By Wayne J. Orchard

The year is 1943 and America is at war. For the first time in its history, it was fighting on two fronts. The war was raging in Europe and the Atlantic Ocean, and occasioned by the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor, it was fighting in the Pacific. The Navy and ground forces were island hopping throughout the Pacific making their way slowly towards enemy headquarters in Tokyo, Japan. Casualties were heavy on all fronts. America called all able-bodied men into its forces, and the Army, Marines, Navy and Coast Guard were all facing manpower shortages. Aviation was a relatively new tool in a combat mode. World War I had seen limited air combat, some strafing and bombing, but otherwise aircraft in combat was still untested.

At the beginning of this war (WW II), it was immediately apparent that air power would be a major component and perhaps the decisive factor. The Army Air Corp (later to become the U.S. Air Force), the Navy, Marine Corp and Coast Guard began to recruit and train combat pilots. 

Pilot training bases sprung up across America. They were usually near major cities and therefore well known. The Navy's training was historically at Pensacola, Florida and Corpus Christi, Texas. However due to the severe need for pilots they instituted a program to create a backlog of pilot trainees to be taught basics while moving up the pipeline to full pilot and combat ready status. This program was named WTS, or War Training Service. They were established in small communities with limited facilities (generally), and staffed by civilian teachers and instructors. Cottonwood and Prescott Arizona were two of the locations chosen, and the locations that will live in my memory throughout my life. 

I have found that very few people who live in the two towns mentioned above are aware of the important part those communities played in WW II. It is my intention herein to acquaint them with the part they played, but also, if possible, to tell the true story of the wonderful, thoughtful, kind people who hosted those Naval Cadets while they were among you. I also want you all to know that over the long years since our days among you, wherever two or more got together, the talk always turned to Cottonwood and Prescott. The fond and wonderful memories never faded. 

The passenger train made its slow passage to the west. The seats were uncomfortable and the days seemed long to the passengers riding to Cottonwood. "Where? Where is that? Never heard of it. I have heard of Arizona but when do we get there"? Those conversations and a few card games had occupied the passengers for two long days after leaving Iowa. They were all young, between 18 and 21, in good physical condition and generally a jovial group. They were proud to be Naval Aviation Cadets. They had already undergone extensive schooling in such schools as the University of Washington and St Mary's in Iowa. Now, they were told they would get their first chance to actually fly an airplane. During the night, the car with the Cadets was removed from the train and put on a siding. When we awakened in the morning, we were alone and did not know exactly where we were. We dressed, and went outside to look around. I remember the sky was blue, the air was brisk and the San Francisco Peaks dominated the landscape. One in our party walked toward the terminal and met an early riser who informed us that we were in Flagstaff, Arizona. At about 0900 two buses arrived. We were told to put our luggage in the second bus and get into the first. We were on our way to Cottonwood. 

We stared in disbelief as we descended and drove through the incredible Oak Creek Canyon. At Sedona, all we saw was one service station with an old-fashioned glass tank pump and a few cattle grazing along the highway. Soon after we crossed the Verde River and passed the cemetery, we pulled into a yard in front of a multi-colored fieldstone building that sat on a corner being the largest structure in sight. This, we were told, would be our quarters during our stay at Cottonwood. 

As we stood examining our surroundings, we noticed an old white and gray donkey standing across the street watching us. You could almost see him shaking his head and mumbling, "What the heck"?!. We took our luggage inside and located our bunks. By this time, we were a hungry bunch of Cadets. The mess hall was closed so the Officer-in-Charge, a Navy Lieutenant, had arranged for us to eat at the only restaurant in Cottonwood. We walked perhaps two blocks to the restaurant. Inside, it was clean and furnished with imitation red leather booths. We sat four to a booth and waited for our order. One of the Cadets at my booth made the comment, "I wish this was payday; I'm broke." The other three affirmed that we were broke too. A few minutes later, a twenty-dollar bill hit the table and a voice asked if that would hold us. It was the restaurant owner. I will never forget him. He was medium tall, ruddy complexioned, and, as we learned later, a lifelong cowboy turned restaurant owner. 

We told him that we were all right and thanked him for his offer but that we did not need the money. He adamantly insisted and I finally said, "Well, let us give you our names". He responded that he did not need our names and walked away. When payday arrived, he was the first person we visited. What was most significant about his thoughtful, kind and friendly offer was that it was a forerunner of the attitudes that prevailed among all the residents of the local communities in Arizona. The wonderful, kind and thoughtful citizens who hosted us during our stay at Cottonwood tried their best to make us feel comfortable. 

(Wayne J. Orchard is a current resident of Prescott.) 

(Check back next week for the conclusion of "The Navy in Cottonwood".) 

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(pb013f6i75-60n)
Reuse only by permission.
An aerial view of Ernest A. Love Field, Prescott, c1940. Local airfields, such as Love field, were used by the United States Armed Forces in the War Training Service Program during World War II.