October 26, 1998
Here's another of my late father's flying stories, which I have been sporadically posting since his death, as a memorial.
Dad graduated from cadet training in the Army Air Corps in October, 1941, and was an Army flying instructor stateside for the entire Second World War. He graduated first in his class of 250. Of those 250 graduates only 26 survived the war, including all of the six who were selected to be instructors. After returning to civilian life in 1945, he was recalled at the outbreak of Korea to fly for the Strategic Air Command. He had a long and distinguished career in aviation, and I only wish I could be as skilled a pilot as he was. He also told some great flying stories. Here's another one.
Dad was sent to Hartford Connecticut to do some engine tests at Pratt and Whitney on the YB-50, the re-engined B-29 that was scheduled to supercede the B-29 in the Strategic Air Command, the new branch of the Air Force created by General Curtis Lemay. The B-50 looked a lot like the B-29, but had much larger engines. To absorb the increased power it had huge "butter paddle" four-bladed propellers. Dad had been serving as Operations Officer for a SAC base in New Mexico, having been recalled to active duty at the outbreak of the Korean "police action". This was Dad's only stint as a "test pilot" which really involved testing the new engines under operational conditions and developing new procedures that would apply to them both in the air and for maintenance. Dad (by this time a Major) reported to the Pratt and Whitney factory and was greeted by a young officer who had been assigned to check Dad out in the new ship, at least this was Dad's understanding. They strapped on their parachutes and walked out to the airplane. Dad had lots of time in the B-29 and, appropriately for the occasion, sat in the left seat. They went through the checklist and Dad took the plane up.
Dad ran the big plane through its paces, but was a bit puzzled because the young officer in the right seat did very little talking about the airplane, seeming to be content to let Dad learn about it by trying different things. This was how things went for a couple of hours, Dad trying different power settings, trimming for different speeds, flying with an engine shut down, etc., and his checkout pilot apparently just enjoying the ride. They then decided to call it a day and returned to the field and entered the pattern. As they came over the fence on short final, Dad reached up and chopped the throttles as he always did in the B-29. This, finally, got his copilot's attention. He practically leaped forward, restrained by his harness, and attempted to ram the throttles forward, at the same time shouting, "Don't do that!" but it was too late. Those big flat prop blades were like barn doors. The big bomber sort of stopped dead in the air and dropped out of the sky. They hit on all the wheels at once and practically jammed their chins into their chests.
They continued the rollout, apparently undamaged, and Dad looked over at his copilot, a bit sheepishly. The young officer was white as a sheet. Dad said, "I guess you need to reduce power more slowly than that on these, huh." The younger man looked over at Dad. "Major," he said, "you are checked out in the B-50, aren't you?" "No," said Dad, "I thought that was what this flight was for." "Oh" was the reply, "I guess that explains some of what you were doing up there. I thought I was to be your copilot for some tests, but we didn't seem prepared to do any." They agreed not to tell anyone about the "check ride", but did have engineering look over the plane after the sudden "downdraft" that had caused such a hard landing.
The B-50 entered service in moderate quantities shortly afterwards, but was quickly replaced by the huge, ten-engined B-36, which Dad flew a lot more. But that's another story...
Bob
Copyright Ó 1998 Robert T. Chilcoat