January 4, 2018
Volume 46 - No. 52
By John Tashjian
Sometimes, things just don’t turn out the way you plan.
It was December 7th 1941, I was staring at some homework that I hadn’t done. Suddenly, the music stopped. I looked at the radio – What happened ? A voice came on saying that the Japanese were bombing Pearl Harbor. At first, it didn’t register but then it shook me out of my reverie. “Those stupid SOBs,” What did they hope to gain? It slowly dawned on me that the draft could catch up to me and I could be lugging fifty pounds of artillery through the mud. But, I could make a choice. I was a puny little kid who was too small to make the athletic teams but I remembered that someone at school had said that size didn’t matter in flying an airplane. I could ride a bike and drive a car. I had learned on a Model T Ford. How tough could it be to learn to fly an airplane?
So, the next day, Monday, I took the bus across the bay bridge, to San Francisco as usual. But, instead of going to another one of those dreary classes at SF State College, I made my way to the Naval Aviation Cadet Selection Board in the Ferry Building and found myself in the company of some big, healthy looking specimens who seemed to me to be “natural born pilots.” We were given a physical examination. Some of those husky looking fellows were eliminated but I passed. OK so far. Then they started asking questions. “Did you have sinus trouble?” None of the others did but, yeh, I did. Uh oh! I’m in trouble. “Have you ever had an ear problem?” None of the others had but I had had a mastoid infection when I was a kid. Oh jeez. This is where I take a hike! But, at the end of the session, every one of those healthy looking specimens was turned down for one reason or another. MIRACLE! I was the only one left. Fortunately, they didn’t test intelligence.
One problem. After dozing in class for two and a half years I hadn’t passed enough to have completed the required two years of college for flight school but had earned “A”s in Physical Ed. The The Paper Paper -- 760.747.7119 760.747.7119
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After having flunked out all of those other guys they must have been desperate because they signed me up but deferred me from the draft till I completed the required sixty units which I did in June. I got orders to report to the Oakland Airport and, from there, for ground school at the Naval Auxiliary Air Station at Livermore, CA. on 31 July 1942.
After a month of morning and afternoon sessions of ground school, of aerodynamics, aerology, navigation, military tactics. physical training and a whole
bunch of stuff that I’ve forgotten, we advanced to half day in the classroom and half day at the flight line. Not only had I never flown, I had never been near an airplane in my life. In a little rough air on my first flight I got airsick and really messed up the cockpit. After we got back to the line my instructor calmly told me to go, get a bucket of water and a rag. I guess I wasn’t the first neophyte to lose his lunch. While cleaning and, until my next flight I was in a stew as to whether I was cut out to be a flier. The second flight went well. I never lost another
meal after that first disaster. And, my instructor, Ensign Throop felt comfortable enough to sing through the gosport tube, which carried his instructions from his mouthpiece to the ear cups in my helmet. There were no provisions for me to talk back to him.
We got our primary flight training at Livermore, intermediate and instruments at Corpus Christi, TX. And advanced (choice was multiengine or fighters). My choice was fighters - at Kingsville, TX.
Marine Fighter Pilot Memories - See +Page 2