Stories and Illustrations of combat airplanes, missiles and the people that flew them

A-Bar” is complete, prints are signed and pilot “Newt” Cobb is happy.

So am I. For an airplane with such an exciting tale to tell, it's really a pretty bland P-51. No nose art, no victory markings. And Newt is not an ace or a famous combat leader. He was, however, one of the many late-war replacement pilots sent in to fill depleted ranks and mop-up the last moments of the war. He was simply a work-a-day soldier doing his job.

But war doesn’t play favorites with whom it honors. Or curses.

Hold that thought.

By April 13, 1945, everyone (aside from the most crazed zealots) knew WWII in Europe was over, at least in terms of who was going to win. Nazi Germany was so utterly crushed, every bullet they fired against the advancing Allies was as much criminal as it was a symbol of stupid human vanity.

I heard the words from a vet regarding this time of obvious defeat, “Why didn’t they just stop?!” It’s human nature, I guess. “Pride” can be such a costly thing…

But that’s the point of total, committed war. You don’t stop until the enemy is defeated. Utterly and wholly. And until that point, the bullets must fly.

So that morning at Honington Field of Eastern England, four flights of four P-51s of the 385th Fighter Squadron took off for a sweep against an airfield at Tarnewitz, Germany. The place was a weapons-testing facility that specialized in testing of aircraft machine guns and anti-aircraft cannon. Read that again. Sounds like a rather—shall we say—ominous target to attack? It’s kind of like a dog catcher getting a call to nab a pack of wild dogs and the dispatcher shouts out, "By the way, they're attack-trained Dobermans."

You get where this is going, right? Right. For the 385th, the 16 P-51s "got going" east.

Click to enlarge. But it wasn't a terribly long flight for Newt & Co.

According to Newt, the cloud ceiling was around 3,000 feet. Not terribly low but enough to provide an opaque background that would silhouette the airplanes. This is an important point because, if you’ve ever been hunting, you know that a Duck is a lot easier to see on a cloudy day than if it’s coming out of the sun.

Again, you know where this is going, right? And I won’t even bother detailing how “Intelligence” had briefed the pilots that the test facility was not well protected...

So, Blue Flight (of which Newt was the rear-most airplane of the flight of four) peeled out to unleash 24 blistering .50 cal machine guns against the enemy. Coming in low, line abreast and guns blazing, the Mustangs faced an unexpected eruption of defensive fire. Not unlike a watering system on a golf course—only the water was a mist of 20mm and 40mm cannon fire.

The Germans weren’t firing for the sake of nothing; Tarnewitz indeed had targets—a handful of aircraft were placed, semi-hidden around the airfield. And then there's that reflex-thing that makes you hit back if someone hits you...it doesn't matter. The "Intelligence" folk were dead wrong.

“This was it. I was going to die...” Newt sighed in recollection. Yet, the Flight made it through on account of their shattering surprise. The German gunners had barely enough time to get their guns firing, let alone aim the things.

But then, a moment of insanity occurred in the form of, “Blue Flight, make another pass.” The Squadron Commander who observed from one of the 12 Mustangs orbiting ‘on top,’ made the call. Newt recalled, “For what?! The war was almost over! Why risk this?!”

Debate over "orders" was out of the question. Blue Flight regrouped and formed up, again in line-abreast formation, for that ‘another pass.’ Passing a tree line that surrounded the field, the Germans responded with another fusillade of fire. Accurate fire, too because every airplane in the Flight got hit. Newt got the worst of it.

“A 40mm locked onto me. I could hear it and see it; black puffs of smoke. I (tried zig-zagging) and all of a sudden I heard a loud explosion and the sound of tearing metal - one third of my right wing was gone!”

And then another round hit. This time, it sliced open the Mustang’s belly and severed the fibula of Newt’s left leg. “I was fortunate it didn’t hit the tibia too as, without a (full) right wing, I had to hold full left-rudder to keep the airplane from snap-rolling onto the deck.”

Ok, picture this: a P-51 Mustang, 350 miles per hour, on the deck, wing shredded and blood spurting from Newt’s snapped leg...and all of it happening that fast—BOOM! There is no pain, no consideration, no time to do anything but flinch-react.

This isn’t like a blowout on the interstate. It’s like losing an entire wheel on a Colorado mountain pass at 70 miles an hour.

“I kept control of the airplane,” Newt stated soberly. “And it was such a shame. A brand new airplane, too.”

Again, the speed of the attack was crucial in that, a second later, the wounded man and his machine had hurtled out of sight. Of course that made little difference to the urgency of the matter. With a boot full of blood and a dying airplane, Newt knew he had to put down, quickly. In a few moments he’d be dead from blood loss.

I tried to draw this JUST as the prop tips slice the grass...

In a gentle, terrible arc, Newt held his fractured leg hard against the rudder pedal and coaxed his wounded Mustang towards a farm he’d spotted. Too low to bail, he tightened his harness and bellied-in at 150 miles per hour. The crash was violent.

“As it hit the ground, that scoop underneath me dug in and I slammed forward, dislocating my shoulder.” With the dust still wafting to the ground, Newt tried to apply a tourniquet to his leg but couldn’t on account of his splayed arm. Clambering out of the dead airplane, he staggered as four men approached. “I held out my (.45 calibre) holster in a signal I was surrendering.”

The four men turned out to be French and Russian prisoners who’d been pressed into working on the farm. Removing Newt's own belt, one of the prisoners made a tourniquet and clamped the blood flow shut.

Can you imagine stamping down on your leg with half of it broken in two?

“A piece of (the 40mm round) was stuck in my leg. I reached to pull at it but one of the men said, “Nix! Nix!” and pushed my hand away. He took a handkerchief, pulled it out and pocketed it as a souvenir. A Brit Florin* fell out of my pocket then and he took that too. A young boy in Hitler Youth** uniform showed up on a bicycle and I told him to call the Luftwaffe.”

Newt was hoisted onto an oxcart, wheeled into a barn on the farm and placed on a mound of hay. Left alone for a brief moment, Newt began to tear up his identification papers and stuff them into the hay but was caught.

“One of the men, a big one, had my .45. He cocked it, placed it against my head and shouted, “Vo ist das papia?! Vo ist das papia?!” Or, “What were you hiding?!”

Suddenly, “ACHTUNG!”

A Luftwaffe Captain entered the barn and all stood at attention. Of course, the .45 was now lowered. Taking the weapon from the Russian, the Captain extended his hand to Newt and stated (in a British accent no less), “I am Doctor Straub. How do you do? You are Canadian?”

Newt declined and responded, "American." As the majority of ‘enemy’ soldiers in the area were Canadian, Newt’s nationality was a non sequitur. Still in possession of his military ID, Newt handed it to the officer.

A few moments of study, silence…and the German stated, “You are from Panama. I was the ship doctor on the Bremen (when it docked there). Pier 18.”

The SS Bremen. Newt was just a kid when he'd met Dr. Straub aboard the ship.

Well what do you know. Newt knew the guy!*** (read note below)

Though amazed by coincidence, Newt was not happy about it. With his leg beginning to pound with pain, the weight of reality sunk in. He was now a Prisoner of War. Panama, childhood memories and past smiles meant very little.

It was a truly stupid moment; that late in the war, that useless of a target and that apparent foolishness of a command. In the span of a few moments, Newt’s life had jumped a handful of fate’s streams to end up in a place he couldn’t have imagined. Carried into the Captain’s staff car, he was driven to the airfield hospital.

Here, he met the young Wehrmacht soldier who—via telling the story to Dr. Straub—had likely been the trigger man against Newt. The German was excited to meet Newt and claim his ‘victory.’ There was, of course, no excitement for the wounded Cobb. Though he was indeed in a hospital, priority of treatment went to the Germans, who—all things considered—were struggling to care for themselves, let alone an American pilot. But, the medical staff, seemingly unbound by the allegiances to Nazism were at least able to apply a crude version of mercy. In meeting with the commanding doctor (a General, no less), Newt was given a simple treatment of logic—“I am a doctor and you are my patient. If you act like a patient, I will treat you like a doctor. But if you do not act like a patient, I will treat you like a prisoner.”

Newt was in no place to do anything but accept the Doctor's deal. And the Doctors kept their end of the deal, too. Hitler’s ‘elite’ soldiers, the SS, made visits to the hospital looking for allied prisoners healthy enough to take back to the prison camps. Attention to Newt was deftly averted, though, as Newt describes, his wounds made it easy for the medical staff to intercede on his behalf.

“I remember a nurse. Monica. She came in, pulled away the blanket over my leg and gagged. “Das stinkt!” she said.” Gangrene had set into Newt’s leg. In other words, flesh was rotting on the bone. And since the target at Tarnewitz remained, the air raids persisted. Each time, a guard (whom Newt remembered had the name of Kurtz) had to carry him down three flights of stairs to the safety of the basement. One can only imagine the scene of the German orderly hoisting the reeking prisoner down the steps…

“The doctors told me that my leg had to come off.” Newt stated matter-of-factly. “They didn’t have penicillin. Infections like mine didn’t just stop by itself. (On the day the Germans fled the hospital) I was reminded to tell the liberators that my leg had to come off immediately.”

This time, however, fortune favored Newt. The Americans arrived with penicillin and a few injections and proper care later, Newt’s leg began to heal. It was a long process that didn’t end until back in the states at Oliver General Hospital in Augusta, Georgia.

“I was out of place there,” Newt remembers. “It was a plastic surgery hospital and most of the guys there had burns or extreme disfiguring. My heart went out to them. But, (today) I think about this and see how they gave that for the freedoms we all can enjoy.”

“Break break!” (as an F-4 pilot taught me to say a few years ago to indicate that the subject is changing).

On one hand, the value of these stories is interesting because they’re so dramatic. Newt’s has it all—guns, explosions, tragedy, drama, humanity, redemption… However, I’d like to offer these stories have an even greater value because they, in spite of incredible circumstances, are also so ordinary. Remember, Newt, the commanding general, Kurtz, Monica, the Squadron Leader…they're are all normal people, doing work that—after a few clicks of time—dissolve into a greater spectrum of life.

That guy at work? The new customer at the window? The owner of the business? The doctor tapping your knee? Who knows if that was once a Monica. Or Straub. Or...

Please don’t consider these just war stories. They’re life stories, too.

By the way, Doctor Straub and Newt kept in contact, exchanging Christmas cards and well-wishes every year until Sraub died a few years ago.

The picture immediately below is of Newt’s dresser. And that’s a picture of Straub. And that's a picture of Newt and his bride. And at the very end of this post, that's Newt, quite happy with his work-a-day P-51 drawing.

To me, however, it's anything but work-a-day.

Newt's dresser top. Yeah, that guy in the German army uniform is Dr. Straub.

Thank you to the reader who hooked me up with this story. It made me almost as happy as Newt was to tell it.

Newt and my drawing of his P-51. "This" is the coolest part of my gig.

*A Florin was another name for a higher-value coin.

**Hitler Youth were a state-run program to indoctrinate young boys into the ideals of Nazism.

***Why was Newton Cobb in Panama? Good question. I asked Newt's son about that and this is what he wrote: Dad was born and living in Memphis when his father passed away. It was during the depression and he was 8 at the time. His mother, he and his brother moved in with her sister and her husband Captain Sam Fairchild (US Army) who was commanding a CCC Camp. (Note: the CCC was short for Civilian Conservation Corps, a work-program of the government designed to put Depression-affected Americans to work).

Shortly thereafter Cpt. Fairchild was transferred to Ft. Clayton in thePanama Canal Zone and Dad, his mother and brother went along as dependents. His mother married an optometrist in Panama who was a German National and that is how dad came to get a tour of the Bremen when it docked at Pier 18 in Panama. Dad attended Balboa High School in the CZ and went into the Army Air Corps from there. After the war he returned to the CZ where he ultimately retired and moved to Austin Texas.

"Break! Break"

Allow me a second to describe how I'm in business.

Anyone can draw airplanes. To prove it, if we ever meet, I can teach you how to draw an F4F Wildcat in less than 5 minutes. And if you practice for a bit, you can probably give me serious competition.

My airplane art is...(sigh) a commodity.

BUT, as you might already know, the value in my artwork is that it is signed by the pilot who flew it in combat. That is not a commodity. The reasons 'why' I do this should be self-evident to you as a reader. For now, however, you might be interested to learn 'how.' In two words: digital printing. And, digital printing has been to the printing industry what digital cameras have been to the photography industry: transformational.

Let me explain.

Twenty years ago, I would have drawn my airplane with a pencil and colored it in with an airbrush or a colored pencil. This is actually a sweet and theraputic process that would have resulted in a physical drawing about 24 inches by 48 inches.

Then, I would have hired a photographer—one that had a large-format camera, prior experience and an eye for the particular job—to take a picture of the artwork using especially high quality film. Once the film was developed, the negative would then be transfered onto "plates" that would correspond to varying degrees of Light Blue (Cyan), Pink (Magenta), Yellow and Black. These plates would then be used as "stencils" (sort of) that would apply the inks in such a way that the end result would be an optical illusion that would look like...well, one of my color drawings.

4-color separations kinda look like this. This is only a simulation but you get the idea.

It's called a "4-color Process" and it's been the accepted way to reproduce color photography and artwork for a long time.

But, it's time consuming, costly and leaves little room for error. And it's a process that's dependent upon a fair amount of skill all around—from the artist to the photographer to the plate maker (called a stripper and usually a grumpy guy with OCD) to the pressman (another grumpy guy with a different kind of OCD)...

...from finished art to finished prints, the process took about two weeks.

However using today's digital press, I simply walk into my printer's office, drop a USB-drive off with the pressman and later that afternoon, stop by for a press check that is almost always PERFECT. And a half hour later, I walk out with prints.

From finished art to finished prints, the process takes about two hours.

When interviewing "old guys and drawing their airplanes,"that time saving can mean the difference in getting the story and having it fly off into eternity without anyone being the wiser. Which kind of reminds me of that old phrase, "When an old man dies, a library burns." But that's a whole'nuther topic altogether.

Anyways, my first limited edition print run was in 2003. A few months later, another edition was literally printed in the morning and on the plane to an interview with me that afternoon! Fantastic, eh?

Over the years, I've used a wide variety of digital printers. From the home variety to the ones that are delivered in semi-trucks and require print shops to move to bigger buildings. Some are good at this, some at that...but the one that I've found that's good at everything I need is made by Xerox. In fact, I've been using a particular Xerox printer almost exclusively now for the past three years.*

This is what a typical press-check scene looks like. On a normal 4-color press, this could take hours.
With Xerox's digital press, it takes...like...two minutes.

There are three reasons I have come to insist on Xerox's process: color accuracy, color consistency and a brilliant process that coats my image with clear 'varnish' to aid in the protection of the image.

Well, Xerox caught wind of my loyalty and wondered if I would have any interest in a new development they have perfected: metallic ink.

"Would I?! Duh! Show me the metal!!"

Well before I wax poetic about actually doing silver airplanes in SILVER, have another look at the F-51 Mustang above.

This particular Mustang was actually commissioned by the fundraising arm of the Veteran's Memorial Park (VMP) of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. It's a representation of the first aircraft flown by the South Dakota Air National Guard and a full-size replica will become part of a pretty awesome outdoor memorial.

Concept art of the proposed Veteran's Park Memorial © Confluence

The VMP will offer my artwork, hopefully signed by an SDANG pilot who flew the F-51, to the community as a fundraiser. It should be a pretty awesome way for people to recognize the service of the area veterans and also (cough cough) have something cool on the wall.

It's probably my best F/P-51 ever.

Ok. Back to Xerox.

Recently (as in really recently) they printed my F-51 using this new metallic ink process and shipped a box to me. Evidently, they're using it as a tradeshow premium. But for me, I was so gobsmacked by how cool it was to see a silver F-51 actually printed in silver ink that I neglected to keep a single piece for my records.

Dangit.

But, the folks at Xerox were kind enough to sponsor our next episode of "Old Guys and Their Airplanes" and actually used their silver ink in a special run of my drawings of Charlie Plumb's F-4B and C-141A.

I wish you could reach through the monitor and see the subtle yet very real distinction this touch makes to my art. A photo of this special "Silver Edition" of Charlie's F-4B and C-141A is shown above and it doesn't do it justice. However, if you're interested, you can purchase one of these "Silver Edition" prints on my website by clicking here (proceeds go to the SoCal Wing of the Commemorative Air Force).

In the meantime, I am truly grateful for the team at Xerox for their work.

And now you know HOW I can do what I do! (Watch the video below to find out what Charlie has been wanting to do for a long time, too).

Chugging up a tropical river on a leaky wooden boat...

Jungle trees hanging over hot brown water, sweat stinging my eyes...

Clothes stucking to me like cling-wrap stretched over a bowl of hot soup...

Three sweat-soaked Americans, twelve dry Vietnamese...

I lean over to cameraman Rick and whisper, "Did'ja ever see the movie, Apocalypse Now?"

He grimaces, then softly sings the opening bars to the haunting vocals of Doors song that opened the film, "This is the end. Beautiful friend. This is the end..."

It was no stretch of my imagination to imagine the river bank ahead erupting into shards of splintered trees and metal shrapnel as a Huey Gunship roared overhead.

Yet, the reality of the moment was more improbable than the scene playing my head—I was going to a caucus of North Vietnamese fighter pilots with one American fighter pilot, Capt. Charlie Plumb.

Charlie's credentials are pretty amazing—author, speaker, Naval academy graduate, 75 combat missions and ex-POW; in his career, he's pretty much seen it all. But the Vietnamese contingent was rather experienced as well—among them were two Generals, a Colonel a successful entrepreneur and a captain of Vietnamese industry. And two also happened to be the Honchos of the MiG-17: Le Hai and Nguyen Van Bay. Between them, they accounted for 13 American airplanes.

Hold that thought and have a look at the MiGs below.

Le Hai's MiG-17.

Nguyen Van Bay's MiG-17.

It was a strange day. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining! Our hosts were fantastic, the scenery amazing, food delicious..and yet, the history of the moment was sticky like that plastic wrap referred to in line three.

War can do weird things to the brain and if merely studying it can warp my own (a Gen-x'er who's never really had to suffer much for anything) I can't comprehend what it does to those who actually have experienced it.

It was, as they said back in the '60s, "...a trip."

Anyway, back to the MiGs. Notice the green-black MiG-17? That's Le Hai's. The silver one would be Van Bay's. Of course, the men flew other MiG-17s too—the NVAF didn't have assigned airplanes; they took whichever one was ready when the scramble-call came. But, I can confirm that the "Bort" numbers on the nose are accurate.

So, to the plastic modelers reading this blog, these are indeed their MiGs. And, they're especially proud of them because these were, during the VN war, technically second-string fighters that gave the #1 military power in the world a nasty bite. It needs to be understood that when the MiG-17 was first-flown back in 1950, it was state-of-the-art in an "art" that was in a state of rapid flux; by 1967, the airplane was out-of-date compared to the much more advanced American iron like the F-4 Phantom or F-8 Crusader.

But "out of date" doesn't necessarily mean the pilot was condemned. For a variety of reasons (next post) the North Vietnamese used the MiGs with remarkable effectiveness.

Let's run the numbers.

It's generally accepted that MiG-17s accounted for 28 aerial kills between 1965 and 1972. In that time span, approximately 65 MiG-17s were lost in combat for a Win:Loss ratio of about 1:2. Granted, those numbers put the North Vietnamese on the short side of things but are actually rather remarkable.

Consider this—Le Hai (the green MiG) was credited with six aerial victories. Van Bay (the silver MiG) was credited with 7. The 13 victories between them account for nearly 50% of the total aerial losses due to MiG-17s during the Vietnam War.

REPEAT: Nearly fifty percent! It doesn't matter what side you're on, these are the mounts of two pilots who deserve respect.

Now. You might be wondering why on earth Charlie was meeting these two guys. Well, it turns out, he may have met them back on 24 April, 1967 but wasn't able to get a good look at their faces.

Not that he would have had the time...

Stay tuned.

I get into the craziest places...
I have no idea what I was saying at the time I took this picture but to have three guys of this
calibre listening to me is a page out of the Twilight Zone.

PS - Why "Snakes"? It was the nickname given to the often snake-colored MiG-17s. There are two versions of the story; one is that the name was given by the North Vietnamese pilots who saw their aircraft as deadly, quick and maneuverable. Like a snake. The other version is that the name was given by American pilots who saw the MiG-17s as pestilent, nasty and to be dispatched as quickly as possible. Like a snake.

Pick your poison.

Chances are REALLY good that you give no thought of how much your life revolves around the word, "Logistics."

Bold statement, eh? And how do I know? Because I don't think about "Logistics" much either.

Regardless, have a look at the airplane above. It's a Lockheed C-141A Starlifter. It's big, it's loud, but on an air show flight line, the "F" and "B" airplanes always seem to attract the bigger crowds. "C" planes are really just big pickup trucks. Right? I mean, what self-respecting 10 year old, staring up at the model airplanes hanging over their bed, wishes, "Some day, I'm going to fly Cargo planes."

General Eisenhower, however, made a comment that those 10 year old would-be combat pilots would do well to think about:

“You will not find it difficult to prove that battles, campaigns, and even wars have

been won or lost primarily because of logistics.”

All that stuff in the grocery store? Food at the restaurant? Stuff at the store? Logistics—the practice of hauling stuff from point A to point B. Put another way, no cargo? No combat. Period.

Let's take a moment, step back and prepare to appreciate the most important aspect of any force, Military or Civilian. And in this case, the C-141 is the Queen Mother.

Designed in 1960, the C-141 was a response to what the military learned in WWII—the world was getting smaller and military activity depended on moving materiel over huge distances, quickly. We all have our opinions on whether or not the United States should have military presence in this country or that* but the reality is, if we don't want to fight HERE, we have to fight THERE. And "there" means moving a lot of gear.

On paper, the potential of the C-141 had to be an outrageous dream. Yet, compared to its WWII equivalent—the C-47 (aka DC-3)—the Starlifter truly lived up to its name. Have a look at the graphic I put together...

The C-47/DC-3 is largely regarded as one of, if not the, greatest aircraft ever built and there are solid reasons why. But in the military application, look at the numbers: The Starlifter had twice the range, three times the speed and nearly twenty times the payload. If you work out the ratio of cost/unit compared to hauling capacity, the C-141 crushes the C-47 by being three times as efficient.

Go ahead, do the math...I'll wait.

The C-141 was a simply amazing aircraft!

For all the news coverage of government waste, I wish the average folk could realize that, for the most part, the engineers of American industry and the bean counters of Military Procurement do their best. And it's a pretty fine "best" too.

Sad to say, the Starlifter is no longer moving stars. The last military flight occurred on 6 May, 2006. It was a pretty big deal and someone did a great job documenting it on YouTube (click here). But wait a bit before clicking on it, ok? There's more you should know.

Today, the American airlift capability is practically spread out over three basic types - the C-5 Galaxy, the C-17 Globemaster III and the C-130 Hercules. I made another graphic so you can see the how the heavy-lifting is distributed.

Somewhere between the ginormous C-5 Galaxy and the "jack of all trades" C-130 lies the former domain of the C-141. Today, the C-17 is doing the 141's job and from what I've read, even more efficiently.

But.

Logistics isn't always about "the numbers."

Sometimes, Logistics is about...this.

Pulitzer Prize-winning photo, "Burst of Joy" by Slava Veder.
Please. Click here.

You knew it was coming. "0641" was not just hauling stuff. This C-141 was one of 16 that ferried 592 American POWs from Hanoi to Clark, AFB during Operation Homecoming.

Take another pause, ok? Think about what it would be like to have someone you hold dear taken away from you, held in uncertainty...and then returned. Forever changed.

(I was serious. Take the pause)

The process took almost a month and a half. C-141s would lumber into Hanoi's Gia Lam airport l and pick up the POWs as they were processed out of the infamous North Vietnamese prison system.

Each C-141 would carry about 20 POWs. Of course, a Starlifter could carry many more than that, but Operation Homecoming wasn't a cattle car operation. Instead, it was a strange diplomatic maneuver that took a month and a half to work out. I bet it drove the C-141 crews crazy, too. Left to their own devices, they could have probably had them all home in 12 hours.

This all being stated, have a look at the drawing again—0641 is the very C-141 that flew into Hanoi's Gia Lam Airport on February 18, 1973 to return 20 POWs, one of which was then Lt. (jg) "Charlie" Plumb.

Ok. The C-141 retirement video mentioned previously is really a fine piece that captures what the C-141 was all about. But before you do, watch the video below. The man shown is Charlie and the song is one written and performed by the POWs for President Nixon as an act of gratitude.

Logistics, indeed.

(Special thanks go to the Plumb family for putting together this very cool clip).

IMPORTANT NOTICE: Charlie signed a number of prints of my artwork featuring his F-4B Phantom and the C-141A Starlifter that carried him to freedom. If you'd like to purchase one, proceeds are going to the Southern California Wing of the Commemorative Air Force. CLICK HERE.

"It was hard. But good."

Those are Navy Captain and ex-POW Charlie Plumb's words in regards to the trip he just took to Vietnam. And I got it; I was—for good, bad and indifferent—there with him.

Deep breath.

Ok. you should know that I am currently supervising the production of the next episode of my video show, "Old Guys and Their Airplanes." This next episode features Charlie's story, hence the production title, "There. And Back."

We'll have a full Trailer ready in a few weeks but in the meantime, you can view five "Teasers" by clicking here. But for now, I'm sitting here, late at night, wondering just how we'll capture all the details of this incredible story.

But for now...

Progress shot, about 33% complete.

...this is my first Navy F-4; all the rest have been USAF versions. This bit of trivia is rather strange in that the F-4 is, in its heart, a naval aircraft. If you're like me, you think of the F-4 in its green and brown USAF "SEA" camouflage, bristling with bombs, missiles and fuel tanks. Yet, the F-4 began as a Navy plane and that means the typical gray paint scheme. And the Navy also defined the F-4's original role as an "Interceptor" (as opposed to the aerial Swiss Army Knife that it would eventually become).

Ok, this is where learning about the nuances of history really provides leverage for elevating one's brain. Did you ever hear the phrase, "No plan survives the first thirty seconds of combat"? On one hand, it's an amusing rejoinder. But on the other, it's prophetic warning. Birth, School, Work and Death are liberally sprinkled with examples of how one thing is intended but another prevails. Some people shrug their shoulders and accept Fate while others wonder, "Hmmm. What can we do to make this work?"

Kind of like Charlie Plumb's morning aboard the USS Kitty Hawk on 19 May, 1967. His plan was to fly his 75th mission, return to the carrier and go home to wife and country. It didn't work out that way.

Charlie in front of a SAM missile. The one in front is a real SA-2. The one in the background is a decoy
that the North Vietnamese made out of woven bamboo/reeds in order to attract attacks.
Charlie's F-4 was hit by a decidedly "real" SA-2.

Nevertheless, think about this concept of "No plan survives..." for a second. Today, you're planning on going to work, the grocery store, work on the car...but tthe future' has another idea altogether.

Makes you think, eh?

Anyway, going back to the F-4...

Designed by McDonnell-Douglas, the airplane was intended to counter the Soviet threat of bombers reaching the U.S. This is why they referred to it as an "Interceptor"—it intercepts. It's meant to climb fast, get to the target fast and do its job fast. Versus a commie bomber loaded with nukes, the traditional role of aerial gunfighting is a pure waste of time and energy. So, the F-4 was designed without a typical dogfighter's weapon, the gun. Tucked into elegant recesses under the fuselage, four ultra-high-tech Sparrow missiles were to be fired (from a distance) at whoever was stupid enough to start WWIII.

The Interceptor job was a brilliant one for the Navy, too. Launched from carriers, F-4s could pick off any threat WAY before it reached the American continent.

Charlie remembers "ground" training for future F-4 missions in a space suit connected to a portable air conditioner (see below). Yep, that's real Buck Rogers stuff. But it wasn't meant to be.

Charlie's first F-4 flight suit looked kinda like this one. Shown, NASA pilot Bill Dana and
the incredible X-15 rocket plane. Source: NASA archive

We all know what happened next, right? Uh...yeah. "Vietnam," and with that, previously accepted strategy, tactics and tech were rewritten to accommodate what the designers of 1955 couldn't know. In the next ten years, the F-4 was adapted to carry a huge variety of bombs, more missiles and all kinds of electronic gizmos. Eventually, the USAF managed to stuff an actual dogfighting gun in the nose (the Navy refrained and maybe even wisely-so but that's another topic altogether).

Nevertheless, it's interesting to note here that the Navy was extraordinarily successful with the F-4. According to one source, the USAF ended up with a 3:1 aerial victory ratio against the North Vietnamese Air Force. But the Navy managed a 6:1 ratio. And the Navy's figures are an average between the struggles of the war's early years and the later when new, adaptive tactics showed their worth.

Go Navy, eh?

Okay...

(pause)

Now, I've done a fair amount of jumping around even for my patented ADD writing style. But I wanted to try establish the concept of "adaptability." The F-4 was intended for one thing and was forced to adapt to another. Charlie Plumb signed up for one thing (life aboard a carrier, flying jets) and was forced to adapt to another, too (six years in a torturous POW camp).

This past July, right before we left for Hanoi, Charlie asked me what kind of a story I thought I'd get by following him around. In a rare moment of wisdom, I deferred to the reality of Fate and replied, "I really don't know. We'll see, I guess." And off we went, tugging 300lbs of gear on an 18,000 mile journey that took us from Hanoi to Haiphong to Saigon to some hellishly hot river near the Cambodian border...

I'll leave it like this for now: the whole trip came down to single picture that I took with my iPhone.

Intrigued? I hope so.

In the meantime, have a look at the F-4B below. It's the airplane that Charlie and RIO "Gary" Anderson launched from the Kitty Hawk on 19 May, 1967. It was a day they never figured would happen and yet would forever alter the course of their lives.

Stay tuned for more information on the next episode of Old Guys and Their Airplanes, "There. And Back."

Finished. This is how Charlie asked for it - no tanks and with a sidewinder hung off each of the rails.
To him, it's a reminder of his past. To me, it's a reminder of what can happen.

Now here's one that doesn't come along every day, the Martin PBM "Mariner."

Frankly, even if opportunities to draw this plane were more common, I am not quite sure I'd have given it its due on account of looks alone. It's ugly. In fact, it's so ugly, it's like someone tried to do it on purpose—different teams working on different parts of the airplane and never communicating with each other until that one day when someone turns on the lights...

It's a big, fat flying clog.

But—and this bears repeating—I don't talk to pilots in order to draw their airplane. If I did, all I'd ever draw would be P-51s and Spitfires. Instead, I draw the airplane so I can talk to the pilots. In this case, the pencil sketch above is an easy sacrifice in order to get one of my most fascinating interviews to-date.

Before I get into that, a little background on the PBM is in order.

A PBM-1 in pre-War Navy markings from VP-56, circa 1940

It's a late '30s design intended to be an inventoried alternative to the famous (and slightly less ugly) PBY "Catalina." Looking at the vital stats, however, I'm not quite sure why it was procured. Though about 20% larger, the PBM's range of 2,600 miles and bomb load of 4,000lbs are essentially the same as the PBY's. Then again, those were the days when equipment strategy valued diversity much more than it does in today's one-aircraft-to-rule-them-all thinking. Perhaps I'll get to the bottom of it in this process but in the end, 1,300-some PBMs were delivered to the Navy and Coast Guard (as opposed to 2,600-some Catalinas).

Now, I've been pretty negative on the Mariner so far. In the spirit of fairness, aside from looking like a Babushka and me-too performance stats, the PBM was a pretty solid combat aircraft. According to my cursory research, PBMs took part in at least 10 successful U-boat sinkings, laid mines in both oceans, sunk a number of ships (mostly in the Pacific) and rescued untold numbers of extremely grateful people from an otherwise watery doom.

And the best endorsement is this: her pilots actually liked flying it! And if there's anything I've learned over the years it's this—your favorite airplane is the one your flying.

Ok, have a look at the picture below.

An AMAZING model showing a typical seaplane tender arrangement. I found this photo on the web
and would really like to give the builder credit. It's really a spectacular creation.

What you're looking at is a typical PBM Mariner base. The ship is (of course) a Seaplane Tender. It's job was essentially to be a floating gas station, which is good because most Mariners were built without traditional retractable landing gear. It was a true "seaplane." If you can imagine it, picture the scene above taking place in dozens of secluded harbors and bays in the South Pacific. Hot sun, the gentle slap of waves on aluminum and the day's mission being whatever came through on the tender's radio. A rescue, chasing a sub, spotting a Jap ship...

Now, notice one other thing: the markings. Whoever built this diorama has captured the brilliance of the mid-war Navy "Tri-color" camouflage. Aside from the giveaway of a shadow, the Mariner and ship blend into the dappled sea beautifully. Knowing the pilot had flown virtually every sea plane in the Navy's inventory, and knowing he preferred the PBM, I readied my minds-eye for rendering acres of slab-sided dark blue, medium blue and white paint. Imagine the surprise when, after asking for confirmation of his beast's Bureau Number and aircraft number, he said, "And it was black. All black."

Black?!

"Yes. All black. I was a Nightmare pilot."

Ok. It's time for you to meet the pilot, Cass Phillips of VPB-20 and the current state of progress on his airplane. I figure I'll have this Nightmare done in time for Christmas and in the next post, we'll understand what it was like to fly this coal-colored boot straight into the Japanese worst dreams.

Oh. And back to that comment I made about drawing airplanes in order to engage the pilot. Cass sat down for a little interview at the Naval Air Museum in Pensacola, Florida. Though there's a lot more to share, this is the kind of stuff that makes me look forward to my golden years. I only hope I have half of Cass's sense.

More to come. In fact, I've got about 60 minutes video of the man let alone finishing out his PBM!

This is how it goes sometimes...

A call came in, an unknown phone number from Texas; I answer and someone drawls, "Yuh'interested in a storah?"

Anyone else might hang up. Or at least say, "Pardon me?" But I know better, especially if there's a Texas accent attached to it. So, I sat down on the front step and readied for the moment. "Storah?" I replied. "It bettah' be a good'n!"

Have a look at my sketch above. It's one of the coolest looking warbirds EVAR and chances are good, you have no clue what it is (because I didn't either until my Texas Buddy explained it).

It's the QT-2PC, one of only two of the type that flew during the Vietnam War. It's role was to loiter over combat areas and spot Viet Cong traffic at night. Built around the excellent Schweitzer 2-32 glider, this powered version was, in many ways, an ancestor to today's drone.

Photo of the QT-2PC's godfather, the QT-2 (prototype).
Notice the little strips of aerodynamic tape to help indicate airflow...
Credit: (probably) Lockheed Missiles and Space Company

Now, here's where things get a little...strange. At the time, there were no markings other than a giant numeral on the tail and those that built it refer to its military sponsor as a "Customer" rather than a specific branch or unit. As a fact, the Army claimed ownership but the project team was actually tri-service (Army, Navy, Air Force).

However, the overriding project was actually managed by DARPA - the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency.

DARPA, though sometimes clouded in mystery (some truth to that) was created in 1958 as an R & D lab to develop new technologies for military use. Basically, if the Air Force ever got jet packs, the Navy flying subs, the Marines computerized body armor or the Army "smart" bullet, DARPA prolly done'it first. In 1967, with the war in Vietnam all hot and heavy, DARPA got wind of a Navy pilot's idea for a low-altitude observation plane that could fly for long periods of time and be undetectable via sight or sound.

Now, here's where things get a little...confusing. I think I'm getting better at understanding the labyrinth of how government works but I still can't get past square one. So, when "mil-speech" starts happening—the jumble of acronyms, unit numbers and contacts—my brain starts to skip. However, my Texas Buddy wrote the following to me regarding the program's authorship...

At the project onset, we were LAC’s LMSC Advanced Concepts Airborne Systems Quiet Thruster Program working in a secure corner of the Lockheed Aircraft Service Executive Transport Service Hanger in San Jose (really different and almost independent from the main plant – Skunk Works, North. We were known in the “White World” as “San Jose Geophysical” and we answered the phone with “Stan’s Cleaning and Pressing”.

We did not become Prize Crew ‘til late in the year – after we overwhelmed the competition in an acoustic “fly-off” competition. At that time (approx end of Sept), our onsite DARPA (to say the least) recommended the experimental aircraft converted to tactical versions (in 90 days), sent to and evaluated in Vietnam (The Prize Crew Operational Evaluation (OpEval).

I know of two specific sites/reasons for the deployment, but don’t which is correct. Whatever, DARPA could not field the project, so the Army Transportation Corps did so. And, because they were paying the bills, we ended up in “Target Rich” IV Corp (IV CTZ)!

Make sense? Sure it does. And if I have any say in the matter, it'll make even more sense the next post! But until then, let me explain the phrase, "Prize Crew".

A progress shot. The color is bizarre; its very apparent that it was a custom job and not part of any prescribed formula.
I'll be adding quite a bit of gray, white, yellow and blue to help match the handful of decent color shots I have.

"Prize Crew" was the code name for the Operational Evaluation project that encompassed the QT-2PC's trial in combat. It's an interesting name that harkens back to the swashbuckling era of capturing the enemy for ransom. In this case, the Prize Crew team 'captured' civilian-style gliders from a military procurement order and turned them into these spectral birds.

Though only two were ever deployed in-country, they logged nearly 600 combat hours, hawking the trails and terrain of South Vietnam, looking for Viet Cong. No fewer than 5 DFCs were awarded to its pilots, too.

The Prize Crew mission isn't really new information any more. There are a couple solid sites that you can click on (here, here and here) for great background. So, I won't reinvent the wheel (so to speak).

Which gets me back to that Texan who called me up offering me a "storah."

Shhh. I think I hear a few comin'... or is that just the wind...?

(watch this space)

And watch the movie below.

Drive-by history. It’s a shame but what else can you do?

Hold that thought for a moment and look at the art above. It's the start-to-finish animation of LtCmdr. John Waldron's TBD-1 Devastator circa the Battle of Midway, June 4, 1942. It's a rare airplane for me in that I was unable to talk to her pilot. As for real-life examples to use as reference, the only surviving TBDs left are dissolving on the ocean floor.

See, this airplane was Waldron's pyre. The ocean, his grave.

It's not easy drawing a dead man's airplane, especially one that was cut down so tragically; Waldron lead his squadron, Torpedo 8, on a valiant charge against the Japanese carrier Kaga during the opening rounds of the battle. It was the squadron’s first time in combat, first time with live torpedoes…I figure within five minutes of making their bomb runs, they were all downed—the entire squadron of 15 airplanes, 29 men, gone.

Among history geeks, "The Story of Torpedo 8" is well known. It has every element of the classic tragic tale—valiance, naivety, incompetence, duty, valor, foolishness… Even today, on the cusp of the 21st Century, the story can bring a man to tears. I know this because the man who commissioned my artwork did just that.

“We can’t let this story die,” he said. “At least not like Waldron did.”

I made this little doodle to get an idea of what was going on when Torpedo 8 attacked Kaga.
It doesn't show any other Japanese ships or the defending Japanese Zero fighters.

Ok, hold that thought.

Last month, I got to get a little closer to Waldron’s story when I had the chance to get up-close-and-personal to Waldron’s Navy Cross. In terms of ranking, the medal is the second highest award of the U.S. Navy. Only the Medal of Honor ranks “higher.”

Now, in my interviews, I’ve learned that 99.99% of the time, no one sets out to “win a medal.” In fact, I bet if you were to approach some of history’s heroes beforehand and say, “Good morning! Today is the day you win the Navy Cross! (or whatever)” most would blanch. In hindsight, I can only imagine coming alongside Waldron in the ready room and saying, “Psst. Today, you’re all going to die.”

Of course, that’s a silly thought because time-travel doesn’t exist. But it does pose some interesting thoughts. After we put away Waldron’s medal, National Museum of Naval Aviation Director, “Buddy” Macon made the comment, “They had to know! They had to know! They had to know that they were dead men—how on earth do you get up into the cockpit when you know this?!”

John Waldron's Navy Cross. My journal. Stuff like this makes my day.

Though I didn’t ask him to clarify, I suspect Buddy wasn’t referring to Torpedo 8’s mystical appointment with fate. Instead, I believe he was drawing upon the facts of the day. 41 TBD Devastators took off from the aircraft carriers Hornet, Enterprise and Yorktown. 6 returned. All things considered, flying the TBD against the Japanese was a death-sentence. In other words, Macon was asking the perennial question, “What makes people attempt, what odds are indicating, the impossible?”

Think about that for a moment...

Of course, there are real books written about the Battle of Midway. Heck, it's such an incredible moment of American history, my dad wrote his ROTC Officer's Thesis on it and he was Army! But in the end, the Battle of Midway was simply the beginning of the end for the Japanese. They were crushed. So why the tragedy for Torpedo 8?

Firstly, the Battle of Midway was still on the left-end of the learning curve for naval aviation. The war in the Pacific was barely seven months old and Midway marked only the second time America's carrier-based aircraft would be used in full-scale warfare. Attack procedures, tactics and equipment were more based on theory than practice. This is, of course, is the reality of things and proof of the adage, "No plan survives the first 30 seconds of combat."

Secondly, the TBD Devastator was obsolete. Five years prior it was state-of-the-art. By 1942, tech had surpassed the poor bird's standard. Loaded for combat, the airplane could barely crack 95 miles per hour. That's fast on the interstate but against 300mph enemy fighters and a blizzard of ship-fired anti-aircraft guns, 95mph was practically stationary.

Thirdly, the TBD was poorly kitted for combat. The .30 caliber nose gun might have been fine for deer hunting but firing it against something like an armored warship was not even annoying, let alone deadly. The rear gunner was also armed with a single .30. Against the thin-skinned Japanese fighters, the odds increased but not by much. To this end, Waldron insisted on fitting Torpedo 8's TBDs with an extra .30 machine gun, doubling the defensive power (bear in mind, the British put FOUR .30 caliber guns in their turrets, but let's not go there right now).

This photo (credit unknown) is supposedly a shot of Waldron's double-.30 gun modification. Better that the original single-gun mount but in reality, nowhere near good enough.

In terms of attack ordnance, the Mk.13 torpedo purely sucked. According to the 1952 publication, U.S. Navy Bureau of Ordnance in World War II, defects were so numerous and so bad, over 100%* of the things were defective! If you look closely, you can see there's what looks to be yellow fins on Waldron's torpedo—that's actually a plywood box that was hastily added to the fin structure to keep the torpedo from (at least) running too deep. Once the torpedo hit the water, the box would momentarily stabilize the weapon before disintegrating into the ocean. Talk about Rube Goldberg...

Fourth, Torpedo 8 was ridiculously managed. Now, I wasn't there. But according to Robert Mrazek's excellent book, "A Dawn Like Thunder" the Air Group from the USS Hornet (1 fighter squadron, two dive bomber squadrons and one torpedo squadron) was poorly lead. Instead of giving the slow, poorly defended TBDs fighter protection, the battle order placed the fighters high above the wave-riding TBDs.

To get your head around how weird putting all the fighters "on-top" was, the next time you fly commercial, listen for when the flight attendant announces that you, "...can now use portable electronic..." When that happens, you're around 10,000 feet. Look out the window and watch the ground. Imagine down there, a squadron of tiny lumbering torpedo planes chugging along. Now, double your altitude to 20,000 feet. Now imagine what happens if you're in charge of protecting them—the enemy could make two, three passes by the time you can make any difference at all!

I have no idea what "they" were thinking. Neither did Waldron. Reportedly he asked numerous times for fighter cover. Three maybe only two F4F Wildcat fighters would have been enough. But no, the TBDs of Torpedo 8 got nothing.

Lastly, however, is the factor that remains somewhat controversial as it involves Waldron's disobeying command. Some how, some way, Waldron had an issue with the course that the Air Group was to take in order to find and attack the Japanese fleet. Putting a metaphysical point on it, Waldron's instincts told him that the attack force was heading the wrong direction. Some how, some way, he knew where the Japs were. After requesting a course correction twice (and being denied), Waldron pulled Torpedo 8 out of the formation and led them on, alone.

Who knows if, had Waldron been given a covering group of fighters, if they would have followed suit. It doesn't matter. The Hornet's attack force never found the Japanese fleet, wasting the battle resources.

Waldron did. You can re-read the third paragraph now...

I bought the August 31, 1942 edition of LIFE magazine. This is the spread they gave Torpedo 8.
The little TBD models are ones I bought to use as references. Waldron is marked by the red arrow and George Gay, the only survivor the Hornet's TBD force, is circled.

Before you think Waldron was really just a mutineer, recognize this—while Torpedo 8 was getting cut down by Japanese fighters, dive bombers from the USS Enterprise were able to sneak in and crush the Japanese carriers, effectively ending any hope for Japanese victory. Period. In the end, the Japanese lost four aircraft carriers to the American's loss of one.

Waldron's instinct led he and his squadron to death, but in the end, it became the key to American victory in the Pacific.

Think about that for a moment...

Ok. One more diversion.

This afternoon, I had lunch with a doctor that practices medicine in another country. He’s been doing it for years; it’s his passion to serve the people and do what he can to raise the standard of medical care there.

Evidently, this country used to provide free medical care to its people but are now loosening the controls to the point where the average citizen is paying for his/her own care. Same with education, too. A government-paid University degree is becoming a thing of the past.

I asked him how it’s going over and his comment was interesting, “Well, they realize that if they’re going to improve and grow, it’s going to come at a cost.”

But after another bite of his meal and a few thoughtful chews he struck me cold, “But that’s not the way we think about it (in America). I think we’re forgetting the idea of reaping what one has sown. You know, the idea of cause and effect.”

“Huh?” I asked.

“We want things to be free. Let someone else pay the bill.”

I found this on the inter webs. It seems to make a certain sense.

Hmm. Now, this is not a political rant. This is a post about a WWII airplane and her pilot.

(deep breath)

It doesn’t take too long to learn some remarkable facts on Waldron. For one, he had Native American blood. His mother and grandmother were Native Americans and he spent time on at least two Indian Reservations. For two, he was a South Dakotan. You can’t get any further from the ocean than South Dakota. That he ended up a Naval Academy graduate is even more ironic. For three, he was 41 years old when he died, a veritable old man that should have been back at the carrier with a cup of coffee. For four, he was a husband and father with everything to live for.

I can state with utter confidence that Waldron did not have a death wish. Instead, he was driven by principles and values that somehow, someway transcended the notion of safety. And, these were the kind of principles and values that led every other member of Torpedo 8 into their machines.

In fact, I’d say that Waldron’s story is no different than anyone's who is willing to risk something dear for something greater. Of course, this kind of thing is hard-wired into our military, law enforcement, first-responders, doctors…but what about other kinds of venture like business, human rights or (gasp) politics?

Right now, there’s a plaque at the foot of the John C. Waldron bridge that crosses the Missouri river between Waldron’s birthplace of Fort Pierre and the state capitol of Pierre. It was put up in 2002 and I’ll be damned, I just found out about it last week.

Photo from JohnWeeks.com I drive across this bridge 4-5x a year and never knew it was named after a bona fide hero.
And to think Caitlyn Jenner* is better known than Waldron...

Riveted to a slab of rock, it’s a fine plaque but it’s simply another piece of drive-by history; “names, dates and places” with a few dramatic words sprinkled in. Of course, there’s no problem with the placard in and of itself. The problem really lies in that this is it.

So, please have another look at the drawing—the pencil-sketch genesis to its finished form. I was paid to do it, but in exchange for money, I put in nearly 60 hours and involved at least a dozen people around the world (fact checkers, detail wonks, history geeks). There was nothing “free” about this drawing; its quality is the result of many coming together for an idea that John C. Waldron’s service symbolizes something worth keeping alive.

Everything worthwhile has a price. And if we want to truly own it, we need to pay for it.

I suspect that’s what Waldron would say to Buddy Macon.

I suspect that’s what Waldron would want on his plaque, too.

I even suspect that Waldron would approve of the advances made by the country that my doctor-friend serves.

But for me, I’d like to see this in the classroom.

And...

...in myself.

Thank you for the example, John C. Waldron.

*The Mk.13 torpedo often had multiple defects like having dead motors, sinking to the bottom, turning in circles instead of going straight, running too deep and simply not detonating. Today, there'd be a headline and a trial. Back then, however, it was understood as part of the process. Go figure.

**I have no issue with whatever Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner wants to be. My problem is that somehow, this year, he became news, displacing things of greater consequence.

That's a LOT of black!

Considering the PBM Mariner was nearly 30' longer and 5 tons heavier than a B-25, it should be a lot of black, too. And that's the problem. I've drawn, re-drawn and re-drawn this best at least three times.

But that's no big deal because today, December 7, 2015, has more to do with the above airplane's pilot than the airplane he would fly. See, Cass Phillips is one of the few alive today who can remember the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

So, though the airplane above will probably change some more, her pilot's memories—I hope—will remain with us forever.

Watch...

VPB pilot Cass Phillips remembers "Pearl Harbor"

Source: Me.

“…get your gear. We’re going up.”

Have a look above. It’s the B-18 Bolo the Army Air Force used to photograph Pearl Harbor on December 9, 1941. Ugly airplane, even uglier day. In case your history teacher let you down, December 9th’s significance is that it was two days after the Japanese attack on the Navy port of Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.

You know—the day that, according to President Franklin Roosevelt, “…will live in infamy.”

Last week, I had the chance to talk to one of the day’s few remaining survivors, Stanley Lieberman of the 86th Observation Squadron. He was an aerial photographer that “shot” from the back of the guppy-shaped 0-47. But as fate would have it, his sole experience in combat would take place on the ground at Wheeler Field, Oahu, during the attack. His sole battlefield experience would occur over the harbor itself in the B-18 shown above.

O-47 Observation airplane. Obsolete at the time of the start of WWII - didn't see combat.
Photographer: unknown

The opportunity's timing was uncanny—it came to me a week before the attack’s 74th Anniversary and thus thought it a great way to commemorate the day. However, with so little time to interview Stan, research the moment and draw the airplane, I am afraid the haste may have showed up in my work.

Of course, I could have waited, put this project in line with all the other ones and maybe published it next year. But somehow, there seemed to be a sense of urgency. Maybe that urgency was fueled by my typical type-A nature. Maybe the attack on San Bernardino had something to do with it too. And of course, Stanley is 98 years old…

It doesn't matter. Back to Stan.

Of course, I had to ask the question, “What was it like?!” The man has been asked this question hundreds of times over the years but I was surprised at the thoughtfulness and generosity of his answer. He spoke, not with from rote reply but with surprising spark and emotion. He wanted me to know.

“First, I remember the vibration of my cot and then the BOOM! A bomb exploded just across the road from our barracks. That was (about a quarter to eight) in the morning.”

This is an awesome map of the Japanese' Task Force's trip to Pearl and back. It took them a month.
It also shows the position of the American Lexington and Enterprise carriers.
Today, this wouldn't happen. But then again, who's attacking us with aircraft carriers these days?
Source: unknown

Wheeler Field was the first “official” target of the Japanese; the scores of American aircraft lined up in perfectly straight rows were outrageously simple targets for the Japanese aircraft to strafe and bomb. According to Stan, the aircraft had been properly dispersed the prior week but the day before the attack, were lined up as if on parade and fueled. The "infamy" of Pearl Harbor was as much a product of poor planning as it was the attack itself.

"Did you know what (the explosion) was? Who it came from?"

"No! But we figured it out quickly!” I remember getting into a group of five guys and heading to the armaments shack. So we could get guns. It was a little room inside one of the buildings, surrounded by chickenwire—rifles, guns on a rack—and there was a .50 cal machine gun in there, too. Only there was a Sergeant in front, standing guard, and we came in there, asked for the guns and that Sergeant says, (Stan pauses and chuckles with incredulity) 'I can't release these guns without the signature of an officer!"

"So what did you..."

"We tore the chicken wire down and got the machine gun!”

I wanted to ask about the hapless Sergeant but it was apparent that the pedantic bureaucrat was overruled if not overpowered.

Browning M1921 liquid cooled .50 cal. It wasn't popular, it wasn't common but it was available.
Considering the heat these things generate, I'm surprised it made 30 rounds before melting...
Source: U.S. Army

"We (set up the machine gun). One of the guys had ran off to grab some .50 caliber belts from (the airplanes) and we lifted the top (of the gun) loaded the ammo and started firing (at the Japanese airplanes strafing the airfield). I was supposed to keep the belt straight as it fed into the gun (to keep it from kinking and jamming). We got off about 30 rounds before the gun stopped. (The gun) was liquid cooled and we didn't know to hook it up to water."

"So what did you do then?!"

"That's when someone handed me a (1905 Springfield) rifle. It was the first and only time I'd fire a gun in combat.”

See if you can imagine the moment; the Doppler blat of airplane engines, crackling staccato of machine gun fire, thump of explosions and the hiss and tinkle of debris and shrapnel…who prepares for this?!

“I’d never fired a gun in my life! The airplanes were low. And close. I could have hit one with a shotgun. And slow (flying) about 80, 90 miles per hour. I remember one flew by me, strafing, and seeing the faces (of the pilot and gunner). I could see their faces!

This is a ridiculous sketch I made while sorting through the story. After the war, Stan learned to love hunting and he stated that he'd wished he'd had the shooting skills then that he'd acquired later.

I remember lying down on my belly in the doorway of the barracks. I picked an airplane flying past me, a tan-beige one. I pointed, aimed—no one had told me about how to lead a target. Today (after hunting and fishing had become a part of his life) I wouldn't have missed! But then? I fired. I didn't hit anything.”

The rest of the day was an adrenalin-tinged blur of fire, smoke, debris and the gradual stuttering of senses to center, regroup and do one’s job. Stan ended the day guarding a building with five other young men. As the setting sun and blackout-order cloaked the island in inky black, nervous anti-aircraft gunners shot at anything; sounds, suspicions and even American aircraft.*

And, in a fashion, the shooting didn't stop until September 2, 1945.**

Back to the B-18. Have another look.

Stan Lieberman in the back of the O-47. He wasn't flying in this type on December 9 but he was using that kind of camera.

“That morning (December 9), I was told, get your (camera) gear. We’re going up. And we walked out to a B-18. They were still bulldozing the burned up airplanes (at Wheeler Field).

We climbed out for about fifteen minutes, then flew over the harbor for the next hour and a half. I stood in the belly, over my camera, taking pictures.”

“Describe what you remember…”

“Dark, black film over the water, over the whole harbor. It was oil. And small boats going everywhere, this way and that. We flew over about 500’—and (I remember) a ship half submerged that I think was the Oklahoma***; men crawling over the sides. Did you know they heard (men trapped in the hull) tapping?”

I had indeed read of the survivors, trying to signal people on the outside, desperately clanging whatever they could to attract help. The idea that sailors were forever trapped inside the bowels of these huge ships, unable to be rescued, is disturbing to say the least.

(Stan paused, sighed). “That was my only combat experience in WWII.”

"Where are those pictures?"

Pearl Harbor, from the air. I couldn't find a source but it's supposedly taken on December 10, 1941.
Maybe it was one of Stan's and incorrectly dated? Who knows.
Source: Unknown

"Don't know. And I would sure like to see them. As far as I know, the photos I took for the Army (Air Force) haven't been published. But they were good pictures, I'm sure."

I spent some time looking through the wilds of the internet, hoping to see aerial shots of Pearl Harbor with an Army or Air Force credit but came up short. Somehow, someway, the Navy won the credits and their excellent work remains in the official record. Could one of Stan's shots been appropriated? Maybe, but who can know? All I know is that it'd have been so cool to have found them and deliver the man's work, 74 years later. Instead, for now, this rush-job B-18 has to suffice.

Yet, there's a strange reassurance that comes when history is still with you as Stan is. One of my friends illustrated this when, after I told him I was talking to (another)**** Pearl Harbor vet, he exclaimed, "Cool! I didn't think there were that many around! That's great!" It was as if he were acknowledging that the world was somehow a better place because of Stan (and others) mere presence.

Perhaps it's just the tendency for people to be attracted to nostalgia. But I can tell you this—thinking of a day when we don't remember December 7th's significance is not reassuring at all.

And to that end, Stan (and Cass), I hope you live forever.

*During the night of December 7, five Navy F4F Wildcats were shot down by nervous anti-aircraft gunners. Three pilots were killed.

**The Japanese formally surrendered.

***429 aboard the Oklahoma died, comprising a sixth of the total number of Americans who were killed in the attack (2,471 killed, 1,203 wounded).

****Cass Phillips is my second Pearl Harbor vet. Check him out below. :)

"If all of your heroes die, you have no more heroes."

Hold that thought.

Have a look at the MiGs above and below—they're ex-NVAF birds flown by two of North Vietnam's ranking heroes of the Vietnam War. The silver one was flown by Nguyen Van Bay (7 victories) while the green one was flown by Le Hai (6 victories).

I drew them last year to present to the pilots as gifts. Though I've met a few NVAF pilots before, these two were especially interesting in that they flew this almost-obsolete jet in combat against the American state-of-the-art. They did pretty well, too—between the two of them, their aerial claims account for almost 50% of the type's victories during the entire Vietnam War.

Judging by website stats and emails I receive, the Vietnam War is coming into a new vogue and predictably, the audience is half the age of those who served. Of course, that makes sense as the days when MiG-17s were scrambled to meet American iron were two generations ago. As in, 1966.

And, since 1966, the world's population has more than doubled. Today, it's around 7.5bn. Back then, it was 3.3bn. Put another way, statistically, there's a whole new "1966 world" that has come to life after the fact. Put another way, pretty soon, the Vietnam War is going to be utterly absorbed in time.

Poof.

break break.

Ok. So here's the scene: ex-POW Capt. Charlie Plumb and I are on a bumpy bus heading west from Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon). We're in the front bench seat while behind us, two ex-NVAF fighter pilots are flanking our translator. I'm cranked around getting my palm read by one of the pilots, Tu De De. He's making a big show of it and then announces that, though I was an 'intellectual,' I was probably impotent. (Half right, take your pick).

Fun-nee.

He then looks over at Charlie, smiles and makes a kind-of-bow. Prior to my "reading" (more like a curse), he'd read Charlie's palm and proclaimed him strong, handsome and virile.

It would have been a whole lot more awkward if it hadn't been so damn funny! Then again, it wasn't the first time a writer got dissed in a crowd of warriors. In hindsight, I have a million awesome comebacks but that's the problem when you're an intellectual—it takes so long... (drum roll, rim shot).

General Le Hai (Ret) as a Lieutenant, circa 1967
Photo from Dr. Sy Hung's "Red Book"

Anyway, the other pilot was General Le Hai. He'd been following the banter with sideways glances; I wasn't quite sure if he was amused or not, but I've come to expect such that from Generals* as they tend to have mastered the art of keeping a diplomatic distance. Tu De was, on the other hand, a Colonel and therefore capable of providing comic relief (at least I hope that's all it was).

Eager to change the subject, I started asking questions of Tu De, who seemed to like the attention. Our translator was especially quick and the conversation flowed easily. I learned a ton about the air war that took place post-American involvement, circa 1973-75. There's so much more to that story, it deserves a book so I'll leave it at that. However, when it came to, "So did you claim any aerial victories?" our translator stopped and waved his hand as if to say, "No."

No as in "No victories" or No as in "Don't ask this"?

"I will not ask the question," said the translator. "It is (pause for the correct word) impolite."

Irony alert.

"Why not?" I asked.

"It is, respect. For the General."

Tu De and Le Hai were following the translation with interest, though I wasn't quite sure how much they were picking up. But, being an intellectual (ha ha) I figured that somehow, the Asian concept of Saving Face was coming to light. On the other hand, being impotent, I figured I had nothing to lose by pressing the issue.

"Ok, just one more question - did Tu De score more than General Hai?"

"I do not know and I will not ask. Maybe later. Not now." The translator smiled awkwardly and made a quick sideways glance at Le Hai. Tu De looked away and started watching the scenery pass by at the excruciatingly slow speed of 35 mph. Oh-kay...

A few hours later, just he and I, the translator explained that bringing up Tu De's achievements in front of a superior officer was bad form. So too was palm-dissing someone with a blog read by thousands of people, but I digress... (touché, Tu De!)

General Le Hai, Capt. Charlie Plumb, Nguyen Van Bay at Van Bay's farm.
They were trying to recreate a moment in time from April, 1967 (hence the map and tokens)
Note the logo over the dude's house...
Photo: Me

Fast forward—it's night time and we'd just spent the day at Nguyen Van Bay's farm (awe-some!). Tu De and Le Hai were in another car and Van Bay had hitched a ride with us back to Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City). It was late, we were exhausted and no one was particularly enjoying the 2.5 hour bus ride in pitch black rural Vietnam. However, unencumbered by protocols, Van Bay was proving to be an excellent conversationalist.

I couldn't quite determine whether Van Bay was the prototypical Party Ideal (he even looks like Ho Chi Minh!) or rugged individualist (going from fighter pilot to farmer?!) but his story was compelling. Armed with a 3rd grade education and a childhood of comparative poverty, Van Bay rose to the rank of fighter pilot with the native instinct of a bird. Here's the kicker; out of thirteen sorties** (making contact with American aircraft) he scored on seven, achieving a victory each time he fired his guns.

Ho Chi Minh himself grounded Van Bay on account of the pilot's hero-factor.

Anyway, up until this point, we'd talked more about tactics, weapons, history and what it was like to be a fighter pilot with a 3rd grade education. It was Van Bay who shifted the tone of conversation. "One of (your generals) said that you would bomb us into the stone age, correct?"

"That'd be General LeMay. Yeah, he's supposed to have said that."

"It was true, I didn't even have a stone bowl!" (he laughed).

Nguyen Van Bay circa 1967.
Photo from Dr. Sy Hung's "Red Book"

It seemed a good time to now ask the question everyone asks me to ask them, "So what did you think of (Americans) during the war?"

His reply was quick. "Whoever hates me is my enemy."

He then looked away, thought for a bit and added, "(But) no one won (the war). We were (both) unlucky that it happened. Now, I am happy that I don't have to fight. We can be colleagues." He nodded at our translator, Captain Plumb and myself, punctuating the gesture with an authentic, beaming smile.

It was the perfect time to move the conversation away from the past and onto something brighter. Grandkids, his farm, maybe bottling his homemade hootch***... "So what do you want to do with the rest of your life?"

Upon the translator's restating, the smile receded. Van Bay paused momentarily, and if my memory serves me right, took another look out into the black.

"Now? I will tell you. I want to go to America and meet the families of those that I killed. I (can) never say I'm sorry. But, I want to give them my respect."

Hmmmm. There's another story there but I'm not sure how to proceed. Wish me luck.

Back to the quote at the beginning of this post - "If all of your heroes die, you have no more heroes."—that came from General Le Hai. He seemed especially eager to say it, nodding at Captain Plumb, then my pen and notebook. I remember the General affectionately patting our translator's arm, too.

So, I dedicate this post to our translator—a Vietnamese intellectual himself, father of two and as honored to spend time with his country's heroes as I am my own. I hope he and I are smart enough to keep them alive, too.

And in response to Le Hai's quote, I totally agree. If the memories of our heroes die, future generations have nothing to go on other than superstitious guesswork.

PS - Why "Snakes"? It was a derisive nickname given to the little MiGs on account of their manueverability, ground-hugging tactics and sometimes snake-colored camouflage.

OH YEAH! If you'd like to build your own MiG-17 in Van Bay's markings, click here.

Bus ride with ex-NVAF fighter pilot Nguyen Van Bay from John Mollison on Vimeo.

*Le Hai worked his way up the ranks.

**13 seems like a low number but it bears out considering the frugality and absolute authority of the NVAF's "Ground Control" mode of operations. As for scoring every time he fired, Van Bay expressed the dicta of so many WWI and WWII aces of maneuvering to fire at the closest possible range. He told me that they were taught to be, in his words, "...close enough to touch the enemy's belt."

***Actually, pretty good. It was tart, sweet and thick, if you're a fan of Sour Patch Kid candy, imagine them liquified and tinged with Rum.

To own prints of either MiG, signed by their pilots, click here.

Amusing anecdote time!

Have a look at the F-4 above; it's a B-model that flew close-air-support for the Marines during the Vietnam War.

A few of the details are worth noting—for one, it's a VMFA-115 plane. The stylized "silver eagle" on the tail illustrates just one of the squadron's unusually diverse variations in markings. For two, the nose is a tri-color, incorporating the black anti-glare panel, white underbelly and gray sides (usually it's all-white or all-black).

But, the third detail is hard to read and I'm not referring to the blurred-out the name of the crew. For now, the pilot's name and record will remain incognito. Instead, see if you can read the last-line of copy. I'll spare you the squinting: it reads, "The Rose Garden, Nam Phong, Thailand, 1972-1973."

Though I'd heard of Nam Phong, I'd never heard of any place in SEA with such a lovely name.

“What’s that about?” I asked the pilot.

“Ever hear of Lynn Anderson’s song, “I Never Promised You a Rose Garden?”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Truthfully, I was all-to-familiar with the song. The only thing I loath more than "Country" is the phenomena called Earworm. Growing up in the Dakotas, and being that Lynn Anderson was a native daughter, I'd been infected at birth.

"You've got to hear it!" he exclaimed. Whoosh! In the glory of the internet, I got an email; he gifted me the Earworm song.

And now, I gift it to you.

Great. Just great. It'll take me three more weeks to clean the thing out of my head. But in this case, that's part of the point. While the Air Force had, "Hot and cold running girls and beer" at their bases, the Marines had something more "earthy."

He also sent a picture.

From the VMFA-115 "Cruise Book." I am sure the photographers are known to someone
and if you know who, I'd love to give credit.

“That was your base?! It sure doesn't look like any of the bases I'd seen before!”

Bear in mind, of the little I know about the aerial portion of the Vietnam War, 70% of it has to do with Air Force (as opposed to Navy, Marine, Army or NVAF ops).

“Yeah. We had tents and C-rats*. The Air Force guys in Udorn** had air conditioning and nice restaurants."

In a pathetic effort to relate, I tried to find common ground. "It looks like a lousy Boy Scout camp."

"Naw. It's a Marine thing; more bang for the buck. You know the old adage, ''we never promised you a rose garden!"

It must be a "Marine Thing" as they made it part of their recruiting efforts, too.

You know, the Air Force guys have probably long- forgot their cold beer and cool dorms but to the Marines who flew from the grime-crusted, bug filled and mildew-scented tents of their “Rose Garden” base, the humble circumstances are a proud memory.

From photographer and Rose Garden alumnus, Robert D. Young.
He let me know that at one time, he had many more photos of the place but the heat and humidity got to them. Thankfully, he didn't let the discouragement get to him; he's still taking pictures.
http://www.rdyoungphotos.com

*About those "C-rats." The photo below is from a Marine airman circa 1967. Based on what I've learned from other Marines, I'd guess they hadn't changed in 1972.

Photo Paul Mashburn, via Wikipedia

**Udorn was a well-used USAF base during the war. Click here.

"My father is…(pause, laughs) the real thing. Not a lot of words. But he means them. (pauses) Did you know he got on Conan O’Brien?”

She sounded like she was twenty but I did the math; she couldn't be. Her dad was 95 years old! But, I couldn't get to him without first going through her. And really, it's just as well. I don't like poking around in family memories without at least one of "the kids" knowing about it.

“Don’t expect him to talk much though. He's a man of few words.”

Thankfully, I've managed to catch the man when he's talkative as this blog post is only a fraction of what my notebook contains.

Have a look at the airplane above. It’s an F4F-4 Wildcat from sometime in Spring of 1943. It flew from the island of Faleolo within the island chain of American Samoa. In case you were sick when your geography class studied obscure American Territories, Faleolo pokes up from the bottom of the Pacific Ocean about 2,000 miles north, northwest of Auckland, New Zealand.

Faleolo is somewhere in that circle. I think.

According to the internet gods, Faleolo is only one of 5 islands that total 80 square miles—about the size of Des Moines, Iowa. Today, its main business is tuna fish. But back in 1943, it was a place where tired Marine pilots went to rest. One of whom, was Sam Folsom, the young woman in the opening paragraph's father. "Popeye" was her dad's F4F.

There are a few things you should know about “his” airplane. For one, it likely didn’t see combat. American Samoa was just outside the fringe of where the Americans and the Japanese clashed, hence its value as a place of "R & R". The fighters were there to help keep their pilot’s proficiency without the distracting pressures of combat.

For two, the nose art—Popeye—is in Marine dress-blues. Though I had a pretty-awesome photo as reference, the pressure to depict the rendering accurately was exceptional in that I knew Sam would have an especially critical eye. He painted it himself.

Sam the artist! This is Sam next to "Popeye." Courtesy Sam Folsom.

For three, the insignia is a little odd; the white bar that seems to pass through the fuselage’s white star and blue circle does not have the typical blue outline and the proportions are atypical. But, it's about spot-on for the Faleolo-based airplanes. Modelers and detail wonks take note.

However, draw your attention to the three stacked Japanese victory symbols under the cockpit. Those were achieved several months prior over Guadalcanal while Sam was part of the famous, “Cactus Air Force." These were the Marine aviators that engaged the Japanese in the lore-filled street-fight for the island chain.

Compared to London, Berlin or Pearl Harbor, Guadalcanal was a ridiculous place to stage a showdown. For most people, the term “Tropical Island” evokes scenes from an idyllic vacation. For the Marines of 1942, the picture was one of heat, infestation, dirt and death. The Japs were on the forward-move, needing the chain of islands (called The Solomons) in order to base their invasion of Australia. In particular, the single island of Guadalcanal was their choice for an air base in which to launch aerial attack.

In a bold move to stop the Japanese strategy, American Marines landed on Guadalcanal on August 7, 1942 (just 9 months after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor) and after numerous back-and-forth battles, managed a claw-hold on a Japanese-built airfield named “Lunga Point.” Though the field remained under enemy fire for many more months, the Marines renamed it Henderson Field in honor of Lofton Henderson, a Marine SBD Dauntless pilot who was killed a two months prior at the Battle of Midway.

Funny how quickly heroes can get memorialized, eh?

Published in January of 1943, and written by a young battle reporter, this book was fresh!
It's definitely a great read; click here.

Anyway all-things-Guadalcanal is the stuff of WWII Legend. I won’t even try describing it further. Sam arrived during the thick of it—8 October. At the time, he was one of the first echelon of seventeen Marine fighter pilots of Marines Fighter Squadron, VMF-121, tasked with defending the island.

Sam’s recollections are not only unusually clear, they’re typical. Based on what I've learned from other Cactus Air Force veterans, there was no let-up on the pressure to perform. Japanese artillery hammered the base with jealous fury. Japanese aircraft strafed the field with sneering surprise and somewhere, out beyond the perimeter, Japanese soldiers sniped with an unnerving regularity that never allowed anyone to relax. This didn’t go on for hours or days. It went on for months.

"It was hard time. We were in constant readiness. When I think back…’ (Sam’s voice trails, he clears his throat) ‘I believe (VMF-121) had 40 pilots in total. 20 of us made it out alive; 3 couldn’t cut it and were cleared out…(Sam’s voice trails again, he coughs). 16, 17 of us made it home. That’s not very many is it.” He states matter of factly.

“That’s less than fifty percent.” I reply.

“Yes. I think you’re right.”

While we were talking, I had two VMF-121 mission reports showing Sam’s claims on three Japanese aircraft sitting in front of me. I scanned them for a discussion-starter on what he could recall from his moments in combat. “What gave you satisfaction while you there? I mean, tell me about your Guadalcanal service?”

“Well…you know…(another pause). Did you know...did I tell you about the battleship?”

“No...”

“Ok. So, the night before—probably November 13, 1942), we were shelled unmercifully! Unmercifully! See, Henderson Field wasn’t just one field. It was two. There was the one that had PSP. There was the other that was really just somewhat of a flat strip of plowed-up vegetation. We flew from that dirt strip. At night, I frequented a bomb shelter that was a hole in the ground. It kept the shrapnel from hitting you.”

Sam and Company, circa 1942. Sam is on the far left. However, don't miss stained patina of the F4F...and also, make sure you note the roughly hewn ramp allocated to the Wildcat drivers of Henderson Field.

Not having much experience with flying shrapnel, I said the only thing a soft Gen-X writer can say, “Huh.”

“Well, one night, the night of the greatest shelling, there’d been a battle before. Out there (in the waters off Guadalcanal). And, we didn’t know the specifics at the time, but a Japanese battleship had been damaged. Its rudder was jammed.'

'So Joe Foss called me in the next morning. Since I had experience as an Ensign in the Navy, he figured I could identify the ship! So, I was given a silhouette book (book of solid black illustrations to aid in identifying specific types of war machinery). My wingman and I took off from the dirt strip. But he had engine trouble and had to abort. So I was off on the flight alone.”

“Off Savo Island, I found a battleship, later identified as the Hiei. It was encircled by, I remember six destroyers but it could have been four. I (got out of there) and (came back) to report what I'd seen. About 2 hours later, we were dispatched to strafe the Destroyers while the (SBD dive bombers and TBM Avengers) went after the Battleship.”

This photo was supposedly taken from USAAF B-17s on 13 Nov, 1942. The Hiei is the long white object at the end of the clockwise arc. Source: USAAF/wikipedia

Ok. Pause for a second.

Get this into your mind—a Kongo-class Battleship was equipped with at least 124 anti-aircraft guns. The six Destroyers (probably Fubuki-class but who the heck knows?!) would field another 180+ guns. All together Altogether, 300 guns firing an average of 400 rounds per minute put up 2,000 rounds a second.

Now, think about this—2,000 supersonic pieces of metal, forming a lethal screen designed to stop the Americans from reaching the prize of real Japanese meat.

“I made one run (on a Destroyer), pulled up to about 4,000 feet and got hit by (probably six) Zeros. I had no airspeed, they were diving on me; I got shot to hell! To my credit, I didn’t freeze up. I thought, “I’ve got to get the hell out of here!”

Fortunately, there was a cloud cap above the scene and Sam slipped into the milky gray just in time—just in time to catch a glimpse of one of the pursuing Zeros wing by so close, he could see the pilot. Sam breathed a sigh of relief; he’d made it. But not for more than a minute or so—an instant later, his tubby, blue-gray, bullet-riddled fighter pierced the cloud bank and re-entered the wide-open sky.

“Goddam! They were right there waiting for me!”

Using their superior maneuverability, the Japanese were able to turn like flies and snap into firing position. Tracers stitched the air, some finding their mark, puncturing the thin skin of Sam’s airplane. And body. He turned again into the cloud.

“What happened then?!” I exclaimed.

Ha! Great excuse to doodle a dogfight.
And there are more where this one came from, too.

“I stayed in the cloud. I was hit in the leg, not bad. But I stayed in the cloud for maybe (pauses) fifteen minutes. I left the cloud again, looked around and saw they’d gone. I flew back to base.”

Sam then described limping home to Guadalcanal and landing his bullet- riddled airplane in a plume of black smoke and belches of flame. All things considered, I had expected Sam to show dramatic emotion in the retelling but he didn't. He stated the events so matter-of-factly, it seemed...routine.

“And so, what happened next?!”

“Well, the next day…”

Stop. What a minute...the next day?!

I need to stop here because if I don’t, I’ll end up writing for a year. It’s almost always this way—you try to figure out where a guy’s story starts and end up realizing that it’s much bigger than just a squares on a calendar.

If you think I'm being cruel by pausing now, recognize that I simply have to as the man's life isn't organized into neat chapters. Instead, the days are linked in graduated hand-offs that link the last days of WWII in Okinawa, a gut-wrenching ring-side view of the Battle of Chosin Reservoir, a man-hug from LBJ, running errands for Juan Trippe and now, at 95, watching traffic from the insulated hush of a high-rise apartment.

“So what does a guy like you think of today?”

(silence)

I persisted. "You know. Headlines. Economy. ISIS. Politics...”

It's an old interviewer's trick; throw out a little controversy in order to spur conversation. I don't do this for sport but out of the sincerity that, if the hearer has something decent to say, the answers often help me define how I answer the questions myself.

“Of what?!” He snapped. I wasn't sure if he was perturbed at my question.

“Of the times, you know, today...”

After a deep breath, Sam responded in the questioning tone that marks a man searching for the right words.

“Any talk that we’ve taken so much, that we’re under such and such threats, (that) we can’t take any more…Christ. I’m in a luxury apartment, watching all the cars, the mountains (looking outside the window)…Baloney." Then, with a youthful burst, he found what he'd been trying to say was passing by, just on the horizon.

“Look! Right there! There goes a multi-million dollar jet. Owned by some business, on its way to land. Can’t take it? Life too hard? Well, someone’s out there making it happen…”

Sam took another moment and stated thoughtfully, “Stress? That’s for newspapers."

It's a quote from entrepreneur Richard Branson. I suspect Sam agrees.

By now, I'd learned the rhythm of all-things-Sam Folsom. This wasn't a man who valued hand-wringing, fear or any kind of nervous self-preservation. It was full-bore into tomorrow or nothing at all.

He cleared his throat and spoke softly, as if to someone in his imagination, "Stop complaining...”

And I wrote it down.

PS. I almost forgot. About Conan O’Brien.

In 1998, Sam was at a bank that was being robbed. Long-story short, Sam signaled over to a cop on the street and helped him wrestle the robber to the ground. The story made national news and culminated with Sam’s appearance on Conan’s show. I’m working to get a clip of that episode but suffice it to say, in case you’re wondering where an “old man” gets the verve to stop an armed bank robber (shots were fired, btw), it may have a start but usually, it's a just a momentary expression of an entire lifestyle.

This is Sam circa 2015. The photo was taken by photographer Ed Burns.
Freaking AWESOME work, Ed.
CLICK HERE

To own a print of "Popeye" (signed by Sam) click here.

Done. And it's going to take a while before my eyes can do a black airplane again. Most airplanes take me about 35 hours to do. This one clocked in at over a 100.

That's a long time to be drawing an airplane, don't you think?

You probably don't want to hear my struggles trying to get this beast to look as it should! However, recognize that "black" is a color that doesn't trifle with aspects of Light or Texture. It seems as if black's defining attribute is to blend-in rather than stand-out.

But, here it is, the PBM-3 "Mariner" that Cass Phillips flew as part of VPB-20 based in the Philippine Islands, circa late 1944.

PBM-3's in formation, courtesy Cass Phillips.

For aviation buffs, the PBM doesn't come to mind as a WWII Navy bomber—history tends to remember the airplane as somewhat of a rescue, supply or gigantic liaison craft. Indeed, the Mariner served in all those functions. However, it was, first and foremost, a war machine.

Don't expect any photos of PBM formations, high over a target, unleashing a stick of HE onto factories or armored columns. Instead, the PBM was used more as a search-and-destroy weapon. In the case of Cass's squadron, VPB-20, the missions were characterized by hunting low and slow along coastline and river estuaries, looking for hidden Japanese freighters or patrol boats.

If you've got an imagination, picture the airplane lumbering along a tropical coastline, about 500ft off the waves, 500-1,500 feet off the beach, all eyes trained to spot anything that didn't look quite right. Of course, you're probably imagining the scene during daylight...

Supposedly, this is a camouflaged Japanese ship somewhere in the S. Pacific. Any clue?
UPDATE: That was quick! Evidently, it's the HNLMS Abraham Crinjnssen, a Dutch minesweeper that escpaed the Japanese by disguising as an island. Gawd, the readers of this blog are clever...

...however, have another look at "Barrel House Bessie" (Cass named her). Typically, PBMs were painted in the Navy's "tri-color" scheme of gray-blue, lighter gray-blue and white. Obviously, that isn't the case here. Some time in the Fall of 1944, the Navy gave the airplane a new coat of paint.

"All black?!" he remembered. "They painted my airplane all black! And of course, you know why they did that, don't you?"

Cass's PBM-3D, BuNo: 45313. It appears here in its tri-color paint scheme. When it was painted all-black in late 1944, Cass couldn't remember if the "313" was painted over or not. He and I discussed it and elected to keep it on the black version.

"Yeah."

"That's right! We needed it to fly at night!"

Think about it—by late 1944, the Japanese were so on-the-run, the only place left to hide was in the dark. So, night-time became the time when the Japanese felt safest moving about. Warfare, of course (at least if it's 'done right') is not a 9-5 job. Well, it is...but for VPB, it meant 9pm to 5am!

Based at Tacloban, Philippines, a VPB-20 mission would begin at sunset. One can imagine the howl of the engines, the percussive banging of waves, the steady of roar of water-on-aluminum and then, at the moment of flight, a sudden smoothening, replaced with the hypnotic rumble of 3200hp droning overhead.

Cass and Crew of "Barrel House Bessie", circa 1944.

"We'd get up and go around the (Philippine) islands." Cass explains. "We'd be out looking for the little ships—supply, troops—and when we found them, we'd flip on the spotlight and start shooting! We'd make our first pass (with guns) and then I'd turn back around and then we'd bomb."

"And I'm assuming the Japanese kept their lights off, right?"

"Yes'sir."

"So how did you spot the ships?!"

"Well (clears his throat), that'd be where we used radar. See, we had a radar man aboard. The old radar, the kind we used in PBY's up in the Aleutians, that wasn't as good as the radar we had (in the Philippines). We'd fly along the coast lines until the guy would identify a target and we'd hit it."

"What did a ship look like (on radar)?"

"(A typical radar picture) was a line, a line that simulated the coast. That's what we'd see. And our radar operator would be able to tell if anything stood out along that coast."

"Like a ship?"

"Yes. Like a ship."

Bear in mind, those early radar scopes weren't anywhere as clear as the ones in use today. A few years ago, I saw a demonstration of what WWII-era radar screens looked like and was surprised at how crudely they displayed. They looked more like Rorschach test graphics instead of anything resembling reality. In today's instant-evolution of technology, it's easy to forget the often exhausting process that brings us to where we're at.

"That had to be an art to learn how to read those things. A skill almost..."

"It most certainly was! It was something you had to learn. By experience."

I can only imagine what it must have been like to be up there in the dark, looking for targets—their sorties certainly inspired the nickname of "Nightmare" given to the mission of the all-black PBMs. But I'm not quite sure who had the nightmare, the Japanese or the PBM's crew.

"So you'd take off at night and come back, when?"

"We'd fly all night. We'd get back around sunrise."

Though every job has its challenges, to me, the hours of instrument-flying in a black-out sdenvironment, searching for those fabled "seconds of terror" are especially awe-inspiring. Have a look at the photo below—it's a picture I took of Cass's logbook.

Cass Phillips logbook, VPB-20. The page is turned to November 1944.

Check it out yourself—a crew of nine or ten, aloft for fourteen hours on three dates, thirteen hours on another. That's some serious time aloft! In comparison, a B-17 mission in the ETO was long at 8 hours.

But then again, Cass's 95 years comprise some serious time alive.

Hmmmm.

You know, if I had a dollar for every time I was asked the question, "When is your book going to be ready?" I'd be really wealthy. My answer is the same—I don't know. This all takes time. Though I really enjoy the tech and data, my real passion is for the bigger-picture story and that, as Cass knows, doesn't just happen.

I can promise this much—when I get my book ready, Cass will be in it, no doubt. In the meantime, I hope you can spare a couple minutes to listen to his thoughts on what he's learned over so long.

Come to think of it, I shouldn't complain about how long it took to get Cass's airplane done. He let me know he was glad I put the time in it to get it right.

VPB-20 bomber pilot Cass Phillips on "ageing." from John Mollison on Vimeo.

Cass Phillips, VPB-20 and Me.

Have a look at the F-105 above - it's an animation showing my progress (about 70% complete).

The real thing, however, was flown by USAF pilot Gene "Smitty" Smith on October 25, 1967. He took part in a mission to sever Hanoi’s crucial "Paul Doumer Bridge" and therefore cripple the North Vietnamese's ability to supply its capitol. Gene did his job with spectacular results - at least one of the two 3,000lb bombs his F-105 carried cracked the bridge's span.

Yet, the North Vietnamese anti-aircraft gunners did their job, too (as will be described in this and future posts).

Gene Smith in front of his F-105 circa 1967. Dig the Australian-style "Bush" hat.
Source: Unknown

Though the "Thud" could bust Mach 1 at low level and carried more bombs than a WWII B-17, the war-tech of the time hadn't really changed since WWI—"bombing" was still an act of putting iron, free-fall bombs onto targets. On paper, it's fairly uncomplicated math—a bomb dropped at x-speed, y-altitude at z-angle will impact at a particular point. But in real life, dropping bombs is more complicated due to atmospheric conditions, human factors...even split-second delay in a circuit can throw things off.

Gene, however, wasn't concerned with outlier variables. Instead, he was steeling his brain to do his appointed task within the most heavily defended airspace on earth.

A quick sketch showing Gene's Thud going in—and yes, I know I have the dive-angle too shallow.
It was drawing at the kitchen table and trying to carry on three conversations simultaneously.
Obviously I wouldn't have made it as a Thud pilot.

Do yourself a favor and imagine the scenario—a "Force" of fourteen* F-105s approach the target. Starting at 12,000 feet and scorching along at about 620mph, the Force assumes a diagonal (echelon) formation about five miles away from the target. The Thuds are about 50' apart. The dive-angle is 40 to 45 degrees—any steeper and the pull-out will put the airplane too low (easy pickings for small arms fire). Any shallower and the accuracy is reduced due to the difficulties of oblique bombing in addition of providing the enemy with more time to fire.

About a mile from the target, the 25 October Force rolled-in to attack the PD Bridge and it sorta looked like this...

Gene and I spent about half an hour going over this little illustration I did—it's really impossible to get the scale and motion down into a workable graphic. But, I hope it's better than nothing.

On the ground, the North Vietnamese gunners are ready. But, put any notion of duck-hunting out of your mind as there's no sense of selecting a target, aiming and firing. Instead, it's all about probabilities — the gunners have a sense where the airplanes are going to be coming from, what altitude and where they'll be exiting. However, they also know they’ll be coming in too fast to deliberately pick one out. Of course, a sense of marksmanship is needed but in reality, the practice of “anti-aircraft” is a test of mathematic probability - put up X-amount of bullets in a defined space and the probabilities of getting a hit are Y.

Two female NVA AAA gunners, location unknown. I guess "Corbis" says they own the copyright on the image
but it looks suspiciously like posed propaganda so not quite sure if the copyright holder is actually
somewhere in Hanoi.

For the pilot, 'evasion' is not in the game plan. As I tried to allude, it takes an extraordinary amount of focus and skill to put a free-fall bomb onto a fixed space; the brain can either occupy itself with avoiding the blizzard of invisible bullets or concentrating upon hitting the target. It’s an either-or deal.

Of course, this mental effort is why the pilots practice - it takes time, energy, money...and this is why a military force must continually train, train and train. I don't mean to get political but every time you hear of a politician wanting to cut money for the military, "practice" is part and parcel of what gets cut. Draw your own conclusions.

Anyway, in Gene's case, the fruit of practical experience came into play (this was his 33rd combat mission). The peppering of explosive flak ahead? Ignore it. The glowing finger of a supersonic SAM missile heading your way? Ignore it. Flinging two 3,000lb bombs onto a space about 20' wide by 20' high and 20' deep? That.

The Paul Doumer (Long Bien) Bridge circa 1950. Photo credits? Dunno. Prolly some French photog in an observation airplane.

If you have a typical patio deck, that's about the right size of the target area. Yeah, the bridge was a lot bigger than that but again, you have to remember that hitting a bridge is different than hitting a building. A bridge is, from altitude, more like an uncooked noodle, suspended in the air. All it takes is a fraction of an inch to miss the target and put a crater in water.

Ok. It’s an oft-quoted statistic that the F-105 had the highest loss rate of any fixed-wing aircraft during the Vietnam War. Indeed, about 250 were shot down over North Vietnam due to anti-aircraft guns. Another 30 or so were lost due to missiles. But that’s not the fault of the F-105 per-se. With over 20,000 F-105 sorties flown, the loss rate was about 1.6%—slightly more dangerous than driving in Los Angeles. But make no mistake about it, those numbers, though accurate, are skewed—we’re not talking about rank amateur civilians on a highway but seasoned, trained professionals working like crazy to wipe the other out. It’s a bizarre quirk of fate that so many F-105s ‘got through’ and another that, despite the blizzard of bombs over the course of a long war, the Paul Doumer Bridge STILL EXISTS.

Still, though the big-picture sortie-stats put the Thud in its rightful place of respect, the day-to-day stats that affected the individual pilot are downright horrifying—Gene let me know that an F-105 pilot flying in 1967-68 had about a 50% chance of finishing his tour of 100 missions. To all you ground-bound pilots of the L.A. Freeway, traffic may suck but be thankful you're not living with a Thud's odds!

F-105 Loss-rate stats. Read'em and weep.
Source: "A comparative Analysis of USAF Fixed-Wing Aircraft Loses in Southeast Asia Combat" - U.S. Air Force (declassified) These numbers are disputed.

But I digress…

Please. Have a look at Gene's "Thud" above one more time. Indeed, though I admit it looks pretty cool (so far), it’s really incomplete. There are at least two parts I’ve got completely wrong and I haven’t even STARTED on figuring out what stencils it had. Bottom line—expect a lot of change between now and later.

However, while I’m finishing this Thud, I challenge you to think about what you know about the Vietnam War. Think about the movies you’ve watched, the books you’ve read…and the people you haven’t** (repeat) talked to about it.

Of course, I’m no expert. Each time I’ve returned to Vietnam myself reinforces the fact that pursuing knowledge, wisdom and growth is not simple, nor easy. In many ways, such study is like the biblical analogy of the ‘wide road versus the narrow road’—the wide road is smooth and unchallenging but leads to a form of failure. The narrow road, though sometimes difficult and lonely, ultimately arrives at success.

Next stop, in Gene’s own words, “North Vietnamese Jail.”

I found this old Comic at comicbookplus.com
You can read the whole story by clicking here.
It has nothing to do with Gene's story other than the comic features a pilot bailing out of an F-105 over Vietnam.

*A "Force" typically comprised four Flights of four aircraft for a total of 16 F-105s. But on 25 Oct, 1967, one F-105 had to abort due to a hydraulic problem and another had to leave the Force to accompany the aborting jet, resulting in a Force of only 14. On 25 Oct, Gene was leading the fourth Flight.

**A few weeks ago, I bumped into a Caribou pilot (who later flew B-52s from Anderson AFB) and we talked about the fact that WWII vets seem to be more eager to share their past than Vietnam-era vets (for many reasons that the average person should easily understand).

However, a challenge to the Vietnam War community—we (my generation and younger) can't learn much by relying on Hollywood or 'the Media' as our primary source of information. Write your book, talk to your family...you'll be surprised at how important your story is to the narrative of life.

A few years ago, my daughter crossed swords with a WWII fighter pilot, Don Bryan. She was just a little squirt back then but Don picked up on what my wife and I knew since day one—she’s fierce. Suffice it to state, the double-ace and my kid became buddies.

Up until the moment Don died, he encouraged us—“(Your daughter) is living in a day where she can do anything she wants! Your job is to help her do that!”

Don Bryan circa 1944. He was a double-ace with the 352nd FG, ETO
Source: U.S. Army Air Force photo

It meant something to him that our kid could become, again, “…anything she wants.” But to my wife and I? We never questioned it; for me, growing up with three FIERCE sisters, the idea that women were somehow “weaker” was totally alien. In fact, I came to fear my sisters the way some people fear sharks and grizzly bears. However, Don came from a time and place where women weren’t given the same opportunity as today. It meant a lot to him to remind me that my daughter should not, could not be held back. From anything.

Fast-forward a few more years and a patron asked me, “Have you ever drawn a WASP (Women Airforce Service Pilot) airplane?” I said no. “You should. Their story is really meaningful. They overcame a lot of obstacles; when you do one, the first print is mine, ok?”

He explained that overcoming life’s obstacles is a common theme of his work and he thought a WASP print might inspire his patients. I should mention, this person is a male psychiatrist who leads the department of an extremely prestigious medical system.

The WASP Congressional Gold Medal awarded in 2009. Notice on the left; the pilots are shown "stepping over the line"
in a symbolic gesture. Design? I'd love to source the designer—it's awesome (and it shows the "difficult to fly" B-26 Marauder, too!)

Fast-forward five more years…and have a look above. It’s a Boeing PT-17 Stearman (also known as a Kaydet) biplane as flown by WASP pilot Bernice“Bee” Haydu. How do I know? The actual airplane still exists*—Bee flew it in the summer of 1944 while in the 7 month WASP training program.

Much has been written about these pioneering women. But Bee gives a terrific briefing.

"The WASP were paid by Civil Service with the promise that if this experimental group proved successful, we would be taken into the Army Air Corps. It was successful but when the bill came before Congress, it was defeated due to the fact that male cadets wanted their jobs rather than going into the Infantry. It wasn’t until 1977 that we were belatedly recognized as veterans of WWII.After graduation we were assigned either to the Ferry Command or the Training Command. (We) were not allowed over seas. The Ferry Command is self explanatory, (but in) the Training Command, whatever base to which you were assigned, the aircraft at that base is what you flew."

"We served at about 150 airbases all over the country and held (many) different jobs from towing targets for the anti-aircraft to practice shooting with live bullets, night flying for the beacons to practice shooting, flying gunners so they could practice from a moving aircraft, engineering test flying, utility pilots, testing prototype jets. and on and on. We flew every aircraft manufactured for the war from the smallest to the largest, including the B29."

Approximately 25,000 women applied to be WASPs but only 1,800 or so were accepted into the program with 1,074 actually earning their wings. Do the math—we’re talking a 2% acceptance rate…and it wasn’t for lack of skill. You have to remember that, back-then, the world was different. “Women” didn’t have the career options and open-minded future that most of us enjoy today. The WASPs were simply a formalized realization of the fact that pilots were needed, regardless of gender.
Anyway, a while ago, “The Airplane Geeks” had a woman named Sarah Rickman on their podcast. She is the editor of the WASP News (published by Texas Woman’s University) and is also the group’s Oral Historian. Remembering the words of my doc buddy, I figured I could not only make a sale but finally get to meet one of these legendary women.

Ok. If you’re at all a reader here, it should be apparent that I’m not keen on asking common questions. I like to poke and pry in an effort to figure out what the person is really like. But before I get to that, you need to know a few facts about Bee Haydu. For one, she’s 95 but you’d never know it. And that isn’t me trying to assign some sort of cute charm to a little old lady. Bright, energetic and assertive, Bee explained her life with an easy humor that made me feel like we were sharing a beer at a bar.

Bee with her flight instructor, Charles Grieder, circa 1943. I thought this was a cool picture because she was
raising the flag.
Source: Bee Haydu

“It was 1938, I’d just graduated from High School and was feeling sorry for myself for not going to college. So I looked at night courses and found one on aviation! That was the start. After the course I started taking flying lessons. We read in the newspaper that Mrs. Sheehy would be in Newark, N.J. recruiting for the WASP. Myself and five others were interviewed and allowed to join the class of 44-7."

I could imagine Bee trudging out to #12, wrapped in parachute straps, leather jackets, helmet and goggles, ready to make sure the silver airplane was ready for the next crop of male pilots…the image was at once appealing as well as sad; they really broke fresh ground for aviation but it was too bad that they would eventually have their wings clipped that December 20, 1944.

Pretty cool picture of Bee circa 1944.
Source: Bee Haydu

“So what did you do afterwards?” I asked.

“I loved flying so I tried to get any flying job I could. I did some freelance instructing and started a business ferrying civilian airplanes. That lead to me getting my own Cessna dealership.”

“You had your own dealership??”

“Yes! And I joined 8 other veterans and we started a flight school - Ruscoe Flying Service."

“Where did you get this entrepreneurial spirit? That had to be rare for a…”

Bee explained that though she understood women were discriminated against she wasn’t affected by it, at least not enough to dull her ambition and sense of positivity.

“Back then, I did experienced some (prejudice) but more because of my faith*. But you know, there were six women in my Bay (WASP dorm room). All six of us came from different religions and you know, we would discuss them. But we never got angry or belittled each other. Instead, we had respect. I learned that (respecting others who were different) it could be done.”

It seemed like the right time to ask what never fails to provoke an interesting response, “So how are things different than when you were growing up?”

“Probably parenting. I see a lot of parents doing for their kids what they should be doing for themselves. My mom raised us to do things on our own. She gave us the gist of something but then we had to do it ourselves. We also learned it elsewhere. I sold Girl Scout cookies.”

“My daughter did that, too.” I felt a wave of pride in the knowledge that my wife and I weren’t part of the modern malady of helicopter-parenting and I was looking forward to Bee’s approval.

She waited a moment and then stated matter-of-factly, “We baked our own.”

(insert disbelief—home backed Girl Scout Cookies would never fly today)

Bee (middle) on the game show, "To Tell the Truth," Nov. 9, 1977.
Source: Bee Haydu

“Where else do you see differences?”

“Well…” Bee paused and asked, “Do you ever get those emails where people say that you should do something?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I see it in the ones I get. You know, they say ‘send this on’ or ‘you need to read this’ or ‘this should make you upset or something like that?”

“Yeah. I know the kind. I get them too.”

“Ok, good! (Those emails) all want (the reader) to do something. People seem to talk a lot about doing something. But you know what? Most people don’t do anything. They’re telling someone ELSE to do it. That’s not how anything gets accomplished. Someone has to actually get out there and actually DO.”

Bee with President Obama at the signing of the proclamation for the WASPs to receive the Congressional Gold Medal in 2009. Bee's on the far left and she's surrounded by other WASPs and current USAF pilots.
Source: USAF Public Affairs

break break

So, my daughter came home from school and in the little bit of pleasantries we exchange before she holes herself up into her room to stare at her phone, I mentioned that I was working on Bee’s airplane.

“Cool. She sounds like someone I should know.”

“Why’s that?”—I baited her as I had a good idea of what she’d say but sometimes it’s good to get proof. She didn’t disappoint.

“She gets stuff done and I like the inspiration. You know this, dad…” she rolled her eyes in exasperation, readjusted her heavy book bag and disappeared down the hall. And wouldn’t you know it, the little squirt contacted her. And Bee replied...gawd only knows what will come of it; it's really up to our daughter to make something great out of Inspiration. But, the past tends to repeat itself and I'm sure that somehow, someway, Bee's story will push her higher.

Nothing gets done if you don’t “Do.”

Our kid. She's a bit older now, same determined face...and loves her heroes.
Source: My wife and I.

PS – Bee married Joe Haydu in 1951 who had been a Stearman Instructor in WWII. The two owned three different Stearmans along with about 9 different other aircraft. Bee was careful to point out that her husband, "...was a great pilot and we both continued flying until our late 70’s."

PSS - Bee wrote an interesting book on her life and the WASPs. Click here.

OH. And if you'd like to buy a print of my artwork, signed by Bee herself, click here.

*MASSIVE thanks to Mike Porter, owner of the very Stearman that Bee flew. It's now restored to stunning glory...but when I was looking for a shot from the specific time period, all we had was the picture below.

Bee's Stearman circa 1944 and today (Mike won Best Stearman at Oshkosh, too).
Source: USAAF and Mike Porter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yessir.”

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

“Yessir…”

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

“Yessir.”

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

“Yes…huh?!”

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

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

“Uh, Nosir.…”

Ok, Hold THAT thought for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, back to that conversation…

(laughs)

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

"So, what did you say back?”

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

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

“Uh…?”

“Your commitments. Did you keep them?”

(pause)

“Yessir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah...?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He trusts us.

Blue Skies, Punchy Powell.

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

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

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

Hold that thought.

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

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

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

So, to me, "Military" is fascinating.

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

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

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

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

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

Ok, back to the airplane.

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

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

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

And that means this is a very human story.

"Launch aircraft!"

Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Profile 104: FINSHED—"A-Bar" as flown by Newton Cobb, 364th FG

Profile 105: FINISHED—"SDANG" F-51 and Sliver Phantoms.

Profiles 108, 109: IN PROGRESS—"The Snakes" of the North

Profile 106: FINISHED—"0641" as flown February 18, 1973

Profile 107: FINISHED—"Charlie's F-4" of VF-114

Profile 110: JUST STARTED—PBM Marlin as flown by Cass Phillips, VPB-20

Profile 112: JUST STARTED—QT-2PC as flown by...who?!

Profile 111: START to FINISH— "Dakota Warrior"; Douglas TBD Devastator as flown by LtCmdr. John C. Waldron

Profile 110: IN PROGRESS - PBM Mariner as flown by Cass Phillips, VPB-20

Profile 113: "Unknown" - the B-18 "Bolo" bomber as crewed by Stan Lieberman, 86th OBS

Profiles 108, 109: FINISHED—"The Snakes" of the North

Profile 117: FINISHED - "The Rose Garden" F-4

Profile 115: "Popeye" as flown by Sam Folsom, VMF-121 (etc.)

Profile 110: FINISHED - PBM Mariner as flown by Cass Philips, VPB-20

Profile 116: IN-PROGRESS — "1168" as flown by Gene Smith, 333rd TFS

Profile 120: "12" as flown by Bernice "Bee" Haydu, WASP

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

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

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

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