Comments about "Cornfields and Carriers" article:
... My [first carrier landing] came aboard the USS Sable on Nov. 28, 1944. Each fledgling aviator was required to complete eight successful landings. A successful landing meant that one didn't crash on the flight deck or land in Lake Michigan.
I flew upwind on the starboard side of the carrier with the canopy open to the freezing wind and my nerves stretched pretty thin (understatement). As I passed the Sable's bow, I snapped the aircraft into a hard 180-degree port turn. The wheels, flaps, and landing hook came down as activated and the aircraft flew downwind to the carrier's port bow. Next came the gentle turn into the landing groove to sight the landing signal officer (LSO), receive his "cut" signal, and make my first arrested landing on a carrier.
... Due to the sudden deceleration, when the hook engages the arresting wire, one must lock the canopy open, remove the hand from the throttle, and remove the feet from the brakes. I forgot all three. ... When my Wildcat hit the deck and grabbed the cable, the canopy slammed forward - my hand shoved the throttle to full power, and my feet applied the brakes! The Wildcat's nose went down and the tail went up. With luck, no damage was done.
The air boss was standing on the deck in the freezing wind in a full-length leather coat, was about 6 feet 4 inches tall, and looked as if he could eat ensigns alive - and very nearly did. Afterward he made his way to the next aviator to come aboard and was mumbling something about "idiots in airplanes."
This was the first of many hundreds of carrier landings [to come in] my naval service, but I will always remember that first on the USS Sable.
Lt. Cmdr. G. Vaughn, USNR-Ret.
Granbury, Texas
Rob Newell's article delighted us two old-timers and brought back many memories! George Cole was a plank owner of the USS Sable, serving as flight deck officer in 1943 and 1944, succeeded by Fred Durant, who served until decommissioning after V-J Day. Both the Sable and the USS Wolverine are enshrined in the Maritime Hall of Fame.
The article stated well the challenge of qualifying thousands of naval aviators to land on and take off from carriers. Both ships actively competed in a number of landings per day. When Sable arrived, 18 was the greatest number of pilots qualified in one day aboard Wolverine. With experience and the outstanding performance of LSOs and flight crews, this number doubled and redoubled. The Sable's record of 528 landings and takeoffs in one day still stands. Cole recalls that 28,000 landings were made during his tour. This number includes those made by young Ens. George H.W. Bush, USNR. But we were all young then!
Cmdr. F.C. Durant III, USNR-Ret.
Lt. George M. Cole, USN-Ret.
Jacksonville, Fla.
"Cornfields and Carriers" ... was fascinating. Of those 17,819 "other" pilots who received their pilot qualification for carrier duty on those two ships almost 60 years ago, I hope those still with us all read and enjoyed it as much as I did. We probably all have similar memories of those first terrifying landings, but if I may, I'd like to add mine to the list.
... On my last of eight landings required for qualification, I received a wave-off from the LSO for some minor infraction. No problem, but as I circled the ship in preparation for my next attempt, I was cold, so I opened my shoulder harness to close the canopy. As I passed the ship's island on my downwind leg, I could see my mates watching me, which ... didn't soothe my nerves a bit.
... [On my] second attempt, I was lined up perfectly in the groove and was shocked to receive a second wave-off because, thank God, the LSO noted that my canopy was not open. On top of that, I soon realized that I had forgotten to resecure my shoulder harness, completely essential for the sudden stop of carrier landings. Now I was really shaken up and considered flying back to Glenview, Ill., on my own but that would have been a real career shortener.
0K, calm down, follow your checkoff list, and set it down properly - but that was not to be. The LSO determined that I was too low and slow in the groove and gave a last-minute frantic wave-off. I shot the throttle to the fire wall and the war-weary engine faltered momentarily before my tail hook caught No. 9, the last arresting cable on the deck, just as I was banking off to my left.
This caused my nose to drop; the landing gear plus a good portion of the edge of the carrier deck were torn off, and the plane went straight down into an extremely cold and uninviting Lake Michigan. Fortunately it settled on its belly rather than its back, and I was able to dive overboard and inflate my life vest.
... [A] Coast Guard cutter was by my side almost instantly and plucked me out. ... [O]n the ride back to Navy Pier, the cutter was notified to hold me at the pier until the ship came in as the skipper wanted to see me. Oh boy! What would he do? Would I have to pay for it? Was I now a seaman second class? Would he throw me back in the lake? The suspense was killing me.
Finally, after watching the carrier tie up at the end of the pier, I saw the skipper and his entourage walking toward me. Needless to say I felt like an idiot, and I'm sure I looked like a jerk standing there in my sweat suit and boots trying to throw a snappy salute. His big smile slowed my pulse rate a bit while he held out his hand holding a flight helmet with bent and broken goggles.
"Is this yours, Ensign?" he asked.
Certainly. There was my name stenciled in it. ... It seems that a sailor assessing the damage had found it on a catwalk under the severe overhang of the flight deck. The skipper and I (by now we were almost buddies ...) theorized that when the landing gear hit the edge of the deck, centrifugal force yanked the helmet off my head and snapped it outside the cockpit and down, still secured to the plane by its plugged-in radio cord. Trust me, my next carrier landings on the newly commissioned USS Princeton in an F6F Hellcat went much [more smoothly].
Thanks again for reviving the nostalgia, and I was glad to read that mine was only one of the estimated 200 Navy aircraft to hit the drink in Lake Michigan during those unique qualifications. Misery loves company.
Lt. J.G. R. Woodruff, USNR-Ret.
Merced, Calif.
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