General Marion Carl Memorial Page

by: Barrett Tillman

   Occasionally I am asked, "What is Marion Carl like?" It is not a difficult question to answer. He is honest, direct, loyal, living testimony of the family-farm lifestyle and the Oregon earth from which he sprang. He is a primal hunter, and essential American type; he will stalk virtually anything, man or beast. His Nordic bloodline imbued him with the physical stamina and emotional stability to thrive in combat when many aviators were taxed merely to survive. That type of genetic makeup produced similar warriors named Bong, Foss, and Vjtasa.
   Since 1973 I have learned a great deal about Marion. His favorite ice cream is pistachio. At age seventy-eight he still likes to drive fast. He insists that he has a poor memory (he cannot recall hearing about Pearl Harbor), yet he relates most of his combats with stop-frame clarity - perhaps because World War II was the defining experience of his life.
   Like many accomplished combat aviators, Marion chose test flying as the most challenging endeavor available when peace had returned. That he was able to pursure a career on the leading edge is due in small part to the support he received from Edna, whom he married as a nineteen-year-old Powers model of 1943. Their personalities could hardly be more different, and many friends atttribute the Carls' fifty-year marriage to the convention wisdom that opposite attract: Marion states flatly that Edna got him his first star, for she draws a crowd merely by entering a room. Yet she also possesses a wisdom to match her extroverted personality. My favorite example of Edna's priorities: "Marion, flying is all right, testing is all right, war is all right. But get rid of that damn motorcycle before you kill yourself."
   Although best known for his fascination with exotic aerial machinery, Marion is one of the most competent and well-rounded people I have ever known, and definitely the most meticulous. He can weld steel, fell a tree, butcher an elk, wire a building. But as an aviator, those who flew with him an unanimous: Marion Carl was The Best.
   Yet the man appears almost totally lacking in ego: unusual among flag officers, rare among test pilots, and nearly impossible among fighter aces. However, he is intensely competitive - not only with others but with himself. After he acquired a repalcement hip at about age seventy-three, he soon was taking long walks and climbing hills, still pushing the envelope, meeting his own standards.
   He has held the world's altitude record and speeed record; he has led men into battle in two wars and one clandestine operation. He retired with two stars, and when he took them off they stayed off. When he meets people for the first time, he describes himself as "retired military" rather than as a former major general of marines. He answers the phone with: "This is Marion." I have never heard him refer to himself as "General Carl."
   The fact that he never acquired a nickname is significant. If he were flying jets today his call sign wouldn't be "Stretch" or "Killer" - he would still be "Marion." He is not a chest-thumper. In fact, his way of expressing himself is decidedly downbeat. While transcribing fifteen hours of tapes, it occured to me that I was listening to Pat Paulsen reading from Yeager. Marion Carl describes aerial combat and milking cows in exactly the same tone of voice. Therefore, if the narrative of his exceptional life seems curiously routine in spots, that is a reflection in the mirror of his psyche.
   Marion has been called "the ultimate fighter pilot" and one of the three finest naval aviators of his generation. Gratifying as these accolades must be, he will tell you that they are, after all, merely opinions. His inner strength - the Scandinavian steel beneath the velvet glove - is what matters. He has nothing to prove to anyone. Least of all to himself.
   But more than that, he is just the nicest man. I am glad he is also my friend.

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