Freeman T. and the APs - Restricted to base

Fire Alarm in the Barracks!

At 4:00 AM the fire alarm screamed throughout the barracks. As happened every time the barracks were to be inspected, about 60 sleepy-eyed, blanket-wrapped airmen exited each of the four doors of the two story barracks--60 stumbled out of the top north door, 60 from the bottom north door, 60 from the top south door and 60 from the bottom south door. We always stood outside on the grass for five to ten minutes, and, then, re-entered the barracks to start the day and prepare for the upcoming inspection. This was probably our 8th inspection and and we all knew the routine.

But, on this cold Wednesday morning November 25, 1961--there was a variation. Some blanket-wrapped, bare-footed airman on the second floor, north end stood in the hallway and said we don't need to go outside--we're already awake, we know the drill. Someone else agreed and stood by his door encouraging others to stay put as well. Some got to the north end fire exit stairway, saw how cold it was outside and quickly agreed with those prescient young men who stood their ground in the hallway and refused to go outside. When I came out of my door, about 59 airmen were standing in the hallway assuring each other that this was the wisest thing to do--why did it take us so long to figure this out? I quickly saw the logic and joined these north end, top floor fire drill miscreants.

We stood in the hallway and talked until we saw the airmen on the south end, top floor of the building re-entering their doorway. We marveled at our cleverness, returned to our rooms and started our day of showering, shaving, dressing and polishing everything that could be polished for inspection. It would be a good day and the upcoming four-day Thanksgiving weekend would be even better. Life is good.

But, maybe not. MSgt Freeman T. Evans--without knocking--opened the door of our room, looked in at the three of us and said, "My office." We looked at each other and walked into the hallway. Sgt Evans was headed downstairs to his office at the center of the first floor of the barracks. Sixty variously-dressed airmen stood in front of Sgt. Evans desk. "Why didn't you go outside like you're supposed to during a  fire drill?" No one volunteered an answer. It was a very quiet five seconds. Then, Sergeant Evans said, "Go get your Class A passes and put them right here," tapping the corner of his desk. "You can come get your pass back on Monday." He grabbed and began reading some important-looking paper indicating to each of us that this discussion was over.

Thirty somewhat dazed young airmen walked upstairs, rifled their wallets, looked lovingly at their Class A Pass and then headed back downstairs. The stack of cards on Sgt Evans desk was growing when I got there but I dreamed that he would say something like, "Keep your card, I was just making a point, go ahead and enjoy the Thanksgiving weekend."

But, no. It was done. Sixty young airmen would spend Thanksgiving weekend on base--no off-base movies, no off-base travel, no off-base restaurants, no off-base visits, no off-base dates. We were stuck! Some of us had planned to go to a nearby home--Doris and Ralph Hannah had invited some of us to their home for Thanksgiving dinner--and, a few airmen had dates for the weekend. Nobody had expected to spend the entire Thanksgiving weekend on base! (Although Air Police--APs--rarely checked Class A Passes off base, there was always the chance of getting checked while leaving or entering the base through one of the many armed and guarded gates. Yep, we were stuck on base for Thanksgiving weekend.)

Jailbreak

On Wednesday evening, after many airmen in other parts of our barracks had departed for their long weekend, Ed Kinney, Bill Macklin and I met in a secluded area and I presented my jailbreak plan.

Today, I had reserved one of the Aero Club's Cessna 172s for noon Thanksgiving Day. My plan was this: at noon on Thanksgiving Day, we would take off from McConnell AFB, fly to Wichita's Mid-Continent Airport, bum a ride to our favorite restaurant, enjoy the Thanksgiving dinner that we had planned weeks ago, bum a ride back to Mid-Continent and then fly back to the Air Base. We would never pass through one of the base's guarded gates.

The next day, Thanksgiving morning was bright and clear.We boarded our Cessna 172, I taxied out to 12,000 foot long runway 18R and we departed the base. Our day went as planned, Thanksgiving dinner was better than expected, and, late Thursday afternoon back at the base, we walked into the barracks day room where 50 or so bored and frustrated airmen were arguing about which game to watch on TV. We looked around, pitied their predicament and walked back to our rooms to contemplate one of the finest, adrenaline-fueled Thanksgiving dinners so far in our young lives.

Freeman T. and the APs--fooled again!

Glider test pilot - first flight in single-seat Jantar Standard sailplane

It was about noon on a beautiful Saturday September 4, 1993. At the Panhandle, Texas airport, Dick Wilfong and I were standing in the bright sunshine admiring a beautiful 1977 SZD-41A Jantar Standard sailplane. I looked at Dick and he looked at me. "Now, who's going to fly it?" we asked each other at the same time.

Dick and I had just assembled our sleek, white, fiberglass, high-performance, retractable-gear, T-tail, single-seat Jantar Standard sailplane and it was ready to fly. However, neither of us had ever flown this Jantar sailplane before. Actually, neither of us had ever flown any Jantar sailplane before. As a matter of fact, neither of us had ever seen any Jantar sailplane fly at all. But, it looked good. The previous owner told us it would fly. All the pieces went together as advertised, and, after we assembled it, we didn't have any pieces left! It must be ready to fly.

Well, the tow-plane pilot was waiting and the Jantar looked like it was ready to go. Now what do we do?

1977 SZD-41A Jantar Standard Glider N11XH at the Panhandle, Texas airport
...all dressed up and waiting for a pilot.

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Here are the aircraft specs from Wikipedia:

General characteristics

Crew: 1

Length: 7.11 m (23 ft 4 in)

Wingspan: 15 m (49 ft 2 ½ in)

Height: 1.51 m (4 ft 11 in)

Wing area: 10.66 m2 (114.75 ft2)

Aspect ratio: 21.1

Wing profile: NN 8

Empty weight: 244 kg (538 lb)

Gross weight: 360 kg (794 lb), with ballast 460 kg (1,014 lb)

Performance

Maximum speed: 250 km/h (155 mph)

Stall speed: with ballast 80km/h (50 mph), without ballast 68 km/h (42.25 mph)

G limits: * without ballast 5.3 / -2.65

with ballast 4.14 / -2.5

ultimate 7.95 / -3.98

Maximum glide ratio: 38 @ 92 km/h (57 mph) no ballast, 38 @ 105.2 km/h (65 mph) with ballast

Rate of sink: with ballast 0.69 m/s (136 ft/min), without ballast 0.6 m/s (118 ft/min)

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How Dick and I ended up wondering who was going to fly this sailplane

For 6 months, Dick Wilfong and I had looked for a sailplane to buy. We traveled to Dallas, but didn't like any of the 'for sale' sailplanes we saw there.

Midlothian, Texas (near Dallas) is a great glider airport but, this weekend,

Dick (hatless) and I found no used sailplane that we wanted to buy.

A few weekends later, Dick and I traveled to the Decatur, Texas airport and met a gentleman from Louisiana. He had a 1977 Jantar Standard and had agreed to meet us about halfway between our two home cities to show us his sailplane.

We peeked into the long glider trailer. (Glider, sailplane, we use the term interchangeably.) The plane looked good, the trailer and plane were clean. We needed a closer look.

I'll not go into lots of detail here, but, we pulled the fuselage halfway out of the trailer, removed and attached one wing, attached a wing dolly to that wing in order to keep the aircraft level, removed and attached the other wing, pulled the glider completely out of the trailer, and, then, removed and attached the horizontal stabilizer. During this process, the owner gave us continuous detailed instructions and answered all of our questions. When the glider was assembled, we took turns sitting in the single-person cockpit where we buckled the 4-point seat belt; latched the canopy; worked the stick, rudder, brakes, spoilers; did not retract the single, center-wheel landing gear; operated the tow-rope release handle; and switched and clicked all of the electrical equipment.

When we had seen everything, we returned the aircraft to the trailer reversing the order that the pieces had been taken out. Everything was smooth and simple; all made sense. Of course, the owner and long-time pilot of this sailplane made everything go smoothly, but, Dick and I did catch on fast.

Dick and I ran out of questions and had no qualms about anything. It was a deal. We shook hands with the seller, paid the man, hooked the trailer up to my white Cressida and headed for Amarillo. We had a sailplane.

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Two weeks later, we faced our dilemma: "Now, who's going to fly it?"

Dick said, "Want to flip a coin?"

I said, "Great."

Dick took out a coin and said, "Heads or tails?"

I said, "Wait, does the winner fly or does the winner watch?" We laughed and agreed that the winner would fly.

"Heads," I said.

Heads it was.

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First flight

Dick and I pushed the Jantar to the north end of runway 17 at the Panhandle Airport. We removed the tail and wing dollies and I walked around the plane one more time. Everything was solid, all control surfaces reacted correctly to positive and negative control inputs, we had streamlined all open seams with white friction tape, battery was fully charged, the removable windshield was clean, parachute had a current inspection date, main tire was properly inflated, tow rope hooked and unhooked properly--I was ready to hop aboard.

I got into the plane and buckled in. Dick picked up the canopy, set it in place and I locked both sides. Dick hooked the tow rope to the nose hook, pulled it tight and signaled me to released it. I did and it worked fine. Dick, hooked the tow rope up again and signaled for the tow plane to take out the slack in the rope.

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This is the club's Cessna 182 tow plane. On soaring days, if I was not flying a glider, I was flying the tow plane. (If you click the photo to enlarge it, you can see the tail hook at the bottom of the airplane's tail. Typically, the glider pilot, at 2,000 AGL, released from the tow rope and headed out. The tow plane then drug the tow rope back to the airport, and, at about 200 feet over the approach end of the runway, dropped the tow rope so that it fell right onto the runway numbers. By the time the tow plane landed and taxied back to the starting point on the runway, the ground crew had positioned the next glider, hooked the tow rope to the nose of the glider and were waiting to hook the rope to the tow plane.)

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The tow plane taxied ahead until the tow plane signaller raised his arms and crossed his wrists. Now, the tow rope laid flat on the runway and had no curls. I checked the instruments. Dick held up the tail dolly so that I could see and verify that it had been removed from the plane (you do not want to take off with the tail dolly attached to the plane). The tow plane signaller stood expectantly beside the tow plane looking back at the glider sitting 200 feet behind. Eight glider pilots stood beside the runway watching and waiting. The take off checklist was complete and I had nothing else to do but fly.

With my feet on the rudder pedals, my right hand on the stick and my mind focused laser-like on the scene through the windshield, I quickly glanced at Dick, who was standing at my right wing-tip, and gave him a thumbs up. Dick stooped down and lifted the right wing tip until the wings were level. Only by pulling the tow rope release handle now can I stop the next steps.

The tow plane signaller saw the wings become level and began slinging his left arm in a complete, vertical circular motion. A light cloud of dust rose behind the tow plane, the rope rose from the ground and we were moving forward. Dick, holding the wing tip, walked and then ran for 5 to 10 seconds and then let go. With the main gear and tail wheel still on the ground, I steered the glider--with aileron, rudder and elevator--down the runway behind the tow plane. Gently pushing forward on the stick, I raised the tail wheel. Keeping wings level, fuselage straight and nose level, we gained speed. At some speed--probably around 40 to 50 knots (you do not look at the instruments much during takeoff)--the plane lifted off the ground.

Now the hard part

I was now flying the glider but the tow plane needed another 10 to 20 seconds to get into the air. Until the tow plane leaves the ground, I must fly perfect formation behind him--rope taut, wings level, same altitude and directly behind the tow plane's tail. I must nail it! (The high-performance fiberglass 'rocket' glider wants to climb like, well, a rocket, but I must climb no higher than the tow plane. If I zoom up, I'll lift the tail of the tow plane making the tow plane uncontrollable. And, if I move left or right, the tow plane becomes uncontrollable. And, if I intentionally or unintentionally deploy the spoilers, drag increases so much that the tow plane can't reach takeoff speed. If any of those things happen, the tow plane pilot will--as agreed to beforehand--immediately release his end of the tow rope, fly away freely and bid me farewell--have a nice day! Understood rule between the tow-plane pilot and the glider pilot--hurt yourself if you wish but you're not going to hurt us both.)

I stayed behind the tow plane as he gained speed and lifted off the ground. With both of us in the air, I kept the rope taut, stayed at his altitude and matched his bank during turns. He circled the airport once while heading for a release altitude of two thousand feet above the ground and he stayed close to the airport just in case I screwed up and caused a rope break. See photo and note below.

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Note - On August 15, 1993, while flying a two-seater Grob 103 in Hobbs, New Mexico (see photo above), I did have a rope break at 500 feet. I circled back, landed, got a new tow rope and flew 7 more flights trying very hard not to do that again. (While climbing out on tow, the glider pilot periodically glances at the altimeter, and, upon passing 400 feet, says, out loud, "Four hundred feet." Glider pilot rule: if you have a rope break before you have said, "Four hundred feet," you land straight ahead no matter what. Everything might be okay. If you have a rope break after you have said, "Four hundred feet," you immediately turn into the wind, complete your turn toward the airport of departure, and, land. Everything will be okay!)

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During tow, we passed through some rising air and the tow pilot then planned our circuitous, rising flight so that I would be in that rising air when our little two-plane formation reached an altitude of 2,000 feet above the ground. The tow plane pilot and I both knew what was happening because we were both glider and tow plane pilots and we both knew that we were looking for rising air.

At 2,000 feet above the ground, about 3 miles southwest of the Panhandle airport, on a southwest heading, I decided that this thermal would work, so, I released the tow rope, and, at that moment I began a steep climbing turn to the right, and, the tow plane--dragging the 200 foot tow rope--began a descending left turn that would take him away from me. I immediately retracted the landing gear to reduce drag. (During tow, we leave the gear down causing some drag, because, the slick, high performance glider can too easily overtake the tow plane.)

The rest is history. I flew the beautiful Jantar Standard for 42 minutes that day--climbing and turning like a silent beautiful, white bird over the clear blue skies of Texas Panhandle. During the next few years, I would take this sailplane up to 22,000 feet and make flights longer than three hours. Like a dream. But, it was real. I could be a test pilot!

Richard landing the Jantar Standard N11XH at the Panhandle, Texas airport.
(circa 1995)

Dick Wilfong, Bill Scholl (the other owner of this aircraft) and I flew the Jantar many hours over the Texas Panhandle and northeastern New Mexico. Our Jantar flying days ended when Dick moved to Austin and the local soaring club dissolved. Maybe later.

Lowell D Scales - telephone visit Saturday October 12, 2013

During the weekend of October 12th and 13th, 2013, Jeff and I attended the World Aerobatic Championships at North Texas Regional Airport in Sherman, Texas (formerly, a U.S. Air Force Base called Perrin Field). While there, Arden told me that Lowell D Scales, my mom's cousin and a World War II fighter/pursuit plane pilot--was once stationed at Perrin AFB. So, on Saturday morning, I called Lowell D at his home in Columbus, Mississippi and told him who I was and where I was. It took him a few moments to understand what was happening, but, within a few more moments, we began a 38 minute conversation that was quite a thrill for me.

I had not spoken with Lowell D since the year 2000 when we visited at Homer's funeral in Corpus Christi. We were at Jewell's house with crowds of family and friends, and, during our conversation, Lowell D asked me if I knew how he was getting back home to Columbus. I guessed Southwest Airlines. He said, no, and speaking softly and turning so nobody could hear him, told me with a smile that Barry's jet was taking him home. Aha! We talked about his upcoming trip home and I could tell that he was excited.

On that Saturday at the former Perrin Field, Lowell D and I on the phone worked up from clarifying who I was to talking about about World War II, flying, jets and Perrin Field. These are my notes, not necessary correct and not necessarily in any specific order--just what I remember from the conversation.

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Lowell D served at Perrin Field and flew F-86Ds.

These are 1950s era F-86Ds. Lowell D. mentioned the retractable rocket tray that fired rockets from the bottom of the plane. (from Wikipedia)

In 1951 he went to Korea and flew 100 missions in F-80 Shooting Stars. He said the Shooting Star was a single seat T-33.

World War II was the best time in his life--he had a powerful P-47 airplane with 8 50-caliber machine guns and he could shoot down enemy planes, trains, trucks--whatever. I told Lowell D. that I had this photo (below) and he said that he was 20 years old in this photo.

Lowell D Scales (P-47 pilot), Morris Barker (B-24 tail gunner) and Homer Andrews (B-17 pilot)

His family was like nomads--he would fly for awhile then everyone would pack up and move to another air force base where he'd fly for awhile and they'd pack up and do it again.

Lowell D is now 89, and, every morning, he eats his corn flakes, goes to see Shirley, makes sure she eats lunch, goes to some restaurant for lunch and then goes back home. That's his day. Shirley can't communicate--she mostly babbles.

For two years, he's been having having dizziness problems. It's a real pain for him.

He said that he learned to fly and got his wings flying the T-6 at Williams Field in Arizona.

He built a Lancair 320, flew it about 60 hours and sold it in 1998 because it was too physically painful for him to get into and out of the plane. The new owner, who lives in south Alabama, has flown the plane for about 1,000 hours and periodically brings it to Columbus and visits with Lowell D. Lowell D built his plane--it was complex but it came in molded parts and pieces and he did it all.

Photos from Arden Warner. Click to enlarge.

Lowell D. never lived in La Jolla but Monkey did. Lowell D. enjoyed hearing my stories about Don and I changing clothes in Aunt Sister's (Nannie Bell's and Ira's garage) and walking to the Pacific beach to go swimming.

He said that Homer flew only B-17s and that he did not remember that Homer had to finish his overseas tour of duty by flying as a courier around England for a few months.

He got shot down on December 26, 1944 while flying "Dody's Baby" (He confirmed for me the spelling of that name--DODY'S BABY). Within minutes after his bailout and the plane's crash, he was able to examine the wreckage. He said it landed pretty good for a plane without a pilot. He got another plane but it was not as good as the "mother plane" as he called it. He said, your second plane is never as good as the one you flew first. (He said that he got the name Dody because his cousins couldn't say the name Lowell D.)

He's writing his history and and has written about 40 pages. Hasn't written for awhile but said he would try to restart after our phone conversation ended.

I asked him if he had ever flown over Electra in an F-89 Scorpion (that I thought that I saw fly over Electra one day), but, he said that he had never flown and F-89. He did, however, fly over in Electra in an F-86. (Maybe that's what I saw fly low over Electra the early 1960s.)

He lived with Homer and Trixie in No Man's Land north of Electra and that is how he met Shirley who lived across the street. He and Shirley walked to town to buy ice cream and then back out to No Man's Land. I told him that my mom and dad did the same thing.

He said that he would like for the Warner brothers to come see him.

So glad I got to speak with him. I would love to visit with him for a few hours and see his photos.

Flying the Cessna jet

As we climbed out from the Idaho Falls Regional Airport and turned to a heading of 131 degrees, Jason asked me if I wanted to take the controls as we climbed toward our planned altitude of 37,000 feet. I said yes and took the controls of the Cessna C510 Mustang. We could have been on autopilot but Jason knew that I'd like to get the feel of the jet as we climbed into thinner and thinner air.

We were fairly light. We had full fuel but little baggage and no passengers in the back. The sun was setting and could not be seen behind cloud layer off to the southwest. It was a beautiful evening with smooth air and light, thin widely scattered cloud wisps. A perfect evening for flying.

Watching the sunset upon takeoff from Idaho Falls, Idaho.
(Click any photo to enlarge it.)

The Mustang was a mechanical and electronic marvel. (Ask Google to show you photos of Cessna Mustangs.) It had very few switches on the panel and it had three large Garmin G1000 screens--a Primary Flight Display (PFD) on each side and a slightly larger Multifunction Display (MFD) in the center. Other than during takeoff and landing, the autopilot flew the plane based on instructions given to it by the pilot; an amazing amount of high tech automation.

The Cessna Mustang has a three-screen Garmin G1000 navigation
system (PFD screen on the left, MFD at center and PFD on the right) and
a fairly small number of fairly simple switches.

Our flight began in Dalhart, Texas at 5:13 PM CT Tuesday October 1, 2013. Jason had asked me at 1:00 PM if I wanted to fly co-pilot with him for a flight from Dalhart, Texas to Idaho Falls, Idaho and back to Dalhart, both flights that same evening. I cleared my calendar, drove to Dalhart and was ready to take off at 4 PM. The plane was ready to go and Jason was just waiting for his four passengers to arrive at the Dalhart airport. The line attendant had just sucked 30 gallons of fuel (about 200 pounds) from the tanks to account for my presence. (Full fuel, full seats and a full baggage compartment can overload the plane. The pilot must calculate and make adjustments for all weights before takeoff.)

More than you may want to know - The Cessna Mustang Specification and Description sheet states that the aircraft holds 2580 pounds of fuel and that fuel weighs 6.7 pounds per gallon. The spec sheet, however, never states the Mustang's fuel capacity in gallons. We can calculate the fuel capacity in gallons as follows: 2580 pounds divided by 6.7 lbs/gal equals 385 gallons. The pilot can use the spec sheet numbers to make precise calculation, but, can use the following numbers to make quick fuel calculations: "full fuel equals 400 gallons of fuel, and, 15 gallons of fuel weighs 100 pounds." When Jason confirmed that I would be his copilot, he assumed that I weighed 200 pounds and, therefore, asked the airport's fuel service attendant, to remove 30 gallons of fuel from the tanks.

Cessna Mustang parked on the tarmac in Dalhart

waiting for the four passengers to arrive.

When the four passengers arrived, they boarded the plane and sat in the cabin. I got into the right front seat, Jason removed the engine covers and walked around the plane and then Jason came aboard and closed the cabin door. In a very few minutes, he started the engines, taxied out to runway 35, informed anyone listening to unicom that were about to take flight and then he taxied onto the runway.

Lined up on runway 35, Jason held the brakes and added full power. After about seven seconds, he released the brake and off we went--V1, rotate and climb out at about 170 knots. Quite a thrill to watch all the instruments and gauges move as the ground fell away and we altered course to about 325 degrees--a direct line to Idaho Falls. Jason told unicom that we were out of there to the northwest and then he called Albuquerque Center and told them that we were off.

In the the cabin section of the Cessna Mustang,

four passengers check the view of Dalhart

disappearing to the right rear.

At about 200 feet above the ground, Jason flipped on the autopilot and set the destination altitude to 18,000 feet. After reaching 18,000 and getting cleared to 28,000 he set the new altitude and we continued higher until step by step ATC clearances got us to 36,000 feet where we leveled off and prepared for more than an hour of straight, level, scenic flight.

For an hour, Jason and I discussed the G1000, pressurization, power settings, deicing, TCAS, radar, flap settings and more. We also watched the world slide by below us--Texas farms, Pueblo, Colorado Springs, Pikes Peak, Denver, Cripple Creek, Interstate Highway 70, Aspen, Wyoming, Idaho and more. We also watched aircraft fly above, below and beside us. Never a dull moment.

Don't waste too much time looking for this Southwest Airlines Boeing 737

that passed us on its way to Chicago or some other point north and east of us.

At a point called top of descent, ATC told us that we could begin our decent toward the Idaho Falls airport. (Jason had told the autopilot to establish a 3 degree descent that would define a straight line from our 36,000 feet MSL cruise altitude to a point 1,000 feet above the surface of the Idaho Falls airport.) We descended on our imaginary line to pattern altitude, entered a left downwind for runway 24, dropped some flaps, dropped the gear and, after one more left turn, lined up on final for runway 24.

On final approach to runway 24 at Idaho Falls, Idaho.

Jason landed (a textbook landing), taxied to the FBO and dropped off our passengers after their two hour, quiet, smooth, uneventful flight from Dalhart. It took about 15 minutes for the line attendants to add fuel, and, after pit stops and trips to the Coke machine, we were ready to say goodbye to Idaho Falls.

Taking on fuel at sunset in Idaho Falls, Idaho.

After refueling and buttoning up the plane, I taxied out to runway 24 and Jason took off. Before we reached 37,000 feet MSL, all was dark except for the cities and towns twinkling near and far below us, periodic white and red strobe lights passing us in the distance left and right, high and low and the glow of the G1000 brightly showing us what was going on inside the brain of this sleek, beautiful Cessna Mustang. What a ride!

ed RW