MY 50TH ANNIVERSASRY BOOK

  

This month is the 50^th anniversary of my first book.

 

Where oh where did the decades go?

 

Since then, I’ve published 43 others (10 fiction) plus 850 magazine articles and sold a screenplay.  But the books track back to The Dauntless Dive Bomber of World War II, released in October 1976. 

 

Naval SBDs (Scout Bomber by Douglas) Dauntlesses won essential victories in the year after Pearl Harbor: Coral Sea, Midway, and the sanguinary Guadalcanal campaign.  Years later I wrote an SBD article titled “The Plane that Won the War.”  It made the B-17 fanboys really cranky.

 

Nobody else was likely to write the Dauntless story, and no one else was better qualified.

 

How I came to be in that time and place needn’t diverge here—maybe another article—but in retrospect it was almost as if I were ordained to write Dauntless Dive Bomber.  In the early 70s my father obtained the only airworthy example.  The restoration had been a lengthy process, and I’d spent part of one summer almost standing on my head in the rear cockpit with a shop light in one hand and a rivet gun in the other.  Eventually I got 6 or 8 hours in the gunner’s seat while Dad flew up front.

 

The book’s format was not original with me.  When I grew up, many or most “airplane books” tended toward rivet-counter texts, heavily technical without much operational detail.  But Edward Jablonski’s excellent Flying Fortress (1965) combined technical and historic aspects in a compelling volume.  I was years upstream from those B-17 fanboys, but Jablonski’s combination resonated with me.

 

Path to Publication

 

Recognizing that books about tailhook aircraft were rare—the F4U Corsair was an exception—I realized that a potential market was going unfilled.

 

Enter Naval Institute Press.  Which I barely knew existed.

 

After failed attempts with a few commercial houses, I took a chance and wrote to Preble Hall, 21402. 

 

Darned if I didn’t hear back.  The reply came from acquisitions editor Tom Epley, who encouraged me to send an outline and at least one sample chapter.  Easily done.  Then I received an author’s questionnaire to explain my qualifications (I stressed my Dauntless flight time) and experience.

 

Gladly done.

 

And one morning in May 1975 there was a contract in P.O. Box 135, 97813, signed by Commander R.T.E. Browler (Ret).  It was a joyous discovery for a 26-year-old magazine writer with a few dozen articles to his credit.

 

In the mid 70s the internet did not exist, and I was a cyber luddite when it did emerge.  I wrote my first six books and about 100 articles on a Royal Standard my father bought before I was born.  Eventually I wore out most of the vowel keys while consuming packs of carbon paper.

 

Yes, carbon paper.  I’m that old.

 

Research for what became my first book consumed about four years.  My journalism diploma from 1971 was marginally useful, but I had enough contacts and colleagues to track down likely sources, and eventually I consulted 14 Dauntless pilots and aircrew, half of them retired admirals.  Foremost was Harry Don Felt, a carrier-sinking air group commander and former CinCPac, who kindly wrote the foreword.  Next senior was Lieutenant General Richard C. Mangrum who took the first SBD squadron to Guadalcanal.

 

I didn’t get to know the Douglas genius who created the SBD until working in San Diego in the 1980s, but Ed Heinemann became a valued friend and generous resource.  I was oafishly proud when I could tell him something he didn’t know: each of the 318 holes in the Dauntless dive brakes was exactly the diameter of a tennis ball.

 

How that revelation came about also will have to wait.

 

Lacking email, I worked as I always had, via letters and phone calls.  The sources represented nine squadrons on five aircraft carriers and Guadalcanal. 

 

Chief among my archival patrons was Dr. Dean C. Allard of the navy’s operational archives.  He was impressive—treated me as a colleague though I was literally fresh off an Oregon hay wagon.  His staff provided me with about 300 pages of documents, some of which I still used 40 years later.  Whatever I paid for them, it was worth it.

 

Along the way, NIP manuscript editor Louise Gerretson asked if I had been educated in Britain or Canada.  That struck me as unfathomable.  I had barely been to Canada—flying in a couple of British Columbia airshows—and at that time I’d never visited the U.K.

 

Louise said, “Well, your spelling sometimes indicates a British background.”

 

Then the light bulb flicked on.  I had spent much of my youth reading history—published in Great Britain.  Without “realising” it, I had absorbed much of Her Majesty’s spelling.

 

A pre-publication excerpt received the American Aviation Historical Society Journal’s outstanding contributor award for 1976. 

 

While I was delighted to break into print with a book after 50-some articles, the cover was a disappointment.  To understate things. The monochrome sepia-tone dust jacket and all lower-case letters seemed designed to fade into bookshelves.

 

Not to worry, however.  When a later print run was published it was like sunrise.  A glorious full-color painting of an SBD-5 cruising through clouds, rendered by my sometime colleague Captain Ted Wilbur.  Nobody did clouds or aluminum as well as Ted.  I was even happier when his work graced my NIP histories of the F6F Hellcat and F4U Corsair (both 1979) and F4F Wildcat (second edition 1990).

 

Institute secretary-treasurer-publisher Bowler (reputedly “Bud” but I nnever heard him called anything but “Commander Bowler’) put his thumb on the scale and inserted some artwork in the Corsair volume.  He retired in 1984 and died the next year.

 

Then and Now

 

Reading my book half a century later, the text holds up well, though today I would be more wary of using “which” instead of the more literate “that” in restrictive and non-restrictive clauses.

 

While my prose stands scrutiny, some statements pale amid decades of later scholarship.  A prime example: I accepted SBD pilots’ memories of Japanese flight decks ranged with planes awaiting launch in the Battle of Midway.  The graphic descriptions of exploding Zeros, Kates and Vals made dramatic reading, but they lack accuracy.  (See Parshall and Tully’s Shattered Sword, page 231.)

 

Another problem was my description of Hornet’s mission on the morning of 4 June.  I wrote, “Hornet’s air staff had decided to launch the torpedo planes first so the dive bombers and fighters could link up with the slower TBDs en route to the target.  As soon as (Commander John) Waldron’s squadron had departed, 35 Dauntlesses and ten Wildcats were ranged on the flight deck and launch soon commenced.”  (Page 66.)

 

Now I do not find the source of that version.  Neither the ship nor air group reports mention the subject. 

 

Walter Lord’s Incredible Victory (1967) stated that the SBDs and F4Fs were taking off while Commander John Waldron’s crews manned aircraft.

 

But John B. Lundstrom’s encyclopedic The First Team (1984, pages 333-334) states that F4Fs launched first, then SBDs, then TBDs.  Today I consider his work definitive.

 

Excepting the wartime comments, most of the few errors were corrected in the 2006 paperback edition, which remains the ultimate version.  But the contemporary assessment of remaining Dauntlesses could stand updating.

 

The 1970s aircraft restoration time and effort provided long-term benefits.  The flights with Dad provided not only rare background, but the basis for a novel and a short combat squadrons book from my British publisher.  I even spelled UK style for the series—intentionally.

 

In 1992 my Bantam editor remarked that he’d never seen a 90,000-word text delivered in four months, but I explained that Dauntless: A Novel of Midway and Guadalcanal benefited from about 20 years of research and interviews for nonfiction volumes.

 

During the ensuing half century, I’ve enjoyed my Institute relations: seven books; three dozen articles in Proceedings and Naval History; and two writing awards. 

 

And I look forward to contributing more.

 

Break-break

 

Here’s the full story courtesy of Naval History Magazine:

 

https://www.usni.org/magazines/naval-history/2026/october/dauntless-dive-bomber-50-years-later

 

(Ignore the caption on the SBD formation photo; I’ve sent a correction.)

GOD WAS HIS COPILOT

  

In 1943 Four-Star General Henry H. Arnold was chief of the Army Air Forces.  One day his secretary buzzed the intercom: “Colonel Scott is here, sir.”

 

Hap Arnold (which was not shorthand for Happy) sneered, “Oh, you mean God’s personal pilot?”

 

Colonel Scott was Robert L. Scott, Jr., recently Major General Claire Chennault’s fighter commander in China and author of the runaway best seller God is My Copilot. And soon to be a major motion picture.

 

Scott had made headlines by offering to strafe the miner’s union boss who repeatedly violated a no-strike pledge for the duration.  Scott pled, “I was just expressing my personal opinion, sir.”

 

Arnold grew red-faced.  “Damn it, Scott, while you wear that uniform you don’t have a personal opinion!”

 

So ended the session.  Bob said, “I think that’s when General Arnold began looking for a way to send me back to China where I could get killed.”

 

Bob Scott was multi-talented.  Retired brigadier general, double ace, repeated posts as group-wing commander, innovative big game hunter, and best-selling author. 

 

I knew Bob well, from 1966 onward.  The next year he diverted amid a business trip from Phoenix to deliver my high school graduation address in Oregon.  On one trip he asked, “Can I borrow your mama’s kitchen?”  He baked a key lime pie.  We became hunting partners and frequent correspondents—I have nearly 100 of his letters.

 

Recently I re-read Copilot for the fourth or fifth time.  It had occurred to me that popular as it was, with multi-multi editions and millions of copies, there had never been an index.

 

So I compiled one.

 

Short version: 90 individuals are named, though many are surnames only.  Besides Chennault, the most frequently cited players were Colonel (later Major General) C.V. Haynes of prewar B-17 and CBI Theater multi-engine fame; Flying Tiger ace Tex Hill (who during an overnight stay showed me his pappy’s Texas Ranger Sunday-go-to-meetin’ gun); 23^rd Fighter Group successor Bruce Holloway (a future four-star); and then-Major John Alison, respected ace and leader whom Bob relied upon repeatedly in China.

 

Meanwhile:

 

Bob did not write Copilot.  He spoke into Dictaphone rolls in a New York hotel, each day delivered to Simon & Schuster where “a Yankee secretary with a tin ear” deciphered his Georgia accent. 

 

That Yankee secretary probably accounts for some unusual style.  Every direction around the compass is capitalized.  So is “general” as in “the General.”

 

The text reflects wartime knowledge of Japanese aircraft.  Single-engine fighters are always “Zeroes” when in fact the Imperial Navy had few units in the 23^rd’s operating area.  The Japanese Army flew Nakajima Ki-43 “Oscars” which vaguely resembled the Mitsubishi A6M.

 

Japan’s twin-engine fighter, the Ki-45 (code name Nick) is always rendered as “I-45.” 

 

But the list of aircraft in Copilot is impressive.  Bob never denied that he was “a time hog” and flew as many as ten hours a day.  Along the way he flew the antiquated A-3 Falcon attack plane, the P-12, P-26 “Peashooter,” B-17, C-47, P-43, and almost every model of the P-40 series.  He described his pet P-40E, “Old Exterminator,” in at least half a dozen places, until the veteran was retired too heavily damaged to repair.

 

The oddest aspect of Copilot is the absence of any title inspiration in the text.  Only later did Bob describe the session in a Kweiloin cave where medical missionary Dr. Fred Manget removed rivets driven into Bob’s back by Japanese shells detonating on his P-40 seat’s armor plate.  A Chinese attendant asked how he flew the plane, navigated fired the guns, dropped the bombs, and fought “the barbarian.”  Still in pain, Bob snapped, “Of course I fly alone in a fighter.  I’m the only pilot!”

 

At that point Doc Manget—a 33-year China hand—intoned, “‘You’re not up there alone, son — not with all the things you’ve been through.  You’ve got the greatest co-pilot in the world even if there is only one of you in the fighter ship — no, you’re not alone.’

 

A title was born.

 

Near as I can determine, apparently Bob did not write a full account until about 1961 in Boring a Hole in the Sky. It was one of 13 books he wrote: autobiographies, adventure tales, and novels.

 

Bob was a fine writer, and it’s intriguing to read his books in succession, noting how his style evolved.  He traveled in rare circles, and among his literary confreres was another Simon & Schuster author, Ernest Hemingway.  Bob was an unexcelled raconteur, never moreso than his description of a lost weekend with “Ernst” and “Miz Mary” in a snowbound Idaho cabin.  

 

Much of Copilot is devoted to visceral hatred of the Japanese. Bob and others freely spoke of their satisfaction in killing the enemy, whether aloft, ashore or afloat.  Chennault, who had fought Japan since 1937, had always said, “Kill them whenever you can.”

 

Late in the book, Bob discussed the notion that pilots who had seen the work of their guns and bombs were unable to sleep, “waking up in horror ‘with blood on your hands’…I never knew a pilot who thought about it.  All the pilots I ever saw were so happy about their first kill…that I knew we were not the soft race we had been charged with being early in the war.”

 

But time passed.

 

Gradually Bob’s God laid a healing hand on his heart and mind.  In 1970 at an aces reunion I photographed Bob holding a golf club with a smiling Saburo Sakai—and if you don’t know who he was, you’ve stumbled across this blog by accident.

 

Bob closed Copilot with a heartfelt paragraph that said in part, “The sun was going down now, even from our vantage point up there at 25,000 where Holloway and I were patrolling.  We called for the other ships to land, and as we saw them go into the Lufbery circle and rat-race that fighter pilots like to land from, Holloway rolled over and dove straight for the ground.  I started to roll with him—then I turned back for one more look at the setting sun.  To those earthbound creatures, the sun was down.  There the shadows of the approaching night covered the ground but up here I could see above the mountains, and the sun still shone on my fighter…I pulled straight up and looked into the vivid blue of the Yunnan skies.”

 

For more detail, here’s a link from 2018.

 

https://historynet.com/col-robert-l-scott-gods-pilot/

TWO-FIFTY

  

The republic’s 250^th anniversary is upon us.  Preparations have been underway for years, and predictably we see and hear exhortations for national unity.  As in, “We’re all Americans.”

 

Not to toss a grenade in the swimming pool,

 

But

 

It’s not true

 

and

 

it never has been.

 

There’s an elitist element in the country that, in the words of former Homeland Security Secretary Tulsi Gabbard, “assumes that it knows what’s best for the rest of us and hates America and what it stands for.”

 

According to a current polling, 29 to 45 percent of Democrats are proud of America to any degree.  Gallup’s Democrat “extremely proud” figure runs 14 percent versus 70 percent of Republicans and 28 percent of independents.

 

It’s not new.  I’m old enough to remember when Democrats—who started it--routinely committed the constitutional definition of treason during the Vietnam War (read Article III, Section 3 of the Owner’s Manual).

 

For perspective, we’ve been here before, except that previously we shot at each other, although some current leftists desire just that.  (Democrat politicians and voters advocate, “Kill a Republican.”  Donald Trump has personal knowledge of that fact.)  

 

A few examples:

 

https://www.facebook.com/WinsomeESears/videos/jay-jones-fantasized-about-putting-two-bullets-into-a-mans-head-and-hoped-his-ch/1012441924313289/

 

https://nypost.com/2026/07/02/us-news/fired-trans-dem-campaigner-calls-on-followers-to-kill-your-local-republican-and-vows-trans-jihad/

 

In 1963 a former Marine and practicing Marxist assassinated President John F. Kennedy.

 

In 2017 Rep. Steve Scalise’s attempted murderer had “a history of anti-republican social media posts who targeted the lawmakers based on their political affiliation.”  (AI passage)  

 

In quick summary, to quote a police friend, “You’re not paranoid when they say they’re out to get you.”

 

Meanwhile, I’ll offer some family context.

 

The Revolutionary War was a civil war.  It divided families, communities, and states.  In 1781 one of my paternal ancestors was the aide who took General Washington’s victory message from Yorktown to Congress in Philadelphia. But Lieutenant Colonel Tench Tilghman’s father was a loyalist and a brother became a Royal Navy officer.

 

Over six years previously two of my mother’s ancestors commanded the militias at Lexington and Concord--Captain John Parker and Colonel James Barrett.  My mother had a cousin named Parker Barrett.

 

Eighty-five years later families and the nation split again.  During the (second) Civil War the Barretts hailed from Maine but the Tillmans--largely from the Carolinas, Georgia and Virginia--went for the Confederacy by eight to one.  However, at least four of my father’s family died to free the slaves and/or preserve the union (Abe Lincoln varied on those points.)  One of those who wore the blue was a white officer riding with Colored Troops, U.S. Cavalry.

 

Nearly 700,000 of us--who were all Americans--killed one another in four years.  That might be instructive especially because the population merely was 31 million—about 300 million less than today.

 

My Perspective

 

I was born on the edge of flyover country nearly 300 miles inland from the Pacific coast.  Chronologically in the first half of the previous century, a demographic that makes me a Baby Boomer with about 75 million others. 

 

My mother’s family had raised sheep; my father raised cattle, among other creatures including bison.  Both sides produced wheat and peas, so I grew up living to nature’s calendar of planting, fertilizing, and reaping.  During harvest, 10-hour days were ordinary; 14 were not unusual.  As Dad always said, he was a professional gambler, betting on the weather.

 

When I was born 70 percent of the population still was rural.  Today it’s around 20 percent but that portion of the population is not going to accept the Democratic Socialist plan to abolish private property.  For any liberals who care to inform themselves rather than defaulting to emotional orthodoxy, check the Soviet record on that account. 

 

But go ahead, take your time.  It’s only been about 85 years since Stalin’s forced collectivization.

 

That’s the trouble with democracy.  Ignorant idiots get to vote.

 

Eagle’s Perspective

 

For a typical view among my treasured friends is Captain Lonny McClung, a retired naval aviator who in his 80s has flown 16,000+ hours.  He held four aviation commands including two fighter squadrons and Topgun, graduated Test Pilot School, logged over 1,000 carrier landings and 200+ combat missions.  He continued flying as a civilian, including an around-the-world “race” in a seaplane.

 

“Eagle” McClung speaks for thousands of others:

 

“My 250 thoughts center on the greatness of this country and the cost of the freedom and liberty that we enjoy in this wonderful land. In America, you are free to follow your dreams. Over the years the number of patriots who have given their lives for our liberty in combat is a seven-digit number.  Many more suffered life changing wounds and injuries. I am well aware of that cost--my father died in the Battle of the Bulge in December 1944 when I was barely age five. My early formative years were spent without him. Thankfully, my Mom remarried five years later and a wonderful stepdad steered me in the right direction. I very much needed a firm hand and he lovingly provided same.

 

“I was exposed to the risk and cost of combat in my 30-year USN career.  I lost some squadron mates and really good friends, but I would do it all again if given the chance. The current experience of the World Cup has exposed countless international visitors to how wonderful this country is, the freedom we enjoy, and why I love it so much.

 

“The beauty of this country is twofold. The freedom to do what you want to do, and the natural beauty of the rolling hills and cities coast to coast. God has had His hand on this land from the beginning and blessed us beyond measure.  As long as we acknowledge and follow Him, we will continue to remain that ‘shining city on the hill’ for the rest of the world, and we will record another 250.”