Excerpts from:

                      I COULD NEVER BE SO LUCKY AGAIN
                            An Autobiography by
                    General James H. "Jimmy" Doolittle
                          with Carroll V. Glines

            The decision to resign from the service was not an easy one
       because I knew I would miss the opportunity for flying and testing
       every type of aircraft the Army had or anyone wanted to sell to it.
       As chief test pilot at McCook I was privileged to know all the
       aircraft manufacturers on a first name basis.  The aviation
       fraternity was quite small at that time and everyone knew everyone
       else.  They were all people of substance, people of ideas, some of
       them geniuses.  Some were good business people, most were not.  The
       creative genius is not always the chap who is best able to make a
       buck and run an airplane factory efficiently.
             But the offer from the Shell company was one that I literally
       couldn't afford to pass up.  Three times the military salary of
       about $200 a month meant a better life for the Doolittles.  Joe's
       mother and my mother were both ill at the time.  So my decision was
       purely economic....
             What Shell had in mind for me sounded almost too good to be
       true.  The company had conceived the idea that there was a future
       for aviation as a means of mass transportation, and decided to get
       into the business of providing aviation fuel and lubricants in
       America as it had been doing in Europe.  All of the "name" oil
       companies were hiring well-known pilots at that time to represent
       their products at air races, by setting records and otherwise
       getting their respective companies in the news in a favorable way.
       Among them was Jimmy Mattern at Pure Oil;  Frank Hawes at Texaco;
       Eddie Aldrin at Standard Oil;  Billy Parker at Phillips;  Al
       Williams at Gulf; and Roscoe Turner at Gilmore Oil Company.
       [pp.162-163]

             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
             The Thompson race officials required qualification tests, and
       on September 1, 1932, I clocked at 293.19 miles per hour, which
       would have been a new world's speed record except for one thing:
       there was no barograph installed to measure altitude, which was
       required by the National Aeronautic Association before a record
       flight could be considered official....
             On September 3, we were required to make speed dashes in excess
       of 200 miles per hour that year in order to qualify for the
       Thompson....
             There was tragedy later that day when Al Wilson, flying a 1910
       Curtiss Pusher, was killed in a collision with an auto-gyro flown by
       John Miller.  The two planes were to have a "dogfight" as one of the
       many events during the 10-day extravaganza.  Miller and a passenger
       were unhurt.
       
       

   
                                               
             A near tragedy occurred during a closed-course race for
       sportsmen pilots when a Lambert-powered Monocoupe flown by Paul S.
       Bloom collided with a Davis monoplane piloted by William A.Warrick,
       Jr., as the two rounded a plylon at the start of the second lap.
       Both were injured but survived.
             The Thompson Trophy race was usually the final event in the
       Cleveland Air Races.  My competition was impressive.  In the order
       they qualified, they were: Jimmy Wedell, Roscoe Turner, Jimmy
       Haizlip, Bob Hall, Ray Moore, Bill Ong, Les Bowen, and Lee Gehlbach.
       Although I had the fastest qualifying time, everyone knew by this
       time that anything could happen to a Gee-Bee or its pilot.  The day
       was almost spoiled for the two Gee-Bees when Lee Gehlbach was
       taxiing the R-2. (He had placed fourth in the Bendix; Jimmy Haizlip
       won it flying a Wedell-Williams racer in 8 hours, 47 minutes.)
       While taxiing near my ship, he nearly rammed it because he couldn't
       see it.  Only franctic arm-waving by a mechanic saved both aircraft
       from being wrecked.
             Something else almost happened that could have ruined my day.
       I was starting up the R-1's engine when the carburetor backfired;
       flames suddenly engulfed the cowling and started to spread to the
       rear.  I leaped out and a mechanic and I extinguished the fire.
       Fortunately, no damage was done.  I started it up again and taxied
       out to the starting line.
             Takeoffs were at 10-second intervals.  Bob Hall was first off
       in his Hall Bulldog and I followed.  Moore, Wedell, Haizlip,
       Gehlbach, Turner, and Ong got off in that order, but Moore soon had
       to drop out.  Bowen never got off the ground.
             I had passed Hall quickly to take the lead and never lost it.
       I completed the 100-mile triangular course at the winning speed of
       252.686 miles per hour, which was a new record for the Thompson
       race.  Wedell was second, Turner third, and Haizlip fourth.  Lee
       Gehlbach in the R-2 Gee-Bee came in fifth.
             I breathed a very deep sigh of relief when they opened the
       canopy.  My eyes were watering and blinking because of the hay fever
       that has plagued me all my life.  Hundreds of people crowded around,
       and newspaper and radio reporters pushed and shoved trying to get to
       Mr. and Mrs. Thompson and me for some words of wisdom.  I didn't
       have any, but I was happy.  I had won the Thompson Trophy,
       considered by many to be the most prestigious racing prize, which
       had been my goal.  The prize: $4,500.  I also won the Clifford W.
       Henderson Trophy for winning the Thompson and having the fastest
       qualifying time.  This award was won on points based on winning or
       placing in any events entered.  In addition, I was awarded the
       Lowell R. Bayles Trophy for setting the world's speed record.
             I flew the Gee-Bee back to Springfield the next day.  I
       landed it, taxied up to the line, gratefully got out, and thanked
       the Granvilles.  That airplane was the most dangerous airplane I
       have ever flown.  I was asked many years later why I flew it if it
       was so dangerous, and the only answer I could think of was, "Because
       it was the fastest airplane in the world at the time."
             The R-1 and R-2 later proved just how dangerous they were.
       During a takeoff from Indianapolis in the R-1 on the last leg to
       Cleveland during the next year's Bendix race, Russell Boardman died
       when the plane snap-rolled and crashed on takeoff.  That same year,
       Jimmy Haizlip wrecked the R-2 during a landing at Springfield, but,
       fortunately, wasn't injured.  The airplane was salvaged and rebuilt.
       In 1934, Zantford Granville, the real genius of the Granville
       brothers, was killed while landing at Spartanburg, South Carolina.
       Again, enough pieces were salvaged to rebuild the plane, but it was
       run into a ditch and wrecked by Roy Minor later that year.  The R-2
       was rebuilt a final time and met its end, along with Cecil Allen,
       after a takeoff from Burbank for the 1935 Bendix race. [pp.182-185]

             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
            The mission against Japan was over, but the aftermath was just
       beginning for me and would last past the end of the war....
       Another message that was in the pile was a telegram from Roscoe
       Turner, whom I had known from our racing days as one of my
       competitors.  A flamboyant showman who always amused me with his
       attention-getting gimmicks, Roscoe sent a telegram which was
       typicallly Roscoe:

            CONGRATULATIONS, YOU DOG!  WHY DIDN'T YOU TAKE ME WITH YOU?
            I COULD HAVE BEEN YOUR CO-PILOT.  GUESS YOU HAVE SHOWN THE
            WORLD WE OLD BOYS CAN STILL BE OF SERVICE AS COMBAT PILOTS.
            I MADE THE STATEMENT MORE THAN A YEAR AGO I WOULD LIKE TO
            HAVE A GROUP OF 100 B-17S OR SOMETHING SIMILAR, WITH PILOTS
            FROM THE FRIST WORLD WAR AT THE CONTROLS, AND WE COULD RAISE
            A LITTLE H___.  HOW ABOUT MAKING ME YOUR AIDE NOW, SINCE YOU
            ARE A GENERAL?  PHONE ME.  TONIGHT IF POSSIBLE.  ROSCOE.

      I called Roscoe, and as soon as he recognized my voice, he shouted:
      "Jimmy!  You son of a bitch!"  He reminded me that when he had made
      the statement about a bunch of old men flying combat missions just
      after Pearl Harbor, I had told him we were too old to fight in the
      war.  Wars were for young men, I had said, not old fogeys like us.
      He never forgave me after he found out I had led the raid. [p.292]


      Source:  General James H. "Jimmy" Doolittle with Carroll V. Glines.
               I COULD NEVER BE SO LUCKY AGAIN.  New York, NY:  Bantam Books,
               1991.

      Data transcription by: Milton Sandy, Jr.      March 3, 1993.