Remembering the Dragon Lady: The U-2 Spy Plane: Memoirs of the Men Who Made the Legend

by Gerald McIlmoyle

  Three weeks later a message came in from SAC. The message said, “Thank you, thank you. The pictures were beautiful. We now know what kind of conditions you live and work under.”

  2005 4080th SRW Reunion. Left to right: Al Defilipis, Horace Tanner, Bob Zint, Bobbie Black, Jerry Fogel, James King, B.C. Fowler and Bob Ingram.

  One day we were sitting around in the NEPHO Section office of the A & E Squadron at Laughlin drinking coffee and telling war stories. A call came in from the base hospital that one of our NEPHO men, Harry Magill and his wife, Dixie, had tested positive for hepatitis. We were advised that anyone who had contact with Harry should report to the base hospital. We looked around at each other. Bob Ingram exclaimed that we all had contact since Harry's greeting was a handshake. Tom McClung, the Perkin Elmer Tech Rep yelled out, “Yesterday Harry had a sip of coffee from my personal coffee mug!” So we all went to the base hospital. At the hospital, we were told to drop our pants and a very painful gamma globulin shot was administered to all. As you can imagine, I hold fond memories of that event. Thanks Harry.

  At Davis Monthan in September 1964, I was NCOIC of the trackers. After major maintenance, it was customary to test the camera. We made sure the camera was operational before sending it out on a mission. We placed the camera on its side on a portable bench and took it outside the NEPHO Shop. The camera faced the parking lot and the runway. This procedure had been done many times before. On this particular day, we received word that Bob Primrose had crashed on approach to the runway. When we realized that the camera was pointing in that direction, Ron Kupan, the Perkin Elmer Tech Rep who replaced Tom McClung, shouted that maybe the camera had recorded the crash. We terminated the test and rushed the film to the Photo Lab. Sure enough, the crash was recorded and it showed the problem to be the gusting crosswind.

  B. C. Fowler

  Toccoa, Georgia

  Wife: Blanche

  My R&R in Germany

  I was a young A2C two-striper assigned to the 4080th SRW as a NEPHO repairman in A&E. In January 1959 I went TDY to RAF Brize Norton, to support the RB-57D-2. The RAF base was located near Oxford University, quite a spectacular complex. Col William J. Gregory was the detachment commander. We had been working daily for about a month when Col Gregory gave us a stand down weekend, no flying planned. Everyone was free to go and do whatever they wanted. Most of the fellows went to London. I was one of the few who stayed at the base. Col Gregory and some other officers had plans to go to Wiesbaden, Germany, and he asked if we wanted to go. Several of us accepted his offer to see some new country. We dressed warmly in civilian clothes and flew into Wiesbaden Air Base. When we arrived at Wiesbaden, Col Gregory had arranged for a bus to take us to the American Arms Hotel. It was a lovely hotel located in the local community for US field grade officers and above. (Remember I said I was a young two striper?) The only instruction Col Gregory gave us was, “Don't wear your uniform downstairs in the hotel.” It was the dead of winter in Germany, cold, foggy and miserable. We had a great time, rested a bit for the coming week, did a little sightseeing, and enjoyed chatting with the officers in the snack bar downstairs.

  Don Cinnamon (left) with B.C. Fowler (third from left).

  Don Cinnamon (left) receiving an award.

  Silas Lewis (left) and B.C. Fowler loading a camera for a flight in Vietnam. Note the sidearms.

  Lester Herling, Crew Chief (left) and Ed Stewart, SFERICS systems. A jokester had covered the unit shield with black panties.

  A Foggy Takeoff

  We had an early launch at a northern location, and the area was blanketed with dense fog. The aircraft was ready for takeoff at the end of the runway. The pilot called the control tower for permission to take off which was granted. Two or three minutes later, the tower called back to the pilot and stated he was given permission to take off. The pilot replied, “I did take off and right now I'm breaking 10,000 feet and climbing.”

  Operating Location 20 (OL-20)

  It was quite a feat setting up OL-20 in 1964. We island-hopped in the Pacific for a couple of weeks or more awaiting permission to enter our destination country. A few missions were flown during the time. It was difficult, mainly because of the lack of facilities, such as adequate darkroom for the photography equipment. We arrived at our destination, but we found a primitive base. Our living quarters were tents that accommodated twelve men. The building we found suitable for a shop was quite a distance from the hangar where we installed the equipment in the aircraft. We learned to be inventive. We had to haul the heavy equipment on a trailer behind a pickup truck. Two airmen rode on each side of the equipment to keep it stable and to keep it covered. Our biggest problem was getting it on and off the trailer. Si Lewis and I struggled with that problem more than once.

  Joe Franklin

  Whitesburg, Tennessee

  Wife: Lola

  One of my favorite anecdotes about my U-2 association was at Turner AFB, Albany, Georgia. Colonel Beauchamp was the Base Commander and lived in town next door to my own rental house. One Sunday morning he came out onto his front porch and threw a phonograph record off into the distance. One of the other neighbors witnessed this; he then retrieved the record and gave it to me. Well, it was Elvis Presley's “Hound Dog.” I kept the record and after about a month in Texas, I dropped it off at his office, telling the secretary that he had left this in Albany. I never followed up but I did get some secret pleasure from resurrecting what was probably the Colonel's overdose of “Hound Dog.”

  When Lola and I arrived at Barksdale AFB, Louisiana from Ramey AFB, Puerto Rico, the place was abuzz with the news that some airman had been working as a disk jockey at a late-night radio station. He considered himself quite the comedian and would fill in time with jokes and comments on local events. He made the mistake of commenting on the personal appearance of our Base Commander who was helping direct incoming traffic during a SAC alert exercise. The airman's name was George Carlin. He was discharged and for years went on to use that event as his prime comedic delivery.

  In September 1955 I was promoted to Master Sergeant and was sent to the 2nd AF NCO Academy. It was a course aimed at improving leadership abilities, and it did just that. I graduated tenth in a class of 120 students and was runner-up for the Commandant's Award. The following day I received orders assigning me to the 4080th Strategic Reconnaissance Wing at Turner AFB.

  I had been at Turner less than a week when Gary Powers returned from his induction into the CIA. Everywhere he went, he was surrounded by a covey of “suits.” I met him and knew his mother-in-law, a cashier at the BX. On May 1, 1960, almost five years later, I was waiting for him to land.

  The entire Wing was transferred to Laughlin AFB in Del Rio, Texas. The big secret about the 4080th was the U-2 aircraft. One Sunday morning I was herding my family, Lola, Donald and Lela, into the Base Chapel. The first U-2 wobbled onto our lonely runway. Minutes later, one by one, U-2s were all over the place. That day church services were delayed as everybody wanted to get a glimpse of the new aircraft.

  Laughlin AFB did not have family quarters when we arrived there. Most married personnel lived in the Hunter subdivision on the east side of Del Rio. Captain Roger Cooper and his family shared the other half of my duplex. Our next door neighbor was Colonel Jack Nole, Wing Commander.

  From my back yard, I could see to the north and east for what looked like a hundred miles of cacti and stones. My family and friends would watch the wild pigs, called javalinas, grazing and arguing. Quite frequently jack rabbits were also spotted in the scrub brush.

  Lola and Joe Franklin.

  My parents drove all the way from Tennessee to spend a week with us. Dad was a busy contractor. We took them across the Rio Grande to Mexico for a dinner at Mrs. Crosby's Restaurant and then to see Judge Roy Bean's little hamlet at Langtry, Texas.

  One Saturday afternoon, Tim and Sandy Nole came rushing over to our house asking for my son, Don. They blurted out, “Dad has just bailed out of a U-2 from over 60,000 feet!”
I asked where their Dad was and they said he had just arrived home. I ran to his house to find him sitting in an easy chair, one bandaged leg propped on a hassock and a glass of bourbon in his left hand. He was noncommittal about the whole affair.

  I was NCOIC of the Mission Evaluation Unit. In normal times it would be described as Photo Interpreter Unit, but the word “photo” was not spoken and the unit was officially a “weather” squadron. We worked among the birds in a small building down on the flight line. We were a group of five with Captain Bill Ming and Lieutenant Fred Tietbohl. Then came Captain Niemciewich, an ex-Marine we called “Nemo,” who was always in hot water with the Base Commander over his beer-guzzling stunts at the Officers’ Club. Ming was a Baptist preacher who refused to even join the Officers’ Club. He took a dim view of Nemo's antics. All of the photo and electronic intelligence stuff was processed in our building. The few high-risk missions flown by our pilots were planned in Major Ogglesby's shop. On occasion I was called to help with issues related to our operation.

  On Thanksgiving Eve, 1958, I departed for Yokota, Japan. Due to the political turmoil threatening an invasion of Taiwan, my family was unable to travel with me. However, they joined me later.

  Before we left Del Rio, John Wayne had erected a movie set of old San Antonio for his movie, The Alamo. This was located north of Brackettville, a few miles east of Del Rio. How lucky we were that Wayne was on the same flight with my family and traveled with them all the way from San Antonio to Los Angeles. He gave my daughter, Lela, his autograph. John Wayne had a soft spot in his heart for servicemen and their families.

  I was at the 6594th Recon Technical Squadron at Westover AFB, Massachusetts during the Cuban Missile Crisis. We worked with satellite coverage when we received U-2 B configuration film for processing. It had come from Homestead AFB and was escorted by a Brigadier General. Sometime during the film processing, the lab chief feared the film was “fogged” and he asked me to look at it. What I saw was the ocean floor off Cuba where the water was transparent and only the sand dunes at the bottom were visible. I had flown over that area in 1954 exactly where that blue hole appears on the ocean floor. When I explained this to the lab chief, he was really relieved. Just then a frame came into view from the processor that had a “Star of David” SA-2 site on the Cuban mainland. This shocked me because my brother was on standby awaiting call on the base with his EB-47 and crew. When he came over to my house for supper, I was really torn apart because I was not allowed to mention what I had seen. As it turned out, my fears were short-lived.

  Was that the film from Major Anderson's U-2? Jim Combs, our Hycon Tech Rep, told me the film was retrieved from Anderson's crash site. Jim had taught me how to measure image resolution at Laughlin. Six months after I retired to Bossier City, Jim came to my house and asked me to give him some “slant-range” data because the mission profile for recon was being changed. He took me on base where I met Major Tietbohl who had been a First Lieutenant in our Photo Interpretation shack at Laughlin. The Image Motion Compensation cams on the camera bed had to be redesigned and they needed slant/range data before grinding them. I was back into the picture as a civilian working for AIL, EW specialists where I did the threat profile for the B-1 under Rockwell International in 1966.

  I have worn many hats in my career, but somehow they all seem to be related over time.

  Robert H. Ingram

  Greensboro, North Carolina

  The Beginning

  For seventeen exciting, memorable years I supported the U-2 program assigned to NEPHO (aerial photographic and electronic sensor maintenance). From 1956-1960, I maintained the camera systems, hand control and drift sight. From 1960-1966, I was supervisor of the camera systems. I was honored to be selected to attend factory training at Perkin Elmer Corporation and Hycon Corporation, manufacturers of the optics and camera systems. From 1970-1971, I was assigned to the Special Projects Office (SPO) at Robbins AFB, Georgia.

  Bien Hoa AB, standing in front of a hut that served as living quarters. Left to right: Charlie Couch, B.C. Fowler, Jim Lobig and Si Lewis.

  Air Force attendees at Stanford University IRIS camera training sponsored by the ITEK Company. Left to right: Bob Ingram, Instructor unknown, Photo Specialists Jenkins, Goudy, Johnson, Rodriguez, Washburn, McDowell and Cook.

  During World War II, MSgt Bill Dyche flew as an aerial photographer in a B-26 over Germany from a base in England. He had to hold a long focal length aerial camera between his legs in the forward oblique position. There was not enough room for him, the camera and a parachute in the tight space so he left the parachute behind.

  Bill was my non-commissioned officer in charge (NCOIC) at MacDill AFB, Tampa, Florida. We were assigned to the 306th Bomb Wing and maintained the B-47 Stratojet camera systems. With only thirteen men in our shop, we supported 45 B-47s between 1955 and 1956. Bill was an expert teacher for us young guys learning the ropes, and every Wednesday he taught a class for our shop personnel. He instructed us on optics, electronics, aerial photography, film processing and chemistry. What a mentor! I learned so much from him. In 1956 he was transferred to Turner AFB, Albany, Georgia where he would work with the RB-57s.

  One Saturday morning in August 1956 Bill showed up at my front door with a smile on his face and a confidential announcement. He owned a home in Tampa and came there from Georgia to visit his family. We went into a back room and closed the door; I was definitely curious. He said, “I can get you in a new program. I can't tell you what it is, what you will be doing or where you will be stationed.” He said the program was Top Secret, and he knew it would enhance my career. I had a lot of respect for Bill and confidence in his judgment. “Yes,” I told him, “If you say it will be good for my career, I will put my faith in you.” He cautioned me not to fight a transfer to a weather station in the desert. I was definitely intrigued; there was certainly an air of mystery in Bill's message. My wife, Barbara, recognized something was stirring, but she didn't say any more. She was a model Air Force wife.

  An Unusual TDY

  In October 1956, I received a call from an administrative officer at Sixth Air Division Headquarters, MacDill AFB. The lieutenant said he had a Top Secret message from Strategic Air Command (SAC) Headquarters, but because I only had a Secret clearance, he could not let me read it. The only thing he could tell me was that I would be sent on TDY immediately, followed by a permanent reassignment. I told the lieutenant I definitely wanted to accept this TDY. His final comment was, “You know all about this, don't you?”

  Personnel had arranged my transportation to Norwalk, Connecticut. I was directed to wear civilian clothes and the Air Force would pay for them. That was not the least of the unusual requirements. My instructions were to call a Mr. Ore Heath for further information at a number I was given. Orders directed me to Norwalk, but there was a significant amount of information omitted on the orders.

  At the Finance Office, a master sergeant stared down at me; he must have been well over six feet. He bellowed, “Who the hell do you think you are? We are not going to pay for this. I'll just take this to Finance Officer Major R. L. Griffith and let him decide.” The reply from Major Griffith was that he would pay $16 per day per diem, but no civilian clothes.

  Housing for South Vietnamese Air Force personnel.

  Jim Combs, Hycon Tech Rep (foreground), with Jim Lobig NEPHO specialist (far right) at Bien Hoa AB, Vietnam 1964.

  I had lived in Florida for two years and did not have adequate clothes for the considerably colder fall weather in New England. And I was specifically directed to wear civilian clothes, no military uniforms. Credit cards were not available in those days, and credit in a clothing store for a military person was impossible.

  It was 5:00 p.m. on Friday and I had to be in Norwalk on Monday morning at 8:00 a.m. Desperate, I returned to the lieutenant at Sixth Air Division. The lieutenant called SAC Heaquarters; fortunately, Omaha, Nebraska was on Central time, one hour behind, while we were on Eastern time. While I waited in the li
eutenant's office, he connected with someone at SAC Headquarters and said, “I'm calling in reference to Project Dragon Lady.” That was the first I heard the name of the project; it sounded big. He explained that I did not have funds to purchase civilian clothes that were required for the TDY. The person at SAC said he could call back in ten minutes, and when the call came, the lieutenant looked across the desk at me and gave me a thumbs-up sign.

  The lieutenant hung up and called Major Griffith at his home. He told the major that “SAC Hq said if TSgt Ingram was not in Norwalk by 8:00 a.m. Monday morning, the major could report to General Curtis Lemay (Commander in Chief, SAC Headquarters) and explain why.” Amazingly, Major Giffith had a friend from the local Lions Club who owned Janses Clothing Store in Tampa, Florida. He called the owner and cleared my purchases. When I arrived at the store, the owner asked, “Who do you know?” I felt very special indeed, but it was a secret project so I said nothing.