Those Red Tag Bastards: Their Dreams, Their Lives, Their Memories

By Editor Don Shepperd

A collection of stories written by the members of the Class of 1962, the fourth class to graduate from the United States Air Force Academy - the original Red Tag Bastards - on the occasion of their 50th class reunion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477240748

Editor Don Shepperd

Editor, Major General Don Shepperd, USAF (ret.) was a member of the class of 1962, the fourth class to graduate from the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. He was one of the original “Red Tag Bastards.”

Book preview

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Quotes

Introduction

Stories by Charles William Chuck Allport, 918K

Chuck Allport’s Academy Years

A Career Story

by Chuck Allport

Stories by Herbert Hesh Altman, 919K

Jew at the Zoo

My Longest Night

by Hesh Altman

Stories by Robert Floyd Bob Anderson, 922K

Sesquicentennial in Mexico City

Col Mac

by Bob Anderson

Stories by Frederick Michael Mike Banks, 931K

How It All Began

High Flight

by Mike Banks

Stories by Donald Ralph Don Baucom, 934K

Forging Life-long Bonds

Course Corrections

by Don Baucom

Stories by Gary Lee Gary Baughman, 935K

A Little Fish in a Big Pond

The Thrill of Victory and the Agony of Defeat…Life After the Academy

by Gary Baughman

Stories by Robert Henry Bob Baxter, 936K

To Play or Not To Play

TISEO, Gabriel and the Lavelle Missions

by Bob Baxter

Stories by Michael Patrick Rip Blaisdell, 944K

July 1958 - Lowry AFB, Denver, Colorado

A Lesson from an Airman, 12 May 1967 - Bien Hoa Airbase, RVN

by Rip Blaisdell

Stories by Rudolph Norman Rudy Bow, Jr. 949K

The Bug Bit…I Was Awestruck

Game Over…the Beginning of a New Challenge

by Rudy Bow

Stories by Michael John Mike Butchko, Jr. 964K

The First Four Years

The Next 31 and Beyond

by Mike Butchko

Stories by Charles Michel Mike Butler, 965K

The Long Red Line

The Sound of Music

by Mike Butler

Stories by Charles Edward Chuck Cheeseman, Jr. 975K

Graduated: 298 Not Commissioned: 1

World Flight Record Brazil - to Oshkosh

by Chuck Cheeseman

Stories by Paul Lee Paul Clanton, 977K

I Like Ike and Photography

I Wanted to See the World

by Paul Clanton

Stories by Kirk Blystone K.B. Clark, 978K

A Defining Moment

The Last Liberation

by K.B. Clark

Stories by Carol Towers Carol Coffey, 980K

The Two-year Cadet

The Dentist

by Carol Coffey

Stories by Robert Justin Bob Connolly, 983K

The First Red Tag to Wear a Star

Fear, But Not From the Enemy

by Bob Connolly

Stories by Gerald Fredric Jerry Cornetet, 984K

The Sound of Music—Academy Years

The Sound of Music—The Later Years

by Jerry Cornetet

Stories by Gerald Allen Reb Daniel, 986K

Taste of Texas Justice

Santa’s Four Tiny Water Buffalo

by Reb Daniel

Stories by Jerry Wayne Bo Daugherty, 987K

Let Them Eat Cake

The First Time Was the Greatest

by Bo Daugherty

Stories by Sheridan Bear Davis, 991K

The Early, Formative Years

The Aftermath

by Bear Davis

Stories by Dennis Edward Sam Dehne, 993K

Sam Dehne - Raw Rah (2012)

Now Here is the Aftermath:

Composed in a Semi-non-chronological Order

by Sam Dehne

Stories by James Arthur Frenchy D’Entremont, 994K

Beyond Boston

My Life Has Been a Blessing

by Frenchy D’Entremont

Stories by Daniel James Dan Donovan II, 1001K

Academy Days

Navigators Are People Too

by Dan Donovan

Stories by George Mitchell Mitch Eckel, III 1010K

A Razorback’s Sojourn

From SACumcision to Harvard

by Mitch Eckel

Stories by John Richard Dick Ellsworth, 1013K

Following in Footsteps

After the Footsteps

by Dick Ellsworth

Stories by Robert Louis Bob Felts, 1029K

Banging My Brain for USAFA Memories

Lucky Bob

by Bob Felts

Stories by John Fer, 1021K

Honor Code Reminiscences

The Most Significant Post-USAFA Event – Six Years as a POW

by John Fer

Stories by Frederick Allen Fred Fiedler, 1023K

Don’t Mess with Texas!

The First Day of the Rest of My Life

by Fred Fiedler

Stories by Gary Gene Gary Fish, 1025K

Academy Tale

Post Academy Tale

by Gary Fish

Stories by Kenneth Scott Scott Fisher, 1026K

Who Wants to Go to Ouagadouga? Kigali? Simon’s Town? Count Me In!

Every day is Different - My African Journey

by Scott Fisher

Stories by John Francis John Flanagan, Jr. 1027K

Night Raid to CU Campus

Closure

by John Flanagan

Stories by Kenneth Henry Ken Fleming, 1028K

In the Wrong Place at the Right Time

In the Right Place at the Wrong Time

by Ken Fleming

Stories by Nicholas Henry Nick Fritz, Jr. 1036K

The Formative Days

An Unexpected Surprise

by Nick Fritz

Stories by Robert Fair Bob Gibson, 1042K

A Long Time Coming

A Marine Corps Officer

by Bob Gibson

Stories by Richard Timothy Tim Gilmartin, 1044K

The Painting of the Loretto Heights Water Tower Caper

Running My Ass Off

by Tim Gilmartin

Stories by Lawrence Lee Larry Gooch, 1320K

From a Sod House to USAFA

Spaceman

by Larry Gooch

Stories by Russell Edward Russ Goodenough, 1047K

Academy Escapades

Flying in Libya

by Russ Goodenough

Stories by Willie Wallace Willie Gray, Jr. 1049K

Getting-in and Getting-out

The Real Air Force

by Willie Gray

Stories by Robert Duke Duke Green, 1050K

Ramblings from an Old Man

More Ramblings

by Duke Green

Stories by John Francis Joe Guilmartin, Jr. 1059K

Red Tag’s Revenge

Turning Out the Light at the End of the Tunnel

by Joe Guilmartin

Stories by Charles Ellsworth Charlie Hale, Jr. 1063K

The Journey to USAFA

Beyond USAFA

by Charlie Hale

Stories by Donald James Don Hallager, 1064K

Good, Bad and Ugly

A Life with Few Regrets

by Don Hallager

Stories by William Jens Bill Haugen, 1074K

The Blue Zoo Years…

…A Challenge and a Joy

by Bill Haugen

Stories by Jack Charles Jack Hauser, 1076K

Starting My Life in Aviation

Life: A Sinusoidal Path in Time

by Jack Hauser

Stories by Donald Joe Don (Chico) Heacox, 1078K

Jumping Off

Strangely Naïve

by Don (Chico) Heacox

Stories by Frederick Lee Fred Hendryx, 1080K

Cadet Life During BCT

TAC C-130 Action in Vietnam, 1964-1968

by Fred Hendryx

Stories by Richard Lee Dick Hodgkinson, 1089K

What Am I Doing Here???

Quick, Leave Before They Recognize Your Incompetence

by Dick Hodgkinson

Stories by Richard Louis Dick Hoffert, 1091K

Depending on the Kindness of Strangers I

Depending on the Kindness of Strangers II

by Dick Hoffert

Stories by Willmore F. Willie Holbrow, Jr. 1093K

Headed West

What a Time to be at MIT!

by Willie Holbrow

Stories by David Elwin Dave Holt, 1095K

Travels

A Unique Assignment

by Dave Holt

Stories by Robert Stephen Bob Hopkins, 1097K

Musings on the Past

What the #!!**$ Was THAT?

by Bob Hopkins

Stories by Thomas Tom Hutchison, 1106K

I’m No Hero…I Got Shot

Sometimes You’re Just Not Sure

by Tom Hutchison

Stories by John William Jack Jamba, 1109K

I Was Born…

The Red Tag - Part 2

by Jack Jamba

Stories by Larry Othar Larry Jensen, 1112K

Academy Vignettes

Active Duty Excerpts

by Larry Jensen

Stories by Thomas Addis Tom Keaney, 1123K

Lessons Learned at USAFA

My Two Careers

by Tom Keaney

Stories by Robert Peter Bob Keighery, 1124K

Winning Life’s Lottery…

Off We Go…

by Bob Keighery

Stories by Richard Leo Dick Klass, 1134K

KB and Me

Prop Job

by Dick Klass

Stories by Richard George Rick Krebs, 1039K

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night…

From KC-97s To Life is Good

by Rick Krebs

Stories by Lanny Thomas Gus Lanny Lancaster, 1141K

Granbury, Mom and Grandmother

The LONG road to the F-100…or…

Almost-NEVER Believe the Personnel Pukes

by Lanny Lancaster

Stories by Paul Edward Paul Landers, Jr. 1142K

It All Started with Brigitte

Dream Sheets

by Paul Landers

Stories by Robert Grantham Grant Lannon, 1143K

The Doolie Pilot

…And the Flight Goes On

by Grant Lannon

Stories by George William George Larson, Jr. 1145K

Destiny – A Rattlesnake at Cathedral Rock

Life After Aluminum U

by George Larson

Stores by David Robert Dave Lee, 1147K

My Days At The Zoo

Looking Back, to Dayton

by Dave Lee

Stories by Robert Henry Bob Lightsey, 1153K

J.J. Young

I’m Going Where?

By Bob Lightsey

Stories by David Christopher Dave Lyon, 1159K

… paper airplanes

… jet planes

by Dave Lyon

Stories by James Edwin Jim Mack, 1160K

It All Started…

Where Did I Go Wrong?

by Jim Mack

Stories by James George Jim Mages, 1163K

Part 1 – The Good Part

Part 2 – The Best Part

by Jim Mages

Stories by Michael Gray Mike Major, 1164K

A Spicy Meatball and a Hot Date

Maj’s Canadian Holiday

by Mike Major

Stories by Richard Thomas Ming Mangold, 1165K

Fireworks

Majorca

by Ming Mangold

Stories by Lyman Whitten Lyman Marshall, 1168K

Tale of a Tunnel Rat

The World of International Aviation Business

by Lyman Marshall

Stories by Edward Allan Ed Martinelli, 1170K

Memories

An End and a Beginning

by Ed Martinelli

Stories by Thomas Pearson Tuck McAtee, 1167K

It All Started in a Luscombe…on a Taxiway

Luck

by Tuck McAtee

Stories by Robert John Bob McNaughton, 1177K

How It All Began…

Planes, Girls and Automobiles

(…three things Air Force cadets sometimes think about)

by Bob McNaughton

Stories by Philip Alexander Phil Merkel, 1178K

Reunion Story

Life After USAFA

by Phil Merkel

Stories by Roger Thomas Rog Meyers, 1180K

Oh, God, What Have I Done?

My Life After a Red Bathrobe, When the Dream Began…

by Rog Meyers

Stories by Thomas Kittrell T.K. Moore, 1187K

July-August, 1961

Buff Dodging a SAM, May 24-25, 1968

by T. K. Moore

Stories by Alan Leroy Al Mosher, 1190K

Life with Butch

Scribbles for Eternity

by Al Mosher

Stories by Ted Arvin Ted Neff, 1197K

More Time for My Red Corvette

Post-Academy Days - Club Fed

by Ted Neff

Stories by Edwin Carraway E.C. Newman, 1199K

Homesick Country Boy

Learning to Fly

by E.C. Newman

Stories by Nils Bonesteel Bo Ohman, 1207K

How Chico Got His Name

The Education of Tiger Two

by Nils Ohman

Stories by Harry Guy Harry Paddon, 1216K

Falcons Saved Me

Combat and Life

by Harry Paddon

Stories by Embert Glendon Embert Page, 1217K

Genesis: Buies Creek & USAFA

Exodus: Beyond USAFA

by Embert Page

Stories by Robert Hugh Bob Parker, 1220K

Spring of 1943

Once I Came To…

by Bob Parker

Stories by Gaillard Ray Gail Peck, Jr. 1225K

Meant to Fly

A Flying Life

by Gail Peck

Stories by David Jon Dave Pederson, 1226K

Memories From the Days We Left Behind

An Eclectic Career

by Dave Pederson

Stories by Daniel Harry Dan Pemberton, 1227K

Ground School

Flight Path

by Dan Pemberton

Stories by Richard Eugene Rick Perlotto, 1228K

Does the Rank Make the Man, or Does the Man Make the Rank?

1969 - Today I lost the War

by Rick Perlotto

Stories by Paul Edward Paul Pirtle, 1233K

A Humble Beginning

From MIT…to Space…to Pecans

by Paul Pirtle

Stories by Charles Stokes Charlie Price, 1240K

Down on the farm…

Now on to the REAL AIR FORCE and other Adventures….

by Charlie Price

Stories by Michael Edward Mike Quinton, 1242K

Stake Your Claim

Which Way is the Wind Blowing Today?…and After

by Mike Quinton

Stories by John Thomas Tom Rausch, 1244K

Class of 1962

Fifty Years after Graduation: A Look Back at My Career

by Tom Rausch

Stories by Colin Richardson, 1252K

When I Was a Doolie

OSI

by Colin Richardson

Stories by Peter Dodd Pete Robinson, 1258K

The Beginning

Free at Last!…or So I Thought

by Pete Robinson

Stories by Paul Kurtz PK Robinson, Jr. 1257K

A Galion Tiger

Barfing, Flying and Banking

by PK Robinson

Stories by David Hartley Dave Roe, 1260K

Roommates and Other Classmates

Classmates, Other Zoomies and Fellow Professionals

by Dave Roe

Stories by Ervin Jerome Erv Rokke, 1262K

Beyond St. Olaf

Akhromeyev and Tatyana

by Erv Rokke

Conclusion

Stories by Robert James Bob Scauzillo, 1265K

How Much Do You Weigh?

Fate Plays Funny Tricks!

by Bob Scauzillo

Stories by Donald William Don Shepperd, 1281K

…and in the Beginning

…and Then There Was Life

by Don Shepperd

Stories by Allen Al Sigman, 1285K

USAFA – The Start & the Finish

Lucky Al

by Al Sigman

Stories by Jerry Lou Jerry Smith, 1289K

USAFA: A John Deere Career Cut Short

After USAFA: Around the World, SAC and Family

by Jerry Smith

Stories by Roger Thomas Roger Smith 1292K

My Military Medical Adventure

Jubilation

by Roger Smith

Stories by Richard Neal Dick Smull 1293K

Water Survival Lessons at the Cadet Pool

South to Alaska: A Few Anecdotes on Cold Weather Flying

by Dick Smull

Stories by Edward Lee Ed Spicer, 1295K

No excuse, Sir!

Gentlemen, shave off your mustaches!

by Ed Spicer

Stories by Ralph Merle Huck Spory, Jr. 1296K

Red Tag Odyssey in Europe

Return to Europe Odyssey Continued

by Huck Spory

Stories by Robert Lee Bob Staib, 1298K

Football Comes with Headaches …and I Loved It!

I Wanted to Be a Leader, Not a Salesman

by Bob Staib

Stories by Edward Joseph Ed Stanton, 1299K

Planes, Trains and a Staff Car

Thunderball

by Ed Stanton

Stories by Jon Robert Jon Staples, 1300K

Graduation Leave–Pamplona–1962

Four Days in Cambodia – May 1970

by Jon Staples

Stories by Lewis Christopher Lew Svitenko, 1307K

The Honing of ‘62

Were We Ready?

by Lew Svitenko

Stories by John Cottam Jack Swonson, Jr. 1308K

A Sad Tale: Wanting It Too Much

Angel on My Shoulder

by Jack Swonson

Stories by Ronnie Gene Ron Taylor, 1310K

Pranksters

SAC and Marriage

by Ron Taylor

Stories by George Mersereau George Thompson, 1312K

How George Thompson Became a Zoomie

Life in the REAL Air Force - Off I Go into the REAL Blue Yonder!

by George Thompson

Stories by Frank Richard Frank Urban, 1325K

From Possum Hollow

To Pedregal

by Frank Urban

Stories by Bradley Brad Van Sant, 884K

A Memory from Our Junior Year

On a Wing and a Prayer

by Brad Van Sant

Stories by David Kirk D.K. Vaughan, 1327K

Seven-Course Dinner in Paris

T-38 Solo Cross-Country Nav Mission

by D.K. Vaughan

Stories by Henry Butch Viccellio, Jr. 1328K

Shaping the Dream

Living the Dream

by Butch Viccellio

Stories by Austin Clark Austin Wedemeyer, 1334K

Team Spirit Cross-Country Style

A Day Off From the War

by Austin Wedemeyer

Stories by Robert Harrison Bob Weight, 1335K

A Summer Blur

Not As I Planned It

by Bob Weight

Stories by Richard Clark Rick Wheeler, 1339K

It All Started in Montana

A Career Ends in the Beartooth Mountains

by Rick Wheeler

Stories by David Stewart Dave Whitman, 1340K

The Right Decision, for the Wrong Reasons

SAC and Back

by Dave Whitman

Stories by James Monroe Jim Whitted, 1341K

Getting Enough to Eat

I Lost My Ring – Twice

by Jim Whitted

Glossary

Postscript

Dedication

At the time of publication of this book 58 of our 298 classmates had slipped the surly bonds of earth. This book is dedicated to them and their families.

You added immeasurably to our lives. Until we meet again and dance the skies on laughter-silvered wings, may a good and gracious God bless you - from your Red Tag brothers:

Maurice Wendell Adams

Samuel James Baker

Bradley Thomas Beck

Carl Herbert Bolster

James Martin Brinkman, III

Christopher Heath Brown

John Martin Brucher

Robert Martin Carn, Jr.

Howard Karber Carroll

John Leonard Carroll

Joseph William Dryden, Jr.

Ronald Wesley Duvall

David Albert Fields

Ralph C. Ford

Darrell Leon Fox, Jr.

Charles Stephen Franco

Frederick Ernst Gerken, Jr.

Maynard Landis Goldsmith, Jr.

Terrence Hastings Griffey

Charles Farrell Griffin

David Leslie Harlan

William Tarver Harvey

John Charles Hauschildt

Frederic Owen Hawkins

Ralph Jefferson Hornaday

William Page Howell

Robert J. Huntsman

Donald Lee Hutchinson

Kenton Earl Lammers

Gary Dean Lentz

Lawrence Arthur Lynn, Jr.

Charles Howard MacNevin

William Harry Mannion

Harreld Pirtle Martin

John Frank Miko

Charles Larry Moore

Howard Fish Nichols, Jr.

Daryl Flaa Olson

William Randle O’Rourke, Jr.

Gene Champlin Pacina

Thomas Stewart Rhoades

Warren George Robbins

John Hamilton Rogers, Jr.

Robert Simon Schaumberg

David Alexander Sellers

Francis Kinney Smith

Morris Donald Smith

John Leonard Starkey, Jr.

Leonard Svitenko

Douglas Martin Tocado

George Jordan Toffel

Troy Ned Tomlin

Ronald Clinton Tubbs

Charles Lee Turner

Donald David Watson

Richard Clark Wheeler

Gordon Scott Wilson

Daryl Powell Wood

Acknowledgments

To Emily Cheeseman who designed the cover; to Don Baucom and Ken Fleming for their keen eyes and copy editing assistance; to Nick Fritz who assembled the photos; to Rose Shepperd who threatened non-contributors with telling stories about them and putting-up with late nights, early mornings and adult swearwords from the computer room; to Owen Hawkins who conceived the first Red Tag website and to Bob Felts who maintains them after Owen’s death; to those classmates who wrote and to those who didn’t but made our stories possible; to AuthorHouse for their professional guidance and publishing services – thank you.

To our parents who raised us; to the upperclassmen who harassed us; to our academic instructors and AOCs who taught and mentored us; to our classmates who supported us; to our Air Force and other services who let us fly their airplanes and serve; to our class reunion committees who performed the thankless tasks of organizing reunions over the years; to our departed brethren – we give you our eternal thanks – our life and this book has been a blast.

The Class of 1962, Those Red Tag Bastards

Quotes

We were a different breed of cat right from the start. We flew through the air while others walked on the ground. It was as simple as that. (Gen. Carl Spaatz)

…and the class of 1962, the original Red Tag Bastards (RTBs) were even more different than most… (anyone who dealt with them)

They took away our God-given rights and issued them back to us as privileges, one-by-one. (RTB in a letter to his parents at the end of Doolie Summer)

They were pilots and navigators, engineers, scientists and professors, doctors and dentists and lawyers, accountants, senior executives, company CEOs, college presidents and even spies but the RTBs never grew up…they only learned to behave better in public. (a Red Tag spouse)

Introduction

For the most part we were fuzzy-faced kids just out of high school, wide-eyed, unknowing, full of dreams and expectations, clueless. We were children who grew up in the 1940s and 50s. Our parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles were children of the Depression. They fought World War II and won it. We were to fight too, but we didn’t yet know it.

Eisenhower was President and he said we needed an academy of the air just like ones we had for the Army and Navy - seemed logical and we signed up, not knowing what was to come. We saw the pictures - it was to be an architectural marvel, glass and metal and terrazzo stone and athletic fields and a chapel sweeping to the sky all set on ramparts overlooking the eastern plains.

We were excited. We were the chosen ones, America’s finest, making history, we were told. But it all started in a much less elegant manner, at Lowry Air Force Base, Denver, Colorado, June 27, 1958 in a set of WW II barracks.

Our class was different from preceding classes. We were, irreverent, unconventional, non-conforming, raffish, offbeat, quirky, unorthodox, unappreciative, unmilitary, occasionally even bohemian and slovenly in dress and attitude, we were told. Our class color was RED: RED nametags, RED bathrobes, RED blankets and we were…well…we were just bastards…those Red Tag Bastards.

We are now in our 70s, the age when people automatically call us sir, open doors for us and the cashier asks if we want help to the car with our groceries. It’s not a bad time of life. These are our memories of the early Academy and later life.

The stories are inserted in alphabetical order by the graduate’s last name.

The class of 1962, the original Red Tag Bastards (RTBs) – the fourth graduating class of the United States Air Force Academy

Stories by Charles William Chuck Allport, 918K

Chuck Allport’s Academy Years

My home was Gasport New York, a town of approximately two thousand on the Erie Canal 30 miles from Niagara Falls. My maternal grandfather had a 400-acre farm three miles away, so I grew up bailing hay, putting corn in silos, milking cows and picking apples. His name was Charles Adolph Dunkelberger, so there wasn’t much doubt about his German heritage or practices. Much later I found out that he was considered the most difficult man in the county to work for, but not knowing that, I considered his demands normal and learned some good habits in the process.

My Dad was pretty much a self-made man. He was born into an immigrant family, rode his bike seven miles to high school, ran 4:40 miles and graduated in 1929. He worked in a feed mill, green house and oil company, built P-40s at Curtis-Wright during the war and then became a life insurance salesman. His dad never saw him run, but he never missed a game I played in. Mom was a schoolteacher who kept him moving. Clearly, many of the values my two sisters and I learned, came from these three people and the extended family that surrounded us.

Being a de-facto farm boy, I arrived in Denver in pretty good physical shape and with a positive attitude. Not many knew, but I actually gained weight during Doolie summer. Keeping a low profile, going with the flow and living with the strategy that this is a head game—don’t let the Bastards get you down seemed to work.

The ’58 football season with the expedition to Iowa, the close wins and trip to the Cotton Bowl, in retrospect, probably made the year bearable. Like everybody, extracurricular activities provided the necessary change of pace. Chapel Choir, the gun club and downtown church became my strong release channels.

The gun club provided some lasting memories. A group deer hunting trip to Eagle, Colorado is at the top. We arrived just in time for the afternoon hunt and the large group stood around getting ready. For some reason I walked to the edge of the circle, chambered one of our hand-loaded rounds, closed the bolt and it fired! The unconscious caution that saved what could have been a terrible accident comes back to me every time I pick up a weapon to this day.

An antelope hunt east of Pueblo in a light snow produced an interesting result. After walking for several hours we came onto our own tracks—of course we weren’t lost! I’d heard of the phenomenon but as an eastern boy, I hadn’t taken it very seriously. Wide open spaces really are different and a compass really is important especially when the natural landmarks are obscured.

Another antelope hunt has a story that probably shouldn’t be told. A herd we’d been stalking for some time spooked and ran off. A long, long shot was taken in frustration. We walked in that direction and were very surprised to find the carcass. The .30-06 certainly does have a long range, so you need to be careful where you shoot. I think Tom Young was part of that adventure. That trophy is still on my wall.

Downtown church produced a better result. I met a young lady from Kansas, and after a two and a half year engagement she became, and still is, a Red Tag bride. She provided the motivation to tolerate the last couple years at the Academy and then became an inspiration for five kids, eleven grandkids, and three careers over the next fifty years.

Field trips obviously were a valuable part of our education. The situation I remember was when we were in Europe and the four-star briefing us invited questions at the TS level much to the dismay of his staff. The stark differences between East and West Berlin also made a lasting impression. However, the most lasting impression came from being stopped and asked directions by a native on a street in Berlin. I couldn’t believe that I’d passed the blend-in test. I was not an Ugly American.

The bottom line - a fantastic education that prepared us to go and excel in all possible directions in life.

A Career Story

by Chuck Allport

I was the first AFA grad to choose not to fly! Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara’s frustration with the lack of acquisition skills among DoD leaders struck a resonant cord with me. It seemed that there should be a respectable place for career officers to design and acquire the best for those who fly and fight. This was considered a foolish act and brought counseling along with threats and promises of a wasted career. Fortunately, the prevailing view changed and Air Force leadership discovered the same concept about a year later and provided a wave to ride to a very rewarding set of experiences.

Some of the best advice I ever received was to do a tour in the fighting Air Force before going into the Systems Command ivory tower. The challenge to pick an area that provided perspective and a reasonable chance of one-tour escape led, of all places, to personnel. The selected site was base personnel at Langley AFB. The first of several strokes of good fortune was when a crusty old colonel who wondered what these new Zoomies were really like changed the assignment … my first duty station was Headquarters Tactical Air Command. Blessing number two was that the October ’62 Cuban Missile Crisis erupted soon after my arrival. Many of America’s operations were run from Hq TAC. In a few weeks old bases were reopened and more than 500 aircraft moved into Florida. My first job as a 2nd Lt with a Top Secret clearance was to Xerox copies of the Cuban invasion plan. My second significant task was to brief CINCTAC, General Walter C. Sweeny, every Friday on the disposition of forces in Florida. By the way, his exec was a Lt. Colonel by the name of Bill Creech.

The deputy for personnel was a BG and not authorized an aide. My additional duty of writing his speeches and traveling with him became another fortunate element of perspective. I was able to go to jump school at Ft. Benning, pick up a night school master’s degree, and then escape for a real master’s at Arizona State via AFIT. Mission accomplished: in three years I had acquired a set of experiences that paid dividends for the next 20.

My next assignment was to the SRAM (Short Range Attack Missile) SPO at Wright-Patterson AFB where I served from 1965 to 1972. I arrived just after contract award and departed just after IOC. This assignment was a basic course in system acquisition. SRAM was a very difficult technical program, since it was to produce a missile with a nuclear warhead that could be carried on B-52s, FB-111s and B-1s. It involved working with two very different contractors in Boeing and General Dynamics, and serving under a number of exemplary leaders: Col (later General) Larry Skantze, Lt Gen James Stewart and others.

My next assignment was to Aeronautical Systems Command at Andrews AFB where I served from 1972-1974 as Director of Test Policy. Here I was exposed to another headquarters perspective and a very different pace. The opportunity to attend the Armed Forces Staff College ended this assignment after two years and opened the window to jointness. At AFSC I learned of the experiences of former POW Admiral Jeremiah Denton, who recounted his experiences as a POW in Vietnam in his book, When Hell was in Session.

One day near the end of the Staff College term, a phone call from an old personnel buddy opened another window. There is a senior OSD civilian looking for somebody like you. Can you be at the Pentagon Saturday morning for an interview? It was an interview to remember. The leader was Eric von Marbod, Principal Deputy to Secretary of Defense James Schlesinger, and five or six others in civilian clothes. This group, I later discovered, was the core of special operations in SE Asia. One of the group was BGen Heinie Aderholt, Commander of the 1st Air Commando Wing, former commander of the 56th Air Commando Wing at Nakhon Phanom, father of the Cambodian Air Force, etc.

The team I joined was interesting. It included an AF colonel who had been the chief planner for the Son Tay Raid, a new Army colonel who became a four-star, a Navy commander with a brother in the State Dept, an AF Lt. Col. fighter pilot, a civilian State Dept specialist and a part-timer by the name of Richard Armitage.

Rich, a Naval Academy grad, who went to Vietnam on his first tour, got so involved that he resigned and stayed. He went in and out clandestinely even after the fall and led the Vietnam navy and led some 30 capital ships to Wake when Saigon fell. He went on to many interesting jobs culminating as Colin Powell’s deputy at State.

This assignment provided many interesting adventures. These included correcting the Congressional Record during the evenings to reflect what the boss meant to say; arranging the movement of rice barges up the river to Phnom Penh; coordinating the removal of material as the end of the war approached; providing a safe haven for the Cambodian Air Force in Thailand when their war ended and then doing the same for the Vietnamese AF when Vietnam was overrun. The boss, von Marbod, was at Tan Son Nhut the night (27 April) the officer club was rocketed and went from there to the (helos over the side) carrier in the Gulf. I missed all that by one day being in Bangkok coordinating the incoming Vietnamese and scheduled to go in the next day with the Ambassador’s wife. A few days after the end finally came on 29 April 1975, we all went back to DC, and with the job over, expected to disband. But, the boss was given a new job to transport and bed down the 200,000 refugees on Wake and Guam before the typhoons came. A major (in civilian clothes) at that point, I was assigned an Army colonel and an airplane to survey closed bases where refugees could be housed. Bases chosen were Indian Town Gap, Fort Chaffee, Camp Pendleton and Eglin.

The team’s next task had a different twist. The U.S. was very involved in Iran in support of the Shah’s Westernization efforts. The U.S. was selling them F-14s, Bell was co-producing helicopters and all the services had robust MAAG operations there. There were 20,000 Americans in country.

The DoD chain of command was very inefficient, so the SECDEF created the position of Defense Rep Iran with rank equal to the ambassador. Von Marbod got the job and we were, with some CID folks added, off on another adventure. The AF MAAG Commander, as arranged by von Marbod, became BG Richard Secord. It was interesting to see how actions were taken to minimize risk, position loyal agents and ensure control.

Getting off the plane at Tehran’s Mehrabad airport, I was handed a proposal to co-produce Maverick missiles and with arrangements to meet the Minister of War that evening to advise him whether to buy this or not. The answer was easy because the proposal was so bad and clearly illegal in the states. This was the first of many interesting tasks interspersed with the opportunity, via Team Range Rover, for the family to see and appreciate much of Iran’s history, amazing architecture and culture. The Persians had figured out one of architecture’s major challenges, the square-to-dome transition, centuries before St. Peters was built and had to be held together with chains. When Gerald Ford lost the 1976 election to Jimmy Carter, our political appointee lost his position and we quietly slipped out of town for a Christmas tour to Russia en route home.

Aeronautical System, WPAFB 1976 -1982: back to the real world of system development was the next step. The Fighter-Attack SPO worked the worldwide F-5 business, developed the F-5 recce capability and the F-5G/F-20. The F-20 was a Northrop-funded development program with Taiwan, the foundation customer, and the Air Force acting as a hired advisory partner. It was probably one of the most efficient and successful aircraft development programs of recent times. With Northrop paying the bill, the incentives were in the right direction. Too bad those lessons learned didn’t get absorbed into the DoD system. And, too bad the program was politically cancelled to keep the Chinese happy. I was the Deputy SPO Director and F-20 Program manager. The next assignment was to form the TR-1 ground station SPO. Moving U-2 products to the tactical environment was a great idea but a huge policy and development process chasm. Running the ground station development in the clear to interface with and process aircraft systems and products in the black was a real zoo. The TS clearance gained a few more letters and the previous joint experience got a lot of use.

Electronic System Division 1982-1985: another of those memorable career-changing days was being called to the ASD (ASC) Commander’s office. Your six year time-on-station clock has run out. We need to send you to Hanscom for a year. The experience and different perspective will be good. When you come back, we’ll talk airplanes. His intent was good, but he left almost immediately and the one-year plan dissolved. There was a war between his successor and the ESD Commander and no one moved between ASD and ESD in the next three years! The ESD job was another interesting one. Tactical communications were in terrible shape in all of the services but had no priority in any of them. So, the TRI-TAC program with dispersed development (a SPO in each service) and joint procurement was put in place. As the AF SPO Director, I worked for an Army Maj. General who reported directly to the Deputy Secretary of Defense. The Air Force was responsible for a mobile digital telephone system, a fax machine that had to operate under water to meet Marine requirements, a Tropo-scatter radio system and assorted other items. Development and communication were a challenge, but the real problems came with production. The Army, who had 75% of the buy quantity, decided they had found a better solution and didn’t want to buy the telephone system. One striking memory, one of those you can replay frame-by-frame, was a brief to the Army under secretary. The E-ring conference room was full and as a Colonel, I was the junior man in the room. The under secretary always wore a cardigan sweater, had just crashed the M1 Turbine engine program and was notorious. The when are you going to stop beating your wife questions came one after another. Standing my ground, I kept saying, That’s not quite correct. I’d put it this way… I remember an Air Force general in the back row rolling his eyes as if to say, Colonel do you have any idea what you’re doing? I survived and got quite a few compliments.

It was an unwritten policy not to leave rising officers in TRI-TAC-like situations for too long. After a year, the commander offered me any job on the base. This was a great opportunity, but with five kids, a deteriorating old house in Ohio and a strong desire to return to my interrupted airplane development career at ASD, long term commitments in Boston were a problem. Another of those special days was when the brigadier general deputy offered a solution: Take the AWACS deputy job which will be easy to leave. I’m going to ASD as the deputy and will have you back there in six months. Well, in six months he had broken his pick with the ASD Commander and was out of the service and I was still at ESD.

AWACS was an interesting program with many dimensions and plenty of challenges. More than 20 big dollar projects were in the hands of eager lieutenants and captains with very thin training and experience. So, much of my time and probably some of my most rewarding accomplishments were doing project reviews and mentoring these youngsters. The NATO and Saudi fleets provided continuing diversion and opportunities. We re-engined the Saudi, UK and French airplanes (more than 20 years ago) but still haven’t found a way to get 50-year-old TF33s out of the U.S. fleet. As a result, we continue to pay a significant fuel cost penalty today.

After two AWACS years and another of those commander discussions, We need to keep you moving…can’t get you back to Wright-Patt but can do either LA or DC. So, another of those decisions that brought criticism. There is always another choice and at the 23-year point I left active duty with mixed emotions.

Life after the contractor world 1985-1990: My Air Force career brought significant responsibilities, large budgets and negotiations with major contractors. The question that haunted me at retirement was whether I could sit on their side of the table in a for-profit environment. By the way, the answer is: Until you meet payroll you don’t really understand the full responsibility of management. No wonder the current administration is making such stupid mistakes.

Returning to Dayton I connected with a company that had done amazing things with NASA and the FAA—the Hubble System Engineering, landing on Mars, air traffic control systems engineering—and was looking to find a niche in Air Force business. We setup a Dayton office, did cockpit automation technology, designed the KC-135 - SR-71 refueling simulator, computerized the Brooks Pilot Aptitude Test series and in five years were doing $5 million a year business. Unfortunately, this 8A company like many others before and since, couldn’t live with success and imploded.

I entered the academic arena during the period 1990-2008. During my recovery from the government contractor stint, one of my daughters came home with news that a local 1500-student liberal arts college was starting an engineering school. The academic vice president was an engineering graduate and realized that academics aren’t very entrepreneurial and that he needed a program manager to build his new major. We hit it off and realizing that with no PhD there was no long-term future, I took the turn-key start-up job. In four years the building was built, equipment bought, faculty hired and BSEE and BSME degrees ABET-accredited.

Classes taught by professors and a strong hands-on curriculum produce good engineers. We got involved in many SAE and Department of Energy competitions and did very well playing in the big leagues. Among other things we ended up in a Car and Driver feature article with an ethanol-powered Silverado.

Mission accomplished after eight years, I yielded control of the engineering program to the academics and moved to more general administration. I got comfortable running ROTC, on-line education, science scholarships, etc. for another ten years. I finally came to my senses and returned to the Wright Patterson development environment.

Between 2008 and 2011, I was involved in four interesting energy related tasks: One project involved examining the feasibility of turning coal into fuel via the Fischer-Tropsch process. The Germans had made it work but weren’t worried about efficiency or greenhouse gases. A second project pertained to a congressional mandate that DoD could not buy fuel with a greenhouse gas footprint larger than 2005 petroleum-based fuel. Given that a singular value doesn’t exist, certifying compliance is a challenge. A third project explored how well the military could continue operations if the power grid goes down. A hint here is that wind and solar don’t even come close to producing sufficient power. The fourth effort dealt with the fact that the current fleet average is over 25 years old and operating on aero and engine technology that in no way meets fuel reduction goals. Here, the modernization options are interesting and promising but not compatible with current budget challenges.

My initial decision not to go to pilot training was correct. It has been an exciting and rewarding career.

Stories by Herbert Hesh Altman, 919K

Jew at the Zoo

In the southern part of Boston, running from Roxbury, through Dorchester, and into Mattapan, is Blue Hill Avenue. In the 1940s and 50s this area was home to the second largest Jewish population in the United States (for more information including a couple of videos, check the internet under Sidewalk Memories). The wall at Franklin Field was the High Holy Day meeting place for virtually every Jewish kid in the area. Hundreds would gather from ages younger than ten to over 20. There were at least half a dozen synagogues within walking distance. It was a unique community that no longer exists. This was where I grew up in an Orthodox Jewish home.

My father, Eddie, was a policeman in Boston’s South End, working nights in what was, at the time, one of the most dangerous beats in the world. A Jewish cop in Boston was a rarity but he earned the respect of peers, supervisors, and the people on his beat. He was one tough mutha! At age 55, he transferred to motorcycle patrol and took delight in giving more than one traffic ticket to a certain Edward M. Kennedy.

Both of his brothers, Barney and Saul, had enlisted in the Army at the outbreak of WWII. One of my mother’s sisters, Miriam Goldstein, my Aunt Mim, enlisted in the Navy at the same time and would make it her career. In 1949, she was hitching a ride in a Navy transport aircraft when it crashed in Alabama. Mim was the only survivor, breaking practically every bone in her body. She spent the rest of her life in severe pain, but completed her career as a Chief Petty Officer. Retired on 100% disability, her spirit was indomitable and in retirement she embarked on several artistic projects. Some of her petite-point works have been valued at over $10,000. Her mother, my 4 foot 8 inch maternal grandmother, worked as a cook in one of the better-known landmarks on Blue Hill Avenue, the G&G delicatessen. This was the political hub of the area and any candidate for office, local or national, had to pass muster at this locale including, among others, JFK.

My 1953 junior high school class had only one non-Jewish student. The friends I had were all Jewish. We met several nights a week on street corners to talk about our lives and the future. We danced to the early rock and roll music of Bill Haley and the Comets, The Platters, and Chuck Berry. We grew concerned as more and more non-Jewish families began to move into the area and with them some pretty violent (for the time) gangs. They would give me my first personal experiences with anti-Semitism. Most of my group chose Roxbury Memorial High School, but I had already set my eyes on an aeronautical engineering career and opted for Boston Technical High. Some of my friends grew up to be doctors, lawyers, or dentists, some went to prison, and a few died young. Partially because of the path I chose, I lost touch with all of them.

Some eight years before I had lounged on the grass looking up at a yellow Piper Cub and wondering what it would be like to fly. I have never looked back. While in high school, I joined the Civil Air Patrol, eventually commanding the Boston Cadet Squadron. We had a small clique of Jewish cadets, who, in hindsight, would have been right at home with the RTBs. We strove to be the best, but with humor and mischief never out of our minds. I am still in touch with many of these friends, even attending a reunion with them in 2006. They had all grown old.

In 1956, my senior year in high school, I applied for the Air Force Academy Class of 1960. I was not accepted, and, much to my Aunt Mim’s dismay, turned down a direct appointment to Annapolis. I spent the next two years struggling with academics at MIT. Half way through this ordeal, I learned that one of my classmates from Boston Tech had been accepted to the Class of ’61 and I knew more than ever that I wanted the Academy. I applied for and was accepted into the Class of 1962. Sometimes, things work out.

It is probably not clear in the above narrative, but I did not have the support of my family. Jewish boys simply did not aspire to be career military officers. My relatives feared anti-Semitism, and with pilot training a foregone conclusion, the possibility that I, too, might crash. Only Aunt Mim understood. For luck, she gave me an old silver dollar. She got it back with my first salute after graduation.

Before continuing with what I hope will be a more enjoyable read, I want to address a question I get to this day: Did you experience anti-Semitism in the Air Force? I am sad to say that, on a few occasions, I did. It was only a few individuals and it was never very overt. At the Academy, I can with almost absolute certainty identify two individuals, one member of the Class of 1959 in our Doolie year and one AOC later on, that made life quite miserable for me. SAMIs and IRIs were nightmares. Those two would spend two to three times the amount of time on me than anyone else, not moving on until they found something to write up. It is very frustrating to work your ass off and still get written up. I accumulated enough Form-10s to put me on the tour ramp and many an enjoyable game of Ghost with Jack Starkey. I was probably in denial at the time, blaming myself for not living up to the expectations of others. Even in hindsight, part of me struggled to believe that a professional military person would stoop to such practices. It was other people, notably two of my roommates that pointed out their possible bigotry. Following graduation, the anti-Semitism I encountered was somewhat more overt than at the Academy, but again, very rare.

On June 27, 1958, just prior to my 20th birthday, I joined 464 classmates at Lowry AFB for the summer of our lives. It soon became evident that the Class of 1962 was going to cause some consternation. The heat and high altitude took their toll on many during our long runs. Those of us in better shape would hold them up, ignoring the orders from upperclassmen to leave them behind. Our class bond formed early. I roomed with Howie Carroll and Bob Carn - the Catholic, the Protestant, and the Jew in one room. We got along famously.

It was on the first Friday that summer that being Jewish became a differentiator. I was told to report to the orderly room where I met ‘62’s other Jewish cadet, Logan Babin. We were driven to a synagogue in Denver for services. The community welcomed us as family and would be the source of many social invitations over the next four years. The best part, however, was the Oneg Shabbat. This is the tradition of eating after Friday evening services, and this congregation did it big - corned beef and pastrami sandwiches, salads, assorted hot and cold beverages, an abundance of pastries, and wine - gastronomic Judaism at its best! I was encouraged to bring sandwiches back to Lowry for my roommates. This would become a weekly practice with several members of the congregation making sure I did not leave without extra provisions.

Arriving back at the base, I stuffed two sandwiches in each sock, ran back my chin, and marched through shower formation. I got a pass that first night as the upperclassmen were not sure of what restrictions were put on them relevant to my religion. They soon learned that there were none, so on subsequent Friday nights, I was ordered to change and get my butt out there ASAP. The closest I came to being caught occurred a few days before we were scheduled to start bayonet training. As I walked through shower formation, I came face to face with Bob Buckles who was holding an M1 complete with sheathed bayonet. He shoved it at me and proceeded to direct me through a series of supposed attacks. As I went through the drills, I could feel the sandwiches shifting and was certain the smell of corned beef was permeating the hall. Luckily, everything held. Howie and Bob thoroughly enjoyed their post-taps snacks. Over the summer, we figured out ways to spread the joy, but there was only so much room in my socks.

When we moved to the permanent site, Howie and I were assigned to 7th Squadron and remained roommates our entire fourth-class year. Friday night services were held in Colorado Springs where the Oneg Shabbats were good but a lot less extravagant. While I still managed to bring back some contraband, what was even better were the boodle boxes that my mother frequently sent. She was an excellent baker, and, as I write this, is 96 years old, living unassisted in her own home in Margate, FL and still baking. Dad has been gone over 10 years. My oldest grandson bears his name, and the second grandson is a dead ringer for him. My hope is that all my grandchildren grow up with his morals and courage.

As we began academics, I was surprised and somewhat nervous to find that the technical textbooks and course guides were almost identical to those I had struggled with at MIT. To further intimidate me, the Academy faculty assigned me to advanced classes with the real brains of 1962. Fortunately, while the MIT professors expected you to learn from textbooks, the Academy staff actually taught.

The advanced calculus course was taught by Captain Prince, but even with his excellent instruction over half the class was eventually sent back to other sections. As Christmas break approached, there were only eight of us left. Captain Prince invited us to his home for Christmas dinner. He had held me back after one class and asked if I could eat ham. I told him it was not a problem since I had a military dispensation. To be honest, I have never liked ham. When served at Mitchell Hall, I would announce it as pink steak and usually pass it by. The ham served by Mrs. Prince was absolutely delicious. I had seconds and was seriously considering thirds. After dinner, one of the other class members, can’t remember who, asked if I was ready to convert.

Doolie year passed and the Classes of 1963 and, later, 1964, arrived with several new Jewish cadets. Our trips to Colorado Springs became less frequent, eventually being limited to the High Holy Days. Instead, we were given access to one of the glass-enclosed rooms at terrazzo level where, as senior Jew, I led Friday night services. The good news was that our improvised chapel came equipped with kosher wine.

One of the real benefits I enjoyed throughout my time at USAFA was sleeping-in on Sunday mornings. I awoke on one spring Sunday morning and prepared to go to breakfast. My roomie had already departed for chapel, and I was able to take my time getting ready. However, when I went to leave the room, the door would not budge. I am sure by this time you have figured out it was Easter morning and a very, very large rock had been placed to block my exit. To this day, I am not sure of the perpetrators, but I suspect Rudy Bow may have been the ringleader.

During the summer of 1961, the Girl Scouts held an international jamboree on the Academy grounds. I was asked to assist with their Friday night services. In attendance, were several representatives from Israel, more IDF (Israeli Defense Force) than Girl Scout, including one very attractive young Sabra (native-born Israeli). We really hit it off and she and I exchanged letters for several months. I seriously considered emigration sometime in the not too distant future. Early in our senior year, I learned that she had been killed in a border skirmish.

It was at the start of our senior academic year that Lt. Marvin Labinger arrived at USAFA, a real Jewish chaplain and the first to be assigned to any military academy. Marv was the epitome of a rabbi, a consummate scholar and teacher. The Passover Seder service at his home went for hours as he told the traditional story of the Exodus with such attention to detail and significance that I did not lose interest for a moment. His baccalaureate service prior to graduation is one of my most poignant memories. Appropriately, in June 1982, Colonel Marvin Labinger, Chief of Chaplains at Nellis AFB, saw me out of the Air Force. For years after that, even following his retirement, Marv was a guest rabbi in Las Vegas during the high holy days, leading the overflow congregation in the Protestant church across the street from our temple. His passing hit me hard.

Recently, Rudy Bow asked me if the pep rallies at the Academy offended me. In retrospect, they had all the fervor and more than a bit of the flavor of Nazi Germany in the late 1930s. I can honestly say that, up until that moment, I had never given it any thought whatsoever. Thinking back, I can project the emotional atmosphere of those rallies into the political situation in Europe during the rise of the Third Reich. It is not hard to see how a charismatic leader with a patriotic cause and common enemy can unite people to a fever pitch and mindless hatred. Should I attend a similar rally today, I think I would be deeply offended.

It has been a privilege to be a member of the Class of 1962. Let me summarize the history of the Jewish people: They tried to kill us, we survived, let’s eat.

My Longest Night

by Hesh Altman

I’m going to die.

There was no fear in this thought…only a cold recognition of fact. Seconds before I had been in the back seat of a McDonnell F-4D Phantom on a rocket pass against trucks south of Tchepone Pass in Laos. Now, I was in a parachute with what I thought were enemy tracers coming at me, and no more control over the situation than a moth caught in a tornado.

The night mission had begun routinely several hours before. I was flying #2 with Bob Breeze Coburn, USAFA 1963, on his last night flight prior to completing his theater checkout. Bob had had a previous tour in the back seat of the Phantom and had returned as a front-seater. Skip Rutherford (later a 4-star general) was flight lead with our flight surgeon, Dr. Jim Graham, in his pit. On recent missions, I had flown as Skip’s GIB (Guy in Back) with Coburn and an Instructor Pilot on his wing. Skip and I would make a pass and pull off with little or no reaction from the bad guys. Coburn would roll in and every gun in the area would open up on him.

On December 26, 1967, I had my first experience as Coburn’s GIB. As before, Lead made his passes unaffected by triple-A. We, on the other hand, cost the North Vietnamese a lot of ammunition. The good news was that it all missed. The better news was that on every pass we got at least one secondary explosion. Breeze was a helluva fighter pilot, but, does the term magnet ass come to mind? I should have seen it coming. First clue - Magnets attract metal.

Later, at the bar, I commented to Bob that I would fly with him any time (OK, so I’m an adrenalin junkie), but that he would probably get shot down before his second tour was over. We laughed it off, had another drink, then went and hit the jackpot on one of the o-club’s nickel slot machines. Second clue - Good luck and bad luck balance.

The next evening, at 1700 local time, we briefed as Advent 21 and 22 scheduled to work with an airborne forward air controller (FAC) in Laos. Our load was six 500-pound bombs, two CBU-24s, and three pods of rockets (not the best ordnance to deliver at night). It was a pleasantly warm evening as we walked out to the aircraft expecting them, in typical 435th Tactical Fighter Squadron fashion, to be ready to go. Of the 144 missions I flew in SEA, this was the only time I ever had to wait for an airplane. Third clue - Pay attention to differences.

Coburn and I waited on the dirt area south of the ramp while the weapons crew finished loading our bird. It was then I noticed that my lucky silver dollar was missing. This talisman had a great past. It had been traded between my Aunt Mim and I many times. Mim was career Navy and sole survivor of a plane crash in 1949. Our most significant exchanges had occurred when she gave it to me as I entered the Academy and I returned it to her when she gave me my first salute on graduation day. She had passed it back to me on my departure for SEA (Southeast Asia), and also forgave me for turning down an appointment to Annapolis. Bob’s comment when I noted its loss was, Hang on to your ass. It’s the only lucky piece you need. Fourth clue—I am not superstitious, but….

We took off 20 minutes late, contacted the Airborne Command and Control Center, and were sent to rendezvous with Nail 41, an O-2 FAC. Nail 41 was working an A-26 when we checked in. Knowing the limited playtime available to the Phantom, he had the A-26 drop a couple of 500 pounders and directed him to hold north. He then started talking us in to the target area.

Advent 21, Nail 41, we’ve got some trucks down on the road. From where those last bombs hit, follow the road south. The road does a little ziggy to the right and then back to the left. Just south of that left ziggy is a truck parked on the west side of the road. There are ZPU-2s in the area, but they’ve been quiet. No problem - everybody knew ZPU couldn’t hurt you.

Skip responded, Nail, Advent 21 has a cloud in the way. Can’t see it from here.

On the other side of the wheel, Breeze and I had a clear view and readily identified the spot the FAC had described. Bob keyed the mike. 22 has the target in sight. Are we cleared in?

Skip’s response — Be my guest, a phrase that to this day sends a little chill up my spine.

Rog. 2’s in. Then on intercom, Master arm is on, right inboard, rockets single.

I immediately brought my eyes to the instrument panel, checking dive angle, airspeed, and altitude. Based on our briefing, I expected Bob to fire at 7,600 feet indicated and was a little surprised when, almost 2,000 feet higher, he hit the pickle button twice. The sky lit up under the rockets’ exhaust. Then all hell broke loose. Bob slammed the Phantom into a hard right turn as two solid streams of tracers converged to form an X just to the left of my canopy.

Sonofabitch almost got us, I remarked a little less than nonchalantly. But the golden BB was not to be denied. Over the intercom I heard Bob.

C’mon you pig, come on, come on… oh, shit! Hesh, you got it! I grabbed the stick and pushed left. There was no resistance and no response from the aircraft.

No go! Master Caution! I yelled.

Bob came back with, PC one and two gone! Both of us stomped hard on the left rudder pedal.

I was yelling, Burner, burner, burner as the F-4 dished to the left.

It turned out we were flying one of the two aircraft in the entire 8th TFW that had not yet been modified with new aileron actuators and rerouted hydraulics. Without this mod a single hit in either actuator was catastrophic. We had been told that, should this occur, full afterburner would cause the aircraft to pitch up. Contrarily, this F-4 continued to roll left and pitched down.

Get out, Hesh! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!

My only thought as I reached for the ejection