Memories of YP

Jack Woodul and Bear Langworthy, Flying Leatherneck Museum, MCAS Miramar, 3 February 2006. Photo by Mark Williams. USMC A-4M Skyhawk BuNo 160264

Condolences may be sent to
Carolyn Woodul
288 Bartlett Mesa Road
Raton, NM 87740-9713

For a deeper dive into who Jack Woodul was read "Duel Over Douai" and pay attention to the character George Armstrong Cody. The three of us made an effort to moderate each others writing so there would be an overall consistency, but individual voices are still apparent—especially for the Camel flying, hard living, romantic cowboy with a past, Leftenent Cody. I think Jack had as much fun writing Cody as he did with Youthly Puresome.

https://www.amazon.com/Duel-Over-Douai-novel-aviation-ebook/dp/B09KXBVKCP

The board of directors held our off-year meetings in a various cities. An early meeting was in Fort Worth and, of course, the Wooduls hosted us for dinner. I remember standing at the door of his “airline captain's” house with Otto Krueger who is then the president of the A4 Association and had been my CO when I was an instructor in VA125. He leaned over and asked, what’s Jack’s wife's name? I said, I have no idea. He’s always referred to her as “Tunita”. About then the door opened and a lovely and classy lady put out her hand and said, Hi I'm Carolyn Woodall.

For why she was called Tunita, check his book. "The Breaks of Naval Air"

Picture of trio in front of triplane (Sopwith) when Barrett was curator at the Champlin Fighter Museum in Mesa, AZ. We joked it was a writer's conference as Duel Ovr Douai was a work in progress. A chnace for Jack to show his wide ranging interests; not only aerocraft, but firearms and other things that go bang.

YP assisted me in my research on the US Naval war doing over North VIetnam, shared with me full details of his own flights there, and more than that: he entertained me immensely with his stories, which are written with wonderful humor and a unique language that no one else in the whole world could use. His memory will stay with me, as his writings.
Iftach Spector, Brig. General IAF

YP in the "Attack Ready Room" at Hook '17 toasting & saluting our Israeli Air Force friends after two very outstanding visits with them in Israel in 2015 and 2017. Pete

I would like to help on maintenance of his legacy.

I can get a bus to Santa Maria CA.

I saw one while being released from the black road jail one afternoon.
From the backseat.

I drew a picture of his aircraft in cell number 13.
On the wall.

Fighting Saints VFC -13

This photo comes from Hun as we've been tweaking this task of memorializing one of NavAir's giants.
Sarcastic impishness was never so well joined into a single human being.
I already miss you, Señor!

My dearest friend YP
A true warrior and a brother at heart.
Though an entire ocean separated us, our bond was unbreakable.
A courageous warrior and a talented writer and story teller.
Thank you for being such a friend I could ever ask for.
Ever since I learned of his death, Walt Whitman's poem "O Captain!, My Captain " has been haunting me, really fits for him.
Until we meet again, brother.
Rami Lothan –Israeli Air Force

O Captain! My Captain!
WALT WHITMAN
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.