Barb Hammond, Hometown News Spring 2022

I was working a crossword puzzle recently and one of the clues was “First name in B-29s.” The answer was “Enola,” as in Enola Gay. That Boeing Superfortress bomber was the first aircraft to drop an atomic bomb in warfare on Hiroshima Japan, 1945. It was built by the Glenn L. Martin Company in Nebraska at what is now Offutt Air Force Base.

But for those of us “war babies” of 1941-42 who grew up in Wichita, the B-29 Superfortress “Doc” is our guy. Between 1943 and 1946, 3,970 B-29 bombers were built in the United States. Of those, 1,644 were manufactured at Boeing in Wichita while we were toddling around playing with teddy bears and building blocks. 

Doc was one of those Wichita-made planes, and today is one of the twenty-six surviving B-29s. Most significantly, Doc is one of only two that are airworthy. The details of how this rusting hulk in a California desert came back to its hometown and was restored to fly again is an awe-inspiring story. 

B-29 Number 44-69972 was manufactured in 1944 and delivered to the US Army Air Force in 1945. But the war ended and it never saw combat. By 1951, radar was becoming the next big thing and 69972 was rebuilt as a radar trainer. When it and eight other Superfortresses were assigned to the 1^st and 102^nd Radar Calibration Squadron at Stewart Air Force Base, the commander decided that the fleet of nine aircraft should be named. They became known as the “Snow White Squadron” (Snow White, the seven dwarfs, and the wicked witch) from the 1938 Disney movie.

Boeing B-29s were used by the United States between 1944 and 1960. When they entered service in 1944, they were one of the largest aircraft in World War II, only surpassed by the Messerschmitt ME 323 Gigant. Able to fly higher and faster than the enemy, the Boeing B-29s proved to be very capable and effective bombers during World War II and the Korean War. Their state-of-the-art technology at the time was the most expensive design and production program of World War II.

After the Korean War ended, Doc was assigned in 1955 to target-towing duty and a year later, Doc and the rest of its squadron became targets themselves for bomb training at China Lake Naval Air Weapons Station in California.

Thirty-two years later, Doc was found in the Mojave Desert and rescued. Since then, the historic warbird has been restored to flying status, lifting off again in June 2016. Doc regularly attends air shows and events around the country, serving as a historic artifact from World War II.

With no understanding of the significance of war planes in 1944, many of us waved goodbye each morning to daddies and sometimes mommies, who went off to work at Boeing, Beech, Cessna, or one of thousands of companies that supported the aircraft industry and its workers in Wichita. By the time we reached kindergarten, little boys were wearing leather aviator caps (see below) and yelling, “bombs away” at every opportunity to jump off something. Little girls had no idea who Rosie the Riveter was, but “B-Twenty-Nine” was part of the local vernacular, for sure.

And now as we “kindergarteners” turn 80 years old, our famous 78-year-old B-29 has a permanent home in Wichita inside a climate-controlled hangar that shows Doc to its best advantage. The attractive building also houses a museum area that documents its history and restoration.

I was vaguely aware during the last several years that Doc was being restored in Wichita, but hadn’t paid much attention and still knew nothing about B-29 planes except for that crossword clue that popped up occasionally. In 2021 when I finally read about the new visitors’ center, I thought it might be a good tour site for the next 1960 class reunion.

My dad worked in the engineering department at Boeing from 1940 to 1975. So, filled with sentimentality about my aviation “heritage,” I went to the B-29 Doc Hangar, Education and Visitors Center (www.b29doc.com) to see what the fuss was all about. Completed in 2018, the 42,000 square foot building turns out to be an interactive experience not to be missed. Not only is it a museum, it is also an operating maintenance center where volunteers may be working on the plane and are always on hand to chat with visitors.

When I walked in, the sight of the big, gleaming “bird” blew me away. Maybe being inside a building made it seem massive. Maybe because it was so shiny! The “Doc” logo on the nose is the current Disney trademark version. During restoration, this logo was chosen to replace the original nose art because of its modern appearance. However, to demonstrate the difference, a piece of a B-29 fuselage was also painted with the original Doc. It is on display in the exhibit area and seen here with volunteer Don Broyles (right). Don has been involved with the project since 2013 and used his 41 years of experience at Learjet to work on Doc’s electrical systems.

Doc is now on view in the hangar when not on tour. The account of how a dedicated man from Ohio found Doc and wrangled for two decades in an effort to acquire the rusted hulk is a story fit for a Disney fairy tale. Tony Mazzolini and his band of merry volunteers crossed the desert, found the treasure, fought the dragons, and finally brought their silver prize home to Kansas. When you have time, read the whole, fascinating saga here:
For the last 20 years, Tony Mazzolini has had a single goal: To piece together a vintage B-29 bomber – and make it fly. (Republished) – cleveland.com (2004)

On the day that I visited,  I met several more of the volunteers. All had a passion for the project and explained stuff that I wouldn’t even have known how to ask. Most had worked in aviation or had been fliers in the military, although some had no aircraft experience, but had mechanical skills that were useful.

 

Scott Sarver (right) has been a volunteer for the past nine years. He is also one of the crew that flies Doc on tour to other cities. His title is Lead Scanner, meaning he sits in the tail bubble and is the “rear eyes” for the pilot. For an extra 5 bucks, visitors at the hangar can go up into the cockpit for a closer look and Scott was my guide. We ducked under the open doors of the forward bomb bay and up a short ladder to the flight deck. There are two bomb bays on a B-29; each can carry up to 10,000 lbs. These small, replica bombs (left) are nothing like the original “Little Boy” and “Fat Man” atomic bombs that Enola Gay and Bockscar dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. For a look at the size of them and how they were handled, this war-time film is interesting. Be advised that it’s 25 minutes long.  Little Boy and Fat Man | Atomic Heritage Foundation

(Left) The bombardier sits in the panoramic nose directly ahead of the pilot on the left and co-pilot on the right. 

(Below right) The flight engineer sits facing aft behind the co-pilot. The navigator sits opposite him facing forward (not shown).

 

 

 

 

 

 

The tubular crawl space (left) leads through the fuselage to four gunnery positions in the mid-section and tail. The open hatch below it is our access from the bomb bay.

How did the turrets on a B-29 work? – Quora    This vintage training film offers a humorous and informative explanation of how cutting-edge computers (who knew?) aimed the guns electronically, relieving the gunners of having to do complicated calculations under stress. The B-29s were pressurized, so the gunners no longer sat directly in the bubbles; they operated the guns remotely from inside the plane.

Bobble head “Rosie” gets a nod from the flight crew and a seat in the cockpit.

 

 

 

Doc’s hangar was designed with a mezzanine that gives a view overlooking the hangar floor. An extensive exhibit is housed in that upper level and worth all the time you can spend to watch videos, read, and touch artifacts that tell the full B-29 story. Mechanical geeks may check out this original Wright Aeronautical R-3350 engine (above), which is set up for close inspection. These bad boys powered the B-29s in out-maneuvering the enemy planes.

The last volunteer I met was Johnny McPherson (left). He’s close to us in age and has worked on the restoration since 2001 just for the joy of it – even though he was not employed in the aircraft industry. At one point in our conversation, I told him that I was interested in the project because my dad had worked at Boeing during the 1940s. Hearing that, he dug into his pocket and brought out this little dog tag. In a conspiratorial manner he told me that he makes them at home and only gives them to people who have a personal connection to Boeing and/or the B-29. I fit the criteria and was truly touched in accepting his gift. It was a great way to end my visit with Wichita’s favorite character from that old 1938 movie.