My Carrier War (5 page)

A chance! Please God, help me! This is so important, so necessary, please make it happen. No more failures. I’ve tried so hard to make it—to have people like me, to have friends who are proud to know me. I’m trying, really, I’m trying.

Between my meetings with the review board on October 24 and November 26, I received twelve hours of instruction. Terrible flying weather during November cancelled many of my flights, but on November 27, I passed my final check ride. The extra instruction had paid off.

That night, I called Jean. I told her about passing my final check ride. Then I asked when she was going to announce our engagement. She wouldn’t give me a date, but the sound of her laughter was the only answer I needed. I knew she would make the announcement, and I knew I was going to be a naval aviator. No one ever “washed out” after finishing the primary phase of the flight program.

That evening, lying in my bunk, all I could remember was Jean’s laughter over the phone. I knew she was pleased that I had called and was obviously happy that I had completed the first phase of my training. In fact, she told me how proud she was of me. Her reaction certainly eased my concerns about that “serious relationship” she was supposed to be involved in. Her laughing response to my question about our engagement and her statement that “she was thinking about it” was a hopeful sign. I really felt that she had accepted my decision to go into the Naval Aviation Cadet Program and was now willing to seriously consider our engagement. I fell asleep thinking about her, hearing her laughter.

Essential weather information is gathered to aid in flight decisions.

The next day, Friday, December 5, my log book shows three flights, one with an instructor and two solos. A total of 4.5 hours of flying. The Naval Aviation Cadet Program was keeping me busy. I got back to my room at the barracks about 1630 and discovered that my group of cadets was authorized liberty commencing the next day, Saturday, December 6, 1941. With all my troubles—failing the navigation phase of ground school and then my flying—I had been restricted to the base right after I failed my flight checks. No liberty. Nothing but worry. I was really looking forward to some free time. I felt as if it was party time.

So on that Saturday, I packed my gear, shaving stuff, an extra shirt and socks, underwear, and swim trunks. The OOD was a classmate and I remember him telling me, as I picked up my liberty pass, to have some fun. I was ready. I earned it. I knew exactly where I was going. I headed for the base’s bus stop station and a half an hour later, I was standing in front of the Neuces Hotel in downtown Corpus. I knew I’d find some friends there. The hotel was a popular hangout for the cadets. “Boy,” I recalled to myself, “was I ever close to coming down here after I failed those final check rides just a couple of weeks ago.” I’d been ready to talk to the Canadian recruiters about joining their Air Force. Thank God that was all behind me.

I checked into a room, dropped my gear and headed for the hotel bar. I wasn’t disappointed. The place was filled with cadets, some of whom were classmates of mine. Four or five of us had a few drinks and dinner at the hotel, and then we headed for a club with a dance band. We’d heard that a few of the local girls might show up. I knew some of the guys were looking for more than a dance. A couple of them knew I had a girlfriend back in Bremerton, so I took some razzing about being faithful. I didn’t mind; I was still remembering Jean’s laughter. I had a couple of dances and then decided to go back to the hotel bar where I ran into some more cadet friends. I don’t remember much more about that evening. I know I closed the bar somewhere around two o’clock in the morning. I think the elevator man helped me to my room.

I woke up the next day, Sunday, December 7, 1941, lying on the bed still dressed, shoes and all. I looked at my watch; it was afternoon already. At least I remembered that it was Sunday. God, maybe a shower would help that head of mine. I must have really celebrated. I took a long shower, finishing with cold water. I dressed, packed up my gear and headed for the coffee shop. It was crowded with cadets and a few civilians. It was very noisy. Everyone was talking at once and trying to listen to a small radio to what sounded like a news broadcast. I couldn’t hear the radio from where I sat. I remember turning to the cadet sitting next to me and asking, “What’s going on?” His response hit me hard. “The Japs have bombed Pearl Harbor! A bus is coming to pick us up. We’ve been ordered back to the base.”

The rest of that day and night was a blur. We had a radio in our room, and we all listened until well after taps, hoping for more information. We did get some good news, however; none of our carriers were in the harbor at Hawaii when the Japanese attacked. I remember too, that I experienced some very mixed feelings as I listened to the news.

When I joined the Navy flight program, the idea of fighting a war wasn’t in my plans. I joined because I wanted to marry Jean. Now here I am training to be a Navy pilot. If I make it through the program, I’m going to fight the Japs. I have no doubts about that, but I’m not so sure that is what I want to do. Sure, the whole idea is exciting and challenging, but I’ll be fighting an enemy who will be trying to kill me. It will give me a real chance to prove myself, though. I will no longer be just an unknown kid from Bremerton. I’m not afraid of the challenge.

The day following Pearl Harbor, the base commander ordered all cadets to prepare to “pass in review.” We assembled in formation, by class, with our

As we stood in formation, the base commander spoke, giving us the official details of the Japanese attack. We were told that the president was going to declare a state of war between the United States and Japan. The commander closed his remarks by reminding us that we would soon be facing a well-prepared and vicious enemy. He closed, wishing us God’s speed in our future as naval aviators.

I still remember the thrill I felt as the station band began to play, “Anchors Away” and I heard the ringing orders of our cadet officers: “Cadet battalion, pass in review.” Eight hundred cadets marched to the music, passed the reviewing stand, and each battalion honored our commander and our Navy. Our country was at war. I remember how proud I was to be a Naval Aviation Cadet.

An N2S-3, Yellow Peril, takes off after a rainstorm

That evening, my roommates and I spent the time before taps talking about our future as we continued our training. Each cadet could request the type of advanced flight training he wanted. Archie knew exactly what he wanted to do. Of the four of us, his flight grades were the best, especially in aerobatics. He had already requested fighters for his advanced training. His position was that, after going through all this training, he wanted to fight the Japs. Harry wanted multi-engine training in the PBYs, the big twin-engine seaplanes. (The P stood for patrol plane; the B for bombing; and the Y for the aircraft company that built the plane. See the Appendix, also.) He wanted experience in heavy aircraft. I remember him explaining that his goal after the war was to fly with the commercial airlines. My third roommate, Jack, claimed he didn’t care. He’d go wherever the Navy sent him.

As for me, I just sat and listened. I wanted to be a carrier pilot. I knew my flight grades were not good enough for fighter training, but I felt I had a good chance to be assigned to advanced training in dive-bombers. I knew what I wanted to do after graduation. I wanted to fly off carriers. But then there was Jean to consider. I just didn’t know what to do.

After taps, I lay on my bunk hearing only the sounds of my roommates settling into sleep. I could hear the tick of our alarm clock. Laying there in the dark, my mind felt like a ferris wheel going around and around. What should I do? I really wanted to be part of the excitement of going to war and to defend my country. That’s what I was being trained for. I wanted the excitement of flying against an enemy and to come home a hero, maybe even with some medals. But then there was Jean. Should I go ahead with our marriage and then leave her when I left for sea duty as a pilot aboard an aircraft carrier and the danger of combat? I could ask the Navy to keep me at Corpus as a flight instructor. We could get married and be together. Hell. That wouldn’t work, not with my flight grades. The Navy probably wouldn’t assign me as an instructor.

Refueling after each flight was the responsibility of every cadet.

My thoughts shifted to Jean. I wondered if she was planning our wedding yet. Probably not, since she hadn’t even announced our engagement. Should I suggest that we delay any marriage plans until after graduation when I would receive my orders? That wouldn’t work. I knew Jean would want a nice wedding, bridesmaids, reception and that would take time to plan.

I lay there in the dark, twisting and turning. What should I do? I guessed the best thing to do was to write Jean suggesting that she announce our engagement and then offer her options depending on the kind of orders I received. If I were to be ordered to duty as a pilot aboard a carrier, should we delay our marriage until I returned? If I were assigned sea duty, but have some time in the States before I left, we could get married and have some time together. “Ah, to hell with it.” I concluded to myself, “Go to sleep, Norm. You’re going to start flying a new plane tomorrow. No more Yellow Perils. Your only goal will be to get those gold Navy wings. Get that done, and the rest of your life will work out.”
This Kind of Flying Can Kill You
I had flown three flights on December 5, 1941, but following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, my next flight wasn’t until December 16. The problem was that the base was on a high alert, and we weren’t flying. The newspapers and the radio were all warning that the Japanese might attack the West Coast. After all, with the exception of our carriers, the U.S. Pacific Fleet had been badly damaged at Pearl Harbor. The battleship
Arizona
had been sunk with over one thousand lives lost.

I remember receiving a letter from Jean very soon after Pearl Harbor. She had been in Seattle with some girlfriends for a concert during that weekend. She wrote that she had been awakened on Sunday morning, December 7, hearing some kind of announcement from the street below the hotel. From her hotel room window, she saw a police car moving slowly down the street. The police were making announcements through bull horns telling all military personnel to return to their commands.

Cadets pass in review during an indoctrination period at Corpus Christi, Texas.