Birthdays…

Posted on 01/09/2012 by Bobo

In early September 1957 we were on our way to Puerto Rico (PR) aboard a ship. Dear Ole Dad had been stationed at Ramey AFB, PR.  It was on that trip that I had my 11th birthday.

There were 4 kids on that voyage who had birthdays that week. The ship’s crew threw a party for us one day in one of the dining rooms. There were actually quite a few kids and parents in attendance. I don’t remember either of my folks being there … As it turned out the crew only had 3 gifts for 4 kids. So, they decided the only “fair” way to see who would get the gifts would be to hold a singing contest.

I don’t remember what the other kids sang, but I sang the theme song from “Davy Crockett,” one of my favorite shows of the time. I lost. I didn’t get a gift. Not only was losing humiliating, it was embarrassing. The laughter cut through me like a sharp blade – but I ‘pretended’ that it didn’t matter. I imagine that my life of ‘pretending’ had it’s origins with this incident…

From then on, birthdays just didn’t seem to matter to me. What’s the point? Oh, I would ‘pretend’ that it was a big deal, but they really weren’t … there was always that haunting thought lingering that “I wasn’t good enough,” or “I didn’t deserve …” so what was the point of it all?

Birthdays came and went over the years, and I kept ‘pretending.’  I just didn’t get too excited about them, and that way I “protected” myself – or so I thought. Isolation, deep within myself.  Lonely. Phoney.

Sometime around 10 – 12 years ago, when I was flying the DC-9 for Northwest Airlines I was on my way to work one day, on my birthday. I was not in a ‘relationship’ at the time, but I was in a great ‘spiritual space.’ Going to work ‘on my birthday, just wasn’t a big deal. It was sunny out, that morning, and I remember thinking about my birthday, and of birthdays past. And I decided that I was going to have a great day, that day!

When I got to the gate for our first leg, our first flight, the gate agent remarked that I seemed to be in a rather ‘happy’ mood.  I replied something like, “Why not? Today’s my birthday!’  I went about my flight planning, thinking nothing more about it.

Our first leg took us to Chicago. Upon arrival at the gate, I stood in the doorway to say ‘good bye’ to the folks. It wasn’t long before someone wished me a “Happy Birthday!” I had said nothing to the crew, and it took me by surprise. Soon, almost everyone was saying something to me; and it was kinda fun.

When the passengers had all deplaned, the flight attendants told me that the gate agent had informed them of my birthday. They took it from there…

Our next leg took us to Minneapolis.  It was the copilot’s leg, so I thought nothing more about it. When we got to the gate, this time I stayed in my seat as the copilot said farewell to the folks. It wasn’t long however, before people began leaning around him to wish me a “”Happy Birthday.” Amazing! The copilot then stood aside so I could stand up and acknowledge their kindness. It was then that I became acutely aware of something that I had seen in Chicago; and of something that I had felt. Connections!  Ever so small “micro-connections.” Like bursts of energy through the eyes!

These ‘connections’ weren’t long; but they were there, and they were powerful. They also didn’t come from everyone – just from folks I suspect were ‘spiritual’ in and of themselves. And I loved it, the feeling of being connected!

Our last leg that day took us to Billings, MT. Upon landing, as we were authorized to do in those days, I opened the cabin door upon clearing the runway. It gets hot in the DC-9 cockpit on the ground, and opening the door gives us some relief. As we taxied in, the whole cabin erupted into a chorus of “Happy Birthday!” I can only begin to tell you how good that felt. Not how good that ‘sounded,’ or how good that ‘was’ – but how good that ‘felt.’ For the first time, in a very long time, I was able to ‘feel!’ And I wanted to continue taxiing past the gate and around the airfield, to savor the experience. But then ‘reality’ raised her ugly head, and I turned into the gate.

And once again, I saw and felt the ‘micro-connections’ as the passengers deplaned. Only this time I was so much more aware of them. Powerful

On the way to the hotel I expressed my gratitude to the crew for their kindness in helping me celebrate my birthday. I don’t think I shared my experience on the ship so many years ago; I was too consumed in joy! I hope some day they will all know what that day meant to me. And it’s kinda cool, as I relive tat experience today, I can still feel those ‘micro-connections’ as I tell this story – today, on my birthday.

So, with no specific ‘birthday’ plans, today will be a good day! I will probably work on the mound out by my pond, go visit Chuck in the hospital and run a few errands. And all the while, I will be singing the theme song from “Davy Crockett!” [wpaudio url=”https://www.lonelypilotbob.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/dc_theme.mp3″ text=”Sing along with me”]

Of note: I can not remember what any of those gifts were from that day back in 1957, but I vividly remember the spiritual connections of the three flights 10 – 12 years ago.  And many more since then. I am so grateful for the awareness I have today, through sobriety…

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Flipping Off Pete…

Posted on 31/08/2012 by Bobo

One afternoon the squadron commander asked me to come into his office after I got down from a flight.  I was the Operations Officer at the time; the number 2 guy in the squadron.

“Why are you pissed off at Pete S.?” he asked.

“I’m not pissed off at Pete S.” I replied.

“Well, he said you ‘flipped him off,'” came his retort.

For the very life of me, I had no clue what he was talking about.  He must have sensed this, and went on, “Pete said you flipped him off as you passed the RSU (Runway Supervisory Unit.)  Then it dawned on me – I did, ‘flip off’ Pete off – only I didn’t know it was Pete.

I don’t know why I ‘flipped off’ Pete; just seemed like the thing to do at the time.  Some men just do that; and I must be one of them.  We were taxing out, it was a gorgeous day, and the RSU guy, obviously Pete, just happened to look over.  So, what the Hell?  It happened.

After assuring our blessed “Dear Leader” that I wasn’t pissed off at Pete, I sought him out to tell him myself.  He was okay with it, and nothing more was made of it.  Did I modify my childish behavior?  Not a chance; haven’t yet.  It’s just (another) character defect of mine.  One I am not willing, to give up, yet.

I really didn’t know who was in the RSU at that time; don’t think it would have mattered anyway.  As it turned out, Pete was one of our “good guys.”

I first met him when he had to monitor a Check Section ground evaluation for a student going through our program.  The kid getting the check was a guy who really didn’t want to be an IP.  He had a girl friend back at Base X, and was just kinda going through the motions of the eval.

These evals were 2 hours long, with a 10-minute break in between.  At “half time,” Pete came up to me and asked, “Why haven’t you smoked this guy yet, Sir?  He is really stupid!”  Although I very well could have, this was a “sensitive case,” and I had to continue.  But it was good to see a new guy with a good head on his shoulders.

Many years later, I had an opportunity to take a check ride with Pete myself.  He was an evaluator at Northwest Airlines, and I was having my very last check ride in the A-320 simulator.   The check ride went pretty straight forward and with about a half-hour left, Pete asked me if there was anything I would like to do.

I had always wanted to try a “dead stick” landing in an airliner; and approach and landing without engines!  So, Pete set me up about 30 miles from the field, 90 degrees off runway heading – to make it challenging – and cut me loose, without operating motors.  What fun, and a lasting memory I will always cherish.

Half way down final approach I just happened to look down and see my hands on the throttles.  Why?  Had to chuckle to myself with that one!  So I removed my hand, and continued the approach to an acceptable landing – on speed, about 1,500 feet down the runway.  Of course the check ride ended there – no power to taxi in!

So, why did I “flip off” Pete?  No idea, just seemed like the thing to do, at the time…

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Observation: Attitude

Posted on 25/08/2012 by Bobo

“You can’t operate a high-performance jet with, a low-performance attitude…”

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“43”

Posted on 25/08/2012 by Bobo

Quite a few of my posts come from stories that occasionally surface from years ago.  This is one of them…

In 1977 we lived in Enid, OK.  I was stationed at Vance AFB.  In March 1977 we moved in to the first house we bought.  Soon after we decided we needed a fence.

Marty and Karen lived just around the block from us.  Marty was one of the IPs (instructor pilots) in our flight.  He also was wanting to install a fence.

The subsurface in Enid is exceptionally hard.  So Mart and I decided we would rent a gas-operated post hole digger and have at it one Saturday morning.  Our plan was to team up, and dig post holes for both our fences.  It was a sound plan…

As the morning wore on it began to get significantly warmer, spelled “hot.”  To combat the heat, we got into the beer.  By mid-afternoon we were hole-digging fools!

The auger we were using was a 2-man auger, and it took both of us to control it.  When we were just about finished, we paused for a moment, for Marty to take a swig.  Only I didn’t notice he had let go of the auger.  So, I cranked it up to begin digging.  Only without Mart, the auger began spinning instead of digging!  The damn thing hit me twice before the pain made it to my brain!  Left a helluva knot, and soon a bruise, on my calf.  Still hurts when I think about it.

With only a few holes to dig, I ‘compartmentalized’ the pain and continued on.  The beer seemed to help with this process also.  At day’s end, we had dug 43 holes!

Why do I remember this number?  Hell, I don’t know.  But yesterday I called Mart, and we both had a great laugh about it… maybe that’s why?

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Aerobraking…

Posted on 19/08/2012 by Bobo

I have a pair of book ends in my house that were given to me as a ‘going away’ gift in June 1980.  They are made from a set of T-38A main landing gear tires.

Is there a ‘story’ behind them?  Oh yeah; and a story that humbles me even to this day…

In late March 1980 I was tasked to fly as a “seeing-eye IP” for a 2-star general.  We were returning to Randolph Field with the weather reported at; 200 overcast, 1 mile visibility with drizzle and fog.  The general was flying from the front seat.

The weather that day throughout South Texas was such that once we began an approach we would not have fuel for an alternate.  Once we committed to the descent and approach, we would be committed to landing.

The general I was flying with was a former Fighter Pilot, and quite capable.  Good hands.  But still, I was a bit apprehensive.

The descent and ILS approach went “textbook.”  Then on short final, the general asked me a simple question.  “Bob,” he asked, “do we aerobrake on wet runways?”  We were near minimums at the time, and I was focused at finding the runway.  Without lending any thought to the question, I replied, “No Sir, just put her down and begin braking…”  Dumb!

We broke out of the weather and he landed within the first 200-300 feet down the runway.  Then he lowered the nose, and the fun began.  I actually felt the aircraft ‘rise’ up on the standing water.  Not good; and from that point on, we were just ‘along for the ride.’

First the right main tire blew, followed shortly thereafter by the left tire.  I actually felt each tire blow.  The general then remarked something like, “Bob….” and I got on the brakes with him, as we were not slowing a bit.

I have no idea how much our heading changed as we slid along the runway, but I know it was significant.  30-45 degrees?  I don’t know.  I wasn’t at all scared, I was too busy on the brakes.

As we slowed, directional control became somewhat ‘sporting.’  We subsequently came to a stop about 20 degrees off runway heading, about 300 – 400 feet from the end of the runway.  I called the Tower and reported two blown tires as I cautiously opened my canopy.  It was if I were hoping they were still inflated, but I knew different.  The general attempted to taxi clear of the runway when I informed him that “they” really didn’t want us to taxi on blown tires.  I think he was pissed, but he didn’t say anything!

I then called back to the squadron to inform them of our predicament.  The SOF (Supervisor of Flying), was a friend of mine and said something to the effect, “Yeah Bob, we saw you sliding by.”  He then went on to tell me that the squadron commander was on his way out.  It took every bit of discipline I possessed at the time not to ask him, “Is he bring two new tires with him?”  Thought I would let that one slide…

We got out of the aircraft and the general took off.  I got a ride in to the squadron with the squadron commander.  As I headed off to the chute room to hang up my gear, he said, “Bob, get a cup of coffee and then come down and tell me what happened.”

Many thoughts raced through my mind.  “It was the general’s fault.”  “I don’t know what happened.”  George Bush wasn’t on the scene yet so I knew I had to ‘take the hit.’  And the reality is, I wouldn’t have done it any other way.

I walked into his office, sick to my stomach.  He came out from behind his desk and we sat down.  I looked at my coffee, then up at him and said, “Col. O., I just screwed up.”  And I proceeded to tell him about the chain of events leading up to the landing.  He was so gracious.  He thanked me, and that was all I ever heard about the incident from him.

When I got back to the shop, it was a different story.  I was working at HQ ATC Flight Safety at that time.  They were ‘brutal.’  There is nothing worse than taking crap from peers in a flying unit when you screw up…

My boss at the time, suggested I submit a “Hanger Flying” article for our monthly Flight Safety package for the field.  With the help of Mikey, this is what we came up with:

The Wet Runway Reel
To be chanted with the appropriate knee-slapping and foot stompin’.
Straw hats optional.

Clouds are low, runway’s wet.
Landing’s assured and we’re all set.

Chop the power, lower the nose,
Mash the brakes and there she goes!

Half-way down at a hundred per
Markers passing in a blur.

Ziggy this way, ziggy that,
Now my right main tire is flat.

Into a skid, speed’s too hot,
Now my left main tire is shot.

A call to the SOF, a call to Ground
Watch them fire trucks circle round.

Sittin’ at the end, inna lake,
Now I remember to aerobrake!

I have kept those tires over the years; not so much to use them as book ends, but to remind me every now and then that I am not perhaps as “good” as I think I am… I still look at them in this vain today upon occasion…

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Dan F.

Posted on 18/08/2012 by Bobo

(Dan F. was one of the funniest guys I met whilst in the Air Force.  Although I did not witness the following story, I do have it on ‘good authority…’)

Dan was a T-38 Flight Commander at Vance AFB, OK in the late ’70’s.  One afternoon, after flying, he was standing at the scheduling desk in the flight room, filling out the daily after flying reports.  Totally engrossed in his reports, he wasn’t paying much attention to who was coming or going into the flight room – and failed to notice when the Wing Commander entered.

The Wing Commander was on his way cross country somewhere, and was just looking for a spot to do some flight planning.  Settling in on the other end of the scheduler’s desk he asked Dan if he had a “whiz wheel.”  (A ‘whiz wheel’ was the hand-held CPU-26A/P Computer Air Navigation we carried for flight planning).

Without looking up, Dan replied, “Not only do I not have a whiz wheel, but I wouldn’t know how to use the fucker if I had one!”  It was at this point he looked up and saw who asked the question, and without skipping a beat, he continued, “But Sir, I’m gonna find one and I’m gonna learn how to use it, real fast!”

Great recovery!

 

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“Hello, – Mom?”

Posted on 17/08/2012 by Bobo

My Mom died in San Antonio, TX in January 2002.  She was 76.

Once we all gathered in town for her funeral, we decided to conduct a memorial service in the chapel at the Sunset Memorial Park Funeral Home on Austin Highway.  It was conducted at 1600 hrs. on 12 Jan 2002.

In attendance were relatives from all over the States, co-workers of Mom’s from the Air Force as well as “the Neighbors” – her local social and drinking club.  Neither my brother nor my sister had any interest in speaking, so it kinda fell on me to say a few things about Mom….

I thought about what I was going to say, and how I was going to say it throughout the day, and getting close to 4, I had no still had no idea on what to say.  As people began to settle into their seats it finally dawned on me!  My inspiration came from the old Bob Newhart skits of the 60’s.

I was the third person to speak, following a cousin and a Neighbor.  As I introduced myself, my cell phone rang!  I took it out of my coat pocket, and much to the horror of those in attendance – and my sick amusement – I looked to see who was calling.  I then looked up and said, “I had better take this.”

The looks in the congregation were priceless!  Some folks gasped, others glared and a few brought their hands to their mouths.  I had told no one what I was going  to do…

“Hello, Mom?”  I answered, “we were just talking about you!”  The ‘relief’ in the congregation was instantaneous, and I continued.  “How are you?”

“You’ve been out shopping already?”  (Laughter – Mom was the commensurate shopper.)

“Have you seen Dad?” I asked.  (She did not particularly care for dear ole dad…)

“You, you say he’s not registered?”  Oh…

“Is Sally here?”  (Mom always bitched about Sally being late for everything).

“Yeah Mom, we told her the service was at 3:30, and she was 15 minutes early!”

“Did Milt get a haircut for the service, you ask?”

“Mom, Milt never got his hair cut while you were here – why do you think he would get a haircut now?”

…and so on, for about 3 or 4 minutes.  Whatever came to mind, I had fun with it.  Then, when I felt I had gone on long enough, I closed with, “You say you have to go now?” and I about lost it.  I was saying good bye to Mom… but I managed to come out with, “Okay Mom, I’ll see you again soon – when you walk through my mind…”  And the tears came as I sat down.

It was really quiet in there for a moment or two.  Then the minister got up, and continued with the service.

Later, at the reception, I received several very kind comments, and 3 ‘bookings!’  One lady told me, “Bobby, at one point we thought you really were talking with your Mom.”

And, at one point, I think I was…

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Bill Bowman

Posted on 31/07/2012 by Bobo

Bill Bowman came to mind tonight…

Bill was a kid I met my junior year of high school; at Verdun, France.  We actually lived at Chambley AFB, France, and commuted to Verdun – 29 miles away.  Bill was a senior and dated Bonnie Camp.

I never knew why but we hit it off right away.  Same sense of humor, same values, he had a girlfriend, and I had good values… and so forth.  Bill was my first “drinking buddy.”  He used to raid his dad’s liquor cabinet for the vodka. He then would dilute the bottle with water.  I never acquired the taste of ‘hard liquor,’ but I enjoyed being around Bill, so I drank that shitty vodka.

I was only associated with Bill for that one year, yet we became very close.  When I sobered up, in 1994, I attempted to locate him.  I actually found his dad, Monte, and was told of Bill’s death, nine months earlier – suicide.  Shit…

I don’t know why I thought of him tonight; I just did.  I pray he is at peace – I miss him…

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Hiding No More, Forever…

Posted on 29/07/2012 by Bobo

‘Hiding’ has been a survival tool of mine for what seems like, forever.  I don’t know if I have ever lived a day without hiding from someone, or something…. It’s a ‘character defect’ of mine.  It’s a character defect that until now, until today, I have been unable, or unwilling, to give up.  In my mind, hiding was a technique I used to ‘protect’ myself from hurt and pain.  Today I am tired of hiding.  It consumes so much energy.  I am tired… today, for this moment; I know what it means ‘to surrender.’

I ‘learned’ to hide as a kid; to keep from being hurt by the ones who may have loved me the most – my parents.  My father was a very compassionate and generous man.  He was also a very angry and violent man.  He was a drunk.  He could be so funny and kind one moment, then, mad as hell the next for some totally insignificant issue.  The absolute rage in him was frightening.  I never knew ‘which’ dad I was dealing with, consequently I began to create ‘hiding places’ and ‘escape routes’ to protect myself.  Mom was of very little help, as she had to protect herself; I suppose so she could protect us.  So there you have it, a snapshot of my family environment in the mid-50’s.  Ward and June lived on another planet.

In the late 50’s and early 60’s, I hid by isolating.  Whenever the ‘family’ would plan an outing I would have homework to do, or leaves to rake.  Raking leaves or other yard work were chores Dad was always more than willing to let me do, and I didn’t mind it as it kept me out of ‘Harm’s Way’ for a few hours.  (And if I did a decent job, I might, perhaps just might, receive a kind word from him.)

As I stumbled into my teenage years I had developed two layers of ‘hide’ that allowed me to hide; isolating and escaping (running away).  This was my way of developing ‘thick skin’ to protect the fragile, sensitive, worthless person I knew I was.  About this time I learned something else about myself; I didn’t particularly enjoy being beat up by bullies.  I suppose by then I subconsciously felt that ‘beatings’ were personal and intimate in nature.  It was my Dad’s way of showing me he loved me.  Sometimes I wished he hadn’t loved me so much!  To be beat up by a stranger was humiliating.  And so I began to develop another layer of ‘hide’; I began to develop a ‘passive/aggressive’ personality.  From my perspective, bullies tend to be only ‘half bright.’  I found I could ‘befriend’ them; gain their confidence, then ‘smoke them’ without them ever being aware of where the heat came from.  It became a game for me I suppose, a game I came to enjoy.  In my adolescent years I used my ‘passive/aggressive’ behavior to cope with physical bullies; in my adult years I used the behavior to deal with authority figures.

In my college years I added another layer, one of fantasy.  Pat Conroy, in his book The Great Santini says it best: “The children of violent men develop vivid powers of fantasy.”  I can really relate here; I have lived in fantasy for the better part of my adult life.  It was another way to hide.  I have become so skilled at fantasy I can hardly decipher it from reality today….

To keep my ‘hide’ pliable, I discovered and used alcohol.  And for 30+ years, alcohol has kept the madness going.  With the alcohol and my layers of hide, I was able to exist for the better part of my adult years.  I was able to ‘survive;’ now I want to live…

Just coming into the fellowship does not instantaneously and/or totally relieve us of the insanity.  It takes awareness, it takes acceptance and it takes a willingness to change.  It also takes courage to change.

Over the past year, as I have worked on exploring how I form relationships, with both men and women, I have discovered my propensity for hiding.  It has been quite a revelation to say the least.  Today I am exhausted!  The weight of my ‘hide’ is too much to bear anymore.  It’s now time I face my fears and insecurities with truth and trust and begin shedding the layers of my hide.  There’s a neat little kid in here that’s screaming to get out and for the first time in his life, be himself.  If you want to know about surrender, have a cup of coffee with me.  Today, I will hide no more forever.

(I actually wrote this in the late ’90’s.  In some ways, I am still ‘hiding’ today – but not as much…)

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Halloween – 1982

Posted on 29/07/2012 by Bobo

In October 1982 I was in requal for the T-38A in the 560th FTS.  As the end of the month approached I talked Sue into having a Halloween party for our flight; IPs and students.  She agreed, and we were ‘good to go.’

I thought it would be a great idea to have a coffin set up in the garage; of course, with all the ambiance.  The problem was, I didn’t have a coffin handy.  But I knew where to get one.

I had seen the Base Honor Guard practicing for military funerals on numerous occasions – using (hopefully) an empty coffin.  So that Friday afternoon, after work, I went down to their shop and asked the MFWIC (Guy In Charge) if I could use their coffin for a party.  He saw no problem, so after filling out a ‘hand receipt’ I was on my way.  (Think you could do this today?)

We put the coffin in the back of my pickup and I decided a cold beer would taste good.  So I headed back to the Squadron.  Then I decided to have a bit of ‘fun.’

We had a black guy, Dwight, as an Admin Clerk.  He was the first guy I ran into when I entered the squadron.  “”Hey Dwight,” I called out, “could you give me a hand with something I have to bring into the building?”

“No problem Sir,” he responded, and we headed out the back door.  When Dwight saw what I had in the bed of my truck, his eyes widened and he took off across the parking lot!  I had never seen him move that fast!  I called out after him, but he was hearing nothing of it…he was ‘motoring’…

So, back into the Squadron I went, and found someone else to help me lug it into the building.  We took the coffin into the Ops Center and stood it on end.  Then I made a sign and hung it on the coffin cover:  “Forgiveness is NOT the current policy of the 560th Flying Training Squadron.”

Our squadron commander at the time was not a ‘leader;’ he was a “Reg Reader,” a “matrix commander.”  Whenever there was ever an ‘issue,’ he would delve into the appropriate regulation and chase through the applicable paragraphs/charts for a solution.  No common sense needed for that guy…  Anyway, he didn’t see the humor in it all, but I really didn’t much care.  I had worked (briefly) for him before, and wasn’t at all intimidated by him.  But I did take the sign down and removed the coffin from the building.

When I got home, we set it in the living room for a few pictures.

From there we moved into the garage and set it on two saw horses.  The saw horses was covered with a bed sheet and as people would parade by the coffin  to see what was in it, I would grab their ankles.  Of course I soaked my hands in some slimy, drippy goo of some kind!  I think a couple of the gals I grabbed caught up with Dwight that night!

All-in-all, a great party!

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