Vanished Hero: The Life, War and Mysterious Disappearance of America’s WWII Strafing King

by Stout, Jay

  He also hunted at home in Texas—not always to Cathryn’s pleasure. “Elwyn has gone hunting this afternoon again. He has been out several times and gotten so many doves that I told him not to bring any more home. So, he said he would take them down to Mother’s. We have had doves almost every day since the season opened, and I think he is sort of tired of eating them too.” Righetti’s bird-hunting skills transferred well to competitive shooting and he was frequently sent to compete at skeet and trap matches at the national level.

  Cathryn, busy at motherhood, tolerated her husband’s frequent absences well enough. At least—unlike many wives—her husband was safe at home most nights. Other husbands, some of them trained by hers, were dying over Europe and the Pacific. And she and Righetti both adored the new baby that took so much of her time and attention. “She is really quite a girl now,” she wrote. “She still looks very much like Elwyn, but is much more beautiful. Her hair gets lovelier every day—it is a rich golden auburn now and her eyes are still sort of ‘no color,’ like mine.”

  “At last she has two beautiful teeth and she is so proud of them that she shows them to everyone. Mom [Righetti], she still has that marvelous disposition—she is always laughing and never becomes sulky around strangers. Matter of fact, as the old saying goes, ‘she never met a stranger.’ Everyone here is completely captivated by her sunny disposition.” Righetti was somewhat less loquacious, but it is evident that he loved Kyle very much: “The baby’s fine and healthier and prettier each day—what a gal.”

  Cathryn, like many women of the day, was a smoker. Camel was her brand. Righetti didn’t smoke, and wanted her to give it up. Indeed, he tried cajolery, persuasion and everything short of begging. Finally, he offered her one hundred dollars to stop. It was a considerable sum for the day but she ultimately declined.

  Notwithstanding his wife’s smoking habit, Righetti was blessed with all he could reasonably expect, or even want. He had an engaging, professional and well-paid career at which he excelled, as well as a beautiful wife and daughter. He was as active and occupied as he could hope to be. But more and more he chafed to get to a combat unit. Instead, he was kept in the training machine and given bigger assignments with greater responsibilities.

  Meeting those responsibilities was an imperative. Even mid-war, the standardization of both ground and flight instruction was poor. Although the service had never put a great deal of emphasis on consistency in methods, the problem was exacerbated as it hurried to multiply itself many times over. That growth is illustrated by the fact that when Righetti graduated from flight training he was one of 1,849 student pilots under instruction. By mid-1943, the USAAF had 114,448 student pilots under instruction.3 Understandably, in its rush to assimilate as many men as possible, the USAAF made missteps.

  The experience of an instructor who taught college-level German before joining the USAAF offers a good example. Perversely, he was assigned to teach navigation. It was a mathematically intensive subject that had nothing to do with the language arts. “I don’t suppose I knew much more than the kids I was teaching,” he said. Implying that such mismatches were not uncommon in the USAAF’s training organization, he declared. “I’ve never understood how we won the war.”4

  A key tenet of General Arnold’s leadership style was that he told his subordinates what he wanted done, but not how to do it. He believed in giving them the freedom to perform their duties however they saw fit. This lack of direction resulted in shortcomings in the training environment. Flight instruction varied from one airfield to another, even among the same phases and among the instructors in the same phases at the same base. The results were predictable as, worldwide, the number of aircraft destroyed in flying accidents was double the number lost to enemy fire.

  Recognizing that something had to be done to standardize training, and consequently improve effectiveness and safety, the USAAF instituted the Central Instructor School concept during March 1943. The notion was for one school—the controlling authority for a specific discipline—to train, standardize, and qualify each instructor prior to turning him loose with students. So prepared, the new instructors would at least be teaching from the same syllabus. Central Instructor Schools were created at different bases for single-engine pilots, bomber pilots, navigators, bombardiers, aerial gunners, and so on. It meant big changes for Randolph Field; aviation cadet training was moved to other bases and several Central Instructor Schools were formed.

  Righetti was part of the change as Cathryn noted during early February 1943. “Elwyn is going over to Randolph [from Kelly]. He has a good job over there. He is so modest he won’t say much about it. All I know is that that he is going to be one of the Big Shots in the big school. We certainly have reason to be very proud of him.”

  Righetti didn’t beat his chest about the new position. “My job isn’t quite as big as it could be yet. Since we’re training all of the pursuit [fighter] instructors in the country, the position is actually three times as large [as his job at Kelly Field]. So, my story in short is simply that I will be responsible for half the men trained for pursuit instructor in the U.S. (there will be two squadrons).” He additionally noted that his new boss, Lieutenant Colonel Fred Gray, was “a wonderful guy to work for and lets me do things pretty much as I please.”

  A public relations photo dated March 27, 1943, showed him leaning over a pilot seated in the cockpit of an AT-6. Righetti pointed into the distance. The caption read: “Major Elwin G. Righetti, 27, commanding officer of the 46th Squadron of single-engine advanced trainers, outlines a formation to Captain W. J. O’Donnell, at the new Central Instructors School at Randolph Field, Texas. Major Righetti, who received his commission as major last November after three years in the U.S. Army Air Forces, is in charge of one-half of the pursuit pilot instructors in training at the ‘War College of the Air.’”

  The Associated Press wrote a four-part series that highlighted Righetti’s organization. It outlined the various fighter tactics that instructors were taught, to include aerobatics, formation flying, precision navigation and air combat maneuvers—among others. It additionally noted that the school taught the instructors how to get the best possible performance from their aircraft. “Flying is 90 percent headwork and ten percent hand and footwork. The ultimate point is that maximum performance of a plane in the air is the sum total of the plane’s capacity and the pilot’s ability, welded together in a single unit.”5

  The series ended by “emphasizing two of the most important qualities implanted in American pilots by AAF training—first, teamwork, the insoluble factor in flying success; second, complete confidence in the plane and in himself, a consideration of paramount importance to a flier whose future job will be to survive and kill in aerial combat.” Indeed, these were qualities that would play a critical role in Righetti’s future.

  Despite his new billet, Righetti still worked to get a combat posting. He wrote confidently of being on his way overseas by August or September of 1943. It is not evident whether he preferred to serve in the Pacific or Europe. By this time, the Germans and Italians had been pushed from North Africa. Fighting in the Mediterranean and over Italy was still intensive and the enormous weight of Allied airpower—much of it American—was making itself felt as great numbers of superbly maintained, supported and flown aircraft pressed the Luftwaffe hard.

  On the other hand, USAAF fighter operations from England only got underway during the spring of 1943. Moreover, the early-model P-47s in service at that time didn’t have the range to take the bombers to the most important targets. Consequently, unescorted along much of their routes, the bombers were regularly savaged by German fighters. On the other side of the world, combat action in China and the South Pacific was red hot, but the Japanese were increasingly spread thin—unable to match the United States in men and material.

  It is likely that Righetti would have welcomed any assignment that put him in harm’s way. Hoping to follow his lead was youngest brother Maurice, who started training at a
bout the same time Righetti moved to the Central Instructor School. “I imagine it is pretty tough with the kid away,” Righetti wrote to Mom and Pop. “I rather think he’ll make a big go of things and you all will be pretty proud of him—he’s too smart to get hurt. I now have contact with him and I’ll soon know just how big a man I am when I try to get him where I want him. I just guess he’ll be an instructor one of these days to get some seasoning, then the two of us, with a little help, ought to be able to put this war on ice.”

  Righetti kept a close watch on Maurice and flew to Omaha where he was part of the College Training Program—a USAAF scheme that pooled aviation cadets until training backlogs were cleared. “I managed to get to Omaha Saturday evening so spent a very enjoyable time with the kid. He’s well situated, happy and doing fine. I expect that Maurice will come to San Antonio Aviation Cadet Center about the last of July, so I’ll really have him under my thumb.” Whether or not Righetti’s little brother appreciated such close attention is not clear.

  However, as he approached the end of his training, it was apparent that Maurice’s plans did not align with his brother’s. Elwyn reported home: “After some discussion and considerable figuring, we find that he is destined to become another of Uncle Sam’s fighting instructors. Maurice doesn’t think so very much of it all, but I rather feel that the seasoning to be derived from it will make the assignment well worth his time.” Ultimately, Maurice did enter instructor school following his graduation and actually flew with Righetti on a few occasions.

  Elwyn and Maurice were not the only Righettis who served in uniform. Sister Lorraine enlisted into the Women’s Army Corps, or WAC, during July 1944. The nation was anxious to get women into service in order to “free a man to fight,” and Lorraine answered the call. It was a bold move as, notwithstanding the war, many citizens held conservative views against the notion of women in uniform. The coarsest and meanest factions tried to characterize these women as prostitutes or lesbians, and the wives of some servicemen worried about the temptations they might present.

  But the family was proud of Lorraine. For his part, Elwyn was especially delighted by her service and maintained a steady correspondence with her. “Glad to hear that you’re happy and surely nominate you for my heroine—you’re quite a gal.” As it developed, Lorraine did well and advanced quickly in rank as a clerk-typist and was ultimately assigned to work in the Pentagon.

  While Righetti headed training efforts that would ultimately prepare men for the combat he so desperately craved, life at home offered its own mundane scares. “We had a little trouble the other morning,” he wrote, “when Kyle swallowed a coke bottle cap. But, luckily it went down sideways so she could still breathe. And although it was nearly a half-hour before the doc got it out, she suffered no ill effects outside of a slightly cut throat. She’s okay now.”

  “I’M GOING OFF TO WAR NOW, MOM”

  Righetti’s aspirations for a combat posting during 1943 went unrealized. Indeed, approximately half the American men who served in uniform during World War II never went overseas. Righetti didn’t want to be one of them and ultimately received orders overseas in 1944. He tried to explain his motivations in a Mother’s Day letter to Mom.

  I’m going off to war now, Mom. Not because I have to from the Army’s angle—they’d prefer that I stay here—but because I have to from my angle. I’m terribly tired of this war and feel very strongly that I can do a great deal more toward ending it where the shooting’s going on. I realize that you’ll probably fret a bit over me, but you needn’t, mom. If you had played this game even just [a small portion] of the 2,000 [flight] hours that I have, you’d know that you don’t get knocked off until your number comes up. And when that time comes, there’s nothing you can do.

  His bravado continued: “I expect to get back from my overseas tour, but if I don’t, remember that I kept a whole bunch of other guys from getting home too, and that I was working on my interpretation of being a good American.” This declaration to his mother that he expected to kill the sons of many other mothers almost certainly did not comfort her. However, notwithstanding its callousness, it was a realistic assessment of the nature of his future assignment.

  It is true that Righetti could have stayed at Randolph Field for the duration of the war. His unit—largely due to the energy he put into it—was doing very well. Indeed, the confidence that his superiors showed in him when they promoted him into the job proved to be well-founded. To their minds, there was no reason to send him anywhere.

  However, Righetti still wanted a combat posting. Although it was clear, as he told his mother, that he believed he could “do a great deal more toward ending it,” and that he felt a sense of duty as “a good American,” those weren’t the only considerations. Probably the most important motivation behind his desire to get overseas was that he judged he wasn’t doing his part from both a professional and a personal perspective.

  Professionally, many of his peers, friends and students had already completed combat tours, or had been shot down and captured, or killed. For instance, Fred Roberts escaped the hellish Japanese invasion of the Philippines and later spent a week at Randolph with Righetti and Cathryn. Righetti recalled Roberts’s decorations in detail: “He got out of the Philippines with 2 [aerial] victories and a few scars—also the DFC [Distinguished Flying Cross], the Air Medal, the Silver Star and the Purple Heart.” Righetti understood that the awards meant something, and would continue to mean something, through the war and beyond. And more and more, wherever he turned, there were uniformed men with decorations that reminded him that he had never even seen a shot fired in anger.

  He jokingly referred to the trainer-choked skies around Randolph as a never-ending “Battle of San Antonio,” but he itched for action. It was true that he was a critical contributor to the war effort, but his combat accomplishments—or lack of them—would be a factor in future promotions. As it was, many of the instructors working for him had considerable combat experience flying the same sorts of operations that his group was responsible for teaching. Notwithstanding his superior rank, he certainly must have felt his credibility was thin in comparison.

  Moreover, despite the fact that his job kept him busy, Righetti was bored. In the entire USAAF, there were very few men with as much instructing experience. Additionally, with more than two thousand hours of flight time, he was as “stick-and-rudder” skilled as he would ever be. At Randolph, there was little more for him to learn or do.

  Still, it is certain that Righetti had misgivings about going to war, as would anyone in his situation. He adored his beautiful wife, and Cathryn reciprocated with an obvious love for him and his parents and siblings. And she had borne him a treasure in the form of Kyle. He was a doting father: “Cathryn is 100% and you ought to see our beautiful dotter. I mean, that gal’s a queen.”

  Righetti was also concerned about how and where Cathryn and Kyle would live when he left for combat. “Katy still hasn’t decided definitely where she will spend her time while I’m across,” he wrote. “So any suggestions along this line would be more than appreciated. It’s high time we made our minds up.” He wanted her to go to San Luis Obispo to live with his family and she had earlier said that she also wanted to do so. However, her mother lived only a few miles away in San Antonio and Cathryn might have dithered simply because she wanted to put off a decision that was certain to hurt her mother’s feelings.

  As much as he worshipped Cathryn, Righetti was still worried about her ability to take care of herself and Kyle if something happened to him. In fact, not long after they were married he had sent instructions to Ernie advising him that he would remain as the beneficiary of his life insurance. “It’s not absolutely impossible for me to get bumped. And when and if I do, Cathryn would be a damned attractive widow [and] with ten G’s [$10,000] besides, for some bird dog to chase.” In the event that he was killed, Righetti asked Ernie to help take care of Cathryn, and to invest the life insurance payout.

  Righett
i’s departure for combat became more real during early June 1944 when he was sent to Aloe Army Airfield near Victoria, Texas. There, he flew P-40s as part of a fighter conversion syllabus that emphasized aerial gunnery and strafing. With plenty of experience flying the P-40, and more flying time than virtually anyone at the field, he did very well. “I got a lot of good out of the 40s at Aloe,” he wrote, “and my gunnery was excellent. I’m very pleased with my fighter pilot ability at this stage, so I shouldn’t have too much trouble making a top hand on the other side.”

  But there were administrative delays in getting him to “the other side” and Righetti spent all of July waiting. By the end of the month the Allied armies were breaking out of Normandy and he wondered at the possibility of a sudden German collapse; Cathryn no doubt hoped for just such an event. He wrote home that both Cathryn and Kyle were, “Swell, but puzzled by it all.” Certainly Cathryn, like millions of wives, was anxious at the notion of her husband traveling across the globe to be shot at. Righetti spent considerable time at the airfield rather than tip-toeing around a house that was charged with anxiety at his imminent departure. There, he took advantage of his unit’s fighters to get ready for combat. “I’ve been beating our own P-51 and P-47 around considerable—getting pretty sharp too.”

  And then, on August 2, 1944, he was on his way. Before he left the States he was required to pass through the Overseas Replacement Depot at Greensboro, North Carolina, in preparation for travel to, and operations from, an undefined destination characterized as “cold, wet and windy.” This was understood to be England.