Year: 1940

1/1/40
Original correspondence:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1/1/40

Randolph Field, Tx.

Angel:

I love you, and I wish I could have told you a little more personally than this way.

Last night was a mess, and I hope I don’t have to go through one like it again.  Chuck Patton, one of my upperclassmen back here and at Curtiss, got killed in an auto accident a couple of nights ago.  I have going with the same crowed of kids that he did.  Last night was spent with them, including his girl (they were practically engaged), and her sister and friends.  It was more like a wake than a New Year’s party.  Believe me, honey, it was no fun.  I feel pretty badly about it myself, but having to see Caroline was no joke.  She held up rather nicely.  We stayed up until five, at which time we knew she was sufficiently tired to go to sleep.  Chuck was such a cheerful, smiling person that none of us can realize he is gone. I can’t even visualize him the way he must have been after the wreck.  Fortunately, none of us saw him and we can always remember him just the way he was.

Enough morbidity.  Flying goes on as usual.  I passed my twenty hour check, so I must be doing ok.

We had no ground school last week.  All of the officers had to process our new lowerclassmen.  I was assigned a squad of 10 men and I really had my hands full.  The first day was spent in getting them their equipment, haircuts, photos, and into their room.  The other days were taken up by two or three hours of drill.  If you want to get really tired, just go out and yell commands to a bunch of dodoes for three solid hours!

Speaking of commands, do you remember Lt. Bob Cassidy, class 40 c, that I was so thick with in Chi?  Well, he got through ok, and I was quite flattered to have him call me when he arrived.  He’s a swell kid, and we had a time of it shooting the bull.  He told me a story about one of his classmates at the Point who was trying to develop a good command voice.  Every night after mess, he would leave early, run to the latrine in the barracks, run down the line flushing all 16 toilets, and then try to shout commands loud enough to be heard about the racket!  The part that tickles is that I meet this boy (now an officer) every day and I have a deuce of a job keeping a straight face.  But he has developed a good command voice!  I’ve had a hell of a lot of fun making my voice break while giving commands to the dodoes.  Of course, they think I can’t help it and want to laugh, and I keep a straight face and don’t permit them to laugh.  Boy, I’ll bet they could kill me!  I haven’t done a bit of hazing, though, and I don’t intend to.  As a result, my squad has much more zip than the rest of them.

Ed Marsh, another Curtiss man, washed out Saturday.  Boy, it hurts to see them go that way!  The Chicago men have stuck together much better than have the men from other schools.

I got a swell letter from Johny for Christmas.  Sure do wish I could have seen him.

QST published “Q Measurements” this month, but I didn’t break into Radio at all.  The QST article looked rather well, although I haven’t had time to read it through.

What a rat.  Don is out so I am consuming the candied fruit one of his gals sent him for Christmas.  I’ll bet he’ll be happy when he gets home!  I guess I told you Don washed out.  When he and Ed Marsh leave, I shall probably get Ed’s room-mate, O’Brien.  Honey, the strain is awful.  The thing that gets on one’s nerves is that your instructor can make or break you regardless of your flying ability.  This uncertainty is no fun and I shall be glad when it is over.  Of course, there are other advantages to cadet life which tend to balance it to some extent.

If some of these lowerclass misters don’t quit slamming doors around here there’s going to be hell to pay!

Darling girl, I love you very much.  Right now the future doesn’t look so hot.  But it’s looked worse and we’ve always come through before.  Present indications are definitely an Alaskan or Puerto Rican station with a no wife clause.  If it goes through that way, prepare yourself to become a traveling secretary with restricted extra-curricular activity!  I’m damned sick and tired of living away from you.  The MIT plan will just have to go through.

Be a sweet little girl and I’ll try to keep up my correspondence a little better in the future.  Between the 20 hour check, the lower class, and poor Chuck, I haven’t really lived for over a week.  I have been literally exhausted all week.

Still your husband, Cy.

 

 

1/4/40

Randolph Field, Tx

Hi Angel:

Gee, am I a bad boy!  I haven’t written in ages.  But I have been busy, which is somewhat of a reason although not much good as an excuse.

Lemme see.  What’s new!  We’re all through with ground school with the exception of two courses.  Since I am exempted from radio code, I have only meteorology.  Honey, I’m getting lazy.  I find it extremely difficult to study, and I only have one course to do.  Guess I’ll have to get on the ball.

The lower class seem to be in fair shape now, so I haven’t much more of that with which to be concerned.

I spent another hour under the hood today.  Flying on instruments is far from easy, but I seem to be catching on.  Today was also devoted to 180 degree side accuracy landing stage.  I made a C, much to my amazement.  I wouldn’t have given myself a bit more than a D, if that.  My instructor is in a better mood now, and I’m having more fun.  After flying these ships for a while, things seem to move slowly at 80 m.p.h. in landing.   There is plenty of time for everything.  At first, things happened so rapidly one was always in hot water.

At one time, I used to laugh at aviators as a tribe of dumb bunnies.  But I’m beginning to see the light.  They have to know more to start out with than an engineer does at the finish.  An engineer can make a score of 90% on his decisions, most of which are made after careful study, and yet maintain his reputation of engineering integrity.  A flyer makes his decisions under the worst conditions, no possibility for study, and must be 100% right.  It only takes one mistake.  That, for one thing, is what makes fliers a bunch of cocky “youngsters”, no matter what their physical age.  They have to stay young.

From the sublime to the ridiculous in one line.  The following are by lowerclassmen at my table:

Every Day’s A Holiday

                                 I

Come little K-dets

Said the upperclassmen one day

Come out on the ramp with us to play

Belt on your bayonets

And bring your rifles too

We aim for your feet

To be sore before we’re through

 II

So out we all scrambled

One and all

To march and drill until exhausted

Fatigued—ready to fall

But that’s just the beginning

The day’s hardly begun

There’s never a spare moment

You’re always on the run

Heil Hitler!

 

To Me

We came in here as pilots to be

But they put us in the infantry

Then our flying hopes they stifle

By handing us a *G.I. rifle

We aren’t allowed to see the lasses

The upperclass eat out our asses

We eat ** square meals and take a brace

But worse of all is Stafford’s face!

 

*G.I. Government Issue

** Square meal—eyes straight to front, all food brought vertically up from the plate to level of mouth and then move horizontally to mouth.

To Randolph

When shadows fall and bugles call

For mess at Randolph Field

The sight to see is (1) 40-B like

Vultures at a ball

They grab and yelp like

Last year’s help

Til only crumbs remain

While meek and mild

Without a smile

The (2) gunners driven insane.

 

(1)40-B—my class

(2)Gunner—lowerclassman who gets food for the table

The Proper Spirit

Oh happy day!  Oh happy day!

The day I got to Randolph.

They make me (3) brace

They make me (4) bruss

And all I do is cuss and cuss

I’ve polished brass

And shined some glass

But I’ll be damned if I’ll kiss their ass.

 

(3) Brace—exaggerated position of attention

(4) Bruss—exaggerated brace!

 

Well, Honey, now you know what the lowerclass thinks of us!  Is I mortified!

It’s time to hit the books and I yet have a letter to write to Dr. Aiken.  So goodnight for tonight.  Damn—another bell.

Sleep tight tonight, angel.    Cy

Radio Magazine, January 1940.  Cy contributed the “Yarn of the month” fiction article.

1/10/40

Hi Darling:

I’m not supposed to use this mill for anything but official correspondence, but so what.  I’m waiting for some report blanks to arrive from the OD office, and haven’t much else to do in the meantime.  I can’t do too well, as I haven’t your letter in front of me, but I shall try to remember all of the questions you asked.

Yes, Wilson, was in our class.  He sat at my table at mess, and was in my flight.  I hadn’t yet left the field when he crashed.  He apparently spun in from about 800 feet, some three miles from the field.  The ship exploded all over the place, although he was thrown clear before it caught fire.  Of course, it was instantaneous and painless.  It should be quite a shock, but one expects things like that and he is almost forgotten now.  He was a swell little guy, but there’s no point in being melodramatic about it.  Flying here is yet a lot safer than riding in an automobile.

The mail orderly just arrived.  Hope I have a letter from you.  It will be some time before it is distributed.

I’m sending you the pictures for I know you can take care of them.  All but the one of the four of us are commercial pictures sold here at Randolph.  They are so much better than anything that I could take with the facilities available that I thought it better to buy them than to mess around.  The one of the inside of the ship is chiefly for your boss’s amusement.  Please see that the folks get to see them, and then send them to Jack in Baton Rouge.  I’ll write to her and let her know the dope.  I don’t want them at home for they would get lost, and I have a place to keep them here.

The one of the Buttermilk boys is an enlargement of a snap taken in Chicago.  No explanation is necessary.  I shall give you a little dope on the rest of them.

All of our rooms are arranged as shown in that the cadet barracks picture.  There is a place for everything, and everything must be in its place.  Incidentally, there should be a towel on the towel rack to cover the empty space.   That would be a couple of gigs.

The air picture of Randolph is good, as well as showing the bottom view of one of the ships. Our ships don’t have the loop or short antenna on the bottom, but that is the only difference.  The picture was taken from about 2500 feet as a rough guess.

Inside of the ship will give you an idea of what we’re up against.  On the left is the prop control, mixture control, and throttle.  Below that is the stabilizer.  The instruments are more or less explanatory.  To the right is the primer for starting, and the radio control box.  The stick is in the center, and the rudder pedal to either side.

The mess hall is unchanged, although it is not my class.  I’m the table commandant of the near table.

Hell—no letter.

Well, there’s nothing much new here.  I have a swell sore throat to get rid of before the physical exam next week.

Be sure the folks see these and that they get mailed to Jack “sorta” quick.

Lots of love darling, Cy.

P.S. Ask Willy what he wants to know about the h.f.d.f. *

*Editor’s note: The “HF/DF” was the High Frequency Direction Finding radio, also known as the “RDF” (Radio Direction Finder) or the “Huff-Duff”.  It was set of antennas using a high frequency radio band for communicating over long distances and it was introduced in WWII.  It could also be used to locate enemy radio transmissions, especially for targeting U-Boats.  For more information see: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High-frequency_direction_finding

1/12/40
Randolph Field, Tx.
Hi Toots:
What a brain! I can’t remember when I last wrote, so I’ll write again anyhow. You’ll probably get this Monday night.
How did you like the pictures of my happy home? Thank heaven I’m naturally neat for it makes Randolph much easier.
I finished my third and last phase of night flying last night. It was beautiful. The temperature was about 75, and the sky was dotted with brilliant Texas stars. A few clouds of low scud provided contrast. I was reminded of a promise we made each other summer before last. I haven’t forgotten.
The first part of last night was devoted to making landings with wing tip lights. I did a little better this time than the last and made three fairly respectable landings.

Randolph is divided into two fields, A stage and B stage. The upperclass has one and the lowerclass has the other except for night flying. The upper class has both sides for this. Each stage is divided into four zones. The zones have upper and lower decks. Each ship is assigned a zone like upper two or lower four. The control tower directs operations by radio, bar and circle lights, or a spotlight. For wing tip landings, the lower zone is called in first. When he is clear, the upper comes down. For parachute flare landings, the procedure is reversed. Upper four is called, for instance. He climbs from 1500, his normal altitude, to 2000 ft. He then flies down the edge of the field, drops his flare at X, so located that the flare will drift over the field, cuts his engine, and glides in for a landing. As soon as upper four has left zone, lower four climbs to 2000 (from 1000) and gets set to drop his flare. The flares don’t provide much illumination, but they do give a place of reference. Since they cost $30 each, they only let us make one landing each. It was really great sport.
I had my semi-annual physical this morning and got through ok. Well, Toots, I’m still healthy. My cold and sore throat, which passed unnoticed, seem to be clearing up ok.
Oh me. Just looked at the gig list and I have fire more demerits! If I don’t pick up any more tomorrow morning, I shall only have two confinements next Saturday. I have two this Saturday too.
Time for lunch. I’ll see you later.
So you like the Digest. I thought you might. Of course, I expect to cash in on it too, later on.
It took me half an hour to figure out from whom Bill’s letter came, but I finally made the grade. Love Cy.