Kinder Berlin und Onkel Wachelflugel – How one man's dedication brightened children's lives in post-war Berlin

 
At the end of a war the spoils belong to the victor. In the case of World War Two in Europe the spoils (read Germany) were shared in 1945 among four victors…the United States, the United Kingdom, France and Russia. Berlin (white circle on the map), was located 100 miles inside Soviet-controlled eastern Germany and was further divided into four occupation zones; the U.S., Great Britain and France controlled western portions of the city and the Soviets ruled the eastern sector.
 
 
The Problem and the Solution

True to his obstreperous personality Russian Premier Joseph Stalin intended to place all of Germany under Soviet control. He planned to undermine the British position and expected the United States would withdraw within a year or two, thereby opening the floodgates for communism in the entire state of Germany.

In June 1948 the Russians made a huge mistake. As the result of a dispute over German currency, the Reds blockaded all surface transportation into east Berlin, cut off the electricity and stopped supplying food to civilians in the non-Soviet sectors of the city. Stalin apparently failed to consider how quickly and positively the United States would respond…under no circumstances would we allow German citizens to starve.

Fortunately, three air corridors that had been established several years earlier were not affected by the blockade, so the western allies (led by the U.S.) stepped up and created the "Berlin Airlift." Inbound flights would be routed via the southeast- and northeast-bound corridors and all outbound traffic would use the west-bound corridor.
 The U.S. "home base" for the operation was Rhein-Main Air Base.
 
 
 
 
Douglas C-47 Skytrain



The Airplanes

The minimum daily supplies for Berlin's two million citizens was estimated at 1,534 tons of food plus 3,475 tons of coal and liquid fuels. An aging fleet of Douglas C-47 Skytrains  was available, but transporting that much cargo with C-47s would require 1,000 flights every day...an impossible task.








Douglas C-54 Skymaster

A larger airplane was a necessity and the Douglas C-54 Skymaster was the aircraft of choice. Not only could the Skymaster carry three times the payload of a C-47, it could be unloaded quickly because of its level stance on the ground (the record was set by a 12-man crew that removed ten tons of bagged coal from a C-54 in a little less than six minutes).

 







In no uncertain terms the commanding officer of the U.S. Air Force in Europe issued an order to all units that operated C-54s "...dispatch all available airplanes to Berlin..." and Skymasters from all over the world headed for Germany. When the airlift came to an end a year later, a total of 225 C-54s had participated in the operation.

The Airport

 
Tempelhof Airport c.1947
Located in the center of Berlin, Tempelhof Airport was the terminal facility for the airlift. It featured a unique circular layout with paved ramps for aircraft parking and passenger movement. The grass runways could not handle heavily loaded aircraft so a pierced-steel plank runway was installed but it crumbled under the weight of the 73,000-pound C-54s. Fear not, U.S. Army engineers came to the rescue…they built two 6,000-foot paved runways between July and October 1948 to accommodate airlift requirements.

Air traffic control at Tempelhof was extremely busy with aircraft landing and taking off every three or four minutes; the accident potential was reduced significantly by applying instrument flight rules to maintain safe separation. The pilots had only one opportunity to complete a landing; if they missed an approach they were required to return to their home base, where the flight would be re-inserted into the traffic flow.

Onkel Wachelflugel

1st Lt. Gail Halvorsen was one of many C-54 pilots who were ordered to Rhein-Main Air Base in West Berlin. He arrived on 10 July 1948 and was soon flying a schedule of two, sometimes three round trips to Berlin every day. Timing on the ground at Tempelhof was so critical that aircrews were not permitted to leave their airplanes...turnaround time was just thirty minutes.

 A week later one of his trips was cancelled, providing an opportunity for Halvorsen to hitch a ride to Tempelhof and get a look at the operation first-hand. German citizens (mostly children)were often gathered on the piles of rubble from war-time bombing to watch the airplanes on final approach.

 
 
 

As he walked around the airport grounds Halvorsen noticed a group of children behind a fence at the end of the runway. He chatted with the children as best he could...he spoke little German, the kids spoke even less English.

 
Lt. Gail Halvorsen with German children
 
As a good will gesture Halvorsen gave the young Germans his last two sticks of chewing gum and promised he would drop more from his airplane when he returned the next day. "How will we know which airplane is yours?" one of the children asked. Gail replied that he would wiggle the wings of his airplane.

When he got back to Rhein-Main Halverson bought a sack of candy and worked out a way to drop it safely (a gum ball dropped from an airplane at 110 miles per hour was an injury looking for a place to happen). Using handkerchiefs and twine he made parachutes that would let the candy packets descend slowly.
 


The Halvorsen parachute factory

 

The crowd of youngsters was larger the next day and they recognized Halverson's C-54 when he rocked the wings. The parachutes worked as advertised and before long other airlift crews were following Halverson's example. When news of this heartwarming project reached the United States, children all over the country sent their own candy to help the German kids who had none. The Confectioners Association of America donated large amounts of sweetstuffs to Halvorsen's project and American school children cooperated in attaching the candies to parachutes.
 


A C-54 with a gaggle of candy chutes in its wake

When the airlift ended in September 1949, 25 C-54 crews had participated in the candy project; they dropped an astounding 46,000 pounds of chocolate, chewing gum and candy. Gail Halvorsen and his crew alone delivered 850 pounds of candy to German youngsters.
 

 The aircrews that took part in this operation became known collectively as "The Candy Bombers" but Gail Halvorson will go down in history as the only pilot in the Berlin Airlift who wiggled his wings; the German children nicknamed him "Onkel Wachelflugel"—Uncle Wiggly Wings.
 


Colonel Gail Halvorsen, 1983


The Russians surrender to the Berlin Airlift



A U.S. Navy C-54 crew celebrates
 

When it became obvious that the airlift had overcome the blockade, the Soviets gave in and lifted the restrictions one minute after midnight on 12 May 1949. Flights continued to build up a comfortable surplus and by the end of July enough supplies had been stockpiled to guarantee ample time to restart the airlift if that became necessary. The last flight in the Berlin Airlift arrived at Tempelhof on 30 September 1949.

 
Was the Berlin Airlift a success? Judge for yourself. In the airlift's 15-month life span the USAF and the RAF (the major participants) made 278,228 flights to Berlin, flew 92 million miles and delivered  2,325,510 tons of food and fuel…including 23 tons of candy for the children of Berlin.

So much for your blockade, Mr. Stalin.















 

Celestial Nose Art - Part One

Ever since armed forces took to the sky military pilots have decorated their aircraft with painted slogans, pictures, names and countless other symbols. The original purpose was to help identity friendly units in combat (WWI German ace Manfred von Richthofen painted his airplanes bright red, hence the sobriquet “Red Baron”) but over the years this practice developed into an art form that is sometimes considered folk art and may be compared to graffiti. With respect to military aircraft it is known as “nose art.” 

Eleven organizations, 14 different airplanes and 20 years of military aviation.

Among my good friends in the general aviation community is a gentleman named Paul Berge. He served in­­ the U.S. Army during the Vietnam war, graduated from the University of California at Santa Cruz and eventually settled in Des Moines, Iowa where he worked as an Air Traffic Controller for 17 years (Paul has lived in the Hawkeye State long enough to call it "Ioway" with no fear of retribution from the natives).

Paul loves flying—especially in the 1946 Aeronca 7AC he recovered and restored—and he spends a lot of time preaching the gospel of general aviation from the bully pulpits of radio, TV and print media. Paul's interest in aviation extends to Uncle Sam's aircraft and he asked me to share my thoughts about the airplanes I flew…what follows is my response to his request.

 

Thule Air Base - at the top of the world...almost

Swedish cartographer Olaus Magnus was an artist with a fertile mind. In 1539 AD he produced a map of the world as he knew it, illustrated with images of sailing ships, ocean currents and various imaginary sea creatures.
 
 
The land mass ("Islandia") in the northwest corner of the Magnus map may have been today's Greenland, the largest island in the world. If you wonder why an island with extreme winter weather most of the  year is known as "green land," look no farther than the real-estate sales tactics of Erid the Red, a Norseman who was exiled from Iceland for manslaughter in 980 AD; he sailed west with his family and their servants, found inhabitable property on the island's east coast and settled there. Eric called his new home "Greenland" with hopes that a pleasant name would attract more settlers (a precursor of the Florida land boom in the 1920s?).
 

The Blimp - Stories of an aerial vehicle whose onomatopoetic name is at least 100 years old.





How does one launch a blimp? The answer is "slowly"…blimps do nothing rapidly. I became aware of that years ago when The Ohio State University Airport was visited on occasion by the Goodyear blimps that covered major sports events in the Columbus area. When the flight schedule permitted, the OSU Department of Aviation folks were welcomed aboard for a low-altitude, low-airspeed tour of the city. That blimp ride was a first-time experience for me and given my zero knowledge of airship operations I wondered how this bagful of helium would get off the ground.
 
 
The neutrally bouyant blimp was resting lightly on its single wheel and anchored, so to speak, by the ground crew holding the mooring lines attached to the nose. There was a hand rail running completely around the bottom of the gondola and when the pilot was ready the launch crew lifted the blimp to arms' length then pulled it down briskly.

The wheel strut compressed when it contacted the ground and the gas bag sagged a bit around the gondola, resulting in an upward rebound (Newton's third law of motion at work—equal and opposite reaction) whereupon the pilot opened the throttles and the blimp climbed away…an AVTO (Almost Vertical Takeoff). The entire procedure took place in graceful, ponderous slow motion.

 

Between a rock and a hard place: Too slow to take off, too fast to stop.



Years ago, when the Federal Aviation Administration was cranking out training films on nearly every conceivable aviation subject, there was a frequent flow of movies between my aviation classrooms at The Ohio State University and the lending facility in Washington, DC. Most of these films were good teaching aids and some were not worth the cost of shipping them back and forth.   

One of the best FAA movies featured a fictional commercial photographer/pilot who embarked from a sea-level airport in his brand new A-36 Bonanza on an assignment to cover the American west.
 
Typical Beech A-36 Bonanza
  
That was a rather daunting project to say the least…the American west is a huge area. The situation wasn’t helped at all by the pilot's false expectation that "this baby can take me anywhere I need to go." As he ventured farther west into higher terrain he discovered his non-supercharged Bonanza was losing performance on takeoff and climb and finally, after a frightening episode at a short grass strip high in the Colorado mountains, he understood the meaning of density altitude…which of course was the subject of that FAA film.

Wiley Post and the Winnie Mae: Around the world twice with one eye in much less time than Jules Verne's legendary "80 days."


I noticed recently a news item that caused my eyebrows to elevate a bit. A Bombardier Dash-8 was on final approach to the Belfast City Airport in Ireland when the captain's prosthetic forearm became detached from a special clamp fitted to the plane's yoke…oops. The momentary loss of control probably contributed to the bounce when the airplane touched down but no one was injured. The captain has pledged to be more careful in the future about checking the attachment on his artificial limb. Good for you, sir…fly on.
Bombardier Dash-8
That prosthesis-failure event prompted me to consider another unusual impairment for aviators, namely monocular vision…i.e. having only one operative eyeball. You would think a pilot thus handicapped would be hard-pressed to operate an airplane safely, especially during the approach and landing phases of a flight.
But as it turns out, many (if not most) pilots in the one-eye category are able to overcome the limitations imposed by monocular vision and fly quite safely. A case in point is Wiley Hardeman Post, who managed to fly around the world by himself in 1933 despite the fact that an accident seven years earlier had resulted in a complete loss of vision in his left eye.

Video Ingenuity: Why I Flew 1,000 Miles to Film a Commercial in Fake Snow





In 1982 I was serving as Director of Flight Operations and Training with responsibility for The Ohio State University’s Air Transportation Service (ATS) and all the flight training for the Department of Aviation. As might be expected, flight instruction activity at the OSU Airport slows to a dull roar in December because of  inclement weather and the lack of aviation students, most of  whom have migrated off-campus to enjoy the Christmas break.
The seasonal slowdown in December 1982 was typical and gave me the opportunity to disappear for a few days to participate in two AOPA weekend training courses, one in West Palm Beach and the other in Little Rock, Arkansas. The  vehicle for these trips was a Cessna 340 I rented on occasion for personal business travel; it was not a big airplane (6 seats, max takeoff weight just short of 6,000 pounds), nor was it a speed merchant (average cruise speed 170-180 knots TAS in the mid-teens) but it satisfied my needs. I truly enjoyed flying this pressurized light twin that was for all practical purposes a scaled-down Cessna 421.
Typical Cessna 340


Celestial Nose Art - Part Two

 
During the war years U. S. Army Air Corps fighter pilots (the “brown shoe” air force) may have led the pack when it came to decorating their airplanes but bomber crews were not far behind. The Consolidated B-24 Liberator is a classic example; its large slab-sided fuselage presented a virtual billboard for the nose-art painters.
 

Larger, faster, able to carry a heavier bomb load and fly greater distances than the legendary B-17 Flying Fortress, the Liberator still holds the record for the most-produced American military aircraft…more than 18,000 units. The Ford Motor Company built half of these in its Willow Run, Michigan facility; at peak production Ford was turning out B-24s at the astounding rate of 21 bombers every day.
 
Willow Run production lines

Celestial Nose Art - Part One

Ever since armed forces took to the sky military pilots have decorated their aircraft with painted slogans, pictures, names and countless other symbols. The original purpose was to help identity friendly units in combat (WWI German ace Manfred von Richthofen painted his airplanes bright red, hence the sobriquet “Red Baron”) but over the years this practice developed into an art form that is sometimes considered folk art and may be compared to graffiti. With respect to military aircraft it is known as “nose art.”

An early example showed up on the Farman 40, a French observation airplane used during WWI; its blunt nose (the engine and propellor were in the rear) provided an outstanding canvas for the depiction of a grinning skull. This was probably intended to laugh in the face of the short life expectancy of combat airmen during the war.
 

Setting the Stage

 
 
Back in the 1940s when I was perhaps eight or ten years old (you've got to cut me a little slack when it comes to remembering things that long ago) my parents gave me a Christmas gift that was intended to simulate an airplane cockpit.
 
A far cry from even the simplest of today's machines known generically as "flight simulators," it was rudimentary to the extreme. Made of sturdy cardboard (considerable assembly required) my “airplane” had an instrument panel full of painted-on gauges and indicators that remained motionless. It had a moveable yoke and control column that fit into a hole in the panel and a pair of free-standing cardboard rudder pedals that rested on the floor and responded to foot pressure by virtue of accordion folds.