There is nothing ordinary about 93-year-old Lodovico "Loody" Christofero's military career.

His years in the U.S. Air Force included being stationed near the jungles of Eastern India, a pet leopard, and flying over the Himalayas.

On a recent afternoon, Christofero sat in a conference room in the Museum of Flight where he serves as a docent and painted a picture of his life as a pilot.

Chritofero's story began in 1943 after he completed the Air Force Flying School.  As a young lieutenant, Christofero, now a retired major, was stationed in Eastern India where he was given the daunting task of flying 8,000 pounds of equipment and supplies over the Himalayan Mountains.

"We flew the C-46 over the ‘Hump' (a name given to the eastern end of the Himalayas by Allied pilots in World War II) to bring all sorts of high priority items that the 14th Air Force used to fight the Japanese," he said. "There were sixteen 500-pound bombs on the floor of my plane when I flew. It was a mundane plane, but it was a wonderful plane.  I have a definite affection for it."

During these missions the pilots flew from India to China to resupply the Chinese and the U.S. Air Force based in China. The pilots flew without reliable charts, radio navigation aids, and accurate weather reports.

Although he flew 73 successful flights over the Himalayas, it was a harrowing experience every time, he said.  The pilots who were "flying the Hump" were susceptible to enemy aircraft, and the weather was treacherous.

"About 600 aircraft went down on the Himalayas," he said. "In those days, if you were going to fly a plane, it was understood that you would be in harm's way.  It was just the way it was.  The main problem was the thunderstorms.  We were flying, mostly at night, through the worst weather in the world.  The wind would push the planes into the mountains.  The area below was held by the Japanese, so if you went down you had to get yourself out."

He recalled two incidents when he was chased by enemy aircraft.

"I got jumped by two zeros," he said. "I was flying at about 20,000 feet, and they were just climbing towards me. I took evasive action.  I got into the clouds and the weather to escape them.  There was a certain amount of terror in that, but the real terror was the weather. There was hail, and up and down drafts, and horrible thunderstorms."

On one occasion the weather forced a crew to bail out of their plane.  His friend accidentally opened his parachute in the plane.  Someone grabbed it and shoved it out the window, and it got caught on the side of the plane, he recalled.

Then there was the arrival of Brig. Gen. William H. Tunner, who took over the command of the India-China Division.  When he first arrived, he told the pilots they would be flying 24 hours a day, Christofero recalled.

"General Tunner told us that there would be no more day flying or night flying, no more weather reports for flying over the hump," Christofero recalled. "He told us we would fly 24 hours a day."

Christofero received a Distinguished Flying Cross, three air medals, and a Presidential Unit Citation for his efforts, but he doesn't talk much about them.

"We were just a bunch of young boys who played records on a Victrola and argued about how to win the war," he said. "I guess someone thought we were doing something right."

He attributes something more than skill to his success.

"A lot of time when I was flying in the bad weather, it seemed like something more than my flying ability got me home," he said. "I can't explain it, but it was something."

There were some bright spots to flying over the Himalayas as well.

"There were times when we got above the weather," he said. "The air was smooth.  Those were some great memories.  Prior to becoming a pilot, I was a mountain climber, so that was a wonderful experience."

Despite the inherent dangers involved with flying the Hump, Christofero had some fun experiences as well.  There was the time a group of about 200 natives pulled their plane back onto the runway when it slid off while chanting a song, and there was, of course, Bogs the leopard.

Bogs was discovered by a young lieutenant on the edge of the jungle.  He thought it was a cat.  He brought the cat back to the barracks, and Christofero took over his care.

"We could not figure out where the mother was," he said. "We should have taken the cat back and left it in the jungle.  But we were just a bunch of second lieutenants.  Do you think we were going to do something sensible?"

Most of the time, Bogs was like a common house cat.  "But he was not a cat," he said. "He grew to be a seven foot long leopard."  They kept the cat until someone new came in, didn't like him, and poisoned him, he said.

With more than 60 years between those events and today, Christofero looks back on his flight experiences with fondness and pride.

"There are only about 10 or 12 of us left," he said. "People know what we did ... and I guess some people think that we did something above and beyond."

He ended with a story about his friend and co-pilot who was killed trying to make a low ride.

Originally, the Army listed him as MIA.  Shortly thereafter, Christofero received a letter from his friend's mother, who had sent newspapers that she asked him to give to her son when he was found, he recalled.

"I assumed that she had been informed about his death, so I sent her a letter telling her all about my time with him," he said fighting back tears and a flood of emotion.

"It was my letter that told her that Ted was dead.  No one had told her he died."

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