I can’t remember all their names. And those I do, I’ll misspell some, but circumstances and humor of the events make this 88 year-old smile, even laugh, at what evolved.

By 1943, the US Navy’s Pilot Training Program had reached perfection in training cadets to be the Best, “barring none.” A key ingredient was a keen, well-trained, athletic body.

One significant result (for publicity perhaps) was a top-grade football team in Chapel Hill, NC, to compete with the best, collegiate pro, “you name it” football team anywhere, anytime in the fall, after which the naval officers, players, and coaches transferred back to their regular naval duty assignments.

My introduction to this marvel was after a four-day military train ride on which we were side-tracked several times, during which we cadets took baths in nearby creeks.

Upon arrival in Chapel Hill, all incoming cadets marched to the parade field and about a dozen of us were called forward. Others were dismissed to their dormitories. The dozen of us were immediately outfitted with football uniforms, and bused to Durham for scrimmage with Duke University. A Navy football team called Chapel Hill Pre-flight evolved and won games primarily because of a player Otto Graham’s talent and leadership.

At Glenview, IL, where our group went after Chapel Hill, Northwestern University, where Otto Graham had starred, was near. Every weekend possible, Otto would date his fiancee who arranged for her roommate and me to double-date. On one of those outings, Otto met with Mr. Brown of the Cleveland Browns to negotiate his signing bonus for joining the emerging Cleveland Browns. Otto came back to our table super excited. His bonus was $200/month for the duration of WWII. He was ecstatic — no signing bonus had ever been that generous in the new NFL.

Here are the names of some of “the Big Boys” I played with at Chapel Hill Pre-Flight when I was there. Forgive my spelling and a few glitches in my memory. After all, it has been 66 years.

COACH – Bear Bryant

BACKS – Otto Graham (quarterback); Jitterbug Kellogg (New Orleans, All-American); Stan Kaslowski (Holy Cross, All-American)

ENDS – Andy Anderson (Cornell, All-American); Mike Shean (University of Missouri, All-American)

LINE – Baby Bear (Chicago Bears, All Pro); Gleasner (Maryland Lions)- he kept everyone laughing; Shoemaker, the other end with me

It was fun for me, a college kid, playing ball with “the Big Boys.”

“Hills of Home” was crafted by Isabel France who lived in The Ozarks at Shepherd Springs near Mountainburg, Arkansas. Her articles appeared  for many years on Sundays throughout several newspapers in the state. In one article during 1947, she tied Vought test pilots to the Ozarks, and this article, to me, was her best… ever. 

Isabel is buried with her husband, Owen Frances, and many, many other Frances atop the first hill north out of Mountainburg, off of US71. Each visit is an inspiring, silent time for me to reminisce the good times of “our gang’s” high school years before WWII. I’m proud to honor Owen and Isabel with the clipping below from “Hills of Home”:

It’s a long way from Arkansas to Connecticut. It’s a longer way from calling hogs across the chilly waters of Jack’s Creek in Crawford County to flight test work in Bridgeport, Connecticut, but that’s how far an Arkansas lad has traveled.

Fort Smith-born Wayne Harding Jr. is doing flight test work for the Chance Vought Aircraft corporation. All pilots have for designation certain flight calls. For instance, Pilot Bill Millar is “Mike” and Bill Horan from Connecticut has “Flight Hypo.” Bob Baker from New Jersey uses “Flight Jean,” his wife’s name, and Jim Barber is “Flight Barber,” using his own name. Vinnie Lynch from Connecticut answers to “Flight Devil”; he is “so devilish, tormentin’ mean,” and Wayne Harding from Arkansas is “Flight Ozark.”

“Just the sound of the name ‘Ozark’ during daily flights does away with some of my homesickness for the Arkansas mountains and hollows,” is Wayne’s simple explanation of his flight call.

He spent New Year’s week back home, ate hot biscuits three times a day – breakfast, dinner, and supper. No one ever heard tell of lunch. He practiced up on hog calling. Figured out a new way to get them hogs across the creek. Let them walk the swinging bridge. He found all of his “old gang” married, except for Joe Tibbitts and Butch Walker, who are doing “socially right well” at the Arkansas university, Fayetteville.

Personally, Wayne wouldn’t give 94 acres right under Piney Pint in the Arkansas Hills of Home for the entire eastern seaboard from Maine to Maryland.

At Chance Vought Aircraft in the Aeronautical Engineering Department, rookies were assigned to experienced engineers for the first year. My tutor, when I worked in the department at times I was not flying, was Al Borserine.

(Keep in mind Air Force, Army, Navy, and Marine pilots were still flying propeller planes, not jets.)

Al and I were working on how many “g’s” a pilot could physically withstand in a curve or “pull out” and still be conscious enough to think clearly.

I’ve forgotten the numbers we each presented, but Al’s was considerably higher than mine. Instead of arguing, I said, “Al, how would you like my showing you, so you can develop a feel for the subject, and we move onto our other problems?”

“You mean take me up in a plane?”

With my “yes,” he exploded, “Wow!”

The following weekend, he and his bride of two years, met me at Floyd Bennett’s Naval Air Station in South Brooklyn. My skipper had approved my proposal when I phoned him during the week.

I had told Al to dress in old clothes. Instead, he came in his wool ROTC uniform.

We were assigned a trainer SNJ. It didn’t take long to illustrate how “g’s” treat a pilot. Al vomited several times!

After landing, we adhered to the Standard Procedure which was the guest cleaned EVERYTHING until the mess and odor were eliminated, and the plane was accepted by the line mechanic.

I tried to help but found myself staying as far from Al as I could because of the pungent odor. His wife, also dressed very well, assisted as best she could. She was a real trooper but had to keep her distance from the worst of smell combinations – a sweaty ROTC uniform and vomit.

Al and I never argued much after that weekend.

Mid-fall 1947, Mr. Taliaferro called me to his office for a non-scheduled meeting.  I thought maybe his records were different than mine.  I found out that they were not, and we were on target for quotas, but it hadn’t been easy.  The large Corsair orders, mostly for the Korean War, had necessitated long hours of flight testing and speedy resolutions of problems.  Secretly, I was proud of our performance.  But I knew one glitch in the rhythm of our present operations would cause a slow-down.

“Harding,” Mr. Taliaferro barked.

I was standing in front of his desk.

“Sit down.  We have a problem.  I can see it coming, but don’t know how we can avoid it.”

Needless to say, he had my full attention.

“Lindbergh will be here tomorrow on a top secret consultation, and he wants to fly our F4U-5, one right off the production line with zero flight time.  Do you see the problem?” he asked.

Lindbergh had been my idol since I was six years old, and our family had driven from Ft. Smith, Arkansas, to St. Louis to see the massive celebrations and parade for the Spirit of St. Louis.  I remember my mother especially being ecstatic about Lindbergh.

I answered Mr. Taliaferro after that brief reminiscence. “It will interfere with our production by everyone wanting to see him in person when he goes to the flight line.”

His office was like a morgue for a couple of minutes.  Then an idea hit me, and I asked, “If you’ll let me use your name, I have a solution.”

“Let’s have it.”

“I’ll leave schedules as they are, and anyone deviating will have to talk to you, not me.”

Taliaferro softly grunted but then said, “Do it.”

The next morning, I made my announcement.  But what really happened was that the plan backfired on me.  I was concluding a flight and taxiing in when Lindbergh was greeting the flight office group.  I ran as fast as I could and reached the back row.  Lindbergh saw me, smiled, and waved.

What a smile, what an aviator, what a guy!  I’m sure everyone there felt the history of that moment and the significance of our encounter.

Everyone has a trademark of some kind. Mine is my homemade helmet from 1946 when I was a test pilot for Chance Vought Aircraft in Stratford, CT.

At that time, much equipment for test pilots was primitive compared with today. One piece which was very inadequate was our helmets. The ones we used early on were cloth, as were all Air Force ones. Since jets had not been introduced, and hard hats for pilots were not conceived, Chance Vought customers, Naval and Marines, were still wearing cloth helmets.

The need for a hard hat, however, was there for me as I began flying higher and faster on experimental testing. With a cloth helmet at top speed, if I hit an air pocket, I would be knocked out. So I created my own (which is the picture). Since I had played football in college, I was able to obtain an old football helmet (orange because Princeton’s school colors were orange and black). I took the helmet to the mechanics at Chance Vought, and they wired in the head set. Then I had it painted with my call name – “Ozark” which tied back to my Arkansas roots.