World War II pilot from Zion dies

Squadron’s exploits inspire TV show

By Chris Rosenblum

- crosenbl@centredaily.com

All the kid from Zion needed was one gun.

Ned Corman, his F4U Corsair’s armament mostly jammed or spent, bore down on the Japanese Zero and sent it flaming into the Pacific Ocean for his only kill with Marine Fighter Squadron 214 — the famous Black Sheep.

The squadron’s exploits over the Solomon Islands during World War II inspired the popular 1970s television series “Baa Baa Black Sheep,” starring Robert Conrad as Medal of Honor recipient Maj. Gregory “Pappy” Boyington, the squadron’s ace commander.

Corman, who became an airline pilot after the war, died Sunday in Maui at the age of 86. He will be buried in Bellefonte.

“I think the thing I cherish the most was how warm and charming he was,” said historian Bruce Gamble, a retired naval flight officer and the author of two acclaimed books about Boyington and the Black Sheep. “When he would call, he would (say), ‘Oh, it’s so great to hear your voice.’ He was a genuinely friendly guy.”

Among the 51 men who served under Boyington were seven Pennsylvanians. Two — Glenn Bowers and Fred Losch — remain among the 12 Black Sheep left.

Gamble, originally from Boalsburg, said he and Corman often shared memories of Centre County over the course of a 15-year friendship that began at a Black Sheep reunion. Corman grew up on a dairy farm, graduating from Walker Township High School in 1938.

“... I was raised about three miles from the Bellefonte airport, and anytime my Dad wanted to find me he knew exactly where to go,” Corman told Gamble in an interview. “Because that’s when the old Air Mail pilots came in there in their old winter suits, flying open cockpit DeHavillands. And I helped dig some of those guys out of the mountains. I’d been interested in flying ever since I could say ‘airplane.’ ”

While at Penn State, Corman pursued his love in the government’s Civilian Pilot Training Program. He first climbed into the sky from the old Boalsburg Field, taught by local aviators such as Bob Ishler and the late Sherm Lutz.

That was it: Corman couldn’t stay on the ground. He joined ROTC, but after a tank nearly ran him over in maneuvers, naval aviation won out over the infantry. Flight training took him to Dallas and Corpus Christi, Texas, and by 1943, he found himself with the Black Sheep.

He was a green replacement pilot, with little time in the powerful, gull-winged Corsair, joining a crack outfit run by a legend. In 84 days, until the squadron disbanded shortly after Boyington was shot down Jan. 3, 1944, and taken prisoner, the Black Sheep racked up 97 victories and destroyed or damaged 203 planes.

Quickly, Corman learned the Corsair’s quirks and the skills needed to survive in the far-flung Solomons, where storms, thick clouds and long flights could be as lethal as enemy fighters and flak.

“One of the things that (Boyington) stressed throughout all this training was air discipline,” Corman said. “I guess that’s the point that was uppermost in our minds; once you were up there, everything you did depended on how well you worked as a team. That’s what made this outfit, in my estimation, better than most outfits.”

Corman found out how serious Boyington, a noted carouser, could be in the air. Separated from his formation during a dogfight on Christmas Day 1943, Corman ran into five Zeros. One went down, and back on the island of Vella Lavella, Corman was elated — until Boyington debriefed him.

Decades later, after he retired from flying 747s for Pan Am, after he and Losch comforted a dying Boyington in a Fresno, Calif., hospice and attended his Arlington National Cemetery burial, Corman could still recall the Black Sheep leader’s words.

“... He just chewed my (expletive) from one end to the other. One: for leaving the formation, and two: for not getting all five,” Corman said. “But that’s the kind of guy he was.”

Chris Rosenblum can be reached at 231-4620.