Jimmy Stewart’s Vietnam Bombing Mission
What Movie Was THAT?
What Movie Was THAT?
Guam, February 1966:
A B-52 back from a highly classified Arc Light bombing run over Vietnam was headed in for what was supposed to be a routine landing. The crew had done so dozens of times without incident. So this time should be no different, right? However, when Capt. Bob Amos heard his copilot, Capt. Lee Meyers, exclaim nervously, “The flaps are splitting!” Amos’s heart dropped. With the flaps coming down more on one side than the other, a potentially out-of-control situation was in the making. There’s nothing worse than being responsible for the wreck of your bomber back on home base, the damage to your crew, and—oh, yeah—the death of their highly classified passenger, an internationally famous decorated American war hero and Hollywood legend. Jimmy Stewart was their secret passenger on that flight. Yup, that Jimmy Stewart. Immediately, Amos ordered the flaps pulled out and up, declaring a major emergency. He was going to need every foot of runway available. Why was 58-year-old Stewart even in Vietnam much less on that flight?
More Than Just an Actor
James Maitland Stewart didn’t always aspire to be a successful actor. Growing up in Indiana, Pennsylvania, a small rural town with its own small rural grass-strip airport, young Stewart took a keen interest in aviation. But it wasn’t until he graduated from Princeton University and became a contract player at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) that the actor began to pursue his love of aeronautics. In 1935, Stewart obtained his private pilot license, upgrading it to a commercial license in 1938. A movie star by then, he owned a Stinson 105, which he used quite often to fly home, from California to Pennsylvania, to visit his parents. As war loomed, the 6-foot-3-inch, 138-pound actor was drafted, then rejected due to his inability to meet the World War II weight requirements. However, due to his strong sense of duty and his wish to carry on his family’s military tradition, Stewart began eating and almost made the weight requirement. He was still slightly under it, but the U.S. Army cut him a break and enlisted him as a private in March 1941. This was only weeks after he had won an Academy Award for best actor in The Philadelphia Story and nine months prior to the attack on Pearl Harbor. He went immediately to flight school. Due to his education and flight experience, Stewart was commissioned as a second lieutenant and became a flight instructor for the U.S. Army Air Corps. Even though he
was rising through the ranks, his celebrity status and the power of MGM relegated him stateside to “safe” assignments. Using his own reputation and some “up the chain to HQ” contacts, however, Stewart got his much desired transfer and became operations officer of the 703rd Bombardment Squadron, 445th Bombardment Group, flying B-24s over Europe from England. Within three weeks, Stewart was promoted to commanding officer and flew his first combat mission in December 1943. By the end of a successful WW II career, Stewart had earned the rank of major, as well as many awards, including the Distinguished Flying Cross (multiple times) and the Croix de Guerre avec Palme presented to him by France. Stewart’s WW II career was not the glossy glamour offered up by the media and Hollywood. The most honest account of his heroic and scary experience with WW II and subsequent posttraumatic stress disorder (known then as “battle fatigue”) is the crux of Robert Matzen’s truly superb book, Mission: Jimmy Stewart and the Fight for Europe.
Always the Soldier
Post–WW II saw Stewart retiring from active duty, but he remained in the U.S Army Air Corps as a reserve officer, where he was promoted to brigadier general and commanded Dobbins Air Reserve Base in Marietta, Georgia. Retirement, however, did not tame the adventurous spirit of the aging actor, who quietly requested to visit Vietnam for an active-duty reserve tour. It had been 22 years since Stewart had earned his first Distinguished Flying Cross in 1944, for leading B-24 missions over Germany. His purpose for flying to Vietnam
IT HAD BEEN 22 YEARS SINCE STEWART HAD EARNED HIS FIRST DISTINGUISHED FLYING CROSS IN 1944, FOR LEADING B-24 MISSIONS OVER GERMANY. HIS PURPOSE FOR FLYING TO VIETNAM WAS TO BOOST AIR FORCE MORALE.
was to boost Air Force morale. This brave and confident combat veteran, however, could not sit idly by and boost by words alone. Since Stewart was qualified to fly the B-52— through his career as a reserve officer, Stewart had qualified as a lead Strategic Air Command (SAC) bomber pilot in the B-36, the B-47, and the B-52—he wanted to fly on an active bombing mission to observe how the younger pilots and their crews were handling themselves in the war in Vietnam, which was a very different war from the one in which Stewart earned his deserved reputation— and so he did. Arriving at Andersen Air Force Base in Guam in February 1966, Stewart was scheduled for an Arc Light bombing run. Operation Arc Light deployed B-52s to provide close-air-support mass bombings of enemy base camps, supply lines, and troop concentrations. The objective of Stewart’s crew was to strike active Viet Cong units in South Vietnam. Stewart’s being on this specific mission was kept a secret from press and crew alike. It was kept classified due to fear that, if leaked, the intelligence would allow for concentrated, specific enemy interception. After all, the Soviets and the North Vietnamese openly offered cash rewards for the death or capture of American celebrities during the war. Plus, the crew’s prior knowledge could have rattled the nerves of the soldiers already concerned about antiaircraft fire, including reportedly newermodel Soviet surface-to-air missiles, not to mention the possibility of MiGs intercepting them. Preflight news of Stewart being aboard would have attracted possibly deadly enemy attention.
A Surprise Passenger
On February 20, 1966, Amos, of the 763th Bombardment Squadron, 454th Bombardment Wing, Third Air Division, was prepping for his mission the following day. Checking his flight schedule, he was surprised to see the name of Brigadier General Stewart on the list as a part of his crew. Questioning his squadron commander, Amos was surprised by the commander’s response. “You know, Bob, it’s Brig. Gen. Jimmy Stewart, the actor!” Amos was excited to tell the men on his crew. In addition to Amos and Meyers, the crew consisted of Capt. Irby Terrell, Capt. Kenny Rahn, and Tech Sgt. Demp Johnson; it
THE SOVIETS AND THE NORTH VIETNAMESE OPENLY OFFERED CASH REWARDS FOR THE DEATH OR CAPTURE OF AMERICAN CELEBRITIES ... PREFLIGHT NEWS OF STEWART BEING ABOARD WOULD HAVE ATTRACTED POSSIBLY DEADLY ENEMY ATTENTION.
was a seasoned lead crew with more than 20 successful combat missions under their wings. This young crew was anxious to show Stewart, the elder statesman, what the new guard was made of. After the mission briefing, Amos felt confident the sortie would go according to plan. On February 21, Johnson brought fresh eggs, bacon, bread, and cheese for the long flight that was expected to last up to 13 hours. The six-man crew, including Stewart, rode in Green-2, the second aircraft in the 30-airplane bomber stream. It was a textbook flight. The checklists were completed. The engines roared to life. The midair refueling was spot-on. Despite the crew’s anxiety of having Stewart’s life in their hands, the mission was as flawless as it could get. Sitting in the instructor-pilot seat, Stewart was impressed by the goings-on around him. When they approached the coast of South Vietnam, Stewart moved to the edge of his seat to get a better view of the bomb impacts of the aircraft ahead of them. At 33,500 feet, Green-2’s time-to-go indicator started the countdown. At zero, 51 M117 750-pound bombs began their descent, all landing successfully within the desired circular error probability. With the mission completed successfully and the B-52s safely out of Vietnamese airspace, the electric frying pan got plugged in and a welcomed breakfast was prepared. Enjoying his hearty provisions of fresh bacon, scrambled eggs, and grilled-cheese sandwiches, Stewart congratulated the famished crew on how they celebrated their successful bomb run. “Well,” he drawled, “this sure is a helluva lot different from our mission returns over Germany all those years ago.”
“I Will Call ‘Bail Out’ Three Times…”
The safe return was nearing its end and approaching Guam airspace, when the copilot uttered those fateful words: “The flaps are splitting!” That meant the B-52 was headed for a total disaster. Knowing that a “flaps-up”
landing might still be possible, Amos, nevertheless, feared the dramatically different approach of a nose-up crash landing. An emergency procedure was put into action. Asked by the Third Air Division commander, Maj. Gen. William J. Crumm, if the flaps were indeed split, Amos radioed, “There was a mild rolling moment to the left...could have been from the B-52 in front of us. By the time the tail gunner got a view of the flaps, both of them were back in the up position.” Moving Stewart into position on the lower deck for the possibility of a bailout, Amos decided the flap extension should be executed again. Amos told Stewart, “Sir, if I lose control of the aircraft, I will call out on the intercom ‘Bail out’ three times and activate the bailout light. The navigator will be the first to go, creating a large hole by his downward ejection seat. Do you understand, Gen. Stewart?” “Yes, Capt. Amos, I understand,” Stewart, a veteran of many serious WW II combat flight emergencies, calmly replied. Proceeding to the planned bailout area, the crew began to calculate the flaps-up landing data, figuring “This is it!” With everyone in position for the possible bailout, Amos ordered, “Lower the flaps!” The gauge indicated the flaps splitting, but the flaps were extending normally with no evidence of rolling. Amos radioed to the command post, “It was a bad flap gauge...we think.”
Home Safe, but Vietnam Would Leave Its Mark
Knowing that Stewart was aboard Green-2, the airfield was a flurry of activity—emergency equipment and VIP staff in case of a flaps-up landing. There was, however, to be no flapsup landing that day. Touching down after 12 hours and 50 minutes in the air, the plane was greeted by a huge crowd at Andersen Field. Stewart suggested a commemorative picture of the Green-2 crew before
being whisked to the Beer Barrel, an on-post celebratory facility serving just what its name implies. Meanwhile, the crew attended the debriefing before also making its way to the celebration. Before leaving the base the next day, Stewart requested a special audience with Amos. He thanked him and his crew for their cool and professional demeanor during their mission and the in-flight emergency. It was his last combat flight, and it certainly was a mission he would never forget. He later said, “I remembered Gen. George Patton’s speech, where he said, ‘No man wins a war by dying for his country. He wins it by making the enemy die for his country.’ But in real war, things are never that black and white.” That may have been why Vietnam was not over for Stewart, as tragedy struck his family three years later. In June of 1969, his stepson, 24-year-old U.S. Marine Corps 1st Lt. Ronald McLean, was killed on an ambushed recon mission near the demilitarized zone. It was a huge blow for the entire family and their friends. Stewart had retired from the U.S. Air Force in 1968. He never spoke of his classified mission in Vietnam. Amos never did, either. He went on to fly 34 combat missions over Vietnam in the B-52F, and later 126 missions in F-105Ds. He retired as a colonel in 1984. Amos said of that mission, “It was a great experience for us all and a huge honor for us to have Brig. Gen. Stewart fly with us. He is truly the same modest gentleman in person as he portrayed in his many films.” Mostly, the mission was kept a secret not only due to its almost deadly consequences but also because Stewart was a modest man. He took pride in his military achievements without flaunting them. He was a keen observer and a quiet doer. And he never wanted to create a hassle due to his celebrity status, especially for the crew that never saw an obstacle it couldn’t overcome—except that one time when it almost crashed with one of America’s greatest icons aboard.