Unforgotten Hero

2012-03-01T06:20:00.000-08:00

MiG Hunting

In early April 1953, the 35th and 36th Fighter-Bomber Squadrons were ready to fly combat missions with their F-86Fs. Before doing this, however, two pilots from the 51st FIG came over from the west side of the base to give the 8th FBG pilots some tips on air-to-air tactics.

Capt. Joseph C. McConnell, Jr. from the 39th FIS and 1st Lt. Howard W. Leaf from the 25th FIS gave a “pep talk” to the guys before they went on their first missions, which were going to be MiG Alley sweeps. Leaf was in the 80th FBS before extending his tour with the 25th; therefore he was experienced in both air-to-air and ground support missions. McConnell was one of the leading aces at the time, credited with shooting down eight MiGs. Over the next month and a half, he would go on to shoot down eight more, becoming the highest scoring ace in the war, and one of only two triple aces in the war.

Capt. Joe McConnell sitting in his F-86 Sabre at K-13 (Suwon), 1953
(Photo credit: USAF. Click photo to see larger size)

On April 7, 1953, four pilots from the 35th and 36th flew their new F-86 Sabres on a Yalu River sweep with the 51st FIG. The next day, selected pilots from these two squadrons went on another interceptor mission, only this time the 51st didn’t escort them.

Over the next several days many of the “old heads” from the 36th FBS were assigned to fly MiG Alley sweeps. Because he was one of the veteran pilots in the squadron, Jim's flight leader, Capt. Jack Magee, was chosen to fly on some of them.

After flying the F-80C on almost a hundred air-to-ground missions, Magee was ready to go MiG hunting in his new Sabre. But unfortunately, according to him, his MiG sweeps weren’t too successful. That’s because by this time (early April) the MiGs had learned to stay north of the Yalu River, at least most of the time.

“We did, however, enjoy being able to climb out faster and higher than some of the fighter-interceptor guys from across the base, many of whom were flying F-86Es. Our F-86Fs had more power and could easily cruise at 44,000 to 46,000 feet at around 0.86 Mach.

“We still saw nothing, though, south of the Yalu,” Magee recalled. “Our orders firmly stated that we were to stay on our side of the river, but a lot of the pilots couldn’t deal with this. We had flown many F-80 missions ‘up north’ and had not been able to counter the MiG threat. Since we were currently flying what we considered to be a better aircraft than the MiG-15, we felt we had no choice but to sneak over the river and look for some MiGs. Some of our guys recorded damaged claims during these unauthorized engagements.

“On one particular Yalu River sweep, I was flying as element leader (number three position), with another flight commander flying as lead. In a stealth-like manner he took his element across the river while I kept my element on the south side.

"We paced up and down the area until our fuel gauge indicated we had to go home. The flight lead who went across the river didn’t have any luck that day, but he did the same thing a few days later, only this time one of the Sabres went down. Fortunately, the pilot was picked up since he had gotten his damaged F-86 out over the ocean before he ejected. But still, we had lost a valuable aircraft and Fifth Air Force had a fit when they found out what had happened.”

2/Lt. Jim Escalle and his flight leader, Capt. Jack Magee
(Photo credit: Jim Escalle. Click photo to see larger size)

About a week after Magee went on his first MiG hunting mission, Jim went on some. He wanted to fly more of those missions, but as he said in a letter home, "The 'old heads' had senority."

Towards the end of April, Jim went on his first fighter-bomber missions, which he liked just as much as the small number of MiG Alley sweeps that he flew. To him, blowing up a bunker or bombing a bridge was just as satisfying as getting the opportunity to shoot down a MiG-15, though he would have preferred doing both. But with two well-established fighter-interceptor wings already in Korea – the 51st FIW at K-13 and the 4th FIW at K-14 (Kimpo) – most of his missions would be air-to-ground.

2012-02-22T06:39:00.000-08:00

Jack C. Langston

On March 17, 1952, Capt. Jack C. Langston of the 182nd Fighter-Bomber Squadron, 136th Fighter-Bomber Group was strafing enemy positions in North Korea when his F-84E Thunderjet received a direct hit from anti-aircraft fire. His aircraft crashed and exploded on impact.

Langston's remains were never recovered. He was officially listed as missing in action and later presumed dead.

Langston was born November 28, 1921 in Fairfax, South Dakota, but his records show Medford, South Dakota as his hometown.

Although his body was never found and repatriated, his memory has not been forgotten.

Over 24 years ago retired Air Force Tech Sergeant Karen Miller of Sioux Falls wanted to honor a fellow South Dakota resident who gave the ultimate sacrifice. So she bought an MIA bracelet and received one with Langston's name and date of his disappearance.

MIA bracelet with Capt. Langston's name

Since that time she has worn the bracelet daily and has taken it all over the world during her tours of duty, including Hawaii, Germany, Alaska, Washington DC, and Montana.

Next month will mark the 60th anniversary of when Langston's plane went down. Because of this, Miller got to thinking that her bracelet needs to take one more final trip -- back to his family.

"I want them to know what he fought and gave his life for, they should have it they should know that I've carried it, I would like them to have it and keep it and pass it in their family until they bring him home," Miller said.

Miller has been searching the Internet for a year in hopes that a relative of Langston's could be located, but she hasn't been successful.

If anyone reading this post is related to Capt. Langston or knows someone who is, please contact Karen Miller at this email: kamsh@sio.midco.net

2012-02-13T19:27:00.000-08:00

Ward A. Kuentzel

Several years ago when I first started researching my uncle's life, I went to the microfilm room in my local library and perused through old editions of the Bakersfield Californian and Delano Record to see what I could find on him.

While scanning through the pages in a 1944 edition of the Delano Record, I saw a small photo of Ward A. Kuentzel, who was a P-38 fighter pilot during World War II. He had graduated from Delano High School in 1940. My uncle graduated from there in 1947. But what got my attention the most was the caption, which stated that Kuentzel became MIA on June 19, 1944. My uncle became MIA on the same day in 1953.

Although it was interesting and a bit eery to find out about the fateful similarities between Kuentzel and my uncle, I didn't pursue the matter further because I was trying to fill in the pieces of my uncle's life and not those of someone else.

A few weeks ago, however, I came across some photos from the National Archives that were in the USAF collection. I happened to see Kuentzel's name on the captions of some of these photos. My curiosity was aroused again, so I decided to do some Internet research on him, along with making another trip to the microfilm room at the library.

Here is what I found:

Ward A. Kuentzel was born on April 25, 1922 in Delano, California. He graduated from Delano High School in June 1940. He worked in a filling station and parking lot before joining the Army Reserves on January 27, 1942. He graduated from pilot training on September 29, 1942 at Luke Field (Arizona), earning his wings and his commission as a second lieutenant.

Kuentzel was assigned to the 96th Fighter Squadron, 82nd Fighter Group on February 13, 1943. Flying the twin-engined P-38 Lightning, he fought in the Mediterranean Theater of Operations (MTO) where he became an ace, having won seven victories in aerial combat with 5 damaged. He also had an additional 4.5 probable kills and got credit for sinking an Italian patrol boat.

The 82nd FG was based in North Africa, and many of Kuentzel’s combat missions included escorting B-25 Mitchell bombers over Sicily. He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and 16 Air Medals. He completed his tour of duty on August 26, 1943 and returned to the United States.

Kuentzel spent the next several months in the U.S. as a flight instructor. In January 1944, an article about his exploits in North Africa was published in Snaproll, the small newspaper of Minter Field, which was an aviation training base near Shafter, California. Kuentzel's father, a former Marine, worked there.

From the article:

Lt. Ward Kuentzel is an Army Air Force pilot and was Flight Commander of his P-38 squadron in North Africa, making him at 21, one of the youngest in the service. He holds the Distinguish Flying Cross, the Air Medal with 21 Oak Leaf clusters, and the Battle Medal with four bronze stars.

The young lieutenant has had many air battles, including 22 successful bombing missions in Sicily. He has been pounding the Axis with skip bombs dropped from his fighter plane. He was responsible for blowing up an ammunition dump in Pantelleria in which nine planes on the ground were also destroyed. He very nearly lost his life on the mission as a result of the blast.

In an air encounter he accounted for two German planes in a period of three minutes. He knocked down a Focke-Wulf 190 but a Junkers 88 got on his tail. At first he believed it to be one of the the planes in his squadron until the ship's tracers started coming in too close. He quickly outmaneuvered the Nazi by executing a tight loop and sent him down in flames.

Lt. Kuentzel has five Messerschmitt Bf 109s to his credit, two of them being members of Hermann Goering's famous "yellow nose" group. The lieutenant's victories include the five Me-109s, the Fw-190, the Ju-88, two 202 Maschi's, one Caproni bomber, and an Italian transport.

He is a personal friend of General Jimmy Doolittle and flew as the General's escort when he made his trip to the London conference preceding the invasion of Sicily. Lt. Kuentzel is now serving in this country instructing P-38 pilots in fighter tactics. (Snaproll, January 1944)

Kuentzel wanted to go to China when he returned overseas, but he was assigned to Europe. He went to Britain in April 1944 and served with the 434th Fighter Squadron, 479th Fighter Group.

During his stay in Europe, he received an additional DFC and got word that he would be assigned to a P-51 squadron effective July 1, 1944. Flying the highly touted Mustang was something Kuentzel look forward to for a long time, but he would never get that chance.

On June 19, 1944, while flying a mission over France in a P-38J, Kuentzel apparently lost consciousness due to lack of oxygen at high altitude and was seen making a gentle turn and roll to the right, then diving straight down through the overcast, hitting a wingman, Frank Grdenich, who had lost consciousness as well. Kuentzel was reported missing 20 miles northeast of Rennes, France.

Upon hearing the loss of Lt. Kuentzel, Gen. Doolittle sent a handwritten condolence letter to his mother. She also received condolences from Hollywood actors and even some politicians who were acquainted with her son. When Kuentzel had returned home after his North Africa tour, he was sent on war bond drives and got to know quite a few celebrities. One of them was Andy Devine, a well-known character actor of the time. He also played golf with Bing Crosby.

The local citizens of Rennes later recovered the remains of Kuentzel and buried him in the town's cemetery. The remains were exhumed in 1947 and turned over to the American authorities. At his mother's request, they were brought back to the United States and were buried in his hometown of Delano.

In 2003, the people of Rennes dedicated a monument to Ward Keuntzel and Frank Grdenich. They invited Kuentzel's surviving sister and brother to attend the ceremony in honor of the two pilots.

Sources: Delano Record, MACR 5960, National Archives, Bob Baker (nephew of Ward Kuentzel)

2nd Lt. Ward Kuentzel (back row, far left) and other pilots from the 96th FS, 82nd FG
(Click photo to see larger size.)

2nd Lt. Ward Kuentzel talking with his crew chief
(Click photo to see larger size.)

2012-02-04T13:12:00.000-08:00

Gateway to the Air Force

Excerpt from Chapter 5 of Unforgotten Hero

But the war was constantly on Jim’s mind, and he became restless knowing that while he was at Berkeley his friends were either joining the military or had already been drafted. So after taking classes for only half a semester, Jim could no longer put off what he wanted to do. He left Berkeley, and applied to the Aviation Cadet program with the Air Force. If this had occurred at any other time in Jim’s life, his dad would have been upset with him for quitting school. But there was a war on and Frank knew that there was no way he could stop his oldest boy from joining up. “I was proud of him for wanting to follow his dream and becoming a pilot. Yet at the same time I hoped General MacArthur was right when he said the troops would start coming home by Christmas.”

One of the prerequisites of the Aviation Cadet program was at least two years of college. Jim had already fulfilled those requirements when he graduated from Bakersfield College. Excellent eyesight was also mandatory, along with being single. Moreover, Jim had no trouble passing the written tests. On November 1, 1950, he traveled to Hamilton Air Force Base, near Novato, to take his physical exam. He passed that without any problems, too. It was now just a matter of waiting patiently for an opening in a cadet class.

While waiting for an assignment to a particular class, Jim went back to Earlimart to help his dad around the farm. He and Bob still had their trucking business, so time was spent hauling produce to the market in Los Angeles. One evening after work Jim went to the mailbox and retrieved a very special letter. It was from his Uncle Sam. Oh boy, he thought, the government had finally caught up to him. His number had been called and he only had a few weeks before reporting for induction into the Army.

Jim didn’t know what to do at first, but after calmly thinking the matter over, he chose to do what many of his contemporaries did when faced with the same predicament. He went down to the Air Force recruiter’s office and enlisted as a private. The Army couldn’t touch him now, but the flying would have to wait until later.

Driving to Fresno on April 4, 1951, he took his enlistment physical at the Fresno Recruiting Main Station, then soon after the official swearing-in ceremony, he was given some time to get his things together before he boarded a train that was headed southeast to San Antonio, Texas. He was on his way to Lackland Air Force Base for basic training, known to everyone who has ever been there, as the “Gateway to the Air Force.”

Upon arriving at Lackland, one of the first requirements for the new recruits was getting their first official Air Force haircut. It wasn’t exactly a total buzz job as the Marines got, but it came extremely close. While waiting outside the building for their appointed time with the barbers, Jim and the others could look up and read uplifting words from a sign on top of the building. It read:

WELCOME TO THE AIR FORCE
THRU THESE PORTALS PASS THE BEST AIRMEN
OF THE WORLD’S BEST AIR FORCE

For the next 13 weeks Jim would be constantly marching, exercising, and told to do things that didn’t make any sense for many of the recruits. He would learn how to properly fire an M1 carbine rifle out on the range, and have the opportunity to eat some of the fine cuisine that the Air Force provided. One such treat was chipped beef on stale toast, more commonly referred to by the airmen as “shit on a shingle,” or SOS for short.

It wasn’t a bad deal for most of the guys who were used to this sort of daily grind, like those who came from rural areas and didn’t have a fancy upbringing. But for others it was different. Jim liked to watch the “big-city guys,” as he called them, complain about the inadequacies of some of the living conditions around the base. And, to be fair, they were real enough. Since the war started, many of these shortfalls were necessary because of the large influx of new recruits still pouring in from all over the United States.

The maximum capacity of Lackland AFB was only 25,000, but when the war in Korea began, the population soared to upwards of 55,000 at one time. In the first two weeks of 1951, the number of airmen stationed at Lackland for basic training had gone from approximately 36,000 to a whopping 70,000. This population explosion became so severe at one point that the Air Force had to stop all training temporarily until something could be done to solve the problem.

To help ease the burden somewhat a “tent city” was hastily erected to house many of the airmen. But even with the neighborhoods of tents set up in the open fields of the base, it was still bursting at the seams. The Air Force finally had to open up more basic training sites at Sheppard AFB in Texas, Parks AFB in California, and Sampson AFB in New York.

Some of the more fortunate airmen at Lackland lived in the old two-story barrack buildings built during World War II and had some good facilities. But for those who weren’t so lucky, musty canvas walls and good ole’ Texas soil would be their home for at least the next two months. Jim was among those “privileged” airmen who got to live within those walls, on a dirt street in tent city. If things went well, he thought, maybe his group would have their basic training cut short, as did some who were there before him – because of the overflow towards the end of 1950, some of the guys had their training sliced in half. Jim was so eager to begin his flying that he hoped to get a flight class assignment quickly, but that wish didn’t come true. He served out the entire 13 weeks living in that tent.

When he first laid his eyes on the area where he would be living, it looked like a big Boy Scout jamboree, only there weren’t any Boy Scouts, just young men in ill-fitting, olive drab dungarees, with sorrowful faces that looked like some of the characters from the movie, The Grapes of Wrath. This was just his first impression, however. Life became better as the days progressed. In fact, Jim didn’t mind living in the smelly tent, because it reminded him of the days when he and Bob went to the tent show in Earlimart. The only thing missing was popcorn and a man with a projector showing old B-Westerns.

At the entrance to each tent were two upright poles with a narrow wooden board attached across the top with the tent’s individual address stenciled in paint. Jim’s residence for the 13 weeks was tent B-3. These canvas houses had two triangle-shaped flaps that opened at their peaks for ventilation, but usually all sides were curled up and tied off a few feet above the ground to increase the air flow.

Jim shared his tent with 11 other airmen, and it could get stuffy inside very quickly. The mornings were still a bit chilly when Jim arrived in mid-April, but as spring turned into early summer, the afternoons could get very warm, not to mention the dust that blew everywhere when the winds picked up. The floor, of course, was dirt, lined around the perimeter with a framework of dimensional lumber. The men slept on thin mattresses that were placed on two-tiered metal bunks, with their small footlockers stored anywhere they could find room.

Outside between the tents were covered 55-gallon drums on makeshift wooden platforms about a foot off the ground. A couple of small metal cans hung on opposing sides of the drums for the airman’s personal hygiene purposes, such as brushing his teeth. A long boardwalk made of wooden planks went down the rows of tents in front of the entrances for the men to walk on. It wasn’t Atlantic City by any stretch of the imagination, but it was better than strolling in the dirt, or thick mud after a heavy rain.

For some of the guys it was a rough 13 weeks living in the tent city, but for Jim it was like old times. He was a disciplined young man who liked the Air Force and most of the rules and regulations that came along with it. He would have preferred being in a cockpit, however, instead of a tent. Nevertheless, he was just glad that he joined the Air Force when he did, because if he let the Army draft him, he would be living in tents for a dreadfully long time.

Jim Escalle and his tent mates at Lackland AFB in 1951
(Jim is in the first row, second from right. Click photo to see larger size.)

2012-01-26T16:35:00.000-08:00

Missing F-86 Sabre Pilots

I began the search to find out about my uncle's life when I was around eight years old. Like most young kids interested in this kind of stuff, I had the energy and desire to do the research, even though resources at the time were limited. This enthusiasm continued into my high school years, but as I grew older, left home, and became busy with my college activities, my zeal for finding information on my uncle began to seriously diminish.

You might say the pilot light was still on, but the burner wasn't lit. In other words, the interest was still there, but the motivation was gone. I still thought about Jim whenever I saw an Air National Guard jet fighter fly over my apartment, or when I saw a TV rerun of the Korean War movie, The Bridges at Toko-Ri, based on James Michener's novel of the same name.

But I didn't pursue the matter with the same intensity I had when I was younger. This was in the early 1980s when a lot of attention was given over to the national events at the time, like the Iran hostage crisis, the Mt. St. Helens eruption in Washington, and President Ronald Reagan's attempted assassination.

That all changed in 1993, however, when the Korean War was back in the spotlight. In September of that year, I read an article printed on the front page of a local newspaper about a government report dealing with missing American servicemen. The article stated that the U.S. Government had evidence Moscow took possession of, and also held, American prisoners of war during the conflict in Korea. It also stated that the most likely candidates for capture and turn-over to the Soviet Union were F-86 Sabre pilots, because they had knowledge of this state of the art jet fighter plane; the pilots' knowledge was something the Soviets wanted to exploit.

Included with this article was a list of 31 missing F-86 pilots along with six other airmen who the U.S. Government thought may have, according to their circumstance of loss, survived their crashes and possibly were taken to the Soviet Union, never to return. This list was in alphabetical order; so starting from the top I methodically moved my finger down one name at a time.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the seventh name. It was Jim! He was listed, though, as a first lieutenant instead of a second lieutenant, which puzzled me a bit. He was a second lieutenant when he was reported missing, so why did they list him as a first lieutenant? Looking into this, I found out that he had been promoted to the rank of first lieutenant because, technically, he was still on active duty even though he was listed as MIA. It wasn't until a year after he disappeared that the government declared him dead. Now I understood what my grandfather meant years earlier when he explained how he received Jim's Purple Heart medal. The words "died while missing" were clearer to me now.

The newspaper article on the missing F-86 Sabre pilots gave me a stronger desire to search more aggressively for information about my uncle. Before I read the article and saw the list of names, I had always thought he went down with his plane. But now, more questions were starting to pop up in my head. Did he die when he went down? Did he bail out and get captured by the North Koreans or Chinese? Was he taken to the Soviet Union? These questions motivated me to continue trying to complete my uncle's story.

To read the 1993 report in its entirety, click this link:
http://www.dod.mil/pubs/foi/Personnel_and_Personnel_Readiness/POW_MIA/543.pdf

In 2007, the PBS program NOVA presented Missing in MiG Alley, which talks about the 31 missing F-86 Sabre pilots. The program only covers a few of the pilots, but it's an informative presentation and well worth seeing. Click this link: http://video.pbs.org/video/980042063/#

The names of the 31 missing F-86 pilots are listed here in alphabetical order:

Maj. Felix Asla, Jr.
1/Lt. Carl G. Barnett, Jr.
1/Lt. James D. Carey
Capt. Troy G. Cope
1/Lt. Richard M. Cowden
Capt. William D. Crone
1/Lt. Jimmy L. Escalle
Maj. Deltis H. Fincher
Capt. Charles E. Gunther
1/Lt. Charles D. Hogue
1/Lt. Paul J. Jacobson
2/Lt. Gerald W. Knott
1/Lt. Thomas C. Lafferty *
Capt. Robert H. Laier
Capt. John F. Lane
Capt. Jack C. Langston **
1/Lt. Laurence C. Layton
Capt. Frank E. Miller, Jr.
1/Lt. Robert Niemann
1/Lt. Lester F. Page
Capt. Charles W. Pratt
1/Lt. Thiel M. Reeves
1/Lt. Donald R. Reitsma
1/Lt. Charles W. Rhinehart
1/Lt. Allan K. Rudolph
1/Lt. John E. Southerland
Capt. Charles R. Spath
2/Lt. Bill J. Stauffer
Capt. Albert G. Tenney
2/Lt. Jack H. Turberville
Maj. George V. Wendling

* 1/Lt. Thomas C. Lafferty of the 39th FIS, 35th FIG was flying an F-51D Mustang on the date of his loss.

** Capt. Jack C. Langston of the 182nd FBS, 136th FBG was flying an F-84E Thunderjet on the date of his loss.

2012-01-18T14:07:00.000-08:00

Missing in Action

An excerpt from Chapter 13 of Unforgotten Hero.

Several days after Jim was reported missing, his squadron commander, Major Ruby, filed an officer effectiveness report on him. Since there was a possibility that Jim could still be alive and would someday return to the squadron, Ruby used the present tense when writing about him. In his report Major Ruby writes:

Lieutenant Escalle is a very personable, intelligent, young officer with a quiet sense of humor. He is always neat in appearance and well mannered. In his assigned capacity as a jet fighter pilot, he has flown a total of 41 combat missions and advanced to the role of element leader due to his excellent air judgment. Though relatively inexperienced, he spends a great deal of his spare time with maintenance personnel on the flight line learning, and he has gained widespread respect among officer and airman personnel for his diligent efforts to improve himself. He has been recently cited for the Soldiers Medal for an act that demonstrated his lack of personal well being during an emergency requiring quick intelligent action. He has had little opportunity to demonstrate his ability to command due to his inexperience; however, I am confident that his growth potential is superior to that of his contemporaries, and it would be a distinct pleasure to serve with him at any future time.

Major Robert C. Ruby
(Photo credit: Fick Henderson. Click photo to see larger size.)

Jim’s role as a fighter-bomber pilot was not a glamorous one, but like the rest of the pilots in the 36th who had the privilege of flying the F-86 Sabre in air-to-ground operations, he was proud of the job he performed. Sure, he wanted to shoot down a MiG or two like the interceptor pilots on the other side of the base, but his primary assignment was that of a “mud-mover” and he did that job extremely well. There were no red stars painted on his aircraft after blowing up a bridge, or a Stars and Stripes reporter chasing him down for an interview after a dangerous and nerve-racking close air support mission. The greatest rewards that he and the other pilots received were not put on with paint or written down in ink. Instead, one of their biggest rewards was when someone in the U.S. Eighth Army would call in to K-13 with a “well done” after one of those harrowing ground support missions.

Flt. Lt. Ian Gordon-Johnson (RAF) and 2nd Lt. Jim Escalle after a combat mission, 1953
(Photo credit: Fick Henderson. Click photo to see larger size.)

In Korea, more pilots had been killed or listed as missing in action due to being shot down by ground fire rather than by enemy aircraft. Every pilot who flew fighter-bomber missions knew the hazards involved, and he also knew that his next mission might be his last. So his job required a whole lot of intestinal fortitude. “Jim had plenty of this, as did every other pilot in our squadron,” recalled Jim James, a 36th FBS pilot from Queen Flight, and also one of Jim’s 52-F classmates.

Just as when Jim played baseball in high school and college, each pilot in the squadron was part of a team. If the team wanted to win, then each pilot and ground crewman had to do his job at the best of his ability. And just like the teams he played with in school, the 36th FBS was a winning team. Jim gave his team everything he had, and in the end it included giving the ultimate sacrifice.

2012-01-09T07:47:00.000-08:00

Last Flight of 51137

(This is a guest post by Bob Conley, who was an Airman First Class with the U.S. Air Force in 1953. He was in the 22nd Troop Carrier Squadron, 374th Troop Carrier Wing at Tachikawa Air Base in Japan. Conley was an eyewitness to the C-124 Globemaster crash that occurred on June 18, 1953. The plane is seen in the above photo before the flight.)

Along with many other Americans, I will never forget the most tragic air disaster ever to occur in involving a single aircraft. This one crash took the lives of 129 young American servicemen returning to Korea from Tokyo, Japan. This fatal flight occurred seven years ago on June 18, 1953, but the details are as vivid to me now as they were on that fateful day.

It was a hot day with low, light clouds moving on a northward course. Rain had not yet begun to fall but it was imminent to anyone who has visited the Japanese mainland. It was Thursday and it appeared to be like any other day of the week. As usual, the giant engines throbbed and roared as they struggled to gain altitude into the overcast sky. Within a few minutes, they would disappear in the clouds, carrying their men and materials on to Korea. (This service was necessary for the many servicemen stationed in Korea. Not only did these giant planes carry supplies to them but also served as transportation when they received their Rest and Recuperation leaves).

That hazy Thursday afternoon 122 American servicemen had completed their five day R&R leave and now were preparing to return to duty in Korea. After lunch, their last meal, the men slowly began to gather near the base air terminal. Here, they were orientated about the flight, given a number for boarding, and then they waited for transportation to a C-124 Globemaster parked on the ramp.

The sky continued to darken, but the rain was still holding back. It was now three in the afternoon and already the men were beginning to board the waiting buses, which would transport them across the ramp to the proper aircraft. This ramp lay directly in front of the terminal almost three quarters of a mile in length and two hundred yards in width with aircraft parked on both sides the entire length. From the ramp the planes taxied directly to the long runway, which was only a short distance away, running the same direction but one mile in length.

As the departure time drew near, an ironic situation occurred. Aircraft 51146 was previously scheduled to make this flight, but due to some engine difficulty the flight was changed to aircraft 51137. This change in aircraft brought about some delay. The takeoff time would now be a little later than scheduled. Being late for takeoff held no special significance for the crew other than returning later in the evening.

The dark gray buses moved slowly across the wide ramp toward the waiting 51137. Some of the men were probably infatuated with the enormous aircraft about them; others may have been thinking of loved ones. But for the most part, they were all thinking over the last few days and the varied things they must have done. If only they had known those were to be the very last days of their lives.

The buses stopped directly in front of 51137 and the men began to file out. Many of them had large amounts of luggage, but most of the articles in hand consisted of small handbags, B-4 bags and large duffel bags. There were a few paratroopers that had their own parachutes.

As soon as all the men had disembarked from the buses they casually gathered in a large group directly beneath the large, open clamshell doors. Some of the men were standing by themselves, some were talking to their buddies and others were trying to get a few snapshots. An officer with several sheets of paper in his hand stepped onto one of the two ramps that lead to the interior of the plane and began calling out numbers and names. In single file, the 122 passengers began to board the doomed aircraft. Everyone seemed to be in a jovial mood as they climbed the right-hand side of the two ramps. Soon they were all on board completely filling the upper deck and the right side of the main deck. The left side was heavily loaded with cargo preventing anyone from sitting on that side.

The inclement weather didn’t seem to bother any of the crew, as they were in good spirits. Maj. Herbert G. Voruz was no exception. He was the pilot of 51137 that day with Maj. Robert D. McCorkle as his co-pilot. Both were capable pilots and had excellent records. Maj. Paul E. Kennedy, a senior pilot who was going along for the ride, sat between Vorez and McCorkle. A/2C John Jordan was the radio operator, A/1C Carl C. Steel, the scanner, S/Sgt. George M. Kissel, the flight engineer, and A/2C John T. Boston, the loadmaster. It was a capable crew indeed.

While I installed the IFF equipment below the main deck, A/2C Don Crumby proceeded to the crew compartment to sign in the IFF unit being installed. (All parts or equipment installed or removed from any aircraft must be recorded in the Form 1). Entering the crew compartment, he found Maj. Voruz casually scanning the Form. Hesitating for just a moment, Don asked for the book while also stating his reason. Maj. Voruz looked up and with a wide grin said, “No sweat, Don, I won’t lose it.” Then he pushed the book toward him. Don began to write and remarked, “Can’t take any chances, sir.” He finished the entry and left the ship without another word. Radio Operator Jordan was also in good humor that afternoon. He was joking with some of the boys at the communications shop about the “Fat Cat” run he had for that day: “Korea, one stop and return.”

Now, everything was in readiness for the hand of fate to do its job. All the passengers were on board and the crew was ready. One by one, each of the four powerful engines started with a thunderous roar. Upon hearing the engines, several ground crew members hurriedly scampered from the plane. If it had been known what was about to happen within the next few minutes, it was a sad sight indeed to stand in front of 51137 and see A/2C Boston push a button that slowly closed and locked those giant doors.

With a signal from the pilot, a ground crewman ran under the wings and jerked the chocks from the wheels. The pilot then revved the engines and 51137 moved slowly from the parked position making a wide U-turn onto the taxiway that led directly to the runway. As the big plane was slowly moving down the taxiway, the terrific prop wash from the engines was kicking the dust and debris from the surrounding area. Aircraft 51137 had now reached the “hot spot.” This is the edge of the runway and where a final check of the engines is made. The ground crew watched anxiously.

During the past several weeks trouble had plagued the aircraft in many different forms. Generators were causing a good bit of the trouble but there were also other engine difficulties. Quite a number of aircraft were having to abort on takeoff. This means to get a short way down the runway and discover an unsafe condition or lacking adequate power and have to return for another try or another aircraft. There was always anxiety among the ground crew as to whether the plane would become airborne on its first try. About fifty percent of the time there would have to be a second try. I can well understand the pressure that must be on the pilot in a situation of this sort. All the delays and preliminaries must be gone through once more. Surely, it must be a great decision to make.

Forty minutes have elapsed since the last man climbed on board. The time is now exactly 4:20 p.m. Maj. Voruz called the control tower for his clearance and in a matter of seconds he was facing the long stretch of pavement that lay directly ahead. As he eased the throttles forward, four mighty engines responded with their combined 14000 horsepower that seemed to shake the very earth. The brakes were released and gradually the big ship began to move. Faster and faster it went, gaining momentum with every second. About three quarters of the distance down the runway 250,000 pounds lifted into the thin air, settled slightly and soon disappeared in the low clouds. No one will ever know exactly what took place inside 51137 during the next three minutes. Only the evidence pieced together from the wreckage could tell part of the tragic story.

As the giant plane began to gain altitude, an emergency was suddenly declared. There was a fire in the number one engine. The engine was immediately feathered to prevent any further damage and drag on that wing. As soon as the fire was noted, Maj. Voruz instructed A/1C Steel, the scanner, to go below the main deck and out through the narrow wing passageway to a small compartment behind the number one engine. He was to investigate the trouble and extinguish the fire if possible. Airman Steel died in that tiny compartment.

With failure of the number one engine, it was imperative to return to the base at once. Although one engine was completely out, the heavily loaded ship was holding its own but with less than 2,000 feet of altitude. Instinctively, Voruz made a sharp left turn, this being the shortest and most direct route back to Tachikawa Air Base. This turn was into the dead engine resulting in a great out-of-balance condition. Lacking adequate power on the left side, the ship with Voruz desperately fighting for control, began to slip closer and closer to the earth below. Now, almost frantically, he was trying to bring his ship under control when suddenly the vast green earth loomed up through the haze. With a last futile effort, Voruz grasped the microphone button on the steering post and through the microphone attached to his lips, yelled to S/Sgt. Kissel, the engineer, for “more power!” Unknowing to the pilot, the microphone selector switch was on “Transmitter” and not intercom.

The control tower heard the frantic call for more power but it meant nothing at that time. The engineer is seated directly behind the co-pilot, facing the same direction but with a large panel bulging with instruments and controls. Within his reach is the fuel system, mixtures etc. that provide the added boost to the engines when it is needed. Whether more power at that time could have saved the Globemaster, no one will ever know. I am sure that during those last sixty seconds Kissel undoubtedly had his hands full with the many responsibilities delegated to him by the failure of one engine.

Near the crash site Japanese farmers worked their fields without knowing what was about to happen. Just a few yards beyond this location lay the busy Tokyo Highway. Although the throbbing engines could be heard, no one paid any attention because planes fly overhead many times a day. As the roar of the mighty engines grew more intense, curious workers began to look to the sky, and to their horror-filled eyes they could see the giant bird falling to the earth.

As the giant C-124 Globemaster struck the solid earth, death must have been almost instantaneous for all the men on board. Striking the ground at a slight angle, nose first, the ship buried deep in the soft earth. The plane slid only a few feet. The impact was forceful enough to knock the farmers to the ground even though they worked more than one hundred yards away.

A large cloud of dust completely enveloped the remains along with the eerie silence of death. As that cloud of dust rose and vanished, so vanished the lives of 129 American servicemen who only a few short minutes earlier had dreams, thoughts of loved ones and hopes for the future. Now, all were lost forever in a burning, twisted mass that lay on the ground.

S/Sgt. Robert D. Vess, driving to Tokyo that afternoon, was horrified to see the big plane go down behind a large clump of trees, obscuring his view from the actual crash. Within a matter of seconds, Vess was fighting his way through the unbelievable wreckage that was once a great airplane. With little regard for his own safety, Vess reached the broken and twisted fuselage, ripping and tearing with his bare hands where he thought there might be life. After pulling out several badly mangled bodies, he was driven back by the remainder of 11,000 gallons of exploding high octane gas. The only living person pulled from the wreckage was A/2C Jordan, the radio operator, but he too died within a few short minutes. Vess was later decorated for this action.

The local Japanese fire department arrived a few minutes before the Tachikawa Air Base Fire Department and the fire was soon under control, but not until a great portion of the fuselage was charred and black. The fire was extinguished before the crew compartment could be touched by the flames. The odor of burned flesh was sickening, even to the most rugged individuals.

With darkness came the threatening rain making the scene more grotesque than ever. With flood lights, a temporary morgue was set up and all night the crash crew probed for the dead. One by one the bodies of the victims were brought from the wreckage until about thirty had been recovered. After daybreak, it took only a few hours to remove the remainder. The pilot and co-pilot were among the last to be pulled from the wreckage. They were slumped over their controls as if a giant magnet had pulled them forward. Even the steel chairs where they were seated were ripped from the floor.

Only an experienced eye could have distinguished the mass of charred aluminum as a huge C-124 Globemaster that had been capable of carrying, with ease, 200 fully equipped troops or large tanker trucks. The crew compartment that once proudly stood two stories above the ground lay in a heap of rubble as you looked down upon it. The great wings that had the span of a football field were pancaked flat in the soft ground. The fuselage, with three floors that an average man could stand straight, was a broken burned out hull. This now was the description of a two million dollar airplane.

Today, a small monument stands near the crash site. It was erected by citizens of a nearby village in remembrance of the innocent victims aboard the ill-fated “Last Flight of 51137.”

C-124A Globemaster (51137) photo credit: Bob Conley

The following C-124 crash site photos provided by Bob Conley.

2012-01-02T06:09:00.000-08:00

Ted Williams, USMC

Two weeks before my uncle arrived at K-13 to begin his combat tour, the base welcomed a well-known Marine fighter pilot from Marine Air Group 33 (MAG-33), who crash landed his damaged F9F Panther on the 9,000 foot runway.

Captain Ted Williams, the famous Boston Red Sox slugger, had served as a pilot during World War II and was recalled to active duty for the Korean War. After training in jets at Cherry Point, North Carolina, Williams left for Korea and was assigned to VMF-311 at K-3 (Pohang-dong) in early 1953.

On February 16, 1953, Williams was sent on a mission to attack a tank and infantry training school south of the North Korean capital of Pyongyang. As he made his low pass on the target he was hit by ground fire, which knocked out his hydraulics and electrical systems. His radio didn't work, his compass was useless, and his landing gear wouldn't come down. Williams struggled to get the aircraft under control, but managed to get his aircraft to K-13.

First Lieutenant George Veazey of the 36th FBS, 8th FBG, was acting as Airdrome Officer along with the Base Ops Officer. They were monitoring landing flights from a weapons carrier just off the runway, about two-thirds down the strip.

Veazey remembers this day well. "A squadron of Marine Corps F9F Panther jets called in for permission to land as they had a plane with severe battle damage in their formation and he could not make it to their home base at K-3, farther south of K-13.

"Given permission to land, we saw the damaged plane, streaming smoke and vapor, cross east to west over the runway. As the pilot passed over the 51st FIW area, a piece of the plane blew off. Turning on base leg, we could see fire and smoke billowing from the bottom of the airplane. The F9F Panther bellied onto and skidded down the runway. The pilot jettisoned his canopy, and as he passed by our position, the nose of the aircraft skewed to the right so that its 20mm cannons passed through us.

"We jumped into the 'beater' (the weapons carrier) and sped off to where the plane had skidded to a stop. We jumped up on the wing of the jet and helped the pilot out and took him to the beater. The fire engines and rescue crew arrived, and put out the burning aircraft.

"Taking the pilot to the base hospital, we discovered that he was Ted Williams, the famous Boston Red Sox baseball player. After he was checked out and found to be okay by the doctors, we took him to Base Ops to await transport back to K-3.

"The word spread throughout the base that Ted Williams was there. The troops gathered around Base Ops, and he signed some autographs and posed for photos. I had an opportunity to talk to him at length until a Marine 'Goony Bird' arrived to take him to their base.

"Williams was quite bitter about having been recalled to active duty. He said that he had finished pilot training near the end of World War II and left the Marine Corps to resume playing baseball, and had no idea that he was subject to recall.

"In 1951, he was at the peak of his career when he received the notice to report to Cherry Point NAS for six weeks of jet upgrading, then to Korea. Williams thought that he had been singled out because he had a high profile, and said that Jerry Coleman, another famous ball player, had also been recalled in that manner. Before he left I snapped a few pictures of him."

Williams went on to complete 39 combat missions in Korea. He would have flown more, but a bout with pneumonia and an inner ear infection grounded him. He returned to the United States in August 1953, just in time to finish out the season with the Red Sox.

Capt. Ted Williams, USMC, in his F9F Panther
(Photo credit: USMC via National Archives.)

Ted Williams (on left) at K-13 (Suwon)
(Photo credit: Jerry Adams)

Capt. Ted Williams at K-13 after his crash landing on February 16, 1953
(Photo credit: George Robert Veazey)

1st Lt. George Veazey of the 36th FBS next to his F-80C at K-13, early 1953
(Photo credit: George Robert Veazey)

2011-12-19T17:28:00.000-08:00

Flying the "T-Bird"

By the end of June 1952, the student pilots in Class 52-F geared up for their second phase of training. At long last, these young men, many with faces still resembling high school students and the exuberance that went with it, would finally be able to get inside a real jet trainer. It was the Lockheed T-33A Shooting Star, affectionately dubbed the “T-Bird” by those who flew it.

Basically, it was an F-80 with three feet added to the length of the fuselage to accommodate a back seat. Unlike the F-80, however, it had a clamshell canopy instead of a sliding one. The T-33 was the first and only two-seat jet trainer in the Air Force inventory at the time. It was propelled by an Allison J-33 turbojet engine capable of putting out 5,400 pounds of thrust. The jet had a top speed of approximately 525 miles per hour and a ceiling of 45,000 feet, well beyond the maximum of both the T-6 and T-28 propeller-driven trainers.

Besides the speed and performance of this jet, the student pilots needed to acclimate themselves to this high altitude. So they were issued a flight helmet and oxygen mask, and then they climbed aboard a C-47 transport for a flight to Reese Air Force Base, near Lubbock, Texas. This base had the altitude chamber where they were going to be introduced to the world of high altitude flight.

They soon discovered what it was like to function in a state of diminishing oxygen. If anyone had any reservations at this point whether he could make it as a jet pilot, the altitude chamber was the place to make those doubts clear. But other than a few ear problems and a bit of lightheadedness, the students survived their indoctrination to jet training with smiles on their faces and the desire to get on with the job at hand.

After returning to Webb, the class divided into individual flight groups as during their T-28 phase, but this time the flights had names. Within B Flight, for example, the five flight groups were: Fire Flight, Yankee Flight, Circus Flight, Cracker Flight, and Panther Flight. Jim was assigned to Panther Flight, along with four other cadets. William Haines, who shared flight duties with Jim more than the others, was from Mountain Lakes, New Jersey; Clent Houston was a cadet from Pawnee, Illinois; George Lindsey came from Marietta, Georgia. The last cadet in the group was Jim’s roommate, Roger Miller.

Their instructor was 1st Lt. Vernon Vannett, a no-nonsense teacher of proper jet procedures who had hoped to get a combat assignment to Korea flying fighters. Instead, he was frozen as an instructor within Flying Training Air Force. “I was promised several times by the Air Force that I would get an overseas assignment, but even when replacement instructors were available, the fighter slots went to other pilots.”

While he still hoped a fighter assignment would come his way, Vannett figured if he couldn’t get into the action, then he would pass his skills to those young pilots who would certainly get that chance. He made sure every student in his flight knew the T-33 inside and out. “I was a tough task master, but when my students graduated, they rated at the upper part of the class as far as flying ability,” he later recalled. Those who flew with him could attest to the firm approach he had with his students.

Jim thought Vannett was one of the best instructors on the base, and could have been a terrific fighter pilot if given the opportunity. He and Jim got along well with each other, and both were similar in personality. Neither one of them had that cocky attitude like a lot of fighter pilots. When it came time to climb inside the T-33 with his instructor, Jim was dedicated to learning his craft, and meticulous at getting the procedures down right.

Learning to fly the T-33 was a whole different ballgame than flying the T-28, even though the Trojan had given him a feel of a jet aircraft. Once inside the T-Bird, with the canopy closed and engine running, the difference in sound was remarkable. The T-33 was very quiet compared to the T-28, with that Allison turbojet whispering outside. Jim could still hear the engine from the inside, but it was sure different than listening to the loud pounding of the Trojan’s radial pistons.

The two major points that the instructors always made clear about the T-33, were, “Watch the tail pipe temperature at all times and be sure not to advance the throttle too fast in flight, otherwise a flameout could occur.” That was the one thing these students definitely wanted to avoid, because if they were up high they would need to get down to at least 18,000 feet before attempting an air start.

If a flameout did occur, they would need to first pull the throttle back to the stopcock position, then raise the nose of the jet about 45 degrees to release any raw fuel that may have accumulated in the tailpipe.

After a few seconds with the nose up, the student would then have to dip the nose of the jet until he established a 180 mile-per-hour glide while trying to maintain a 9 to 11 percent rpm in the compressor.

Next, he would turn the ignition boost on, gang-load the fuel switches, and turn the fuel sequence to automatic. Hopefully, the engine would restart, after which he would let the rpm rise to around 32 to 34 percent before slowly advancing the throttle to idle. Then he would turn fuel sequence to the off position and ignition boost to off. And if this procedure didn’t work the first time, the student would have to do it all over again.

Becoming used to the peculiarities of the T-33 took awhile for most of the student pilots, though after time in the cockpit they got the routine down to where they could almost do it in their sleep. The instructors were to thank for that. According to Glen Croshaw, “Whenever I had a problem understanding something, Jim was the one who answered all my questions, but it was my instructor who beat my knees with the stick until I did it right.”

These instructors were relentless about not only making sure the students knew how to properly control the T-Bird, but totally understood and planned for any emergency that could occur on takeoff, landing, or in flight.

Plenty of checks had to be made at all junctions of their flight, and these were always completed, regardless if the instructor was in back or the student was flying solo. For example, on a normal jet transition mission, after obtaining clearance to taxi, the student checked the load meter to see if it was functioning, the oil pressure gauge to see if it read properly, and the fuel pressure gauge to see if it read in the normal range.

He checked the hydraulic pressure, then he made sure the dive brakes were up; wing flaps set at the proper angle; fuselage tank on; radio working; oxygen mask on with oxygen set to a hundred percent; seat ejection pin removed. Then after getting to the end of the runway he did his pre-takeoff check: canopy locked; elevator trim tab set at neutral; fuel pressure in the normal range; tailpipe temperature no higher than 700 degrees; oil pressure in the normal range; load meter at .5 maximum; hydraulic pressure still normal; takeoff and land switch turned on; oxygen at normal setting.

When he got clearance to take off, he slowly advanced the throttle until the jet gradually picked up speed. As it reached about 140 miles per hour, he gently pulled back on the stick, lifting the jet into the air, retracting the gear and wing flaps within seconds after takeoff.

After completing the training mission for the day, the student pilot would descend, making more checks on the way down. As he reached 5,000 feet, he turned the takeoff and land switch back on, set the radio to the proper channel for landing, and made sure his shoulder harness was locked. While getting ready to turn on his base leg before making the final approach to the runway, he did his pre-landing check.

He looked for the green instrument light that showed the landing gear was down and locked, looked at the hydraulic pressure gauge to see if it was still up in the proper range, and listened to make sure no horn was blowing, which meant his landing gear wasn’t functioning properly. He then lowered the dive brakes and set the wing flaps at 45 degrees for landing. As he turned onto his base leg, he made his radio call to the controller, and then checked the brake pedals for pressure.

After landing the jet, there were still more checks to be made. While the student pilot was taxiing to the parking area, he turned the takeoff and land switch off, retracted the wing flaps, shut off all the fuel tanks except for the one in the fuselage, set the elevator trim tab to neutral, opened the canopy, and checked the oxygen level. After the jet came to a stop, he shut down the engine by first pulling the throttle back to idle, waited until the rpm of the engine stabilized, then pulled the throttle completely back to the stopcock position and turned off the ignition switch.

Before climbing out of the aircraft, he reinserted the seat pin to prevent accidental ejection. He then made sure the radio, battery, and all switches were turned off. The oxygen hose had to be stored, along with the radio cord, and the oxygen setting was checked to make sure it was on the normal position. Finally, he could step down from his aircraft and fill out his Form I sheet that would inform the crew chief of anything that needed to be fixed, or to check systems that may not have worked properly during his flight.

Aviation Cadet Jim Escalle about to climb into a T-33 at Webb AFB, 1952
(Click photo to see larger size.)

Aviation Cadets Jim Escalle and Glen Croshaw next to a T-33

(Click photo to see larger size.)

2011-12-11T07:53:00.000-08:00

A "Tiger" Story

In late 1952, under the command of Col. Clay Tice, Jr., well known for his straightforward approach and overly aggressive leadership style, the combat crew training at Nellis AFB became known as the "Tiger" program.

Jim Escalle never seemed to have any problems with the pressure exerted by the instructors at Nellis. In fact, he thrived on it. Most of the guys who trained with him felt the same way. But for some pilots who were well-versed in this “tiger” tradition, being a fighter pilot meant more than just dive-bombing, or firing machine guns at a rag target, it was the way he lived.

With the Las Vegas strip only a few miles away, these young fighter pilots constantly felt the pressure to be able to party all night at the casinos, then report back early the next morning to the flight line, without any adverse effects from the night before. Most of them were successful in tempering their nightly activities, but others learned the hard way, sometimes fatally.

One such pilot was Donald Hier, a newly-commisioned second lieutenant from Springfield, Minnesota, who was a cadet in Class 52-F. After Hier graduated from advanced training at Williams AFB in Arizona, he came to Nellis with the expectation of becoming a great fighter pilot.

During his free time at night, as many of the new pilots did, he would occasionally drive to the casinos in Las Vegas, have a few drinks, see some shows, maybe do a little gambling, then come back to the base and get some much-needed sleep.

But on one particular Thursday afternoon, after getting only a few hours sleep the previous three nights, Hier was scheduled to qualify for skip-bombing with his flight. This involved putting a practice bomb through a ten foot square canvas target that was placed on the ground, and he needed to fly his F-80 low to the ground to make a successful hit.

Sam Jackson, a former student officer who helped one of Jim’s classmates back in basic pilot training at Columbus AFB, was also on this flight. He was in Hier’s flight at Williams, and was assigned to his squadron at Nellis.

According to Jackson, this bombing run was going to be tricky because, “The manual said not to get lower than fifty feet over the desert, but after you had missed a few times they would clue you in. If you dropped from higher than the target, the bomb would bounce (or skip) over the target instead of going through it. Therefore, we learned that you had to get below ten feet to drop and hit.

"Hier was number two and I was number four in the racetrack pattern, and we were flying at better than 400 miles per hour. His first try was a ‘skip-over,’ with a reminder from our instructor that 'tigers got low.' I could tell from his radio transmission that Hier was determined, that there was no way his next bomb would go over the target again.

I watched as he very smoothly put his aircraft right through the middle of the target, and into the ground, on his last pass. I figure that he had about six hours total sleep all week.”

2/Lt. Jim Escalle next to an F-80C at Nellis AFB, 1952
(Click the photo to see larger size)

2011-12-03T06:20:00.000-08:00

The Foxes of 52-F

An excerpt from Chapter 6 of Unforgotten Hero:

When Jim wasn’t under the lid of the Link trainer, he was out on the flight line taking his turn flying the real thing alongside the other three members of his training group. Dale Lewis was the only other cadet in the group. He came from Jacksonville, Florida, and wanted to fly jets after leaving Columbus. Sam Sifers was a student officer from Cincinnati, Ohio, and Martin Swanson, the only one in the group who preferred multi-engines, was a student officer from Owensboro, Kentucky.

Lt. Sam Sifers, A/C Dale Lewis, Mr. Joe B. Cunningham, Lt. Martin Swanson, A/C Jim Escalle

Dressed in their identical one-piece flight suits, it was almost impossible to tell the difference between officers and cadets, except for the small leather nametags that the cadets wore tied to their suits. But according to Swanson they still addressed each other on the flight line somewhat formally, yet without any regard to rank. “We always called everyone by title and last name, so Jim was always ‘Mr. Escalle’ to me. He always seemed fairly quiet and was a serious student who intended to graduate from the program.”

Everyone in his flight group thought Jim was one of the hottest pilots in the class. Jim, on the other hand, gave all the credit for his piloting skills to his instructor, Joe B. Cunningham, a former radar operator during World War II. Originally from Dallas, Texas, Cunningham was hired by California Eastern Airways and came to Columbus a year before Jim arrived. This class was only his second, the first being Class 52-E, but he would go on to instruct there another 10 years. Cunningham agreed with the rest of Jim’s group about Jim’s ability to fly an airplane. He said, “Jim was a natural and had that special touch. Out of all the pilots I trained, Jim Escalle was in the top four, if not right at the top.”

Under Cunningham’s tutelage, Jim learned all the basic procedures of flying the T-6, including how to do stalls, spins, gliding turns, and power let-downs. He became proficient at doing the all-important GUMP check when getting ready to land. It was:

Gas: switched to the fullest tank.
Undercarriage: wheels down and locked.
Mixture: set at full rich.
Prop: full forward.

All of the instructors pounded this procedure into the heads of their student pilots from the first day they went up. They also made sure the students knew the difference between the gear handle and the flap handle. The clever designers of this aircraft made it easy to distinguish by shaping the end of the flap handle like an airfoil. The front of the gear handle was round like a wheel. They designed it like this so the students wouldn’t have to look down to operate the specific lever. They could just feel the difference. As long as the student didn’t lift the gear handle while the plane was on the ground, then everything was all right. Otherwise, he would be doing a belly landing before he knew what happened.

For instance, after the landing roll, the student needed to clear the runway immediately and come to a complete stop. Before he taxied to the flight line he was supposed to pull the wing flap handle up, set the trim tab control wheel to neutral, and set the propeller control to full increase. If he did everything right, then no problem. But if his fingers, while reaching down for the wing flap handle, couldn’t recognize the difference between a wheel-shaped handle and an airfoil-shaped handle, the possibility of making a critical mistake was tremendous. Again, it was more procedures, so many new details to learn that a student could lose sleep just trying to remember all of them.

To make tensions worse, while the students were calmly practicing their maneuvers, the instructors liked to shake things up a bit by yelling into their microphones, “Forced landing!” It was loud enough to make one’s hair stand on end, the heart beat twice as fast, and the nervous system go in full throttle. With large beads of sweat starting to develop on his forehead, the student quickly started to look out the sides of his cockpit to find a safe place to set the aircraft down, while the instructor was sitting in back having the time of his life. Whether or not the student pilots actually landed their planes depended on the instructor and the location available to land, such as an auxiliary field. Primarily, this surprise procedure was thrown at the students so they would know the proper steps in bringing their aircraft down safely, as in the case of engine failure or some other in-flight emergency. The key was to remain calm, at least outwardly.

As the training progressed, the student pilots became proficient enough to finally solo, a feat they had been anticipating since they first put on their flight suits. The first cadet to solo was Kenneth B. Coughlin, Jr., a southern boy from Alabama City, Alabama, who was in Jim’s squadron. Coughlin had attended Texas Tech before enlisting in the Air Force. He was regarded as one of the better pilots among the cadets in Class 52-F, and he wanted to fly high performance jets after his stint at Columbus was over.

But not everyone had the talent and immediate self-assurance that Coughlin had. For a lot of the students, it took quite a few hours of flying before their confidence level grew to the point where they became skilled pilots. Some just happened to achieve this status sooner than others. The one thing no one wanted to do was “wash out,” which was flunking the program. If a student officer washed out, he would have to spend the rest of his Air Force tour as a ground officer, a stigma he preferred not having. Any cadet who failed would go back to being a “one-striper” and rejoin the enlisted ranks. This would apply to those who went through basic training before becoming a cadet; those who came into the program straight from college would return to civilian life. However, that wasn’t going to happen to these cadets. After each one took his successful turn at soloing, he was ceremoniously tossed into the swimming pool at the base, an old tradition that each one took part in.

2011-11-27T06:43:00.000-08:00

Suwon by the Sea

When 2nd Lt. Jim Escalle completed his combat crew training at Nellis AFB in January 1953, he was given a short leave, and then he had to report to Camp Stoneman in California for overseas processing.

Unlike most of the enlisted Air Force personnel at Camp Stoneman who traveled by ship overseas, Jim’s group flew over on an Air Force C-54 transport. They made stops along the way to refuel and such, but eventually made it to Japan.

On February 26, 1953, after more processing had been completed, Jim was assigned to the 8th Fighter-Bomber Wing, based near Suwon, South Korea.

The pilots who were assigned to the 8th FBW boarded a C-46 transport for the trip to Korea. They stopped first at an air base on the west side of Pusan near the southern tip of Korea, called K-1 by the Air Force.

Every air base in North and South Korea had been given a “K” designation early in the war because of the confusion over the different names, some places having both a Japanese name and Korean name. Also, the spelling of the villages and towns on maps varied so much it just added to the confusion. So instead of using names, the bases were given numbers. It made things a lot simpler.

As their plane landed at K-1 for a brief stopover before proceeding to Suwon Air Base, designated by the Air Force as K-13, the pilots looked out their windows and saw they had finally made it to the war zone. Scattered around the runway area in various locations were sandbagged foxholes and multiple antiaircraft gun emplacements.

When they arrived at K-13, however, and stepped off the plane, the first thing that got their attention wasn’t the sight of any gun emplacement, though there were plenty of them surrounding the base. Instead, it was the awful smell. The Korean farmers fertilized their rice paddies with human excrement, along with other waste, and the horrible stench was always in the air.

Sanitary conditions didn’t exist among the local rural population, so if they needed to go they would just squat by the side of the road. They carried this special fertilizer in what were called by the guys as “honey buckets,” and the air base was one of the prime locations where they collected their “honey” before taking it out to their fields.

After getting his B-4 bag and one small suitcase that had been unloaded from the plane, Jim stood outside the K-13 passenger terminal with the other replacement pilots, waiting for transportation to 8th FBW headquarters. As the bags were being unloaded, one of the officers who worked at the terminal remarked, “Welcome to K-13 Air Base, gentlemen. I hope your stay here is a pleasant one.”

Replacement pilots arriving at K-13, late February 1953
Photo credit: Fick Henderson. Click photo to make larger.

2011-11-20T07:16:00.000-08:00

Jack B. Mayo

On June 8, 1953, as Jim Escalle and his flight leader, 1st Lt. Jack B. Mayo, were taxiing back to their revetments after completing a mission, Jim spotted two airmen trying to put out a fire near an F-86. Apparently, an Auxiliary Power Unit had caught fire when a .50-caliber round from a parked Sabre was accidentally discharged, piercing the gas tank of the APU.

Unconcerned about their personal welfare, both pilots stopped their planes, unbuckled and got out. They rushed over to the burning APU, went through the flames to disconnect it from its F-86, then pushed the unit out of the way before the fire caused serious damage to the plane.

As soon as the unit was safely away from the area, two other airmen brought over a fire extinguisher and quickly put the fire out. Jim suffered some minor burns to his face, but nothing to warrant medical attention. He and Mayo were later awarded the Soldiers Medal for this selfless deed.

Mayo was a native of Meridian, Mississippi. He arrived at K-13 a few months before Jim and got to fly on several ground support missions in the F-80 Shooting Star. Right after Jim arrived, the 36th Fighter-Bomber Squadron transitioned to the F-86F Sabre. Both pilots were assigned to Mike Flight. In May 1953, Mayo replaced Capt. Jack Magee as flight leader when Magee’s tour expired.

When Jim disappeared on June 19, Mayo had the unenviable task of writing Jim’s parents, explaining what mission Jim was on when he disappeared, and offering his assistance to them in any way.

After the war, Mayo stayed with the squadron for a while, then in 1954 was assigned to Alexandria AFB in Louisiana. Here, he met and soon married Jeanie Johnston.

In the late 1950s, Mayo was invited to participate in the Mercury astronaut selection program. He was a member of the U.S. Air Force Experimental Flight Test Pilot School and became one of 32 possible astronauts. Although he wasn’t selected, two pilots in his group – Captains Virgil “Gus” Grissom and Gordon Cooper – made the final seven.

On January 11, 1961, while assigned to Eglin AFB in Florida, Mayo was killed when his F-105D crashed in the Gulf of Mexico. He was stationed at Eglin AFB at the time, and he was going to test fire the M-61 "Vulcan" cannon. But something went wrong with the cannon after he squeezed the trigger, causing the aircraft to explode. His body was never found.

1st Lt. Jack B. Mayo, Mike Flight leader
Photo credit: Jack Mayo (via Jeanie Mayo Thornton)

1st Lt. Jack Mayo in his F-86F Sabre at K-13 (Suwon), 1953
Photo credit: Jack Mayo (via Jeanie Mayo Thornton)

2011-11-11T10:31:00.000-08:00

Veterans Day

On a granite wall at the Korean War Memorial in Washington D.C., the inscription reads: "Freedom is not free." Our cherished freedom in the United States was given to us by God and authorized by our Constitution, but it's the blood shed by our military veterans in wars past and present that sustains our freedom.

Although Veterans Day is celebrated once a year in the United States, be sure to remember every day what our veterans did for our country. May God bless them all.

Inscription at Korean War Memorial in Washington, D.C.

2011-11-06T07:52:00.000-08:00

Unforgotten Hero - book trailer

While I'm still waiting to hear from a publisher about my book, here is my amateur attempt at putting together a book trailer. Until the book gets published, ignore the last frame that tells where to buy it.

2011-11-01T15:43:00.000-07:00

Last Letter

My uncle wrote many letters home while he was in Korea, but for some reason or another only a handful survived over the years. This one was written three days after he and the other pilots in his squadron set an all-time record for sorties in one day. It was written to my dad, who was still going through gunnery training at Nellis AFB. The next morning my uncle went on an armed reconnaissance mission and never returned.

18 June 1953

Hello there,

Well, I am A.O. today so I finally found time to get off a couple of letters. I hope you're flying by now. I bet you and Jean know Vegas pretty well by now. I hope you don't have to come over here Bob. It would be better if you could stay in the States. It would be nice if you went to Europe.

I imagine you have been reading in the papers about the big push that the Chinese have made on our lines. I don't know how big they said it was, but it was big. The day it started they had us in the air before the sun was up and we didn't land until 9:00 that night. I got four missions that day and was so tired I could barely walk, but it was fun. We kept this up for two days and then the weather came in. I got eleven missions in three days. The day before the push started I got three missions, and for the next two days I got four missions each day.

On the day I got three missions I had an interesting day. Our first mission that morning was a dive-bombing mission on troops and supplies. We really plastered that target. The second mission was a Yalu River sweep. On this sweep we climbed to 40,000 feet and dropped our tanks, then we climbed on up to 47-48,000 feet and started patrolling the Yalu River. We had just started west on our patrol when ten MiGs came right across our nose. They were going in just the opposite direction as we were. By the time we turned they were way out in front of us. We finally had to break it off because we were patrolling a certain area. If we could have seen them a little sooner, we might have gotten a head-on shot or got on their tails sooner. Anyway, I have seen MiGs, ha!

I hope we can go on some more of those missions. When I dropped my tanks, they rolled out the wing and tore the Pitot tube off. Then my radio went out. So I really had an interesting Yalu sweep. I had to make a formation landing due to the airspeed being out.

The third mission that day was a skip-bombing mission on a dam about 50 miles from Antung. We came in at about 15-20 feet off the deck and bombed the dam. So that was an interesting mission.

The next day, the big push started and we were hitting the front lines just as the sun came up. The T-6 directs us on these type missions. The sky was full of F-86s, F-84s, Navy and Marine planes. We bombed those “Chinks” all day and after dark. After dark, we went down roads behind the lines and shot up trucks. The flak was really heavy for these two days. We lost two F-86s from our Group due to ground fire.

The sky was almost full of flak. After dark you could see the tracers. It looked like a Fourth of July in the late evening. There were lots of trucks moving up to the front after dark. Boy, as soon as you would start down for the trucks, they would open up from both sides of the valley.

We really worked hard for those three days and I think we helped the soldiers a lot. Right after dark, you could see how hard they were fighting by all the flashes. Everyone still thinks the truce will be signed. The Chinese are just trying to get some good hills right now.

Well, enough on the war. I'll write you some more if I get some interesting missions. I have 40 missions now, hurrah! We finally got a good night's sleep and a shower after three days, due to the rain last night. I don't know how long it will take for that wedding present to get there. Well, I better get back to work. Tell everyone hello.

Hey, on the first day of that big push, my squadron set a group, wing and 5th Air Force record for sorties. We got 121 that day. Those crew chiefs and armament men really worked for us to set that record. Have fun!

So Long,

Jim

2011-10-26T14:32:00.000-07:00

Stalemate in Korea

By February 1951, the Korean battlefront had stabilized about 40 miles south of Seoul and the new U.S. Eighth Army commander, Lt. Gen. Matthew B. Ridgeway, was preparing a counterattack. Ridgeway took over after General Walton H. Walker was killed in a jeep accident a couple of days before Christmas. Under Ridgeway’s command, Eighth Army and X Corps, which had rejoined Eighth Army after its withdrawal from Hungnam, began to steadily drive the Chinese and North Koreans back to the 38th parallel. By the end of June 1951, the Americans recaptured Seoul again.

This effort at pushing the Chinese and North Korean armies back across the border took a heavy toll on American lives. High-ranking officials of the Truman administration thought it would be unwise to launch another major offensive against the Chinese, trying to force them back across the Yalu River. According to them, this would not only cost more American lives, but would also demand the procurement of additional equipment and supplies, something they thought was better used in defending Western Europe against the Soviet Union. So they decided it was best to negotiate a ceasefire with the Chinese and North Koreans, defending South Korea’s sovereignty while at the same time not letting the war spread further.

The goal now was not total victory, as General MacArthur had wanted since the war began, but a stalemate. MacArthur wanted no part of it and he let his views be known early on. After the Eighth Army began driving back the Chinese in mid-March, he made a public statement to reporters saying that his plan was to unite the two Koreas after the war was over. Truman’s plan, however, was taking advantage of this Chinese withdrawal by trying to negotiate an end to the hostilities.

After finding out about this, MacArthur again made statements regarding his views on the war. In one particular letter to a congressman from Pennsylvania, he wrote that Asia, not Europe, was the place where communism needed to be contained. An armistice would be like holding up the white flag of surrender, according to him.

When this letter was released to the public, President Truman’s patience with his top general ran out. After the Joint Chiefs of Staff agreed with the President that General MacArthur must go, Truman relieved him of his command. General Ridgeway became MacArthur’s replacement, and Lt. Gen. James A. Van Fleet took Ridgeway’s place as commander of the Eighth Army.

Preliminary discussions for a ceasefire began on July 10, 1951, when negotiators from both sides met at Kaesong, about 30 miles northwest of Seoul, south of the 38th parallel. These discussions focused on many important issues, including where the ceasefire line would be located, the makeup of the commission that would oversee this line, and the process of making the truce into a permanent peace. The stumbling block in the negotiations always seemed to focus on the matter of prisoner repatriation. Arguments developed over this problem several times, putting a halt to the talks.

On August 4, after the negotiating resumed, North Korean and Chinese ground troops disregarded the appointed neutral zone at Kaesong, halting the talks again. They resumed six days later, but over the next couple of months constant bickering on the North Korean side, along with general harassment and propaganda, caused the armistice talks to stop and start several more times. In late October a small demilitarized zone was established, and formal truce negotiations began at Panmunjom, a small village just south of the 38th parallel. However, it would take almost another two years before common sense prevailed and a final armistice agreement was signed.

Armistice being signed at Panmunjom, July 27, 1953

2011-10-19T14:31:00.000-07:00

POW/MIA Talks Begin With North Korea

The U.S. and North Korea began talks yesterday to negotiate for the recovery of remains from the Korean War. Search teams from JPAC (Joint POW/MIA Accounting Command) started looking for remains in 1996, but these recovery missions were cancelled in 2005 because of security concerns. My wish is that these talks will result in some action and not lead to just more rhetoric being passed around.

The map below shows the locations where my uncle was last seen (target area) and where the ResCAP (rescue combat air patrol) found the burning wreckage of the F-86 he was flying at the time. I'm sure that if recovery teams are let back in North Korea, they will concentrate in areas where mass graves may be or in places where several sets of remains could be found. But I hope that some of these missions will be for single aircraft incidents.

Click picture to see larger size

2011-10-10T16:50:00.000-07:00

F-86 Sabre Goes to Korea

When the MiG-15s entered the Korean War in November 1950, aerial victories against these communist jet fighters were extremely rare for Air Force pilots flying F-80s and their Navy counterparts flying F9F Panthers. The MiGs were still attacking American bombers in great numbers without effective opposition.

Operating from their politically protected base at Antung, the MiGs crippled an RB-29 on November 9, which then had to make a crash landing, killing five of its crew members. The next day, a B-29 Superfortress on a bombing mission near the Yalu River was shot down by MiGs and the crew had no choice but to bail out, parachuting behind enemy lines where they became prisoners of war. On November 14, a group of about 15 MiGs attacked eighteen B-29s bombing bridges at Sinuiju, seriously damaging two of the bombers. All these attacks were taking place in an area of northwest Korea that soon became known as “MiG Alley.”

Korea map

(Map credit: Tom Houlihan. Click picture to enlarge.)

To counter these attacks by the MiGs on the B-29s, the U.S. Air Force needed a plane that was equal or better in performance to the MiG-15. Although it performed admirably in past air-to-air combat against the MiG, the F-80C Shooting Star was no match for this highly advanced Soviet swept-wing fighter, especially in the hands of experienced Russian pilots, who had plenty of combat experience from fighting in World War II. The solution would not show up, though, until early December 1950, when the Air Force shipped over to Korea the first swept-wing fighters of their own, called the F-86 Sabre, a sleek high-performance jet with a maximum speed of over 670 miles per hour at sea level.

Put into production in 1948, North American Aviation’s F-86 Sabre was the best air superiority jet fighter made at the time. The Sabre’s firepower came from six Browning M-3, .50-caliber machine guns mounted in enclosed banks of three on either side of the cockpit, with a maximum load of 1,800 rounds of ammunition. Each gun was electrically charged and had a cyclic rate of 1,100 rounds per minute.

In contrast to the guns of the F-86 Sabre, the MiG-15's arsenal consisted of one 37mm cannon and two 23mm cannons mounted under its nose. It shot explosive bursts that could very easily knock an F-86 out of the sky, or at least do some serious damage.

Except for some slight differences in flight characteristics and performance, both the F-86 and MiG-15 were basically on equal footing. Ultimate victory in the air would depend less on the performance of the planes than so on the skill of their pilots.

Realizing the situation had changed with the introduction of this new communist jet, U.S. Air Force Chief of Staff, General Hoyt S. Vandenberg, deployed the first group of F-86A Sabres to Korea in order to maintain air supremacy. Normally assigned to protecting the continental United States, the 4th Fighter-Interceptor Wing, headquartered at Langley AFB, Virginia, but having its three squadrons spread out across different bases in Delaware and Maryland, was ordered to move its operations from the East Coast to California. All the personnel and some of the aircraft from the wing were then shipped across the ocean to Japan on a Navy escort carrier, while the rest of the aircraft were put on fast-moving tankers and sent across the Pacific at the same time.

On the voyage over, some of the planes on the open decks of these ships were damaged by the salt-water spray and needed extensive repair after they arrived. But even with that slight setback, a detachment of the 4th FIW, consisting of the 336th Fighter-Interceptor Squadron with seven of its 32 Sabres, was in place at Kimpo airfield on December 15, and it wasn’t long before these experienced combat pilots got their first crack at shooting down a MiG.

Late in the morning on December 17, Lt. Col. Bruce H. Hinton, commander of the 336th Fighter-Interceptor Squadron, led a flight of four F-86s north to patrol MiG Alley near Sinuiju, in hope of enticing MiGs into combat. Using deceptive radio calls, Hinton wanted the MiG-15 pilots to think it was a flight of F-80s coming their way. The trick worked. While the Sabres patrolled at 25,000 feet, four MiGs took off from their base at Antung, just across the Yalu River from Sinuiju.

Lt. Col. Bruce Hinton in Korea, 1950
(Photo credit: USAF. Click picture to enlarge.)

The MiGs approached at 18,000 feet climbing in a southeasterly direction near Sinuiju. Hinton radioed the other Sabres to release their drop tanks, but his own radio wasn’t working. They did jettison their drop tanks, however, and dove on the MiGs as the MiGs paralleled the Yalu River. As Colonel Hinton banked to close behind the MiGs, he became separated from his flight. The Sabres closed at 410 knots (470 mph) and 20,000 feet while increasing their airspeed at maximum power. Hinton’s airspeed exceeded the red line on his Machmeter at this point. The MiGs dove and then began a climbing left turn. Then the MiGs broke. Hinton fired a long burst from his six .50-caliber machine guns hitting the second MiG in its right wing and fuselage. Leaks were seen from the MiG, which began smoking. Hinton then fired a long burst and saw fire exit the MiG's tailpipe as smoke was seen coming from the rest of the enemy plane. He fired another long burst, and fire covered the entire rear of the MiG's fuselage. As the MiG slowed, Hinton opened his dive brakes and throttled the engine back. The MiG was given another long burst. Pieces flew off as the MiG rolled on its back and went down, crashing ten miles southeast of the Yalu River.

This was the first time in the war that an F-86 Sabre pilot scored an aerial victory over a MiG-15, but it was only the beginning. Five days later, eight F-86 Sabres were patrolling near Sinuiju when fifteen MiG-15s came across the Yalu to confront them. Less than 30 minutes after the individual dogfights ensued between the pilots in these high-performance aircraft, six MiGs, all flown by Russian pilots, were shot down.

The F-86 maintained air superiority over Korea for the rest of the war, allowing the B-29s and fighter-bombers to do their jobs. Still regarded as the last true gunfighter, the Sabre played a pivotal role in achieving aerial victory in Korea.

Bruce Hinton next to F-86A Sabre at National Museum of USAF
(Photo credit: USAF. Click picture to enlarge.)

2011-10-06T16:34:00.000-07:00

Unforgotten Hero - TOC

I'm still waiting to hear from a publisher about my book. In the meantime, since several people have asked about the chapters, here is the table of contents along with a few endorsements I have received. The photos are a few examples of what will be in the book as well. I hope that more people will become a Facebook fan of the book and will tell others about it.

Prologue: The Search For a Fighter Pilot’s Life

1. Country Boy

2. Girls, Sports, Hot Rods…and Potatoes

3. Decisions

4. A “Police Action” Begins in Korea

5. Gateway to the Air Force

6. The Foxes of 52-F

7. Texas, Trojans, and T-Birds

8. Every Man a Tiger

9. Last Visit Home

10. K-13

11. Flying Fiends

12. Fighter-Bomber Missions

13. Missing in Action

14. A Town Mourns a Favorite Son

Epilogue

Appendix

Acknowledgements

Notes

Bibliography

Index

Some endorsements:

“This is a heartwarming book, a labor of love, and doubly valuable for the insight it brings into the life of a warrior and to the country that the warrior defended. Anyone reading this book will see a superb slice of Americana that most of us would like to experience again today. Read this fine book, and you’ll see how a true hero lived and died for his country.”

-- Walter J. Boyne, Colonel, USAF (Ret.), author of How the Helicopter Changed Modern Warfare; former director of the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum; member of the National Aviation Hall of Fame

“A heartfelt tribute to one of 34,000 mostly anonymous Americans who died defending freedom in South Korea. Unforgotten Hero ends with a gut-wrenching revelation that should be known by everyone who wears his country’s uniform.”

-- Barrett Tillman, author of Whirlwind: The Air War Against Japan, 1942-1945

“A great story told with great passion.”

-- Robert Coram, author of American Patriot: The Life and Wars of Colonel Bud Day

“Marvellous book! I couldn’t put it down until I finished reading it. Lieutenant Escalle’s life was parallel to mine in many ways.”

-- Cecil G. Foster, Lieutenant Colonel, USAF (Ret.), fighter pilot, Korea and Vietnam; author of MiG Alley to Mu Ghia Pass: Memoirs of a Korean War Ace

“With great skill and clarity, Jim Escalle has brought us an absorbing narrative of his uncle, Lt. Jim Escalle, who flew the F-86 jet in the Korean War and ended up as MIA. This book should be must reading for anyone who wants to understand the vital roles played by U.S. fighter-bombers for stopping the forward movement of the numerically superior enemy ground forces southwards. This book is great reading.”

-- Ken Rowe(aka No Kum-Sok), Korean War MiG-15 Pilot, author of A MiG-15 to Freedom

“This is a story of an American who gave his all through service to his country.
Good flying stories, but also a peek into the personal lives of folks that make this a great nation.”

-- Clarence E. “Bud” Anderson, Colonel, USAF (Ret.), fighter pilot, World War II triple ace; author of To Fly and Fight: Memoirs of a Triple Ace

“This is a wonderful story, beautifully written. Jim Escalle traces the story of his uncle from a farm childhood in the San Joaquin Valley, into jet combat half a world away in Korea. It’s a story unique to his uncle, but common to men all across America who have answered the call of duty. I finished the book feeling as if I’d known these people and lived this life. It’s a remarkable achievement.”

-- Stephen P. Randolph, Colonel, USAF (Ret.), fighter pilot, Operation Desert Storm; instructor, National Defense University; author of Powerful and Brutal Weapons: Nixon, Kissinger, and the Easter Offensive

A few photos: (Click photo to see larger size)

2011-09-23T14:27:00.000-07:00

John E. Southerland

Most of the missions assigned to the 8th Fighter-Bomber Group in June 1953 were close air support missions, because the small battles along the MLR (Main Line of Resistance) near the 38th parallel had grown more intense by this time. On June 6, during one of these close air support missions near the front lines, 2nd Lt. John Southerland, a 52-F classmate of Jim’s from Webb AFB and a pilot with the 35th Fighter-Bomber Squadron, was shot down by concentrated ground fire. The word of his loss quickly made the rounds throughout the base. In fact, the pilot “grapevine” was so fast that they usually knew who got shot down before it was officially reported.

Lt. Southerland was flying as wingman to his flight leader on this particular mission and was preparing to descend on his dive-bombing run.

Shortly after his flight leader initiated his run, Southerland radioed that he was pushing full throttle but was only getting 80 percent power. He asked to remain at high altitude until the bombing attack was completed, but right after he made this call, the element leader saw flames coming from the fuselage of Southerland’s aircraft.

A few seconds later, Southerland’s F-86 rolled violently to the left and started spiraling downward. At around 12,000 feet he bailed out and his parachute successfully opened, but he was being fired upon from the enemy soldiers below as he slowly descended to the ground.

Apparently uninjured, Southerland landed in the Kumsong area, several miles behind enemy lines. His parachute was seen on the ground for several minutes by his flight until it suddenly disappeared from view. They orbited the area for a long time trying to make visual and radio contact. All pilots carried an emergency URC-4 radio with them in their survival vests, but no messages were heard from Southerland. The flight soon had to return to K-13 because of continual enemy ground fire and poor visibility. Since his fate was unknown, Lt. Southerland was listed as missing in action. He is among the 31 missing F-86 pilots listed in an earlier post titled: Missing F-86 Sabre Pilots.

F-86F Sabre of the 35th FBS "Black Panthers" over Korea, 1953
(Click photo to make larger)

2011-09-12T10:07:00.000-07:00

Shot Down by a Sabre

The 8th Fighter-Bomber Group began the transition to the F-86F-30 Sabre in late February 1953. But it wasn’t until early April when the unit was ready to fly combat missions in their new aircraft.

On April 7, 1953, four pilots from the 35th and 36th Fighter-Bomber Squadrons flew their Sabres on a Yalu River sweep with the 51st Fighter-Interceptor Group. The next day, selected pilots from these two squadrons went on another interceptor mission, only this time the 51st didn’t escort them. Over the next several days many of the “old heads” from the 36th were assigned to fly MiG Alley sweeps.

Robert E. Crackel of Victor Flight was an F-80 pilot with the 36th FBS who went on some MiG sweeps after being checked out in his F-86F. When he returned to combat flying in early April, he patrolled mostly between the Chongchong and Yalu Rivers. “We saw MiGs at times,” Crackel said, “but we were never within engagement range.” Since most of these guys were anxious to shoot down their first MiG-15, a bit of impatience sometimes resulted. One example of this, which resulted in a friendly fire incident, was on April 16, 1953, during Crackel’s fourth F-86 mission up to MiG Alley.

“It was my fourth combat mission in the F-86, and I was flying number two in a flight of four. We were at 40,000 feet when radar control warned us of MiGs in the area. Our flight leader, ‘Vic Lead,’ called for us to jettison our drop tanks, but number three couldn’t get rid of his, so he and number four headed back to base. Somewhere along the line, number three’s drop tanks came off, and he and number four returned to the area.

“‘Vic Lead, two bogies at five o’clock high!’ I called. They looked like F-86s to me, but they were too far out for positive identification. Vic Lead called Vic Three and asked if he had us in sight, but there was no response. Vic Lead was in a left turn, but for some reason he reversed course and turned right. This only helped the two aircraft in the rear to catch up with us. When I glanced back I was surprised to see gun smoke around the nose of the lead aircraft. ‘Vic Lead, they’re shooting at us!’ I shouted. Vic Lead may have responded, but I didn’t hear because I was taking hits.

“My aircraft shuddered, the nose pitched up, and because of the thin air it immediately snapped and started spinning. I struggled with the unresponsive controls, but as the airspeed increased, I was able to stop the spin and pull out of the dive. Fortunately, I was headed in the right direction, towards the south and to safety. That hostile shooter should never have hit me at the range he opened fire. I figured he would line up and finish me off, so I tensed and stayed pressed against the armor plating on the back of my seat.

“This didn’t keep me occupied for long, however, for it was a constant struggle to keep flying straight and level. Both hydraulic systems that controlled flight had been affected; one system would operate until it bled down, then the other one would automatically kick in. Between this alternating of systems operation, the control stick would be immovable, and the aircraft would start to roll. Working with the stick, trim switch, and emergency override kept me busy.

“I was able to glance around and noticed holes in both wings. My radio had gone dead, but the engine was running smoothly. I didn’t think my aircraft could make it back to K-13, but I wanted to at least get to friendly territory. I headed for Cho-do, which is a small island located off the west coast of North Korea. We had a radar station there, along with some Marines to keep it protected from enemy invasion.

“By the time my friendly island was in sight, I had glided to about 25,000 feet. Control was almost unmanageable, but I was able to bring the nose up and slow the airplane by retarding the throttle. I ducked my head and blew the canopy. Then I straightened up in my seat and fingered the trigger to blow the ejection seat. I started the Lord’s Prayer, and somehow that gave me the ‘juice’ to squeeze the trigger.

“Catapulted up and out, I blacked out, then I felt myself tumbling through space. I unhooked the seat belt and the seat dropped away. This left me in a position of falling flat on my back, with nothing to view but sky. Not being able to see the ground gave me such an eerie feeling, so I pulled the ripcord much sooner than necessary. The opening shock wasn’t severe, and that open parachute looked wonderful. While swinging for a while like a pendulum, I saw my Sabre spiraling in, down towards the Yellow Sea. I thought to myself, there goes a quarter of a million dollars down the drain.

“I had bailed out northwest of Cho-do, and the wind was coming from that direction. For a while it looked like my drift was carrying me toward the North Korean mainland. I tried pulling on the shroud lines to spill the chute, but it didn’t help much. It just caused more oscillation and wore out my arms.

“I drifted over the island and across an encampment. Then, just for an instant, I felt horrified because it looked like I was going to land on some huge boulders. Fortunately, the wind drift carried me across the valley, missing the rocks. But right before touchdown, a gust swung me around and I landed flat on my back into some bushy shrubs on the slope of a hill. My chute tangled in them and they scratched my leg.

“A bunch of Korean school children, along with their teacher, came running up the hill. Behind them were two American military men who had an Air Rescue helicopter parked in the valley. After exchanging quick ‘hellos,’ we walked back down the hill. Standing by at the helicopter was a Marine chaplain who said, ‘Boy, we’ve sure been praying for you.’ I replied, ‘Chaplain, I’ve been praying too.’

“After I got back to K-13, a flight surgeon checked my back and the scratched leg. Noticing the blood on my wound, he asked if I wanted to put in for the Purple Heart. I declined because it didn’t seem right to get a medal for receiving a combat wound from a bush. So he returned to the card game he was playing with some other medics. I then had to go report to Col. Stone, our Wing commander, and to Lt. Col. Benz, our Group commander, and relate my version of what happened. They were obviously unhappy about the loss of the aircraft, especially one downed by one of our own guys, but I don’t think they were unhappy with me.”

According to Charles B. Cox, who was a pilot in Victor Flight, the pilot in the “enemy” Sabre was “whisked away from the base” as soon as he landed. He was just given enough time to pack his belongings. Cox thought he had been quickly transferred home to the States, or possibly sent to another fighter-bomber group in Korea. The serial number of Crackel's aircraft was 52-4382.

F-86F Sabres of the 36th FBS on the flight line at Suwon AB (K-13), 1953
(Photo credit: Kermit Keeley. Click photo to make larger.)

36th FBS pilots (Lt. Crackel is second from left) in front of Ops, April 1953
(Photo credit: Fick Henderson. Click photo to make larger.)

2011-09-01T07:02:00.000-07:00

First to Fight

When the North Korean armies crossed south of the 38th parallel on June 25, 1950, President Truman appealed to the United Nations to take “police action” against the unprovoked attack. The United Nations in turn called upon its member nations, including the United States, to assist South Korea with whatever services the small country needed to repel this aggressive advance by North Korea.

Because its focus had been on Europe, the United States was caught unprepared and the only ground forces immediately available for this so-called police action were four U.S. Army divisions in Japan. These formed the U.S. Eighth Army, under the command of Lt. Gen. Walton H. Walker.

Also based in Japan at the outbreak of hostilities was the U.S. Fifth Air Force under Maj. Gen. Earle E. Partridge. As part of the Far East Air Forces commanded by Lt. Gen. George E. Stratemeyer, the Fifth Air Force was responsible solely for the air defense of Japan, and had in its inventory two squadrons of B-26 Invaders (known as A-26s during World War II), three squadrons of F-82 Twin Mustang all-weather interceptors, eight squadrons of F-80 Shooting Star jet fighters, three squadrons of transport aircraft, and a few rescue aircraft. Although not part of the Fifth Air Force, there was a group of B-29 Superfortresses in Guam as part of the Twentieth Air Force. These, too, were in Stratemeyer’s Far East Air Force and would see action over Korea very soon.

Making history, the Air Force committed its first jet fighters into a combat zone, sending F-80s from the 8th Fighter-Bomber Wing to Korea. Based at Itazuke Air Base on the southern end of Japan, and normally assigned only to the air defense of the Japanese home islands, the 8th FBW was closest to South Korea and so got the first call after the invasion began.

Taking off from their base at Itazuke only two days after the invasion, the three squadrons from the 8th Fighter-Bomber Group flew top cover for F-82Gs from the 68th Fighter All-Weather Squadron (FAWS), also based at Itazuke, in support of the evacuation of American citizens from the Seoul area of South Korea.

On June 27, 1950, while escorting transport aircraft that were flying American civilians out of Kimpo airfield near Seoul, five F-82s from the 68th FAWS encountered five enemy Yak aircraft as the Soviet-built fighters flew over Kimpo attempting to attack the transports. The pilots in the F-82s shot down three Yaks, making this the first aerial victory of the war. Only a few hours later, eight North Korean IL-10 attack aircraft tried to strafe Kimpo airfield, but were met by four F-80s from the 8th FBG. Four of the IL-10s were quickly knocked out of the sky, making this the first-ever aerial victory for American jet aircraft in a war.

The 8th FBW went on to set more records as the war progressed. On October 27, 1952, under the leadership of Lt. Col. Walter G. Benz, the 8th FBG became the first unit in Korea to fly 50,000 combat sorties and the first jet combat unit to ever reach that mark. They were the first to get 60,000 sorties only seven months later. By that time the wing was flying F-86F Sabres on mostly ground support missions.

The one record that 2nd Lt. Jim Escalle and the rest of his squadron were most proud was set on June 15, 1953. This was the day when the Chinese started to make their big push through the front lines. The 8th FBG flew 290 sorties that day and the 36th FBS set the record for most sorties (121) by a squadron in a single day. According to Jim in one of his letters, "Those crew chiefs and armament men really worked for us to set that record." This record still stands today.

The many "firsts" of the 8th FBW in Korea
(Photo credit: Wyndham Clarke. Click photo to see larger size)

Following the signing of the truce agreement on July 27, 1953, the 8th FBG returned to its home base at Itazuke AB, Japan.

The 8th FBW saw more action in the years following the truce signing, although only on a sporadic basis. The three squadrons of the 8th FBG rotated in and out of Korea, flying escort to the many reconnaissance aircraft that were monitoring the North Korean military buildup. MiGs were seen on several occasions but nothing dramatic occurred.

In 1956, the 8th FBW turned in their F-86Fs for the F-100 Super Sabre. In 1963, they transitioned into F-105D Thunderchiefs. By this time the unit was designated 8th Tactical Fighter Wing.

Called to war again, this time in Vietnam, the 8th TFW with their "Thuds" flew some of the first missions against North Vietnam. But the 8th became famous on January 2, 1967, when Col. Robin Olds led several flights of F-4C Phantoms on Operation Bolo, which was a deception tactic in luring North Vietnamese MiG-21s to go airborne so Olds and his pilots could engage them. Restrictions at the time didn't allow destroying the MiGs on the ground.

Using F-105 speeds, altitudes, call signs, and even F-105 tanker communication tactics to fool the North Vietnamese ground controllers, the F-4s appeared to be another part of a large F-105 strike force, a supposedly easy target for the MiGs. Taking the bait, the controllers scrambled the MiGs. After the melee was over, at least 7 MiGs were confirmed shot down, with no losses for the Americans.

Today, the (now) 8th Fighter Wing is based at Kunsan AB, South Korea, flying the F-16 Fighting Falcon. Of the three squadrons that were attached to the 8th Wing during the Korean War, the 35th and 80th are still there, but the 36th is with the 51st FW at Osan AB.

2011-08-18T06:32:00.000-07:00

MiG Alley

Chinese troops attacked American forces for the first time on the night of November 1, 1950, when a regiment from the 1st Calvary Division along with units from the ROK encountered heavy fighting at a place called Unsan, about 75 miles east of Sinuiju and north of the Chongchon River.

Earlier on this same day the air war started to intensify again, with three Yaks shot down after they attacked a group of U.S. Air Force planes, including a B-26 Invader, over northwest Korea near the Chinese border. A gunner from the B-26 shot down the first Yak, with two pilots flying F-51 Mustangs destroying the other two. Americans destroyed more Yaks on the ground when F-80s attacked the airfield at Sinuiju, but one of the jets was shot down by antiaircraft artillery from north of the Yalu.

These attacks were only a precursor of things to come, because later in the day six unidentified swept-wing jet fighters with red star markings on their wings and fuselage swept across the Yalu River from their base at Antung and fired upon a forward air controller in a T-6 who was directing F-51s on ground strikes in the Sinuiju area. The communist jets then aggressively attacked the flight of American F-51s, firing upon the Mustangs before quickly disappearing back over the Chinese border.

The air battle involved a type of aircraft never before seen in the war to this time and baffled the Far East Air Force’s intelligence experts. They knew about large, modern airfields at Antung and other locations on the Chinese side of the Yalu River, but seemed dumbfounded when the attacked occurred.

The communist planes were advanced swept-wing Soviet-built MiG-15 jets. It was not generally known for years that during this time most of the MiGs were flown by Russian pilots. They could fight Americans over the Korean peninsula but then fly back to their bases and safety north of the Yalu. Americans were forbidden to fly north of the river into Chinese territory. The area in which they fought was dubbed "MiG Alley."

MiG-15 "Fagot"

The MiGs were faster than the F-51 propeller craft and F-80 jets the Americans flew, but they were still vulnerable to attacks by these now obsolete Air Force fighters. For example, on November 8, 1950, B-29 Superfortresses were dropping tons of incendiary bombs on Sinuiju and bridges leading over the Yalu, when several Russian-flown MiG-15s attacked a flight of F-80s from the 16th Fighter-Interceptor Squadron out of Kimpo that had just finished striking antiaircraft emplacements around the Sinuiju airfield. As the flight was regaining altitude after their dive-bombing runs, the MiGs dove on them out of the sun. First Lieutenant Russell J. Brown, an Okinawa-based 26th FIS pilot on temporary duty with the 16th, was flying as wingman to the flight leader when two of the MiGs flew past him.

Seizing the opportunity to shoot down one of these evasive swept-wing communist jets, he opened up the throttle of his F-80C and latched onto the tail of one of the MiGs as it went past, trying to maneuver his jet into a good firing position. When the pilot flying the MiG decided to break to the left, Brown turned into him. Regardless of the fact that five of his plane’s six guns were jammed, he let loose with four short bursts. Without apparent damage, the MiG rolled into a steep dive and was heading down with Brown following right behind. He fired another four bursts into the MiG, this time getting what he thought were direct hits. Brown then fired one long burst, sending the aircraft toward the ground. He was credited with being the first American jet pilot to score a kill against the MiG-15, even though the Russians have never confirmed his claim. (See note 1)

F-80C Shooting Star

1st Lt. Russell J. Brown on TDY with the 16th FIS, 51st FIG (second from right).

(Photo credit: Dick Escola. Click photo for larger size.)

On November 9, 1950, several MiGs attacked AD-4 Skyraiders and F4U Corsairs from the USS Philippine Sea as they were making dive-bomb runs on the bridges over the Yalu River. Flying top cover for these Navy aircraft were F9F Panther jets from Fighter Squadron VF-111, led by Lt. Cdr. William T. Amen. When the MiGs started down for the attack planes, Amen and his two flights of Panthers went after them, dispersing the MiGs from their tight formations.

During this first-ever engagement between MiG-15s and F9F Panthers, Amen was able to get behind one of the MiGs. He quickly fired several bursts from the four 20mm cannons mounted in the nose of his aircraft. As the MiG tried to escape, it went into a steep dive, but Amen stayed on its tail, firing and getting direct hits. Instead of maneuvering to evade Amen’s cannon fire, the damaged MiG continued to dive, and then at around 3,000 feet rolled over on its back. With Amen still giving chase, the MiG pilot in his inverted dive never bailed out and his aircraft plunged into the ground. (See note 2)

F9F Panther

Lt. Cdr. William T. Amen being congratulated after his MiG kill

(Photo credit: Sundowners and Carrier Group Eleven Association)

Note 1: According to Soviet records, no MiG losses occurred on November 8, 1950. When Sr. Lt. Kharitonov of the 72nd GIAP was trying to escape Lt. Brown’s pursuit, he jettisoned his plane’s external fuel tanks, and then sharply recovered from his dive at a very low altitude. Russian scholars speculate that what Lt. Brown saw crash to the ground was the MiG’s external wing tanks.

Note 2: In contrast to Lt. Russell Brown’s claim, Soviet records confirm that Lt. Cdr. Amen got a MiG kill when he shot down Sr. Lt. Mikhail F. Grachev on November 9. This means Amen was actually the first American jet pilot to score a victory over the MiG-15.

2011-08-10T16:15:00.000-07:00

Flying Fiends

The three squadrons in the 8th FBG were sometimes known more by their names rather than their numbers. They were also identified by the color of the three diagonal sunburst tail stripes on their aircraft. The 35th FBS Black Panthers had blue tail stripes, the 80th FBS Headhunters had yellow stripes, and the Flying Fiends of the 36th FBS had red tail stripes. Almost anything that could be painted, from the doors on the squadron buildings to the flight helmets that the pilots wore, were in the squadrons’ respective colors. The Group’s briefing room was set up like a small theater with two sides of seats, elevated from front to rear, with each squadron having a certain number of seats painted in their individual color. The pilots also wore colored baseball caps, and scarves with the squadron insignia sewn on the front.

The insignia for the 36th FBS was a ferocious-looking beast wearing an aviator’s hat and goggles. Although officially called the “Flying Fiend,” the pilots affectionately dubbed it the “Pukin’ Pup” because of the animal’s drooling tongue that stuck out of its mouth. It was also the squadron patch that was usually worn on the left side of their flight jackets. Their specific flight patch was worn on the right side.

Flying Fiend sign above the squadron Ops building
(Photo credit: Paul Gushwa. Click photo to see larger size.)

36th FBS "Flying Fiends" in April 1953

(Click photo to see larger size)

Each squadron was comprised of four flights. The flights in the 36th FBS were: Mike, Queen, Uncle, and Victor. Jim Escalle was assigned to Mike Flight, along with former 52-F classmates Albert Hamilton, Kent Dodge, and Jack Senneff. Their flight leader was Capt. Jack Magee, a 1950 West Point graduate, who had graduated in Class 52-B and received his wings at Williams AFB. He had flown 90 missions in the F-80C with the 36th FBS, and had accumulated enough combat missions to be sent home when the squadron converted to F-86 Sabres. Instead, he signed up for more missions. “The reason I didn’t go home was because Kathryn, my young bride as of May 1952, wasn’t going to graduate from college until June 1953. So I volunteered to fly at least ten missions in the F-86, maybe 35 if I could extend the tour.”

2nd Lt. Jim Escalle of Mike Flight outside his Quonset hut
(Photo credit: Jim Escalle. Click photo to see larger size)

2nd Lt. Jim Escalle and his flight leader, Capt. Jack Magee
(Photo credit: Jim Escalle. Click photo to see larger size.)

Mike Flight’s home was a corrugated-steel Quonset hut with a plywood floor that usually housed ten pilots. Along with the four flight Quonsets, there was also a “head shed,” a Quonset where the squadron commander and his staff, including the squadron flight surgeon, lived. The front and back doors on each Quonset were painted red, and their respective flight insignias were painted on the front door. The “head shed” had the squadron insignia painted on, while Mike Flight’s insignia, just like their patch, was a bulldog named “Mike” wearing a red flight helmet and munching on railroad tracks.

36th FBS Quonset huts. The "head shed" is on the right
(Photo credit: George Robert Veazey. Click photo to see larger size.)

To keep the pilots warm during the harsh Korean winters, two oil-burning stoves were inside each Quonset. During the hot summer months, windows were opened on the sides for ventilation. Each pilot had an area assigned for living quarters within the flight Quonset, which was a space of around four feet by eight feet, about the same size as a sheet of plywood. They slept on standard military cots and were issued an air mattress and a couple of blankets. If a pilot wanted some extras, such as sheets and a foam-filled pillow, he would have to buy them from the Base Exchange (BX). Electrical outlets were used for reading lamps, or radios if the pilots had any. Furniture was made from whatever materials a person could scrounge up, usually old packing crates. And if someone wanted a small table made for his area in the hut, he could hire a local Korean carpenter to build him one.

Water taps were behind each hut for washing and laundry purposes, and each flight hired a Korean houseboy to do the laundry and other chores, such as sweeping out the hut and cleaning around the area.

The pilots had a central shower area, and latrines were in several locations. The stand-up latrines were just holes in the ground out in the open, with corrugated-steel sheets about four feet high wrapped partly around for privacy. The sit-down latrine was a small building that had wooden boards inside placed over 55-gallon metal drums. The boards had round holes roughly cut out, and each hole was lined up over the center of a drum. The drums would be emptied somewhat regularly by Korean laborers, who thought the Americans were crazy for putting paper in good fertilizer.

Between each Quonset hut was a small slit trench with a wall of sandbags around it. This was for those nights when a Russian-built Po-2 biplane dubbed “Bedcheck Charlie” decided to make a surprise visit to K-13. The plane always sneaked in under the radar at very low speed, and someone in the back seat would drop hand grenades or other small incendiary devices onto the base. Most of the time these attacks didn't cause any serious damage, but it did annoy the pilots when they were awakened suddenly in the middle of the night by the air raid siren. When “Bedcheck Charlie” appeared, they would quickly run outside, some carrying their government-issued fifth of Canadian Club, and jump into the trench between the Quonsets. While toasting “Charlie” and his lack of bombing skills, the pilots watched the fireworks display, as the Army antiaircraft units that surrounded the base opened up with their artillery, firing tracers into the night sky.

The squadron headquarters and the Operations building were about a mile from the Quonset area. They were located just off the main road, which was parallel to the flight line. If a pilot couldn’t catch a ride on a weapons carrier or jeep, then he would have a long walk ahead of him.

Adjacent to the Operations building was the Flight Ready building where the pilots spent a lot of time between missions. Their flight helmets, parachutes, G-suits, survival vests, and escape and evasion vests were kept there. Status boards where missions were posted, along with aircraft assignments, were also in this building. A coffee and tea bar was inside, along with tables for card playing and ping-pong. Most of the time, though, the pilots just sat outside and talked, or read magazines and books while waiting for a mission assignment.

Flying combat missions in the F-86 Sabre was something Jim looked forward to since graduating from Webb AFB. Although the 36th FBS was still going to be used in the fighter-bomber role, even with their new aircraft, Jim hoped he would get the chance to at least see some MiGs, if not shoot at one.

2011-08-04T19:53:00.000-07:00

Ward K. Dodge

I believe that if my uncle didn't lose his life in Korea, he would have flown in Vietnam like many of his contemporaries. Several in his squadron flew missions in Southeast Asia, either as fighter pilots or flying other aircraft. All of them returned home, except for Ward K. Dodge, who was not only one of my uncle’s squadron mates in Korea, but was also a 52-F classmate at Webb AFB.

Dodge grew up in Dighton, Kansas, graduated from Kansas State College and was commissioned through its ROTC program. He entered pilot training as a student officer and was assigned to Pilot Training Class 52-F (Fox) where he graduated from Webb AFB, Texas on September 13, 1952, earning his silver wings and a commission as a second lieutenant.

He was given the nickname "schoolboy" by his classmates at Webb. He, along with my uncle and others from Webb who got to fly fighters after graduating, were in what was called the "pipeline to Korea” and were sent to Nellis AFB for combat crew training.

Upon his arrival at Suwon AB (K-13), Dodge, who preferred to be called by his middle name, Kent, was sent to the RTU (replacement training unit) for orientation training. After graduating from RTU, he was sent to the 36th FBS and got to fly the F-86F Sabre in fighter-bomber operations.

In January 1954, Dodge was assigned as an F-86D instructor pilot at Perrin AFB in Texas. He spent over six years there until he became Chief of Combat Operations for the 36th Tactical Fighter Wing at Bitburg AB in Germany. In 1963 he was assigned as an instructor at the U.S. Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, Colorado. He served there until the fall of 1966, when he began training for Southeast Asia.

In March 1967, Dodge began flying combat missions with the 357th Tactical Fighter Squadron "Licking Dragons". The 357th was part of the 355th Tactical Fighter Wing based at Takhli, Royal Thai Air Force Base (RTAFB) in Thailand.

On July 5, 1967, while flying an F-105D Thunderchief on a bombing mission, Dodge got hit by ground fire. According to one source: "As one formation of Thuds was hitting the Cao Nung Bridge, another group was bombing the railway yard at Vu Chua a few miles to the southeast. Just as Maj. Dodge was about to roll in from 15,000 feet to bomb the target, his aircraft was hit by an 85mm antiaircraft shell. After a brief struggle to regain control, he was forced to eject close to the target. Dodge is known to have been captured but he apparently died of unknown causes in a prison camp about a week after he was shot down." (from the book: "Vietnam Air Losses: USAF, Navy, and Marine Corps Fixed-Wing Aircraft Losses in SE Asia 1961-1973" The author is Chris Hodson and the publisher is Midland Publishing, published 2001.)

When he was hit by the antiaircraft shell, Dodge didn't eject until he regained just enough control of his aircraft to finish his bombing run, releasing his bombs squarely on the target. In disregarding his own safety, he was posthumously awarded the Silver Star for his actions.

On March 13, 1974, his remains were repatriated and were buried at the Air Force Academy Cemetery.

Photo from Webb AFB 52-F yearbook

Jack Senneff, Jim O'Connell, and Kent Dodge in Korea, 1953
(Photo credit: Jack Senneff. Click photo to see larger size.)

F-105D similar to one flown by Maj. Ward K. Dodge (on the right)
(Photo credit: aircraft -- USAF Museum; Ward Dodge -- Military Times)

2011-08-01T07:18:00.000-07:00

The Dirty Old Man

When 2nd Lt. Jim Escalle arrived at K-13 in late February 1953, the commander of the 8th FBG was Lt. Col. Walter G. Benz, Jr., a highly decorated World War II combat veteran, who shot down eight Japanese planes as a pilot with the 342nd Fighter Squadron, 348th Fighter Group in the South Pacific. Flying P-47 Thunderbolts, he logged over 270 combat missions while earning two Distinguished Flying Crosses, nine Air Medals, and a Silver Star for gallantry in action. Benz began his tour with the 342nd FS as a first lieutenant flight leader, and then later took charge of the squadron as a major. He also flew four different P-47s in combat during the war, and he gave each one of these Thunderbolts the name, The Old Man, or Dirty Old Man, a tradition he continued after taking over the 8th FBG.

When Benz took command of the 8th FBG on September 12, 1952, his former group leader in the 348th, Col. Raymond K. "Skeets" Gallagher, was commander of the 8th FBW at the time. He personally put in a request for Benz to take charge of the 8th Group, which was something Benz didn’t anticipate when he got to Korea. “When I arrived in Korea, I was current in the F-86 and expected to be assigned to an F-86 fighter-interceptor group and be able to shoot at some MiGs, but I was told Gallagher had asked for me to take the 8th FBG. I was disappointed at first until I found out that I would be getting the job as a lieutenant colonel, which was pretty good. The 8th Group was one of the very best units in Korea and I was proud to be part of it.” Less than two months after Benz took command, the 8th FBG set another one of its many records, becoming the first unit in Korea to fly 50,000 combat sorties and the first jet combat unit to ever reach that mark.

Walter G. "Jim" Benz died on March 21, 2010 at age 91. He was living in San Antonio, Texas at the time. He will be missed.

Maj. Walter G. Benz (on the right) with crew chief on the wing of his (4th) P-47

(Photo credit: unknown. Click picture to make larger)

Lt. Col. Walter G. Benz and his crew chief next to his F-86F Sabre

(Photo credit: Wyndham Clarke. Click picture to make larger.)

Col. Walter G. "Jim" Benz

(Photo credit: Fick Henderson. Click picture to make larger.)

2011-07-24T07:21:00.000-07:00

Prisoner of War

On June 19, 1953, the day my uncle disappeared, another pilot in the squadron was shot down. He was listed as MIA at first, and then later reclassified a POW.

While flying a late afternoon armed reconnaissance mission, 1st Lt. Albert V. "Vic" Hodges of Victor Flight was hit by automatic weapons fire as he came off his dive-bomb run on a road bridge in an area southwest of Wonsan. He ejected safely and his flight saw him parachute to the ground, but he was immediately captured after he hit the ground. The squadron was relieved to find out he was okay when he was repatriated after the war.

This is an excerpt from Vic Hodges' letter dated September 5, 1953 to his wife Harriet, explaining his POW experience. The letter was written the day of Vic’s repatriation at Freedom Village.

My Dearest, beloved wife,

This is a condensed version of my two and a half month POW "vacation" up in North Korea. As you know, I was shot down late afternoon on 19 June. I was hit by flak just after pulling off the target. My F-86 went out of control so I ejected, pulled the ripcord and the parachute opened. I looked down and a ring of Chinese soldiers were maneuvering in a circle. I landed in the ring and was captured immediately after touching down. I was not injured and the Chinese treated me fairly well. I was shot down approximately 20 miles north of the front lines in the central part of North Korea, and I was imprisoned there for two days. Then after several nights of travel in a truck (nothing moved during daylight hours there), I arrived at a place called Sinanju that was close to the Yalu River and Antung, a MiG-15 base.

I spent over five weeks there under continuous and intensive questioning. There were three other POWs close by, each in small rooms, but I was not allowed to speak with them. I did manage to see them out of my darkened cell quite often. In early August, we were herded on to another truck and rode to the east for about 14 hours. We arrived at a POW camp by the Yalu River. I was in the Camp Number 2 annex. We were kept separated from the other POWs for two nights and a day. Upon joining the group, we were told by the Chinese that a cease-fire had been agreed to and that we would leave in three weeks to be repatriated. We actually headed south by truck 13 days later on the morning of the 19th of August. We were delayed a day or two due to heavy rains that flooded the area and had washed out wooden bridges leading out of the valley. We arrived that night in the town of Mampo and boarded a train. The train ride to Kaesang took 42 hours. We stayed in "tent city" until today, 5 September, and then crossed over into Freedom Village.

Ten 36th FBS pilots, including Lt. Col. Ruby and my pet dog Figmo, will arrive here tomorrow afternoon. Sure was glad to hear that because we cannot leave this compound due to health reasons. It will be good to see the troops tomorrow.

Goodnight my wonderful sweetheart.

Always,

Vic

Lt. Vic Hodges (with Figmo) and Lt. Col. Robert Ruby at Freedom Village

(Photo credit: Charlie Cox. Click picture to make larger.)

This was the aircraft Vic Hodges was flying when he was shot down.
(Photo credit: Paul Gushwa. Click on picture to make larger.)

2011-07-17T12:15:00.000-07:00

F-86F Sabre

Before 2nd Lt. Jim Escalle arrived at K-13 (Suwon) in late February 1953, the 8th Fighter-Bomber Group was still flying the F-80C in combat operations. But soon after he got there, the group began the transition to a new aircraft.

Beginning in April 1953, North American Aviation's F-86F Sabre was the aircraft that the 8th FBG began to fly in combat. More specifically, it was the F-86F-30, which had been fitted with two inboard pylons, one under each wing, to carry up to 1,000-pound bombs.

The F-86F was fitted with a General Electric J47-GE-27 engine that put out 5,910 pounds of static thrust. Its top speed at sea level was over 690 mph, and it was capable of breaking the sound barrier in a dive.

Regarded as the best fighter aircraft of its time, the F-86F Sabre was highly esteemed by the pilots who flew it. By the middle of May 1953, all three squadrons of the 8th FBG were flying the F-86F.

F-86F-30-NA, s/n 52-4395, Sonny Boy, assigned to 1st Lt. Jack Mayo

The 36th FBS was the first squadron in the group to get the new planes. Before resuming their role as fighter-bomber pilots, a few "old heads" in the squadron were selected to go on some MiG Alley sweeps with pilots from the 51st Fighter-Interceptor Group.

Since the pilots in the 36th were now flying an aircraft capable of both roles (ground support and air superiority), they needed a refresher course in air-to-air tactics. Capt. Joe McConnell from the 39th FIS, and 1st Lt. Howard Leaf from the 25th FIS, came over from their side of the base and gave the 36th guys a "pep talk" before they went on their first Yalu River patrols. Leaf used to fly with the 80th FBS, so he had experience flying both types of missions. McConnell was the leading ace at the time.

Although he was a "new head" with the squadron, Jim was assigned a few MiG Alley sweeps, but like the rest of the pilots in the squadron, his main job was still interdiction, close air support and other air-to-ground work. The F-86F was an excellent aircraft for both types of missions.

2011-06-25T06:58:00.000-07:00

36th Fighter-Bomber Squadron

Today marks the 61st anniversary of the beginning of the Korean War. Although Harry S. Truman's administration preferred to call it a "police action" instead of what it really was, the soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines who fought over there knew better.

When I began researching my uncle's story many years ago, I didn't know he belonged to a fighter-bomber squadron in Korea. It wasn't until I was given some of his letters that I found out he was assigned to the 36th Fighter-Bomber Squadron, based at Suwon Air Base (K-13). I had seen a few of Jim's colored slides of that time and knew his squadron flew F-86 Sabres with red sunburst stripes on the tails, but I didn't realize he flew mostly air-to-ground missions until I read some of his letters.

A while back I chose to honor my uncle's squadron by putting together a slide-show video using some of his photos along with those of some of his squadron mates. I hope you like it.

2011-06-23T13:16:00.000-07:00

Fighter Pilots

During my research for the chapters on Jim's flight training, I looked through the pages of his Class 52-F yearbooks from Columbus AFB (basic), and Webb AFB (advanced). Since I like to read fighter pilot biographies, I quickly recognized John Boyd's name in the Columbus book, who many years later became the subject of Robert Coram's biography titled Boyd: The Fighter Pilot Who Changed the Art of War. Boyd was a student officer in Squadron I while Jim was an Aviation Cadet in Squadron III. Because I couldn't find a speck of information that they even talked with each other, I didn't include anything about Boyd in my book. But I did find it interesting that both were in the same class.

When John Boyd was an instructor at Nellis AFB in the late 1950s, he was given the name "40-second Boyd" because he always liked to challenge his students, and anyone else, to try and outmaneuver him in a mock dogfight. If they could score a "kill" in 40 seconds or less, then he would give them $40 out of his own pocket. Many took him up on his offer, but no one ever beat him. His tactics later proved invaluable during the first Gulf War. He also helped develop the F-15, F-16, and F-18 fighters.

When I looked through the different photos in Rat Race, which was the yearbook for Webb AFB, I noticed the name of George E. "Bud" Day, who was the subject of Robert Coram's second military biography titled American Patriot: The Life and Wars of Colonel Bud Day.

During World War II, Day served as an enlisted Marine in the South Pacific. He went to college on the G.I. Bill after the war ended and became a lawyer. Commissioned a second lieutenant in the Iowa Air National Guard, he was called up for active duty when the Korean War began. His pilot training began in 1951 and at Webb AFB he was assigned to Pogo Flight. His classmates gave him the nickname "Birdrow." In Korea, Day flew the F-84 Thunderjet on ground support missions.

Electing to stay in the Air Force after Korea, Bud Day flew as an F-100 "Misty" FAC (forward air control) pilot in Vietnam. As commander of the first jet FAC unit flying in North Vietnam, he was shot down on August 26, 1967, during his 67th mission, and he spent almost six years as a POW. Surviving endless bouts of torture over those years, he later received the Medal of Honor for his courage under harrowing circumstances while a prisoner.

Like with John Boyd, Jim never had the privilege of socializing with Bud Day, because each pilot would usually spend their off-duty hours with those in their own training flight. I believe Jim would have been sent to Vietnam if he survived his tour in Korea and then chose to stay in the Air Force. Several of the guys who Jim knew in Korea had tours in Southeast Asia. Most of them came home. But one of Jim's 52-F classmates who served with him in Korea went on to fly F-105 Thunderchiefs (Thuds) in Vietnam. He was shot down and later died during his captivity. I'll feature him in a future post.

2011-05-25T16:14:00.000-07:00

Remembering Our Heroes

Monday, May 30 is Memorial Day, a day traditionally set aside to honor those who gave the ultimate sacrifice in wartime. Although many people will spend the three-day weekend by taking trips to the beach, visiting friends, having barbeques and enjoying their families at home, please remember the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines who paid the price so you could enjoy these activities in a free country.

Marker for 2/Lt. Jimmy L. Escalle at North Kern Cemetery in Delano, California
(Click photo to see larger size)

In honor of these unforgotten heroes who have given their tomorrows so we could enjoy our todays, I am posting an article written by Ralph Kinney Bennett a few years ago. It's a poignant tribute to our warriors who paid the ultimate price for freedom.

Go Find a Soldier's Grave

By Ralph Kinney Bennett

Make this Memorial Day really memorable.

Go and find a soldier's grave.

It shouldn't be too hard. If you're not near a military cemetery, just about any cemetery will do.

Look for the little American flags fluttering by the stones or the little bronze markers placed by the veterans' organizations.

Or walk the rows and look for those stones that impart terse histories of short lives -- "Killed in Action on the Island of Iwo Jima," or "KIA Republic of Viet Nam," or "Iraq 2003."

I know, I know. You do plan to watch that short parade, and the ceremony at the flagpole. But then relatives are going to be over for that big cookout. There's baseball and auto racing on TV, not to mention the "Memorial Day Mattress Event" or the "Memorial Day SUV Sales-a-thon."

Look, just take an hour away from all that. An hour. Go out early in the morning if you have to.

Go and find a soldier's grave.

Put some flowers there. Or just pause and say a prayer. Nothing elaborate. "Thanks" will do.

Or just stop and think about what it means; what it really means to give your life, in its prime, for your country. Look at that name there on the stone. Think what might have been... and what was.

Some of these men and women were in uniform by choice. Some because they had no choice. Some were heroes. Some were not.

But they were there where all hell was breaking loose. They probably had no idea they were giving "the last full measure of devotion." They just had some instant, desperate job to do. In a cockpit or a turret or a hole in the ground.

Did they grasp the "policy implications" of their presence on the high seas, in the air or on some foreign soil? Did they have time for a curse or a prayer when they saw the muzzle flashes or heard that rushing sound, or when the bomb sent the Humvee into the air?

Go and find a soldier's grave.

You can have that hamburger and beer later, and maybe relax in the hammock and not give a thought to that one whose life span is now an incised line in stone -- that one who represented you, like no Congressman could.

Go and find a soldier's grave.

Remember what duty costs.

Then just bow your head and, as Gen. George S. Patton said, do not mourn that such men died, but thank God that such men lived.

2011-05-13T17:26:00.000-07:00

The Georgia Peach

When Second Lieutenant Jim Escalle was assigned his final combat mission on June 19, 1953, he didn't fly his own aircraft because it was being repaired. Instead, he flew an F-86F Sabre that belonged to 1st Lt. Bill Demint, who was on R&R in Japan at the time. Most pilots named their aircraft on the left side of the fuselage, but Demint said he never got around to painting a name. The right side, however, was given a name by his crew chief -- The Georgia Peach.

F-86F-30 Sabre, s/n 52-4367, The Georgia Peach

The film shown below, along with the still picture of The Georgia Peach seen on the left, were taken by an Air Force photography crew at Suwon Air Base (K-13) on June 18, 1953, the day before Jim flew it on his last mission. The original film didn't include sound, but you'll be able to see how bombs were attached under the aircraft and the general turn-around procedures that the ground crew did every day.

On June 15, just three days before this film was made, the fast turn-around times that the ground personnel achieved, helped Jim's squadron set an all-time record for the most sorties by a single squadron in a day. Beginning before the sun was up and not finishing until after dark, they flew 121 sorties, beating an old record set by another squadron in their group only a couple of months earlier. This record still stands.

2011-05-08T12:50:00.000-07:00

Every Man a Tiger

An excerpt from Chapter 8 of Unforgotten Hero:

As Jim arrived at Nellis Air Force Base to begin his combat training, his confidence level was soaring owing to the fact that he had graduated from single-engine pilot school near the top of his class. But he knew that flying at Nellis was going to be a unique experience. From all the stories Jim had heard about Nellis back at Webb AFB, he hoped he would score high enough while staying alive at the same time. There was even an adage being passed around the various single-engine pilot schools that basically said, “If you can survive Nellis, then Korea should be no problem.” This saying became clear for one of Jim's former 52-F classmates who had been assigned to Nellis.

When this pilot had first arrived and was checking into his room at the Bachelor Officers Quarters, he saw something going on in the room next door, a scene that he soon learned occurred frequently at Nellis. He noticed that someone was gathering the personal effects of the occupant in the room, and was told that four guys had been killed the week before because of target fixation, midair collisions, and other mishaps.

The flying that took place while these guys were cadets had been mild compared to Nellis. Accidents had occurred at some of the different training bases, including a few fatal ones, such as what happened to Charles Barfield at Webb. But Nellis was the big time and it didn't take long before they found this out directly.

During their initial briefing in the base auditorium, the new pilots arriving at Nellis were welcomed by Col. Clay Tice, Jr., the commanding officer of the 3595th Flying Training Group. He had been a former P-38 fighter pilot who led the 49th Fighter Group during the latter part of World War II. Colonel Tice was well known for his straightforward approach and overly aggressive leadership style that personified the training program at Nellis.

At the briefing, Colonel Tice gave his classic speech. He said, "Welcome to Nellis Air Force Base men, the finest fighter weapons school in the world. We're going to do one of three things to you here—wash you out, kill you, or make you one of the best fighter pilots in the world. The choice is yours."

These guys quickly learned that training at Nellis was going to be hard-hitting, relentless, and with no room for errors. To prove this point, the motto of the 3595th Flying Training Group was "Every man a tiger," and Colonel Tice even had his personal F-86 adorned with this animal, and the motto written underneath. The gun panel on the left side of the fuselage had multiple rows of painted red stars with the words “Over 500 MiGs destroyed by Nellis-trained pilots” emblazoned diagonally across the rows.

The idea was to form an aggressive attitude among the new pilots, not letting them get slack in performing the proper maneuvers and tactics. After all, this wasn't single-engine pilot school anymore; it was combat training. Every battle condition was presented on the desert ranges to give these guys a realistic scenario of what they might experience when they got to Korea. Many times, the new pilots would even engage in "rat races" where they tried to outmaneuver each other as in a dogfight. There were many occasions, especially while flying F-80s out to the bombing range, when "aggressor" pilots flying F-86 Sabres would swoop down from above creating a swirl of activity. A lot of times when this happened, too much fuel was burned up while getting away, and the pilots in the F-80s had to return to base without releasing a single practice bomb on the range.

But again, this was Nellis. The instructors were some of the best in the Air Force. Most of them had combat experience in Korea, with a few having fought also during World War II. Their message to the students was simple. They said, “Anytime you are in the air at Nellis, you are fair game for anyone.” And they backed this up with liberal "bounces" anywhere and anytime. Even while on a bombing or strafing mission, a pilot had to be constantly looking over his shoulder. The instructors who flew these aggressor aircraft kept their gun cameras on at all times, and if any one of them came back with a pilot’s tail number on his gun camera film, then he was in big trouble.

Some of the instructors were aces, having been assigned to Nellis to sharpen the skills of these untrained fighter pilots. A couple notable ones were Maj. Frederick C. "Boots" Blesse with 10 MiGs to his credit, and Capt. Iven C. Kincheloe, Jr. with five. Blesse arrived at Nellis in December, two months after Jim began his training. He started out as an instructor, but later moved up to be one of the squadron commanders. Captain Kinchloe arrived in early 1953, during the second phase of training when the guys were flying F-86s in multiple training exercises. These young pilots looked up to all these combat veterans with total admiration, absorbing every word that was spoken, and trying to emulate their talent out on the range.

2nd Lt. Jim Escalle on the wing of an F-86E at Nellis AFB, 1952
(Click photo to make larger)

Out of all the instructors at Nellis, Iven Kincheloe was perhaps the most intriguing, and there was no doubt he had the attitude of a fighter pilot. One evening in the officer’s club, Kincheloe was having an exceptionally good time, when a “bird” colonel ordered him to tone it down a bit. Kincheloe just turned around and told this colonel where he could go, and what he could do with himself. Snapping back at a senior officer wasn’t exactly normal protocol, but Kincheloe was an ace, and the colonel was only a “ground pounder,” which really meant nothing to the pilots at Nellis. The colonel got angry and threatened to take disciplinary action, but nothing ever happened. Later that evening, the pilots in the squadron got to watch some of Kincheloe’s gun camera footage from Korea. They sat there totally amazed as a huge tail pipe filled the entire screen, then about three seconds later, they saw pieces of a MiG-15 spraying in all directions.

Capt. Iven Kincheloe (U.S. Air Force photo)

Getting the opportunity to shoot down a MiG-15 someday provided one of the strongest motivations for these pilots going through the program at Nellis. What they learned would soon prove invaluable when they got to their assignments in Korea. They came to Nellis AFB as proven jet pilots, confident in their abilities, and secure in the knowledge that if they did well they would leave as combat-ready fighter pilots. So far one half of the adage had been completed; they survived Nellis. Hopefully for them, the other half would as well.

2011-05-01T15:24:00.000-07:00

Texas, Trojans, and T-Birds

An excerpt from Chapter 7 of Unforgotten Hero:

After successfully completing his basic pilot training in the T-6 "Texan" at Columbus AFB in Mississippi, Jim Escalle was assigned to a basic single-engine pilot school in Big Spring, Texas, for advanced training. There he would finally be flying those jets he had been dreaming about for a long time.

Before learning to fly jets, though, Jim and the rest of his class had to successfully complete their first, or transition, phase of flight training before they could strap themselves into the front cockpit of a jet trainer. The aircraft chosen for this job was the North American T-28A Trojan. It was a large, powerful airplane with a big 800-horsepower, Wright R-1300 radial engine up front. Designed specifically for jet transition flying, production of the T-28A began in 1950 after the Air Force gave its final approval. The T-28 met the Air Force specifications of a plane that needed to simulate both the cockpit design and the handling of a high performance jet. The engine, though big in size, was intentionally underpowered so the student pilots could get used to the long takeoffs they would experience while flying jet aircraft.

T-28A Trojan (U.S. Air Force photo)

Compared to the T-6, which was a tail-dragging aircraft, the T-28 had tricycle landing gear, which the jets had, making it much easier to taxi and to land. There was even a paddle switch on the stick that a pilot could use to engage the hydraulically controlled nose wheel steering. With it engaged the pilot could use the rudder pedals to steer the nose. This would only be used at low speed, such as when taxiing, and then as the speed increased along with the airflow, the rudder became effective enough to keep the plane in line.

The maximum speed of the T-28 was around 283 mph and it had a nice range of about 1,000 miles. Compared to the T-6 again, the front and rear cockpits in the T-28 were huge, with bubble canopies that hydraulically opened and closed simultaneously, giving the student pilot a panoramic view of everything that was happening outside the plane. The T-28 was a complex aircraft, more so than the T-6, and the student had to keep his mind focused on what he was supposed to do at all times.

Yet, at the same time, the T-28 was a joy to fly. It was easy on the controls, handled nicely in basic maneuvering, and did well during formation flying. Most of the student pilots in Class 52-F had no trouble adjusting to the Trojan. Some of the more impatient members, however, preferred eliminating this transitional phase altogether and going straight to jets. But they tended to become wiser after their first ride in the T-28A.

For their individual lessons with an instructor, the flight was divided into individual flight groups, usually four student pilots to one instructor. Besides Jim, the guys in his group were Joe Dickerson, John Fletcher, and 1st Lt. John Gallagher, a Harvard graduate from Massachusetts. Their instructor was a slender kid known only by his rank and last name, Lt. Houlahan.

Before going up in the T-28, every group had a short briefing that discussed the flight plan of the day, then went around and did a pre-flight check of the big Trojan to make sure nothing was physically wrong with the aircraft. This, of course, was standard procedure for any aircraft they flew, but since the T-28 was more complicated than the T-6, it took longer to complete. The group then took turns going up with their instructor, being scored on how they did while performing certain maneuvers, then debriefed after each flight was over.

One of the first things Jim noticed as he sat down inside the T-28 was the modern layout of the instrument panel. Unlike his previous trainer, this panel was designed somewhat similar to an F-86 Sabre, the aircraft on the wish list of almost everyone in the class. Since the same company that made the F-86 also designed this plane, it made it much easier for the students to adjust as they transitioned into the faster jets. Flying the T-28 was almost as smooth as flying a jet, except the students still dealt with the engine vibration felt inside the cockpit, along with the noise of the big radial engine. They still had to adjust rudder trim to counter the torque of the propeller, something that wasn’t necessary in jets for obvious reasons. So for all intents and purposes, the T-28 was nothing more than a slow-moving jet, only with a propeller attached.

Jim had no problems with the T-28, soloing before most of the others in his class. Each time he went up in the Trojan he paid close attention to everything going on inside the aircraft, though the view outside wasn’t bad either with that big canopy, especially on those long cross-country training flights over the Texas flatlands. Jim tried to understand the technical aspects of each airplane he flew, bringing into account his studies in engineering. Putting into practice what the instructors were trying to teach him, he became one with the aircraft, which may explain to some extent why he was so adept at flying airplanes.

But just like at Columbus, his T-28 instructor said Jim simply had an instinctive knack. Glen Croshaw agreed with this assessment. “It was a well known fact among all the cadets in the class that Jim was an excellent pilot, better than most of the instructors.” Croshaw believed Jim was on a mission ever since the first day he started his pilot training. He said, “Jim had one thing on his mind, and that was strap an F-86 to his butt and go find a MiG to shoot down.”

Before Jim even climbed into the T-6, he wanted to be assigned to a combat unit, hoping it would be in F-86 Sabres. He knew if he did well in advanced training, that opportunity would present itself in due time. However, he had to get through jet training first and score well before his name would be among those at the top of the list. Just like at Columbus, if a student pilot graduated near the top, then his chances of getting what he wanted were good, though the Air Force still had the final word.

2011-04-22T07:41:00.000-07:00

The World's Greatest Air Disaster

On June 18, 1953, a C-124 Globemaster with 129 people aboard, crashed soon after takeoff at Tachikawa Air Base in Japan. At the time, it was called the greatest air disaster in the world.

The big aircraft went down around 4:30 p.m. local time in a drizzling rain. Its destination was Korea, to bring back airmen and soldiers who had been on R&R in Japan. But right after taking off, the pilot, Major Herbert G. Voruz, Jr., informed the tower that one of the plane's four engines lost power, so he decided to shut it down.

Hoping to turn the plane around and land back at the base, he and his co-pilot struggled with the controls as the air traffic controller overheard him say to his co-pilot: "More power! We need more power!" But the plane was banking too sharply and the two men in the cockpit never managed to get the plane under control. It crashed in a rice paddy three miles from Tachikawa.

Since the C-124 was going to Korea, the fuel tanks were filled to the maximum. When the plane hit the ground it created a fireball so big that it was seen many miles away. No one survived the crash. Out of the 129 who perished, 7 were crew members and 122 were passengers.

C-124 similar to the one that crashed on June 18, 1953

Many of the passengers who died were heading back to K-13 (Suwon), including several officers and enlisted personnel from the 8th Fighter-Bomber Wing. Among those were airmen from the 36th Fighter-Bomber Squadron, which was my uncle's squadron.

Lt. Jim Escalle was performing his duties that day as Aerodrome Officer, an extra-duty assignment that no pilot enjoyed doing. When the news of the crash in Japan reached K-13, he and the other pilots were devastated. Not only because of the large number of enlisted personnel who died, but they found out that three pilots also perished in the crash. So did their flight surgeon.

Two of the pilots, Lieutenants Albert Hamilton and Raoul Mouton, were 52-F classmates of Jim's. They went through advanced pilot training together back in Big Spring, Texas. Hamilton also shared the same Quonset hut with him, since they were both in Mike Flight. Mouton, a southern boy from Louisiana, was in Queen Flight. Bill Stacy was the third pilot killed in the crash, but I don't know what flight he was in.

1st Lt. Albert Hamilton, Jr.

2nd Lt. Raoul Mouton, Jr.

2nd Lt. Bill Stacy (on the left)

The 36th FBS lost three good fighter pilots on June 18, and it saddened Jim in knowing he would never see Hamilton and Mouton again. The task of gathering together a pilot's personal belongings was not something the other pilots enjoyed doing, but it was one of those necessary rituals that occurred frequently in a fighter-bomber squadron. Although the three pilots didn't die in combat, it was still a heartrending job to collect their things and put them in a cardboard box.

The next morning, Jim was assigned to fly as element leader on an armed reconnaissance mission deep into North Korea. He never returned.

For more information on the C-124 crash at Tachikawa, go to http://www.koreanwar-educator.org/topics/airplane_crashes/globemaster_japan/p_globemaster_jp.htm

2011-04-05T15:10:00.000-07:00

Unforgotten Hero at the Smithsonian?

The Smithsonian National Air & Space Museum bookstore and the U.S. Air Force Museum bookstore have agreed to review my book when it's published for possible inclusion on their shelves. I contacted the head buyer for both establishments and they welcomed the opportunity to see the book. A few others, such as Pima Air Museum in Arizona, have said the same thing. So I am excited that people will be able (if the book is accepted) to purchase the book at these fine places of aviation history. I also hope that several Air Force Base Exchanges will agree to include Unforgotten Hero in their bookstores.

One reason I'm glad the Smithsonian NASM decided to consider my book is because I'd like to see it available at its Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center. Lining the outside entryway to the Center is the Wall of Honor, composed of wing-shaped foils with engraved names of aviators who contributed in some way to the history of aviation, either in wartime or in peacetime.

My uncle's name was submitted in the summer of 2004 and was placed on the foil sponsored by the F-86 Sabre Pilot's Association. Those buying my book at the Center can see his name alongside other F-86 pilots who defended freedom in Korea, as well as those who defended it elsewhere.

The Wall of Honor entrance to the Smithsonian
National Air and Space Museum's Steven F.
Udvar-Hazy Center in Chantilly, Virginia.

Photo credit: Eric Long/NASM

F-86 Sabre Pilots Association's foil at the NASM's
Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center in Virginia


Jim Escalle's name on the F-86 Sabre Pilots Associations' foil

2010-11-11T06:43:00.001-08:00

Unforgotten Hero - Book Project

I thought that Veterans Day would be a good time to launch my blog about my book. It's the life story of my uncle, Second Lieutenant Jimmy L. Escalle, a fighter pilot who became missing in action during the Korean War. The book is titled Unforgotten Hero: Remembering a Fighter Pilot's Life, War, and Ultimate Sacrifice. The cover design you see on the left is one of three finalists picked from a survey of cover ideas presented to ex-fighter pilots, marketing directors at various military history publishing houses, and others. I presented them with over two dozen cover design ideas and three, including this one, came out on top.

One of my purposes in establishing this blog is to give some early publicity for the book. Future posts will give more details on the different chapters, excerpts, etc.

If you think this project has merit, please consider telling others about it. You won't just be supporting me, but will be honoring the memory of someone who paid the ultimate price for freedom.

Walter D. Druen, Lieutenant General, USAF (Ret.), one of thirty people who endorsed my book, said, "Unforgotten Hero tells a story of not only one brave and devoted person, but encompasses those millions of heroes whose lives have culminated in the defense of our country. Without such dedicated loyalty, this United States would not remain a land of the free in this or any other war."

This blog will probably remain online after the book is officially released, and I will create a dedicated website for it as well. The site will have an author page, an overview of the book, including an excerpt, praise from those who have endorsed the book, news and events, reviews, photos, and a contact page.

A different version of the cover
(Click image to make larger)

Check out the book's Facebook page. There, you can read the table of contents, read the endorsements, see photos, and read some chapter excerpts.

Unforgotten Hero

Contents:

Prologue: The Search For a Fighter Pilot’s Life

Unforgotten Hero at the Smithsonian?

My uncle's name was submitted in the summer of 2004 and was placed on the foil sponsored by the F-86 Sabre Pilot's Association. Those buying my book at the Center can see his name alongside other F-86 pilots who defended freedom in Korea, as well as those who defended it elsewhere.

The Wall of Honor entrance to the SmithsonianNational Air and Space Museum's Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center in Chantilly, Virginia.Photo credit: Eric Long/NASM

The Wall of Honor entrance to the Smithsonian
National Air and Space Museum's Steven F.
Udvar-Hazy Center in Chantilly, Virginia.

Photo credit: Eric Long/NASM