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<em>James Marshall Little</em>, a true son of New York City, came to us by way of Colonel Stanton’s Prep School in Cornwall. It was said of him that he knew everyone in the class. The Boodlers was his favorite hangout, but even there he dreamed of flying. In the words of our yearbook, he looked at every passing plane with awe, admiration, and longing. Taking time for two years of gym, he won his numerals as a plebe, was a corporal second class year, and an air cadet. He graduated with wings proudly on his chest.</p>
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Training to be a bomber pilot continued with Jack Gorman, Bart Yount, and “Poco” driving down to Sebring together for B-17 training. Then they separated, with Bart heading for the Pacific, and “Poco” and Jack heading for the Mediterranean theater. Jim joined the 463rd Bomb Group as operations officer of one of the squadrons. This post also entailed piloting. He joined in February of 1944. But on 6 April of that same year, Jim had been shot down over Yugoslavia and was a POW for the rest of the war, at Stalag Luft I at Barth, Germany.</p>
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He was released thirteen months later, and the last two years of his life were as he would have wished them: test pilot at Wright Field (now Wright Patterson) near Dayton. There he is well remembered as a competent and cool member of the small group of men who tested the planes of the future.</p>
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Tests were run on a captured German bomber. Three different test pilots were given the evaluation mission. Major General Ascani, then the commander of test pilots, remembers that of the three, Little’s was by far the most professional report. He lived in a bachelor house with four other test pilots, among them Glen Edwards for whom Edwards Air Force Base is named. Theirs was the classical existence of bachelors who faced death every month.</p>
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On 3 June 1946, Jim was the pilot of a B-29 which set an international speed record over a closed course of 2000 kilometers between Dayton and St. Louis - 361 mph. Even that flight courted disaster: as he was making the final approach to his field, the right outboard motor began throwing oil. Then the propeller broke loose and hit the next engine, stopping it. Finally the left outboard engine went out in the final approach. He landed after strewing parts all over the area near Springfield, but the record was set.</p>
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Sadly, on 23 March 1947, he died a test pilot’s death in a plane accident near the town of Gravette, Arkansas. “Poco” had been testing the XB-43 twin-jet bomber at Muroc Lake when trouble developed, and he was en route back to Wright Field to wait until the bomber engine was repaired. Flying a P-80 he reported engine trouble at 25,000 feet. Shortly he reported that he was at 6000 feet and preparing to parachute. Nothing more was heard. It was later ascertained that he jettisoned the canopy which somehow blew back and hit his head as he was getting out.</p>
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Jim died as a man who loved to fly and who loved his profession. While he enjoyed life, he well understood the hazards of his work. To his job he brought very high standards of professionalism. It is worth remembering that we owe our high levels of aircraft safety to the dangerous work done by test pilots in those years of growth. Jim Little was one of the best. We mourn him with respect. In a short lifetime, he contributed much to Air Corps history, and died as he would have wished - in flight.</p>
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His only survivors were his mother, Mrs. Jeannette Little, of Brooklyn, and his fiancée. For, in one of those inexplicable tragedies that occur in military lives, Jim had been scheduled to marry Lucille Shoemaker of Kansas City only two weeks later. His body was returned to West Point for its final rest.</p>
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—<em>A Classmate</em></p>
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