2/11/44: Experience, Stress & Courage

11 FEB 44

I had flown in a small airplane twice in my life before I joined the Navy. The first time was as a 13 year old with Dad and Fort Collins pharmacist Bob Ocheltree, in a four-seat Cessna 182. It was a blustery, overcast November day on the front range of the Colorado Rocky Mountains.

I hated it.

The second was as a 23 year old with my Navy recruiter, Lieutenant Stan Hudson in a tandem, two-seat T-34B.

I loved it.

About halfway through my second phase of training, Intermediate Jets at NAS Meridian, Mississippi, I came to the realization that the Navy had this training thing pretty much down. The majority of my flight school took place in 1986, the 75th year of Naval Aviation. Over many decades an institutional knowledge base had been accumulated regarding how to screen and "weed out" individuals who were not well-adapted to flight and therefore unlikely to succeed. Conversely, for those that remained, the Navy had an impressively precise idea how many flights and/or hours would be required to get the average trainee qualified through each phase en route to the eventual earning of their Wings of Gold.

Certainly in the years just prior to Pearl Harbor, and one could argue that throughout the entirety of World War II, this was not the case. Just as the Army was sending "green" and criminally ill-trained and inexperienced infantry replacements to Europe after the Normandy landings, the Navy was, of necessity, replacing veteran combat pilots with inexperienced and hastily trained young men needed to man the planes flying from the dozens of aircraft carriers America had built and sent across the vast Pacific to destroy the Japanese Empire.

To reinforce this point Princeton's Commanding Officer Captain Buracker would write in the post-Eniwetok Action Report:

"Attention is directed to comments by the Air Group Commander...which point out that Fighting Squadron 23 is actually operating with no spare pilots. The squadron left Pearl Harbor on 19 January with 27 pilots. Two pilots have been lost. One pilot has not been available because of an injured foot. Two pilots, recent additions to VF-23*, have been used as sparingly as possible because of inexperience and poor landing technique. Consequently the load has been carried by the older and more experienced pilots in operations against enemy targets on 10 of the last 15 days.

To prevent undue strain and to minimize aircraft losses a squadron flying in the combat zone should have a complement including 50% spare pilots."

Which brings us to the Hellcat incident we discussed on February 5th. Recall that aircraft number VF-14 had landed hard on a pitching and rolling deck, bounced over all the wires and during the aborted landing attempt had its tail hook cut off by the propellor of another Hellcat that was taxiing on the deck. VF-14 was then diverted to USS Saratoga so it could land more safely on a larger deck. "More safely" being a relative concept, the aircraft had then crashed into Saratoga's barrier.

VF-14 that day was being flown by Ensign James Bernard Boyd. Ensign Boyd remained aboard Saratoga throughout the next few days of strikes against ENIWETOK and stayed aboard during the transit back to KWAJALEIN for resupply and the Princeton's Change of Command. One hopes that "Jimmie," as his name was recorded in the 1930 census, knew someone in Sara's Air Group 32, perhaps a flight school classmate or acquaintance. Because even on an aircraft carrier, when it's virtually impossible to get more than 30 feet from another human, loneliness can be a real thing. Especially when you've had a harrowing experience like the one described above. Ensign Boyd whiled away the hours and days aboard Saratoga, even after the Task Group had dropped the hook in Roi Anchorage, during which time VF-14 was repaired for its return to combat and ultimately to its home with Air Group 23 aboard Princeton.

Ensign Boyd was notified that he would launch from Saratoga with the first strike on the 11th, rendezvous with 4 Hellcats from his squadron, Fighting 23, and proceed on a combat mission to Engebi. Once complete, he would return to Princeton and bring her Air Group back to its full complement of assigned aircraft.

The War Diary:

"At 1139, while landing, plane VF-14 failed to catch a wire, bounced over all three barriers, struck the after end of the island structure with its right wing, shearing off this wing. The plane careened off the port side of the island, crashed into plane VF-13 on the deck, leaving left horizontal stabilizer and elevator embedded in the right wing of this aircraft, and then skidded over the starboard side, hit the water upside down and sank immediately in 2200 fathoms of water, in position Latitude 10˚ 50' N, Longitude 162˚ 25' E. The pilot, Ensign James Bernard BOYD, A-V(N), USNR, File No. 24087, was not seen to leave the plane. Scene of crash was marked with green sea marker dye and automatic electric float light. USS FANNING was directed to search scene for pilot. Damage to the ship was as follows: After ladder from flight deck to open bridge level torn off, forward ladder twisted and broken, signal halyards carried away, steam lines to whistle and siren and electrical leads on island structure damaged, quick closing door into island torn off hinges."

At 1200 Fanning reported no trace of lost pilot and was directed to rejoin the Task Group.

Ensign James "Jimmie" Boyd, was born September 23, 1923 in Langdon, North Dakota to John P. and Charlotte Boyd. He was 26 years old and brother to Joe, Margaret, Johnnie, Betty, Helen, Bobbie, Patricia and Theresa. He had worked as a salesman at a retail department store and had completed three years of college prior to entering the Navy.

He is remembered at The Punchbowl National Cemetery in Honolulu...

...and with a stone at Calvary Cemetery in his hometown of Langdon, North Dakota.

In the short six weeks that we have been on this journey with Princeton and Air Group 23, we have already seen several aircraft accidents and now our third fatality. Each is a tragedy of course, but this one makes me particularly sad. In my mind I picture Ensign Boyd, alone with his thoughts and fears after the aborted landing attempt on Princeton followed immediately by the barrier crash on Saratoga on February 5th. What followed for him is what I can only assume must have been five days of increasing apprehension, mounting doubt and deteriorating confidence. Then the inevitable, likely dreaded, notification that he would be called upon to take to the air again. I imagine he had little concern about the launch, the join-up, or the combat mission to Engebi Island on the 11th. I can, however, imagine he spent a significant amount of mental energy focused on the return to Princeton. As the narrative details, the mechanics of his attempt to land on the 11th are a virtual carbon copy of the approach he flew on the 5th. Sadly, this bullet was not one to be dodged twice.

In the annals of Naval Aviation there is a well-worn out old saw about a physiological study done on carrier pilots during the Vietnam War in which their level of stress was measured as higher when coming back aboard the ship than it was while in combat over the skies of Hanoi. This story, I can affirm, speaks to the unique degree of challenge landing on the carrier can sometimes offer. I was never faced with what I would describe as combat with an enemy I actually thought could harm me. That said, at the risk of coming off as overly dramatic, I would agree that there were occasions, usually on very dark nights or in lousy weather or with a mechanical malfunction...or, heaven forbid, all of the above...that I assume approached what would be considered "combat-level" types of stress.

I discuss this only to honor Ensign Boyd's courage. He lived in a time different than ours. Today he may have made a different decision, but in historical context, he reflected the values of America's 20th century culture, as expressed by General Patton:

"The courageous man is the man who forces himself,

in spite of his fear, to carry on."

He faced his fears and honored his commitment to his family, his shipmates and his country. For this he has earned my undying respect and admiration. RIP Ensign James Bernard Boyd.

The war continued. "At 1354 USS MAURY (DD-401) was directed...to effect the rescue of the crew of 1 VT from the USS LANGLEY which was observed in the water in a life raft 5 miles, bearing 050˚ from Engebi Island." Maury would rescue the survivors at 1640.

NNNN

* VF-23 is the abbreviated designation for Fighting Squadron 23, not to be confused with "VF-14" for example, which is the side number of one of the squadron's aircraft.