S-2 nipped pilot's finger, but not career

Rudy Bergstrom, 85, bolted upright in his chair when he saw the photograph in the Inter Lake of the old S-2 steam engine returning home to Somers.

But the headline "An old friend returns" didn't register with Bergstrom. Old nemesis was closer to his recollection.

The S-2 steam engine left Bergstrom with a lifetime memento - a stub ring finger on his right hand.

"That was my first and last day working for the railroad at the tie plant in Somers," he said with a laugh. But Bergstrom wasn't laughing at the time. He feared the S-2 had smashed his long-held dream of a flying career.

Born in Kalispell and raised in Somers, he was still in high school when his aspiration to become a pilot took flight. It happened when a friend took him up in a plane for a bird's eye view of Somers.

With money from a part-time job at Montgomery Ward's, Bergstrom signed up for flying lessons in an Aeronca Chief airplane at Kalispell City Airport.

"It was $4 for a half hour," he recalled. "Bob King owned the flying field and his brother was my instructor."

Bergstrom completed ground school through courses at Flathead County High School. His timing turned out to be impeccable because the government was looking for pilots in anticipation of World War II.

He signed up for government-funded civilian pilot training and headed off to Ellensberg, Wash., for secondary training after finishing his primary work in Kalispell.

"It was in an open cockpit in winter," he recalled.

The experience put a chill through his body but not his pilot aspirations. After finishing in Ellensberg, he returned home to Somers for a little break before heading off to his next flying school in Billings.

As happens in small towns, word spread that Bergstrom was home with some time on his hands.

"The boss at the tie plant asked if I wanted to earn a few dollars sweeping off the switches," he recalled.

The fledgling pilot soon came face to face with the 15-ton S-2 steam engine. From his memory, Bergstrom said he thought some cab modifications were made to the engine after his unforgettable experience.

"It looked different to me," he said, referring to the Inter Lake photo.

Bergstrom was clearing the switch with a broom and a shovel when Fritz Stein of Lakeside, the engine operator, asked if he could hop up on the engine and help him switch an empty flat car.

Even though he wasn't hired or trained to work on the engine, Bergstrom was glad to help out. Unfortunately, he tried to give some hands-on assistance when the first attempt failed to couple the engines.

His right hand ring and little finger were smashed when Fritz made his second try.

"It didn't hurt," Bergstrom said. "I didn't know what happened until I took my glove off. I thought that was the end of my flying days."

He recalls his dad raced him to town to Dr. Malcolm Burns' office on Main Street in Kalispell. Bergstrom remembers Burns didn't tell him what he planned to do as he attached a scissors-like medical tool at the top joint of his ring finger.

A quick snip and the smashed appendage was history.

"He released it and did a bank shot with my finger off the corner of the wall into the trash basket," Bergstrom said with a laugh. "I never forgot that."

Burns closed up the ring finger stub then went to work on the little finger, piecing that one back together before sending Bergstrom on his way. Luckily, there was a delay of some weeks before he had to leave for the Billings flight training.

"I spent four days with my finger throbbing," he recalled.

Bergstrom said he was young enough and worried enough that he decided to keep mum about his injury when he headed off for cross-country flight school for the next two months.

"I didn't want it to slow me down," he said.

On the sly, he arranged to meet local doctors in the lobby of his hotel every so often to have his finger checked and re-wrapped. Eventually, it healed.

Bergstrom completed seven flight schools, compliments of the government, taking him to cities from Yakima to Spokane to San Antonio. He became a flight instructor at Ryan School of Aeronautics in Tucson, where he put Air Force cadets through their primary training.

"I was 20 years old and teaching flying," he said.

After just 8 hours, pilots did their first solo flights. After 20 months, Bergstrom sent them on for advanced training in P-38s.

"They caught on quickly," he recalled. "I taught until the war was winding down."

While in Tucson, he met and married his wife, Ruth Wright. The two went on to have five children together.

With the school closing, Bergstrom had a choice of going to fighter or bomber pilot training. He chose bomber pilot so he headed for Albany, Ga., to learn to fly B-25s.

As a result of this training, he earned a commission as a second lieutenant. Bergstrom's first assignment was flying B-17s and PBY-5 Catalinas with the Air/Sea Rescue Squadron out of Clark Air Field in the Philippines.

After about a year overseas, Bergstrom was reunited with his wife and the two settled in a home on Juniper Bay on Flathead Lake. He worked first at Buttrey's then at Kelly Main Street Furniture.

He kept active as a pilot by serving with the Montana National Guard.

"The guard had a plane that I could fly anytime," Bergstrom said.

During his career, he survived three plane crashes. The first was in an aerobatics plane at the Tucson flying school, the second was in Polson and the last was in Helena while out spotting locations to set up Howitzers for guard training.

It all happened so fast that he had to react instantly. The first accident was attributed to an engine failure, the second to bad fuel and the third to a down draft.

"No damage was done to any passengers," Bergstrom said. "Of course, they ruined the airplanes. Luckily, the National Guard didn't get too excited about that."

In 1965, he and Ruth moved to Phoenix, but the two return every year to visit family because they still love the Flathead. Whenever he visits his 10 grandchildren and 14 great grandchildren, Bergstrom gets to revisit the story of his collision with the steam engine in Somers.

His partial finger has made him a towering figure of awe and amazement with the younger generation.

"The minute I step out of the car, they say, 'Grandpa, show us your finger,'" he said. "That makes it all worthwhile."

Reporter Candace Chase may be reached at 758-4436 or by e-mail at cchase@dailyinterlake.com