My first flying lesson was at Taylor Aviation, New Kingstown, Pa. on 26 July 1943. The plane was a Piper Cub, and we had about ten hours dual instruction. The instructors were civilians, and mine, Richard Beekner, was crazy. We used to fly down the Pennsylvania Turnpike at an altitude of 10 or 15 feet looking for girls in convertibles. Spent one memorable Monday morning flying around the tallest building in Carlisle, the hotel, as my instructor was trying to attract the attention of the woman with whom he had spent the night. He was fond of flying as low as possible, and it is a wonder that I didn't end my Air Corps career and life while flying with him.

Palled around with Art Sulivan and Dick Spencer who was from Buffalo. Learned to drink with these nuts. We had several favorite bars in town and would start at the top of the mixed drink list and work our way down. We made Ward Eights' our drink of choice.

The local papers published photographs of all the high school graduates, and my devious brain cooked up a scheme. My roommates and I selected three or four of the most attractive girls, and wrote them letters suggesting that we meet. We all got replies, and as a result I made contact with several "nice" girls in Carlisle and Harrisburg, in particular a Barbara in Harrisburg.

On 28 Aug. 1943 I was sent to NACC in Nashville, Tenn. for testing. You took a series of mental and physical tests to determine aptitude for Pilot, Navigator or Bombardier. I Scored 9,9,8 on a scale of 10, and was allowed to choose. I chose Pilot. Finished on 3 Dec. 1943.

I had written my Grandmother Cass during the Citadel days and continued doing so throughout the war. My Grandmother saved all the letters. One of my letters written while at Nashville notes: "Remember the Unholy 8 at school? Well one of the gang, Don Bunch is here in Nashville. Sandy Brunswick is in pre-flight and so is Ernie Matson. Davis washed out of Meteorology. Pilson is in the tank destroyer corps. Tennant is in the Coast Artillery. Blake is still at the Citadel."

Nashville was a "bottle" town as were many cities during the war. You could buy liquor at a state store, but the nightclubs would only sell you set-ups. You kept the booze in a paper sack under the table. Good liquor was impossible to find there, and two of us wound up one night with a half bottle of Rum with time running short. We consumed the Rum while on the bus back to the base. Managed to get through the gate OK, but had no recollection as to what happened after that. The story goes that I crawled up the hill to the barracks, wanted to fight the Cadet in Charge of Quarters, and committed other assorted uncouth acts. This was the last and only time that I got so drunk that I blacked out.

Next to Maxwell Field, Alabama for the real start of Aviation Cadet training. All classroom and marching, no flying. It featured the famous Burma Road cross-country course, which I managed to avoid until the last week. With the Citadel background the training officers always wanted me to have cadet rank. This I avoided, but did fill in during parades for any missing personnel. I might carry the Guidon during one parade, and be Corps Commander the next. The Citadel training prepared me with knowledge of all parade and ceremonial procedures.

Assigned to Army Air Force Eastern Flight Training Command, 52nd Army Air Force Flight Training Detachment (Primary) at Albany, Georgia for Primary flight training. I was stationed there from 5 Dec. 1943 to 12 Feb. 1944. Flew the Stearman PT-17 biplane. It had a 220 HP radial engine, and an open cockpit. My first flight was on 8 Dec. 1943. Daytime flying only, no instrument flying, no radio's and lots of fun.

I was assigned to "A" flight, and my instructor was E.Y. Franklin, who was a civilian. I had shipped out of Maxwell field ahead of time as a replacement for a cadet who got sick. Problem was that they tended to group instructors and students by height. My instructor and the three other cadets were all about 5 foot 9 inches tall. I was 6 foot, and towered over everybody.

My first solo was on 22 Dec. 1943 after ten flights totaling eight hours of instruction. I made a tremendous screw up. You were supposed to take off, fly a right hand pattern, stay in the pattern, and land. I took off and turned left. I was now out of the pattern, and had to execute a proper re-entry. I was sure I would be washed out! I did everything right, landed and taxied over to where my instructor was waiting. He just stood there, shaking his head, but he was smiling. He waved for me to continue shooting landings.

At primary, Basic and Advanced flight instruction you had to have a "check" ride after every 20 hours of flying by a special officer to determine your proficiency. Thimeant three check rides at each stage since the average hours of instruction were sixty hours per stage. This is when you got washed out. How we all sweated out those rides.

My first check ride, after twenty hours of instruction, was on 18 Jan. 1944. The check pilot was an Army officer, a Lt. Evans. I must have done poorly, for I took a re-check the following day, with the same officer. I passed it and all future check rides with no problems.

Another incident happened as we were returning from the flight line to the barracks. We were strolling along excited about flying, when we were stopped by the Commanding Officer, Major F. K. Wood. He chewed us out for not marching in a military manner and informed us that we were restricted to the base for the weekend. It was a Friday, and we had made plans to meet our instructor at one of the local gin joints that evening. We decided the hell with it, and went into town, met our instructor as planned, and were having a hell of a good time when over to our table walks the CO. We all died, and expected to be washed out the next day. Nothing was said at the table. It turned out that our instructor and the CO were both bachelors, and roomed together, swapping girls, and living the good life. But we didn't know this at the time. We waited all day Monday to be summoned to Headquarters and be washed out. Our instructor finally gave us the word on Tuesday that we had nothing to worry about.

The PT-17 was noted for its "built in" ground loop. Cadets would land and on the roll out ground loop. The plane would tip onto one wheel, the wing would drag, and the plane would end up heading 90 degrees from its original heading. No, I never did ground loop.
	The Link Trainer. Learning instrument flying while safely on the ground. And, NO, we never had attractive ladies teaching, just grumpy old men

When flying solo we were required to practice emergency landings. You never actually landed, but did glide down to within ten feet of the ground. Many farmers in Georgia were plowing using mules. We used to chop the throttle, glide in behind the farmer and his team, get to within ten feet of the ground and then give the engine full throttle. How those mules would run. You had to be sure that the farmer didn't get your plane's number.

Total flying time at completion of Primary training was 26 hr's dual, 39 hours solo, and 5 hr's in the Link trainer. A great airplane and a fun time. I had the white silk scarf, the helmet and goggles and thought I was the Red Barron. Every day was an adventure.

My next station was at the Greenwood Army Air Force base at Greenwood, Miss. from 15 Feb. 1944 to 17 April 1944. Assignment, Basic flight training. Flew Vultee BT-13A Monoplane, 440 HP. My instructor here was Lt. Kenneth Carbo. First solo in this aircraft was on 29 Feb. 1944 after five flights totaling five hours. We flew day and night, started to learn instrument flying, formation flying, acrobatics, cross country flights and navigation. We did have radios. Several cadets were killed during this training.

Night flying required you to takeoff, climb to a fixed altitude, and circle in a quadrant stacked four high, separated by five hundred feet in altitude. Sixteen planes going round and round, separated into four quadrants. You continued to circle until notified by radio to descend to the next lower altitude. Eventually you became the low man in the stack, and shot a touch and go landing. The problem was the circling in the quadrant. If you didn't believe your instruments you went into a tightening spiral and good-bye.

Most interesting was the situation created if your radio failed. If you had no contact with the tower in 15 minutes, we were instructed to "buzz" the tower to get their attention. You then watched for a green light from the tower which meant you were cleared to land.

Recollections about basic are few. I do remember shooting short field take-off's and landings at an auxiliary field. You were required to approach the field in a near-stall condition, fly over a rope strung across the beginning of the runway about 20 feet in the air, drop the plane in and stop in a very short distance. Very similar to landing on an aircraft carrier.

The BT-13 had an adjustable pitch propeller, with two positions: one for take-off's and landings, one for normal flying. As part of the normal landing procedure you were supposed to switch the propeller setting while on the final approach. I was shooting touch and go landings, and forgot to switch. After touching down, I jammed the throttle forward and went roaring down the runway, but the damned thing wouldn't get airborne. As the end of the runway and a fence were rapidly approaching, I finally realized what was wrong and jammed the pitch control forward. You could hear the roar of the engine for miles! Just cleared the fence. When I finished my allotted touch and go's, I taxied to the flight line where my instructor just looked at me, shaking his head. He wasn't smiling, but waved for me to continue.

This was the first time that I ran into "Cadet Widows". There was an Advanced Pilot Training School in the same town, at a different airfield. When a class graduated, and were commissioned they were assigned to other locations. The women they had been dating who thought they were going to get married after Graduation were left at the alter, so to speak. They circulated in the local Gin Mills looking for another potential husband from the next class. They ignored us lowly Basic Flight Training guys since we too would be moving on, and would not be commissioned officers. I didn't date anyone here on a regular basis. A group of we cadets usually went around together, and met a variety of women in a variety of places, including the town USO. Money was one of the problems here. The $ 28.00 per month didn't go very far. Grandmother and My Great Aunt Mary did send money on occasion.

Vultee BT-13 Basic Trainer. Greenwood, Miss. Feb 1944-April 1944 69 hours in Aircraft. Total of ALL flying time was 135 Hrs. 35 Min.

To CAAF Columbus, Mississippi from 28 April 1944 to 23 June 1944. Advanced flight training. By now we had been evaluated and were assigned to advanced school based on what the AAC thought was most appropriate path, single engine or twin. Flew Beechcraft twin engine AT-10, with 560-combined HP. My flight log notes first solo in this aircraft on 9 May 1944, after five flights and a total of 9 hours and 50 minutes instruction. By solo, I mean without an instructor. Two students flew as Pilot and Co-Pilot.

Flying here was devoted to instrument instruction, formation, day and night navigation and cross-country flights. Flying time was 36 hours dual, 37 hr's student co-pilot, and 40 hr's First pilot time. This is where we sweated out the final part of flight training. I have no recollection as to who the instructor was, but he was a regular Army Air Corps officer. The dreaded wash out was ever present. We were all convinced that it had been decided that a certain number of cadets would graduate as Second Lieutenants, some as Flight Officers and some to be washed out.

Most memorable was a three leg low-level cross-country flight, with about fifty miles for each leg. We took off and flew to a civilian airport with instructions to maintain an altitude of less than one hundred feet. We buzzed the world, including several logging and prison camps. Landed, had coffee at the airport coffee shop, and continued on the next leg. Being very hot pilots, we decided to impress the natives, and the girls from the coffee shop with our flying prowess. The aircraft had a retractable landing gear, which had safety switches to prevent you retracting the gear when on the ground. You could judge how "hot" a pilot was by observing how fast he retracted the landing gear. So we set the switch for gear up as we were starting down the runway, taking off. Unfortunately, there was a dip and a bump in the runway. When we hit it, we bounced, and the gear started to retract. We "hung on the props" just clearing the runway. So much for the "Hot Pilot" mentality.

Now that we were close to graduation those dreaded "check" rides became more important. We were, at this point, treated as officers. Great food, all in a restaurant style operation. A package of cigarettes was on your plate every morning. We were also in the process of being fitted with officer uniforms by civilian tailors.

Then came the news. I was selected by the flight instructors to take my final instrument check ride with the Commanding Officer, since I was good at instrument flying. They covered the windows of the aircraft with green celluloid, and you wore a pair of red goggles so you couldn't see anything outside the cockpit. The instructor lined up the plane on the runway, and then you were on instruments only. Took off, flew around using radio navigation, and executed an instrument approach. I really sweated out that ride. Even got a superior rating. Total flying time at graduation was 250 hours.

On 29 June 1944 I was granted my first leave while in service. 10 days delay while enroute to my next assignment. Came home and showed off the uniform and wings. Aunt Mary supplied her car and money. Mr. Reif supplied gas coupons as he was in the construction business. I was well spoiled. Visited the families of all my old buddies, to check on their status. I remember going to Sherkston with a car full of women, all friends of Dorothy Daum. Donna was in the group, but paid me no attention. Evenings were spent at the Park Lane, The Westbrook, J.B.Gladys, and the Everglades.

Reported to Hendricks Field in Sebring, Florida on 9 July 1944 for B-17 training. Ten weeks in hot Florida Sun. Sebring is located in the middle of Florida, not on either coast. I remember getting up in the morning, taking a shower, and being soaked with perspiration with the exertion of dressing. The interior of the aircraft got so hot that we had to wear gloves to prevent burns.

One of my college buddies, Donald Bunch was also stationed there. His family lived in Tampa so I had an easy introduction to the social life in the area. One of my memories concerned a flight to Chicago, Illinois to pick up some aircraft parts. I had about 4 hours in the aircraft at that time, and my fellow student had 3 hours. An instructor who we did not know was assigned to fly the mission. The crew chief, an enlisted man assigned to the aircraft was also along. We were to take off at 9:00 PM. The instructor showed up at the flight line dead drunk, and insisted that I take off. He then went back into the radio compartment and passed out. Somewhere near Alabama we hit a weather front. I can still remember the co-pilot sitting there and the crew chief hanging over the back of my seat watching my every move. We were all scared to death, but afraid to admit it. So there I was, in the middle of a thunderstorm, at night, with 4 hours experience in the aircraft, navigating using radio beacons and on instruments. Wheee! The instrument flying I learned in advanced training really paid off. I landed safely at Midway Field in Chicago and went to get some sack time. The instructor woke us up and insisted that we go with him and "do the town." He proceeded to get drunk again so I got to do the flying back to Sebring.

When training was finished I was given the option of staying on at Sebring as an instructor, continuing in B-17's or going to B-29's. I chose B-29's and left on 5 Sept. 1944. Grand total all flying hours 355.

At the completion of training at Sebring I was granted a 10 day delay en-route before proceeding to the classification and routing pool at Lincoln, Nebraska. This was my second leave while in the service. I came home to Grandmother Cass and was indulged once again by my Great Aunt Mary who provided extra spending money and the use of her car. Mr. Reif again supplied the gas ration coupons.

I did the beach thing again, dated Bob's Sister Helen, Dorothy and Polly. My great aunt Mary suggested that I take Rita, who was my aunt's companion, out for an evening on the town. We had dinner at the Park Lane restaurant and I was very surprised when Rita said she would like to go to one of the "Black and Tan" nightclubs. There were several nightclubs in the Negro section of the city which catered to both blacks and whites. They featured prominent black entertainers and jazz music. Jimmy Lunceford's Band was there that night. An unusual request in those days for a girl with a strong Catholic background. Rita was the older sister of my childhood chums Alice and Conrad Popawaski from the Comstock days. She was engaged to a Naval Officer who had not been home in over two years. It was an interesting evening. My first "Date" with an "older" woman. We had a good time.

By one of life's quirks of fate Bob Frasier was also home on leave, the only time we were both home at the same time during the "Good War." Since Bob had known Dorothy Daum longer than I, he had priority dating her. I dated Polly Branson. I dated both the girls whenever I was home.

Photograph taken in the Park Lane Restaurant, a favorite hangout. Left to right, Hilga Sy, Robert Frasier, Dorthy Daum, me, Polly Branson and Spike Dumbrowski. Dorothy and Polly were both friends of Donna, but in those days I never dated or double dated with Donna.

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