The Cessna O-2 Skymaster and "Nail 55"

E-Mail received today from a good friend, Col. William R. (Bill) Benoit, U.S. Army Aviator, (Ret.):

Subject: Fw: O-2s Cessna - How they really got to Viet Nam

Good Story How The O-2s [Cessna Skymasters] Really Got To Viet Nam

It's 1967 or maybe early 1968 and the Air Force has bought a mess of Cessna Super Skymasters and called them O-2s. The Cessna factory at Wichita, Kansas is pumping them out at a pretty good clip and your problem is to figure out how to get them to Vietnam where they are needed. Your choices are:

1. Fly them to the West coast and turn them over to the Army for transport by cargo ship.

2. Take the wings off them and stuff them three at a time into the belly of C-124s and fly them over.

3. Fly them over under their own power with no C-124 attached.

Question: Which method was used? Right! Every single one of those puppies was hand-flown across the Big Pond to Vietnam. That sounds like it might have been a Mickey Mouse operation. Believe me, it wasn't that good.

Air Force Systems Command (AFSC) was running that show and their knowledge stopped somewhat short of knowing anything about ferrying airplanes. The Air Force had a perfectly good organization called the 44th Aircraft Delivery Group which operated world wide and managed the ferrying of all aircraft; except the O-2s.

AFSC contracted with some outfit in San Francisco to deliver the planes to Saigon. The contractor hired a bunch of civilian pilots who couldn't find honest work elsewhere. Since the O-2s were technically "public" aircraft (as opposed to civil or military aircraft) no pilot's license was necessary to fly one, and I'm not sure that all of the pilots had licenses. Some of them were pretty good, but the rest of them were the most god-awful collection of unqualified scruffy-looking alcoholics you ever saw. The dregs of the flying profession.

The deal worked like this. The pilots were given a plane ticket to Wichita, where they got a quickie checkout in the O-2 if they needed one. Then they launched in bunches of four and headed for Hamilton AFB on the west coast of California.

Enroute, they were instructed to carefully monitor and record their oil consumption, which, of course, they did not do. That type of pilot does not monitor and record oil consumption. 

At Hamilton, the Air Force removed all the seats except the left front one. The seats were shipped to Vietnam by air, which is what should have happened to the rest of the plane, too. Extra fuel tanks were installed in the vacant floor space followed by the pilot himself. He had to crawl over the co-pilot tank to get to the left seat.

Next, they installed an oil tank on top of the co-pilot tank followed by a small emergency HF radio on top of that.

Now, the pilot was truly locked in. To get out, he could either wait for someone to remove the radio and oil tank or crawl out the emergency escape window on the left side. Takeoff must have been something to watch.

With all that fuel, the planes were way over max gross weight. They had no single engine capability at all for about the first five hours of flight. If either engine hiccupped, the pilot went swimming. 

The route was Hawaii (Hickam), Midway, Wake Island, Guam (Anderson), Philippines (Clark) and Saigon (Tan Son Nhut.) The Hamilton-Hickam leg was by far the longest; nominally about thirteen hours. The O-2s were carrying fuel for about fourteen and a half hours of flight. Navigation was strictly dead reckoning. The pilots took up a heading based on wind calculations and flew out their ETA hoping to be lost within range of a Hawaiian radio station.

They had no long range navigation equipment. The fuel tanks were disposable and were dropped off as they were no longer needed. The fuel pumps were not disposable and the pilots were instructed to bring them back along with their dirty underwear and the HF radio.

The trip was supposed to take about a week and each pilot carried an airline ticket from Saigon to Wichita to go back and pick up another plane. For this, the pilots were paid $800 per trip with the flight leader getting $1,000.

They planned on averaging three trips a month and getting rich doing it.

How come I know so much about this? Well, I was the Director of Safety at Hickam AFB and every single one of over 300 O-2s passed through my domain and created almost constant headaches. Before this all started, I had no idea what an O-2 even looked like much less any knowledge of the overall ferrying scheme.

The trouble started with the very first flight and began with the extra oil tank. The reason for determining oil consumption on the Wichita-Hamilton leg was to know how much oil to add during the really long legs. There were no oil quantity gages.

Shortly after takeoff from Hamilton, boredom set in and the pilots would give the oil tank wobble pump a jab or two and squirt some more oil into the engines.The O-2 didn't need that much oil. All this did was overservice the engines which resulted in fluctuating oil pressure. The pilots didn't like that at all, so they added more oil which led to more pressure fluctuation.

Meanwhile, they were totally lost and not getting much closer to Hawaii.

Time for the old MAYDAY call on the HF radio. When that call came in, the Coast Guard in Hawaii was running a very interesting seminar on sea rescue in downtown Honolulu. I was attending which is how I found out that we had an O-2 problem. The Coast Guard shut down the seminar and launched their C-130 and a pair of cutters to find the O-2s; which they did.

They herded them to the nearest runway which happened to be the Marine Corps Air Station at Kanehoe on the Northeast side of Oahu. I drove over the mountains to Kanehoe to find out what the hell this was all about.

That's when I saw my first O-2; actually my first four O-2s. Aside from being ugly, they were all soaked with oil overflowing from both engines and they didn't have ten gallons of gas among them. One had flamed out taxiing in from landing.

They had been airborne for 14 hours and 45 minutes. The Coast Guard was really pissed when they learned the full story and was making noises about sending someone a bill for the rescue effort. I must say, I agreed with them.

That silliness continued for three or four weeks with every single flight of O-2s getting into some sort of trouble. At Hickam, the O-2 pilots were fairly easy to find. Most of the time they were draped over the bar at the O-Club; a situation which was attracting the attention of the Officers Wives Club; always a dangerous thing to do.

I went to PACAF Headquarters and told them what was going on and they were absolutely appalled. Civilian misfits ferrying Air Force airplanes across the Pacific to a combat zone? No way! Between us, we began firing off messages to get this idiocy stopped.

AFSC couldn't understand what the problem was and probably still doesn't. Hamilton AFB was taking a lot of heat for participating and allowing them to launch at all. I was agitating about the stupidity of this through all the safety channels.

I think I may have mentioned that when the inevitable accident occurred, they better hope it was out of my area. If I had to investigate it, they were definitely not going to like the report. I was prepared to write most of the report right then before the accident even happened. AFSC backed down and agreed to let the 44th Aircraft Delivery Group run the operation.

The 44th wasn't too happy about that because the civilian pilots didn't seem to take instructions very well. Nevertheless, that brought some organization to the festivities which included things like mission planning, briefings, weather analysis, flight following and escort. The O-2s weren't allowed to fly unless accompanied by a C-47 or C-7 Caribou who could fly at their speed and handle the navigation.

That wasn't much of a problem as there were two or three of those planes being ferried each week to Vietnam. That procedure eliminated most of my problems and things settled down to a routine. The delivery rate to Vietnam was slowed somewhat, but I think more total planes actually got there because of it.

During the entire process, only two planes were lost. One ditched due to engine failure on the Wake-Guam leg. The pilot managed to get out of the plane and bobbed around in his life jacket until picked up by a Japanese cargo ship. The other crashed in the Philippines killing the pilot. I never knew the circumstances.

We had, of course, the occasional problem at Hickam. I remember one pilot who landed nose gear first and managed to snap the gear off completely and ding the front propeller. I went out to see what had happened and got a load of bull**** and a strong whiff of gin from the pilot. The plane (he claimed) was nose heavy on landing and the elevator trim was inoperative. He couldn't get the nose up.

Furthermore, his transmitter was out and he couldn't tell anyone about his problems. I checked the plane and found the elevator trimmed full nose down, but the trim switch and trim tab worked just fine. Just to the left of the trim switch, I noticed that the microphone toggle switch was actually bent backwards.

After several hours of martinis, the pilot was trying to trim using the mic switch. He trimmed the plane full nose down while trying to talk to the control tower on the trim switch. Case closed.

None of these accidents consumed any of my time. I had learned another quirk in the AFSC way of doing business. Appearances aside, the aircraft were not Air Force aircraft and wouldn't be until they arrived in Saigon and were formally delivered and accepted. Since they weren't, technically, Air Force aircraft; they couldn't have an Air Force accident.

The planes weren't registered as civil aircraft, so they couldn't have a civil accident either. They were in regulatory limbo and any accidents were non-events. Nobody cared. That suited me just fine. I had other things to do and I couldn't see how an investigation of stupidity would contribute anything to the Air Force safety program.

Incidentally, how do you suppose they got the O-2s out of Vietnam and back to the United States? They took the wings off, stuffed them three at a time into the belly of C-124s and flew them back. AFSC was not involved which, I later learned, tended to improve almost any operation.

Author contact Info: Richard H. Wood 4563 El Dorado Way, #124 Bellingham, WA 98226

Roger and OUT

Sent from my Raspberry device via the TinCan & String Network

 ___________________________________________

My reply:

Bill:

I may have told you about my HBS sectionmate Jerry (Nail 55) Dwyer, who flew in Vietnam as a Forward Air Controller (FAC) in an Air Force O-2, after transitioning from RF101 Voodoos.   Jerry commanded the first night FAC squadron in Vietnam, flying out of Thailand, if memory serves.  Jerry came to the MBA program directly from combat, and we spent the first semester calming him down.  He told us he had flown only three day missions, and had been shot down on each.  Each time he was rescued, once by a Jolly Green Giant carrying an ABC cameraman, so he ended up on TV in the U.S.  Once, he had spent six hours on the ground, dodging pursuers, before being rescued.

HH-3E Jolly Green Giant Helicopter

Jerry and I teamed with a U.S. Navy submariner named Lt. Herb Harms to do our "field research project" at USM Corporation in our second year at Harvard Business School. 

Jerry was a great guy, though a wiry, feisty Irishman.  He had a black belt in karate, earned, he said, not after years of katas, but after he beat five black belts in a row in competition.  I visited Jerry at Wiesbaden, Germany, in 1972 on my first trip to Europe, following my divorce.  Retiring from the Air Force after 20 years, Jerry became president of a company that made aviation fire trucks (or was it refueling trucks), I believe on Long Island.  The last time we spoke, I was new as president at Rochester Shoe Tree Company, and called  Jerry for some advice and comradeship. Jerry died of cancer in about 1994.  We still miss him.

Duncan

A New Trier Classmate, Met on Facebook

Hey, Jim! How come I never met you at New Trier?

Or did I, and am I just having a senior moment?

Anyway, I find you to be a sensible and stalwart classmate here on FB.

I've often wondered. I was in Mr Rude's homeroom and played trumpet for Sam Mages, but my friends were the butt-smokers who hung out around Chris's Snack Shop.

Gotcha! You probably knew my girlfriend, Patsy Burmeister (violinist), and my best friend in the Wilmette schools, Doug Mitchell (drummer).

I got lucky when I met Gut after coming home from the war. She turned me around (and around and around).

Gut?

Gudy - not Gut. It's pronounced like "Judy".

A classmate?

She was a friend of the waitress at the pizza place I worked at when going to UICC. Gudy is from Ecuador, S Am.

Two of my brothers served in Vietnam. George (Dr. Cornog speaking) McDougall, NT '60, was in the Navy on the heavy cruiser USS Boston, CAG-1, and only spent one night in country, though they shelled the North for some months. Walter, NT '64 was in the Field Artillery, and caught some serious Hell. But both made it home. I flunked the flight physical for the Navy in '64, and ended up 3A for the remainder of the war years.

Are you bilingual?

I am in Cluj, Romania this month. The name Kucera could be from Eastern Europe. Is it?

My Vietnamese is almost as good as my Spanish, but we speak American at home. I was a lumberjack when they drafted me in 1966 so they put me in the Signal Corps to patch the holes we shot in our own wires.

Sounds like fun.

Dad came from Prague when he was 2 yr old. They had passage booked on the Titanic but they missed the boat.

Amazing.
I used to manage a woods crew for the Beebe River Bobbin Mill in Campton, NH. Where were you in the woods?

High lead logging in Oregon and Snoqualmie Washington. We used cables to drag the logs in because it was too steep for cat logging. I saw one log (on a 12' bed) twice. That'll probably never happen again.

I learned rigging-slinger, choker-setter and 2nd loader, but my favorite job was whistle-punking.

I have never seen Prague. Everyone tells me I must, so one day I shall detour through it on my way back to Stuttgart (where I keep my Euro-car, a 1993 BMW for which I paid 2250 Euros in 2008). Here is a look at Beebe River. I was plant manager for North American Rockwell from Dec. 1972 through June, 1975. http://www.hope1842.com/beeberiver.html

You are WAY beyond my knowledge of the woods. We had a forester (Dave Ash) who supervised the woods crew. We only cut about 5% of our maple needs, but it kept us able to buy logs at the best prices.;-)

We owned 30,000 acres in NH, and 70,000 in the Adirondacks of upstate NY.

Rockwell sold it all for $100/acre, as part of their liquidation of America's leading textile machinery companies. SOBs.

A bobbin was typically 9" long. We could use logs of smaller diameter and lower quality than the furniture companies. In NH they were known as "bobbin logs."

Only needed a 10" clear-cut. But the product was incredibly precise. +/- 0.001" in diameter, and +/- 0.009" total sweep over the length, when turned on centers.

Our 17 lathes were rotary-head specials built for Draper Corporation in the 1930s. We averaged 115,000 bobbins per day in Fiscal Year 1975, 27,000,000 units that year (the record).

That required only about 5.3 MMBf of hard maple. Five bobbins per board ft.

Are you living near Chicago?

Beebe River could have been Meadowbrook (Snoqualmie) in 1963. The loggers' hotel had a cafe in it. They made a box lunch (2 sandwiches, pie and a thermos of coffee) for a dollar. There were 2 bar on the street to the sawmill. One was always open.

I love it.

I will come to Chicago next June. I hope to meet you.

We're in Bensenville now. Mostly we've been in DuPage County after I sold the house in Logan Square. What a long strange trip it's been.

Agreed. Peace, brother!

:-)

Almost 1:00 AM here. Good night, Jim!

Night, Duncan. I look forward to seeing you.

Internet had job descriptions for all but whistle punking. So, I am guessing that was an extra-curricular passtime?

Reminds me of a submariner I knew, who didn't take a piss, but rather "blew bow buoyancy."

The punk laid a line from the landing to where the woods crew was setting chokers, etc. It had a squeeze handle on it and when you squoze it the air horn on the triple drum tooted. Once meant stop (or start if you were stopped). Twice meant back it up and three times meant go ahead slow Two toots , pause, then tree toots meant "tightline", where the tripledrum guy made the cables go forward and ack at the same time. You could lift a whole truckload off the ground like that.

10:24am

Fascinating.

Seven Long meant someone was hurt or dead. If it was followed by two short toots it meant "Bring a stretcher." You could hear the air horns all around, and we all prayed for the two toots when we heard the seven long.