I didn’t consciously know him until he was probably 70, but he was a great guy. He always had new cars every year or so, and one of them was always a Jeep Wrangler.  It never left the pavement of Brentwood, but it was part of his spirit.

One more memory, I remember hearing he got some kind of honor in Wash, DC for emergency landing the mail plane he was flying *and* evacuating all the passengers.  He was testifying in front of (congress???) and was asked about how he evacuated the passengers.  He said they were mostly able to get out on their own, but there was a larger woman who was having a hard time getting down the aisle.  Eddie was asked how he got her out of the plane.  He said “I goosed her, your Honor.”  And none of the mail was lost, either.  He got that out, too.

... he was a GREAT great uncle.  He would always bring us fabulous easter baskets and taught me and my brothers how to whip a paddle ball at a 90 degree angle (hope that makes sense).  Anyway, he was a fabulous guy.  I'm so glad I got to spend time around him. 

"As a 1940 graduate of TWA’s first officer school, Eugene Gerow flew right seat with Eddie in DC-3 aircraft and claimed to be Bellande’s last copilot at TWA. The following excerpt from Gerow’s memoir, The Umpteenth Voyage: A San Joaquin Valley Farm Boy’s Struggle to Become an Air Line Pilot, provides an interesting personal look at Eddie Bellande the man, and insight into what it was like flying with him. As the story opens, circa 1941, Gene is a young co-pilot relaxing in the lobby of the Hilton Hotel in Albuquerque, NM, a TWA crew-change stop:

“…After Dick (Colburn, TWA instructor at Kansas City) left I sat alone in the lobby and pondered my dilemma: I certainly wanted to check out as captain but I certainly didn’t want to face that exacting involvement with as little actual flying time as I had accumulated at the controls of the DC-3 under the random flight crew paring principle which the company now followed. Just then I observed a senior Burbank captain approaching.

“The captain was quite solemn as he stopped in front of me and looked me right in the eye. I began to wonder if I had done something to offend him but he started talking, rather jokingly I thought, about what a poor crop of copilots they were sending out for replacements these days. He went on to say that he thought I might do and asked, ‘Do you want to fly regularly with me?’ I was so astounded I stammered ‘Y…y…yes—uh, Sir!’

“Abruptly he started to turn away, saying, ‘okay, then: tell Corron I said you are to be paired with me from now on.’

“The captain who told me to have myself scheduled with him was Eddie Bellande. He was one of the ‘Old Ones,’ to borrow a phrase from the Navajo, but old as applied here meant in experience, not chronological age: he was also one of the great ones.

“I remembered him even then. Years before, we used to fly across to Rosamond Dry Lake and watch him and other famous pilots of that era testing new airplane designs. We saw him fly the first Lockheed twin there. His name was a household word in flying communities up our way. I had already learned what his reputation was among copilots on TWA: he had left a trail of well-trained copilots with whom he had been paired—Buddy Hagins, Grant Nichols and others before me were forever grateful for what he had done for them and they had said so.

“Burbank Dispatch followed Eddie Bellande’s directive to have me fly with him, but it wasn’t all ‘peaches and cream’: Eddie apparently had something on his mind to which I will refer later, and during this early period of our flying together he just sat there in the left seat, trip after trip, and flew the airplane both ways. It wasn’t much different from the random scheduling I had been experiencing previously.

“I was becoming quite discouraged and decided one day as we were shuttled over to the TWA hangar at Lockheed Air Terminal to taxi our airplane to the airline passenger ramp that I was determined to say something about it if he sat in the left seat again without offering me some ‘stick’ time. He did sit down in the left seat but suddenly jumped up laughing and told me to sit there. After I had taxied the DC-3 across the field he asked me why I hadn’t protested my non-pilotage status and I explained to him just how close we had come to my ‘telling him off’ about it.

“Eddie laughed uproariously at my ill-concealed discomfort but what he then told me rang true: naturally he wanted me to fly ‘his’ airplane ‘his’ way and thought the easiest way to put this across was to fly a few trips by way of demonstration rather than talking about it—this gave him more time to think (and as I said previously, more about that later).

“What a switch: for many weeks I flew the airplane from the left seat day and night, fair weather or foul. After it became apparent that my handling of the DC-3 had improved Eddie handed me the log-sheet clip-board one day and said, ‘Here: you can do it all now.’

“I had never experienced so much flying joy in my whole life, but then as weeks passed and my glow began to subside, I noticed that Eddie was awfully quiet, just sitting there and staring out of the right front cockpit window for hours on end, saying little or nothing during this time interval. I began to really worry now, because I had come to think a great deal of him and I would have been horror-stricken to find that I had offended him somehow.

“One day, I abruptly asked Eddie what was wrong. He came out of it with a smile and said: ‘Can you keep a secret? If you can, I’ll tell you something that is very important to my future, but I don’t want anyone on the airline to know about it right now.’ I promised and then he asked, ‘You know who Jack Northrop is?’ I nodded and he went on to say that Jack had been in some financial straits in his airplane design business and thought he might have to give it up. Eddie added: ‘Jack is probably my best friend and I told myself that I couldn’t just let him go down the drain.’

“Eddie related how he went to night clubs where many big time people hung out and by staying cold sober himself but buying expensive drinks for these people and talking to them as they waxed affluent under the mellowing influence of a good drink, he had accumulated a promising list of potential backers for Jack Northrop’s brilliant undertakings. The only problem for him was that these people wanted him to take over and run the company he had organized. ‘It may be too good to pass up’ said Eddie.

“It was a fascinating story as Eddie had detailed it to me and subsequent events proved that every word he had spoken was true. It was some time before Eddie finally made up his mind to make the change, he loved to fly so very much. But in the meantime, his last TWA copilot was having a ball flying the DC-3 from the left seat.

“Eddie Bellande was quite busy during his last days on TWA trying to make sure before he announced his voluntary retirement that his contemplated move wasn’t going to be a bad one. As I had previously stated, he had schooled me thoroughly on his idea of how a flight should be conducted and then turned the whole thing over to me. One of my non-standard copilot duties became a trip into the terminal building at intermediate stops to pick up the new weather. The captain was supposed to sign for the weather sheet, and I had learned how to render what I thought was a fair imitation of Eddie’s signature.

“Quite often people who were involved financially in an airline and airplane industry dealings would ride along on the jump-seat with us and at stopping-points along the route Eddie would stay on board to discuss important items with these individuals. My most vivid memory of this phase was of leaving Eddie and LaMott Cohu in the cockpit after a night landing at Winslow, where I went in to get the weather. Cohu was destined to be a president of TWA and was quite interested in all facets of the airline operation.

“When I came back up to the cockpit I advised Eddie that we had been re-cleared with a second alternate for ABQ, handing him the new release form. Cohu asked, ‘Doesn’t a new release have to be signed for by the captain?’

“Eddie laughed and said, ‘It’s been signed by the captain alright.’

“The financial wizard took the release from him and looked at the signature, remarking, ‘By Gosh! It looks more like Eddie’s signature than if he had signed it himself!’

“Years later when TWA Captain Bill Harrison and I signed in at the Garrett Corporation executive suite at Los Angeles International Airport to visit Eddie, we had to write down the name of the person we wanted to see, and I wrote the name of the Chairman of the Board, E.A. Bellande. The secretary gasped when she looked at the hand-written name and said: ‘You must have known him quite well: it looks exactly like his signature and very few people seem to have known that his middle initial is A—they always write down Eddie.’”