Also in February the squadron received its first TF-80Cs, F-80Cs that had been modified for use as jet trainers by lengthening the fuselage 38 1/2 inches and adding a fully equipped second cockpit. In all but the few models used for gunnery training, the armament was removed from the nose. The airplane was much better known by its later designation T-33, assigned in May 1949, or by its nickname, the T-Bird. It became the standard jet trainer for the USAF and many of its allies, including the U.S. Navy. Almost 6,000 were built before production ended in August 1959. In the squadron the T-33 was used for instrument training, to check pilots out, and for taking nonpilots up for rides in a jet.
Several other pilots in the squadron and I were made instructor pilots so that we could check pilots out (or transition, as it was called officially) in jets. I did quite a bit of this and gained a lot of experience in flying the T-Bird from the backseat.
One of my first tasks as an instructor was to check out one of the pilots from the Experimental Guided Missile Squadron, which was scheduled to receive some drone F-80s in the near future. He was an experienced B-17 pilot as well as a drone pilot (who flew the radio-controlled drone by means of special controls in another aircraft). In the case of the drone F-80, he would have to control it from a T-33 since a nonjet would not be able to keep up with it. He had not flown small single-engine aircraft since basic flying school five or six years earlier, and it took several flights for him to get accustomed to the sensitivity of the T-Bird's controls, especially the ailerons. For the first hour we went through the air rocking the wings, which is the signal to join formation. Had there been any other planes around we might have ended up leading a large flight.
After a few flights, when he had a good feel for the airplane, he said he would like to try some loops and rolls. I showed him a few loops, and then he did one. He did it pretty well except for easing off the back pressure on the stick as we went over the top, causing us to float into the second half of the loop. He did much better on later loops, and I showed him a few rolls, which are quite simple in jets. The pilot just pulls the nose up and moves the stick to the side, and the plane rolls smoothly with the nose on a point. It takes little if any rudder, unlike a roll in a primary or basic trainer, which requires the pilot to coordinate the rudder and stick movements throughout and to use a lot of forward stick when inverted to hold the nose up. I thought I had explained it well, but his primary instructor must have impressed him more. As we rolled inverted he jammed the stick forward so hard that the accelerometer registered minus 1 g, my head hit the canopy, the air filled with debris from the cockpit floor, and the engine flamed out as the fuel, which feeds from the bottom of the tank, stopped flowing. I stopcocked the throttle, grabbed the stick, and pulled through the horizon into a shallow dive to keep the engine windmilling, then rolled upright. We had plenty of altitude, so I let him make the air start and then let him try a few more rolls, which he performed well with absolutely no forward stick.
Maj. Gen. William E. Kepner had been named commanding general of the Air Proving Ground Command and Lt. Col. Emmett S. ''Cyclone" Davis had assumed command of the fighter test squadron in August 1948. Now that we had the T-33, General Kepner told Colonel Davis that he would like to fly it. Colonel Davis assigned me to fly with him and check him out. During the time I was privileged to spend with General Kepner, he told me a few stories from his remarkable career. He had quit high school to enlist in the Marine Corps, where he served for four years. He left the Corps to return to school in 1913. In 1916 he was commissioned in the Indiana National Guard and served in Mexico. The next year he was accepted into the Regular Army and was promoted to first lieutenant. Later that year, as a captain and company commander in France, he fought at Château-Thierry and Saint-Mihiel and was decorated for heroism. He became interested in flying while at the front and asked to be trained as a pilot. Instead he was given command of a battalion in the Meuse-Argonne campaign and was seriously wounded.
After the war he applied again for pilot training but was sent to balloon school instead of to airplanes. He made the best of it and won several of the major international balloon races for the U.S. Army. He also was trained as an airship pilot and served as the test pilot on the Army's experimental metalclad airship. Later, after being rated as a naval aviator, zeppelin pilot, he flew as assistant navigator on the Navy's rigid airship Los Angeles.
In February 1932, at the age of 39 with the rank of major, he finally received his airplane pilot wings, but he made one final balloon flight that was almost fatal. As part of a National Geographic Society and U.S. Army project, he and two crew members were launched in the balloon Explorer I in July 1934 to investigate the ozone layer, in which there remains a great interest today, in the upper atmosphere. The balloon envelope ripped open, and they descended rapidly, but under control, from 60,000 feet to 4,000 feet, where the balloon exploded. They all managed to bail out successfully, with General Kepner going last at 500 feet.
He held several fighter commands, culminating in August 1943, when he took over the Eighth Fighter Command in England, with the primary responsibility of providing escort for the Eighth Air Force bombers. Under his leadership the successful tactics of aggressive escort were developed, attacking enemy fighters wherever and whenever they could be found, in the air or on the ground. Among his postwar assignments was that of deputy commander for air of Operation Crossroads, the nuclear bomb tests in the Pacific.
Although he seemed awfully old to me at the time, at 51 he was an excellent pilot with a lot of fighter experience, and he had no trouble mastering the T-Bird. I was a little nervous watching him change glasses a couple of times on final approach, but it didn't seem to bother him or the airplane.
I made a slight faux pas when we had parked after the first flight. I was filling out the Form 1, the official record that must be completed following every flight. I knew his name and rank, but after recording them I asked him for his serial number. He replied, "Six A."
Incredulous, I exclaimed, "Six A!" I had never known anyone with fewer than four digits in his serial number.
He laughed and said, "A bit lower than yours, eh?"
"Yes, sir, 18,158 lower to be exact." When new serial numbers were assigned after the formation of the U.S. Air Force, he was the sixth ranking officer. I felt honored to have the opportunity to fly with a gentleman of such stature.
A few months earlier I had learned that I would be the test officer on a test to determine the suitability of the F-84 and the F-86 as night fighters. All previous USAAF and USAF night-fighter crews had comprised a pilot and a radar observer, and the Air Force wanted to determine if the pilot of a single-engine jet fighter could accomplish both roles. Since I had no previous experience with airborne radar, the project officer, Lt. Frank "Radar" Smith, spent a good deal of time sharing the knowledge he had amassed in his years as a radar observer in night fighters, Douglas P-70s and Northrop P-61s, in combat in the Pacific theater.