I was smart enough to know that some people were not thrilled about working spouses, particularly when that spouse was the commander’s wife. So I was quite adept at keeping it a secret … for a whopping month or two. Then one Friday night we were at the club, standing around swapping stories with a group from Norty’s squadron—Norty had slipped away to get me another drink—and without thinking I blurted out, “You will not believe what happened to me at work today!” It was like the old E. F. Hutton commercials when suddenly the room becomes perfectly silent and heads swing around to look at you—that’s how I felt. As soon as I said the words I knew I was in trouble.
I waited until we got home to drop the bombshell. “Honey, we’re in big, big trouble,” I told Norty, devastated that I had made such a blunder. “Hmmm” was all he said; apparently he thought I had blown it way out of proportion.
Norty: Suzie’s instinct was correct. By Monday word had spread that Suzie was employed, and this did not sit well with my superiors at the base. Colonel Chuck Niggemeyer was the designated messenger. “It’s simply not a good idea for a squadron commander’s wife to work,” he warned. “Either she gives up the job, or we may have to find another squadron commander.”
“I’ll talk to Suzie,” I promised. “But if she wants to work, she’s going to work and you’ll have to look for another commander.” At the same time, Suzie was having lunch with Niggemeyer’s wife, who was hitting her with the same reproach.
Suzie: She got right to the point and she just asked, “Is your job worth risking your husband’s career?”
I explained how our situation was different than most. “I understand that it’s frowned upon for us to work, but Norty and I don’t have any children. My job is way less time consuming than the other squadron commanders’ spouses who have kids. They run them to soccer, then piano lessons and PTA … They look like little Energizer bunnies and they don’t get to clock out at five o’clock every day; they never get to clock out. I have way more free time, even with the job.” I felt I was pretty convincing, but I might as well had been talking to a mannequin. “If I hadn’t spilled the beans, you wouldn’t even know about my job because our squadron is running great! We have evening functions, and weekends. In the six months we’ve been here I have not missed one event. Who do you think it is that’s cheering so loud at our volleyball matches? And basketball? And you name it. You could not ask for a more smoothly run organization.”
She smiled as if we were best friends but I could tell that she was fuming inside. “I am trying my best to help you, Suzie, and the only reason I’m even telling you this is because I like you. But you are going to have to think very seriously about quitting because that’s the unwritten rule.” Logic clearly meant nothing to this woman, and I just didn’t know what more to say to her. I was upset, but more than that I felt really sad. It wasn’t until later on that I learned that she was doing what her husband was asking her to do. And he was just relaying the message of his boss, Colonel Ed Tenoso, the wing commander (who ultimately retired as a lieutenant general).
When I told Norty all about the lunch that night, he shared how he’d been hit with the same admonitions by Colonel Niggemeyer. And I was so proud of Norty because he told him right there that he wasn’t even going to mention it to me since I could do whatever I wanted to. I couldn’t believe that he would say that but I was blown away.
Later that night I phoned my mom to tell her all about it. I was still hurting inside and I knew that she would make me feel better. “What’s the matter with you, Suzie?” she bellowed into the phone. “I can’t believe you’re doing anything to risk Norty’s career!” Surprisingly, we did not have to call tech services for a new handset after I slammed it down and hung up on Mom. I did not speak to her for several months.
Norty: To Suzie’s credit, she took all this as a personal challenge to her womanhood and an opportunity to demonstrate to everybody (including the youngsters in the squadron) what was possible for a modern military spouse. I was not replaced, and Suzie spent the bulk of her time shuttling back and forth between the base and the hotel on I-5. She busted her butt the entire two years and did spectacularly well. She didn’t miss a single base function—not a change of command, not a ball game, not an awards ceremony. And she entertained like crazy in this marvelous house overlooking the Sound. She outperformed everyone’s wildest expectations, and in many ways I believe we became the model for the modern military leadership team. Word spread, and slowly we started to see this same thing happen at other bases. The Air Force culture evolved, and today’s commanders’ spouses are afforded a lot more opportunities, due in no small part to Suzie’s courage and chutzpah.
* * *
The Thirty-Sixth was the only C-130 squadron in the Air Force with a nuclear mission. It’s called PNAF—“Primary Nuclear Airlift Force”—and it is an incredibly demanding mission in which we safeguarded and transported nuclear materials and components. Everyone involved required a special certification, and they would have to go through an intense background check called the PRP, Personal Reliability Program. They were thoroughly investigated as to their health (both physical and psychological) and other areas to ensure that they were suited to play a role in this arduous mission. We spent a great deal of time on this, and it paid off in the long run. What a great place to earn my spurs. All that goes into this is daunting, with every step coming under enormous scrutiny from the wing, the Air Force higher-ups, and even from the DoD. Having been promoted early, I was young to be assigned to such a prestigious command, and there were those who had issues with that. Not so Lieutenant Colonel Otto Dobias. Otto was one of the “goats,” probably twenty years older than I was, and he was chief of the PNAF mission. He was the consummate professional and we came to respect one another early on. The fact that I was twenty years younger wasn’t an issue for him. Otto was incredibly competent in this discipline and he ran that whole business for the squadron and did it extremely well. Our success had a hell of a lot less to do with me than it had to do with Otto.
Competence comes in all kinds and sizes of packages—young and old, heavy and light, and black and white.
Had I dismissed Otto as an old fart, I would have been so much poorer. Had Otto dismissed me as a young pup, we would have had a much less successful unit. But as it turned out, we both acted professionally and instinctively in a way that created a partnership that really was a wonderful thing to behold. This early experience with the nuclear mission would be put to good use down the road, when the secretary of defense looked to me and Air Force Secretary Mike Donley to get this mission back on track. Because of my time with Otto and PNAF, I understood the mandate for precision and the whys and hows of the very demanding inspection regimen.
In addition to PNAF, we were the active logistics airlift element in support of our embassies in Central and South America, and we did a lot of classified missions in conjunction with the intelligence community. One of my favorites entailed flying into Tegucigalpa, the capital of Honduras. It’s no surprise that the History Channel ranks Toncontín Airport as the second most dangerous in the world, with one of the world’s most difficult approaches. Sitting in a bowl completely surrounded by mountains, its exceptionally short runway and unpredictably strong wind gusts make it a fun place to fly into and a great place to send young pilots to grow. I remember one landing where we were committed to the descent profile when a truck darted across the highway at the near end of the runway, not appearing in the visual cross-check until a go-around was impractical. We had no choice but to continue our landing, albeit farther down the runway than is normal for that short a runway. Suffice it to say their air traffic control environment was not quite up to FAA standards. No comment about their driving “skills.”
In 1987, the squadron was announced for closure, so the whole process of managing the psychology of a flying squadron that’s going out of business was a very good experience. Once that’s announced, the big questions are how do you manage thi
s? How do you keep people thinking about flying airplanes rather than being distracted by the fact that they will soon be forced to move, and perhaps forced into other types of jobs? A key part of that process was meeting with them, one-on-one, and asking them, “What’s your preference? What can we prevail on the Air Force to do for you?” We worked very hard to ensure that people landed in good places and that they could continue their careers. It played out that we did not end up closing at that time, but we certainly didn’t know that it would play out that way.
This was written up as a case study somewhere, and the takeaway was that both Suzie and I really took care of our people. We worked very hard at it, and it seemed to be greatly appreciated.
One thing that helped was a rather unique idea that we came up with; it turned out to be a real morale booster. It took place at the end of May 1988, and I called it the 19-ship. It’s a concept that met with a lot of resistance from the wing, but one that was well worth the battle to pull it off. A typical C-130 formation has nine airplanes, at the most. You just don’t fly more than that all at once … especially from one squadron. Well, I had the idea of getting every pilot that we had, and every airplane that we owned, and flying them all together, end to end, in one massive trail formation. Nineteen airplanes launched in quick succession, flying a route around the state of Washington, including adjacent to the Needle in Seattle. Out of deference to our chief of standardization, I gave him the lead aircraft and I took the number two. But it was quite a sight, a memorable stamp on an equally memorable first command.
That’s Suzie standing on the right on the infield. Schwartz personal collection
* * *
Suzie: For some dumb reason, this wing had three squadron changes of command within about a week of each other. The 4th and 8th C-141 commanders were swapping out a week before Norty and I were leaving, and the pair shared the same change-of-command ceremony, which Norty and I attended.
At almost 170 feet long with a maximum takeoff weight of over 170 tons, the 141 is one big jet airlifter. You cannot imagine what it sounded like—let alone felt like—when two of them did a low-pass flyover in formation at that change-of-command ceremony. We felt it in our teeth, in our bones. Suddenly the bright daylight dissolved to dark shadows as the lumbering gray birds obstructed the sunlight and the thunderous rumble played havoc with our eardrums. It was impressive. Exciting. Terrifying for the toddler who erupted in hysterical sobs. The poor kid was almost as upset as Colonel Ed Tenoso—he was one unhappy wing commander. Tenoso is the one who hinted that Norty might be fired if I didn’t quit my job at the hotel, and now, two years later, he was still finding issues to get upset about.
Norty had just congratulated the two outgoing commanders and we had finally made it over to the cake line, when Col Tenoso came huffing over. I had a feeling he wanted something other than an end piece with extra icing.
“Sorry, Suzie, I need to have a word with Norty,” he grumbled, then pulled him aside. “Next week, there will not be any more of this BS flyby stuff,” he warned Norty, except he didn’t use the letters “BS.” “You’re going to do things by the book or I swear there will be hell to pay. Do you understand me, Norty?”
I was standing there looking at this and thinking, “You are an Air Force colonel in charge of an entire wing … don’t you have better things to do than turning bright red and giving yourself a stroke because a couple of flight crews think enough of their bosses that they want to pay homage to them when they leave?”
Well, Norty being Norty, he of course called the pilot who was scheduled to fly at Norty’s event the following week (who also happened to be chief of standardization) and he did his best to try to put the fear of God into him.
“Charlie, don’t fool around with me on this one,” he sternly cautioned. “The colonel was dead serious so do this by the book and maintain regulation altitude.”
The following week the bleachers were packed with VIPs and all eyes were searching skyward to see the C-130 flying high overhead to pay tribute to Norty’s time in command … but there was no plane. Safety is one thing, but completely forgoing any kind of flyby was disappointing for everyone … except for Ed Tenoso, I would imagine. Suddenly the ground trembled with the roar of four turboprop engines as the C-130 barely cleared the tree line at the end of McChord’s long parade field, its rumbling sound waves reverberating off the nearby headquarters building. It soared over our heads so low that we all instinctively ducked.
“Yes!” I screamed, along with a fist pump, unable to contain my excitement. How cool! Colonel Tenoso was standing directly in front of me. He turned around and shook his head. “Suzie, to the very end.”
Chapter Three
COLONELS NORMALLY DO BETTER THAN THIS
JULY 1989–MAY 1995
Committed to her career path at the Hyatt, Suzie chose not to join me for my next assignment to Special Operations Command Europe (SOCEUR), but that didn’t stop her from picking up the phone and reaching out to me around 3:00 a.m. local time on my very first night in Stuttgart. “The car won’t work,” she vented, as if I had some four-thousand-mile screwdriver to make the repair. We just had it inspected last week, I thought. “There is the tiniest possibility that I filled the diesel engine with regular gas,” she finally admitted. Whoops.
My two years in Europe took me deeper into the special operations community as chief of staff for the Special Operations Joint Task Force as well as the chief of the plans directorate (J-5) of the permanent Special Operations Command, Europe; yet I was heading even farther afield from the traditional Air Force career path.
Brigadier General Dick Potter was one of the original deputies in Charlie Beckwith’s new unit, and when he took me under his wing and invested in me during the buildup to the Gulf War, it opened doors with other Army leaders that would never have been opened without it. It gave me instant credibility. But Potter was an Army general. I can’t tell you how many times he’d shake his finger at me and say, “Schwartz, don’t give me that Air Force shit!” but the truth is I learned so much from him in terms of operating, he may very well have been the key person in my entire career. How ironic it is that I would become the highest ranking Air Force officer when the bulk of my mentors were Army.
Potter was quite a remarkable man, older than any other brigadiers in the Army, with battle wounds that corroborated the depth of his combat experience—far more Special Forces experience than anyone I’d ever met. He was almost larger than life; tough as nails and at times difficult to please, but once you earned his trust, you could not find anyone more loyal. When Potter said, “Why don’t you think about Schwartz for this one?” it was not a trivial thing in the joint world. It opened doors with other Army leaders that would never have been opened without him. In many ways, he and his wife Annie fulfilled a similar role to Al and Barbara Navas. Annie knew that I was flying solo over there, and she took great care of me.
In January of 1991, SOCEUR deployed to Incirlik, Turkey, in essence becoming the northern front for Operations DESERT SHIELD/DESERT STORM. We had the responsibility for rescues of downed pilots in the northern half of Iraq. SOCEUR is responsible to the United States European Command (EUCOM), one of the nine unified commands. With headquarters at Patch Barracks in Stuttgart, Germany, our area of responsibility then encompassed fifty-one countries and territories and over twenty-one million square miles; including Europe, Russia, Greenland, most of Africa (Central Command [CENTCOM] covers the rest) and then a part of the Middle East (Israel, Syria, Lebanon, and Turkey). The commander of EUCOM (General Jack Galvin at the time) is also the NATO Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR).
With war imminent, one of our first orders of business was to establish a base further downrange toward Iraq for helicopter operations, both for search and rescue and for reconnaissance insertions. But Turkish nerves were on edge. They were not about to let the coalition or the Americans just march in and take over their entire country. Their anxiety made our task—locking
in a place where our Paves (MH-53 and MH-60 helicopters) could operate—more difficult. We tried to go to Diyarbakir, one of the largest cities in Southeast Turkey, but Diyarbakir is a metropolitan area and the Turks were not comfortable with that. So we ended up at a place called Batman. It was a Turkish Air Force base, which we essentially took over. Our communications went in, field billeting went in, intel and logistics went in; it was a well-coordinated relocation that resulted in Batman becoming the forward operating location for the Special Operations task force.
What started as a rugged, muddy piece of land became a well-equipped, efficient U.S. military operating base. It was fun to watch it come together. This was done largely by Air Force teams, who, some would argue, don’t know how to handle field conditions. Well, these were as tough field conditions as one could imagine, and they delivered magnificently.
By establishing Batman as the forward operating location, we were able to cover quite a significant part of the north of Iraq, where fighter jets might go down or ground forces might become isolated. In every case, there were significant efforts expended to bring Americans home. Unfortunately, there were times when those efforts were not successful—like the following one, where the decision was made to transit both Syrian and Iraqi airspace.
No matter how many times we rehearsed for these rescue missions (and we rehearsed for them a lot), they always seemed to be accompanied by a sense of tension. This night’s felt even worse than usual, and each of us in the Incirlik Joint Operations Center felt it. If I’d known then what I found out after the fact, there wouldn’t have been any tension because I’d have done everything in my power to have the mission aborted. But I’ll get into all that later on.
Journey Page 17