On a sunny afternoon in mid- July 1987, I arrived at Captain David McCampbell’s home in Lake Worth, Florida. With me was Jim Gregory, a local businessman who had served on board the light cruiser Honolulu (CL-48) in World War II. He had made McCampbell’s acquaintance and was eager to have me interview this man who had shot down more enemy airplanes than any other U.S. Navy fighter pilot.
By that time—more than four decades after he had earned a Medal of Honor and Navy Cross for his exploits—McCampbell had largely retreated from interaction with the outside. He didn’t make many demands on the world, and he preferred that it not make many on him. Thus, Gregory had performed a valuable service in getting the old fighter pilot to agree to an oral history.
As we settled down to business that afternoon, McCampbell was pleasant enough, but his answers were short and to the point. He volunteered little, though a number of the things he described were interesting, such as the fact that he and future Senator Barry Gold- water had been friends at Staunton Military Academy in Virginia back in the 1920s, before McCampbell went to the Naval Academy. He told also of his experiences as diving champion when he was a midshipman in the class of 1933, service as a junior officer, and flight training. One of the few times he opened up was when he related his proficiency in diving to his maneuvers with an F6F Hellcat in 1944.
The following day, I showed up to conduct a second interview and move the narrative forward. This time McCampbell was apologetic, explaining that he had broken off part of a tooth. His jaw was packed with cotton, so he wasn’t able to do an interview. “But come on in,” he said, “we can watch some television together.” And so we did. It happened that Congress was right in the middle of its Iran-Contra hearings, so we watched and listened to the testimony of Oliver North and Robert McFarlane.
Later, McCampbell played for me an audio tape in which three aviators told of their wartime experiences. One was Steve Ritchie, the Air Force’s first fighter ace in Vietnam; he was smooth and polished as a speaker. George Gay, the lone survivor of Torpedo Eight at the Battle of Midway, described being shot down and then rescued. He had told the story so many times that he knew exactly when to pause to let the audience have a chuckle. Then it was McCampbell’s turn. As I listened to the tape, it seemed that he had been ill at ease in speaking publicly and eager to be finished. So this was no pose I had encountered. He truly was uncomfortable about blowing his own horn. He preferred a quiet retirement in front of the television set. Sitting in an easy chair in his den, he was surrounded by framed photos and certificates depicting an exciting career. Amidst those trophies, he enjoyed Vanna White and “Wheel of Fortune” along with the rest of America.
Remarkably, though, that day we spent together—chatting, watching television, and sharing a couple of meals— broke the ice. The rest of the week, he was much more loquacious, opening up about the remainder of his service, including the 1944 combat deployment of his Air Group 15 on board the brand- new carrier Essex (CV-9). He took out seven Japanese planes during the Marianas Turkey Shoot in June and nine in one flight on 24 October during the Battle of Leyte Gulf. As he told what had happened, he painted vivid word pictures. Among them was a description of being aloft on 25 October when Admiral William Halsey took Task Force 38 north to meet a decoy force of carriers and battleships. As the Japanese and U.S. forces steamed toward each other, McCampbell was able at one point to look down from his airborne vantage point and see both U.S. and Japanese ships heading toward each other before they turned back. When the cruise of the Essex ended, McCampbell had personally shot down 34 planes of the total of 315 amassed by Air Group 15.
During later interviews he shared recollection of his postwar career. He served in such career-enhancing jobs as executive officer of the Franklin D. Roosevelt (CVB-42), Sixth Fleet operations officer, and skipper of the attack carrier Bon Homme Richard (CV-31). Even so, he was passed over for flag rank. McCampbell was philosophical about it, calling to mind his carrier’s collision with an oiler. He also mentioned the fact that he’d been involved in multiple marriages, a real no-no for promotion in his era. Still, he was content as he passed the days of retirement in company with his fifth and final wife, Frieda, a cheerful, energetic woman whom he invariably addressed as “Buffy” because her maiden name was Bouffleur.
With the passing of McCampbell in late June of this year, his friend Jim Gregory suggests that it would now be appropriate for the Navy to name its Fighter Weapons School (Topgun) at Fallon, Nevada, in honor of this ace of aces. David McCampbell was, after all, the foremost “topgun” in the U.S. Navy’s history.