by Jeff Egerton
Catwalk said, “Thanks for the good news. If you should talk to him, tell him to call me at the farm. He’ll know where that is.”
Over the next few days Catwalk stayed busy helping Julio. It felt good to be working in the old familiar surroundings, but he hoped he’d find a flying job so he wouldn’t be facing a steady diet of farm work. Three days after he’d talked to Curly’s brother, he got a phone call and heard his old friend’s familiar voice. “Cat, I got your message. What are you up to?”
“Right now, I’m helping Julio. How about you? How did the Germans treat you?”
“We weren’t treated too badly, but the food was lousy. It’s good to be back in the USA.”
“Curly, I’ve got some bad news; Barney died a few months ago.”
“Oh, God no. Cat, we owe everything good in our lives to him.” As Curly said this he thought about the time he’d resigned in a fit of emotion. He regretted that this was probably how Barney had remembered him.
“Yes, we do. They got a nice marker for him and buried him near Sam and Mary under the big oak tree down by the creek. I went down to his grave this morning and thanked him for giving us the lives we have.”
“That was his favorite place on the whole spread. Is Julio running the farm now?”
“Yes. He resigned from Rocky Mountain shortly after Barney died. He said they wanted the maintenance section to cut corners and he wouldn’t do it.”
“I don’t blame him. Billy Sue said she’s thinking about moving to another carrier because of the way they’re running Rocky Mountain. Are you out here looking for work?”
“I haven’t started looking for work yet, but I’m going to soon. How about you?”
Curly said, “I’m in Albuquerque. I drove out to ask Billy Sue to marry me.”
“Well, when is the wedding?”
“It ain’t. We had a long talk and she said she thought we should wait a while, until I find out what I’m going to be doing. I think what she meant was, until I settle down some, maybe mature some more.”
Even though David wouldn’t have a daddy, Catwalk was somewhat relieved to hear that they’d postponed the nuptials. “I’d say that’s a wise decision.”
“Yeah, I know where she’s coming from. How long you gonna be at the farm?”
“I’m not sure. I’m helping Julio and working on one of the Jennys to get it back in shape. They’ve been neglected for the past couple of years.”
“I’ll drive out there. I should be there by late afternoon.”
Later that day, Catwalk talked to his old friend while he changed the tail wheel on the Jenny. “Flying is the only thing we know, Curly, except farming and neither of us wants to go back on the farm.”
“You got that right, but where do we start? I don’t want to go back to Alaska and it ain’t like we can go out and buy a Connie, or even a DC-3 to start our own outfit.”
Julio said, “People are buying old planes for personal use now and there are a ton of old military aircraft for sale. You can sell the Jenny. That should give you enough for a down payment on a surplus B-25. Start by hauling cargo.”
Curly looked around the nose from where he’d been installing the propeller he’d just balanced. “Can we make any money doing that?”
Catwalk said, “There’s only one way to find out. Julio, you want to throw in with us?”
“Nah. I like it being retired here on the farm. I don’t need that pressure anymore.”
Catwalk and Curly spent the next week talking to old contacts and researching the air freight business. They discovered that their timing couldn’t have been better because there were several growing industries in the west and southwest that needed the services of a reliable cargo airline.
Two weeks later, at March Air Force Base, Catwalk watched as Curly signed the paperwork making them the owner of a twin-engine B-25. On the flight back to Albuquerque, he said, “You did most of the research on the various industries that rely on air freight. Did you find a business that’s growing fast and needs reliable shipping service.”
Curly didn’t hesitate. “The oil business in west Texas.”
At hearing that Catwalk groaned, “Curly, you could’ve said anywhere but Texas.”
“I know how you feel about Texas but that’s the fastest growing industry in the country.”
Ten days later, flying under the name of Aztec Air Freight, they hauled a load of drilling mud from Midland, Texas to the new oil fields in Santa Barbara, California. The choice to feed off the oil industry had been a good one. Due to the fuel demands from increased automobile and aircraft usage, the oil business was booming and spreading out, both domestically and internationally. Over the next few months, they routinely flew supplies to places like Puerto Barrio, Guatemala; Managua, Nicaragua; and Colon, Panama, as well as several stateside destinations. Their success, however, resulted in long hours in the air, which was taking a toll.
They’d just taken off from a refueling stop in Monterrey, Mexico, when Catwalk said, “Flying twelve and fourteen hour days is killing me. We’ve got to buy a couple more aircraft and hire some pilots.”
“I think you’re right, pard. You think we should stick with the B-25?”
“They sure are cheap and easy to get. Why don’t we buy two more and then find a couple DC-3s. We’ve got enough cargo contracts to keep several planes busy and the DC-3s will be better for the long term.”
Curly said, “I just hope we can find some reliable pilots.”
Catwalk said, “That shouldn’t be a problem. There are thousands of ex-military pilots looking for work.” Nothing was said for a few minutes while Curly went back to check on the load of refinery pipe that sounded like it had shifted.
When he returned, Catwalk said, “I’ve got an idea. The airlines are hiring many of the ex-military pilots, but they’re not hiring any black pilots. I’d rather hire combat tested pilots than take a chance on pilots fresh out of flying school. We can hire the black pilots, many of whom I flew with in the 99th.”
“If they fly cargo anything like they flew our escorts, I’m all for it. But, just because they’re black doesn’t mean they get a free pass. They’ve got to meet our standards.”
“That goes without saying. I’ll take out an ad in a few newspapers and we’ll see what kind of response we get.”
Word spread among the community of black pilots and hundreds of applications poured in. For the next several weeks, whenever he wasn’t flying, Catwalk interviewed pilots over the phone. He enjoyed the luxury of having so many pilots to choose from, but he could only hire so many at a time. He had to send out a lot of rejections and each one broke his heart.
His efforts to help out the black pilots didn’t go unnoticed. Four months after they hired the first one, a reporter for Life magazine showed up to interview him. The June issue featured Catwalk on the cover. The article explained how he was building a successful freight airline with the black pilots who couldn’t find work elsewhere. The article, which called this a win-win situation, also focused on Catwalk’s history, from almost being hung by the Klan, being removed as President of Rocky Mountain Airways, the serum run in Alaska and his success as a fighter pilot with the 99th. It was a flattering article, but in a racially insecure country, it met with varied reactions. The hard-line traditional southerners still had a problem with a black man achieving success.
In a darkened lounge in Austin, Texas a bespectacled man in a dark suit addressed four other men at the table. “Did you see the cover of Life magazine? I can’t believe they put a colored boy on their cover and then told the whole country that he was running his business out of Midland. That article made it sound like we welcome those negras with open arms. We’re gonna have a migration of uppity coloreds who think they can move here and do as they please.”
Claude Givens, Texas Secretary of Commerce, said, “They won’t last. Give ‘em a year and they’ll all be working as Pullman porters or bell hops.”
“Bullshit, Claude. Th
is Jackson fella’ is expanding and buying more aircraft. Their damn airline is going to be bigger than Lone Star if they keep growing. Ever since Truman signed the executive order to integrate the military, they think they got the same rights as whites.”
A tanned man in a grey suit signaled the waitress for another round, then said, “Unfortunately, they have the right to go into business like anyone else, and there ain’t a thing we can do about it.”
Another man said, “I’m not so sure about that.” Silence fell over the table, then he continued, “They’re flying old World War Two aircraft, that are probably unsafe. The guy heading the Dallas office of the Civil Aviation Authority owes me a favor. I’ll arrange for the feds to hold some spot inspections on their airplanes—some real tough inspections. We’ll send these boys a message that they’d be better off doing business somewhere other than Texas.”
In the Collinsville Federal Prison, Alton Jones had never visited the prison library. The one time he walked in there, it was to bum a cigarette from another inmate. He saw the issue of Life magazine with Catwalk on the cover and snatched it off the shelf. “That son of a bitch!”
He read the article then showed the magazine to a fellow inmate and said, “See that black bastard, Clem. It won’t be long before I’m getting out of here. When I do, that fella’ is dead.”
“What the hell did he do to you, Alton?”
“Something no nigger does to a white man if they expect to live.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Three weeks after the conversation in Austin, Catwalk had flown a load of well heads to a natural gas field in Wyoming. He was filing his flight plan to depart when he received a call from his maintenance chief saying one of their planes was grounded because it failed a CAA inspection.
He asked, “What did they ground us for?”
“The bolts on the exhaust headers aren’t safety wired.”
Catwalk thought, there’s no requirement for those bolt to be safety wired; they’re just torqued down. He said, “Tell Lenny to make whatever repairs the inspector asked for and not to question him.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
“Say Dale, did they inspect anyone else’s planes?”
“No, I asked around the airport. We’re the only ones they hit.”
Once again Catwalk smelled the familiar and ugly stench of racism. He wondered who had planted the roots of this virus? On the flight back to Midland, he thought about this. His problem was, there was no one in power throughout the government who’d take his side. A white man had the option of complaining to his congressman or state representative about the actions of a federal agency. His complaint would never be acted on. He wasn’t sure what he could do, but he wasn’t going to sit idly by and get pushed around. He had a feeling that this had to be nipped in the bud, or it could cost them a lot of money in lost revenue.
When he landed, he called the CAA inspector. His maintenance chief was on the extension when he said, “You grounded one of our planes because the exhaust manifold bolts were not safety wired. There is no requirement for those bolts to be safety wired. The requirement is to torque those bolts to sixty foot pounds. My mechanics had done that.”
“Mr. Jackson, this is an old airplane that has seen a lot of use. We have the authority to ground the aircraft if we see something that is not required by the regulations, but in our opinion should be changed to meet our standards.”
“Are you saying you can impose regulations on the spot?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Why was our aircraft inspected and not others?”
“I told you. You’re flying old aircraft that have a lot of hours on the airframes and power plants. These planes warrant closer scrutiny than newer aircraft.”
“Who told you to inspect our aircraft?”
“The directive to spot check older aircraft came from the Flight Standards Division in our Dallas office.”
“Thank you.”
After the call, Catwalk told his mechanic, “This might not be the last episode of this drama. Make sure all the bolts in question are safety wired as instructed. Keep a log of how much time we spend on these mods and leave a carbon copy on my desk.”
Catwalk decided to keep a close eye on this situation. He spread the word with his maintenance staff to contact him if there were any more inspections. He was on the phone with a freight forwarding company when Curly walked into the office. He’d just returned from flying a load of drill bit assemblies to Morgan City, Louisiana. His look told Catwalk he’d heard about the inspection.
When Catwalk hung up, Curly said, “It sure looks like someone is out to get us. Who do you think is behind it?”
“This had to come from a politician, because the CAA would have no reason to increase their work load so they can cause us problems. Most of the politicians in Texas are racist and many of them have been in the Klan, in fact, some still are. The list of possible enemies is not short.”
Curly lit a cigarette and took a bottle of blended whiskey out of a cabinet. He asked Catwalk, “You flying anymore today?”
“No, I’m done until Wednesday.”
Curly poured two glasses half full and handed one to Catwalk. He said, “Do you think it would be worth our time to bitch to the head of the CAA? Or better yet, how about I go to Austin and start raising hell.”
“You’d probably end up in jail.”
“I’ll bet I could find out who’s pulling this crap.”
Catwalk smiled. This was one of those times when he was tempted to let Curly go and follow up on his threat. He had no doubts, if he encouraged him, Curly would find out who’d arranged the inspections. Unfortunately, as he’d learned from Barney, he was in a business where your mistakes and bad judgment can resurface in the future and cost you dearly.
He took a healthy drink and felt it burn as he thought of the possible consequences. He and Curly had talked about starting a passenger airline once the freight operation was showing a steady profit. To do this they’d need to have routes approved. Making waves with the CAA now could haunt them in the future. He said, “It’s hasn’t cost us too much so far and it won’t put us out of business. I say we document everything that we have to do, and keep quiet about it for now.”
“I hate the thought of some asshole politician getting away with something like this.”
“I do too, Curly, but we don’t know who it is and there’s the possibility it didn’t come from a politician. Maybe someone in the CAA wants to hassle us.”
“O.K., so I find the inspector and throw him in the shit house like you did with Jones.”
“He’s just doing his job. His orders are coming from higher up.”
Curly finished his drink and poured another. He walked over to the window and watched a C-46 park in front of the hangar. He then walked back to the desk and said, “They’re fucking with the wrong guys.”
Catwalk swore under his breath. If Curly decided to go off half cocked and drunk, he might do damage that couldn’t be repaired. He stood up, looked his partner in the eye and said, “Curly, it’s not a big deal right now; it’s just an inconvenience. Let it go. Don’t do anything we’ll regret later.”
“Let’s go over to Diamond Lil’s and get some dinner.”
“Good idea, I’m starved.”
As they drove to the restaurant, Catwalk worried. He suspected Curly was planning on retaliating, and might very well do something that would burn them later. He wished he could keep a close eye on his partner, but with their flying schedules they sometimes went days without seeing each other.
When they were seated he said, “I’d hate to see you do anything we’ll regret, because this really isn’t your fight, Curly.”
Curly smiled and said, “Cat, it wasn’t your fight back in that box car when we threw those two hoboes off the train, but you stepped in, and I’m glad you did.”
Curly had that gleam in his eye.
Catwalk didn’t enjoy his meal.
In the next two weeks there were three more inspections. They all resulted in trumped up but minor violations.
Curly was at the airport in Midland when the last inspection took place. He waited until the inspector had written up his report, then with a smile, asked him if he could talk to him in the office. The inspector agreed.
Curly closed the door behind him and faced the inspector. “You report says our aircraft is grounded until we replace all the fuel strainers with new units.”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“I’ve got a problem with this. See, the fuel is filtered when it’s put on the trucks to be delivered. Then, it’s filtered again when it’s pumped into our tanks. When we pump it into an aircraft, it’s filtered for the third time, and then it goes through the fuel strainers. I’m worried that if we filter our aviation fuel any more, there won’t be any gas left for us to power our engines with.”
The inspector held up a protective hand and started, “Now, Mr. Levitz, you must understand that I’m only following orders and doing my job, which is critical in the interest of aviation safety.”
Curly walked toward him, his ire apparent. “I would like you to tell me why we need to replace our fuel strainers with new units. Just give me one good reason!”
The inspector tried to speak, but Curly pressed, “Hell, I flew over a thousand hours in the Boeing Model 80 and they didn’t even have fuel strainers. Flew two thousand hours in a Jenny and never replaced a fuel filter, just cleaned them.”
“But, sir….”
Curly grabbed a handful of the inspector’s shirt collar and drew him close. “Who’s giving the orders to fuck with our airplanes?”
“I don’t….”
Curly drove a fist into the guy’s gut. “Who? God damn it, give me a name.”
The inspector doubled over, let out a moan and looked up at Curly, “I’m not sure….”
Curly punched him in the nose and the guy went down, with blood pouring from both nostrils. “Wrong answer. You get one more try, then I break your arm.”