V1943-03MO.DOC

Airplane Mechanics School, Kansas City, Mo, 1943

            MAI   The Missouri Aviation Institute, with facilities in down town KCMO and at the Municipal Airport had been used to train TWA and Braniff Airlines pilots and airplane mechanics.  This school was typical of others about the nation contracted by the military to support rapid Army Air Corps buildup. A Radio School in KC MO performed a similar function. The schools were hard pressed to keep up with rapid changes in technology.  The military provided what aircraft they could spare.

 

Boeing  P-12  450HP, 178 mph 1931-32 cost $9100   Boeing P-26 “Pea Shooter”  600HP 234mph 1933-36

            Obsolete  technology   The Rogers & Hamersteins musical line, “things are up to date in Kansas City”  did not apply.  The P-12 was the first airplane I worked on, it’s horizontal stabilizer could be trimmed in flight with cable connected to a wheel in the cockpit.  In 1932 a P-12 shot down a Japanese plane over china before it was shot down.  The Boeing P-26 “Pea Shooter”, had shot down Japanese planes over China and Russian planes over Finland – but with it’s fixed landing gear, open cockpit and wing strut wires it look like a toy. In 1942 all P-26s on Wake Island were wiped out by Japanese fighters.

  

Lockheed P-38 Lightning    Bell P-39 Aerocobra                      Curtis P-40

                      

R-1830 Radial engine, for B-24   Early P-40 “drag” exposed  Allison V-1710  for P-38. P-39 &  P40

            Newer technology   We were given aircraft recognition booklets and had accesses to the MAI book store, where I bought a book on Navigation.  When the  war began we had three front line fighters, P-38, P-39 and P-40, all of which used the Allison V-1710 engine.  The P-38, equipped with an exhaust driven supercharger, was our high altitude fighter.  The P-39 equipped with a 120 mm cannon in the nose was our low level fighter.  It’s engine was behind the pilot and drove a special propeller, with hole in hub for the gun. via a drive shaft under the pilot.   The P-40 fighter was more conventional looking and was our mid altitude fighter.   The early Allison engine had a long nose, as in center figure above, which was later shortened as shown above right.  The British Lockheed P-322 used engines that rotated in the same directions, causing a quick to the right and slow to the left, follow on US P-38 used opposite rotating  engines.

B-17                                      B-24                             B-25                                   B-26

            We had four primary bombers, the  B-17 with (4) R-1820, B-24  with (4) R-1830, B-25 with (2) R-2250 and B-26 with (2) R-2800  engines where the R means Radial and the number cubic inch piston displacement.  None of these planes were available at KC.

            Only the B-17 was in production (limited) at the time of Pearl Harbor.  The US, still recovering from the depression, provided skimpy aircraft funding.  Britain and France, urgently in need of aircraft funded new plants and new designs – their investment was critical to the US aircraft industry.  The St Louis P-40 plant was funded by France,  the British LB-130 became our B-24.  As students we were exposed to the two bank R-2800 engine and were surprised to find B-17's and B-24's used little single row 9 cylinder engines, evidence our nation was not prepared.  Taxpayers were against wasting money when two oceans protected us.

We had no idea a B-29's was pending, and were unaware our above fighters were no match for the Zero, or ME-109.   We didn’t learn about our P-47 and an redesigned P-51 until we transferred to Lincoln NB.

  

Municipal Train Station KC MO               Mother and Father                  Boulevard Manor Hotel

            Municipal Station    Most WW2 service men passed through or changed trains at the Municipal Train Station  in KC MO.  I was in & out of there six times between completely different origins and destinations. The station was typical of many, with large wooden benches with high backs finished in quarter sawed oak.  You could stretch out and sleep, provided you had a ticket and were waiting to catch a train – bums were kept out. Trains were the primary mode of transportation during WWI & WWII.  The nostalgia lingers – the coal burning steam engine – with it’s sounds and smells brought a passenger face to face with a dynamic machine that seemed like a tireless living breathing friendly monster.

            Parents visit   My folks came to visit shortly after we arrived. We took in the sights and took pictures while at the WW I monument located on a hillside park that overlooks the KC MO train station.  This station was the site of a gangster massacre in the 1930's. Compared to flat prairie country the city's profile of tall buildings was quite an impressive sight.

            We Arrive:  Our train from Tent City, FL arrived at Municiple station after dark and we were hauled to our new quarters in the Boulevard Manor Hotel.  We were filthy dirty, on the train we managed to clean our bodies, shorts and undershirts using the lavatories. It felt wonderful to feel clean again! Our outer clothes as fatigues, suntans and wool uniforms had never been washed since they were issued 2 1/2 months before! In Tent City we were in vogue, in the presence of clean civilians we were embarrassed.

            Armour and Troust   Our hotel was at Armour and Troust in a beautiful part of KC MO.  From there we were bussed in day and night shifts to the once impressive Missouri Aviation Institute building in the old down town and later to the Municipal Airport.  We rode in a “school bus” on the street on the east of Municipal station. 

            Our Quarters:   Each hotel room was equipped with 4 double deck bunks. We carried our barracks bags into the room, picked a bunk, then marveled at the luxuries of civilized life. With smiles ear to ear the light switch was turned ON/OFF, ON/OFF, as if its magic had never been seen before. The water faucets were turned on, HOT water gushing on demand! The toilet was flushed for the pure delight of seeing and listening, like home revisited.  We’d become accustomed to a primitive life and that unpretentious hotel room seemed like a palace. We were like kids opening Christmas toys.  In a few days we were back to normal, the sounds of the city beaconed us to venture forth. At first we were confined. Obviously our clothes needed cleaning before we could be seen on the street. To remind us we were soldiers, there were inspections; the white glove treatment to make sure we'd shed our slovenly ways.

            Jonesy:  Sharing our room was a most unforgettable characters, named Jones, whom we called Jonesy.  Most of us were 19 to 21 but Jonesy was perhaps 30. He was tall and thin with a homely face that hosted the trace of a wry smile. He was simultaneously agile and awkwardly uncoordinated. Though he didn’t look bright, his mischievous eyes betrayed a native intelligence. His speech was untutored but colloquially eloquent without being foul. He was unmarried and had a fondness for the bottle, though we never saw him drunk he walked that way stone sober. On the drill field he couldn't keep in step or maintain a military bearing. He marched as if he was walking in a furrow behind a plow. He stood out like a club footed nag in a bunch of show horses. He felt out of place in military service and would prefer being with his cronies than the silly game of playing soldier.  We sensed this and did our best to make him feel at home. In return you couldn't ask for a better friend.  It were never dull with Jonesy present, around him laughter was contagious, always with him, never at him. Drilling his chief embarrassment was soon eliminated, the officers recognized the hopelessness.  With mutual relief they found things to be done that required his services.

            The Jonesy solution;   It was necessary to pass room inspection each weekend in order to leave the hotel and venture out on the town. The first weekend our room flunked, it was a crushing blow, the problem was the toilet stool.  The inside was covered with lime and eaten as if by acid, we worked on it to no avail. We'd given up cleaning it and were resigned to get in and out through a windows if necessary rather than stay confined for another weekend.  Then I had an idea that just might work but it depended on Jonesy. At first Jonesy was unwilling, but the thought of another weekend and no chance to get a bottle called for desperate measures. All of us went over the plan and rehearsed it for the right effect.

            Room Inspection:  As inspection time grew near I placed myself where I could see in the John and also see the entrance to our room.  All but Jonesy were standing by their bunks, all spit and polished, as the inspecting officer started to enter I called out "Attention" and stepped back.   The Captain inspected each man, one at a time, each was a model of military dignity. The Captain gave a quick glance at the taut beds and turned to inspect the bathroom – he came to an abrupt halt – he saw Jonesy for the first time sitting on the John with his pants and shorts around his ankles.   Right on cue Jonesy struggled to his feet to his best awkward pose of attention, pants and shorts still draped about his ankles.  The Captain was taken completely by surprise, more so as Jonesy with a parade ground look on his face began the motions of a salute – as if that was the proper thing to do. The embarrassed Captain managed an "At ease soldier".  Before the Captain could recover I stepped forward still at attention and stated "A bad case of dysentery Sir".  The flustered Captain nodded an acknowledgement and exited the room.

   

Me, Dorothy, Walton & Cadalac                                                       Me                 Dorothy

            We Passed:  The Master Sergeant standing by in the hall was heard to ask "but Sir, did that room pass?"  We heard the Captain’s "yes, yes of course it did."  The puzzled Sergeant said nothing, he knew of our problem toilet.  We slapped Jonesy on the back, delighted with his performance. Jonesy gave me a sly grin and a wink, as I reached out and shook his hand – a fox hole buddy doesn’t need to know how to march.  We both grew up in KS and readily understood each other, though very different we felt as one.  I wish I knew and what happened to him.

            Room and Class mates:  Room mates Walton, Kadalec and I were assigned to the same class. Paul Walton was from Loogootee, Indiana where he’d worked as a machinist for Allison Engine division of GM. He was married and a bit older than most of us. Kadalec from Cleveland Ohio, had worked odd jobs knowing he'd soon be called up. We looked after each other, bound by the unwritten buddy code.  Walton, the "old man", played the roll of chaperon to us "young" fellas.

            We Pick Dorothy   We met Dorothy on our first weekend pass after arriving in Kansas City.   Walton, Kadalec and I had ridden streetcars, walked the streets, drank cokes, ate hamburgers and explored the general environs of down town.  Most of us still behaved as school kids unspoiled by the realism of a war, seeing the sights while looking at girls. Walton was pleased to help Kadalec and I look. We'd seen many, spoke with a few, but hadn't found the ones for us.  Sunday evening we stopped in a drug store for a malt, rest our feet and decide when to start back. We'd given up finding girl friends, when I saw Dorothy and another girl come in. She was pretty and well groomed but most important she and the other girl were not looking for or showing any interest in any of many soldiers.  I studied her behavior and after an evaluation decided she was the one. Walton & Kadalec endorsed my choice.

            Say it with flowers:  She and girl friend were totally engrossed in conversation, oblivious to others.  To meet it would be necessary to go to their booth, but that seemed crude, I needed to think of something.  My buddies admired my selection but didn't offer any help on how to break the ice.  I saw a boy at the drugstore entrance selling flowers. I went to him and gave instructions to take flowers to the girls in the booth. Flowers for each, but he was to speak to the one I pointed out. He was to tell her the flowers were from us, pretty flowers for pretty girls.  We went over what he was to say and I gave him a tip to improve his enthusiasm.  The girls were taken completely by surprise. They were reluctant at first but the boy disarmed their wariness; we all smiled as they pinned them on. They invited us to their booth.

            75th St Street Car   The other girl had to leave soon so we walked her to her to her streetcar. Dorothy's streetcar a bit later was marked "75th" and went south to the end of the line. Walton and Kadalec got off at 32nd St and branched east to the hotel while I rode with Dorothy to the end of the line. It was the last street car that night so I stayed on to get back before our door was locked.  Dorothy was as a beauty operator and lived with her brother and his wife.  We rode that streetcar many times after that. One night I missed the last car and had to walk from 75th to 32nd Street plus about two miles east to the hotel. I awaken some guys who managed to open a door from the inside so I could get in.

            Swope Park: . One week end Dorothy found a friend for Kadalec and we invited Walton along for a Sunday at Swope Park. It was a happy day she and her friend taking pictures later giving us prints. It was fun time.  Her family invited me for Sunday dinner to meet her mother who came to visit.  Her brother worked for the railroad and was often gone two three days at a time. They couldn't have been nicer to me.

   

   

            Pvt to Pfc   Shortly after arrival we were all made Pfc and proudly hand sewed the single V stripe on our shirts and coat.  Our pay jumped from $23.00 to $54.00 per month plus room and board.  After settling in we were assembled in a large dinning hall void of tables and chairs.  I was out in front and missed the initial announcement and learned of it when fellows from tent city told me to get inside, they had decided to nominate me, they were going to hold an election? 

The Election:  We mingled about at random, looking up at the commanding officer on the balcony overlooking the hall.   He told us we were to be divided into an early and late session, one shift would do physical training while the other attended classes.  He said since we were all Pfc, with no non-coms, he decided to have each shift elect the one we wanted to be in charge.  We knew our shift from a posted list, the fellows who called me inside were also on the night shift.  The selected person would serve as the non-com through whom the officer in command would issue orders.  This person would be responsible for seeing that all got on the bus on time in addition to implementing the training officers commands.   We were given a few minutes to talk things over and submit names of nominees.  This was the first and only time I knew of such an election, under the circumstance it was a pragmatic solution.  Most were strangers except perhaps 10% of us from our Basic Training Squadron.  I could heard them work their way through the crowd saying to voted for me.  By word of mouth they reinstate their former drill instructor – no one else was nominated, others were strangers to each other.  Our “family of buddies” jumped in size.

            Extra Duty:    The job was much more work than anticipated, I had to be the first out and the last in, and very visible, under the watchful eye of the officer who was responsible for our actions.  I had to be constantly on the ball and to set a good example, deprived of just having fun, to kid and horseplay like the others. It was and interesting challenge and I soon felt at home in the roll.

            Street and Park Drill field   We drilled in the streets and used park areas, of which there were many near by, in this beautiful affluent part of the City.  We were under the constant scrutiny of civilians of all ages. The officer in charge would provide an outline of what he had in mind for the morning session, I memorized his instructions and carried them out.  After a time the instructions were, "the usual today, carry on if I'm not present".

            Slow it Down:   His instructions often called for extended jogging for a considerable time and distance, the pace I set didn't seem excessive to me but for many it was difficult and they said so.  At first I thought it was normal griping, but paid more attention, some were having difficulty.   We were not in the Infantry where top condition was essential.  I was still in good shape from playing football, running the mile in track, plus hours of hard manual labor.  Basic had removed any school boy fat – I was no judge of others limits.  I asked Walton to tell me when I was going too fast or too long, the task was to keep people in shape, not test their endurance.

            Report to Catholic High School   I was told to report to our Commanding Officer. A Nun in charge of a nearby Catholic High School Band requested help to teach her band how to march.  I said, Yes Sir.  I knew nothing of Catholic protocol, but was accustom to Protestant protocol from Sunday School and singing in the church choir.  My 7 years of contest band experience, as drum major and cornet player was my primary asset.  I reported to the school, was escorted to the gym and introduced to the band director. Her Nuns garb, looks and demeanor didn't fit my preconditioned image of a Band Man.  She was perhaps 40, a nice looking lady and very gracious.  I’m sure she was musically talented, could lead a girls coral group or teach kindergarten – but there was not a trace of John Philip Sousa band tradition. The kids sensed this and sloughed off as if waiting for someone to man the rudder.

            The facilities were beautiful, and were marching in the Gym.  I recommended we march outside, like on a football field or the nearby street. We moved to the street, initiated a good snare drum beat and focused on keeping in step with columns and rows straight; then make sweeping turns, it was necessary to start with basics, which was not very exciting.  If issued rifles the boys would have been interested, as it was they preferred a smoke break – they had been given their "band man" a hard time.  They were good kids and by the second session we were beginning to hit it off, at least those who wanted to be in the band.

            During lunch, in their marvelous cafeteria, a young boy sought me out and astounded me with his knowledge of military aircraft, it was most unusual.

            By the fourth sessions I got into the snap and zest in marching style necessary to win band contests, I presumed that was what they wished to do.  Teaching members to hold instruments up and step lively and for drum majorettes how to strut – this was not in keeping with the Nun’s perception of marching.  She was always very proper & gracious, but I realized we were not on the same page.   I assumed she wanted a band capable of winning marching band contests, while her perception was to have them  march like soldiers.  I sensed this difference in purpose, and since they could now march like soldiers I was not surprised when she express thanks for completing her request and we parted as friends. 

            I felt sorry for her and the kids, they were good kids and she was a nice lady.   I failed to pass on what Bert Hostinski taught us; comradery, competitive spirit and pride in achievement.  Bert was very innovative using a combination of traditional music, Big Band music plus the unusual as Duke Ellington’s Mood Indigo,  Bert was exceptionally bright, a music and math major, later serving as an intelligence officer in Italy. 

            Our common heritage:  One rainy day the officer in charge had us gather in a large church, using it as a school auditorium.  When filing in the officer told me to stand near the front platform.   When everyone was seated he gave a brief talk – then turned to me and said I want you to lead them in song.   It was routine for us to sing while marching in near by streets – now we were to kill time, singing in the church.  Later in life I would have felt self conscious and embarrassed, but at the time it seemed completely natural.  I had sung in the church choir since grade school, in mixed and boys chorus, and sang base in the boys quartet.  This church was a large beautiful structure befitting a well to do part of City.  When I walked out center stage I wondered what in the world we were going to sing – our bawdy marching songs were inappropriate.  I spoke to the fellows, telling what I’d been asked to do,  that I didn’t know how this was going to work without song books.  I said I’ll need your help, I’ll start a song and you pick it up from there.   The result was absolutely remarkable, drawing on our nations common heritage of singing – we all knew the same songs!  We came from every state in the union, and grew up in an era before TV while radio was common.  During grade and high school all of us had participated in singing as part of school, church or civic activities   Singing was an integral part of our nations social customs.   There were many songs from Civil War, WW I and movies that were well known, popular and singable. Many movies of that time included scenes of cowboys about campfires, soldiers in a barracks, marching men singing. It was an ancient human tradition. I've wondered if these songs will become lost an era of high gain electronic amplifiers, flashing lights and the addiction to TV.   The sound was fantastic in those high ceiling spacious environs, the fellows enthusiastically lifted their voices in song – I’ve wished we had a recording.

            Singing in the Rain:  Our favorite song when marching in the rain was the Duck Walk to the tune of "Salute to Sousa":

                                              The Duck Walk Song

                                    "Be kind to your web footed friends,

                                     for a duck may be somebody's mother.

                                     They live in the fields and the swamps,

                                     where it's always cold and damp.

                                     Now you may think that this is the end,

                                     well it is.....silence....."

            We had a good time during the exercise period, invigorated youth....

            The Jewish Center   Every three weeks a large Jewish center was opened to us. They had a big indoor swimming pool and the fellows were impressed with the cordial treatment received. I knew nothing about Jewish religious protocol, many including myself wished we'd taken time to learn more of the traditions that preceded Christianity.  A major Jewish holiday took place and those of the Jewish faith were given time off.  I asked what it was about and was told think of it as a Jewish Christmas, we joked that he also got our Christmas off.  I didn’t know of any Jews in NW KS Decatur County. There were settlements of Bohemians, Swedes and Germans and we all spoke English with a western twang.  A few old timers spoke like Festus in the Gun smoke TV series, familiar to those my age but not part of our lexicon.

            The Ride to the Airport   After lunch we'd load in buses and headed for the Airport.  We traveled through outlying residence and shopping areas to reach then pass through downtown.   After passing through down town we'd come to the edge of the bluff and drop down across the Missouri River to the Kansas City Municipal Airport.

            City Driving:   My driving experience had been on prairie country roads and sparsely traveled highways. I was fascinated how our bus driver maneuvered and manipulated that boxlike school bus.  By observation he taught me how to drive in the city.   He was an excellent driver, able to compete with the most urgent cab drivers.  Those rides would scared the socks off old ladies, but we devil may care young bucks enjoyed the ride, especially the roily coaster thrill of accelerating down the hill then up into and through the river bridge. The road bridge was higher than the roadbed to make it up and over the railroad, It crossed at an angle and didn't align with anything, perhaps the path of an old wagon trail.

            The Airport   The airport was on low flat land to the North between river branches. The Inter city Viaduct between Kansas City KS & MO loomed to the SW. It continued at bluff height above vast cattle stock yards below.  Cattle from Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas continued to pass through these pens as they had since the west was opened, however the bawling sounds and smells did not carry to the airfield. The main runway aimed at the Viaduct.  Pilots gave passengers a thrill, accelerating down the runway, as if to continue under, then abruptly pull up to leap over the impeding, ever looming larger structure. The leap shoved passengers into their seats; feeling the vibration, hearing the noise and watching the props chew at the air. Height was gained at the expense of speed. It was an impressive view vehicles then drivers then faces as the viaduct rail and roadway passed below – then relief, feeling the positive pull and increased acceleration. That direction was a tight take off and an abrupt decent.

            Police the Area   Our first trip to the airport was full of anticipation which soon faded.   We killed time "policing the area" where an airplane had collided with a wooden building, we had not been the first, it was as a means of putting us out of sight and out of mischief pending our turn to start school.

            Hand Tool Basics   Training began at the downtown site, where our first task was to make a nut from a piece of scrap iron.  This was to teach us how to use hand tools; to saw, sharpen, drill and file. These skills were never used in the actual maintenance of aircraft.  Most of the fellows made a square flat "stove bolt nut". That seemed Kindergarten simple so I made a hex nut of double length with a fine thread. I took great care to shape the sides to the same size and file a bevel at one end. I then polished it to remove file marks. The instructor was very  impressed and wanted to keep it. He was quite insistent, perhaps because it was the only hex nut hand made, yet they were a common aircraft part.  I didn't want to part with my “work of art” so I worked fast and made him another. What I'd learned in Ed Hunt's Black Smith Shop when in grade school paid off in my first good grade. 

            Hanger flying   After a few basic classes we were permitted to climb in, on and around the planes. We were like kids with new toys, be they antiques or near recent they were new to us.  There were more of us than airplanes so we took turns impatiently waited our turn to climb in each kind of plane and make mental notes of what it was about. Our eyes feasted on every facet, searching and tracing every contour, imaginations raced, visualizing them in flight.  There were new materials posing questions of how the parts and assemblies were made, of what was inside.  We felt and wiggled everything that would move.  We searched to find the function and name for everything encountered.

Lord Mount  I was fascinated by how an Allison engine mounted to the tubular support frame on a P-40, there was a metal bolt “frozen” in in rubber in a metal tube.  The engine mounted to the frame via four of these “shock absorbers” called Lord Mounts, which absorbed engine torque, the more torque the more deflection of the rubber.

            The inner com   I observed two instructors on a balcony watching a pair of students checking out a plane, one in front and one in back cockpit.  The instructors were  about to split a gut laughing quietly!  I too began watching and listening to the fellows in the airplane.  They were checking out what was in their cockpit.  One said I have a thing marked bank indicator.  The other asked what does it look like?  It has a curved tube with oil and a ball bearing inside.  Yeah I have one of those.  They had wiggled the controls and were down to the not so obvious items.  The fellow in the front had found a hose with a rubber funnel on the end and was waving it about – trying to speak into it or hear from it.  He asked the other if he had a thing like what he’d found?  The other said yeah I have one like that.  This is what caught the instructors attention.  The fellows figured these were the means to communicate between front and back cockpit.  They reasoned there should be the means to do that,  in flight they would need something with all the wind and engine noise.  They said let’s try them out, I’ll talk and you listen, the other said OK, say something, and put his to his ear.   He called out louder, your not coming through.  The front guy yelled into his funnel.  The other said I hear you now but not through the tube, let me talk to you.  The switch from being talker to listener.  Then one said perhaps the tubes clogged up,  try blowing into yours.  The fellow said OK I blew,  The other said I didn’t feel any wind.  They concluded the tubes were not clogged because they could blow through them, so they must have become disconnected.  They said yeah that must be the problem.

Others joined me and we had figure out what those funnels and tubes were and why the instructors had been laughing.  What the fellows thought was an intercom were independent Relief Tubes, for when the pilot had to urinate.  This stimulated a discussion on the bus ride back – how did female ferry pilots managed?  Did their flying suits have a front zipper, did they wear shorts that opened rather than panties?

            Bombay door malfunction   The 8th AF in England notified Wright Field that B-17 bombay door sometimes failed to open over the target but they couldn’t figure out why.   Boeing engineers checked and rechecked and could find nothing wrong, so they flew an expert to England to study the problem first hand.   While still over the channel crew members would relieve themselves into the bombbay unaware those super cold doors at altitude were turning piss to ice, causing doors to hang up.   By the time they landed the evidence was gone.  

            Hot Rock P-38 pilot   During a break while looking over a P-38 parked near by the pilot came to take off.  He swaggered a bit, aware of envy written all over our faces. With a confident flair he taxied away. We watched, mouths agape, waiting to see him lift off.  The two V12 Allison engines purred in harmony as he lifted the nose gear and climbed.   It seemed odd when his climb and acceleration prematurely flattened out, he circled, he was returning.  His landing was smooth and he taxied back to where he had been parked.  When he wheeled to park we could saw his canopy was hanging from the lower balance weight on his horizontal stabilizer!   The P-38 cockpit cover lifted up and back, hinged behind the pilots head – he forgot to pull it down! The lid ripped off hitting the balance tab which pierced the Plexiglas snagging the canopy lid.  It dangled like a picture frame from a coat rack. Canopies on later aircraft were designed to slid back and could not tear off.

            Pilot Protection   P-38’s were the first to use high speed hot turbine superchargers which were mounted such that if a hot blade came off it could hit the pilot in the head.  A metal plate was place between the supercharger and pilots head for protection.  Exhaust from the engines passed through blades, causing them to become very hot while spinning at very high speed.  Those hot hard blades had a nasty habit of  flying off on early models.  This early design served as a test bed for later designs paving the way for  huge Jet engines that would replace piston engines.

            P-39 Door  I read an interesting UR (Unsatisfactory Report) written by a pilot regarding the P-39 door.  Something had gone wrong with the drive shaft between his legs and he decided to bail out when flying over Long Island NY, but he couldn’t get the door open.  He banged, beat and pounded with near panic of one caged in a doomed ship.  He managed to aim and ride it to earth and live to write the UR. His words painted his panic. It was like a car door, with a weight penalty, plus potential panic problems. The esthetic beauty of the P-39 design did not reveal it’s armor plate, self sealing fuel tanks, etc which made it vulnerable to the feather weight Japanese Zero. Production was diverted to Russia, where they stripped the Aerocobra of its armor and used it's 37mm gun that fired through the hub of the propeller on German ground forces. The Russians were delighted with it's performance and it served them well.  I don’t believe it was flown by US against the Luftwaffe, unless in N. Africa.

            High Pressure Oxygen   There was nothing like first hand experience to teach safety and a regard for the power of pneumatics. The early oxygen systems used high pressure storage bottles, heavy duty & wire wrapped for extra strength.  A bottle fell to the floor breaking loose the fill fitting.  The bottle ricocheted around the shop like a berserk rocket.  These bottles were a hazardous if hit in combat and were replaced with larger but low pressure oxygen tanks. The new tank was formed of sheet metal with reinforcing straps spot welded on the outside and painted yellow.

            Apartment collapse  1/3 of an apartment house, near the down town location  collapsed while we were outside on a break.  We heard the sound and saw the dust of its tumbling rubble followed by screams from survivors. We had been gazing abstractly in that direction when to our astonishment it just fell, the expelled air blew dust outward and upward.  Those of us who saw the event ran over and worked for about an hour trying to uncover a young boy.  His mother, a Negro, was almost hysterical. Our instructors were a bit upset with our just taking off without permission.  We insisted that we help till firemen and others arrived.  The boy had not been uncovered when we left, we knew by then he could not have survived and our help was no longer needed. The sobbing mother was still trying to cope with reality.

            Spitting Contest    When things were dull we were full of mischief.   When running engines in test cells someone spit in the wind and started a contest.  We bought Red Man chewing tobacco and with a cud full generated a glob of brown spit.   With a member of your team on the throttle we'd sail a glob to the far part of a concrete apron. That incentive caused us to learn how to fine tune an engine for maximum output.

            The Phone Booth   During evening breaks I'd call Dorothy from a phone booth at the PX, if could get to one of the few phones. We looked forward to talking about nothing, a universal characteristic at that age. The lining of that phone booth had a tough chocolate brown coating on metal with raised dimples, designed to withstand attempts by occupants to write or scratch. It was the dullest wall to stare at while the phone rang.  When her voice answered the image changed to the attractive girl with smile and pleasant voice. 

            Doing Math   One of the instructors was going to school taking math and was teaching us how to apply mathematics to aircraft maintenance.  I don’t recall how it was being applied, only that he became tangled and frustrated.  I’d been following what he was doing and saw where he made a mistake, but didn’t say anything.  He knew he’d made a mistake and was trying to work it out.  I was never good at math but completed differential calculus before entering service.  When I realized he was stuck I spoke up and told him where he made the error and how it should read.  He was quite impressed and appreciated the help. 

            Dutch Brand Paint   The city was asleep when our bus load of tired guy rode back.  Each of us viewed without comment a large sign on the hill to the south of Union Station. It was a beautiful illuminated globe of the world with a big can of "Dutch Brand" paint periodically pouring its colors over the world. This was one of the few times we could be with ourselves and our inner thoughts.

School Closed   We'd been in KC for three months when they decided to close the school and ship us to Lincoln NB to finish. We were all sad to leave, we knew we'd been spoiled and didn't want it to end. There were many emotional goodbyes.

            March to Train   One of my last official jobs was to march our shift to the train station. It was both sad and humorous.  Young ladies came to see their fellows off, many ran out to kiss their sweetheart goodbye – I’m certain some were later reunited in marriage.  Under the circumstance marching discipline held up quite well. 

Tape didn’t hold   To beat the no alcohol on the train order, some taped bottles to their legs. These sporadically come loose and skidded across the pavement. The owner marched on without breaking step or indicate they suffered a loss.

            Casablanca   Dorothy and I saw the movie Casablanca, with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, on our last date the night before I shipped out.  We made no commitments or promises, I’d ruled out marriage until after the war, she understood and we parted as good friends.   About a year later Dorothy married an Ensign.  Before I returned from overseas her sister in law wrote that Dorothy was a mother.

            ASTP   Near the end of our stay in KC I was called in by our Commanding Officer and informed he had selected me as a candidate for ASTP (Army Specialized Training Program), was I interested? I said, Yes Sir. Shortly thereafter the school closed, something I didn’t know was pending.  Perhaps he wanted to do something in my behalf before parting.  Nothing came of the ASTP offer.

            Little things count   We didn’t have written tests at KC and never saw or our knew our grades.  Each instructor graded us according to the impression we made during their weekly segment.  I would later learn that minor events such as making the special hex nut and helping the instructor with his math problem served to favorably vectored my path.

Bob and Betty marry  While in KC my college room mate Bob Nelson wrote that he and long time high school sweetheart Betty got married.  They had perhaps 3 months together before he shipped to Saipan as a B-29 navigator.  Though Bob didn’t return, I'm sure neither would have had it any other way.