"Gremlins"
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In American folklore Gremlins are said to be, malicious, airborne supernatural being. Gremlins were first heard of during World War II as creatures responsible for unexplainable mechanical failures and disruptions in aircraft. The Gremlins Manifest The modern legend began when they supposedly popped out of a bottle of beer being consumed by a Fleet Air Arm pilot in 1923. This particular naval pilot max-grossed his weight on beer one evening prior to a scheduled a.m. flight. Next morning, the pilot strapped himself into a marginal reconnaissance aeroplane that suffered perpetual engine troubles. Once airborne, he was catapult-launched from his ship, the engine stopped dead, and said aeroplane crashed into the sea. Upon being recovered, the wet, cold, and now sober pilot sputtered something about little people jumping out of a beer bottle and tormenting him all night; it was they who entered the plane’s engine and raised hell with it while others attacked his controls, thus causing the crash. In a move that was anything but charitable, these strange little beings suddenly appeared at an overseas RAF aerodrome in 1925. A few RAF sergeant pilots stationed there began encountering them and colloquially tagged their annoying interferences as “gremlin action.” This term was drawn from the old English term greme, which literally means to vex and annoy. The term stuck shortly after the critters attacked. The little bipeds quickly moved to other RAF aerodromes and immediately caused problems with squadron aircraft. To be fair about the matter, an alternate legend offers us the tale of troubled groundlings, those maintenance and operations people working in the British radio and electronics industry. They supposedly encountered unusual repetitious radio and radar malfunctions and blamed this trouble on “little men” who entered the sets and caused havoc. As the air war gained momentum, so too did the appearance of what were variously called pixies, silversnicks, aerial pixies, gnome (pronounced “genomey”), pixilators, little people, spandules, widgets, the bat-eared Duticulatus prangiferos, gremlins, and little green men. The Americans contributed Yehudi (after a famous but unrelated violinist who was totally innocent of anything concerning gremlins), Butch Yehudi (an American Eagle Squadron pilot’s term for the leader of little biped-entities that “fiddled around” with his aircraft), and last but not least, the stateside strato-gremlins. The gremlins had girlfriends and wives known as finellas or fifinellas, who took great interest in their men’s work. The miniature babes (who also tormented the airmen) were nicknamed widgets. It was the widgets who constantly asked their brethren, “Do you believe in airmen?” Meanwhile, airmen quickly respected these creatures because they demanded to be called “they,” “them,” “it,” or “she”; actually, gremlins preferred being called “them,” since it generated feelings of intangible power. The British learned not to laugh at them, and soon intuited their mission of tormenting airmen and interrupting their flying activities during aerial combat. Their behavior ranged from an odd sense of skewed humor to prank and panic specialists that, while playful on the one hand, seemed intent on “doing in” a pilot or aircrew (according to the British), especially the troublesome spandules. The British chaps eventually sorted them out by color: The good ones wore blue or red, while the bad dudes wore green or yellow. However, the best of the lot seemed to be the gremlins wearing green waistcoats. American airmen were probably relieved that a Grumman Gremlin (it has an agreeable ring that also fits one other company) fighter or floatplane was never built, lest it suffer no end of insoluble pixie problems during prototype testing. But only the mystically inclined “Mister Mac” (James Smith McDonnell), founder of McDonnell Aircraft Corporation in St. Louis, could and did get away with identifying his aircraft by supernatural terms right out of June G. Bletzer’s Encyclopedic Psychic Dictionary. “Mr. Mac” might have named his diminutive late-1940s parasite fighter the XF-85 Gremlin instead of Goblin, and it wouldn’t have made any difference. Indeed, the little shrieking, turbine-powered “strap-on Goblin” looked like a sinister winged troublemaker, and a surviving example resides at the Air Force Museum in Dayton Ohio. Mr. Mac’s other famous fighters were called the Banshee, Demon, Voodoo, Phantom I, and the “Phabulous” Phantom II. It was the sharp “Mark-Ones” (eyes) of British and American volunteers in the Eagle Squadrons that sized up their tormenters and reported mind-bending descriptions to their unbelieving brethren. These vexatious critters ranged in height from five inches to approximately one foot and swapped claws for suction pads during their high-altitude torments. Gremlins were observed sporting aerodynamically streamlined heads and possessed high intellect and sharp telepathic abilities: They easily anticipated and outmaneuvered even the quickest-reacting pilots during combat. Their apparel included designer-style tights, stocking caps with tassels, and pointed, elfin-like footwear. Their double-breasted frock coats were described as red or green with optional neck-ruffles, and there were the odd, flat-topped tricorn hats with a feather, plus the occasional “natty” gremlin wearing spiffy white spats. RAF personnel complained about the gremlins causing engines that ran fine the night before to refuse to start the next morning. Next, the petrol tanks suddenly began dribbling fuel all over the underwings and fuselage, while previously tight hydraulic brakes leaked like a sieve and tires quickly sagged from a mysterious loss of air. The gremlins’ capers slowly escalated when squadron aircraft were equipped with retractable landing gear, turbochargers, liquid cooling systems, and newer radios—accessories that offered more items to disrupt. RAF maintenance officers, and especially the airframe and engine fitters, were astounded that numerous aircraft, having just been fully repaired and returned to service (RTS), severely deteriorated overnight and were promptly regrounded the next morning. Gremlin Types The RAF chaps eventually identified the various gremlins and their particular interference specialty. There were Petrol Boozers with huge eyes and a large retractable vacuum nose that came in two distinct species: one strictly addicted to 75- octane gas, while the other demanded nothing less than 100-octane fuel. While the RAF’s fuel bowsers filled an airplane’s tanks on the ground, the Petrol Boozers quickly drained them in flight, leaving barely enough gasoline for one landing (no missed approaches or go-arounds) and a brief taxi. The Brits also identified the Rubber-Nibbler, who attacked tires, stripped electrical wire of its insulation, and caused circuit breakers to pop in flight. The cynical Tropical Gremlin jammed sand into the air filters of RAF desert-based fighters and bombers, while the Duty Gremlin lowered runways, causing bomber and fighter pilots to bounce during messy three-point landings. Still others moved trees up and into the path of aircraft on final approach, while the odd Hangar-Owl, living in the rafters, was responsible for “hangar-queens,” logging more ground time than flight hours. Little is mentioned of the Officer’s Mess Gremlin, but the Accountancy Gremlin’s obnoxious speciality was erasing log-book entries and service forms. They were also blamed for committing depredations against new aircraft designs on the drawing-boards, thus causing some prototypes to perform so badly that they were never mass produced. The RAF’s Coastal Command suffered from Sharp or Sword-nosed Gremlins, who punched holes and slashed away at the fabric on the aircraft’s control surfaces. They loved to punch holes in float-plane pontoons, which, upon landing, filled with water, causing the aircraft to list. The frustrating little bipeds made aircraft fitters look especially bad by attacking Flying Boat hulls and causing numerous leaks. Another specialist was the spry little non-flying Spade-nosed Gremlin, who dug holes in airfield runways. He caused aircraft to drop into the hole, flipping the plane nose-down, thus pranging skin, nose bubbles, formers, and propellers. Meanwhile, the Hairy-legged Gremlin of Gibraltar possessed a triangular hole in its abdomen. The wind shrilly whistled through it, leading a pilot to mistakenly believe he was flying faster than the airspeed indicator was reading and causing the pilot to stall his plane and crash. Pigeon Antidote The RAF discovered that the gremlin’s arch enemy was the humble pigeon. According to an American reporter stationed in London, RAF reconnaissance planes carried messenger pigeons during their missions. Only the bravest gremlins dared to muck around with the pilot or his aircraft when pigeons were aboard. Pilots also discovered that wearing certain talismans seemingly negated their nefarious behavior. Carrying the traditional American rabbit’s foot, clover leaf, lucky coin, a special scarf, and the “gremlin-cradle” (an empty beer bottle), plus other talismans, forced gremlins to lose their nerve and leave a particular aircraft and pilot alone. But, during combat, airmen were driven to the brink of despair and their quick reactions pushed to the finite limits of human endurance. During aerial combat over Dieppe, Squadron Leader Gus Daymond’s Eagle Squadron Spitfire was severely messed with by a gaggle of little bipeds led by the “Butch Gremlin.” Having shot down one German FW-190 fighter and pursuing another, he suddenly noticed that gremlins had ganged up on his controls, causing him to misfire, allowing the FW to escape. Annoying Behavior During critical moments, the gremlins jabbed British or American pilots in the back where they couldn’t scratch, or danced on the Spitfire’s gun sight reflector. Some gremlins rode the prop blades as they spun around, while others tinkered with carburetor settings, or sat atop the control sticks, spinning madly about to disorient the pilot. Fifinellas patiently waited until the instant before a pilot fired his guns at an opponent, then simply reached out and tickled him under the chin to throw off his aim. Other gremlins and fifinellas chattered madly as they danced atop the wings and fuselage, while some flipped the wingtips up and down for extra aggravation. The pilots of Number 71 Eagle Squadron dog- fighting the Germans over Dieppe were plagued by holes that suddenly appeared in their fuel tanks, while a Spitfire suffered the rare jammed throttle, forcing the pilot to bail out. Even the night fliers developed jangled nerves when they heard dozens of gremlins madly chattering while dancing on their wings and control surfaces; yet the pilots didn’t mind the critters swiping and eating the pilot’s issue of carrots for sharpening their night sight. U.S. Pilots No Exception The U.S. Army Air Forces fared no better with gremlins than the British. They quickly ganged up on bomber crews, and they loved to knock the sights of the nose machine gun out of line. The complex systems of the B-17s and B-24s were attacked, while the light and medium bombers had their nose-bubble edges chipped away by the gremlins. This nasty work generated ice-cold drafts and caused a nerve-jangling whistle of air that whipped through the cracks. Many a bomber navigator suffered a poke in the ribs or a jab in the armpit while taking a crucial reading with his sextant. There were also strange reports about tail gunners who allowed the little bipeds to join them in their cramped combat offices, mostly for the extra warmth and companionship. Gremlins loved to attack aircraft instrument panels and make the artificial horizon tilt back and forth, while others caused the gyroscopic compass to spin around madly like a top. Even transport pilots became nervous when dozens of pixies danced about the slipstream flowing over their wings. The U.S. Bomber Command’s operations people also found themselves plagued by white-collar gremlins who rifled their secret classified files. This groundling specimen tormented everybody by mixing up the minutely prepared mission maps and trashing any semblance of administrative order. Meanwhile, the gremlins clung to movable control surfaces that generated aileron flutter, while others bit minute holes in the rubber de-icer boots, thus preventing them from working during missions. The older spandule gremlins never operated below 10,000 feet and were responsible for icing up many aircraft and wings. Pilots swore they never intended to cause fatal accidents, but the gremlins were blamed for moving cloud formations and messing around with the atmospheric pressure that affected certain instruments. Gunners complained about their machine gun barrels inexplicably plugging up, because the little silversnicks with their long bodies and faces slid down the barrels and deflected the shells or caused the triggers to stick. The Army Air Force also reported that Training Command’s aircraft were serving a dual purpose: teaching pilots to fly and giving ankle-biter widgets OJT (on-the-job training) at the expense of the American taxpayer. They cut their teeth on control cables, while others either gnawed on electrical wire insulation or pulled on them until something gave. Other trainee widgets poked and probed for airframe or hydraulic system weakness and ways to interfere with the aircraft’s numerous accessories. While the airplane’s operating systems were under attack, other gremlins sat on the pilot’s shoulders during training flights and made rude noises in their ears. Further Interference They perfectly emulated the sounds of a sputtering engine or the thumping of a piston about to seize. When airborne, the gremlins mercilessly tormented the lackadaisical and ham-fisted pilots, simply because they didn’t like the way they handled their aircraft. Marginal pilots were often told “you’re flying upside down, you fathead”; so the pilot, while actually flying right-side up, immediately flipped the plane over and continued flying inverted. When the gremlin phenomena was reported in stateside newspapers and magazines, it impressed the civilian population and a New York composer named Raymond Scott. He took one musical score from his Ballet Theatre production Quintette and rewrote it to describe Fifinella, “the lily of the airfield.” Although the most intense gremlin activity occurred during the war, they were still the scapegoats for aircraft equipment failures and glitches in the postwar era. Were gremlins strictly a phenomena of WW II? In 1950, Alaska’s 49th Star newspaper, with temerity, republished a short blurb originally published in Nome’s Mukluk Telegraph. It asked that Eskimos who were constantly observing little men “who aren’t there” running about the tundra to contact the Telegraph. The paper would then transmit the information to “stateside” scientists who had requested reports on the phenomenon—they believed that the little people might exist! Through the years, numerous gremlins were blamed for aircraft malfunctions and crashes. In the late 1980s when Delta Airlines and others suffered a rash of flying “incidents,” Delta’s spokesman, Jim Ewing, got it right when he succinctly stated, “The gremlins are attacking.” With crossed fingers, we now enter the new millennium by establishing a permanent International Space Station in low-earth orbit—but hopefully without the help of hitchhiking cockroaches, let alone any exo-atmospheric or space gremlins.
