There is a theory that the practice of decorating the fronts of military aircraft derives from the nautical tradition of figureheads on the sharp ends of sailing vessels—frequently shaped as large-breasted, scantily-clad females. Psychology professor and World War Two B-17 navigator George Klare wrote of the phenomenon in The History of Aircraft Nose Art by Jeffrey L. Ethell and Clarence Simonsen: “Sexual deprivation, or at least diversion, clearly played a major role in nose art as in earlier sea art, true. But did sex as such provide the underlying reason for nose art? The picture does not seem all that clear.
“My own view is that the psychological mechanism of identification was a more inclusive reason for nose art. Crew members on the sea or in the air wanted to see their complex ships as almost human entities with which they could identify. Especially when they faced danger, they even wanted to endow their ships with almost superhuman qualities to protect them and bring them safely back. Certainly many references made by combat crewmen to the B-17 (with which I am most familiar) carried that kind of connotation. The nicknames ‘Flying Fortress’ and ‘Queen of the Skies’ were the most common. Recall too that Charles Lindbergh’s story of his solo crossing of the Atlantic was titled We. This need to identify with a ship also appeared among ground crew, who felt a strong sense of responsibility for the safe performance of their airplane and sweated out missions along with the air crew.
“Equally if not more important, nose art and names made it possible for airmen to identify somewhat more readily with each other and feel pride and confidence as a crew. Developing strong relationships among crew members was always a goal in air crew training. In fact, when a particular crew member did not get along well with, or have the confidence of, the rest of the crew, a transfer often resulted. Members of a combat crew needed to depend on each other, and identification with their airplane helped to create strong interdependence among crew members. The crew itself also replaced home security influences in some cases, and afforded a bulwark against homesickness. Some members of these young crews found themselves away from home for the first extended stay in their lives, and for the first time faced death directly and personally. Superstitious behavior consequently became another aspect of identification. Just as professional athletes do, air crew members often had rituals meant to bring good luck or, more important in combat, ward off bad luck. For example, a member of my crew regularly put his chewing gum alongside the rear door of our B-17 just before we began a mission. After we were shot down, he lamented not having done so that day.
“The choice of fierce or protective names or paintings seems to part of this sort of ritual, as can be seen in the kinds of four-legged animals and even six-legged insects chosen.
“Occasionally one of these designations either had, or grew to have, an unlucky connotation, and air crew members were known to shun such an airplane and dread having to fly in it. Logic dictated that chance played a major part in a bomber crew’s survival in combat, but emotion often made such a lack of control unacceptable. Superstitious behavior involving a favorite airplane seemed to mean good luck, at least until a fatalistic attitude developed. “
Carrying on an early nautical tradition, airmen of the Second World War frequently decorated and personalized their planes with artwork and / or nicknames that helped them to relate to and identify with the vehicle they hoped, and often believed, would protect them and bring them safely back to their base.
The DC-3 / C-47 has appeared in many movies since the 1930s. Here, a ruthless tribal chief makes trouble for a mining engineer in East of Sumatra, a 1953 adventure film with Jeff Chandler, Anthony Quinn, and Marilyn Maxwell.
