of used car sales, and this guaranteed
him a steady income from which he could
divert funds to flight training. He dove in
at an airfield not far from the town of San
Luis Obispo, and he also flew out of the
nearby Hancock Field at Santa Maria. And
flying invigorated him. “He loved flying
more than anything else, even more than
hunting” his sister Doris would recount
later1). In the summer of 1939, he got his
private pilot license and took advantage
of every opportunity to fly. It was clear to
him that this would not, however, provide
him with enough hours to make him a professional airline pilot. He also knew that
another possibility lay with the military, at
the time the United States Army Air Corps
(USAAC). That meant four years of university level study. For Elwyn, that would
have meant another two years of school,
for which he did not have the funds. It looked as though he would have to abandon
his dream of being a pilot, when a major
twist of fate came along. The developing
political climate forced the Army to lower
its requirements for pilot acceptance to
just two years of university level education, provided they pass entry exams. And
Elwyn passed!
His family had hoped for his return to the
farm, and eventual partial inheritance of
it, but Elwyn, to the contrary, was happy
to be able to separate himself from it altogether. According to his brother Ernie,
he wanted nothing to do with farming. His
head was in the clouds …
Into the Army!
At the beginning of December, 1939, Elwyn
Righetti recorded in his log: “Mr. Prescott
told me today that if I continue to go as
I have been, I’ll be at the top of my class
when I get out of here.”1) It can be said that
Righetti himself was satisfied with his progress.
Bob Prescott was an instructor with Ryan
School of Aeronautics in San Diego, one
of nine civilian flight schools that trained
young cadets for the USAAC. There were
Photo: National Archives
HISTORY
BT-6 aircraft at Randolph Field in Texas, a training base.
Kaydet biplane and then the low wing BT-9.
He fell in love with the latter. The almost
two tons beast with a 400hp engine was
something different than he had come in
contact with till then. His flying skills, once
again, served him well, including at night,
though his instructor did chastise his almost too frivolous attitude. But even that
wouldn’t stand in his way, and after his
post-forty hour flight test, he would write
home, boasting that “I did manage to get a
very good grade on my forty-hour check,
so I’m practically a cinch to graduate. It’s
figured here that once we get by that, we
are as good as through. I was the second
in the class to pass it, so out of two hundred men, that’s pretty good”.1)
From Student to Instructor
In April, 1940, Righetti completed his basic
training and was assigned to Kelly Field,
where advanced training awaited on the
At-6 Texan. Again, he was among the best
in his class, which foreshadowed his future. Plans for any significant expansion
would not be viable without thousands of
new instructors, who would, in turn, turn
out tens of thousands new pilots. It was
logical to select the best of the best from
“He loved flying more than anything else, even more than hunting”
(Doris Righetti)
some three thousand of these in the world,
and Major General Henry Arnold, Chief of
the Air Corps, wanted many more than
that, in the light of the German invasion
of Poland and it’s division with Germany’s
ally, the Soviet Union. Righetti, along with
his thirty-six classmates, were among the
first of almost half a million men trained
during the course of the war.
After basic training and with high praise
from his superiors, Righetti was sent to
Randolph Field in Texas in February, 1940.
There, he would further train on the PT-13
8
INFO Eduard
each discipline to become instructors.
Group 40D, to which Righetti belonged,
completed its training on July 26, 1940.
Two hundred graduates received their
wings and were elevated to Officer status.
Righetti was pleased to learn he would be
a flight instructor.
He was assigned his first group of cadets
for training on BT-145s in mid-August,
1940, and he described them in a letter
home thus: “I now have a full-fledged
class of cadets: Cobeaga, Hayes, Stockett
and Pound—two of them poor, and two of
them worse. I had hoped for a little natural talent to start out with, but no such
luck. These mugs will give me something
to work on, however, and since my captain knows they’re punk, if I can do something with them, it will be very much to
my credit.”1)
Perhaps, they were not as bad as all that,
and later, Righetti wrote: ‘I soloed them all
yesterday and today, but I’m scared every
time they go out that someone will bring
me back a little, old, orange piece of aluminum and say, “Sorry sir, this was all we
could find.”1)
A Secret Wedding
While Righetti was settling into his role as
an instructor, the Battle of Britain was revving up. On January 18, 1941, he married
the small, dark-haired and intelligent
Edith Cathryn Davies. The two married
after a relatively short courtship, without
any external pressures that would be forced on them by, for example, a pregnancy. The two married without the presence
of family or with much fanfare. The name
Edith was never used much by the newlywed, but her middle name did spawn several nicknames. She was known as Kate,
Katie and Kakie, and also Katydid … At the
time, Elwyn likely had no idea that the
last of those would be the name he would
have applied to his Mustang, and that it
would be complemented by a rendering of
a grasshopper, the connection being that
the katydid is an insect that is related to
the grasshopper and cricket.
The young couple settled in the officer housing facility at Randolph, which
Cathryn gradually improved, but Righetti’s quiet and predictable life instructing
young cadets began to bore him. His
thoughts increasingly turned to the idea
of combat. “Two of my better friends left
yesterday for China with about 100 Air
Corps men who are under contract to
keep the Burma Road open. They’ll clear
February 2023