No Translation Required

In the early days of VRU-4, and subsequently VR-24, operations, English speaking control tower and air control operators were not the norm, to say the least. Some tower operators spoke a few words of English, but for every one that did, there were at least two that did not. This fact was made very clear to a squadron R4D crew whose itinerary included a stop at Treviso, Italy.

While still some distance out from the field the aircraft Plane Commander had his copilot call Treviso Tower and request landing instructions. To no one’s surprise, the plane’s VHF radio remained silent. More calls were made while continuing inbound to the field with the same results. Upon reaching the field, the crew began circling it with landing gear down. Getting no voice response to repeated calls the crew requested that the tower flash a green light to indicate their transmission was being heard. The silence continued unbroken. After several circuits of the field, the crew made a low-pass that was quite possibly nearer the tower than the runway while the copilot made yet another call for either verbal or green light landing clearance. It appeared at first that the crew’s extra assertiveness would also fail to elicit a response from the tower, which the crew knew, from the last low pass, was indeed manned. Finally, however, someone, presumably in the tower, blurted over the radio, "Treviso Tower no speaka da English! Come on in!"

Aircraft crew list:

Plane Commander: Fred Schlecht
Copilot: Joe Green
Enlisted Plane Captain: Guy Gaston
Radio Operator: Dutch Shulz
Flight Orderly: Joe Wolford

Arrival of Unintended Consequences

Pete Owen relates a tale that has been passed around since the early days of VR-24 operations in and out of, what were then, far-flung airfields of Europe and the Mediterranean. Whether by mistake or lack of current information, a VR-24 pilot set up for an approach to a field in central Italy with which he had no air-to-ground communications. It is worth noting that such situations were not all that uncommon in the decade following WWII.

After satisfying himself that the runway was free of aircraft or other obstructions, the pilot declared himself cleared for the approach. Turning final, he lined up with the runway and brought his R4D down for landing. Perhaps to soften the touchdown, or more likely to prevent a bounce, the pilot reportedly added a short burst of power as he flared a few feet above the runway. The landing and roll-out were otherwise uneventful.

Much to his surprise, the pilot had no sooner rolled to a stop, than an irate Italian farmer came running out to the plane brandishing a pitchfork. Backed by his copilot and crew, the pilot deplaned to confront his obviously not-so-friendly reception committee of one. It seems that the unhappy farmer had taken advantage of the long flat surface of the runway to spread out his annual harvest of beans to dry in the hot sun. Our trusty aviator had unwittingly scattered most of the farmer’s crop of legumes far and wide across the surrounding landscape.

Details of how the VR-24 aircraft came to land on that particular field, why it was being used for the purpose reported, and diplomatic measures taken to placate the farmer have all faded into the haze of time. Nor is the identity of the crew now known. What remains after all of the years since 1949, when the above incident is thought to have occurred, is an indication of the unpredictable conditions in which the squadron often performed missions supporting the U.S. Navy and national interests.