CHAPTER 12 SEPTEMBER 1, 1944 -- SEPTEMBER 30, 1944 COMBAT FLIGHT TRAINING NAS HOLTVILLE, CA

The squadron arrived at the air station which is on the edge of the desert about noon. The temperature was well in excess of 100 degrees. Our squadron doctor, Lieutenant Leon Starr, advised the group to be sure to take salt tablets regularly. About five minutes later at the drinking fountain in the barracks I downed two of these tablets with a swallow of water. I barely made it the head (toilet) before the tablets hit the bottom of my stomach and I was heaving my guts out. I never took another salt tablet after that.

To say it was hot there does not begin to describe the situation. For a hint as to how hot it was, it was necessary to wear gloves and have all your skin covered to be able to crawl into the cockpit of a plane. To have been a mechanic and worked on those planes in the middle of the day must have been plain murder. One consoling factor in flying a plane in that kind heat was that after the plane had climbed to about 5000 feet of altitude you would pass through a level where the air turned from hot to a very comfortable cool.

Holtville was just another extension of the same routines. Included in this routine was quite a bit more night flying where we lost a fighter pilot when he took off from the field and crashed in the All-American canal. He was in the canal all night and was found the next morning. Never discovered what had happened.

  Also included was more gunnery practice. On one flight I was assigned as the tow pilot. After the flight had taken off I was to taxi to the end of the runway, wait for a crew to hook on the tow rope, get the signal to go, hold the brakes until I had full throttle, release the brakes, get the tail up and all the speed I could muster, make an eight hundred foot run down the rope, haul back on the stick and pop the plane to about 50 feet of altitude, level off to gain more speed, then fly out to meet the flight so they could make their gunnery runs. Every thing went along normally until I had the 50 feet of altitude then the engine quit for a few seconds. Before the engine kicked in again the plane had lost most of it's altitude and the target, which had popped into the air when it reached the end of the rope, was now dragging through the sage brush. I lost the target returned, landed, taxied around to the end of the runway and did the whole procedure over only to have exactly the same thing happen. This time I returned to the flight line changed to another plane and back again for another target. This time everything went along as it was suppose to. Arriving at the gunnery range I met the flight and with an irritated skipper they began their runs. Each of the twelve planes made a high side pass and then I made a 360 degree turn, while they were gaining altitude for their second run. When I was again flying straight and level, I felt something hit my left leg. I glanced to the left side of the cockpit and noticed the left side of the canopy bobbing up and down. Then I saw that the safety pin was missing. It had somehow become unsnapped and worked its way out. This pin and one on the right side are installed to be pulled to jettison the canopy in case of emergency. I grabbed the edge of the canopy and held it in place with my left hand. The pin had dropped to the bottom of the plane and was not retrievable. So there I sat debating how to handle the situation in that I would have to free up my left hand to be able to lower the wheels and jockey the throttle for landing. I reasoned that if I were to push the canopy fully closed (it had been locked in a position so that it was about two inches open up to this time) that the air rushing over the out side would create a vacuum inside (kind of like the "venturi" effect) and I would be able to use my left hand to handle the plane. So I grabbed the lock lever and shoved the canopy forward. In that instant the wind grabbed the canopy, picked up the left side and slammed it down over my head and around my neck. I was not injured and there I sat, flying straight and level while the flight continued making their gunnery runs. Unfortunately for them, one of them shot the target off during his second run.

Bridge of the USS Petrof Bay

The flight rendezvoused and flew back to the field leaving me to my own devises. They weren't aware of my predicament. I headed back to the field. On the way I decided that I didn't want to land with that canopy around my neck so I decided to jettison it all the way. I pulled the other safety pin, ducked and shoved straight up on canopy. It took off, smacked the fuselage right behind my head tearing a large hole in the side of the plane.

The twisted canopy continued down the side of the plane striking the horizontal stabilizer and imbedding itself in the left elevator. where it remained for the rest of the ride to the field.

All was not through! After sitting the plane on the runway I began the long taxi back to the flight line. There were three runways that form a triangle and it was necessary to taxi back to the line on two of them, Almost always in a heavy cross wind. This required using the brakes to keep the plane on the runway. After a long, tough taxi I arrived at the parking area only to have a gust of wind grab the plane causing the left wing to lift and pull the left wheel off the ground causing a "ground loop" that I couldn't stop. The tip of the right wing was torn up. I would say that that day was a day to forget. The only good thing about it was that I wasn't killed. In view of this "tale of woe", the skipper didn't have the heart to rake me over the coals. In my opinion he didn't have "just" cause.

Every pilot has troubles whether they are his fault or not. For instance, Jim Wells by this time had become known as quite a character He had gained the reputation of being an individualist. Fact was, Wells was hard of hearing in his left ear and claimed to me that he had been that way since childhood. He had bluffed his way into the cadet program, bluffed his way through the program and was trying to bluff his way through his time in the squadron without anyone learning of the problem. Since he was in such close proximity to the skipper of the TBMs and the squadron doctor they began to suspect the handicap because he was always the "bird who didn't get the word". The two of them, when talking to Wells, would put their hands in front of their mouths just to confuse him. Half his hearing came from being able to read lips. Even though he should have been taken off flight duty, the problem hadn't caused any serious problems in flying. They had no intentions of causing him any further trouble.

The only problem I can recall was the time the TBMs were to make bombing runs on a target in the Salton Sea. The planes were to make runs from north to south starting at 10,000 feet and pulling out at 1500. Everybody complied except Wells. He reasoned because of the wind direction, the best run could be made from east to west and pulling out a little lower. He did with the result that he was flying right through the paths of the bomb drops of the other planes. The air waves were blue from the leader of the flight. Wells would provide a source of comment and humor for the rest of our tour.