News: Added Links For Twin Commander and Facebook Pages

Login  |  Register

Author Topic: 1121 Jet Commander  (Read 21910 times)

Jeff Johnson

  • Full Member
  • ***
  • Posts: 192
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #30 on: October 23, 2017, 11:51:15 pm »
Rambo jumped out of a WW in first blood II

Just saying :)

donv

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 3220
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #31 on: November 01, 2017, 01:58:39 am »
Please do. Bob has some great ones, and we should try and preserve some of that history. Tell him hello for me next time you talk to him!


I heard a few recently from Bob Mays on some of those deals. Maybe I should interview him as an action item.


donv

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 3220
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #32 on: November 22, 2017, 12:46:44 pm »
A couple more. I think the first one might actually be a mockup...

donv

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 3220
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #33 on: December 10, 2017, 01:04:58 pm »
I was out at my hangar and took some pictures of some old books I have...


Roy

  • Jr. Member
  • **
  • Posts: 80
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #34 on: December 11, 2017, 01:40:05 am »
Last week I think I saw a Westwind of some variety at HIO on other side of airport from you Don. Hillsboro Aviation, to north/east of 13L/31R? Had a 1-day, hit-run workday that I used the shuttle for same day travel.

Roy

donv

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 3220
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #35 on: December 11, 2017, 02:16:44 am »
That Westwind comes in and out pretty regularly. I don't know much about it, other than that I've seen it fly on occasion.

JMA

  • Sr. Member
  • ****
  • Posts: 470
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #36 on: December 12, 2017, 10:29:36 am »
Bruce any chance that pic of Sly Stallone is still around?

Bruce Byerly

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 957
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #37 on: December 13, 2017, 12:16:14 am »
Bruce any chance that pic of Sly Stallone is still around?

I have been moving offices and tripping over boxes and boxes of archives, brochures, and photos.  I suspect I have all kinds of goodies that would be fun to share. One of these days I?ll get as organized as Norm Ralston and post up some things.  If anyone hasn?t seen his tribute to his father Swede, it?s on Facebook and has some great stuff including Commander flying video.

Adam Frisch

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 1656
    • Adam Frisch FSF
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #38 on: December 13, 2017, 07:39:45 pm »
Swede started AeroAir, right? Seem to recall his portrait hanging in FBO when I landed late one night back from Canada.
Slumming it in the turboprop world - so you don't have to.

donv

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 3220
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #39 on: December 13, 2017, 08:25:20 pm »
Yes, he did. There are some links to the movies Bruce mentioned on here somewhere... I know I posted something. He's also in a fair number of the historic photos I've posted.

JimC

  • Administrator
  • Sr. Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 387
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #40 on: February 20, 2018, 11:09:00 am »
There's an 1124 that the US Treasury has been trying to get rid of for about a year:

http://www.cwsauctions.com/lots/1216207/detail
500B, B200

donv

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 3220
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #41 on: February 20, 2018, 11:28:28 am »
441! That's got to be one of the last Westwind Is made. The Westwind I had several improvements over the straight 1124, and was made concurrently with the Westwind II. Sadly, given Honeywell's hard line on engine storage, those engines will probably need to be overhauled... she's probably headed for parts, unfortunately.

donv

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 3220
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #42 on: April 19, 2021, 05:51:27 pm »
This is one of my favorite Jet Commander stories. Not me (I never went to the islands in the Jet Commander, but I did go to Alaska and had some similar issues). This story is from the late Alec Caudell ("Con-Pilot") on ProPilotWorld.com. It's long, but well worth it!


"Do you have a land line down there?"

Ah yes, the joys of flying international back in the 70s, in a Jet Commander, overwater, island hopping trying to get back to the US mainland without running out of fuel in that fuel guzzling thing, not that it carried that much fuel to start with. Okay, okay I know, flying to the Caribbean Islands from the US and back is not real international flying, but except for occasional trips to Mexico that’s all I had working for me as far as international flying went in the early days. Besides that, landing on an island in the middle of night, no handler and everybody speaks French except us, is pretty darn international as far as I was concerned, it was Martinique on that very first trip to the Caribbean when I landed in the middle of the night if anybody cares. No type of long range nav of any kind back in those days, except for TLAR. Which stood for ‘That Looks About Right.’, not real accurate over water at night in case anyone is curious. But this story is about coming back to the US from one of those islands late one night

Usually, which meant all the other trips down there, we left mid-morning from whatever island we were on and returned all the way back to Oklahoma City in the evening. No real problems, a nice long trip that seldom, if ever, presented any problems except the hassle of clearing customs in San Juan, which usually took about an hour or so, usually. This trip was going to be an exception. We were going to leave St. Maarten (way before that place was “discovered” by the in-crowd and there were times we were the only corporate jet on the ramp) just before sunset, clear customs and refuel in San Juan, refuel in Miami and then head home. Now the first thing that went wrong was that the passengers were three hours late. They claimed yacht problems, but then again they were known to lie about such things on occasion. No mobile phones back then, no sat phones either, in fact about the only way you could send a message to ATC or your handler was a telex. Not the headset company, but kind of like a fancy telegraph. So I had a telex sent to our handler in San Juan advising them of our delayed departure and headed off to same. Hell, I’d done this flight a lot before, what could go wrong? Well as it turned out quite a bit.

First off back then there were not a hell of a lot of airports between San Juan and Miami that had jet fuel and long enough runways for a Jet Commander, even fewer that were open at oh dark thirty, like one o’clock in the morning. Well none actually. Now I have to admit that were some runways that could have been used, but it was very advisable not to use those airport at night, even if you were on fire. I’ll just say that the operators at those dimly lit runways on isolated islands were not what could be considered a normal FBO, or even an abnormal FBO. Not real friendly folks that had a tendency to shoot first and not bother to ask any questions later. Probably didn’t take credit cards anyway, nobody else out there did back then.

Now I’d been making this Miami-San Juan run about three or four times a year for three years. So I knew the route pretty well, the winds I could take west bound and the winds that would make us land in Nassau. Now I have to admit that they would leave the runways lights on all night at Nassau as a courtesy to the drug runners, which I thought was very nice of them, but didn’t do a hell of a lot of good for us. That shoot first thing you know. As luck would have it, I had never encountered winds high enough going to Miami from San Juan that required a fuel stop. And some people say God does not have a sense of humor.

After pacing back and forth for three hours the passengers show up. Someone with an unkind heart and an uncaring soul might have made a comment that whatever the problem was with the yacht, it was not being low or running out of booze. But not me, it never crossed my mind to say anything. Okay I lied, it did cross my mind, a lot. But I loved my job and wanted to keep it. Besides that I knew the passengers very well and this was not the first time they had shown up, err, very happy. If you get my drift. We herded them up and loaded them in the aircraft. Off to San Juan we go. First clue all would not be as I expected was all the traffic heading into San Juan, I thought that when it got dark San Juan would slow down like the rest of the islands down there back then, I was wrong, not the first time it may surprise you to know.

After we landed and taxied to the Airline terminal ramp I got the second clue that things might be going amiss, the number of airliners parked there. I was not expecting that at that time of night. What I was expecting never matured. I was expecting the handler, the guy with the long pointy flashlights, chocks, the handler’s van to take the passengers and the baggage into the terminal to clear customs and most importantly, a fuel truck. There was nothing at the gate waiting for us, not even the airport dog. After receiving a promise from ground control that they would try to call the handler, I had the other pilot take the passengers and most of the baggage into the terminal while I stayed to try and find someone to refuel us. Off they go and here I stayed trying to flag down a fuel truck. After about 30 minutes of me trying to wave down a fuel truck by jumping up and down, waving a fist full of hundred dollar bills in the air over my head and throwing my body on the ground in front of any fuel truck that got near me a pickup finally stops and the guy driving is curious as to why I’m acting crazy. As I am explaining that our handler had never shown up, the driver of the pickup informs me that the handler had left for the night, thinking we were not coming or had crashed. Either way the handler told this guy that he was not going to sit around and wait for me. However, taking pity on me this guy said that seeing that I was going to pay cash, he would return with a fuel truck in just a few minutes and drove off. I still think it was the cash thing that swayed his mind.

Now it was coming up on 45 minutes since the passengers had left with the other pilot in tow and they had not returned. It had been our experience in the past that it took 20 to 30 minutes to get through the dog and pony show of clearing customs in Jan Juan. As I am pondering this little puzzle a fuel truck drives up and stops. ‘Yes, finally’ I think only to be told that his truck was center point only, but another fuel truck would be there shortly. Then drives off and I’m left all by my little ol’ self again. Twenty minutes later sure enough another fuel truck drives up and stops. This guy will refuel me. After arguing for a few minutes over the price, he rolls out a single hose and starts to refuel the aircraft. Now all I need is the other pilot and the passengers, of which there is no sign of. It has now been well over an hour since they disappeared into the terminal. This was starting to bother me.

The left wing was just about full when the other pilot came busting out of the terminal at a dead run. This caught my attention as about the only thing he’d usually run for was beer. He comes running up to me, out of breath and blurts out, “Figger, blouts comom, do riggy bus.” Not speaking panic language I ask him to repeat that, but in English this time. He takes a deep breath and says, “You need to get in customs as fast as you can, your boss just tried to bribe a customs agent and they are going to arrest him.”

What I did for the next 45 minutes or so still to this day gives me nightmares. I have never talked so fast, so long to get out of any situation in my life, my life up to then and to this day. I’ll not get into details on how I talked our way out of all of us being thrown into a Puro Rican jail, to be honest I don’t really remember what I said, just to suffice to say that I did. So at nearly a dead run we head for the aircraft, with a very chastised boss in tow. We get back to the aircraft, throw the passengers and baggage into the back, start the engines and off we go. I didn’t want to send one more second on the ground than I had to, just knowing at any minute that the customs guy was going to change his mind and we’d still end up in the clink. As we rolled out on the runway to takeoff I looked at the fuel gauges for the first time after escaping the clutches of the US Customs. We were 300 pounds short of a full fuel load.

Now in today’s world 300 pounds probably is not that significant, but back then in a Jet Commander for a maximum range trip, it was significant, very much so with minimum VFR reserve at 800 pounds. But the forecast winds were light, even showing a quartering tail wind for the last third of the flight. Now to make this even more interesting, there was no radar coverage between Miami and San Juan back then, at least not that was admitted to and no VORs, except Bimini which might as well be in Miami, just ADF (NDB) stations. So any ground speed checks were more or less useless until you could pick up the Bimini VOR, which was a powerful VOR that at 41.0 you could pick around 220 miles out. So with all of this working for us we give out our position report and estimate to the next fix to San Juan, then switch to Miami Center. When we lose the VOR signal I had calculated our ground speed to be 380 kts, no groundspeed readouts back then you had to time the mileage and go from there, a little low but nothing to be concerned about, as the winds forecasted to slowly come around to tail wind as we became closer to Miami.

Now I’ll admit that I am not the sharpest knife in the draw, but one of the sharpest. Never the less back then I had no idea how to figure out my ground speed using ADFs, still don’t to this day. Of course I could estimate a ground speed by station passages on the airways, but even then you could be off by ten knots or more. But, when that is all you have, you use it. When we pass over the first ADF, a few minutes later than the estimate, I compute the groundspeed to be in the area of 360 kts. Not good. As we head west bound I hear Miami talking to an American Airlines flight (a 707) so we call to see if the American flight had the actual winds at 370. They did and the winds were 330 degrees at 100 kts. Oh shit.

At this point were around 300 miles out from Bimini still using the ADFs for primary navigation. That one hundred miles we had to fly until we picked up the Bimini VOR took three hours it seemed like. Finally around 220 miles out we started receiving the VOR. When we computed our groundspeed, between the two of us it came out a little over 390kts. I took my first breath in the last 45 minutes. As we get closer to the coast the ground speed picks up a little. So we start to relax, as long as we can stay at 410 until we’re about 80 miles out of Miami we have it made. Until Miami Center calls us and tell us to cross intersection XXXX at 10,000 feet and that intersection is 120 miles east of Miami. ‘Okay’ I think, ‘this late of night, actually that early on a Saturday Morning we can get that changed’. So the guy in the right seat calls back and requests that we be allowed to stay at 410 until we are a hundred miles out.

My God, one would have thought we’d insulted this guy’s mother. The fight was on. Course there is no way in hell I’m going to leave 410 until we can make Miami and the longer we fight is the closer we get to Miami. Pretty soon this guy catches on to what we’re doing, now he gets nasty threatening us with violations and other dire consequences such as firing squad, hanging, force feeding me Brussels sprouts, if we do not start down now at our maximum rate of descent. Alright, enough is enough, I grab the mic.

Little ol’ us: “Center, do you have a land line down there? You know a telephone?”

Center: “Say again.”

Little ol’ us: “Yes sir, do you have telephone down there? If you do you need to call the Coast Guard and tell them that there will be a red and white Jet Commander floating in the water with six people on top of it about 30 miles off the coast line. Because that is what is going to happen if you force us to cross XXXX intersection at 10.”

Center, a new voice: “Jet Commander 123AB descent and maintain FL 24.0 your discretion, cleared direct Miami International and is there anything else I can do for you sir.”

All boils down to how to communicate with each other. Never hear another word about that night.

All these years later flying Westwind I/II, 727, Sabre 65, Falcon 50/50EX and a 900 EX in that area of the world, with all the fuel I needed, I’d would always think back to that very long night.

donv

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 3220
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #43 on: June 13, 2021, 10:36:02 pm »
Another one from the late Alec Caudell and propilotworld.com... one of my favorites. I have a healthy fear of thunderstorms-- I will let others do the learning for me!

The summer of thunderstorms part one.


One summer I was flown into thunderstorms four times by three different captains, all of them ex-military, a retired Air Force Colonel, a retired Air Force Major and a former World War Two Navy fighter/furloughed cargo airline captain. Three times were at high altitude in Jet Commanders and the fourth time in the mid-20s in a Merlin II. Two of these thunderstorm encounters happened on the same day, one at high altitude in a Jet Commander and the Merlin II in the mid-20s, flown by the same guy, the retired Air Force Colonel.

Surprisingly enough, at least to me anyway, I survived all four encounters. At least physically, not too sure about mentally. Hell, after that summer I didn’t want to fly in high cirrus clouds in the middle of winter. Talk about paranoid. But I finally got over it, but kept an extremely healthy respect for thunderstorms for the rest of my career.

The first time that summer.

As with most young pilots I was poor, stupid, way too smart for myself and bullet proof. Back then most of the PICs I flew with were former military pilots, guys that flew in World War Two and the Korean War. Being raised in the Air Force, my father being an Air Force pilot, I considered these guys Sky Gods. They had survived being way too smart for themselves, bullet proof and that was with people trying to shoot them down. Conveniently forgetting about all those Colonels, Majors and Navy fighter pilots that didn’t survive being way too smart for themselves and bullet proof.

Also being a young pilot, I was a whore for turbine/jet time. I’d fly with anybody, anywhere in jet aircraft, as long as they paid me of course. Whores don’t work for free you know, not even me. One day I get a phone call, would I be the co-pilot on a Jet Commander to ferry it to MEM for a new owner, with a stop off in Kansas to drop off a Lear Jet crew where they would pick up a Lear 23 that would ferry the Lear to MEM as well, then return home in a Merlin II? How much I reply, they reply standard rate, whatever that was back then, I reply where and when.

So a couple of days later I show up on the ramp there where some used Jet Commanders were sitting. I find the right one, do the exterior pre-flight and then walk into the FBO, check the weather and to see The Colonel to ask him how much fuel he wanted. Which was usually a wasted question, as his response was always the same, regardless of how many passengers or how far we were going, fill it up. I look at the girl behind the FBO counter that we were standing in front of, requested her to tell the line crew to tow the aircraft up front, top it off and for a power unit. Don’t bother to ask why The Colonel just didn’t tell her himself, it didn’t work that way with him. About that time the crew that were going to fly the Lear 23 show up, really good friends of mine, Laurel and Hardy, well that’s what I will call them for this story, as it fitted them to a ‘T’.

Pretty soon we get loaded up, with Laurel and Hardy in the back bitching about the catering, there was none, that it was too hot, it was too cold and asking when would we get there. In other words making appear that this was a normal trip with real passengers. Ignoring them, just as we would real passengers, we fire up and depart. In about an hour we land at the airport in Kansas where the Lear 23 was waiting for Laurel and Hardy. As we refuel and have the Lear 23 fueled, I check the weather again and I am told that there is a scattered line of thunderstorms that were building between us and MEM. But the guy at the Flight Service Station said that it looked like we could work our way through them or go on top as the max height of the storms were around 350 at the time. I dutifully inform The Colonel of this fact and then walk out and tell Laurel and Hardy the same. They file for 450 and The Colonel files for 350, hmm. Again I attempt to impress on him that the line of thunderstorms are building, like getting higher. He just nods at me, not even bothering to take his ever present cigar out of his mouth.

After both aircraft are refueled we taxi out first in the Jet Commander, the field was uncontrolled so the plan was to takeoff VFR, contact center and head to Memphis. As we are taxing out I hear the Lear going to near full power, then silence, again near full power, then silence. Then Laurel and Hardy call us on Unicom, they can’t get the parking brake to release and want us to wait. The Colonel does not like to wait, but he agrees to wait for five minutes and if they have not figured out to do something as simple as releasing the parking brake, they can either jump back in the Jet Commander or we’ll leave them. The Colonel places his left arm on the top of the instrument panel so he can watch his wristwatch, as when he says five minutes, he means five minutes, not four minutes and fifty nine seconds or five minutes and one second. At three minutes and ten seconds they call us and tell us that the parking brake is released and they are moving.

Now I failed to mention one thing, as usual in these old jets, which were not old back then, it was standard practice just to start the right engine to taxi out on and start the left engine just before you take the runway to takeoff. Today was no different, we had just started the right engine and taxied out. After we hear that they are moving The Colonel starts to pull out on the runway, without starting the left engine. Now usually I would not dare to attempt to criticize The Colonel, not only had CRM not been invented back then, it would have been unthinkable to The Colonel, old school you know. Never the less, I summed up enough courage to ask him if he would like to use both engines for this takeoff. He blinks a couple of times, looks at me and says, “Yeah, uh, why don’t you start that thing, probably would help.”


I’m pretty sure the left engine was up to speed when The Colonel went to full power on takeoff and off we were heading for Memphis and the building line of thunderstorms. As we get closer to the line of thunderstorms we go IMC. The radar is paining the line which is pretty solid by now, but the northern end of the line ends about 60 miles south of the Fayetteville VOR, but there was a single cell sitting right on top of the Fayetteville VOR, about forty miles in diameter. So there is about a 20 mile gap between the line and the Fayetteville VOR, but north of that there were no radar returns. So to me we have two choices, shoot through the 20 mile gap or go 60/70 miles north of the Fayetteville miss the whole mess, which was my preference. About then Laurel and Hardy calls, who are behind us calls me to tell me that their radar in out and asks me what we are painting. So I tell them what I am seeing on the radar and they decided to take the northern choice. A wise choice as it turned out, as soon they were on top at 450 in the clear for the rest of the way to Memphis. We were not so fortunate.

Now while all this was going on, The Colonel had just been sitting in the left seat, smoking his cigar, watching the autopilot fly the aircraft directly toward the Fayetteville VOR and the thunderstorm. Now I did mention that I thought that we had two options did I not? Well, The Colonel had a third, just keep going straight ahead. So, again being the dutiful co-pilot, I pointed out that there was a cell sitting on top of the VOR and pointed out the two options, suggesting the northern one. He looks at me, a bit surprised that I would actually talk to him without being addressed first, then looked down at the radar, messed with the intensity function, range, then the tilt on the radar then said, “We’ll be on top.” And went back to watching the autopilot.

We’re now coming up to about 80 miles from the VOR, about 20 miles from the cell that had grown wided to about 60 miles. At least what we are painting on the radar of the cell. I’m not all that sure that we will be over the top of the cell, not at from what I am seeing on the radar. So, again being the dutiful co-pilot, I tell him of my doubts, he looks back at the radar, which was on the 80 mile range setting, switches it to the 20 mile setting, tilts the radar dish up and sure enough, the cell we were painting goes away. “Yeah, we’ll top it.” Famous last words, well almost last words.

No more were those words out of his mouth when there was a brilliant flash of light on the left side of the aircraft, followed by a very loud explosion, then the left engine quits and rolls down below idle. We lose the left side of electrical power of the aircraft, including the pilot’s flight instruments and kicks the autopilot off, then we hit a brick wall,. To call the turbulence severe would be an understatement of Biblical proportion. The Colonel bites his cigar in two. I’d never seen anyone ever do that before. Now we are in severe turbulence, so severe that I cannot focus on any of my flight instruments that are still functioning and my head is hitting the top of the cockpit, the right engine is still at cruise power and we are in a rapid roll to the left, starting to descend.

There is a rocker switch on the overhead panel that transfer the power from the right side instrument to the left side. I decide that if there ever was a time to use that switch, it was now. The Colonel came to the same conclusion at the same time and yelled at me to push the power transfer switch, as the pulls the right engine back to idle. It was so turbulent that it took me four attempts before I could get my finger on that switch and push it, transferring the power to the left side. This was a mistake, a big mistake. For as soon as I managed push that rocker switch, I lost all power to my flight instruments on the right side.

IMC, in a thunderstorm, one engine out and now no flight instruments.

‘Now we’re in for it I thought’, but what I said was, “Now we’re fucked.” But wait, we had one of those new tiny standby, battery powered attitude indicators. In fact I think this was one of the, if not the first Jet Commanders I flown with this thing installed. We’re saved! So I start yelling, “The standby, the standby!” The Colonel looks at me as if I’d lost my mind, so I yell again and point at the standby attitude indicator that was mounted on the bottom of the pilot’s instrument panel by his right knee. We both look at it, it is showing a near 90 degree left bank with the nose dropping below the horizon. The Colonel starts to roll the wings level and applies back pressure on the yoke when the standby attitude indicator flips the other direction and the red off flag pops out.

About then Laurel and Hardy calls us, telling us that they are top at 450, can see the top of the cell over the VOR is above them and asks how our ride is. Thanks a lot, rub it in, at this point in time we are trying to figure out if we can get any power to any of the flight instruments, so I don’t have time to talk to anybody. The Colonel keeps pulling on the cage knob on the standby attitude indicator as if this would make it start working again. I decide to kill everything, I turn the working generator off, the avionics master off and then the batteries off. We are still getting the crap beat out of us and now things are flying all over the cockpit, including lose items like pens coming off the floor of the cockpit and landing on the overhead panel. No matter how tight I get my seatbelt, my head keeps hitting the overhear panel and this is really starting to piss me off. I turn the batteries back on, the get the right generator back on line then turn the avionics switch back on. My flight instruments come back for just a second and then fail again. I missed a step when I turned everything off, but didn’t realize it at the time. Which considering everything that was going on right then, could be forgiven.

When the radios came back up after I turned on the avionics switch I could hear the Center and Laurel and Hardy trying to call us. The Center controller had finally woken up, noticed that we were rapidly losing altitude and then lost our transponder. Laurel and Hardy were wanting to know who was going to buy the beer that night if we got killed. Always nice to know that one has good friends looking out for you. I really cannot remember just what I told center right then, something along the lines of ‘I’d talk to them when I had the chance, but was too busy right then’. Laurel and Hardy I ignored. The Colonel somehow managed to stick another cigar in his mouth, folded his arms and said, “Let me know if you see the ground before we hit it.” I remember that to this day very clearly. Nice reassurance I thought at the time.

It seemed like we were in the thunderstorm for at least an hour, getting thrown around the cockpit, getting the crap beat out of us and my head constantly hitting the overhead panel. From what Laurel and Hardy told us later it was for only about five minutes. My, how time flies when one is having fun. Then the clouds start to get lighter and the turbulence goes from severe to mild, to light. I catch something green in the corner of my eye, look up through the overhead cockpit window and see the ground, actually a forest. I yelled “I got it.”, I grabbed the yoke, roll the aircraft toward the opening in the clouds and then pull through the hole into open clear air.

I had never seen a more beautiful sight.

donv

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 3220
Re: 1121 Jet Commander
« Reply #44 on: January 01, 2022, 02:23:46 pm »
I realized that I never posted the rest of the story, from the late Alec Caudell:

The summer of the thunderstroms continued.

After we were in the clear The Colonel took control of the aircraft and I tried to see if I could restore power to the flight instruments. The only instruments that were still working were the airspeed indicators and altimeters. While we had been in the thunderstorm the airspeed had been all over the dial, from well below stall to past VNE and VMO. The altimeter had shown rapid descents followed by rapid climbs followed by descents. We entered the thunderstorm at FL-350 and when we recovered it was around 14,000 feet. As I related earlier I had tried to restore power while in the storm, but had forgotten a step. When I turned off everything, I forgot that the power transfer switch was still in the transfer position. As soon as I looked at the switch as I was turning everything back off again, I realized what I had missed. This time I returned the switch to normal prior to restoring power. After restoring power to the aircraft, the right side flight instruments came on line and stayed on line. The Colonel was impressed, but then told me that is would have been very handy to have remember that switch when we were inside the cell. I could have pointed out to him that if had not just sat there with arms crossed, between the two of us we might have not overlooked that little item, but I didn’t.

While we were in the storm and I pushed the power transfer switch, apparently there was a short on the left side electrical system that shorted out or interrupted the power to the right side flight instruments causing them to fail. At least that’s what we decided, there was a diode that was supposed to keep that from happening. Obviously it didn’t. The weather was now clear VMC and The Colonel decides to press on to Memphis on one engine and to attempt an inflight start on the left engine as we limped our way there. I was less than thrilled with this idea and pointed out that Little Rock was just off to our right. As if reading my mind, Center calls about then offering us radar vectors to Little Rock. I give The Colonel my best ‘wow that sounds like a really great idea look’, but to no avail. No by God we’re going to Memphis, as by God we were being paid to get this aircraft to Memphis and by God we are going to take this thing to Memphis, even if we have to do so on one engine, by God. ‘Even if we die in the attempt’ I think, then I say, “Even if we die in the attempt.” He looks at me and says, “Naw, we’ll make it.” Gee, where have I heard those words before?*

Of course there was no way that the left engine would start, the starter would not engage and when we increase airspeed so we would be in the wind-milling air-start envelope there was no light off. So single engine into Memphis it will be. I try one more time to talk The Colonel into diverting into Little Rock, but to no avail. Sensing that I was perhaps a bit uncomfortable continuing on to Memphis one just one engine (ya think), The Colonel tries to reassure me how safe it is, telling me that he had thousands of hours in single engine fighters from the P-51 to the F-104 and only had a couple of engine failures. While perhaps reassuring, I did point out that in those single engine fighters he flew, all had either parachutes or ejection seats, which we had neither. I know, I looked. His reply, you guessed it, “Naw, we’ll make it.” And off to Memphis we go.

Now Center had asked quite a few times if we would like to declare an emergency and every time they asked, The Colonel told me to tell them the same thing, “Not at this time.” Then when we are descending through 10,000 feet going into Memphis The Colonel tells me to declare an emergency. Why now is anyone’s guess and I knew The Colonel well enough by then not to ask him, it would not do a damn bit of good, so I declared an emergency, only to be told by Approach that Center already had declared an emergency for us and the equipment were already on station along the runway.

Carrying on we limp into Memphis on one engine and make an uneventful landing, making a right turn off of the runway, then another right turn on the parallel taxiway. All was going good until we try to turn left on the taxiway to the ramp. It will not turn left more than a couple of degrees. No matter how hard The Colonel tried to turn the nose wheel steering wheel, it would not go past a couple of degrees. Okay now what are we going to do? Oh, I forgot to mention the two dozen or so CFR trucks that were following us. They come in play is just a few minutes. We are sitting on the parallel taxiway, unable to turn left because for some reason the nose wheel steering had gotten lazy and would not let us turn left. But wait, the right engine is working so The Colonel decides to use differential thrust in an attempt to force the aircraft to turn left. Of course being The Colonel he doesn’t bother to tell anyone what he is getting ready to do. Not me, let alone the tower so they can warn the CFR trucks behind us that the right engine on the Jet Commander they are behind will be going to full power. Then that is what he does. I am just starting to open my mouth to ask him if he would like me to call for a tow, when he shoves the right engine to full power. He has the left rudder to floor, full left brake and his left hand on the nose wheel steering tiller is turning white he is trying to turn it so hard. Within a second or two ground control is yelling at us to shut down and a second or two after that I could hear the guys in the CFR trucks just behind us yelling as well, so they are now stepping over each other on the frequency. We are slowly skidding to the left, not toward the taxiway, but toward the grass, from what I’m able to hear from all the shouting on the radio they seem to think that we have lost control of our right engine. I now have a vision of the CFR trucks letting lose with all the water and foam that they have on the trucks in an attempt to drown out the right engine with foam and water, where we will end up with the entire aircraft covered with foam except for the top of the tail, where all that can be seen of us would be the rotating beacon slowly going around. One has to remember that airport firemen don’t have a lot of action and can become very excited when they think that they can really let loose with the foam.

It is becoming quite evident that something is going to break, soon. So I decide that I will be the one that breaks. I grab the right throttle and yank it back to idle about the same time that the first shot of foam shoots across our bow, so to say. I don’t think that The Colonel has ever had anyone take control from him since he was a student pilot back in 1943. He is not amused. However, he admits defeat and tells me to call for a tow and to release the fire trucks. But for some reason, the airport fire chief does not leave, seems he wants to have a word or two with the crew. Now while all this is going on, Laurel and Hardy were on the ramp watching all this occur and are laughing their arses off. We get towed in onto the FBO’s ramp and as soon as we stop, I haul arse out of the aircraft telling The Colonel that I had to go use the toilet. No way in hell am I going to listen to the wrath of a highly pissed off fire chief. As I pass the red faced, highly pissed off said fire chief I tell him that the ‘crew’ is still in the aircraft and then join Laurel and Hardy in front of the FBO. Hell, I’m no fool.

For about ten minutes The Colonel and the airport fire chief yell and scream at each other, almost coming to blows, but then they seem to reach an agreement, the fire chief gets into his truck and drives off, The Colonel walks into the FBO telling us to follow him, mumbling something about ‘idiots’. He decided that we need to go get lunch and for me to arrange for ground transportation, which of course I dutifully do. As luck would have it there was a liquor store next to the restaurant where we had lunch at and Hardy runs in and buys a half gallon bottle of Scotch for the flight home, turns out that we’ll need it. We return to the FBO and The Colonel tells me to have the Merlin II brought up and have it topped off for the return flight back home. By this time I have resigned myself to the fact that the only fuel load The Colonel knows is to ‘top it off’. As we are waiting for the Merlin to be brought up and fueled, I ask who is flying the Merlin home, as I have never flown one. It turns out none of us had ever flown a Merlin II, any kind of Merlin for that fact.