One time we asked my dad what he did during World War Two and he told us a story. When he died in a small airplane crash I gave that story to one of his pilot buddies to recount at the funeral. A couple of years later I found a handwritten account of what he really did during the war. His writing was hard to read, and my dad was a great one for sometimes unintelligible lingo so I had to do a little research to make sense of it and found photos on the Internet.

It starts out with him describing the Cessna 182 Turbo that he bought in 1995, and gives you an idea of how he talked. Then he gets into his war experience in the South Pacific. He failed the Navy pilot training, so was reclassified as an electrician's mate.

Here is the first installment:

"So I bought this airplane (paid cash and trade-in) with a busted gas tank which was discovered on first inspection. Denver Air Center did not have enough sense to wipe off the residue. This was May 1995 due to their incoming leases they mess with the leaking gas tank for 5 months. They finally sent it over to Roy Brenham at Beagle that they took a month to fix. I received this airplane in November 1995. In the meantime I was pushing these people to get the leak fixed and had the airplane delivered to Steen at Fort Collins to have a Garmin 150 GPS and S-tec 50 autopilot installed prior to the Jackpot race. This was done and the leak continued so the airplane was returned to the Jeffco Denver Air Center.

So then they fixed it again. The race was the next day so I picked up the airplane and flew it to Greeley, the departure point for the Jackpot race. This was Friday night before the race. I arrived in Greeley with fuel coming out the bottom. It seems when the fuel was drained from the tank the hot shot at Denver Air Center cross threaded the fitting. I would not let these people work on a (coaster?) wagon. They are dumber than shit. I know I am not the smartest S.O.B. in the world but I have learned through the years to rely on the people that make the most noise. The head A&P in the place could not make his wages go from Friday to Friday without an advance. One nice thing the sales manager Rick Hoffman gave me a loaner 172 so I did have some wings.

I started out flying in the Navy V-5 program. I went to St. Mary’s College 3 months for a start then back to Boulder for J3 and N3N training for 3 months. I wasn’t too good, then to Livermore for N2S training. I did poorly and was washed out; went to boot camp at Great Lakes, Jacksonville for AF special in TBN turrets, then to San Diego for 6 months working night shift changing light bulbs. Went overseas heading for the Philippines.

The ship docked at Guam. I had an attack of appendicitis and was taken from the ship to the hospital where the appendix was removed. I stayed on Guam punching a cash register for the officers’ mess. All this time I was a seaman deuce. They gave me a scooter to get back and forth and whatever I wanted to use the thing for. I needed a driver’s license for the scooter which by the way was a Cushman 3 wheeler with a box in front. I went to the motor pool and found out the larger the truck you took the test for, then you were eligible to drive anything smaller, so the guy from the motor pool checked out a 3 ton tractor. We took that thing hill climbing; a very pleasant afternoon.

Cushman


Another time on Guam I went with some fellows I don’t know how I got included. We went to a cock fight in the boonies. Never saw one before, never saw one since. There were several contests. I thought the gooks didn’t have any money but was surprised to see so many $20.00 bills betting on the outcome. The cocks have sharp spurs attached to their feet. Somehow they would jump up above their opponent and come down with their feet straight out and bring the sharp spurs down the back of the other chicken. I remember one had a kidney sticking out its back. Also with this same group of guys we would go target practicing with tracers.

I don’t remember why I checked out a 3 ton truck from the motor pool. This was on a Sunday. I remember for whatever reason I was to go to the north end of the island. I would drive along and someone or more would be hitch-hiking so I picked them up and after awhile they would get off and I would pick up some more. I think the reason I was on this trip some guy was transferred to the other end of the island and I was the only one in the group that had a license and could get a truck.

During the time I was punching a cash register at the officers’ mess I met many fine people and had many experiences. Some of the officers flew PB-Ys. They were always going to Taiwan and Saipan in the morning so I would hitch a ride. Most times they got back by noon and I could take care of the noon cash register punching and sometimes I was late; been chewed out before and many times since. On one of the trips they ferried 6 Culver Cadets to Saipan. Those Cadets were fun to watch. Look out one side of the PB-Y and they were all in trail with the wing, then in a little while they were in trail under and behind the other wing, then three and three.

Culver Cadet


PB-Y



In between Guam and Saipan was Rota, almost an uninhabited island. There were a few Japs left – those peckers are still Japs to me. The interesting thing, a retired brigadier general from the Marine Corp in the adjunct’s office moved to Berthoud as our local attorney. After the war he took the surrender of Rota. I don’t know if he received a sword or not. More about him and his wife later.




To regress, when I was sent home to be discharged from the Navy one of the officers that ate in the mess hall told me he could get me as far as Hawaii on a RD-5 no questions asked. I did this, stopping at Kadzvin - Johnston Island for fuel and lunch. Who else has been to Johnston Island for lunch? After Hawaii to San Francisco on a Jeep carrier and discharged at Shoemaker California. Shoemaker is not on the map any more. I remember at Shoemaker I was in a barrack next to the penal barracks. I would be awakened about 2 or 3 times a night when the shore patrols would roust out all the inmates with their gear sea-going fashion and parade them around outside. Most of them were on their way to Portsmouth.


RD-5