Del Rio’s ‘Connecticut Yankee’ flew the world in daring service to his beloved nation

November 11, 2008
By Bill Sontag
Feature Writer

You see, my kind of loyalty was loyalty to one's country, not to its institutions or its office-holders. The country is the real thing, the substantial thing, the eternal thing; it is the thing to watch over, and care for...

– Mark Twain, “A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court,” 1889 

“World War II was a blast!  For me, it was very enjoyable.”  The cockiness of an unscathed combat pilot burns as brightly as ever behind the now-clouded eyes of retired U.S. Air Force Lt. Col. Alfred Lewis Cummings. 

His whirlwind courtship with the skies above New England, the Mid-Atlantic States, the Deep South, Panama, Europe, Africa, Iceland and Texas still leaves Cummings gasping for air when he recounts his exploits in 20 different aircraft models during his 25-year Air Force career.  Any reticence about sharing long-secret memories is pointless.  Cummings is 87 years old, and in failing health. 

Born in Norwalk on Long Island Sound, Dec. 27, 1920, Cummings lived modestly, but comfortably in a blue-collar neighborhood where his dad, Leander Cummings, repaired automobiles, such as Model T Fords, Chrysler Roadsters and boxy Chevrolet sedans.  Later, after Al Cummings returned from the war in Europe, his father delivered revolutionarily healthy bread products from Margaret Rudkin’s fledgling Pepperidge Farm bakery to Connecticut grocers. 

At 21, Cummings began an Air Force career, thrusting him into roles that seem anachronistic by today’s standards of aerial warfare.  Much like Twain’s 19th century character, Hank Morgan, just returned via time travel from Arthurian medieval culture, Cummings’ memories continue to inform his temperament and vocabulary.  In 1941, Cummings enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Corps as an aviation cadet, and then, as with many young aspiring flyers, he waited.  And waited.  Not for nine months did he begin basic training at Maxwell Air Force Base, Alabama. 

“I called them to see what the delay was, and they gave me hell for bothering ‘em, but they put me on a train for Montgomery, and I began physical training in the summer of 1942,” Cummings said, laughing about his first travel after donning uniforms at Westover Air Force Base, Mass.  For a year, while war in Europe boiled over like a pot too hot for its lid, Cummings recalls, “Then came the shuffles.  Back in those days, you didn’t fly the same aircraft very long, and the Air Force has always been great at training long after new pilots are needed.” 

Still “in the dark” about his first, anticipated date with combat, Cummings was “shuffled” to Spence Field, Ga., and Camden, S.C. for basic and advanced training in the PT-17 Kaydet trainer, then – on the Fourth of July, 1943 – to Bainbridge Army Air Field, Ga., for “finishing school” in the BT-13 Valiant.  The base also served as a prisoner of war camp for German captives.  He graduated and pinned on his silver wings on Jan. 15, 1943 at Spence Field. 

At MacDill Air Force Base, January 1944, Cummings awaited his next assignment, an all-expense-paid trip to Central America.  On a Merchant Marine ship convoy – via Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, San Juan, Puerto Rico, and Kingston, Jamaica, finally to Aguadulce near the west coast of Panama – he learned that he would spend time above the jungles flying the P-39 Airacobra and the P-40 Warhawk. 

“I loved the P-39!  It was the one with the engine behind the pilot, and it was so maneuverable you could do anything in it.  But the P-40N model was a miserable son-of-a-bitch,” Cummings exclaimed, adding that precision flying was demanded of free-wheeling pilots in the very maneuverable little planes.  “I once got in a lot of trouble for not flying close enough in a four-ship formation.  You were expected to fly wing-locked down there.” 

In July 1944, he was sent to Florida for deployment to the war, and then on C-47s to Africa, the Gold Coast (Ghana), Marrakesh, Tunis and Algeria. He flew P-38 Lightnings from dirt strips, actually then dubbed the F-4 when the ship was modified for photo recon work.  He “ran courier missions back and forth from Italy to Algiers,” and was finally based at Battipaglia, 35 miles southeast of Salerno, and then to Naples.  “There we had a 3,500-foot strip and no radios, and we just stayed there until the Americans took Rome.  They were bogged down something awful.”

 

At D’Arco airfield, outside Naples, with the 12th Photo Reconnaissance Squadron, “We live up on the side of Mount Vesuvius when it erupted, but it did so west of us.  We could drive in jeeps up there and see the lava, and buildings being knocked down, and I flew over it and photographed the smoke and eruption.”  

One photo reconnaissance mission to northern Europe involved flying a P-38, modified as an F-5 with cameras in the nose, back to Italy, after flying recon missions over Lyons, France.  Just behind the left propeller, he inscribed “Molly,” his beautiful girl back home with whom he had corresponded while she was in college and he would later marry after mailing her an engagement ring. 

“I lost a turbo prop on that flight, at 30,000 feet over Lyons.  The loss of power flipped me over for a minute, but I righted the plane, and thought, ‘So, do I go to Switzerland, not knowing for sure where I could land, or go on and head home to my unit, the 12th Photo Reconnaissance Squadron on the coast of Italy?’  I opted to go back to Italy, and dropped to 12,000 feet to get enough power to get me there.”

 “

When the Americans took Rome, and started moving again, we moved north, too.  We were their front line help,” he said.  At Anzio Beach he lost a plane to a propeller that buried in the sand, and saw the humor in the incident.  “We weren’t always all that serious,” Cummings said, chuckling. 

His missions:  Secure photographs of cities, roads, railroads, fields and bridges of possible strategic importance.  “If they knew of a military train coming through, they might commit one of our planes to go run the railroad.  But we were never armed, because the cameras were in the nose where the guns were supposed to be.”   

He was fired upon by enemy anti-aircraft guns many times.  “But I never saw them, because I was moving right along.  Sometimes flak chased me, but we had to fly straight and level at 30,000 feet most of the time, so I wasn’t worried about it.  It always stayed behind us.  We would cruise about 220 knots, but on some low-level flights we’d push it to 230 – because we didn’t like them shooting at us with rifles.” 

In the fall of 1944, Cummings was based near Florence, and during down time, drove about a mile north of the city to a supply depot.  On a wet, mud-soaked, slippery road, the truck flipped over.  “It was a rainy day, and we couldn’t fly, so we hopped in an ambulance to get to the depot.  One of us was in front, and three of us in the back.  I like to have comfort when I’m traveling, so I was lying on the stretcher when we flipped.”   

The accident left him with head lacerations and a broken left shoulder.  While in the hospital Cummings was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.  “But I don’t recall why they gave it to me, and I never read any of those citations anyway. I was in the hospital seven weeks before I went to the repot [replacement] depot, and then it was ‘Home, sweet home.’”   

In November 1944, Cummings was flown back to the United States.  “Our flight home was from Naples to Boston.  The only reception there to greet us when we arrived that night was the Salvation Army.”  But he remembers well the joy of returning to genuine American food.  “Of my 20 months overseas, I only had two meals of fresh meat – one was a steak in Tunis – and other food we got off the black market in Italy.  We’d trade coffee for fresh eggs from farmers. And the rest of the time it was C-rations.  We ate a lot of Spam, and I still hate that stuff,” Cummings said, grimacing. 

Stateside assignments followed, including a brief stint at Marfa Army Airfield, Texas, where Cummings trained pilots with the AT-17/UC-78 Bobcat, a Cessna product.  He moved on before silver wings were pinned on the uniforms of the last graduating class in May 1945.  

April 12, 1945 through June 1946, Cummings was at Seymore Johnson Air Force Base, Goldsboro, N.C., where he again instructed new pilots.  His travel to the new post was marked by another milestone of history:  “I remember when I was traveling to Goldsboro, it was announced on the radio that FDR had died,” Cummings recalled.  The often-controversial president died of a massive cerebral hemorrhage at his home in Warm Springs, Ga.

 

On Aug. 1, 1945, Al married Molly, 19, at her mother’s home on a farm near Kershaw, about 20 miles north of Camden.   He was still in a Basic Combat Training Unit of the 75th Fighter Training Wing, where Cummings specialized in teaching pilots the skills needed for the P-47 Thunderbolt.  The free world had celebrated Victory in Europe Day – May 7-8.  “And then our mission collapsed, so we began re-training pilots coming back from Europe.”   

On May 15, 1946, the couple’s firstborn, Cara, joined the family in Goldsboro.  Cara Madison now lives in Del Rio and helps her parents with the challenges of growing old.  In 1948, another European assignment came, sending Cummings to Lenz, Austria, with the 79th Fighter/Bomber Group, 85th Fighter Squadron, all in a training environment in which he taught bombing and strafing on targets.  

In the same year he returned, to Langley Air Force Base, Hampton, Va.  Cummings reported, “They tried to put me in administration there, but I was flying the B-25 Mitchell bomber and the T-33 Shooting Star trainer, and didn’t want the administrative assignment.  So, they sent me to jet school at ‘Willie’ [Williams Air Force Base, Arizona], and then back to Langley to fly the F-80, a T-33 armed for combat or photo reconnaissance.  I was in the 31st Photo Recon Squadron.”  Cummings became squadron operations officer of P-80 Shooting Star fighters. 

Assigned next to Fürstenfeldbruck Air Base, Bavaria, Germany, with the 36th Fighter Bomber Wing, flying the F-60 (T-33 variation) Shooting Star, Cummings remembers one dismal highlight. “We were standing at the ready there during the Belin Airlift, but I don’t know why.  It was always so foggy you couldn’t see across the runway.”   

Weather hampered the Airlift, too, over nearly 11 months of tense time during the Cold War, when the Soviets severed access that provided food and supplies to Berlin.  But during breaks in overcast skies, C-47 Skytrains and C-54 Skymaster cargo planes took everything from milk to medicines to coal for heating the city, some 2.3 million tons during the blockade. 

Molly was pregnant again when Al shipped out to Fürstenfeldbruck, and gave birth to son Brian at the Cummings’ family home in Norwalk, Conn., in March 1949.  Six months later Molly and Brian – who now teaches at Medina High School and lives in Bandera – joined dad in Germany for the remainder of his assignment there. 

In 1951, the family came stateside again, assigned then to Bangor, Maine, where Cummings flew the F-80 Shooting Star, a derivation of the P-80 (pursuit) changed to the F designation (fighter), at Dow Air Force Base with the 101st Fighter Group of the Maine Air National Guard.  “It was a re-activated unit, and they only flew when they felt like it.  They were a bunch of lollipops!  This was the most miserable job I had in the Air Force,” Cummings said with characteristic candor. 

Next stop, Syracuse, N.Y. and Hancock Field, 1954, while Sara entered the first grade, and only a year later Cummings was assigned to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base and the 21st Air Division, as chief of fighter operations.  His chief duties were to certify training of pilots and students.  “We went around to the division squadrons assigned to us, making sure their training was right.  And I flew targets for them, with target flags towed behind the aircraft to ‘shoot’ at.  That was not live fire, but we did do that at Moody Air Force Base, under live fire over the Gulf of Mexico.”  

In 1956, Cummings flew to Keflavik, Iceland, for a year of intercepting and escorting out of Icelandic airspace Russian MiG aircrafts, bombers and Soviet surveillance aircraft.  Flying the F-89D Scorpion, Cummings was part of the 57th Fighter-Interceptor Squadron’s Cold War operations to protect U.S. interests over an ally’s turf. 

Back stateside again, Major Cummings held training slots at Moody Air Force Base, Ga., Craig Air Force Base, Ala., Randolph Air Force Base, San Antonio.  At Randolph, in 1961 and 1964, Cummings went through two editions of PIT (Pilot Instructor Training) in preparation for the formal designation of IP (Instructor Pilot) in different aircraft.   

In 1962, Cummings was promoted to lieutenant colonel, and he was assigned to Laughlin Air Force Base as squadron commander, again training classes of student pilots aspiring to wear the coveted silver wings.  Four years later, 1966, Cummings retired from his beloved Air Force.  On Jan. 31, Col. Stephen P. Ham, deputy commander, 3646th Pilot Training Wing, surprised Cummings at his retirement ceremony at the officers club (now Club XL) with a presentation of the Air Commendation Medal, normally reserved for enlisted personnel. 

The recognition augmented Cummings’ chest decorations including the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Air Medal with eight oak leaf clusters,  the American Campaign Medal, the European African Middle Eastern Campaign Medal, World War II Victory Medal, Army of Occupation Medal, National Defense Service Medal and the Armed Forces Reserve Medal. 

When Cummings retired, his flying days almost immediately began again.  Student pilots at Laughlin needed flying experience before they began their arduous year on base, and Cessna’s T-41 Mescalero was the aircraft of choice.  So, as a civilian contractor, Cummings provided “pre-UPT’ (precursor Undergraduate Pilot Training) to young pilots. 

Next, he went to work for Time Warner Cable as the executive corporate pilot for owner Jack Crosby.  Cummings squired Crosby, his business associates and family members above the clouds over most of Texas, but with particular frequency to and from El Paso and Austin.  He tired of the lifestyle devoid of schedules, and stopped flying altogether in 1983, with more than 11,000 hours logged in the air.

 

Cummings lives in a quiet, tree-shaded neighborhood in south Del Rio, but is no longer able to run the American flag up the pole in his front yard, or walk his tiny dogs around the lawn.  Recently, he was attacked by a case of shingles that began on his head and chest, blinding him, but not diminishing his spirit.  He remains an eager conversationalist who can’t hear everyone, but minces words with no one. 

“Please tell your readers that they can get vaccinated against these shingles; it’s very important,” Cummings implored in our last interview.  Doctor Emile G. “Bill” Abbott concurs.  “Anyone over 60 years of age should get the shingles vaccine, as well as pneumonia and flu vaccinations.  These are all critically important,” Abbott said, Tuesday (Oct. 28).