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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781491803400 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 08/14/2013 |
| Pages: | 562 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 1.25(d) |
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MEMOIR: DYNAMITE, CHECK SIX
By RAY JONES
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2013 Ray JonesAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4918-0340-0
CHAPTER 1
PRE-FLIGHT
APRIL 1954---OCTOBER, 1954
So I was an unemployed 19-year-old kid in 1954 and wanted to be an Air Force jet-fighter pilot. And maybe even eventually a test pilot. It was my one very big idea. To me it was aiming very high.
At that time there was only one way to enter the Air Force with a guarantee of going straight into pilot training: the aviation cadet program.
Fortunately, the aviation cadet program was in full swing. The Korean War had ended, but the pilot training rate which had ramped up for the war was still very high. In fact, Air Force pilot production peaked at about 7,200 pilots per year in 1952 and began decreasing after that. But there were still about 6,500 pilots being trained per year in 1954. To obtain this many volunteers the Air Force had to lower its aviation cadet entrance requirement from two years of college to just high school graduation. Since I had only completed one year of college at the University of Michigan and one quarter at Lawrence Tech, that was good news for me.
So the first major step was to be accepted into the aviation cadet program. I had read the latest official Air Force brochure describing the training program in detail, and so I was well prepared for my first visit to the Air Force recruiting office in downtown Detroit in April of 1954.
And that was fortunate because the recruiters wanted to enlist every prospect walking through their front door. So if you weren't careful you could be misled by what the recruiters told you. The recruiters knew that very few high school graduates would be able to pass the entrance exams for the aviation cadet program. So their main effort was to convince a prospect to first enlist in the Air Force, and then after completing the three months of basic training take the cadet entrance exams. In this respect, lowering the aviation cadet academic requirement served as a ploy to lure high school graduates into the recruiting office where they could be enticed into volunteering for enlisted service.
The problem with following this path was pretty obvious. If after completing basic training, you didn't pass the aviation cadet entrance exams you were stuck in the Air Force as an enlisted man for three years. Not only that, but even if you passed the exams there was no guarantee the Air Force would assign you to the cadet program until after your initial three-year enlisted service commitment was over. And in practice, the Air Force did delay the entrance of its enlisted men into the aviation cadet program. I found out later that all of the former enlisted men in my cadet class had completed at least their initial three-year tours of duty.
I wanted to avoid this obvious pitfall. So in my initial conversation with the recruiting sergeant, I insisted that I was only interested in being accepted directly into an aviation cadet pilot training class. But that didn't stop the recruiting sergeant from giving his prepared spiel on the "advantages" of enlisting before taking the exams. But after patiently listening to the sergeant, I still insisted: Exam first, enlist later.
Before I could be sent to Chanute Air Force Base in Illinois to take a battery of aviation cadet qualifying exams, I had to complete three requirements locally. The first was to score high enough on the basic Air Force Qualifying Test. This was the same test everyone entering the Air Force had to pass. A minimum score of 95 was required to become eligible to take the aviation cadet exam and I scored 100. The next test was the Aviation Cadet Qualifying Test which required a minimum score of 95, and I scored 98. The third requirement was to pass the basic military draft pre-induction physical exam. I passed that physical without any trouble.
A couple of weeks later, I was authorized to go first class by train from Detroit to Rantoul, Illinois to take the four days of aviation cadet qualifying exams. The Air Force paid the way. The recruiting sergeant gave me a first-class round-trip train ticket and meal tickets to use on the trains during the trip.
In those days passenger travel by train was common and could be a very pleasant experience. A train trip from Detroit began at Michigan Central Depot—an impressive 18-story structure located about a mile from the center of downtown. It stood just south of Michigan Avenue and hovered over Briggs Stadium where the Tigers played baseball. This was in a very old Detroit Irish neighborhood known as Corktown.
The train I was scheduled to take to Chicago was the Twilight Limited. It was known as the "businessmen's special" because of its convenience. A businessman could work at his office all day in downtown Detroit, travel the short distance to the station and then take this overnight train to Chicago. He would arrive in the morning after a good night's sleep in a Pullman car; just in time for a full business day.
For my trip, I arrived at the depot in the early evening on a Saturday about an hour before the first call for boarding: There was no way I was going to miss this train.
I had a Pullman sleeping-car ticket, and when I boarded the train, the upper and lower berths were already prepared. I went into the parlor car and found a comfortable seat by a window where I stayed until meal time in the dining car.
After using a meal ticket to eat, I returned to the parlor car and sat by a window until about ten o'clock. Then I decided to retire for the evening, so I went to my lower berth in the Pullman car.
I quickly went to sleep and didn't wake up until early the next morning. I arose and went to the dining car; this time exchanging another meal ticket for breakfast.
About eight o'clock in the morning the train pulled into the Chicago's historic Union Station right on time. I decided that the train was a truly first-class way to travel.
After a two-hour layover at Union Station, I walked to my assigned gate and boarded an Illinois Central train heading for Rantoul. After arriving at the train depot in Rantoul on Sunday afternoon, I found an Air Force shuttle bus waiting to take me to the BOQ (Bachelors' Officers Quarters) at Chanute Air Force Base. After the short ride to the BOQ, I checked into the free room reserved for me. The clerk gave me a large envelope containing some forms to fill out, a packet of instructions, a temporary ID card allowing me to eat free in the mess hall during my stay and a schedule of the events for the next five days: four days of exams, and an interview with the commander of the test unit on Friday afternoon.
Monday morning when I reported to the testing unit as directed, I found that about 25 other candidates or applicants were scheduled to take the tests with me.
The first test we all took was the basic Air Force Officer Qualifying Test. This stanine test had a battery of questions designed to evaluate a candidate's suitability for training and serving in several selected career fields. Of course, two of those areas were for pilot and navigator training. In those days navigator training was also known as observer training, and it included training to be an airborne radar operator. Some other test categories were basic officer qualities, verbal skills and quantitative reasoning.
The rest of the first three days of the week were spent taking various intelligence, aptitude and personality tests. The entire day Thursday was devoted to an extensive flight physical exam.
Friday was the day of reckoning. The testing unit commander, Captain Thomas O'Rourke, chaired a selection board in the morning convened to "... consider and examine the applicant's evidence as to citizenship, and his mental, moral, physical, and general qualifications for acceptance for officer training."
Captain O'Rourke scheduled afternoon appointments Friday to meet with each of us applicants individually. There was no list of who passed and who failed posted anywhere. My fellow candidates and I would find out our fate during our meeting with Captain O'Rourke.
I had the third appointment. And didn't know if that was good or bad. When I arrived at the captain's office, a sergeant escorted me inside. Captain O'Rourke looked up from his desk, smiled and said, "Have a seat please, Mr. Jones."
I sat down and the sergeant left the room and closed the door. Then the captain gave me the good news, "Congratulations! You've qualified for both pilot and navigator training."
I felt an immense sense of relief and happiness, but then the captain continued, "We don't have many applicants who qualify for all three career fields—pilot, navigator and radar observer. So I'd like to offer you a training slot leading to your qualification as one of the Air Force's new elite 'triple-threat' officers. The program starts with navigator and radar training; followed at some point by entry into pilot training. The reason the program is scheduled this way is because navigator training isn't open to pilots."
My mind started reeling, but this development wasn't entirely unexpected. Some of my fellow applicants had told me about rumors that we would be pressured to accept navigator training because those slots were harder to fill than pilot training slots—who would want to be a navigator when they could be a pilot?
So it was obvious that's what Captain O'Rourke was trying to do: talk me into accepting navigator training. And, of course, there would be no guarantee of ever getting into pilot training. The Air Force certainly wasn't going to send anyone to pilot training right after they'd just trained for a year to be a navigator: There was a matter of return on investment. Clearly, if I accepted this program, I'd have to complete a three-year service commitment as a navigator. And then I'd be right back to where I was now: applying for pilot training. I'd have to be accepted once more—didn't make any sense at all.
I had to say something to squelch this idea diplomatically without alienating the captain. So I said, "Sir, thank you very much for the offer. But I really have my heart set on pilot training. Delaying it for a year and serving as a navigator would be a tremendous disappointment to me. I've done a lot of preparation to become a pilot. I've even spent a lot of my own hard-earned money to get my private pilot's license. So I'm sorry, Sir, but I just can't accept the navigator training."
Captain O'Rourke looked displeased and he said, "Well, I know this is a very big decision for you. Like I said, you can still become a pilot a little later in your career. Why don't you take a couple of hours to think it over and then come back and talk to me again, OK?"
I sensed that now was the time for firmness so I said, "Thank you, Sir, but it won't be necessary. I can only accept the pilot training."
Captain O'Rourke stood up, frowned and said, "OK, but I hope someday you don't regret turning down this unique opportunity ... Are you sure you don't need a little more time to think about it?"
"No, Sir. I don't need any more time. I'll have to stick with my decision."
The captain then leaned over his desk to shake hands with me, smiled and said, "All right, Mr. Jones. Welcome to the aviation cadet pilot training program. Stop by the sergeant's desk on your way out and he'll finish your paperwork and issue you your formal acceptance letter. Good luck, and I hope you do well in the program."
I replied, "Thank you, Sir ... Thank you very much, Sir ... I won't let you down ... I'll work really hard," and then I hurried out of the captain's office.
I still have my form acceptance letter signed by Captain O'Rourke. For a few moments when I had been in the captain's office I thought he might not offer me a pilot training slot. But upon reflection, that wasn't logical. The Air Force already had a monetary investment in me. They had funded my first-class train fare and paid for my meals and living quarters for a week. And I had been found fully qualified for pilot training, so turning down the navigator program wasn't sufficient motivation for the captain to let me walk out the door without accepting a training assignment.
But I decided that my experience with the recruiting sergeant in Detroit and with Captain O'Rourke had already taught me a valuable lesson: In dealing with the Air Force, things are not as straightforward as they appear to be on paper.
Both the sergeant and the captain had tried to sidetrack me from my goal of directly entering the pilot training program. Because—as they should have been—both of them were mainly concerned with fulfilling the overall needs of the Air Force. And they would certainly do that at the expense of any individual applicant.
So now I knew what to expect in my future Air Force career. There would always be sidetracks and roadblocks to work around, or in some cases blast through. But I was now forewarned. And as my military career progressed, during both wartime and peacetime, I encountered not only sidetracks and roadblocks but many more complicated situations reminiscent of those Joseph Heller described in his novel, Catch-22.
In mid-July of 1954, I received a phone call at home from the recruiting sergeant in downtown Detroit. The sergeant informed me that I was assigned to aviation cadet Class 56-D scheduled to start at Lackland Air Force Base, Texas on the 30th of July.
The sergeant also wanted to know if I could be ready to depart for Texas on the 23rd of July. The annual Detroit-area airshow started that Friday at Detroit Metropolitan-Wayne County Airport, and the plan was to kick it off with the swearing in of the largest number of Air Force recruits ever assembled for that purpose. There were twelve of us aviation cadet candidates from Michigan, but I was the only one from Detroit. We would be sworn in along with about 500 enlisted recruits. The Michigan recruiters had truly been busy amassing this many bodies.
The swearing-in ceremony was to be performed by no other than the Air Force chief of staff, General Nathan Twining. And as an added attraction, all of us aviation cadet candidates were scheduled to meet briefly with General Twining in the VIP tent prior to the ceremony.
I assured the sergeant that I could leave for Texas on the 23rd. In fact, I could have been out of the house and on my way in 20 minutes. I had been eagerly anticipating this class assignment ever since receiving my qualification letter in May.
So early in the morning of July 23, my fellow aviation cadet candidates and I met at the Air Force recruiting office in downtown Detroit. There we boarded an Air Force bus provided to take us to the airport for the swearing-in ceremony.
When we arrived at the airport, I found out we were assigned to stand in a section in front of the large mass of recruits who were being sworn in as enlisted men. It was right next to the VIP tent, but for some unknown reason our scheduled visit with the Air Force chief never materialized.
However, the general did emerge from the tent right on time to give a short encouraging speech and perform the ceremony. After we all took the oath, a military band started playing a rousing rendition of the Air Force Song. Then we all turned around and walked a short distance to where a fleet of C-119 troop-transports were waiting to fly us to San Antonio.
I really enjoyed the trip. It was the first time I'd flown on anything larger than the general aviation aircraft I flew while earning my pilot's license. And, of course, it was the first time I'd flown on a military aircraft. We twelve cadets had a C-119 to ourselves, so we were each able to spend as much time as we wanted up in the cockpit observing and talking to the pilot and copilot. It was the first time several of my fellow cadets had ever flown in an aircraft of any kind. And two of them responded in an embarrassing—but to me not surprising—manner by becoming airsick. This wasn't a very auspicious start to a pilot training program, but as it turned out neither of them had the problem again.
Lackland Air Force Base was strictly a training facility and didn't have an airfield, but it was co-located with Kelly Air Force Base which did have one. So the C-119 made a passenger stop in front of the base operations building at Kelly to drop us off. As I jumped out the side troop door to exit the aircraft, I felt a blast of hot air that seemed almost too hot to breath; I thought my lungs were being seared! The engines of the aircraft were running at idle, and I was directly in the slipstream behind the propeller so I thought to myself, "Damn, that hot air is from the engine exhaust," so I sprinted away from the airplane and toward the base ops building.
But when I ran well away from the aircraft, the air was still just as hot and stifling. Then I finally realized that it was just a normal July afternoon in San Antonio. Checking the temperature in the weather station in base ops, I found that it was 108 degrees—the hottest temperature I'd ever been exposed to. And the humidity was high. Fortunately, I had a week to get used to this climate change before my class started.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from MEMOIR: DYNAMITE, CHECK SIX by RAY JONES. Copyright © 2013 Ray Jones. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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