B-24 AN OLD FAVORITE STORY OF MINE

September 17, 2008, my sister-in-law Cindy and I arrive at Pease International Airport in Portsmouth, New Hampshire around noontime. The sun is shining, it is warm now and the low fog from the morning is gone. I think the cancelled morning flights will be a go. When I reach the registration table, Po, the Ride Coordinator, hands me a pink sticker that says, “B-24, Hot Load.” Yippee! Was I more excited or scared? I don’t really know. But, being one who doesn’t like to fly, I remind myself that I will be riding in the only World War II, combative flying B-24 in the world!
The riders of the B-24 now gather together to hear the flight briefing. I idly touch my pink sticker and listen intently. Jim Goolsby, the Pilot, asks Po if he wants to do the briefing, but thinking better of it, he says, “Better I do that, Po, because no one will be able to understand you.” Po’s cute English accent did make it somewhat difficult to understand him. So, I don’t know if the Pilot is completely serious, but being the apprehensive flyer that I am, I hold onto every one of his words. Here is what I hear:
1. Do not walk or step on the bombay doors as you go across the catwalk. If you do, we will tear up your waiver form upon return. We will do that because you will no longer exist.
2. When you go to the nose, DO NOT STEP ON THE RED FLOOR.
3. Do not grab any cables or wires as you are moving along. I would prefer to operate the aircraft (not you).
4. If you need to bale out, we will open the bombay doors—then jump. Hopefully, we will be close to the ground. Or, if necessary, jump out of the waist gun window.

Wooooo! Here we go, ready to board. Po says, “I need two volunteers.” He calls my name and a gentleman, David, whose Mom had purchased the flight for him. Po takes us to the forward of the plane, through the open bombay doors. He points to the catwalk above, tells us to climb up there and then continue up to the navigator seats. We are the special two who will fly behind the cockpit. Climbing up is a task, but we both make it and buckle up on the cushion on the floor.
The B-24 now roars to the runway. The bombay doors are open and I think, “They are going to forget to close them.” I imagine what that will be like. The B-24 will proceed upward, and Dave and I will be pulled down and right out of the plane. We continue to the runway, and Po climbs up with us. He has assumed his new position as Flight Engineer. He opens a hatch window above and peers out the window. As he comes down, he closes the hatch and I yell as loud as I can. “Po. Don’t forge to close the bombay doors!” He smiles at me, chuckling to himself. “Don’t worry Joni.”
Finally those doors close and I take a deep breath. We are off. Again I yell over the noise of the engines to Dave, who is sitting beside me. “I’m really glad we’re not off on a bombing mission!” But, in my imagination, I am on a bombing mission—after all, I am flying on the B-24. He nods as though he hears me, but I am not really sure if he does.
We are in the air now, and Po gives us the signal to unbuckle. I stand—well sort of stand. There is not enough room to really do that. I grab my camera that is tightened around my wrist and I look out the tiny window. I get a photo of an engine and the view below. Then I turn and get a picture of the Pilot and Co-pilot in the cockpit.
Now I remember my conversation with Nollie at the Collings Foundation. I had told her that I would probably just stay seated and seat belted through the whole trip. I knew that I could explore the whole plane, but didn’t feel I could be so brave. She told me, “That would be an insult to the Pilot as though you didn’t have any confidence in him.” Well, I knew it was only because I would be very scared, but Nollie’s words rang in my head.
I must be very brave now. I climb below, turn and proceed to the nose. Here I see a wooden plank and I get down and crawl on both knees, saying “ouch, ouch, ouch.” All the while, in my head, I am praising the gunners of World War II. I get to the nose, and two or three other passengers are encouraging me to get up and continue onward. I move to one side so that they can depart, and I stand all alone in front of the nose of the B-24. Po is off to the side, however, and motions for me to grab something above and push myself up and in the seat. I stand up on a little piece of wood first and it tithes back and forth. I grab above, and it looks like that seat is pretty high up for me to climb. Then I say to myself, “I can do this, but how will I ever get out of there?”
I am glad that thought came to me, because later as I exited the B-24, I inquired to the other passengers if they did really climb in the nose gunner’s seat. One woman says, "I climbed up on my knees and looked from there.” Then a gentleman said,, “No, not me. I was smarter this year. I attempted that last year, and I couldn’t get out.”
I am still contemplating how I will get up there and back down. I want to, but my arms and legs don’t seem to cooperate with me. Then I turn behind me and what do I see? THE RED FLOOR. Well, that’s it for bravery for me. I aim my camera out the nose window, I give Po a little smile, wave and depart. I do not sit in that seat, but I do feel like a proud crewmember, shaking legs and all.
After that I continue across the catwalk towards the waist gun section of the plane. I am walking very slowly—one foot in front of the other. This catwalk goes from one end of the plane to the other. Maybe eight or ten inches in width. Then I am reminded not to step on the bombay doors directly below me. I do not have my leg capacity back yet, but still I continue on. And, I remembered how easy it was for me to trip, as I did earlier while touring the B-17 with Cindy. I had literally flown off of the catwalk and jammed headfirst into her.
Oh, yes, I reminded myself. I can see the headlines now. “Collings Foundation part time employee plunges through the air, never to return, from the bombay of the B-24.” And, what a great song that would make, I think.
I finally make it across to the other side. I am now staring down at the ball turret, and there is a big gap that I see. Oh, it’s not big enough for me to fall through, or even get my toe stuck, but I can see the ground and the trees moving below, way down there, speeding so fast that my head is starting to spin.
As I described it to my brother-in-law later, he told me, it was the plane moving, not the ground. Either way, I am stuck in that spot. Someone above offers me his hand to boost me up and encourage me to continue. But here I stand, mesmerized, looking down—way, way down. I look up at him, shake my head and turn around—very carefully, very slowly. No waist gun tour for me. I will not be a waist gunner today. I continue back across the catwalk, climb back up to the navigator seat, buckle myself up and smile.
All in all, you might say that I am a wimp, but I am really proud of myself! Maybe next year I will attempt it again. Maybe I will sit in the nose, and finally make it to the waist gun section. Maybe. But guess what? It doesn’t really matter that much, because in my own way, I have had a memorable experience. Yes, for one brief shining moment I had really felt like a crewmember during World War II. Nowhere else on this earth could I have ever done that. I felt, I heard, and I experienced it all. Thank you, Collings Foundation. Thank you from the bottom of my “wimpy” heart!