In the early summer of 1954 the culmination of our fifteen months training as Aviation Cadets was near. Class 54-M had progressed through the three months Officer Training School at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas and had concluded the six months basic flight training at Goodfellow AFB, San Angelo, Texas. We had undergone flight training first in the North American T-6 and the T-28 at San Angelo. My flight records indicate acquiring 106 hours in the T-6 followed by 52 hours in the larger T-28. As a Research and Development test, our class was selected to begin our flight training in the T-6, bypassing the normal procedure of first flying and soloing a much smaller and less powerful aircraft.
My first solo flight ever in an aircraft had taken place eight months earlier on October 2, 1953 in the T-6 with its 550 horsepower engine. That nine cylinder Pratt & Whitney radial engine emitted a roaring, deep-throated sound, instantaneously recognizable and long remembered by aviators who had any experience with the T-6 “Texan”. Every pilot has fond memories of their first solo flight, unless a failing grade was received and recurrent training was ordered. After my instructor affirmed my readiness and offered last minute assurances, I successfully completed the required pattern work with three good landings, with classmates and instructor looking on. The ritual for this grand day, since there was no swimming pool available for dunking, was being placed in a wire cage and being hosed down with high pressure water, in full flight gear attire.
The next duty station was at Williams AFB, Chandler, Arizona, just east of Phoenix. There we began training in jet aircraft, the Lockheed T-33A, a sleek two place 12,000 pound aircraft powered by an Allison turbojet engine that produced 4,600 pounds of thrust. We had mastered two aircraft thus far and were jointly confident that the challenge of the jet aircraft would not be beyond our capabilities. Our mind set at the time was that we could conquer the world. The T-33A was the world’s first jet trainer, and has been used to train a multitude of pilots in the jet age. The aircraft’s flight manual, thoroughly read and studied to gain knowledge of the T-33’s systems and operating procedures, listed a maximum speed of 525 miles per hour, with a range of 1,275 miles, and a service ceiling of 47,500 feet. It would be later that I would challenge that last figure.
Flying the jet aircraft proved to be in some ways much easier, especially with the absence of “torque”, or that opposite effect caused by the rotation of the propeller due to centrifugal force. Torque effect made you fully aware why a rudder was so important in maintaining coordinated flight. My first solo mission in the jet powered T-33 was after just four hours and fifty-five minutes of dual time with 21 practice landings. After the transition phase and solo missions, we were exposed to instrument training, night flight, cross-country missions, and the challenge of formation flight, that being the phase I enjoyed more than any other. To enhance our confidence level we would fly a few missions that were purely solo and totally unsupervised, but to be flown in a designated area. The area defined for those flights was northeast of Phoenix over the Superstition Mountains, a large range with high barren peaks that rose out of the desert valley of the greater metropolitan area which encompassed Phoenix, Tempe, and Mesa and other smaller towns. The Superstition range contained the famous Lost Dutchman Gold Mine, that elusive mine that numerous dreamers and prospectors have searched for in vain for many years, some at the cost of their lives. A prominent reference point was the “Four Peaks” that protruded higher than the other mountain tops.
Class 54-M had progressed to this point with no fatalities – we had lost some through the elimination procedure or “wash out” of the program. In other words they failed to cut the program and either returned to their prior enlisted status or reverted to civilian life. But we had been fortunate not to have had any great crisis – until now. A very well liked classmate and all around good guy, Charles R. Noble, had been scheduled for one of the solo missions that enhanced one’s confidence level. He had reported in over the Superstition Mountains and was in his assigned area, but his return to base was not to be. Chuck Noble and his T-33A jet aircraft simply disappeared, not to be seen again. The area was searched thoroughly, but to no avail, and the wreckage was never, at least during our time at Williams AFB, located. What went wrong on this mission will never be known. It was to Second Lieutenant Charles R. Noble, whose kindness and character influenced all who knew him, that Class 54-M dedicated our year book at our graduation.
All flight training bases are ideally located in an area with year round fair flying weather conditions. At the Texas bases this was generally true, but bad weather frequently would delay training. But the southwest base at Williams AFB in Arizona was ideal. The term, CAVU, or ceiling and visibility unlimited, could have been invented in that dry desert area. The extremely high summer temperatures was cause for a lot of sweating, but one could not fault the clear blue skies that were the norm over the desert southwest.
With graduation from flight training near I was scheduled for a solo mission where I performed some acrobatic maneuvers in the same Four Peaks area where Chuck Noble had last flown. A couple of loops, a cloverleaf (four successive loops with a 90 degree heading change between), and a Cuban eight were flown. With no prior planning I decided to challenge the published service ceiling of 47,500 feet of the T-33 “Shooting Star”. We had all been exposed to an early high altitude indoctrination flight with our instructors. On that mission my instructor had demonstrated flight at 46,500 feet and I had the chance to fly in the high altitude thin air environment where maintaining the low indicated airspeed, but high actual ground speed, was more critical. The aircraft is much less responsive at that altitude and the “thin” air results in far less effective engine thrust.
Most of our missions totaled one and one-half hours flight time and on the latter part of this flight I simply decided I’d like to see how high I could go and still sustain flight. With the reduced fuel load and with just one pilot on board, the conditions for gaining maximum altitude were ideal. While maintaining a general position in my assigned area near the Four Peaks, which put me roughly in the center of the state, I proceeded to climb higher and higher. Gently handling the aircraft I found myself passing the published 47,500 foot service ceiling altitude and saw that I could, with caution, go even higher. Why not try to cross over the artificial barrier of 50,000 feet was a thought that entered my mind. I tried but the best I could get was just barely beyond 49,000 feet before the aircraft began mushing and gingerly losing altitude. At that point, almost 10 miles into the atmosphere, I realized how far you could see in that clear blue environment. I could view north and see snow capped Humphrey’s Peak, Arizona’s tallest mountain at 12,633′, which lies to the south of the Grand Canyon. At the same time by looking south I could pick up the beginnings of the Gulf of California, that large body of water that separates the Baja California from the mainland of Mexico. Arizona is no small state and that is a huge distance over the ground. A later map computation indicated that the linear distance between Humphrey’s Peak and the Gulf of California is approximately 315 statute miles. In that southern looking view I had the strong feeling that a minor curvature of the earth’s surface could be seen. Imagined or otherwise, the impression that, yes, our planet earth is truly round, and I had affirmed it with my own eyes, was a passing perception.
I did not get to 50,000 feet, but it still was an exhilarating flight, one long remembered. The term, “astronaut”, was still a long way from coming into common use. This was 1954 and it would be a few years before President John F. Kennedy made his grandiose promise to our country that we would go to the moon.
At one point in my high altitude excursion a brief passing thought occurred to me – that perhaps Chuck Noble had also been trying to get beyond that 50,000 foot barrier and had simply kept on going, right on up to heaven.
Wings Over Cumberland 