The aviator

Taylor Cub in the 1930s.

IN 1940, HE DECIDED TO FLY.

It was part adventurous youth and part patriotism. Around the time he started flight school, the Nazis invaded Denmark and Norway and were on their way to the Low Countries and France. The country might need pilots.

Besides, he was enjoying just being alive.

Tularemia

In 1939 he had come down with a fearsome disease, missing the fall semester at Modesto Junior College. Tularemia, found all over the world but named for Tulare County, is spread by small animals. His dog had killed a sick rabbit, and the next thing he knew he was very, very sick.

In those days, tularemia was eighty percent fatal, so he was lucky to recover. His mother, Jessica, a nurse, knew a thing or two about doctors. She fired the first one, who had lost a patient to tularemia, and found another with more experience with the disease. After a long convalescence, he returned to school for the spring semester and decided to enroll in pilot training. 

Modesto Airport and neighborhood, 1940. Photo by Dorothea Lange.

The federal government staffed the Civil Pilot Training Program at Modesto Junior College, a year-old program created with the idea of stimulating interest in private aviation and boosting sales of small planes. The admission requirements closely matched those of the military, so trainees like him had a fast track into the armed air forces if they chose.

He knew that the program was a Depression-era stimulus, but in the back of his mind was the distant war in Europe.

The ground school class was held in the evening with about a dozen students. He and his classmates -- who to his surprise included a young woman -- learned basic meteorology and the dynamics of flight. It was serious curriculum and there were a lot of exams. After a few weeks of ground school at MJC, they began meeting at the Modesto Airport.

The class was drilled in inspection before taking off: checking gas level, the general condition of the craft. The planes they were going to learn to fly were Taylor Cubs, bright yellow in color and well maintained. Somebody was taking care of them, but the students never saw a mechanic. 

Into the cockpit

The day arrived when it was his turn to climb into the passenger seat, parachute strapped on, and eager to be off the ground. At the time, he didn't realize the instructor at the controls was also checking out his reactions in taking off and flying. The instructor just said they were just going to fly around and land and that the students would take the stick later. 

It was exhilarating, the thought that he was actually going to fly this thing. The thought of crashing and dying was as distant as the war. He'd nearly died a few months ago anyway. What was the difference?

The lessons piled on until he was ready to fly the Cub himself, sometimes being ripped apart by the instructor for being slow or stupid. The instructor had a large vocabulary of curses. 

But he learned standing fast and soloed in just eight hours. In fact, no one in the class flunked.

Oddly enough, the one time he remembered being afraid was not for his own safety. Nearly the whole class was standing near the airport office watching Betty Fitch, their female classmate, soloing for the second time. Suddenly, when she was at about five thousand feet directly over the field, her engine quit. They all stopped breathing. But Betty circled the airport, gradually descending to the level of the  flight pattern, came around and made a perfect dead-stick three-point landing.

They all cheered, both with relief and impressed with this fine demonstration of airmanship. Later, he talked about it with Betty. She said she sweated some.

The aviator's career

After a few more weeks they all received their pilot’s licenses and were credited with a hundred solo hours.

Then, for him and three other newly minted pilots, it was off to Castle Army Air Force Base at Merced to see what might develop toward a flying career. To his surprise the welcome mat was out. Way out. Although Pearl Harbor was still a few months away, hundreds of certified civilian pilots were signing up every month with the Army and Navy. A year later, nearly 7,500 program graduates would be in the military.

When it was his turn for the military physical, the M.D. started asking questions and looking at his nose. Perforated septum. More questions. Did he have asthma as a child? Affirmative. Out.

His proposed military flying career ended at that moment. He'd "augured in” before he really got off the ground. 

But the exhilaration was worth it. He went back to "real" school to finish the rest of his education.