OK, I was just clowning around for this picture. Actually, I try my best to keep the job as boring as possible - in spite of the fact that much of our training is geared to much more exciting situations. Excitement in this job is not good. I'm glad to say that in the seven years with my current company, I've never been in an exciting situation except when driving to and from work.
Speaking of training, I'll be in Dallas for most of August to add a stripe to my uniform. It's funny how the most exciting times I have flying are thankfully had in a simulator instead of in an airplane.
One might ask why we have rubber chickens hanging from our simulators. Some time back, our company was contracted by a Chinese airline to provide simulator time for its pilot trainees. Their people considered it good luck to have a dead, dressed chicken hanging from the simulator. Our maintenance guys figured that if it worked for them, it would work for us. The next day, there was a rubber chicken hanging from each of our simulators. Some guys tried to hang rubber chickens from the cockpit overhead panels in the real airplanes, but operations thought poorly of that, since the customers could see the gruesome looking things as they were boarding. Some guys just can't take a joke.
You need to come see us! At least come worship with us if nothing else. Let me know if you want our info to look us up while you're here. I'm sure we could fit in a home-cooked meal too!
Yo, Grace. It would be great to see you, Ben, and the kids. Time will be limited, as study will be the order of the day. This is an up or out company, so if I fail any phase of training, it will be time to look for a new job (and house, car, etc.). Where do y'all worship? Is it close to Love Field?
Chuck McMillan was a big, cheerful guy who lived a few doors down the hall from me at the Air Force Academy. At times, when things got boring, we'd engage in a game of hall hockey, using brooms for sticks, and an old can of shoe polish double wrapped in electrician's tape as a puck. Chuck went into special operations after graduation from flight training. At Hurlburt Field, Chuck was stationed a short way down the road from me when I was stationed at Tyndall AFB, Florida.
In the spring of 1980, he became a member of the joint team which was assigned to rescue the 53 Americans being held hostage in Iran. Chuck was a crewmember on board an MC-130. The team had stopped on April 24th at what was called Desert Station One (or Desert One) to refuel and await its execution orders. For various reasons, the mission was aborted and they were ordered to egress from Iran back to their launch point. In the darkness of the desert night, a Marine Corps helicopter hit his stationary aircraft and Chuck, along with seven other crewmembers of both the MC-130 and the RH-53D helicopter, burned to death.
It was horrifying to see the news tapes of Chuck's charred body being dragged through the Iranian village that night. Rather than that horrific sight, however, I prefer to always remember the happy, optomistic young man who wanted only to serve his country and its people well.
I'm ever so thankful to you and all your buddies who worked so hard and risked your lives, and some who lost their lives, for our freedom. I'm sorry for all of the friends you lost.
David and I really appreciate the stories you put on here. We enjoy reading them and are always glad for the reminder of what freedom costs.
Thank you so much for sharing these real-life stories. I am very sorry for the losses it has taken to keep the pampered, peaceful lifestyle we "expect" here in the USA. THank you!
Last year, Debbie and I travelled back to the Air Force Academy. My nephew had asked me to commission him upon his graduation. As I always do upon returning to the nest, I visited several old friends and took some pictures. I guess it's my way of seeing that things there are being kept up like they should.
One doesn't usually equate casualties with the Cold War. After all, it was called the Cold War because it wasn't a shooting war. As true as it was, in order to be ready in case the ultimate battle between the two great powers came to be, we trained with a vengeance. There's nothing like doing an inverted ridge crossing at 500 knots and 50 feet and pulling down the other side of the ridge and timing the upright roll and pullup to avoid slamming into the ground. That minimizes the time for enemy defense to detect and track you with radar. It also pumps a huge overdose of adrenaline into your system. Such was the training pace from 1950 to 1991. Such a pace took its toll. The price of readiness was constantly quite high.
Rick Cardenas and I went to school together, graduating in 1973. We both went to pilot training at Williams AFB, AZ, and went to separate assignments from there. He was a great friend, a brilliant student, and a devoted husband to his wife, Peggy. On the third of October 1977, Rick called me and was very excited to announce that he was soon to be a father. Peggy had just "killed the rabbit."
That night, Rick was flying his F-111B out of Cannon AFB, NM, on a low-level night bombing mission at the nearby bombing range. As he rolled in for a dive pass at the target, one of his two engines destroyed itself in a ball of fire and the fighter impacted the range just beyond the target. Rick and his weapons systems operator died on impact.
Rick joined a huge number of cold warriors who lost their lives in the fight to stay ready and to always let the other side know what they would be up against if they stepped over the line. Even though they lived constantly on the edge, they kept a hot war at bay and bought peace for our beloved homeland. Please remember.....
When so many choose to look at Memorial Day as simply a day of work and a time to bring the grill out of storage, it is wonderful to have someone remind us all what the real reason for the day is. Thanks Dad, you always help me remember the important things. I love you!!
Hello from El Paso. I thought I'd start a series about the wonderful views I get from the windows of the hotel rooms I get to stay in while on the job. It's not usually the picture you might imagine if your image of airline pilots comes from Hollywood. Some views are better than others, but most of them are lousy. In any case, judge for yourself. Check it out in the appropriate rooms.
hahah It's a lot like the show Survivor...there are some individual deals and some team events, but ultimately your score is individual. If you'd like to play, i'd love to put you down. Jorge & Jess are playing...so is about 20+ others. talk to me at church next time
I guess those of you who've seen Debbie's entries are wondering where she got her handle. I am pleased to relay the story to all who care to hear it.
When we lived in Richmond Hill, Georgia (BTW, there is no hill there), I commanded a squadron of forward air controllers and tactical air controllers (aka FACs and SOTACs). One day we got a deployment order for Mogadishu, Somalia. On the day of deployment, as he was about to board the airplane, one of my SOTACs let on that, before he recently left his tour in Korea, he had married a young Korean girl. Her name was Chon Song, and she was arriving in Savannah in two days. It fell on Debbie to meet, greet, and see to Chon Song's needs upon her arrival.
Debbie took up the task with vigor, introducing Chon Song to her new home, supermarkets, and American banking. Chon Song struggled with the English language, speaking at barely a survival level. Her only intelligible words upon stepping off the airplane were, "I preganunt." This made the process of taking her through the agonizing process of updating her status with the Immigration and Naturalization Service difficult, but Debbie had learned over the years how to be judiciously assertive with bureaucrats.
At the end of a week of almost constant companionship with Debbie, Chon Song decided to give Debbie a proper thanks. She had composed and memorized a short blurb, but she wasn't sure what to call Debbie. All she knew was that Debbie was her husband's commander's wife. Her blurb: "Tank you belly much, Commander Debbie." She gave Debbie a bottle of prime kimshie and a beautiful pair of porcelain slippers. Debbie still has the slippers and the nickname, but I'm not sure what she did with the kimshie. Seems like our roses grew much better that spring, though.
Now you know a really neat little chapter in the life of my beloved, strong right arm: Commander Debbie.
What a great story! David says to tell you to post some of your military stories from time to time. He's a lurker on here and would love to read some. We'll have to have you and Debbie over for dinner sometime so we can hear them first hand! :-)
hilarious! There is this one bumper sticker I'm a real fan of and I think you may appreciate. All it says on it is "Run, Hillary, Run!" Democrats put it on their back bumper, while republicans put it on their front bumper.
