on a straight course, then the nose begins to lose its normal position
on the horizon, a wing dips down, and a blast of air rushes in from
one side of the cockpit. Carefully learned instructions are forgotten
and the controls serve only to move the earth still farther from its
proper position. All this time the instructor’s hands are gripping the
top of the cowling. The cadet realizes that it is up to himself in some
manner to level the plane out into a normal flying position once more,
not realizing for an instant that his instructor can operate the stick
nearly as well with his knees as with his hand and that he has probably
already saved the plane from falling into a spin several times.
After splashing around the sky in this manner for several minutes the
pilot brings his ship back into position and pulling up into a stall
with a throttled motor, roars back his instructions at a cadet who
is much more absorbed in watching the approaching ground below than
in listening to his instructor. When forty-five minutes have passed,
the ship is flown back and landed near the stage house where the next
cadet, with helmet and goggles adjusted, is waiting for his turn in the
air. The first climbs out and takes his place on the bench surrounding
the base of the building and the plane is off to repeat the performance
over again.
At the end of ten hours, if the cadet is not capable of soloing he
is in grave danger of being washed out as a flyer. However, if the
instructor believes that a little more time will be sufficient and
that the student has shown signs of eventually becoming a military
pilot, the dual instruction may be continued for three or four more
hours.
At Brooks when an instructor came to the conclusion that one of his
students would never master the art of flying quickly enough to keep up
with the standard of the class, he turned the cadet over for a check
hop with the stage commander who was always a pilot of long experience.
Few cadets ever passed this check; if the stage commander believed
that any cadet had been misjudged, however, he had authority to place
him back on flying status for further instruction. If the commander
concurred with the decision of the instructor, he recommended the cadet
for a final check on headquarters stage with the chief check pilot. The
decision of this officer was final and to be returned to flying after
a flight with him was an occurrence seldom recorded in cadet history.
After failing his final check flight a cadet was ordered to appear
before a board of officers known as the “Benzine Board.” If he was
reporting for misconduct or academic deficiency there was still some
slight hope of beating the board, but if it was for inability to fly,
the decision of “washout” was a foregone conclusion.
The washing out for our class commenced in earnest with the approach
of solo flights and the returns from our examinations. I was fortunate
enough to have passed them and my previous flying experience kept
me from worrying on any other account during the first part of our
training.
There was no disgrace in washing out. It simply meant in the majority
of cases, that the cadet was not especially adapted to flying and he
was sent back to his point of enlistment with an honorable discharge
and the advice to take up some other form of occupation.
[Illustration: © _Wide World Photos_
CURTISS FIELD, L. I.--GETTING READY FOR THE TAKE-OFF. “THE WEATHER WAS
PRETTY SICK”]
[Illustration: © _Wide World Photos_
CURTISS FIELD, L. I.--JUST BEFORE STARTING ON THE BIG ADVENTURE]
Our first “Benzine Board” met about a month after the start of school
and reconvened more or less regularly from that time until we were
ready to be graduated from the primary school and transferred to Kelly
for instructions on service types of planes.
With the washing out process our barracks became less congested. It was
not unusual to see the fellows on both sides pack up and cheerfully
depart for destinations in different corners of the United States.
After a few weeks there would be one bunk standing where eight had
been--this in some part of the barracks on which the decisions of the
“Benzine Board” had fallen hardest. In another case an entire bay was
washed out and left entirely vacant. We never knew who would be next
to go, and we could only continue to plug along as best we could with
our flying and study a little harder on our ground-school work while we
waited for the almost weekly list of washouts to be published on our
bulletin board. We were in the full swing of cadet life and under the
constant apprehension which accompanies it.
Along with our trials and worries went the fascination of flying
together with the priceless goal before us of graduation with an Air
Service commission. The wings of the service would be for those of us
who were able to survive the rigid training and discipline of a year in
the United States Army flying schools.
Always there was something new to look forward to. The start of
actual flying; the first solo; learning various stunts and maneuvers;
transitions from Jennies to faster and quicker ships; and finally our
transfer to Kelly Field, the alma mater of Army fliers.
The Army Air Service was an exacting instructor. There was no
favoritism shown and no amount of politics could keep a cadet from
being washed out if he fell down in flying. As a result, only a small
per cent of those entering Brooks ever graduate from Kelly. In our
class of one hundred and four, thirty-three finished their primary
training and only eighteen of us received our wings. This appears on
the surface to be an unusually low number but as a result of the rigid
requirements and careful instruction, our Air Corps schools rank among
the best in the world today. They have an extremely low fatality list,
not one man in our class being seriously injured.
Probably the most exciting period in our flying training was when the
soloing began. The instructor would climb out of his cockpit, tie
a white handkerchief on the rudder as a danger signal, indicating
that the ship was usually out of control, and signal his student to
take-off. In some cases the plane would take-off nicely, circle the
field and make a comparatively good landing. In others the landing
would amount to a series of bounces, resulting in the necessity of a
second or third attempt before the wheels would hold contact with the
ground more than a fraction of a second at a time. In one particular
instance, after several futile attempts to get down, the cadet began
circling around overhead. His apparent idea was to clinch the chances
of landing on his next attempt by waiting until the gasoline ran out.
His instructor was out in the field trying to flag him down without the
slightest success and for half an hour we watched the ship intently for
the first signs of a lowering gas supply; hoping that the fuel would
not hold out much longer as the morning flying period was nearly over
and we were all anxious to see him land. After half an hour, however,
he apparently regained enough courage and determination to make a last
attempt at a landing, which turned out much more successfully than the
others.
When the solo flights were more or less successfully completed the
flying instruction was divided into two periods of forty-five minutes
each. One of these was used for dual and the other for solo practice.
The instructor would attempt to smooth out the rough points in his
students’ flying and demonstrate the method of going through new
maneuvers so that the cadet could be given the opportunity to go up
alone and try out the maneuvers for himself.
[Illustration: © _U. & U._
“I DIDN’T USE MY PERISCOPE ALL THE TIME, BUT COULD LOOK OUT MY WINDOWS”]
[Illustration: © _Wide World Photos_
PARIS, FRANCE--A SALUTATION FROM M. BLERIOT]
One of the first lessons was the “three sixty”--so named because its
completion required a total change in direction of three hundred and
sixty degrees. The cadet would take-off and climb to eight hundred
or a thousand feet. The higher he went the less difficulty he had in
properly completing the maneuver. Then he would fly into the wind
directly over a landing “T” in the center of the field. As the plane
passed over the “T” he throttled his motor and made a quick bank either
to the right or left depending upon his preliminary instructions. The
object was to make a complete circle and land without using the motor,
bringing the plane to a stop beside the “T.”
“One eightys” were the next requirement and they were probably the
cause of more crashes than any other maneuver. They were started in
the same manner as the “three sixty,” but with the plane heading down
wind and at only five hundred feet altitude. They required quick
manipulation of controls and a steep bank into the field just before
landing.
Next came acrobatics. Loops, spins, barrel rolls, Jenny Immelmans,
figure-eights, wing-overs, and reversements, every one of which each
cadet had to master thoroughly during his course at Brooks.
After the first few weeks had passed we became more or less accustomed
to life in the cadet detachment, and found a little time now and then
to look around the country and even spend a night in San Antonio.
Our examinations were purposely given on Saturday morning so that we
would not spend the week-end studying. It was well known that too much
studying affected a cadet’s flying and the school schedule was arranged
with that in mind.
Our day began with first call at five forty-five and flying started
about seven. At eleven we returned to the barracks and from one to
five o’clock was devoted to ground school. After supper we could
study until bed check at ten o’clock. Plenty of sleep is a necessity
for the student pilot, and that fact is recognized nowhere more than
in the army schools. Every week night at ten P.M. the cadet officer of
the day checks each bunk and turns in the names of any vacant ones.
Some of our academic subjects, such as aerodynamics and machine guns
required nearly all of our time after school because of approaching
examinations, whereas others were comparatively easy and the classroom
instruction was sufficient in itself. When we were not studying there
were always plenty of other things to attract our attention. If one of
the boys left the post, as sometimes happened, he often returned to
find his belongings heaped together in the middle of the floor with the
army cots piled on top. Several times some cadet returned at midnight
to find his equipment carefully transferred and set up on the roof or
in the mess-hall. Another one of the favorite sports was to put a hose
in the bed of a sound sleeper at two A.M. or, if he slept with his
mouth open, to fill it from a tube of shaving cream or hair grease.
One of the fellows found a scorpion in his bed and each night for a
week thereafter looked through the bedding for another, but finally
became careless and forgot to look. His nearest neighbor promptly
placed a number of grasshoppers between the sheets near the foot of the
bed.
Another evening it was reported that three pole-cats had crawled into
a culvert in front of the barracks. For an hour we attempted to smoke
them out. When that failed the fire department was called and we
washed them out. The smoke had evidently taken effect, however, and
soon three dead pole-cats came floating out from the culvert. The next
problem was how to make use of such possibilities. That question was
worthy of a most careful consideration. After a survey of the barracks
we found that our cadet first sergeant was in San Antonio. There was
scarcely one of us who did not have some small score to settle with
him so we took one of the pillows from his bed and after removing the
pillow case, placed it behind one of the pole-cats. The desired results
were then obtained by stepping on the back end of the cat, and after
cautiously inserting the pillow back in its case, we replaced it on
the first sergeant’s bunk. The results were far above expectation. One
by one the occupants of that bay arose and carried their cots outside,
until by midnight, when our sergeant returned, there were only a half
dozen bunks left including his own. By that time the odor had permeated
through the other bedding and he was unable to locate the pillow as
being the primary cause of offense. Any night for nearly two weeks
thereafter our first sergeant and his cot might be located out behind
the barracks, and the inspection of quarters, which was to have been
held the following morning, was postponed indefinitely.
During our last six weeks at Brooks, life became much less difficult.
Most of us who had survived the check pilots and “Benzine Board” were
reasonably sure of graduating and although our studies were just as
exacting as ever, we were able to absorb them much more easily. Also
we had passed our primary flying tests and were making cross country
flights in T.W.3’s; and learning formation flying in Voughts. And
finally we were given a few hours in De Havilands in preparation for
the advanced training at Kelly.
We were paired up for the cross country flights. One of us flew on the
way out, while the second acted as observer. On the return flight we
traded about, so that each achieved an equal amount of experience, both
as an observer and as a pilot. These trips were usually laid out in a
triangular course, and included landing at each corner of the triangle.
While on one of our first trips from the home airdrome, we landed in
the designated field alongside of a road just as a load of watermelons
was passing by, so we carried several of them back to the Detachment in
our plane.
Always there was some new experience, always something interesting
going on to make the time spent in Brooks and Kelly one of the banner
years in a pilot’s life. The training is rigid and difficult but there
is none better. A cadet must be willing to forget all other interest
in life when he enters the Texas flying schools and he must enter with
the intention of devoting every effort and all of the energy during
the next twelve months towards a single goal. But when he receives the
wings at Kelly a year later he has the satisfaction of knowing that he
has graduated from one of the world’s finest flying schools.
VI
RECEIVING A PILOT’S WINGS
In September, 1924, we were transferred to Kelly. The time we had
looked forward to for half a year had arrived. We were through the
period of just learning how to fly and were entering a new experience;
that of learning how to make use of our flying ability in actual
service. We would no longer be floating around the airdrome in
machines whose only purpose was to stand up under the hard knocks of
inexperienced pilots; but we were going to fly planes which had an
actual military value in warfare.
[Illustration: © _Wide World Photos_
PARIS, FRANCE--PAUL PAINLEVÉ, FRENCH MINISTER OF WAR, EXTENDS HIS
WELCOME. ON THE RIGHT IS AMBASSADOR MYRON T. HERRICK]
[Illustration: © _Wide World Photos_
PARIS, FRANCE--WITH M. DOUMERQUE AND AMBASSADOR HERRICK]
We were old cadets and felt the importance of our experience. We
were no longer treated as rookies but as potential officers. Before
leaving Brooks we had conformed with cadet traditions and allowed
groups of the new class to gather around us while we gravely spoke
of examinations, check pilots, “Benzine Boards,” and “washouts.” We
thoroughly enjoyed the awe inspired by our seventy-five hours of flying
experience.
At Kelly our difficulties set in with renewed vigor. The De Havilands
did not maneuver like the training Jennies, and we were required to fly
as we had never flown before. If a cadet was not able to handle his
ship in a maneuver which was at least equal to the standard, he was
usually heading towards home within a week.
We were allowed a few days to become accustomed to flying the new type
of plane, then an instructor would go up with us to see if our progress
had been satisfactory. If so we were sent to the next stage; if not we
went up with a check pilot.
From landings we went to the “eight” stage, where were assigned two
landmarks such as a tree and a haystack several hundred feet apart,
and required to do figure-eights around them. Then came the spot
landing stage, when we throttled our engine at about a thousand feet
and were required to land in a large white circle without using our
motor. On this stage we were graded on our take-off, climb, approach,
landing, roll, distance from mark, and method of handling the ship. In
fact at Kelly we were constantly under observation and our only method
of relaxation while flying was when the sky was cloudy and we could get
above the clouds.
On one occasion we were flying with a low ceiling and the visibility
was not very good. In fact it was an ideal day to do the things we were
not supposed to. I was hedgehopping along over the country when I saw
another D.H. playing around on my right. I flew over, and after chasing
each other around for a while we proceeded to do chandelles, vertical
banks, wing-overs, and everything else we could think of; all within a
few feet of the ground as the clouds themselves were only about three
hundred feet high. At last I decided to go up close to the other plane
for a little low formation flying, but as I approached I saw that
there were two men in the ship and that I had been breaking every rule
ever established about low flying with an instructor watching me from
another ship. I left that locality with wide open motor and for several
days expected to be called on the carpet before the commanding officer
on a washout offense. That instructor must have been a good sport,
however, because I never heard from him and never was able to find out
who he was.
On another occasion, near the end of my course, I came very near being
washed out for something I knew nothing about. I had been practicing
landings in an S.E.-5 on one corner of Kelly Field. When my time had
expired, I landed on the pursuit stage, taxied up to the line, and
turned the ship over to the mechanics. That afternoon I was called
from class and ordered to report to the operations officer; whereupon
he informed me that my flying days were over and that as I knew why,
there was no use in explaining further. I was then ordered to report
back to my studies.
It came out of a clear sky. I knew of a number of offenses I had
committed but none of them at that time. I had actually no idea of what
the operations officer was talking about.
When school was over I returned to the operations hut and requested
an account of the alleged offense. It appeared that the propeller on
my S.E.-5 was cracked, and the spreader board broken on the landing
gear. The crew chief had reported this together with a statement that
there were corn stalks hanging on the landing gear, and as there was
no corn growing on Kelly Field, that was a sure sign that I had landed
away from the airdrome without reporting the fact. A washout offense.
We drove to the pursuit stage and found conditions exactly as stated,
except that the corn stalks turned out to be weeds, and it was decided
that the damage had been caused by a stake left standing in the corner
of Kelly Field where I had been landing, although I had not felt
the ship strike anything. The cadet who flew the plane earlier in the
morning was using the same part of the field and said that he felt it
strike a bump on one of his take-offs but did not believe any damage
had been done. Who was flying the ship made little difference, however,
because as long as he had not landed away from the airdrome without
authority, the slight damage was of no consequence. I had come very
close to the “Benzine Board” for an offense of which I knew nothing,
but it was probably only the open-mindedness and sense of fair play of
the operations officer that kept me from being washed out as a result.
[Illustration: © _Wide World Photos_
PARIS, FRANCE--CROWDS AT THE CITY HALL AT THE OFFICIAL RECEPTION]
[Illustration: © _Wide World Photos_
PARIS, FRANCE--GUESTS AT THE LUNCHEON OF M. BLERIOT
LEFT TO RIGHT: PAUL PAINLEVÉ, CHARLES LINDBERGH, M. BLERIOT, AMBASSADOR
HERRICK]
One day during the beginning of our term at Kelly, someone decided
that the cadets should stand reveille. How it came about or who caused
the decision was never known by the detachment, but there was a strong
rumor circulated to the effect that our beloved Cadet Sergeant had not
forgotten the episode of the pole-cats. It was an unheard of thing for
the cadets of Kelly to stand formations. We had graduated from that
when we left Brooks, and the thought of continuing it in our advanced
status was, we concluded, degenerating to the morale of the detachment.
Consequently, when our first sergeant himself delighted us with verbal
visions of being tumbled out of bed at first call if we were not up at
the blast of his whistle, we decided that if it were in the combined
power of the detachment, the first call should not sound the next
morning. We could not disobey an order; army training banishes even the
remotest thought of that; but we might prevent that order from being
given. The Cadet Captain and first sergeant were assigned to a private
room together. The rest of us were given cots in the barracks. While
supper was in progress that night the hands on the sergeant’s alarm
clock were so manipulated that the alarm would sound exactly one hour
after the time set. At two o’clock the next morning a padlock was
placed on the hasp outside of his door, and when first call blew a few
hours later the cadet detachment slept soundly on.
From spot landings we passed to hurdles. Hurdles require the ship to be
brought down without assistance from the engine, and after just passing
over a line stretched about eight feet above the ground, to be landed
as close as possible to the hurdle. This gave us excellent practice for
landing over a fence in a small field.
One of the traditions at Kelly was that anyone knocking down the hurdle
must treat the rest to a case of refreshments. It often happened that
a pilot was so intent on getting over the hurdle string that he did
not notice that his plane was in a stall, and about the time he was
over the hurdle the bottom would fall out from under him and his plane
would pancake into the ground. Almost every class had one or two minor
crack-ups as a result of stalling over the hurdle string.
The De Havilands were not considered safe for hard stunting and as
a result we were only allowed to do wing-overs and split air turns.
Diving in excess of one hundred and fifty miles per hour was also
forbidden. Consequently only air work allowing us to be thoroughly
accustomed to the plane was included in the flying schedule before our
formation training began.
The strange field landing training was one of the most interesting
parts of our schooling. An instructor would lead a number of planes
and land in some field we had never seen before. Then each cadet was
required to land and take-off after the instructor. Some of the fields
were small and full of obstructions. Yet we had comparatively few even
minor crack-ups. Later each cadet was given an opportunity to lead the
rest and pick out a field for them to land in while the instructor
trailed.
At Kelly we were given more and longer cross country trips than at
Brooks. One of the most important parts of flying training is cross
country experience. We made flights to Corpus Christi, Galveston,
Laredo and a number of other places.
Each class spent about two weeks on a gunnery expedition at Ellington
Field between Houston and Galveston. Ellington Field was one of the few
double fields built during the war, but was later abandoned and, except
for a National Guard squadron, was entirely deserted.
We set up our mess in the clubhouse and made the old building which had
served as officers’ quarters as comfortable as possible. This was in
winter and the weather was cold, even in Texas, unusual though it might
have been. There were no stoves available so we contrived all sorts of
makeshifts to hold a little fire in. If nothing better was obtainable,
we shovelled several inches of earth on the floor and devised a hood of
some kind leading through a few lengths of tin pipe to the chimney. Of
course these fires could not be left unguarded, so it was necessary to
put them out in the morning to be rekindled at the close of operations
for the day.
Our gunnery work was divided into three parts: ground targets, shadow
targets and tow targets. The ground targets were large sheets of paper
similar to those used on a rifle range and were set up at an angle on
the ground. We shot at these with both the Browning and Lewis machine
guns.
The Browning guns on a De Haviland were mounted rigidly in front of the
pilot and were synchronized with the engine to shoot between the blades
of the propeller. They were capable of firing up to twelve hundred
rounds a minute, depending on the motor R.P.M. when they were fired.