Tuskegee program was considered a waste of money by many whites, including congressional and military leaders of the time. It was no secret these opponents echoed the War Department’s sentiment that the Negro was not suited for combat assignments.
These nay-sayers were strikingly naïve in their shortsightedness. They failed to understand it took courage and fortitude for many Negroes to face and overcome imposing obstacles every day. The further irony is that patriotism and valor of the Negro soldier had been demonstrated on the battlefield in each of the country's past conflicts, but effectively purged from the pages of history. The feats of blacks who fought in the Revolutionary War, all black civil war regiments and the Buffalo soldiers were buried with these patriots. Now the Tuskegee Airmen had to rewrite the story.
Preflight training was the first phase all cadets entered. Military discipline was the order of the day. All gear had to be “shipshape” and the tuck for the bunk sheet exact, able to pass the bouncing quarter test, before morning calisthenics began at 6:00 am. After physical training cadets hit the books. Preflight training took place in the classroom. Topics included meteorology, Morse code signals for communication and E6B computer (circular slide-rule) computation necessary for flight planning. All of the theories and academic components needed for flying had to be mastered before climbing into the cockpit.
The early weeks proved to be a physical and mental endurance test. Physically, the most demanding challenge was the "cadet chair." If sitting straight backed at attention for long periods of time was hard, imagine doing it without a chair beneath for support. Charles felt his thighs and calves ache unmercifully when forced to "sit" in midair. The choice was clear; "short term discomfort for long term gain." It was reinforcement for the important lesson in keeping focused on the ultimate goal.
"Yes, sir; no, sir; no excuse, sir."
The cadet responses were similar to those from his fraternity pledging days, but now the stakes were higher.
Hours turned into days, days into weeks. It would take months to transform civilians from all walks of life into commissioned officers and combat pilots conditioned to face the harsh realities of war.
Five weeks of lower preflight training were followed by five weeks of upper preflight. The first phase was intended to screen out those not academically fit. Although other classes had as high as 50% wash out, in Charles' group all cadets passed. Whether due to college studies, performance, numbers needed to fulfill military requirements or a combination, Charles was moved up from class 43-G to 43-F, skipping upper preflight. In January of 1943, he was ready to move to the Primary Flight Training phase.
The long week of training was relieved by Sunday afternoon passes, granting cadets a few precious hours of free time. Most of the men were bachelors and free time to them meant the relentless but inspired search for available young ladies. Charles, having already claimed his bride, was spared the chase. He and Frances relished their time together; no moment was taken for granted. Whether sharing a box of cookies sent from home or a picnic under the elms, these afternoons and early evenings were savored, etched in memory to sustain them through the next separation.
Sundays with Frances made life in Tuskegee with all its rigors even more meaningful to Charles. He was preparing a future not only for himself, but for his family. He was a man with responsibilities he did not take lightly.
With Primary Flight Training came Charles' first airborne experience. The PT-17 was a bi-wing, open cockpit trainer.
Cadets used Moton Field, the grass airfield belonging to Tuskegee Institute, for this phase of training. With the help of Institute students, the airfield had been hurriedly completed for flight instruction in the summer of 1941. The instructors for primary training were black civilian pilots. These men were at the controls, demonstrating basic maneuvers including rolls, lazy 8’s, stalls and the art of normal and emergency landings.
The world was a bit strange and disorienting viewed from above during Charles’ first flight. After a few circles, his instructor pointed out significant landmarks.
"See the airstrip over there?" he asked over the sound of the engine and winds speaking into a Gosport Tube, the one way communication system which allowed instructors to talk to their students.
Charles glanced in the general direction indicated and nodded in reply, not at all sure of what was in the blurry panorama.
"Oh, yeah," he uttered.
I had to smile at this brief excerpt from my father's Tuskegee experience. Knowing him to be scrupulously honest and invariably proper in the use of English, if he muttered "yeah" even though he wasn't sure he saw the field, I can only conclude that he was indeed disoriented.
The PT-17, like most trainers, had dual controls and soon the cadets were performing the maneuvers. Instructors critiqued, advised and coached their protégés in the air and in debriefing back on terra firma. Though he mastered the mechanics of flying, Charles had not overcome a queasy stomach. It turned out the root of the problem was physical, not psychological. The flight surgeon recommended a simple solution: cut out fried foods for breakfast. After that, when he climbed and rolled, diving in and out of clouds, mind and body worked together and he began to enjoy himself.
The inevitable day, no matter how long awaited, seemed to arrive without warning. It was January 24, 1943. Just after landing, when it appeared the lesson was over, the order came.
"I want you to take it back up, make a pass around the field and come directly in for the landing," the instructor ordered.
Then the instructor stepped out and left Charles in the cockpit alone. A new energy pumped through his veins as he taxied back down the grass strip to take off position. The air about the plane seemed thinner. Charles took a deep breath summoning calm, applied power and raced forward.
When his aircraft reached flying speed, he gently eased back on the stick. The tail lifted and he was soloing!
As he climbed into the pattern around the field, a calm exterior belied the voice inside screaming.
"...I'm flying by myself." Banking into final approach, the voice offered a more subdued caution, "don't mess up now. I've got to land this baby," and finally, coaxing words of encouragement, "Come on. You can do this."
He maneuvered the plane to a gentle, almost perfect landing. Charles, fighting to suppress a Cheshire Cat grin, taxied back to the hanger where his instructor awaited the debriefing.
It was his first solo! The unforgettable milestone of all aspiring pilots had finally arrived and he passed!
From there, his education progressed more confidently. In each take off, Charles followed a specific plan. Aligning the aircraft into the wind, he advanced the throttle, used the rudder to keep the selected direction, and eased back on the stick when flying speed was reached, allowing the plane to soar into the sky.
In the propeller craft, the rudder provided control necessary to counter forces created by propeller rotation and engine controls were adjusted and set (throttle to give power, mixture controls for the fuel and air ratio, and pitch on the propeller). Checks assured everything was reading properly: engine temperature, fuel and pressure gauges for various systems. When ready, Charles released the brake, added throttle and started ground roll. There were things which determine the length of ground roll, but at the right speed, flight was inevitable.
The wing provided the lift surface. At takeoff, Charles applied the slight amount of back pressure to elevators to rotate his aircraft to a climbing attitude. At the right attitude and trim, he could take his hands off the controls and still climb. That
