I looked up to see Kopol life preservers plunging down at me. Those things are heavy…and hard! I duck, by simply settling below the surface of the water. This was easy, as I had not inflated by Mae West, which was precisely the reason that my concerned VF-12 squadron mates were tossing Kapok at me from Saratoga’s flight deck. I guess this was just another way of expressing the loving concern that our VF-12 pilots had, and still have, for one another.

What was I doing bobbing in the waters of the South Pacific as Saratoga slipped by me on an October morning in 1943? VF-12 was rehearsing for our night carrier qualification later that evening…

Max power on turn-up. “Fly One’s” flag sent me down the deck. Then too late to abort, the roar of my F6F’s engine was interrupted…Pop, Pop, Pop…then silence. I pulled the stick back, and the nose went down towards the waves only a few yards, it seemed to me, in front of the Saratoga. The R-2800 engine just does not perform well on a mixture of aviation fuel and water; consequently, the engine failure resulted in my distinctly nose-down “splash-down,” directly in the Sara’s path.

I have always heard that, given a bit of speed upon entering it, water has the resistance of concrete. I believe it! My hellcat’s angle of entry was steep enough to cause the plant to submerge immediately. I recall thinking, “I got get out of here before the Sara runs over me!”

As the plane resurfaced, I was on the side of the cockpit pushing up. The result was a popping like a cork well out on the starboard wing. In my panic to get clear of my plane, it never occurred to me to pull the toggles on my Mae West. Rather, I am told, I looked like Johnny Weissmuller as I struck out to starboard.

Having avoided the Saratoga and the “flying Kapoks.” I was in for additional, less terrifying experiences. The plane guard destroyer Wilson was at its station 1000 yards astern of the Saratoga. As it bore down at me, I was astounded that she did not reduce speed. Suddenly, a bullhorn instructed me to, “Loop your arm through this.” Whereupon a doughnut life preserver of perhaps 8 inches in diameter was hurled towards me. I grabbed it and the chief in charge skillfully directed my course, like he was playing a big fish, to a Jacobs ladder at midship of the destroyer. All of this at 22 knots! After coughing up a few gallons of sea water, I asked why the high speed pickup. The answer, “Oh, we were just practicing, Lieutenant.”

The fun was just beginning! Placed in a shower and given a 2 oz. bottle of brandy, I asked the Medical officer to hold it until I got out of the shower, as I wanted a cigarette as I drank the brandy. The Medical officer said, “Drink it now, we will have another when you get out…I always join the patient when I prescribe medicinal brandy!”

As I was served a delightful lunch in the wardroom, I began to wonder why I was getting this red carpet treatment. The answer came as the Wilson pulled alongside the Saratoga to deliver me by a so called breeches buoys. Actually it was just a canvas bag attached to the block and tackle lines. Over came the bag, but the skipper of the DD bellowed over his bullhorn, “no ice cream, no pilot.” Now, it became clear why I was being treated so well. The Wilson had an understanding that the destroyers that picked up a pilot out of the drink would receive a reward of 20 gallons of ice cream. So, back went the “breeches buoy” to the Saratoga for the promised ice cream. Then, and then only, was I given that rather ignominious ride in a canvas sack back to my ship. A very sore neck prevented me from re-joining my squadron mates.