“A FLIGHT TO PHOTOGRAPH AN ERUPTING VOLCANO”

Being one of the fortunate recruits to arrive at Hickam Field (now Hickam Air Force Base) in 1939, I was soon picked to enroll in the Aircraft and Engine (A&E) school conducted by the 17th Air Base Squadron and graduated in May 1940 as Private First Class. I was then assigned to the 50th Bomber Squadron and rapidly advanced to Corporal with assignment to Crew Chief and Flight Engineer on my plane. It was a Douglas B-18 Bomber named Bolo. A sturdy aircraft having two Curtis Wright (Cyclone) 1820-45 reciprocating engines. It was a Bomber plane version of the Douglas DC-3's being used by airlines and C-47's by the military. Trained personnel were scarce during that period and it was common practice for Crew Chief's to also fly as engineer on their aircraft. My first exciting experience occurred during an eruption of the Kilauea volcano, located on the peak of mountain Mauna Loa on the island of Hawaii. Also know as the Big Island. The eruption was a national news event and my Squadron was picked to fly a group of news photographers over the scene. My aircraft was one of three picked for the mission.

The mountain peak was 13,000 feet altitude and we were required to use breathing oxygen. During this period our bomber planes were non-pressurized and the oxygen system's were antiquated, consisting of a pipe-stem object placed into the mouth with a manual operated valve located at each flight station. It was required use when flying above 10,000 feet and due to heat saturated air erupting from the volcano it was quite difficult to determine a safe altitude for crossing.

As I recall we flew over the volcano at approximately 15,000 feet and upon reaching the apex of our flight pattern a tremendous updraft caused by excessive temperatures rising from the bowels of the flaming mass, caused our aircraft to shoot upward as if it were shot from a cannon! I vividly remember being glued to my seat and bent over at the waist with my head down between my knees! (During this period our bombers were not equipped with shoulder harness) It seemed an eternity before our accent slowed and during that period there was dead silence in the cockpit. Probably due to all flight crewmembers being in a state of shock. I certainly was! We did not make a second pass, but flew directly back to Hickam Field to have our aircraft inspected for excessive stress. The mission was declared a success, since the camera's which were installed in the open bomb bay compartment automatically took some spectacular pictures. However, I did hear some comments from the news photographer's on this mission, declaring this would be their last flight of this sort! 

"O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties, Above the Fruited plain! America! America! God shed His grace on thee, and crowned thy good with brotherhood, From Sea to shining sea!” 

“CONTINUING MEMOIR’S OF MY EXPERIENCES IN THE EARLY AIR FORCE STORY”

Being a trained A&E mechanic, crew chief and flight engineer on one of my squadron’s B-18 bomber aircraft, was to me at age 19 an exciting accomplishment. I was especially proud, having only a limited education. Some of the duties were fun for this kid, e.g. due to the nose high, tail low attitude of the B-18 during taxi. It was common to see flight engineers perched on top of the fuselage with legs hanging down through the cockpit overhead escape hatch during taxi from, or returning to flight-line parking spaces. It was necessary to help guide pilots by watching wing tips to avoid accidents. I found it thrilling to be quick to throw open my lap belt, then pull myself up through the overhead hatch immediately during slowdown on roll-out after landings. This agility came after much practice. My most pleasing duties were being in charge of my aircraft’s maintenance and flight safety and be allowed to start the engines from the left seat and taxi the plane across the field to designated run-up area, or during alert maneuvers across to the revetments. Most exciting were the few times my pilot (unofficially) allowed me to fly the plane from the right seat during training flights. Those were proud moments I shall never forget. I had strong aspirations of becoming a pilot. (Actually, it came after end of WW2 when I used my GI Bill 4-year eligibility to complete a private and commercial flight-training program.)

My second exciting experience happened during one of our annual tours to Morris Field on the (Big) island of Hawaii for bombing practice. As I recall it was summer or early fall of 1940 and we would fly missions at high altitudes and drop practice bombs on targets drawn upon the black lava rock formations in a restricted government property area. During taxi back into a parking area after completing one of these missions our left landing gear tire was punctured on a broken tie-down stake. After we became aware of the slow leak our pilot made an immediate decision to fly the plane back to Hickam Field as the equipment to replace it was not located at this outlying airfield. We successfully got airborne before the tire went flat, but during the return flight we had a discussion about how the plane would react during landing. The pilot added to my apprehension when he explained it would be his first single wheel landing. He explained, as the speed decreased on rollout after touchdown and he was no longer able to hold the left wing up with rudder and aileron, it would settle and drop onto the flat tire and would probably swerve to the left. Well, that is exactly what happened, in fact it pulled so sharply left it left the runway and caused the plane to make two full ground loops! This immediately covered the plane in a huge cloud of dust. 


I made a swift exit through the overhead escape hatch. leaving my seat before the plane came to rest. I jumped down from the left wing and ran across the airfield and when I looked back I saw the remaining flight crew members in hot pursuit! Although shaken, except for my right shoulder being severely dislocated, none of us were seriously injured. The aircraft, however, was badly damaged and was out of service for weeks. After I was taken to our first aid unit to have my shoulder put back into it’s socket and bound to my side, I joined some friends at our non-commissioned officer’s (NCO) Club to settle my nerves. with a few cold one’s and reflect on how I cheated death one more time! tsk tsk

“CONTINUING MEMOIR’S OF MY EXPERIENCES IN THE EARLY AIR FORCE STORY”

Although designated Reconnaissance and operating the Douglas B-18 bomber aircraft. My Squadron flew other important missions while I was a member of the flight crew. We towed sleeve targets for gunnery practice by the Coast Artillery ground troops, of Fort Kamehameha located on the western shoreline near Hickam Field and Camp Malakole located near Ewa (pronounced Eva), where later the Ewa Marine station/airfield located. The targets were attached to steel cables and reeled several hundred feet aft of the plane, thank goodness, as the recruits firing the 30/50 caliber machine guns were not known for their accuracy. Our tow cable had been severed by gunfire more than once and too close to the tail of our aircraft for comfort! The gunnery ranges were located on government property of a coastal beach on the island of Oahu, north of where the Kaneoahe naval air station is presently located on Barbers Point. Our flight patterns were flown parallel to the beach gunnery range and from a point at sea, flying inland to give the troops an overhead shot. For gosh sakes!

It was on one of these missions and a flight pattern from offshore toward the inland coast of Oahu, that I experienced another close call. Just as we cleared their target area our copilot inadvertently allowed a fuel tank to run dry and both of our engines quit! For a moment there was dead silence except for my pounding heart. When I recovered from shock, which was probably a few seconds but seemed like an eternity, I lunged forward to grasp the fuel tank selector valve located on the aft side of the control pedestal between the pilot and copilots seats. As I grasp it two other hands were there, pilot copilots & mine. Luckily after we switched to a full tank and with me pumping as hard as I could on the (wobble) fuel pressure pump handle, I heard the most wonderful sounds I had ever heard. The roar of the engines coming to life and shouts from everyone in the cockpit! Especially from the pilot, some words expletive, as he pulled back on the control wheel and the copilot pushed the throttles to full power to get some needed altitude! It was then; however, I became aware of another serious problem. Violent repeated jerking of the aircraft, which hampered the struggle to gain safe altitude necessary to avoid contact with the ground! I then looked toward the rear and saw two armament airmen jammed into the cockpit entry door with eyes as wide as silver dollars and it immediately dawned on me the reason for the jerking. They had not cut the sleeve target cable with bolt cutter provided them and as they were instructed to do immediately when any problem occurred. And as we lost altitude rapidly when our engines quit the sleeve target was down and dragging through the thorny Kiave underbrush! Obviously it was not our time to bite the dust and the struggling B-18 slowly gained altitude and pulled the shredded sleeve target from the bushes. We flew safely back to home base, while congratulating each other for cheating death one more time! Tsk, tsk.

After parking the aircraft the pilot ask the copilot to go on ahead and that he would talk to him later and the rest of we crew members were admonished. Me for not alerting the copilot that a fuel tank was running low, and the armament airmen for not cutting the target cable. Oh well, water always ran uphill in the military, tsk. I chalked that mission up to a lot of luck and the saving hand of God.

“CONTINUING MEMOIR’S OF MY EXPERIENCES IN THE EARLY FORCE STORY”

Neither my aircraft nor me were principals during this next exciting experience; however, since we were one of three B-18’s from my squadron on the mission causes me to vividly recall details of what occurred. It was my first night navigation mission. It happened in May 1941 just before we received our first Boeing B-17 (Flying Fortress) aircraft. It was such a news event the Honolulu papers carried it for several days.

It was after dark when we reached our rendezvous altitude over the island of Oahu, then flew off on the first leg of our mission to a point several miles east of the (Big) island of Hawaii. We were three aircraft flying at different altitudes and vectors to avoid mid-air collision, but maintained radio contact. I was just becoming accustomed to the eerie feeling of night flying by the time we started our second leg of the triangle toward a point somewhere off the northern tip of the island and to this point radio contact led us to believe we were in good shape. Suddenly that was shattered by a report from one of the other planes having engine problems and then soon after a report of engine failure and that they were losing altitude. We immediately broke off our mission to accompany the disabled aircraft into Hilo airport, but to make matters worse we flew into some very bad weather. After what seemed a short period of time we lost radio contact with them and when attempts to locate the lost plane became futile we returned to Hickam Field.

There was an intense air search for the lost plane which continued for a period of five days before it was spotted on the slopes of mountain Mauna Loa, at about the 10,000 foot level. The rescue team took another four/five days to reach them due to dense jungle like terrain. Miraculously, only one flight-crew member was injured and he not seriously. This was due to an excellent performance by the pilot, by making a split-second correction prior to the crash. As he described it, the mountain just loomed up before him in the darkness and he just reacted. He hauled back on the wheel and the aircraft stalled out and belly flopped into the thick underbrush. The undergrowth was so dense the plane settled into it and did not slide forward very far. The crew was so shook by the crash in total darkness and harsh weather; they didn’t do much except to make sure all power was off, then tried to get some rest. One airman who was riding in the bombardier compartment located in the aircraft nose section. Opened the lower hatch and tried to lower himself out, but when his feet did not touch anything solid he pulled back inside and warned the rest of the crew to not attempt dropping out of that hatch until daylight. The next morning they discovered the plane's nose section jutted out over a deep ravine that had been cut by lava flow.

After the rescue team hacked their way up to the aircraft, they found the flight-crew members in good shape except half starved. It was a miracle!

The aircraft was never recovered and is still nestled on the mountain slope.

“CONTINUING MEMOIR’S OF MY EXPERIENCES IN THE EARLY AIR FORCE STORY”

In April 1941 I was promoted to Sergeant and by early fall in training for Aerial Engineer, later designated Flight Engineer, on one of the two Boeing B-17 (Flying Fortress) aircraft my squadron had received. These were the early “D” Models without tail gun positions, but later models became famed stalwart bombers for the USAF during World War II. Our Squadron Commander Warren H. Higgins was promoted to Lt. Colonel and transferred to a higher command. Our new Commander was Major Walter C. Sweeney Jr. who later during the war rose to rank of major General.

The following exciting experience came during the first transition flight from Hickam Field to Midway Island, with Major Sweeney as pilot. All was going smoothly and I was thrilled to be included with the flight crew of this magnificent aircraft, until after we had flown past the point of no return and the plane began to siphon fuel from the wing tank vents at an alarming rate. The fuel could be seen in a mist form off the trailing edges of both wings and the fuel quantity gages were dropping at an abnormal rate. Major Sweeney tried to break the siphon problem by making many radical flight maneuvers without success. He then made radio contact to advised Midway flight control that we had an emergency situation and requested straight in approach, with standby emergency equipment. To conserve fuel we then feathered the two outboard engines and placed our fuel mixture controls in the maximum lean positions. Yet the fuel quantity gauges continued to drop at an abnormal rate. As we made or two engine approach to landing I vividly recall zero reading on the two remaining fuel tank gauges! To make the landing even more scary fire engines and ambulance vehicles were lined up on both side of the runway!

Being the assistant Engineer in training on this flight it became my duty to stick the fuel tanks to determine what amounts remained in the two inboard tanks. I was only able to wet the end of the dipstick and not enough to measure any amount of remaining fuel!

We were flown back to Hickam Field in Navy PBY Sea Plane and took a considerable amount of ribbing from the sailors, but nevertheless very happy to get back to home base safely. As a result of our incident the B-17D’s were all grounded for a period until Boeing engineers and mechanics arrived to determine the problem and make corrections. As I recall it was a rather simple fix by cutting the protruding vent tubes on a different or greater bias, which flight tests proved to be adequate.

Later during WWII this Flying Fortress aircraft made crash landings at sea (commonly called ditching) and in most instances broke apart on contact with the water, as I recall. I was happy we did not have to test their capability for ditching on this flight! 

                                                            <sup>"DAY OF INFAMY"
At this period in my life, when the time has come to face mortality, I often think of my youth, and the constant struggle to survive what is called the “Great Depression.” Believe me, it was not great for kids starting a career. In 1939 I was just out of high school. After a few months of job hunting and little success, I decided to join the Army Air Corps. My pitiful paying job in the lettuce harvest in Taponas, Colorado ended, and I traveled to Denver to join up at Fort Logan. 
It was October, World War II had started in Europe, Hitler was in the news and Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys were on the jukeboxes. I didn’t know it, but I was starting a 40-year aviation career. The pay was only 21 dollars per month, but at the time just having three meals a day, warm clothes and a roof over my head was all I could hope for. The military also offered school and training, which appealed to me. 
I didn’t know it at the time, but my budding aviation career would take me to the most unforgettable day of my life: a day so devastating and awful, it left an imprint on my mind that can never be erased. It happened Sunday morning, December 7, 1941, the day all military bases on the island of Oahu, in the Territory of Hawaii, suffered a sneak attack by Japanese planes. 

 EXCITING TIME

After enlistment I had been sent to Fort McDowel on Angel Island in San Francisco Bay for my recruit training. At that time, man-made Treasure Island was the site for the 1939 World Exposition and my first look at such a fabulous extravaganza was thrilling. While there all free time was spent on Treasure Island, seeing such wondrous things as Sally Rand and watching with my heart pounding as pilot Tex Ryan looped the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge. I was thrilled each time our motor launch stopped at the renowned Alcatraz prison to drop off or pick up passengers, by trips between Angel Island and Fort Mason dock, and by my first cable car ride. 
I arrived in Hawaii - then a virtual paradise - Dec. 1, 1939, aboard the troop ship USS Grant after seven days at sea. I was immediately transported to Hickam Field, a new Army Air Corps bomber base still under construction. The Army Air Corps had recently moved to this location from Ford Island, in the center of Pearl Harbor. This new location was on government property adjacent to Pearl Harbor. I was assigned to the 50th Squadron of the 11th Bomb Group (H), and by December 1941 had advanced to Sergeant with experience as crew chief and flight engineer on the Douglas B-18 twin engine planes and Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress four engine planes. 
On the “Day of Infamy,” at 7:55 a.m. my friend Walter “Cotton” Thompson and I awoke to sounds of exploding bombs and strafing aircraft overhead. We rushed outside our quarters with first thoughts of a mock attack by pursuit planes from Wheeler Field, but very soon recognized the Rising Sun emblem on the wings of the circling planes. 
In a state of shock and utter disbelief, we quickly took refuge under a temporary wood-frame building across the street from our barracks. We dove under the building from the street to avoid a plane diving at us with guns blazing.
As I recall that instant, I can almost feel the sting of concrete chips on my face, and hear the chatter of machine-gun fire as bullets ripped into the street. I lay under that building - constructed a few feet off the ground to prevent humidity rot - as bombs exploded directly in front of my eyes as they fell on our barracks, and the mess hall where many men were having breakfast. Some fell short and exploded at ground level directly across the street.

TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCE

The bombs took the lives of some friends in my squadron who ran outside, just as I had, when all hell broke loose. When those bombs exploded right in front of me at ground level, the concussion literally lifted me up, as if the ground under me had sharply risen beneath my stomach with tremendous force, knocking the breath out of me, making me temporarily deaf. The horror I witnessed from this refuge was traumatic. I recognized two close friends from my squadron who ran from our barracks and were immediately blown to bits by shrapnel; strafing aircraft shot another down. 
During the lull between the two waves of the attack, and after, I helped with wounded and dead as the street ran ankle deep with red water due to ruptured water mains and the blood from so many victims. Long after darkness I helped fight fires at the hangar area, but could not sleep that night thinking of possible invasion of Japanese forces. To make matters worse, and to confirm my thought of possible invasion, a loud salvo of gunfire went up from Pearl Harbor. I later learned it was “friendly fire” which shot down five Navy planes attempting to land at Ford Island during radio silence, killing four pilots. War was already Hell for me!
I’m still saddened by memory of events leading up to and since that “Day of Infamy.” I look at a black-and-white snapshot of me with two friends taken outside our barracks at Hickam Field, the day we celebrated our advancement to sergeant, and reality hits me; Shortly after the photograph was taken they both voluntarily transferred to Clark Field in the Philippine Islands, and on their “Day of Infamy” were taken prisoner by the Japanese.
They spent the remaining years of the war in a Japanese prison camp, suffering inhuman treatment and malnutrition. I talked with both shortly after their release, following the unconditional surrender by Japan, and their account of humiliating, savage treatment, including suffering from malnutrition, is something I cannot yet forgive, or will ever forget. 
One friend was so badly treated he spent the rest of his painful few years in a wheelchair. The other (Since I first wrote this has died) explained how he survived starvation by pulling his socks up over the bottom of his pant legs to form pockets, and sneaking rice through his open fly while in the chow line, to be removed and eaten after lights out. I was shocked and angered by these accounts, and can believe the stories of even more savage treatment suffered by many more of my friends who did not survive, those 
killed during the attack on Clark Field, or during the Bataan Death March, murdered by their captors along the way.
My belief that Americans subjected to inhuman treatment by the Japanese is corroborated by reading books written by other prisoners of war: “The Chow Line,” by Ken Towery, and “Prisoners of the Japanese,” by Gavin Daws. I strongly recommend both books be required reading by all students of American history. As I read these books and recall accounts of horrible treatment my friends suffered while prisoners of the Japanese. It causes me to shudder with revulsion at the lack of compassion and reward shown our prisoners of war by our government, in comparison to the acts of forgiveness, and remuneration given Japanese persons placed in internment camps here in America after the attack on Pearl Harbor - an attack which killed more than 2,000 U.S. military personnel and marked entry into World War II. 

PLAYING WITH HISTORY

Events in recent years - the attempt to rewrite history by officials of the Smithsonian Institution with regard to exhibit of the aircraft Enola Gay and it’s mission, and the halfhearted apology from Japan for the attack on Pearl Harbor without first making a declaration of war - are further proof our government has been neglectful in it’s attention to facts of our history prior to, during and since World War II. To allow our WW II veterans to be degraded, and shown to be bad guys, is a travesty. 
To consider giving credence to the apology from Japan, with their excuse for not making a prior declaration of war before attacking Pearl Harbor, shows disrespect for the Americans killed at Pearl Harbor. I do not accept such weak apology. Remember Pearl Harbor, keep America alert!

Aloha and God bless. Lee Webster</sup>