Riding the Pullman train from New York City to Norwalk was an experience I could have done without. The change of stations in New York allowed sufficient layover time to tour Time Square and the Empire State Building. While I was in Time Square, news flashed across the billboard that Russian tanks had moved into Hungary. It was October 1956.
I returned to the train terminal and went to the Information desk to ask where the Connecticut train would leave from. In a voice guaranteed to humiliate, the desk clerk said, “Can't you read? Gate 36. Everybody knows that.” Everybody but me. A crowd had already started to form at Gate 36, and when it opened, everybody ran. I thought it would be more dignified to walk. When an old lady passed me, I decided it was time to run, too. I soon discovered why everyone ran to the train; there were not enough seats. There were two reasons why I stood out in the crowd on the train. First, I carried a suitcase; no one else did because this was essentially a commuter train. I had a Florida tan, and most of them were chalky white.
Once in Norwalk, I took a taxi to the motel where I was directed to check in. I called Ore Heath at the number I was given; it was his home. He instructed me not to talk to anyone and he would be at the motel lobby at 8:00 a.m. the next day. Heath was there at 8:00 a.m. on the dot and I met George Jewell who was also there for the same project. He became my life-long friend. B.M. Dennis came from Lake Charles AFB, Louisiana and I had met him at MacDill. Jewell was the only one who had driven from Savannah, Georgia.
Heath told Dennis to ride with him, and I rode with Jewell as we followed behind. Our destination was the Perkin Elmer plant, the world's largest optical company.
Our training began on the 70mm tracking camera, drift sight and Mark II hand control. The drift sight was a periscope, and the hand control was the electronic device that controlled it. The hand control was still in production when we arrived. There was still no mention of any aircraft. We learned there were others who had been at the plant before our arrival, but names were not revealed. More interesting, we did learn they were with the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA).
Our training was conducted by the engineer who designed the camera and its systems. After two weeks training, we returned to our home bases, and returned to Norwalk for additional training in December 1956.
Once back at the 306th Armament & Electronics (A&E) Squadron at MacDill, I was the source of curiosity. All the guys wanted to know where I had been. One interested captain took me to lunch and grilled me on my TDY. I never told him anything. It was still a Top Secret project; however, at that point there was not a lot to tell anyone.
In December 1956 I returned to New York City and caught the same train back to Connecticut for an additional week's training. This time I outran the little old ladies and scored a seat. Training ended the week before Christmas, and a return flight to Tampa was not available. I rode with George Jewell to Norfolk, Virginia, his destination for the holidays.
There was not even a bus with an available seat out of Norfolk. Five Navy fellows and I decided to hire a cab to take us to Durham, North Carolina. I got a standby flight from Durham to St. Petersburg/Clearwater, Florida. From the Clearwater airport, I took a limo to Tampa and the driver even drove me directly to my home. It was 11:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve, but I was happy to be home.
The Ranch
In January 1957 I received reassignment orders to Turner AFB, Albany, Georgia and at the same time, TDY orders to March AFB, Riverside, California. Now it was getting interesting. My family was in Florida, I was assigned to a base in Georgia, and I was going TDY to California for four months. Later I would end up in the Nevada desert.
My friend, George Jewell, met me at the bus station in Tallahassee, Florida, and we drove together to March AFB at Riverside, California. When we arrived at March, we reported to the 4070th Support Wing (SAC). The 4070th was one barracks with only a lieutenant and a civilian secretary. The following morning we returned to the barracks where we waited with 35 other airmen. Two Air Force buses took us to Base Operations where we boarded a C-124 Globemaster, destination unknown. I could tell we were flying east, and we landed an hour later on a dry lake bed; it was designated as Groom Lake on a road map. Through the windows I could see a paved runway, hangars, mess hall and barracks and on the paved ramp, six silver gliders with jet engines. That was my first glimpse of the U-2. I was learning fast that this area nicknamed, The Ranch, had tight security and even the name of the aircraft was classified Secret.
Our group was escorted to the mess hall, and there was a smiling MSgt Bill Dyche. Bill welcomed me to The Ranch. He and six other airmen had gone to training on the A-1, A-2 and “B” configurations at Hycon Manufacturing Co. in Pasadena, California for six weeks. Col Jack Nole was our commander and one of the finest officers I knew throughout my Air Force career. Lt Col Joe Jackson was Col Nole's deputy and was himself a very fine officer. (Lt Col Jackson was later awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, the highest military decoration awarded by the US government, for his heroic action in Vietnam.)
In our introductory briefing, Col Nole cautioned us, “No writing home about where you are working and absolutely no photos will be taken here. This place is referred to as simply The Ranch.” It was controlled by the Atomic Energy Commission, including our security. When a bomb was detonated on the other side of the mountain, we had to leave the area temporarily. Our work schedule was Monday through Friday with weekends off. On Friday an aircraft was available to take us back to March AFB and it returned to The Ranch on Monday. There was absolutely no driving in or out of the area. We were on per diem of $16 a day with no charge for housing. Meals were excellent, and only cost $1 for a meal such as steak, salad, potato and drink.
One weekend I stayed at The Ranch. The mess hall showed movies at night and weekends, but after a boring two days, I decided to depart on the next Friday. George Jewell and I stayed at the YMCA in Pasadena, California for only $3 for a two-man room. We went to Hollywood, Santa Monica, Disneyland, Sea World and Knott's Berry Farm. I felt guilty going to Disneyland without my daughter, Stacy, who was four years old, but our family toured the park in 1959. I used direct dialing for the first time on a public phone when I called Barbara from Pasadena.
Our work at The Ranch was to become acquainted with our new camera systems and have them ready when we returned to our home base. CIA had personnel there, too, but they didn't interact with us. They referred to us as Blue Suiters because we were Air Force personnel who typically wore blue uniforms at our home bases.
Lockheed, the designer and builder of the U-2, had a large number of employees at The Ranch. The aircraft was built at Lockheed's Skunk Works plant in Burbank, California, disassembled, wrapped in canvas and loaded on a C-124 for transport to The Ranch. When it was reassembled, Lockheed pilots tested the plane then turned it over to the Air Force when it was determined to be airworthy.
Most of the flights from The Ranch were day missions and camera configurations were set accordingly. On one memorable night-time mission, the pilot experienced a flameout and had to dead stick (glide without power) to Kirtland AFB, Albuquerque, New Mexico. The U-2 pilot had to personally deliver a letter to the base commander who was attending a formal event at the Kirtland Officers Club. The letter gave directions for securing the U-2 including covering it with canvas, and placing armed guards at the tail, each wingtip and nose while it was on the ground. Further, the base was to be evacuated until the aircraft was airborne. The letter, signed by President Eisenhower, contained a $100 bill. Needless to say, the partygoers weren't too happy to break up, and some thought the base commander was playing war games. A Lockheed tech rep was flown to Kirtland; he repaired the U-2 and flew it back to The Ranch without the knowledge of anyone there.
Col Nole offered to get an airplane if any of the married guys from Turner wanted to return for four days to visit their families. It didn't take long to have the C-47 Gooneybird fully occupied. The Gooneybird was made famous in World War II, and the TV series Band of Brot
hers used the same model plane. We took off at March AFB dressed in a variety of work clothes. When we landed at England AFB, in Alexandria, Louisiana, folks there thought we were some sort of security team. Base security forces came out and surrounded the C-47 with weapons drawn. Col Nole explained with limited information who we were and why we were there.
While our aircraft was being refueled, we ate dinner and a short time later took off for Turner AFB. I took a commercial airline flight to Tampa, Florida where Barbara and Stacy lived. After being away three months, we had a happy reunion. It was a short four days; I returned to Albany, Georgia to meet my group for the return flight to March AFB.
Relocation to Laughlin AFB
In June 1957 our crews were divided, half went to Laughlin AFB, Del Rio, Texas, and I stayed with the other half at The Ranch. One week later we launched our U-2s from The Ranch to Laughlin and shipped the remainder of our equipment to Del Rio.
George and I returned to March where he collected his car for the drive to Del Rio. At Indio, California we encountered the mother of all sand storms. It was so severe that it removed the paint from George's car and sand blasted the windshield. When we arrived in Del Rio, George dropped me at the bus station for the trip to San Antonio where I boarded a commercial flight to Tampa.
Barbara and I sold our house and shipped our household goods to Del Rio. We drove with Stacy in our 1953 blue Ford station wagon to Georgia to visit my family. Apparently I was the talk of the town; family and friends were eager to know what I was involved in. They said the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) had been talking about me to a lot of local people. I could only say I was not in trouble and I would tell them someday.
En route to Arlington, Texas to visit Barbara's family, we encountered a tremendous storm in Louisiana. We didn't realize it was hurricane strength until we arrived in Arlington. Barbara's family told us we had just driven through a hurricane, but there were no television warnings in those days.
We arrived in Del Rio on July 4, 1957 and the next day I reported to the 4080th A&E Squadron First Sergeant. He said excitedly, “Ingram, we didn't know you really existed. I've had your name on my morning report since October 1956.” He welcomed me to the squadron where I would be assigned for the next six years.
One of my interesting memories occurred in March 1958 when we deployed to Eielson AFB, Alaska for the U-2 to fly high altitude radiation sampling over Russia. Captain Michael Styer flew a mission that took him over Siberia. At the time Russia was testing atomic bombs above the earth. After the Russians exploded a bomb, Captain Styer flew directly through the cloud.
When he landed and taxied in, the U-2 was so hot with radiation, he had to stay in the aircraft for another two hours while the ground crew washed down the aircraft. He then opened the canopy, jumped out and ran to the building. At debriefing he said his Geiger counter went off on his return flight coming out of Russian airspace at 30,000 feet. He reported that two F-89 Alaskan Air Defense planes had him on radar, but could not see him. They ordered him to identify himself or they would shoot him down. Captain Styer said he was on radio silence. He hit the U-2 throttle, pulled back on the stick and shot up to 50,000 feet. At that altitude he circled around the F-89s and landed at Eielson.
When we finished our post-flight work, we caught the base bus to the mess hall. The bus radio was on. Suddenly the radio announced, “Attention, two Alaskan Air Defense fighters encountered a UFO at 30,000 feet. Then the UFO shot off to outer space.” We smiled at each other as we listened to the radio with the others in the bus. When we left the bus, we had a good laugh; we all knew what the UFO really was.
For our work during that TDY, a few days later, the photographic laboratories in New Jersey notified us, “Congratulations. The data you sent was of great value to our national security.”
One day in 1960, I was told to get two men, three “B” configuration cameras and be ready to depart in three hours. I chose Bobbie D. Black and John Washburn, the best technicians we had. I went to my home on base and Barbara helped me pack. I didn't know where I was going or how long I would be gone. I gave her the checkbook, kissed her and our daughter, Stacy, goodbye.
When we got to the flight line, a KC-135 Stratotanker was being loaded with cargo and the refueling tanks were being filled for the U-2s. The KC-135 loadmaster asked us how much the U-2 fuel weighed. None of us knew; we were all camera guys. He said he would have to guess at it and pulled out his slide rule to do some calculations. The temperature on the runway at Laughlin AFB was a stifling 115 degrees Fahrenheit. As most Air Force personnel knew, jet engines did not perform well in high temperatures. Colonel T. J. Jackson, Director of Operations, told the ground crew to remove the overrun barrier to allow more runway for takeoff. The KC-135 developed radio problems and our takeoff was delayed three hours.
Finally, it was a “go” and we rolled out to the end of the 8,500 foot runway; the point of rotation was 7,000 feet. That meant no stopping once we started the takeoff roll. At the end of the runway, we were still on the ground and hit the dirt over-run. It was like driving a car at 100 mph on a paved highway and suddenly hitting a dirt road.
Three backup U-2 pilots were onboard our KC-135. One of them jumped up and yelled, “We're not going to make it!” Dirt and small bushes flew by the windows. We lifted off, clipped some small trees and were airborne into the blue Texas sky. We breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Shortly after noon that day, Barbara and Stacy, went to the base swimming pool located on a hill overlooking the runway. As they observed the KC-135, everyone at the pool remarked that the airplane was having trouble with the takeoff and all ran to the fence for a closer look. Barbara said confidently, “I'm glad my husband is not on that plane. He left this morning, three hours ago.” She did not know the full story until I returned two months later.
On our return flight from Kadena AFB, Okinawa, the KC-135 was again full of cargo and fuel. Over the Pacific west of Wake Island, the navigator had fallen asleep when we hit a violent storm. Suddenly all the cargo started shifting and the wings of the airplane were flexing like a bird's wing in flight. John Washburn's face turned deathly white. He turned to me and said, “Bob, we are not going to make it.”
Negrito village chief, Philippines, 1964.
Bunker for protection against rocket attacks, Bien Hoa AB.
Bien Hoa Air Base, South Vietnam, 1964.
A C-130 at Clark AB Philippines with a volcano in the background.
The pilot pulled back on the controls, and after fifteen long minutes, we got above the storm and landed at Wake Island. When we exited the plane, we observed 90 percent of the SAC insignia and the AF blue stripe on the KC-135 fuselage were missing. The pilot said it best: “Men, we are not supposed to be here.” He then moved the radar indicator where he could monitor it for the reminder of the flight to Laughlin.
In 1960 I was Chief Master Sergeant (CMSgt) assigned to the NEPHO Shop (Sensors), the aerial camera of the U-2. My Squadron Commander, Lt Col F.M. Shipley, headed up the 4080th Armament & Electronics (A&E). Col Shipley's family and my family attended St James Episcopal Church in Del Rio. I was aware that he was diabetic and I knew how to read his moods . When his diabetes was not well controlled, he would have some bad days. If his face was red and flushed, I kept my mouth closed until he spoke. I also knew I certainly did not want to be the bearer of bad news when he was having a bad day.
Lieutenant Dennin was assigned to our shop, his first assignment in the wing. He was directed to shadow my daily activities in order to learn the operation of maintaining the camera configuration.
When a camera system malfunctioned, Col Shipley summoned me to his office and I explained the problem. Lt Dennin followed me each time like a puppy tracking my every move. Once in the colonel's office, the first thing I would do was check his complexion to assess his mood. If his face was red and flushed, I held any comments until he spoke. On these occasions Lt Dennin seized the opportunity and rushed to respond to
the colonel's questions, always eager to impress. As a result, Col Shipley chewed out Lt Dennin like a drill sergeant in basic training. When I was requested to respond to the colonel's questions, I was always treated professionally.
After a few months of this routine, on the walk back to our shop, Lt Dennin said to me, “I don't understand it. Col Shipley chews my ass when I explain the maintenance problem, and he treats you with respect when you explain the same problem.” The lieutenant was reassigned to Beale AFB a short time later, and I never revealed my clues about the colonel's mood. Lt Col Shipley was an outstanding leader and a great friend.
Supporting the Crisis
In September and October 1962, the 4080th SRW flew missions over Cuba from McCoy AFB, Florida. Major Richard Heyser was the first to find the Russian missiles on the island. We flew one mission every three to four days.
One morning at 1:00 a.m. Col Shipley came to my barracks and woke me. He said, “We have received orders to fly five sorties today. Can we do it?” I said with absolute confidence, “Yes, sir.” We had five U-2s and five Hycon “B” cameras, 36-inch focal length, and five Perkin Elmer 70mm tracking cameras. My team and I started to work.
Missions were scheduled at two hour intervals, flying off the coast of Cuba at a high oblique angle of the camera lens. The sun angle was critical for each aircraft to capture the best photography. Then we discovered we only had four sets of mounts to hang the “B” cameras in the Q-bay of the U-2. There was not enough time to fly a set of mounts in from Laughlin on one of the T-33s. The way the flights were scheduled, the first aircraft landed when the fifth aircraft took off. When Col Shipley stopped calling me “Bob,” and started calling me “Sergeant Ingram,” I knew I was in trouble.
Remembering the Dragon Lady: The U-2 Spy Plane: Memoirs of the Men Who Made the Legend Page 16