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

by Gerald McIlmoyle

  One of the times Mom and Dad came to Beale to visit my family, I took Dad for a tour of the dock I worked in. Needless to say, when I introduced him to my co-workers as a 4080th Dragon, the questions flowed. After hearing the myriad answers, a few co-workers seemed to walk a little taller because it wasn't just the boss telling them about the importance of their jobs. Dad was a living history book, at least that was my observation. Moral of this story is: Any former Dragons who have the patience to listen to our questions or to tell a few good war stories, we always appreciated. With a former Dragon dropping in to the shop, we could get “the rest of the story.”

  Heads or tails? This one's a coin toss!

  From the time I was knee high to a grasshopper, I liked to think of my Dad as the most important guy in the world. In grade school, we would say something like, “My Dad can do (enter any silly challenge) better than yours.” Later in middle school, it sounds something like, “My Dad can kick your dad's ass!” That's why this story has so much meaning to me; it's how he saved the day.

  During my Dad's time on the U-2 from July 1958 to April 1966, he was a Specialist. Yep, that's right; Dad's a “Grinner” and I'm a “Knuckle Dragger.” For a little explanation of some maintainer lingo, a “Grinner” is a Specialist who works in the recon system arena. During the launch of an aircraft, the Grinners stand over to the side with big grins on their faces. When one of their systems has an “uh-oh”, the Crew Chief usually turns to the Grinners who promptly fix the problem.

  “Knuckle Dragger” is one of the nicer nicknames for a Crew Chief. There are others that are waaay more common, but I really can't mention them here. Most Specialists think that Crew Chiefs are lacking in the smarts department, otherwise they would be Specialists. However, those of us who are a little off the deep end would still be Crew Chiefs.

  All this has made some very interesting conversations between us. Any Crew Chief or Specialist will tell you that the two cannot peacefully co-exist. Personally, I think the concept is obsolete because in all my time in the Air Force I've had pretty good relations with the Specialists. We're all on the same team and that's it. Maybe being raised by a Specialist had something to do with my outlook, but I think Grinners and Draggers can get along just fine, most of the time.

  Dad was a camera guy, and before he gets the chance to correct me, he was specifically a “Nephographics Technician.” His job was to keep the optical intelligence gathering systems and the pilot's NEPHO System control equipment in top-notch working order. One of the tasks all the NEPHO guys dreaded was the alignment of the drift sight and hand control. The drift sight was essentially an upside down periscope the pilot used, for example, to track drifting patterns of the aircraft.

  Control of the drift sight was maintained through an instrument like the exterior mirror control on newer automobiles. The hand control had to be calibrated or aligned for precision accuracy. This was a task that the NEPHO guys would rather not have to do because it meant working in a very tight area, and according to the manufacturer's instructions, the aircraft had to be on a fuselage cart. That was a lot of work and a lot of time spent contorting the human body of the unlucky NEPHO guy was who selected to perform the task.

  There was one NEPHO guy, however, the other guys must have thought was absolutely insane because he actually enjoyed twisting his body into every imaginable position, or more likely just enjoyed the challenge. Or, maybe it was because he had a “shortcut” that made the job a little bit easier. After a few years working on the system, Dad did in fact devise a method of aligning the hand control that made the job easier. Trouble was, there was no tech data to support his method. The 4080th SRW Commander, Brigadier General John DesPortes, learned about Dad's “unapproved method,” so he proposed a showdown between the manufacturer's tech rep and my Dad.

  Dad was allowed to take the hand control out of alignment and the Tech Rep performed the procedure according to the manufacturer's guidelines. When he came out of the cockpit, General DesPortes climbed in and inspected it. Using a stopwatch to time both the Tech Rep and Dad, he told Dad to do it his way. The General took a look at Dad's handiwork and found everything to be exactly as it was supposed to be. General DesPortes demanded to know, “Chap, how on earth did you finish the task so rapidly?” I wish I could have been there to witness all this when Dad reached into his pocket and pulled out the tool issued by the US Mint. That's right, a simple United States twenty-five cent coin was the device used for the precision alignment of the drift sight. He proceeded to lay the quarter on the ground beneath the drift sight, clambered up into the cockpit and pointed out to the General how he did it.

  General DesPortes climbed back in the cockpit and announced what Dad already knew. The hand control was exactly as it should be. He also asked the Tech Rep why one of his blue suiters (the uniform the NEPHO guys wore) had a much better grasp on the unit than an employee of the manufacturer. The tech rep immediately instructed Dad to have a checklist written outlining his “shortcut” as soon as possible so it could be implemented as an authorized procedure.

  The story doesn't end there though. Years later while I was deployed with the Deuce, I lived in a hootch (hut) next door to the deployed photo guy, Keith Haas. Maybe it was fate that Keith and I were to meet, maybe it was just that our hootches were next door and we liked to play guitars together when we were off duty. Either way, Keith and I became instant friends with a lot of time on our hands to shoot the breeze. When I told him about Dad being a NEPHO guy, he expressed interest in meeting him. After we returned to Beale, Mom and Dad came for a visit. We invited Keith to come play guitars and meet Dad. We didn't do much pickin’ and grinnin’; quite the contrary. I sat on the couch listening to the two photo troops swap stories for the rest of the evening. It was interesting listening to them compare their likes and dislikes about the job. An observer could believe that these two could be related, and they actually are two birds of the same feather.

  Before he left, Keith invited Dad to tour his shop and meet some of the other Photo Dragons. Of course, Dad quickly accepted the invitation. I'll spare everyone the flattery and the “I remember when…” of most of the tour, and I'll fast forward to the final few minutes. Keith took Dad and me into a back room of the shop and Dad's eyes welled up. There on the bench in front of him was the newest drift sight and hand control. As if almost 30 years hadn't passed, Dad proclaimed, “I could still work on this. I probably couldn't keep up with you new guys, but I could still do it with my eyes closed.”

  Keith then reached into a small toolbox, known as a mini-kit, and pulled out a small round slug about the size of a quarter. Attached to the slug was a red and white “Remove Before Flight” streamer and the slug was etched with the words, “Hand Control Alignment Tool.” If Dad's eyes weren't totally welled up by now, they were close when Keith proudly said, “Mr. Chapman, we always wondered where this came from. Now we know.”

  Hey, Joe, can ya give me a hand over here?

  The U-2’s mission is what we in the Air Force call “Real World.” That's one of the reasons I've always said that the U-2 is the most important aircraft in the inventory. I like to tell the fighter guys, “Without the Deuce, the F-16s, A-10s and F-22s would just be a gun flying around with nothing to shoot at.” Anyone who knows me understands what my preference is: Recces win hands down.

  Because of the critical mission of the U-2, every second spent on the ground is precious. But it doesn't end after the aircraft breaks ground. The U-2 uses a set of outrigger gears called “pogos.” The pogos keep the aircraft balanced with wings level during towing, taxiing or just sitting on the ground.

  While pogos are supposed to stay installed on the ground, there is only one reason that they would stay in for an entire flight and that would be when a pilot is learning to fly the U-2. I personally have never seen a pilot use the pogos for this reason, but I've heard that it has been done. When the pogos are used in this sense, they act as a set of training wheels. However, this doesn't
take long and just like a kid who is learning to ride a bicycle, as soon as the pilot has gained confidence that he can keep the aircraft level, the pogos will only be used for ground handling.

  The last thing a U-2 ground crew does before the bird launches is to pull the pogo pins so they will fall out as soon as the wings begin to lift. This takes a couple of seconds, but when a mission is critical, seconds can seem like hours. Sometimes a pogo will fail to fall out of the wing causing a “hung pogo” and can cost not only precious time but a hazard to the pilot. In that scenario, the pilot might have to land the plane or fly to a designated area to shake the pogos loose.

  During the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis, missions were more important than ever. The ground crew looked for any way to save time without sacrificing safety. A young Assistant Crew Chief named Joe Kent had the solution. Everybody probably thought he had lost his mind, but nobody had any better ideas. The boss approved and said “Let's give ’er a try.” The way these ideas work is when someone comes up with a great idea, they also get to be the first person, or guinea pig, to try it out. At the next morning launch, Joe was set to demonstrate how it would work.

  After performing the preflight checks and getting the forms documented, Joe gave the signal for “give me air” and the powerful engine came to life. Hydro pressure came up and they pulled the gear pins. The Grinners did their preflight checks and the pilot taxied to the end of the runway. The pilot lined his Dragon Lady up for takeoff roll and Joe's show was about to begin.

  Joe grabbed the wingtip and held it steady while the pogo crew scrambled to pull the pogo pins, and this time they pulled out the pogos completely. The pogo crew gave Joe the signal, which he relayed to the pilot, that all was okay. The pilot responded by stomping on the brakes and increasing the throttle. The powerful jet engine slowly revved up to takeoff speed and with a nod, Joe got ready to sprint.

  The pilot released the brakes and within seconds the aircraft was picking up speed. Joe took a few more steps and the wing began to fly. He let go of the wing, bent to a crouch and gave a hearty thumbs up. Joe Kent had just performed the first hand launch of a U-2.

  To this day, when time is essential and the mission is critical, the very same hand launch procedure is used to shave seconds off the takeoff and ensure safety of the crew, and of course, the aircraft. Everybody knows, including the pilots, that the airplane belongs to the Crew Chief. Joe Kent, a Crew Chief's Crew Chief, was the imaginative individual who came up with this idea. Thanks, Joe.

  There's gotta be a quicker way to bleed this AMAD (Airframe Mounted Accessory Drive)

  I'd like to close this epilogue by revealing how the guys listed above, and God knows how many more that I simply haven't met yet, have influenced my generation of U-2 maintainers. As I've shown with the examples above, when the pioneer guys started working on the U-2, they had to find their own “tricks of the trade” to make the job go smoother and to save valuable time during a critical launch. But the legacy doesn't have to end with them. They can be proud to know that their ingenuity has fueled a whole generations of U-2 maintainers.

  One such story comes to mind while I was working in the Periodic Inspection Dock at Beale when Lockheed began the “sex change” of the R model U-2. Among the modifications was a major change in the engine. After 40 years of using a turbo jet engine, Dragon Lady was about to receive a turbo fan power plant. This story is about the Airframe Mounted Accessory Drive or AMAD.

  Whenever the oil lines came off the AMAD or when the oil cooler came out, air would get into the system and would need to be filled and bled. I remember all too well the many nights we spent trying to get the air out of the oil system using the method outlined in the tech manual. Remember, I said earlier most good ideas stem from a desire to get the job done quicker and easier. Most of us resolved to the idea when we were briefed at shift change that we had an AMAD bleed, we were gonna be there all night.

  One fellow, Craig Felty, wasn't resolved to that fate. He studied the blueprints and the tech manual, then observed how the system worked as we performed the task. It wasn't long before he got a machinist involved and built a simple hand crank. Little did we know that Craig's brainchild was going to change the way we bled an AMAD forever. Once the boss found out about Craig's tool, he insisted it become a legitimate process. Craig submitted his idea along with a sample tool and it was approved. In 2003 as a Blackcat in the 5th RS in Osan, Korea, I observed that Craig's tool was still being used.

  The legend lives on!

  I can't speak for every member in the current U-2 program, but I think they'd probably agree with me. I am very proud to have had the opportunity to serve in a unit with the prestige, honor and mission that was started over 50 years ago. I consider myself fortunate to have my name on the rolls of a unit that includes, Major General Pat Halloran, USAF (Ret.), the Crew Chief's Crew Chief Joe Kent, and especially my Dad, the Driftsight Dragon, Glenn Chapman.

  To all the old Dragons who paved the way for those of us who came later, and for those yet to come, thanks for setting the benchmarks that we've come to follow. Hopefully, along the way, we've set a few of our own.

  George Debinski

  (Deceased May 14, 2000)

  The following was submitted by George's widow, Terry.

  George came to Laughlin AFB from Georgia in 1957 and was assigned to the Sheet Metal Shop in Field Maintenance. His supervisor was Sergeant Ted Guthrie and Sergeant Marcos Villarreal was his First Sergeant.

  I grew up in Del Rio, but I knew that the town was oblivious about the activities at the base. George said that occasionally when he went to a bar in Acuña, the Mexican town across the border from Del Rio, there were local guys there who always asked what he did at the base. He always made up something to tell them that was far from the truth, and it satisfied the curious fellows for a while.

  We married on October 29, 1960 and George's First Sergeant promised him that he would not be sent TDY for at least a year. We bought a trailer and lived at the base trailer park. When I taught school at the local Catholic elementary school, I rode the bus with the base children bound for the local public school. Some of the base children were at my school.

  George went to Alaska once and to Australia twice. He told me where he was going but never what the unit would be doing there.

  We left Del Rio when the Wing moved to Davis Monthan AFB, Arizona, and we were at Tucson about 18 months. Many of the families who lived in the Laughlin trailer park ended up in the The Desert Breeze Trailer Park in Tucson. I remember Guthrie, Monge, Lockhart, Gabriel, Doria, Deliberto, Gomez, Ancira; there were so many others but time has faded my memory.

  George was reassigned to Okinawa and our daughter, Elizabeth Ann, was born August 24, 1966 at Camp Kue Army Hospital. Our son, Roger Eugene, was born on October 18, 1968 at Cannon AFB, New Mexico, where George was reassigned once again.

  George Debinski, 1964.

  George and I enjoyed his tours of duty with the Air Force, but our time with the 4080th SRW at Laughlin and later at Davis Monthan was very special to us.

  Russell (Ed) Eddington

  California City, California

  Wife: Sherry

  The Early Days

  I enlisted in the US Army Air Force on August 4, 1947 from my home in New Orleans, Louisiana bound for the 9th Infantry Division, Ft Dix, New Jersey. The US Air Force was established in 1947 as an independent organization and separated from the US Army. After I completed basic training, I was assigned to MacDill AFB, Tampa, Florida in 1948 where I joined the 838th Engineers Aviation Battalion as a heavy equipment operator. In 1950 I was transferred to the Air Force as part of the 307th and 305th Bomb Wings at MacDill. I served in Korea for six months as a heavy equipment and reciprocating engine mechanic on B-29 and B-50 aircraft until 1957 when I cross trained as a jet engine mechanic. With ten years’ service and a grade of staff sergeant, I arrived at Laughlin AFB, Del Rio, Texas, in 1958 assigned to the Field Maintenance Squadron, Jet Engine Shop of the 4080
th Strategic Reconnaissance Wing.

  Russell Eddington, 1955.

  In 1948 President Truman enacted Executive Order No. 9981 which directed equality of treatment and opportunity in all US Armed Forces. In time the order led to the end of racial segregation in the military forces. Most importantly, it was the first step toward racial integration in the US.

  However, in 1958 when I arrived at Laughlin AFB, Del Rio, Texas, to join the 4080th as a jet engine mechanic, I was only one of seven black airmen in the shop. We were very much in the minority, and I felt animosity from some of my fellow airmen. I was confident in my abilities, and I knew I could perform with the best of them. I did not want to give anyone cause to doubt my abilities. Unfortunately, I was not considered for some TDYs because of racial issues in the host country. Off base in Del Rio, we were not welcome in some restaurants and theaters where many of our fellow airmen went.

  My first TDY was in the spring of 1960 to Ramey AFB, Aquadilla, Puerto Rico, to support the U-2 aircraft for 90 days. At Ramey we prepared the aircraft for high altitude radiation detection sampling of the southern hemisphere. We experienced numerous problems with the engines in Puerto Rico related to the heat and humidity of the area that prevented the engine from being trimmed properly. Trimming the engines was critical to ensure they did not flame out at high altitudes. When the aircraft was properly trimmed, the pilot was able to restart the engine in flight and continue the mission. Calvin Sheets and I were the jet engine shop techs and ensured that it was ready to fly. It was a very exciting TDY, not only because of all the challenges, but also because we resolved the problems.