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GORDON GREB |
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RUSTY, BOY AVIATOR This Week: Rusty and the DC-3  Rusty drew this picture of the DC-3 he flew in during World War II. When he grew up and changed his name to Gordon, he and his special girl, Darlene, often traveled in the commercial version of this aircraft. |
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In his youth, Prof. Gordon Greb was a boy radio actor. His greatest part was the starring role in "Rusty, Boy Aviator," an action serial which was heard by many thousands of listeners in the San Francisco Bay Area. Prof. Greb wrote this column while returning home from Spain in a modern commercial jet. |
Why this veteran airman
has faith in air travel today
By PROF. GORDON GREB
of TheColumnists.com
SOMEWHERE
OVER THE ATLANTIC
(En route to the USA)
I’ve always been confident that American-built aircraft can take us safely anywhere, anytime and through any conditions. Most youngsters of my generation were fascinated by flying. We stood in the school yards during recess in the l930s and glanced upward in awe at men in their flying machines passing overhead.
I had my first lesson in flying at the age of five, was fascinated by such Hollywood movies as “Wings” and “Dawn Patrol” and volunteered to fly for the U.S. Army Air Corps in World War II. So why stay home in a rocking chair when there is a big wide world out there to explore and enjoy?
Three weeks ago my wife and I flew to Spain to check up on our investments. Thinking that European stock may help offset the decline of the American dollar, we’ve become part owners of Endesa, one of Spain’s largest electric utilities, and while staying with our daughter at Salamanca encouraged her to leave the lights on as long as she wanted. We reasoned that an increased utility bill for her could mean higher dividends for us.
Now it was time to go home. Flying for me is like Zen Buddhist meditation. Nothing in the wild blue yonder bothers me. No diversions of any kind are needed to quiet my mind. So getting aboard a beautiful, new Boeing 777 aircraft in Madrid one week ago and buckling our seat belts was for me the equivalent of doing the canal boat ride with the kiddies at Disneyland.
Like the comic book character “Batman” who enjoyed his adventures in the company of “Robin,” I’ve always had my own Daredevil Ace accompanying me--my wife Mildred (a.k.a. Darlene)--who is as eager to take to the skies as America’s famous globe-trotting Amelia Earhart.
With Darlene by my side, we’ve flown everywhere you can imagine in everything from puddle jumpers landing near the farmlands of Iowa to superliners soaring over the skyscrapers of Tokyo, through wind, rain, storm and snow. While Darlene and I both appreciate the comfort and speed of modern aircraft, our favorite plane is one of the best passenger planes ever built--the Douglas DC-3.
Known by pilots to have been the most reliable aircraft they’d ever flown, it was was first built in l935 according to specifications by an American engineer Arthur Raymond, who only recently passed away at the age of 99. He designed into it so many air quality ideas that within 10 years 11,000 of these planes had come off assembly lines. By l944 the DC-3 dominated the world’s commercial aircraft by being 90 per cent of all planes in the air. Both my wife and I can attest to its air worthiness from personal experience.
 "Have You Tried WHEATIES??? Rusty, Boy Aviator, just can't start his day without a big, energy-loaded bowl of crackling WHEATIES corn flakes! He used to love slicing a few big, plump, red strawberries into his WHEATIES, but now that Rusty is all grown up and in his 80s, he prefers to slice up a few dozen nice big brown PRUNES in his WHEATIES because he knows that will get him moving along the way he needs to move when another major international flying assignment comes his way. So, boys and girls, do what Rusty, Boy Aviator, does and EAT YOUR WHEATIES WITH PRUNES and you'll be ready for darn near anything that comes along!!!" |
When Darlene took her degree from Stanford University in l948, she was given a graduation present by her mother--an eight-week vacation to South America.
She began her journey by taking a train from Los Angeles to board a cruise ship out of New Orleans. By the time the ship reached Rio de Janeiro, it was time to get off and fly. Using planes was the best way to traverse such underdeveloped regions as Brazil, Ecuador, Argentina, Chile, Venezuela, Costa Rica, Guatemala, and Mexico.
Darlene’s most exciting experience was flying from Argentina to Chile through the Andes. Since her DC-3 could not fly high enough to go over the peaks, passengers had to wear portable oxygen masks for the highest altitude--and then that wasn’t always high enough so you’d look out the window to see the plane going through--not over--these high snow-covered mountains. She remembers the plane wending its way like a farmer’s wagon going down a winding country road through the snow-covered peaks of these high mountains.
Unable to fly atop these cliffs and crevasses, you prayed for good visibility to get around and through them. But just as the DC-3 had performed well during the war as a C-47 cargo plane flying over “the hump” of Burma in southeast Asia, this DC-3 carried Darlene safely to Chile.
Legends of the DC-3 abound. One of them is about a flight over Arizona where the plane scraped the side of a mountain and lost part of its wing. Remaining airborne with what was left, the DC-3 wobbled a bit but got home safely. These tales are replete among old DC-3 pilots.
My testimony should prove the case. During World War II this same “work horse of the sky” got me and some important U.S. naval officers safely to our destination. Each of us in uniform had a good reason why we needed to cross the country by air to San Francisco. But after leaving Chicago our DC-3 ran into one of the most severe snow storms of the century.
Forced to land at Omaha, Nebraska, the authorities kicked everyone off our plane except those with high military priority. That left the United Airlines flight crew aboard, along with a U.S. Vice-Admiral, his staff, and me, a buck private in the U.S. Army. But we were pushed through because this naval task force admiral was needed in the Pacific and my mother, who was scheduled for a serious operation, wanted me by her hospital bedside in California. That entitled me to a 15-day “emergency furlough.”
Being a mere Army private,
I did not carry the rank necessary to push this plane through
to the West Coast. But Vice Admiral Marc A. Mitscher did possess
that kind of weight. He was a young naval officer who made headlines
in 1919 piloting one of three flying boats across the Atlantic
by air, eight years before Lindbergh. It's why, in World War
II, "Old Man" Mitscher was flying westward as fast
as he could to take command in the Pacific.
Admiral Mitscher was to head a huge naval group--Fast Carrier
Force 58--in crucial battles from the Philippine Sea to the Gulf
of Leyte, defying Japanese kamikazes and leading his men
to victory in the greatest air, sea and land battle of World
War II at Okinawa in 1945.
While winter weather grounded everyone else that December day in l943, it did not stop the admiral, his staff officers and me. It was just my luck to have the kind of priority papers that kept me on that plane with the admiral. After taking off from Omaha, we bounced around, up and down, through the storm to Cheyenne, Wyoming. There we found a safe landing. We all piled out of the plane to grab some doughnuts and coffee at the ramshackle building they called a hangar.
Since snow flakes were still coming down in profusion, our DC-3 couldn't take off until the accumulation was removed from both wings. Back in my seat, looking out the window, I watched as the ground crew tried using long towels to clean the wings of snow. Hopefully they would be able to eliminate enough weight for our plane to fly.
Finally with an OK from the tower, our pilot revved up the motor, crossed his fingers, and pushed the pedal to the metal to get our machine airborne. Later I would remember this as “Mr. Toad’s Mad Ride” as down the runway we went, our trusty DC-3 bouncing crazily up and down. Then, seemingly at the last moment, the plane decided to stay up.
Through a blinding snow storm we headed for Salt Lake City. where we refueled and then fought for altitude to wind our way through the Sierra Nevada mountains as the last rays of sunshine silhouetted the peaks we were going through. With the plane fighting headwinds, I was worried we could overshoot the mark and get lost over the ocean.
When the pilot finally dropped down through the clouds and made his way to the airport at San Francisco, I gave a sigh of relief. But one more thrill still was in store for us because heavy crosswinds hit us. They were so strong that on our landing approach they physically tipped the plane on its side and the pilot had to gun the motor, right the craft, and abort the landing.
Now what? Well, the pilot
decided to cross the bay and try Oakland. Good decision, because
he landed easily, taxied to the terminal, and unloaded his cargo--a
bunch of dizzy, wobbly men but happy-to-be-on-land passengers.
The Oakland Tribune and the San Francisco Chronicle told their
readers that all planes were grounded because of the storm. The
Union Pacific railroad streamliner was snowbound in the Sierra
Nevada and its passengers had to be rescued. And to this day
I doubt anyone knows that at least one plane got through--our
DC-3--with military personnel aboard.
Do you doubt that flying today for me is fun? Do you understand now why I’m completely at ease while other passengers seem to be be trying to forget where they are and what they are doing. While my seat companions watch movies, play games, or choose something to read, I’m comfortably relaxed in my seat, enjoying the ride. By the time my passenger jet has risen high above Mother Earth I find myself at an appreciation altitude--the place in time and space where I can think about what Orville and Wilbur Wright did to get me here.
Yes, aircraft today are vastly improved from the DC-3. On takeoff I marvel at how the plane’s powerful General Electric or Rolls Royce jet engines lift us off the ground and move our tons of weight swiftly and effortlessly into the sky. My mind drifts back to 1903 at Kitty Hawk where the Wright brothers got their homemade flying machine to actually do just that--rise above the sandy beach to fly a few hundred feet under conditions of controlled flight.
Before Homeland Security locked the doors to the flight deck, I often would stick my head inside the cockpit on landing to congratulate the pilot and co-pilot with the words, “Orville and Wilbur you did good!” They either appreciated the meaning and laughed or scratched their heads.
Too few people today appreciate the giant leap forward which our grandparents' generation--the first generation of the 20th century--gave us. They were inventive geniuses like the Wright brothers, Edison, Westinghouse, Ford, Benz, Curie, Einstein, and others who brought us the modern age. It took Columbus 71 days to cross the Atlantic in 1492. Today our Boeing 777 flew the Atlantic in less than seven hours.
Next time you fly, stop
for a moment to appreciate the miracle of flight. How can anyone
today go through airports at Heathrow, O’Hare, or Dulles
without taking a moment to reflect on how wonderful it is to
fly. Certainly not me. After all, in 1934, at the age of 12 I
had the role of “Rusty, the Boy Aviator,” on a San
Francisco radio station. You would have enjoyed hearing my adventures
flying with "Bill" and "Mac" through the
jungles of South America. Why wouldn’t a kid like me still
love to fly?
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FROM YOUR FLYING PAL ....RUSTY, BOY AVIATOR, DIRECT FROM HIS RETIREMENT HOME: "Say, boys and girls, isn't it dandy to know you can still board an airplane today and see the world? Just make sure you don't eat your WHEATIES and prunes within two hours of climbing aboard or you'll regret it. And, say, those are musical notes coming out of my pipe--not smoke. Boy Aviators never smoke tobacco. It's a vile habit!" |
©2005 by Gordon Greb. The illustrations are from IMSI's Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA. This column first posted April 4, 2005.
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