Biographical Notes re
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Our free time at Pine Bluff was quite limited, but it was a hospitable community. Our associations and schedules did not permit us to practice our girl/boy interrelationships to any degree. One thing I do recall was observing a table tennis mixed group that often gathered after chow time at the base recreation facility. They would have some spirited games. There was one young woman, apparently a civilian employee, rather tall and slim, of reasonable structure and appearance, except she had a pair of tanks that made your eyes bulge; especially for a bunch of guys where sexual interplay was some kind of a vague dream out in the future somewhere.
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Fairchild PT-19A, Primary Flight Trainer
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Anyway, while watching her participate in one of those games that made the teammates dive and plunge to get in their shots, her chest arrangement suddenly swung from the horizontal to the vertical. Apparently a strap had let loose. Her next dive was for the door and she was not seen in that environment for a number of days. I have no happy ending to offer to this part of the story, except to say that the collective illusions we had formed regarding nature’s generosity in our group of table tennis play observers, came to an abrupt and disappointing end.
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In total, primary flight training, for our class, was a real joy and a good, healthy learning experience. We realized that when we moved on to Basic Flight Training, we would be back in the military, for sure. And, we were correct in that assumption. Our train trip to Basic Flight School was rather short. We were assigned to the Independence, Kansas, Air Base. A collection of paper tarpaper shacks with coal fired potbellied stoves. By now it was late summer and the stoves were mostly something to keep clean for inspection.
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Soloed the PT-19 Today!
L to R: John, Chuck, Turek, Joe & Jack |
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In the short view, I can say that Basic Flight School, for me, was a trip to heaven during Transition Training in the BT-14, and then a descent into “Hell” for Instrument Flight Training in the BT-13. If this arouses your curiosity, you may click here and jump over to my related story on this web site entitled “The Power of Prayer.” I have covered the subject thoroughly in those pages.
There is a quick return link at the end of that story that will bring you back to this page, if you should so choose. |
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North American BT-14
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Toward the end of Basic Flight Training, we had the opportunity to choose whether we wanted to go to single or twin engine advance training. I don’t know how many cadets did not get their choice; but, I got mine, which was single engine. I had dreams of being a fighter pilot. Our group of single engine pilot trainees was sent on to Advanced Flying Training at Foster Field, Victoria, Texas. By now the season was late fall and the soon-to-be winter season into January, 1945.
It was interesting transitioning from the BT-14 and BT-13 into the T-6. The BT-14 had a fixed landing gear that was six inches narrower than the AT-6, while the BT-13 had a much wider-spread gear than the AT-6. To a pilot in training, the BT-14, with all of its warm and wonderful flight characteristics, was one ground-looping son-of-a-gun. At Independence, I can recall seeing two BT-14s, landing on parallel runways, ground loop simultaneously in opposite directions. For those of us with BT-14 experience, the transition into the T-6 was an easy one. |
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Vultee BT-13
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North American AT-6
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For those who took Basic Flight Training at a base with only BT-13s, it was a real challenge to go from the forgiving landing characteristics of the BT-13 to the more skittish AT-6.
My Advanced Flying instructor was a gem of a man. He was such a gift after having my Basic Instrument Flying instruction via that inhumane, mentally unbalanced, non-teacher that had made the latter half of my previous stage of flight training a trip through Hell. The strict supervision that we had endured for so many months began to loosen as we were prepared for the transition from cadet to officer status. We were increasingly independent in the air. I can remember my instructors satisfying remarks the first time I completed a slow roll maneuver without swishing around in the process. We would be practicing formation flying and towards the end of the period you would see him give us the hand in the air with a circling motion. This was a sign that he would be pealing off and we would have a rat race. Up down and around we would go, pushing the limits of our abilities to keep some semblance of order as we moved from high speed dives to steep climbs where a stall was a constant threat. To have the number two man in trail suddenly stall out in a steep climb and fall back through the remaining entrain aircraft was an experience I can do without. Then we were measured for our uniforms. The list was posted for selection as 2nd Lieutenant or Flight Officer. This selection process was handled quietly, apparently by the instructors. We learned of the results when we read it on the bulletin board. Our instructor allowed that we were going to have P-40 transition training at Foster Field and then probably on to P-51s at another base. Heavenly news, for this cadet. Having had no chance to party for a very long time, a few of us made a rare nocturnal trip into Victoria. One of the fellows had located a pint of whisky. A pint of whisky, between about five guys, can’t get you very drunk. But, the next morning all of our group were having vision problems. We located the almost empty bottle and discovered that it had been skillfully cut into from the bottom and the contents replaced with some form of substitute rotgut that, in greater quantities, could have blinded us all. A few days and the effects had worn off. You can bet we didn’t run down to the hospital and tell anyone what was going on. Graduation was at hand. |
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