18th Fighter-Bomber Wing in Korea

PARA-PANTS * Captain Mau's Flying Trousers

We had no facilities for cleaning our aircraft at our dusty Taegu airstrip, and our Mustangs rapidly accumulated a grimy coating of oil and dust which was not only unsightly, but increased drag friction to slow us down and, if uncorrected, would ultimately work its way into the control surfaces to cause undue wear. When they became too dirty, and we could afford the time to keep them down for a half day, we would occasionally fly them across the Sea of Japan to Itazuke, AFB Japan, to give both the airplane and the pilot a chance for a welcome hot bath and, for the pilot, a good meal at their Officer's Club.

One morning, after flying a successful pre-dawn combat mission on the roads along the East coast, Captain Jerry Mau and I took a pair of our F-51s over to Itazuke for a quick scrubdown. Since we would be "dining" in the Officer's Club while our ships were being 'bathed', we took along suntan uniforms to change from our grubby flying suits and, because the Mustang had no space provided for luggage, we would simply hang our uniforms on hangers, place them against the back of the seat, and sit on them.

After enjoying a good shower at the Itazuke Transient Officer's Quarters and a meal at the Club ... we arranged to purchase a few cases of canned beer to take back to Taegu for use at our primitive "Club" tent.

The Itazuke maintenance officer had obligingly furnished us a couple of old expendable 'drop-tanks' to hang under the wings, for our use to carry the precious canned-liquid cargo back to our base in Korea. In place of the small, round fuel filler hole, he had cut an eight-inch square access panel in it's place, with the top held in place by a couple of bent baling wire hinges and a bent wire fastener ...a completely adequate arrangement for carrying canned beer...

Jerry Mau insisted on carrying both cargo tanks back on his ship ...he said he didn't trust me with all that beer ...I might accidentally drop the tanks, or have them knocked off when I made my usual hard landing at Taegu.

After we had loaded all of the beer cans into the modified fuel tanks, Jerry then neatly folded his suntan uniforms and tucked them into the right wing tank on top of the beer cans rather than the back of his seat, before he closed and wired the loose-fitting, makeshift cover panel shut.

When he told me that his wallet was in his trouser's pocket, I asked if he wasn't afraid he might lose it if he had to drop the tanks.

He wasn't worried, he said, because he didn't intend to drop all that beer, under any circumstances ...even if we were jumped by enemy aircraft.

About half an hour after take-off, outbound from Itazuke, while flying Jerry's right wing ... midway across the Sea of Japan ... just before reaching Tsushima Island, I noticed a bit of tan cloth flapping in the slipstream from the top of his right wing tank; I called to bring it to his attention but, although he was a little concerned about tearing the cloth, there was really nothing he could do about it at the time.

As we drilled onward at ten thousand feet, the patch of cloth became bigger and bigger until, finally, one whole leg of Mau's trousers had been sucked out through the quarter-inch gap of the cover, out into the 250 miles-per-hour slipstream.

By that time he finally realized what was happening ...and what was about to happen. Mau was beside himself. We were fifty miles over the Sea of Japan, with no place to land before the trousers would be pulled entirely out.

There was nothing he could do but watch in dismay, as the slipstream sucked the trousers out, inch by inch, until they stuck, momentarily when the pocket holding the wallet... with three hundred dollars in good American 1950's greenbacks inside, wedged against the tank's loosely-wired access panel.

We had slowed our airspeed to 150 mph, hoping the slower speed and the jammed wallet might hold until we arrived over Pusan, where we might land and save it.

But no such luck! I watched Jerry and the tank cover from close formation as the flapping pant legs finally pulled the valuable $300 wallet ... loose to flutter silently into the sea ten thousand feet below.

But the beer was safe, and well-chilled from the flight across the Sea of Japan. At Taegu we drank a sudsy toast to Jerry Mau's expensive trousers and their dramatic fall into the Yellow Sea!

Duane E. 'Bud' Biteman,
Lt. Col, USAF, Ret
‘...One of those Old, Bold Fighter Pilots’
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