In 1912, the entire Naval Air Arm was based on the Severn River near the Engineering Experiment Station. It consisted of a few hydroplanes. Occasionally, at the Naval Academy, wide-eyed Plebes would be thrilled by the sight of the daring young pilots who flew these weird contraptions. There were Towers, Ellyson, Bellinger, Billingsley (killed a year later in a crash from which Towers escaped with a broken wrist). Whiting, Sauffiey, Herbster, and a few others. They were regarded with the awe which might today be due a Martian.
The following winter the camp moved to Guantanamo Bay for experiments with the Atlantic Fleet. It returned to Annapolis for the next spring and summer. Then, after a second Cuban winter, a decisive step was taken. The old Navy Yard at Pensacola, Florida, was re-activated and placed in use as the first Naval Air Station, with Commander Mustin, another air pioneer, as commandant. Although small, it was the first real step in sporadic, but inevitable, expansion and development.
There, in almost ideal weather conditions, small numbers of new, or modified, planes were tested, and accepted or discarded. Equally small numbers of new candidates for pilot's wings were trained, accepted or rejected. These young men were not glamour boys in any sense, but rather were imbued with a strong belief in the future value of the airplane as a naval weapon. Despite their seriousness of purpose and lack of self-consciousness of their own glamour, it was not until World War II that non-flying personnel dropped the qualifying adjective from the term "aviator."
My own first contact with this new breed occurred in Plymouth, England, in 1917. There I encountered two young ensigns, clad in strange green uniforms which consisted of large pocketed tunics, riding breeches, and puttees. In addition to the uniform, they were conspicuous because they were engaged in heated argument. I soon learned that they were U. S. naval aviators flying antisubmarine patrols out of Cattwater, a British Fleet Air Base in Plymouth Sound. The discussion revolved around which one had spent the greater number of hours in the air and was, therefore, the more competent. It was finally agreed that one, named George Leo Compo, was the more adept. Including his instruction time at Pensacola, he had flown a total of 27 hours.
Before that war was over, hundreds of these young men, trained at Pensacola, Miami, Bay Shore (Long Island), and Key West, were flying from air stations along the Bay of Biscay and the English Channel. Another group was at Porto Corsini in the Adria tic. Kenneth Whiting, then lieutenant, had the honor of commanding the first of the U. S. Expeditionary Forces to reach France. He landed at Pauillac, France with 125 officers and men to do the preliminary work in setting up the bases for the naval aviation contingents which were to come. He later commanded a part of the Northern Bombing Group which was based in Felixstowe, England, and other places in Britain and France. It began to appear to all but the most skeptical that the airplane, like the automobile, was here to stay.
Applications for flight training during the war were not accepted from officers of the regular naval establishment. I did not obtain orders for this duty until 1924, at which time I was ordered to Flight Class 21 at Pensacola. The planes in use there were war-tested types.
In addition, Vought VE-7's, a current Fleet design, were provided to furnish experience in "combat" aircraft in the fighter plane phase of the course. The expanded postwar course included single and twin-engine seaplanes and an equally extensive syllabus in land planes. Instead of the original 10 or 15 hours, we flew about 250 hours. In addition, there were extensive ground school subjects to be covered before receiving our designations as naval aviators.
Beginning in 1919, aviation slowly became an integral part of Fleet structure. Small fighter planes, usually of foreign design, flew off platforms or battleship turrets, and if the launch was successful, landed ashore. In 1923, the U . S. Navy's aircraft carrier, Langley, was commissioned after conversion from an electrically driven fleet collier named Jupiter. Her maximum speed was 14t knots. From this seagoing laboratory, came the carrier striking forces of World War II and the modern fleet carriers such as Saratoga, Independence, Forrestal and the atomic-powered Enterprise.
Concurrently, catapults were installed on battleship quarterdecks, and one or two float type observation planes placed aboard each ship. Some flag officers and captains resented this desecration of their domains, but gunnery officers grudgingly admitted that target practice scores at longer ranges improved because of aircraft spotting.
Improved design and power plants brought great advances in the capabilities of the twin-engine flying boats that composed our patrol squadrons. It was perhaps over-optimism arising from these improvements, coupled with too little knowledge of economical engine cruising settings, that caused failure of the attempted three-plane flight from San Francisco to Honolulu in 1925.
This improvement in engine design was marked also by · Navy sponsorship of the Wright "J" series. This was a radial air-cooled power plant, which by 1924 was capable of delivering 225 horsepower. Its success was dwarfed and overshadowed in 1927 when Pratt and Whitney delivered the first of its later famous Wasp engines. This new engine, simple, rugged, and reliable, was rated at 440 horsepower. Powerful descendants of this remarkable machine are still in wide use today.
Later in 1925, a brilliant officer, Captain Joseph Reeves, became Commander Aircraft Battle Force, as the aviation element of the Pacific Fleet was then called. Other than having been subjected to the "observers" course at Pensacola before reporting, he had no aviation background. But he did institute immediately a cohesive and progressive schedule of training in each type of squadron that was well calculated to merge the units into an effectively integrated entity. No miracles occurred, but the over-all results were positive and rewarding.
The following summer, when my Squadron, VF-1 , was embarked in Langley, Commodore Reeves decided the time had arrived to break the record for total number of carrier landings made in a single day. He sent for Commander Mitscher, the ship's air officer, and me, to issue his order. I explained that the ship was pitching 25 or 30 feet, that the wind was over 50 knots, that our planes landed at 55, and that with Langley's necessary speed for steerage way, the conditions were not exactly favorable. The Commodore was equal to the occasion. He replied, "Well then, we shall steam down wind."
We did not, but at the cost of several broken landing gears and one airplane, the squadron did execute 128 take-offs and landings on that date.
By insisting on increased naval air participation in the monthly Fleet tactical exercises, greater skills and familiarity with force operations were acquired by airunits. Simulated bombing attacks by aircraft on capital ships developed techniques which paid off during World War II. The annual cruise with Langley,· and later Saratoga and Lexington, further refined the lessons of earlier and shorter sorties. Frustrations were plentiful but progress was evident.
A slow down in this progress took place during the depression years of 1932-35. Appropriations were cut to the bone. I met Admiral Moffett, Chief of the Bureau of Aeronautics, one day, shortly before his death in the Akron crash. He seemed in high spirits. I asked the reason for his happiness and he replied, " I've just been to the Hill and we are getting 18 million for aviation procurement next year."
Shortly after commissioning of Saratoga and Lexington, a great improvement in flight deck operation was made. Landing shock in early airplanes was dampened by a series of bungee cords. While somewhat effective, a wheels-first landing would stop the plane in a series of "grasshopper" jumps, with wheels and tail alternately touching the deck. To eliminate this feature, longitudinal wires 18 inches apart covered the landing area. Landing gear axles carried a series of T –hooks which engaged these wires and held the plane's nose down while the tail hook engaged arresting wires. Freeing these axle hooks so the plane could clear the landing area was a dangerous and time-consuming operation.
When oleo struts replaced bungee cords, the grasshopper action ceased, except in the most violent nose-down landings. Pilots argued that the fore and aft wires were no longer necessary. Carrier captains and their superiors did not agree. In the spring of 1928, Lieutenant Commander Leslie Stevens reached the West Coast with BuAer orders to conduct landings on Saratoga with the wires removed. The landings were successful, the wires were never replaced, and time intervals between landings were decreased by more than half. It was a long step forward.
After serving as Chief Flight Instructor at Pensacola for two years, I became Commanding Officer of Fighter Squadron VF -3 in June 1930. The squadron, based first on Lexington and later on Langley, was a "hot outfit," winning the Gunnery and Bombing Trophy by a score 50 per cent better than its nearest competitor. Those pilots must have had more than flying skill ; out of the 18 officers, seven achieved flag rank. Of these, Vice Admiral R. B. Pirie and Rear Admirals W. F. Rodee, and P. H. Ramsey are still active.
Although no mention has been made of Marine Corps aviation as such, we must remember that the Marines were always active participants. Captains Cunningham and Bernard Smith were contemporary colleagues of the pioneer Navy pilots. Developments in Marine Corps aviation, emphasizing special needs, paralleled naval progress.
In the decade following Saratoga and Lexington, only three new carriers joined the Fleet: Ranger in 1934, followed by Yorktown and Enterprise in 1937 and 1938 respectively. The command of carriers had been restricted to naval aviators after the Morrow Board recommendations in 1925. Because no aviators then had sufficient rank for such duties, the Bureau of Navigation ordered several groups of senior commanders to flight training in order to qualify for these commands. None of these officers ever emulated the British nonaviator carrier captain who ordered the flight deck barriers removed "because they are a mental hazard to the pilots." During the war, Admirals King, Halsey, and Turner were superbly successful in commands of great importance, not confined to aviation. Admiral Frederick Sherman, first as Captain of Lexington and subsequently a Task Group Commander in TF 58, was among the best.
Fortunately, on 7 December 1941 , we had no carriers in Pearl Harbor. Lexington and Enterprist were at sea. Saratoga had left the West Coast that day bound for Pearl, but was diverted to Lahaina Roads, where she arrived with fuel dangerously low. When the Senior Engineer Officer told the Captain that a few days further delay would completely empty the tanks, the Captain replied "Why, Chief, in times of war, things like that are bound to happen."
It was a kind of war in which almost anything might happen, and, before the war had ended, probably did. But, as headlines first told of our meeting the Japanese Navy in the Coral Sea and the Solomon Islands, stopping it in the Battle of Midway, and destroying it in the Philippine Sea, one fact became certain- naval aviation had added a new dimension to naval war. Mahan had told us we had to control the seas; Halsey, Spruance, and Mitscher showed us how to control the skies above them.
Between 1941 and 1945, our naval air arm grew beyond the wildest dreams of the officers who helped start it in 1911. The Navy had seven carriers when the war began. During the war, 17 fast Essex-class and nine light Independence-class carriers reported for duty. Building yards turned out 115 escort carriers, including 38 turned over to Great Britain. Wartime building programs covered 110,053 aircraft; operating aircraft increased from 3,406 in 1941 to 40,417 in 1945.
In two oceans, aircraft and aircraft carriers proved their worth. Air cover for convoys and hunter-killer groups in the long drawn-out Battle of the Atlantic finally defeated the threat of German submarines. Fast carrier task forces in the Pacific smashed Japanese air and surface power and then went on to pound industrial targets in the very heart of Japan. For the loss of five carriers and six escort carriers the dividends were tremendous: 447 Japanese merchant ships and 172 naval vessels were sunk for a total loss of 1, 724,000 tons. By VJ Day, there was no doubt in either Japan or the United States that naval aviation had come of age.
Early in 1960, I boarded Ticonderoga and Oriskany as they completed final training exercises before deployment in the Seventh Fleet. I had not been in a carrier for ten years. The evolutionary changes were astounding. Fighters, bombers, all were jet-powered. They landed on an angled deck. The Landing Signal Officer had been replaced by mirrors. Steam catapults threw 78,000-pound planes off the deck at high speed after a 200-foot run. Flight operations continued around the clock.
In the days when I flew off carriers or directed such operations, a pilot could make a mistake and, usually, live to make another. Today's pilots aren't given this wide latitude. They must be right the first time and every time. There is no second chance with these high-speed, heavy planes. I was heartened at what I saw and proud because I once belonged to an organization such as this; an organization which this generation has taken over and vastly improved. Our chances for an honorable peace and a continuation of freedom in the world rest with these worthy descendants of naval aviation's early pioneers.