If My Heart Had Wings: A World War II Love Story(11)
I’m just over the edge on this physical and may slip on any one of a number of things. OK now for awhile though. About 50% to 70% of the fellows as far as I am never get to be pilots or [ get] their commission, but I hope I’m one of those others .
There were other details to deal with as he made the transition from private citizen to soldier. Once he received his uniforms, he bundled up the last of his civilian clothes and sent them back home to his parents, along with several lists of things he wanted saved or given away. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added:
Sometime you will be getting my U.S. life insurance policy. Look it over if you want to and then send it out here—and if you don’t understand it I’ll try to answer any questions about it. ($10,000 isn’t hay.)
He was referring to the $10,000 life insurance policy issued to all soldiers—just one more bit of housekeeping to attend to before moving on.
According to his file, Lyndon started primary training (“ground school”) in March at Hancock Field in Santa Maria, California, where he went through nine hard weeks of drilling, plus long hours in the classroom studying navigation, airplane structure, engines, and the use of aeronautical charts. Evidently, the “washout” rate at this point was huge. Lyndon reported that:
... the school graduates about 33 percent of its students or less—the lowest percentage of any primary school in California.
This meant that by the end of the nine weeks, two-thirds of the cadets would be out on their ears, a sobering thought. In the meantime the fun was about to begin. During primary training, cadets were required to put in sixty hours of flight time in a two-seater training plane, so Lyndon was finally going to get into the pilot’s seat and start flying! He would be practicing take-offs and landings, straight-and-level flight, turns, climbs, and descents. If these things sounded risky, well, Lyndon didn’t seem to think so, assuring the folks back home that the danger was:
... practically negligible. If anything did happen or if you hear of any accident in a place such as this, it was almost for sure callousness on the student’s part. Trying to show off...
Apparently, all went well because in May, according to the file, Lyndon moved on to Stockton Field, about fifty miles southeast of Sacramento, to practice navigation, cross-country flying, and flying in formation. Pilots-in-training also started soloing within their first two weeks, and were soon flying up to six hours a day.
And at the end of this nine-week training period, the cuts were made. Those who weren’t knocked out of the program completely were divided into four groups: pilots, bombardiers, navigators, or radio operators. Lyndon, that lucky guy, not only stayed in the program, but made it into the pilot category.
In advanced training the newly designated pilots learned to fly the Curtiss-Wright AT-9, a powerful twin-engine plane that felt and flew like combat aircraft. The AT-9, which was notoriously difficult to control, had actually been designed to be less stable for teaching purposes. The theory was if you could handle the AT-9, you could handle anything.
When flying this plane, rookie pilots learned how to respond if an engine failed in midflight or, even worse, during take-off. One very important technique, practiced over and over again, was “feathering” the dead engine—that is, adjusting the prop blades so they paralleled the direction of flight. This reduced the drag and kept the prop from spinning in the wind. If an engine suddenly went out, feathering it might be the only way to maintain the plane’s altitude, making it an essential skill for any pilot.
It was in the middle of going through Lyndon’s file and learning about the training of World War II pilots that I made myself stop and think about what it all meant. During his seven months in training, Lyndon had managed to rise to every challenge and pass every test. Other cadets were being washed out of the program left and right, and most of those who stayed became bombardiers, navigators, or radio operators. So, what was it about Lyndon that made him win over and over again, and eventually become a pilot?
Andy Rooney, of 60 Minutes fame, may have come up with the answer in his book, My War . As a war correspondent during World War II, Rooney had the chance to get to know plenty of pilots, and he describes them as “natural leaders” and “... almost always the most capable, most intelligent, and most determined to accomplish their mission of anyone on board. They were in charge for a good reason.”
Pilot training—Spring 1942
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T HE PILOT NOT ONLY controlled the plane but was the superior officer in charge of everyone on board, so he had to radiate power, confidence, and efficiency. Yet at 5’6” and 130 pounds, Lyndon wouldn’t have been singled out as a leader because he looked the part. He also lacked the aggressive, Type A personality so characteristic of most pilots: virtually every description of his personality included the words “nice” and “sweet.” Yet, he’d always been a leader, even as a child, when he’d organized and motivated his five siblings, three of whom were older than him. He must have had a lot more than his share of charisma and organizational ability, not to mention a very cool head.
Whatever the reasons, Lyndon was obviously a winner, and on August 27, 1942, he received his pilot’s wings, along with a commission as a 2nd lieutenant. Next stop was Sedalia Army Air Field in Missouri, where he would learn to the job he’d be doing overseas, flying C-47 troop carrier planes.