Quite a few members of Fighting 18—including some of those previously chronicled in these tales, like Clarence Blouin, Frank Foltz and Cecil Harris—made the Navy their career. They served with distinction in the post-war era as squadron commanders and even carrier skippers. Richard Cevoli was another Two-a-Day alumnus who went on to an illustrious career, albeit one cut tragically short. During his time aboard Intrepid, Cevoli destroyed planes on the ground and in the air, scored hits on enemy ships and generally made life difficult for his Japanese adversaries. But that’s only the beginning of a Navy odyssey that took him from Japanese territory in the 1940s, to Korea in the 1950s and into the history books. Aside from Cecil Harris, Cevoli is certainly the most famous member of Fighting Squadron 18.

Richard Leo Cevoli was born October 24, 1919 in East Greenwich, Rhode Island. He attended Rhode Island State College (now the University of Rhode Island) and was a member of both the American Society of Civil Engineers and Delta Alpha Psi. His senior yearbook chronicles the feelings of the Class of ’41 as world events unfolded around them:

“Europe [is] in flames…This is the last stretch of college life for most of us, but somehow there has been the uneasiness, the restlessness of what is in store for us and for our nation.”

On October 9, 1941, in the midst of this uncertain future, Richard Cevoli enlisted in the United States Navy. His early assignments were many and varied. Cevoli was enrolled in the very first class of the Navy’s Photographic Interpretation School and graduated in February 1942. The next month he was aboard seaplane tender USS Albemarle (AV-5) while it lay at anchor in Narragansett Bay. This new posting was much more closely related to his engineering background. As a non-flying officer in Patrol Squadron 73 (VP-73), Ensign Cevoli helped review Albemarle’s damage control procedures.

It was a far cry from carrier flight duty, but world-historical events were moving forward at lightning speed. The question posed by his yearbook, “What is in store for us and for our nation,” had been answered. Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor; Singapore had fallen; more recently, MacArthur had been ordered to flee Corregidor. Uncertainty had given way to resolve in the face of these setbacks, not just for the nation but for Cevoli as well.

By the time he joined Fighting 18 in Hawaii (spring – summer 1944), Richard Cevoli held the rank of Lieutenant. In a squadron primarily composed of Ensigns and “jaygees” this made him a senior flier. Rank aside, he proved his worth in the cockpit time and again while attached to Intrepid. October 1944 was a particularly busy month for the ship and its air group. Cevoli was no exception to this rule. In October he logged 18 missions totaling 67.1 hours of flight time and marked a number of ‘firsts’ in the process: first air-to-air engagement, first fleet engagement, and first Navy Cross earned.

During the first full strike of the Formosa Air Battle on October 12, Lt. Cevoli was one of only 5 VF-18 personnel chosen to protect Intrepid’s bombers and its strike leader, Air Group Commander William “Wild Bill” Ellis. Dozens of enemy fighters rose to intercept the strike including a group of Japanese Army Air Force “Oscars” (Ki-43s). Though the Aircraft Action Report for that strike indicates Ellis, Cevoli and another pilot were “jumped” by 3 Japanese fighters while they scouted to the north of the target area, Cevoli came out on top. He survived the enemy’s first pass and maneuvered into position, pouring .50cal rounds into the fuel tanks of one of the attacking aircraft until it “blazed violently” and “the plane spun earthward…” In the ongoing fight, it must have been impossible to follow the Oscar down to the deck to verify the outcome—it was counted as ‘Probably Destroyed.’

On October 24, Lt. Cevoli celebrated a major milestone: he’d survived to see his 25^th birthday. That was no small feat. In the grueling weeks prior, at least 7 of his fellow Fighting 18 squad mates had been declared either Missing in Action or Killed in Action. But a birthday doesn’t buy a day off in wartime, least of all when a massive formation of Japanese battleships is steaming towards you full-tilt. The Battle of Leyte Gulf was underway and Cevoli was about to spend the next 3 days strapped in, guns charged, carrying 500 lb. bombs for the largest naval engagement in history.

He spent the first day of his 25^th trip around the sun flying through heavy flak raking enemy ships with gunfire. It was dangerous work without the glamour of air combat or the satisfaction of bomb hits, but it was vital work nonetheless. The Aircraft Action Report from the strike records the danger of enemy anti-aircraft guns: 2 TBMs were destroyed and 3 Helldivers were damaged, including 1 which crashed the deck and was subsequently written off as a loss. Without fighter suppression this could have been much worse.

Halsey went north that night to chase Japan’s decoy carrier force, bringing Intrepid and the other ships of Third Fleet to bear against the empty flattops on October 25. When Lt. Cevoli took off that morning sometime between 6:30 – 7:00am, he was loaded with a 500 lb. bomb and determined to make it count. The strike group climbed to 16,000 ft on its way to the strike zone. From that altitude, the whirling and wheeling of the Japanese carriers below must have looked like some kind of toy boat regatta run amok.

Cevoli watched the Helldivers push over in their dives, then joined his fellow fighter-bombers as they angled their noses down in preparation for their attack on a light aircraft carrier (CVL). His plane picked up speed, diving steeply at 70° through “a terrific barrage of anti-aircraft fire…” He kept his nerve and his aim was true. Out of the 4 fighters engaged in this attack, Lt. Cevoli was 1 of 2 credited with a probable hit on the target. “The CVL slackened speed and appeared to be burning.”

The final day of the Battle of Leyte Gulf required superhuman endurance from a few VF-18 pilots, among them Richard Cevoli. He flew 2 strikes for a total of 9 hours on October 26, and that was after two previous days of flying! He was credited with shooting down a “Jake” seaplane, scoring a near miss on a Kongo-class battleship and subsequently strafing an enemy destroyer, suppressing its anti-aircraft fire while nearby aircraft continued to hammer the battleship. For his actions from 24 – 26 October, Lt. Cevoli was awarded the Navy Cross.

At war’s end, the newly-promoted Lieutenant Commander (LCDR) Cevoli decided to stay with the Navy, initially operating out of Quonset Point, Rhode Island as Training Officer. He was thereafter assigned as Executive Officer (XO) of Fighting Squadron 32, and in March 1950 he put out a want ad in the Quonset Scout newspaper: “RIDER WANTED—Someone to drive automobile 1949 Ford, to the west coast first week of April. Call LCDR Cevoli, Ext. 621.” Whether or not someone took him up on the offer, Cevoli made it to the Pacific coast where he was again face-to-face with an Essex-class carrier. This time it was USS Leyte (CV-32), one of the last of its class to enter service. Carrier training quickly gave way to redeployment after North Korean forces pushed past the 38^th parallel in June 1950. Richard Cevoli was going back to war.

U.S. Navy history records December 4, 1950 as a day of tragedy and heroism. For flight leader LCDR Cevoli, it started as another freezing cold day flying his F4U Corsair over snow-capped Korean mountains. He was leading a group of pilots—including Jesse Brown, the first African-American Navy aviator—in support of U.S. and U.N. forces fighting a desperate retreat at the Battle of Chosin Reservoir. Being a flight leader and division leader in a squadron breaking the race barrier was no easy task, and it was up to Cevoli to make sure the pilots flying with Brown trusted him and were willing to take orders from him. Lt. Thomas Hudner, a Naval Academy graduate senior in rank but junior in flight experience to Brown, was interviewed by Cevoli and found to have “the right stuff” to fly with this groundbreaking division.

Though he wasn’t facing massive anti-aircraft guns like the ones encountered at Leyte Gulf, enemy small arms fire still represented a threat to Cevoli and his division as he led them in towards the target. There was always the “golden bb” to worry about, that proverbial magic bullet that could hit a pilot or a vital area of his aircraft. Even a round from a soldier’s rifle could spell disaster for a plane flying at low enough altitude.

On the way in, another pilot assigned to the strike, Lt. Bill Koenig, noticed fuel streaming from Brown’s aircraft. It was a worst case scenario: a bullet had punctured his fuel tank. There was no way he could keep his Corsair airborne for long. The ground below was uneven and rocky and the balance of power on the ground was skewed heavily toward enemy forces. Brown had no choice but to go in for a wheels-up landing, putting his Corsair down hard on the slopes below. Cevoli and his fliers circled overhead. After a tense moment, Brown was able to indicate he’d survived the crash. Cevoli radioed for a rescue helicopter and told his fliers to stay on station, but time ticked by and Brown remained inside his cockpit. The crash had buckled part of his plane and pinned him down. He was trapped.

Lt. Hudner couldn’t bear to stand helplessly by in the holding pattern overhead. He defied his orders and intentionally crash landed near Brown’s plane, trying in vain to rescue his friend. Hudner was ultimately unable to free Brown from the cockpit, and as the sun went down he was forced to board the rescue chopper, watching as the broken Corsair receded into the distance. For his efforts that day Lt. Thomas Hudner earned the Medal of Honor. He was the first naval aviator to achieve that distinction in the Korean War.

The loss of Jesse Brown was a bitter pill to swallow but Cevoli and his fliers had to power through it. The men on the ground still needed them. Strike efforts continued into the new year. The Quonset Scout reported on January 14, 1951, “Warehouses and supply depots in the area were left in flames by a flight led by LCDR Richard L. Cevoli, USN. Twenty-five military buildings were destroyed, plus attacks on 18 troop concentrations.” Fighting 32 was already known for its excellence—in fact they’d won the battle efficiency ‘E’ the previous year—but it’s easy to imagine that they pushed themselves even harder in 1951 to avenge the loss of their squadron mate.

After Korea, Cevoli’s experience and excellence propelled him to command of his own unit, Fighting Squadron 73. He had more than 10 years as a naval aviator under his belt. He’d gone from propeller powered Hellcats and Corsairs to the jet-powered Grumman Cougar. But no amount of experience guarantees safe return from a mission. Whether it’s a “golden bb,” mechanical failure or anything else, the hand of fate can claim the life of an aviator at any time. On the night of January 18, 1955, at the conclusion of gunnery training with his squadron, Cevoli took off towards Oceana, VA. Something went wrong shortly after takeoff. His plane crashed into a heavily wooded area along the flight path.

Commander Richard L. Cevoli was buried with full military honors later that month. He left behind a wife and four children, including a week-old son, Richard L. Cevoli, Jr. His home state of Rhode Island—which he returned to time and again during his Navy career—inducted him into its Aviation Hall of Fame. In 2006 the Rhode Island state legislature passed a bill renaming the post office in Cevoli’s hometown of East Greenwich in his honor. And today, whatever day you might be reading this, we join together to honor the life and legacy of an American hero whose career as a combat aviator started close to 75 years ago aboard USS Intrepid.