Chilton receives his pilots wings

In April 1944 I was close to receiving my pilot’s wings and becoming an officer. I reported to my parents:

"April 3, 1944—There are only twelve days left, and two weeks from today I should be home on furlough. We are beginning to wonder about what kind of orders we will get and where we will be sent after our furloughs.

I am about finished up, and only need my instrument check flight. I expect to pass, but dread it just the same. I have 60 hours flying time and should end up with about 75. I need a few more hours of night flying, which I have been enjoying (quite a change from night flying at Basic).

I have the uniforms I need for now, at a cost of about $225. I have summer and winter dress uniforms, four sets of khakis, a suit of tropical worsted and summer and winter caps. They may try to get me to buy a raincoat, but I am going to try to get out of it for now. They are a lot of trouble to carry around when traveling.

I have a shoe ration stamp, but my size can’t be found in Frederick. I am also thinking about buying some pajamas—I’m going to be an officer soon, you know."

"April 10, 1944—Only five days to go. I passed my instrument check flight, a big relief. I felt better about that than I did after the first time I soloed. I have 72 hours flying time and have completed everything, but will be flying a couple of more times.

The weather has been acting up again. We have been having daily hail storms. The exterior of the planes are canvas and the hailstones, about the size of walnuts, do much damage to the canvas. Most planes were grounded yesterday while they patched them.

We are hearing a million rumors about our orders. I don’t have any idea of where I will go or what I will be doing. Since I no longer worry about getting my wings, I can now worry about where I will be sent.

As a lieutenant I will have a new serial number, AO 720177. Somewhat easier to remember than 13105204.

Today we dressed up in our officers’ uniforms for an inspection. It was great, the barracks didn’t look the same. I sure wish Andy and Bill were here. It’s too bad we had to be separated after having gone so far together.

I have checked the schedules and will travel from here to Houston by train, then to Port Lavaca by bus."

SO THE BIG DAY FINALLY CAME

On April 15, 1944, at age 20, I became a second lieutenant and a military pilot. The nine month training program had been rigorous and demanding. I had about 200 hours of flying time and had spent many hours in ground school. I felt pretty good about successfully meeting this challenge.

Some of my friends in Primary and Basic training had gone to single engine school to become fighter pilots (those of us in twin engine aircraft expected to become bomber pilots). I began receiving letters from those single engine hotshots, who seemed to think being a bomber pilot was a humdrum, monotonous existence.

One fellow wrote me that "you guys flying those old crates don’t know what it’s like to fly anymore. We can fly circles around you." Another asked "how are all you boxcar pilots? You fellows have sure wasted the last nine weeks. You haven’t lived until you have flown an AT-6." I didn’t bother telling these guys that a bomber pilot had a good bit of responsibility, flying a large aircraft with a crew of several people.

Carl Chilton has written several books on Brownsville history, and a manuscript describing his memories of World War II.