Fighter 'Gator

By Lt Colonel John E. Norvell and David Garbe

This story is about Lt Colonel John E. Norvell's quest to fly and David Garbe's work to restore the shell of F-4D 0720. It first focuses on Norvell's flight training, selection to be a backseater in the F-4, time in combat in Thailand, and F-4 flying over Alaska, providing "Top Cover for America." Then, the appendix covers Garbe's work to find a bird, get the parts, and rebuild the front cockpit area. It is a story of duty and dedication. It covers how the crews trained to fly the Phantom, the specialized survival schools they attended, their entrance in combat, and the toll it took on them.

Lt Colonel John E. Norvell tells the story from the perspective of an F-4 backseater or GIB. It is a story of his comrades and the stress he felt from a year-long separation from his wife. He describes the daily combat and how it affected him. He stresses the professionalism and dedication of the aircrews who flew the hostile skies of South East Asia. When the air war ends, he tells of the boredom and frustrations of warriors without a war.

Then his story moves to Alaska, where he attends arctic survival school and is stationed at remote sites to provide "Top Cover" alert guarding North America against Soviet aircraft incursions. Alaska is a very different type of flying, and it is clear that he enjoys all that Alaska has to offer.

Finally, he discusses the role that his mentor Major Theodore J. Shorack played in his life. Shorack was lost while on a rescue mission over North Vietnam. Norvell considers him to be a personification of the three cardinal principles of the military: Duty, Honor, County. In the end, Norvell looks at the past nearly 50 years and tells what it meant to him to fly and be a military officer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667828596

Book preview

Introduction

By

Col C. Richard Anderegg (USAF, Ret.)

Former Director USAF History and Museums

F-4 and F-15 Pilot

Well, someone finally got this story right. Smack on.

There were many routes to the war in Vietnam. This is the story of the metamorphosis of a history major from a small liberal arts college in upstate New York into a master of the technically and physically demanding world of modern jet fighter aviation.

As a newly-minted second lieutenant just out of his college’s ROTC (Reserve Officers Training Corps) program, Lieutenant Colonel John Norvell (USAF, Ret.) had the fire in his belly to be an air force pilot after a brief detour to attend graduate school for a year. But a year later, his vision had decreased slightly—enough to disqualify him for aviation training. So the air force assigned him to a desk in a boringly repetitive job. Discouraged but undeterred, he continued to push, and after three years, he passed the vision test well enough to qualify for navigator school. Less than a year later, he was in the rear cockpit of the air force’s latest and hottest fighter, the F-4 Phantom II, and headed for Vietnam combat out of a remote base in Thailand. Navigator is shortened to ‘gator, and he is a fighter ‘gator or guy-in-back (GIB). As you will see in the following pages, that is a very tight fraternity, indeed.

Norvell’s story of combat, comrades in arms, air force tomfoolery and the stress of a year-long separation from his new bride and other family is told with a clarity and self-deprecating humor that provides a meaningful and wonderful read. He has the knack for describing the contradictions of life in combat—the professionalism and dedication of the aircrews juxtaposed with their rampant glorification of alcohol consumption and silly bar games. Although he describes himself as a straight arrow, it is clear that he has found a group of men with shared values: patriotism, dedication, valor, and an unquenchable thirst for excellence. It is a brotherhood forged in fire, and it changes his life.

After his combat tour, he takes us to his new assignment in Alaska, and there we learn that Mother Nature influences everything from the beauty of the landscape to the genuine hazards of winter flying. We also see how the Norvells and their friends celebrate the Alaskan culture. It is clear that they, along with many others who served there, totally fell in love with the very idea of Alaska. When he leaves Alaska, he also leaves his beloved F-4, never to return to it. He describes his stint as an assistant professor of history at the U.S. Air Force Academy. He then makes a full circle as he returns to the navigator training school as a senior officer.

After Norvell retires, one may think the story is over; far from it. Some 40 years after flying the Phantom, he discovers that only a short drive away lives David Garbe—a man who has fully restored the cockpit of an F-4D exactly like the ones Norvell flew in combat. The restoration is perfect, and as Norvell sits in it basking in the nostalgia of reuniting with a long-lost friend (with his wife driving from the front seat), it starts a period of introspection on flying fighters, duty, honor, and patriotism. And it prompts him to recall his college ROTC mentor and how his example illuminated a path for Norvell.

I knew as soon as I read the early drafts of this book that I wanted to write the intro to it. I, too, had been an F-4 GIB and flew a Vietnam war combat tour from the same base. I graduated from the same college a year later—an English major thrust into the world of high-tech and combat.

I leaned back in my chair, took a sip of coffee, and thought, Well, he got that right. Smack on.

Prologue

By

John E. Norvell

Lt Colonel (USAF, Ret.)

This story is about a brotherhood of men. Furthermore, like any good story of that type, it begins with a quest—a set of tasks that novices must perform to gain entry to a select circle of warriors. This story also tells of rebirth and renewal, which of course, many of these stories focus on as well.

For me, it was the quest to fly. For David Garbe, it was the quest to restore the shell of F-4D 0720 and bring her back to life. Therefore, the book will first focus on how I finally got to flight training. Then how I was selected to be a backseater in the F-4, my time in combat in Thailand, and F-4 flying over Alaska providing Top Cover for America. Then we focus on David’s love of the Phantom, his work to find a bird, get the parts, and rebuild the front cockpit area.

It is also a story of duty and dedication. It is a story of the men who flew in Vietnam’s skies—the F-4 Phantom II crews. The F-4 was a two-seat fighter that had come online in the 1960s so that by the time I got there in 1972, she was a relatively new bird. Then, two pilots were in the plane, the front seater called the AC (aircraft commander), and a rear seat pilot called the GIB (guy-in-back). This system did not work well for the pilot GIB. Years later, I talked with a friend at the Air Force Academy who had been a pilot GIB, and he said that he and the others wanted to be in front. This discontent opened the backseat to navigators who moved into the rear seat to become WSOs (Weapons Systems Officers), a.k.a. GIBs.

The AC—fighter pilot—usually tells most combat stories about the F-4. I tell this story from my perspective in the back. However, we who flew the Phantom were a team. Two men scored the kill for every MiG shot down by a Phantom. The backseater and the AC got credit for every Splash scored—AC Steve Ritchie and GIB Chuck DeBellevue were a team. They were the most famous Phantom team of the Vietnam War.

Moving navigators to the backseat helped ensure the success of the Phantom over Vietnam. Several GIBs shared this thought: the best thing the USAF did was to take the pilots out of the back seat and put us there. We wanted to be in the backseat. We were more than just an extra pair of eyes in the bird. The most experienced backseaters could land, refuel, fly close formation, and do just about anything the pilot could do. That was the crux of it: we GIBs wanted to be in the backseat. We brought a unique set of skills from navigator school: organization, planning, anticipating, forecasting, analysis, and situational awareness. To them, we added a burning desire to be in the Phantom. We wanted to do about anything that the pilot could do. A good backseater knew what his front seater needed from him before his pilot did.

There was a fire in our bellies to be part of that brotherhood. That fire burned brightly from the early years of the Phantom to her last days. We all made our quests to be there. Not all paths to the rear cockpit were the same. Some GIBs had tried the pilot route only to be unsuccessful—wash out—and then go to nav school. Some were right out of college, young men who saw Vietnam on the horizon and felt it was better to be in the air. Like me, some were older who received their commissions through the reserve officer training corps (ROTC) program but failed the vision portion of the flight physical.

We served in various specialties: missile officers, supply managers, law enforcement, or worked in a command post, but we still had that fire. We did everything we could to get to flight training. When we completed our quests, becoming part of that brotherhood; when one brother died, we all suffered. Each year the men of the Vietnam era dwindle.

My good friend from Thailand, former Air Force Lt. Colonel Loren Livermore, tried to put it in words in 1976. Loren was a man who had flown in the highly hostile sky over North Vietnam.

Now Let Us Say Goodbye!

Now let us say goodbye!

Gone now are the days of glory.

No more do we pass through the gates of hell.

We may disrobe of the armor so proudly donned for war.

This day is met with a tearful heart,

Perhaps of joy? – I think so.

Perhaps of sorrow? – I think so.

Surely joy will manifest itself from the challenges of the morrow.

Of yesterday, there can be no joy in leaving it,

Except to say – we loved and were loved!

Except to say – we really did care!

Yes, there is some joy, our memories will be savored.

We have seen the lights on high which most men only dream of.

We have done that which lesser men only wish of.

Of the sorrow – let me speak:

Though our steeds are birds of hard, cold steel,

Surely, they cannot be less noble than those steeds used by knights of another yesterday!

The flash of their hot anger is truly a sight to behold!

Yes, there is sorrow to know we may never again be cradled in the wings of a bird so fierce and yet so elegant.

We've danced together, this bird and I, on the silver tops of a cloud carpeted sky.

This dance, with pride, will be tearfully missed.

To those who know what it is to care about brothers to the degree that you would die with them, there can be nothing said.

Your love says far more than a mortal's simple words.

Speak your mind brothers, you have earned the right!

You've seen fire, and will see it again, so maintain the freedom to think.

Disagree if you will, but never be afraid to listen.

Our hearts will sing of glory for all time, though time will pass us by.

I love you all my brothers - now let us say goodbye!

For, gone now are the days of glory.

No more do we pass through the gates of hell.

We may now disrobe of the armor, so proudly donned for war.

Loren Livermore, Capt., USAF, 1976

Part One:

The Norvells: A Military Family

Cincinnatus was a Roman general

that took up arms in defense of

Rome and then returned to his

home to become a citizen of his

community again.

Today we call those who serve, as

Cincinnatus did, citizen soldiers.

-1-

Citizen Soldiers

Military service is a vital part of my family history. Like Lt. Dan in Forrest Gump, I come from a long line of American military men who served our nation as citizen soldiers. In the early United States, this idea of the citizen soldier formed the basis for militias during the Revolutionary War and the volunteer brigades in the Civil War. The men who served earned the respect of their communities. Early Americans did not trust standing national armies. In 1789, the new Constitution took great care to place the military under civilian control. The colonists had just experienced the British using their Redcoat soldiers to put down the rebellion, often taking the extreme step of quartering troops in civilian homes. It was the main reason why the United States relied upon its citizens to do their duty when needed and why we continue to rely on them in today’s state national guard units. My Norvell family members, and many others, took up arms to serve our nation. Some men did not return; all my family did.

Americans often welcomed them home with great thanks for their service in the conflicts leading up through World War II; the troops returned to less enthusiasm from Vietnam. It did not matter to these men and women. They served because it was their duty as citizens to give back a part of their lives and abilities to this country that had given them so much. This idea is a very old-fashioned notion: if one receives much, one should give back in return.

The men and women who served, and serve today, did not do it for holiday discounts at stores; they did it for something much bigger: a calling that they heard. That is the bottom line. In the end, they returned home to their communities as if nothing had happened. Indeed, the very definition of a citizen soldier and a good American.

My first military ancestor was my 6th great-grandfather Captain Hugh Norvell (ca. 1665-1719), who lived in Williamsburg, Virginia, and was an officer of the colonial militia. When I think of him, I see those scenes from Hollywood where the settlers learned to use weapons to defend their homes.

My third great-grandfather, Lipscomb Norvell, served as a lieutenant in the Revolutionary War and was later a POW (prisoner of war) of the British. Four of his sons fought in the War of 1812. One son, my second great-grandfather, John Norvell, fought in the 1814 Battle of Bladensburg, Maryland, and while fleeing the British, John took shelter in the White House just before the British burned it.

My great-grandfather Freeman Norvell served as a USMC lieutenant in the Halls of Montezuma and later a colonel in the Civil War. He and his five brothers fought for the Union. One of his brothers, Stevens Thompson Norvell, served after the war, as an officer with the 10th Cavalry buffalo soldiers on the Great Plains and led them up the San Juan Hill (at the age of 64) with Teddy Roosevelt.

Capt Freeman Norvell, 1862- Norvell family photo

Two first cousins of my great-grandfather had unique military experiences: William Lawrence Norvell survived the Goliad Massacre of 1836 during the Texas War of Independence.

Cousin William Walker, son of Mary Norvell Walker, my 3rd great aunt, was probably the most famous. A soldier of fortune, also known as a filibuster, a term in use then, became dictator of Nicaragua in 1857 and was later shot by a firing squad.

William Walker, Dictator

of Nicaragua, photo

courtesy Tennessee State

Library and Archives

In the Twentieth Century, two of my Norvell uncles and an aunt served in World War I, and my father, Phil Norvell, was a career enlisted army man in World War II and Korea. It seemed that a military career was in the cards, not that my father ever pushed this idea, but I knew our family history.

-2-

War the Great Adventure

The military service of my family illustrates the magnetic power war had on early Americans. If we were to go back to the America of a previous time, we would find it a very different place. Most Americans lived in rural areas. Life centered with predictability around the farm and home; not much changed from year to year. Men seldom traveled more than a few miles from where they lived. It was, in many ways, a challenging and somewhat dull life.

The soldiers, who had served in the early wars, had experienced a different world and returned home to tell about it. Those at home venerated the Revolutionary War soldiers. Enthralled by the tales of graying grandfathers, war seemed exotic and, to many, a way to escape from the boredom and drudgery of rural life.

The War of 1812 provided that first escape, even if it did not go well. By the 1830s, the Texas War of Independence was on the minds of many. At this point, a second aspect of the romantic nature of war became evident: it was an adventure and a crusade. Remember the Alamo reverberated across America, and when the time came in 1848, men rushed to be part of the Mexican War.

These veterans returned home and told their tales to another generation that listened and wished they had been part of the action. By the 1860s, the crusade was now to Save the Union in the north or States Rights in the south. These causes drew many Americans to join the military.

In the Nineteenth Century, young men spoke of going off to see the elephant, as if war were some exotic adventure. Which, of course, it was to them. Moreover, the crusade aspect gave them good reasons to fight. However, the citizen soldiers who fought in the Civil War learned that while war could be romantic and uphold a cause, it could also be brutal.

During the Civil War, Americans on both sides fought a very conventional war based on the Napoleonic tactics of 50 years earlier. The armies lined up to go into battle just as the British had done at Waterloo in 1815. What was changing, though, was the means to wage war. Technology provided ways to slaughter large numbers of men. The clash at Antietam in 1862 witnessed a bloodletting of more than 17,000 in one battle.

Nevertheless, it is essential to understand that as dark as the adventure had become, it still was an adventure. These men went home and told their tales. That combination of adventure with crusade continued almost to the present. The Spanish-American War celebrated San Juan Hill, the Rough Riders of Teddy Roosevelt, and the need to Remember The Maine. World War I took the Yanks over there to Make the World Safe for Democracy. World War II had Remember Pearl Harbor and crushing the Nazis as motivators for Americans to fight and win.

Unlike the past, however, World War II vets did not tell stories of battles for the most part. They seldom spoke of their service. They were the first citizen soldiers to return home, who, if they shared their combat experiences, mainly did it with those who understood. They gathered at the American Legion and Veterans of Foreign Wars. They told their tales to those who had been there with them.

The war that they had experienced was, in many ways, one that the average American could never understand as they had not been through it. If the luster of the ground battle appeared tarnished, the siren song of the air called. Younger men looked to the massive air armadas of bombers and could not help but think that was so cool.

With the Vietnam War came a new crusade to stop communism in Southeast Asia and take the war north to Hanoi.

There were new and exciting fighters now in combat; many men wanted to fly them.

So, did I.

Part Two:

My Long Road to

Southeast Asia (SEA)

When you fly in the military, there

is a path that you follow. All do it.

You start as a student flier, earn

your wings, become qualified in a

specific aircraft, move on as a

squadron member, and then if you

are proficient, and do well,

become an instructor for others.

Each time you move up a rung on

the ladder. And each time you

move, there is another rung.

-3-

Growing Up

I grew up in the 1950s: an era when the newly-independent Air Force came into its own. Coming out of the Second World War, the Cold War moved the air force into a prominent role in the nation’s defense. Combined with this, in 1957, the U.S.S.R. launched Sputnik, and the space race was on. The seven Mercury astronauts captured both the U.S. and my imagination. To be an astronaut, you had to be a pilot, not that I ever aspired to be an astronaut, but I did want to fly.

When the time came for me to leave home, I chose Hobart College in Geneva, NY. It had an Air Force ROTC program. I did well in ROTC, completed the summer cadet training, passed the flight physical, and was on track to enter flight training when I graduated in 1966. However, I decided to take a detour first: I applied for permission to obtain a graduate degree in American history, which delayed my entry onto active duty to 1968.

ROTC Hobart College - Norvell photo

While in graduate school, I had to take another physical. Whether it was all the reading or the expected genetic contribution of two parents with glasses, I did not pass the vision tests this time.

Flying did not seem to be an option.

What was the air force to do with me?

They made me a security police officer and assigned me to Washington, D.C.

-4-

The Old D.C. Blues

Washington, D.C.—February 1968-September 1971

In 1968, a new air force second lieutenant, I arrived at my initial duty station: Bolling Air Force Base in the southwest quadrant of Washington, D.C. Bolling adjoined the Anacostia Naval Station, near the confluence of the Potomac and Anacostia Rivers, and lay on the flats along the water.

Above it, on the bluffs, lay Congress Heights, a one-time residential neighborhood of WWII government workers and the location of the St. Elizabeth’s Hospital complex. Congress Heights had once been a thriving community; as the 1960s progressed, it witnessed a demographic change. Middle-class workers moved across the D.C. line to Maryland, and others displaced by urban renewal replaced them. Below the heights, Bolling and Anacostia took up a large prime real estate area along the river.

On 15 February 1968, I reported to the 1100th Security Police Squadron at Bolling to be one of its officers. I did not know before I arrived that this was the Air Force Honor Guard squadron. This very elite unit performed ceremonies at Arlington National Cemetery, the White House, and the Pentagon. I walked in the door, and the captain in charge took one look at me; I could tell I was not what he expected. To be clear on this: Air Force Honor Guard officers had to be a minimum of 6 feet tall, well built, and not wear glasses. However, I was five foot five inches, built like a fireplug (40-inch chest on 29-inch legs), and wore glasses.

When I walked in, he did a