by Stout, Jay
Formation flying was also introduced during the advanced phase. “Everything’s well by me,” Righetti reported. “We’re flying enough to log 3½ hours daily, which is a lot of time in the air. The formation work is just that. Holding one of these babies just off of two other guys’ tails is a real job. It’s dang interesting, but you do have to keep on the ball.”
On the other hand, Righetti failed a ground school test for the first time. “I’m rather disgusted with myself,” he wrote. He was restricted to certain areas of the airfield until he passed the exam, but wasn’t particularly bothered by that aspect. “It’s okay though—I didn’t have any money anyhow.”
Still, failures in the classroom were preferable to failures in the cockpit. “Jake Hanna had a little trouble the other day when he taxied into a ship [aircraft] on the ground,” wrote Righetti. “This is especially tough since taxi accidents are branded as just plain dumb.” Indeed, lapses in judgment or periods of inattention were considered more problematic than lack of proficiency. Training could overcome many problems, but it was difficult to train a person out of the tendency to make stupid mistakes. “So, he took a pretty heavy razzing and worse, a darn good bawling out. He cut the other ship up pretty badly with his prop.”
Ultimately, Hanna was not washed out. No doubt, his performance to that point was carefully reviewed and it was determined that keeping him was still likely to benefit the Air Corps. It is also likely that after having invested so much time and effort in him, it was felt that sending him home at that point would have been a waste.
Moreover, it wasn’t just students who had mishaps. “We had a pretty good laugh on my instructor, Lieutenant Van Allen,” Righetti wrote. “He was on a cross country [flight] to Miami over the weekend and, in coming into a field bounded by the gulf on the upwind side, he let his motor cool a little too much. Then, because he was a little too high he decided to go around. When he poured the coal to her she just cut out over thirty feet of water. Result: They’re still fishing for the ship (BC-1), and he and his passenger had to swim in.”
As the end of his training edged closer, Righetti’s letters switched focus from his flying to other matters. He wanted his family to make the trip from California to Texas to help him celebrate his graduation. It was a notion he had periodically raised for several months. In mid-June he wrote, “I sure hope you can see coming down.” On July 4, he was more pointed: “I sure do want you all to come down if you possibly can. I’ll be able to help out on the expenses, but stand by for further information. We graduate three weeks from tomorrow—that’s pretty sudden-like.” When he asked again on July 15, his note carried an exasperated edge. “I would like to have you down, regardless, but I realize that it’s a plenty tough trip and might be kinda expensive. And I wish you’d let me hear your views once in a while. I don’t know if you even want to come.”
In the same letter he described his final fitting for the uniforms that were required to be commissioned as a second lieutenant. It shed additional light on his long-term plans. “Beside the uniform, we must buy either dress blues or a tux. I’ll get the tux because dress blues cost $115 and the tux only about $50 for both summer and winter outfits. Since I don’t expect to stay in the service, the dress blues would be out in civil life.”
United Press carried the story of Class 40-D’s graduation. “Kelly Field was moving along Thursday with its part of the Army Air Corps expansion program as officers of the air training school here prepared to graduate over 200 cadets Friday [July 26, 1940]. The graduating class will be the fourth group of over 200 that has been sent forth with ‘wings’ since last March 23. The present program calls for training 7,000 Army pilots a year.”7
Ultimately Mom and Pop did travel to Kelly Field for their son’s graduation and his commissioning as an Air Corps officer. And so did Evelyn. “I tried to talk her out of it, but she kind of insisted,” Righetti noted. As he hoped, the ceremony and subsequent celebrations were suitably grand and both Mom and Pop were well pleased. Moreover, he was happy to learn that he had been ordered to duty as a flight instructor.
“I’M REALLY ENJOYING THIS ALL”
“Shepherd called me today,” Righetti wrote shortly after his graduation, “to reassure me that she had nothing to do with an article that recently appeared in the local paper. Boy, if I was ever fed up with anything, this is sure it. Good gosh, why doesn’t someone get smart? I suppose it’s mostly my fault, but this marrying business—well, you know how I stand on that.”
Notwithstanding his girl problems, Righetti settled into the role of newly minted officer quickly and easily. “I’m really enjoying this all, and still am really tickled to be an instructor.” While he waited to be assigned his first set of students, he set up house in town with two other instructors. They rented an apartment with a phone, kitchen, laundry, and maid service for thirteen dollars apiece, per month. “And the little place is really nice. We get our own breakfast at a cost of about fifteen cents per day, each. Our lunches and dinners are good. Lunches at the officers mess at Randolph for thirty to fifty cents, and dinner downtown for about the same. We can live well on forty-five dollars per month, room and board. The people here are swell.”
Without any students during his first few days as an instructor, Righetti was tasked to fly one of the airfield’s flight surgeons, “a wop from Chicago named Brancato,” so that the doctor could collect flight pay. The USAAC’s official line was that its flight surgeons needed to experience flying firsthand to better understand what their patients endured. Brancato had never been in an aircraft. “It took me three hours to stop him from shaking,” Righetti reported, “and by the end of five now, he will rather gingerly touch the stick, but not for more than a few seconds at a time. Boy what fun. He’s rather frank about it though. He admits he flies only because he wants the flight pay.”
Righetti was assigned to instruct in the basic phase flying BT-14s—an upgraded version of the BT-9. He welcomed his first students during mid-August 1940. “I now have a full-fledged class of cadets: Cobeaga, Hayes, Stockett and Pound—two of them poor, and two of them worse. I had hoped for a little natural talent to start out with, but no such luck. These mugs will give me something to work on, however, and since my captain knows they’re punk, if I can do something with them, it will be very much to my credit.”
The cadets were evidently not totally devoid of talent. “I soloed them all yesterday and today, but I’m scared every time they go out that someone will bring me back a little, old, orange piece of aluminum and say, ‘Sorry sir, this was all we could find.’”
While Righetti grappled with relationships, roommates and a new job, the Battle of Britain—more than four thousand miles away—escalated toward a furious climax. Hitler planned to complete his subjugation of Europe with an invasion of the British Isles but before his forces could cross the English Channel, the Royal Air Force, or RAF, had to be neutralized; an amphibious assault could never succeed without air superiority. To achieve it, the Luftwaffe launched a concerted bombing campaign against England during July 1940, only weeks after the Fall of France.
It grew to be one of the fiercest air battles in history. The Germans struggled to adapt their tactical air force to a strategic mission for which it was ill-suited. The Luftwaffe’s bombers could not carry bomb loads that were big enough, and its fighters did not have the range and endurance necessary to provide the coverage the bombers needed. Moreover, informed by poor intelligence and hampered by ignorance and ego, the Luftwaffe’s leadership performed poorly.
But just as the RAF started to crumble under the weight of German attacks on its airfields, the Luftwaffe shifted the focus of its efforts against London. The great, old city—and its resilient citizens—absorbed the onslaught while the RAF caught its breath. Ultimately, the RAF recovered and dealt the Luftwaffe a battering that stunned the Nazi leadership. By the end of October the British had prevailed and an invasion was out of the question. The island nation from which the America
n air forces would eventually launch their greatest strikes against Germany was saved.
Arnold was impressed. “At the peak of its triumph, Göring’s Luftwaffe was suddenly demoralized—not merely outfought, but out-thought. By the end of the battle, both air forces had scraped the bottom of the barrel; both British and German pilots and planes were nearly gone. But in the mutual exhaustion, the English victory was complete—not only on a ratio of two enemy planes shot down for every RAF fighter lost—but because the Anglo-Saxon world still stood intact.”1
Meanwhile, Righetti continued to learn the flight instructor trade.
“I know that by now we’re rather soundly condemned for not writing sooner, Righetti wrote home after the turn of the new year, on January 21, 1941. “But you know darn well there’s a great deal to keep the newly-married busy.”
He had wed.
Her name was, or had been, Edith Cathryn Davis. But she went by Cathryn; no one called her Edith. In truth, she was a young lady of many names: Cathryn, Kate, Katie, Katy, Kay, Kathy, Katydid and most especially, Kakie or Kaki. The origins of the latter appellations were lost somewhere in her childhood, but it was the name most often used by her family and close friends.
That Righetti chose Cathryn from among so many other attractive and intelligent young women said much about her attributes. Firstly, she was beautiful. Large, bright eyes dominated a symmetrical, heart-shaped face. Her smile was lively and ready, and it showed pretty, white teeth. It was all framed by thick brown hair, streaked through with flashes of auburn.
Cathryn was petite—only five feet two inches and just more than a hundred pounds. In fact, she was only eighteen and had probably stopped growing just a year or two earlier. Still, despite her age, she was intelligent and witty and always had a book at hand. And she appreciated education even though she was too young to have matriculated beyond high school. Whereas a vapid mind could quickly turn a trim figure and pretty face into thin gruel, such was obviously not the case with Cathryn. Physical attractiveness aside, it was likely her sharp—if not fully developed—intellect that compelled Righetti to overlook the difference in their years.
Unlike several of the women that Righetti had dated, Cathryn did not come from a well-to-do family. Her father, James Earl Davis, worked at a lumber mill in the “Big Thicket” of east Texas during the years following World War I. He was made a widower when his first wife died after bearing two children. He then married Cathryn’s mother, Roberta Evans, who gave him three more children, including Cathryn. The family moved to San Antonio when she was still young, and lived a working-class life.
Aside from dates in town and at the officers’ mess, Righetti took Cathryn to the airfield and parked his car near the end of the runway where he could watch his students take off and land. This not only fulfilled his instructor duties but also, presumably, impressed Cathryn. In turn, there is little doubt that Cathryn—with her good looks and syrupy south Texas accent—made quite a favorable impression on Righetti’s students and the other instructors.
What imperative there was for them to marry so hurriedly is not known. Cathryn was not pregnant. It is quite possible that they were simply excited at the idea of marriage and by their feelings for each other. Certainly there was no reason why they should not have wed as both of them were of age and had no entanglements to preclude it. Moreover, it made no sense to wait until an elaborate wedding could be planned; neither of them could afford such a thing.
Regardless of the motivations for their rushed nuptials, they were happy. In her first letter to Mom—her new mother-in-law—Cathryn described the small ceremony in cursive script that was neat and confident. “We received your wire and were very happy to know that we have your blessings even though we did surprise you. We were married Saturday [January 18, 1941] at six o’clock in the home of our minister. My brother and youngest sister attended, and Elwyn’s buddy [William] Markland was the only ‘outsider’ present.”
Still, as happy as Cathryn and Elwyn were, it was evident as she closed the letter that she was fretful about being accepted by his family. “Please write us soon, for I am anxious to know just how great the shock really was.” She signed off as, “Kakie.”
“We’re both very well and very happy,” Righetti wrote a few days later. The two of them had just moved into a small house east of the airfield. “I absolutely cannot see now why I have been ducking matrimony so long. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been waiting for Cathryn. She’s just naturally a queen and tops as far as ‘the gal for me’ is concerned.”
“Everything’s okay with my class,” he continued, “but I sure got handed a mean mess for students this time. It was necessary for me to wash my first boy out the other day, thereby ruining a darn good reputation that I was enjoying of never having lost a student. He was really rank however, and I’m sure that it’s all for the best since he was bad enough to scare me. I had to talk him out of the controls twice when he attempted to freeze on them. This way, with him back on the farm, we’ll probably both live longer.”
His woes with the “mean mess” continued as he noted the following week. “Everything is still perfect, outside of the fact that my class turned out awfully rank. I washed [out] two and one resigned, so I just have one of the originals left.” It was obvious that he was hurt that his small class turned out so badly. “I was kinda put out at losing these boys, but I got swell support, both from the flight and stage commanders. The washed out cadets have long since departed for home and safety, so I have gotten over the heel feeling.”
Righetti’s experience with this particular set of students might have been due to one or more of several factors. Firstly, it might have been attributable to poor luck. That is, the students might simply have been chronically substandard, and had somehow slipped through the training machine until they were assigned to him. Or, it is possible that the chemistry between him and them was a gross mismatch that made it difficult for him to teach or them to learn. There is also the possibility that, in its haste to get greater numbers of bodies into the flight training “hopper,” the recruitment offices relaxed their screening to such a degree that unqualified candidates were admitted into training.
Indeed, after the fact, the service noted: “Not only were the numbers to be trained greatly increased after 1939, but the raw material itself was basically different. Though for some time yet the Air Corps was in position to depend upon volunteers and was fortunate in drawing perhaps more than its share of the more promising recruits, the motivation of the new volunteer was quite unlike that of the old. Under the pressures of a national emergency [impending war], he had chosen the Air Corps in preference to service in the Army or the Navy, and not because of the appeal to him of a career in the air service.”2
Righetti and Cathryn gradually settled into real life. “Right now, I’ve got a dinger of a boil on my chin, which is really giving me a workout,” he wrote. “If it’s meanness coming out, I sure ought to be an angel from now on.” Indeed, if that were the case, he should have been a saint by the time the massive sore finally healed. Penicillin was not yet available and the infection worsened as he reported a short time later. “I kinda got in trouble with my boil, so landed in the hospital for a few days. However, I’m out now and back on flying status, so everything’s okay. It was right on the corner of my chin and jawbone so I was really horrible to see.”
As horrible as he might have been to look at, it seemed to have made no difference to his new wife. “Cathryn, with a little of the novelty worn off, now turns out to be even better than I thought. Her cooking is excellent and this little old shack has sure turned into a home under her dang capable supervision. We are going to do something this month we’ve never done before—start a savings account. So, who sez that two can’t live cheaper than one?”
Although his military career was just getting underway, Righetti saw it as only an early step for bigger and better things. He had already enrolled in a service-sponsored correspondence course for a l
aw degree, and was additionally contemplating a business management course. He declared that once he had a few years of flying under his belt, “I should be lined up for a pretty fair airline executive position at age 35 or 40 when the docs start quirking their eyebrows at my blood pressure and eye reports.” Such conjecture made it apparent to Mom and Pop that their son had no desire to return to the ranch.
As a married officer, Righetti was eligible to move into officers’ quarters on Randolph. “We’re at present rather tickled at the prospect of moving on to the post,” he wrote during February. “We should be there within a week or ten days. The post homes are very nice as you must have noticed when you were here. Three bedrooms and two baths upstairs, maid’s quarters, a keen big living room, dining room and kitchen downstairs. A big fireplace and air conditioning throughout.” So, at the very time that Mom and Pop were finally getting electricity to the ranch house, their son was moving into an equally large residence with much more modern amenities, to include air conditioning. It had been recently occupied by a colonel and was located, “three doors from the officers’ mess and pool, and surrounded by rank.”
“Except for the fact that moving out there will necessitate our buying furniture for the bedrooms and living room, we’ll save at least $13.75 per month by being post residents. And the $13.75 per month will buy our furniture. We’ll also save the car and gas by not having to drive to work.” That Righetti bothered to note cents reinforces the fact that fractions of dollars were meaningful during that time—at least to him and his family. Indeed, he bemoaned the fact that he was being “nicked” for $21.76 for federal income tax, and $13.40 in license fees for his car.
