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VA-175 Squadron, Devil's Diplomats, USS WASP 1953-1954 World Cruise


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frank2far

The other day, I won an auction a received some old letters from an airman on the USS Wasp on this 1953 world cruise. One of the letters described the crash I preciously showed. I also have a photo from my dad's 35mm slides showing the prop that went into the island.

Letter dated October 16, 1953
William D. Lelar, Jr., A.N.
VF-171 USS Wasp

“Wednesday, the 14th, we had a little accident on board. All jets had landed and I was up on my plane gassing it, when a prop-driven A.D. came bouncing up the deck. It missed all the arresting gear cables and ran into the barriers. The barriers didn’t stop it, but tripped it. The plane bounced about 20 feet forward and came down nose first onto the deck. Pieces of the plane, propeller, and the deck went flying every which way. The plane bounced back on its landing gear ad caught fire. By then I shut off the gas and handed the hose down to the gas crews, watched until the fire was put out. It took about 1 minute with foam. Then I went down to see the damage. The wooden deck was ripped up in about in about 7 different placed. The plane was a total wreck, and one of the blades of the prop was dug ¾ of the way into the island structure. Those things sure have power when they start flying around. Nobody got hurt, but the pilot jumped out as soon as the plane stopped. Lucky break, because some usually get hurt when there is a couple of hundred men working around the flight deck all during air operations.”

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Here is the transcribed letter from the chaplain regarding the "Mariner Miracle". It is an excellent read.


FOR THOSE IN PERIL ON THE SEA
BY CDR E.A. SLATTERY, CHC, USN

The North Atlantic was slate grey; not the aquamarine of the Caribbean, nor the blue of the Pacific, nor the azure of the Gulf Stream; but a mean, cold, vicious grey; like an ugly section of Dante’s Inferno converted into Arctic terms. The sky was streaked along the horizon, a wintry sky which had altered the suns’ rays into icy grasping fingers.

This was “Operation Mariner”, the sea maneuvers of NATO, a test of ships, planes and men. Air operations each day had been going smoothly. At 1330 on 23 September, more than fifty planes were launched form carriers USS Bennington, USS Wasp, and HMCS Magnificent. With a roar the “prop jobs”, mostly Ads, were sent into the threatening sky; no jets were launched. Away they went for an afternoon tactical flight. The pilots knew what to expect of the weather for they had been given aero logical reports in the ready rooms… but who could foretell the sudden and almost catastrophic change which was about to sweep in from the lowering heavens. It seemed like a routine flight, although the usual survival preparations had been made and the pilots were snug in their exposure suits and parka hoods.

A light fog rolled gradually over the ocean towards the ships. It was insidious in its stealth. At 1420 it became heavier and more strangling, so a recall of planes was issued. Some managed to land on three carriers before the fog settled to two hundred feet over the formation, then to one hundred feet. It was closing fast now.

One pilot read his altimeter at fifty feet and could not see much else. He was barely able to distinguish the froth of the wave caps from the scud of the fog bank. With evident humor, though no relish, he called by radio, “I’m now at fifty feet, the flight deck is at seventy feet… I’m pulling up before I run into you.”

Then, within a matter of minutes after 1430, the ceiling lowered until it fell to zero; a dreaded condition on land, a horror at sea. No visibility. Thank God for radio and the ship’s CIC. At first, the threat was almost casual… so suddenly had the fog rolled over the formation of ships. A double check was made again on the fuel. There was not enough to reach the nearest land, the southernmost tip of Greenland; but enough fuel was in the tanks to stay aloft for a few hours waiting for a break.

An AD4W, known as a “Guppie”, piloted by LTJG “Pat” Patrova, edged down through the grey barrier of nature’s cruelest weapon against aviators. He could have made a landing, for his radar equipment enabled him to “Feel” the frothing waves and he broke out into a momentary clearing to make a pass at his home base as she forged through the icy waters. But, being equipped with radar, he could supplement the directions from CIC. So up he went, flying plane 701. We were really to sweat him out as the afternoon wore on.
The practiced discipline of Naval Aviation was now manifest as the planes flew along in tight formation above the evil fog bank. What information would the next hour bring? The information was all bad. Repeated attempts were made to coach the planes to the carrier decks by radar, but the pilots could not get into a clearing to see the decks. Weather predictions became more and more discouraging. The battleship and cruisers were ordered to drop out and well astern of the formation to eliminate the hazard of masts and high structures for the fliers.

Minutes were not dragging now, they romped into half hours and then into hours, until at 1620 the planes reported that they had an estimated two hours of fuel remaining. No hope of reaching a clear operating area was given by fleet aerologists or by the planes which circled above. Then came a message from the USS Redfin, a submarine picket, which reported a ceiling of one thousand feet and two miles visibility. It was impossible for the carriers to reach the spot, so Vic Admiral T.S. Combs and Rear Admiral H.H. Goodwin agreed on a decision to order the planes to head for the Redfin’s positions and to ditch in the immediate vicinity of the submarine if necessary.

Here was a showdown. “Ditch planes”… it sounds simple. Forty two planes…. Forty-two pilots plus crewmen in the ‘guppies’ and TEMs. If everyone got out of each plane, if everyone could survive the crushing weight of the terrific seas or the danger of splashing props, if everyone could live in the frigid water, (eight hours is the estimate for a man in tip top physical condition, provided the “poopy suit” is not torn), if the submarine could pick up each man, it would be a loss of planes; a serious loss for the Navy… but, at least, hears at home would not be torn asunder by the message….”lost at sea”.

Here was a showdown. “Ditch planes”

What prayers were offered by the ship-mates below as eyes strained through the mist? Commander Mike Hanley, the skipper of squadron 175 lifted his heart in prayer for his men. He was angry with himself for not being in the flight. Perhaps, he could bring them down safely somehow. Now, he could only pray; a sincere prayer, yet bowing to what seemed to be inevitable, the loss of a major portion of his squadron.

Aloft, the pilots had their own thoughts and problems. LT Roy G. Davis, flying an AD, plane 508, says, “On the way to the submarine, I experienced probably the loneliest feeling that I have ever felt and almost the most hopeless. My mind ws filled for the most part with how I would ditch and get aboard the sub.”

We on the Wasp were asking for a miracle, for Gods’ direct intervention in a hopeless situation.

Prayer, prayer, prayer, the lifting up of the mind and heart to God Almighty, in an appeal for friends, comrades in arms, for those in peril on the sea. No one had to open a bible now, remembered phrases came readily to anxious lips. One Chaplain, after hours on the cold weather deck, was now on his knees in his room. He begged God to open the curtain of fog. The other Chaplain climbed up to “vultures roost” with his rosary in his hand… “Hail Mary…. Pray for us sinners now.” Other voices rose in audible prayer. “Oh God bring them in”. “Lord, you’ve got to help.” No one was ashamed or even conscious that such prayers burst from their frosted lips or hearts chilled with anxiety.

ENS George Allen Booth in plane 506 knew that below all hands were working on the technical aspects of the effort to bring the planes down safely. His thoughts were like this. “I never considered the possibility of being lost until we were told to ditch. Then I calculated my chances as better than 50-50. I questioned myself as whether or not I was ready to meet my Creator, whether or not I would have seriously changed my life should I have the chance to relive it, and then prayed for forgiveness of my sins. After this I place all matters except the saving of the body, in the back of my mind, and concentrated on the problem at hand.

The three carriers bore on into the clearing, their destroyer plane guards dashing about like so many urgent watch dogs. The destroyers battled heavy seas with determination, their bow like shaggy heads shaking away the froth and grey water of the swells. It was much too dangerous to have a ‘copter aloft’ for it would be fantastic to expect a “coper” pilot to retain a horizon.

The planes were returning…. Word was passed about. What a thrill! We could expect our friends back. LTJG John R. Miller in plane 515 felt the effect of our prayer. “Confidence in OUR FATHER IN HEAVEN, kept me calm and enabled me to do the things I had been trained for. I asked for special help as I was leading a division down through the overcast as the light was failing.” Yes, the light was failing now, but not the light in our hearts. Dusk had no chance against the faith we had.

The first plane was sighted in the mist off the port quarter. A cheer, which was almost a concerted gasp, was heard. LT Jim Shannon, the LSO, aided by his spotter, the talkers and the assistant LSOs had been balanced on the platform all afternoon waiting for this moment. He was wet and cold and anxious, and in agreement with one of his assistants who said, “Well, it is out of our hands now, that “man up there” is giving the signals”. But, Jim was alert and his paddles guided the first plane down and in, and gave a “cut”. The first tail hook was groping for the wire now, it caught and we and LCDR James M. Nifong, plane 516 aboard. Jim was the flight leader. “When all he worldly materials and inventions of scientists had failed to save even one pilot from a sure water grave, and when we, one and all, had turned to the Almighty, the miracle happened and for a few brief minutes the ceiling and visibility lifted and we all were saved. I shall always be humble before OUR LORD.”

Three planes from the Bennington and one from the Magnificent were nestled aboard with ours. TBMs went by on their way to the Magnificent and they were cheered. Cheers went up as each plane came aboard and was safely arrested. The cheers were heartfelt, the way men cheer after a hard victory. There was no hysteria…. No tears. Men were still too tense to slap backs…that would come later in the ready room. Men were cheering in thanks and release and in wonder, too.

Roy Davis in plane 508 who spoke of a hopeless feeling continues, “When they called u back, I was too busy getting through the overcast and getting aboard to think much about “how” or ‘why’. But after getting aboard and fully realizing what had happened, it became obvious to me that THE POWER greater than ordinary man had made our safe return possible. It was truly a miracle that only God could have brought about.”

Now we were sweating out one plane. CDR R.L. Johns, the ship’s Air Officer announced that plane 701 was orbiting. That was the “guppie”. “Pat Patrova had been down earlier in the afternoon and had now finished his task. Suddenly, far in the ship’s wake we could see him bore through the fog and out into the clear. He was a long time “in the groove”. Slowly, slowly, slowly, closer and closer he came. He was up about two hundred feet, following the flares, and then he caught sight of the LSO signaling “too high”. Down he swooped and then in for a ‘cut’. He was caught by number four wire, a smooth landing; the flight deck crew received their well-done from the Air “boss” as 701 taxied up to his spot.

Grins were the uniform of the day. Thank God was the word. CDR Bottomley, the USS Wasp Executive Officer, said over the ship’s 1MC. “The Good Lord was merciful to the pilots and the ship today.”

Indeed, He was merciful.

You have often heard about the stream of conscious examination of the past which flows rapidly by in a quick review. When the chips are down most men turn to God and think of making peace with him. All of us must face the Eternal Justice sometime… but all can seek mercy all of the time. LTJG Tom McDonald had such an experience. He made the first and third controlled lot down attempts. Each time I broke cut at slightly less than fifty feet and went back on top. I thought, when my gas gets to three hundred pounds, I’d better ask…. Please put the Chaplain on the radio.”

They were not alone up there though. LTJG Robert J. Sample in 504 knew that. “It became very apparent that the situation was beyond help. At that point I thought of God as my co-pilot and felt He would see us through our present peril.”

Yes, we had a lot of prayers soaring to God that afternoon of 23 September 1953.

Have you ever seen prayer answered directly…dramatically and powerfully and positively? Within moments the surface visibility widened. God Almighty reached down and lifted that heavy curtain of fog. And He held it up. A clear space appeared and the ships were on a calmer surface and able to take the wings aboard. We could see for about 1 ½ mils on the surface and up to 250 feet.

Was it too late for recall? Had anyone ditched? From the stern of the Wasp went flares. At the suggestion of LTJG R.S. Agnew, a line of flares was being dropped, to make a path leading to the ramp. One of the pilots, LT Tom McDonald, who got into the groove later, said that it looked like Main Street. Lights blazed on the ships, the first time we were allowed to light ship since being underway. On the signal bridge, the immense search lights were stabbing with blue-white fingers of light into the clouds, adding a feel to the ship’s radar “ears”.

The pilots were being kept informed about developments. The miracle of the clearing was so sudden that their thoughts were still of survival in the water. LTJG E.A. Grunwald, in plane 503, flew along with those thoughts as cockpit companions. “Up until the time we were ordered to ditch I had confidence that we would land safely, somewhere, somehow. However, at the time the order came to ditch at the submarine in twelve foot swells, I lost hope; at least, I had very little hope of ever surviving in that mass of churning fifty-degree water. However, one thought occurred to me; if I were to meet my doom in the next hours, I was lucky that at least I had time to pray and ask forgiveness ahead of time. That privilege is one so few people ever realize.”

Bob Sample, who spoke of God as his co-pilot, had some interesting thoughts. “When our fuel got lower and everyone realized that we had very little chance to land at any base, the order came to ditch near the submarine Redfin. I had visions of forty tow planes in a mass ditching at sea. I began to figure the odds of survival and had almost given up hope of coming out on top. I dreaded the thought that my child will arrive in December, would have no living father and that my wife would be widowed after a year of marriage. Things looked really bad and I’m sure that I wasn’t alone in my ardent prayers to God for help. As we proceeded outbound to the submarine, the report came that the ceiling and visibility were improved. I knew that our prayers had been answered. From then on, I had no doubt in my mind that we would make it home.”

Was it just an accident of nature that we should find a warm patch of water at the crucial moment?

Was it just a shim of nature, as a poet would say? When 701 landed, it had one hundred pounds of fuel left, barely enough for a wave off and another pass; and the fog was closing in again. The men who flew the planes do not think it an accident or a whim. Their jubilance in the ready room was a surface joy. Deep inside they recognized the work of God. And when the Chaplain was on his way to say the night prayer over the 1MX, (the ship has night and morning prayer broadcast), “Pat” Patrova reminded him, “Don’t forget to say a special thanks for us, Chaplain.” Patrova was struck by an unusual aspect of the events of the day….”God is not discriminating, for He had Catholics and Protestants and Jews and non-believers all around up there. And He brought them all home.”

The Chaplain was praying officially what they had prayed for themselves and what their friends on deck had prayed. What LTJG Bill Ross of plane 507 had been thinking, “No paper would hold all the thoughts that passed through my mind that afternoon. However, there was one predominant theme. Prayer. Along with thoughts of family and friends came little prayers, learned as a child…long since left in the subconscious and now back, back as naturally as one thinks of one’s name. I feel I am just an ordinarily religious man…but it was brought home to me, emphatically and forcibly. How quickly man will turn to his Maker when he is in trouble. This lesson has taught many people the value of prayer and how great and merciful OUR LORD is. We will never forget what He has done for us.”

No one will forget the experience. The strange conjunction of events which no man can measure in terms other than faith and prayer. As we collect our thoughts about the experience, it comes back to such a spiritual measure; faith and prayer.

Ens. Roy. H. Reynolds thinks so, “When I first realized the position we were in, I became, frankly, scared. I prayed to God to bring us all down, and thought of several of the boys who have families or who have children on the way, and I thought of my mother and dad and everyone else who means anything to me. I wondered how they would take it”.

Family and prayer.

“When they called me down for an individual run on the ship, being directed by radar, I prayed for courage enough to remain calm and to help me to fly to the best of my ability”. “Help me God”.

Training for the job and Prayer.

“When I finally gave up hope in the late afternoon, I began to think of thinks I had done in my life and tried to prepare myself to meet my Creator. Along toward the last, I guess I became too busy to pray, except to make short little prayers, and to concentrate on flying. When we sighted the ship and when I landed, I gave thanks. Some people might call it a miracle of nature, but I believe it was God working through nature.”

Tom McDonald, who can laugh now about wanting the Padre put on the radio so he could make a last confession sums it up this way. “Of the situation as a whole, I feel it was miraculous. The fact that we had orbited at a point to the east of the ship which was between us and the sub, resulted in the situation that having proceeded twenty miles towards the submarine, we were just over the ship when the break came. This plus the short duration of the break made the situation through entirely natural in its process, seem to have supernatural control.”

And now, Mike Hanley has a squadron knit more closely, ready for combat with man or nature. For Squadron 175 is armed with a special weapon. Prayer, for those in peril on the sea.

****The attached photo is back aboard the WASP. Notice the small bottles of alcohol.***

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My dad's account, written for the magazine, The Hook", winter 1991.

10 JAN 1991

 

The story should begin on the day before, 22 SEPT 1953. A routine launch was scheduled with eight AD-4’s led by the squadron C.O. Cdr., Mike Hanley, known outside his presences as “Black Mike” Hanley. We were about 460 miles south of the southern tip of Greenland.

Since I was Junior Ensign in the air group, I was flying wing on the skipper. My log book remarks say “Operation Mariner, Strike Able”. Probably a CIC exercise for an attack on the Task Force (77).

 

Launch and rendezvous were normal and we began a climb on a vector from CIC. Shortly afterward, fog began to form rapidly and Cdr. Hanley led the flight down to about 500 feet and turned back toward the Task Force and asked for a vector.

 

CIC said we were to continue on our assigned vector. Cdr. Hanley replied, “Negative, the weather is deteriorating rapidly.”

 

We found the Wasp, CVA-18 and set up an orbit around “Bloodshot”. By this time we were down to 300 feet. Again, “Bloodshot” gave us a vector and Cdr. Hanley said, “Negative, I’m anchored at base and I’m not leaving.” CIC asked why. Cdr. Hanley gave an immediate and sharp, “Low state”.

 

My fuel gauge showed 2000 pounds. We orbited until we were brought back aboard.

 

At this point, I would like to explain to the younger pilots that training and equipment in 1953 was much different from what was taken for granted from the 1960’s on. Our only Nav equipment was low frequency. No Tacan or Omni. No flight directors or coupled approaches. No auto throttles or angle of attack indicators. Only every fourth aircraft had radar. Our instrument training by to-day’s standards were minimal. We were day attack. Special units were aboard to handle “night all weather”.

 

The next day, the North Atlantic was beautiful. Not even a trace of haze. The sea state was 12 foot swells with white caps. The water temperature was 42 degrees. The ship’s position was approximately 54.15 degrees N, 40.20 degrees E. About 400 miles from Greenland. We manned aircraft and 43 aircraft from 3 carriers were launched. AD’s from the Wasp, AD’s and 4U’s from the Bennington, and TBM’s from the Canadian carrier “Magnificent”. We were to go out 200 miles and try to attack the Task Force without being intercepted by the jets which would be launched later.

 

Our fuel load for VA 175 was 2280 pounds in the main cell, and one MK-12, 150 gallon or 900 pound auxiliary tank on the center station. We burned 500 pounds an hour at normal cruise. I assume VA-75, from the Bennington, had the same load, with the F4U’s carrying a comparable load.

 

The weather and visibility was still perfect. Soon the divisions loosened up and “the smoking lamp was lit”. Douglas had installed a cigarette lighter and ashtray in the AD-1, but left only the ashtray in the AD-4. I can prove this with the handbooks donated to me by a grateful nation upon release from active duty. Later, in the reserves when I checked out in F9’s, FJ’s, and the F-8 Crusader, I always asked the instructor where the ashtray was located.

 

For a reason I never knew, Cdr. Nifong continued the climb through 10,000. By 13,000 the formation looked a little ragged as smokers availed themselves of the Douglas ashtray, too the little bag from the covered receptacle labeled “oxygen mask stowage”, took the mask out of the little bag, shook the trash from the mask, and tried to snap it on their hardhat while flying with their knees.

Shortly after the flight had settled down again, I looked over the side and saw something I have never seen since. Not even in 22 years flying with Easter Airlines. Seam was rising from the water. Then it began to form little patches that reminded me of lily pads on a pond. These soon joined to form bigger patches. At 140 knot climb speed, it appeared we were suspended motionless and the world was covering up from horizon to horizon.

 

I thought,” That looks just like yesterday. Maybe I should call Cdr. Nifong and tell him. No, how can the Junior Ensign with 590 total hours tell the future squadron C.O. about the weather in the North Atlantic?”. Soon we heard, “Bloodshot 001, this is Bloodshot, take up a heading of XXX degrees and return to base. Buster!”. The flight turned ad started down as power was applied, the R3350 showed how much smoke and oil it could leave in the Arctic atmosphere. We descended to about 1000 feet at max continuous (46 inches and 2600 RPM). After a couple of course corrections, we arrived over a hole in the fog just in time to see the last ship pass out of sight under the fog.

It was like your first fire warning light or engine failure. “This can’t be happening to me.” I looked around and everywhere the holes were closing up. On the radio, pilots were calling, “There is a break over here.” Then the break would close. In what I remember as less than 20 minutes, it was solid. From 1000 feet up there was nothing but beautiful blue sky. The radio discipline was superb. Only the flight leaders talked. We were ordered by Cdr. Nifong to set max endurance, 1600 RPM , and 120 knots. We began to loiter.

No sweat. We’ll get down on CCA. We have practiced some since we left Norfolk and the controllers seem good. We have plenty of fuel. The fog could burn off or lift. There must be an end to this stuff.

 

The ship began to call pilots down from the last airplane in the formation and worked forward. The first down was Ens. Jim Burt, an ex-enlisted man that was accepted for flight training. Jim was given a vector and switched over to CCA frequency. The Wasp and Bennington were working simultaneous approaches. When Jim hit 50 feet on his radio altimeter he told CIC, “I’m down to 50 feet and if I look straight over the side I can see whitecaps. The flight deck is 60 feet, I’m going back on top.” Lts. Jim Shannon, Tom Alexander, and Bob Valentine (the LSO crew) heard him go by. Only heard.

 

By this time the rescue helo had been secured because he could not maintain station. On deck, my squadron mates said that they could not see either end of the flight deck from “vultures row” on the O7 level. This was tried over again and again.

When my time came I was told they were going to hold me high until two miles out because they were losing us in the sea return. I was told to level out at 200 feet and at two miles I was cleared to descend. Jim Burt was right. At 50 feet I had to look straight down to see whitecaps. I was soon given a wave off. They had lost me.

The pilots’ confidence had started to fall. For the first time in the day, doubt entered the pilot’s thoughts. Not only the missed approaches, but radio transmissions had a negative tone. A call went out for everyone to search their nav kits for approach plates to Keflavic or Reykjavic, Iceland. Then we were told that both were 0-0 anyway. One flight leader suggested we go to Greenland and bailout over the mountains.

On board the Wasp Cdr. Hanley was like a Wildman among the ships company officers and the air group staff. He demanded weather, fuel status, possibilities of going anywhere and everywhere. It was finally determined that had we left immediately, we could have made Prestwick, Scotland.

 

At some time in the afternoon, each pilot I talked to later had given up hope and decided he was going to run out of fuel, either bail out or ditch, then freeze to death in the water. The chance for survival was nil for night was approaching. This loss of hope came at different points of time for each individual. For me it came when I pulled up beside my friend and bunkroom mate, Ens. Al Booth, from Athens, Ga. He was always full of self-confidence, but when I cut inside and joined up on him, he was sitting with his head down. I could see an expression on his face I had never seen before. When he looked at me, I smiled and waved. He gave me an expressionless stare and dropped his head again.

The thought struck me, “What a hell of a way to die. Good airplane, plenty of fuel, good health, 22 years old and all I can do is sit here and wait. It’s not like we were shot down in Korea bombing Chinese. It will all be for nothing. All these pilots and airplanes gone for nothing.”

By now the tension had built until I was frustrated to the point I couldn’t sit still. There was a handle on each side of the canopy for opening the canopy when hydraulic pressure was lost. I grabbed these, put my feet on the rudder pedals, and pulled, pushed, and strained against the straps as hard as I could. When the tension left and I relaxed, I became a bossing, shaking, 6 foot, 2 inch coward that didn’t want to sit around until his fuel ran out and die. About three hours had passed.

 

After three or four minutes, I calmed down and spent the rest of the afternoon remembering good things that had happened in my 22 years. I thought about my shipmates and what they were doing now. I looked at my watch and thought, “They are just sitting down to evening meal now.” I wondered what the navy would do to the Task Force Commander and everyone who had anything to do with this launch. Just random thoughts, but mostly how warm and cozy ready room four would be now.

 

Down in Ready Four, End. Sherman Turner was sitting with his head lowered. Ens. Ken Hammond came in and asked, “What are you doing, Sherm?” Sherm looked up and answered with one word, “Praying.” Ken sat down and began to pray also. A lot of praying was being done now. Both the Protestant and Catholic chaplains had gone to their staterooms to pray. Two days later, ships company enlisted men I did not know would stop me in a passageway, offer their hand and say, “Sure are glad to have you guys back aboard, Mr. Reynolds. We were all praying for you.”

 

Topside, the catwalks had been full all afternoon. Mess cooks in t-shirts were coming up from the galley to watch. Off duty personnel, both officer and enlisted, Air Group and ships company were suffering the cold to wait out the pilots. When the first AD was trapped, a cheer went up that would rival a college football game. We didn’t know it at the time in the cockpits, but we were never alone or written off by our shipmates.

 

As the sun was halfway below the horizon, I recognized the voice of Ens. Paul Mulloy, the CIC officer on this watch, Pawul was close to many pilots because he was always eager to talk about flying. Paul had orders to flight training when the cruise ended in San Diego. “Weather has been reported 1000 feet and two miles at USS Redfin, code name 7UP. The Redfin is 260 degrees/110 miles. All aircraft proceed to 7UP and ditch.” After this transmission, Paul became so upset he had to be rewarded.

 

LTJG. Pat Patrova of VC-12 was flying an AD with special radar that gave it the name “Guppy AD”. in a compartment aft of the cockpit, Ens. Chrele Tebrich. Pat could have made it aboard anytime that day but stayed airborne to help anyway he could. He was the last to land. It was Pat’s decision. If there was a hero that day it was Pat Patrova. When his airplane was refueled, it was calculated he landed with enough fuel for a wave off and maybe one more approach.

 

On the way to “7UP”, pilots were getting out of their parachutes and jettisoning aux tanks. Bloodshot called and asked that we hold the tanks. We had a near miss on a destroyer. I kept thinking that ditching at a submarine with 12 feet high swells was better than nothing. Even at night. A pilot form another squadron called, “What are we going to do skipper, ditch one at a time or in formation?” An irritated voice came back, “Two at a time, one on either side in the search lights.” I made a mental note. Swim away from the search lights.

 

At this time the ships ran by chance into a warm area of water that lifted the fog to 150 to 200 feet in that area of relatively warm water. I don’t know what the visibility was but I would guess one mile. We were given a recall with frequency changes for better control between the three carriers.

 

If there is any humor in this story, it is at this point. VA-175 was given a vector and told to descend. CDR. Nifong assumed Bloodshot wanted individual approaches and started down. The flight was very loose and no one was prepared for a formation letdown but tried to follow anyway. Chaos ensued. I locked on Lt. Roy Davis and was going to fly his wing. Visibility quickly forced me to go instruments on my own.

Let me say here that we weren’t at 20,000 with time to go 80% and speed brakes. We started at about 1500’ and hit the fog at 1000.

With God as my witness, may I strangle on AVGAS if my next words aren’t true!! I was holding about 300 feet per minute rate of descent when I felt turbulence. I looked up and what seemed 50 feet or so was an AD with his dive brakes out. Even in the poor light I could see the red paint on the underside of the three big boards. I jerked the throttle to idle and hit my dive brakes. I ducked my head below the glare shield as I pushed over and waited for the midair, expecting to be hit in the rear since other aircraft were behind me. A few seconds later I closed the boards and rounded out. I leveled at 50 feet again and it was just like it was earlier. No visibility.

 

A restrained voice came on the radio, “I hate to tell you guys this, but we let down on the reciprocal.” LTJG. Bob Sample said even more. “You guys can stay down here if you want to but I’m going back on top.” In retrospect, this was a very sound decision. Thirteen AD’s at 50 feet off the water with zero visibility. Thirteen airplanes because LTJG. Tom McDonald was the spare and didn’t tell the deck crew. As a naval academy graduate, he thought he had to make every launch.

Bob Sample is now Chief Test Pilot for the FAA in Atlanta. He has type ratings on 727, L1011, DC10, and a few others. Prior to this he was C.O. of the Test Pilot School at PAX River. For all his accomplishments, I will always remember him for the most profound statement of the day when he later transmitted to no one in particular, “I see a carrier and I’m going to land!”

 

Still on the original heading, I climbed back on top. Wow, was that a surprise. Nothing but dark. No other airplanes or lights, just dark. No other airplanes or lights, just dark. I switched to “Mayday” on my transponder and asked for a steer. Once, twice, three times. No response. I found out the next day that CIC had so many “Maydays” on the scope they could not distinguish one from the other. That’s why I wasn’t answered. I started thinking again and did a 180 degree. After what seemed like a lifetime, I saw something similar to illuminated flies around a garbage can. I joined on a flight of AD’s from VA-75 and tried to get a frequency. No one I the division would look at me and apparently didn’t know I was there.

 

For some reason I looked to my right and saw three AD’s with “R” on their rudders below and passing. I joined on the flight as quickly as possible and became no. four with LTJG. Bill Ross as my section leader. Bill was plainly visible in the cockpit even though it was dark. Not a black dark like you expect, but a dark gray sort of dark that allowed you to see shapes and silhouettes with some degree of detail. Bill signaled me the new frequency and I felt much more confident on his wing. Bill and I had flown a lot together, and I suddenly remembered being with Bill on a VFR flight plan but the weather forced us down below three hundred feet. As we pass Alma, GA. low frequency station, we did a little jog to the right to miss the four towers. Bill gave a position report and the controller asked what was our altitude. I think he saw us go by. If the FAA reads this, I’m sure the statute of limitations protects us.

 

Although LTJG. Jack Miller, a recalled reserve, was leading, Tom McDonald said, “Let’s get a vector from the ship, let down, then if we don’t see the ship let’s climb back on top and bail out.” Actually, Tom intended to ask for CDR. E.A. Slattery, the Catholic chaplain, to come on the radio for a last confession before he bailed out. We all croaked out, “Rodger”. From here on it was like a TV. show. Bill called the ship and they answered immediately. They gave us a heading and told us to descend. Jack started down and we all stepped up and closed up. We leveled again at 50 feet.

 

Another Academy graduate in our squadron was LTJG. Richard Agnew. Dick had talked the ship into dropping flares off the fantail and had gone back to the fantail to supervise. At 50 feet off the water the first thing we saw was a row of flares that led us to the ship. It was like driving up Main street. Suddenly, the fog lifted to about 200 feet and then the Wasp appeared. Tom McDonald crossed over. We went by the island and began to break just like it was day VFR. I was the only pilot in the squadron not night qualified. Not even a night FCLP. “What airspeed do you fly this damn thing?”, I asked. Bill Ross answered, “Don’t get below 90 knots.”

 

While I was watching Bill to take my interval I went into the fog again. I waited a couple more seconds and began my turn, glancing up often to see if I was visual again. When I did break out I was head on with a carrier. Assuming I had made a poor turn, I adjusted my pattern to start the approach. Coming off the 180 I realized it was the Bennington. Seeing another pattern in the distance, I flew over and set up for an approach on the Wasp. Lt. Jim Shannon gave me a foul deck wave off.

 

Fear that I have never known since set in and all I could think was that the ship would be back in the fog and I would be the only pilot that would not get aboard. I went into the fog again and fear overcame my judgment. I turned downwind early and was fast all the way through the90 degree. Another LSO, LTJG. Bob Valentine, called and said, “Don’t worry. Just take it easy, we’re going to get you aboard.” My thought was, “Lite hell, you don’t know what’s up front like I do.”

 

In his lighted suit and wands, Jim Shannon was standing there in the wind like a statue, not moving from a “Rodger”. I tried to adjust my speed but not until I was close to the ramp did Jim move. High, fast, cut. When I was parked, Chief M.F. Java jumped on the wing. Java was a huge, red faced Swede and as he helped me out, I’m not ashamed to say I hugged his neck.

 

One story I heard enough times to make me believe it was about a F4U landing on the Bennington. He went low and was given a save off. As he added power, the LSO gave him a Rodger. He eased power and was again given a wave off. As he climbed up, he was given another Rodger and a cut. Two wave offs and a cut on the same pass. It was that kind of a night.

 

In the Ready Room, Lt. Jim Sinnett, the air group surgeon, had two corpsmen passing out all the medicinal brandy you wanted. The entire ship was in a party mood and the Wardroom was opened to us for a late meal. All the jet types were there to congratulate us. Lt. Roy Davis looked up from his plate and asked the Protestant chaplain, “Could you hear me chaplain? Was I coming through?” CDR. Hanley greeted me with, “Well Mr. Reynolds, you can consider yourself night qualified.”

In the remarks column of my log book, the logs yeoman wrote, “Operation Mariner – I see a carrier and I’m going to land!! Lost in soup for several hours. Much gas – no place to go.” 5.1 hours were listed under flight time.

 

The next night LT. J.P. Killian called an all pilots meeting in the Wardroom. Lt. Killian was the ships aerology officer. He stated flatly that he had forecast the fog and presented copies of his forecast and recommendations to the Task Force Commander. Lt. Killian stated in the strongest of terms that he would accept no guilt for what happened. Lt. Killian kept his job.

 

Recently while visiting an old Eastern friend, now flying for Alaska Airlines, I was privileged to fly one of the 727 simulators in their excellent training department. After a couple of ILS approaches using the familiar Collins FD109 flight director system, my host invited me to try their heads up display. He set the ceiling at 50 feet with 1000’ runway visual range and turned me loose on a heading for localizer intercept. My first ever HUD approach I broke out on centerline for a normal landing, hand flying, no auto pilot. I couldn’t help but think that had we had equipment like this and training, 23 SEPT 1953 might have been just another day of normal operations.

Sincerely,
Roy H. Reynolds
LCDR USNR (Ret)

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frank2far

Now that I have learned to cut-and paste on this forum, here is a news paper article from when my dad was in NavCads.

 

North Georgia Tribune, Canton, Georgia Friday, March 28, 1952

EDITOR SEES WORLDS BEST NAVAL AIR TRAINING IN ACTION

 

Planes were circling overhead. The flight deck of the big aircraft carrier seemed motionless in the relatively calm sea and bright sunshine as it glided thru the waters of the Gulf of Mexico at just the right speed to keep a steady wind blowing from bow to stern. The lead plane was approaching the stern (rear) of the ship and navy personnel were in their designated stations. The paddle man was already at work with his two signal paddles as he directed the pilot of the plane approaching to land. The paddles wave down, then to the right those on deck watch intently lest something go wrong the paddles continue to wave first one way and then another. The position of the plane does not suit the paddle man and suddenly he waves the paddles back over his head and the pilot knows he must not land. He guns his plane and starts climbing as he pulls off to the left of the ship and starts another wide circle.

 

Hardly was the first plane out of the way when a second plane was approaching. The paddle man was waiving him in, the approach was good . . . slow the speed he signals the pilot. The plane is over the end of the deck and the paddle man drops his paddles suddenly toward the deck. The pilot cuts his speed to stall and the planes two wheels touch the deck. A hook at the rear of the plane catches in the first cross rope on the floor of the flight deck and the plane comes to a halt immediately. Deck men rush forward, release the rope, check the two tires for landing damage, clear the path and the pilot starts his plane rolling toward the bow. Will he clear the deck before reaching the end, the spectators gasp? Suddenly the plane roars skyward long before using up his runway, and a Naval Cadet has successfully completed his first of six landings on the deck of an aircraft carried at sea.

 

And so it went on all day some 20 miles out in the Gulf of Mexico as aviation cadets completed their required landings on the deck of the USS Monterey at Pensacola (Florida) Naval Air Station, the only naval air basic training center in the U.S. The Monterey is a relatively small carrier with a flight deck 550 feet long and 70 ft. wide. It has a valiant record of duty in the Pacific during World War II and still carries a scar of a Japanese Kami-Kazi landing.

 

The writer, along with some thirty-odd other Georgia weekly newspaper editors (Leo Aikman of the Atlanta Constitution excepted) were aboard the flattop to see firsthand a routine day in the Navcad training program which commissions some 2200 successful aviation cadets each year.

 

The Georgia editors, thru an invitation from Vice Admiral John Dale Price, Chief of Naval Air Training at Pensacola, were air-lifted in two R-4Ds from the Naval Air Station in Atlanta to Pensacola Tuesday afternoon of last week. The flight down was smooth at 8000 feet except for the last 30 minutes of the trip when thunder showers were met that pilot Brumback could not fly around or over. This part of the flight became rough (not from fear of an accident but from air sickness brought on by the up and down motion of the plane.) The return flight to Atlanta Thursday afternoon was perfect in every respect including the weather. Flying in the plane with us were Capt. Pickering, Commander Shaw and Lt. Com. Edward Goshorn of the Atlanta NAS.

 

The purpose of the visit was civilian orientation in what the Navy is doing in training its cadets. We were given two tours of the training base and conducted thru every phase of the pre-flight school.

 

(Let me assure you readers here that the trip was not at government expense. Each editor paid all his meals and other incidentals. The plane trip to and from Pensacola was part of the training program for naval pilots making their required number of flight hours in multi-motored planes. The day on the flattop was a regular training day for the cadets.)

 

Basic training for the Navcads (cadets) is divided into several phases. Pre-flight for 16 weeks. Following this phase of the training the cadet is transferred to Whiting Field 35 miles away for flight training where the student undergoes the rigors of flying routine and makes his solo flights in SNJ Texan trainer planes. It is in the phase of the training that Roy Reynolds Jr. of Canton is studying. Roy and several other Georgia Navcads had dinner with us both evenings at Pensacola and spoke to us in regard to their work and training. Roy had already made his first solo and at the time was working on pin-point landings in a single engine trainer plane. Roy stated that if everything went well with him he expected to reach the carrier landing training that we witnessed about next September. This is to assure his family and friends in Canton that Roy makes a fine looking cadet in his Navy uniform and if he successfully completes the training program before him he will certainly have something to be proud of. (Incidentally, Roys hair has grown out since the above picture was made.)

 

After Whiting Field the student is transferred to Corry Field for instrument and night flying. From Corry he progresses to Saufley Filed for formation, tactics, gunnery, and cross country navigation. He completes his work here with the six landings on the aircraft carrier and goes to Corpus Christie, Texas for 15 weeks of advanced training. He returns to Pensacola after 15 weeks in Texas and when he successfully makes 12 more landings on the carrier in fighter planes and one catapult take off, he receives his navy wings of gold, his commission, and is ready to join a fleet squadron.

 

The total training period takes 18 months at a cost of $60,000 per student. Rest assured, however, he is a thoroughly trained aviator the best in the world.

 

Following is a reprint of a navy bulletin in regard to qualifications and training at the Naval Air School. Young men, as well as the parents of boys nearing their eighteenth birthday, may find it of interest in helping them to decide what course to chart in best preparing themselves or their sons for future military service which seems inevitable to come:

 

Then Navy has always encouraged young men to stay in college as long as possible. It stands to reason that the advantages of higher education will make them more valuable in military life as well as in society. The national defense effort is best aided when collegians remain in their classrooms, learning as much as they possibly can, until the time when they, like their brothers of a decade ago, patriotically take their places in the armed forces.

 

When the time comes to make that decision about ones own military future, the Navy offers an opportunity for college trained men to join the ranks of its Naval airmen as commissioned officers. This opportunity is the Naval Aviation Cadet (Navcad).

 

Several thousand young Americans are trained annually as Navy pilots at the Annapolis of the Air, in Pensacola, Florida. A candidate for Navy flight training must have passed his 18th but not his 27th birthday. He must not have received orders to report for actual Selective Service induction. He must be unmarried and remain so until commissioned. The prospective cadet must have completed a minimum of two years of college and be in excellent physical condition. In addition to passing a physical exam, he must pass aptitude tests and be selected by a screening board, which reviews the qualifications of all applicants. The entrance requirements are stiff, but the Navy prides itself in the selection of top level collegians for its Naval Aviation Cadet Training Program.

 

The Naval Aviation Cadet, or Navcad as he is known in Navy circles, masters three distinct phases of the flight training program before he can wear his gold wings and bars of a Naval aviator and commissioned officer in the Naval or Marine Reserve. These are Pre-Flight Training, Basic Flight Training, and Advanced Flight Training.

 

In Pre-Flight School, the Navcad learns the fundamental subjects essential to his future success as a pilot and an officer. While undergoing vigorous physical and military training, cadets study navigation, weather forecasting, engineering, and many other aviation courses.

 

Four months later, with Pre-Flight School behind him, the Navcad enters Basic Flight Training. His first solo flight is fast approaching. After about 22 hours of dual instruction flights in the SNJ Texan trainer, the Navcad takes it up alone for the first time.

 

But this is only the beginning. He now learns aerial acrobatics, div-bombing and gunnery, cross-country navigation, and finally aircraft landings. After eight months in Basic, the Navcad has mastered the SNJ Texan trainer.

 

His next stop is Advanced Flight Training where he learns how to handle bigger, heavier and faster service type planes such as fighters or patrol bombers. In Advanced, some students are trained in single engine carrier based fighters or dive bombers, while others choose the multi-engine patrol bombers, either seaplanes or landplanes, as their dish for further training.

 

Advanced Training stresses navigation and more navigation. A Navy pilot has to be able to fly from here to there and back again over water without the aid of landmarks and beacons. Refinements in bombing, gunnery and carrier landings (for single engine pilots) are learned during the four months of Advanced.

After 18 months of flight training, the successful Navcad experiences the thrill of falling into formation in his brand new Navy Ensigns or Marine 2nd Lieutenants uniform and his best girl is usually there to pin on his shiny wings of gold.

 

The commissioned Naval aviator is now ready for approximately two and one half years duty with the Fleet, where he is seasoned by experience and his combat skills are sharpened.

 

Following their tours of duty with the Fleet, some former Navcads have the opportunity to make a career in the regular Navy; but most return to their hometown areas and civilian jobs, and continue flying as members of Naval or Marine Air Reserve squadrons.

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frank2far

A better photo of the squadron. January 1954, Japan.

Left to Right:

Front Row: ENS J. J. Burt, LT. R. G. Davis, ENS. G. A. Booth, LCDR. P. P. Hambsch, CDR. J. M. Nifong, LTJG. E. A. Grunwald, ENS. K. E. Hammond.

Second Row: LTJG. J. R. Miller, LT. W.W. Tilgman, Jr., LTJG. R. S. Agnew, LTJG J. R. Lear, E.F. Christiansen, LTJG. D. C. Sattler, ENS. A. J. Keiran

Third Row: LT. H.M. Howser, LTJG. W.A. Ross III, ENS. S. W. Turner, LT. D. L. Russell, ENS. R. H. Reynolds Jr., LTJG, C. M. Shaw

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frank2far

Crew of VA-175 January 1954, Japan.
.

Left to Right:

Front Row: Elliot, J.C., Pugh, R.E., Huot, V.E., Starks, P.E., Elliot, N.S., Hawkins, W.L., O’Kane, D.K., Ferguson, S.F., Hicks, L.L., Slavey, E., Peeples, A.D., Johnson, N. L., Zartman, H. H., Presler, W.

Second Row: McGrath, C.B., Chiarella, S. J., Russo, P.A., Ellis, H. R., Misner, R.H., La Farge, S. E., Finnell, I. W., Talley, W.P., Renaud, C.J., Java, M.F., Szelak, G., Hilburn, P.R., Rogers, J.E., Vigil, M., L., Peters, N.C., Williams, R.L., Chester, C.F., Roberts, C.M.,

Third Row: Pursifull, B.R., McGrath, H. J., Salisbury, J.H., Cooper, R.A., Straffer, R.J., Byrnes, H. F., Richardson, J. F., Devereaux, W.V., Shires, C.D., Martin, J. A., Andersen, R.T., Reed, E.K., Winslow, R.L., Sigler, L.E., McCarthy, J. L., Dunn, J.E.

Top Row: Lanthier, D.E., Orner, D.R., Ostrander, G.J., Dine, C.L., Sickles, A.C., Dorgelo, J.F., Sanders, L.C., Stamey, R.L., Washington, I., Heruth, R.G., Koenig, R.J., Willerton, H.D., Maloyed, B.D., Miles, H.C.

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frank2far

More crew from VA-175, 1954 Japan.

Left to Right:
Front Row: Schunk, J., Bowers, E.D., Hamilton, J.M., Baulch, G. K., Butler, A.P., Mohr, R.A., Mitchell, D. A., Robinson, J.E.,

Second Row: Price, A., Collins, W.A., Schaible, R.T., Stewart, F. B., Myers, E.E., Dance, F. W., Jones, O. D., David, R. H., Baker, F. L., Boggs, Robert, C., Fox, R. J.

Third Row: Ramsey, B. W., Henderson, J.W., Roberts, L.A., Eidemiller, J. M., Waddell, F. G., Siedlecki, F.V., Harris, D.P., Martin, R.M., Lloyd, C.H., Walker, R.A., Stites, A. J.,

Top Row: Anderson, H. L., Orwig, E.L., Stearns, R.C., Opsal, D.D., Diggers, E.L., Collins, J.L., Briggs, R.S., Glison, M. R., Smith, M.T., Stroud, W. R., Jordan, J. S., Keough, W. M.

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frank2far

Sunday
27 December 1953

How are y’all,

 

Better cut out all this letter writing or I’ll spoil you and you’ll expect too much out of me.

 

I’ve been thinking for a long time that you people don’t have any idea at all what I do on this tub, so I thought I would spend a couple of hours just touching the main points so you will understand a little bit about it. I won’t cover everything like the taxi hops and the time I spend in the ready room doing paper work and just waiting for a launch so I can taxi or do some other boring little job.

 

The day usually starts at 05:00 when the SDO calls the bunk room to get everyone on the first hop out of bed.

 

Sleepily you walk down to the ready room and see how much time you have before briefing and then go eat breakfast. Eggs to order, bacon, and hotcakes. Then with a full stomach and a strong desire to go back to bed, you walk back to “Ready 4” and start getting dressed. We haven’t worn poopy bags since Mariner so it doesn’t take long to peel off your uniform and put on a cotton flight suit. Then with a knee pad and plotting board in hand, you stumble over people still dressing and take a seat up front to start copying names and plane assignments and tactical order of the flight. When you come to your name, you curse a couple of times because they have given you a gutless airplane and you will have a little trouble staying tucked in when you are on the outside of a turn. Also, they stuck you on a guy’s wing who is rough and it’s like flying wing on a yo-yo to stay with him.

 

After that you fill out the plotting board, even though you don’t expect to use it because you use radar and the ships Y.G. to get home. By that time the flight leader is ready and begins the briefing. Where you are going, what to do when you get there, and how to get back. Covering the weather and how we will climb through if we have to go on top. You know all this anyway because you have done it so many times before.

Then he gets the ships position in the formation and tells how we will rendezvous on take-off. “Stay below 100 feet until outside the screen, then 1000’ straight ahead for 3 minutes, and then a 180 degree turn.

 

All this takes about 45 minutes then you put on the Mae West, helmet and gloves, and just sit until the talker on the 2JG phone says, “Pilots man planes”.

 

You run out with all your navigation gear under your arm and step on the escalator to the flight deck. Clowning and joking with your buddies and arguing with the jet pilots and kidding them about not flying in so long.

 

They come back and say, “You props fly your 3 ½ hours a day, I’ll just get my 4 a month.”

 

You come out of the island onto the flight deck and run aft to the AD’s and start looking for you airplane. When you find it, you give it a quick check and hand everything to the plane captain. He stows it in the cockpit and then helps you strap-in and plugs in your microphone cord and ear phones. Then you wait some more. Presently, the “Air Boss” up in Primary Fly calls out on the bull horn, “Prepare to start the Able Dogs. Check chocks, tie downs, loose gear about the deck. Check propeller clearances.” The plane captain gets a fire bottle and stands by. Then, “Start props.”

 

Pretty soon you get the damn cold thing started and close the canopy and turn the radio on, radar to standby, and check engine instruments. Then while you are waiting, you turn the low frequency set to Tokyo radio and listen to the music.

Then the ship starts a turn into the wind and the stack gasses come into the cockpit, so you put your oxygen mask on to 100% to keep from breathing it. Also the jets started as the ship turned so as not to waste any fuel because the way they burn it, every drop is precious.

Pretty soon you see the first one “called” off and the other stove pipes start taxiing into position. Then the yellow shirts come back and you hold a thumbs-up because everything checked out on the engine run up, and he gives a “pull chocks” to the deck crew and gives you an “unlock tail wheel”. There is only a very few inches between you and the other planes so you have to watch his signals and when you get out, you run it up to start rolling and fall into line. Some other yellow shirt gives a “spread wings” so you spread and lock, all this time the people in front of you are taking off so you are still inching forward.

 

Then you are number 2. The plane in front starts down the deck so you drop flaps and follow another yellow shirt’s signals into position. Two of our chiefs check the gear, flaps, and elevator trim and give a final look at the wing lock pins. This only takes a second and the Fly-One Officer was “winding” you up with his hand.

 

You put on 35 inches of manifold pressure and check engine instruments one last time, then give Fly One a nod. He drops to one knee and points down the deck. You release brakes, throw in right rudder, add fuel power…still amazed at the way that big airplane jumps forward. Angle for the right corner and pull back just a little to get airborne. Just before you run out of deck you feel the wheels break the deck and you think, “I hope nobody noticed I was air born before the end of the deck.”

 

Up come the wheels and a hard clearing turn to the right so nobody will catch your slipstream.

 

Primary Flight Control (Pri-Fly) calls the flight leader and says, “Bloodshot 001, air born with 8, call when rendezvoused.” After you get flying speed, you jerk the flaps and feel the airplane settle a few feet and then start waving at people on the destroyers. All the time watching the engine instruments and pull back to 30 ½ inches and pull the prop-pitch back to 2100 RPM then climb. The leader starts a turn and everyone starts sliding in. “Bloodshot, Bloodshot 001, rendezvoused with 8.” “Rodger 001, switch button 14, bingo 13.” So you’re off on a three hour hop you could do in 1 ½ but it wouldn’t be convenient for the jets. Not always. Sometimes you have trouble getting back in time when you have to go a long way but anyway, you are gone and you just hope the ship is ready to take you aboard when you get back.

 

That’s about it except for flying the hop and landing so I’ll cover that next letter. I’m tired now and I guess you are bored.

I’ll write again soon,

 

Love, Roy

P.S. Don’t try to publish this in the Tribune or anything foolish like that. You might let Joe read it but that’s all. Also keep the Pogo coming.

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frank2far

Saturday
2 January 1954

 

Dear Mother and Dad,

 

We have been in Sasabo, Japan for two days now and are leaving tomorrow. I only went to town once for about six hours and got disgusted and came back to the ship.

 

Nothing wrong, just one of my moods where I don’t want to do anything but sit around and keep quiet. I think dad calls it the mulleygrubs.

 

Wish you could see my mustache now. It’s only about nine days old but it turns out pretty good. I didn’t know I had so many whiskers.
Three white hats from our squadron got drunk last night and beat up on one little Japanese civilian. I don’t mean I’ve lost my respect for all of them but when as large a percentage go out and catch V.D. as soon as they get cured from the last case you can’t think of them as behaving very smart.

 

In my last letter I sort of left you all hanging. Well we’re back at the ship now in the group circle waiting for “Charlie Time”. The next launch is going off and you are awfully tired and impatient.

 

Finally you hear one of the jet’s flights check in, “Bloodshot, this is 301. See you with six, state 3600 lbs.” Meaning 3600 lbs. of fuel left.
“Rodger Charlie 5”, meaning five minutes until a landing can be made. Meantime the deck crew is clearing the deck behind the barriers.

By the time the last airplane is pulled across to be spotted an airplane is chugging up to the ramp ready for a “cut” or a “wave off”.

 

After a while the ship calls up and says, “001 six jets to go”, so your flight leader drops his hook and the other three planes drop theirs, check their wing men and give a thumbs up if the hook is “O.K.”. Then the flight leader breaks his division off from the other divisions and cuts for the stern of the ship, passed by the starboard (right) side at 300 feet, and as soon as the formation is settled down gives the wheels signal and everyone drops their gear at the same time. He takes an interval on the cast jet turning downwind and then passes the lead to you and breaks off for his downwind leg. You time him 15 seconds and pass the lead to the guy behind you, break in about a 40 degree bank and drop your flaps, pull off power to slow down. I fly my downwind leg at about 95 to 100 knots and have a spot on the ship to line up on the horizon to be on altitude, about 125 feet.

 

All this time you are going over your check off list and making sure you haven’t forgotten anything. When you get to the bow you pull off more power and slow to 85 knots and open the canopy. Then start a turn into the ship with just enough power to hold your attitude and look at the nose to see if you have the right attitude or not. You can tell if you are too fast or too slow by your nose position, if you are holding the same attitude. The airspeed indicator isn’t accurate at a landing altitude so you fly by feel and what everything looks like and the Landing Signal Officer (L.S.O.) signals.

 

At about the 90 degree position the LSO picks you up and if you are O.K. he just holds a “Rodger” on you. Meantime the ship is pulling away from you, or so it seems, and you have to fight an urge to add throttle and chase it down. All this time you are rolling out of your bank and lining up with the deck. Pretty soon you are into your straightaway and the LSO gives you a “high”, so you pull off a little power and drop your nose slightly then set up your attitude again. Once in a while you get hot and ride a “Rodger” all the way in.

 

About the time you are looking down at him over your wing he gives you a slight information signal just to let you know where you are so you will know how to land and gives you a “cut”. Off comes all the power, drop the nose a little to start your descent, then pull back to a three point attitude and wait. Although it’s only about 20 feet down and a second or so before you catch a wire it seems like minutes before you feel a jerk and hear the wheels hit the deck. At least I do because I always land nose high so I always catch a wire before my wheels hit. Since I’m nose high my tail is on the deck first.

 

You let the wire pull you back, pull up the flaps, unlock and fold wings, pull up the tail hook handle as soon as you get the signal so the deck crew can lock it in place. Then, on signal, add full power and start rolling, pull it off again and coast over the barriers to park. The barriers come up again and the guy behind you is at the cut position. A good recovery and every 15 seconds a plane will land.

 

That’s all there is to it. Better go now.

 

Love,
Roy

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Salvage Sailor

Excellent description of a straight deck carrier landing. He really put you in the pilots seat on a nose high landing.

 

Every fifteen seconds, just ponder that for a minute, landing on a rolling moving wooden deck one after the other.

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