When we were not flying we were gathered around the stage house watching the progress of our classmates and learning how to turn the propellers over in starting the engine without placing ourselves in a position to be struck in case it kicked backwards. To a pilot, the propeller is the most dangerous part of his plane, and is a constant source of worry to him when his ship is on the ground among people who vie with each other in seeing how close they can stand to the whirring blade while the motor is still running. Then there is usually a contest to see who can be first to move it up and down after it stops turning over.
A cadet is usually given about ten hours of dual instruction before he is allowed to solo. The instructor first takes him up and after flying around for a few minutes, allows the student to take hold of the controls to get an approximate idea of the amount and direction of movement necessary for gentle banks and turns. Then the instructor throws his hands up in the air in full view of the student—the signal that he has turned over entire control of the ship. The cadet is given the opportunity suddenly to realize that flying is not a simple operation of pulling the stick back to go up and pushing it forward to come down, but that an instinctive and synchronized movement of all controls is necessary even to keep the machine in level flight.
For a moment after the pilot turns over the controls the plane keeps on a straight course, then the nose begins to lose its normal position on the horizon, a wing dips down, and a blast of air rushes in from one side of the cockpit. Carefully learned instructions are forgotten and the controls serve only to move the earth still farther from its proper position. All this time the instructor’s hands are gripping the top of the cowling. The cadet realizes that it is up to himself in some manner to level the plane out into a normal flying position once more, not realizing for an instant that his instructor can operate the stick nearly as well with his knees as with his hand and that he has probably already saved the plane from falling into a spin several times.
After splashing around the sky in this manner for several minutes the pilot brings his ship back into position and pulling up into a stall with a throttled motor, roars back his instructions at a cadet who is much more absorbed in watching the approaching ground below than in listening to his instructor. When forty-five minutes have passed, the ship is flown back and landed near the stage house where the next cadet, with helmet and goggles adjusted, is waiting for his turn in the air. The first climbs out and takes his place on the bench surrounding the base of the building and the plane is off to repeat the performance over again.
At the end of ten hours, if the cadet is not capable of soloing he is in grave danger of being washed out as a flyer. However, if the instructor believes that a little more time will be sufficient and that the student has shown signs of eventually becoming a military pilot, the dual instruction may be continued for three or four more hours.
At Brooks when an instructor came to the conclusion that one of his students would never master the art of flying quickly enough to keep up with the standard of the class, he turned the cadet over for a check hop with the stage commander who was always a pilot of long experience. Few cadets ever passed this check; if the stage commander believed that any cadet had been misjudged, however, he had authority to place him back on flying status for further instruction. If the commander concurred with the decision of the instructor, he recommended the cadet for a final check on headquarters stage with the chief check pilot. The decision of this officer was final and to be returned to flying after a flight with him was an occurrence seldom recorded in cadet history. After failing his final check flight a cadet was ordered to appear before a board of officers known as the “Benzine Board.” If he was reporting for misconduct or academic deficiency there was still some slight hope of beating the board, but if it was for inability to fly, the decision of “washout” was a foregone conclusion.
The washing out for our class commenced in earnest with the approach of solo flights and the returns from our examinations. I was fortunate enough to have passed them and my previous flying experience kept me from worrying on any other account during the first part of our training.
There was no disgrace in washing out. It simply meant in the majority of cases, that the cadet was not especially adapted to flying and he was sent back to his point of enlistment with an honorable discharge and the advice to take up some other form of occupation.
Our first “Benzine Board” met about a month after the start of school and reconvened more or less regularly from that time until we were ready to be graduated from the primary school and transferred to Kelly for instructions on service types of planes.
With the washing
