Earning my wings
I was faced with a dilemma back in 1940. I wanted to become a fighter pilot, but the Army Air Corps wanted me to get a college education first. Thankfully, a rather simple situation presented itself to me in June 1941. The Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF) was looking for a “few good men.” With my mind made up and $10 bucks in my pocket, I set out with a buddy of mine, hitchhiking from our home state of Virginia to the Canadian border near Hamilton, Ontario. The RCAF welcomed us with open arms, along with the other 5,000 American men who beat us to Canada, all itching to fly and fight.
Although I joined the RCAF in the summer of 1941, I wasn’t able to sit inside a cockpit until later that winter; there were more pilots than airplanes. By the time I took my first flight, I had the distinct “pleasure” of flying around the Quebec area in sub-zero temperatures! It was cold and miserable, but I couldn’t have been happier. I was also part of the first cadet group that flew the de Havilland Tiger Moth on skis. A year later I was commissioned as an RCAF officer and selected to become a fighter pilot. I was sent to England and was given a choice of the fighters I wanted to fly in combat.
If I had chosen the Supermarine Spitfire, I would have been assigned to a group responsible for protecting the airspace over England. The Hawker Hurricane was another fighter I could
