by Vicki Cody
Then Dick came out on the promotion list for major and was selected to attend the Command and General Staff College at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, and just like that, it was time to move again.
Our four years in Savannah were about much more than Southern charm, hospitality, and a beautiful city. They were also about the memories Dick and I made with each other and our young kids, about the bonds and camaraderie we shared with our fellow Army friends, and about the realization that, in spite of the challenges and tragedies we faced, in spite of Dick’s long workdays and the time he was away from us, we had weathered some of life’s storms and come out of them just fine. We were thriving and happy as a family and as a couple.
PS: When Ned and Carole got divorced, I can’t say for sure that his taking a job in the special-operations community was the cause, but I don’t think it helped their marriage. And within months of the Task Force 160th forming up, a good friend of ours was killed in a training accident, flying a “little bird.” I didn’t want to be divorced, and I didn’t want to be a widow. Both of these events were proof to me that we had chosen the right fork in the road.
9
The Year We All Went to School
As hard as it was leaving Savannah, we were looking forward to what had been described to us as a “great year of fun and family time” at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. It was the next step in Dick’s career and would be like going to college for a year. The Command and General Staff College prepares captains and majors for the next levels of command and staff assignments at the battalion and brigade level. The classes are designed to broaden their knowledge on how the Army runs and on the strategic, operational, and tactical “art of war.”
We flew our plane to Kansas, and the two-day flight gave us some much-needed quality and quiet time. When we landed at Sherman Army Airfield, one of the few Army airfields that allows private planes, it was 106 degrees, hotter even than any day we had had in Savannah.
I was especially curious about our quarters because of a conversation I’d had with Dick a few weeks before we left Savannah. He had driven our car out and called me from Fort Leavenworth to tell me he had seen our quarters.
“Vick, just promise me you’ll stay with me no matter how bad the house is, okay?”
We pulled into a little neighborhood, two cul-de-sacs with a common courtyard in the middle. The houses all looked the same: small; Cape Cod–style; peeling paint that had probably been white at some point. Because there were more students than houses, the lowest-ranking officers were offered money to live in them for the year, and then the houses would be torn down. We had lived in Army quarters before, so I knew what austere was, but these houses gave new meaning to the word. Picture a tiny, two-bedroom, one-bathroom, linoleum-floored, un-air-conditioned box of a house, with no basement, no porch, no frills of any kind. I had to keep reminding myself that the important thing was that we were all together.
While I was feeling overwhelmed and unpacking boxes, Dick came bursting in, as excited as a kid, and said, “Hey, Vicki, Tommy Greco is in my class.” Dick had known Tom since they were eighteen years old and cadets at West Point, and it turned out that he, his wife Gail, and their two kids were moving in just a few houses away. I hadn’t seen Tom since he and Dick were cadets, and I was excited to meet his wife and children.
Those first few days, huge moving vans came and went all day long, taking up every square inch of our cul-de-sac. There were lots of young kids, so the boys rode their Big Wheels all around the courtyard with their new friends. I couldn’t wait to finish unpacking so I could get outside and meet our new neighbors. Gradually, we began to emerge from our houses and all of the boxes. We gathered in our courtyard, meeting new friends and seeing old ones. At first we all commiserated about the heat and our crappy quarters. Before long, we had a couple of picnic tables and some lawn chairs, and then coolers full of beer and soda appeared. I made my homemade salsa, others brought chips and dips, and suddenly it was a party. That first gathering on our lawn set the tone for the rest of the year. We continued to meet in our courtyard throughout the summer, and before we knew it, we were no longer complaining about our houses because we were having so much fun. Tom and Gail Greco became our closest friends. The guys picked up their friendship where they had left it eleven years earlier, and Gail and I and our kids all bonded quickly.
The Saturday before school started, there was a post-wide activity sign-up at the main academic building for all kinds of clubs, organizations, activities, and sports for both kids and adults. I had just finished signing Clint up for soccer when Dick came over to me and told me that the Fort Leavenworth Flying Club had a booth and that I should come check it out with him.
I followed him over to a sign that read FLYING LESSONS: LEARN TO FLY IN THE CESSNA FLIGHT PROGRAM. He introduced me to Mike, one of the head flight instructors. They both looked at me as Dick said, “What do you think, Vick? This would be the perfect chance for you to learn to fly. The airfield is right here on post, I’ll have an easy schedule, so I can help with the boys, and you’ve got the time this year to do it. Do you want to sign up?”
My mind was racing. Oh boy—wait just a minute. I know we discussed this many times, especially on the plane ride out to Kansas. I was very brave when we talked about it, but actually doing it is a whole other thing. How can I learn to fly? I’ve never done anything like that in my life. I’m not daring or brave at all, I’m not mechanical, and I was never an A student. And what about the expense? No, I don’t think I’m cut out for flying an airplane. I’m beginning to sweat. I need some time to ponder, to think, and then procrastinate for a while. Yes, that’s what I’ll do—
“Vicki!” Dick interrupted my thoughts. “Mike is waiting for an answer. We need to make a decision. The ground-school class begins next week.”
I could stay in my safe little world of being an Army wife and mother, or I could step way outside my comfort zone and see if I could become a private pilot. I decided to give it a try. Once I made the decision, I was equally excited and nervous.
The following week, Dick started his classes at the Army’s Command and General Staff College, Clint started first grade, Tyler started preschool, and I began flight training. It was a lot of firsts for our family. For the past six years, I had been at home with kids, and I was used to devoting every minute of every day to their needs, and Dick’s, too. But now that they were all in school, it was a time of letting go for me. At first, I wasn’t sure what to do with my little bit of freedom, but once I started Cessna Ground School, I felt a sense of purpose and a sense of me. Looking at the books, maps, and gadgets in my flight bag, I couldn’t wait to begin. I was as excited as Dick had been when he started flight school.
I began my training in the two-seater Cessna 152, like all the other student pilots. The plan was, once I mastered that, I would transition to our larger and more complex Cessna 172. For my orientation flight, I followed along as my instructor, Mike, performed the preflight inspection. He was so calm as he explained everything and then talked me through takeoff, landing, and some basic turns and maneuvers. I began to feel queasy, but he reassured me that once my hands were on the controls, I would feel fine. We made plans to fly the following week. I couldn’t wait to get home and tell Dick all about my first flight.
It was wonderful having Dick around so much, the four of us eating dinner together every night and just knowing that he was in a classroom all day and not doing dangerous stunts in a helicopter. I had peace of mind for the first time in four years. There was almost no stress for us that year at Fort Leavenworth; our days and nights were carefree, and our weekends were completely ours. My biggest challenge was shifting gears from being a mom to being a student pilot and finding time to study. I tried to do it during the day when the boys were in school, but I had so many new girlfriends, it was more fun to go out to lunch or just hang out with them. Many a night, I was up studying after Dick and the boys had gone to bed.
Meanwhile, Dick was lea
rning about leadership. As he had already spent so much time in units with soldiers, he had a wealth of knowledge, experience, and leadership skills that were reinforced in his classroom studies that year. Most of the work came easily to him, and he didn’t have to spend a lot of time studying at the library. He enjoyed his classes but liked having time for sports even more. He and Tom were always playing something: tennis, softball, racquetball, and, of course, basketball.
Clint was learning to read and write, Tyler was learning numbers and colors, and I was getting to know the area from up in the air. The United States Federal Penitentiary sits right next to Fort Leavenworth. The United States Army Disciplinary Barracks is on the post, right next to Sherman Army Airfield, and the Missouri River is at the end of the runway. Those landmarks became ingrained in my memory forever. I learned every nook and cranny, every railroad track, road, highway, farm, and field, that surrounded Fort Leavenworth and the town of Leavenworth, Kansas. They were the checkpoints on my flight log and my way home if I ever got lost.
The weather was great that fall, so Mike and I were able to fly two or three days a week. He was right: once I had the controls, my stomach settled down. I was progressing quickly and continued to amaze myself. It was hard work, but I loved the precision and discipline of flying. We practiced takeoffs and landings, called touch-and-gos. We did so many, I dreamed about them at night. Flying, like so many other things, is learned by repetition so that everything becomes second nature to you.
On the weekends, we took the boys and explored the Leavenworth area, apple-picking in a local orchard and taking trips to Kansas City, about a forty-minute drive away. With the Grecos, we discovered the fun nightlife in KC, trying out different restaurants and going to movies.
By the end of October, Mike said it was time for me to transition to our 172, and then I would solo in that. I had already passed my flight physical with flying colors, so the next requirement for getting my pilot’s license was to take the FAA private pilots’ written exam. I hadn’t taken any kind of exam in years, so I was stressed about it.
Dick and Tom both got promoted to major the first week in December. Gail and I remarked to each other that we sure didn’t feel like major’s wives; they always seemed so old to us. I was busy studying for my FAA exam and anxious to get it over with. Most of the time, I just went along, not thinking that what I was doing was anything extraordinary, maybe because Dick was already a pilot and the boys were too young to fully understand what I was doing. My girlfriends were pretty impressed, but it wasn’t like we sat around talking about it.
I was a bundle of nerves the day I drove down to Kansas City International Airport for the exam. I had chosen my outfit carefully: wool slacks, a crisp white blouse, a sweater vest, and one of the silk bow ties that were so popular back in the mid-1980s. I figured if I flunked the test, at least I would look nice doing it.
I found the big, daunting FAA building, walked up to the information desk, and asked the man where to go for the FAA written exam.
“You must be here for the flight attendants’ exam,” he said. I guess my outfit had “flight attendant” written all over it.
“No, actually, I’m here for the private pilots’ exam.”
He looked at me with surprise, then came out from behind his desk and said, “In that case, miss, let me escort you to where you need to go.”
As we walked down the hall, he turned to me and said, “So, you’re going to be a pilot?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m working on.”
“Wow, that’s really something. Good luck to you. I hope you make it.”
That little boost of confidence from a perfect stranger was just what I needed. In that moment, I realized that what I was doing was indeed special and something not everyone can do. I walked into the test room and took a seat with about a dozen men. I pulled out my stash of freshly sharpened number 2 pencils and my “whiz wheel,” and for the next few hours I worked my way through the test. When I walked out of there that day, I felt good and was pretty confident that I had passed. A week later, the results came in the mail. I had passed with an 87 percent! I was so proud, as were Dick and Mike.
With my test out of the way, I was able to focus on the upcoming holidays and our ski trip to Colorado. We left Christmas Day for a great week of skiing and fun with the Grecos and two other families in our neighborhood.
Then, one day in early January after I’d gone flying with Mike, he casually asked me to bring a white T-shirt the next time we flew. I knew the tradition: after a student’s first solo flight, the instructor rips the shirt off the student and signs it. Obviously in my case, Mike was not going to be ripping my shirt off, especially in January, but I brought in a T-shirt so he would have it when the time came.
A few days later, I met him out at the airfield for a routine flight. It had snowed about six inches the night before, so when I left the house, I told Dick I doubted I would solo that day. The runway had been plowed, but there was still snow and some ice on it. We took off and flew the traffic pattern, and then Mike gave me my instructions.
“Vicki, you are more than ready to solo. I want you to take off, fly the pattern, and come in for a full-stop landing. If you feel good, I’ll signal you to do three more touch-and-gos.”
I thought, Has anybody considered that maybe I’m not ready? Plus, I like having you in the seat next to me, but Mike got out of the plane and left me alone.
I taxied to the holding line just short of the runway, did my engine run-up, and made my radio call.
“Sherman Tower, Cessna 12369 is holding short of runway 34.”
“Roger, 369, you are cleared for the active and cleared for takeoff.”
I taxied into position on the center line. With every bit of courage I could muster, I pushed in the throttle.
“369 is rolling, remaining closed traffic.”
“Roger that—call on base to final.”
I was rolling down the runway that I had taken off from so many times before with Mike. After a smooth takeoff, I was alone in the traffic pattern and it was completely silent. I was doing it—I was flying by myself.
Within minutes, I was on downwind and it was time to do my pre-landing check. I adjusted my power setting, put in flaps, and turned right base. I broke the silence when I made my radio call.
“Sherman Tower, 369 is turning final for full stop, 34.”
“Roger that, 369—you are clear for landing.”
As with my takeoff, I was all business and concentration as I began my final approach. I was so proud when I made a textbook landing. Wait till I tell Dick about that! I thought.
I taxied over to where Mike was waiting. He gave me a thumbs-up and signaled for me to back up. I did three more touch-and-gos, feeling more confident with each one. When I was finished, I taxied over to the gas pump and parking area. Mike hugged me when I climbed out of the cockpit. I was so excited that my whole body was shaking.
I couldn’t wait to share my big news with everyone. Dick was in class, so I called my parents, who had been living vicariously and wanted to know every detail of every milestone that I accomplished. They were so happy that day when I called with my news. And when Dick got home, we celebrated with champagne. He beamed as he said, “You really did it, Vick! I knew you could.”
That night, we took the boys to Dairy Queen for a celebratory dinner. There weren’t a lot of places to eat in Leavenworth, Kansas, especially midweek, but we were so excited, it didn’t really matter where we went.
After that, whenever the weather was good, I was out flying. Once I soloed, I had to log ten to twenty hours of solo time. I went out and flew around the local area, and I worked on all the maneuvers Mike had taught me. I had to force myself to practice stalls. It was one thing to do them with Mike sitting next to me and quite another to do them by myself. It took all my courage. I continued to fly with Mike every so often because I still had a lot to learn before I took my final check ride for my license.
It was getting close to the end of the school year; there were a lot of activities with the boys and their schools, they were both playing T-ball, Dick was gone for a couple of weeks on a class trip, and we were waiting for his orders to see where we would be moving. Amid all the distractions, I didn’t know how I could get all my flight requirements done. One day, while flying solo, I scared myself trying to land in a tricky wind. I managed to land safely after a few go-rounds, but I was shaking with fear. For days afterward, every time I drove by the airfield, waves of nausea came over me. I didn’t want to get back in the cockpit, and I began to doubt myself.
When Dick came back from his trip, he gave me a little pep talk.
“Every pilot at some point scares himself. The important thing is to learn from it. You’ve come so far; you just need to move forward.”
“But it was scary!”
“For God’s sake, Vicki, just do it!”
I knew he was right. It was time to finish what I had started.
I was validated when, one day while I was out practicing with Mike, he said, “You are probably the best student I’ve ever taught.”
I couldn’t believe it. I had never been the best at anything.
I got another morale boost right before my solo cross-country trips, when I needed it most. One afternoon, I came in from flying solo, taxied over to the gas pumps, and hopped out of the plane. I got the stepladder, climbed up onto the wing, and refueled the plane. I was concentrating on not spilling any fuel but sensed that someone was watching me. I looked over the wing, and out in the field, next to the parking ramp, was a group of prisoners from the disciplinary barracks, working in the field. We had all gotten used to seeing prisoners that year, on work release at the commissary and in the fields on post. But what caught me off guard was that they had all stopped what they were doing and, leaning on their rakes and hoes, were staring at me, kind of awestruck. I didn’t know what to do, so I smiled and kind of nodded. A few of them tipped their hats, and a few gave me a nod, and then they went back to their work. They had watched me land and taxi but were probably surprised to see that I was a woman. It hit me once again that I was doing something unique.