The Amazing Journey of a Zero Fighter

 by Ron Cole

It was the world's first Honda Civic. Japan's automobile industry, as we know it today, evolved directly from its pre-Pacific War aviation industry. The A6M Zero Fighter, the Honda T360, Civic, Nissan GTR, they all share the same history, DNA, and design philosophies.

Japan was keenly aware of its own weaknesses in the 1930s and invested heavily in making the most of its strengths. Japan had to import nearly all of its steel and petroleum, which made the country dependent upon foreign powers such as the United States. 

This reality shaped both Japanese industry and its foreign policy. By 1941 the latter had given birth to Pearl Harbor and the Pacific War. By the same time the former had given birth to the Zero Fighter.

The Zero was the brainchild of Mitsubishi's Jiro Horikoshi (1903 - 1982). At that time the world's air forces were flying relatively heavy fighters powered by large displacement engines. They were, to take a metaphor one step further, the muscle cars of the skies. Fast and powerful machines, the idea of facing such aircraft in deadly combat was unsettling to Japanese designers whose job it was to make something better. 

As it is today, there is nothing like extreme pressure to force the best out of innovative and creative people.

What Horikoshi and others (the engine of the Zero was a product of Nakajima Aircraft Company) created will sound familiar to Japanese automobile owners. The Zero was astonishingly light weight, incorporating a Japanese-formulated aluminum alloy that other nations did not equal until many years later. Its engine was small and possessed a decent power to weight ratio but was incredibly fuel efficient for the time. The front-line American fighter of the time, the P-40 Warhawk, had a maximum range of around 600 miles. The Zero Fighter had a maximum range of about 1,600 miles. Its light weight combined with other innovations made the Zero wickedly maneuverable in combat, an advantage that was never really bested by any Allied aircraft throughout the Pacific War. 

Like all assembly lines in Japan at the time, every Zero Fighter was built by men in tabi socks and sandals (zori) by hand. Build quality was extremely high and workers were very skilled in their specialties, a combination in keeping with quality over quantity - a practice that was to Japan's determent as the war escalated. Every Zero was finished in high gloss paint and polished to a show car-like sheen.  

When Allied pilots first faced Zeros in combat during the first phase of the Pacific War through 1942, they were completely outfought, and losses were high. Allied propaganda attempted to counter the demoralizing impact of the Zero by insisting that it was a copy of various American designs, falsehoods that persist to this day. The advantages that the Zero possessed in combat were eventually mitigated by newer tactics that included hit and run dives. 

By the end of 1943 the production capability of the Allies meant that for every Zero put into the air it was likely to face up to 40 opponents. Defeat in war was by then unavoidable for Japan. 

Our A6M2 Model 21 Zero Fighter, s/n 7830 

The cockpit of our Zero Fighter contains only original equipment.

Original Zero Fighters are almost extinct, today. 

After the Pacific War and beginning with the Allied occupation of Japan, all Japanese aircraft in Japan were destroyed. They were typically bulldozed into large piles, sprayed with gasoline or napalm, burned and buried. While that sounds like what bad kids did to their toys in the '70s, it was a dispassionate order handed down directly from General Douglas MacArthur, and it was a response to the wartime effectiveness of the Kamikaze. The concern remained after the war that even a single airplane with an aggrieved Japanese at its controls could inflict a lot of damage upon occupying forces. As a result, virtually everything in Japan that could fly was ordered destroyed, including early machines in museums, civil aircraft, airliners, as well as former military aircraft. Other nations after the war, including Germany, enjoyed some versatility regarding the repurposing of its wartime aircraft. All opted to scrap the majority of their inventories, which helped the world avoid the expected post-war economic recession, but the World War 2 warbirds that fly today often owe their existence due to their post-war utilization as VIP transports, firefighters, air racers, or for sport flying. But no aircraft of any type in Japan was similarly spared.    

Japanese aircraft being burned by occupation forces in Japan post-war. 

 
Our Zero Fighter rolled off of its assembly line in April of 1943. Built under license by Nakajima Aircraft Company, it was one of the last of the early-model A6M2 Model 21s ever built. The first production model of the Zero Fighter, this variant saw action over Pearl Harbor in December 1941 and remained the preferred version of the Zero Fighter among most Japanese pilots throughout the war. It was given the serial number 7830, which was deliberately misleading. The first digit was a random numeral intended to confuse Allied intelligence in the event the aircraft was ever captured, therefore it was the 830th Model 21 built by Nakajima. 

By that time the war was in the process of turning against Japan. The Japanese had finally accepted the loss of Guadalcanal in the South Pacific, a defeat that was far more pivotal in the war than was Japan's loss at Midway in 1942. For the first time in its history, Japan was engaged in a prolonged war of attrition. Nothing in Japanese military doctrine, nor in the planning of its industry, existed to help guide it through what faced their nation. The pragmatism and ingenuity that was embodied in the design of its Zero Fighter had no equal within Japan's leadership. 

Zero s/n 7830 was among 74 new aircraft assigned to a newly created unit within the Japanese Naval Air Force, the 201st Kokutai, and was given the tail code 'WI-129'. The unit was tasked to seize air superiority from the Allies in the South Pacific and buy the Navy enough time to create and train a surface force capable of defeating the United States Navy. That was a great deal to expect from 74 Zero Fighters, even though they were sent to the front piloted by some of the best men the Japanese had, including many who had survived both Pearl Harbor and Midway. The tragedy of the 201st, as it smashed itself to pieces down to the last plane and pilot in combat over the ensuing year, was that it attained an incredible record against its enemy and created more 'Aces' in its ranks than any other unit in the Navy, but its accomplishments remain lost to history due to the fact nearly everyone who witnessed its accomplishments died in action. Zero WI-129, and its brethren of the 201st, tallied an impressive 450 confirmed 'victories' against Allied aircraft during its short-lived existence. 

WI-129 was based near Rabaul, New Britain, Papua New Guinea, at an airfield at the base of an active volcano named Tavurvur. The Japanese had turned the area into one of its most powerful bastions by 1942, though virtually no one enjoyed the experience of the place. While the drama of the war gave rise to a nostalgic song sung by the Japanese entitled, Farewell Rabaul, I shall See You Again Soon, it was remembered by veterans who survived the war as a daily hell of constant air raids, the belching volcano, dreadful heat, humidity, and death.      

The Allies invaded the island of Bougainville, only 275 miles to the southeast of Rabaul, in November of 1943. The invasion was a bold move that threatened Japan's position in the South Pacific, bypassed and cut off their advanced airbase on the tiny island of Ballalae, and put a knife to the throat of Rabaul and the 201st Kokutai. The latter's intended mission was thus subverted, while it and all of Japan's air power in the region were thrown onto the defensive. Often the 201st flew up to three missions a day against Bougainville and their losses were both catastrophic and irreplaceable. These actions created many gallant aces, then as quickly killed them. Since Japanese fighter pilots were rarely assigned to specific aircraft, surely a great many of these pilots flew Zero WI-129. The wear and tear within its cockpit, that is still evident today, shows how hard this airplane was flown during its short career in constant battle. The aluminum pads on the rudder pedals are nearly worn through. The guiderails of the throttle and weapon's trigger system shows the dents and rugged wear caused by a pilot constantly demanding overboost and as quickly cutting back power to whip the aircraft into a tight maneuver, then slamming the lever to the firewall again. At least one of its pilots smoked Chinese cigarettes in flight, as the wrapping paper was found 80 years later under the fuselage fuel tank. He should be forgiven the vice. Another Zero pilot of the time, Saburo Sakai (who I befriended back in the 1980s), once explained, "Many talk about those air battles as though they were times of excitement. It was never such an experience for me. After a typical hard battle, I would return to Rabaul with all ammunition depleted, holes in my fighter, and soaked in my own sweat. More than once my ground crew had to physically carry me out of the airplane, I was so exhausted I could not stand on my own two feet." 

The final combat of our Zero Fighter was fought in the skies over Bougainville. A .50 caliber bullet struck WI-129 in its fuselage fuel tank, which would have caused gasoline to leak into the cockpit. Its pilot was faced with a grim decision. Rabaul was 250 miles away, but Ballalae Island was 50 miles to the south. Ballalae

had a usable airstrip but had been cut off from supplies. Its garrison had begun to seed crops on the runway. Several men attempted to swim the distance to Bougainville but were never seen again. Almost every day, and for the duration of the war, Allied bombers used the tiny island for bombing practice.

Our Zero Fighter and its pilot successfully navigated to Ballalae and accomplished a good wheels-down landing. The aircraft would have been pushed into the jungle as quickly as possible to hide it from enemy aircraft. No attempt was ever made to repair or replace the fuselage fuel tank. Its guns were soon removed for use in base defense. There is some evidence that other equipment was removed, possibly to help keep a few other Zeros flying. Over time the constant air attacks holed the airframe with bomb splinters, but WI-129 survived the war more or less intact. The surviving Japanese were repatriated between 1946 and 1947. All of their equipment was left behind, and Ballalae reentered its lonely existence as an uninhabited spot in the vastness of the South Pacific. 

A New Adventure

There might have been time, during the 1950s and 1960s, for someone with unique foresight to have come to the rescue of many historic warbirds in only one part of the world - the South Pacific. The ruggedness of the terrain, the vast distances between former island air bases, the brutality of the climate, the underdevelopment of the local economies and low human populations all conspired to make it hard for anyone to easily destroy the machines of war in the region. Unfortunately, just as some, mostly in the West, started to take notice that the once great air armadas of every nation had already been nearly wiped out, the scrapping industries in countries like China and Indonesia arrived on the scene with mechanized methods to more cheaply exploit the region's easy money. 

By the time the pioneers of warbird preservation, like the renown Charles Darby, arrived in places like Papua New Guinea with notebooks and cameras to document what might be saved, they found only the few leftovers; some aircraft too remote to have been worth melting down, and lots of hacked to pieces hulks, scant evidence of the goldmine that had awaited them if they'd only arrived a few months or years earlier. 

I came onto the scene of warbird preservation in about 1984. I was a mature 15-years-old, so to be fair, I was as quick about taking up the cause as my age permitted. My near constant companion was a book written by the aforementioned Charles Darby titled Pacific Aircraft Wrecks and Where to Find Them (Kookaburra Technical Publications, 1979). I drafted my friends into joining a club I vaingloriously named the International Aero Research Society. I did all the work. 

Early one morning I received a call from Japan, which, in those days of long-distance charges and rotary phones, was an astonishment. It was Nobuo Harada, the legendary founder of the Kawaguchiko Museum near Tokyo and one of the wealthiest entrepreneurs in all of his country. He'd heard about my efforts to draw attention to the world's last known Japanese G3M 'Nell' bomber that was then resting in fair condition near Rabaul, New Britain. Besides being the last of its kind, it had flown with the famous Mihoro Kokutai that had participated in the sinking of British warships Repulse and Prince of Wales, an event that marked the end of the battleship as the primary offensive weapon on the sea. An aviation archeologist and good friend of mine, Brian Bennett, had visited the site earlier that year and had taken dozens of important photographs, which he'd mailed to me. I forwarded copies of them to Japan. It was, in retrospect, my first 'assist' within an arena that would become a lifelong passion and profession. I'd helped instigate a process that would, hopefully, prevent an important historic aircraft from going extinct.  

In 1974 the government of Papua New Guinea passed wide reaching legislation that prohibited the salvage and export of war materials including aircraft from its territories. The Soloman Islands soon followed their example, as did other infant island nations such as the Federated States of Micronesia. 

The move was initiated based upon their collective realization that their economies were based largely upon tourism, and many international tourists were beginning to take an interest in seeing the sites where World War II took place. New growth jungle and water-filled bomb craters were only so visually interesting without plenty of aircraft wrecks strewn around. The legislation also intended to appeal to the locally popular opinion that rich foreigners were removing items of value from the local people without fair compensation. A lot of the latter had in fact been happening since the war, and it mattered little weather or not war material vanished due to being scrapped by Chinese companies or due to being carried off to an American museum. 

What resulted from both culminated into multiple political footballs over who owned what and where any money went. It wasn't just between outside interests, like Western aircraft preservationists, and representatives of local governments. There were conflicts between local government jurisdictions and landowners, village elders, and local law enforcement. 

Violence was not unheard of. 

One of the world's last Japanese 'Val' dive bombers being salvaged, Ballalae 2019 

Amid all of the drama that would seriously make an interesting Hollywood film, there has been one common thread that I've personally witnessed recur over and over again. The names have changed over the years, but there has always been at least one Westerner who has managed to undeservedly win the trust of local governments by proclaiming themselves to be the anointed protectors of those government's war materials. They've often successfully torpedoed most honestly brokered salvage negotiations over the last thirty years. I've encountered this particularly the case regarding Yap, which is part of the Federated States of Micronesia, but it's happened everywhere. 

In 2012 I was working with the Wings Museum of Surrey, United Kingdom, and representatives of the state of Yap regarding the possible salvage of some very select aircraft parts on the island. The Wings Museum had recovered the substantial remains of a Japanese B5N2 'Kate' torpedo bomber from Russian-controlled Shumshu Island in the Kuriles, but they lacked wings and other parts. Yap had the remains of two 'Kates' on their territory that possessed the parts the museum needed to preserve and display what would then be the world's only complete example of the aircraft type. A rare chance to bring the 'Kate' back from the dead.

The International Group for Historic Aircraft Recovery (TIGHAR) had conducted a very objective and scientific assessment of the remaining World War II aircraft on Yap in 2006. The conclusion of that assessment (which was published online and remains available for anyone to read) asserted that the aircraft had in many cases remained well preserved, but that in recent years corrosion had rapidly accelerated. The report offered many creative suggestions regarding what could be done to help preserve the aircraft on the island in the interests of local tourism and preservation in situ, but obviously pointed out that all of those measures would merely slow down the inevitable deterioration of aluminum alloys in the salty, tropical, open environment. With that assessment in hand, I felt confident that I could appeal to reason. I offered the manpower and limited funds necessary to implement some of the measures suggested in the TIGHAR report to help preserve certain important aircraft in situ, in exchange for two Japanese B5N2 'Kate' torpedo bomber wings and an engine. There was nothing in that particular negotiation for me, personally, besides the chance to see something good happen. 

The world's last 'Kate' bomber, wasting away on
Yap Island c. 2012

At first all went well. Then, a few weeks in, I received a call from an Aussie who offered to help in the process. It was soon clear that he wasn't so much interested in helping but intended to hijack me. He became rude and hostile when I explained that, yes, indeed, I intended to see some parts removed from Yap but that we could do much to help extend the life of other aircraft on the island in fair exchange. He talked over me. Nothing would leave Yap. The end. I reconnected with everyone who'd been open minded up until then but was given the brushoff. I'd encountered Yap's Western 'minder'. The negotiations were dead. 

The Wing's Museum eventually sold off their incomplete 'Kate'. It's still incomplete all of these years later. The parts on Yap, along with all of the other rare aircraft resting there, continue to deteriorate. Nothing has ever been done on the island to implement any of the measures suggested in 2006 to extend the life of the aircraft in situ, and nothing has been allowed to leave the state for preservation elsewhere. 

That story, with variances in location, subject, and detail, is a typical example of what has happened time and again across the South Pacific, with few exceptions.

A New Life for WI-129, and Ten Other Rare Warbirds

   

      

  

  

 

                     

 

               

History of Ron Cole's Japanese A6M2 Model 21 Zero Fighter s/n 7830

July 2022 Tour of Zanesville's Unique Cole's Aircraft Gallery

 

Ron Cole Highlights One of the Rarest Artifacts in His Collection

 

Naughty But Nice: A Famous Fortress's Gallant Life Through War and Peace

For the preceding half an hour they'd been circling high above Japan's once mighty South Pacific bastion, Rabaul. By that night in June of 1943, the place had little to offer the attacking American air forces but sporadic, and less-than-accurate, anti-aircraft fire. So little did crews fear it, loitering over the target wasn't even regarded as especially risky, especially in the darkness. It was an unexpected shock, therefore, when their B-17E was rocked with detonations and fire. Three rounds of hits, and the aircraft careened out of control. The navigator was the only member of the crew to get out of the burning machine. Drifting down towards the black jungle, suspended beneath his parachute, he didn't think in terms of escape. Below, the Japanese were waiting, unseen in the forest. Also unseen, the lone Japanese Navy night fighter that had shot down two Flying Fortresses in a mere few minutes. An epic end to the combat career of an aircraft that, by 1943, had experienced about everything that the War in the Pacific could throw at it.

B-17E serial number 41-2430 was built by Boeing in Seattle, Washington during days of peace. On December 6th, 1941, the aircraft left Hamilton Field, near San Francisco, California, with seven other new B-17s, on their way to reinforce General MacArthur's air force in the Philippines. On the morning of December 7th, the eight Fortresses were due to stop at Pearl Harbor's Hickam Field. The crew of '430' witnessed the Japanese attack in progress, and took the independent action of landing at a reserve field on the other side of the island (other B-17s in the flight scattered, one landing on a golf course, another trading fire with Japanese planes to brave a landing at Hickam).

B-17E '430' as she appeared between December 10th, 1941, and April 4th, 1942. Note the HAD camouflage, Hawaiian Air Force rudder stripes, and early Sperry remote belly turret. 

The atmosphere on Oahu at that time wouldn't really be experienced again by Americans until September 11th, 2001. Having been dealt such an unexpected and lethal blow by an enemy that had been grossly underestimated, something akin to near panic pervaded the military in Hawaii. Air defenses had been decimated during the initial Japanese attack, and in the minds of many there was an expectation of invasion. The B-17s that had arrived on the 7th were, therefore, pressed into local air defense. On December 10th, Brigadier General Jacob Rudolph ordered that the eight B-17s, including 430, be 'camouflaged to blend in with the local surroundings.' Accordingly, the Hawaiian Air Depot (HAD) used whatever paint they could find on hand to carry out the General's order. While the General was reportedly less than thrilled with the results, the scheme would set those few Flying Fortresses apart from all of the other 12,000 B-17s to see action throughout the war. 

430 undertook countless air searches from Hickam Field throughout the rest of December and into early 1942. As the threat of invasion abated on Oahu, but loomed ever larger in Australia, 430 arrived in Brisbane on February 16th. From then on until November, the aircraft stayed in Australia for training and refit. The older Sperry remote turret was replaced with a manned ball turret, light armament was added to the nose, and 430 became known as 'Naughty But Nice', with the hand painted addition of art to the starboard side of the nose. By that time, the short lived red and white national markings were removed from the rudder, and the red dots in the center of the stars were painted over with white. "Now the symbol is a white star without red dot," wrote one squadron historian on April 4th, 1942, "the Japs have changed our ideas about red."

B-17E '430' in Australia, between April and October 1942. The tail stripes and red star centers are gone, but she has yet to have her remote turret replaced, and she still has not received her iconic nose art.   

In November 1942, 'Naughty But Nice' was assigned to the 43rd Bombardment Group, 65th Bombardment Squadron, and participated in combat operations against the Japanese bastion of Rabaul from Garbutt Field, near Townsville, Australia. The missions were nothing like what was then happening in Europe. Washington's 'Europe First' policy meant that no new B-17 Flying Fortresses were being sent to the Pacific. While some B-24D Liberators began to trickle into Australia and Papua New Guinea, squadrons had to make do with what they had. It was common for sorties to consist of half a dozen bombers or less, flying for hours over open water, without any fighter protection. Any mechanical issue that caused an aircraft to drop from formation could lead to the loss of an entire crew, as lone bombers became lost, never to be seen again. If an aircraft went down in the water, there was only about a 25% chance that any survivors would be found and rescued. Since the missions were flown almost entirely over enemy controlled territory, any crew who bailed out of a stricken machine was likely destined to either die in the expanses of the jungle, or be captured and probably tortured and executed by the Japanese. The South Pacific was certainly not Europe in any sense. No British pubs catered to tired air crews in Papua New Guinea; only mud, sweltering heat, humidity, and malaria-carrying mosquitos. That's where 430 found herself by February 1943, operating from 7 Mile Drome, near Port Moresby.

By 1943, the War in the Pacific had turned solidly against Japan. Attrition in the Solomons and the loss of four fleet carriers at the Battle of Midway meant that the Japanese were unable to maintain any kind of air superiority at the front. When the Japanese Army was faced with a crisis in New Guinea, with the advance of Allied forces, they required heavy reinforcements to hold their line. Due to impassible rugged terrain, that meant a task force of troopships to land 3000 men and materiale by sea, without sufficient escort or air cover. On February 28th, 1943, eight troopships and eight destroyers set out from Rabaul, bound for the forward Japanese base at Lae. Their fate, although seldom appreciated, or even known, in the West, would be regarded by the Japanese as a national tragedy that was worse than their losses at Midway.

The Battle of the Bismarck Sea spanned only three days - from March 2nd through the 4th. All eight of the Japanese troopships were sunk, as well as half of the destroyer escort. Roughly 2890 men were killed. For B-17 'Naughty But Nice', it was her most harrowing mission so far of the war.

430 took off from 7 Mile Drome, piloted by 1st Lt. James L. Easter. Their target was Japanese shipping that was then off of Rooke Island. Over the target, the B-17 was attacked from the front by a pair of Ki-43 'Oscar' fighters of the 11th Sentai. The pair only made one pass at the bomber, but their fire was ferocious. 'Naughty But Nice was 'raked from nose to tail' by machine gun fire. Easter was severely wounded, and control of the bomber was taken over by copilot 2nd Lt. Russel S. Emerick, who aborted the mission and made an emergency landing at Dobodura Airfield with one blown out tire. Five wounded crew members were pulled from the aircraft, which was towed from the field for repairs. Sadly, Lt. Easter later died from his injuries. In 1948 he was buried at Arlington National Cemetery (Section 12, Site 4359). 

'Naughty But Nice' under attack by Japanese fighters during the Battle of the
Bismarck Sea, March 3rd, 1943.

By June of 1943, 'Naughty But Nice' was back in action, most often conducting small formation bombing missions against Japanese airfields around Rabaul. She was by then in the hands of a new pilot, 1st Lt. Hal C. Winfrey. On June 23rd, during a mission against a Japanese seaplane base on Timor, 430 was intercepted by Zero fighters, one of which fell to her .50 cal guns.

On June 26th, 430 lifted off from 7 Mile at the hands of pilot 1st Lt. Charles Trimingham. A young 2nd Lt. Trainee, Herman Knott, was also on board, in addition to the regular crew. The aircraft stopped at Dobodura to top off the fuel tanks and take on bombs. She was aloft again at 01:45, on her way to bomb Vunakanau, near Rabaul. It was a routine night operation. 430 dropped her bombs on target. Anti-aircraft fire was regarded as "intense" but still not threatening to the B-17. 'Naughty But Nice' loitered over the target for an additional thirty minutes, perhaps as part of  Knott's familiarization hop, and turned back for home.

Ensign Shigetoshi Kudo was regarded as a pioneer night fighter pilot in the Japanese Navy. Not content to merely follow established doctrine, he took it upon himself to both recognize the challenges being faced by his air service, and formulate all new tactics. He'd been flying against the American B-17s around Rabaul since August 1942. Like all Japanese fighter pilots, he both respected and hated the Flying Fortresses. Pre-war aerial doctrine wasn't formulated to deal with such a well armed and heavily armored opponent. On August 29th, 1942, Kudo destroyed one B-17, and possibly a second, by dropping aerial bombs on the aircraft from above. By 1943, however, American bombers were arriving over Rabaul with strong fighter escort, and were only vulnerable during night missions. Up until that point, the Japanese had no operational night fighter, which the Americans knew, and exploited with impunity. Frustrated Japanese fighter pilots, including Kudo, cowered night after night in bomb shelters, deprived of sleep, as the B-17s lazily rained down bombs from above.

Then the insufferable plight of the Japanese around Rabaul took a slight turn for the better. Ensign Kudo had left for Japan to be trained to fly a new weapon: the J1N1-S 'Gekko' night fighter. In May 1943 he returned to Rabaul, with a 'Gekko' under his control. The J1N1 was a very fast, long range, twin-engine reconnaissance aircraft. It was designed to infiltrate enemy airspace, obtain information on enemy activity, and fly away at such a high speed that enemy fighters couldn't catch it. One of Kudo's superior officers at Rabaul, Commander Yasuna Kozono, conjured up the idea that installing a pair of powerful 20mm cannon in the fuselage of a J1N1, pointing upward at a 30 degree angle, would make for a fast and stable gun platform against large enemy bombers. Kozono, and, later, Kudo, envisaged flying below and behind a B-17 in the dark, camouflaged against the background of the jungle below, approaching the bomber until within range of the cannon . . . It was believed that not even the resilient B-17 could hold together long while being pummeled by explosive 20mm shells fired into its belly.

All of these elements came together the night of June 26th, 1943; the B-17, the Japanese fighter pilot, the new weapon. The crew of 'Naughty But Nice' thought that they were receiving anti-aircraft fire. Ensign Kudo, firing from below at close range, was never seen. Kudo reported that he made three passes against the B-17. The second pass killed the pilot. The third pass set the portside wing on fire. Only 430's navigator, Jose Holguin, managed to bail out before 'Naughty But Nice' slammed into the Baining Mountains, not far from Rabaul. Another B-17, B-17F 'Taxpayer's Pride' (s/n 41-24448) fell that night to Kudo's cannon fire. Two Flying Fortresses shot down in a few minutes. Kudo only fired 164 shells to get them both. His 'Gekko' received no damage at all.

Thus ended the combat career of a gallant Flying Fortress, but the life of 'Naughty But Nice' wasn't over. She would have a new career as a memorial, healer, and a conduit through which former enemies would become friends.

Jose L. Holguin stands in the cockpit of 'Naughty But Nice' in 1982

Navigator Jose Holguin was the sole survivor among the crew of 430. The night of the crash, he was taken prisoner by the Japanese and interrogated regularly. He suffered abysmal conditions there for the remainder of the war. Holguin was liberated in September 1945. After the war, Holguin made it his life's mission to find the wreckage of his aircraft, locate other servicemen who served on her, and make amends with his former enemies: Japanese war veterans and, specifically, the men who held him prisoner in Rabaul.

Holguin's first visit to the crash site of 430 took place in 1981. With the help of local researchers and aviation archeologists, Brian and Leonard Bennett, and Bruce Hoy. One of the former pilots of 'Naughty But Nice', Hal Winfrey, accompanied the group as well. Holguin oversaw the excavation of the cockpit section on 430, and its removal from the crash site. The cockpit controls and original nose art were taken to the Kokopo Museum in Rabaul for permanent display - where they remain as of 2019. Skinning from the portside of 430, including repaired bullet damage inflicted upon the aircraft during the Battle of the Bismarck Sea, and other components, passed through the hands of the Bennett family until acquired by Ron Cole of Cole's Aircraft in 2019. In keeping with Jose Holguin's desire to see pieces of 'Naughty But Nice' displayed, and her story of war and peace appreciated, Cole's Aircraft began offering small pieces of 430, accompanying Cole's original artwork depicting 430 in action, in April 2019.

The starboard side of 430, showing the original 'Naughty But Nice' nose art, on display in the Kokopo Museum in Rabaul, Papua New Guinea. The remains of the cockpit are also on display.

Two bullet holes in the nose of 'Naughty But Nice' are preserved: Made by 7.7 mm machine gun bullets fired by a Ki-43 'Oscar' fighter during the Battle of the Bismarck Sea, they both pierced the portside aluminum skin just forward of the .50 cal side-mounted machine gun. 

               

The port wing of 430 after being uncovered in the early 1980s. The condition of the wreckage, exposed as it has been to the tropical elements around Rabaul, have taken a severe toll on the aluminum since then.

Starboard engine nacelle and landing gear of 430 c. 1982. 

Data plate of 430, in the collection of Leonard Bennett

Letters of provenance to Ron Cole from Leonard Bennett regarding the acquisition of parts
 taken from 'Naughty But Nice' between 1981 and 1984.

Ron Cole's artwork and display, honoring the aircraft and it's crew. 

  
Prints of Ron Cole's artwork, and limited relic displays that contain pieces of 430, can be obtained from Cole's Aircraft: Cole's Aircraft 'Naughty But Nice'


Copyright 2019

Port Columbus TAT Hangar in Art & History, by Ron Cole

Ron Cole's original painting, depicting the old Port Columbus TAT Hangar as it appeared in 1929

The Columbus Landmarks Foundation lists it as one of the most endangered historic buildings in Columbus, Ohio. Built in 1929 and in part designed by Charles Lindbergh, it originally served to house and maintain a fleet of Ford-built Trimotor commercial transports. The Trimotor, along with Henry Ford's Model T automobile, are regarded as among the most important early industrial achievements of 20th Century America. But, while the old hangar still stands, unlike nearly all others built around that same time period across the country - its days may be numbered.

The old hangar - standing but empty

In 2016 I was asked to paint the old hangar as it appeared in its former glory. As is often the case when trying to reconstruct how something looked from very old black and white photographs, it was hard to visualize at first. Details were very fuzzy; colors somewhat unknown. But over time it came together, and what was reborn on my canvas was strikingly beautiful; not a perfunctory structure with a purely commercial purpose, but a work of art that perfectly demonstrated the architectural tastes of its time.

Port Columbus TAT hangar c. 1930

By 1941, Port Columbus's first hangar had new clients

When I first began the process of physically painting, the old hangar had a local sponsor interested in its complete restoration. That, regrettably, fell through, and thus the original pretext for the painting fell with it. But, I completed the project with the idea in mind that, perhaps, it might serve an even more important and time-sensitive purpose now: to raise awareness of this unique piece of early American commercial aviation architecture and help save it from destruction. There are few examples like her anywhere in the United States, none other in Columbus, Ohio, and none, arguably, as beautiful.

Contact me to be added to a growing list of patrons interested in seeing this building preserved and ultimately restored. I'm also offering limited edition prints of my painting through my Cole's Aircraft online store and in person through my Zanesville, Ohio art gallery, with proceeds going towards preservation efforts.

Email: ColesAircraft@yahoo.com

Ron Cole
Cole's Aircraft
April 11, 2017  

Ron Cole's Zanesville, Ohio Art Sponsorship Program

About Ron Cole

Ron Cole is a professional artist, designer, and businessman from Los Angeles, California. His accomplishments from a young age include co-hosting a nationally syndicated television program, working as the staff artist for a global magazine, and designing photo-etched industrial products - all while still in high school. In Los Angeles, Ron worked for many years in the film industry as a model maker, character designer, and artist. Ron also designed and constructed working models and prototypes for the toy industry, most notably for Mattel's 'Hot Wheels' and 'Barbie My Scene's' lines. Working in the aerospace industry, Ron built both scale and full size working models for the Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL), McDonnell Douglas, and other large companies. As a 3D modeler and 2D artist, Ron helped bring to life many resorts and high rises in Las Vegas, including the High Roller Ferris wheel at the LINQ. Before going into business for himself, Ron was a senior director with Pittsburgh's Davison Design's 'Inventionland'. In 2008, he founded HiDef Design and Cole's Aircraft art. Choosing to focus primarily upon his fine art experience, by 2015, Cole's Aircraft had grown into the world's largest single-artist 'aviation/historical art' web store with over 35,000 followers on Facebook.      

Shortly after finding a new home in Zanesville, Ohio in 2012, Ron opened his first brick-and-mortar gallery in the city's historic downtown Masonic Temple Building. In 2016, he opened Gallery Luminaria in the same building. Renovated to 'bring a little LA' to the location, the new space focuses both upon his own work and provides a bright and inviting place for other area artists to display their work. Events are held regularly, including participation in Zanesville's First Friday Art Walk, where there is always music, food & drinks, and a good crowd. 

Sponsorship Program (Gallery Luminaria)

Besides the running of his business, Ron Cole hopes to provide opportunities to new and aspiring artists in the Zanesville, Ohio area. His gallery provides a large, bright, space in a central location, just off Interstate 70 and located between the county courthouse and city hall. 

Ron's Gallery Luminaria sponsorship program is unique in Zanesville, as Ron not only provides space in his gallery but also promotes the sponsored work of others online. "I show people how to create a brand; how to look professional, create a Facebook Page, sponsor ads, reach their audiences, design logos and stand out." Ron also photographs and professionally retouches images, and scans and digitizes 2D artwork from which Giclee' prints can be created or shared online. "I create all of my own prints in-house (up to 24x48 inches, on paper or canvas). I offer that as a service, part of my program, to the artists I sponsor. I also frame some of their favorites to show." Nobody else offers so much, and the cost to the sponsor is nothing. "If one of my sponsored artists sells a framed piece of theirs that I made for them, in my gallery or elsewhere, I'll only ask to be compensated for the cost of the frame."

The Gallery Luminaria program is intended to help launch new careers for its participants, and doesn't stop at one gallery showing or single event. "There is so much talent here, and I don't know how many times I'll talk to someone, see their work, and know they could be doing something more with it if that's their true desire. 

In the near future, Ron plans to add new perks to his program, including an online store devoted to selling the works of other area artists - both original paintings and prints - following the business model of his own stores. 

Contact

If you are interested in talking to Ron Cole about his art or his gallery program, feel welcome to call or email at any time, and all are welcome to visit and experience Gallery Luminaria every first Friday of every month in the Masonic Temple Building - from 5:00 to 8:30 pm - on the 4th floor. 

More about Gallery Luminaria 

Email Ron Cole

Call: 330.883.2493

Ron Cole's 'Cole's Aircraft' Web Store

Gallery Luminaria on Facebook