Toulouse Nuts: Flying the Collings Foundation P-51D Mustang (Post-Script)

This post-script to my Reason and Reflection blog post of June 1, 2018 is intended to add some additional details regarding my flight on the Collings Foundation P-51 Mustang, Toulouse Nuts, on May 28, 2018 – Memorial Day.
Flying a P-51 had long topped my personal “bucket-list.” I begin by briefly reconstructing parts of two older blog posts to provide some background.

On July 6, 2016, I posted this on my blog:

The Iconic P-51 Mustang: The Fighter That Destroyed
Hitler’s Luftwaffe and Won the War

P51-7[1]

Last month, I had yet another opportunity to ride in and fly one of the most iconic military aircraft of all time, the North American P-51 Mustang. Sadly, it did not happen. Maybe next year!

I ended that post with the following:

Perhaps next year, when the Collings Foundation tour returns, I will have an extra $2200 to go up in Betty Jane as well as the requisite moxie to do so. I cannot think of a greater, more meaningful thrill.

Sadly, “next year” came and hurtled by without even a visit to nearby Moffett Airfield to see the annual visit of the Collings Foundation Wings of Freedom tour.

Back in March of this year, with “P-51” still in my mind’s eye and at the top of my bucket-list, I visited the Collings Foundation website and discovered that the venerable Betty Jane, their P-51C Mustang, was undergoing a ground-up restoration/upgrade. That was the bad news. The good news: the foundation’s new P-51D, Toulouse Nuts was coming with the tour to Moffett in late May.

Toulouse Nuts_3The “D” version of the P-51 became the iconic manifestation of the storied fighter. Like the Betty Jane, Toulouse Nuts is one of the world’s handful of flying, dual-control Mustangs that enable the passenger to control the airplane from the rear seat. For me, a tremendous advantage of the “D” over the earlier “A” thru “C” versions is the bubble canopy which offers unobstructed, panoramic views fore, aft, sideways and up from the cockpit.

There is a saying among pilots that “an airplane that looks good, generally flies good!” The P-51 Mustang lends full credence to that contention. Its war record and the loyalty earned from the thousands who flew her in air-to-air combat with the Germans and came back alive provide ample testimony. And she is just plain good-looking… on the ground and in the air!

On March 23, 2018, I posted this:

My Father’s Enduring Legacy: A Love of Aviation…
And a Prized Painting on Glass

My father was a most remarkable man. Today, at seventy-seven years of age, I have surpassed his longevity by one year. Even at this advanced age, my appreciation of him and his legacy continues to grow with passing time. There is much I could say about my father’s innate personal honesty, integrity, ambition, and commitment to excellence in all things, but I choose to dedicate this post to one particular aspect of his life and passion: His love of aviation and airplanes.

IMG_0582PS2

Here is the most important, early manifestation of that legacy for me, personally: a painting of his which is prominent in my earliest recollections of childhood.

I can still visualize this painting hanging on my bedroom wall in Chicago, Illinois when I was a youngster of six or seven. Today, this brilliantly created image hangs proudly in my den, high on the wall. Often, when in a pensive mood, I look upward and turn toward this painting for reflection, inspiration, and a renewed sense of longevity and permanence, qualities so absent in today’s peripatetic world. Few memories of mine go further back in time than this depiction of a furious World War I dogfight painted by my teen-age father around 1934/35. Correspondingly, few “things” in my life have been with me for as long as this little gem, painted on the back of glass using ordinary house-paints! My father’s family had no money for artist’s materials, so he did the best he could with what he had. His life-long ability to produce exceptional results in any endeavor is already evident in the clean, precise lines and brilliant images he produced while painting on the back of glass – a very difficult medium, indeed.

I concluded that post as follows:

Prey for Mercy Print Display

The Legacy Continues!

My enthusiasm for aviation is hardly satisfied at this late date; there are still so many books on my shelves and stories waiting in the wings. Most significantly, both my curiosity about and my fascination with this life-long legacy of aviation gifted to me by my Father, Alfred Chester Kubitz, are still running strong. Time is running short, now, but the skies still beckon!

That last sentence, “Time is running short, now, but the skies still beckon!” soon proved to be a catalyst for me. My perusal of that statement after the post was published served to rejuvenate my quest for “the P-51 experience” which would become a reality in the cloudless, cobalt-blue sky over Livermore Municipal Airport on May 28, 2018 – Memorial Day.

Now, there were only two obstacles: the $2200 ticket-to-ride and the requisite moxie “to just go for it!”

The paraphrased quote from Mark Twain mentioned in my original post proved the antidote to cogitating any further about item number one on my bucket-list of things to do before I leave this world:

“You will regret most the things in life you did not do, not the things you did.”

Amen. Damn the torpedos: go for it!

I dialed-up the Collings Foundation in late March to assure myself that I had plenty of time to reserve my half-hour, adventure-of-a-lifetime on Toulouse Nuts. I was quite certain that reserving a week ahead of time would suffice. We had planned a trip to Irvine, California to visit our daughter for a few days about a week and a half before the Wings of Freedom tour was arriving at Moffett Field; there would be plenty of time to reserve a flight.

Who Invited Back Spasms to the Party?

Not in my plans, however, were the back spasms that suddenly hit me one morning while on the road – the result of abandoning my daily exercise regimen while traveling. This bout was worse than most I had in the past, and I spent the remainder of the trip barely able to move about. Back at home, I thought a few days rest there would solve my problem, but such was not the case. There was simply no way I was going to be able to clamber up onto the wing and into the cramped cockpit of a P-51 with a bad back. Finally, after a few more days passed, my back improved, but it was still questionable. And then the weather was cloudy and overcast for yet a few more days, hardly ideal for such a milestone flight. As my back condition and the weather were both finally improving, the tour and Toulouse Nuts were ready to move on to their next tour stop – Livermore, California, some fifty miles north of here. I called Collings in the hope that they might have a last-minute flight-time open prior to packing-up at Moffett and heading for Livermore, but, alas, it was not to be. Apparently, my P-51 flight experience was not happening this year, either, despite my determined decision to actually do it and my best efforts to make it happen! It was more than disappointing. Depressing was a more apt description given the vagaries of the variables involved: me not getting any younger, and the ever-present uncertainties regarding vintage aircraft. Despite the fine track record of the Collings Foundation, there was no guarantee that Toulouse Nuts would be available and ready to fly the tour next year. And there certainly was no guarantee that I would be present and ready to fly! I resigned myself to the realization that the top item on my personal bucket-list would remain in-place for at least another year.

Livermore Municipal Airport – The Tour’s Next Stop

As luck would have it, Linda and I had planned to drive north to the town of Pleasanton on Sunday, May 27th, the day before Memorial Day. The main street of the quaint town would play host to dozens of antique and collectibles dealers, stretching for blocks through town – all part of the annual antique fair held there and an event we had enjoyed in the past. By that time, my back was feeling much better. The evening before heading to Pleasanton, I recalled the fact that the Collings tour’s next stop after Moffett Field was Livermore Municipal Airport. Knowing that Livermore was somewhere in the general vicinity of Pleasanton, I checked the map. Indeed, the airport at Livermore was no more than a fifteen-minute drive from where we would be. Linda agreed that, after spending the morning antiquing in Pleasanton, we should head over to catch the Wings of Freedom tour at Livermore.

After getting a bit lost on the way over, we arrived at Livermore Municipal Airport, a beautiful, small-scale layout located amid picturesque hills and grassy plains – an almost pastoral scene as opposed to the huge concrete expanses of Moffett Field. Sure enough, there were our old friends, the vintage B-17 bomber Nine ‘O Nines, and the venerable B-24 Liberator, Witchcraft, the last one of its genre still flying (18,500 built in total). Linda and I first attended the tour back in 2013 at Moffett Field, and we clambered at our leisure though every nook and cranny of both airplanes – a delightful and eye-opening experience! We purposely went early on a weekday morning when we had the airplanes to ourselves. An added attraction at Livermore this year was a B-25 Mitchell medium-range, twin-engine bomber also owned by the Collings Foundation.

IMG_2347

As we walked up to the entrance to pay the nominal admission charge, a very large big-band ensemble of young musicians struck-up Glenn Miller’s timeless hit from the early 40’s, In the Mood. That was a total surprise which immediately put us “in the mood” for the whole afternoon. There were flags, music, hot dogs, and all things requisite for a memorable Memorial Day holiday. Linda and I decided right then and there that we loved the atmosphere and that this was the way to see the Wings of Freedom tour!

And there, on the tarmac, was Toulouse Nuts, the P-51D that remained stubbornly stuck in the recesses of my mind. She was obviously busy taking lucky folks with a flight appointment and $2200 up for a ride and the thrill of a lifetime.

I decided then and there that it was now or never for me. We went over to the flight desk and asked if there were any openings for that afternoon. Alas, the answer was no. “How about tomorrow – Memorial Day?” I asked. The girl at the desk said she had an opening at 11:00 am and late in the day at 5:00. I looked at Linda: “Would you like to drive back here, tomorrow?” We decided we would, and I jumped at the 11:00 slot.

Memorial Day, May 28, 2018

The next morning dawned bright and warm across the entire San Francisco Bay Area. The temperature would be in the low 90’s that afternoon at Livermore. After a fifty-minute drive north, we pulled into the friendly airport grounds, easily parked the car, and headed for the tarmac and the planes parked there. At 10:15 am, the holiday crowd was beginning to grow. The cloudless sky was a brilliant cobalt blue: a perfect day for flying if ever there was one! As we passed through the entry gates, I noticed Toulouse Nuts pulling away from its parking spot on the tarmac and heading for the taxi-way and runway. I could discern a passenger in the rear seat – apparently the 10:00 appointment which preceded mine. I felt a rush of excitement in anticipation of soon going up and flying that iconic P-51 warbird. In less than two minutes, my heart fell, almost with a thud, as I spotted Toulouse Nuts working its way back up the taxi-way to its parking spot on the tarmac.

I knew immediately that something serious was wrong, and that my opportunity to fly that afternoon was surely in jeopardy. I could only hope that, perhaps, the passenger had second thoughts after being securely strapped in the cramped cockpit and experiencing, first-hand, the sights, the sounds, and the exhaust smell of that powerful Rolls-Royce/Packard Merlin engine. Alas, that was not the case. The passenger was soon out of the plane standing patiently nearby while the pilot, and a few extra hands conferred. In short order, the pilot and two others began removing aluminum panels from the nose of the airplane. From outside the roped-off security area, Linda and I could only guess as to what the problem might be. A half-hour went by and then an hour…and the sun was heating up the tarmac as work continued on the airplane. We sought relief in the shade provided by the huge wing of the B-24, Witchcraft, parked nearby. Finally, I went back to the roped perimeter and motioned for the “stranded” passenger to come over and tell me what he knows. He introduced himself as “John,” an older man in his seventies (like me), I would guess. He did not know the nature of the problem, except that it would likely take a while if a solution is even possible. I asked if he intended to “wait it out” as the scenario played itself out well into the second hour. His response: “Yes, I’ll wait. For me, it’s now or never.”

Linda and I would wait as well, harboring much the same feelings expressed by John. By the third hour, the pilot (and apparently chief mechanic for the day) came over to us and explained there was a problem with the indicated fuel pressure to the engine. They were not sure whether the problem was with the fuel pump and its system or with the dashboard gauge-indicator, but they were working to determine the exact cause. During that brief conversation, I was very impressed with this pilot and his demeanor, but, given the circumstances, my hopes for flying in that warbird on Memorial Day, 2018, sunk to a new low at that moment. “What are the odds that this handful of folks and the pilot would be able to fix this crippled bird anytime soon?” I thought to myself. It seemed that a mechanic familiar with this warbird and possibly some replacement part would be mandatory for any realistic chance.

Just to satisfy my curiosity, I asked the pilot whether he travels with the Collings tour and what credentials are generally required to fly a warbird like the P-51. His response: “I live in the area and I own a Mustang!” My response: “That will work!” I am well aware that the significant brotherhood of people who own Mustangs not only fly them, but know them quite intimately from an operational/maintenance standpoint. Furthermore, many of these owners, scattered across the U.S., know each other personally and each other’s airplanes, as well. The brotherhood of Mustang owners is quite exclusive given the reality that purchasing a P-51 in flying condition carries a price tag of at least 1.2 million dollars, not to mention the expense required to house and maintain a warbird like that in top condition! The fact that this pilot owned his own Mustang would explain why he, his grown son (also flying that day as an alternate), and a few others felt confident in attacking the fuel pressure problem. Fairly quickly, they had several aluminum covers removed from the nose area exposing the engine; these were carefully laid-out on the tarmac. There was even an attractive lady in nice clothing out there helping by moving ladders and passing tools up to the men at work. She later told us that she was a friend of the pilot. All the while, this proud warbird sat forlornly on the tarmac like a bird with clipped wings, unable to fly!

IMG_5917

Despite the long odds, I had this vague feeling deep inside that Linda and I should wait this out – that this might all work out…somehow! Fueling those vague hopes was the confidence conveyed by the pilot’s demeanor and the image of father, son, and lady friend working with a couple of others so diligently out there on the tarmac under a blazing sun. That tableau represented “complete dedication and commitment” as far as I was concerned.

Another hour passed, and the pilot informed us that he believed the low fuel pressure indication was due to a faulty gauge, not a fuel system problem. He went on to add that they were trying to find a replacement gauge! Although my immediate thought could have been, “The local P-51 parts store is not open on Memorial Day,” my gut-feel told me to wait and see: keep the faith. Linda and I decided to pass more of our waiting time by having a Coke and a hot-dog (grilled by the local Knights of Columbus – another very nice touch at Livermore). We ventured over to a picnic table situated away from the airplanes and the tarmac, ate our “lunch” and passed some time talking with some folks.

It was now about 2:45 pm and our time was running short. We were scheduled to bring dinner to our daughter, son-in-law, and grandsons in time to see the tip-off of a key NBA playoff game involving the Golden State Warriors (who ultimately won the title). The problem: the nice dinner prepared by Linda was at home in the refrigerator; we would have to run home, pick up the dinner, and retrace our steps back north to my daughter’s home in San Mateo. Another hour at Livermore and that would not be possible, time-wise.

As the time approached 3:00, I decided now is the time to go over to the flight desk and just cancel the flight reservation which was beginning to look futile, anyway. Besides, there was John, the 10:00 passenger who was in line before me with a one-hour flight scheduled and equally determined, so it seemed, to “wait it out.” As we turned the corner and approached the flight desk, I heard a voice exclaim, “There he is!” Our P-51 pilot was standing there with a cardboard box in his hand. “We’ve got the gauge,” he said. When I inquired about the 10:00 passenger, they replied, “You are up-next! Apparently, John had given up earlier and left after canceling. “How long will it take to put in the gauge?” I asked. “About fifteen minutes,” was the reply. Without hesitation, my response was, “Well, let’s go then!”

The reality was more like one-half hour before being informed that the gauge was installed and the problem was, indeed, verified to be a faulty fuel pressure gauge. All looked good to go with the replacement! I gave Linda a hug and a kiss, ducked inside the roped security perimeter and clambered up the wing and into the cockpit. Once both legs are in the cockpit, one settles one’s behind on a parachute pack which doubles as the seat pad between you and the harsh steel “chair” bolted to the airframe. You are then helped with fastening the leg and shoulder straps on the chute prior to strapping into the military-strength harness restraint which affixes you to the seat and airframe. In case of emergency, the red canopy release lever on the lower right side is identified and exiting the plane is explained. To bail-out, you are instructed to unfasten the restraint harness straps (not those of the parachute!), release the canopy, and dive, head down, toward the back of the wing. Last and not least, one must pull the steel rip-cord handle, prominent, there, on your chest in order to deploy the ‘chute!

IMG_2378

I thought to myself, “Unlike what so often happens with commercial aviation passengers, anyone with an attention-span problem during this ‘safety briefing’ really has no business going up in a warbird.”

At this point, I need to comment on the pilot and his son. It was the son who would be taking me up in Toulouse Nuts. I believe the dad’s name is Steve, and his son is Nicholas, or “Nick.” I asked the dad’s name earlier, and I believe he told me, “Steve.” I regret that, in the midst of such excitement and activity, I cannot be more confident of names, here. I will go with my best recollection from here on in the story!

An intercom headset is handed you with instructions for communicating with the pilot, and the big moment arrives. Nick, the son, volunteered to take me up so that his dad could relax and cool down after his strenuous efforts to get the P-51 flying again. His dad said to me, “He’ll take you up: he’s better than me.”

IMG_2408

Nick went through his check-list and finally looked to verify all was clear of the propeller. The big four-bladed prop slowly turned, once, twice, and then three times before the big Merlin engine came to life, coughing and belching smoke a bit as the whole canopy shook. That was a magical moment for me, because I fully understand the legendary mystique between this iconic airplane and the Rolls-Royce/Packard Merlin V-12 inline engine which enabled this airframe to reach its full wartime potential as a deadly fighter plane. People who really know say there is nothing like the sound of that engine, whether on the ground or in the air.

As the engine of Toulouse Nuts settled into what should be a steady, raspy purr, I could detect that something was not right. The engine seemed to run slightly unevenly even to my untrained ears. Soon, Nick cut the ignition and the prop came to a stop. There was a brief comment exchanged with his dad, Steve, and others standing off to the side. Then a restart with essentially the same results. Once again, Nick killed the ignition. At this point, I really began to worry, thinking that, perhaps, there was something wrong with the fuel pump or the fuel system. I reckoned it would be a devastating disappointment should this warbird be grounded today after all my efforts. Even worse, of course, would be any engine malfunction once off the ground.

I mentioned my concern to Nick over the intercom. He told me his dad felt that the only issue is air in the fuel line stemming from the gauge replacement. I have seen this effect often in my home plumbing after turning off the water for a while and turning it back on. The water will spurt and splash from open faucets as captured air is gradually bled from the system. Nick and his dad felt confident that running up the engine for a few minutes on the tarmac should clear the fuel system of trapped air. As we sat there with engine running, I could readily discern the rough spots soon smooth out and disappear as the big Merlin began to purr, accompanied by the characteristic raspy crackle.

IMG_2410

 

IMG_2407

Heading out for the taxi-way

A thumbs-up between Nick and Steve and we were off onto the taxiway, heading for the runway and the hard-earned realization of my fondest wish. Within a minute or two we were poised at the end of the runway as Nick revved up the engine. I liked everything I heard, and so did Nick. At that, the brakes came off and Toulouse Nuts “took off” down the runway, literally and figuratively. The insistent pull of that big four-bladed propeller was impressive. Quickly, the tail lifted, then there was a slight lift-off sensation followed by a momentary hesitation in momentum (likely the landing gear retracting) followed immediately by a steep climb and sharp bank to the right, reminiscent of a roller coaster ride. It was as if Toulouse Nuts were telling me, “I am going to show you what I can do – right off the bat!” Impressive it was, indeed. Now we are heading parallel to the runway, high and off to the side, high-tailing it back past our starting point on the runway, then settling back down while banking hard right before lining up and executing a high-speed, low altitude pass directly over the runway for the benefit of the crowd (and me) before heading sharply up into that cobalt-blue sky and my thrill-of-a-lifetime – the opportunity to fly a P-51D warbird.

IMG_6908

A low-pass over the runway!

IMG_2432

Nick and me, post-flight!

My half-hour in Toulouse Nuts was worth the ticket-to-ride and all the considerable effort it took on my part to make it happen. After landing and taxiing back to the tarmac, I realized how lucky I had been. I offered my heartfelt thanks to Nick and his dad Steve for the ride and the experience, yes. I also made clear my tremendous gratitude for “saving the day” through their determined efforts not only to diagnose and fix the faulty fuel pressure gauge, but also to somehow come up with the appropriate replacement part, seemingly out of thin air – a miracle! After all, the P-51 stores are all closed on Memorial Day! As Steve walked off toward the airplane with the replacement gauge in-hand, I questioned out loud at the flight desk just how Steve found a replacement gauge under such unlikely circumstances. The girl at the flight desk remarked of Steve, “He knows a lot of people.” Apparently, he was able to telephone a fellow Mustang owner in the area who thought he had a spare fuel pressure gauge in his parts inventory. Somehow, it was located and delivered to the field just in the nick of time to salvage my dream. Indeed, the owner of a beautiful, polished aluminum P-51 had flown his airplane earlier in the day. Could that be the same fellow?

In closing, my wife, Linda, related afterward how worried she became when it was clear that the big Merlin engine was not running properly at the very beginning of the start-up sequence. Why was Nick stopping and restarting the engine accompanied by consultations with his dad, Steve? It so happened that Linda was standing next to the aforementioned lady friend of Steve’s as they watched the proceedings. She leaned over to Linda and said, “Don’t worry, he’s in good hands!” And, indeed I was.

IMG_2472

My Father’s Enduring Legacy: A Love of Aviation…And a Prized Painting on Glass

My father was a most remarkable man. Today, at seventy-seven years of age, I have surpassed his longevity by one year. Even at this advanced age, my appreciation of him and his legacy continues to grow with passing time. There is much I could say about my father’s innate personal honesty, integrity, ambition, and commitment to excellence in all things, but I choose to dedicate this post to one particular aspect of his life and passion: His love of aviation and airplanes.

Here is the most important, early manifestation of that legacy for me, personally: a painting of his which is prominent in my earliest recollections of childhood.

I can still visualize this painting hanging on my bedroom wall in Chicago, Illinois when I was a youngster of six or seven. Today, this brilliantly created image hangs proudly in my den, high on the wall. Often, when in a pensive mood, I look upward and turn toward this painting for reflection, inspiration, and a renewed sense of longevity and permanence, qualities so absent in today’s peripatetic world. Few memories of mine go further back in time than this depiction of a furious World War I dogfight painted by my teen-age father around 1934/35. Correspondingly, few “things” in my life have been with me for as long as this little gem, painted on the back of glass using ordinary house-paints! My father’s family had no money for artist’s materials, so he did the best he could with what he had. His life-long ability to produce exceptional results in any endeavor is already evident in the clean, precise lines and brilliant images he produced while painting on the back of glass – a very difficult medium, indeed.

A Longing on My Part for “More”

As I matured into my teen-age years, I quizzed Dad about the painting – how old was he when he painted it, where he got the idea, etc. He told me that the individual images he painted were taken from “aviation pulp magazines,” inexpensive adventure accounts of the colorful aviators who flew in World War I, typically printed in slim, inexpensive monthly issues. These were targeted at and very popular with young boys in the nineteen-thirties. In my middle-age years, prior to the advent of the internet in the nineteen-nineties and prior to Google, I could only wish that I also had in my possession the original magazine issues whose colorful, eye-catching covers were depicted on Dad’s painting. Alas, even with the growth of computer technology and improved search engines, the dream seemed beyond the pale of possibility so many decades after the fact. Of all the depictions Dad chose for his picture, the brilliant red German Pfaltz airplane in the lower right-hand corner always intrigued me most as a youngster. A close examination reveals a trail of bullet-holes in the side of the red fuselage from the machine guns firing below. Clearly, the German pilot is “dramatically dead” based on the trajectory of fire!

Even though World War I aviation with its colorful dogfighting occurred well before Dad entered his teen-age years in 1929, he knew the stories and he knew about the aces and heroes, men like Captain Eddie Rickenbacker flying for the Allies, and “The Red Baron,” Manfred Von Richtofen, on the German side. Along with millions of Americans, Dad was captivated in 1927 by young Charles Lindbergh and his daring trans-Atlantic flight from New York to Paris. Lindbergh was clearly both a catalyst for my father’s life-long interest in aviation and an inspiration to him. Dad was eleven years old in 1927, and Lindbergh epitomized what an underdog can accomplish through intelligent dedication to a clearly defined goal. And dad did begin life as a definitive underdog, necessarily dropping out of high school after one year to support his struggling parents and siblings during the Depression. It was in the early nineteen-thirties when my father began to compile his aviation scrapbook, a serious collection of magazine and newspaper articles covering all aspects of the subject, meticulously assembled – as usual. Many of the entries have notable historical significance in aviation history: General Billy Mitchell’s analysis of the autogiro is present as is a photo/clipping of Jimmy Doolittle standing next to his bumble-bee-like Gee-Bee racer after setting an astounding new world speed record of 309 miles per hour! Dad had told me of his scrapbook early-on in my youth, but it had not been seen for decades, apparently lost in our move to California in 1948. “If only Dad’s scrapbook were not lost,” I often mused.

The Scrapbook Surfaces and Dad’s Aviation Legacy Grows

Miraculously, that very scrapbook surfaced in the early nineteen-sixties. I detailed the circumstances and the scrapbook itself in an earlier post which I attach in its entirety at the end of this post. Amazingly, loosely tucked between the pages were the pulp magazine “cutouts,” the very images Dad used for his dogfight painting on glass. These were taken directly from the aviation pulp magazine covers that he owned. For me, this was a dream-come-true, to possess not only this scrapbook, but the actual image-sources used for my prized painting.

 

It eerily seemed almost pre-destined that this should happen, that these objects, so strongly coveted in my imagination, should materialize out of the blue like that. Pasted within the book itself, are several other cut-outs from aviation magazine covers similar to those depicted in my painting.

Noteworthy, and not surprising given Dad’s aptitudes, many of the newspaper and magazine articles chosen for the scrapbook focus on technical aspects of the newest improvements in aviation and aeronautical engineering. The choices Dad made for inclusion in his book clearly reflect his early interest in mechanical engineering. In 1943, he left the production lines of the Schwinn bicycle company in Chicago to join United Air Lines as a draftsman and, later, as an employee in United’s Radio Laboratory. I recall him telling me many years ago that he just wanted to be around airplanes and the airline industry in some capacity or another – even if it meant washing airplanes!

Dad was transferred by United Air Lines in 1948 from Chicago to United’s maintenance base in San Francisco, California. My first-ever airplane flight was on a United DC-4 which took several hours to fly our family of four to SFO. As teenagers around our family dinner table listening to our parents re-living their day, my younger sister and I learned first-hand of the many workplace experiences (and frustrations) Dad encountered at United as he worked his way up through the ranks from draftsman to mechanical design engineer and ultimately to hands-on engineering manager of a ground-equipment design group in 1969. Achieving corporate recognition of his talents by United in the form of that last promotion was Dad’s ultimate professional goal. From 1969 until his retirement from United in 1981 after thirty-eight years, he was responsible for major portions of the ground equipment required to support United’s flight operations. He did major design work and structural analysis on jet engine maintenance scaffolding, food trucks, lavatory trucks, and baggage transporters used to efficiently load and unload United’s “Mainliners” on the tarmac. Quite a remarkable achievement for a self-motivated man who only had one year of high school! The lack of a college degree in aeronautics or engineering was a show-stopper at United even back then for anyone with significant engineering design aspirations. I often wonder how many of Dad’s colleagues, who realized he had no engineering degree yet came to appreciate and respect his mechanical engineering aptitude, had any idea of his lack of even a high school education! With each promotion and advancement, Dad had to prove and re-prove himself on the job, over and over again. Night classes in calculus, physics, and engineering at the local College of San Mateo fortified his innate abilities and enabled him to ultimately achieve the position and recognition he deserved at United. Dad was also very good at expressing his logical thought processes in clear, tautly-written memos – a must for any managerial candidate. Where he acquired his fine ability for written expression is still a puzzlement.

A few weeks ago, while cleaning out some cabinets, I came across a photo album which I had practically forgotten. The nicely displayed photos and memorabilia therein were of my father’s retirement party from United in 1981. My wife and I were present that night as were many of Dad’s colleagues and close friends from United. Some of the friendships present that evening spanned most of Dad’s thirty-seven years at United. What a contrast to today’s workplaces!

I noticed two UAL envelopes tucked into the front of the album. The typewritten, personally signed letters inside were on UAL letterhead stationery and dated 1969. One was from the corporate vice-president of base maintenance at UAL/SFO who knew Dad and took the time to personally congratulate him on his appointment in 1969 to engineering design manager. He knew and appreciated what Dad had achieved and how deserving he was of the promotion.

The other letter was from a long-time friend and colleague of Dad’s from the early Chicago days at UAL. Like my father, Duane Buckmaster was deeply rooted in aviation and on a steady-track of self-improvement. I will never forget the time he came out from Chicago to SFO on UAL business and came by our little San Mateo home to join the four of us for a home-cooked meal. This was around 1956/57. Dad gave me a heads-up prior to Mr. Buckmaster’s arrival that evening. He said, “You should know that Duane flew B-24 Liberators over Germany on bombing raids during World War II. His plane was shot down on June 6, 1944 (D-day) by German fighters during the famous Ploesti oil field raids. After parachuting with the rest of the crew from the doomed plane, he was captured by the Germans and held prisoner. He eventually escaped and found his way back across the enemy lines.” I recall Buckmaster’s story that evening and his detailed responses to the many questions from myself, my sister, and my parents. Needless to say, I was mesmerized by his story, and I have never forgotten that evening over all these years. Here is his congratulatory letter to Dad, dated July 7, 1969:

I especially appreciate his vivid comments about “our mutual struggles with the calculus” during “those nights at College of San Mateo.”

Duane Buckmaster was a good friend who, like Dad, also left his mark on United Air Lines, eventually becoming Executive Vice-President of Human Resources based in United’s Chicago offices. Predictably, Duane Buckmaster made it a point to be here, in California, to honor Dad at his retirement party in 1981.

United Air Lines runs deep in my veins for so many obvious reasons. It was and is a major part of my father’s aviation legacy. Dad and “Buck” Buckmaster worked for the airline during its glory days, days when flying was more than merely a quicker option to get from point A to point B. From United’s inception in 1926 and well into the nineteen-sixties, flying the “Friendly Skies” meant just that – an enjoyable, special experience – an event. Times and circumstances change, however, and not always for the better. United’s foundational president, W.A. Patterson ran United with a sure and steady hand for many years.

Patterson always valued United’s employees and their contributions as evidenced by the book High Horizons which he commissioned and gifted to every employee in 1951, on United’s twenty-fifth anniversary. The book is a revealing, well-illustrated history of United Air Lines over its first quarter-century. I remember my father’s copy which arrived at our house in 1951 and remained housed in our small dining room bookcase for many decades. Alas, it disappeared after my parents died. Such is the importance of United Air Lines and aviation in my life and recollections that I recently searched for and found a like-new copy of High Horizons on the internet. It arrived in the mail just days ago. Tucked inside is the original silver card insert that carried president Patterson’s personal thanks and best wishes to each employee – a class act. Employee regard for W.A. Patterson was high for obvious reasons. Patterson made United a great airline.

My father’s retirement years were heavily tinged with his continuing love of aviation. He obtained his private pilot’s license and became heavily involved with building and flying radio-controlled model airplanes. I have written about his RC flying in previous blog posts about him and his dedication to excellence. He and my mother, who was always by his side through forty-nine years of marriage, spent several very happy years enjoying the retired life together before she passed away in 1989. Life was not the same for Dad or for us after she was gone; he followed her in 1992 leaving my sister and I and his grandchildren a fine legacy of remembrance, a special part of which I highlight, here, in this post/tribute.

The aviation bug, planted by my father, has been in my system for as long as I can remember. It periodically goes dormant for a while when one of my many other interests flares up yet again to reclaim its periodic turn in the spotlight of my attention. However, none of these is as deeply rooted in my consciousness as is aviation, thanks to Dad.

Pushing Hard to Complete the Arc of Dad’s Legacy

Two weeks ago, and after all these decades, I resumed my quest to learn still more about the aviation painting that hangs in my den. What were those magazines whose covers are depicted? Enlisting the aid of Google search, I was finally able to identify the specific aviation pulp magazines whose covers grace my father’s painting. Furthermore, I found the actual 1931 August and September issues of Battle Aces for sale on the internet. The cover artwork of the September issue carries the red German Pfaltz airplane so dramatically pictured by Dad in his painting. The August issue’s cover is not depicted in the painting; the July issue is.

 

This, and the image which follows are two of the covers which captured my father’s fancy as a young man. Finally, after decades of mystery and intrigue, my quest to intimately know the details pertinent to my prized painting has been satisfied. The cover art on all but four of the twenty-seven issues of Battle Aces which ran from October, 1930 through December, 1932 were painted by Frederick Manley Blakeslee at the beginning of his notable career as illustrator for early aviation publications, and later, railroading magazines.

As a final chapter to this part of my story, I also discovered that the original Blakeslee oil painting commissioned for the September, 1931 issue of Battle Aces was sold at auction in 2012 for $2200! The only thing better than having the magazine cover would be to own the original painting commissioned for it!

In 1988, my dad created an oil-on-canvas re-visitation of his early painting on glass. A few aspects of the aerial battle were modified in his new effort, but the red Pfaltz was depicted as before, only headed now in the opposite direction!

Aviation in World War II: The Latest Installment of the Legacy

There is one final chapter (at least for now) of the aviation legacy I inherited from my father. Conditioned by my lifelong involvement with Dad’s legacy and artwork which began with World War I, I have more recently taken note of today’s many fine artists and their fabulous work portraying airplanes and aviation history in the World War II theatre. I find particularly interesting the stories of wartime flyers like Duane Buckmaster who have incredible tales to tell. Fascinating, too, are the aces and the airplanes they flew that saved the western world from Hitler’s Germany and the Luftwaffe.

One of my earliest literary entries into World War II aviation is represented by this excellent book on the Air Force and air power published by Martin Caidin in 1957. I was a high school junior at that time, well into my aviation legacy and already a veteran when it came to building model airplanes. I recall seeing this book displayed in the window of a small bookshop in downtown San Mateo. When I asked to see it, the ten-dollar price on the jacket meant leaving without it, but the photo/text of the book proved fascinating. Every time I passed that bookstore window, the book beckoned. Finally, I had mowed enough neighborhood lawns to save the ten dollars and the book was mine. It seemingly was meant to be that I should have this book. In fact, at the very moment I write this, it occurs to me that perhaps Duane Buckmaster’s visit to our house in the month’s prior precipitated my burning desire to have this book – very possible, even likely, and interesting to contemplate! Today, I have assembled a small but meaningful reference library on aviation, airplanes, and aces – a collection which began with Caidin’s book, Air Force.

I published a previous post (see my archives) highlighting the fascinating story of A Higher Call, as portrayed in the book of the same title and depicted by the artwork of Florida artist, John D. Shaw. Shaw recently completed his most recent artistic rendering of the event in a new limited print edition titled Prey for Mercy.
Shaw’s artwork gives us a wonderful portrayal of the opening moments of a most improbable and unforgettable interaction between a B-17 bomber pilot and crew and a multiple ace of the German Luftwaffe on the threshold of earning the coveted Luftwaffe Flying Cross, needing just one more “kill” to his credit. I was taken with this limited-edition offering and recently received my print along with accompanying material and the actual signature card of the German flyer who was involved, Franz Stigler. Shaw’s earlier artistic rendering of the event is also beautifully done, but long sold-out and very hard to find on the secondary market.

The Legacy Continues!

My enthusiasm for aviation is hardly satisfied at this late date; there are still so many books on my shelves and stories waiting in the wings. Most significantly, both my curiosity about and my fascination with this life-long legacy of aviation gifted to me by my Father, Alfred Chester Kubitz, are still running strong. Time is running short, now, but the skies still beckon!

The Rolls-Royce Merlin Aircraft Engine: P-51 Mustang Power Defeated the Luftwaffe

The North American P-51 Mustang was the best fighter airplane in World War II. It became available to the U.S. fighter command as a potent package in enough time to tilt the air war with Germany in the Allies’ favor. I wrote about the justly-famous P-51 in a previous post (July 6, 2016). That post can be found in my home page archives. In it, I referred to the Merlin V-12 power plant which, when finally coupled with the great airframe platform from California-based North American Aviation, turned a decent performer into an iconic fighting airplane.

While “Rolls-Royce” on this engine clearly denotes an English heritage, the same can, surprisingly, be said of the P-51 itself. Designed and built by North American Aviation in Los Angeles, California, the airplane’s genesis actually emanated from England. The P-51 began as a specification provided to North American by the British Purchasing Commission early in 1940. Incredibly, the first prototype appeared on September 9, 1940, a mere 102 days after the contract with North American was signed. The NA-73X airframe first flew on October 26, 1940.

Originally designed for the British Allison V-1710 engine, the Mustang prototypes demonstrated disappointing performance at altitudes above 15,000 feet. The B-17 and B-24 bombers of the Eighth U.S. Air Force typically cruised over 20,000 feet on their bombing missions into Germany from bases in England. During the Battle of Britain in mid-1940, the German Luftwaffe was already flying their front-line fighter, the Messerschmidt 109. The Me 109 and the Focke-Wulf 190 would both prove to be a significant threat to Allied bombers in the skies over Germany throughout the war. Despite Britain’s just-in-time introduction in 1940 of their own top-line fighter, the Supermarine Spitfire, the Me 109 still had advantages over it and the older Hawker Hurricane by way of its firepower and its fuel-injected engine. The Messerschmidt had, in addition to 50 caliber machine guns, a 20 mm cannon firing through the spinner of its propeller. That deadly weapon coupled with the much longer firing-burst capability of its guns gave the Me 109 a significant advantage. The Hurricane and the Spitfire had carbureted engines with a typical float-chamber in the fuel system which caused the airplanes to hesitate when abruptly put into an evasive dive maneuver. The fuel-injected 109s had no such problem and could easily overtake their prey on the way down.

The major problem faced by the U.S. Eighth Air Force bomber command by 1942 was the vulnerability of its B-17 and B-24 heavy bombers after leaving their bases in the English countryside and entering German air space. The B-17 “Flying Fortress” was aptly named given the eventual array of thirteen 50 caliber machine guns in eight strategic locations around the aircraft. Early in the war, it was believed that bomber formations of aircraft with that degree of armament would be quite capable of protecting themselves from German fighter interceptors who came up to meet them over German territory. That assumption quickly proved very erroneous as losses mounted.

The solution? Provide fighter escorts for the bombers. Prior to the introduction of the P-51 in late 1943, that assignment was handed to fighter wings typically flying the Republic Aviation P-47 Thunderbolt. The P-47 had two major problems. To begin with, the airplane had a short fuel-limited range which forced it to turn back and abandon its escort duties soon after entering German airspace. That, of course, was precisely when the bomber formations would most likely encounter German fighter resistance. Besides, the chunky P-47 suffered severe disadvantages in aerial combat with the more agile and faster Me 109 and Focke-Wulf 190 German fighters. Bomber losses were severe from the combination of aerial flak guns and German interceptors, culminating in the disastrous bombing raid on Regensburg, Germany, where sixty bombers were lost in one day – some 600 men.

Enter the P-51 Mustang in late 1943 whose horsepower, speed, agility, and high-altitude performance provided a palpable advantage over German counterparts thanks to its supercharged Merlin engine which had replaced the original Allison V17-10 powerplant. With the airplane’s inherently large fuel capacity and an added pair of drop-tanks beneath its wings, the P-51 could go all the way to the target and back with the “heavies.” The bomber crews fondly referred to the Mustang escorts as their “little friends.”

Most of the eventual Mustang production of some 15,000 planes was powered by the Rolls-Royce Merlin built under license by the Packard Motor Car company in Detroit. The Merlin engine was also widely used in other notable wartime aircraft including England’s top fighter, the Spitfire. Nothing in the air during the war could match the powerfully effective Merlin/Mustang combination, however.

I recently watched a wartime documentary on the momentous effort to design and ramp up production of the Merlin engine in England during the early phases of WW II. This was a huge wartime effort on the part of the English who faced the possible invasion of their country and the subjugation of Europe at the hand of Hitler’s Germany. The film was totally enlightening and engrossing – so many history and social lessons to be derived from the can-do spirit of the English.

My wife and I recently saw the movie, The Darkest Hour, which portrayed Winston Churchill’s lonely desperation in 1939/1940 as the destiny of England and, indeed, all of Europe became increasingly problematic. Fact is always stranger and more dramatic than fiction, and this fine movie drives home the point. So much hung in the balance, a balance which finally tilted favorably to the Allies on the knife-edge of numerous pivotal decisions and efforts. The Merlin engine and the P-51 Mustang airframe from North American Aviation were two of those very decisive factors which ultimately doomed Hitler – especially as combined together in the final P-51 designs. In 1945, many of Germany’s major cities had been reduced to rubble by Allied bombers based in England which, thanks to the Mustangs and their intrepid pilots, could now reach their targets.

I will close by calling upon a recollection from my earlier post on the iconic P-51 Mustang when the Collings Foundation brought their Wings of Freedom touring air show to nearby Moffett Field. My two young grandsons and I stood close by on the tarmac as their P-51, Betty Jane, prepared to fly.

Firing-Up the Big Merlin-Packard Engine of Betty Jane

As my grandsons and I stood outside the roped area, a mere 50 feet from Betty Jane, the pilot fired up the big Packard-built twelve-cylinder engine sporting a large, four-bladed propeller. The pilot yelled “clear” from the cockpit, the big prop started to turn, and the engine came to life after belching smoke and the usual series of backfires. The engine sounded a throaty roar as Betty Jane moved out toward the taxi-way. My grandsons held their ears…I did not and drank it all in. In my mind’s eye, I could imagine the emotions of a pilot on the flight line at Leiston, England, bringing that big engine to life en-route to yet another bomber escort mission over Germany in 1944/45. Despite the huge war effort and all the backing provided by the allies for combat flight operations, out there on the flight line, as the engine coughed, sputtered, roared to life, and the canopy closed, it was one man in one machine – very far from home. The pilot was about to face the uncertainties of weather, navigation, and his enemy counterparts who would be out there, somewhere, waiting for him and the opportunity to shoot him and his machine out of the sky.

For me, it is difficult to conjure up a more daring and exhilarating human experience than that encountered by those flyers in World War II. For them at the time, there surely seemed nothing “romantic” about the deadly task they faced – only a sense of high adventure and “what the hell, I hope I come back from this one!” I have read the late-life accounts of some who flew Mustangs against the German Luftwaffe and lived to tell about it. Despite some surely ugly recollections of killing and death which stubbornly remain, time dulls many of the sharp edges – as it always does – for these men. These flyers are revered by the public for their courage, daring, and skill during wartime, and that is appropriate. Despite old age and the challenges of settling down after flying, these warriors possess indelible and precious memories of that time in their young lives when they and their machines defied the great odds stacked against them. Those who flew the P-51 Mustang, to a man, relate their admiration of and gratitude to the airplane that saw them through.

The Iconic P-51 Mustang: The Fighter That Destroyed Hitler’s Luftwaffe and Won the War

Last month, I had yet another opportunity to ride in and fly one of the most iconic military aircraft of all time, the North American P-51 Mustang. Sadly, it did not happen. Maybe next year!

P51-7[1]

The chance to ride in a P-51 materializes yearly when the Collings Foundation and its “Wings of Freedom” nationwide tour of restored World War II aircraft lands at nearby Moffett Field. For nearly a week, the public has the opportunity of getting up-close-and-personal with several “survivors” from the mass post-war scrapping of airplanes which defeated Hitler and Japan not so long ago.

The Betty Jane P-51 is a flying survivor from 1945, one of the very few Mustangs outfitted with two seats and dual flight controls (that’s her pictured above in a Collings Foundation photo and below, in one of mine). For $2200 along with a “once-in-a-lifetime opportunity” attitude, a visitor can reserve a half-hour ride over the San Francisco bay area in that venerable war-bird along with the opportunity of briefly guiding her through a gentle turn or two.

thumb_IMG_6235_1024

Linda and I took our two young grandsons to Moffett for an afternoon of gawking at and clambering through the foundation’s B-17 Flying Fortress and B-24 Liberator bombers. These two aircraft were the major weapons used to dismantle Hitler’s war machine by destroying German factories, airfields, and infrastructure. Implementing a revamped allied strategy in late 1943, these four-engine airplanes commenced attacking the civilian populations of Berlin, Hamburg, and Dresden in a successful effort to erode the German people’s support of Hitler’s war effort. The Collings Foundation’s B-24, Witchcraft, is the lone remaining flying example of its genre (close to nineteen-thousand of them were built during the war)!

DSCN0601

The B-17 Flying Fortress was the more storied of the two workhorse bombers early in the war, and the Foundation’s Nine O’Nine is a beautiful example. It was anticipated that the multiple 50 caliber machine guns protruding from the aptly named “Fortress” would provide an adequate defense against German fighter-interceptors. That soon proved to be misplaced idealism as the Luftwaffe and flak from the ground took its toll on the “heavies.”

DSCN0638

b17hit[1]

But the airplane on the tour that, as in years past, captured my imagination even more than the others, was the Betty Jane. The P-51 Mustang rapidly became the best friend of the B-17 and B-24 bomber crews who flew mission after mission in large formations from their airfields dotting Great Britain’s countryside. Their destination: Targets deep into German airspace. Earlier in the war, the slow-flying four-engine bombers and their deadly cargo were initially escorted during the long flight into Germany by allied fighter planes like the Republic P-47 Thunderbolt, a plane of limited flying range and mediocre maneuverability. Typically, well before the heavy bombers reached their targets over Germany, the fighter escorts were forced to break-off and return to base due to their limited range (fuel). At that point, the bomber formations became sitting ducks for the agile and deadly German fighter planes which came up to meet them.

The P-51 Mustang: Just-In-Time Delivery to Allied Fighter Groups

The deeper the penetration into German airspace, the greater the allied bomber losses. The turning point came during the infamous raid over Regensburg, Germany, where 60 bombers were lost, each with a ten-man crew – 600 men. Just at this critical point, the newly-developed P-51 Mustang reached operational status and became available to the fighter groups based in England. Designed from the get-go to be a superior fighter, the P-51 was just that. With its fine maneuverability and the powerful, in-line, twelve cylinder, liquid-cooled engine conceived by Rolls-Royce but built under license by the Packard motor car company in the United States, the Mustang was superior to its German counterparts, the Messerschmidt Me 109 and the Focke-Wulf 190.

357th Gun Film

 A German Me 109 caught in the gun cameras of a P-51

 Critically important was the Mustang’s superior range, aided by external, under-the-wing, drop-tanks carrying fuel. Now, the bombers had an escort fighter which could not only accompany them deep into German territory in a defensive, protective posture, but could inflict losses on the Luftwaffe as its pilots attacked the bomber formations. In this dual sense, it can justifiably be said that the P-51 both destroyed the Luftwaffe and won the war by allowing the “heavies” to reach and destroy their targets.

At about that time, allied commanders expanded bombing targets to include the populations of Berlin, Hamburg, and Dresden. Late in the war, General Jimmy Doolittle also famously altered the successful defensive role of the P-51 from solely  a long-range bomber escort by ordering the fighter groups to adopt a more offensive posture, attacking Luftwaffe fighters wherever they could be found. The mandate was to leave the bomber formations, when feasible, and destroy the German interceptors before they could locate and reach and the bombers. Doolittle wanted to strafe and destroy German planes on the ground – at their airfields – when possible. The goal: To gain complete air superiority prior to the planned ground invasions central to D-Day. The Luftwaffe was nowhere to be seen by D-Day, thanks in large part to the effective dual role of the P-51 both as bomber escort and Luftwaffe killer.

Firing-Up the Big Packard Engine of Betty Jane

As my grandsons and I stood outside the roped area, a mere 50 feet from Betty Jane, the pilot fired up the big Packard-built twelve-cylinder engine sporting a large, four-bladed propeller. The pilot yelled “clear” from the cockpit, the big prop started to turn, and the engine came to life after belching smoke and the usual series of backfires. The engine sounded a throaty roar as Betty Jane moved out toward the taxi-way. My grandsons held their ears…I did not and drank it all in. In my mind’s eye, I could imagine the emotions of a pilot on the flight line at Leiston, England, bringing that big engine to life en-route to yet another bomber escort mission over Germany in 1944/45. Despite the huge war effort and all the backing provided by the allies for combat flight operations, out there on the flight line, as the engine coughed, sputtered, roared to life, and the canopy closed, it was one man in one machine – very far from home. The pilot was about to face the uncertainties of weather, navigation, and his enemy counterparts who would be out there, somewhere, waiting for him and the opportunity to shoot him and his machine out of the sky.

For me, it is difficult to conjure up a more daring and exhilarating human experience than that encountered by those flyers in World War II. For them at the time, there surely seemed nothing “romantic” about the deadly task they faced – only a sense of high adventure and “what the hell, I hope I come back from this one!” I have read the late-life accounts of some who flew Mustangs against the German Luftwaffe and lived to tell about it. Despite some surely ugly recollections of killing and death which stubbornly remain, time dulls many of the sharp edges – as it always does – for these men. These flyers are revered by the public for their courage, daring, and skill during wartime, and that is appropriate. Despite old age and the challenges of settling down after flying, these warriors possess indelible and precious memories of that time in their young lives when they and their machines defied the great odds stacked against them. Those who flew the P-51 Mustang, to a man, relate their admiration of and gratitude to the airplane that saw them through.

Lt_James_L_Brooks_with_P51_1944[1]

Lt. Jim Brooks and his P-51, February – 1945

Perhaps next year, when the Collings Foundation tour returns, I will have an extra $2200 to go up in Betty Jane as well as the requisite moxie to do so. I cannot think of a greater, more meaningful thrill.

A Higher Call : Humanity Trumps Hate in the Skies Over Germany

The immense canvas of World War II serves also as a mirror on the attitudes and behavior of us human beings. That viewpoint motivates me to read more of the history surrounding the conflict – as I wrote in a recent blog post, here. Almost before that new quest began, a World War II story came to my attention (via a recent Facebook post) which relates a fascinating encounter in the skies over Germany on December 20, 1943. I post this account as a prime example of the complex human attitudes and emotions exhibited in all-out warfare.

 Higher Call PS_2A sure “kill” is spared: Aviation artwork by John Shaw

The main characters: A German fighter pilot on the hunt for another “kill” to add to his already burgeoning total and the pilot of a crippled and hapless B-17F “Flying Fortress” bomber, barely able to fly and struggling to reach friendly territory. Pilot Charles (Charlie) Brown, his crew, and his torn and tattered plane quickly found themselves in the gunsight of German Luftwaffe ace, Franz Stigler. One press of the “fire button” and Ye Olde Pub and its crew of ten would be history – torn apart by 20 mm cannon shells from the Messerschmitt Bf 109 fighter.

AHigherCall_zps52a29ee5[1]

Charles Brown and Franz Stigler

Pilot Brown and his nine-member crew were flying their very first mission together on that twentieth day of December, 1943. The target: A German aircraft factory in Bremen, Germany. As the B-17 was preparing for its bomb-run on the target, German anti-aircraft fire and its exploding shrapnel found the aircraft and quickly left its deadly imprint upon Ye Olde Pub.

With its Plexiglas nose-dome shattered and its number two engine disabled, the bomber fell out of formation and became a straggler – an easy target for the swarms of Bf 109 and Focke-Wulf 190 fighters which came up to defend the German target area.

While being harassed in retreat for several minutes by German fighter aircraft, the venerable Flying Fortress suffered considerable additional damage. Now flying alone over German territory, the B-17 could barely stay aloft. One of her engines was out, half of her rudder was shot-off, and most of her left horizontal stabilizer (tail) was gone. Most of her guns were disabled and some of the crew badly wounded. The tail gunner was hunched dead and bloody behind his downward-facing guns.

As the B-17 lumbered precariously at low altitude, struggling to make it home back in England, she was spotted passing over a small airfield by a German crew on the ground which was refueling and re-arming the Bf 109 fighter of Franz Stigler. At first surprised by the low-flying bomber, Stigler instinctively jumped into the cockpit of his aircraft and took off after the crippled B-17. In no time at all, the German ace settled in on the tattered tail of the bomber and prepared for the kill. He could afford to take his time in that position, for the tail-guns of the Fortress remained pointed downward during the entire encounter – a sure sign that the gunner was dead or the guns disabled. Pilot Stigler already had 22 air “victories” to his credit; one more and he would earn the coveted Luftwaffe award, the Knight’s Cross.  Maneuvering to several vantage points around the lumbering bomber, the German ace could see, through a few gaping holes in the fuselage, that there were badly wounded fliers in the belly of the aircraft. He also sensed that he was relatively safe from any rash behavior on the part of the surviving crew and the one or two operational gun stations, but he was taking a chance, nevertheless, by closing in for a better look.

Bf-109g6real[1]

A German Messerschmitt Bf 109 fighter like that of Franz Stigler

As Stigler trailed the hapless bomber while considering his options, he recalled a comment made by Gustav Rodel, his Luftwaffe Commanding Officer: “If I ever hear of any of you shooting at someone in a parachute (a helpless flyer who had bailed-out), I’ll shoot you myself.” Rejecting his inbred instincts as a fighter pilot, Franz Stigler heeded a higher call – namely, his personal humanity. Stigler slipped into a “10 o’clock” position over the B-17, and proceeded to escort the bomber over hostile territory toward open water. He gestured from his cockpit to the astonished bomber pilot to turn and head for Sweden and safe, neutral territory. Instead, Brown opted to continue on the longer course to England, hoping to make it back home. At that point, Stigler saluted to Charles Brown and peeled off, leaving the bomber and her crew in the hands of fate.

91y6AaiYq7L._SL1500_[1]It is that moment which is so beautifully captured in the aviation artwork of artist John Shaw. Given the quality of the piece and its depiction, it is no wonder that limited editions of those prints sold out and are hard to locate, today.

Franz Stigler answered “a higher call” in showing mercy to the hapless bomber and its helpless crew. Despite the obvious difficulties one has with the nature of Nazi Germany, we are reminded that many who fought on that side earnestly felt they were defending the motherland – an essentially patriotic attitude. Franz Stigler assumed huge personal risk in not summarily dispatching the helpless bomber. His was an action for which he could have been executed had it been reported to German authorities. One could easily imagine a second German fighter pilot happening upon the scenario described and formulating many pointed questions! At an altitude of only a few thousand feet, the incident could have been observed on the ground, as well.

Second Lieutenant Charles Brown went on to complete a full tour of duty as a bomber pilot. After the war, Brown returned home to West Virginia, went to college, and – following stints in the newly created Air Force and the U.S. State Department – retired in 1972. The harrowing episode of Ye Olde Pub and its crew remained indelibly etched in Brown’s memory, and, in 1986, he decided to try to find the German pilot who spared the lives of him and his crew.

After numerous efforts, Brown finally received a letter responding to his outreach attempts. Stigler, living in Canada since 1953, wrote that he was the one, and he verified his claim by describing the entire episode in detail – right down to the departing salute to Brown and his hapless bomber. The two met, and developed a great, ongoing friendship from 1990 until 2008, the year in which they both passed away within several months of one another.

Franz Stigler’s enlistment in the Luftwaffe began in 1939. In 1940, his brother was killed in action, an event which he hoped to avenge through his personal wartime contributions. Long after it was all over and the two protagonists of this story were reunited, Stigler inscribed a book to his former enemy, Charles Brown:

In 1940, I lost my only brother as a night fighter. On the 20th of December, 4 days before Christmas, I had the chance to save a B-17 from her destruction, a plane so badly damaged it was a wonder that she was still flying. The pilot, Charlie Brown, is for me, as precious as my brother was.

Thanks Charlie,
Your Brother,
Franz

I have seen the YouTube video account of the story, including film footage of the reunited flyers reminiscing together at the time of their initial meeting. In one touching scene with Franz, the stoic German fighter ace, visibly struggling to hold back multiple emotions which had suddenly descended upon his brow like a dark cloud, he turns to Brown and blurts out, “I love you Charlie!” A higher call, indeed, and such a poignant commentary on humans at war.  

Toyland, Toyland – Little Girl and Boy Land….Wishfully, Forever!

Talbot's Bus. Card Hdr

The $50 gift certificate from Talbot’s Toyland in San Mateo, California had been burning a hole in my “pocket” for several months – reminiscent of my boyhood enthusiasms. A gift from my daughter Ginny’s family, I just redeemed it for a 1/72 scale, Corgi die-cast WWII British Spitfire airplane – and a beautiful little model she is!

IMG_3559

This is the airplane that saved England in WWII by winning the Battle of Britain in the skies overhead. I knew about all of that, but a recent PBS documentary really drove home to me just how heroic and crucial the aerial combat over England at the opening of the war was in deterring Hitler’s Luftwaffe from devastating the country.

A Senior Citizen Lost in a Toy Store?

Yes, a toy store like Talbot’s can still thrill a seventy-four year old guy with its offerings. I have been a customer of Talbot’s in downtown San Mateo since 1955, the year it first opened its doors – in the very same location! I was fifteen years old, living a few miles from the downtown and still building model airplanes, buying plastic kits from Talbot’s and more substantial models from the venerable Hobby Haven several blocks across town. Now, sixty years later, Hobby Haven has long-since disappeared, but the greatly-expanded Talbot’s continues today as THE place in the entire region to shop for electric trains, RC airplanes and cars, educational toys, bikes, and everything else in between.

IMG_3543

Things ARE changing, however. Many old-timers are no longer with us. As we disappear, so does the demand for airplanes that we knew so well from our youth, replaced in the young’s affections by space-age toys and conveyances from the post Star Wars era. I knew this to be true after noticing a relatively slow turnover of the “warbird” stock in the brilliantly illuminated display cases at Talbot’s. The long-term, friendly, and knowledgeable staff at Talbot’s confirmed that business in WWII aircraft has slowed considerably. My little Spitfire model had been on display for at least a few months, it seems, begging for an old-timer to come along, take it home, and lavish it with affection! I decided to be that “hero,” equally because I love the model’s graceful lines, its beautifully crafted detail, and because it is so historically relevant to the great history of WWII.

To Fly and Fight_1I have many personal accounts sitting on my bookshelves from the men who flew such aircraft in the war; their stories project unparalleled drama and adventure in a time and setting which can never be repeated. Unlike today’s trend toward automated drone warfare, these men actually climbed into a cold cockpit on some far away airfield, fired-up their coughing, belching engines, and taxied off  to today’s mission and, often, into oblivion. Clarence E. “Bud” Anderson, one of America’s greatest aces flying the storied P-51 Mustang fighter expressed it succinctly, yet poignantly, in his fine book:

 

“Staying alive was no simple thing in the skies over Europe in the spring of 1944. A lot of men couldn’t. It was a bad thing to dwell on if you were a fighter pilot, and so we told ourselves we were dead men and lived for the moment with no thought of the future at all. It wasn’t too difficult. Lots of us had no future and everyone knew it.”

Today’s allure for youngsters involves Star Wars style spacecraft dripping with laser cannons and chock full of presumed, computer-based systems! That modern allure and fascination seems no match for the real-life drama of the “stick and rudder” men wearing leather helmets who flew their machines in both World Wars – no match, at least, for us old-timers. Those men survived to fly yet another day thanks only to their unconventional courage and skill at maneuvering to get the enemy’s “tail” within the line of fire of their machine guns, all the while insuring that another of the enemy was not closing in on their tail. Skill, daring, and “just plain luck” were each factors in the survival equation. But that was then, and today belongs to the young, though I cannot help but wonder if, in their old-age, today’s youngsters will view their boyhood passions in the same dramatic human light as we do. Perhaps so.

For me, this post is a collage of mixed messages: The wonder still present for all ages and interests, and both sexes (Talbot’s has a great doll department) in a really fine toy store; the fleeting vision over passing time of the receding culture which so influenced our childhood; our changing attitudes and outlooks; and, finally, the joy of still encountering a surviving link to our fondest personal memories and recollections. Talbot’s sixty year tenure and enduring influence in downtown San Mateo represents an uncommon, present-day reminder of who we were and what life was like, many years ago. I will think of all this whenever I gaze at my latest gem from Talbot’s.

Talbot's Storefront