A long time ago in a far-away place. That’s the way I think of it now. There’s several things to cover here. First is a bit of a history lesson, I want to tell you how things were for baby-boomers in this country in the late 60s. Second, I want to tell you about a lifetime friendship forged. That one might be a little more interesting. Third, I want to tell you about a girl. No, not a girl, a woman, though a very young woman at that. The girl part is probably the most interesting part of the story. I’ll save it for last and make you wade through the rest of this crap first.
Vietnam. I was there. I don’t make a big deal of it. It didn’t ruin my life. But it sure as hell set the tone.
In the mid to late 1960s there was a large percentage of the population just getting ready to enter the work force. Anywhere you went to find a part-time job just to have a little spending money, you were told there were 25 others who had applied for the job ahead of you. You want to go to college? Better have damn good grades because most of them are full. I label this era “the time of fierce competition.” If you were lucky enough to get a job, just one little screw-up and you were gone. There was a line of kids ready and willing to take your place.
I think this single dynamic did more to divide my generation into two distinct groups than anything else. Those two groups would be the fighters and competitors on one hand, and the drop-outs, hippies and druggies on the other.
I obviously was a competitor. But I understood completely the desire to flip all the old folks off and tell them I wasn’t going to play their shitty game any more and just go counter-culture. I never harbored any ill-will to the hippies or the peace movement, though it was clear that they thought I personally was their enemy. I’ve never quite figured that one out.
You want to know about the girl? Later, I’ll get there soon enough. I’ll give you a clue, though. She saved my life. I don’t mean that metaphorically, I mean it quite literally. And yes, we were lovers. But later for that.
Ever since I can remember I wanted to fly. In fact, I wanted to fly jets. I was a little on the lucky side. My second cousin actually operated a crop-dusting service back then and I learned how to fly in a Piper Cub he owned. I didn’t think much of it then, but it gave me an incredible boost a little later on. Maybe I should just tell the story about that Piper Cub right now. Well no, later. That’s not where I’m going with this. That one will have to wait. There’s just too damn many stories to tell.
I was a fierce competitor. I read military history and hatched a romantic notion about war and glory. I’ve gotten over that notion. But at the time I was scared to death I was too young to see action in the war-of-the-day. Foolish thoughts. I couldn’t wait to get out of high school. I took the Graduate Equivalency Exam after my sophomore year. Of course I passed, you didn’t even have to ask. I was told there was little to no chance of getting a pilot’s slot in the Air Force without at least two years of college. I joined ROTC (Reserve Officer Training Corps) and took two quarters of credits in each of three successive quarters. I then dropped out of college and joined the Air Force. The recruiter told me I was too young. Come back when I’m 18.
I went to a different recruiter and this time I lied about my age. I pulled every trick in the book to make myself look older. Looking back on it I doubt that the recruiter believed my age but had the good sense not to ask for proof.
Since hard work was already an addiction, I had no trouble at all in basic training. It’s doubtful I would have been taken into flight training but two things worked in my favor. First, I was the perfect height and weight for a fighter jock, that means pilot. And two, I had a lucky audition.
At the end of basic there was debate about who was going to get the fighter slots and who was going to get everything else. I had been a stellar recruit. Just the same, I didn’t have any real advocate in my favor. But begrudgingly I talked my way into basic flight. Here’s where all those hours flying upside-down in that Piper came in handy.
The instructor gave me a cursory look and explained the basics of the taxi and takeoff procedures. Once airborne, I was to execute a few basic maneuvers. Instead I demonstrated a split-S into an Immelman followed by a lazy-eight. The instructor took this as a challenge and proceeded to demonstrate a hammerhead stall, thinking that should shake up this new-comer. Unfortunately he fell out of it prematurely and entered a flat spin. I don’t know if he shook himself up or not. I think he did but didn’t want to admit it. I merely thanked him on the radio and pretended he had presented me with an impromptu test. I recovered the flat spin in two turns and after regaining some altitude and airspeed, I executed the hammerhead to perfection.
On the ground he climbed out of the plane and with a scowl said, “Follow me.”
He headed directly to the C.O.’s office.
“Colonel Miller,” I heard him speak, I standing rigidly beside him scared out of my mind. Had I blown it? Was this to be the way I was to leave the service?
“I have a problem with one of my students.”
“The Colonel never looked up, but rather continued writing and in a calm tone merely said, “Then wash him out.”
My heart sank.
Then my flight instructor continued, “No sir, I don’t think you understand. The problem is that this cadet is better than I am.”
The Colonel stopped writing and looked up. I’ve never heard such silence in my life. I knew if I cracked a smile it was all over. I looked straight ahead and avoided eye contact.
The Colonel spoke, “Is that true, Son.”
“Permission to speak, sir?” I was new at this, I didn’t know I had been asked a direct question from an officer and permission was implicit with that question.
“Go on, Son.”
“With all due respect to the instructor, he is a fine pilot and I am honored to learn from him, sir.”
The colonel smiled. “That’s a great answer, Son. It’s pure bull shit, but it’s a great answer.”
The Colonel thought for a moment then directed one brief sentence to the instructor, “Get him into fighters.”
He looked back at his paperwork and that was all.
Tomorrow, Emerson Douglas Wright, the best friend a man can have. And I’ll get to the girl, trust me.
Faithfully submitted,
Teddy Packer
No comments:
Post a Comment