|
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
Tuskegee Airman recognized for pioneering pilotingBy Meredith Bonny The Associated Press
To Baugh, the army-green P-40 Warhawk, with razor-sharp teeth painted alongside its nose, looked like an old friend who had dropped by for a visit. It sounded familiar too, Baugh said, as he listened to the throaty hum of the single-engine fighter. ‘‘This is the first time I have actually been this close to one of these since World War II,’’ the retired lieutenant colonel said. ‘‘Back then, it was a whole lot easier to get in and out of. Baugh, 84, laughed at himself as he ran his hand along the fighter’s wing. ‘‘Heh, heh, heh,’’ he chuckled. For Baugh, this was a sneak preview of things to come. County airport manager Charles Dane and the other officials plan to honor the Midlothian resident at a special air show planned for Oct. 23-24, when they will dedicate the airport’s new observation deck in Baugh’s honor. More than 60 years ago, Baugh, who grew up in Petersburg, flew P-40s and P-51 Mustangs in World War II. He might have even flown the very same plane that Virginia Beach pilot Ray Scott, 71, landed at the Chesterfield County Airport this week. It’s hard to tell. Of the 15,000 P-40s built, only 19 are still flying. ‘‘There’s a very remote chance I flew it,’’ the veteran said. But it wasn’t the P-40 that gave Baugh his claim to fame. It was his desire to fly, coupled with the color of his skin. ‘‘You see, they didn’t let African-Americans in the Army Air Corps before 1941,’’ he said. ‘‘But ever since I was a teenager, I wanted to fly.’’ When Baugh found out the military was accepting applications from blacks that year, he applied. He passed the physical tests and in 1942 became a part of the original Tuskegee Airmen, a fighter group made up entirely of black men learning to fly. There were 20 cadets in Baugh’s class. Only four made it. He was one of them. ‘‘What they did was so historic,’’ said Dane, seated across from Baugh. ‘‘They were set up to fail. The military brass wanted to prove African-Americans couldn’t fly. Instead, they had one of the best records of any fighter group. ‘‘I feel honored to know him,’’ Dane said. During his service, Baugh flew 135 combat missions as part of the 332nd Fighter Groups 99th Fighter Squadron in Sicily. In January 1944, he and his wingman were credited with shooting down a German FW-190 fighter-bomber over the Anzio beachhead. Interestingly, Baugh had never ridden in a plane before training. His first time up in a plane, he was the one flying. Despite two close calls, including the time an antenna was shot off 3 feet from his head, Baugh was never injured. ‘‘I’d say I had a lot of luck,’’ the 25-year military veteran laughed. For his aerial exploits, Baugh was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Air Medal with three Oak Leaf clusters, the Air Force Commendation Medal and the Air Force Outstanding Unit award. But even after Baugh returned from the war a decorated hero, he was sadly reminded that not all of his battles had been won. ‘‘Sometimes, after the war, when we would go to air bases and drive up to a main gate, the MPs would not salute us. They would not salute a black officer,’’ Baugh said. ‘‘Complaints did not do any good.’’ In June, the French government presented Baugh, a Virginia State University graduate, with one of its most prestigious awards, the Legion of Honor. Baugh, father of local defense attorney David Baugh, wore the French medal on his red jacket when he visited the airport with his brother Herb. One of five children, Herb Baugh always idolized his older brother. ‘‘I am very proud of him,’’ he said. ‘‘He’s the kind of person that no matter what he’s doing, small or large, he always does it well.’’ ‘‘Or tries to,’’ Howard chimed in. The two men stood in the rain under Herb Baugh’s umbrella and watched the P-40 pilot perform a fly-by. They ooohed and aaahed over the airplane the way most little boys carry on over fire engines and toy trucks. Howard Baugh hated to go inside after the plane left. He continued to reminisce about events decades ago that led to his decision to fly. ‘‘I felt I had to do it,’’ he said. ‘‘Once I said, ’Oh, yeah,’ I had no intention of giving it up. After a while, I got real comfortable in an airplane.’’ His decision to become a military pilot wasn’t an easy one. To do it, he had to leave his wife, Constance, six weeks after they were married. He later painted her name, Connie Jean, on the side of his P-40. ‘‘My mother kept thinking my wife was going to stop me from flying, and my wife kept thinking my mother was going to stop me,’’ he chuckled. ‘‘The truth is no one could have stopped me because it was something I wanted to do.’’ ——— On the Net: http://www.dominionaviation.com/airshow/ <--> |
| | | |