I cannot give credit to the author, as they are unknown to me,
But one can almost visualize, and hear the power and the sound.

ENJOY

This is a true story about an experience in 1967 by a young 12-year-old boy in Kingston, Ontario, Canada

In the morning sun, I could not believe my eyes. There, in our little airport, sat a majestic P-51. They said it had flown in during the night from some US Airport, on its way to an air show. The pilot had been tired, so he just happened to choose Kingston for his stopover. It was to take to the air very soon. I marveled at the size of the plane, dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks tied down by her. It was much larger than in the movies. She glistened in the sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.

The pilot arrived by cab, paid the driver, and then stepped into the pilot's lounge. He was an older man; his wavy hair was gray and tossed. It looked like it might have been combed, say, around the turn of the century. His flight jacket was checked, creased and worn**” it smelled old and genuine. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a quiet air of proficiency and pride devoid of arrogance.

He filed a quick flight plan to Montreal ("Expo-67 Air Show") then walked across the tarmac.

After taking several minutes to perform his walk-around check, the tall, lanky man returned to the flight lounge to ask if anyone would be available to stand by with fire extinguishers while he "flashed the old bird up, just to be safe." Though only 12 at the time, I was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher after brief instruction on its use: "If you see a fire, point, then pull this lever!" he said. (I later became a firefighter, but that's another story.)

The air around the exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from fuel fumes as the huge prop started to rotate. One manifold, then another, and yet another barked**” I stepped back with the others. In moments the Packard-built Merlin engine came to life with a thunderous roar. Blue flames knifed from her manifolds with an arrogant snarl. I looked at the others' faces; there was no concern. I lowered the bell of my extinguisher.

One of the guys signaled to walk back to the lounge; we did. Several minutes later we could hear the pilot doing his pre-flight run-up. He'd taxied to the end of Runway 19, out of sight. All went quiet for several seconds. We ran to the second story deck to see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as she started down the runway. We could not. There we stood, eyes fixed at a spot halfway down the runway. Then a roar ripped across the field, much louder than before. Like a furious hell spawn set loose**” something mighty this way was coming!

"Listen to that thing!" said the controller.

In seconds the Mustang burst into our line of sight. Its tail was already off the runway and it was moving faster than anything I'd ever seen. Two-thirds the way down 19 the Mustang was airborne with her gear going up. The prop tips were supersonic. We clasped our ears as the Mustang climbed hellishly fast into the circuit to be eaten up by the dog-day haze. We stood for a few moments, in stunned silence, trying to digest what we'd just seen.

The radio controller rushed by me to the radio. "Kingston tower calling Mustang!" He looked back to us as he waited for an acknowledgment.

The radio crackled, "Go ahead, Kingston." "Roger, Mustang. Kingston tower would like to advise the circuit is clear for a low-level pass."

I stood in shock because the controller had just, more or less, asked the pilot to return for an impromptu air show!

The controller looked at us. "Well, What?" he asked. "I can't let that guy go without asking. I couldn't forgive myself!"

The radio crackled once again, "Kingston, do I have permission for a low-level pass, east to west, across the field?" "Roger, Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass." "Roger, Kingston, I'm coming out of 3,000 feet, stand by."

We rushed back onto the second-story deck, eyes fixed toward the eastern haze. The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a muffled screech, a distant scream. Moments later the P-51 burst through the haze. Her airframe straining against positive G's and gravity. Her wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again supersonic. The burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin of the field, shredding and tearing the air. At about 500 mph and 150 yards from where we stood she passed, with the old American pilot saluting.

Imagine**” a salute! I felt like laughing; like crying. She glistened; she screamed; the building shook; my heart pounded. Then the old pilot pulled her up and rolled, and rolled, and rolled out of sight into the broken clouds and indelibly into my memory.

I've never wanted to be an American more than on that day! It was a time when many nations in the world looked to America as their big brother, a steady and even-handed beacon of security who navigated difficult political water with grace and style; not unlike the old American pilot who'd just flown into my memory. He was proud, not arrogant; humble, not a braggart; old and honest, projecting an aura of America at its best.

That America will return one day! I know it will! Until that time, I'll just send off this story. Call it a loving salute to a Country, and especially to that old American pilot: the late JIMMY STEWART (1908-1997), actor, real WWII hero (Commander of a US Army Air Force Bomber Wing stationed in England), and a USAF Reserves Brigadier General, who wove a wonderfully fantastic memory for a young Canadian boy that's lasted a lifetime.


Jimmy Stewart's P-51-Mustang

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SWCA #2306
DAV in honor of POP

Since I was a kid, I was in love with the Mustangs. They used to fly over my home in Phoenix during WWII, and their sound said "air muscle."

At an air show not long ago, I recorded a restored P-51D taxiing towards a takeoff. Clicking on the photo should download an MP4 movie that you can play - this may or may not work on your computer. If it downloads, please turn up your sound when you play it; the Merlin engine makes its own statement even though it was just idling.



Here are a few other shots I took of that beautiful bird.

John

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- Cogito, ergo armatus sum -

ditrina

Have you ever made it to Kermit Weeks 'Fantasy of Flight' between Tampa and Orlando, or, seen any of his vids on youTube? His P-51 vids are amazing. Well, his whole collection (one of the largest in the world), is amazing.

Have never visited the central FL site, but did visit when he was at Tamiami airport before hurricane Andrew mostly destroyed it and prompted the move north. Most of his planes are airworthy and he records flights with his "Kermie Cam", from Seaplanes to WWI and WWII fighters along with ongoing restoration projects. A dedicated man.

I've always admired Jimmy Stewart, especially for his WWII service. He not only talked the talk, but like only a few "Hollywood" types actually walked the walk. He was the real deal and a decent person to boot.

Thanks for that post!

Rob

About 20 years ago I had the distinct privilege to meet Maj. Gen. Bill Anders, USAF (ret.), through a friend.

Bill Anders (who is best known as the Apollo 8 astronaut who took the famous “earth rise” photo in 1968) built a collection of vintage warbirds which he also flew.

Getting invited to join him flying his P-51 “Val-Halla” for some maneuvering over the Nevada desert was certainly my most memorable flying experience. His plane had been equipped with a jumpseat for a second person; that’s me peaking out behind Anders in the second photo. There were actually basic instruments, pedals, and a stick back there, but these were secured and (probably for the benefit of our survival) I was not allowed to control the plane.

What a ride!

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Ditto on the admiration for Jimmy Stewart. An absolutely genuine guy in all respects - never a hint of anything bad about him. His WWII service was indeed exemplary.

Here is a pic of him being sworn in as a 2d LT the USAAF.



...and a more formal portrait of him as a Brigadier General in the USAF.



He also cared deeply about his family and his pets. This poem he wrote (and read out loud on the Johnny Carson show) about the passing of his dog Beau, hit me hard, as I have similarly lost a number of dogs who were very dear to me.

I'm repeating it here.

John

--------------------------------------------

He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it,
But mostly he didn't come at all.
When he was young
He never learned to heel
Or sit or stay,
He did things his way.
Discipline was not his bag
But when you were with him things sure didn't drag.
He'd dig up a rosebush just to spite me,
And when I'd grab him, he'd turn and bite me.
He bit lots of folks from day to day,
The delivery boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn't read our meter,
He said we owned a real man-eater.
He set the house on fire
But the story's long to tell.
Suffice it to say that he survived
And the house survived as well.
On the evening walks, and Gloria took him,
He was always first out the door.
The Old One and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore.
He would charge up the street with Mom hanging on,
What a beautiful pair they were!
And if it was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.
But every once in a while, he would stop in his tracks
And with a frown on his face look around.
It was just to make sure that the Old One was there
And would follow him where he was bound.
We are early-to-bedders at our house -- I guess I'm the first to retire.
And as I'd leave the room he'd look at me
And get up from his place by the fire.
He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs,
And I'd give him one for a while.
He would push it under the bed with his nose
And I'd fish it out with a smile.
And before very long He'd tire of the ball
And be asleep in his corner In no time at all.
And there were nights when I'd feel him Climb upon our bed
And lie between us,
And I'd pat his head.
And there were nights when I'd feel this stare
And I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there
And I reach out my hand and stroke his hair.
And sometimes I'd feel him sigh and I think I know the reason why.
He would wake up at night
And he would have this fear
Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,
And he'd be glad to have me near.
And now he's dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb upon our bed and lie between us,
And I pat his head.
And there are nights when I think I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
But he's not there.
Oh, how I wish that wasn't so,
I'll always love a dog named Beau.

Poem by Jimmy Stewart

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- Cogito, ergo armatus sum -

Pardon the thread drift from P-51s, but love the Jimmy Stewart references. Probably my single favorite actor. So many excellent movies and roles especially the ones with Frank Capra directing. Stewart just seemed the type of person you would love to grab a burger and a beer with and have a chat. My favorites of his are The Spirit of St. Louis and The FBI Story.

Back to planes from WWII, P-47 for me. High altitude performance and with practically all allied fighters in the war they soon were used for ground attack to a great degree after aerial targets became scarcer and there the P-47 excelled.

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KM
S&WCA 3110 S&WHF 625

On Jimmy Stewart, I highly recommend Starr Smith’s book “Jimmy Stewart, Bomber Pilot”. It details his efforts to get into action and the hurdles he had to overcome, for a “famous” person to be allowed to put himself in danger. Nothing against the efforts of other Hollywood stars to help the war effort through war bond drives and motivational heroic movies, but Jimmy Stewart walked the walk.

The book is available on Amazon in different formats.

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Sal, I am a sucker for beautifully penned short stories and this certainly qualifies.

Thanks. I had not read this before.

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Music/Sports/Beer fan

Thanks for the suggestion. I had forgotten about that book. We use Internet Archives: Internet Archive: Digital Library of Free & Borrowable Books, Movies, Music & Wayback Machine

Tons of books there that can be checked out, downloaded and read.

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KM
S&WCA 3110 S&WHF 625

If you ever have a chance, visit the Jimmy Stewart Museum in Indiana, PA, his home town.

Jimmy Stewart is my all-time favorite actor, bar none. A genuine patriotic American whose uniforms didn’t come from a studio prop department.

With an Academy Award (The Philadelphia Story) under his belt already he fought to get into combat. He said in later interviews he was never really scared for himself over Germany, but was terrified he would get his crew killed.

His first movie after the war was It’s A Wonderful Life. There’s a scene where George Bailey is losing it in a bar before he attempts suicide, and many people feel he let some his wartime trauma out right then.

We won’t see anyone like him again.

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Rule of law, not a man.

They didn't make many like him.

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No baby we aint

I have worked on quite a few different aircraft over the years . There is no other aircraft that comes close to a P51 . They were ahead of their time . Now maybe an F4 taking a cat shot at night comes close , but that's all , close .

I am on Facebook, not super active sharing pictures and such and one of my friends is a retired USAF Colonel, TAC, flying transports and tankers who is from the small farm community my mother's family is from , but also flown a lot of other aircraft including a couple of the old(WWII) fighters. He loves the sites on history and aircraft and loves the Spitfire vs Mustang. His answer is always... pilot experience and skill, knowledge of both strong and weak points not only of the person's aircraft but who they are flying against, their aircraft and who can force their opponent into flying their game. Who gets the drop on whom since so many air combats went from high altitude to on the deck, top speed to stall speed as the planes manueved around trying to get any advantage they could. He gets a laugh because his comment is arm chair fighter pilots who have never flown a plane let alone a Spitfire or Mustang let alone both.

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KM
S&WCA 3110 S&WHF 625

I don't have a P-51 story or a Jimmy Stewart story , but I do have a story to share . I was at our local airport one summer afternoon when a Chipmunk landed , out stepped Art Scholl . He had his highly modified chipmunk refueled , then asked me to help him get it started . You had to crank it , with a hand crank from outside the cowling to engage the inertia starter . It took my a couple of tries to pull the hand crank through with enthusiasm . It started and off he went . Regards, Paul

Speaking of warbirds... this would be me, for sure

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“Look life in its iron face”

My father-in-law actually flew as Radio Operator for Jimmy Stewart for a couple of B24 missions during WW2.

He said that Jimmy Stewart was the real deal, and a heck of a pilot and aircraft commander. Both of them are gone now, that generation is sorely missed.

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Only a cold warrior

Jimmy Stewart remains one of, if not my most favorite actors.
He was a class act for sure.
Sorry about your Dad Systema. I lost mine too...also a WWII flyer.

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“Look life in its iron face”

Yes they were ahead of their time and high performance compared to what the early WWII pilots were trained in. My uncle Lt. Frank Turner was killed in January 1943 during a simulated training flight in an A36A after transiting from the older Vultee Vengence dive bomber. He had less than 20 hours it. Here is a picture of the A36A in the USAF Museum in Dayton Ohio. Only 500 were made. Dive Bomb version of the Mustang

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I knew a fellow, Paul, who was a navigator on a B24 in WWII. He used to tell me stories. Once he told me that before every mission the flight surgeon would issue each man in the crew a shot of whiskey. Paul said he and the pilot were the only two crew members who drank, so they each took four shots. Eventually the flight surgeon got wise and stayed to watch them drink their one shot. Those who didn't drink had to give theirs back.

I asked him if he wasn't a little afraid of flying with a drunk pilot. Paul said, "I was afraid to fly with him when he was sober."

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Or something like that . . .

In 1975, while living in San Antonio, I watched as a B-17G, escorted by a pair of P-51Ds,
flew over my house on approach to land at SATX International. The B-17 had
General Ira Eaker on board. He was to make an appearance at some function at Randolph AFB I think.

All the aircraft were provided by the Confederate Air Force in Harlingen, Texas, later to change it's name.

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CSM, U S Army(Ret) 1963-1990

The whine of the supercharger coming from a P-51 on a low pass is a sound that is truly unforgettable. That sound must have struck fear into the heart of many a German soldier during WWII.

How many nations used P-51's? I know about the US, UK, Canada, Australia, South Africa, Switzerland, and Sweden at least had a few that were impounded after forced landings during WW II.

And some tropical American nations had them.

I saw the pic of the A-36 above. The Air Commandos in Burma used them until they got later Mustangs. In that role, I think they served as general use fighters, not as dive bombers. Most air battles were low enough in that theater for the Allison engines to work, as they did on P-40's.

That is true about P-51s south of the border. One of the few/only P-51 vs F4U encounters was between Honduras and El Salvador during the Football War. Close but the Corsair slightly edged out the P-51 but most likely due to pilot skill.

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KM
S&WCA 3110 S&WHF 625

Wonderful story, wonderful man, wonderful plane.
Found another great story on the same topic.
Try googling jimmy stewart, sally connors, vista press.
It left me a bit misty, Kevin