Jabara Starfighter era memories

Below you can read an interesting story written by Mark E. Berent, published at our International F-104 Society FB group channel.

In the late spring of 1959 I found myself at Tyndall AFB, Florida. At that time then-LtCol Jim Jabara had his F-104 squadron, the 337th FIS from Westover, down there for gunnery training. During the day I’d see those sleek birds roaring off to have at it over the Gulf of Mexico. They would blast out of sight a thousand times faster than the F-102s and 106s permanently based at Tyndall. Then, later, they would come down initial in perfect echelon to enter the pattern. Something in the engine and tailpipe assembly would cause a moaning sound as they’d throttle back in the pitch and everyone on the base knew the 104 boys were back.
In the evening I’d see those fighter pilots and their commander, Jim Jabara, at the bar. They were a tight group who seemed to be having a lot of fun. Of course, I mused, what jock wouldn’t be having a lot of fun if he were flying the fastest and sleekest airplane in the world. Remember, this was the time when the Hun and the Thud were the dominant fighters in TAC.
Besides, they had some kind of a zany drinking song called Ivan Skavar. They started out singing kind of Russian-sounding words as they passed and crashed their beer mugs to the table, then after several incomprehensible verses they hummed the same melody as they passed and crashed, then it became dead quiet as they P and C-ed. Suddenly, in the silence, if there was a blockage or jam up, they would all point and laugh at the hapless perpetrator and he would have to drain whatever was in front of him. But, I digress.
God, I was envious. Here I was, a 26-year-old first lieutenant, in the prime of life, around the world’s greatest, most renowned airplane, and I wasn’t flying it. Zut alors, what’s to be done? Now I had seen beautiful women with men I thought beneath them and, though envious, I did nothing because they were with someone. But this was a different matter entirely. I wasn’t out to steal someone’s wife or date, I just wanted a ride in Kelly Johnson’s finest. But how to bring this about? Being the devious soul that I was, I formed a plan of action: Infiltrate, Ingratiate, Inform, Bribe, Fly.

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In the middle of this group of 337 FiS pilots is James (Jabby) "Jim" Jabara, 337 FIS CO, shaking hands with Canadian S/L Fern Villeneuve (RCAF Golden Hawks team leader). In the back F-104A Starfighter 56-822 "Ball's of Fire". This picture was taken at Selfridge AFB on May 22nd, 1960. (Darryl Pajot Collection, RCAF picture).
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​I started by trying to befriend any member of this elite group of fighter pilots. A drink here, a nod there, and soon I made the acquaintances of Ted Banick and Larry Dube. Before long I was invited to join the group from time to time for drinks and song singing. Obviously they pitied anyone who didn’t fly their missile with a man in it. The infiltration part accomplished, I moved on to the ingratiate mode. Though I was clearing all of $600 per month and married, I bought round after round as the days, I should say evenings, went by. I even learned Ivan Skavar. (Later, passing the song on, resulted in many an interesting session, particularly the time I met Jeremiah Weed.) So, surprisingly, I seemed to be accepted as a poor waif who knew not the joys of flying the world’s greatest fighter flown by, of course, the world’s greatest fighter pilots. Time to move on to the Inform phase.
​So, I made my wishes known, I wanted to fly their wonderful bird. They looked at each other and smiled knowingly. “Look,” one said in a condescending tone, “there are colonels in the Pentagon who have tried to get a hop in the bird and it hasn’t happened yet nor is it likely. We have only so many hours we can fly and there just isn’t anything left over for courtesy flights. We don’t even fly PIO guys.” I thought about that. Okay, time to try a bribe.
“Gee, guys,” I said, “ I’ll donate $500 to the pilot’s fund to fly the A-model.” The A was a single-seater, the B-model a two-seater. “Furthermore, I’ll memorize the entire Emergency Procedures section in the Dash-One and take a blindfold cockpit check.” There were a few polite snickers, well, maybe not too polite. I went to my fallback position, “Okay, $250 to the pilot’s fund for a ride in the front seat of the B-Model.” More snickers but they could see I was quite serious. I followed up with, “$100 for a ride in the back seat.” There were no comments, just head shakings. I didn’t realize how crass I sounded.

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​Colonel Jabara wasn’t always at these sessions, or, he would get them started and then depart. So he wasn’t there the night I made that pitch. The next night he was and Ted introduced me to this legendary first American jet ace. “They told me about you,” he said and rolled his ever-present cigar in his mouth. “Be down at the squadron 0700 hours tomorrow ready to fly.” I could barely refrain from shouting a cry of elation. “In the back seat, of course,” he added, “and forget about any pilot’s fund donations.”
All kitted up, I was in the squadron trailer by 0630, shared a cup of coffee with and was briefed by my front seat pilot, who was either one of the three squadron IPs; Ray Nyls, Herb Barnes, or Chuck Lloyd. I just don’t recall which one because I was so excited to be allowed in Lockheed’s faster-than-a-speeding-bullet airplane.
​“Just a quickie,” he said, “out over the Gulf. You try out the controls, watch out for those damn thunder bumpers. They are really screwing up our missions.” The 337th was at Tyndall to get the pilots checked out firing the AIM 9. Poor acquisition radar and low heat from the targets caused most of the missiles to home in on the TSTMs. Out to the airplane; the crew chief helped me lock into the backseat. I had never seen, much less worn, garters and spurs as he showed me how to hook them up. They were, he explained, a device to pull your feet back to the seat during an ejection so your legs don’t flail, particularly during a high speed ejection. He told me the F-104 could attain speeds well over Mach 2 but then there was the danger of the canopy and inlet guide vanes melting. This airplane can go so fast it can melt? Jeez Louise!
The IP fired up, got the all-clear from the crew chief, we pulled our canopies down, locked them, and started to taxi. He even let me taxi. Rear seat visibility was pretty good due to the slightly elevated seat. Much better than the Hun or, as I was to find out years later, the F-4. As we were enroute to the runway, Tower called and said all flying was cancelled due to bad weather. And, yes, it was really crappy outside the window but I hadn’t paid all that much attention. Damn, damn, damn.So, taxi back, shut down, unstrap, walk through the beginning rain to the crew bus, equipment jangling, and into squadron ops. “Sorry about that,” the IP said, “we tried.” Fighter pilots don’t cry but if they did, I’d be wailing.
​A lot of disgruntled pilots stood about, coffee in hand, bitching about the weather. Inside I wasn’t necessarily bitching, I was crestfallen. My crest, in fact, was flat on the floor. Here was my big, my only chance to get a ride in the Star Fighter, but Ares, the Greek god of storms, ruled otherwise.
​But, I said to myself, Colonel Jim Jabara had set up a flight for me when he certainly didn’t have to. And way ahead of those Pentagon colonels, at that. And what with the USAF’s lack of money for extra flying hours (would you believe pilots were restricted to 100 hours per year .. That’s 8+20 per month). I was at least lucky to have strapped in and taxied a 104.
But to Jim Jabara, a commitment was a commitment. He rolled the ever-present cigar in his mouth and said, “Hang around. When the weather clears, we’ll get you airborne.”
​The weather cleared, and I got airborne. I can’t begin to describe what it felt like to be in that knife-edged fighter. I had plenty of time in ‘86s and Huns, but this was science fiction, space rocket, aeronautical orgasm stuff.
​That night, at the O’Club with the 337th Squadron, I was honored by Jim Jabara with a firm handshake and an F-104 lapel pin. It didn’t get any better than that in the 1959 fighter community. Gentlemen, how many times have you seen a commander, particularly a legendary Ace , and double particularly when flying hours were tight, give a ride in his precious airplane to a first lieutenant nobody who could do absolutely nothing, provide no quid pro quo, not even put in a good word to some high-ranking relative or write an article as a PIO guy would do? You just don’t.
​His tragic death in 1966 as a full colonel enroute to take command of a Fighter Wing in Florida was a shock to all of us. This fierce warrior of two air wars, a man with 1 and ½ kills WWII, 15 MiGs Korea, was also a compassionate commander who could take pity on a young fighter jock and give him his heart’s desire.
​There is little doubt that Jim Jabara did the same for others, in many forms, throughout his life. There is also little doubt that, had he lived, he would have become the Chief of Staff of the United States Air Force.
​And, you know, I never once wondered why he did it... he was just that sort of man.

By Mark E. Berent
Pictures by The International F-104 Society.