The Connie - LA

February 9, 1949, we checked in at LAX for a night flight to New York and connections to Dhahran. My Dad had gone in 1944 and we were finally joining him five years later.

It was rainy and the whole airport terminal was stretched out on one level. It seemed we walked for miles before reaching our gate. I looked through a hallway window at a huge red and white Constellation, it was called the 1049 Super G. It was the beginning of a long partnership.

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We stopped in Kansas City for fuel. The flight was smooth and the three of us, JK, my mom, and I, were seated together. The chair's arms went up and my sister was across our laps. I was eleven. As the gear came down, the hydraulics were very noisy; mom grabbed us both and we held on together. Someone joked about the sound and we relaxed.

We flew on to NYC. At altitude the cowl flaps were closed and the glow of the exhaust system was frightening; these were all new elements to me and I was so keen on anything new. I recall the approach to NYC over water. Just when it seemed we would drop into the grey murkiness, the runway appeared and we touched smoothly. I had held my breath; after that I always felt in the hands of professionals.

There was little or no security in those days. One could run to the gate at the last minute and make a flight. The cabin crew- I can hardly say enough. They never refused a request. Youngsters got to go forward and sit with the captain or the 2P.

The Connie was new and state of the art. Those four 3350s purred into the night. The seats were new and smelled like a new car's. The windows were without scratches; the ashtrays were hardly used. The bathrooms were- they hadn't quite caught up with the rest of the airplane.

Rolf Christophersen

Sat, 26 Apr 1997

Connie to DC-4

Regardless of the Connie's noisy hydraulics, we were to find that the DC-4 was no match for confort either. After landing at Laguardia, we caught the limo to the Lexington. We checked in and later that day went to 505 Park Avenue where the ARAMCO offices were located. They gave us those great ARAMCO travel bags and informed us in the same breath that we would not be on the company airplane, the Camel. The next afternoon we flew out of NYC on a chartered Pam American DC-4. The differences between the DC-4 and the Connie were immediately evident. The heaters malfunctioned all the way to Dhahran. We were either freezing or burning up. The thermostadts (sp) did not work properly.

Our first stop was Gander. There were snow flurries and a night landing. It was exciting. Everyone exited except the three of us. We bundled up while fuel and meals were taken on. Then it was off to Santa Maria in the Azores. It was warm that morning and the eggs were runny. The next stop was Lisbon. We were driven into town for a short rest and a meal. Then back to the airport and on to Rome and Damascus.

We landed at Basra too; I do not know why. I recall it was humid.

The flight down the gulf was uneventful. I recall seeing fish weirs shaped like arrowheads pointing toward the shore. I saw my first barkan sand dune and as dusk approached, a few twinkling lights from the stabalizer and those dashing flares marked Dhahran. When they popped the rear hatch I smelled those telltale habitation odors from Saudi Camp.

The DC-4 gave way to the DC-6 but the Connies just kept coming to Dhahran.

There were a few tragic events; Air France lost a Connie on approach to Manama. The aircraft fell into the water short of the runway during a nasty shamaal. Some passengers survived the crash but perished when help did not materialize. We used to call that airline Air Chance; only Air India was a bigger risk in those days.

Rolf Christophesen

Børre Ludvigsen, May 24, 1997

Thu, 24 Apr 1997

The Connie- Brunswick, GA

July 1, 1959, just over ten years since I'd seen my first Connie in LA, was like old home week. I checked into the Naval Air Station Glynco and shortly after being housed in the barrack was taken to the flight line by a new friend who happened to be in the next starting class with me. The base had blimps and as we came to the fence he pointed to a grey beast across the ramp and said, 'these are the ones we're going to crew." It didn't look much like the 1049 Super G that I remembered. These were grey with a huge radome beneath and another atop the main cabin where the wingspars joined the fuselage. Far from sleek. All manner of antennae bristled here and there; the nose was different with an extended cone to house a forward looking radar but the triple tail was her signature. I said, 'we're going to fly in those?' We hustled out of the way as a sh#tbag came over the fence too low, its ground tethers bouncing off car-tops, buildings, etc. The ensigns aboard were trying to learn the fine points of blimp directing. You really couldn't call that flying.

From that day and for the next three years I was a member of Airborne Early Warning flight crews. I was stationed in Argentia, Newfoundland, and Keflavik, Iceland, amassing over 2000 hours of flight time and 160 barrier flights over the North Alantic.

About six months after arriving in Argentia, we were on a radar barrier flight between Cape Race and the Azores. We had been out about eight hours and were returning to the west when the May Day call came in. It was a commercial airliner headed for Gander with a full load of passengers. The ocean station and our aircraft talked to the pilot. He said he had lost an engine and was proceeding to Gander. I saw his emergency squawk on the scope and we made a few slow turns while the airliner caught up to us. The two pilots conversed and it was decided they would fly in a loose formation with us until we hit the ADIZ. I was relieved from my duty scope about that time and decided to go back and see if I could spot the aircraft visually.

She was beautiful, another Constellation, in TWA colors. The port outboard engine was slowly windmilling as she closed to within a half mile or so; she was above and slightly behind; as the sun rose the sleek beast was highlighted against the dark, northern sky. The props shimmered in the sun's rays. I rested my chin on the back of my hands and wondered if there were any ARAMCONS aboard and if I might know them (my folks were still in Dhahran in 1960). I knew they could look down and we could wave at one another; at least a happy greeting. Pipe dreams. We just weren't that close.

Two Connies flew in tandem until the red and white sister turned north toward Gander and and the grey goose headed for off station and the end of a long day.

Rolf Christophersen

Fri, 02 May 1997

Connie Calamities

We were riding back to the Miami hanger (Argentia, Nfld) just after lunch and the daily trainer was making touch and go landings. There's something special to witness when you watch a sleek airframe turn into a ruffle of feathers as a connie approaches for landing. The landing gear is extended, all gear doors are open, the flaps are full down and the nose is high. The airplane seems to hang there, barely moving. Ensigns and Ltjgs learn the ropes during these flights.

As the plane passed, its descent sleepened; the nose pitched up and the aircraft's main gear struck the approach tongue to the actual runway, a surface angled at about 30 degrees to the runway. The check pilot had already added full power to soften the contact but the gear slammed into the tongue with tremendous force, then struggled back into the air with the right main canted at an odd angle.

We ran to the duty office to report what we had seen but the radio comm beat us; the check pilot and the squadron commander were already conferring how to proceed with this problem: how to get the airplane down safely on two good pins and one damaged one.

It took us a while to figure out that the windows in supply gave us the best view of what was to come. We could see the entire duty runway and the crossing runway which was only used for emergencies like this one.

The aircraft stayed in the pattern at 1000 feet asl and several smaller aircraft were sent up to have a look at the damage. There was a rescue flying boat (UF-1) and it flew close under for a look with our best pilots aboard. This took about an hour.

The gear was cycled once and one of the gear doors from the damaged gear broke loose and fell harmlessly onto the runway. After two hours, it was decided to bring the plane in on the emergency runway, landing on the left main gear and holding the right main off until the aircraft lost flying speed; then the pilot would use the thrust of the engines, nosewheel steering and brakes to hold the aircraft as straight as possible. We were taking bets that the connie would ground loop once the right gear touched; we thought the damaged gear would sheer away and the airplane would settle onto the right wing and make an abrupt turn create all kinds of damage. We were afraid of fire as the wings have built in gas tanks.

The approach was slow and the check pilot used a very shallow descent to minimize impact; he was trying to grease it in. It was a textbook approach and halfway down the runway the left main touched with a puff of smoke; the aircraft continued toward the end of this short runway in this configuration, the right wing slightly higher than the left, the disabled gear a foot or so above the surface. As the airspeed bled off, the right gear touched and began to jackhammer along because the tires were not aligned to the direction of motion. Part of the gear was swept away, the props on the right side began to dig into the runway. The plane jerked and bucked but the check pilot was able to keep the nose pointed straight; only in the last 100 to 200 meters did the airplane swerve to the right.

The crash trucks had chased the connie down the runway and they arrived as the connie skidded to a stop. There was no fire and the crew exited the plane rapidly. The right wing tip was dangerously near the runway surface (on these airplanes, each wing tip had a 150 gallon fuel tip tank) but I do not think it actually touched.

A few weeks later, the airplane was repaired and flown to LASI (Lockheed Air Service International) for a complete overhaul. I do not remember if the airplane returned to the squadron. I do remember that everyone was so impressed with the check pilot's ability and the aircraft's ruggedness.

Nobody wanted to be in the shoes of the young officer that caused the problem in the first place.

Rolf Christophersen

Fri, 02 May 1997

Connie Calamities 2

The joker that named two hangers at Argentia, Miami and Marimar, had a military wit. The weather was usually bad. There was a great deal of fog and this caused arrivals and departure problems, not to mention pushing and pulling empty connies around on the ground.

The tugs used to accomplish this feat were called Budas, after the manufacturer. They were low slung and powerful. All four wheels turned so the tug could spin on a dime.

Moving airplanes to and from the south forty, a large parking area about 400 meters from the hanger, required a complete ground handling crew. They monitored the wing tips and tail for clearance as the planes were maneuvered through tight quarters. Every now and then, squadron discipline would get lax and the connies were moved without a complete crew. The Buda driver would zip out to the south forty with an assistant (both riding). They would engage the towbar and push the airplane back.

One day one Buda crew was pushing one connie out to the south forty and another crew was pushing a second connie toward Miami hanger. There were no wing or tail walkers! In reduced visibility conditions, the two airplanes smashed into each other triple tail to triple tail, extensively damaging both sets of tail-feathers. This was a mega embarrassment to the Navy. There was not enough space to 'hide' the airplanes in hanger bays (Miami had six), so the tails were removed from both and they were parked behind the Miami hanger's seaside. They sat there for ages and eventually each was repaired and flown out. They may have gone to the graveyard at Lynchfield Park, AZ., I am not sure.

Whenever I think of this event, I thank God I was not on either crew. Those poor guys incurred the weath-primo. Two $7.5 million airplanes out of service. And, as elegant (Barre's word) as the connie is, it was just plain ugly without its triple tail.

Rolf Christophersen