By Wayne J. Orchard

(Last week in Part I, we found our author and his companions exploring Cottonwood and looking forward to pilot training for the United States Navy during World War II. The armed forces were faced with a shortage of pilots, and Cottonwood and Prescott became bases for the War Training Service (WTS) Program to assist with alleviating that shortage.)

Some of the shop owners in town emptied out back rooms to be used as classrooms. Our teachers were from the Northern Arizona College at Flagstaff. They were very impressive and knowledgeable. They taught classes in aircraft recognition, Morse code, science of flight and other subjects sandwiched in between. Our days were busy and full with classroom work and athletic training. Adjacent to our quarters was a large yard where we spent intense hours maintaining our physical strength and agility. The regimen included push-ups at a minimum of forty at a time, pull-ups until our arms gave out, hurdles, sprints, and a three mile cross country course. The cross-country course took us across fields, over fences, and across the cemetery to the final stretch down the paved road to our quarters. I am proud to tell you that I was always first or second. 

We used the same yard to practice military marching and handling rifles (using sticks) and our cadence resounded throughout the town. The best part of the day was sitting in an airplane. We came to learn to fly, and in our minds, we were already ace fighter pilots. To get to the airport we hiked perhaps a half-mile up the arroyo that was across from our quarters. The airport was a dirt runway with a small building on one end. The runway had some interesting features such as a hump right in the middle. If you stood at one end of the runway, you could not see a landing plane at the other end until it reached the center of the hump. There was also a deceptive ravine at one approach end. However, none of these unusual features were a concern to us future aces. 

We trained on Interstate Cadet airplanes, single high wing, with a cabin for an instructor and a student, powered by either a 65 or 85 horsepower Franklin engine. All of our flight instructors were civilians and were all certified and highly qualified, each with many flight hours under their belt. I was assigned to Mr. H. Davidson and have always felt very fortunate as he taught me precision along with safety. On one occasion, after returning from a flight and taxiing to the terminal, Dave jumped out and told me to take it up solo. I will never forget the first time I soloed at Clemenceau airport in Cottonwood. Dave will never know how many times I thought of his wise advice as I later flew the Navy's fastest fighters, dive-bombers and eventually everything the Navy had. 

There is another side to our stay in Cottonwood that needs to be acknowledged. The wonderful people in the area were concerned that we might be lonesome or otherwise unhappy and did everything in their power to make our stay as pleasant as possible. On a given Saturday or Sunday, a car would drive to our quarters and honk the horn. The Cadet Duty Officer would step outside and the driver would yell out, "We are going to the canyon and have room and lunch for two, would anyone like to go?" There were always takers. It was enjoyable to be with families as we became acquainted with Oak Creek Canyon. We hiked the trails and climbed the cliffs and waded in the river. Zane Grey's cabin was across the river, however somewhat dilapidated, but it was fun to imagine him writing some of his many novels in that very place. At the end of the day, we felt refreshed, relaxed and happy in the knowledge that we had new friends. 

Behind our quarters was a building available every Wednesday evening to ladies accompanied by their daughters. Music was provided and the Cadets would have a wonderful evening of dancing with beautiful young ladies from the surrounding communities. The dance was such a pleasant mid-week break. We looked forward to Saturday evenings with great anticipation, because just a short distance over dirt roads was a place called Cornville. There was a large building with a dance floor and it was a gathering place for the residents of the area. The place would fill with cowboys, miners, farmers, shopkeepers, Indians and Cadets. The band had great rhythm and played such tunes as 'Pistol Packin' Mama' and 'Lay that Pistol Down'. It was always a fun and exciting evening and everyone enjoyed themselves. There was never a quarrel; never a fight and everyone always had a great evening. 

Time flies when you are having fun, as the saying goes. It came time to move on, and we had barely learned to fly, but the real lesson we learned was that there was a unique group of small communities populated by people who lived the life most of us only dreamed about. Feelings of strife, bitterness, and hatred were minimal or non-existent. A feeling of concern for your neighbor, and, in our case, visitors, was practiced wherever you stopped. The Cadets were sensitive to this atmosphere and reacted to it in like manner. We developed an unspoken agreement between the Cadets that we would ensure that our personal actions would never offend, embarrass, or injure any one of the fine people in these communities. Over the many years since our sojourn to Cottonwood, when two or more of us got together, the conversation always turned to our days in Cottonwood and Prescott. After leaving Arizona, we met again at the Naval Pre-flight School at Del Monte, California. From there, we went on to advanced flying and study, though not all in the class earned their wings of gold. Some were washed out, some voluntarily quit and unfortunately, some were killed in training flight crashes. 

This was the story of an important role played by the communities of Cottonwood, Clarksdale, Jerome and Prescott in the eventual defeat of the Axis powers in WW II. I was one of the lucky ones who lived through it, and hoped that I had given credit and a heartfelt thanks to very deserving communities and their wonderful citizens whom I will remember and love. After all these years, the memories have drawn me back to this place where I saw peace and contentment in practice. Today, my wife and I are happily settled in Prescott, where God willing, we intend to live out our days. From my porch, I look out to the airport to watch the beacon and watch the airplanes coming in to land. I am content. 

(Wayne J. Orchard is a retired Naval Veteran and a member of the community of Prescott.) 


Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(Interstate S1A) Reuse only by permission.
The Interstate Cadet airplane used in WWII War Training Service (WTS) Program in Cottonwood and Prescott in the 1940s.