I first met Pancho Barnes on my first trip to Muroc in 1945, when we were testing Shooting Stars. Pancho was 46 when I first met her. She had black hair and dark eyes, slim hips and broad shoulders. She would never use a 5 or 6 letter word when a four-letter word would do. She had the filthiest mouth that any of us fighter jocks had ever heard. Now, that’s saying a lot, but it’s true.
She owned Pancho Barnes Fly In which became the Happy Bottom Riding Club. General Jimmy Doolittle and I were the first two members.
Hell, we liked each other right off the bat. She was used to Hollywood stunt pilots and civilian test pilots. She found out I was a fighter ace and wanted to know all about combat flying. I never met anyone like her. She was a famous aviatrix, one of Hollywood’s early stunt pilots and winner of Tom Thumb races in the early 1930’s. She had flown with Jimmy Doolittle, Toohy Spaatz, and Paul Mantz.
Her real name was Florence Lowe. Her grandfather was Thaddeus Lowe, one of the founders of Caltech, who had used a hydrogen balloon for artillery observation during the Civil War. General Billy Mitchell and he espoused the same strategy – air power superiority for war.
In the Spring of 1947, I again made a trip to Muroc and Pancho asked me to fly down to Mexico with her in her Stinson. She flew it herself and was a damn good pilot. We flew into Hermosillo where the mayor greeted her like an old pal. They stuffed us with food and filled our tanks with tequila to the point where yours truly fell asleep in a closet. The next morning, we set out on horses to a remote Yaqui Indian village. We rode all day to get there and they welcomed her like a queen. The Indians took us hunting deer on horseback. Every time I’d shoot, that damn horse would rear, and with me holding on for dear life, gallop into the brush.
From there, we flew to Guaymas, where Pancho had a friend who owned a fishing boat. We went out and caught marlin. I had a ball, and by the time we came back from that weekend, we were good friends. And I was just a maintenance officer. Her liking me had nothing to do with the X-1.
She never let us Air Corps guys at our salaries pay for food or drinks.
She liked Glennis and would often have us stay with our kids at her motel or give us steaks to take home.
She offered a free steak dinner for whomever broke the sound barrier. If anyone spoke against me, they were kicked out and never let back in.
When Russ Schleeh had a terrible accident and ended up in a full body cast except for his groin, she put on a heavy raincoat, pocketed some whiskey, brought her best gal, and snuck it all into Russ’ room. (One time, years later, I was telling this story with Russ there, and I said, “I don’t remember her name.” Russ chimed in immediately, with ecstasy he exclaimed “Julie. Her name was Julie.”)
Later, General Boyd had put down an edict. No more buzzing Pancho’s. She was fairly right off the end of the runway. One morning, my wingman and I did buzz Pancho’s. She didn’t mind me doing it – I knew what I was doing. When we landed, I had two phone calls. One from General Boyd and another from Pancho. She made sure that I called her first.
She told me General Boyd had been at her place the morning having spent the night with one of her girls and had heard me buzzing.
General Boyd called us onto the carpet in his office. He wanted to know why we had disobeyed a direct order.
I thought, nothing to lose, and replied, “Sir, how did you know?”
He glared at me and said, “Get out!”
Yes, Pancho was a damn good pilot and a great friend.
c. GCYI