Profile 30 - MAJ MAC as flown by Morris Magnuson

Firstly, the response to this blog has lead me to believe readers would like to learn more about my interviews and what I "do." So, please click here for web presentation that goes into greater detail on MAJ MAC. I hope you like it.

One of the great honors in interviewing these pilots and crew is the chance to hold, touch their historical documents and artifacts. Maybe I'm goofy, but the more I experience the wisdom of these men and their pasts, I believe the "self-help" genre can be replaced by old fashioned listening & learning.

Just today, I was flipping through the Cadet Yearbook of class 44-A and was struck by the positive, encouraging tone of the copy. Sometimes, popular media portrays leadership, command as cold, steeled and unyielding. Certainly General Patton cultivated that image (in reality, he was rather emotional, however). But the greater number of people respond to shine rather than shiners, even warriors.

To this end, I ask every veteran about who they regard as their most effective "Leaders." To a man, they are remembered as relational, expressive and positive. The "Easy's Angels" painted on the tips of 23rd FS rudders refer to Major "Easy" Miles - a particularly well-liked Group Leader who, in the words of Morrie, "Gave us a job and we all felt good doing it."

Hamilton, "Mac" McWhorter (see profile 21) stressed leadership's ability to inspire and encourage as contagious, something one would want to pass on to the next person. These are good words - right now, as a parent, I'm looking at my 3 year old and wondering how to LEAD her to stop unloading every darned drawer in the house onto the floor...

The scan below is a page out of that 44-A Yearbook...

Profile 29.75 - MAJ MAC Preview

The next profile, a P-47D-28 flown by a member of the 36th Fighter Group is not quite finished. The sketches shown were done on our kitchen bar with one of my kids' colored pencils. They're all I want to show right now.

In fact, tomorrow, I'm going to be going over a draft with the airplane's pilot. He hasn't seen a complete picture - artwork or photograph - of his old mount for sixty four years. The last time he was in a P-47 was when one rocketed out from under his tumbling body, belching black smoke and flames. But more about that later this month.

My reason for this post is to share a little bit of the behind-the-scenes efforts behind my artwork. Currently, I'm figuring at least 20 people all over the world have been helping identify the specific markings and colorations of this particular airplane. Wow! Their work and understanding of "getting it right" is humbling. Yet, the effort is essential. Once this particular plane graces the Internet, a historical record will be created. As time passes, my tolerance for mistakes is decreasing because I'm continually learning the wisdom of "measure twice, cut once."

Realize that Group Commanders were under a tacit order to keep cameras away from their planes for security reasons. Of course, the gagillion books, movies and websites on WW2 aviation are loud testimony to the fact that the order wasn't enforced that well. But, the CO of the 36th did his best - compared to many 8th and 9th AF units, the 36th FG exists only in text. As fortunate as I am to call on excellent, reputable historians, only seven photos of 36th FG/23rd FS P-47D's have been available to me for reference!

Every Group, Squadron had their own little quirks of markings. Yellow might have been fresh and bright on one plane, dingy and chipped on another. Some squadron letters might have that military "stencil" effect, others might not. Serial numbers may show all seven digits or just six...photos are essential for accuracy.

However, undoubtedly the greatest challenge is interpreting black and white photographs for color illustration. For example, the photo below is the best shot the pilot has of his mount. Does it show a red and yellow nose? A black nose and gray-painted cowl panels? Black and yellow? Five different "official" sources showing five different color combinations don't help. Yet, the plane must fly off the press sooner or later. Stop back in a few weeks to see where we landed.

In case you're wondering why the pilot just doesn't 'remember' the details, the question is valid, but the answer isn't as simple as it may seem. The age of these pilots isn't so much a factor - please know, I've been interviewing these guys for years and to this day, they're still sharper than many of my buddies. (No offense). Their memories of the past are astounding and can be backed up with journals, log books...the problem is that these pilots looked at their aircraft as mere tools. They had no idea they'd be quizzed a lifetime later!

Profile 29 - RUSTY as flown by William R. Preddy

Visually, "Rusty" is a rather unremarkable P-51. The 339th FG color scheme was, by WW2 standards, somewhat hum-drum. However, to me, this airplane represents a bold reality of living that I often choose to ignore - that life can be horribly unfair.

William Preddy was the younger brother of 8th AF ace, George Preddy. George's machines are shown twice in this blog - Profile 1 and Profile 23...and the elder Preddy's legend is well documented through book, museum, foundation and memories of the grateful men who served under and alongside.

Bill was an excellent combat pilot in his own right. According to the Preddy family, George believed Bill was on his way to achieve at least the same aerial success he had. And, there was none of that "big brother shadow" for Bill - he trained and achieved on his own skill. The Air Force may have appreciated the elder Preddy, but nepotism had no place in putting pilots into expensive technology and work where competence could mean the life and death of many, many others.

Bill learned of George's death almost a month later. The following is an excerpt from his letter home to mom & dad:

"What I have to say now is difficult to explain because I hardly understand it myself. There is no use to say not to grieve for I know that is impossible. It is useless to say try and forget, for we can’t and shouldn’t. We should remember, but in doing so we should look at it in the true light.

A man’s span on this earth is not measured in years. Above all, that is least important. To find happiness, success, and most important, to find God is the Zenith of any man’s worldly activities. I think a man has not lived until these things have been achieved. ... Yes, George knew a full, rich life. He surely reached out and touched the face of God many times. ...

I close offering you my eternal love and devotion. Let us carry on as George wanted and may we arrive at his standard.

Always Love, Bill"

Bill wrote that the day after he learned of George's death. Geez. What an attitude! To be able to lose a beloved to the senselessness of war (and friendly fire, no less) and maintain a level of objectivity is impressive, especially so in today's culture of self-gratification. At the risk of being trite, would the situation happen today, would Bill have been pressured to contact a lawyer?

We'll never know. Bill died on April 18, 1945 at a Czech hospital from wounds he sustained from being shot down by German ground fire.

Two sons - the best of the best, so wholly deserving of what the world may offer as success, dead because a small group of sociopaths...bah. It's not fair at all.

The picture below is one I took at St. Avold American Cemetery in France. Bill's cross is on the left, George's is on the right. It was a gorgeous day.

Note: "Rusty"has 2 victory markings (one earned by Bill, the other earned by Rusty's prior pilot, Lloyd French).

Profile 28 - DEL-O-MINE as flown by Burton Hawley

"Dell-O-Mine" took her pilot Burton Hawley over German-occupied territory in southern France, northern Italy and everywhere in between, sneaking photos of shipping and troop movements.  

The "F-5" is a relatively unknown airplane.  However, the F-5's brother, the P-38 Lightning, is one of the significant fighter aircraft of WW2.  Indeed, the United States' highest scoring ace, Richard Bong, racked his score of 40 in a P-38 over the Southwest Pacific.   But there's no way Burt would have ever made ace in his F-5.  The airplane was completely unarmed, save for rolls of large-format film.

To help understand the reality of being "unarmed," imagine going to work without the obvious tools of the trade.  A doctor without medicine.  An engineer without plans.  A teacher without curriculum.  A minister without a holy writ.  A fighter without guns.

I asked Burt what it was like to fly into enemy territory without the ability to defend himself and his normally cheerful demeanor changed.  "You have to keep your wits about you," he said solemnly, eyes narrowing, face tightening - just a bit. He cast a quick glance toward the door, then laughed.  And so it is - the "recon" pilots I've met have been exceptionally aware - like cats.

One story Burt shared was when he was bounced by an Me-109.  Typically, a P-38, loaded with ammo, fuel and armor, was less than a "match" for the German Messerschmitt.  However, the F-5 version was lighter.  Without guns, without armor, the twin-engined camera was speedy and relatively agile.  Burt was able to hold his own, keeping his airplane out of his foe's line of fire. 

The fact that Burt's machine was unarmed was probably known by the German pilot. Burt recalled being in a tightly banked tail-chase, close enough to look up through his canopy and see the 109 pilot work his throttle and shoot back a hunter's scowl.   At such a distance, the camera bulges and absence of gun barrels would have been obvious.

Of course, in 1944, many of the Luftwaffe's better pilots were dead.  More and more, newbies were required to complete their training in combat against the steady supply of well trained, well equipped Allied boys.  Maybe the 109 pilot was such a tyro. Maybe not.  One thing is for certain, if Burt would have tried to cut and run, the 109 could have had him dead-to-rights.  He had no choice but to stay in the swirl and dodge like an armless boxer on nimble feet.

And then, the 109 turned away.  Out of fuel?  Out flown?  A moment of mercy?  Who knows.

Burt then went back to flying his intended mission.  Shaken, stirred.  But unwilling to give up his duty.

Having never been in combat, I'd imagine there's an obligation to colleagues, to one's honor and the "mission."   Knowing Burt, I can see how he'd put the narrow escape behind him and get back to the job he was called to do.  However, a scan of the actual Combat Report is below. Having read most of his combat reports, Burt was rather practiced at getting out of harms way...and shooting nothing more than film.

PS - "Dell-O-Mine" was a shared airplane.  While Burt named "his side" of the plane after his t0-be wife, Bob Vogel named his side, "The Green Weenie."

Burt was no weenie.

The artwork of Burt's airplane is the result of painstaking research. Dozens of photos, books and individual memories were scoured to ensure accuracy. But in the end, no one is quite sure that Dell-O-Mine #709 was as its shown.  The known photos of her are obscure and changes on the factory floor happened often. Additionally, the 23rd PRS didn't have consistent standards on markings. So, it's likely that details have been missed - which is ironic because 709's mission was all about "the details" - this machine was a photo-reconnaissance airplane designed to take highly detailed photos of the enemy during WW2.

Profile 27 - LADY BELLE as flown by Dana Wetherbee

I didn't interview Lady Belle's pilot, Dana Weatherbee.  Instead, I had the interesting diversion of getting to know the airplane's navigator, Kenneth Brown.  As artwork goes, this airplane taught me the subtleties of how "olive drab" (the color of the paint slathered on most Army Air Force airplanes) reacts to the elements.  This rendering is probably too green, but the texture of what happened under heat, cold, grit and wrenches is about right.

But, how on earth does art capture the "weathering" of fear?  

Every pilot/air crewman interviewed gets asked the question about "fear" - basically, "What role did fear play in your combat experiences?"   Fear was a systemic and elemental part of life that was trumped, not by machismo or disregard, but by a sense of "duty."   

Today, at least to my generation, the word "duty" seems to conjure thoughts of jar-headed ignorance or narrow mindedness.  But to those I've asked the question, "duty" is more about selflessness, and a decidedly positive selflessness at that.  This morning, I had coffee with a pilot who flew P-38s (his story is later this year) and he reiterated, "You wanted to do something, to contribute, rather than take.  The guys that didn't just...didn't make it."

And Kenneth did his duty, navigating his bomber to and from targets in Europe.  Thoughtfully, philosophically and thankfully, safely. 

“On one mission, I was the lead navigator for a flight of seven planes that went through a long ordeal of intense and accurate flak. Partway through this ordeal, I didn’t expect any of us to survive. No other result seemed logical or possible. Though the stress was enormous, rather than fearing death, I clearly remember the feeling as a fatalistic resignation to our fates, in which this was simply the final act of our lives. Instead, by some miracle that I can never understand, no one in our flight was even wounded. This result was so incredible that even now I find it almost impossible to believe it happened.”

More on "fear" later...

Profile 26 - 13 as flown by Josef Priller

Josef Priller died in 1961 of an apparent heart attack. He was 45 years old - way before I was born.  From all that I've read about Priller, he would have made an excellent interview.  Jovial, puckish and sociable, Priller seemed to defy the Nazi illusion of obedient, marble-faced zealotry.   He ended WW2 with the claim to an astounding 1,307 combat missions and over 101 aerial victories.   The aircraft Priller flew was the excellent FW-190 - I drew the A8 variety without the belly bomb mount and A4 canopy. Your source may vary...
 

Nevertheless, the FW-190 was an outstanding fighter plane - fast, powerfully armed, rugged - and fortunately for me, EASY TO DRAW.  My grade school notebooks are jammed full of little doodles of this brutal plane.  Strictly from an aesthetic perspective, the FW is one of my favs.

One of my "fav" combat stories comes from JD Collinsworth (profile 24) and it involves him in the airplane shown versus an FW-190, over the desert of North Africa. Of course, the camouflage pattern of an North African FW-190 is more appropriate to the tans and browns of desert than Priller's Western European-based "13." Still, try to picture the legendary duel between Spitfire and FW-190 against Jerry's own words...

...the Fw 190 obviously had been coming up on me but was not quite within firing range until I was just barely past Woody. So, naturally he just "latched onto" Woody. This was the first we knew that they were anywhere around. Of course, the Germans were going faster than we were and so the man who shot Woody "zoomed up" to the base of the clouds trying to slow down And get behind me. I yelled "M-Es!" but they were really Fw 190s - the distinction didn't make any difference. Well, you can imagine my consternation! We had been attacked suddenly without prior warning. We didn't know where they came from, how many of them there were and we didn't have much time to try and figure it out. So, I hollered into the mike "Into the clouds!" even though I couldn't fly instruments. Mitchell came back immediately with "Hell no; I'm going to fight these S.O.B.s!"

In the meantime I had made a sharp turn to the right to try and get behind the fellow who had shot Woody down. He then broke left over me and at this time we were about parallel to one another although he was at 800 feet and I was down about 500. Just at this time I saw a Spitfire go into the clouds so I assumed that Mitchell had changed his mind and had decided my comments were appropriate.

So I pulled up and into the clouds although I could not fly instruments. I didn't plan to remain in them for long. As my Spit entered the clouds I took my feet off the rudder pedals and hands off the control column. I had entered the clouds while in a slight left bank. After only a few seconds, I managed to drop out of the clouds - thank goodness! Upon emerging the first thing I see is three aircraft down very near the ground in a very tight dogfight. I assumed it was Mitchell and two Fw 190s which, as it turned out, it was. In the meantime, the German pilot who had shot Woody down apparently had decided I was "gone" and had started down to the three ring dogfight.

Fortunately, when I came out of the clouds I was behind him about 500/800 feet. I immediately "shoved everything to the firewall" and headed down for him. I knew exactly when he saw me for black smoked poured out of the FW, and I knew he had gone to full throttle. But, since I had accelerated earlier than he and had 300/400 feet of altitude on him, I was gaining on him. He went to the 'deck" but that was only about 400 or 500 feet. I wanted to avenge Woody's death if possible so I left Mitchell and the other two FWs to their fight...

JD got his vengence by the way.

Profile 25 - FLYING DUTCHMAN flown by Robert Goebel

"Flying Dutchman" is an old rendering that was hastily masked and updated to meet a signing deadline.  Unfortunately, it's beyond my usual standard of imperfection.  Flying Dutchman's pilot, Bob Goebel, was articulate in discussing a warrior's own imperfections.

“Of course I have seen pilots, some old and some new, vomit their breakfast before getting into the cockpit for a mission. I always thought that it took real courage to fly under those circumstances and I still do. One of my close friends finally took himself off flying status but none of the rest of us held it against him. We just felt that he had some inner demons which he could not control. ”

I had the chance to sit in a P-51 on a small airstrip north of London. The owner was kind enough to let me sit and imagine for a bit - the sun bright, gleaming in the curve of canopy...and it struck me that if I were high in the sky, I would have no where to hide.  No place to duck.  No nook to protect myself.  Just a shoulder-high skin of thin aluminum and a backrest of armor plating.  No wonder the pilots always warn to "turn into the attacker" instead of run away.  

Would I have been a pilot who turned into the attacker?  Or would I have abandoned my confidence, my training and tried to hide in the great expanse of sky?  Feet on rudder pedals and stick in hand, the senses of g-forces and skid seemed real enough - the big black propeller blades in front were easy to conjure into a whirl of power...and curving into the path of a gray green Me-109, chattachattachattachatta.... 

All I can remember of my first victory is that I was leading a flight of four aircraft to Vienna and after my victim, an Me-109, was shot down, I babbled shamefully on the R/T to the rest of my flight to make sure they witnessed it. Once on the ground my colleagues, who came into the group with me from Panama, quietly congratulated me.

Robert Goebel's combat record spanned six months. In those months, he tallied over sixty missions in southern and eastern Europe flying with the relatively unsung but highly decorated 31st Fighter Group. He shot down eleven Me 109s in the process of protecting bombers and managed to survive mortal combat without injury to self or machine. His military decorations include the Silver Star, the Distinguished Flying Cross with one oak leaf cluster, the Air Medal with seventeen oak leaf clusters and the Presidential Unit Citation with one oak leaf cluster.

Profile 24 - DIMPLES flown by JD Collinsworth

It's a shame "Dimples" isn't one of my better pieces because JD "Jerry" Collinsworth is an unforgettable, excellent man of far greater honor than reflected by my almost-lousy rendering of his Spitfire.  He possessed the rare skill of Encouragement - not the arm-around-the-shoulder, "Aw, you can do it!" but the kind that's more pragmatic, systematic - "Let's examine the facts..." kind of guy.

JD had asked about my interest in WWII aviation and in the course of explanation, I said something to the effect of, "I'd have liked to have been born earlier so I could have tried my hand at a Spitfire, but my eyes are too bad."

"Funny you should say that..." he drawled, and  told of the time he stood in line at the end of his Army physical, convinced he’d lost his chance at being a fighter pilot because of his sub-standard eyesight.

The way he told it, I could picture him shuffling along a row of underwear-clad men, awaiting the stamp of approval or rejection from the doctor at the head of the line. With every dull THUD! of inked rubber on paper, Jerry would wince, knowing that his rejection was next...

His eyes swelled up - his dream of flying in the Army Air Corps crumpling  like an airplane crashing through a forest of concrete pillars. Thud, rip, smash... “Next!”

Eventually, Jerry took his turn to stand before the doctor and present his damning documents. Without a word, Jerry handed the paperwork over to the doctor. He could contain his pride, but he could not contain the single tear that made it’s way down his cheek. JD was specific about the "single tear."

He was a “Thud!” away from tethering his dream of flying fighter planes.

It was then that the doctor looked up at Jerry, rifled through the papers, perhaps paused a moment or two over the eye examination, and instead of stamping a rejection, scribbled the words, “Sunglasses, Prescription Ground” on the form, and passed Jerry on the flight physical. Now, a fighter pilot just didn’t wear prescription glasses! Yet, most wore sunglasses - if the lenses needed tweaking a little, what would that matter? Jerry was approved and passed on down the line, dumbstruck and generations later, still grateful.

Perhaps that doctor could sense the potential for success inside Jerry. Maybe the doctor wanted to be a pilot too? Looking back, Jerry seems to believe the doctor saw the single tear. Why the doctor offered this bit of compassion, Jerry was never able to find out. But because of that unexpected approval, JD Collinsworth went on to shoot down six Nazi fighter planes over the sands of North Africa and rocks along the Mediterranean.

One of my computer monitor’s “wallpaper” is of Jerry sitting in the cockpit of his Spitfire fighter plane, wearing those “prescription ground” sunglasses.

By the way, "Dimples" was named for a "cute girl from Taft" California.  They never dated, but she sent him mail before he went off to England in 1943.

Profile 23 - TARHEEL flown by George Preddy

George Preddy was just another combat pilot in the South Pacific, flying rugged but outclassed P-40E's against the agile Zeros of the Imperial Japanese Navy. By July 1942, he was in the hospital, recovering from injuries sustained in a mid-air collision with another P-40 during a combat-zone training exercise.

By October, Preddy was on the boat home - a likable, smart guy, but otherwise just another pilot flying a (then) losing war.  But things change.

By 1944, George Preddy was in Europe, on his way to become the 8th highest scoring American fighter pilot.  He had become a celebrity of sorts, earning the love and adoration of superiors and subordinates alike.  Clever, charming, philosophical, Preddy's Kingdom had come.

On Christmas Day, he was killed while following a German Fw-190 over a "friendly" anti-aircraft battery.  Bang.  Obscurity, fame, finish - a fast climb, a horrible crash.  

Earlier this week, I finished the airplane above for the Preddy Memorial Foundation - a group set up to keep George's uncanny knack for leadership alive and well.  The profile was a team effort.

No less than four WW2 fighter pilots have weighed in on "Tarheel," offering advice on exhaust patterns and weathering. Every known photograph of the actual airplane was scoured, ensuring that this rendering is the most accurate yet.  

This morning, I received an email from one of the pilots who flew with Preddy on his fateful Christmas Day flight...and also, talked to a pastor friend who gave a short sermon at George's gravesite in France; both men commented on the need for hope and leadership, personally and nationally...

Time flies, things change, and then, they don't.

Waxing selfish, this kind of intertwined history is my fuel.  Preddy was a poet, artist who rose from obscurity to greatness, then after that life was extinguished, was resurrected (sorta) by others who experienced inspiration from his short-lived but vibrant example. 

Thank you to the Preddy Memorial Foundation for this opportunity.

"I must go back, Back to do my part, Back to fly and give again; And I am not afraid. My plane may be shot away; But I shall not fall, For I have wings-- Wings not of wood or steel or stuff, But wings of a firmer kind-- Wings God gave my soul. Thank God for wings." George Preddy to his pastor.

Profiles 18-22: Hellcats and Wildcats

Profile 22 - 22 flown by Jack Hankins

Seems like everyone has one of those Weird Stories that make a person wonder if there are unseen forces at work.  My Weird Story involves the research behind this particular aircraft.

The artwork was commissioned by a businessman who knew the pilot and wanted to honor him by dedicating a large work of Jack's Hellcat at the man's hometown airport in Martinsville, Virginia (the original print is hanging there, btw).

The print was to be a surprise but there were no known photographs or references of any of the specific aircraft Jack flew in combat.  The man paying my tab wanted either hard documentation and/or Jack Hankin's personal blessing that "...that Hellcat was the one he flew."

Since I interview pilots often enough, I was able to quiz Jack on vitals (markings, numbers, coloration) without arousing too much suspicion.  However, Jack admitted he didn't have any photographs of any of the Hellcats he flew in combat.  Like so many pilots I've interviewed, he said something similar to "If I would have known then that 60 years later, someone was going to need references on the oil stains on my windscreen..."

He then embarked on one of those rambing memory joggers  - "Hmmmm. I might have a photo...no, no...hmmm....maybe I could call up so'n so...no, he wouldn't have..." 

After a bit, Jack sighed and drawled, "Well, the only photo I know of me in a Hellcat is from the August 1944 issue of National Geographic."

Now it gets weird.  The next day, I bump into a guy at the gym - a guy I know only casually - and I get this peculiar urge to ask him if he had any old National Geographics.  Up until this point, there was nothing in our casual "Hey!"  "How's it goin'?" relationship to warrant any hope that he'd be any help at all.  I'm not even a mystic - skepticism runs strong in my veins - but I followed my impulse.

"Hey.  Jean.  You know where I can get any old National Geographics? From the World War Two?"

He looked at me a little crosseyed, stopped and replied, "Well, my mother has a couple.  Not many.  Maybe. What one?" 

The next week, he shows up with an August 1944 edition.  (insert spooky sound effects).  Jean was as wide-eyed as I was after I explained the significance - he said his mom had a mere handful of NG's!  Peeling open the pristine, but brittle pages, sure enough, on Color Plate "V", there was Jack on the Yorktown, idling in "22" awaiting the cue to take off!

I called Jack that day and he had a howl.  We discussed markings, paint schemes and settled on the art above - the greenish nose, the larger fuselage insignia and the block "22."  Of course, he thought I was documenting his plane for some article...and was blown away to see his plane at the surprise presentation held at the Martinsville airport later that Summer.  

He had a lot to remember from his days on the Yorktown...

“It was just a scratch! About an inch long - it bled, but there wasn’t even enough for a single stitch!” Jack recalled, laughing. “Just a scratch. Looking at my airplane, I just couldn’t believe that I’d take a hit like that and get just a little cut. The engineers made a quick decision, grabbed the color film from the cameras and just pushed my Hellcat overboard. It wasn’t worth the time and effort to repair. I just got a scratch.”

He couldn't remember if "22" or some other Hellcat was the one pushed over, but the story of improbable events that lead through circumstance and crook to the Martinsville airport remains fascinating.  I like to think that somewhere in the Pacific, "22" is sitting in the deep, blissfully unaware of the happenstance that pushed it to print.

Profile 21 - 9 flown by Hamilton McWhorter

The Grumman Hellcat wasn't the fastest American fighter. Nor did the pilot enjoy great visibility. Even the machine's aesthetic qualities leave room for improvement.

However, with (what is reported to be) the highest serviceability rate of any American fighter, the second highest number of victories, a whopping 19:1 victory ratio over the enemy, and the legendary durability of its air-cooled engine,  the Hellcat may have been the best investment of allocated fighter resources in WW2. 

Hamilton McWhorter would agree, too. He was the first Hellcat pilot to make the coveted "ace" status of five victories and eventually achieved eleven victories in the airplane. However, enemy aircraft weren't the fighter's only target.

Hellcats were also used for additional fire support during attacks on Japanese island ports and bases.  Mac recalled such a mission - I believe late 1944 - where he took part in such an attack...

"As I approached the line of warships from about a mile or so out, at about 100 feet off the water, they all opened up with every AAA gun, including the main 8” batteries.  There were many, many muzzle flashes and smoke from stem to stern on each ship as they fired at me.  I can attest to the fact that you can see an 8” shell coming toward you - they spin slowly, leaving a thin trail of smoke and you have time to move out of the way, hoping they don’t explode as they pass nearby.”

Traveling at over 400 miles an hour, rushing into a hose of supersonic metal darts, danger’s threat is silenced by the hours of training and self discipline.  Hamilton squeezed the trigger, unleashing a spray of bullets from his Hellcat’s six .50 caliber machine guns.  Firing at a combined rate of 3,600 rounds per minute, the volley of bullets cut into the cruiser.

“I can still remember that in spite of the intense AAA fire I was flying through, I was amazed at the huge number of bright flashes as the API’s (every fifth round was an API armor-piercing bullet) hit on and around the open AAA batteries.  As I passed over the cruiser, about mast high, I looked down and saw the Japanese gunners looking at me!”

As a footnote, Mac passed away earlier this year.  In the words of his wife, "...he was a man who had only good to say about everyone."  

Profile 20 - BLACK DEATH flown by Bruce Porter

"Black Death" is one of my favorite illustrations because I got the lighting and metal texture right. It's also a favorite because of the nose art - a bottle of Schenley's whisky.

Bruce proofed the art and pronounced it good when compared to photographs of his plane. Thankfully, the actual nose art was rather crude (and thereby easy to duplicate). There aren't many bottles of Schenley's around to use as a reference!

The story behind the nose art was told with a chuckle - when first presented with the airplane above, a red heart and the name, "Millie Lou" was painted on the cowl. Bruce was looking to make a "tough guy" impression on his new ground crew and ordered that the love-sick scrawl be immediately painted over with something "...that sounded a lot meaner."  On the spot, he ordered "Black Death" and "a bottle of Schenley's!"  

Of all the fighter pilots I've interviewed, Bruce is the only one who comes close to the brawling, hard-drinking image and even then, he seemed to play it for laughs. Still, he was clearly thrilled that fortune had honored him with the title of "ace fighter pilot."

Me: So, what does any fighter pilot need to be successful?

Well...let’s see...first of all, above average intelligence, man!  And, I think another thing too is following directions...paying attention...and then utmost is to be alert and know where you are. When you fly head on in a dogfight, you’ve got a closure rate of...600 miles per hour and you’ve got to be thinking...whereever you go.

I’m still jumpy...my wife comes in the room and I still jump...I guess it’s combat. You never get it out of your system.

If you’ve got self-discipline...and survive, you go out and can do things in life. It’s like eating habits...you don’t see fat fighter pilots.

I would put all the fighter pilots in the top 5% of whatever in the world...maybe not in math (laughs)...but in grasping things.

Profile 19 - 18 flown by Milton Tootle

Unfortunately, I never got to meet Milton Tootle. This art was commissioned by a buddy who met Milton and decided to take it upon himself to honor the man by hosting a celebratory dinner. The closest I got to being there was knowing that this illustration was given to him as a present. Afterwards, I found out Milton was thrilled with the event and surprised his deeds were respected so many years after the fact - a common feeling among these aerial warriors.

There's something inherently humble about heroism. For the most part, "heroes" seem to have an accidental quality about their circumstances. Instead of recognizing or calculating their moment, they simply "do." Aside from their moments, heroes are surprisingly ordinary, with the exception that when the "moment" comes, they have an automatic reaction of selflessness. Instead of retreating, ignoring, blaming or hiding, they do whatever the moment demands.

To be fair, combat pilots were trained to be instinctive and this "rote behavior" is undoubtedly why so many of them were able to perform so well under pressure. Practice, practice, practice and when the moment comes...

A snippet of the Tootle's Navy Cross citation is below:

TOOTLE, MILTON, IV
Citation:

The President of the United States takes pleasure in presenting the Navy Cross to Milton Tootle, IV, Ensign, U.S. Navy (Reserve), for extraordinary heroism in operations against the enemy while serving as Pilot of a carrier-based Navy Fighter Plane in Fighting Squadron THREE (VF-3), embarked from the U.S.S. YORKTOWN (CV-5), during the "Air Battle of Midway," against enemy Japanese forces on 4 June 1942. While engaged in an assault against Japanese aerial forces about to attack his aircraft carrier, Ensign Tootle pursued a Torpedo Plane so relentlessly that he came under a fierce barrage of antiaircraft fire from his own ship. Although the resultant damage to his plane caused the cockpit to become filled with smoke, he nevertheless pressed home the attack until his gunfire struck down the Torpedo Plane and sent it exploding into the sea. Despite the terrific hazard of flying his battered and smoking craft, he continued to carry on with grim determination and magnificent fortitude until ordered to crash-land in the water. As a last resort he was required to bail out and a short time afterward was picked up by a friendly destroyer. The outstanding courage and determined skill displayed by Ensign Tootle were at all times inspiring and in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.

Bureau of Naval Personnel Information Bulletin No. 311 (February 1943)

PROFILE 18 - 53 flown by Joe Foss

Joe Foss is one of WW2 history's most documented figures and anything I would contribute about his military or post-military career would be just parroting someone else's stuff.

Nevertheless, some people are uncomfortable in their own skin and strive to conform it to their surroundings. Joe knew that behavior be a form of vanity, of conceit and avoided it like fetid water. If the reader has ever wanted to look into the mechanics of a someone who achieved the Zen of Leadership, look no further; you may differ with Joe's views, but his integrity is an example to everyone.

He was a man without Guile, without Pretense...and one of the nicest people you could hope to meet.

Profiles 14-17: The Dragonflies

Profile 17 - DOTTY flown by William "Bill" Creech

"Dotty" just about didn't happen. On June 17, 1944, Lt. William "Bill" Creech was flying an A-36 "Apache" on a ground-support mission in Burma.  These missions were performed at very low level - often times, at shoe-top height.  However, on that particular day, Bill's airplane took a hit in the cooling system from bomb shrapnel. In short, he survived a nasty belly landing in the Burmese jungle and managed to hack his way back to base - an amazing story in and of itself but it will have to be saved for another time...

Nevertheless, Bill went on to fly a considerable number of missions* in China until on March 15, 1945, Bill and his P-51B (Dotty as shown above) were hit again and he was forced to bail out 150 or so miles North of Sian.

The following is from an advance, unedited draft of Bill's book, "Third Greatest Fighter Pilot" (google it.)

The coolant temp wasn’t even rising and this confused me a bit but not for long. Suddenly she started running rough and the oil temp rose to the red line. She started vibrating quite a bit and losing power. She started down slowly and as I was intent upon keeping good control throughout, kept the airspeed above 120 mph. I made up my mind that five thousand was my limit. I was planning to stay with her to that point, then over the side. As I approached five thousand, I pulled the canopy release and it was gone in a flash. I had her all perfectly trimmed so I stood up in the seat, with one hand on the windshield and the other on the rear canopy, and dived as hard as I could toward the right wing tip, just as we were trained to do. As I went over the side my flying suit was splattered with molten aluminum from the burning engine. In retrospect that old Merlin was trying to save my ass and was still actually running and producing power! Don’t tell me that airplanes don’t have souls!...I tumbled a time or two, pulled the ripcord, and was delighted to see the chute blossom above me. I landed rather hard on my butt and realized that the desert floor was frozen.

In case you're wondering how Bill's family found out their boy was having a hard day in China, the graphic below is a scan of the Western Union telegram delivered to his mom.



If I ever publish my book, Bill Creech and a few other 528th pilots will undoubtedly take up a chapter or two!  

Happy 4th!

Liberal, Conservative, Independent...if we're not impressed by the selfless leadership of the people who wrote the American Constitution, it's because we haven't read it.

Profile 16 - "1031" flown by Hank Snow

From Hank Snow's personal log:

"May 5, 1945: Mission #88; this mission was scheduled as four flights of four aircraft each to destroy a radar station located on the Yellow River just 90 miles from Sian. Ironically, it was a station which I had seen several weeks earlier. Lt. Col. Donald “Flash” Gordon, our commander briefed that I was to lead the third flight and was to bomb and then strafe the site until he called me to break off because he would be in low level for a napalm drop. My flight consisted of Horace Cumberland and William Knavel. I do not recall the name of the fourth pilot who had aborted on take-off due to a rough engine.

"We bombed on schedule and started strafing. We were on our sixth pass which is next to suicidal, because Lt. Col. Gordon had not called a break. I got hit hard, knocking out my radio and starting a fire somewhere underneath me. I crossed the river into friendly Chinese territory and climbed to about 3,500 feet before I bailed out. When I jettisoned the canopy, I got a face full of hot coolant which added to the severity of the situation. What saved me was discipline in having thought out what I would do ahead of time so everything went as previously planned. I slowed the aircraft to just about the stall speed, got my left leg up on the seat, let go of the stick, grabbed the edge of the windshield and cockpit and launched myself face first toward the wing. I kept my head down so that if any part of my hit the tail, it would be my legs. I fell clear with not contact, did a flip or two, was impressed with how quiet it was once I left the aircraft. I grabbed my “D” ring, pulled it and threw it halfway across China. My chute opened but one of the risers hit me on the right temple, an injury which I did not discover until several hours later. That is what adrenaline will do for you.

"The aircraft had nosed over, crashed and was burning furiously below me, so I started pulling the risers in an attempt to avoid the fire. As a result I got to swinging back and forth so that when I contacted the ground, but I did so on my rear end, hard enough to jar my eye teeth, but luckily, it was freshly plowed ground which prevented injury. As I stood, I was looking down the muzzles of 8 rifles held by Chinese soldiers. I raised my arms and said, “Americano! Ding Hoa!” and turned so that they could see the flag on the back of my jacket. They lowered their guns and gathered up my chute as we started walking toward the aircraft which was still burning. As we drew near, I saw a Jeep and recognized Lt. Lang, an American laison officer with the Chinese forces, whom I had met at Sian. Lang said, “Snowball, nice of you to come visit us!” I had a few choice words in reply..."

Most combat pilots have 50-80 combat missions. Bomber crew might have a few less, reccon pilots might have a few more. Hank Snow has 666 spread over W.W.II, Korea and the Vietnam conflict and that also includes a combat parachute jump into North Vietnam! One might expect a man who’s literally beat death’s gamble beyond all odds to be a braggart or boorish. Not so with Colonel Snow. He's a real life version of the cartoon, "Mr. Incredible" - affable, paternal and when he can get away with it, silly. But when it comes to the raw dynamics of leadership, he is a master of the most effective method - Example.

Profile 15 - JOHNNY REB - flown by John O. "Doc" Perritt

John Olin "Doc" Perritt's Mustang, comically titled “Johnny Reb” received hits numerous times. “I was very scared...very scared. I’d be thinking about [bailing] out, which I didn’t want to do. They’d skin you alive if they caught you.”

Fortunately for Doc, none of the hits he received were severe enough to cause him to bail out or crash. He always returned from his missions, a fact he states with a humble pride. Doc recalls considering a decision to stay with his flight or return home.

“My tachometer went out. It measured engine speed. It was a necessary instrument and one that we needed to fly the mission. I was flying as wingman on my Flight Leader and I needed to stay there. (In the end) it was a magician’s trick that I learned that kept me there. The eye processes things in cycles and if you take a strobe light and shine it on a fan, you can make that fan look like it wasn’t moving. I was able to make sure my engine was running at the same rpm as my Flight Leader by tucking up under his tail and looking through my prop arc, match it against my Flight Leaders...and adjust the speed so my prop looked like it was standing still. Then I knew I was running the same rpm as my Flight Leader.”

“When one of us had to turn back, we always sent two. You never sent a guy back alone.” One reason to abort a mission meant two less planes on the attack run, four less bombs on target, thousands of fewer bullets fired and possibly one more munitions train would get through, arming one more garrison for one more day...one more day of soldiers on both sides being killed. The ripple effect of one abort could spoil the whole mission, requiring a second, more costly attempt.

Doc, and so many of the successful airmen, had a belief that above all, the worst thing a guy could do in combat was to let the other guy down.