, noun and verb.

However, he did share his 'formula' for success when I got to sit down with him in 2002.  "I don't think about yesterdays. You want to do something, then you just go and do it."

It's really brilliant advice - devilish though because so few people want to see life so simply, so positively.  To Joe, "success" was not complicated or mysterious.  It was simply the result of continuous forward desire.

Ok. Now's a good time to show you a little artifact of Joe's wartime service - a page from the VMF-121's "War Diary" showing the day's activity for November 7, 1942.

Go ahead and read it - and notice the lack of info such as aircraft number, serial (BuNo) number.  This is somewhat unusual in that aviators tend to keep detailed records on airplanes.  It just goes to show that combat at Guadalcanal was chaotic.

Close your eyes - imagine a searing hot day, gluey humidity and the slap-crunch of leather shoes on coral gravel; the whine of an air raid siren - pilots leap up onto their Wildcats, engines belch to life...

On that November day, Joe experienced his 'Most Interesting' combat mission.  After shooting down 3 Japanese aircraft, his last victory - a two-seat Japanese biplane  - returned the favor; the enemy's rear gunner shot Joe down, too.

Forced to ditch his F4F in the ocean, Joe almost didn't make it out of the cockpit.  With a foot caught under the seat, Joe sank into the deep with the plummeting plane until - at about 30 foot depth - he wrenched himself free and shot to the surface.

Waterlogged, exhausted, Joe was now alone in the heaving sea.  Sharks circled, hours passed, darkness arrived... then, a boat paddled by natives and a Missionary (really, I'm not making this up) approached, hauled him aboard... two days later, he's back in combat!

When I was a little kid - 3 or 4 - my father had this paperback book, "Greatest Fighter Missions" by a man named Edward Sims.   Before the words made any sense, I'd pour over the book's little combat diagrams.  They're really fantastic works of art as well as graphical stories.  Whoever did them was a master!

Anyway, I still have the book, and the diagram of Joe Foss's November 7, 1942 mission has remained in-memory all this time.  Now you can remember it too - see below.  Cool huh?!

And see the little profile drawing of the Wildcat in the lower left hand corner?  I distinctly remember trying to duplicate it, using crayons on the thick grayish paper my mom would give me.  It just occurred to me -  I started drawing Joe's Wildcat forty years ago!

You know, I'm glad I kept at it.

If I've learned anything from Joe Foss it's that circumstances are irrelevant. The man went from dirt-farm to Pacific Island to General to paralytic to...you get the point.  In "the combat of life" success is not about what's happened or even what's going on currently.  All things pass.

Success is about what you do next.

"I don't think about yesterdays. You want to do something, then you just go and do it." 

And that's how you become Most Interesting Man in the World.

*********

POSTSCRIPT:  An old SDANG pilot buddy of Joe's just emailed me.  I thought you'd like to read what he wrote:

John:  Liked your drawing of the F4F...I flew this plane a number of times. A stable plane but a crude cockpit.  Upon takeoff with right hand on the stick and left hand on the throttle, I was forced to put the stick in my left hand and reach down to the floor with my right hand to hand crank up the wheels. When I looked up I had pushed the stick forward with nose headed for the ground. I bet the autos on the highway thought I was buzzing them.  Upon landing I unlatched the catch and let gravity pull down the wheels.  There was an inch of armor plate both behind the seat and under the seat. How Joe  Foss ever shot down 26 Jap planes I'll never know.The Japenese Zero was much more manueverable because they had no armor plating and weighed less.  But Joe was a crack shot, having hunted pheasants in South Dakota,he knew how to lead the target.  After the war I flew P-51 Mustangs with Joe putting on many air shows for local celebrations.  When I reminesce, how lucky can one get?  I got to fly the F4F, the F4U, and the P-51 Mustang .........Semper Fi from an old (92 years) Marine fighter pilot from the carrier Wasp.  

Claude Hone, VMF 216, SDANG

* From the ad campaign for Dos Equis beer.

**The truth is, much of the aerial combat in the Pacific Theatre was one-sided.  After 1943, the quality of the Japanese aviator grew progressively poorer by the day.  And of course,  Japanese airplanes were comparatively easier to shoot down on account of prevailing aeronautical design philosophies of the Japanese military. . But Joe, in 1942, fought the best the Japanese had - and they were every bit as good as the American pilots.   F4F vs A6M (Japanese Navy fighter commonly called a Zero) was a match made by Mars himself.  Joe's 26 victories came the hard way. 


Sources:  Artwork, me.  VMF-121 War Diary courtesy of the U.S. Marine Corps History Division,  Guadalcanal F4F photo ©unknown, Diagram: Greatest Fighter Missions by Edward M. Sims published by Ballantine Books, New York, 1962.  Please holler if you know other proper attributes.

Profile 67 - UPDATE "5?" as flown by Joe Foss, VMF-121

So.  It looks like all I have to do is add the rudder, tweak some shadows and add final markings.  I'm still on the fence of what aircraft number to use - 50?  53?  84?

I remember in 2001 (or 2000?) trying to impress Joe that I knew the number of the plane he flew at Guadalcanal and his sardonic reply, "That's my airplane, huh?"   I had no idea at the time that in reality, Joe scrambled to whatever airplane was in operating condition.  And the paperwork of who flew-what was of little consequence when Japanese bombers were readying to unleash their fury.

Joe never "had an airplane" and he didn't care, either.  I could have put down any number and he'd have been fine with it.  But facts are facts, right?

Anyway,  the question brings up the whole idea of "numbers" in war - especially war against the Japanese in WW2.  The numbers are appalling.   In fact, they're unbelievable (irony intended).

When one thinks of war's "numbers" - the most natural counting is of deaths.  People are weird this way - battles, wars, conflicts gain a perverse appeal with the increase in body counts.   Anyway, here's what I learned about the body count between the Japanese and The United States:

Japan:  2.2 million soldiers dead or approximately 4% of the country's population in 1940

United States:  420,000 soldiers dead or approximately .33% of the country's population in 1940.

Carve up those stats however you'd like.  Personally, I'm fascinated with the indication that a Japanese solider was 12x more likely to die.  But the fact remains:  The Japanese slaughtered their young men in the pursuit of gain.

A few years ago, Morrie Magnuson explained, "War is always about the leaders.  It's not about the soldiers.  Soldiers do what they're told."    To the American way of thinking, a 12:1 death ratio is clear proof of the Japanese leader's insanity.

Today, in 21st Century, there's a reluctance to make disparaging remarks about another nation's culture or belief system.  But the truth is, the leaders that drove Japan into WW2 were nuts.  Of course, there may be those that attempt to explain their behavior by describing "The Bushido Code of the Samurai," but it doesn't change the reality

So.  What does this mean to the drawing above?  I'll get to that.  But have a look at the photograph below.  It's a Japanese flag taken from a dead Japanese soldier discovered by an American Marine pilot circa Spring, 1944.

In case you're not brushed-up on your Japanese, here's what it states.  Kinda.


“Brave man from Manshuu (Manchuria)

Honorable Hourjiro Saito (name) From all the people at the shop!

In recognition of being a part of the battle at the Haruha River with the Manchurian Independent Defense Unit”

In other words, this was just a guy who carried some stuff from his buddies into combat.  In fact, I know so - I have the soldier's wallet, too.  And based on what's in there, I can pretty-much state, the "Jap" was just a poor guy like the rest of us, doing what he was ordered to do and paying the ultimate price.

Ok.  Back to Joe Foss. I'm trying to figure out which number to choose for his airplane and got lost in the rabbit-trail of "numbers" of war.  

Which to choose.  50?  53?  84?  2.2 million?

In the next and final post, we're going to look at a day in the life of Joe Foss and what he went through to defeat the enemy.  He'll narrowly escape death, but take the life of at least 3, maybe 5, with him.  a 1:5 ratio over one day's work.

Profile 67 - UPDATE "5?" as flown by Joe Foss

Here you go - it's about 50% done and the obvious parts need to be masked in... but I'm on schedule!  Two more posts after this one and this might be the most accurate rendering of Joe's F4F.  At least it will crack the top 100.  I think.

A question I often get is this - "What do you use for references?"

And that's a good question; the answer is simple.  "Whatever I can get my hands on."

Right now, within a 12' radius, there are no fewer than 100 different drawings of F4F Wildcats circa 1942.  And those are just books.  There are also other people involved - smarter, sharper and unafraid to either share knowledge and/or correct my errors. 

But you know what?  None of them - books or bookworms - quite agree!  So in the end, I have to sort the facts and make a call.  Kind of like an eeny-meeny-miny-mo game.   

BUT!  

A couple years ago, I was prowling around a trio of derelict SBD Dauntless dive bombers.  Two of them happened to have been painted in the 1942 Navy scheme.  My buddy - a man who shall remain nameless for reasons that will be obvious in about two seconds - handed me his pocket knife and said, "Cut a piece of that fabric off.  You might need it some day."

And well-I'll-be-damned.  He was right.

Look below - those are actual pieces of control-surface fabric from the the two SBDs.  Strip away the mold, the aging, the fading...add some hot sun, cold rain, coral dust, oil, grime...and you've got the livery of an F4F-4 Wildcat circa Fall, 1942, Guadalcanal.  

It's kind of like my buddy Steve and his recipe for making wild duck edible - add this, do that... by the time it gets to the table, it's been altered so much, it's "Duck" by DNA only.  

In my pointless pursuit of perfection, my rendering will soon get into the mix of options.  Will mine be "the most accurate color rendering of all"?  Well, it's probably the only available profile illustration that was based on actual 1942 color* chips.  

But like Steve's duck, you'll need to take that with a grain of salt - and whatever else he throws in to make it palatable.  

See you next week!




*Technically, the color is called "non-specular blue-gray."

Profile 67: BEGINNING - "5?" as flown by Joe Foss

Here it is - the starting sketch of Joe Foss's F4F-4 Wildcat circa Fall of 1942, on Guadalcanal.

This particular commission is a especially weighty - not just because it represents one of America's heroes but also because it's going to be displayed in a very public place.  Suffice it to state, the pressure is on.  But it takes pressure to make a diamond, right?

I'm working hard to make this project worth your time.  If only half the pieces I'm hoping for fall together, there'll be some fresh data, real inspiration and a blow-mind surprise.  Or two.

Regular readers know my Drill - I start with a sketch, then try to tell the story behind it via progressive updates to the art.   As my target-date for finishing is June 22, check back every Saturday throughout June for progress shots and back-story.

In the meantime, I'll set the stage for the Guadalcanal story - in 6 months between August of 1942 and February of 1943, over 35,000 soldiers would die, 50-some ships would sink and 1,300+ airplanes would never fly again.

Guadalcanal was a bloody mess.

And somewhere in there, an "old man" from South Dakota would use a handful of hard-worn Wildcats to defeat a fierce enemy,  help turn the tables in the Pacific War and come home to the Congressional Medal of Honor.

When it comes to seat-of-the-pants history, it doesn't get better than this...

Image: 1943 King Features Syndicate via darwinscans.blogspot.com

Profile 66: FINAL - LGM-30G as flown by the 91st SMW

And there it is - an LGM-30G.  Or, as I'd heard them called before, "Minuteman III missiles."

For the time being, it's the most accurate illustration of such a device available to the public.  But you should also know this - it's the only illustration of such a device, too.

Typically, I list the name of the veteran who flew/crewed/used whatever 'thing' in the headline.  But for the next four or five minutes, I'd like to keep his name anonymous.  Why?  Because, in his own words, he represented an 'anonymous' service.

"I'm proud of being a Missileer," he said.  "And no one knows what we do.  You need to tell our story."

I have to admit - I knew so little about them, I thought "Missileer" was one of those slang names used to describe people.  Sort of like "gear head," "foodie" or "Army brat."  However, I now know the truth of the matter - Missileers are the last human human link before nuclear Armageddon.

There's nothing slang or casual about Missileer.

I've learned much about this fascinating and sobering group of men and women.  But for me, one of the most striking moments occurred when my patron slid a DVD of the seminal TV movie, "The Day After" across my conference table.  "Watch this. There's a part you need to watch," he said.

The screenshot below is of that scene.  Evidently, the missile launch sequence was filmed at an Air Force training facility.  Here, Missileers learn the elaborate and deliberate process of launching a nuclear ICBM.  Notice the dymo-taped word, "Gently" above the ominous 'launch key.'

Hold that thought, I need to take a rabbit trail for a moment.

In my interviews, I ask a lot of questions and there's a system to them.  But this time, they went by the wayside.  The sheer nature of what was at-hand tempted me to lose discipline and cut to the chase of what I was really thinking -   "So.  Could you really have done it?!"

In other words, did he really have the gall to push the button and launch World War Three?!

"Absolutely," he said without a moment's hesitation.

"You robot!" I thought, surprised at my own repulsion at his apparent reflex.

Now, don't get me wrong.  This wasn't the first time I'd had contact with world destruction.  When I interviewed Morris Jeppson  - the Bomb Electronics Officer on the Enola Gay - I was and remain gung-ho on the decision to level Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  But here?  Today!?  I thought this missile-guy might have been nuts.

He knew what I was thinking, too.  "Look.  You have to know something about those missiles," he said, leaning forward over the table.  "The nukes aren't the deterrent for nuclear war.  And...they never were."

I wasn't expecting that.

"We are the deterrent." He pointed to his chest with his thumb.  "It's not the missile.  It's the training, the focus and the ability of the people to actually do the undoable that's the deterrent.  As long as we're ready, as long as we're able..."

 I finished his sentence.  "...you won't." 

"Correct.  At least in dealing with rational people, anyway."

"Like the Soviets!?"

"Yeah.  I think we all considered our Soviet counterparts of equal mind."  He rested back in the chair.  "We wouldn't do it because we were totally prepared to do it. See?  That's why you're doing this missile.  I want my grandkids to know."

Grandkids!  What a word to come up when discussing the destruction of most of the human race!  And this is a good time to look up again at that screen shot.  Here's why the word "Gently" is so significant.

During training, the Missileers go through the drill of actually launching the nukes.  All the drama, all the checks, all the pressure is brought to bear on these men and women to ensure that when the time comes, they can assuredly counter a nuclear assault.

There are no big-red Launch Buttons.  Instead, the launch is executed by inserting and turning a Launch Key.  During this training, the tension is so great, keys have been ripped-off in the socket!  Hence, the reminder - "Turn the key, gently."  But only in the Training Facilities because in the real, operational missile sites, it doesn't matter if you break the key off because...there won't be anyone around afterwards to care.

The term "Missileer"?  Chances are good you were like me and hadn't given them any regard before this project.  But now, they'll never be forgotten.

Note to the politicians of the world:  Gently, indeed.  There are grandkids to think about.

This illustration and posting courtesy of Bob Groman (91st SMW).

To people interested in having prints of this missile, click here.

To people who are still wondering what missiles actually do, the illustration below should leave no doubt.  Image ©National Park Service

Final Flight - Don S. Bryan

That's Don Bryan, devoted husband, lovable crank, brilliant philosopher and WW2 ace.  And that's a little girl in a crowd at a 352nd Fighter Group reunion a few years ago.

I'll let you in on the back story.

We were at a Georgia airport where the Veterans had gathered to see P-51 Mustangs decorated in their signature blue-nosed markings.  Like many of these events, a crowd of "groupies" showed up, hoping for autographs and handshakes...and Don loved to play along.

Now... there were two things about Don that I had noticed.  One, for all the back slapping, joke telling and roaring stories, that he could attract, he was smart - whip smart.  How I learned that is another story but for now, imagine an Old Western movie where the bad guy draws on a distracted sheriff only to have his gun suddenly shot away by the sheriff's lightning-like reflex; "Son. You'd better know who you're trying to shoot before you shoot."  That sheriff would be Don.

The other thing about Don was that he defined the phrase "straight shooter."  Though cat-clever, he had no guile. If he said it, he meant it.  I got the impression that to him, anything less than "the way it is" was somehow not completely true and therefore, a lie.

Bah...I could write forever on Don Bryan.  For now, I'll just state this - he's awesome.

Anyway, back to the picture.   Don had made his way around the Ramp, shaking hands, laughing loudly and eventually came upon the little girl.  In "Grumpy Grandpa" character,  he put his hands on his hips, narrowed his eyes and roared, "And who are YOU?!"

Don had been carrying that video camera and as he pretended to start recording, (and put a little good-natured fright into the kid)  the girl got on her toes and growled, "I'm Abbie. And I'm going to be an Astronaut.  Who are YOU!?"

"You're...'  He stammered, voice crackling with incredulity. "You're what!?"

She admonished with a slap of disgust, "I'm going to Mars and you know who I am!" See, she'd met Don the night before at the Reunion hotel.  Was even tickled.  And Don, in his gregarious glad-handing, momentarily forgot that kids have even less tolerance to BS than he did himself.

She simply stopped the man cold.

"Yes.  Yes you did, Abbie." The character came off.  "Here.  You film me."  He gave her the camera.  "I want to be filmed by an Astronaut."

That's about when I took the picture.

It's really just a cute story that probably has little worth to anyone outside of me and my wife because the little girl is my daughter.

But I have to say this - over the years, Don remembered, "His little astronaut" at Christmas, in emails, letters...encouraging her to rise to her dreams and achieve her goal.  He let me know in no uncertain terms.  "John, she's in a world where she can be an astronaut!  And if she can, she must."

Don's encouragement hasn't been lost on Abbie.   Hanging in her room, there's a box-shaped spaceship that, a couple grades ago, she made for a school project.  It looks about what you'd expect a home-made spaceship made from a cardboard box would look like except it has a blue top and is named "Little One...IV"

Don was one of the first WW2 pilots I interviewed,  My ancient art of his P-51 is below - "Little One III" - and named for his wife, Francis.

Don died today.

But he will live forever.  And quite possibly, ride into space, too.

Blue Skies, Don...

And for those of you who are wondering why he's a hero...

Profile 66: Update - LGM-30G as flown by the 91st SMW

Here's the latest update.  It's about 40% finished.  Unfortunately though,  I'm probably going to do it all over.

Why?  Well, it may have been obvious to you all-along, but to me the question came a little late -   “How do you draw something that was never seen?!”

Think about it.  This missile is not like doing a proper winged warbird.  Nose art, paint schemes, mission markings?  They're utterly useless.   And it's not like the Missileers would ever get any particular pride out of a sharks-mouth or curvy pinup painted on the nose.

Instead, I'm sitting here trying to figure out Fungicide and Cork.  Yes.  Fungicide and Cork.


Let me explain.

Have a look at what I've managed so far.  But I'm a little confused about it.  See, a significant part of it was covered with cork - the same stuff that shoots out of champagne bottles.  How's that for irony?  But the similarity between missile and merlot doesn't stop there.  Both slumber silently in the cool dark until the hour of need, protected by cork against evil elements that work towards their demise.

To the wine, the evil element is Air.  Cork preserves the wine because it resists rot, doesn't shrink and prevents premature oxidation by keeping air out.

Air doesn't like missiles, either.   Accelerating through the atmosphere to 15,000+ mph, the pressure of high-velocity and heat generated from friction are extreme.  But the cork provides a physical barrier absorbing the brunt of such forces by slowly and predictably sacrificing itself along the way.   If you want a new word, the mechanical term for this mechanical self-destruction/preservation is called "Ablation."

However.  Standing vigilant in its concrete cellar for days, months (hopefully forever) the cork itself is subject to its own battle.  A battle against - of all things - fungus. 

Imagine this scenario; a fungus attacks a certain part of the nose and begins to eat it away.  Suddenly, launch-time happens, the missile goes...but somewhere around 200,000 feet, that portion of the ablative covering fails prematurely.  The result could be…well… terrible.

We can't let a mere fungus stand in the way of a nuclear exchange, can we?

(ha ha ha - more irony).

So, in order to protect the cork, a fungicide was added, resulting in a (as yet) mysterious green hue.  In other words, our nation's "second strike capability" may well have been teetering upon CORK FUNGUS! 

Right now, I'm being driven two notches below insanity trying to figure out what the green color was, how much cork covered 'what' and do it all in a fashion that doesn't demand sneaking into a top-secret facility with a digital camera.

Hmmm.  

I believe I need to open a bottle of wine as an ablative to keep myself from going crazy waiting for my sources to figure out what needs to be known.  Maybe I'm already crazy because I couldn't help but see what a Minuteman III would look like in "proper" livery!

he he.  I hope it makes you chuckle because the next update leaves no room for comedy.  Or mistakes.

Profile 66: Beginning - LGM-30G - 91st SMW

Well...

You can see for yourself that my latest project is not an airplane.  It's a missile.  Specifically, an LGM-30G ICBM nuclear delivery device.   Or more commonly, "The Minuteman III."

With an altitude of 700 miles, an 8,000 mile range and top speed of 15,500 mph, this bird is the "air craft" to end all aircraft.  And potentially, all human life.

It's a far, far cry from the shark-like lines of a P-51 Mustang or muscular hulk of a B-24...but when presented with the job, I simply had to say, "Yes!" on historical gravity alone.

But make no mistake -  this Godzilla-sized bullet may well be the best use of taxpayer dollars since the U.S. bought Alaska from Russia.

Progress is going to move fast and definitely check back often.  I've just begun my interview process, but all signs promise a fascinating perspective on our post-WW2 world.  And I can guarantee that you will learn something new.

Duck and cover, things are about to get COLD!

Profile 65: FINAL - "Billings Belle" as flown by Earl Depner

Here she is - the Billings Belle, as flown by squadron commander Major Earl Depner of the 354th Fighter Group!  As near as can be figured out, this P-51B had its first combat mission in late December 1943 and was destroyed in a non-operational accident* on May 1, 1944.  From assembly line to scrap heap, Billings Belle was alive barely nine months.

Here's a picture of Earl in front of his Belle taken some time in March or April of 1944.

Yesterday, however, I finally got around to asking Earl his birthday and he replied, "Eleven, twelve, seventeen." Or put a little more commonly, November 12th, 1917.  I'll save you the math.  Earl is 94 years old.  Ninety. Four.  Years.  Old. When he was my current age, I hadn't even been born yet!  And furthermore,  the man has lived my entire lifetime BEYOND my current years.

In other words, Earl Depner is far more experienced at life than I am.   And, now you know why I ask the seemingly crass question of, "If you die today and I become the last person you talk to, what do you want me to know?"

Old guys know stuff.

Now, before I write what Earl told me, you should know that his response was nearly an hour-long discussion, during which topics of Natural Law, individual freedom & responsibility and the spiritual aspects of wealth were examined.   This was not superficial water-cooler talk...and it never is with any "Old Guy."   However, in Earl's case it struck me how utterly important the topic was for me and how damned rare it was that anyone of my age was having the discussion at all!

How often have you discussed life with someone twice your age?

Give me a second for a rabbit trail - Earl described being a boy of fifteen and how he would hike to streams and fish for trout.  The freedom he and his friends experienced was total.  His parents didn't think to worry about meth, porn, SAT scores.  But most telling was that his parents didn't restrict the boy's life in the wild, among his buddies.  There was a trust that part of figuring life was figuring life and somehow, it'd all work out.

I've heard similar stories from Old Guys a thousand times if not a million. I'm still a little struck by remembering how Bob Goebel told me how he hitchhiked from Indiana to Texas (hitchhiking is supposed to be dangerous if not deadly!)  Life truly was different back then... just like life is ALWAYS different back then.

But things are 'different now' too, right?

Yeah, yeah.  It's easy to be nostalgic.  And, the point of this isn't to rile up some old hankerin' for better days long past.   The point is this - the lessons of our past are lost if we don't inquire of them.

So anyway, you want to know what Earl told me?  He said, "John, live life like you're going to change the world."

"Well Earl?  Have you?"

"Yes."

And indeed he has.  At least mine.  That's him signing my artwork - you have no idea how cool that is - and Billings Belle gets reborn.

Happy Easter!

*The pilot at the time, Lt. Richard Hughes, was killed.

**Many thanks go to the historians behind the 354th Fighter Group, Syd Edwards, Matt Jolley of Warbird Radio, Father Don Brownstein, George Depner, Dave Nordlund and of course, Earl Depner.

Profile 65 - "Billings Belle" as flown by Earl Depner

It's "The Story" that draws me to a particular airplane.  Some stories are obvious - like that of Leo Thorsness' F-105 or the B-24, "Flak Shack."  They represent the heroic clashes of aerial sabers.   Some are historic - Hank Snow's "Snowballs" and Dick Cole's "Doolittle Raider"  B-25 come to mind.

And some are the result of a subtle but continual tap to the consciousness over years and years...until one day, it seems like the entire span of time was a set up for one purpose - draw the airplane.

Behold, "Billings Belle."  Right now, it's a crude pencil sketch.  But shortly, she will become immortalized.  As long as there is electrical power fueling the data pool, the Belle's face, body and story will live as a testimony to her master.

When I was a kid, my dad made model airplanes. 1/72 scale, in fact.  Though it obviously inspired my work today, his hobby was also torturous at times.  See, the glass shelves that held the finished works were located in my bedroom.  And out of my reach.  And cloaked in a veil of dread should I ever, "bust one."  All I could do was stare until those rare occasions when he'd take one down and I would get to look.  But not touch.

Well, one particular airplane that always had my eye was a dark brown one with a white nose, white stripes on the wings and tail and the strange word, "OLE" on the cowl.  It was this little model that introduced me to the glorious cult of the P-51 Mustang and also imprinted how the machine should look.

Well, forty years later, I'm finally getting around to doing a properly attired P-51.

Get ready to meet Major Earl Depner, CO of the 356th Fighter Squadron of the 354th Fighter Group - the very first American fighter group to receive the P-51 for combat.

The timing is perfect.

*This is the box that contained the P-51 that tempted my little fingers.  What I'd give to have it today...

Profile 64: FINAL - "Kingfish One" as flown by Leo Thorsness

DONE!  And for a guy who normally loathes his own work, I'm surprised.  It's pretty good.

You might be interested to know that this very F-105F survived the Vietnam War, which, if you read the stats in a prior post, is a rare thing.  According to one statistician, an F-105 pilot in 1967 Vietnam had a 1:4 chance in completing his required tour of 100 missions.  One could say that "301" was fortunate to have made it.

However, I don't think the word "fortunate" could be used to describe what happened to Leo.  Barely a week and a half after the mission that would result in Leo's Medal of Honor,  he and Weapons Officer Harold Johnson experienced a dramatic shock. They were shot down and became Prisoners of War.

I've only talked to a handfull of pilots who have been POWs and every time, it's a gobsmack.  I. Cannot. Imagine.  And when it came time to talk to Leo about his time in captivity, I blanked.  Having just finished his biography the night before our first conversation (click here), I was at a loss for words.  It seemed in terrible taste to ask, "So, Leo.  Tell me again about being tortured."

Rehashing Leo's POW horrors do no good anyway.   It's common knowledge that people can be horrible - do the fine points really matter?!   Plus I had a finite amount of time with the guy. I wasn't going to waste it by dignifying depravity with attention.

Anyway...in the course of events, we got to the point of signing the prints of my artwork and he asked me if I would mind if he signed them with the words, "God bless you."

Well, of course not!  He could have signed them with his favorite potato salad recipe if he wanted.   But at first, I was a little uninspired at what appeared to be a hackneyed platitude.  Kind of like how most of us say, "Fine" after being asked how we're doing, regardless if we're truly "Fine" or not.  It's white noise, right?

Ok. Stop reading for a second and grab a pencil or pen.

(I'll wait)

Now look at the little picture below.  You've probably figured out it's the alphabet, missing the letter "K."   That's not important right now*.  It's actually a code key.  Got your pencil/pen ready?

Ok.  We're going to use the little graph to get a message from Leo.

Find the "G".   It's the second letter in the second row, second column.  So, take your pen/pencil and tap the edge of your desk twice.  "TAP TAP,"  then wait a moment and tap again.  "TAP TAP."  You just tapped out the letter "G."

Next, find the "B"  - first row, second column.   "TAP,"  wait a moment, "TAP TAP."

Now, find the "U" - fourth row, fifth column.  "TAP TAP TAP TAP,"  wait... "TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP."

What's it spell?  "GBU."

Now.  Imagine yourself in a small concrete cell, alone.  The air is dank, the floor is hard and the place reeks of human excretion.   There is no bed, there is no window.   The only people you've seen in the past year are those that inflict physical and mental pain.    "Tomorrow" means more of the same.  

And then, a series of rhythmic clicks hits your senses - maybe through your ears, maybe through the  concrete into your bruised skin.  It doesn't matter.  You know you're not...alone.

TAP TAP -  TAP TAP

TAP - TAP  TAP

TAP TAP TAP TAP -  TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP


TAP TAP - TAP TAP

TAP TAP TAP - TAP TAP TAP

GBU.  GN.

Or, as Leo knew - "God Bless U.  Good Night."

In spite of the hell they were in, the American POWs could still look beyond.  To me at least, that is Faith.

Amazing.  And it gets even more so because no one went into the infamous "Hanoi Hilton" (the nickname for the prison) knowing the POW tap-tap code.  It was taught - through the walls, without words, by others that were never seen.  And for those teachers of the tap-code? When they were caught, they were brutalized again.

Imagine it - to be in total want, and yet risk what little you have in order to stay true.

If this story impacted you like it did me, you've now been gobsmacked, too.

Today, we only have our allotted time.  There are forces that are going to conspire against our dreams, our will, our beliefs.   They come at us in the form of insurmountable odds, overwhelming circumstances or unshakable authority...

GBU, Leo.  I'm grateful for your example and hope to have learned from it.

TAP TAP TAP TAP - TAP TAP TAP TAP
TAP TAP - TAP TAP TAP
TAP- TAP
TAP TAP TAP - TAP TAP TAP
TAP - TAP TAP TAP*
TAP TAP TAP TAP - TAP TAP TAP


*The letter C stood for K in the POW code.  

Last flight - Bill Creech, 528th FS, 311th FG

You know...it's one thing to meet someone who's a Medal of Honor holder, ace, warrior, commander, leader...and value their moments.  Every man in this blog is exceptional for something...

But, I only get to "know" most of the people here for a few blips in their life.

However.  I have to write this...today, one of the men here died...and I knew him beyond the heroic moments of combat. To me, he was not only a highly decorated, courageous leader, he was a Great man.  

With or without wings. 

This is personal...and it's self-indulgent to write this without going into the details, but that's what I'm going to do because the necessary words just aren't available to write.

I'm very sad. 

However, if you've ever had someone Great in your life, you know what I'm experiencing. If you haven't...as bad as this feels for me right now, I suggest you find someone like Bill Creech.

Cheers, Bill...

A few years ago, I published a little story about him.  You can download the .pdf by clicking here.  There are a lot of pictures, so don't be put-off by the 12meg download.

And...the airplane below is the airplane Bill believed he should have had in '44.  Long story...

Profile 64: UPDATE II "Kingfish One" as flown by Leo Thorsness

"Kingfish One" is nearing completion.  I've got a long list of tiny details to work through - it'll go fast from here but you'll notice a big difference between now and finish.  So don't look too close.

But very soon, this F-105F will be brought back to life as she flew on April 19, 1967 - the day that would afford Leo the chance to earn our nation's highest military award - the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Whoever designed the actual Medal, nailed the design.  It's at once, awesome and awkward, capturing the true spirit of the kind of gallantry and selflessness its intended to mark.

Wrapped close around the neck, the muted blue ribbon and hefty gold star leave no mistake of its importance.  But no photograph I've seen shows anyone quite comfortable wearing it - which makes total sense considering the circumstances that justify its presence.  No one has an easy-time of getting a Medal of Honor.  And since the Medal of Honor is never part of a "goal," those that are so awarded are struck with a "why me?" that compels them to share it - at least spiritually - with others.

Believe me, my writer's ego would love the chance to assert itself in trying to describe April 19th's mission.    However,  I'm afraid I'd look like the drunk no one invited to the party.  The official citation does it well enough...

For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. As pilot of an F-105 aircraft, Lieutenant Colonel Thorsness was on a surface-to-air missile suppression mission over North Vietnam. Lieutenant Colonel Thorsness and his wingman attacked and silenced a surface-to-air missile site with air-to-ground missiles and then destroyed a second surface-to-air missile site with bombs. In the attack on the second missile site, Lieutenant Colonel Thorsness’ wingman was shot down by intensive antiaircraft fire, and the two crewmembers abandoned their aircraft. Lieutenant Colonel Thorsness circled the descending parachutes to keep the crewmembers in sight and relay their position to the Search and Rescue Center. During this maneuver, a MIG-17 was sighted in the area. Lieutenant Colonel Thorsness immediately initiated an attack and destroyed the MIG. Because his aircraft was low on fuel, he was forced to depart the area in search of a tanker. Upon being advised that two helicopters were orbiting over the downed crew’s position and that there were hostile MIGs in the area posing a serious threat to the helicopters, Lieutenant Colonel Thorsness, despite his low fuel condition, decided to return alone through a hostile environment of surface-to-air missile and anti-aircraft defenses to the downed crew’s position. As he approached the area, he spotted four MIG-17 aircraft and immediately initiated an attack on the MIGs, damaging one and driving the others away from the rescue scene. When it became apparent that an aircraft in the area was critically low on fuel and the crew would have to abandon the aircraft unless they could reach a tanker, Lieutenant Colonel Thorsness, although critically short on fuel himself, helped to avert further possible loss of life and a friendly aircraft by recovering at a forward operating base, thus allowing the aircraft in emergency fuel condition to refuel safely. Lieutenant Colonel Thorsness’ extraordinary heroism, self-sacrifice and personal bravery involving conspicuous risk of life were in the highest traditions of the military service, and have reflected great credit upon himself and the U.S. Air Force.

For me, the inspiring gleam in this stunning story is Leo's leadership.  This mission was not a single act of bravery but a long chain of do-die decisions that made the needs of others the supreme priority.  And on that afternoon, Leo was the urgent thing that saves the soul - hope.

Ok.  Fast-forward to October, 1973 and the photo below.  It's Leo's Medal of Honor ceremony with President Nixon.

For those of you who are quick with numbers, you'll notice the six-year span between 1967 and 1973.  That's a long time to wait to get a medal.

For those of you who are observant, you'll notice the crutch.

And that's Leo's mom and his wife.  They've just put six very hard years behind them.

Stay tuned...

Photo via Minnesota Public Radio, used with permission of Leo Thorsness.

Profile 64: UPDATE "Kingfish One" as flown by Leo Thorsness

Have a look.  Not much, but it's getting there.  The shape's about right though - and man, what a shape! That thing's a knife.  And a knife that flies at Mach 2, too.  If I were on the ground and saw that slicing towards me, I'd know something serious was going to happen.

The F-105 "Thunderchief" was designed in the '50s as a fighter-bomber by the Republic Aircraft Company.  They were the same folk that created the iconic WW2 airplane of the same mission, the P-47 "Thunderbolt."  However, the F-105's load-carrying capability was easily over TEN TIMES its older brother.   And four times faster, too.  Evolution was marked by continually raised limits back then.

But while the airframe eggheads were reveling in the innovations of the jet age, there were others who were focusing and sharpening another WW2-era invention (actually 1930s). Radar. And, in Vietnam, Radar and Thunderchief would collide in terrible fashion.

For most Westerners who've learned about the North Vietnamese fighting forces, the picture comes to mind of tiny primitives dressed in black pajamas armed with sharpened sticks and stolen rifles.  And cone-shaped hats. That may have been true a time or two (more so for Hollywood types).  But make no mistake about it - the North Vietnamese fighting forces were serious, resourceful and wanting - not to meet the American tech - but to beat the American tech.  And the only really clear lead the Americans had in "Tech" was their aerial forces.

If you were a communist revolutionary tired of seeing American iron in the sky, who'd you call to make it stop?

Russia provided the North Vietnamese forces with their top-secret "Dvina" missile system.  Guided by radar, the Dvina - commonly known as a SAM; short for surface-to-air-missile - would acquire a target and launch its missile.  It was straight-forward to operate and extremely difficult to counter; exactly the kind of thing the North Vietnamese needed.

Accelerating to over Mach 3, the SAM wouldn't need a direct hit.  Instead, it would explode when it sensed proximity.  250ft would do.  Here.  I'll show you...

I made the illustration above "to-scale" so you could get an idea of the distances.  And yeah, that's an F-105 getting hit in the nose.

Bear in mind, it wasn't the first time our Generals had to scratch their chins about Dvina - one brought down a U-2 spy plane over Russia during the infamous "Gary Powers" incident in 1960.  In the five years since, the system had been improved to be even more lethal to jets flying at lower altitudes and at greater speeds, too.

SAM sites sprouted up around the critical target areas around Hanoi.

Anyway, so what to do about these SAMs?  Enter the "Wild Weasels."  Their mission was to fly ahead of the attack formation, PURPOSELY trigger a SAM launch so their own smaller Shrike missile could get a lock (again via radar) on the launch site and blow it up.  Makes total sense.  Until you wonder, "Hey.  What about the missile that's been launched?"

Leo told me, "Well.  You've got three, four seconds."

"To do exactly what, Leo?"

"Evade."

Simple.   Like telling someone who's going swimming with seals, "Don't get attacked by a shark."

At the next progress update, I'll describe Leo's second-most-memorable Wild Weasel mission.


OH!  A few numbers for you.*

Of the 144 F-105F/G "Wild Weasels" built, 38 were lost to combat.  A 26% loss rate.  Go ahead and whistle softly.  Would you buy a car with a 26% crash rate?

But get this - of the 833 F-105s built (including prototypes), 320 were lost to combat.  A 38% loss rate.  Go ahead and mumble whatever you mumble when you realize such awful odds.

*Combining data from my own library, the sometimes questionable Wikipedia and pilot's own words, I try to come up with my own reasonable averages.  In some cases, the numbers are spot-on. In others, they are up for conjecture.  Use these figures as a rule but don't base your Master's Thesis on them.

Profile 64 - "Kingfish One" as flown by Leo Thorsness

We love stories of courage.

In my opinion, most of such stories aren't so much loved as they are consumed. Like popcorn at the theater. I remember watching the movie, "We Were Soldiers" staring at the screen in disbelief that anyone could have lived through that. Same thing with watching The Miracle Worker, the story about Helen Keller's teacher.

"Wow! (munch munch) Lookit that! Those people are amazing! (munch, slurp)"

There's no real fault in such a perspective. The "amazing" stories of human triumph are so far beyond the average person's work-a-day life that they become a Hollywood Moment by default.

Over the years, I've met a lot of guys who've performed incredible acts of courage. After a while though - probably because I'd heard enough of them - the surreal "Wow!' started to wear off and I began to wonder how I'd perform in the same circumstances.

If you really think about it, the exercise, "What would I really do in those shoes?" is a sobering one for this single fact: no one plans on being a hero.  Instead, circumstances come together in an urgent NOW! that can shred the best intentions in a blink.

This post marks the beginning of the F-105F "Wild Weasel" as flown by Leo Thorsness* on the mission that earned him the Congressional Medal of Honor. Bravery? Lights? Camera? Action? They're all there.  And far beyond one single mission.

But - if I get it right - this process will help illustrate that courage isn't the exception. Courage is...

"KINGFISH ONE - SAM ON SCOPE!"

Photo:  Soviet designed SAM-2, surface-to-air missiles.


*Note:  The F-105F was a two-seater.  Captain Harold Johnson occupied the back-seat of the F-105 as the aircraft's Electronic Warfare Officer.  As commander of the aircraft, Thorsness bore the responsibility of Decision for the mission and lead accordingly.  However, that does not diminish the fact that Harold Johnson supported Thorsness's decisions and performed his role brilliantly.

Profile 63 - FINAL "369" as flown by Robert Mason, 1st Cav

Done.  And coming it at 77 hours, Mason's UH-1D is now the high-water mark in terms of time-spent. Most of these profiles take about 40 hours.

And for a few minutes, I just about embarked on another 77 hours writing this post!  There's something about the Vietnam War that makes people want to wax philosophic... but just a few minutes ago, I (wisely) decided that my ignorance on the subject would be too much for readers to bear and deleted my budding tome before it grew any bigger.

However, I would like to share with you an interesting anecdote about Bob.

If you've read Chickenhawk, it's a book that fairly demands being made into a movie.  It'd be a major production - war movies are by their nature notoriously expensive.  See, explosions just don't happen without big bankrolls.  Nine-figure bank rolls.  Not counting the pennies.

Over the years, Chickenhawk has attracted its share of attention from Hollywood.  And it still is.

Anyway, Bob described one particular big-name offer and why, in the end, he walked away from it.  "It was a lousy script! (I knew) I'd have to sit in a theater with my friends!" he laughed.  "And (the movie) would suck!"

And so there you have it.  The reason why one of the most successful Vietnam-era books has not been made into a movie yet - Robert Mason doesn't want to catch hell from his buddies.

But earlier in our conversation, we talked about how wars start, how wars are fought and how wars are measured... and you know, the war business is really not that different than the movie business.  Producers, directors, actors, budgets, scripts... with an audience to please and critics to duck.

Too bad though that someone call "Suck!" on the whole Vietnam thing around 1961.

Thank you for the inspiration, Bob.  This has been a great experience for me.

Photo:  courtesy Robert Mason

Profile 63 - UPDATE: "369" as flown by Robert Mason, 1st Cav

"CHALK 4 - INBOUND" *

Here she is so far - "Chickenhawk" author Robert Mason's UH-1D as he flew in the "1st Cav" in Vietnam.

I had a great conversation with Bob the other day.  And the highlight wasn't about Vietnam. Instead, the most fascinating part of the conversation was Bob's explanation about how helicopters worked and it confirmed what I believed was true; Helicopter pilots have something 'extra' going on in their brains.   They have to - rotor-powered flight is that much more complicated than fixed-wing flight.

This 'extra' allows Helo pilots to dwell in the abstract just a little bit longer than the rest of us and therefore master this most challenging of processes.

In other words, helicopter pilots aren't just bright.  They're on it.

He clued me in on a phenomena called "Ground Resonance."  In a nutshell, the complicated mechanics of rotational movements from whirling blades to the ground underneath the skids can send waves of motion down to the ground and back up again.  Back and forth.  Back and forth...

Until the helicopter either leaves the ground or throws itself into little pieces.  And it can happen quickly - tremors, shudders and suddenly, the aircraft is ripping itself apart.  Thankfully, Ground Resonance is just a symptom with an easy cure - lift off the ground and cancel the waves.

But without knowledge, without fast understanding and without preparation, it's awful.

In thinking this strange quirk of physics through, it struck me that there's a parallel between Ground Resonance and how people adjust to stress.  The irony of Bob's book, "Chickenhawk" wasn't lost on me  either.  In essence, the Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSD) that Bob experienced after his Vietnam service was the flesh & blood version of Ground Resonance.

It's easy to teach a do-this, do-that technique to overcome physics, but can you do that with the human mind trying to adjust to the decidedly inhuman act of warfare??

I want Bob to weigh in here...but until then, there are about ten more hours, a few more questions and "369" will be Back in the World.

Oh - here's a video on "Ground Resonance."

Profile 63 - UPDATE - "369" as flown by Robert Mason

Update time, and here she is so far.  Robert Mason's UH-1D "Slick" as he flew in Vietnam.

What a crazy machine.

I'm re-reading Bob's book, "Chickenhawk" to get into the era-vibe and I was struck by the part where he describes training to fly helicopters. It seems like every aspect of its flight is a circus act - like the guy on the unicycle, juggling hammers and balancing a monkey on a pole...

These are Bob's words:


"...I moved my left hand up and down, twisting it, to control the imaginary Collective and Throttle; my right hand moved in small circles, pretending to control a Cyclic; my feet controlled the Tail Rotor by pumping back and forth.  Eventually I could do all these movements simultaneously."

Complicated, eh?

Whenever I visualize a fixed-wing airplane, I see simple forward motion.  Elegance.  The exhilaration of open sky.  Freedom.  Vistas.  But jumping into Bob's Huey, I'm dumbfounded by precarious balance of forces threatening to throw itself apart at any moment.

"How is this going to work?!"

The truth is, however, in spite of a helicopter's complexity and demands, it doesn't throw itself apart.  Instead, it flies in a brilliant fashion that makes utter practical sense.  Helicopters work fantastically well!

Which of course leads us why the UH-1 was so ubiquitous in Vietnam - it was part of the practical plan to create a mobile army that could be picked up and placed at will.   The generals hovering over The Big Board could place their chips and markers, confident in the idea that it could be done...and at 125 miles per hour.

We've all seen the movies....

"Whup Whup Whup Whup Whup"   Bob and his colleagues would swarm into their "LZs," machine guns rattling, smears of gunsmoke, whirling blades of plant and power...stop, disgorge and get the hell out of there.

The mental powers required to control the helicopter, accomplish the mission and suspend a significant portion of reality (i.e. mortal combat) are immense.

Bob did it over 1,000 times in Vietnam.  Go ahead and say "wow."  I know I am - the pressure to make this one perfect is higher than any I've experienced.

Stay tuned.

Photo courtesy Robert Mason