by Jeff Kildow
“To make it fair, we’ll limit each student to a maximum of fifty cents each. And, as a tie breaker, we’ll also do a scrap drive. We’ll take iron, steel, aluminum, rubber, newspapers, rags, all the normal things. The homeroom teacher whose class raises the most money and the most scrap by weight by the end of the school day a week from this Friday, will win a thirty minute ride in the C-45 for herself and a boy and a girl of her choice.
“The Millville Daily Republican newspaper will be there to take your picture, and so will the Millville Army Air Field newspaper! We’ll fly over each child’s house, and then over the schoolyard so you can all watch! What do you think?”
There was instant bedlam as excited students shouted their approval. Mr. Kneebone beamed; he had assured Joel that they’d raise more cash this time than last, even if it was coins, and it would clearly be a morale booster for the student body. The scrap drive was something he had suggested to Joel at the last minute – not all these kids or their parents had even a couple of quarters to throw around, but everybody had scrap to contribute.
Susan Johansseson followed all of this with careful attention, smiling at the reactions of the children. She was impressed with a pilot who wasn’t so full of himself, and who interacted with kids so well. He spoke to them, not down at them.
What a clever approach. The kids are all so enthusiastic about flying. He handles children so well. And what an interesting background! Wouldn’t it be fascinating, she thought, to hear more about Hawaii? He was there before Pearl Harbor, it must have been beautiful. I think my class will work a little extra hard at this contest.
Chapter 18
26 April 1943
Alexander Hamilton Junior High School
Stanton Township, New Jersey
1000 Hours
Bond Drive Competition
In two weeks, the kids collected an amazing amount of money and scrap; most of the money was pennies. A teacher carefully looked through them, just in case someone might have slipped in a valuable coin, intentionally or otherwise. After all the previous scrap drives, it was amazing that there were still worn out tires, old pots and pans, several antique cast iron flat irons, and lots of flattened tin cans. One kid even found a rusty old car fender to drag in; it must have been buried in a field, it had so much mud on it. He looked disappointed when Mr. Kneebone made him knock off the mud, “We’re collecting steel, Tommy, not mud!”
The township provided a portable scale, and the local scrap collector was drafted as the official weigher. The whole school gathered around to watch. A reporter from the Stanton Township Weekly Gazette snapped some photographs for next week’s edition.
The old scrap collector had a pencil stub stuck behind his hairy ear which he snatched down to record each object’s weight on a thick, yellow tablet. Each class had a separate page. A murmur went through the crowd of kids when an old cast iron stationary engine block was lifted onto the scale, accompanied by a mighty grunt from the old man. It was by far the heaviest object– it weighed almost 100 pounds! The kids looked back and forth among themselves – who snuck this in? The old man finished weighing, and gave the sheets to Mr. Kneebone for totaling. The principal in turn handed the sheets to prim Miss Farley, the old maid math teacher, who was visibly pleased to be recognized.
Minutes passed, the kids murmuring among themselves, and at last Miss Farley finished her task, adjusted her thick eyeglasses, and handed the sheets back to Mr. Kneebone. He looked at them, making little noises as he saw the totals.
“Well, well, boys and girls, we have a winner! Do you want to know which class it is?” The children roared “Yes!” back at him. He beamed, and cleared his throat.
“All together, we have collected $111.07 in cash to buy War Bonds, and it’s amazing, but we have collected more than 1,200 pounds of scrap!”
“Who’s the winner?” someone yelled.
Mr. Kneebone was chagrined at having to be reminded; “The winner, at $17.13 and 233 pounds, is – Miss Johansseson’s class!” The cheers from her class drowned out the groans of the other classes.
Mr. Kneebone called Joel that same day, “Major Knight, I am pleased to tell you that we had wonderful success with our Scrap drive – the children collected 1207 pounds of scrap, and more than one hundred dollars in cash. The winning class was Miss Johansseson’s. I will contact you again as soon as she has chosen the students to fly with you.”
The following Tuesday, he called again to tell Joel that they had chosen two youngsters, and all they needed from him was to know when he could make arrangements for the airplane.
Chapter 19
8 May 1943
Millville Army Air Field
0815 Hours
Reward Flight and Consequences
The Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, a perfect May day. The winners were to meet him at Millville Air Field’s main gate at 0830, and he would escort them to the flight line. Mr. Kneebone again told him the winning teacher’s name, and that of the two children accompanying her, but her name didn’t register. Passes had been arranged for all, so there should be no problems getting on base.
Joel had explained, “You’ll need to dress warmly, it’s cold at high altitude. You don’t have to dress up formally like you would to fly in a civilian airliner; this will be casual. Bring binoculars, and cameras too, if you wish.”
Joel decided to drive the squadron’s staff car, a 1941 Plymouth sedan, to pick them up. I might need the room, if the teacher is one of the more portly ladies.
There was a small parking area just outside the main gate, where visitors and vendors could park to obtain their credentials. They were to meet him there. The entrance was guarded by a small hut in the center of the road, splitting the incoming and outgoing traffic. A heavy steel gate was rolled back on each side, ready to be moved into place at a moment’s notice.
He drove through the outgoing side, and turned left to park. As he did, he saw two civilian cars, and a somewhat battered Model A Ford pickup truck. Looks like they’re waiting for me!
As he parked, he saw a tall, slender woman standing by one of the cars; her blonde hair spilled out below a colorful scarf, her features hidden behind dark sun glasses. She was wearing very fashionable dark blue slacks and a puffy-shouldered cream colored blouse. On her arm was a folded, light blue jacket. As he got out of the staff car, the doors to the other car and the pickup opened; both children also had jackets.
Walking up to the young woman, he was pleasantly surprised to realize she was the blonde he’d seen at the school. He tried to cover his surprise by offering his hand, “Good morning! I’m Major Joel Knight.”
She removed her sunglasses with her left hand and shook his hand firmly, looking straight at him – her eyes were an incredible blue, full of intelligence.
Even her eyebrows are blond; she’s a real blond, he thought distractedly, but with delight.
“I’m Susan Johansseson, the sixth grade teacher whose class won the free airplane ride.” she said evenly, her head slightly cocked. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Major.” Her smile was warm and welcoming.
“My pleasure, so nice to meet you,” Joel responded, feeling like he should have said something far more witty or profound; strangely, his mouth had gone dry. Gad, what am I, sixteen again? Man, she’s beautiful!
“Miss Johansseson, would you please introduce me to these young people?” he said, turning to the youngsters, to hide his sudden nervousness.
“Only if you promise to call me Sue” she smiled, flashing perfect white teeth.
“Of course, Sue! And whom have we here?”
“This is Miss Beryl Whitmore. She’s here today because she gathered more scrap than anyone else in the class. She also has the highest grades in the entire sixth grade.” The girl beamed at him, proud that her teacher was recognizing her, and reached out her hand.
“I’m happy to meet you, sir.” she said politely. Turning, she indicated the older woman standing at her side. “Mother, pl
ease meet Major Knight. Major Knight, this is my mother, Mrs. Whitmore.” The girl was a younger version of her mother, both of them pretty with intelligent eyes, curly dark hair, and clear complexions. Joel shook her mother’s hand, noting the look of concern in her eyes as she smiled at him. She turned to an elderly gentleman standing behind her. “This is Mr. Carlyle, our neighbor, who drove us here. We don’t own an automobile.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir; thank you for your kindness,” Joel shook his hand.
The old fellow put his pipe back in his mouth, and nodded.
The young man stepped up; “Sir, I’m Elmer McDonnell, Jr., and this is my father, Mr. Elmer McDonnell, Sr.”
“Hello, young man.” Joel smiled, shaking his offered hand. “Nice to meet you, sir,” he said to the big man in bib overalls. McDonnell, Sr., was in his early forties, and looked the Scot he was: big, ham fisted, ruddy faced. Joel wondered, How can a man this large fit inside the tiny confines of a Model A Ford pickup?
“How safe is this aeroplane ye propose to take my son flying in?” Senior asked bluntly, with a brogue.
Joel liked a direct man.
“It’s as safe as they make them, sir.” he replied firmly. “I’ve flown it, and it’s like a Cadillac with wings. The Army and Navy have bought hundreds of them, and so have the British and the Canadians,” he continued. “There are two good engines for safety, it’s all metal, and it’s as modern as science can make it.”
The sturdy man looked unconvinced. “How often do they crash, sonny?” he queried.
“Only once,” Joel deadpanned, hoping his risk of humor would pay off. The big Scot looked at him silently, then broke into guffaws, slapping his leg. His son and the others joined him in laughter.
Joel turned to the girl’s mother. “Have you any concerns, Mrs. Whitmore?”
“Oh, why, yes; yes, I suppose I do,” she said, wringing her hands, her voice a little high pitched. “Do you keep it fixed up, and put enough gas in it? I mean—” she trailed off, embarrassed.
“Oh, yes ma’am,” Joel said gently. “We take real good care of this airplane – it’s Colonel Watkins’, who flies down to Washington, D.C. He’d be very unhappy if it wasn’t kept in tip-top shape. And please understand this, too, Ma’am – I’ve flown over 2,500 hours in the Army, and you don’t get to fly that many hours without paying real close attention to the airplane you fly. This is a good, sturdy, reliable airplane.”
She still looked a bit unconvinced.
“Ma’am, I would fly my own mother in this airplane, it’s that safe.” She smiled at that, more at ease now.
He looked at his watch. “Now, we need to go, so we can depart on time. The four of us will meet you back here at about 11:30, and we’ll all go have lunch at the Officer’s Club, my treat. Is that agreeable?” The parents reluctantly nodded, and went to their vehicles. Joel escorted Susan to the front seat of the Plymouth, and held the door for her.
Oh, nice perfume! he though as she moved past him and sat on the seat. He then held the door for the girl. Junior let himself in the back seat on the other side. Reaching over the seat, he handed them a paper name badge and a safety pin.
“Please pin these to your shirt or blouse, and leave them there until we leave the base, OK?” The children agreed. He handed one to the young woman beside him “You’ll need one too, Sue.” She smiled and pinned it to her blouse. It was centered and absolutely level on the first try.
How do women do that? Joel wondered to himself.
He drove to the gate and the waiting guard. The young MP snapped to attention, and saluted sharply.
“Thank you, Private. These people are with me, and I vouch for them.”
“Thank you, sir.” the man replied, and waved them through the gate. Behind them, Mrs. Whitmore looked wistfully after her daughter. McDonnell’s Model A truck clattered off toward home; there was work to do.
They drove through the base, watching troops marching and busy work details. Soon they drove onto the flight line. The boy was craning his head every which way, looking at the parked airplanes.
“Those are P-40 Tomahawks,” he announced authoritatively, “and two P-47 Thunderbolts!”
“Wow, look at those neat guns.”
The girl seemed intimidated by the size and harsh reality of the war planes. Susan – Sue, he noted, was taking it all in with little visible reaction.
The C-45 was polished aluminum, with Colonel Watkins’ name in blue over the door. Joel turned to the children, “Please stay with me, and don’t touch anything.”
A Technical Sergeant in green fatigues walked around the nose of the airplane, wiping his hands on a rag. He saluted and greeted Joel with, “Good morning, Major Knight! Are these our lucky winners?”
“Indeed, they are, Mike.” He turned to Sue and introduced her.
“Sue, this is Technical Sergeant Mike Rogers. He’s the crew chief for this airplane. That means he’s responsible for making sure the Colonel’s plane is always in great shape. Mike, please meet Miss Johansseson.”
“Hello, Ma’am. How are you?” he asked, nodding his head. She returned his greeting and offered her hand. Mike held his hands out to the side.
“Ma’am, I’ve got hydraulic fluid on my hands – please forgive me if I don’t shake your hand. It’s nasty stuff to get out of clothes.” Her eyes widened a bit, and she thanked him for his courtesy. Joel turned to the youngsters.
”Mike, this is Miss Beryl Whitmore and Mr. Elmer McDonnell, Jr., our student winners. Better watch ‘em! They’re smarter than the two of us put together!” Mike chuckled, and nodded hello.
Joel turned to the three. “Now, even though Mike has done his usual outstanding job getting this ship ready for us to fly, I’m going to do what we call a ‘walk around’ inspection, and I’d like you to follow me.”
Starting at the left wing root next to the fuselage, he slowly walked counterclockwise around the aircraft, touching, looking, explaining what he was inspecting, and what he was looking for.
Susan thought, He doesn’t speak down to the children, and answers even their silly questions. He’s being so careful. It was nice that he treated that enlisted man so respectfully.
As they finished the last check on the left hand wing flap, having walked completely around the airplane, they were met by another Sergeant, the base photographer. He lined them up and took pictures with his big Speed Graphic camera. He checked when they were to return, and promised to meet them for more photos. He mentioned that the photographer from the Millville Daily Republican newspaper would be there as well.
Joel turned to his three passengers.
“Miss Johansseson, I’d like you to enter first, and go all the way up to the cockpit, and sit in the right seat. Miss Whitmore, please take the front seat on the right, behind your teacher, and Mr. McDonnell, the seat across from her.”
Joel could tell that Susan was surprised at how nice the interior was; she looked all around, touching the seats. The light brown leather chairs had starched white napkins across their headrests. In the center of the cabin was a small table, folded against the left wall. Each window had starched curtains and the floor was carpeted. They all climbed up the sloping floor, and took their seats. The boy gawked at the instrument panel. “Wow! Look at all the clocks!” Beryl quickly informed him that only one was a clock.
Joel had closed and locked the cabin door, and heard the exchange as he entered the cockpit. “Actually, Beryl, there are two clocks, one for the pilot, the other for the copilot.” He pointed them out to her.
He sat in the left seat, and carefully explained each instrument and control, and its purpose, answering their questions. Then, he showed them how to fasten their seat belts, something none of them had ever done before.
“Is everyone ready?” he asked. “Now, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll start engine number one first – that’s the one on the left wing. When it’s running smoothly, I’ll start number two, on the right side. Once they are both runni
ng smoothly, we’ll taxi out to the end of the runway. There, I’ll test the engines – we call it a ‘run up’– to make sure they’re OK. It’ll be pretty loud, and the plane will shake – but, that’s all right. Then, we’ll move out onto the runway. When the tower says it’s OK, the motors will get real loud and we’ll start rolling down the runway. In a few seconds, the tail will take off, and the plane will be level. We’ll accelerate really fast then, and when we’re going fast enough – about eighty-five miles an hour, we’ll take off.”
He saw the eyes of both children widen at the thought of going so fast.
“During our climb, you’ll want to look out the windows. I’ll circle around the base so you can see it, then we’ll go over toward Stanton Township. Elmer, your dad told me where your farm is, and we’ll go there first. Then, we’ll fly over Beryl’s house, and finally, over the school. Before we come back, I’ll take us out over the ocean so you can see what that looks like from the air. Any questions?” There were none.
The tail-wagging taxi made both children laugh; Joel explained that it was the only way he could see over the raised nose. They still thought it was funny. The run-up was uneventful, and Joel taxied onto the runway. The tower flashed a green light at them, and Joel moved the throttles forward.
Both kids got very wide-eyed at the noise, though Joel couldn’t see them. Beryl gripped the armrest of her seat as if it was the only thing that could save her. Elmer had a smile a mile wide on his freckled face. The silver airplane lifted off smoothly, and climbed into the morning sky, with teacher and children alike totally enthralled.
They had taken off into the wind, toward the northwest, over farmland below.
Chapter 20
8 May 1943
Off the Northwest Corner of Runway 190
Near Millville Army Air Field
0815 Hours
Renaldo Giovanni