Tom Griffith, at the Lone Star Flight Museum 12th Annual Fly-Day

By ANN Correspondent Tom Griffith

[Have a good look at Part 1; then join us here --ed.]
                    
About 1:30, I approached the tent, with my little "hall pass" from Ralph firmly in the grip of my right hand -- it had magical powers, you know -- I could wave it in front of me as if to tell the crowd, "step aside, man with warbird ride pass coming through." I first got the LSFM announcer to witness my signing the "Hold Harmless" statement between announcements and then found a friendly, easygoing Mr. Maxwell.  He gave me my "marching orders" as far as where the escape exits were on the plane, where the fire extinguishers were (this was while we were underneath a canopy by the announcer, some 100 feet away). I nodded like I was going to remember what he'd said -- I was still too wrapped up in one thought, "You're gonna get a Mitchell ride, Dude!"

He also told me that when flaps and landing gear were up, I could move about the airplane. Our copilot, Keith Hibbett, climbed up into the rear compartment with me to reinforce what Al had told me -- he showed me where the exits were from the inside and then disappeared through the same hatch that we had used to climb up into the big bird. He took his seat on the right side of the flight deck. Throughout the flight, whenever I could see the pilots, Keith seemed to be doing most (if not all) of the flying. From the looks of things, Ralph Royce will soon have another pilot rated for the Mitchell.

Where to sit in a bomber:

Here's the layout of passenger seats in this beautiful Mitchell: two forward-facing seats directly in front of the bomb bay, behind the flight deck and even with the side windows that are abeam the 13 foot Hamilton Standard props; there are also four seats in the rear of the plane. These four seats are arranged so that the front pair have their backs up against the rear of the bomb bay and they face the rear pair of seats, which are even with the "waist" windows (in commercial aircraft this is called "club seating"). The interior is lined with blue vinyl or Naugahyde, matching the passenger seats.

The rest of the "honorary crew" arrived: the first was Gerald Jackson, about my age and from Louisiana. He had won a ride on the B-17 in an LSFM drawing, and very smartly opted for a ride in the PBJ when given the chance. The other gentleman was a seasoned citizen, and I didn't have a chance to get his name or his story. He looked like he had been a young man when this aircraft was fresh out of the factory -- maybe he was rekindling an old love affair with the Mitchell.

I let the other two guys take the front seats and I settled into the right rear seat (right by the starboard waist window) and after some fumbling around, got the seatbelt hooked up. Special-D was parked parallel to the barricades that separated us from the "vulgar" airshow crowd. I looked out of my window, and found Louise in the crowd a hundred or so feet away and I naturally waved at her. Then, I was surprised and pleased to see my friend, Paul Johnson, making his way around the barricades, and away from the crowd towards the rear hatch on the Mitchell. Paul was going to get to ride, too! He buckled up in the seat opposite me, by the left waist window. Soon, we swapped seats, so I could get the photos I'd come to snap.

Under power.

We all had headsets and plugged them in, so we were able to hear the pilots running through their checklists, and before we knew it, the prop on the first big Wright began to turn (it was on Paul's side, so I didn't see it, but I did see the big cloud of blue oil smoke develop and blast past his window as the engine caught, and the prop blasted the smoke to the rear). A minute or two later, "my" engine started in the same way. I took off my headset for a minute, to hear the stereo Wright Double Cyclone music -- it was WONDERFUL!!! Headset back on [it was also deafening!], and after a few more items on the checklist were ticked off, the pilots made a radio call and we began to taxi into position in the runup area to do the prop and mag checks, etc. When we had taxied about 200 feet and turned slightly to the left onto the taxiway perpendicular to our runway, Runway 17, (note: even the big guys do their runups into the wind) I noticed Paul looking out his left-side window to the rear (the waist windows bulge outward, and this enables you look to the front and rear of the  aircraft a little easier) and he turned around, made eye contact with me (we didn't use the headsets for communication: the pilots were rather busy trying to figure out who was landing at GLS, which is Class E with no tower) and pointed to something that I had not expected -- we had two single-engine planes taxiing behind us: not just any two single engine planes, but the visiting AD-4 Skyraider, Uncle Ho's Nightmare, and the Museum's F4U-5N Corsair, Annie Mo.

We've got company!

The presence of these two warbirds could mean only one thing: formation flight! If there is a higher level in heaven than your everyday, "you've been a good person, here is your harp" level, then I'd just been elevated to that higher level, where you get a harp and wings too (pun intended).

Our pilots finally made the radio call that our plane was taking the active runway and I heard them say that they would taxi up a little beyond the runway numbers, and not take off from the very end of the runway, to give the two "little planes" a chance to form up behind them for their formation takeoff. The next thing I knew, the big Mitchell began to roll southward [the only way it could go, ya know --ed] on Runway 17.

I was surprised by a number of things a few seconds after we began our takeoff roll: it accelerated a lot more quickly than I'd have thought; it was very smooth (I expected 3,400 HP of pure Wright power to make the whole bird vibrate - after all, as noted previously, these are the noisiest piston engines out there, or so it seems) and we became airborne a lot faster than I'd thought. I know that we were had a pretty good south wind, and when you get a 15 or 20 kt wind blowing right at you, you automatically have that much airspeed before you begin rolling, but I was still surprised.

In no time, we were free of Mother Earth, and from my vantage point behind the left engine nacelle (which is bigger than many airplane fuselages) I saw the rather huge left main gear retracting rearwards into its compartment behind the big Wright.

I forget what the takeoff speed of the Mitchell is (but I'd bet it's in the 100 - 120 kt range), and this madly rolling big tire was still turning big-time when it disappeared into its compartment and the doors closed behind it. I was going to try to remember to ask the pilots if they tapped the brakes at some point just before the gear was fully retracted, or if there was a mechanism inside the compartment that stopped the rotation, or if it simply spun itself down. (I didn't remember.)

30 Seconds Over Galveston...

As soon as the gear and flaps retracted (pretty much simultaneously), we unfastened our seatbelts, unplugged the headsets and began moving about the cabin. I had already taken maybe ten photos from inside the PBJ by this time, but from that point on, the photo-shooting frenzy began. Paul and I were looking out the left waist window and he pointed down and behind us as we climbed to our cruising altitude of 1,000 ft MSL (effectively 1,000 AGL -- Galveston is essentially at sea level). 

We were over the emerald green waters of the Gulf of Mexico, with Galveston's Seawall Boulevard more or less parallel to our rather far-out crosswind leg (what we did for our 20 minute flight was to take off and fly three rather LARGE patterns on Scholes' Runway 17) and climbing to meet up with us were the Skyraider (or "Spad," as it was nicknamed years ago) and the Corsair. I knew that my digital camera had only limited telephoto capabilities, but nonetheless, I took a few photos of the two beautiful single-engine aircraft gaining on our Mitchell. In one of these photos, the broken cloud cover just overhead allowed for shafts of sunlight to shine down on the Gulf, and Uncle and Annie are nearly unseen when one looks at what is an almost beautiful photograph: the Gulf, clouds, shadows of the clouds on the water and sparkling reflections of the sun on the waves.

Over-stimulated, and loving it...

I must add that my flight on the Mitchell stimulated all of my senses except for taste: sight (where do I begin?), sound (just remove the headset for a moment and, WOW!), touch (the ride was very smooth and the skill of the pilots kept my internal g-meter from swinging past the 1.5 g mark -- I did, however, feel the power of the big Wrights that I love so much -- they literally make the whole airframe come alive) and lastly, smell -- old aircraft have a smell all their own -- Special-D has her own wonderfully special smell.

Enough about Nature and all that!

As our two formation partners winged their way up towards the "mother ship," I took a number of photographs as they got closer. I decided to go back to the tail gunner's position, where there was a Plexiglas birdhouse canopy. By the time I crawled back there, the two single-engine planes were getting nearer and nearer, and I could see the pilot of each of them concentrating on the Mitchell.

The "Spad," piloted by Rick Sharpe, pulled below and to the left of the left vertical tail of the Mitchell and the Corsair, piloted by Tom Gregory, III,  mirrored this position on the other side. I knew that I might have to shoot 10 photos to get one good one, but I would have been happy to get just ONE good photo of each plane that was getting closer and closer to my position in the tail. The internal stubs of the fake .50 cal machine gun barrels in the tail position of the Mitchell were digging into my chest as I kneeled and did a little shooting of my own -- I didn't mind the discomfort one bit!

"Enjoy your flight."

I somehow remembered the parting words of wisdom from my much better half, who had reminded me to "...enjoy the flight and don't just take photo after photo." I took a scan of what the tail gunner would have seen as the Mitchell flew in combat and decided that trying to photograph towards the front would not be fruitful, because of the design of the Plexiglas canopy over my head.

I climbed forward over the bomb bay, and the other three "guest crewmen" were moving about the cabin as well! The guys from up front wanted to see how things looked from the back, and vice versa. We all wound up basically changing places and after taking photos of the F4U from my vantage point at the window immediately in front of the leading edge of the right wing (I was only about a foot from a whirling propeller - cool!), I shifted to the window directly across the fuselage and was able to take a number of rather excellent photos of the AD-4 against the backdrop of the Gulf of Mexico, Galveston Island and Galveston's harbor as we continued flying the rather huge pattern for Runway 17 which was several miles away from our "downwind leg." Later, I was surprised to see, in the background behind the "Spad," sights of Galveston that I had previously seen only from the ground: the Seawall, the 61st Street pier, on which I spent many, many hours as a kid, fishing with my family, and of course the motels along the Seawall. I also saw downtown Galveston, the harbor, Pelican Island, the shipyards, the causeways (a pair of long bridges that connects Galveston Island to the rest of Texas), and the pyramids that make up Moody Gardens, which brings us right back to Scholes Field, the next-door neighbor to Moody Gardens.

"Clambers With Camera" Gets Good Shots

To get to my next duty position, after taking a few photos of the flight deck and the pilots (I was surprised how close together their seats were - it looked like they didn't have any more shoulder room than light twins in which I've ridden) I did the crawling thing again, this time to the expansive glass nose of the Mitchell.  Wow, what a view! We were out over the Gulf again. I looked straight down and saw nothing but salt water 1,000 feet below. 

After "enjoying the flight" for maybe a minute, I got back to the photography thing again. I was delighted to have the chance to photograph the two smaller planes from yet another vantage point. I must add that throughout the flight, once the other planes formed on our Mitchell, it was as if they were attached to us by invisible structural beams. The three planes flew as if one, as a result. My wife said that we looked fantastic! I told her that I waved at her on each pass, and she said that she was waving back.

Home, James...

Soon, we were on our final circuit, and the seat in the nose of the plane was not an official passenger seat -- so I crawled rather awkwardly, and actually, for a few seconds, was STUCK in the little tunnel that runs underneath the pilot's side of the flight deck. After figuring out that I needed to stretch out and crawl a little closer to the deck, I unstuck myself and arrived in the seating area behind the flight deck.

After a normal downwind and base leg of the pattern, throughout which the pilots were busy running their checklists, setting throttles, props, dropping flaps and gear, making radio calls, etc (AND, I might add, like my instructors taught me, they had their heads "on a swivel" looking for other traffic), we turned final and were set up to land on Runway 17. The "Spad" and Corsair landed on Runway 17 just before we did and by stretching my neck to the limits, I was able to see the runway as we were on final and short final. The pilots made a beautiful landing, and made good use of dynamic braking, keeping the nose off of the runway 'til the elevators couldn't hold it up any longer, allowing it to settle gently as we rolled out after landing. I was in the left passenger seat, and through my side window, I saw them turning off onto a taxiway as we continued to roll out. Our pilots used the whole runway and turned off at the end, saving the brakes, tires, and gear.

A heroes' welcome...

As we taxied past airshow center, the crowd was waving and smiling at us, as if we had just returned from a successful bombing mission. There were a number of cameras pointed our way, too. Our two 'little buddies' had already shut down and folded their wings by the time we taxied past them.

We were all smiles as we got off of the plane. Gerald, who is also a pilot, had his Pilot's Log Book with him. He asked Al Maxwell to log the flight for him, which he readily did. I asked Al to hang around for a few minutes, if he would, so that I could run out to the truck to get my own log book for him to enter the flight in. He said that he'd be somewhere around the announcer's tent and to look for him.

I saw my wife in the small crowd of people watching me walk towards the barricades. She was shooting a photo of this '55 year old kid,' with a grin from ear to ear... After fetching the only "little black book" that I've ever had and making it back out to the flight line, I found Al, who was having a pleasant visit with an obvious admirer. Al filled out my logbook and gave me credit for an introductory flight of 1.0 hours. It was a little of what one of my CFI's called "pencil whipping," but if you went by Hobbs time, it would have been somewhere between 30 minutes and 45 minutes, and that's not too far from one hour.

In closing, I hope that article somehow conveys the absolutely priceless thrill of my getting to fly in, and with, these aeronautical dinosaurs. I cannot begin to fully thank the Lone Star Flight Museum people, especially Ralph Royce, Valarie Barak, Bill Jolliffe, Paul Johnson, Al Maxwell…the list goes on. I can only hope to have done a good enough job on this article that they'll again invite me to fly on the B-17. I hope that every ANN reader can send in a couple of bucks to the Lone Star Flight Museum, earmarked for restoration of the big, beautiful PB4Y-2, or the SBD Dauntless that is "recovering" from an accident, or for one of their other restoration projects.

FMI:   www.lsfm.org