Dad, the Old Master, and the Stop for Coffee
January 7, 1999
Well, this is the last of my late father’s flying stories, at least the ones with enough meat to justify writing up. There were a bunch of other amusing comments, wisecracks and tantalizing hints, but not enough information or confirmation to flesh out another full story.
Dad was apparently a natural when it came to flying, or at least that's what everyone I've ever talked to who has flown with him always said. Dad, however, while acknowledging that he might have had the right aptitude, always felt that the main reason he was such a good stick and rudder man was entirely due to his primary instructor, a crusty old crop dusting pilot named Elmer DeRosa. Immediately prior to our entry into WWII, with war raging in Europe, Japan flexing its muscles, and the US ramping up its military preparedness, the army hired many flying instructors out of civilian aviation, there being insufficient numbers coming out of their own programs. Elmer DeRosa was one of those. He had flown for most of his career after WWI as a crop duster all around Southern California. Dad always considered him the most skilled pilot in terms of pure airmanship he ever met. DeRosa's approach was a bit unorthodox, as was frequently the case with these civilian instructors, but Dad learned to fly with him.
One of the things DeRosa insisted on was that Dad develop an instinctive feel for the airplane. His technique for achieving this was to have his students do slow flight virtually all the time. Dad figured that he spent at least 50% of his training under DeRosa with the Stearman at its minimally controllable airspeed, virtually at stall. Dad said that this forced you into perfectly coordinated flight when you needed to be coordinated, and to easily and instinctively deviate from coordinated flight when necessary to do things you needed to do. Dad said that as a result of hours of this sort of flying, the airplane became an extension of his body.
One of the effects of this training was that you no longer had to switch gears mentally for special procedures like short field takeoffs and landings. Your instincts took over and you just did what was necessary to get up or down within the constraints of the terrain. One day they were flying over some farms in California when DeRosa suddenly shouted into the Gosport, "Want a cup of coffee?" He banked over and pointed out a large house in an orange grove. There was a lawn between a row of orange trees and the fence of a tennis court next to the house. "Put it down there," DeRosa told Dad, pointing to this little patch of lawn. To Dad it looked like a postage stamp, so he turned around and looked questioningly at his instructor. DeRosa just nodded "Affirmative," and added, "There's plenty of room, just make sure you land upwind." So Dad figured out from the trees that the wind was blowing toward the tennis court, lined up and slipped the plane into the tiny space. He stopped uncomfortably close to the trees. "Not bad," said DeRosa after they shut down, "Let's go get some coffee." As they walked to the house, a woman came out and gave DeRosa a big hug. Apparently they had known each other for a long time. They sat down at the kitchen table and, according to Dad, drank coffee and chatted for half an hour or so.
I never found out if there was anything else going on between DeRosa and the lady of the house, but of course Dad wouldn't have described anything like that to his children, anyway.
When it was time to go, they walked out to the Stearman and DeRosa explained how they were going to get out of the box Dad had put the airplane in. They pushed the plane back into a corner up against the tennis court fence, started up, and Dad then did a really short field takeoff. Dad described having to use his momentum to carry the plane over the tops of trees, just clearing them, and then letting the Stearman settle back down below them on the other side to pick up enough airspeed to continue the climb - kind of a ballistic arc over the trees. Just another day of learning how to fly. Dad lost track of Elmer DeRosa after he graduated from Cadet training, but never forgot him and how much he had learned from him. "A truly brilliant teacher," to quote Dad.
Dad had (to me) an amazingly varied flying career. Before he died last August my brothers sat down with him, the logbooks he still had, and his recollections, and put together a pretty complete list of the aircraft he flew over the years. Since some of his logbooks have been lost, we can't work out his total airtime. However, we can confirm well over 8,000 hours (3,788 in civilian aircraft), and estimate the total at 12,000-15,000 hours. Not the sort of numbers airline pilots accumulate, but considering that he was only a "full-time" pilot from 1941 to 1945, and again from 1950 to 1953, it ain't bad. Here's the list:
Training Aircraft
Utility Aircraft:
Transport Aircraft:
Amphibian Aircraft:
Tanker Aircraft:
Liaison Aircraft:
Bomber Aircraft:
Fighter Aircraft:
Helicopters:
Civilian Aircraft:
I really have enjoyed writing up these old stories of Dad's, both for my own interest, and to establish a bit of a memorial among people who would appreciate Dad's history. I hope some of you have enjoyed them, too. Thanks for allowing me some bandwidth in the newsgroup. Hope to see you all at P'Ville.
Bob
Copyright Ó 1999 Robert T. Chilcoat