rense.com


P-51 - An American
Ambassador Remembered
 
By Lea MacDonald
leamacdonald@wapda.com
12-4-5
 
It was noon on a Sunday as I recall, the day a Mustang P-51 was to take to the air. They said it had flown in during the night from some US airport, the pilot had been tired.
 
I marveled at the size of the plane dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks tied down by her, it was much larger than in the movies. She glistened in the sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.
 
The pilot arrived by cab paid the driver then stepped into the flight lounge. He was an older man, his wavy hair was grey and tossed . . . looked like it might have been combed...say, around the turn of the century. His bomber jacket was checked, creased, and worn, it smelled old and genuine. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a quiet air of proficiency and pride devoid of arrogance. He filed a quick flight plan to Montreal (Expo-67, Air Show) then walked across the tarmac.
 
After taking several minutes to perform his walk-around check the pilot returned to the flight lounge to ask if anyone would be available to stand by with fire extinguishers while he "flashed the old bird up . . . just to be safe." Though only 12 at the time I was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher after brief instruction on its use -- "If you see a fire point then pull this lever!" I later became a firefighter, but that's another story.
 
The air around the exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from fuel fumes as the huge prop started to rotate. One manifold, then another, and yet another barked -- I stepped back with the others. In moments the Packard-built Merlin engine came to life with a thunderous roar, blue flames knifed from her manifolds. I looked at the others' faces, there was no concern. I lowered the bell of my extinguisher. One of the guys signaled to walk back to the lounge, we did.
 
Several minutes later we could hear the pilot doing his pre flight run-up. He'd taxied to the end of runway 19, out of sight. All went quiet for several seconds, we raced from the lounge to the second story deck to see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as she started down the runway, we could not. There we stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19. Then a roar ripped across the field, much louder than before, like a furious hell spawn set loose---something mighty this way was coming.
 
"Listen to that thing!" Said the controller. In seconds the Mustang burst into our line of sight. Its tail was already off and it was moving faster than anything I'd ever seen by that point on 19. Two thirds the way down 19 the Mustang was airborne with her gear going up. The prop tips were supersonic; we clasped our ears as the Mustang climbed hellish fast into the circuit to be eaten up by the dog-day haze.
 
We stood for a few moments in stunned silence trying to digest what we'd just seen. The radio controller rushed by me to the radio. "Kingston radio calling Mustang?" He looked back to us as he waited for an acknowledgment. The radio crackled, "Kingston radio, go ahead." "Roger Mustang. Kingston radio would like to advise the circuit is clear for a low level pass." I stood in shock because the controller had, more or less, just asked the pilot to return for an impromptu air show!
 
The controller looked at us. "What?" He asked. "I can't let that guy go without asking . . . I couldn't forgive myself!" The radio crackled once again, "Kingston radio, do I have permission for a low level pass, east to west, across the field?" "Roger Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass." "Roger, Kingston radio, we're coming out of 3000 feet, stand by." We rushed back onto the second-story deck, eyes fixed toward the eastern haze.
 
The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a muffled screech, a distant scream. Moments later the P-51 burst through the haze . . . her airframe straining against positive Gs and gravity, wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again supersonic as the burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin of the field shredding and tearing the air.
 
At about 400 Mph and 150 yards from where we stood she passed with an old American pilot saluting . . . imagine . . . a salute. I felt like laughing, I felt like crying. She glistened, she screamed, the building shook, my heart pounded . . . then the old pilot pulled her up . . . and rolled, and rolled, and rolled out of sight into the broken clouds and indelibly into my memory.
 
I've never wanted to be an American more than on that day. It was a time when many nations in the world looked to America as their big brother, a steady and even-handed beacon of security who navigated difficult political water with grace and style; not unlike the pilot who'd just flown into my memory. He was proud, not arrogant, humble, not a braggart, old and honest projecting an aura of America at its best. That America will return one day, I know it will.
 
Until that time, I'll just send off a story; call it a reciprocal salute, to the old American pilot who wove a memory for a young Canadian that's stayed a lifetime.
 
 
Comments
 
From Stephen Mocko
 
Hello Lea,
 
My buddy told me a story of a few years ago when he was fishing in a boat on a lake near Eureka Mt. There is a man named Jim Smith who has a huge collection of old WWII airplanes. He saw them flyng to his personal aiport near Fortine Montana, In formation of 2 with his P-51. I just wish I would have been there to see it. I had alot of models of the P-51. They are a great Plane.Thank you for the story.
 
 
From Dan McGee
 
Hi Lea:
 
Sure enjoyed the verbal image you painted about that P-51. I remember years ago watching a doctor, who owned a puple one, barrel out of the Santa Barbara airport. Even earlier, right around 1960, I was in Chico watching a guy doing aerobatics in a P-51.
 
Little did I know then that this plane would be part of my fall as it has been for over 20 years now. I live in Reno and cover the Air Races here and am actually the voice of motor racing in this area. There is almost nothing more seductive than an engine at full song and the Merlin is no exception. Once you've heard that song, it never leaves your soul.
 
As for the political side, I agree with youi. As a child of the Cold War - I'm acutally a War Baby, I remember when our country was the poster child for all that was good in the world.
 
Boy have we changed, and not for the better. In fact over the past few years, for the first time in my life, I've actually been considering moving out of the country. Sad but true.
 
I too hope that we might change and find the goodness that used to rule America's soul. I know we are basically a good people and want to do the right thing. Too bad our so called leaders don't share that image.
 
Hope to be reading more of your work. Keep it up and someday if you really want to see a P-51 flown in anger, be sure to come to our Air Races. They are run in mid-September and it's one of the most dramatic sights in all of racing seeing the Unlimiteds started in a dive off a pace jet.
 
The sound is wonderful and spells the fall for me.
 
Take care, sincerely -
Dan McGee - Reno, Nevada
 
 
From Patrick
 
Dear Lea,
 
I am only 50 years old but I have had a love affair with the P-51 since I was 7 years old. Now I live in Europe with my 9 year old son who is Canadian born. We have a model of the P-51 in our living room. Even my son can recognize the beauty and timelessness of this aircraft. We get a kick out of flying the computer simulator.
 
As a former search and rescue pilot myself, it is good to see that I am not the only person who still remembers where we come from as a nation and how great we can be.
 
Thank you very much.
 
Best wishes,
Patrick Green
 
 
From Dr. Nick Ashley
 
Dear Lea,
 
I just read your article on the Rense site. I know how you feel. I feel the same way when I see and hear a Spitfire flying in the sky, as a tribute to the brave men who fought and died for us.
 
I live near the airfield used by the 457th bomb group flying B17s out of the UK. The local pub has lots of pictures from that time.
 
You wrote a great article. Don't forget that there a lot of us who still admire the United States of America and what she stands for.
 
God Bless America.
 
 
From Larry Paulson,
58th Air Rescue Squadron
Tripoli, Libya 1964-65
 
Lea:
 
What a moving story. I'm going to send it to my e-mail list. Thank you.
 
 
From David Salay
 
Just a note to say i read your essay on the P-51 and really enjoyed it. My brother sent it to me.
 
 
From Dale Scott
 
Lea, despite the intimidating stack of work on my desk, I must take time to write a response to your vivid piece on the Mustang Your 51 story had the rare ability to make my hair stand up and my chin tremble at the same time.
 
In 1968, I joined my father and uncle, who were pilots, by obtaining a private ticket. Flew a 4-state sales territory for years, and have fond memories. Dad got his ticket in a Flying Jenny in '34, Uncle Jules in an American Flyer in '30. Unc became an honest-to-God barnstormer in southern Missouri, hired by a consortium who later formed Ozark Airlines. But,as you also said, those are other stories.
 
My daughter lives in Reno, Nevada, and her uncle-in-law owns not just one, but two, 51s. He participates in the air races there, taking lucky winners of the raffles up for rides they'll never forget. He lives in a tidy apartment in his hangar, along with all of his 6 planes (including an AT-6 and a Stearman). Laura describes one ride: They're flying along on a short jaunt. Shortly after takeoff, they're buzzing his favorite bar out in the desert, a regular occurrence for him. The intercom doesn't work. Uncle Bob turns around ... parachute-donned, shes's crunched up against the canopy in the seat behind him ... smiles and twirls his index finger. Having no idea what this means, Laura smiles back. Next thing she knows, she's "treated" to an unexpected snap roll ... who-o-a!! Talk about memorable! That's memorable.
 
I was also taken by the number of writers who responded affirmatively to your observation about what America has sunk to. Unlike most, however, I don't see a happy ending to the story. I now live in Costa Rica, and, based on the experiences I've had at the ports of entry I've passed through on my two trips back in 6 years, care never to return.
 
 
From John Burton
 
No one flushes the tear ducts like you, Lea.
 
 
From John Cameron.
Australia. ex National Serviceman.
 
Dear Lea, May I suggest you read for a start 2 books by Prof. Antony C Sutton Wall Street & the Rise of Hitler - Wall Street & the Bolshevik Revolution. Also for a fact that Mr.Prescott Bush did business with the Nazi Regime through banking. Wars are promulgated to enhance profits of I-MC. Also your now C in C is a draft dodger, also VP. Without wars & conflict the U.S. would go broke. WARS A FOLLY / MALADY OF FOOLS.
 
 
 
From Hayden McAfee
 
Dear Lea,
 
Thank you for reminding me of how it used to feel, to be proud to be an American.
 
 
From Mike Collins
 
Dear Lea,
 
I came to the end of your story with tears streaming down my face, I by the way, am British born and bred although I have now exiled myself to the Canary Islands. They used to say when I was young that whatever fashion/craze/political agenda current in the USA would eventually filter back to the UK, and it was true, many of your exports were enjoyed by me and my friends (the Beach Boys and Surfing stand out the most for me). I am deeply saddened by what has come to pass in recent times, and mourn the loss of the many bright and brave young men who perished fighting for what they thought was our freedom, I to look forward to a time free of the poison of political agenda, a time when we can once again look to America as our big brother, in the mean time I am "your" brother and I am sure there are many more of us out there.
 
 
 
From Fred Engle
 
Dear Lea,
 
I grew up in Oshkosh a long time ago; long before the Experimental Aircraft Association came to town.
 
At one point I returned for several years; we bought a house one half block from Whittman Field.
 
I've seen almost everything that can fly (and maybe some things that shouldn't).
 
Beyond doubt, the most shattering was the F-14 Tomcat. It has no apparent finesse. It is just plain brutal.
 
While the daily air shows always hi-lited a particular plane in rotation, like the F-14 one day or a Harrier the next; each day the Mustangs flew.
 
Some days there were a dozen in the air at once, making passes at treetop level, planting memories and hinting what it must have been like, when years before, the P-51 went to work. As you said, it's bigger than you think, and ver-much faster. Once you hear the Merlin at speed, the sound is fused somewhere deep, and cannot be forgotten.
 
In your little story (posted on Rense.com) you captured the essence of the Mustang and what America once was, more succinctly that I have read in years. I think perhaps my Senator Jack Reed might like your story as well. I will forward it to him.
 
 
From Burt Brown
 
Hi, Lea!
 
Just saw your story about the P-51. Very enjoyable. Yes, I, too, hope that day returns. Things have gotten a bit topsy turvy and we've lost our solid leaders who are honorable. Such a shame.
 
But, on a brighter note. I remember back in the mid to late '60's a fellow around my hometown of Greenville, Mississippi had a P-51. As I recall his name was Blyth Huntly. Being quite rural and home to a lot of former barnstormers turned crop dusters, things were a bit lax around here. Huntly liked to take his Mustang down on the deck and buzz the kids out skiing on the lake!
 
Imagine sitting in your boat, soaking up the sun with your friends, when, suddenly you hear this ROAR in the distance and wonder what in the hell it could be. First thought, a towboat has slipped up on you and is going to send you to the bottom. After a second of shear panic, you see this silver and blue thing reflecting in the sun. "Hey, that's an airpla..." By that time this screaming demon looks like it's going to take your head off and your panic turns to absolute terror! Everybody ducks and Huntly roars past at 200 feet (maybe less - certainly not legal). You could have counted the rivets if there had been time and you certainly could see the little trails of oil and soot along the fuselage! Suddenly the terror turns to cheering and everybody is waving for him to come back and do it again! As if he had a rear view mirror to see us in.
 
That kind of thing happened more than once. Like your experience, it was something to remember. AND THAT SOUND! I'll never forget it!
 
Enjoyed your piece!
 
 
From Ted Lang
 
Hi Lea!
 
Excellent piece! I'm an aircraft buff, and amateur historian of early American civil and military aircraft. All you missed in describing were the goose bumps covering your body listening to the whine of the Merlin and the assertive air chopping of the prop that got you in the gut.
 
But really, nicely done!
 
 
From Anonymous
 
Sometimes in these dark days of Bush/Cheney and the neo-cons I wonder if intelligent citizens of the US can ever raise their heads again. I say intelligent because most of the idiots who voted for this madman are oblivious. God have mercy on us.
 
I'm 55 and grew up loving all WWI and WWII aircraft. The P-51 is a perennial favorite of mine but I love the German birds, too. Here's one of the best sites on what the German Luftwaffe would have fielded had the war lasted into 1946.
 
 
From John (JT) Wyper
 
Dear Lea,
 
Your story really touched me.
 
My father, who will be 82 soon living in L.A., was a Mustang pilot in WWII. He was stationed in the Pacific with Col. Johnson's outfit, the 357th Figher Group. He shot down a couple of Japanese planes, including a Betty Bomber and an Oscar. He also wrote a book about his experiences titled "The Youngest Tigers in the Sky", and was decorated for a special mission in China.
 
What was also special about your story was that my dad probably knew the pilot in your story.
 
Even by 1967, most of the Mustang pilots knew each other, such as the famous Bob Hoover (a family friend), Clay Lacy and others. As a boy, I traveled to the Reno air races in 1965 and met most of the mustang pilots, including some others such as Chuck Yeager.
 
I used to fly with my dad growing up in his Cessena 172 and later his Bonanza.
 
Thanks for the special article!!!
 
 
From Tim Ryan
 
Mr. McDonald,
 
Thanks for your article on the P-51. I've been around airplanes since I was a kid. My first flight was in a J-3 Cub flown by my Dad. I was so small that I couldn't even see out the windows (until he went into a bank for me). My father flew F-4U Corsairs in South Pacific in WWII - even met Pappy Boyington. My father's friend, Mike Murphy, flew the P-51 over Germany. I even have a copy of a picture Mike took from his gun camera of a ME-262. Three of the four kids in our family have pilot's licenses; airplanes are in our blood, I guess.
 
But, your thoughts off the America that once was reverberates in me as well. It's like this country is ill, but we know she will get better. Where's the doctor - what's the medicine? I love the America of my youth, not today's.
 
I have hope, but it may take some time to get better.
 
Thanks for your piece!
 
 
From Glenn McCarthy
 
Your essay was hard to read. I have worked to keep emotions separate from my response to 9/11 and other subsequent attacks on the American people by he Bush cabal. If I did not, I would either be in jail or dead by now and every fool on the road with made-in-china window flag would have a nice big dent in their gas-guzzling status symbols. Your essay made me realize the depth of despair and shame I have been neglecting for the past 4 years. We have lost trust in our government and faith in common sense but, worst of all, we have lost our honor.
 
 
From Gene Edinger
 
Hi Lea,
 
I just want to comment about how much your story regarding the old pilot and the P-51 touched me -- it's rekindled my almost-extinguished hope for America. Anyway, just a few weeks ago, I created a 3D render of a P-51. Airplanes are not my usual subject matter, but I just felt compelled to compose it. I hope you like it.
 
 
From Harold Grubman, 1st Lt.
 
Lea, I am a retired navigator [B-24s]from the USAF, 93rd bomb group out of Hardwick, U.K.
 
I owe the P-51 a vote of thanks for the escort service it provided our B-24 and another vote of thanks for my reliving a moment when I asked for a snap roll which was promptly done right around our aircraft as we were returning from a mission to Politz Germany. Its something I will always remember.
 
Harold Grubman Ist Lt
 
_____
 
They continue to pour in faster than I can cut and paste them, Jeff.
 
From my perspective, there are people who are thankful to be reminded of the way America used to be. They were made proud again, if only for a moment.
 
Yes, it's easy to jump on the "Hate America" bandwagon these days - many do it. But in all fairness, one simply can't forget those souls who remember the way America used to be.
 
And, sir, you've played a huge role in bringing that about.
 
Very best regards,
 
Lea MacDonald
 
From JB Campbell
 
That's a beautiful story.  It reminded me of a guy here in Carmel named Walt Stewart, who also had a Mustang fighter.  He gave my mother a ride in it around the Monterey Peninsula and down the coast in the same time frame as your piece. 
 
I've often marveled at the beauty and ingenuity and power of American war planes and small arms of WWII.  Ships, too.  And each time I think, if only they could have been used in some noble struggle, rather than in the commission of the worst war crimes in world history.
 
The Anglo-American allies fought that war to save Soviet Communism.  By the time Chuck Yeager got to Europe in his P-51, there weren't too many German pilots left - just green kids - since the veterans had been lost fighting Communism on the Eastern Front.  Yeager bragged in his memoirs that he strafed German farmers on their tractors.  Unfortunately, that's what I see every time his name or a P-51 is mentioned.
 
But your story really conveyed the excitement you felt in just being near that fabulous airplane.  I met the designer of it - Edgar Schmude - shortly before he died in the '80s.  German, of course.  Very nice man.
 
 
That's a beautiful story.  It reminded me of a guy here in Carmel named Walt Stewart, who also had a Mustang fighter.  He gave my mother a ride in it around the Monterey Peninsula and down the coast in the same time frame as your piece.    I've often marveled at the beauty and ingenuity and power of American war planes and small arms of WWII.  Ships, too.  And each time I think, if only they could have been used in some noble struggle, rather than in the commission of the worst war crimes in world history.   The Anglo-American allies fought that war to save Soviet Communism.  By the time Chuck Yeager got to Europe in his P-51, there weren't too many German pilots left - just green kids - since the veterans had been lost fighting Communism on the Eastern Front.  Yeager bragged in his memoirs that he strafed German farmers on their tractors.  Unfortunately, that's what I see every time his name or a P-51 is mentioned.   But your story really conveyed the excitement you felt in just being near that fabulous airplane.  I met the designer of it - Edgar Schmude - shortly before he died in the '80s.  German, of course.  Very nice man.
 
 
 
From Randy
 
Just wanted to thank you for a great bit of writing. Brought tears to my eyes. And that doesn't happen too often. It would make a great short film.
 
 
 
From Arnold
 
I take time to thank you for what I would say is a wonderful, truly insightful and Passionate article. I bare witness that I also have in my childhood thankfully been given opportunity to see and HEAR a Mustang's Merlin powerplant at altitude and screaming as "spawn from Hell" ....totally correct description.
 
I also have to share with you that I, indeed, felt my being emotionally moved after reading your article. And most humans on this planet have no idea what you and I are talking about!
 
Imagine for only a short nanosecond the sounds of a group of Mustangs and Messerschmidts (sp) at each other's throats over the French countryside in 1943, no one can even imagine the "horrible bliss there ensued", my quotation. I have to feel a part of the wonderment.
 
PS: My dad (deceased) was a bombadier on a B-24 over Germany for 22 missions.
 
Just wanted to thank you for an article Well Done!
 
Kindest Regards,
Arnold F Chudej

 

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