Friday, February 19, 2010

Wings for the Dragon

Posted by Mitch Williamson at 12:20 PM



by Charles Barton

HOW CHINA DEVELOPED ITS AIR FORCE DURING THE 1930s AND THE AMERICAN WHO MADE IT POSSIBLE

China in the 1930s was torn by the struggles of feudal warlords, by revolution, civil war and invasion by Japan. Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek needed an air force built from scratch with a few miracles thrown in. One of the miracle workers was Allen "Pat" Patterson.

Canadian-born in 1900, Patterson's early life read like a film script. Tall, ash blond, blue-eyed and slender, Patterson had been a World War One aviator, barnstormer, operator of Dycer Airfield in Gardena, California, and flyer in Howard Hughes' Hell's Angels. He also introduced that eccentric movie maker to another talented blonde - Jean Harlow. Afterward, he became vice president and sales manager of General Airplane Company of Buffalo, New York, before the stock market crash of 1929.

In the early days of the Depression, Patterson accepted an offer from Carl Knamacher, Hudson car dealer in Shanghai, to join him in selling American airplanes to the Chinese Air Force.

"I had no difficulty getting the rights to represent the air companies in China," Patterson recalls. “Everyone thought I was crazy. I got all the big representations including United Aircraft, Sikorsky, Boeing, Lockheed and Douglas."
Patterson and Knamacher's new office for their China Airmotive was in Shanghai's International Settlement, just down the hall from that of William D. Pawley, head of Intercontinent Corporation, local representative for Curtiss Wright. Just three years older than Patterson, Pawley was socially charming, handsome, and ruthless. When he barged into Patterson's office he wasted no time on pleasantries.

"You don't think you're going to sell any airplanes here do you?"

Patterson looked him up and down and asked, "Why not?"

"Because I have an exclusive. Go ask H.H. Kung or General Mao," said Pawley.

Kung was Nationalist Minister of Finance, Mao Chief of the Air Force. Without another word Pawley turned and walked out. Patterson came to realize that Pawley used cash and favors freely to smooth his way, and both of these officials had been well greased.

When Patterson had made his arrangements to come to China, he had bought a Bird primary trainer to use as a demonstrator in China, but when the Bird Company went broke and the deal fell through, Reuben Fleet heard about it and shipped a Fleet biplane trainer to Shanghai at his own expense.

When it arrived in 1931, Patterson had it assembled at Shanghai's Hung Jao Airfield and demonstrated it to a select group of Chinese. The first aircraft sold by China Airmotive were 20 of these Fleet Trainers.

By 8 July 1932, when Major John H. Jouett, US Army Air Corps, retired, head of a special American training mission to China, and his handpicked group of first-class instructors and mechanics arrived in Shanghai aboard the President Hoover with 15 Fleet Trainers, China Airmotive had sold some 120 Fleets to the Chinese. Final sales totaled over 200, a big boost for Reuben Fleet's new Consolidated Aircraft Company.

Despite Pawley's machinations, China Airmotive was thus well afloat by 1932 and being drawn inexorably into the chaos of Chinese politics. In addition to his dealings with Chiang Kai-shek, Patterson sold airplanes to a rival Chinese air force based in Canton.

At that time the National Government of China at Nanking was "national" in name only. One of the most important groups who had not joined with Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek's Kuomintang-dominated government was headquartered at Canton. Their air force, aided by a German air mission, was bigger and better than the air force belonging to the Nationalists. During an early trip to Canton looking for business, Patterson wandered in and out of hangars on the airfield. Suddenly, the senior German advisor accosted him. wI can tell you right now there is no possibility of doing any business here. Save your time and go home." The manner was Prussian. The accent heavily German. Patterson left.

About two months later, Patterson was back in Canton walking through a hallway in the administration building when a voice boomed through an open doorway.

"Hey, Pat!

"Who the hell knows me here?" he thought. Inside was a Chinese officer in full uniform with stars on his shoulders.
"You don't remember me, do you?"

"No, sir, I don't."

"I am General Wong Kwong-yue, the Chief of this Air Force. To you, I'm Freddy Wong. You taught me how to fly at Dycer Field in California. Remember?"

"Well, I'll be damned -- Freddy Wong!"

This lucky meeting helped Patterson to trump some of Bill Pawley's aces. Later, when the Nationalist government was still in Nanking and the Japanese had not yet chased China Airmotive out of Shanghai, Wong handed Patterson a sealed envelope and said, "Guard this with your life, Pat, Give it to Madame Chiang and no one else."

Madame Chiang headed the Aeronautical Commission that controlled the Nationalist Air Force. The sealed envelope contained an offer she couldn't refuse. Shortly, the entire Cantonese Air Force flew to Nanking, Freddy Wong to a place on the Aeronautical Commission and all his pilots to promotions as officers of the Republic of China Air Force. Without air power, the Cantonese military could only climb aboard the bandwagon, enabling Chiang Kai-shek to make real progress toward unifying China under one government.

Chiang, greatly pleased with this coup, was disturbed at how easy it had been to shift air power from one faction to another. Thereafter, one of his most trusted generals kept close watch over the Air Force.

One day, Patterson's partner, Knamacher, who drank too much too often, showed up at the airport while Pat was away. The United Aircraft mechanic, imported to assemble 17 Vought Corsairs (export versions of the US Navy's 03U biplane bought by the Chinese as "diving bombers") greeted him.

"Let's try the Corsair you just assembled," Knamacher said. They strapped on their parachutes and took off. Knamacher was in no condition to fly that day and had very little flight time, At 10,000 feet, he entered a steep dive. At pull-out, the Corsair's wings came off, "The next thing I knew I was hanging from my chute," the mechanic told Patterson. "I don't know how I got there."

Knamacher left a sizable brokerage debt, so his Eurasian broker, Leslie Lewis, whose office was down the hall from China Airmotive, went to Patterson and said, uI guess I'm your new partner."

The new partners were made for each other. Lewis, born in China of a Chinese mother and an English father, had the manners and education of an English gentleman, spoke fluent Chinese, and handled office management, paper work and business affairs. Patterson took care of sales and contracts.

During the Shanghai years, Patterson entertained frequently. Lewis, a gentleman jockey at the Shanghai race track, borrowed horses for Patterson's week-end guests. Sunday-after-saddle brunches became a regular social event.

Meanwhile, the Jouett Mission built and ran the Central Aviation School at Shien Chiao Airfield in Hangchow some 100 miles down the coast from Shanghai. When the mission fulfilled its contract in June 1935, the contract was not renewed because Chiang Kai-shek was angered by the American's refusal to participate in attacks on the dissident 19th Route Army under General Tsai Tingkai during the Fujian (Fukien) rebellion of late 1933.

Considering that this was the army and the commander who had put up such surprising resistance to the Japanese during the 1932 Shanghai Incident, Chiang's vindictiveness is illuminating. China was as much at war with itself as Japan. The Americans considered themselves advisors, not mercenaries. In addition, the State Department advised President Roosevelt not to approve renewing the agreement because of Japanese objections!

For several years thereafter, an Italian air mission was active in China, but the Central Aviation School carried on with Chinese instructors and three American holdovers, Roy Holbrook, W.C. "Foxy" Kent, and William A. "AI" Spencer. Patterson often had his aircraft serviced at Shien Chao, and filled in as a ground and flight instructor when regular instructors were sick or absent.

In 1935, Patterson and Lewis imported a single-engine Porterfield, a two-place, high-wing cabin monoplane to facilitate visiting military airfields throughout China. This posed special problems for the Nationalist Government as there was no private flying in China in those days. The problems were resolved when the Air Force issued them private licenses, the first ever issued in China. The two men drew straws to see who would be number one. Patterson lost and so came to hold the second civilian flying license issued in China.

In 1934, Patterson had been designated United States Department of Commerce Inspector Stationed in Shanghai, China, with "all ratings authorized for performance of duty.' In 1938, this duty involved him in what the Hong Kong Standard called "the first major commercial aviation disaster in Hong Kong."

Patterson was giving an en route check flight to CNAC (China National Aviation Corporation) pilot Ed Smith in a flying boat bound down the coast to Hong Kong. Smith made great water landings at Swatow and Amoy, but as they approached Hong Kong at low altitude off Chilang Point, Patterson saw an ugly black squall in their path.
"Don't you think you'd better go around?" he said

"I'm in command," sak Smith and continued as before. They hit the squall at an altitude of 500 or 801 feet. Almost immediately they were in the sea. Patterson and Smith were thrown clear and they and the passengers were picked up by junks. But three Chinese crew members died. Smith didn't get his license.

About this time, the saga of Chennault in China got underway. Patterson first met Claire Lee Chennault, redheaded, freckled-faced John H. "Luke" Williamson and chubby William C. "Billy" MacDonald when the "Three Men on a Flying Trapeze" parked their aircraft on Patterson's field between performances at a 1920s airshow in Los Angeles. After the Jouett Mission left China in the summer of 1935, Roy Holbrook, who had stayed on, wrote his old friend Chennault, then an Air Corps Captain in charge of tactical training at Maxwell Field, Alabama, and asked him to recommend new pilot instructors and engine specialists for the school at Shien Chiao. Among those Chennault recommended were his old aerobatic teammates, "Luke" Williamson and "Billy" MacDonald.

On 30 April 1937, Chennault retired from the Army Air Corps and in May left for China on a three-month contract from the Chinese. He stayed eight years, first as an advisor, 1937-- 1941; second as organizer of the First American Volunteer Group (Flying Tigers), 1941-42; third as commander of the United States China Air Task Force, 1942-43; and finally as commander of the 14th Air Force, 1943-45.

Shortly after arriving in China, Chennault confided to Patterson, "Pawley told me that he has an exclusive on all major sales of aircraft to the Chinese Air Force and that he will make it worth my while to concur."

This was a major mistake on Pawley's part. Chennault was not for sale. Furthermore, Chennault strongly favored the Seversky P-35 over the Curtiss Hawk that Pawley was trying to sell to the Chinese.

Patterson was planning to attend the 1937 National Air Races in Cleveland, Ohio, as he did every year, and Chennault made two requests: "Pat, I want you to look for a primary trainer to replace the Fleets. It's too big a jump from the old biplanes to the new pursuits coming into service. And get an agency agreement from Sasha (Seversky). I'm recommending the P-35 to the Gimo and Madame Chiang."

Chennault and Seversky, a World War One combat pilot in the Russian Air Force who lost a leg after his bomber was shot down but went on to score 13 victories as a one-legged fighter pilot, were friends. When Chennault talked about his ideas for new pursuit tactics, Seversky listened. The P-35 was the result. But Seversky had not been able to sell the plane to the Air Corps, even though the test team at Wright Patterson, of which Chennault had been a member, rated the P-35 a better plane than the Curtis Hawk 75.

General Henry "Hap" Arnold, Chief of the Army Air Corps, thought that heavily-armed bombers, "flying fortresses", unescorted, would be decisive in modern war. Pursuit aviation languished. Chennault's differences with these prevailing views plus his hearing loss and his overage in grade led to his early retirement from the Corps. Seversky, to publicize the performance of his new plane, made a civilian version available to famed woman flier, Jacqueline Cochran, who flew it to victory in the 1937 Bendix Transcontinental Trophy Race.

At the 1937 National Air Races, Patterson liked the looks of the sleek, low-wing Ryan monoplane that Tex Rankin used for his spectacular aerobatic performances and accosted Rankin on the flight line after a performance.
"Tex, I'm looking for a new trainer for the Chinese. How about letting me try your Ryan?"

Patterson loved the airplane. "Just right for the Chinese," he thought. His 1939 sale of 70 Ryan Primary Trainers to the Chinese put Claude Ryan in business. When the Army Air Corps saw the planes being produced for the Chinese, they ordered their own version that became the tremendously successful Ryan PT-22.

By the time of Patterson's return to China with an agency agreement from Severy, whom he had known since they both worked for the General Airplane Company in the late 1920s, Chennault had gained the approval of the Gimo and the Madame for the airplane and told Patterson to make a proposal to H.R. Kung, Minister of Finance, for the procurement of 50 Seversky P-35s. Kung, of course, knew of Pawley's use of money to buy high-level support within the Air Force for Curtiss planes and expected forceful opposition to the proposal.

"Mr. Patterson," Kung said when approached on this matter, "this proposal must be kept top secret. Work up all the details and submit them to me personally."

In December 1937, five months after the start of the Sino-Japanese War, Patterson's life as an airplane salesman in China was interrupted by the all-out Japanese attack on Shanghai. Leslie Lewis moved the office records to Hong Kong. Patterson moved up river to Nanking and into a ground floor room in an abandoned hotel.

On the morning of 11 December, a Japanese 75-millimeter round jolted him awake as it roared in through one wall and out the other. Morning light filtered past the blinds. Small arms fire cracked and stuttered in the distance. He grabbed his suitcase and bedroll, ran to a side exit, and set off at a trot toward the Yangtze River and the safety of the American gunboat, USS Panay.

Sandbags at the river gate restricted passage through the 45-- foot-high city wall. The Chinese, struggling to escape through this narrow exit, shrieked in pain and terror as a Japanese shell exploded in their midst. Patterson veered to one side. At a safe distance, he climbed the wall, tied a makeshift rope to a stanchion, dropped his baggage to the river bank and descended.

A sampan lay concealed in vegetation. Flashing a fistful of cash to the surprised boatman, he pointed to the Panay. Reaching the ship, he secured the sampan's bowline so the frail craft remained tethered in the river's current downstream.

For some days, Panay had acted as the communications center for the skeleton embassy staff left in Nanking. At 5 pm, because of artillery shells falling near the ship, commanding officer Lt. Cmdr. James Hughes ordered the anchor raised and headed up river. Three Standard Oil tankers whose skippers had been anxious to leave but hadn't dared do so without an escort, accompanied Panay.

Shortly before dusk, the ships anchored about twelve miles upstream. Because of crowded conditions, Patterson slept on deck. Ashore, the Japanese ran amok in the infamous "Rape of Nanking."

The next morning, because random firing by Japanese artillery began again, the ships moved further upstream and dropped anchor about 15 miles above the anchorage of the previous night.

Shortly after midday, Patterson stood at the fantail of the Pansy talking with a friend who had just come across from an adjacent Standard Oil tanker. Suddenly, Patterson heard the sound dive bombers make when starting a run. He glanced up, saw planes diving toward them, pushed his friend over the side, kicked his suitcase and bedroll in their waterproof wrappings overboard, and jumped.

As he surfaced in the turgid brown water, the first bombs hit. Patterson felt the concussion.

Towing his baggage, Patterson swam with his friend to the tethered sampan and struggled into the wooden craft. Dripping, gasping for breath, they signaled the boatman to head for the far shore. Overhead, Japanese planes continued bombing and strafing the American ships.

The 14 December 1937 San Francisco Examiner carried a two-- inch banner headline: "96 Lost in Panay Bombing.' Subheads read: "Roosevelt protest sent direct to Emperor. Britain consulted."

Actually, casualties were much lighter than reported. Panay had two killed and about 30 wounded. Listed as missing was A.L. Patterson of Washington, DC.

But Patterson survived, and after a saga of escape and evasion arrived in China's wartime capital, Chungking, to again represent his company, now called Consolidated Trading Company Limited.

Negotiations for the sale of the Seversky P-35s had bogged down. In Hong Kong, Leslie Lewis received a confidential letter from H.H. Priestly, Foreign Exchange Manager of the Shanghai Banking Corporation, saying that Pawley had visited the bank's manager. Secrecy had been short-lived.

"Mr. Pawley was well equipped with details of the pending contract," Priestly wrote, adding that Pawley had used "very convincing arguments" in an effort to persuade the bank to turn over the credit proposition arranged by Lewis and Patterson to his own company, Intercontinent. Secondly, Pawley had said he could obtain better credit terms from the Chinese if the bank would cancel negotiations with Patterson and Lewis.

The bank manager turned down both of Pawley's proposals. While Patterson and Pawley continued their all-out struggle, there was no Chinese decision during the first months of 1939.

Finally Kung broke the deadlock. With uncharacteristic directness he summoned the Chief Engineering Officer for the Chinese Air Force, Colonel Chien, and several of his staff to a meeting in Chungking with Chennault, Patterson and Lewis, and gave them 24 hours to tell him why he should not buy the P-35. As Kung suspected, Chien and his staff were already in Pawley's pocket. They raised objection after objection to the model and proposed extensive, unfeasible modifications.

On the second day, Kung came to the table and said, "Since I have heard no valid objection to this purchase, it has been decided to sign."

As Patterson flew back to the US in mid-April 1939, his briefcase bulged with the largest single order for military airplanes ever placed by the Chinese Government. In addition to 54 Seversky aircraft, Patterson had orders for 25 Vought SB2U-1 Scout Bombers, 70 Ryan Primary Trainers, and 50 North American NA 16-4 Combat Advanced Trainers.

His satisfaction was shadowed by nagging doubt about the Seversky order. Down, but far from out, Pawley was taking advantage of faulty wording in the contract. "Guaranteed bond," a British term, probably should have read "surety bond." In the end, US banks would not accept this term and the Chinese Ambassador to the US would not sign for a change in wording -- because Pawley got to him first.

Victory was tinged with defeat. Without the Chinese contract the Seversky Company was in the red. In May, Seversky was displaced as president and the company was renamed Republic Aviation. His P-35 design, however, evolved into the highly successful Republic P-47 Thunderbolt. Chennauft was forced to work with Pawley because the latter's Central Aircraft Manufacturing Company (CAMCO) was used as a cover for hiring and administering the volunteers who came to work with the Flying Tigers.

Later, Pawley delayed shipment of P-40s to Chennault's American Volunteer Group, and CAMCO maintenance work for the AVG fighting in Burma took second place to work on airplanes that Pawley was selling to the Chinese. Little wonder that AVG veterans resent Pawley's claims of responsibility for their successes. After the war, when Pawley sent a $ 10,000 check to the Flying Tiger Association with a request to join, it was refused.

 

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