Since Monday was the ‘official’ MLK day, I’d like to briefly depart the topic of wargaming and write about something more appropriate for a bank/government holiday that celebrates the memory of a man dedicated to peace and equality.

Yep. On Saturday I took Junior Destructo Man 3.75 over to the Ocala airport and let him get a good, close look at three old warbirds that had been flown in for the weekend. To me, nothing says peace and equality quite like the B-17 Flying Fortress and the B-24 Liberator.

B-17G visits Ocala

A P-51 Mustang was also on display, but turns out it wasn’t really in ‘warbird’ condition. It was more sporterized in a modern, air-racing sort of way – except for the fact that they’d added a second seat so they could sell ‘flying lessons’ for the tidy sum of $2200 per half hour. I didn’t see any takers.

The airport’s smallish terminal was crowded with Old Guys showing off Old Stuff at their trinkets tables. As befits what was essentially a charity event (Keeping those old planes flying isn’t cheap), the grounds outside the terminal featured the usual weenie and funnel-cake vendors.

The bombardier position

But the two old bombers were the centerpieces of the show. To my untrained eyes they were in very good condition for sextagenarian former members of the Aluminum Overcast. Since I don’t at all mind throwing a bit of financial support at a good cause, I ponied up the $18 so that Juanco and I could clamber around inside the old bombers.

Looking forward from the bomb-bay

Despite the fact that I’m a history buff and an aviation enthusiast, until Saturday I had never set foot inside a flying model of either aircraft. Warbird shows and visits to air museums have come and gone, but for some reason I had never taken advantage of any of those opportunities. This time I figured that the few flying big warbirds that remain likely won’t be flying for very many more years, so it was time to get on in there and take a look around.

Hey, the kid could fit

My first observation is that airmen back in the 1940s probably weren’t quite my size. Juan Carlos – being just a shade over three feet tall – didn’t have any problems getting around, but for me it was a tight squeeze. In my defense, I’ll note that I am leaner than I used to be (although hardly ‘lean’) so it was more an issue of shoulders than of waist. [Yes. I am the stereotypical broad-shouldered man-stud for the New Century.]

We climbed in the nose hatch of the B-17, which landed us right behind the bombardier position and below the pilots’ stations. In order to access the rest of the aircraft, we clambered up between the two pilots’ seats. From there, a knee-knocker (for me, anyway) of a bulkhead door gave entrance to the smallish cabin with the radio and navgear and the top gun turret. A narrow catwalk through the bomb-bay lead back to the aft cabin with the stations for the ball-turret, waist guns and other doodads.

Another view of the B-17

The B-17 was considered a large aircraft when it was designed, but throughout our little tour I was struck by how small it was in comparison to contemporary heavy-lifters. As I sqwaddled along the bomb-bay catwalk I thought “This is all?” – because I somehow imagined I would find a space much bigger. But I guess that’s all the space needed for the six- to eight-thousand pound payloads the aircraft typically carried.

Think about that for a moment: Thousands upon thousands of times during the war, the ten-man crews aboard B-17s risked their lives (and all too often lost them) in order to drop maybe six or eight thousand-pounders on their enemies. Yeah, they were smaller than me – but they had a lot more guts, I think.

A look at the Liberator

After knocking and banging my way through the B-17, the moderately more spacious B-24J was something of an anti-climax. We entered through the aft hatch in the bottom of the aircraft. The aft area where the tail-gunner held court was off-limits – much to the disappointment of the gray-haired former tail-gunner I encountered who wanted to see if he could still fit in his one-time flying office space.

In the B-24, we only had access to the aft compartment. It’s a bit taller space than on the B-17, and it also includes access to the ball-turret. I’ve always read that ball-turret gunners were typically the smallest men in the aircrew, and after getting a look at one of the gizmos up-close now I understand why. The turret hatch was closed, of course, but it was pretty easy for me to figure out by simple measurement that I probably couldn’t squeeze into it much beyond my knees. I don’t think it was two feet wide.

The B-24 - spacious accommodations

The area forward of the bomb-bay was also off-limits to the tour, so we had to exit through the bomb-bay. Some steps down were thoughtfully provided. Unfortunately, there were some structural supports mid-bay on the catwalk – and they were spaced too narrowly for my big butt to squeeze through. I could squeeze between similar supports on the B-17, but on the B-24 there was less vertical space and I had to squat in the bomb-bay. The combination of my knees poking out one way and my big butt poking out the other way killed the deal. My kid easily made it to the steps and hopped down, but it was obvious I wasn’t going to get that far.

So. Bombs away. I had to jump out the bomb bay.

Not quite a thousand-pounder, fortunately.

Most of the time when I use the term “history in a box”, I’m talking about wargames. But today I mean a different kind of history – real historical documentation, this time in a box full of old photographs.

A few days back I posted a photo of USS Staten Island that my Dad took when he was a Navy photographer. I’ve got a box full of ‘em, mostly from the ship’s 1953 Arctic cruise, but a few of them from 1952. When he was leaving the service Dad originally had a lot more photos, negatives, chromes and 16mm movie reels. Unfortunately, hardly any of them remained after his car was broken into just outside Boston Navy Yard.

I’ve seen more than the photos I have in my possession, including a journal or two stuffed with photos and tall tales from the far North. But I haven’t seen them in years and I’ve no idea where they might have gotten off to after Dad passed away a couple of years ago.

Arctic cruise yearbook, 1953

Just to show off a bit of my history in a box, I’m going to toss up a few images. The first is the cover from a thin staple-bound booklet – sort of a yearbook – that’s packed with photos from the 1953 Arctic cruise of AGB-5. Truth be told, the cover treatment reminds me of the same paper stock that was used in my similarly staple-bound yearbook from junior high school about 20 years later. Small world.

Next are scans of a couple of pages from the cruise yearbook. These cover Operation Mushrat – the launch of high-altitude sounding rockets from balloon platforms. While the “Rockoon” program pioneered by James A. Van Allen is documented in a number of places, little coverage is given to the ships and crews that performed that actual launches. I’ve found a few fleeting sources on the Internet that date the launches and platforms, but even some of those are in error.

Mushrat: Sounding rockets launched from USS Staten Island in 1953

In a couple of sources that I’ve found, the 1953 launch program is credited to the USCGC Eastwind WAGB-279, a sister ship of Staten Island (which later became WAGB-278 in Coast Guard service). I think this yearbook makes it pretty clear that USS Staten Island was the launch platform for at least part of the 1953 firing program (there were about 19 or 20 launches during the summer of 1953).

Man-handling a sounding rocket aboard USS Staten Island in 1953

Just setting the record straight. And it still looks darned cold.