Worst day ever

This is the worst day I've had in a year. I can't seem to get my hands around this monster that has his hands on me but I wanted to let you guys know how important it is to realize that a cancer free report doesn't mean anything as it relates to living life. I'm fighting and I will continue to fight no matter what happens. The imporant thing is to pass along the information so that other people who have gone through the trials fo malignant cancer will know that it ain't over when you think it's over. Please don't misunderstand me. I just want you to try and understand what your friends of family members need once they are lucky enough to survive the operation and eventually get a cancer free report. Not looking for sympathy just trying to make an honest attempt at passing along the information from the pits of
hell so you will know what to do when your family gets hit with this. Thanks for the ear.. .

Failed Blood Test and Increases in Medications.

First of all, I'd like to apologize for getting off topic. I failed a blood test and the level of medication (Phenytoin NA) in my blood stream has dropped to a level that is not acceptable. As a result of that, I've had to increase the dosage. When that happens, Newton's Law comes to visit and the "reaction" that follows is as predictable as the apple hitting the ground when it falls off the tree. To explain that as briefly as I can, I will say:

1. The golf ball sized tumor removed from the right side of my head has left an area that is void.
2. That part of my temporal lobe that was removed added to the size of the void.
3. That area is now filled with brain fluid instead of the right temporal lobe.
4. Blood pressure must be controlled to reduce the risk of stroke.
5. Medications for that causes a reaction that the Docs refer to as a "Meltdown".
6. Meltdowns are times when you lose control of many things.
7. Crying, loss of mobility and the exhaustion that comes with that are the most difficult reactions.
8. Additional medications are added to, "Take the Edge Off" of those times.
9. Those medications knock you out to a small degree.

That's about as simple as I know how to explain it. It's real embarrassing for me when that happens in public so I generally don't go out when I feel those times coming.

When those "feelings" are present, I generally stay at home and read the historical accounts from "Pearl Harbor, Guadalcanal and World War II". I began doing that to gather information to submit to my 11th Armored Cav brothers who have a new web site that focuses on the Air Cav Troop, the unit I was assigned to after I left the 199th Light Infantry Brigade.

I process things differently now than I did prior to surgery and that difference causes me to have a different reaction to the daily news regarding "Iran, Illegal Immigration, sleeper cells, the push for Sharia Law and the prejudices toward Christians.

As you can see by my previous post, I have re-discovered that the media has screwed the pootch regarding the statistics of "our war". They would rather report the number of hippies protesting a particular battle than to accurately report the number of combatants "on both sides", casualties, objectives and results of that battle.

When I see that, I think of the Minister of Propaganda that Hitler had during the second world war when he reported lies to the German people or, worse than that, committed the "Sins of Omission" by telling them nothing.

In any event, I'm beginning to wonder if the focus here should not have been titled: "You should have seen this coming". It might as well have been titled: "It's here so let's get going".

I'll try to get back on topic and continue with Flight School and then Vietnam. Thanks for understanding and thanks especially to those who leave comments. It helps a great deal to know who is reading and what their thoughts or questions are.

taking a break from the story

I have a major case of the roaring red ass today. I've been writing a story regarding the size and scope of the battles we took part in while we served in Vietnam so I could compare our battles to the more commonly understood battles of the second World War.

Since my Uncle Morris Ray McInnis fought on Guadalcanal, I decided to use that as a battle to gather enemy troop strength, length of battle and the number of enemy troops killed. When I finished reading that, I went on to our part of the war that used to be described as: "Nixon's Secret War". It covered the war in Cambodia which I was a part of.

That, as they say, was when the fecal matter hit the oscillating device. The report gave me a number but the 40,000  people it referred to was the number of protesters raising hell in Washington and another "4 dead in Ohio".  

To add insult to injury, that information came from a report that is actually being taught at a University here in the USA. It seems to me that the kind of politically biased reporting that was going on back then, continues to go on today and is now being taught to our young ones. Don't know what I'm going to do but you can bet I'm going to do something.

When the khaki and white shirt wearing guy from Saigon gave us the briefing the day before we invaded, he told us that there were 8,000 North Vietnamese Army Regulars bunkered down in the Chup Rubber Plantation in Cambodia. That was 2 and a half times as many enemy soldiers as the Japs were reported to have the day we invaded Guadalcanal. The Chup was owned by Michelin Tire Company and they fined us $50.00 for every tree we destroyed. I have not purchased a Michelin tire since the day of the invasion which was 42 years ago.

I will end this by saying that we should go back to the old ways of reporting during war time. Ernie Pyle is still held in the highest esteem and that idiot Heraldo Rivera, who was "embedded" in Iraq, was reporting his position on CNN and thereby, giving away our position.

Somebody needs to fix the historical accounts of the war that has been made up by reporters instead of real enemy troop numbers and the statistics surrounding the larger battles. Hue, Khe Sahn, Tet of 68 and others, are statistically as large or larger than many battles during the second World War and the public needs to know that we never lost a battle.

That, and the actions of the 93rd Congress, is something that the news media seems to stay away from. I intend to publish something, I just don't know what it will be at the moment. I'm pissed for our guys and all the ones who gave their lives and continue to deal with the wounds they received in that war while doing what they were ordered to do.

Cross Country and Killin' Turkeys

After we finished with the solo part of our training, we went on to many other aspects of Primary. One was cross country trips where our navigation skills were to be tested. The trip chosen was Ft. Wolters to Ft. Sill, Oklahoma and back. We dug out our VFR enroute charts (Visual Flight Rules)and plugged in our weather information regarding winds aloft. When I say "plugged in" I don't mean anything relative to an electrical appliance tht we could use to navigate with. It was a hand held device that would fit in your pocket and allowed us to calculate headings that would adjust for wind drift. It's really much more than that but for you non rated readers out there, I just wanted to explain that we didn't have any modern equipment in the trainers except for a radio to communicate with and another radio that would tune in an AM station and point the way to that station. That was it. In any event, we produced our flight plans which included magnetic course corrected for wind drift, land marks, estimated fuel consumption, fuel remaining at destination and estimated time of arrival at Ft. Sill. We were really excited about it because we hadn't be able to do anything after solo except pinnacle approaches, confined areas and the more tedious work of precision flight such as autorotations and other emergency procedures. Needless to say, when the day came for take off, everybody in the flight was literally on Cloud 9. Given a safety briefing, we headed for the flight line and the usual preflight, pre take off check lists and take off. Once we were heading away from Ft. Wolters, we really began to think of ourselves as pilots. Checking the enroute charts and making sure that we hit each land mark at the exact time estimated, we became more and more confident. That was a mistake. There were many safety regulations in place with procedures mandating what we were to do if we encountered any problems enroute. Right now, I can't remember if Shepard Air Force Base was before or after Bowie, Texas but I remembered the excitement many of us had in anticipation of flying past the boys with the jets. In the middle of a somewhat comforting cruise mode, all of a sudden it happened. I lost my rotor tachometer. This wasn't as bad as it sounded as the engine tachometer was slaved to the rotor tach and we could insure that the rotor RPM was in the green if the engine RPM was in the green. Despite that, a landing was mandatory. I don't remember what kind of helicopter was being used as a maintenance chase ship but the Flight Commander and the mechanic were both flying in that ship. After a brief exchange of radio transmissions, I was given instructions to make a precautionary landing at the airstrip in Bowie, Texas which I already had lined up on my VFR chart. Shortly thereafter, I made a radio call "in the clear" that simply announced "Attention all aircraft in the vicinity of Bowie, Texas, Army Helicopter 1234 will be landing north in 3 minutes". We have to announce ourselves that way when there is no control tower to monitor take offs and landings. Feeling pretty safe with my autorotational skills and the engine tach purring like a kitten, I began a long approach to the field at Bowie. When I came to within a mile or so, I notice a large area adjacent to the only runway I could see, that contained something in it that was black. As I began to make my short final approach, the entire black mass started moving. It was then that I began to see the huge fence around the property and that the large black mass was a million turkeys strutting away from the field at high speed. Being from Louisiana, one of the larger chicken producing States, I'd never seen a Turkey farm and just figured that they would be raised in houses just like chickens. That wasn't the case in Texas where everything is done on a large scale. Despite the stampede and the somewhat irate farmer who was headed toward the air strip, I made my landing as did the chase ship. When he crossed the strip to where we were parked, the Flight Commander met him and took care of all the communications. He only raised his voice in the beginning of the conversation and I don't know what the Commander's comment was but I know that he became very quiet after they met. The rotor tach problem was repaired in no time and we were given orders to catch up to the main flight and make it to Ft. Sill. We took off and luckily, had no other problems enroute. We landed at Ft. Sill and witnessed some really huge artillery pieces being moved into position for a firing exercise. Given instructions for the proper method of departure, we refilled, ate a sandwich and took off for the return trip to Ft. Wolters. Except for fighting the urge to go to sleep, we made it back with no problems. This may seem very short as some of my postings become quite lengthy but I'm pretty well knocked out with the new medication change that came with my blood test failure and I'm having a little trouble concentrating. No spell check today. Will try to do better tomorrow or Saturday.

Anybody can have sex but..................

The week of August 11th through the 15th of 1969 was easy for me to remember. A couple of guys in our Flight soloed and we were able to go to the Holiday Inn in Mineral Wells to observe a long standing tradition. The Holiday Inn had allowed the school to place a couple of rotor blades close to the swimming pool and first solo flight students were taken there to walk under the blades that were crossed in an arch and then thrown into the pool. It was a tradition that had been in place for quite some time and was considered by the students to be something kin to a Christening. For those of us who had finally mastered hovering, it was quite an exciting event. Soon after solo we would be dunked and then have a pair of wings sewn on our caps which showed everyone in the entire school that we had flown without the instructor. During that week, Diable started showing up every night. Instead of staying on our asses about polished boots or inspection issues, he began a question and answer period where we could ask anything we wanted to about flying. During one of those times, he brought out a wooden chair and two broom sticks that were cut off to a length that was close to the length of a cyclic and collective control stick. When someone would ask anything relative to any maneuver, Diable would tell them to "Get in the chair". We did that several nights in a row and Diable continued to explain the control positions and why they needed to be placed in any given position for the maneuver. I continued to view him as one of the McInnis brothers sharing their experiences in war. It's easy to remember those dates because the following Monday, August 18th, I soloed. When Monday came, Mr. Chapman and I flew from the main heliport to the stage field and did a couple of autorotations on the way. When we arrived at the stage field, we went to the area where hover practise was underway. We did a couple of hovering autorotations and then, simple hover maneuvers. After that, Chapman told me it was time for me to have a check ride with the Flight Commander. I must have said something to him because he told me not to worry that it was normal for the Flight Commander to check student progress and that nothing was wrong. He added, "whatever you do, if he gives you an autoration, make damn sure you make your landing into the wind". He then repeated himself and said: "Do NOT attempt to land downwind during autorotation". Chapman got out of the helicopter and Flannigan got in. He began the flight check with "Let's go", and that was all he said. I took off to the north being careful to gain as much airspeed as I could before I made my left turn out to the downwind leg. Half way through the downwind leg, he "chopped the throttle" and cut the power. I knew I was going to have an autorotation but I didn't expect it right off the bat. I was ready none the less and remember reciting the autorotation creed. "Put the nose in the wind, Rotor RPM Good, airspeed good". I remember that the completion of the 180 turn found me lining up with nothing but trees and very rough scrub brush in the only area I could make. I thought I'd blown it. When we were down to a pretty low aliitude, Red took the controls and put us back in the traffic pattern. While doing so, he said: "Good job, you can NOT make a downwind landing here and even if you had to go into the rough, you'd be better off than losing it downwind in a clear field". Once he put us back on the downwind leg he said: "You got it, get us on the ground". With that, I made my downwind to base leg then on to final and a full stop landing. I hovered to the parking spot and Flannigan got out. I noticed Chapman standing by Flight Ops and, running his index finger across his throat, he signaled me to shut it down. When I did, he motioned for me to come to him. While I was getting the helicopter shut down, I noticed that he and Flannigan were talking. I wondered what they were saying but I knew that whatever it was, two things existed. First had to do with putting the nose in the wind on autorotation and the second was the fact that he said "Good Job". I was still nervous as hell but continued with my shut down then made it to where Chapman was standing. Chapman told me to get it refueled and that he would be out in a minute. I went back to the Hiller as the fuel truck was showing up. Soon after that, Chapman showed up and after another pre-flight examination, we got in and he told me to fire it up andhover to the north end of the field. When I did, he told me to put it down. Then, in typical instructor pilot gargon, he said: "You've scared me enough today so I'm getting out". He then said: "You take it around yourself and come back here and pick me up". I wasn't shocked but I was super excited and had an attention to detail moment. I will never forget the take off portion of my solo. I nailed all of it was thrilled with the first leg of the circuit. I made around the field and hit the altitude and airspeed dictates right on the numbers. When I was on final approach, I notice Chapman still standing in the same spot. I made to that point and saw a huge grin on his face. I was totally stoked. I was now one of the annointed ones. Even though I didn't have a set of wings on my chest or any Warrant Officer bars on my shoulders, I knew that I had made it through that part of the training where most of the wash outs failed. August 18th, 1969. I will never forget that morning or the instant I was thrown in the pool at the Holiday Inn. Throughout the rest of that week, most if not all of us, soloed. I was amazed that I was only 1 month and 14 days past the night I had to make love to the water fountain when I reported for duty AWOL on July 4th. When the numbers added up at the Flight Commanders Office, Flannigan felt that a speech was warranted. When we returned to the main heliport and assembled in the class room, he took the podium. The class fell silent as he stood there and looked each of us in the eye. With that, he began his speech, one that I clearly remember. He started with: "Anybody can have sex BUT not everybody can fly a helicopter by themselves". He talked to us about the many great things that happen in life such as having our children, buying a house, our first new car, getting married and a number of other things. He compared all of those things to solo flight and explained to us that no matter what we went on to accomplish in life, flying solo would always end up being the greatest achievement. He cautioned us to not let it go to our heads because we were going to begin a phase of flight training that included many difficult things such as cross country flight, pinnacle approaches, confined area landings and night flight. He explained that we were like baby birds who had just made their first flight and that we were a long, long way from becoming Army Aviators who would be instrument rated and comfortable in flying on instruments only. He mentioned that beyond the instrument rating there would be a transition course where we would be flying the turbine powered Hueys and added that they were day and night different from the old Hillers we'd been flying. It was a great speech and he was right with every statement he made. It was a great time for all of us that made it. Not all of us did. One guy washed out for attempting an autorotation landing downwind. I wish I had known that before Flannigan got in for my check ride, I would have felt a lot better about my decision to keep my nose in the wind and make my approach to the trees and the rough area around them. In any event, those of who soloed became Candidates at a different level. It was great and I began to look forward to more solo flights and the cross country part of training. Before I leave I would like to welcome Kenny Kooperman to the blog. Kenny was one of a few guys from high shcool that could do anthing that needed to be done automotively and has been successful in that business since I was in college. He was also a go cart racer that competed at the National level. Welcome aboard, Kenny. Ya'll stand by, I have one hell of a story to tell about my first cross country trip and the emergency landing I had to make.

"If you can keep it inside a football field, you'll be okay".

Mr Chapman was a great instructor pilot. He was patient and wise with many years of flying time under his belt. He was already greying and I knew he was getting toward the end of his career. If I had to guess, I would say that he was the oldest IP there and even many years senior to the Chief Instructor Pilot. He was alot like Diable in that he really hammered home "Attention to Detail". During the initial stages of flight instruction, we focused on preflighting the aircraft. I could write a book about that but suffice it to say that every nut, bolt and washer had to be visually inspected and many had to be touched and manipulated by hand to see if it was moving as it should or not moving at all..............as it should. Once we had finished the preflight, then there was a before starting check list. After that, there was a pre-take off checklist. After all that, there was a flight to one of the stage fields. They had names like "Soc Trang" and other villages and towns in Vietnam. I thought they would teach us how to hover first and then transition to all the other phases of flight but I was wrong about that. We worked on straight and level flight with alot of emphasis made on altitude, heading, airspeed and engine RPM control all the while doing instrument checks to make sure that all the operating levels stayed in the green. I had a little advantage over some of the guys that had never flown before. I'd had a little stick time over the years and knew enough about how it worked in a fixed wing aircraft to make some adjustments to helicopter flight controls. I'll not forget the odd feeling I had when the cyclic control stick was pushed forward during take offs because in a fixed wing, that was completely the opposite of what I'd experienced. From the very beginning, Mr. Chapman taught me the smallest things that every helicopter pilot needs to know. When I was first given the stick, I was using my arm and hand incorrectly. He told me to look at his right arm and note that he rested it on the top part of his right leg. By doing that, he told me that I wouldn't get into any "P I O", which was "Pilot Induced Oscillations". The result of resting my forearm on the upper part of my right leg allowed me to use only my wrist and hand when making control changes. As I recall it, he said something to the effect that "You can't grab the cyclic like a spoon when you are beating a cake mix for your mother". In any event, I nailed the control part of the cyclic stick and immediately learned that sometimes the smallest adjustments produced the best results. When we arrived at the stage field we started our approach. As he began the approach he told me to put my hands and feet on the controls while he was making the approach but to do so with only the smallest amount of pressure. I followed those instructions and understood quite hurriedly that slowly lowering the collective control stick, reducing power in very small amounts while staying in the green with the engine and rotor RPM, adding a touch of right pedal to counter act the torque and slowly moving the cyclic rearward, would produce what he called a "Sight Picture". A Sight Picture was actually a maneuver. It would allow you to visually put the threshold of the runway on a specific part of the chin bubble and therefore give you an angle of attack to use as a target. Once you had the Sight Picture where he wanted it, only small corrections were needed to nail a glide slope that would take us to the threshold. I managed to get that one right after a couple of approaches and asking him, "Can we do that again". He never failed to let me attempt any given maneuver whenever I asked for a repeat. It was a big confidence builder for me because in a matter of a few lessons, I felt really comfortable transitioning from traffic pattern altitudes as I lost altitude on the base to final leg of the approach and finally lined up the helicopter with a Sight Picture on final approach. Auto rotations were next. I'm thankful that he explained the maneuver before we did the first one. My initial reaction was one of surprise as I couldn't visualize "Turning off the power and flying to the ground to a touch down WITHOUT THE ENGINE ON". Despite that, when he showed me how it was done, he was talking a 100 miles an hour about everything he was doing as he was doing it. He would say "Ready?", I would answer "Yes Sir" and he would roll off the trottle, lower the collective to take all of the lift out of the rotor blades and push right rudder in to keep the heading straight. Despite it being an approach, he didn't pull back on the cyclic. This time he pushed it forward. He would tell me it was important to keep your airspeed up when doing auto rotations because doing so would allow you to transfer energy at the bottom of the approach when you "Flared" the helicopter. He further explained that he could actually gain rotor RPM even though the engine was not being used and he could do that by hauling back on the cyclic to transfer that forward speed to higher rotor RPM....and then he added, "Just like a leaf that twirls down". After I had managed to get through enough of those to satisfy him, he said: Now, my boy, it's time for you to hover this helicopter". We had heard stories about the first day of hovering and I was somewhat nervous but he calmed me down and assured me that I was going to still use the right arm on the right leg and still do many of the things I'd already done. At that point, he hovered over to the hover practise area which was nothing more than a large field adjacent to the stage field. When he stopped the helicopter 3' off the ground, he told me to stop "Following me Through", let go of the controls and to put my feet on the anti torque pedals. I did so and as he was hovering, he did pedal turns and let me experience the amount of control input needed to do that. After a couple of turns, he had me do it with my feet being the only thing that I was utilizing to make the turns. He had me take my feet off the pedals and grab the collective. I did that and as he hovered, he let me experience the small inputs that were needed to keep engine RPM and altitude in check. I caught on to that immediately as he had already taught me how to use my ears in determining the "Right Sound" that the engine should make when it was at the proper speed. I was beginning to like this alot as doing it one by one seemed to give me the confidence that I could do it. As a final step, he took the pedals and collective and gave me the cyclic while reminding me that it would only take small control inputs to keep it in place. I over controlled the first few times we tried it but before long he was satisfied with that and we broke for our lunch period. We went to the building and had the daily sandwhiches that were provided for us inside the stage field terminal. After lunch, we were off again for more hovering. This time, it was my turn to do or die. He told me that he would get it to 3 feet and then it was up to me. MY GOD, I didn't crash but I flew in every direction possible except backwards. He kept saying: "Think ahead of the aircraft, fundamentals, fundamentals, fundamentals." As I worked my way through it, I managed to calm down and get the hover down pat. It really is hard to do when you are doing it for the first time on your own without his feet and hands also on the controls. Despite that, after the earlier crazy attitudes the old Hiller was taking, I finally hit it on the head and could actually do it. He told me to set it down and then pick it up..............slowly, very slowly. I got through that okay and he had me do numerous pedal turns and more sit downs and pick ups. At the end of all that, he announced that he was very pleased and was ready to return to the Main Heliport after one more trip around the traffic pattern. He took us to the take off position, announced "You have the controls" and I picked it up, took off, made a full traffic pattern and an approach to 3' where he took over. I couldn't believe I made it without some kind of screw up. He let me fly back to the Main Heliport and allowed me to do most of the flying except for that part where we flared to stop and hover to our parking spot. I remember it well because I expected him to make me do all the work after I had managed to get the hovering part to an acceptable level. I'll leave you with that for now as Tim Jr and I have some errands to run but Stand by, I have another Diable story AND my first solo coming next. TB

Learning to Hover and Diable goes nuts.

Before I get into the madness of learning how to hover, I would like to welcome former Chief Warrant Officer Mike Olinger to the blog watchers list. Right after I left the Slick Platoon and finished my career as a Night Hawk Gunship Pilot, I transferred to the Scout Platoon and transitioned into the Hughes 500/OH-6. Mike and I flew scouts with the Cobra Gunships and were, for the most part, referred to as the "low boys" on Hunter Killer Teams with the scouts being the hunters. During my time in the Scout Platoon, Mike was my closest friend. All of that ended when Mike was shot down and wounded so badly that he had to be evacuated back to the U.S. WELCOME ABOARD, MIKE. There are many Air Cav Troopers reading this blog and Lt. Doug Haywood, Raider 6, is one of them. DIABLE GOES NUTS. Despite the fact that we were knee deep in studies, inspections and the first couple of days of actual flight training, a little inter Flight competition unfolded. We had a couple of close friends in A2 and, like a group of fraternity boys, we started stirring the pot. Oddly enough, the more we stirred it, the more we had to pay the price for doing so. It could have been Bandusky or Larabee that took the bait but we stepped up the rumors that we spent our evenings shooting the breeze with Diable about flying instead of spit polishing everything in sight and preparing for inspections. In a sense, this was true but it wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, an everyday occurrence. Diable stayed on us and continued to hammer home his attention to detail mantra and we spent countless hours polishing everything in sight. I don't know exactly how it started but the guys in A2 almost certainly told Savage that A1 was doing "this or that". I don't know how all of that translated into a punishment tour commanded by me, but it sure did. I ended up at the head of the Flight, all neatly standing at attention in the parking lot, listening to Diable chew our butts out for starting "craziness" with the other Flights. From that, he decided that we had it too easy and needed to get a little excercise to calm us down. Before I knew it, I was given orders to march the 30 man Flight until he returned with futher instructions. I called the Flight to attention, ordered left face, forward march, and off we went across the parking lot. When Diable was out of sight, we heard the guys in A2 laughing at us from the open windows on the second floor. I called out "first squad to the rear, march, Second squad to the rear, march, Third squad to the rear, march". By the time I had the entire Flight marching along in a single file instead of the proper 4 column formation, I really started a show. The other Candidates were laughing at us and I wanted to show them that we had our military marching maneuvers down pat and much better than the other 3 Flights. Before it was over with, I had the Flight engaged in marching maneuvers all over the parking lot. I even moved them 90 degrees off the marching line followed by an immediate column right maneuver with more "to the rear march" commands to put them back in single file. With regard to marching in precision military formations, we had it as together as any Flight in the 5th WOC if not the entire school. As a final show of "COOL" to the other Flights that were watching us closely, I ordered them in the direction of our barracks where I opened the door and had them march single file through the main entrance door. I had to get us out of sight. I can only imagine what the other Flights thought but as soon as we made it inside the barracks the rest of A1 started laughing their butts off. There was more than one "Way to Go Butler" from the Flight. I marched them down the hallway,gave them a left turn into the showers and then began the march back to the parking lot. Unfortunately for me and Steve Diehl, the other co-conspirator involved here, Diable caught us before we reached the barracks door. He jumped me immediately and began giving me the standard Matlock styled cross examination. When he found out that I did it because the other Flights were looking at us and laughing, I noticed that his eyebrows dropped. I had no idea what was going on in that head of his but I knew that the statement about the other Flights looking and laughing at us, changed his demeanor. I just told him the truth and admitted that I was going to take our Flight completely out of sight and remove the opportunity for the other Flights to keep screwing with us. Oddly enough, even though I'm sure he got it and agreed it was a cool maneuver, he had us march outside so he could chew our asses out in front of the other Flights. Right after that, he sent us to the barracks and followed us in. He went to the shower stalls, found tracks on the floor and ordered a complete refurbishment of the shower area, including paint. You may wonder how in the hell I could remember all of this after 42 years and 7 months. Rather than get into all of that, I will simply publish a picture of me and Diehl on the night of the paint punishment tour because I had one of the guys take one for my records concerning our time under Diable's command. How's that for having proof? I'll probably need to get Tim Jr to post the picture so that I won't have another duplication like you see with the pictures (plural) of Flight A1 on the first page of this blog. In any event, not only was it a madhouse in the barracks, we started hover practise in the morning. To add to the craziness, Fred Thompson and the guys had returned from California and their simulator training. That may not sound like much but the fact that Fred brought his POV with him, a very strict rule and a "NO NO", was enough to completely screw up our entire world. No place was safe and everyplace was full of pressure. I didn't know it until much later but despite Fred's infraction of driving a customized California Surfer's Van back from simulator training, a guaranteed wash out infraction, Diable went to work at Company Headquarters on his behalf. He was so certain that Fred had the "Right Stuff". Kicking him out of the program because he wanted his van to take to Rucker when we graduated, was NOT acceptable to him. Diable ended up having an argument with the 5th WOC Commanding Officer and threatened to throw his Warrant Officer bars on the line if he didn't let Fred stay. He backed Fred's spirit and his cohesion in the Flight by actually threatening to leave the Army if the Captain kicked Fred out of flight school. That, my boys, is what you call a bad ass Tac Officer and Diable was surely one of those. I didn't realize it would take so long for me to get this post together as it took much longer for me to get my old lap top started and bring up the picture of me and Steve Diehl. Despite that, the first day of hover training will have to wait until tonight or tomorrow as it is Saturday and noon time is approaching fast. Stand by guys, hovering starts very soon.

The Wings of Mercy and the Torch of Death

The madness of our schedule and the fatigue that came with it was the only thing that made it feel like it took forever before we made it to the flight line to start our flight training. In reality, it was a very short period of time.

I tried to stay focused on the big picture such as ground school details, but many parts of flight school were small and seemingly insignificant at the time. That changed one day. As time went on and Mr. Diable's insistence that we paid very close attention to every detail intensified, a certain reality surfaced regarding that little shoulder patch that was neatly sewn on our flight suits.

At first, it looked as simple as an Olympic torch with a pair of wings attached to it. When we asked Diable what the real meaning was and where it came from, he told us a story that was very well portrayed by the patch. It was "The Wings of Mercy and the Torch of Death".

Although the story was somewhat lengthy, it all boiled down to the capacities we would have as helicopter pilots in the U.S. Army. Diable told us a story about saving the lives of those who were in danger of dying. He made sure that we got the point regarding helicopters being a highly specialized part of the aviation community and explained how we would be able to do that better than any other mode of transportation.

He also let us know that we would be able to save the lives of the men on the ground who were under attack by bringing death and destruction from the skies and doing that in a manner that was unique to all other forms of aerial support.

When Diable explained all these things to us, there were many of the guys who began to talk about flying gunships, Chinooks, Troop carrying Hueys or medi-vacs that we called "Dustoff". Somehow or another, that little patch brought with it a realization of how serious our career path was. The Attention to Detail sermons that Diable gave us, were beginning to take on a different degree of importance.

When we started going to the flight line instead of living our daily lives in classroom after classroom, the excitement index hit an all time high and the adrenal rush helped us all deal with the fatigue from such a difficult schedule. Despite all the excitement from that, things were changing inside the barracks, too. Fred Thompson and the other guys who had already left for simulator training in California, was sorely missed. Seems like there was a kind of emptiness on our end of the hall.

The change from a 100% classroom environment to flying was a much larger change for us. It even smelled differently as the aviation fuel was always around us and with the fuel checks and fuel drains we dealt with at the beginning of every flight, it changed our smell as well.

The instructor pilots were 110% focused on teaching us to fly and never once asked to see if the bottoms of our boots were polished. We felt as if we were almost without supervision when we left for the flight line until one day, Mr. Diable showed up.

I saw him talking to Red Flannigan, a large, red headed Irishman who was the Director of Flight Ops in our section. I remember him distinctly as he had red hair with light streaks of grey running through it and freckles on his face and arms. For some reason, being half McInnis, I felt like I had something in common with him and wanted him to know that half of the blood flowing in my veins was McInnis.

Later on that day I was told that Mr. Diable had come to fly one of the helicopters. When my instructor pilot told me the specifics of the flight, he said that Flannigan told him that Diable had "THE TOUCH".

He explained that "The Touch" meant that Diable had so much flight experience that he could fly a helicopter that was not normally the one he'd being flying for years and he could fly it with a great degree of precision. I knew that this was a great compliment about his flying skills as even the instructors were impressed by it.

When we returned to the barracks after flying all day, Mr. Diable showed up and I asked permission to discuss flying. He told us to go ahead and we began with many different questions. In one of those rare opportunities, he told us to gather round and he began to talk about his flying experiences in Vietnam.

Needless to say, we were mesmerized by the tales of combat and especially one where he related a time where the NVA attempted to fly some of their helicopters down to the Au Shau Vallley. He made it clear that it was, to his knowledge, the last attempt at doing anything like that. I couldn't remember if he was there when that occurred but I never forgot the story and wondered if we would ever have to face any air to air combat with an NVA helicopter.

As he continued with his stories of flying helicopters in combat, I remember thinking that he was exactly like the McInnis Brothers that I wrote about early on in this story. He, just like my Uncles, was meeting his responsibility to pass on his experiences to the younger guys.

I was stoked and despite the fact that I had already begun to like his style, I then began to like the person I knew he was. I couldn't believe that I was getting all this information first hand and, as they say, getting it from the horses mouth. It was a very special moment for all of us who heard him tell the stories and there are many of us to this day that hold him very high among all of the instructors we had in the Army. I can still hear Miles say "He's not an Instructor or a Teacher, he's an educator and there's a difference".

I'll leave you with this small part of the first few days of going to the flight line and come back soon. I needed to take a break as I've had a wee bit of a set back and needed to go to the hospital yesterday for a reboot. I'm doing better so far today and hope to continue later this evening or no later than Saturday. While you are waiting, you may try to Google "The Wings of Mercy and the Torch of Death". I'm not sure if the patch will come up but give it a try, it may just be there.

Stand by for more later.

Intermission Video

A friend of mine that I helped get into flight school sent this to me today and I thought that it would be appropriate to stop for a minute and mention the McInnis Brothers that I wrote about earlier in this epistle. Thank God they all survived.

There were many from my class that didn't but I will go into that later. I just wanted to attach this now as I'm told that I have gotten too far ahead on the posts and some are not yet past the portion of it that covers my college years. Please spend a moment watching this brief video. If it doesn't open with a click, please cut and paste to your address book as it will be well worth it. Just click below and give it a try. Thanks to all. Tim

http://www.youtube.com/v/RU1oB8sGyYM

5th WOC, getting into high gear

The "Command Madness" found in the first week at Wolters finally came to an end when Diable showed up. We just didn't know it as it seems that we had a new boss every day and the rules, as well as the habits, were subject to change daily.

He brought an immediate change in standards with him and did so without having to do much more than just show up . Those of us at the end of the hall closest to his office were the lucky ones in that we figured it out first.

I didn't know it then but I eventually found out that our schedule was forced to a crazy level because of required class times and future class openings at Ft. Rucker. Unlike Northwestern where you may take a full load of 15 hours of college credit, spread it out over one semester and do that with a few hours of class every day, this was wide open all the time.

If you think about it a minute, a 3 hour college credit could be earned by attending a one hour long class, 3 times a week. There were no Monday, Wednesday, Friday class schedules for us. To earn 15 hours of college credit in a single semester, you could actually accomplish that in 15 hours of class every week. We were closer to 40. As a comparative analysis, we were running along at a 40 hour college credit every semester instead of 15. It would soon become the most physically and mentally demanding thing I had ever done.

It took a while for us to connect the dots that we were behind the schedule but none of us knew how far behind we were until we graduated and transferred to Ft. Rucker. It was at that time that we figured out that we were so late, we completely missed Class 70-05 at Rucker and were classified as 70-07. 

Diable, knowing that all along, never let on that he was going to attempt something that never occurrerd during his time in flight school or with any other Flight within our class. To accomplish that without killing us and losing the entire Flight, he made small changes within. It was a blessing for us and something that eventually made us the envy of the other 3 Flights within the 5th WOC.

One morning another Candidate from Flight A 2, came downstairs with a sour look on his face and asked: "How many guys in your Flight failed inspection this morning?" His question was answered with "Our Tac doesn't make us do that shit, he has us review yesterday's class and prepare for today's tests".

I think it was Fred Thompson that gave the answer because I recall the end of his statement being somewhat embellished with his last comment that said: "You mean you guys have to do inspections?"

None of  us were surprised to see the Company Commander show up the following day to personally observe one of Diable's inspections. In view of Thompson's comment, the word spread like wildfire and made it to the main office where the CO decided that he would look into it.

Somehow, Diable found out about it and when we returned from class that afternoon, we had a night time inspection, something that never happened before or since.

 Diable made it a point to show the CO the bottoms of the boots that were polished and without any pieces of stone in the sole. Needless to say, shortly thereafter, the guys in the other Flights were bitchin' about the fact that "their crazy ass tac officer" was making them inspect the bottom of their boots for rocks and also demanding that the bottoms be polished. I loved it.

As another sneak peek at Diable's method of operating, we were surprised to find him come to our class one day to do "an audit". He wanted to know what we were studying and how we were conducting ourselves in the class and how the grades were unfolding..

As another one of those discoveries that I refer to as: "We didn't know it at time", Diable had his own agenda as it related to his performance as one of four tac officers in the Company. Not only was he going to achieve the best inspection record, he was bound and determined that A1 was going to be the top Flight in the entire Company.

I can't remember how long ground school lasted but even though it seemed to take forever before we were taken to the main heliport to start flying, the day came and we were really ready.

Not all of us in our Flight would go as several were chosen to take their initial training in California where the newest methods of training students in simulators was being tested. Fred Thompson was one of them and, being a kid from California, he loved it and would simply describe it as "bitchin'".

Our Flight seemed to have a disproportionately higher number of students selected for simulator training than any other flight. We really didn't know the total numbers going but when they were readying themselves for departure and we asked guys in the other Flights, most of them didn't know anything about it.

Miles said that Diable was behind it and almost certainly had submitted forms that were given each tac officer to provide information that would allow the CO to make the final decision based on a Candidates grades, inspection grades, attitude and prior flight experience..

With all the sneaking around, coming to our classes, showing up at night and other things, the guys at the other end of the barracks started calling him "Dinky Diable" as they viewed his actions as "Dinking Around".

Miles, more than anybody else, loved it. The reason he did had to do with a number of factors including his many years of prior service.

We depended on him to keep us in the loop about things because all of us on our end of the barracks had only been in the Army long enough to make it through Boot Camp and therefore, didn't know how things worked. Miles had been around for years and years.

On our end of the hall we still focused on those Hawk Eyes he had and, as a result of that, he never really had a nick name affixed to him other than the seldom used "Shooter" or Beady Eye Bernie". This wasn't by any means, a negative name but one more closely focued on how he seemed to see everything as a target to be attacked and overcome. In the end, our end of the hall was right.

I'm going to cut this off now as it's time for me to get on with my day to day stuff. Stand by for the actual flying part of this epistle as there are stories that will spike your curiosity about many things. More coming.

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Machen's Replacement.

I stayed up until 1 o'clock this morning trying to figure out a way to describe the moment I met Machen's replacement. As I went through the memories and continued to have trouble with it, I finally concluded that I was having trouble because my perception of him at first sight, was totally wrong.

As I look back upon it, I have a large number of flashes coming from my memory bank. Most of them were so far off course, it caused a writers block but I've come to the point here where I'm just going to tell it like I saw it and you make up your mind.

Morris and I were always the last one to see who was on deck because we were occupying the last cubical on the left and were fartherest away from the entrance door of the barracks. When we heard someone shout: "Ahhhhtennnnnhut", before we  had a chance to get up and assume the position of attention at the end of our bunks, we heard him say "Stand At..........EASE".

This had never h appened before. A call to attention was always followed by someone growling if not yelling instructions to us, often times, in our faces. When I stood at ease, I looked down the hall to the other end of the barracks and saw him.

He created one hell of a sight to us because we had never seen a tac officer or anyone else wearing a steel pot as they always wore the cover of the day which was typically the slim cover we called a "Piss Cutter". I don't know where the term piss cutter came from but it looked like a cloth envelope with no brim or rim around it. In any event, he had on his steel pot and it was painted black and looked like it had 400 coats of black enamel on it with multiple coats of clear behind that.

At the first sight of someone that was so impeccably uniformed, I heard a couple of the guys say: "Oh, shit". I will confess that my first look at the man walking down the hall stimulated a whisper to Morris where I said: "It looks like George Patton's son". I could go on and on about the degree of polish that we saw on his helmet, shoes, belt buckle and bars but suffice it to say that after what we had been through, we didn't know what to think and the entire Flight was at a loss for words.

Every second of those first few moments was a sight that was compared to the young and lower ranked Super Seniors that did our in-processing, the Old First Sgt that was eyeballing us as we arrived and Machen who was really over weight and totally focused on going home. It was the greatest contradiction of sight that any of us had seen.

Instead of chewing our asses and asserting his power and rank, his first words came out and also created a shock. He told the first few Candidates to "Follow Me", as he continued to walk down the aisle. No one had a clue what was coming next. When he reached the end of the aisle where his office was, he turned around, looked at  his Flight and said: "Gather Round".

Once he did, he invited us to take a seat on the floor and began his opening speech to us. He started with an introduction: "I am Chief Warrant Officer Benard T. Diable, You will refer to me as SIR or MR. DIABLE. I am you tac officer and I WILL BE HERE WITH YOU from now on until you graduate or wash out". I will NOT teach your ground school nor will I be your instructor pilot. I WILL however, teach you the things you need to learn in order to STAY FUCKING ALIVE in a combat environment that you will soon find yourself in".

I don't remember anything beyond that particular part of his speech but I do remember the shock we were all going through with the change. When he finished the first communications he had with us, he told us to fall out and get into formation in the parking lot. Many of us thought: "Holy Shit, here it comes".

As we lined up in the parking lot, Mr Diable began at one end of the formation and began his inspection and inquiries about each and every man. He pointed out a problem with every man's uniform and whether it was sub standard polish on the boots, a bad haircut, gig line out of order or a belt buckle that looked like something that was tarnished from too many days on a Tuna Boat, he found something wrong with every single Candidate in the entire Flight. Again, we thought : "Oh shit, here it comes".

After he finished with that,  he started all over again. He went back to the first Candidate in line and started asking: What's your full name, where are you from, how long have you been in the Army, are you married, did you bring your POV with you? A POV is a "privately owned vehicle" and was a rule that was, under no circumstances, allowed without special consideration and written permission..

We were hoping that we would have a little break but that was not to be. He took us back into the barracks and inspected our lockers. You guessed it, there wasn't a single locker that he didn't find fault with. One of us had our socks in the wrong place, another had his blouse hung incorrectley and THEN, the coupe de grass, BOOTS. This is when we knew we were in trouble.

He picked up a pair of boots that were highly spit shined and possibly the best prepared pair of boots in the Flight, and slowly turned them over. He looked very closely at the bottom of the boot and said: "Ah Ha, look at this". 

He lifted the boot and displayed the bottom. He pointed out that there was a pebble stuck in the sole of the boot. It wasn't any bigger than the size of a bb but to him, it was the mortal sin. He began a speech about paying attention to detail and that missing a detail as large as this was an indication that we didn't have the type of "Attention to Detail Skills" that were required to be a safe pilot. I WILL,
he said, correct your shortcomings in this area. From this moment forth, you will NEVER allow a descrepancy such as this tarnish an inspection. When he finished, he looked at  us and in a loud voice said: "DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR". We collectively responded with Sir, Yes Sir. After that he left the building and we began to talk about the things we had just seen.

Miles, being the most experienced of everyone in the Flight was picked to supply the answers. When we asked him for his opinion, he told us that DIABLE IS THE REAL DEAL. He went on to say that he had seen the un-mistakeable yellow of the Vietnamese Campaign ribbon, neatly pinned on his chest.

With all the other medals there and all the colors that came with them, they were referred to as SALAD. Miles said that "this guy has enough salad to open a resturant. As an explanation of that he told we newbies that Diable had pretty much been there and done that and we should listen very carefully to everything he says regarding attention to detail even if we thought that polishing the bottom of our boots was stupid. He closed his explanations by telling us that we were lucky and that so far, Diable was best thing he'd seen since he arrived at the Preflight reception station.

Everybody agreed with Miles' conclusion that we were fortunate to have him and that he stood much more than head and shoulders above any officer we'd seen since we had arrived. Despite all that, there was something that still bothered me, Morris, Thompson and a couple of the other guys.

It had to do with his eyes. He had the most piercing eyeballs I'd ever seen on anyone. As we talked about it, Miles joined in to discuss that part of the conversation. He told us that he had seen that before.

Miles said that it might be due to his tour of duty in Vietnam and that he had possibly seen too much combat. He also said that at some point in time we needed to find out what it was that he did in Vietnam and, that hearing the details would almost certainly define the "look" he had. Miles said that he thought Diable was a shooter, the term commonly referred to guys that flew gunships.

After we broke away from those discussions and finally got in our racks to try and get a little shut eye before the next day began, I continued to think about the sight picture I had when I first saw him.

I had a gymnastic instructor at Northwestern who was named Vega. He had actually made it to the Olympics and was one fhose guys who could do the balance beam. the rings, tumbling and any other event in the field of gymnastics. He was a guy who didn't have so much as one single gram of fat in his entire body and he was bad ass to the bone.

In more modern day terms, I visualized that opening walk as one that could have been copied from Chuck Norris. I still couldn't make up my mind if we had a Karate Champion, George Patton's son or a natural born killer on our hands.

I was hoping like hell that I was wrong and that we really had a combat helicopter pilot who had the discipline of a martial artist. At that point, being day number one with Diable, it was too soon to tell what we had. All we knew surrounded the fact that Miles said he was the real deal and that we were really lucky to have him as our tac officer.

The thing that compounded our initial fears that he might be a maniac, unfolded the next morning when the entire company fell out for formation and the dirty dozen exercises that were to be our pre breakfast routine.

On that morning, I met the tac officer from the Flight upstairs and in an instant, I figured something out. His name was "Savage" and he had a face that went perfectly with the name. I immediately and incorrectly concluded that the 5th WOC was infested with tac officers that had either seen too much combat or simply wanted to train the new breed of pilots to become killers like I thought they were.

I will stop here as the initial experiences of having Mr. Diable as a tac officer, had already been survived. I will put this down and prepare for the Super Bowl but I will continue with the idiosyncracies that unfolded from his character and show some specifics that came from all that.

Enjoy your day. More coming soon. Tim

Welcome to 5th WOC.

It didn't take long for us to grab our gear and "Head Up The Hill". Our every thought had been focused on the exact moment we would be called to start flight training and when the word came, we were outta there in a heart beat.

As the bus passed the PX with the Huey, topped the hill, and headed toward the 5th WOC, we got our first full glance at the Ft. Wolters Main Heliport. It was literally covered with Hiller OH 23D model  helicopters. From the back of the bus there were comments coming left and right and they ranged from "Holy Shit" to "Jeeeeesus Christ, get a load of THAT".

Some of the Hillers were hovering for take off, some actually taking off and heading to the training fields north of the main heliport and others were sitting on the ramp, preparing to hover for departure. It was quite a site and even though I had been to the main heliport that was owned by Petroleum Helicopters in Lafayette, Louisiana, one that was described as the largest fleet of privately owned helicopters in the world, nothing compared to the sight that was in front of us.

While we were still riveted to the sight of so many helicopters maneuvering around the main heliport, we began to pass some of the other Warrant Officer Candidate Company barracks. One of the guys said:"Oh shit, look at that. These barracks are nine days older than dirt. This place has to be as old as Ft Polk".

With that, many of us were eyeballing the older buildings and the troops standing there. We noticed that they weren't wearing standard military uniforms in that their hats were colored, not the usual Army OD Green wear that was standard issue.

A moment after that we came to a more modern building that was painted white and surrounded by an impeccably maintained yard. This was some kind of an auditorium where we would meet several times in the future and it was very nice, not the pre war facility that we were more accustomed to at Ft. Polk. We turned right and almost immediately stopped at the intrance to the parking lot of the 5th WOC where a super senior awaited our arrival.

Oddly enough, there really wasn't the kind of yelling and screaming that we were accustomed to. There was  however, a very firm and loud voice ordering us to get into formation, which we immediately did. Just to the right of our formation that was standing at attention in the parking lot, I noticed a brand new Lincoln that appeared to have just come from the new car show room floor. Next to that there were a couple of officers and one older black Top Sgt, who ran the company.

We went through a role call and were given our barracks assignments. Alphabetically, Butler was one of the first few names called and I discovered I was assigned to Flight Alpha 1. I heard Jimmy Dunnavant's name and was somewhat comfortable with the fact that I would already know somebody in my Flight.

Before we were sent to our new quarters to unload our gear and get settled in, we were instructed on the proper method of talking. That's right, the proper method of talking. Whenever we opened our mouth the first word out HAD to be SIR. When we were finished with the first SIR, we had to identify ourselves and give the reason for opening our mouth and then end that by repeating SIR.

"SIR, CANDIDATE BUTLER, REQUEST PERMISSION TO SPEAK, SIR".

At the end of any and all communciations we would sign off with "SIR". That let everybody know who we were addressing, who we were, what we wanted and then, in the proper manner of an aviator, we would finish by saying "SIR" to let the person to whom we were speaking know that we were finished.

This was the first of a series of analogous speech that would train us to speak properly and maintain a pilot's mind of communications by radio. In a sense, it was analogous to "Long Binh Tower, this is Thunderhorse Triple 3, request permission to land, over".

Now, being fully capable of speech, we were led to our barracks. I was fortunate because Flight A 1 was the closest barracks to the Commanding Officer's Office, the parking lot and the mess hall. I was pleased to find myself on the first floor as I wouldn't be hauling the tote bag or anything else, up and down a stairway.

I entered the door marked A 1 and walked all the way down the aisle until I found the cubical that had a short piece of yellow tape on it and marked "Butler and Morris". I didn't have a clue who Morris was but I was soon to find out that Mike Morris from California was to be my cubical mate and one of the more squared away Candidates in our Flight. He and I became close friends and, as a coincidence, both of us almost lost our lives in Vietnam on the same day in November of 1970.

Soon after that, I met Fred Thompson and James Miles. James was a prior service guy and one who, with all of his experience in the Army, became a mentor to all of us. Once the barracks were full, and as we were putting the final touches on our personal lockers, we heard someone yell out:  "ATTENNN HUT".

That was the moment we met Chief Warrant Officer Machen, our tactical officer, who from then on, was referred to as our "Tac Officer". Being at a rigid position of attention and not daring to "eyeball" anyone, I kept my eyes straight forward and waited while the sound of his footsteps continued to get closer and closer to my cubical.

He was giving his speech as he made his way from one end of the barracks to the other. He told us that the last room on the right was HIS ROOM and under no circumstances was anybody allowed in it.

When he passed us, I noticed that he had several rows of ribbons on his chest, a set of aviator wings and some highly polished shoes. I also noticed that he was somewhat over weight. Most of the pilots I had seen over the past few days I had been on post, were fit as a fiddle and did not appear to be anyone you would want to pick a fight with.

Not long after that first meeting I overheard a conversation he was having with someone where he was discussing the sale of his stock. I also discovered that he was the owner of the brand new Lincoln which was parked next to the CO's office. Further to that, I found out that he was leaving Ft Wolters almost immediately and would either be transferring to another unit or completely leaving the Army. I had a strange sense about that but I couldn't quite put my hand on what was wrong.

In any event, we got squared away and were called to formation and informed that we would march to the mess hall for lunch and we would do it in a sharp, military fashion. I don't remember if Machen called us to formation or not but I do remember that once we were in the mess hall, he was there giving instructions on the proper way to eat a "Square Meal". This did NOT  have anything at all to do with a "Balanced Diet" as a square meal was one where your fork or spoon was only allowed perfectly formed vertical and horizontal movements. I can remember thinking that I would be spilling food all over my uniform and catching hell for that.

Having survived the first half day as a candidate with Flight A1 at the 5th WOC, I wondered what the rest of the day would bring. As I recall, we were taken to a class room near the barracks and loaded down with study materials. I knew that ground school was going to begin immediately and I was thrilled that we were going to take the first step that would take us to the main heliport. I did however, find it a little strange that we hadn't been given our colored hats or any idea of what our schedules were to look like.

Despite that, at the most un-Godly hour of the morning and on my first full day in 5th WOC, we were awakened to the barking of someone yelling: "Off yer ass and on yer feet, outta the rack and into the street", or something close to that. We jumped up, readied ourselves in a heart beat and made formation for role call.

We were given our brown hats and told that this was the first day of the rest of our lives as, after the daily dozen excersizes we were to do every day from that day forward, we would be going to the mess hall for breakfast and then to the first full day of classes. 

We made it to and from the mess hall and, without any inspection at all, were given a little time to have a few things explained to us such as the proper way to lay out our lockers. Machen did that part of it but seemed to be in quite a hurry to get us out the door and off to ground school. It was a wonder because, unbeknown to us, it was the last time we would ever see him or his Lincoln.

At the end of our first partial day of class, we reported back to A1 only to find the older First Seargent waiting for us. He didn't explain anything regarding Machen or what was going on. He told us to get our shit in order and that he would return when we least expected it.

With everything in order, according to us, we laid our fatigue ridden bodies down and attempted to take a nap. As the First Shirt said, he returned when we least expected it. Finding us asleep, he went berserk and began to tell a story of a unit in Korea that was asleep when the North Koreans or Chinese decided to slip into their area and that many men were killed as a result of sleeping on duty.

Since most of the day was already gone, we made it to the mess hall and returned to the barracks to get our stuff squared away. Little did we know what was awaiting us there. It was Machen's replacement.

At this point, I will leave you with that and call it a night as the first day that Machen's replacement showed up, was a day that I remembered for the rest of my life. Stand by, more coming.







 





 



 

Hell week at Flight School and "Moving up the Hill".

Since there are so many new readers of the blog, I wanted to say that I hope that most of you have scrolled down to the first post I made in this series called "You must have seen this coming". A few, very important posts are there which are key elements in understanding the scope and point of the series.

It will serve you well if you can do that and rest assured that it won't be a waste of time. Several readers have already noted that they enjoyed that portion of the story because it so closely approximated the experiences they had with their own family. One of the readers, a former Chief Warrant Officer who also served as our tac officer at flight school, read it and asked if we were possibly related because his life and mine were almost duplications.

Having already experienced "Arrival" at Subiaco, Morris, St. Gregory's and Ft. Polk, I already knew the drill pretty well. Being asked to make love to a water cooler because I said that: "I would love a drink of water", didn't really bother me at all and in fact, made a fabulous entry into my experiences as the Army's newest Warrant Officer Candidate. You may well imagine how much I enjoy answering the questions from kids that asked: "When you got to flight school, what did you do"?

Depending on my audience, and in my best southern accent I would say: "Well shucks, I had to make out with a water cooler".................or..............."Heck fire, that's easy, I had to make love to a water cooler". To this day, those that ask, still enjoy that story. I've even had a comment from California from another WOC regarding that specific night.

Shortly after I signed in, I was turned over to someone who was described to me as a Super Senior. This was a Warrant Officer Candidate just like me but he had already gone through Primary, had soloed and graduated. He was just waiting for the class opening at Ft. Rucker, Alabama at which time he would leave Ft. Wolters and begin the Advanced Course for instrument training, Huey transition and combat tactics. .

Once the "show" was over and the yelling stopped, he took me aside and told me that I didn't need to worry because it was day and night different from boot camp and that there was lots and lots of classroom time coming and not nearly as much marching and drilling.

This was the first example of mentoring I had received and, even though it was just a small example, I decided right then and there that when I graduated,  I hoped to be assigned as a Super Senior to welcome new Candidates as they came in to begin their training.

I'll admit that I was initially uncertain about a few things because of my rapid removal from Basic Training at Ft. Polk, one that didn't even allow me to attend the graduation ceremonies. I questioned my incredibly good fortune because I had been taught that "if it looks too good to be true, it probably is".

In any event, once I made it through my first partial night at WOC reception, I was given a heads up on a few things that made me glad I did arrive early. One of the Super Seniors took a few of  us to the embroidery shop where we would be issued new uniforms. Ours weren't good enough as they didn't have "embroidered" name patches and weren't nearly as well "Fitting" as they needed to be for America's newest brand of warriors.

I'd never met a Vietnamese woman before but the one that took my new uniform and began to embroider my name and US ARMY on the blouse, was 100% Vietnamese who spoke a broken English that was understandable but somewhat broken. It reminded me of stories from WW II where the Japanese said: "So Solly".

As a function of good luck, they took us to the PX where we were ordered to get personal items such as shoe polish, shaving creme, tooth paste, tooth brush, polishing cloth, brasso and a number of other things that were mostly focused on personal hygiene and the world of "spit polish" that we were about to enter.

The neatest thing about the PX had to do with the fact that there was a Huey parked on the helipad that was right next to the PX. When we had an opportunity to look, I was the first one there. I'd seen Hueys flying all over Ft. Polk but had never seen one up close.

I was amazed at the cockpit as it had more instrumentation than anything I'd ever seen. Altimeter, airspeed, torque, EGT or exhaust gas temperature for the turbine engine, IVIS which was an instantaneous vertical speed indicator, OAT or outside air temperature gauge, ILS System for instrument landing and a flat panel that was marked: "Press to Test". That does not include a million circuit breakers in an overhead panel or the magnetic compass and a stack of VHF, UHF radios and an automatic direction finder. Looked like a space ship to me.

One of the guys said that the press to test panel had something to do with the "20 minute fuel warning system, metal chip detectors for the main rotor and tail rotor transmissions and other test items that were essential to safe flight. It was really cool and I immediately began to have dreams of flying it.

Instead of a control wheel, as was common place in the Pipers and Cessnas I'd received "Stick Time" in, it had a stick coming out of the floor that was called a cyclic stick. I deduced that it was for left and right turns. There was a control stick on the left side of both seats and I was told that it was more or less used for up and down. It was called the collective.

During the day, as we returned to the reception area, some of the other Candidates began arriving from other parts of the country. I was wondering if we were about to ship out to class and begin flight school but that was not to be.

The next day however, a large bus arrived with 45 new Candidates aboard and the Super Seniors entered the bus as it stopped and began their welcome. From my position just outside the bus, I could hear the screaming that welcomed the Candidates.

"Get your shit together as you have 10 seconds to load up and get your ass in formation". I laughed inside a little bit but dared not to show the Super Seniors that I saw any humor in it.

I was quite relieved to see Jimmy Dunnavant get off the bus. I had gone all the way through Basic with him at Ft. Polk and to me, it meant that everything was probably going to be okay or somewhat normal as it relates to the overall scope of things that happen when you are a newby and are wondering about the things that would happen next.

Shortly after that, I had an opportunity to talk to Jimmy. Right off the bat he asked: "What in the hell happened to you, we thought you had gotten in trouble on your week end leave". I ran through the story with him and remembered that he had something to say about the luck of being related to a General in Army. I don't think I ever convinced him otherwise.

Shortly after that we were told that we were: "Going up the Hill" a term used to describe the trip that removed us from being in the reception area to one where we would become part of the 5th Warrant Officer Candidate Class 70-05. We were excited as we could be and began getting our stuff lined out as best we could for the transition.

That marks the first installment of arriving at Ft Wolters, going through the Reception Area and being told that we were leaving to begin flight training. Stand by for more, Day 1 begins shortly.





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Greetings to new readers.

For those of you who are just now hooking up with the blog, I would like to say a thing or two about the posts you are about to read.

The post that you see when you open the page is the last post I made. If you scroll down to the bottom of the page you will see the posts I made from the day we opened the blog till today. 2009 and 2010 was mostly for cancer updates. 2011 wasn't a good year for me and I don't think I made any posts as I was having a few problems post surgery, chemo, radiation and the effects from all that.

I am retired now and have nothing more than taking care of myself as a top priority. I had so many conversations with people surrounding the early parts of my life that influenced me to become that man that I am, I decided to write that story on the blog.

There are some very interesting recollections of the World War II stories that came from my Uncles when I was just a little kid. I tell those stories and then move along with my life through grade school, high school, college and then the US ARMY and flight school.

In order to get the story in the proper order, you will need to scroll down to the bottom of the page and click on the posts started in January. Find the title: "You must have seen this coming" and start from there.

I will take you from the beginning of the stories of childhood all the way through the days of flying combat operations in Vietnam and Cambodia. I hope you start at the beginning of those stories as there is a specific story there that effects all Americans today, including you.

Thanks to family, friends and former members of the 199th Light Infantry Brigade and the  11th Armored Cavalry Regiment for participating.

Fort Polk..........44 years ago.

The US Army recruiting office in Shreveport, only 122 miles from Leesville and Ft Polk, was a huge facility. Early on the morning of May 2, 1969, I found myself in a large room full of the latest class of draftees. I was surprised that so many of them were hung over because, as a function of having Big Brother's stories of boot camp, I knew exactly what was coming.

I was already into my fifth month of healing from the broken nose episode learned in the bar room brawl and had been training for my departure. As a former track athlete at Byrd High School, I was accustomed to training and I had been running for distance to get my endurance back to where it was in 1967.

I ran into Harvey Maybry, a Byrd graduate, and both of us "buddied up". Harvey was a rock solid kinda kid with good character, physically fit and stronger than his size would lead one to believe. After the brief swearing in ceremony, one where we swore to defind the Constitution, we were officially in the Army and referred to as "recruits". Almost immediately after that, guys said goodbye to their families and we were boarding a Continental Trailways bus to Leesville which was only a 2 hour ride south of Shreveport.

Both Harvey and I knew what was coming and I remember laughing a little about the idiots that showed up hung over. When we were pulling into the bus station in Leesville I noticed an Army Drill Sgt waiting close to the bus parking lanes. As soon as we were stopped and the door opened, he approached the bus and told us to get our bags and board the bus that would take us to the Fort.

I don't recall any yelling and screaming like we saw in the various movies depicting that same kind of situation. It wasn't anything like Full Metal Jacket or Forrest Gump. We were taken to the "Reception Station" and told to get into formation. Some of the kids didn't have a clue what "formation" meant but Harvey and I did and we were the first two that made a line and stood at attention.

First stop was hair cuts. Then, we went through the issuance of uniforms, boots, hat, barracks assignment and then, KP or "Kitchen Patrol". I will never forget reporting to the mess hall and being directed toward a huge pot of SOS. That was a common term in the Army that referred to a gravy and meat combination that was to be used to cover toast and offered as a meal. We called it SOS because we weren't allowed to say Shit on a Shingle.

The NCOIC in the kitchen or Non Commissioned Officer in Charge, had me take the pot of SOS to a large cauldron that had holes in the bottom of it. It was exactly like the strainers that you would use to drain the water out of spagetti as soon as it came out of the pot.

I was directed to pour the SOS in the stainer and then, using a common garden hose, not the USDA approved hoses that the Colossus Midland sold to poultry plants, and then rinse the sauce out of the meat. When I asked why I was doing that, they told me that the meat would be used as spagetti sauce for the evening meal. I remember thinking, after all the time that Cousin Greg and I had spent working in the kitchen at Morris School for Boys, that Brother Leo would have all their asses on some kind of punishment tour. I said nothing.

Later that evening, we were sent to the barracks that were full of bunk beds just like the ones we had at St. Gregorys. Almost immediately, the Sgt in charge told us that lights would be out very soon and we had better "Get your shit squared away".

Maybry and I did exactly that and were in bed, ready to call it a night, as both of us had just experienced a very long day. When the lights went out, we heard a guy crying. I remember looking up at Harvey and saying: "This is gonna be duck soup". I knew that the Drill Instructors would be all over the weaker ones and that everybody who wasn't cratering would slide by during those moments where all the attention was being paid to the ones falling behind.

Bright and early the next moring we were yelled at and rushed through breakfast. We gathered our Tote Bags full of extra uniforms etc, and were taken to Bull Dog Hall, the main classroom for Echo 3-1 which was my basic training unit.

On the way, I heard my name called out: "Hey, Tim". It was Tom Mazur, the older brother of my best friend in grade school at St. Joseph's School. We exchanged greetings and he told me not to worry about Basic Training as he had just graduated and was leaving that moment. We didn't have the opportunity to discuss any details but he again said: "Don't worry, you guys will be at the top of the class". I've never forgotten that. Almost immediately after that, the screaming began.

We were escourted to Bull Dog Hall to begin our "in processing" for training. It included a lot of yelling, one huge apptitude test and some new cuss phrases that I had never heard. While getting the 120 man company orgainized and seated in the auditorium, a few fat guys weren't moving fast enough to suit the Drill Instructors. They were quickly assigned punishments in the form of sit ups and push ups. That's when I learned the following phrases:

"You look like a monkey fuckin' a football". That was the phrase the Drill Instructors gave for guys that couldn't stand up to the push up part of the punishment and was my favorite but "You look like a fuckin' dyin' cockroach" was also commonly used..  That one came when the fat guys couldn't do the sit ups.

Shortly after that, they handed out the apptitude test which was a monster test that was many, many pages long and took quite alot of time to complete. Once it was finished, training really began.

We went outside, were put in "formation" and given instructions on "right face, left face, attention, stand at ease" and a zillion other commands that they expected you to know immediately. A company roster had been printed and they began a role call that seemed to be a ritual that would be repeated a million times.

By the time all that was completed, we began another test but this one was a physical test and had nothing at all within it that required a pencil.

We were given a number that we had to affix to our chests with a string. We were lined up and told that there would be a "run for time". I was glad to see this coming because I had been training for this in anticipation of the many long "double time" runs we were surely going to be asked to do.

As good fortune would have it, I finished at the top of the list. As we crossed the finish line, one of the cadre that was standing next to the Drill Instructor, would write down the numbers as the DI would report. 42, 17, 4, 83................and on an on it went.

I found out quite soon that my finishing postion would place me as the "Company's Guide On Carrier". I didn't even know what a Guide On was. As it turned out, whenever we marched anywhere, the first guy at the head of the company would carry the Company Colors which was a pennant that was attached to a long pole that allowed the flag or pennant to be seen above all else. I thought it was like an award or a trophy of some kind but in fact, it became an extra duty that had me carry just a bit more weight on long runs that already had me loaded down with and M 14 rifle and what seemed like a ton of other stuff.

To make a long story short, my training was probably something that would be exactly like the training anybody could report about. Nothing spectacular happened until I reached the sixth week of an eight week course. I had qualified expert with the M 14 rifle and maintained a zero demerit grade in the barracks and in conduct. With all that behind me and graduation only 14 days away, I was ordered to report to the commanding officer who was a Captain.

He was very nice and professional but I'd never had a one on one conversation with him at that point. As I stood at attention in front of his desk, he put me at ease and began to speak. In short, he gave me my test results, described them as "most excellent" and proceeded to give me my options.

I was quite surprised to hear an option to attend West Point, the real West Point and the Academy from which many of my heroes graduated. Second to that was a qualification to attend flight school. I don't remember the 3rd choice but I told him that I would prefer flight school as I had already been in college and wanted to move into a different environment than the one I'd found at Northwestern.

He made a mark on his note pad and dismissed me from the conversation. I didn't have a very good feeling about the interview but was beside myself to know that I had options. Almost immediately, one of the Drill Instructors came up to me and started chewing my ass out as if I had committed some horrible crime.

"You too good for the Academy, boy. You wanna be some fat cat pilot with your wings all polished so you can get the women? Well, I got news for yo ass, boy. You goin to AIT (Advanced Infantry Training) on North Fort and you gonna hump the bush in Nam".

That came from Drill Seargent Ratford who wasn't even my drill instructor. Mine was Sgt Lopes and I guess he was either busy doing something else and Ratford had been given the news by the Captain and told to pressure me to take the West Point appointment. In any event, Ratford immediately put me on KP and that ended the conversation.

Somehow or another, one week before graduation, I was given a week end leave to Shreveport. I was surprised at this because I'd caught so much hell from "The Rat" and this was the last week end before graduation.

When I made it to Shreveport that Saturday morning, I called my Uncle Woodrow to pay him a visit. I went to his house and after hugging and kissing Aunt Nell, my Daddy's sister, Uncle Woodrow asked me how I liked the Army. I told him that I hadn't been there long enough to form an opinion but I told him that I had qualified to go to West Point or Flight School.

He smiled and asked me about that. I told him the story about the "Rat" and finished with all that by saying that they would force me to go to A.I. T and then to Vietnam as an infantryman. Uncle Woodrow said" Hold that thought".

He grabbed the telephone and dialed a number. I had no clue what he was up to until I heard him say: "Hello Jewel, this is Woodrow, is the General in"? , After a brief moment, he asked her to have the General give him a call and he hung up.

I was somewhat astounded that he knew some General's phone number by heart and that he even knew the General's wife's name. When I asked what was going on, he told me not to worry and to go enjoy myself and come back when graduation ceremonies were complete.

I returned to E 3 1, and readied myself for the ususal bump and grind of training. Early the next morning I was told to immediately report to the CO's office. This had only happened once before and I really didn't have a clue what was going on. As I entered his office and barked the ususal: "Private Butler reporting as ordered, SIR", I was asked "Why in the HELL didn't you tell us you were related to a General?".

I quickly connected the dots and before I knew it Parch jumped and gave me the words to say. "I didn't want any special treatment, SIR". He then told me that I was to report to Headquarters Company which is where the Commanding General was officed. He didn't tell me why and gave no further explanation except to say "DO IT NOW, You are DISMISSED".

I was driven to Head and Head, the term used for headquarters, and told to report to some room number inside the building. I noticed a sign that let me know that the building was also the main office for the Commanding General of Ft. Polk. Still not knowing what was coming down, I remember thinking: "Oh, shit".

Had I known that Brigadier General James J. O'Donnell, the commanding general of the 95Th UA Army Reserve Unit that trained at Ft. Polk during the summers and that he had an office in this same building, I would have been complety comfortable. I didn't know and was nervous as hell as I reported as ordered.

I was quite shocked to find a set of orders with my name on them, and further shocked to see that I was going to flight school immediately. I wasn't even going to attend the graduation ceremony from Basic Training.  Once I returned to the company area I gathered my stuff and was taken to the bus station without so much as a good bye to anyone.

When I got to the bus station I called Momma and asked her to tell Uncle Woodrow and meet me at the bus station in Shreveport. Everybody was there when I arrived and I found out who General O'Donnell was and managed to connect all the dots. My bus didn't leave for a few hours and I managed to get in a great visit with the family before they called my bus and I had to leave.

I didn't know it at the time but the guys that write the orders for soldiers leaving Ft. Polk, were some mighty powerful individuals. I would learn what that meant before my head hit the next pillow. My orders required me to report for duty at Ft. Wolters, Texas before midnight on the same day I left Ft. Polk. As luck would have it, when I arrived at Mineral Wells, Texas and took a cab to Ft. Wolters, I reported in a few minutes past midnight which made me AWOL. Jesus, what a welcoming commitee awaited me, the new student who showed up Absent Without Official Leave.

As I finish this, let me say that it was now a few minutes past midnight and, during the first few moments of July 4th of 1969, it was hot as hell. I was really thirsty and was caught looking at the water cooler. The man in charge was a bear and asked me: "You  eyeballin' that water cooler, Candidate"? You want a drink?" Unfortunately, I answered with: " I would love a drink". He then gave me the first official order I received as a Warrant Officer Candidate.

It seems that my first official order was to make love to the water cooler. I'll have to pass on the details of that and simply say that this concluded the last day of my Basic Training at Fort Polk.

Flight school is next. Stand by.

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