by G. E. Nolly
“Come on in, boss,” Fish said, as they shook hands. Fish turned to me. “Hamfist, this is Todd Warner, our Vice President of Flight Operations.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” I said, as I shook his hand. He had a really firm grip.
“The pleasure is all mine, Captain Hancock. Or should I call you Hamfist?”
“Either name, sir.”
We walked into the family room and sat around the coffee table.
“Hamfist, I can’t begin to tell you how much we appreciate what you did on Flight 338 today. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there. Our FOM has strict rules about both pilots not eating the same crew meal entrees during flight, but we hadn’t addressed preflight eating. That’s going to change.”
“Excuse me, sir, what’s an FOM?”
“Oh, sorry. It’s the Flight Operations Manual, similar to your Air Force Regulation 60-1. It tells precisely what can and cannot be done. Like I said, we never considered what would happen if both pilots ate the same thing for breakfast at the same restaurant. Apparently the breakfast buffet at the Orlando airport had some problems. Lots of people who ate there got sick afterwords. Severe food poisoning.”
I thought of how close I’d been to eating that same buffet.
“Do you train the Flight Attendants what to do if both pilots get sick, like today?”
“Not really.” Todd looked a bit embarrassed. “We teach them to avoid passing liquids over the center pedestal, teach them a little about cockpit protocols, that’s about it. The 737-200 doesn’t have auto-land capabilities, so we can’t even teach them how to operate the autopilot. Typically, on our higher-density routes, we have dead-heading pilots. Guys traveling to or from either work or training, especially on the Denver flights. Sometimes we have jump-seaters. Today was a rare exception.”
“Well, I’m glad I was able to help.”
“Listen, Hamfist,” Todd said as he lowered his voice and leaned forward, “I’m telling you this strictly off the record. We have a formalized hiring process at WorldJet, a process that’s been coordinated with the pilot union. There’s a mini-physical, a simulator evaluation, some psychological testing, the Stanine Test, and an interview.” He leaned further forward. “But, just between us girls,” he smiled, “that will just be a formality for you. If you want to be an airline pilot, there’s a job waiting for you at WorldJet. The way we’re expanding right now, I would expect you’ll make Captain in four years.”
I didn’t really know how to react. I was surprised and flattered. And, although I hadn’t been actively trying to get an airline job, seeing Fish’s lifestyle really made an impression on me. Great pay and eighteen days a month off would really give me the opportunity to do things with, and for, my family that I hadn’t been able to do in the Air Force. And I had been getting more disillusioned with the Air Force with every passing day. Maybe, I thought, I should consider the airlines.
“I’m really honored, sir, and flattered. I hadn’t given a lot of thought to airline flying, but, I have to say, it was pretty cool flying that big jet.”
“I can’t give you an answer right now,” I continued, “I need to discuss this with my family before I make a decision.”
“I understand completely,” he responded, reaching into his shirt pocket. “Here’s my business card, and this,” he pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and wrote on the card, “is my personal phone number. Give me a call when you’re ready to leave the Air Force.”
“Thank you, sir. I will.”
67
March 17, 1978
My first night in Denver, I had called Sam and told her about flying the Guppy and meeting up with Fish again. And I had related to her about the incredible number of days off the WorldJet pilots got in their monthly schedules. It was intriguing. Very intriguing.
Now it was time for us to have a serious discussion about our future plans. Sam was aware, naturally, that I had become disillusioned with the Air Force. At every assignment, I would hear about the “Real Air Force”, some mythical construct that didn’t exist at whatever base I was currently stationed at, but was promised to magically appear when I would get to my next assignment. The Real Air Force was like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, always almost within reach, never quite attainable.
It hadn’t been all bad. I’ll admit, I had enjoyed Undergraduate Pilot Training. There was the typical level of bullshit, of course, but I had become used to a much higher level of abuse during my four years at the Academy. And I had really enjoyed flying the O-2 in combat in Vietnam. Although I wasn’t in a fighter, it was a damn rewarding mission, with much more responsibility than a normal Lieutenant would experience. But the O-2 assignment itself represented a bit of sleight-of-hand that the Air Force, unfortunately, was very good at. The promise had been that the Distinguished Graduate of any UPT class would get his choice of aircraft following graduation, but the nebulous “needs of the service” had put me in the smallest, slowest airplane in the inventory.
Then the promise of “volunteer for Vietnam and you’ll get your choice of aircraft when you return from combat” turned, again, to vapor. I had received a B-52 assignment, and if General McCall hadn’t interceded, that’s what I would have gotten.
I, and I alone, was responsible for getting the T-39 assignment to Yokota, but I hadn’t anticipated the extensive TDY that would entail. And when I volunteered for a second Vietnam tour, in the F-4, I got it, so I wasn’t getting screwed at every turn.
And flying the F-4 in combat was a dream come true. Yeah, there was the typical bullshit of ridiculous targets being fragged, like some of the insignificant nitnoy bridges in Hanoi. But, overall, it was great flying. Every mission was like a John Wayne movie. And I had an exceptionally rewarding tour.
But then, the peacetime Air Force, even flying F-4s, was really a drag. Like Colonel Wilson had said, fighter pilots in the peacetime Air force are puppets on a string. And like the old saying went, if the Air Force had wanted pilots to have families, they would have issued them.
The biggest disappointment was the quality of leadership I was seeing. Actually, it was lack of leadership. The people I had been working for, after Vietnam, were nothing like the exceptional examples of great leaders I had seen on a daily basis at the Academy. As far as leadership was concerned, most of the people I had worked for were really mediocre.
And then there was the Air Force Song. My entire life, ever since I was a kid, I would get goose bumps whenever I heard “Off we go, into the wild blue yonder”. I had learned the lyrics at a young age, and had actually gotten into a lot of trouble at the Academy, as a doolie, when I had been commanded to recite them at the dinner table. I had ended the song, “Nothing can stop the Army Air Corps”, which was the way I had learned it as a child. After the Air Force became a separate service, the words had been changed to “Nothing can stop the U.S. Air Force”. I did my share of push-ups for that misquote!
But now, hearing the song did nothing for me. In fact, I would feel a sense of melancholy with the realization that the chill was gone. Now it was just another song.
I’d been in the Air Force for eleven years, actually fifteen if you count the time at the Academy, and I was still waiting to see the Real Air Force, the one with great leadership. And if I stayed in for nine more years, to get to retirement, what then? I’d be much older, maybe too old to go to the airlines or start a different career. In a way, I felt like being in the Air Force was like sitting in a warm bath in a cold room. Sooner or later, the bath, and the room, would get colder, and I’d have to get out. Maybe it was time to do it now.
And I was starting to see a level of downright nastiness in the Air Force that I had never before experienced. A great example is the way they unilaterally extended everyone’s Active Duty Service Commitment.
Every pilot would pick up a commitment, usually two years or more, for attending any kind of advanced training. Whenever a pilot received an assignment that required him to attend an RTU, w
ith a training commitment, he had the option to either accept the assignment or leave the Air Force, if his original commitment was already completed. If he still had time remaining on his previous commitment, he could “put in his papers” – request a Date of Separation at the end of his current commitment – and not be saddled with any additional commitment. He may or may not still receive the assignment and the training, but he would not receive any additional commitment.
That was what Beans Beaner had done. He had a year remaining on his original Active Duty Service Commitment from F-4 RTU, so when he got his O-2 assignment, he put in his papers. He still went to O-2 training, but didn’t incur any additional commitment. A year later, he separated from the Air Force.
So, whenever a pilot had an assignment that required training, he would be informed of the commitment the training would trigger. Each jock went into it with his eyes open.
When I went through O-2 training at Patrick, I picked up a two-year commitment, the same as someone who had never flown the aircraft before. That was okay with me – I was a “lifer” anyway. That was then.
One of the guys in my squadron, Bill Blue, was scheduled to go to the Personnel Office for an annual Records Review. The Records Review afforded an officer the opportunity to see what was in his official records, and dispute any erroneous information. Typically, the pilot would get to see all of his previous OERs, his training records, his record of PME, and the dates of his Active Duty Service Commitment. When Bill saw his commitment date, he was flabbergasted. The commitment for his attendance at O-2 training was shown as four years!
“I was told the commitment for O-2 training was two years. I have it in writing,” he protested.
“Yes sir,” the Sergeant at Personnel replied, “it was two years when you attended training, but about six months ago they changed the commitment for O-2 RTU to four years.”
“But I attended two years ago!”
“Yes, sir, but Headquarters Air Force adjusted everyone’s commitment date to reflect the new commitment.”
Bill stormed out of the Personnel Office and called his father. His father was a Congressman.
As soon as we heard about what happened to Bill, all of us in the squadron made appointments for Records Reviews, and all of us discovered that our commitments had been extended without our knowledge. Every one of us, including me.
Obviously, that was illegal as hell. When I told Sam about it, she was livid.
“That’s an ex-post-facto decree,” she said, becoming an attorney again, “It sounds like the Air Force is trying to make everyone indentured servants.”
Those of us who had been leaning toward getting out of the Air Force had just received a giant push. Those of us on the fence, lifers like me, got edged toward leaving.
Bill’s dad raised a huge stink about the nefarious actions of someone, somewhere in the Personnel food chain, and ultimately we all had our commitment dates re-adjusted back to the original dates. But we had all been placed on notice that the Air Force could fuck with us at any time. Our collective trust had been destroyed. Seventeen guys in my squadron who had been undecided about separating from the Air Force put in their papers during the next month.
I was one of them.
68
March 17, 1978
Sam looked into my eyes as we sat opposite each other at the kitchen table.
“Ham,” she said, as she reached across the table to hold my hand, “whatever decision you make is fine with me. I love you and I want to support you in whatever you decide to do.”
“When we first went out,” she continued, “when we were in Rappongi at the Hamburger Inn, talking, you had mentioned you some day wanted to be an airline pilot. But first you wanted to be a fighter pilot. Well, you got to be a fighter pilot. Now I think it’s time to pursue your other dream.”
“You don’t think I’m being selfish, do you?”
“It’s not selfish to do something you want to do, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else. Johnnie, Tommy and I will be fine. You’ll be gone a lot more than you are now, but you’ll have more time off. You’ll be able to spend more time with us when you’re home. And after the first year you’ll be making the same amount as you’re getting in the Air Force right now. And we’ll get to travel, a lot, for free. I’m getting excited just thinking about it.”
“You’re sure?” I asked, “If you want, I can pull my papers and stay in.”
“What would you do if you didn’t have Johnny, Tommy and me to worry about?”
“I’d get out and fly for WorldJet.”
“Then, that’s what I want you to do. Remember how you told me that once a pilot makes a decision, he should stick to it?”
Long ago I had explained to Sam about the decision-making process during flight. If a pilot can’t see the runway at the minimum altitude on an instrument approach and decides to go-around, he should stick with his decision, even if he later sees the runway as he’s climbing out.
“Yes.”
“Okay, then,” she said, “the decision is made. Let’s get started on the rest of our lives.”
Johnny giggled as I gave Sam a long, passionate kiss.
“Okay,” I said, “I need to make a phone call.”
I went to my desk, retrieved Todd Warner’s business card, and dialed his personal number.
The adventure continues . . .
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
George Nolly served as a pilot in the United States Air Force, flying 315 combat missions on two successive tours of duty in Vietnam, earning 3 Distinguished Flying Crosses and 24 Air Medals flying O-2A and F-4 aircraft. In 1983, George received Tactical Air Command Instructor of the Year Award for his service as an instructor in the Air Force Forward Air Controller Course. Following his Air Force duty, he hired on with United Airlines and rose to the position of B-777 Check Captain. He also served as a Federal Flight Deck Officer. Following his retirement from United, George accepted a position as a B-777 Captain with Jet airways, operating throughout Europe, Asia and the Middle East. In 2000, George was selected as a Champion in the Body-for-LIFE Transformation Challenge, and is a Certified Fitness Trainer and self-defense expert with more than 30 years’ experience in combative arts. George received a Bachelor of Science Degree from the United States Air Force Academy and received a Master of Science Degree, in Systems Management, from the University of Southern California. He completed all of the required studies for a second Master of Science Degree, in Education, at the University of Southern California, and received his Doctor of Business Administration Degree, specializing in Homeland Security, from Northcentral University. He now flight instructs in the B777 and B787.
GLOSSARY OF TERMS
AO – Area of Operations
BDA – Bomb Damage Assessment
Below the zone – Promotion earlier than normal sequence
BOQ – Bachelor Officer’s Quarters
CBU – Cluster Bomb Unit
DEROS – Date Eligible for Return from OverSeas
DOS – Date of Separation
ETA – Estimated Time of Arrival
FAC – Forward Air Controller
Fingertip – Close formation flying, 3-foot wingtip spacing
Gomer – Guy On Motorable Enemy Route
Initial – The first portion of a visual overhead landing pattern
IP – Instructor Pilot
M-1 maneuver – grunting to increase thoracic pressure
Mark 82 – A 500-pound bomb
MiG – Russian fighter jet, Mikoyan and Gurevich
Mike-mike - millimeter
MPC – Military Personnel Center
Nape - Napalm
OER – Officer E
ffectiveness Report
PCS – Permanent Change of Station
PDA – Public Display of Affection
Piddle pack – Portable urinal
RNO – Results Not Observed
SAM – Surface to Air Missile
Short-timer – Someone nearing DEROS
Slicks – Bombs with no high-drag metal parachute fins
Snake – Bombs with metal parachute fins
TDY – Temporary Duty
TOT – Time Over Target
URC-64 – Portable Survival Radio
VOQ – Visiting Officer’s Quarters
Willie Pete – White phosphorous rocket