In the morning sun, I could not believe my eyes. There, in our little airport, sat a majestic P-51. They said it had flown in during the night from some U.S. Airport, on its way to an air show. The pilot had been tired, so he just happened to choose Kingston for his stop over. It was to take to the air very soon. 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, and then stepped into the pilot's lounge. He was an older man; his wavy hair was gray and tossed. It looked like it might have been combed, say, around the turn of the century. His flight 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 tall, lanky man 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!", he said. (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 with an arrogant snarl. 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 ran 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. It's tail was already off the runway 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 hellishly 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 tower calling Mustang?" He looked back to us as he waited for an acknowledgment. The radio crackled, "Go ahead, Kingston." "Roger, Mustang. Kingston tower would like to advise the circuit is clear for a low level pass." I stood in shock because the controller had just, more or less, asked the pilot to return for an impromptu air show! The controller looked at us. "Well, What?" He asked. "I can't let that guy go without asking. I couldn't forgive myself!"
The radio crackled once again, "Kingston, 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, I'm coming out of 3,000 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 G's and gravity. Her wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again supersonic. The burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin of the field shredding and tearing the air. At about 500 mph and 150 yards from where we stood she passed with the 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 indelible 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 old American 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 this story. Call it a loving reciprocal salute to a Country, and especially to that old American pilot: the late-JIMMY STEWART (1908-1997), Actor, real WWII Hero (Commander of a US Army Air Force Bomber Wing stationed in England), and a USAF Reserves Brigadier General, who wove a wonderfully fantastic memory for a young Canadian boy that's lasted a lifetime. --------------------
PLEASE GOD MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN….VERY SOON
My office window is literally on the ramp of our local airport. I have seen some amazing aircraft pass through in my years. None are more amazing than those WWII war birds that occasionally drop in. We get to see a few in September when the Reno Air Races are going on and they drop in for fuel.
For total cell-altering sound though, you need to be standing by when an A-1E Sky Raider lights off. Lordy!. That is a huge plane with a monster radial engine. I'd come into work when it was still dark, and didn't see the beast on the ramp. When it lit off, I quite literally moved away from the window. I thought it was going to come out of its frame work.
Had Air Force One in once with GWB on it. C-5 Galaxy's are impressive monsters.
Had some good pics on a disk once until it got corrupted.
We don't get to see the aircraft we once did, though. I think its just too expensive even for the rich folks to fly their toys around like they used to. Fuel, insurance, etc.
The plane was refuel and the word spread about the time it was talking off. There must have been 300 people standing out there to watch the takeoff.
The pilot went to max power started his roll and then went into afterburner. He pulled up to maybe 50 ft. sucked up the landing gear and accelerated until he hit the end of the runway. Then straight up. It was out of sight before I heard the afterburners cut off.
The Phantom is one of those planes that just looks mean sitting on the tarmac, but quiet is not one of its main features. Two J-79 engines in afterburner could probably have been heard in Fresno 30 miles away.
Terry Then an AT3 VA-122 Spad School soon to become Corsair College.
Coyote 65's Link
For those inquiring minds that want to know what the word at the end of the video means. "BALBO" Here you go.
Balbo was a common term in the late 1930s and early 1940s to describe any large formation of aircraft. It was named after the Italian fascist flying ace Italo Balbo who led a series of large aircraft formations in record-breaking flights to promote Italian aviation in the 1930s.
During the Battle of Britain the term was used for the Big Wings that were based at RAF Duxford.
Terry https://player.vimeo.com/video/93587997
My father designed bombers during WWII They housed a lot of b-17 and b24s at Dallas love field for years. My dad got my brother and me in for rides in both really cool memory
My grand parents lived in Enid OK and one of my 2nd or 3rd cousins collected WWII aircraft. He housed them at the Enid airport In the sixties I got to go a couple of times in a P51, Corsair and a Thunderbolt.
For my sons 18th birthday he wanted to ride in a p51 so I took him to Galveston. There is a place that does rides in that and several other Vintage WWII planes. He burned up a lot of Dads money that weekend. Two rides in the 51 and a ride in a B24 and a Bi wing trainer. Worth every dime!
