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The WW II pilot

A story worth reading.



This true story is of the 1967 experience of a young 12 year old lad in Kingston, Ontario, Canada. It is about the vivid memory of a privately rebuilt P-51 from WWII, and its famous owner/pilot.

"In the morning sun, I could not believe my eyes. There, in our little airport, sat a majestic P-51. They said it had flown in during the night from some U.S. airport, on its way to an air show. The pilot had been tired, so he just happened to choose Kingston for his stopover. It was to take to the air again very soon. I marveled at the size of the plane, dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks tied down near her. It was much larger than in the movies. She glistened in the sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.

The pilot arrived by cab, paid the driver, and then stepped into the pilot's lounge. He was an older man; his wavy hair was gray and tossed. It looked like it might have been combed, say, around the turn of the century. His flight jacket was checked, creased and worn - it smelled old and genuine. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a quiet air of proficiency and pride, devoid of arrogance. He filed a quick flight plan to Montreal("Expo-67 Air Show") then walked across the tarmac.

After taking several minutes to perform his walk-around check, the tall, lanky man returned to the flight lounge to ask if anyone would be available to stand by with fire extinguishers while he "flashed the old bird up, just to be safe." Though only 12 at the time I was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher after brief instruction on its use -- "If you see a fire, point, then pull this lever!", he said. (I later became a firefighter, but that's another story.) The air around the exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from fuel fumes as the huge prop started to rotate. One manifold, then another, and yet another barked -- I stepped back with the others. In moments the Packard -built Merlin engine came to life with a thunderous roar. Blue flames knifed from her manifolds with an arrogant snarl. I looked at the others' faces; there was no concern. I lowered the bell of my extinguisher. One of the guys signaled to walk back to the lounge. We did.

Several minutes later we could hear the pilot doing his pre-flight run-up. He'd taxied to the end of runway 19, out of sight. All went quiet for several seconds. We ran to the second story deck to see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as she started down the runway. We could not. There we stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19. Then a roar ripped across the field, much louder than before. Like a furious hell spawn set loose -- something mighty this way was coming. "Listen to that thing!" said the controller.

In seconds the Mustang burst into our line of sight. It's tail was already off the runway and it was moving faster than anything I'd ever seen by that point on 19. Two-thirds of the way down 19 the Mustang was airborne with her gear going up. The prop tips were supersonic. We clasped our ears as the Mustang climbed hellishly fast into the circuit to be eaten up by the dog-day haze. We stood for a few moments, in stunned silence, trying to digest what we'd just seen.

The radio controller rushed by me to the radio. "Kingston tower calling Mustang." He looked back to us as he waited for an acknowledgment. The radio crackled, "Go ahead, Kingston." "Roger, Mustang. Kingston tower would like to advise the circuit is clear for a low level pass." I stood in shock because the controller had just, more or less, asked the pilot to return for an impromptu air show! The controller looked at us. "Well, what?" he asked. "I can't let that guy go without asking. I couldn't forgive myself!"

The radio crackled once again, "Kingston, do I have permission for a low level pass, east to west, across the field?" "Roger, Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass." "Roger, Kingston, I'm coming out of 3,000 feet, stand by."

We rushed back onto the second-story deck, eyes fixed toward the eastern haze. The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a muffled screech, a distant scream. Moments later the P-51 burst through the haze. Her air-frame straining against positive G's and gravity. Her wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again supersonic. The burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin of the field shredding and tearing the air. At about 500 mph and 150 yards from where we stood she passed with the old American pilot saluting. Imagine! A salute! I felt like laughing; I felt like crying; she glistened; she screamed; the building shook; my heart pounded. Then the old pilot pulled her up and rolled, and rolled, and rolled out of sight into the broken clouds and indelibly into my memory.

I've never wanted to be an American more than on that day! It was a time when many nations in the world looked to America as their big brother. A steady and even-handed beacon of security who navigated difficult political waters with grace and style; not unlike the old American pilot who'd just flown into my memory. He was proud, not arrogant, humble, not a braggart, old and honest, projecting an aura of America at its best.

That America will return one day! I know it will! Until that time, I'll just send off this story. Call it a loving reciprocal salute to a Country, and specially to that old American pilot: the late-JIMMY STEWART (1908-1997), Actor, real WWII Hero (Commander of a US Army Air Force Bomber Wing stationed in England), and a USAF Reserves Brigadier General, who wove a wonderfully fantastic memory for a young Canadian boy that's lasted a lifetime."




~Cecil Martin

Great Story. Always liked Jimmy Stewart and his acting.

That America is still here it's just overwhelmed with idiots right now, that will change.

Like that actor an man

Wow! What a great story! I'd have given anything to be that kid. My BIL was in the Marines and stationed down in Charlestown when my parents and I went to visit him and my sister. We got a tour of the air base and Paris Island. The highlight for me was that I got a chance to climb up and look in the cockpit of an F-4 Phantom. I was a military aviation buff, even at that young age, and a chance to talk to the pilot was a cherished memory. The pilot and his REO were just coming out to the bird, so we had to get out of the way pretty quick, but I'll never forget the chance I had to say hi to those guys and stand in awe. We had to clear the tarmac, as there were going to be planes on the move shortly, and I'd have stayed there all day if they'd let me.

Back to Mr. Stewart, what a great opportunity to meet this celebrated member of our Greatest Generation. These brave men and women are leaving us at a rapid pace as God welcomes them home. Never pass up a chance to thank them, and all our vets for a job well done.

I grew up during WW2 having been born, some say hatched in the late 1930's so I did get to see many of those warbirds, sometimes on a daily basis as Hamilton AFB was just across the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco. Just a hair too young to properly ID which was which but loved the sound of they engines. Fast forward to the mid 70's and while at the Battle Mountain Airport in Nevada waiting for my hunting partner Mike to get ready for an evening hunt a P51 came in. Even as a kid I thought they were super cool. Guy got fuel and asked where he could stay for the night. Mike had a facility where pilots could stay for free. He did do a fly by in there morning but I don't think he went full bore. No matter.
Here in Tucson we have a few air shows and when I worked for the National Weather Service, got to see quite a few war birds and a few antiques.
Probably one of the best times was when I went to work on the graveyard shift and went out the back door and parked right out next to our building was areal honest to God B-29. This was the plane used in filming the movie Enola Gay. I got to brief the pilot in the morning as he was flying the pane to JFK,then to somewhere in England where the plane would become a static display never to fly again. It was about three in the morning when he fired up those four huge engines and let the idle for almost an hour. At an idle the windows in our building rattled and stuff shook. I guess everything at the airport shook when he finally took off right at sunrise. I can only imagine what it must have sounded like when several hundred took off for a bombing raid.
About a year later they automated most of what we did and moved us to the University of Arizona. No longer could meet pilots, and was a stultifying atmosphere to work in. As soon as I was eligible I took early retirement and haven't regretted it.
Paul B.

http://www.thisdayinaviation.com/tag/jimmy-stewart/

"20 February 1966: Brigadier General James M. Stewart, United States Air Force Reserve, flew the last combat mission of his military career, a 12 hour, 50 minute “Arc Light” bombing mission over Vietnam, aboard Boeing B-52 Stratofortress of the 736th Bombardment Squadron, 454th Bombardment Wing. His bomber was a B-52F-65-BW, serial number 57-149, call sign GREEN TWO. It was the number two aircraft in a 30-airplane bomber stream. The aircraft commander was Captain Bob Amos, and co-pilot, Captain Lee Meyers. Other crew members were Captain Irby Terrell, radar navigator, Captain Kenny Rahn, navigator, and technical Sergeant Demp Johnson, gunner."