James, Daniel Jr. 1920–1978

views updated

Daniel James, Jr. 1920–1978

Military official

Educated for a Future

Took to the Skies

Cleared for Takeoff—Through Excellence

Patriotism and Vietnam

Diplomacy and Khadafy

Excelled Till the End

Sources

A Phantom F-4C jet fighter is probably the last thing one would expect to see on a quiet university campus. But somehow, the aircraft looks just right at Tuskegee Institute in Alabama. It is here as a permanent reminder of its last pilot, General Daniel “Chappie” James, Jr., who came to Tuskegee to earn a degree in physical education, but instead soared into America’s military history as the first black four star general in the United States Air Force.

James was a fearless fighter pilot, a beloved military leader, and an individualist who believed that the way to the top of any field was through the power of personal excellence, rather than through collective civil rights action. The black panther insignia he always wore on his helmet described him as “a different breed of cat… one who fought for his country.” That said it all.

Daniel James, Jr. was born in 1920, the youngest of 17 children. His father, Daniel James Sr. was a migrant to Pensacola, Florida, from rural Alabama. “Poppa” James boasted little formal education, but great conscientiousness and drive. He held a good job with the local gas company, worked uncomplainingly for six long days every week and kept a vigilant eye on his family to see that each member was honest, well-be-haved and respectful.

Educated for a Future

Mrs. Lillie Anna James was fully in agreement with her husband’s disciplinary standards, applying them briskly towards her children’s lessons and homework. A graduate of a Catholic school herself, she wanted no less for her seven surviving children. Unfortunately the times were against her. Pensacola was currently going through a phase of Jim Crow law-enforcement, and the segregated educational system it mandated for young black students was, in Mrs. James’ opinion, distinctly inferior. A woman of strength and intelligence, she decided to teach her children herself until they were ready for high school. Pausing only to convert a backyard shed into a classroom, she began to drum into her children the subjects she deemed indispensable to a successful future; basics such as spelling, math and reading, topics geared to social development, like love for their homeland and respect for its laws, and lessons-for-life, emphasizing manners and courteous behavior towards others.

At a Glance…

Born on February 11, 1920, Pensacola, FL, died February 25, 1978, Washington, DC; married Dorothy Watkins, one daughter, two sons. Education: Washington High School, 1937; Tuskegee Institute, 1937-1942, Civilian Pilot Training Program; Air Command and Staff College, 1957.

Career: Commissioned 1943; Flight Leader, Korea, 1950-51; major, 1952, lieutenant-colonel, 1956; air staff officer in Office of Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations, Air Defense Division at Headquarters, U.S. Air Force, Washington, D.C.; vice wing commander, Ubon Air Base, Thailand, 1966-69; Wheelus Air Force Base, 1969-70; The Pentagon, Dept. of Public Affairs, 1970-74; North American Air Defense, 1974-78.

Awards: Distinguished Flying Cross with Oak Leaf Cluster; Air Medal (7 Clusters); Young Man of the Year, (Massachusetts Chamber of Commerce,) 1954; George Washington Freedom Foundation Medal, 1967, 1968; Arnold Air Society Eugene M. Zuckert Award, 1970; Presidential Unit Citation.

Before long, word of her school spread to other black Pensacolan parents, and students of all ages began to jam the building behind the James home. Each child received an excellent academic grounding along with a liberal helping of her own personal wisdom. “Never let anyone your size beat you doing anything,” was one “Miz Lillie” maxim. Another was her personal Eleventh Commandment, “Thou Shalt Not Quit,” a lifelong reminder to her son Daniel that he could achieve whatever was important to him so long as he set his goal and worked hard to achieve it.

After he graduated from Washington High in 1937, his faith in his own self-worth was his chief weapon in the many challenges he faced during his college years at Tuskegee Institute. One constant problem was a wallet so slender that he spent a great deal of time working his way through school. But far worse was a quick temper that got him expelled for fighting just two months short of his graduation. This could have been a calamity from a career standpoint, but thanks to the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People an alternative way of earning a living soon came his way.

The NAACP had recently initiated a media clamor to protest the lack of opportunity for black college students who wanted training as pilots. In order to appease them while also placating the politically powerful who insisted on keeping black aviators securely segregated, in 1938 the Civilian Aeronautic Administration began to offer flying lessons on campus at six different black universities. James signed up when the instructors arrived at Tuskegee, and found a job as soon as he earned his wings.

While the NAACP regarded this gesture as a satisfying start, it was not prepared to let matters rest there. Assisted by Mary McLeod Bethune, a highly placed advisor on Negro affairs, in 1941 the NAACP persuaded President Roosevelt to initiate the “Tuskegee Experiment,” to see whether black students could meet the stringent requirements currently demanded of white candidates for military flying schools. Tests for intelligence, academic ability and emotional stability were given to all would-be recruits, and those successful in leaping every hurdle were placed on the long list to enter the Army Air corps’ on-campus flight school.

Took to the Skies

James had no trouble qualifying as a candidate. He had enough education to satisfy requirements, an intelligence honed by his mother’s patient tutelage, and a steady personality. He could also boast two years of experience as a civilian pilot. Nevertheless there were so many students eager to enter the military flight school that he was forced to wait his turn until January of 1943.

James graduated in July of 1943, and was sent to Self ridge Field near Detroit to join the 477th Bombardment Group for training on B-25 bombers. As a first encounter with multiracial, supposedly democratic America, Selfridge did not impress him. The base commander, Brigadier General Frank O.D. Hunter—a firm devotee of racial separation—did not hesitate to underline his preferences by rigid means such as segregated officers’ clubs and a movie theater controlled by means of a center line separating black and white patrons.

These insulting rules made most base personnel resentful. However, resentment heightened to fury in the case of the many pilots who had already flown combat missions in Europe. At the root of their understandable anger was the basic question: why should they be expected to risk their lives fighting Fascism in Europe when they found no equality in their supposedly-democratic homeland?

Indignation mounted until the pilots’ taut control snapped. One night a large crowd, Daniel James among them, went into a white officers’ club and ordered a round of drinks. This forced the bartender to close the club. There was no violence, but there was also no surrender, and the incident was repeated several times by a swelling cadre of supporters, all of whom allowed themselves to be arrested and confined to quarters without complaint.

About 100 officers were involved in the incident, which the white officers tried to close by asking the culprits to sign a directive stating that they understood and agreed to the segregation. They refused, and were arrested and sent en masse to Godman Field, Kentucky. But once again the NAACP came to their rescue by detailing the drama in the newspapers. The ensuing outcry forced the commanders to release all the prisoners, under the lame pretext that “they had not been adequately educated in the rules at Self ridge.”

By the time the fracas came to an end World War II was almost over. The military was downsizing its services, and many pilots were making tough decisions about their future lives. James, however, had no such problem. Downsizing or no downsizing, he confidently expected to enjoy a permanent career in the Air Force. He was not disappointed. The postwar Air Force was undergoing many beneficial changes, including a change in attitude towards segregation initiated by Air Force advisors who were trying to trim costs. For one thing, the administrators now saw that segregation was forcing them to run parallel services for black and white personnel. For another, they noted that racial separation was inevitably leading to wide differences in efficiency, because personnel wounded and killed in service could obviously not be replaced in each unit at an identical rate. All in all, the Air Force concluded, the practice was expensive as well as insulting. President Truman agreed. On July 26,1948, Executive Order 9981 at last brought the military’s overt racism to an end.

While this was cause for rejoicing, it soon presented James with a dilemma. Sent to Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines just before the Korean War broke out in 1950, he was faced with a black pilot whose skills definitely did not match his own high standards of excellence. But, though James’ loyalty to his race was unquestionable, he felt compelled to exercise his judgement on behalf of his squadron and his country. The incompetent pilot was reported to James’ white superior officer.

Cleared for Takeoff—Through Excellence

As far as excellence went, James asked just as much of himself. In just one of the 101 combat missions he flew in Korea, he led four bombers through a haze of dust, bombs and fire to support United Nations ground forces. Unperturbed by this low visibility, he personally inflicted 100 casualties, fighting under heavy fire until he and his pilots had expended all the napalm, shells and other ordnance they had. As a result of this operation, James won the Distinguished Flying Cross, plus a rapid promotion to the rank of major.

The curtain was coming down on the Korean War in April of 1953 when James was given command of an all-white jet fighter squadron in the Air Defense Command at Otis Air Force Base on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. As always he put “the power of excellence” into immediate practice, showing himself as a leader so loyal and supportive that he even kept a vigilant eye on the quality of the pilots’ food and their living quarters. But this concern never stood in the way of his uncompromising quest for ever-greater excellence.

James was now an exceedingly busy man. Still, he somehow found time to give inspiring pep talks to high school football teams, to track down college scholarships for disadvantaged young people, and even to integrate golf courses. All of this brought him such recognition in the wider Cape Cod community that in 1954 he was voted Young Man of the Year by the Massachusetts Chamber of Commerce.

In 1962 James was assigned to Royal Air Force Bentwa-ters base in England, where America’s first fighter-bombers fitted with nuclear capability were stationed. Within a year he was promoted to deputy commander of wing operations, a position requiring him to train all 80 fighter pilots on the base. Never one to shirk a challenge, he motivated and encouraged each flyer with such flair that his commanding officer, Colonel Robin Olds, sought him out when the Vietnam War broke out in March of 1965, and invited him to join him at Ubon Royal Thai Air Force Base in Thailand.

Patriotism and Vietnam

First as director of operations, then later as vice wing commander, James took charge of all 4,000 personnel on the base, tackled the mountains of paperwork, and supervised everyone’s living arrangements. A workaholic to the core, he enjoyed all these duties, but took special delight in the 78 missions he flew with the squadrons of sleek F-4C Phantom jets roaring through the skies. Even on the night flights he disliked and could have avoided, he led his pilots with his own rallying cry: “Yea, though I fly through the Valley of Death, I shall fear no evil. For I am the meanest muthah in the Valley.”

In 1967, as a 47-year-old husband and father fighting for his country in Vietnam, James was incensed to learn that black anti-white activists based safely in America were inciting people to riot in protest against the war. Stokely Carmichael, former head of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, became a particular focus of James’ wrath when he was quoted in a Cuban magazine saying “If the people in the United States had been armed, they would have taken good care of President Johnson,” according to the New York Times.

As usual, James did not hesitate to express his displeasure. “This thing got to me,” he curtly told the New York Times. “… men like Stokely Carmichael acting as if they speak for the Negro people. They don’t, and they’ve set civil rights back 100 years,” he declared. Seeing his outspoken comments in print was not enough to satisfy him, so he rammed his point home by writing an essay on the meaning of liberty for a contest run by the Freedom Foundation. Author James McGovern later quoted James’ words in his biography, Black Eagle, “Today’s world situation requires strong men to stand up and be counted—no matter what their personal grievances are.” The rest of the article set the same tone of sincerity, showing a deeply-felt conviction that his mother had taught him: “… don’t get so busy exercising your right to dissent that you forget your responsibility to contribute through your own excellence!” His passion impressed the Freedom Foundation to such an extent that it awarded him the organization’s George Washington Medal and invited him to the White House to meet with President Lyndon Johnson.

In September of 1969, James was sent to head Wheelus Air Force Base in Tripoli, Libya. Wheelus had a turbulent history. A necessary protection for American oil interests, the base happened to be situated in an area with perfect weather for all-year-round flight practice, an advantage which had spurred the American government of 1954 to pay Libya’s King Idris $40 million for rights extending through 1970 and a possible renewal of one year.

Diplomacy and Khadafy

Unfortunately this agreemeent was not destined to run its course. On September 1, 1969, King Idris was deposed by Colonel Moammar Khadafy, a fiercely anti-Western nationalist who had spent several years agitating to have the base closed. Now, as oil prices rose and Libya became more independent of American aid, Khadafy’s insistence grew louder. The U.S. government tried appeasement, pointing out that the Libyan Air Force could be streamlined both at Wheelus and in the United States, and even offering to train Libyans working at Wheelus in data processing and communications. The Revolutionary Command Council, however, would not be persuaded. By the time James took command on September 22nd, Khadafy had placed the base under a night-time curfew, and had issued an order demanding the right to inspect all packages going in and out of the base. Furthermore, he wanted training exercises limited to those authorized by the Council. When James insisted on sticking to the terms of the original agreement, things became dangerous. There was one incident involving a column of Libyan half-tracks which were sent at top speed through Wheelus’ residential area. There was another incident in which James’ wife’s car was searched at gunpoint. A third involved a wrangle over radar equipment, which James had no intention of handing over to Libya.

All this posturing by Khadafy brought the American Embassy to an uneasy decision to abandon the Base Rights Agreement and pull out of Wheelus. Once again James disagreed, pointing out that the agreement still had several months to run. Nevertheless, when the American Embassy insisted on withdrawal, James bowed to the inevitable and saw to it that every moveable article was carried away by huge transport planes landing under the cover of darkness, and that every other aspect of the base closing was handled methodically and on schedule.

In July of 1970, James reached the rank of brigadier general. Reassigned after Libya, he came to the Pentagon as a living symbol of patriotic pride who was well able to deal with the problems of a military image severely tarnished by America’s involvement in Vietnam. As spokesman for the department of public affairs, he took his duties in stride, giving speeches about the power of excellence to high school students, and patiently detailing his viewpoint to the thousands of antiVietnam War activists confronting him wherever he went. Although the country was wisely trying to withdraw from Vietnam, he explained, this was not a simple exercise. There were thousands of American prisoners still in Asia, and it was impossible to walk out and abandon them. This was a viewpoint everyone understood and applauded.

Excelled Till the End

James became the first black American four-star general on September 1,1975. Shortly afterwards he accepted his last command as head of North American Air Defense (NORAD), a vast city built deep inside Cheyenne Mountain in the Colorado Rockies. A facility built specifically for surveillance purposes, NORAD’s ultimate purpose was to protect America and Canada against surprise nuclear attacks.

The physical demands of this job were an enormous strain on General James. In addition to the operational duties, there were the details that went along with supervising the 20,000 workers running the facility. There was constant travel—to Canada, to Alaska, and even to the most remote corners of the Greenland Ice Cap. As if all this was not enough, there were still hundreds of high schools and colleges inviting him to speak to their students. Suddenly, after 35 years of living on the outer edges of stamina and stress, his body rebelled. In September of 1977 James had his first heart attack. He had not fully recovered by February 25, 1978, when a second attack felled him permanently. Just 58 years old, he was buried in Arlington National Cemetery with the highest military honors and the greatest public respect.