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I graduated from the University of Colorado in 1956. I received my commission as an ensign September 6, 1956, through ROTC and began flight training September 23,1956. After receiving my wings in 1957, I served as a flight instructor at Whiting Field. My first fleet duty began in September 1959, with an assignment to VF-21 an all-weather night fighter squadron flying the F3H Demon aboard the USS Midway. I subsequently attended U.S. Naval Postgraduate School earning a master's degree in Aeronautical Engineering.
I then served as management services officer and comptroller at Naval Air Rework Facility, Jacksonville, FL. I retired from the Navy October 31, 1968. In civilian life I worked as a financial planner and later in real estate. My highest Navy award was the Distinguished Flying Cross. I live with my wife in Paisley. We have four children and six grandchildren.
An account of my life in the Navy that I wrote for Foundation Magazine, Spring 1996, is paraphrased below.
No Man Walks Alone
"Mugu Tower, this is Navy Jet 28229 over Los Angeles for landing, over." That radio transmission was made at 15:43 on July 11, 1962 (my mother's birthday). That routine transmission was followed just eight minutes later by one far from routine and full of foreboding. "Mugu Tower, 229 at the 180 with gear down and a slight trim malfunction, but am under control." Quickly, "slight" turned into "severe" and my Navy career and entire life were irreversibly changed. A series of events began which resulted in my becoming the U.S. Navy's only bilateral amputee to continue flying as an active duty pilot and, possibly, the only pilot in the world to make carrier landings as an amputee.
This was going to be my last flight until after the birth of our third child. I had married Christine in 1958. David was born in July 1959 and Debra in 1960. I was a Naval Aviator with the dream of getting into the space program.
But near the runway the controls failed. At 300 feet my decision was to eject, but I saw a trailer park below. I added power, raised the landing gear and banked away from the trailer park. The accident investigation board later determined my Cougar was about 65 feet above the ground when I was sure the airplane had cleared the trailers and it was ok to eject. Immediately after I ejected through the canopy, the plane nosed into a lemon grove and exploded in a fireball. Still in the ejection seat, I hurtled through the fireball with flying wreckage striking my legs, amputating the right one and severely fracturing the left. The parachute opened but quickly collapsed due to the explosion shock wave. I then sailed into a row of eucalyptus trees, which broke my ribs and lower back. Finally, I fell about 45 feet to the ground. I had minor cuts and burns on my hands, arms, and face.
The rescue crew arrived within minutes. I was bleeding but conscious. When asked my religion at the hospital, I said "I'm Protestant, and I'm not going to die." Nevertheless, my survival remained doubtful during my first week in the hospital. At the end of the second week, I was removed from the critical list and transferred to San Diego.
At Balboa Naval Hospital, the doctor asked, "What do you plan to do now?" His insinuation aroused my fighting spirit, so I replied, "I'm going to be a Navy astronaut." The doctor replied, "Look, lieutenant, I want to set your thinking straight. You may never walk again!" I replied, "I'll walk again, and I'll even fly again!"
Just two days later on July 7, Chris called to say that our little girl, Dana, had just arrived. That evening, a flood of peaceful contentment spread over me. As Paul described in the Bible, "Don't worry about anything, but in your prayers ask God for what you need, always asking him with a thankful heart." I decided then and there that my one amputation--with a second possible--would not change our family life in any respect. I would do all the things with the family that I had done in the past. Also, I decided to return to flying. However, my left leg was worsening daily.
Several operations constituted an intensive but futile attempt to save my badly smashed left leg. On September 14, two months after the accident, my left leg was amputated below the knee. The amputation came as quite a relief after so much fever, loss of weight, immobility and pain. The rib and back injuries healed.
I improved rapidly after the amputation--food tasted good again. On sunny afternoons Mother, Chris and David, Debbie, and Dana would visit on the patio as I "navigated" in the wheel chair. David asked "Where are your feet?" I replied, "Remember when Daddy's plane crashed? Well, I got lots of hurts then. One sharp piece of the crashed airplane cut this leg off and this other leg was hurt so badly that the doctor had to cut it off very carefully so Daddy's body wouldn't get sick all over. But you just wait and see what happens! The doctor is going to have a man build me some nice new legs--made from wood. Then, Daddy will be able to walk again and to play with you in the swimming pool just like we used to do." The concern rapidly changed to "Please give us another ride on your wheel chair, Daddy."
I was discharged on 11/1/62 and got a permanent right leg prosthesis in addition to a temporary left one. The walking was easy, but the pain was terrible. By November 12, I was driving a standard-shift car. It took pretty fair aim to center the small crutch tip on the clutch pedal. By 12/10/62 I could work a full day at the squadron as schedules officer. On 12/18 I got the left prosthesis and could walk without rails, crutches or cane. By January, 1963, I passed the Naval Aviator's water survival test. Standing at attention for very long was hard--stumps go to sleep. I played football with our children. In February, I could climb ladders and dance. In March I began flying again. By May I could water ski. And I made a parachute jump with the San Diego Sky Divers. All of these things were done without any physical therapy or mental depression, for which I thanked God for creating me this way.
I had no idea that the physical accomplishments would be so much easier than I had anticipated, nor that changing the medical thinking would be so much harder. I began to assemble reports to back up my request to be returned to an unrestricted flight status. I flew 29 check flights in 10 different types of aircraft and was recommended by superiors and peers. Non-observers were more doubtful. I made trips to Washington and talked to nine admirals and the Secretary of the Navy, Fred Korth. High-level differences of opinion arose.
In September, Daniel, our fourth child, was born, and in November, 1963, it was recommended by those in Pensacola that I return to a flight status in Service Group II (restricting me from aircraft carrier flying only). However, despite more testing and favorable recommendations, the Flight Board in Washington recommended that I be returned to a flight status in Service Group III (flying dual controlled aircraft only and in company with a qualified co-pilot). I was stunned. To temporize, I decided to apply for postgraduate school.
On January 12, 1964, Mr. Paul Fay Jr, Under Secretary of the Navy, wrote that "Your recent progress report sounds like the same old Frank Ellis--tenacious, tigerish and talented. As you well know, I admire all your efforts to become restored to full flight status and I sincerely hope that you make the grade." While attending postgraduate school, "I think your best move would be to continue in your present status--impressing as many people as you can with your flight abilities--and try for a reclassification of your flight status as you approach the end of your schooling. I have prepared a memorandum for the record which endorses your return to group II status upon completion of your postgraduate schooling. Best wishes for continued successes. I'm confident that your ability and determination will get you into space sometime."
I attended the U.S. Naval Postgraduate School, Monterey, CA beginning in 1964. In the summer of 1964 Christine, the four children and I moved to Monterey where we purchased a house in a pretty area known as Fisherman's Flats where I could ride a bicycle to and from school. The extremely long study hours were made tolerable by a wonderful family, excellent living conditions, the opportunity to fly the T-28 and T-2 aircraft and beautiful scenery everywhere.
During this period, I applied to NASA as a candidate for the Apollo program. I learned that I was one of the 50 pilots selected by the Navy. However, when the list was sent to the Chief of Naval Operations, my name was no longer on it. A letter sent with the list to NASA stated that I was not technically qualified for the astronaut program; but from the standpoint of motivation, background, training and experience, would have ranked number five on the list.
Numerous people feel that what I have accomplished is a miracle. I disagree. I feel it is something that has come more naturally and automatically than by extensive training. The reason it may seem miraculous is that so many "handicapped" people too often are discouraged from attempting what could be quite normal occupations if employers would hire on the basis of performance ability. The person without motivation is more handicapped than the person with motivation, who has to propel him or herself down the street in a wheelchair.
Do I have any bitter feelings toward the Navy? None at all. My somewhat abbreviated career in Naval Aviation provided me with the greatest satisfaction and fondest memories I could have hoped for.
If I had to give a one word answer describing why all of this has been so relatively easy for me, that word would be faith--faith in myself, faith in my family, faith in my friends, faith in our American heritage and most important, faith in God. No man walks alone.