Lt. Col. John T. Nelson
Clearwater, FL - September 10, 1943: Pilot Keeps Plane from
Falling in Residential Area.
Clearwater, FL - September 10, 1943: Pilot Keeps Plane from
Falling in Residential Area.
A growing streaming cloud of hot black of oil smoke was blurring my vision. I was alone, lost, with no
radio and flying in and out of storm clouds in a desperate search for a sight of land. My burning plane
was steadily dropping and could explode at any second; however, parachuting and being lost in those
stormy gulf waters seemed even more foreboding.
About fifty of us flight school classmates and I had arrived at Pinellas Airport, St. Petersburg, Florida on
September 3, 1943. We had traveled by train from Luke Field, Arizona. All were brand new 2nd
Lieutenants, and we were all highly motivated because we had been selected from our flying class to fly
fighters.
Our first fighter plane experience was to be in the single seat, highly acclaimed, P-40 Tigershark as it was
sometimes called. The American Flying Tiger outfit had used this fighter very successfully against the
Japanese long before the U.S. was officially at war.
On this day, September 10, 1943, four of us climbed out winding our way through a maze of billowing
snow-white thunderclouds. It was a time of year when Florida skies were almost daily filled with these
thunder bumpers, as we called them. We did not normally intentionally enter them, however one could
suddenly arrive at an ever narrowing dead end tunnel and have to make a quick guess and hope for an
escape route. Flitting among these giant cloud formations had hardly ever been equaled in the ethereal
sensations I've experienced in over 20 years of flying.
We were at 20,000 feet above a snow white cloud cover that seemed endless in all directions. I remember
my 12 cylinder engine was not responding properly and hanging on was shear agony as I manipulated the
throttle, propeller and fuel mixture controls. I was in the first plane behind the leader and as he took us
into a straight up climb, my power seemed to fade away. I can recall still trying to hang on, going straight
up when it quit flying.
The two other pilots later related a rather horrifying experience as my plane tumbled back down past
them. I did a spin recovery and got control before entering the overcast. The lead pilot did a wide turn
and picked me up in the last plane position before continuing the rat race. We were just skimming the
cloud tops when something blew on the left side of my engine.
Heavy black smoke was pouring out and the engine sounded like a 4th of July fireworks. We had been
instructed to stay out of clouds because the P-40 was strictly a day weather fighter. As I sank into the
clouds, my flight leader radioed that he saw my black smoke trail go into the clouds and I believe he told
me we were out over the Gulf of Mexico waters. I don't remember any more radio conversation. It came
to me very clearly, that my future boiled down to me, my parachute, and that burning P-40.
My rescue options were limited since helicopters had not been invented yet, and rescue facilities were
practically non-existent. So, considering the weather and the fact that I only had a very small inflatable life
jacket for water survival, my best chance for survival was clear. It was head east toward land and fly the
most basic of instruments (needle, ball, and air speed) which was all I had, until the plane either exploded
or got to hot for me to stay with it. I had some engine power but was losing altitude. I decided that if I
was still in the clouds or had not spotted land at 4,000 feet, then it would be time to jump.
I was worried about getting the canopy off for a quick exit in case the plane exploded, but more concerned
that should I jettison it, smoke and fire would enter the cockpit. Anyway, I left the canopy on and, as I
entered 4,000 feet, I momentarily broke through the clouds enough to glimpse a coastline in the distance.
Now, it was decision time for sure! Parachuting altitude was getting more critical by the moment.
However, I certainly dreaded going into the stormy gulf waters which I knew nothing about. I then
decided for crashing on the coastline. I didn't plan to ditch in the water because the P-40 with its heavy
nose had a reputation for nose diving into the water so violently that survival was near hopeless.
By this time, I had jettisoned the canopy and was holding the plane is a sideslip to keep the smoke and
heat as far from me as possible. I was going in and landing. Suddenly, with about 2,000 feet on the
altimeter and no spot to head for, I decided it was my last chance to jump.
Trying to hold altitude at a near stalled airspeed, I rolled the P-40 on its back and released my safety
harness to fall from the plane. Airspeed was so low that the plane fell as fast as I and, as the plane started
spinning, it nosed straight down. I saw nothing but buildings below me. It then flashed through my mind
that just yesterday we had been briefed about a fighter that had crashed and killed about 20 people in a
nearby town.
I clearly remember reaching way down to pull myself back down into the cockpit. My recent training led
me through a quick spin recovery. With all the power the burning engine could provide dived close to the
building to gain flying speed, now thinking that ditching in the water was my only choice.
It suddenly seemed a tree studded island prevented ditching. I did pull the plane up into a steep climb
until it started to fall to earth. Disregarding the procedure to count to ten before pulling the ripcord, I
stood up in the cockpit seat and pulled the chute release as I jumped from the plane.
As quickly as the time it takes to read this, the following sequence of events took place. I hit the tail of the
plane, my parachute gave its opening jerk and I penetrated deep into the water. It seemed as though I
would never come to the surface and while under water I tried desperately to inflate my life jacket.
Eventually, I clawed my way to the surface entangled in the chute lines and finally got the jacket inflated.
In a matter of minutes, 2 motorboats came racing to my rescue. When we reached the dock, hundreds of
people were jamming the shore cheering for me.
I did in fact, as the news reported, spread out and neatly folded my water soaked parachute. I remember
showing a calm, matter-of-fact, attitude that was anything but real. Some people were reaching out to
touch me and became very emotional. I remember a woman very tightly embracing me as she was crying
and saying something about her son or that I was or could be her son. A young girl reporter came to
interview me and reported that I said the experience was something like my first airplane ride. I probably
said that, but it was certainly not like my first very enjoyable plane ride.
My training continued and was completed in those highly overworked and much abused P-40's. On
October 15, 1943, I was moved on by my outfit to join the air war in Europe.
radio and flying in and out of storm clouds in a desperate search for a sight of land. My burning plane
was steadily dropping and could explode at any second; however, parachuting and being lost in those
stormy gulf waters seemed even more foreboding.
About fifty of us flight school classmates and I had arrived at Pinellas Airport, St. Petersburg, Florida on
September 3, 1943. We had traveled by train from Luke Field, Arizona. All were brand new 2nd
Lieutenants, and we were all highly motivated because we had been selected from our flying class to fly
fighters.
Our first fighter plane experience was to be in the single seat, highly acclaimed, P-40 Tigershark as it was
sometimes called. The American Flying Tiger outfit had used this fighter very successfully against the
Japanese long before the U.S. was officially at war.
On this day, September 10, 1943, four of us climbed out winding our way through a maze of billowing
snow-white thunderclouds. It was a time of year when Florida skies were almost daily filled with these
thunder bumpers, as we called them. We did not normally intentionally enter them, however one could
suddenly arrive at an ever narrowing dead end tunnel and have to make a quick guess and hope for an
escape route. Flitting among these giant cloud formations had hardly ever been equaled in the ethereal
sensations I've experienced in over 20 years of flying.
We were at 20,000 feet above a snow white cloud cover that seemed endless in all directions. I remember
my 12 cylinder engine was not responding properly and hanging on was shear agony as I manipulated the
throttle, propeller and fuel mixture controls. I was in the first plane behind the leader and as he took us
into a straight up climb, my power seemed to fade away. I can recall still trying to hang on, going straight
up when it quit flying.
The two other pilots later related a rather horrifying experience as my plane tumbled back down past
them. I did a spin recovery and got control before entering the overcast. The lead pilot did a wide turn
and picked me up in the last plane position before continuing the rat race. We were just skimming the
cloud tops when something blew on the left side of my engine.
Heavy black smoke was pouring out and the engine sounded like a 4th of July fireworks. We had been
instructed to stay out of clouds because the P-40 was strictly a day weather fighter. As I sank into the
clouds, my flight leader radioed that he saw my black smoke trail go into the clouds and I believe he told
me we were out over the Gulf of Mexico waters. I don't remember any more radio conversation. It came
to me very clearly, that my future boiled down to me, my parachute, and that burning P-40.
My rescue options were limited since helicopters had not been invented yet, and rescue facilities were
practically non-existent. So, considering the weather and the fact that I only had a very small inflatable life
jacket for water survival, my best chance for survival was clear. It was head east toward land and fly the
most basic of instruments (needle, ball, and air speed) which was all I had, until the plane either exploded
or got to hot for me to stay with it. I had some engine power but was losing altitude. I decided that if I
was still in the clouds or had not spotted land at 4,000 feet, then it would be time to jump.
I was worried about getting the canopy off for a quick exit in case the plane exploded, but more concerned
that should I jettison it, smoke and fire would enter the cockpit. Anyway, I left the canopy on and, as I
entered 4,000 feet, I momentarily broke through the clouds enough to glimpse a coastline in the distance.
Now, it was decision time for sure! Parachuting altitude was getting more critical by the moment.
However, I certainly dreaded going into the stormy gulf waters which I knew nothing about. I then
decided for crashing on the coastline. I didn't plan to ditch in the water because the P-40 with its heavy
nose had a reputation for nose diving into the water so violently that survival was near hopeless.
By this time, I had jettisoned the canopy and was holding the plane is a sideslip to keep the smoke and
heat as far from me as possible. I was going in and landing. Suddenly, with about 2,000 feet on the
altimeter and no spot to head for, I decided it was my last chance to jump.
Trying to hold altitude at a near stalled airspeed, I rolled the P-40 on its back and released my safety
harness to fall from the plane. Airspeed was so low that the plane fell as fast as I and, as the plane started
spinning, it nosed straight down. I saw nothing but buildings below me. It then flashed through my mind
that just yesterday we had been briefed about a fighter that had crashed and killed about 20 people in a
nearby town.
I clearly remember reaching way down to pull myself back down into the cockpit. My recent training led
me through a quick spin recovery. With all the power the burning engine could provide dived close to the
building to gain flying speed, now thinking that ditching in the water was my only choice.
It suddenly seemed a tree studded island prevented ditching. I did pull the plane up into a steep climb
until it started to fall to earth. Disregarding the procedure to count to ten before pulling the ripcord, I
stood up in the cockpit seat and pulled the chute release as I jumped from the plane.
As quickly as the time it takes to read this, the following sequence of events took place. I hit the tail of the
plane, my parachute gave its opening jerk and I penetrated deep into the water. It seemed as though I
would never come to the surface and while under water I tried desperately to inflate my life jacket.
Eventually, I clawed my way to the surface entangled in the chute lines and finally got the jacket inflated.
In a matter of minutes, 2 motorboats came racing to my rescue. When we reached the dock, hundreds of
people were jamming the shore cheering for me.
I did in fact, as the news reported, spread out and neatly folded my water soaked parachute. I remember
showing a calm, matter-of-fact, attitude that was anything but real. Some people were reaching out to
touch me and became very emotional. I remember a woman very tightly embracing me as she was crying
and saying something about her son or that I was or could be her son. A young girl reporter came to
interview me and reported that I said the experience was something like my first airplane ride. I probably
said that, but it was certainly not like my first very enjoyable plane ride.
My training continued and was completed in those highly overworked and much abused P-40's. On
October 15, 1943, I was moved on by my outfit to join the air war in Europe.
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