 Proudly we hail. New York City, where the American stage begins, here is another program with a cast of outstanding players. Public service time has been made available by this station for your Army and your Air Force to bring you this story as Proudly we hail the United States Air Force. It is entitled Wings for a Tiger, the story of aviation cadets. Proudly we hail aviation cadet Ned Johnson and all the aviation cadets of the United States Air Force Air Training Command. Our first act curtain will rise in just a moment. But first, this is for the young college man who's looking for the chance of a lifetime. Be an aviation cadet pilot with the United States Air Force. It isn't easy to qualify as an aviation cadet and it isn't easy to win your silver wings. You'll be working hard. You'll be called upon to use your initiative and intelligence. But when you're commissioned an Air Force Lieutenant and start out earning more than $5,000 a year, you'll find it was all worth the effort. If you're between 19 and 26 and a half and single and can otherwise measure up, there's a chance you can qualify as an aviation cadet. Visit your nearest United States Army and United States Air Force Recruiting Station today and see if your future lies in the skies. And now your Army and your Air Force present the Proudly we hail production Wings for a Tiger. Hey, buddy, you gonna shout out? I'll strike all over later. Hey, but you gotta make for me? Negative. No more formation for me. Oh, well, don't panic, buddy. There's anything I can do, anything at all. Nothing anyone can do. I'll see you later then. Come on, you miserable, wobbleheaded, pushy cat! When you're an aviation cadet, every day starts the same. Rebelly, breakfast formation, then off to academics or the flight line. But you, aviation cadet Ned Jensen, you aren't heading anywhere. Anywhere but out, out of the program. You're a Tiger. The Air Force made you a Tiger. But you won't be getting your commission and silver wings because you're grounded. How did the flight surgeon put it? I'm afraid that's it, Jensen. No more flying. Well, my ear, it's healed some, hasn't it? Not enough. You still can't hear the left ear. But it'll heal eventually, won't it? Made, may not. We've waited two weeks now since you ruptured it. No real progress yet. So now you're grounding me? Oh, I have to do it, Jensen. Permanently? If the ear drum should heal, you could apply for a flight status again. It might happen. But now, why now? Only a few weeks before I'm supposed to get my wings. If only you'd come to me when you first noticed that cold. It didn't seem serious. It was only a slight head cold. Yes, I know, I know. You were too eager. Didn't want to be grounded even for one day to let the cold clear up. Well, I wanted to be sure to graduate with my flight. Well, now you know it's on the hard way. That's why we have the rules. No one flies with a cold. If anyone thinks for certain, I'll always remember that split-ass in my last jet hop. Could have been any rapid descent to rupture the ear drum. But I can still hear with my other ear. That's not enough. With flying this air force, you've got to be in perfect working order. Perfect. Nothing less. So this is it? Hmm. End of the line. Hold your left wrist up to your left ear. Like this? That's right. Now, when you can hear your wrist watch with that ear, then you can fly again, when and if. Until then? Until then, I do this. Your flight physical paper. Not qualified for duty involving flight and aircraft. In other words, grounded. Not qualified for duty involving flight and aircraft. Grounded. Grounded. Wings clipped. So you lie in your bunk, hands clasped behind your head, staring at the ceiling hour after hour, day after day, waiting for the inevitable. Orders that'll take you away out of the aviation cadet program. Staring at the ceiling, you can hear with one half of the required perfect hearing. The sounds of your basic school. William's Air Force Base. The insistent sounds of a busy air base under the hot Arizona sun. The jet trainers breaking out of formation overhead as they pitch out into the landing traffic pattern. And the cadet formation may be your flight, marching by the barracks outside on their way to the flight line. All the sounds you can still hear. The involving flight. Sounds that bring flashes of memories tumbling back. A kaleidoscope of the past 18 months. Memories unwanted but painfully welcomed. Like pre-flight at Lackland Air Force Base outside of San Antonio. That's where it all started. You're a fourth classman, the lowest, and you wear a green name tag. You get up at 445. You jog everywhere you go in formation. Takeoff procedure for the T-6 single engine trainer is recited going upstairs. Landing procedure on the way down. There's no hazing, but upperclassmen can and do brace you. Like the first time it happened. You're walking along with a fellow called Jackson. Three days ago you didn't know him. Today he's your buddy. And before you conduct there's an upperclassman big as life and twice as loud. What's this there? Hold yourselves, Mr. You, Mr., sound off. Aviation Cadet Jensen, NetR, fourth class flight able. Mr., give me the full pre-takeoff CIG FTPRS checklist. Sir, controls free and proper movement. Instruments in the green. Gas on reserve tank. Flaps up. Prim 11 and 3 o'clock. Prop full forward and checked. Run up 2100 RPM and mags checked. Shoulder harness locked. Sir. Very good. And you, Mr., sound off. Aviation Cadet Jackson, Andrew M, fourth class flight able. Section 2. Mr., how is a cow? Sir, she walks, she talks, she's full of chalk. The lateral fluid of the bovine species is highly prolific to the nth degree, sir. Wipe that grin off your face, Mr. Yes, sir. Mr., now can you tell me what time it is? With no grin. Sir, I am greatly embarrassed and deeply humiliated. This due to circumstances beyond which I have no control that the inner workings and hidden mechanisms of my chronometer are such in accord with a sidereal movement by which time is commonly reckoned that I cannot, with any degree of accuracy, state the exact time. However, without fear of being too far wrong, I will say that it is 13 minutes, 12 seconds, and two ticks, past the 15th hour. Mr., that is incorrect. Fax you to my room at 1800 hours with a proper answer. Yes, sir. And turn yourself in for a gig. Yes, sir. Carry on, Mr. What I say wrong, Ned? Well, sir, you forgot to say, sir, at the end, meathead. Oh, well, if that's not enough to gall your stomach. Yes, some of it did gall your stomach, but you learned a lot. And all you learned in class and out had its purpose to make you an officer, to make you Air Force. Then pre-flight is behind, and you're in primary at Goodfellow Air Force Base near San Angelo, Texas. This was what you signed up for. Fly. You're not green anymore, you're blue, Air Force blue, and you're impatient to fly. There are still classes, but they're really interesting now because they're leading to that T6 solo. You've had maybe 20 hours in a Piper Cub by now, but you don't count that. That big yellow T6, I think next to you, that is important. You're standing there one cool morning, proud in your flight suit and helmet and sunglasses. The shoot's heavy against the back of your knees, earphones in hand, when your instructor says... Okay, Mr. Jensen, get in the front seat. Just what you've been waiting for. You clamor in and the instructor perches on the wing, leaning in to help you. Okay, check your cockpit, Mr. Gas on, trim tables for takeoff, battery switch on, mixture control idle cutoff, radio off. All the things you've been taught in class. Now start the engine, Mr. You prime the engine, hit the starter switch, turn on the magneto switch, and the engine fires. You idle back on the throttle, turn your radio on, and check your engine instruments. Go through the before-taxi checklist, and then the instructor climbs in the back and calls you on the interphone. How do you read me, Mr? Loud and clear, sir. Good. 4-8-5. Taxi and takeoff instructions. 4-8-5. You're clear to taxi. Runway 2-9. I want you to observe my technique for proper taxi. Always taxi slowly in the... an SDR plane from side to side so you're sure there's nothing in front of you. Then you're at the run-up position near the end of the runway and you go through the pre-takeoff check. See mobile control over there by the end of the runway and the trailer? Roger, sir. Roger. Your instructor always in the backseat, shouting, coaxing, weedling, congratulating. And after 15 hours day after day, one special day, he climbs out of the backseat and standing on the wing, leans into your cockpit, and you look at him with astonishment in your eyes and stomach, though this is just what you've been waiting for. And he says... Okay, mister, you're going to take it solo. All I want is three satisfactory landings. Stay in the traffic pattern, just you've been doing. I'll be on the ground here watching at all times and I'll give you the call over mobile control if you need any help. But you won't, boy. I know you can solo the plane. That's why I'm letting you go. It's all yours. Then he gives you the first smile you've ever seen on him and you believe you really can do it. So you wait till he's on the ground, answer his ways, then pour the cold to it down the runway. Amazing. There's not much to it. You're too busy checking procedure and trying to remember everything at once to notice there's no one in the backseat. And then you do something wrong, drop a little altitude or a wing tip, and no one shouts at you from the backseat. For a second, you just take a deep breath and then you feel for the first time like you're really flying. You shoot your three landings and they come out. Nobody's squawking in the backseat and still they come out. That makes it exciting. You're doing it now, not being led by the hand. You'll never forget this first feeling of real flying. On the ground, you're the center of attention. They gunk it down with a hose and march it back in front of the squadron. And then at mess that night, you stand on your chair and flap your arms like a bird. Hey, quiet. Quiet. Pudodos, who have not been accorded the privilege of making like a bird alone, I soloed today, way one nine. In the air, 130 hours of acrobatics, cross country, night flying and basic instruments. On the ground, classes in weather, navigation, engineering, radio communications, principles of flight. In six months, you're through primary and you've learned enough to feel like a pretty hot pilot. Next stop, basic. Williams Air Force Base outside of Phoenix, Arizona. That's where you'll start flying jets. You stand your first day, mouth open, eyes gating, as above a formation of planes roar over the field in tight, shining silver formation. Pitch out into the landing traffic pattern and single file their way in. Jack, look at those airplanes. This is what we've been waiting for. Jets, let me get them, buddy. Those jets are my meat. You are listening to the proudly beheld production Wings for a Tiger. We'll return in just a moment for the second act. If you're a single young man interested in aviation, there's no better way to learn while you earn than as an aviation cadet. Win your wings as a crew member of an Air Force plane. You'll graduate from your aviation cadet training as a commissioned officer. You'll be rated a pilot or an aircraft observer. If you become an aircraft observer, you'll be a specialist in a specific job, bombardier, navigator, electronics officer, or aircraft performance engineer. The specialized training at Air Force Advanced Schools will make it possible for you to work with the latest equipment. Where else can a healthy young college man find so much for his benefit? An exciting job with a challenge and more than $5,000 a year. Enlist today as an aviation cadet at your nearest United States Army and United States Air Force Recruiting Station. You are listening to Proudly We Hail and now we present the second act of Wings for a Tiger. It takes nearly 18 months to earn the wings and bars of an Air Force pilot and just a few weeks short from graduation, you, aviation cadet Ned Jensen, are grounded with a ruptured eardrum. So you lie in your bunk, waiting for your orders out and think back to the first day you arrived at Williams Air Force Base. It's here at Williams you fly your first jet but not until you've had transition in a T-28. The T-28's the newest Air Force single-engine trainer and it's a hot ship. Cruises at almost the speed of World War II fighters so you take it all seriously. Night flying, navigation, acrobatics, formation instruments, and then suddenly you're through with propeller ships. You're ready for jets. You stand next to one of the shiny T-33 two-seated versions of the Lockheed F-80 shooting star and your instructor's saying, well, mister, here she is. You're a T-33 jet. Okay, now I'll help you get her started. First, make sure you have a full supply of oxygen. We wear masks when they're ground up. Right. It reads 450 pounds on the gauge. Okay, we're ready to start. Signal the crew chief to cut in the auxiliary power unit. Okay, Chief. Okay, hit your switches. Back on the throttle. Check all your instruments. All okay and in the green. Okay, put on your helmet and plug in your oxygen mask and radio. All right. Yep. I'll get in the back seat and I'll give you a call. Loud and clear, sir. Now, you notice this interphone is what we call hot. You can hear everything I say, my breathing and vice versa. Right. Okay, then we taxi on out. Tower, this is 263. Taxi instructions. 263, taxi runway 12. Okay, Jensen, the crew chief gave us a signal so we can go. Now, notice how I taxi. Always keep my momentum to make turns. Otherwise, you'll need excessive power. That's bad because it blasts parts and mechanics all over the ramp. Needless to say, the chief don't enjoy being blown all over the landscape by careless pilots. Yes, sir. And when I lower the canopy now, make sure your arms and elbows are clear of the rail. Canopy clear, sir. There she is. Roger. Look at this go. Say again. I just said wow. So quiet. Almost eerie. No vibration. Whatever you felt in flying before is double now in this clean, sleek, powerful jet airplane. Your instructor shows you the area over to Tucson as a quick 15 minutes, 100 miles. After your orientation hop, you start shooting landings. And sure enough, one fine day you hear those familiar words as your instructor gets out of the back seat and leans over into your cockpit. Okay, mister, she's all yours. I know you can cut the mustard. Just fly like you've been doing. I'll be watching from down here. Just give him my three satisfactory landings. And you do it. There's no celebration for this as when you first soloed, but it means just as much. Because now, well, now you're a jet pilot. Then there's formation flying, one of the biggest thrills in learning your craft as a jet fighter pilot. Hog jaw flight. This is hog jaw leader, 5,000 foot check. And can load your fuel switches. So you turn off your emergency fuel pump, turn all fuel tanks on. Then at 12,000... Hog jaw flight, 12,000 foot check. So you check the number of pounds of oxygen left. Your blinker indicator to see it's feeding. An oxygen hose is fitted properly and all check in. 3, 2, 5 pounds. Oxygen normal blinker working. 3, 5, 0 pounds. Oxygen normal blinker working. 3, 1, 5 pounds. Oxygen normal blinker working. And your flight climbs up to rendezvous altitude, 20,000. Hog jaw 4, settle down. Hog jaw 2, move it out a little. When you reach altitude, your leader hoses hand level in front of him, palm down. You're leveling off, reducing power. And then your flight goes into a series of banks and turns, holding formation all the while. But it's not all flying. There's academics too, half of each day. Like flight planning class, where all the schooling you've had fits together practically like a jigsaw puzzle. Here, your navigation, weather, cruise control, instruments all added together to teach you how to plan a cross-country flight. The class is a simulated flight to Los Angeles from your base at Williams, outside of Phoenix. You do everything in the classroom you'll do later in the cockpit. It starts with the briefing. Gentlemen, this is the first jet flight you've planned. Note the difference between jet planning and your previous work, especially speeds. Watch your reserve fuel. Don't forget, regulations state that you must have enough fuel to reach your destination and your alternate field and still have 20 minutes' fuel left. Note that when IFR on instrument flight, you must report every 200 miles over fixes named in the flight plan. You make a jet instrument let down at Los Angeles radio range station. Now, since this is your first class, pair off and work the problem together. The instructors will check your work. You'll then go to the mock operations desk and file your clearance. Then to the radio room where you'll file your simulated flight. Any questions, gentlemen? All right, then go to it. All right, dreamer, let's get on the stick. Open up your radio facility chart and let's see what our airways look like. Roger, I'll work out the headings on this little weaned plotter. And after a couple of straight hours of computing, wrecketing, plotting, head scratching, and assorted figuring, your problem is finished. Check by the instructors and next you're in the radio room, simulating the flight to Los Angeles, watching your checkpoints, fuel, altitude, ground speed. And then your clock and figure say you're ready to enter the Los Angeles radio range, a radio beam that'll buzz in your headset to lead you to the field on instruments, the LA sounding now in your ears. A few weeks later, you're actually flying this mission, not in the classroom, but under the hood in the front seat of a Jet T-33 instructor in the rear, below and the head somewhere in the gathering fall of night Los Angeles, straining your ears to hear and feel your way into the code signal highway that leads to the field. Do you know which quadrant you're in and where you are? Roger, sir. A quadrant. I'm making a low angle approach to the beam. Good boy. And as you bank toward the beam, trying to hit the thin line where the A and N signals merge into one highway, you hear and you've hit the highway but pass slightly to the other side, so you bank back and then hear the beautiful steady humming of the rain. Okay, mister. You can pop your hood and see where you are. Roger, sir. All those lights, mister. That's LA. You hit her right on the nose. That's one night you'll always remember. Your first R-O-N remain overnight. But there are other nights, Friday night dances at the Cadet Club on the base. You and Jack have two cute co-eds from Arizona State College and flying is way in the background now. You're relaxing. Oh, some boys go in for hangar flying, talking flying all the time on the ground, but not you two. Not with two lovelies at your table. If you two fly boys aren't going to talk about anything but airplanes, we may get the idea you don't like us. Oh, now, honey bun, she wouldn't eat off out of formation, would you? This is a dance. Aren't we going to? Now, let's just wait till that band throttles back to slow cruise. Too fast now. See, what I mean, Ellen, all they talk is flying. Crazy. That's what. One track line. Next fall, he had to learn how to act like the gentleman. The Air Force is trying to make him. Why, you corn-pwned cuddle southerner. We learned to be gentlemen up north when you're still a barefoot cotton-picking pussycat. Old Ned's my buddy, girls, but I just haven't been able to get anything about flying through that dense skull of his. Andrew Jackson Culpeper. Boy, you may just make your wings at it. No sweat, buddy. I got this program licked. I'll be bouncing those F-86 Sabre jets around the courier. Boy, that's enough. Stop talking planes or Ellen and I leave right now. Say again? We're leaving if you're not dancing. You're going to talk only flying. Negative. Let's dance. Now that band's traveled back. Watch that crosswind there coming through the door. Roger, hug Joe three. Come on, Ellen girl. I'll check you out on a slow cruise. Funny bunch. Let's not talk about flying anymore. Let's talk about you. What do you think of me as a flyer? That's what it's like to be a jet pilot. When you aren't flying them, you're talking them. Hanger flying. It's in your blood. You eat, sleep, and drink jet flying all the time. And now they're cutting you off, grounding you. You knew the rules, but the first time they caught you off base, you got tagged out. Out of the program, no wings, no commission, no flying. And as you lie there, hands clasped behind your ears, you'll hear the flight surgeon's voice. Not qualified for duty. But you hear something else in your left ear. And it's your wristwatch, hell next to your bad ear. And you can hear the sound loud and clear like golden bells. I can hear. I can hear. I can hear. My bad ear. I can fly again. When you were flying again, and a few weeks later, you were graduating with your flight and class. Most unforgettable of most of the boys on that graduation day is the sound of their name being called out to step up and receive their silver pilot wings. But for you, the sound that sends the real shiver down your back is the memory of that wristwatch, ticking away in your left ear, the sound that meant you could fly again, the most important sound in your life. Well, maybe not after all. It's that beautiful, gathering, echoing rumble overhead of a swift-streaking silver jet, your airplane. There's a song about the blue of the night and the gold of the day that brings happy memories to a lot of people. In one Air Force man, one of the happiest days of his life is when the gold bars of a second lieutenant are pinned to his blue uniform. He's earned those gold bars, and he wears his Air Force blue proudly. If he qualifies as a pilot or an aircraft observer on one of the mighty Air Force planes, he can even wear the coveted silver wings. If you're between 19 and 26 and a half, single and can otherwise qualify, visit your nearest United States Army and United States Air Force recruiting station. See if you're qualified to join up with the aviation cadets, the men in Air Force blue. This has been another program on Proudly We Hail, presented transcribed in cooperation with this station. Proudly We Hail is produced by the Recruiting Publicity Center for the United States Army and United States Air Force Recruiting Service. This is Kenneth Banghart speaking and inviting you to tune in this same station next week for another interesting story on Proudly We Hail.