Those of us who arrived for Basic flight training at Garden City could be looked upon as survivors of the critical eye that searched for "wash out" candidates during the "Primary" flight training phase. We were eager to get airborne and in control of these more powerful Army Air Corps "big iron birds" (as we were prone to call them). At the same time we were getting acquainted and forming new and lasting friendships. My Flight Instructor in Basic Training was Lt. Pike.
that we flew in the Summer of 1944
Unlike the Fairchild PT-19 we flew in Primary Training, the Vultee
BT-13 Valiant had a canopy enclosed cockpit. It was of aluminum construction and
had an "inertia" (hand cranked) starter. The Valiant weighed 3375 pounds, had a
wing span of 42 feet, had a length of 29 feet, was 12 feet tall, and was powered
with a Pratt & Whitney 450 HP radial engine. It cruised at 130 MPH with a
range of 800 miles and a ceiling of 19,400 feet. It had a fixed landing gear, a
radio for navigation and external communication, and an intercom for
instructor/student communication. The Valiant was a good aircraft, but was soon
to be replaced in Basic Training by the North American AT-6.
By way of comparison, moving up from the PT-19 Cornell to the BT-13 Vultee was like trading in a bicycle for a motorcycle. When the Cornell taxied out to take-off position it would quietly cluck and flutter. Under the throttle in the take-off it would first complain loudly and then settle into a monotonous groan as it lifted-0ff and climbed to the level-off altitude. While cruising it would hum that contented drone and buzzing song that airplanes of its era were known to enjoy.
If the Cornell had any hawk in it at all, then the Vultee was an eagle. When the Vultee taxied, it's engine uttered relatively quiet musings during the s-turns on the way out to the take-off position. It was looking forward to a good time. Under the throttle at take-off it had a roar that seemed to proclaim, "Get outta my way! I'm gonna fly!". Its growl as it ran down the runway became a song of ascending joy at the lift-off as it took its rightful place in the wild blue yonder to climb as near to heaven as the inner-being would allow.
The Valiant was proud and gloried in showing-off its prowess to us inner-beings. Loops, slow rolls, snap rolls, barrel rolls, stall recoveries, Chandelles, cross-country navigations --- "come on! Try me", it seemed to say. "You name it. I can do it. I'm rugged and up to the mark!" And it was. Ah, yes. That was the bold Vultee in the day of its glory.
| I later flew a Vultee BT-13 in a ferrying operation to an airplane graveyard in Big Spring, Texas, when the war ended. I was the lead plane with eight (slower) PT-17 Stearmans arriving later. I got on the phone in the empty office and asked the Big Spring telephone operator to notify the man-in-charge of the "graveyard" that there were some impending arrivals. It was an eeeerie feeling while I waited and contemplated the hundreds of airplanes of various types and sizes parked there. The wind was rattling the doors of an empty hangar, and dust devils were swirling through those now silent aircraft ~~ abandoned to the "graveyard". I sensed that I was viewing the death of an era. |
Our summertime basic flight training at the Garden City, Kansas, air base was an altogether different experience for many of us than our primary flight training had been at Chickasha, Oklahoma, in the spring time. It was sweltering hot most of the time that summer and the studies, flight training, and military routines had kept us busy. But we loved to fly and enjoyed every hour we logged in the air. It was practically our only recreation. The post movie theater was one of the few outlets when we could find time for it. Perhaps that's why on a couple of occasions the powers that be held a "beer-bust" for the cadets. Free beer, of course. Its alcohol content was only 3.2%. That's why it was called "three-two beer". But we had a good time and sang a lot of our favorite Air Corps songs.
One day our Aviation Cadet Company Commander had us fall in for something special. "Fall in" means to come out of the barracks and stand together in formation. Then someone would call out, "Tench-hut!", and we would "pop-to" (stand at attention) as a commission officer approached. This day he was 2nd Lieutenant Prince, our Company Commander.
He put us "at ease" and said, "Gentlemen, today is the sixth of June. Remember that date. This is D-Day, which means we have taken the offensive against Nazi Germany on their own ground. Our allied military forces have landed at Normandy. Once our beach head is established there we'll be on our way to Berlin and the end of the war in Europe." I don't suppose any of us could guess the full significance of this, but it did seem to instill in us a greater sense of ungency to get ourselves ready to take part in this courageous new advancement in the ongoing peace struggle.
This is a picture of me with my good friend Eddie Cidulka (right) from Gary, Indiana. We were Class 44-I Aviation Cadets together, both, in Basic Pilot Training at Garden City, Kansas, and in Advance Pilot Training at Foster Field, Texas, where we graduated. This picture was taken at the swimming pool in Dodge City, Kansas; nearly 50 miles southeast of Garden City. Yes, the basic pilot training was a grind with very little recreational opportunities. It was a hot summer, it was Sunday, and we had "open post". So there were a lot of Aviation Cadets having a good time at the Dodge City swimming pool that day.
It was such a hot summer day that the large Dodge City swimming pool had
attracted Air Corps guys from all around that area. But time slips by fast when
you're having fun. All too soon it was time to catch the bus back to Garden
City. 
As we
waited for the bus to arrive we saw that there were a lot of civilians waiting,
too; mostly women with bags, suitcases, and children. We watched them board the
overcrowded bus, and there was not room enough for them all. Some of them were
left behind, and it was the last bus until the next morning.
I was concerned about how we might be able to get back to Garden city; but I was proud that not one of us Aviation Cadets had tried to board the bus. Perhaps there was a little guilt involved, also. You see, in the military service we had everything provided for us. We suffered no shortages, and we had been in Dodge City that day just for fun and recreation. But these left-behind people (whom we were in training to defend) suffered many shortages, rationing, crying children, and no smiles.
However, some of us found an old funeral hearse that we all chipped-in and rented to take us back to Garden City. It was a depreciated pile of junk, but with some help it got us back to the post. All the way it sputtered, back-fired, and crept along. The valves must have been shot. Sparks were coming out of the exhaust pipe, and it quit running several times. I honestly don't remember if we spent more time in it, or more time pushing it to get it running again.
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