reid/write

this is an essay my grandfather wrote in 2005, to provide notes for a man who wrote a book about the u-2. while my grandfather is still alive, he has severe dementia and no longer knows who i am when i visit. i carry a profoundly deep regret that i didn’t ask my grandfather more about this subject when he was still capable of telling me.

[E. – James Black passed in July 2020.]

Enclosed are some of the things “different” about the U-2. And it wasn’t all that strange – it just had more lift, more power, less maneuverability and more, more endurance than anything I was familiar with. It was a good, straight-forward airplane with a number of limitations, that, if ignored, would kill you. And as Cris Pocock writes about, the older -37 engines, which we flew in the initial training era, would flame-out for no apparent reason other than the engines tolerances were less than that demanded at high altitude. Sometimes you might go several weeks without a flame-out and then have a couple on one flight. Thank goodness, I never had one on a night flight. I’ll write more about night flights later, but I got through the training (check-out) program in a smooth manner.

More to follow as I recall various tid-bits.

Sincerely, James Black

In order to get into the U-2 program (in the Air Force) in 1957, it was necessary to be fitted in a partial-pressure suit and sit in a pressure chamber at 65,000 feet, simulated altitude for four hours.

Upon returning to Moses Lake (Larson AFB) from Squadron Official School, I went to the David Clark Company at Providence. There, they measured for a pressure suit, torso, limbs, neck, etc. About two and one-half weeks later went back to Providence, picked up the suit, to go to Gunter AFB for the chamber-run.

To wear the suit, you first don long-handle underwear. For the inside of the suit is a rubber bladder from the groin to the neck. And twenty or so minutes after being in the suit, you have soaked the underwear with prespiration. After being “suited-up,” you pre-breathe 100% oxygen for thirty minutes to purge most of the nitrogen from your system and reduce the chance of getting the “bends” (nitrogen bubbles near nerves in joints or previous injuries) that cause pain. At Gunter they had a large chamber. The main portion for the subject and an adjacent portion for a medic, who wore a regular flying helmet. That smaller chamber only went to 25,000 or so. In the event of an emergency the big one could be dropped immediately to the level (25) and assistance rendered as the both of them were brought to ground level.

Let me look up a bit. Prior to the suiting-up, EKG leads were placed on the subject’s chest at the appropriate places and the lead connected to a monitor at the outside control panel. And a flight-surgeon was in attendance, outside, at the control panel, during the run.

The group in charge was kind enough to provide a TV (small) in the adjacent chamber, with audio on the intercom, which was a help in passing the “side-time” of four hours.

When the pressure suit (and helmet) was issued at David Clark, it was explained that it was SECRET and was to be handled as such while in transit. They made a neat, zippered bag that when the suit and hat were folded just-so it conformed to airline (commercial) hand carried item and was small enough to fit under an airline seat.

Now, for the pilot check-out routine. Part of the criteria for USAF having picked Laughlin AFB was two parallel runways. Another item, that it was off-airways and only a limited amount of non-military air traffic. As has been said, when there is an elephant in the living-room, you tend to ignore it.

The uninitiated went through the U-2 aircraft ground-school. Then, as the check-outs began we spent time with an IP (instructor pilot) going through the procedures to be used. The aircraft would hold 1335 gallons of LF-1A fuel – similar to JP-4 but less volatile. However, training flights and local-area pilot proficiency flights were limited to 2:00 hours, so the aircraft was fueled to only 635 gallons. That’s enough for the flight (and Amarillo as an alternate) but should it appear that thunderstorms or bad weather was moving in, local flights were called in. The maximum altitude, usually, was 25,000 so the pressure suit was not necessary, just a flight suit and hard hat.

We had two new Ford station wagons with a UHF radio that were used by the IP as mobile control. For launch, maintenance parked the U-2 on a cross-runway, adjacent to the action, and the mobile officer had a headset to plug into the intercom to read the start and pre-takeoff checklist. Then the canopy was closed. On training flights, only, the outrigger gear-pogos were locked in place. After the start, taxi into the takeoff position, and come to a complete stop for a last minute check of the cockpit. Then, slowly advance the throttle to 85%. The broker and the two little cessna main-gear wheels would not hold beyond 85%. Oh yes, the cockpit: the throttle was the same as in most jet fighters except it had a wheel also, used as a vernier[?] to make minute throttle corrections at altitude. Instead of a stick (control stick) there was a yoke, for the controls were not boosted by hydraulics and there was no need to make more than a 20 degree bank anyway. So, it saved weight, kept it simple, and provided adequate leverage in gusty [wind] and for lateral control.

On my initial flight I made what could have been a horrific mistake. After releasing the brakes and slowly accelerating mobile reminded me, “control column full forward” and the tail lifted nicely and as it approached flying speed, 75 knots or so, I hauled back on the yoke and it began to fly, BUT, I had overcompensated and it felt like it was in a stall, so I pushed in, almost, full throttle. Mobile had keyed the mike when he saw me pull back on the yoke but he never said anything for I beat him to the draw. A few seconds later, after regaining my wits, I easted the throttle back to 85% and continued the climb to 25M.

The most difficult part of flying the U-2 was to make a good landing. It was a tail-dragger and in order to make a decent landing, you had to come across the threshold at three to five feet and ten knots above the stall speed. And the threshold speed was based on the amount of fuel on board. The aircraft attitude at the threshold had the tail higher than when parked. The residual (idle) RPM was 65% and during the check-outs, only 15% of flaps were used. The trick was to fly down the runway, holding the main wheel one-to-three feet off the runway, while the airspeed dissipated and the attitude of the aircraft rotated from that slightly-tail-high to the parked attitude, without letting the main gear touch the runway. For if the main gear touched too early, you got a bounce and that was a go-around. The same thing is true in a J-3 (40 HP) cub. In other words, you do not make “wheels” landings – placing the main gear on the ground first. It is said, that you can never recover from a bounce. For you will always be 180 degrees out of synchronization. Years later, as a reconnaissance staff officer at the 15th AF Headquarters, March AFB, Calif., I worked for a lieutenant colonel who had been in the RB-47 program at Farber AFB, Kansas for many years and the RB-47 was also a “tail-dragger” and the same was true about it and the bounce. (But it didn’t have a high-aspect wing, such as used on gliders, and the -47 had six engines, so when all six were in idle it settled down very smoothly.)

Upon completing the initial check-out phase of training – low-level flights – the next step was high altitude, long range. And the range could be as long as eight and one-half hours. But training flights generally ran six and one-half to seven. This left an ample reserve of more than one hour for an alternate airport, if necessay.

The routing began at PSD (physiological support division) arrival at least 2:45 prior to take-off time. You would get a cursory blood pressure check and then breakfast, consisting of high protein diet – a small fillet steak and two eggs, followed in my preference, by half a cup of coffee.

Next, came suit-up time. Some people went on “the hose” (100% oxygen) using only the hat and then donned the partial-pressure suit an hour or so later. For it was necessary to pre-breath 100% oxygen for two hours in order to purge the nitrogen in the body, thus preventing the bends. My preference was to suit-up completely. For, as I mentioned previously, the bladder in the suit and the pressure of the oxygen “helped” you to breathe.

Organization: in addition to the pilots in the squadron, there was eight to ten navigators. They helped plan the flight, for it took a day to put it together. The photo-run portion of the flight was drawn on “surface” charts. I don’t remember the seals but they are charts with the greatest detail of surface features, cities, towns, rail roads, creeks, rivers, waterways, etc. For the driftsight in the aircraft drew out all that detail. (You could see cars, trucks, ships, whatever.) These would be 400 to 600 miles of targets (tracks over “items of interest”) for the photo portion. The navigator would assist in putting that together. Then the navigator would precompute the azimuth and elevation to be used for “shooting the celestial body” – daytime the sun and night, stars.)

A typical flight may consist of going from Del Rio to somewhere in Kansas to a particular radio beacon (low frequency.) Depart that beacon westbound at a specific time. Then every fifteen minutes or so, shoot the sun, with the sextant and after several shots you would have a line-of-position that would show if you were on track or not. The navigational leg may run to Sacramento.

Then came the part that was fun (for me.) Then depart Stockton and fly down the San Joaquin valley, US-90 and the railroad, to end at Bakersfield., Then to Casa Grande and fly the road to Tucson., Then on to El Paso and Fort Stockton. The true airspeed at altitude is generally 410K. And it takes about 250 nautical miles to descend to the destination. When it is time to descend, lower the landing gear and extend the speed-brakes and, using the vernier on the throttle, slowly begin retarding the throttle. For if you reached over and pulled the throttle back to idle, more than likely, the engine would flameout. For, at 63,000 feet, 96% of the atmosphere is below you.

We flew the San Joaquin valley quite often for it is generally cloud-free. During my six years of flying the U-2, I had one flight into the southeast (Carolinas), on an occasion where a big high-pressure area had taken over and it was cloud-free.

The training course included night celestial. One of the flights I had, I was the last take-off of two or three. We had takeoff intervals of either :30 minutes or :45. As you traveled you would check-in with the appropriate ARTC (Air Route Traffic Control center,) and as the flight progressed, you would be hands-off[?] to the next center. We navigated, principally, by dead-reckoning, time and distance. Above 45,000 there is little or no winds to contend with (generally.) Quite often the wind is easterly and five or ten knots, or so. On this particular night we were to go to Sacramento, turn eastbound and use the sextant to mid-Kansas. I had been flying the airplane for a couple of months and the pucker-factor had eased to a tolerable level. I could hear the pilot immediately ahead of me as he checked out each center area. And when he told Ft Worth Center he was ready to “start down” (descend), it suddenly dawned on me that – unless there was an agency pilot flying somewhere else in the world, I was the highest human on the planet! And the pucker quotient went back to almost the level that I had on my first high-long flight.

In 1953-1955 I was stationed in Korea (4 months) and Japan (16 months). We flew RF-80s and RF-86s. And on one occasion, in an RF-86, near the end of a long mission and having jettisoned the external fuel tanks, I got to 50,800 feet. So later after getting into the U-2 program, I was looking forward to getting above 60,000 feet to see just how dark the sky overhead looked. For that short time above 50, I was so hyped up on adrenaline that I failed to pay attention to that detail. And the answer is a deep, dark blue. To me it isn’t quite black, but directly overhead it is fairly dark. I have flown the U-2 out of Fairbanks sampling air. And the routine was to go to the northernmost radio beacon, Point Barrow. It is a small eskimo village on the north coast. The mission was to fly north from the beacon for :30 minutes, do a 180, and on for 5:45. And, to me, the sky overhead is a shade darker than it is in Texas – at altitude.

On a long flight – anywhere – the routine was to fly as high as the aircraft would go within certain limitations: the prime instrument for maximum thrust was to set the throttle at 610 degrees F, maximum airspeed 160K indicated. On the page, copy of the checklist, the right hand side, about half-way down is a speed schedule for aircraft with the -37 engine and the -31 engine. The code for the bare altitude, zero in for 50,000 feet. So, you flew the aircraft from take-off to 50M at 160 knots indicated air speed, at 55M, 155 knots; at 60M, 135 knots indicated air speed, and so forth. From there you reduced the indicated by 2.5K for every one-thousand feet. Now the [illegible] best friend was a friendly autopilot. And we had some very good autopilot mechanics (or technicians). For without a “friendly” autopilot, it was a bad day at the office. The envelopes, at altitude, between the mach limit and stall was so small or narrow that it was a serious situation if the AP didn’t work. On training flights you would ease down to 45M and return to Laughlin if the AP was out! That was a rare occurrence, though. Another no-go problem was caused by a hung-pogo. That is, on the take-off if one of the out-rigger gears failed to release, or drop as you lifted off, you were destined to fly over the descent at low altitude with the gear (landing) down and the speed broken out, burn off fuel to blow 650 gallons remaining on-board and land. All of the preparation, flight planning, etc, shot. And that took over four hours, at low altitude to get rid of that fuel.

Back to the autopilot: it was a wonderful mechanism. For, ordinarily, shortly after takeoff you could engage it and it worked like a charm. And as you reached altitude, 55 to 60M, engage the “mach-hold” and it would stay the proper indicated air speed until you passed 55M, or so, on the descent. And it was generally my pleasure to thank the crew-chief after a flight for his airplane and his autopilot performing like they were supposed to perform.

The autopilot in the U-2 is the only one that I used in the Air Force. For there was no AP in the T-33, Rf-80, RF-86, or RF-84. I guess you may say I became spoiled to some degree. And I enjoyed flying the U-2. It was somewhat of a challenge, initially. But, I came to love it and respect its quirks and limitations for a total of 1,040 hours worth.

Skeet, if you have any questions, let me know.

Sincerely, Jimmy Black

(addendum to the U-2 experience)

I don’t remember the exact time this took place, probably sometime in 1959. One of the operation officers picked six line pilots, Captain Roger Cooper and five first lieutenants to take three T-33 on the following Monday to go to the Kingsville NAS. And he gave us a contact there that would meet us. It turned out, it was to see if Air Force pilots could learn to use “the minnow”, such as used on an aircraft carrier. Our contact was a Navy lieutenant who had experience as a landing-signal officer.

In a classroom type setting he explained how the minnow was used – it gives a visual glide-path to the touchdown point on the deck of a carrier. As we went through the details of the approach we found a conflict in Air Force regulations on the final approach air speed and the speed we needed to fly the T-33 on the approach. So, Roger got on the horn to Laughlin so they could go up the chain and get a waiver on the approach speed and two other items of conflict (which I don’t remember). The next day we were flown out to a training carrier in the Gulf. (I think was the Keasange, but I’m not sure. After it was returned, it was made a “museum” in New York.) We watched students from Kingsville make the approach, touch-and-go, full-stop, the whole routine. We had a nice lunch onboard and in the middle of the afternoon, the “COD” flew out to pick us up to return to Kingsville. Then for the remainder of that week and three or four days the following week we practiced using the minnow at an outflying-landing-field (OLF) near Kingsville. Of course, the T-33 has no hook. So these were not full-stop, arrested landings. But we were able to get the hang of it fairly well. The navy aircraft has an instrument on board, angle-of-attack indicator, which gives you the proper “speed” to hold on final for it compensates for the remaining fuel on board, to provide a safe flying speed above the stall, for the approach. We made up our own, for the T-33, a chart for fuel-on-board = indicated air speed.

At the conclusion, the second week, we all contributed to a paper, concluding that the Air Force pilots could use the minnow.

Several years later, it seeped out that Lockheed put a hook on a U-2. The French were preparing to shoot some bombs in the southeast Pacific, out of range of U-2 observation. The agency had a couple of their troops trained to use the minnow – and they flew that U-2 off (and back on) a carrier. I believe Pocock has a paragraph or two about it (carrier-U-2 operations).

(more about being at Laughlin)

This is about the time some of the squadron pilots had a beer with John Wayne.

Twenty-five or so miles east of Laughlin, going toward San Antonio, is a village, Brackettville. In the old days the army had a small installation there, Fort Clark, a cavalry post. Most of the desert in Kinney County was owned by (I can’t remember his name). He had a lot of money and was reputed to have spent a good deal of time in Hollywood. Anyway, he made a deal with John Wayne to build a “village” movie-set near Brackettville so Wayne could shoot the outside scenes of “The Alamo” there. The Laughlin base commander was acquainted with the Ranch owner, so the base commander set it up for Wayne and his group to visit Laughlin. They had lunch at the enlisted club, a visit to psyicological support to see a person in the partial-pressure suit, and the flight line to see the RB-57, U-2, C-123, etc. It was a hot summer day. Their last stop was to be our squadron building, on the flight line. We had a small refrigerator that some of our troops “liberated” from The Ranch in Nevada when they moved to Laughlin. When a new pilot checked-out in the U-2 (first flight) he was expected to treat all to a beer. So, we kept two cases of Folstaff on hand, cold. When there was no check-out, we dropped a quarter in the slot of the bar and had a cool one before heading in, in the afternoon.

The squadron commander prepped those of us that were going to be there, so that when he opened the door for him and Wayne to enter the lounge area, “start popping the caps!” As they were walking through the building the CO was telling Wayne about our air-sampling in various places, Plattsburg NY, Ramey PR, Buenos Aires, East Dale, Australia, Guam, Fairbanks, etc. As they came into the lounge, we were ready. [illegible] Pat and Mike were with him. After a few minutes, Wayne told one of his sons to “go to the car and tell ole Grant to come in I think we’ve from some friends.” Grant was a middle-aged, pasty-faced writer who didn’t care for the temperature on the lfight line. When the group were on the flight line it was set up with handstands (steps) so they could look into the cockpits of the ‘57 and the U-2. But Grant had decided the AC in the sedan was more comfortable and quit getting out.

And John Wayne’s last remark to us was not to make contrails in Kinney County for he was using a wide-angle lens that “picked up everything, outside.”

He was very gracious and personable. And considerably different from James Stewart. For three or four months later they did the same thing for Stewart. They used the “village” set at Brackettville for “Two Rode Together.” They invited Stewart to visit on a Sunday morning. There were only six or eight pilots in the lounge when he came through (and coffee instead of beer). And Gen Stewart had the personality of a floor tile. As the squadron commander told him what we had been doing, Stewart’s best was a couple of grunts. And he left after a visit of just a few minutes.

As the spring of 1944 took over, it became time to get serious about thinking about a college application. During a school break in March I visited Tommy Ferguson, at Clemson, during a weekend. With the war going on, enrollment was low, about 600 or so, as compared to a pre-war enrollment of 3,200. That was The Decision, apply at Clemson.

High school graduation took place at York on Friday, June 2nd. And on Monday June 5th, I caught the train in York, changed in Blacksburg, to the main line, and went to Clemson. I was accompanied by fellow classmate, Rudolf Pursley. After departing the station at Calhoun, we walked to the Clemson campus and we went to the “little gym” to matriculate.

The point of entering summer school was to attend the two sessions prior to the fall semester (September) and get another semester completed before February. For, with an April birthday, in York County, usually three weeks after turning eighteen, you would be on a bus to Fort Jackson and the US Army (infantry).. And I didn’t care for the prospects of becoming an infantryman.

In mid April, ‘45, I went to the Navy recruiting office in Rock Hill. They sent me by bus to Columbia to take the aptitude test to join the US Navy. After completing the paperwork for enlistment, the recruiter asked if I was interested in naval flight school. With a big, yes, for an answer, he made arrangements for me to go to Atlanta for the tests. A week later I went by train to Atlanta, took the test, and returned to York. Several weeks later I was given orders to go by bus to Emery & Henry College near Bristol, Virginia. There was a small Navy training detachement (academic) there. The Navy doesn’t send flight students to flying training until they have completed two years, four semesters, of college. But, someone made an error. Forty people arrived at Emery, VA and the college could only accomodate twenty. So, twenty of us went by train to Roanoke, Cincinatti, and Chicago to Winona Minnesota. We went to a small Catholic school that was run by the Christian Brothers. That took place the first week of July, 1945.

There was a small civilian airport located near the school. Since I was now making fifty dollars a month I thought I should really find out if I could learn to fly. When the weather was nice, I started taking flying lessons (on my own) in a J-3 Cub, 40HP, off a grass strip. And I learned to fly there. The operator also had an Aeronca Champ, but my preference was the Cub, for you really had to pay attention to make a good landing. It is my opinion, the Champ would almost land itself if you pointed it to the runway and pulled off the power (not quite, but almost).

V-J day came in the middle of August and the Navy was kind enough to let us finish the term before sending me to Great Lakes for reassignment.

After Christmas I boarded a twenty-car troop train en route to Camp Shoemaker, California. From there, reassigned to a sea-going tug (165 feet long) that usually tied up at Treasure Island, adjacent to Yerba Buena Island, between SF and Oakland. I was on ATR-82 seven months before getting enough “points” of service to be discharged in August ‘45.

I was able to get home and return to Clemson in September. And I think they were 3,300 students that fall. That was a big change from June of ‘44.

After graduation, I worked for a family-owned textile mill hardware company in Clinton, SC. The Korean War started in June and there was a good deal of talk about mobilization and all. Sometime before the end of the year (1950), I visited the Air Force Recruiting office in Columbia. I really hadn’t made my mind up about taking that step, at that time. Several months later I went back and we initiated the paperwork. In the meantime, the nut and bolt business was flourishing to the point that I was taken off the road and was working in the warehouse. That lasted several months until the tempo returned to a more normal pace. In the meantime, I hadn’t heard anything from the USAF. I revisited the station in Columbia and we wound up re-submitting the paperwork. This time it “took.”

I was designated to go to Bainbridge, GA and enter flying school class 53-B on an early date in February 1952. That commenced with a month of preflight and six months training in the T-6. After that, I went to Lorado for three months in the T-28 and three months in the T-33. Several months before graduation, the flight instructor asked what my preference was for advance flying training. I didn’t have a ready answer, so he suggested reconnaissance. He said if I went to fighters I could expect to spend four or five months as “blue-four” (tail-end charlie). He recommended me for recon training, so, upon commissioning I went to Moody for six weeks of additional instrument training. Then to Shaw for three and on-half months photo reconnaissance training. Shortly after getting to Shaw, the Korean War ended but my orders from Laredo designated me to go to Korea (with the intermediate stops for training). And base personnel at Shaw confirmed, the orders stood as written.

As it turned out, I went to K-14 (Kimpo AB) Korea. Four months later we got 24 new RF-86’s, and the squadron moved to Nagoya, Japan and we flew out of Komake AB, adjacent to the city. My time in the Far East was 20 months.

We later learned the reason for our getting the RF-86’s. This was 1954 and two years prior to the CIA getting the U-2. So we flew photo-reconnaissance flights from Japan, Korea and Okinawa over the Russian-held islands north of Japan, North Korea and China. This activity was very closely held, even within the squadron. One, two and three people would fly away, be gone for a couple of days, then return with no remarks or comments. Maybe a big grin.

My participation consisted of flying to Kadena AB, Okinawa. There were three of us, led by Rudolf Anderson, Jr. We were met by a Lieutenant Colonel from 5th AF Hqts, Tokto who had the details of the mission, photography of three targets (cities) in China and the designated route of flight. We did some hasty flight planning and we were on our way. These aircraft had small amounts of metal restriction, maybe 3/16th of an inch thick added to the inside of the exhaust, at the tail, so that there was just enough resistance to the flow of exhaust that you could keep the temperature up to a specified limit to the maximum flight altitude attainable. And we left with the usual two-120 gallon drop tanks plus two-200 gallon drop tanks. We used the fuel from the 200 gallon tanks first, then punched them off, continued the climb to the mid 40,000 foot area and proceeded to cruise climb. We “coasted-in”, went to target #1, turn, then target #2, a 130 degree turn then the final city, Shanghai. I was on the right wing, line abreast, about 1500 to 1700 feet from Rudy and I saw him punch off his remaining 120 tanks. He had not briefed us of this, so I punched off mine. This was just as we were “coasting-out” at Shanghai. Holding the same indicated “mach” (airspeed), the aircraft responded by climbing. And we were just short of 50,000 feet altitude.

We did not encounter any other aircraft and we made no contrails. We returned safely to Kadena. The representative took our cursory debriefing that all went well and disappeared to call 5th Hqts. When he returned, he said we were to take the film (still unloaded) to Yokota AB, Japan. At Yokota we were met by a representative from 5th AF Hq, where we were escorted to the commanders office, Lt Gen Earle Partridge. Rudy gave short summary of the mission. Gen Partridge thanked us and we were dismissed. I learned three years ago at a symposium on reconnaissance flights during this period, that each mission was at the express permission of President Eisenhower. This, from Gen Andrew Goodpaster, who was Eisenhower’s Chief of Staff in WWII in Europe and while in office as president. General Goodpaster said something to the effect that, “there wasn’t going to be a ‘Pearl Harbor’ while he was in charge.” And I learned similar operations were conducted in Europe at the same time. The Air Force overflights ended in late ‘55 or early ‘56, whe n the CIA got their U-2’s,. Needless to say, this was pretty heady stuff for a new first lieutenant. The remarkable part is that only the participants knew about the details for there was no conversation or ‘pilot-talk’ about what was going on. Just an occasional grin. And to my knowledge, no incidents or failures!

During the course of my military time, I received the Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC), the Air Medal and one Oak Leaf Cluster and the Bronze Star.

After flying the U-2 as a combat crewman 4 1/2 years, I became the wing flight scheduling officer. In June, 1963, the 4080th Strategic Reconnaissance Wing moved from Del Rio to Tucson. I was the last person in the office the final week or so. My boss told me I could sign-out and go to Davis-Monthaw, “when the last U-2 was airborne.” Three or four days before that, he called one morning and said that 15th AF Hq at March AFB was looking for a U-2 type staff officer and he wanted to know if I was interested. My answer was YES! He told me to stop at Davis Monthaw and they would change my PCS orders to March AFB, and “do not sign-in at D-M!” So, I went to 15th, three years later I went to CINCPAC, at Camp HM Smith, Honolulu. I was there three years. After that I went to Shaw for 1 1/2 years. Then to Viet Nam for a year. Then back to Shaw.

I stayed at Shaw until I got a job flying for a textile company at Raleigh. So we moved to Cary. And we’ve been here 30 1/2 years.

If you have any questions or request amplification on any points, let me know.

Sincerely, Jimmy Black

pictured in shadow behind john wayne, center