General Yeager tells his story: On the way back to Edwards, and to face the “firing squad” at TPS, from France, we stopped off in Madrid. At dinner, I said: “General Boyd-” but he interrupted. “Chuck, we’re after hours now. Call me ‘Al.'”
I said….”General Boyd, the two of us can be stuck together on a desert island for the next ten years, but you’ll still be ‘General Boyd.'” I could no more call my dad “Hal” than call General Boyd by his first name. I think if I had ever tried to call him “Hal”, my mouth would not have known how to get it out.
When we returned to Edwards, I wondered whether I would be allowed to make up the class for TPS.
The old man marched on the test pilot school. The commandant told him, “General, there’s no way we can pass Yeager. He’s missed too much work.” The old man handed him the stability and control reports I had prepared on the XF-92 and the French jets. “Study that,” he said, “you might learn something. Yeager knows more about stability and control than you can teach him.”
The commandant said that might be, but rules were rules, and I couldn’t get a certification diploma without completing my course work. And without the certificate, my test pilot days were over. General Boyd turned red, then purple. He slammed his fists down on the table and his voice shook that room. “Goddamit, I’m in charge of this school. You will pass him.”
And that’s how I got my diploma.