Secret Life of Joe Grope

As the train from Gunnery School rumbled along, Christmas Eve was fast approaching—and so was Selman Field. It was on this trip that I made a fast friend of A/C Joseph Grope.

He was a good Joe, full of hope, ambitions, and characterized by other virtues. But he looked beat now. The six agonizing weeks experienced at Gunnery School had left their mark.

There was just one thing that buoyed his spirits—the one thing that kept him alive was the possibility of a furlough. Everything that had happened would be water over the dam if only he got that furlough..

I'll never forget that Christmas Eve, for it seemed as if everyone, including the weather, was against us.

No sooner had we gulped our Xmas dinner than we listened to what the fates had in store for us. Joe braced himself and gritted his teeth. Then came the news. And the vision of Santa Claus turned into one with horns and pitchfork. What a low blow! No furlough again! And Joe's chin hit the floor. It was a miserable night! The weather, no furlough, tac officers shifting up from one barracks to another. And no furlough!

It took weeks for Joe to recuperate, but when he snapped out if it, he became an eager cadet. Eager Joe Grope they called him.

Sure it was a rat race. But Joe had to be eager and he dreaded those gigs. Gigs plus gigs added up to tours. And Joe had no time to walk tours for there was little enough time to take care of important things. No, sir, Joe wanted no publicity in the Daily Gig Gazette.

In the classroom, he whirled the plotter furiously and tried to reason with the E6B confuser. And those definitions. Everyone but Joe could remember those definitions.

The weeks rolled by and the big day approached. Joe's first mission. For hours, he plotted his course and set up all sorts of convenient forms so that he would be a hot rock navigator on his first trip.

Take-off time—and I could see Joe chewing that wad of gum at a furious pace. Into the place we went and our excited instructor barked, very dramatically—"fasten your safety belts, men."

Over departure—and Joe wrinkled his brows a dozen times trying to decide whether it was 130115 or 130116. But he was alll set now and proudly called for a double drift. Assuming the professional look of a hot rock, Joe manipulated the handles cautiously at first. Then faster and faster until it was evident that he was very much entangled with the driftmeter. In sheer desperation, he turned around and said, "For the lu-of-Pete, how do you line up the grid lines with those d--- isobars."

Sure, Joe had his troubles, but they were only beginning. Now take the first time Joe got airsick. He was doing pilotage from the third seat in an AT-7. According to Joe, the tail whip would put an Indian snake dancer to shame. They were flying so low that he could see the gaping eyes of the squirrels in the treetops. Why, his pressure altitude had them 200 feet below sea level! It was so rough—said Joe—that George, the automatic pilot, bailed out.

Then there was that mission where Joe let the plane drift off course and he was somewhat bewildered. During the critique, Joe told his instructor that many times he gazed at the pilot and the pilot had that "give-me-more-degrees" look.

Joe was really hot glying those critiques. Yes, he knew exactly where he was all the time and why everything took place as it did. "But, sir," he would start off. Joe wasn't lost. He just couldn't reach an understanding with his instruments and pilot. "But, sir,"—and so on into infinite.

Week in and week out, Joe was tormented with winds. Nothing he did would get him a wind. In his dreams he could hear his instructor say, "You get deviation and work back to true heading. You read drif and you have TMG You know your TAS and you know your GS. So what've you got? A wind!"

Along about this time Joe was encountering difficulty remaining eager. It seemed that no mission could be flown unless it had been postponed a few dozen times and every destination in the book had been plotted.

Down to the flight line he hiked himself every morning. Invariably destination was changed and more rush plotting took place. And after the metro man reviewed the synoptic situation the flight was cancelled.

Joe didn't like this, for the routine cut into his sack time. And sack time was the most precious thing he possessed. He could take a lot of things like being granted special privileges that never materialized. But cutting back into his sack time was sacriligious.

Another thing Joe couldn't fathom was why unfailingly night classes were scheduled Tuesdays and Thursdays—the only nights he could have visitors on the post. He didn't mind the rush from class to PT to the showers (?) to retreat to chow. But night classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays griped him.

"Celestial Joe"—they began to call him when he started the octant. And Joe was determined to live up to his reputation in the air.

I'll never forget the first three-star fix Joe got. He used the reflection of his flashlight, the dome light and the pilot's beacon light to get a perfect pin-point fix.

Of course, Joe had to contend with eager pilots who were taking the special two-week navigation course. The pilot would borrow his octant at the most inconvenient time. And every time he tried to get a radio bearing the co-pilot would take control of the set. Not to mention his E6B and Weems Plotter disappearing. Joe was a mighty sad navigator, tugging at his hair and beating his head on the driftmeter.

Only a few missions left to go and Joe made considerable progress. The only missions he ever flunked were Zero-Zero. He always had difficulty in pin-pointing himself on clouds.

Ever since Joe started Advanced Navigation, he thrilled at the thought of being weathered in at some big city. It wasn't until Number 20 came up that Joe came close to being weathered in. On this one, Joe took a hop to Big Springs, Texas. Because Selman was closed in with heavy fog, he went up to Wichita, Kansas. Here he got the big break he was permitted to go into town for three hours.

Joe really shined on Number 21. He was completely lost until he got a three-star fix on Arcturus, Sirius and Shreveport. Then he made good his controlled ground speed by diving on course, taking double drifts, swinging the astro-compass, and finally putting the wheels and flaps down.

Now it's all over. But, Joe is sweating things out as he's been doing ever since he became a cadet. You'd think he had enough sweating out Open Posts, Exams, Missions, Critiques, and inspections. All he has to sweat out now are little things like: Will it be F/O Grope or Lt. Grope; OTU or RTU; and leave or no leave.