By Philip Handleman with Lt. Col. Harry T. Stewart Jr.
Regnery Publishing, 2019. 264 pages. $29.99.
The odyssey of Tuskegee airman Harry T. Stewart Jr. is one
that should be known. His travails, starting in early childhood, and his
perseverance to achieve goals put out of his reach by racism, make his story a
near epic.
Then Lt. Harry T. Stewart Jr. of the 332nd Fighter Group in Italy, 1945. Harry Stewart Jr.
While Philip Handleman does relate that story—often in a
very heavy-handed preaching manner—it belies the book’s title. Barely 20
percent of the book concerns World War II, and even less is about Colonel
Stewart’s participation. Perhaps as much as half the book is not focused on the
colonel or the war at all.
Frankly, based on the title, I was expecting Barrett Tillman. It didn’t take long to realize that Handleman is no Barrett Tillman. Colonel Stewart was credited with shooting down three German aircraft on just one mission. That is indeed an interesting story, but where are the reports of missions before and after? There is little history here of Colonel Stewart during this significant period of the book title’s topic.
Then Lt. Stewart, in the cockpit of his P-51D Mustang Little Coquette, posed along with his crew chief, Jim Shipley, the day after he shot down three Luftwaffe Fw 190Ds on 1 April 1945. U.S. Air Force
The author, obviously, knows aviation, but all too often there are digressions that are far afield from his subject matter. For instance, a side trip of two pages about Alexander de Seversky, Tsar Nicholas II, the P-35, and Alexander Kartveli, is a distraction from his theme. It is an education for the unknowing, but it is minutiae that adds little to the work. It is peripheral detail only required of someone learning about aviation for the first time. Based on the title of the book, that is not the target audience.
Overall, this book reads like a primer for a study of racism in aviation. At that, it is good. The author provides significant background information about important, although virtually unrecognized aviators of color, which is very informative. And it does provide a structure to Colonel Stewart’s story. But at times, it seems to be a reach too far to make links that most likely aren’t there.
The book is a quick, easy read. But it is not for someone
expecting to read about the Tuskegee airmen in World War II. In that, it is a
disappointment because it does not deliver on the promise of its title. That
said, the book has significant merit in delineating the history—at least in
part—of black aviators in the 20th century.
I wrote this for The Richmond News Leader on the 20th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing.
THE RICHMOND NEWS
LEADER
Copyright (c)
1989, Richmond Times-Dispatch
FIRST MAN ON MOON?
PHOTO PROOF SLIM
Why is there no photograph taken on the
moon of the first man to walk on the moon?
The accompanying photograph is probably
the best known from the historic landing which took place 20 years ago
today. Although many assume it to
be of Neil Armstrong, it in fact shows the second man on the moon, Edwin E.
“Buzz” Aldrin Jr.
Portrait of Buzz Aldrin by photographer Neil Armstrong.
It also happens to be the best photograph
the world has of the first man on the moon’s surface. The thin white image in the very center of Aldrin’s
faceplate is the photographer, Neil Armstrong. We almost have better images of Columbus in the New World.
Photographer Neil Armstrong visible in Aldrin’s faceplate. One of the best images extant of the first man on the moon actually on the moon.
Of the Apollo 11 mission’s 1,340 still
photographs, the only other images of Armstrong on the moon are similar
reflections.
NASA and the astronauts became aware of this historic oversight only after their return to earth. It appears that since Armstrong was first out of Eagle, the lunar module, he took the camera with him.
The astronauts aboard Apollo 11 went to
the moon with a well-stocked still photo inventory which consisted of three
Hasselblad 500ELs. Two were
virtually identical to earthbound ELs.
The modifications for space included very little more than stripping the
black bodies of their leather coverings and providing oversize controls for
gloved hands.
The third EL was significantly modified
to become the 500EL Data Camera. This is the so-called Moon Camera.
The Hasselblad 500EL Data Camera.
It differs from the others by the
addition of a Reseau plate – a specially engraved and calibrated glass sheet —
at the film plane. Photographs taken with this camera are readily identified by
the very fine cross hairs on the image. These marks helped in making topographical calculations.
The engraved markings of the Reseau plate are seen as crosses in the highlights of the sun.
The silver-finished DC was fitted with a
specially made distortion-free 60mm f/5.6 Zeiss Biogon lens. The lens carried an easily detached and
operated polarizing filter.
Each of the other ELs had its own
minimally modified 80mm f/2.8 Zeiss Planar normal lenses. A 250mm f/5.6 Zeiss Sonnar was the only
other lens carried.
Each camera had a complement of three
film magazines, one of which could accommodate either 160 color exposures or
200 black-and-white frames. The
Kodak films were thin-base/thin emulsion 70mm-wide with double perforations.
One of the standard ELs, its 80mm lens, the 250mm lens and its three magazines stayed aboard the command module Columbia for use by its pilot, Michael Collins, as he continued to orbit the moon.
The only one of the three cameras returned to Earth was the one used in the command module by Mike Collins. It is in the National Air and Space Museum collection.
The rest of the still camera equipment was put aboard Eagle for the trip to the moon’s surface.
Very shortly after taking the “one
giant leap for mankind” and several smaller ones for himself to see if he
would sink into the surface, Armstrong had Aldrin lower the camera to him.
“I’ll step out and take some of my first pictures here,” Armstrong said after moving away from Eagle. The controller in Houston broke in to remind him to pick up the extremely important contingency sample of lunar rocks. If the moon men had to terminate their stay abruptly, they could still return home with a piece of the cheese.
Armstrong, however, despite the years of training and the line-by-line, step-by-step scenario of the voyage, put first things first and told Houston to wait. “Rog. I’m going to get to that just as soon as I finish these picture series.”
Which would you rather have from your
once-in-a-lifetime trip, a handful of rocks or some pictures?
Studio photograph of 70mm Hasselblad camera used during Apollo 11 along with film magazines used during Neil Armstrong’s lunar walk.
Fifteen minutes later, Aldrin joined him on the surface. His exit from Eagle and first steps were documented by Armstrong, but they weren’t the first steps on the moon.
A major event was the planting of the
American flag which proved more difficult than anyone had expected. After it was precariously erected,
Armstrong shot a portrait of Aldrin saluting it.
Buzz Aldrin salutes the flag just before the president called…
Just as the two astronauts were about to
change places and Armstrong give the camera over to Aldrin for his portrait,
then-President Richard M. Nixon phoned from extremely long-distance. Aldrin claims he was forgotten during
the ensuing conversation between Armstrong and the president. Apparently, so was the photograph.
After more than two hours on the moon’s surface, the astronauts reboarded Eagle to rest and clean house before launching themselves up to the waiting Columbia. When done with their cleaning, they put out the first of what became six piles of lunar trash left by moon-walking astronauts.
Included in that trash were the two
Hasselblads. The magazines with
their historic images were returned to earth.
I hope it is not too long before mankind
regains what it had for an extraordinary period two decades ago. I’d like to see some of that
“trash” in the Smithsonian.
But none of us will ever see the picture
not taken.
From Kettering’s 1920s’ Bug & 1950’s Snark to Today’s Tomahawk
By Bill Yenne
Specialty Press, 2018. 203 pages. $34.95.
Unmanned aircraft are, in general, of little interest for
me. It is the man—and now, woman—in the cockpit that brings an aircraft
literally to life. The story of aviation is more about people than equipment,
so I approached Bill Yenne’s work with a bit of a chip.
I was wrong.
This book is a very worthy addition to anyone’s aviation
book collection. It is a very solid basis from which to understand unmanned
aerial vehicles. And Yenne does put the humanity in these pilotless craft.
The first chapter, “From Bug to Buzz Bomb,” covers the
subject from the earliest days of aviation through the end of World War II.
This chapter is packed with information, but had me wanting more, especially
about the earliest years. Subsequent chapters, however, flesh out the many
early projects from the Matador and Mace, through the two versions of the
Regulus, Navaho, Snark, Rascal, and Hound Dog. Most of these garner little
comment and many details of inception, production, and deployment are generally
unknown to the general reader. Yenne changes all that.
One leaves this book with the sense that they have a firm
foundation in the history and evolution of pilotless aviation.
For one, I had always been impressed by the XSM-64 Navaho. As a 12-year-old in the ’50s, I simply thought it was neat and never could figure out why it never went anywhere. Yenne dedicates eight full pages to the subject, including a dozen photographs—most in color—and three sets of illustrations and drawings.
The SM-62 Snark was another favorite. How could anyone not
love a bright red missile with white markings? Especially if you could get one
for 98 cents at your local hobby shop. Yenne gives it 11 pages, eight
photographs—but none showing the red versions in color—and six drawing sets and
a map.
Both sections significantly added to the knowledge base and
clearly explained each missile’s significance.
Just a few missiles, the modern ones—primarily the Air
Force’s air- and ground-launched cruise missiles (ALCM and GLCM) and the Navy’s
Tomahawk—consume half the book. Their tales are as much a study of military
weapons procurement as they are about the design, engineering, production, and
use of the missiles. Yenne successfully navigates the minefield of political
and military intrigue that appears to surround every weapon purchase.
Everything is put in perspective.
Yenne’s prose and presentation of the subject matter is very
easy on the reader. Comprehension of even the most complex issues is easy. And, of course, in what appears to a
standard for the Specialty Press, the book is printed on thick, high-gloss
stock, which reproduces photographs almost perfectly. Few spreads are lacking
for imagery. Photographs and informative illustrations and charts are placed
where needed to buttress points made in the text.
All in all, this book is worthy of being read and adding to
your collection.
Boeing B-47 Stratojet: Strategic Air Command’s Transitional Bomber
By C. Mike Habermehl and Robert S. Hopkins III
Specialty Press, 2018. 320 pages. $44.95.
The Stratojet was every 1950s kid’s ideal of U.S. aviation might. It was big. Six jets hanging out there on the wings for all to see. It was fast. It even looked like it was going 600 mph when it was just sitting on the ramp. When discussing “clean” aircraft, the B-47 is among the first mentioned.
It was among the first designs released by Revell in 1954 once that company began producing plastic models from their own molds in 1953. It was re-released in 2006. Yes, the big jet caught the public’s attention. And the Soviets’ as well.
There are nearly a dozen significant books about the B-47, most published since the type went out of service. Thus, they should be very informative about even some of the most classified aspects of the bomber’s operations. Habermehl and Hopkins have very obviously capitalized on this and produced the most recent and perhaps the best on the topic.
This is an impressive work. It easily replaces—replaces—at least five books on my
shelves. Few books can make that claim.
One gets that sense that the narrative is an airframe-by-airframe,
minute-by-minute account of the B-47’s history. It is, however, only a sense. The
prose never has the staccato recitation of aircraft and dates. The hardcore
airplane junkie readily finds that information in the expansive 66 pages of
appendices.
It is the authors’ attention to detail—significant detail—and their logical presentation that yields the sense, but not the reality of information overload. Despite six decades of following aviation, I found many revelations in their work, a number of them surprising. For instance, the Air Force’s FICON (Fighter Conveyor) wingtip-tow project is well known. But the authors, in a section called “Drawing Board Disasters,” discuss not only a B-47/dual F-86 combination, but also a B-36/dual B-47 concept. Surprising as it is, they note that aerodynamic studies supported the feasibility of both projects. But these never got off the drawing board.
The physical presentation of the material is in a word
“fantastic.” All books should be printed with this quality. The paper is thick,
glossy stock, which reproduces the well-exposed and processed photographs as
close to their original state as possible. Of course some images could or
should be larger, but in the interest of more being better (more images, more
information), they are reproduced large enough for the detail to be seen.
Excellent informative graphics and charts are strategically placed throughout
the book, further enhancing the narrative.
In this day of paying $50 for specialty books being the norm,
this is an unequivocal no-brainer. If you want to know everything about the
B-47, if you are interested in the early days of jet-propelled bombers or the
Strategic Air Command or simply the evolution of an aircraft, this book not
only belongs on your shelf, it must be read and re-read.
