Earlier this month I was privileged
to be inducted into the Arizona Military Aviation Walk of Honor, sponsored by
the local wing of the Commemorative Air Force.
This year was the third installment ceremony, which I shared with WW I
ace and entrepreneur Ralph O'Neill, Major General Carl Schneider, and Rear
Admiral Denny Wisely. Previous inductees
included Frank Luke, Joe Foss, and two helicopter luminaries--Sergei Sikorsky
and Fred Ferguson, a Vietnam Medal of Honor recipient.
My selection was based on the
aerospace education category, as I’ve written nearly 50 books and more than 600
articles, largely on military aviation subjects. But clearly I’m running in mighty fast
company. Therefore, I’d like to attempt
to place my aviation perspective in broader context: air travel as it evolved
from transportation generally.
I believe that the history of
America is a history of transportation, from the Mayflower to the moon.
I'd like to offer a brief survey based on my family's experience, as many of
you will share similar backgrounds.
Both sides of my family came to the
New World in the 1630s. They crossed the North Atlantic by sailing ship,
covering about 3,200 miles in 30 to 35 days. That's an average rate of
advance of about 90 miles per day or not quite 4 mph. They fetched up in
Virginia, Maryland, and the Carolinas, and there they stayed most of the next
200 years. Their main mode of transportation was horseback, about 8 to 10
mph.
But some looked west. Two of
my maternal great-great grandparents wanted more than the east offered, so they
invested everything in a Conestoga wagon and an ox team. In the spring of
1852 they crossed the Missouri south of the mouth of the Platte, and set out on the
Oregon Trail. Contrary to what you see in movies, they seldom rode that
wagon. Mostly they walked 2,000 miles in five months, engaged in a
ponderous race against nature itself. They had to reach Oregon City
before the end of October when winter arrived. Over those five months they
averaged about 12 miles per day. Their actual travel was 2 to 3 mph,
depending on terrain.
John and Martha's grand daughter
was my great aunt Areta. "Auntie B" was one of the most memorable
people I ever knew, and that is
saying something. She was born amid one of the last Indian wars in the
Northwest, as her parents forted up with friends. That was in 1878,
almost three years before completion of the second transcontinental
railroad. Raised hardshell Baptist, she really did run away with a
traveling salesman, and it was years before she could show her face in her
hometown. Yet she watched Neil Armstrong take One Giant Leap For Mankind.
Think about that. Areta was
born when the fastest thing on earth was the steam locomotive, maybe 60 mph, though
14 to 40 mph was more typical between stations. But 90 years later we
attained escape velocity of 25,000 mph. That’s one of the things that
makes aviation so fascinating to me.
Apart from the exceptional men and women who populate aviation, it’s a limitless
endeavor where innovation and risk-taking produce astonishing progress in a
blink of history’s eye. Let’s hope that
the pioneering spirit of the innovators and risk takers survives us into the
next century of flight.
For my acceptance speech at Falcon
Field, the organizers asked me to share some recollections of notable airmen
I’ve known. I said that the committee
should have tapped Tom Cruise for that task because it’s Mission Impossible,
but since the CAF is military oriented, I focused on the following:
First of course has to be Jimmy
Doolittle, perhaps the most complete aviator of all time. His master’s and doctoral papers in 1925
extended our knowledge of the theory of flight; he carved unique records with
instrument flight and his spectacular racing career; and of course his wartime
influence is well known. My first
interview with him was in 1976, writing the program for his 80th birthday party
by the LA Chamber of Commerce. He was
still working at Mutual of Omaha, and he said he took the stairs to his
third-floor office “keeping in shape for World War III.”
Among Arizonans, I had to mention
Joe Foss. The Marine Corps has wronged
him for 70 years by accepting Greg Boyington’s claims, but Joe was too much of
a gentleman to make an issue of it.
(Even accepting Pappy’s USMC claims, he finished with 22 victories as a
Marine to Joe’s 26.) But the thing about
Joe was that he was absolutely genuine.
His son said “Never an unspoken thought!” When Joe spoke at opening of the Pacific Wing
of the National WW II Memorial in 2001 he said, “They told me not to mention
God or guns so that’s what I’m gonna discuss.”
The audience cheered its approval.
My friend and fellow Oregonian
Marion Carl was another Guadalcanal fighter ace and longtime friend of
Joe’s. (In fact, Marion had instructed
when Joe went through Pensacola.) Marion
was arguably the finest naval aviator of his generation—he had the flying gene
the way Mozart had the music gene.
Marion soloed in 2 ½ hours, and anything less is hardly credible. Yet despite his combat and flight-test
records, he was devoid of ego. He
described aerial combat and milking cows in the same tone of voice.
The astronaut I knew best was Wally
Schirra, as we coauthored a book with two other Golden Wingers, Blue Angel Zeke
Cormier and carrier skipper Phil Wood. Wildcats to Tomcats took years to
complete but it was worth the effort.
Once Wally picked me up in his new purple Porsche and, though knowing
better, I asked, “What’s the top end, Wally?”
He shot me that Gotcha grin: “Idunno.
Let’s find out!” On the winding
roads behind Rancho Santa Fe I remember thinking, “My name will be in all the
papers because I’m going to die with Wally Schirra!”
They’re all gone now, but I
remember each with abiding respect and affection, for I was privileged to know
such men.
