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

by Gerald McIlmoyle

  This man had no appreciation for the fact that I had 45 minutes left to finish the grocery shopping, pick up my 4-year old from tumbling class and get to school, where my 12-year old and her carpool mates would be waiting.

  I knew men didn't belong in a commissary, and this old fellow was no exception. He stood staring blankly in front of the soap selection, as if he'd never had to choose a bar of soap in his life. I was ready to bark an order at him when I realized there was a tear on his face.

  Instantly this grocery aisle roadblock transformed me into a human. “Can I help you find something?” I asked. He hesitated, and then told me he was looking for soap.

  “Any one in particular?” I continued.

  He said he was trying to find his wife's brand of soap. I started to loan him my cell phone to call her when he said, “She died a year ago, and I just want to smell her again.”

  Chills ran down my spine. I don't think the 22,000-pound Mother of all Bombs could have had the same impact on me. Tears welled up in my eyes, and my half-eaten grocery list didn't seem so important; neither did fruit snacks or frozen pizza.

  I spent the remainder of my time in the commissary listening to a man tell the story of how important his wife was to him: He told me how she took care of their children while he served our country. He was a retired, decorated World War II pilot who flew missions to protect Americans. He still needed the protection of a woman who served him at home.

  My life was forever changed that day. When my husband works late or leaves before dawn, I try to remember that sense of importance I felt that day in the commissary.

  Sometimes the monotony of laundry, housecleaning, grocery shopping and taxi driving leaves military wives feeling empty; that kind of emptiness is rarely fulfilled when our husbands come home and don't want to or can't talk about work. We need to be reminded at times of the important role we fill for our family and for our country. Over the years, I've talked to a lot of military spouses about how special they are and the price they pay for freedom, too. The funny thing is that most military spouses don't consider themselves different from other spouses. They do what they have to do, bound together not by blood or merely friendship, but with a shared spirit whose origin is in the very essence of what love truly is. Is there a difference? I think there is. You decide for yourself.

  Civilian spouses get married and look forward to building equity in a home and putting down family roots. Military wives get married and know they'll live in base housing or rent some place. Their roots must be short so they can be transplanted frequently.

  Civilian spouses decorate a home with flair and personality that will last a lifetime. Military wives decorate a home tempered with the knowledge that no two base houses have the same size windows or same size rooms. Curtain sizes have to be flexible and multiple sets are a plus; furniture must fit like puzzle pieces.

  Other spouses have living rooms that are immaculate and seldom used. Military wives have immaculate living room/dining room combos. The coffee table has a scratch or a broken leg in the move from Germany, but it still looks pretty good.

  Other spouses say goodbye to their husbands as they leave for a business trip and know they won't see them for a week. They are lonely, but can survive. Military wives say goodbye to their deploying spouse and know they won't see them for months, or a year, or longer. They are lonely, but will survive.

  Some spouses, when a washer hose blows off, call Maytag and then write a check for having the hose reconnected. Military wives have to cut the water off and fix the hose themselves.

  Spouses get used to saying “hello” to friends they see all the time. Military wives get used to saying “goodbye” to friends made the last two years.

  Other spouses worry about whether their child will be class president next year. Military wives worry about whether their child will be accepted in yet another school next year and whether that school will be the worst in the city…again.

  Other spouses can count on their husbands’ participation in special events, such as birthdays, anniversaries, concerts, football games, graduation and even the birth of a child. Only military wives count on each other because they realize that the flag has to come first if freedom is to survive. It has to be that way.

  Certain spouses put up yellow ribbons when the troops are imperiled across the globe and take them down when the troops come home. Military wives wear yellow ribbons around their hearts and they never go away.

  A lot of spouses worry about being late for Mom's Thanksgiving dinner. Military wives worry about getting back from Japan for Dad's funeral.

  Other spouses get emotional watching the television program showing an elderly lady putting a card down in front of a long, black wall etched with many names. The card simply says, “Happy Birthday, Sweetheart. You would have been sixty today.” A military wife is the lady with the card, and the wall is the Vietnam Memorial.

  I would NEVER say military wives are better than other spouses, but I will say there is a difference. I will say without hesitation, that military wives pay just as high a price for freedom as do their active duty husbands. Perhaps the price they pay is even higher. Dying in service to our country isn't nearly as hard as loving someone who has died in service to our country and having to live without them.

  God bless our military wives for all they freely give.

  Author Unknown

  Buddy Brown.

  Buddy L. Brown

  Knoxville, Tennessee

  Oildale Secret

  The first orders for the U-2 came from the CIA for 20 aircraft. Building 82 at Lockheed in Burbank, California was straining with an order for 29 more U-2s pending. The Air Force needed a larger and more secure assembly building. There was nothing in Burbank suitable or available. A former potato warehouse in Oildale, my hometown, was available for lease. It was almost new, windowless and adaptable to assembly work. The warehouse also had the advantage of direct access to the Bakersfield Airport for delivery via an Air Force C-124.

  Like all Skunk Works projects, it required the utmost in security precautions. The new Oildale facility would be called Unit 80 and would have no signs to identify its ownership. All parts were fabricated in Building 82 in Burbank and trucked to Unit 80 in Oildale.

  The first five or six U-2s were assembled at Burbank and flown by C-124 to the Nevada test site. Thereafter, Unit 80 assembled and delivered some 50 U-2s via C-124 to Bakersfield Airport. The C-124s arrived in the dark of night and taxied to a revetment in a remote corner of the airport.

  Production began in the spring of 1956, and ended by September 1957 with a peak production of eight aircraft per month.

  Security at Unit 80 was never breached and in late 1957, everything was transferred back to Burbank. Neither the Air Force nor the Agency nor Lockheed ever admitted knowledge of activity at Unit 80. However, in 2002 an Oildale TV station reporter and Minter Field Air Museum representatives dug through piles of records. They made many telephone calls and invoked the Freedom of Information Act to put together the true story about what took place at Unit 80. The story about Unit 80 and the U-2 was broadcast on TV and reported to residents of Bakersfield and Oildale.

  A few months after that report, I received a call from Major General Jim Whitehead, himself a former U-2 pilot and a member of the aviation board at the museum in Bakersfield. He explained that he had learned I was from Oildale. To celebrate some events that had been planned in the Bakersfield area, the General invited me to Bakersfield for some interviews and local TV appearances. The highlight of the event for me was the invitation to be the guest speaker at the Founders Banquet. I accepted the invitation and in February 2003 spent five days in Oildale.

  I spoke at the banquet given in my honor and began my discussion by saying, “I can't believe, me, a guy from the little town of Oildale, to be honored like this. It is something I'll remember forever.” It was a great trip; I met many WWII vets, some old school mates and had a visit with my sisters, one of whom is a
retired minister with 27 years in the pulpit. I pointed out now that the secret was out, the people of Bakersfield and Oildale should be proud of their contributions during the Cold War.

  John Harvey

  (Deceased January 15, 2007))

  The following was submitted by John's widow, Lilas.

  John received orders for Laughlin AFB, Del Rio, Texas in the summer of 1954. He and I remarked, “Why is it we always seem to get these remote bases?” Before Laughlin, we were at Hunter AFB, Savannah, Georgia with the B-47s. One of our friends in Savannah had a cousin who was a postman in Del Rio. There was no base housing at Laughlin at the time and rentals in town were few and far between. Through our friend's cousin, all the postmen in Del Rio were alerted to be on the lookout for a house for a colonel, his wife and four daughters. We arrived in Del Rio one afternoon at 5:00 PM and stopped for dinner at a café on Main Street. When the waiter took our order, he inquired where we were going. John answered that he was newly assigned to Laughlin AFB. The waiter replied, “You must be the new colonel with your wife and four daughters. All the postmen in the city are trying to find you a house.” We thought that was a beautiful way to be introduced to our new assignment.

  After a few months, we were assigned to a house on base. We needed some unpainted bedroom furniture—two bunk bed sets for the girls. We were referred to Ricks’ Furniture Store on Main Street in Del Rio. With our four daughters in tow, Pam age 10, Leigh age 8, Lindsey 6 and Jane 3, we visited the furniture store. We had finished picking out the furniture when a clerk approached us and asked, “Do you have a little blonde haired girl?” When we replied that we did, the clerk said, “You better come with me.” At the front of the store there was a display of children's furniture. Sitting on the potty chair was Jane, waving to the huge crowd outside the store window. The spectators laughed and waved back. The Del Rio News Herald reported the following day Colonel John Harvey's arrival at Laughlin and Del Rio was upstaged by his three-year-old daughter, Jane's big splash at Rick's Furniture Store.

  The Val Verde County Library in Del Rio conducted a fund raising program and our Officers’ Wives’ Club offered to participate. Zina Worley, wife of Colonel John Worley, and I volunteered to organize the Wives’ Club contribution. We auctioned off some artwork and one of the sergeants at Laughlin, an artist himself, donated some of his work as a gift. The sergeant offered to help with the sale, but at the last minute he had to decline because he had to participate in a GI party. Both Zina and I were outraged that he made the commitment to help us and then said he had to go to a party. Zina and I begged our husbands to try and get him to ditch that party so he could help with our auction. Both husbands said they couldn't help us. Zina learned a few days later that a GI party was really an “all hands on board clean up of the barracks” and no absences were permitted.

  One hot 110-degree summer day, our four children joined a group for a 25-mile horseback ride to one of the Del Rio ranches. There were no horses left for the sergeant leading the group, so he rode a donkey. When they all departed, he announced in a loud voice, “There will be no slouching in the saddle and no Coke breaks.” I drove alongside for a few miles pretending to take pictures, but it was really to ensure nobody passed out from the heat. They finally arrived at the ranch, and the sergeant prepared a delicious stew for lunch. Of course, no one knew until they finished eating that it was rattlesnake stew.

  A sudden rainstorm blew in, typical of those hot summer days. I called John and asked him to get a base bus to rescue all the children. He was very reluctant but he finally gave in. John arrived with the bus and offered the children shelter on the bus, but they were only worried about the horses getting wet!

  Welcoming the first group of Taiwanese student pilots to Laughlin AFB. Left to right: Major Chan Hia, unknown USAF officer, Major Mike Hua, Major Shia, Col John Harvey, Major Gen Wang, Col John DesPortes, Major Yang, Major Tiger Wang.

  When we first moved on base, we had one of the temporary duplex houses. Base housing at Laughlin was located in what had been scrub brush fields and home to a variety of wildlife. It wasn't long before we realized we had an invasion of field mice in our attic, behind the walls and occasionally inside the house. Their antics sounded like a non-stop bowling game. We became accustomed to their racing up and down the Venetian blind cords inside the rooms. One day I had a coffee party at our home and some of the women sat on the floor. I noticed something beside the couch that looked like pink bubble gum. On closer inspection, I saw newly birthed mice rolling out from under the couch!

  There were a number of stories that surfaced during and after the construction of the base housing. When the fields were cleared prior to construction, a number of rattlesnake nests were disturbed. We had so many rattlesnakes slithering up on the warm sidewalks and roads; we walked with our heads down looking for coiled snakes. We even learned bold techniques such as throwing a rock aimed at their heads. Fortunately, I don't recall ever hearing anyone being bitten by one of those rattlesnakes.

  The black widow spiders, too, lost their prime real estate when the field was cleared. They just built new nests over the doors of the houses. We learned to look up prior to entering the door to be sure a spider wasn't swinging down on its web.

  John and Lilas Harvey at their farewell party at Laughlin AFB.

  The road to the back gate of the base was temporarily opened and I decided to use it one morning. I was in a rush to pick up our maid who lived in town. I use the term “road” loosely here; it had recently been graded out of the scrub fields. I took Jane, our youngest still in her nightgown, with me; I had thrown on some old clothes and had not put on any makeup. In my haste, I did not realize the road was wet from an early morning thunderstorm. Right at the back gate, my car sunk into mud so deep, I couldn't move it. I was totally humiliated to be stuck there and to look so unkempt. It took two cranes to get us out. My John came out and laughed at my predicament. What an embarrassment.

  We moved into our new base house, but we had to furnish our own grass. The people of Del Rio generously furnished us with grass from their own yards as well as shrubs and trees. Right after many of us had finished planting the plugs of St. Augustine grass, we had one of those Texas rains. The newly planted grass came loose and went floating down the street. All our neighbors came running out with plastic sacks and wheelbarrows to retrieve the precious grass plugs.

  Just to give an idea of the intensity of those infamous rainstorms, I was the honoree at the Officers’ Wives’ Club welcoming coffee party. At the very moment I was trying to get out of the car at the Club, a huge rain cloud burst over the base. It delayed my arrival for a short while. I was told the runway had several inches of water and there were waves with whitecaps on them. This particular storm was captured by a photographer and was filed by the base historian.

  In October 1960 movie star John Wayne came to the area to film The Alamo. He had requested permission from the Base Commander, my John, to use the runway for his own plane. As a “thank you,” Wayne invited my John and me to dinner with his wife, Pia, and their children at their temporary home in Brackettville. I was amused at the number of people who knocked on their door while we were having dinner to get a glimpse of the celebrities. The whole family was understanding and gracious about the intrusion. Wayne gave us a pass for our car to come watch the filming of the movie. I filled up our station wagon with at least 12 people and we drove to Brackettville to the movie site on a private ranch. That was certainly an interesting occasion for all of us.

  President Dwight Eisenhower visited Laughlin in July 1962 and met with President Lopez Mateos of Mexico. The occasion was a celebration to open the Amistad Dam that spanned the Rio Grande between the two countries at Del Rio. Our house was selected as an emergency location should President Eisenhower suffer any health problem while he was at Laughlin. We were the only ones at the time with a kingsize bed; they were so new we couldn't even find a king-size bedspread. I sewed two double bedspreads together to cover o
ur king-size bed. Eisenhower's advanced team arranged for the special red telephone installed on the bedside table with a direct line to the White House.

  Considering the entourage that accompanies the President now, it was interesting that President Eisenhower had no aides with him, only a female secretary. The President walked down the stairs of his airplane and was greeted by a great contingent of military and civilian dignitaries. My John followed behind the President and could hear him asking the secretary each time he was introduced, “Who in the hell is this? And this one?”

  Our children's horse drill team wanted to greet President Eisenhower riding their horses at a full gallop with flags waving. It required permission from the White House and the President. Eisenhower was so concerned for the children, he did not approve the full gallop because he was afraid someone would be hurt. He did approve of the horse drill team with flags waving, but the horses could only walk.

  President Eisenhower met the President of Mexico in the small town of Ciudad Acuña, across the Rio Grande from Del Rio. In preparation for the two presidents’ visit, Ciudad Acuña freshly painted all the buildings and paved the entire travel route.