|Do have a story about Hogy Taw that you'd like to see here? If so, please send it to the CNAC Web Editor.|
|John Kenehan says, "Actually it was a small group of thatched huts on the mountainside just over the Irawaddy River shown as "Haw Togwa" on my map. (MY spelling is not good). Sometimes I could spot it when flying over, but most often I could not."|
|Valerie Parish Kendrick says, "The spelling I have for Hogy Taw is Hoggy Tau. The legend behind the name, as I understand it, while flying over the hump in cockpit conversation the men were talking about what would happen when the last CNAC pilot passed on. It was said that when the last pilot died, all the deceased pilots that had been waiting would rise and reform in flying formation in their planes and fly together again one last time. When asked where this would happen, one of the men looked down on a map and said we're flying over Hoggy Tau -- Hoggy Tau is the name of the place.|
From "CNAC SAGA #53" by Fletcher Hanks
Bill Bartling named himself the honorary and acting mayor of Hogy Taw. When a pilot failed to return from the Hump, Bill would have a toast for him. The seat where he had sat the night before was left empty for that meal and Bill would assign him to continue his favorite recreations and hobbies. Bill would drop a white shirt belonging to the deceased on the clearing at Hogy Taw. A girl would run out, pick it up and wave it in the breeze and then put it on. Then he knew the deceased had arrived to enjoy eternal happiness at Hogy Taw.
|And this comes from a Retired Eastern Air lines Captain named Bill Caddoo in Las Vegas. Bill never worked for CNAC, but his flying career spanned some 40 years. Bill says, "I considered myself very fortunate to have flown co-pilot with quite a few of the guy's who flew the Hump."
I HOPE THERE'S A PLACE, WAY UP IN THE SKY,
WHERE PILOTS CAN GO, WHEN THEY HAVE TO DIE....
A PLACE WHERE A GUY CAN BUY A COLD BEER
FOR A FRIEND AND A COMRADE, WHOSE MEMORY IS DEAR;
A PLACE WHERE NO DOCTOR OR LAWYER CAN TREAD,
NOR A MANAGEMENT TYPE WOULD ERE BE CAUGHT DEAD;
JUST A QUAINT LITTLE PLACE, KIND OF DARK, FULL OF SMOKE,
WHERE THEY LIKE TO SING LOUD, AND LOVE A GOOD JOKE;
THE KIND OF A PLACE WHERE A LADY COULD GO
AND FEEL SAFE AND PROTECTED, BY THE MEN SHE WOULD KNOW.
THERE MUST BE A PLACE WHERE OLD PILOTS GO,
WHEN THEIR PAINING IS FINISHED, AND THEIR AIRSPEED GETS LOW,
WHERE THE WHISKEY IS OLD, AND THE WOMEN ARE YOUNG,
AND SONGS ABOUT FLYING AND DYING ARE SUNG,
WHERE YOU'D SEE ALL THE FELLOWS WHO'D FLOWN WEST BEFORE,
AND THEY'D CALL OUT YOUR NAME, AS YOU CAME THROUGH THE DOOR.
WHO WOULD BUY YOU A DRINK, IF YOUR THIRST SHOULD BE BAD,
AND RELATE TO THE OTHERS, "HE WAS QUITE A GOOD LAD!"
AND THEN THROUGH THE MIST, YOU'D SPOT AN OLD GUY
YOU HAD NOT SEEN IN YEARS, THOUGH HE TAUGHT YOU TO FLY.
HE'D NOD HIS OLD HEAD, AND GRIN EAR TO EAR;
AND SAY, "WELCOME, MY SON, I'M PLEASED THAT YOU'RE HERE."
FOR THIS IS THE PLACE WHERE TRUE FLYERS COME,
WHEN THEIR JOURNEY IS OVER, AND THE WAR HAS BEEN WON.
THEY'VE COME HERE AT LAST TO BE SAFE AND ALONE
FROM THE GOVERNMENT CLERKS AND THE MANAGEMENT CLONE,
POLITICIANS AND LAWYERS, THE FEDS AND THE NOISE,
WHERE ALL HOURS ARE HAPPY, AND THESE GOOD OLE BOYS
CAN RELAX WITH A COOL ONE, AND A WELL DESERVED REST;
THIS IS HEAVEN, MY SON......YOU'VE PASSED YOUR LAST TEST!
Bill -- Thanks for sharing this with us.
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