How I almost started World War III (or Would they have shot me down?)
by
Jay Kelley

© 2004   Jay Kelley
All rights reserved

September 21st, 1959, was a beautiful day in the San Francisco Bay Area. I had soloed in July and had logged a grand total of exactly eleven and a half hours of flight time. I was still on active duty in the Navy, stationed at the Oakland Naval Air Station. The Oakland Naval Air Station occupied one corner of the Oakland Metropolitan Airport.

I had soloed in an Aeronca 7ac at six hours, which in my opinion was way too soon, but that was the style of flight instruction then. It was my day off and I had decided to fly to the Fremont Airport from the Oakland Naval Air Station. Another enlisted man had been granted permission by the commanding officer to park his Piper PA-12 Super Cruiser on the Navy Flight Line. I had bought a five hour block of flight time in that airplane for $50 and it was a really nice day to do some flying.

I headed out to the flight line, did a thorough preflight, climbed in and started the engine. Everything looked fine. I called Oakland Ground Control for a taxi clearance, “Oakland Ground Control, this is Piper four niner three eight seven at the Navy line, taxi for takeoff...I’ll be eastbound.” There was a long pause before he answered, but he finally came back, “Piper four niner three eight seven, taxi to runway nine left.” I taxied. It wasn’t far, did my run up and switched to the tower frequency for a takeoff clearance. “Oakland Tower, Piper four niner three eight seven is ready for takeoff, nine left, requesting a straight out departure.” No reply from the tower….

(As a flight simulator operator, my radio voice procedure had been honed to a professional sounding level. I understood air control procedures and often acted in various capacities as an air controller while giving Navy pilots their required recurrent training in operational flight simulators and Link Trainers. I’m sure that the tower thought that they were communicating with someone more experienced than an eleven and a half hour student pilot).

Finally the tower came back, “Piper four niner three eight seven, what is your destination?” I thought that was an odd question from the tower, but replied, “I’m headed to the Fremont Airport about twenty miles east of here.” There was another long pause before they replied, but finally the controller said, “Piper three eight seven, cleared for takeoff, runway nine left, straight out departure approved.” I taxied into position, applied full throttle and the airplane accelerated down the runway, the tail came off the ground and I was soon airborne and climbing east over the Nimitz Freeway.

My takeoffs had improved dramatically since my first few hours, but landings were still somewhat erratic. My first few takeoffs were barely controllable, scary, swerving, tail-up tail-down, and lock-to-lock on the rudder pedals. Nevertheless, my instructor sitting in the back seat, would take the controls only in life threatening situations. Finally in the air after my first unassisted takeoff (during my second flying lesson), knees shaking, feet jammed hard against the rudder pedals, I turned to look back at him, wondering why he hadn’t taken over. He was leaning back in his seat, feet flat on the floor, gazing nonchalantly out the left window with his hands clasped behind his head. From several almost disastrous unassisted takeoffs, I learned a lot about using the rudder pedals.

All of my dual instruction had been from the Fremont Airport. The airport was a dirt strip, fairly short, about 1300 feet. It had barbed wire fences at both ends and along the south side. There were a few buildings and hangars along the north side. About 100 feet straight out from the east end of the runway, 60 foot high power lines ran at right angles across the departure path. Because of the prevailing westerly wind, every flight I had flown from that airport required takeoffs and landings to the west toward the power lines.

The Fremont Airport had come into view a couple of miles ahead so I angled over to the south a little to make a 45 degree mid-field entry into the left downwind leg just over the Nimitz Freeway. This was the way I had been taught to enter the traffic pattern at uncontrolled airports. There was no traffic in the pattern, and no airplanes waiting for takeoff. The airport appeared to be all mine. My 45 degree mid-field entry to the downwind was text-book perfect and then I noticed the wind sock. It was pointing the wrong way and it was standing straight out. The wind was blowing out of the east at about 18 to 20 kts.

Hmmm…”Oh well, I’ll land to the west anyway.” was the thought that went through my head. I had never made an approach to the east over the power lines, and wasn’t about to try it. They were much too close to the end of the runway and made the first half of the runway almost useless. I turned base, then final, lined up nicely, eased the power back, floated over the fence and came to the sudden realization that I was going way too fast to even consider trying to touch down. I applied full power and climbed out over the power lines, flew the crosswind leg, turned downwind and told myself that I was going to land this damn thing on my second try.

On the second try I really slowed that airplane down. It cleared the fence with much less room to spare, floated about a third of the way down the runway before touching down, and again I realized that there was no way in hell that I’d get the airplane stopped in time to avoid running into the fence at the other end of the runway. This Piper Super Cruiser had heel pedals for its mechanical brakes. The heel pedals were not very easy to use and the brakes were somewhat ineffective anyway. So I applied power and climbed back out over the power lines.

My face was flushed and I could feel the sweat beginning to trickle down my sides. People at the airport had come out of their buildings and hangars to watch the fool who was trying to land with an 18 to 20 kt tailwind. Again on down wind for my third try, I vowed to myself that I was going to land the airplane this time. It never occurred to me to simply abandon the idea and go back to Oakland. The thought never entered my head. I was in a semi-blanked out under-educated, student-pilot state of mind that totally precluded any other alternative but to ‘land this airplane here at this airport.’

On final, I was convinced that I could and would make it happen it on this third try. My wheels barely cleared the fence. I touched down in the first hundred feet, but was going really fast with the tail still in the air. I gently applied the heel brakes with the tail still in the air. With a little back pressure on the stick, I was able to counteract the airplane’s tendency to nose over and could feel it slowing down. Finally the tail started to come down. It was then that I realized that there was no possible way I could stop before hitting the fence at the, now very close, far end of the runway. I slammed the throttle forward, pulled back on the stick and zoomed up into the air at a frightening nose up angle toward the looming power lines. The airplane stalled out with full power directly over the power lines. With full forward stick and full power the ground came up fast, but the airplane recovered from the stall and I hadn’t touched the power lines. I leveled off about 20 feet above the ground.

Whew! Now I was really sweating and shaky and then something caught my eye. A mile or so west, proceeding toward me along the Nimitz Freeway, was a motorcade complete with a squadron of motor cycles with rotating beacons flashing. Behind the motor cycles were a couple of Army vehicles followed by a black Cadillac convertible limo and more official looking vehicles traveling along behind the limo. “Wow, I wonder what that is?” I thought to myself. And then something else caught my eye. At my altitude (not more than 150 feet after my ground level stall recovery) 100 feet ahead and to my right was a Hughes 269-A Army Helicopter. It was flying along sideways facing me. I could see the faces of the two occupants. They both had on helmets and uniforms. The guy in the left seat was frowning at me and making vehement jabbing movements toward the ground with his left forefinger. The guy in the right seat was aiming a Thompson sub-machine gun at me. I took this as an indication that they wanted me to land. I didn’t think I could turn any redder or sweat any more profusely, but I was wrong.

Now my resolve to land down wind at the Fremont Airport was even more firmly implanted. I turned cross wind toward the freeway and saw that I was going to pass directly over the motorcade as I turned downwind over the freeway. The helicopter stayed right with me. The machine gun stayed aimed at me. As I turned downwind at about 500 feet above the ground, the Cadillac limo passed directly beneath me and I looked down to see the surprised expression on the unmistakable face of Nikita Kruschev staring up at me from the back seat of his open Cadillac convertible. This was the Soviet Premier’s first visit to the USA. I flew the downwind leg with the Army helicopter flying close formation, turned final and with that Tommy gun still pointed at me, landed. I came to a full stop in the first 400 feet of the runway. I don’t know if the wind had switched or what. I turned off onto the grass, shut down the engine and just sat there in the plane. The helicopter hovered nearby. The Army guys scrutinized me for a minute and then buzzed off. I sat for about 10 minutes and then took off and flew back to Oakland.

There I learned what a NOTAM was (notices to airmen). The NOTAM had said something like this: “No private aircraft shall be in the air between 1000 and 1400 hours, within 10 miles of either side of the Nimitz Freeway from Hamilton Air force Base to the north and Moffet Field to the south." I think the tower guy at Oakland presumed I was far more experienced than I was, and after briefly considering my taxi and takeoff requests, cleared me to go even though it was totally against the limits set by the NOTAM. I sometimes wonder how close that helicopter guy came to shooting me down. I was so paranoid and perturbed by this little adventure, that I logged the flight as an uneventful flight from Oakland to Fremont and back. I never heard a word about it. I did read later that Kruschev had been very annoyed because, for security reasons, he had not been allowed to visit Disney Land.

© 2004  Jay Kelley
All rights reserved