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A long, long time ago, I served in the USAR 400th Chemical Laboratory. We spent a two week Summer Camp at Edgewood Arsenal in Maryland. Edgewood Arsenal was the main laboratory for research in Chemical, Biological and Radiological Weapons. Although we were all enlisted ranks (not officers), we were all PhD candidates, JDs and MBAs.Part of our training was to attend presentations about various topics. One presentation pertained to the Geneva Conventions. The presenter was a second lieutenant who, shall we say, lacked pedagogical skills. His presentation was simple-minded and condescending.One of the JDs asked him a tough question. The LT’s response was arrogant and, clearly, wrong. When challenged, he said “these presentations are simplified for enlisted men like yourself.” Our unit commander, a Lieutenant Colonel, was standing to one side. He interrupted the lieutenant to say “every one of these enlisted men has more education than you do. See if you can explain yourself without making any more mistakes.” I don’t remember what the LT said but I can still picture the embarrassment in his face.

In the early 1960s, I witnessed the crash of a private plane one summer at the Boy Scouts’ Camp Edgewood near DeQuincy, in southwest Louisiana. The pilot, G. W. Cobb, was leader of the troop billeted in a campsite a hundred yards from ours. He was unable to stay with his troop during the week, so he flew his small plane over the campsite each morning and dropped a newspaper to his troop.Most of the members of my troop, sponsored by the First Methodist Church of Lake Charles, were in our tents at the time. We heard the plane on its first pass, and ran out to watch it. After passing over the other camp, it made a tight banking turn to fly back over again. The plane lost power, and came down through very tall pine trees, splitting the difference between the two camps. The wings were clipped off, and the plane crashed, perhaps a little closer to our camp than the other one.First on the scene, my troop immediately started a bucket brigade to put out the grass fire the plane had caused. I got one glance at the pilot, who was lying face down unconscious in the wreckage with his shirt burned off his back, but other than that, I couldn’t determine his injuries.Our troop adviser (an Explorer Scout) found and replaced the fuel cap that had come off the plane during the crash, reducing the chance of an explosion.Later, after a prayer vigil at camp headquarters, we found out the pilot had died at the hospital. That was the most depressing end to anything I’ve ever experienced. The saddest aspect of it was that the pilot’s son was a member of the other troop and witnessed the crash. The following day was the last day of camp. One odd thing about my memory of the event is, though I can clearly recall seeing the plane banking in its turn, and start to come through the trees, I can’t recall the actual crash itself, which would have been right in front of me less than 200 hundred feet away.Strangely, my sister also witnessed a crash of a plane: a vintage P38 Lightning owned by a resident of Lafayette, Louisiana. She was playing tennis out by the airport when the Lightning lost power in one of its two engines, and flew into the ground, killing an acquaintance of the owner whom he had allowed to pilot the plane.

Have you ever experienced a plane crash?In the early 1960s, during my first year in the Boy Scouts, I witnessed the crash of a small private plane at summer camp at Camp Edgewood near DeQuincy, Louisiana, in the southwest part of the state. The pilot, G. W. Cobb, was the troop leader of a troop billeted in a campsite about a hundred yards from ours. He was unable to stay with his troop during the camp, which lasted a week, so he flew his plane over the campsite each morning and dropped a newspaper to his troop.We and most of the other members of my troop, sponsored by the First Methodist Church of Lake Charles, were in our tents at the time. We heard the plane fly over on his first pass, and ran out to watch the plane. The plane, after passing over the other camp, made a tight left banking turn to fly back over again. During the turn, he lost power, and the plane came down between some very tall pine trees, just about splitting the difference between the two camps. The wings were clipped off, and the plane crashed between the two camps, perhaps a little closer to our camp than the other one.Our troop was the first on the scene. We immediately set up a bucket brigade to put out the grass fire that the plane had started. I got one glance at the pilot, who was lying sort of face down unconscious in the wreckage with his shirt burned off his back, but otherwise, I couldn’t determine what injuries he might have had.Our troop adviser (an Explorer Scout) found the fuel cap that had come off the plane during the crash, and replaced it on the tank, lessening the chance of a fuel explosion.Later, after a prayer vigil for the pilot over at camp headquarters, we found out that he had died at the hospital. That was the most depressing end to anything I’ve ever experienced. Perhaps the saddest aspect of it was that the son of the pilot was a member of the other troop and witnessed the crash. The following day was the last day of camp. This was over 50 years ago, so my memory is a little fuzzy. One odd thing about the memory is, though I can clearly remember seeing the plane make the banking turn, and start to come down through the trees, I can’t recall the actual crash itself, which would have been right in front of me less than 200 hundred feet away.Oddly enough, my sister witnessed the crash of a P38 Lightning in Lafayette, Louisiana near the airport while she was playing tennis about 10 years later. In that accident, the pilot lost power in one engine, which caused the crash. I’m fairly certain my experience has had something to do with my dislike of flying.DeRidder Fire Dept 1950's