December 8 1941 Nas Sand Point P1

December 8th, 1941, NAS Sand Point P.1

Copyright Catcher78 All rights reserved

Author's Notes: This is a true story involving my family in times of desperate peril as Americans were being rallied to the fight against Hitler's Nazis, Mussolini's Italian Fascists and The Japanese Empire by Franklin Delano Roosevelt. The author was also stationed at NAS Sand Point while in the Naval Reserves.

Characters:

Lieutenant J.G. Big Joe Benedict U.S. Navy Pilot

Petty Officer First Class Gus Genzer Gunner's mate

Chief Petty Officer Daniel Morgan Gunner's mate

Ensign Archibald Turner III U.S. Navy Pilot

Warrant Officer Jeff Kembel Navigator

Petty Officer second class Bob Pacheco, engineer radioman

Second Lieutenant Tim Simpson USMC

Master Gunnery Sergeant Jack Simpson USMC

Sini Benedict wife and mother

Bill Benedict Cousin Fullback University of Washington

Hazel Benedict Bill's mother and lonely wife

I am Joe Benedict, I was born in Napavine, Lewis County, State of Washington. It's about halfway between Portland, Oregon and Olympia, Washington. I was born in 1915 specifically on my grandparents dairy farm, Vaclav Benes and Ekaterina Benesova. Benedict is Benes translated from Czech or Bohemian. Czechoslovakia was created in 1919, Bohemia meant land of the forest dwellers and was a Roman Catholic kingdom, conquered over and over again and was part of the Austro-Hungarian empire before that who was one of the losers of World War I.

I grew up on their farm with my mom Maria, my dad left when I was little, don't really remember him. Said he had a job in Chicago, never came back. Mom said there were Bohemians there, then.

I attended the University of Washington, in Seattle and got a degree in history, I wanted to be a history teacher and coach basketball, which I played for the Huskies. I am six foot seven inches tall. I was in the first Naval ROTC class at the University of Washington. I graduated in 1936 and was commissioned as an Ensign and sent to NAS Pensacola for flight training. Because of my height I was too tall to fit into the new Grumman F4f Wildcat fighter plane or any of the dive bombers.

I was able to chose between the Douglas R4D-1 Skytrain twin engine transport or the Consolidated PBY5-A Catalina a high winged twin engine Seaplane. I chose the Catalina. She was powered by Pratt & Whitney R-1830-92 Twin Wasp 4-cylinder air-cooled radial piston engines, which developed twelve hundred horse power each.

Shewas not fast, maximum speed of two hundred miles an hour, cruising speed of one hundred and thirty miles an hour. She could fight and was designed to attack ships and submarines, There were two thirty caliber guns in the nose fired by the navigator and another below the tail aft. There were two fifty caliber Browning machine guns in the port and starboard blisters. She would carry four thousand pounds of bombs or depth charges.

So I was taught how to fly the Catalina, then rode a train from there to Chicago, caught another train to Los Angeles. Then I caught a Trailways bus to San Diego which was forty five minutes to the Consolidated Plant which was adjacent to the bay. The journey took the better part of four days, stopping every twenty or thirty minutes. I shaved in the morning, with my travel kit, but I stunk badly.

There were plenty of Naval enlisted men doing various tasks, checking stuff around aircraft. The individual aircraft had this trolley, wheel apparatus attached to the fuselage, because the plane had no landing gear which is exactly as the planes I learned to fly in Florida.

I was to fly a brand new aircraft to NAS Sand Point which was located on the Western shore of Lake Washington in Seattle, Washington. It was about eighty miles from Napavine, where mama lived with my grandparents.

My Dad's younger brother Bill lived in Seattle and was married and I had a cousin Bill Benedict Jr. who was five years younger than me. I was fourteen when they left for Seattle when the economy went to shit. Bill was a diesel mechanic and his wife Hazel was a baker and as a little kid for Christmas her food was incredible.

The parents were kind of a scandal, they separated several times, both had kids with other people. Mama said they moved to Seattle to get a fresh start. Fucking drama, I was gun shy about getting married, especially being in the Navy, being gone, with a wife unattended to was a recipe for disaster. Even at Pensacola, some of the instructor's wives played and some idiot got an enlisted man's wife pregnant and was court martialed.

The plan was for me to check the plane out, with takeoffs and landings, fly out to sea and make sure we could test out the radio procedures and the navigator would get us back to Consolidated, then the following morning with a crew provided by Consolidated leave and fly up to NAS Sand Point, which is roughly one thousand, one hundred miles. Cruising at one hundred and twenty five miles per hour, depending on head or tail winds it would take ten hours. There is a tiny bathroom and kitchen onboard, we'd bring sandwiches and coffee.

During the last check flight I shut off the port engine and flew solely on the starboard engine and the speed dropped to about ninety five miles an hour, but we did not lose altitude. I reversed the engines being off and it was the same. The flight manual said I could land with one engine, but would need luck to take off with one engine.

It was a touch foggy the next morning and we did all the preflight walk arounds and commenced the Power Up check list which read with the responses:

1. Switches? Off!

2. Magneto? Off!

3. Battery master? Off!

4. Voltage/Amperage? CHECK!

5. Parking Brake? Set!

6. Bilge Pump? Checked.

Then we read the Cockpit Preparation

1. Circuit Breakers? Check!

2. Smoke/Seatbelts? On!

3. Throttle? Cracked!

4. Prop? Pull Fine!

5. Fuel Mixtures? ICO!

6. Master Magneto? In!

7. Master Switches? OFF!

8. Fuel Quantity? Checked!

9. Oil Quantity? Checked!

10. Altimeter? Set!

11. Flight Plan? Complete!

12. Weight and Balance? Complete!

13. Brieving? Complete!

ENGINE START

1. Master Ignition? On!

2. Cowl Gille? On!

3. Carb Heat? Off!

4. Fuel Shutoff Valve? Open & Safe!

5. Fuel Selector? Both!

6. Mixture? Full High!

7. Fuel Pump? On!

8. Starter? Engage!

9. Count? Twelve Blades!

10. Prime? Twice!

11. Ignition? Both!

12. Starter? Off!

13. Prime Switch? On

a. RPM >1,000

14. Mixture? Auto Rich!

The starboard engine belched black smoke and the prop started to turn. Then another belch and the engine caught and the prop was a blur. The engine smoothed out and the port engine belched and instantly caught The plane riding on the wheeled trolley nudged forward towards the ramp.

There were six Consolidated workers walking down the ramp with the plane as the hull slid into the water. As the hull settled deeper into the water the tires full of air floated to the surface of the harbor and the workers horsed the tires away from the plane and back towards the ramp. I applied more throttle to the starboard engine and the PBY straightened its course to the open water.

I said, "Consolidated 1274461147 bound for Sand Point Naval Air station ready for takeoff."

"NAS North Point, acknowledged Consolidated 1274461147. Wait for instructions."

I looked at the Consolidated co-pilot who had to be in his mid to late fifties and said to him on the intercom, "Navy?"

The co-pilot shook his head no and said, "Coastie for twenty years. I flew the Hall PH-3 Flying boat."

"Do you miss being in the Coast Guard?"

"When I retired, I was a Commander, they didn't let me fly anymore. I had a squadron, lots of reports, drunk sailors, divorces. I missed flying, wife was gone, I make more money, found someone who liked me fine."

"Consolidated 1274461147 permission to take off."

I said, "Everyone hold on and belts on, Navigator once we're airborne I need a course to fly north over the water, no storms are forecast, I anticipate flying to the Straights of Juan de Fuca and follow them back to Puget Sound and transverse Seattle to land at NAS Sand Point on Lake Washington. Radioman ears peeled for forecast."

There was a light chop on the bay. It was 0725 August 8,1937.

On the intercom, "Advance to maximum throttle, "

The co-pilot and I had our hands on both throttles between them above our heads as the engines roared and the hull strained to get on top of the water and then she was banging hard on the surface and she was up. At takeoff the weight of the plane was just over twenty nine thousand pounds, with the only cargo being my seabag.

"Navigator to pilot, direct course to NAS Sand Point is 165.22 degrees which does take us overland. Staying over water in legs, first leg being to San Francisco course 139.65. No perceptible head wind, approximately three hours fifty minutes to pass San Francisco."

"Co-pilot set course 139.65."

"Aye Aye Captain."

"Level off at eight thousand feet."

"Aye Aye, Captain."

The cabin for the PBY was not pressurized. The crew wore leather flight suits with wool cuffs and leather, bill-less caps strapped around with a chin strap. There was a restroom with a very tight shower and toilet. A small kitchen of sorts and a coffee maker. This day they had some thirty sandwiches, ham and cheese, bologna and cheese and peanut butter and jam. There were two large containers of coffee.

Passing San Francisco to the starboard side, all that was visible were clouds.

"Navigator to Pilot, assume course 0.37," which was almost true north.

"Co-pilot course is now 0.37."

"Noted sir."

Due west of central Oregon they picked up a tailwind of twenty five knots.

"NAS Sand Point, Consolidated 1274461147 ten miles south over Lake Washington, course 0.25 one hundred and fifteen miles per hour."

"Consolidated 1274461147, swing to middle of Lake, approach true West between the buoys. Hold at ramp."

We touched down and taxied to the ramp where there were some ten sailors who affixed the trolley wheels in short order and I pushed the throttles forward just a skosh and we were up the ramp. I was directed forward down the single runway towards three hangers and then towards the furthest away. The hanger doors were closed, with the big blue letters VP-13. Directed to a spot and held there and was given the signal to shut down the engines. I was the last to go down the short ladder and saluted a Lieutenant Commander wearing a leather flight jacket with a patch that read Lt. Commander Baumgardner Commander VP -13. I had my orders under my left arm, along with an envelope from Consolidated about the aircraft.

"Permission to come aboard sir."

"Permission granted. Lieutenant." I handed him my orders first and then the envelope.

He said, "Mr. Benedict, this is Chief Dan Morgan. Chief take Mr. Benedict to Personnel and give this envelope to Lieutenant Jackson, "turning his head to me and saying, "Tim Jackson is the squadron maintenance officer. Every morning at 0715 we have a pilots and maintenance meeting in the ready room. Tomorrow evening 1900 my quarters. Is there a Mrs. Benedict or soon to be Mrs. Benedict?

"Not yet sir, I grew up south of here in Lewis County and I played basketball for the Huskies. So I know people in Seattle, but no romance yet."

I lived in a beautiful old four story brick building that was for junior officers from both VP-13, as well as ship's company that ran the Naval Air Station. There was a fighter squadron VF-35 that was flying the F4f- Wildcat and a transport aircraft used by the base and both squadrons, the new C-45 manufactured by Beech and the much older R2D-1 built by Douglas. It was a large two bedroom apartment, with kitchen and a living room dining room combination. The only woman I could get to my room would be my mother, or a married couple for dinner. But it was the nicest place I'd ever lived.

My grandparents farmhouse, while a place where I felt safe and loved was ramshackle with rough hewn floors and drafty windows. The only heat came from the huge wood cookstove with an open pipe that went through the ceiling. They had a dairy farm, with some eighty head and another forty ewes that were milked for cheese.

After the morning meeting in the hanger ready room, in which I was given the nick name "Stilts" by the squadron maintenance officer Lieutenant Tim Jackson, who was five foot eight with red hair and freckles and who took about ten minutes to give me shit in front of the squadron officers, warrant officers and two senior chief petty officers who worked for Jackson.

Commander Baumgardner stood up and peremptorily said, "Welcome Mr. Benedict. Chief Morgan, how many of our planes are available over the course of next week, in terms of necessary maintenance?"

"Sir, we will have begun changing of filters and oil and spark plugs Monday morning. Three per day, which will mean twelve available birds everyday as scheduled, barring any unforeseen events."

"Thank you Chief Morgan, well done! Mr. Benedict at thirteen hundred hours you and I will fly in 9-P-4. Gunner Kembel, we will need a crew for a three hour flight. Okay?"

Kembel said, "Commander, we will be ready sir."

Commander Baumgardner said, "Chief Morgan, please make sure Mr. Benedict has a flight suit as well as his flight book after the meeting."

Chief Morgan said, "Aye Aye sir."

"Attention on deck!"

"Dismissed!"

"Mr. Benedict, let's get you squared away. Everything we need is down on the hanger deck."

The ladder down to the hanger deck was a steel, rickety device that had four flights of fifteen steps, back and forth. He took me into a room that said pararigger's shop.

"Mr. Benedict, needs a flight suit by thirteen hundred. Measure him now. Petty Officer Berg will assist you."

Berg was a blond, chunky man who was maybe thirty and a second class petty officer. "Berg, nice to meet you. Hope you have something to fit me," and I extended my hand to shake hands.

Berg beamed. He said, "Welcome aboard, Mr. Benedict, no disrespect, but you're a big son of a bitch, sir. How tall are you and how much do you weigh, sir?"

I responded, "I'm six foot seven inches tall and I weigh two hundred forty five pounds. Size fifteen flight boots."

Berg said, "Sir, to fit you right we need to measure you. Can you undress to your skivvies?" That took a minute or so and he pointed at the throw rug to stand on.

This tall skinny third class petty officer stood in front of me and responded to Berg's questions.

"Inseam, " he ran the tape measure from my heel to my crotch.

"Right leg, thirty nine inches. "

He repeated the process, "left leg thirty eight and one half inches."

"Arm length."

"Right arm shoulder to wrist thirty inches.

"Measuring his left arm"

"Left arm shoulder to wrist twenty nine and three quarter inches."

"Waist?"

"Thirty six inches."

"Chest?"

"Fifty four inches."

"Neck?"

"Twenty two inches."

"Head?"

"Eight inches."

"Mr. Benedict, thanks for putting up with that, we'll have your flight suit at thirteen hundred."

When I was redressed, Chief Morgan crooked his head indicating he wanted me to follow him. We were out of the pararigger's shop at 0815 hours and walked forty five feet to another door, festooned with the label "Squadron Maintenance Chief". In we went as he held the door open for me.

"Please have a seat sir, you're going to fill some stuff out and sign some documents, I sat and he brought out a three inch thick, leather bound notebook.

"Sir this is both your flight manual for the PBY5-A and also in the back is your flight logbook. Please sign on the first page of the manual and date that you received it."

When I was done with that he resumed.

"Sir in the back is your flight log, again sign and date it, " I did so and he continued, "The log must always be filled in date, time, duration, where from, where to, purpose, incidents. You must bring this with you today to fly with Commander Baumgardner."

"Sir, permission to speak freely, Commander Baumgardner asked me to speak with you off the record."

I said, "Go ahead Chief."

"Stay away from Mr. Jackson, he's a piece of shit.

"He's fucked every officer's wife in this squadron. He's married, but he's hung like a mule and fucks them while their husband is flying or down the coast."

I looked at him with my eyebrows raised.

He nodded yes and said, "Her too," "he goads their husbands into hitting him, then they get court martialed and kicked out of the Navy and divorced. You got a girlfriend?"

I shook my head no. "He'll probably say you're queer."

"Thanks Chief."

My flight suit was ready at 1300 hours and Berg showed me where my locker would be just down the hanger from where his shop was and hung my uniform in my locker and he gave me a padlock with a key that I locked my stuff up and headed out to 9-P-4 across the hanger deck.

I was intercepted by Lieutenant Jackson as I crossed towards the partially opened hanger doors.

"A word Mr. Benedict."

I kept walking, lengthening my stride and said, "Lieutenant please walk with me, I'm to meet Commander Baumgardner at 9-P-4 in four minutes and I will not be late, " and I started running towards the plane.

"Stop, " he shrieked and started running after me. I did stop adjacent to the ladder into the port blister which was open.

The little shit caught up to me and started screaming at me, his voice rising in pitch, "You are done, disobeying a direct order from a superior officer, come with me now you fucking son of a bitch."

Commander Baumgardner stuck his head out of the blister and said, "What the hell is going on Mister Benedict?"

"Sir, I insist, "said Lieutenant Jackson, only to be interrupted by Commander Baumgardner.

"Shut up, you piece of shit. Don't think about interrupting me again. What's going on Benedict?"

"As I was to meet you at 1330, I was coming across the hanger floor, he intercepted me and demanded that I stop and talk to him. I said he should walk with me as I must be here at 1330 and that upset him. I did not stop because your order to me was from a superior officer to him."

He looked at Mr. Jackson and said, "Your dismissed Mr. Jackson, no dinner tonight."

We did the same preflight check as I'd done in San Diego. He was in the co-pilot's chair and called the tower and said, "Sand Point, 9-P-4 approaching the ramp, check flight to return at 1700 hours."

"9-P-4 advance down the ramp, hold until wheels removed, then takeoff due east."

"9-P-4, Sand Point wheels removed negligible winds to the North. Takeoff when ready."

"Pilot to co-pilot, full throttle."

Both hands were on the throttle and the engines roared. The hull raised up onto the surface of the water, we hit a roller from tugboat to the north and we were airborne and slammed into the lake and then we bounced into the air and were up.

At one thousand feet, he said on the intercom, "Pilot start slow turn to port straighten out heading due west. Once over Puget Sound turn due North we're headed towards Nanaimo on Vancouver Island. Level out at twelve thousand feet. One hundred thirty mph cruising speed."

"Aye Aye sir."

An hour into the flight he said into the intercom, "I'd still be clueless if Gunner Kembel's wife had not caught them leaving the Jolly Roger on Lake City Way, the old speakeasy and whorehouse from the prohibition times. I was in Coronado. Anyway I confronted her the following week and she said, he seduced her and she was bored and they had incredible sex, she said she loved me. I asked her how long, she said two years. Both of our boys are mine, but It's unlikely this one will be. Her mom and my mom are at our quarters and if it has red hair, which is not on my side of the family, but is on hers and his, then we're done. She will leave with the newborn and my mom and dad will take the older two kids."