Once They Were Eagles (30 page)

“There was a lot more camaraderie and leadership in the Black Sheep than other squadrons I was in. The leaders wouldn't ask you to do anything they wouldn't go into themselves. In other squadrons, they apparently didn't give a shit if you got lost or not; all they wanted to do was save their ass. A lot of men were lost for just that reason.

“The whole thing comes down to leadership and that we all got along well. We were all sort of one, and that made for a really good outfit—team effort, everybody working together to make sure that things were going to go right. I think that was the secret of our success.

“Looking back on my military career, the only regret I have is that the squadrons I was in following the Black Sheep could not have been the same kind of outfit. They just didn't have the leadership or teamwork. It all stems from the fact that the Black Sheep wanted to work together, and nobody tried to push anything on anybody that he wouldn't do himself.”

To meet Herb Holden, I drove some 500 miles from Dillsburg, Pennsylvania, to Pipe Stem Resort State Park, West Virginia, where he was spending the weekend with his family and some friends.

Herb entered the Navy V-5 program in the spring of 1942, after graduation from Williams College, and was shipped to Espiritu Santo in time to join our second combat tour.

“I'd heard what the Black Sheep and Boyington were doing and was glad to join, but mainly, I wanted to get started on the combat tour. My first flight? Damn right I was scared. I was looking for Japanese all over the place, and there weren't any. After a while I got more confident, and my only concern was the airplane—mechanical troubles.

“After we were broken up, I went to Emirau for two tours, then back to the States to instrument school because I realized that the problems of combat were more weather than Japanese. But when the war ended, I got out in December 1945.

“Looking for a job wasn't easy—who wants a fighter pilot with a B. A. degree in history? After a lot of interviews, I decided on National City Bank, as it was called then. (now it's Citibank—not only international but global). My intention was to get their training, find out what the business was like, and give it a five-year stint; then, knowing something, I'd be able to make a better selection. I ended up staying there for the next 37 years, winding up as senior credit officer and head of the Petroleum Department, which is a national organization.

“I decided it would be a good time to retire. I was over 60, healthy, and happy; I'd made a little money, so we could get by without worrying.”

Herb is now working part time as a director and member of the executive committee of an investment company in New York; acts as an expert witness in banking cases; plays golf. He has recently moved to Columbus, North Carolina.

“My worst experience? When I got an oil leak and the engine quit, 10,000 feet off the other side of Espiritu Santo, at 7:30 in the morning. When I hit the water, the chute
and
the boat sank, tangled in the shroud lines. I could see land, but it took me all day to swim ashore. I found a couple of Army Coast Watchers with a broken radio. Anyway, they had the planes out looking for me, and I got picked up.

“The Black Sheep Squadron was a unique operation. I knew the fellows were trying to live up to our reputation; they were very proud, interested in being sure we maintained this aura. There were no cliques—we were one group. The character of Boyington was unique, too; he was a warrior and a fighter and a leader. He knew what he was doing and how to do it, and got the job done.

“My association with the squadron was one tour, about six to eight weeks overall. It's been 37, 38 years. A very short episode in a life, but one that's as vivid as it could be for something that short and that long ago.”

Sanders S. “Sandy” Sims drove out to talk to me at my hotel at Philadelphia's International Airport. Sandy and his wife had recently moved to Philadelphia after spending the bulk of the previous 25 years in Europe.

His has been a fascinating career. At war's end, he returned to Philadelphia where he had been born and raised. A fine athlete, he was a member of the 1948 U.S. Olympic Field Hockey Team. He worked for a time in a savings bank and then, finding it boring, went to work for a friend who had a hosiery business, which was still extremely restricted—along with butter, meat, gasoline, sugar, and other luxury items. Quality nylon stockings were about as easy to obtain then as tickets to the Superbowl today.

“It was a lovely time, a seller's market, and all the buyers were pretty girls in New York making $50,000 a year. They would take me out to lunch and ask, ‘How many hundred dozens can I have this week?'

“I'd say, ‘Well, it all depends.' So I'd have a little bonus.

“After a couple of years I went to work for an arms manufacturer, Oerlikon, the biggest in the world and, among other things, the only company that ever made its own guided missile. Theirs was the most famous 20-mm cannon in World War II. Their factory was in Zurich; then they built a plant in Asheville, North Carolina. About this time, I got married, and we moved there.

“I decided I wasn't going to get rich that way, so I quit and went to Washington with the CIA for two or three years. I resigned in 1953, a hard thing to do in those days, and went back to the painting I'd done off and on all my life. At the same time, I took a job with the U.S. Information Service as a cultural officer for almost eight years before deciding to paint full time. We lived in London for about ten years, then divided our time between France and our place in Maine. Eventually, we sold the Maine house and lived full time in France until last June, when we came back to the United States.

“What kind of painting do you do?”

“Depends on the day. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it stinks, but anything for money—objective, not abstract. Sometimes portraits, flowers, mostly landscapes; and if I work, I'm successful. There are a
few good ‘Simses' around that may have appreciated in value. There are a lot of bad ones. Anyway, I like it; it keeps me out of trouble.

“We took a trip to Africa in 1963. I did a lot of sketches of some of the little villages in the Sudan. I painted those things for a long time, and people kept asking me for them. I finally had to say I couldn't do anymore; you start repeating yourself, and it's not healthy.

“Right now, I'm supposed to be doing a lot of things for a gallery in Santa Fe, New Mexico: Indian villages, Hopis, Navajo. I'll have to go out there soon; so far I've been working from some sketches.

“As for the South Pacific, I was too stupid the first time to be scared. By the second time, it began to sink in that those were real bullets.

“The whole emphasis had shifted from defensive to offensive, sometimes as much as 300 miles from our base over water. Not like Guadalcanal; if you lost an engine you could go down and land there or Bougainville.

“It's complicated as to why some got shot down and others not. The rates of contact varied for each pilot; some divisions got worked harder than others. And there's basic coordination; you had to be fairly agile up there, and you had to keep the fighter plane absolutely on a straight line or the rounds would go off line. Sometimes you could see the Zero going around, its nose going from side to side; that's not the guy to worry about. And it's a question of luck, too.

“The Black Sheep were a great deal of fun, an extraordinary group of different characters. I had the great fortune to room with the flight surgeon for a while; all the medicinal brandy was in our foxhole, and that was pleasant. We had more sense of unity than I found in any other squadron, more esprit de corps. I'm sure that was partly due to Pappy, and partly due to the vile treatment from the colonel he called ‘Colonel Lard.'

“The other thing was that it was a period of going forward on the offensive. My first tour, Guadalcanal, was mild; before that, they were hanging on by their fingernails. With the Black Sheep, you had a lot of water; if your plane went bad, you were stuck. I realize what a great job the crew did to keep those old beasts flying.

“Taking it all together, we had good people with great spirit, aggressive leadership, and a dependable airplane—at a time when we had moved to the offensive: an outstanding team.”

Perry Lane lives in Nashua, New Hampshire, a city of some 70,000, not far from the Massachusetts border. It took me about two hours to drive there from Logan International Airport in Boston.

Big, easygoing Perry had put on some weight and lost some hair but was as friendly as ever; his welcoming smile was wide, his handshake firm. He had been born and raised in Rutland, Vermont, scarcely a sleeper-jump west; his accent signals his Down East heritage. We sat in comfortable chairs in his living room as I turned his thoughts back to those Black Sheep days when he joined us shortly before our second tour.

“I had my first flights in the Corsair in the South Pacific, about 35 hours by the time we went up. My combat flights are all sort of a blur. I was a little nervous at first, not knowing just what was going to happen. Back in the States, they wouldn't have let some of those planes off the ground. After the Black Sheep, I spent time at Guadalcanal, Green Island, Bougainville, and finally got sent home after I fell off a coconut log and broke my leg on the way to the movie one night. I stayed in California till my leg healed, then went to Quantico; to Air/Infantry School; back to Cherry Point for training again in a fighter squadron. I was released from active duty in January 1946 but stayed in the Reserve program.

“I went back to Vermont, returned to college for my degree in electrical engineering. The GI Bill helped some, but I was married, so I painted buildings, dug ditches—anything to make a few dollars to pay our way.

“I was called up for Korea, primarily a Reserves war, in September 1950. Our squadron had 51 pilots; about 30 were Reserves. We lost quite a few people there; we'd fly interdiction hops at about 1,000 feet. A tentmate was shot down in the first two weeks. I flew 54 missions, then was sent up as a Forward Air Controller for about six weeks.

“After Korea, I came back to work for General Electric. They treated me very well, and I spent 19 years with them before resigning to go to Sanders, here in Nashua, in order to be near home. After a year, I went to work at Federal Aviation Administration—been there ever since about 1970. (I've now retired from the Reserve program.)

“I'm in Communications: when information comes in about any
problems that occur, I keep people advised about what's happened. I enjoy the work and expect to stay at least till I'm 65.”