Sunday, October 11, 2009

Navy Airdale - Groundpounder Story: Taking one for the Team

I was out doing my daily read and read "Acid Test" over at Lex's place. It's a good read and it brought to mind this story of a personal Acid Test of a sort. Not quite the life and death that happens in the Wardroom where all the Pilot types hang out, but on the Line where the rubber meets the road, there is a Code.


A Bob Seger tune played on our Shop Cassette deck, it was 0230 and all was quite in the shop, Work Center 210. We were conducting normal overnight maintenance of the Squadrons 8 aircraft onboard the USS Dwight D Eisenhower. I am at the 'helm' as it were of the busiest work center in my Squadron, VS-31. The 'AT Shop' as it was known fixed the avionics' package in the S-3 Viking aircraft, the aircraft with the most diverse and complex electronics equipment of any Carrier Based aircraft. Bar none. And it was here in the overnight shift that the many 'gripes' were worked off.

I had 5 2-man crews working the Jets on the flight deck and I had one part runner assigned to the shop. This person would haul boxes from one of the Hanger Queen's to a crew on the flight deck once they had an idea of what they needed. Bringing me the bad part and the serial number for the replacement box, I would then fill out all the paper work and sit on it until inspection and return of the work crew. This system worked good, keeping track of all the paper work especially the cannibalization paperwork was a big part of the Job. Moving a part from one aircraft to another aircraft is simple in theory however the paper trail to do so could gag a horse.

I had a hot coffee, lots of blank 5-part MAFs (Maintenance Action Forms) and many Skillcraft pens at the ready for this nights round of fixes. Then, the ships general announcing system crackled. This was not good as they generally did not make general announcements after taps (2200 hours). "This is not a Drill, This is not a Drill. Man overboard starboard side. I say again, this is not a Drill, Man overboard starboard side. Away the motor whale boat." There was a series of clicks and a new voice came on: "Emergency Muster, Emergency Muster. All hands Muster on station, all stations report to the XO. Emergency Muster, Emergency Muster. All hands muster on station. Time plus One."

The clock was started; we had less than 10 minutes to muster the entire crew of the ship. I cleared my desk, pulled out a clip board and pulled from a file in the desk the shop's muster report. I wrote the date and my name and rank as the reporting authority and waited.

The shop runner was the first in the shop and I checked his name off the list and sent him immediately to the flight deck to terminate all maintenance activity on the 5 aircraft I had in work. Each person in our shop would have to come in and I would have to look at them personally to verify that they were present.

A pair of Technicians working one of the jets came in next; they had heard the call while trying to purge the waveguide on a RADAR gripe. Then a couple of day checkers who had been up after watching the movie in the Ready Room, a nightly treat that usually only the Day crew was able to partake.

Slowly they all showed and I checked them all off. I signed the muster sheet and left the entire crew relaxing and chatting. It would be a good half hour before they would go back to work; the pandemonium would too much so they would wait it out in the shop.

I made the short walk to the Ready Room and handed in my Muster Report. It would be added to the rest and someone from the Squadron would call up the XO's office. Every minute that past they would call away the time on the GA system. "Emergency Muster, Emergency Muster. All hands muster on station. Time Plus 6." I returned to the shop with the rest of the boys.

While sitting around we heard the 5-MC kick off, this is the announcing system used exclusively on the flight deck. "Flight Quarters, Flight Quarter, man all stations for Helicopter operations. Stand by to launch the Alert Helo."

We were all wondering what was up? Who had gone in the drink? How? Would they find him in time? We were in the Gulf of Mexico where the water was warm. They would have 8 to 12 hours before a person would succumb to the water, if they could stay afloat. And the sharks did not get them.

Not but a week previous to this we had participated in the rescue of the crew of a sailboat that had been de-masted and capsized. The 4 man crew had been floating on the upturned bottom of the boat. One of our aircraft circled overhead while a helo was flown out to perform the actual pickup. They were more than 100 miles from the ship. Our crew reported many sharks in the water.

We soon heard the Helo start up and lift off on the search for the missing. The Muster had finished at time plus 9. Not bad for the middle of the night.

Maybe 10 or 15 minutes later out shop Bitch Box clicked on and someone in maintenance control barked at us. The Bitch Box is a station to station communications system, an intercom that allowed our Maintenance Control to call into each shop. It was a two way system so we could call them if need be. Those were rare.

"Tweets", that was what they called us AT's. Tweets, not sure why but it was universal. "Tweets, Maintenance" they always did that too, said they were maintenance calling but they were the only one who could call us. "Tweets, Maintenance, did you have someone working on 703."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, this was not good. I had called into maintenance each aircraft I had crew's working so they would know I had people on them. They were supposed to 'control' maintenance. This way they would not have two conflicting sets of crews on the same jet at a time. They should know this. Why were they asking?

"Maintenance, 210 Aye." I did that all the time, reported my work center number. I am sure it rubbed someone raw. "We did, I called it in around 0100 hours."

"Very Good" was the only response.

This was really not good. I stood up and went to the Vid's board where we had all our gripes' posted. I reviewed them all real fast as I was suspecting I was going to be interrogated about the status of 703 real soon.

"Tweets, Maintenance" here it comes I thought. "Work Center 210, Aye" I replied.

"Chief Hayes wants Taylor down in Hanger Bay #1 right now." Hmmm, this was a twist. A personal audience with the night maintenance Chief was not unusual, but on the hanger deck? We were all puzzled by this development. "Taylor, Aye." I said.

I grabbed the clip board with my summary of gripes and aircraft status. This was handed out at the night shift maintenance meeting; it gave all of us shop supervisors our marching orders for the night.

I made the long walk forward and down 4 ladders to Hanger Bay #1. There right in front of the Elevator bay was 703. Not unusual normally, but there was a throng of people circling it at the same time. It was a who's who of the Squadron Hierarchy. Well, maybe the middle-hierarchy. The Safety O, the Maintenance O, the Material O, the Shop Chief's from the Metal Smiths shop, the Engine shop, and the top dog maintenance Chief were all there. Heads were shaking and fingers were pointing at different parts of the aircraft.

The night shift Maintenance Chief was standing off to one side and away from the Jet by maybe 20 feet. He nodded to me and I approached. I could see the look on his face that he was pissed. "I want you to go over there and review the damage on that aircraft." He said in a very stern voice, he was holding back, about to explode.

I turned and went to start a tour. The #1 Engine on the left pylon had a smashed in cowling from the 4 o'clock position to about the 6:30 position, not pretty that was all honeycomb material. The Left bombay outer door was partially crushed across its width, nothing a good mech with a hammer could not pound out. The LOX bay was a mess though, it had been completely crushed in and the actual door was mangled beyond recognition. And then there was the external power receptacle, it was pulled out of the aircraft and was dangling by only the shock mounts. The double ought (00) size wire that led from there to the load center were pulled free and the actual head of the power cord was still inserted, the long, thick wires broken free where they went into the large plug. And that was the problem.

It was clear to me that this aircraft had only barely missed being lost at sea. The flight deck crew had run the elevator to the hanger bay, most likely to get another helicopter to aid in the search for the man overboard. No one had seen the 2" diameter black cable stretched out across the elevator side edge and under the aircraft and into the external power port. Had the 44,000 pound aircraft not been tied down it would have been rolled onto its back and possibly overboard as the elevator dropped to the hanger bay from the flight deck.

My crew had been the last to work the aircraft and they had simply dumped power and returned to the shop for the emergency muster. They had left the power cable attached. SOP. Almost no one pulled the cable from their aircraft unless they were done with it for the night. If at anytime you were expecting to return to work, you left it attached. This kept other people from taking the cable and using it all night themselves. A kind of unwritten rule on the flight deck among us maintenance types was to leave power cables alone. If you needed it for yourself or if you needed to move the Jet you called the shop. It had always worked out between all of us that used power on a regular basis.

I returned to where the Chief was standing. And he unloaded on me like no one's business. The Chief chewed on me like I was raw meat and he was a hungry bear. A rabid, hungry bear. I stood there and took the berating. He threw everything he had at me, f-ing this and f-ing that, he condemned me to hell more than once. I stood still staring out like they teach you in Boot Camp, look straight ahead, never get eye contact.

His rant went on and on. People around the hanger bay were staring at us. I could see them in my peripheral vision watching to see if the Chief would actually strike me. No one moved to stop the dressing down I was getting. None of the many in khaki moved to intervene; none of the other Chiefs or Officers stepped up to ask that this butchering be moved somewhere private. The last thing you want is to have junior enlisted see something like this and be traumatized for life. No one stepped up to stop or even slow the Chief down.

The Chief continued, his arms waving, his spit hitting my face. Thank god I was wearing glasses. He continued for several minutes finally asking me how something like this could happen. I ventured a response.

"It's SOP, Chief." Oops, wrong response. "You're telling me all these other squadrons are F-ing their aircraft like you are doing mine!" he said at a 90 decibel level. "You just F-ed this squadron out of one of the best flying aircraft we have!" No one knew this better than me.

The S-3 was a great flying aircraft, very reliable wings and engines wise. If you did not need the electronics package you could have flown these jets almost forever. One squadron once went 732 consecutive sorties without a launch bust. That is a record in Naval Aviation that will never be equaled.

But, if you really needed to go out and find submarines you were going to need all that acoustic equipment in the back of the jet, if you wanted to find and track surface shipping you were going to need all of the fancy RADAR gear we carried, if you wanted to generate an Electronic Order of Battle you were going to need the Electronic Surveillance gear and all the tracking equipment was electronic in nature, by god there was a main frame computer in the back that made it all work. Good grief, we belly landed one of these jets one day and there was more work replacing antennas than there was mechanical structural work. And it was AT's from my work center that replaced all those antennas. I knew better than this Chief knew how valuable a good working jet was.

Now, this all happened in the late 1970's and the physical fitness standards for Chiefs were, well let me put it delicately; non-existent. This Chief was overweight and smoked like a chimney and drank coffee well, like a sailor. His face was beet red and he was sweating profusely. What little hair he had was smoldering and the steam coming out of his ears could have shot aircraft off the bow. And I really thought at any second the Chief would have a coronary or a vapor lock and collapse and I could go back to the shop and finish the nights work.

The Chief continued cursing and swearing at me, I am not sure what the difference is between the two but he was using all those colorful adjectives you don't use in polite company. But I took it, I was supposed to. I was the shop supervisor, the Senior Second Class.

Then, just when I thought he was running out of gas or had reached my ass bone, he crossed the line. A very thin line, one that I thought was sacrosanct. "Who did you have working on this aircraft? I want their names." He asked.

No, no, no. This was not our fault; this was not a problem for my shop. There are three people needed to move an elevator on that ship and each one is supposed to walk the perimeter of the elevator prior to every move to verify precisely that there was nothing crossing onto the elevator. All three of these people were Ships Company, not under my control. This was not a shop problem. We were standing not 15 feet from an EA-6B Prowler with a power cord attached and no one from the squadron was around. It was the Ironclaw Hanger Queen.

"No, Chief. This is on me." I said. I thought his head was going to blow off. His hair was now on fire and his flapping arms were getting him up off the ground, or he was jumping I was not sure. But, I was not giving him names.

"I want to g-dam make sure you chew ass when you go back to you shop and if you won't than I will be doing it, give me those g-dam names!"

"No, this is an internal shop issue. I will address it as the shop supervisor." I said.

"No g-dam way you are f-ing going back to that shop. I'll bust you down to the laundry if you f-nig don't tell me who did this to my Jet!"

"No Sir, I'll take this hit and you can have the shop." I said. I never used sir when referring to a Chief. I was struggling to maintain my civility. By now most everyone had fled the hanger bay, I am sure they were watching from behind the divisional doors or even up in the CONFLAG stations. You know where it was safe.

"Well, F-you Taylor." He knew like I did that I was within my rights. Going to a Captains Mast on this was a win-win for me. "Get your ass back to your g-dam shop and you better F-ing flog those assholes up their or I will. Do you hear me, I'll f-ing come up there and eat out each one of those guys' don't you thing I won't F-ing do that!" he said. Finally finished.

I turned and left, walking through the hanger aft to the ladder well up to the shop on the 03 level. No one was making eye contact with me as I walked past all the squadron people who had stood by while I was worked over. The entire spineless blue and khaki alike all avoided me as I went past. I would remember all of them.

I could tell when I got to the shop that word had reached my crew waiting there for me. Some of them had even gone down there and seen some of the show. They were all quite, there was no banter and chiding like you usually have with 12 men trapped in a small steel shop. I had to get them all back to work and it had to be productive work. It was almost 0300, flight quarters was in two more hours.

"Ok, guys. We are going to swap aircraft." I wanted to make sure no one would be able to tell who was working what and track back to who had earlier been on 703. "The two working on 701, you now work 705, the two that were on 705 you move over to 706, 706 you will work on bringing up the hanger queen 700. Use the parts out of 703, she isn't going anywhere soon. And the last two, you will work 701."

"Something else;" I said as everyone started to strap on their gear, float coats and helmets, pulling tool pack's and swapping gripe sheets. They all looked at me. "No one outside of this shop needs to know who was working on 703 this evening. No one! That stays here in this room." I think they understood and even if they did not know the full scope they all shook their heads in the affirmative and got busy with work.

"Oh, and well, at least for the next couple of days. Pull the power cord out of the aircraft when you leave it unmanned." I said with a smirk. They all chuckled and went to work. Lots of parts had to be moved around in a very short time.

Like the good troops they were, and I knew this as I had a hand in training them all, we had all of the Jets in Alpha condition by daylight. We would easily meet all our commitments once again. At the end of the day at 0700 hours as each one secured they asked if I wanted to go and get breakfast with them. I was still too busy with paper work and told them we would all get MIDRATs together when we came back to work in 12 hours. It was kind of a family thing that I did with them from time to time. It was time again.

The day shift had filled the shop as my guys left and the day shift supervisor was going to cover the morning maintenance meeting. I filled Phillip in on the action the night before. I told him about the ass chewing; not going into how bad it had been only that we, the AT shop had been blamed for what had happened to 703. "Figures, we get blamed for everything 'round here." He said.

He would return from the meeting having getting his ass chewed as well since he tried to stick up for the SOP with the power cables. It was a lost cause. But he told me I was a popular Man round the Maintenance Control spaces. Seems that word was out regarding the ass chewing. The Ass Chewing. As he called it, I was pretty famous now and everyone was wondering if I was actually sitting yet.

"On top of all that, Your presence is desired by the squadron Maintenance Chief, our Division Officer and none other than the Maintenance Department Head himself. I'd start there if I were you. Work your way down the chain of command." He said. I nodded, wondering what they could possibly want with me. I carried a handful of signed off MAF's to Maintenance Control and noticed that the Night Maintenance Chief was still hanging out. I dropped off the MAF's and crossed the passageway to the lofty spaces of the Maintenance Department Head.

This was one of those large spaces with desks for Admin personnel and an inner office in the back. I stepped into the outer office and told an AZ that I was told the Department Head wanted to see me. The AZ stepped into the inner office and said a few words. A large flock of men streamed out of the inner office.

"Petty Officer Taylor, come on in here!" the Dept. Head said as he stepped outside his office, he waved me in with one hand, he was smiling which I took as a good sign. I stepped into the office expecting to be alone however my Division Officer was there as well as the Squadron XO. This was going to be interesting.

The Department Head a LCDR, closed the door behind him and crossed the space to sit at his desk. The DIV-O and the XO were in the only other chairs available. The XO was actually sitting on the back of the chair with his booted feet on the seat. We all exchanged looks and acknowledgements.

"We wanted to talk about the incident with 703 last night." Said my DIV-O. "Yes Sir." I replied. I then cleared my throat expecting to have to defend what I believed was an SOP regarding power cables. But he held his hand up stopping me from going on. "We are less concerned about the cable issue; we have all toured the ship and noticed everyone doing it, leaving the cables installed. Plus, the ship is not going after us in any way; they clearly understand that the breakdown was on their side."

"We are concerned, " this from the Department Head. ", with the ass chewing that occurred down there in the Hanger Bay. We are wondering what your take is on that." I pondered my next response. I was unsure of what to say or what they could be looking for from me. Guy's got chewed out every day on the boat, how was this so different?

"Well, my only problem with it, beside it not being necessary was that it was in a public place. Although having a witness or two was nice, just not half the ship." I said. They all nodded and looked at each other. "So, do you think the Chief was out of line?" The DIV-O asked.

"Just in the public nature, he was reacting to the loss of a good working aircraft, so I can't blame him for that. That Chief is one of the better maintenance control administrators so I am sure he was seeing it from the perspective of having to juggle the aircraft around to cover the loss. I don't begrudge him for having the opinion that we may have screwed up, just that he came unglued on me."

It was real quite in the little office, everyone looking at everyone else, looking for a way forward. The XO got down off his chair and then said "Can I have the Office with Mr. Taylor?"

Both the DIV-O and the Department Head stood and left the room. The DIV-O smiled at me and shook his head in a yes as he departed behind the LCDR. When the door was closed the XO mentioned me into the chair the DIV-O had been in. He took a seat also, resting his elbows on his knees.

We were the two longest serving in the Squadron; he was on his second tour and would soon take over as the CO. I was an Airman and Third Class when he was in the Squadron the first time and was still there when he returned. I was into my 5th
year and had seen the entire squadron change over once, some of them twice.

"We were going to fire the Chief, send him back to the Beach Det at Cecil Field. But, you kind of put a wrench into the works." He said and smiled up at me. I nodded at him and said, "Sorry about that, but he really is one of the best administrators I've worked for here, he even I think, understands the importance of what we do in 210. Not many of the maintenance Chief's care and you know we won that first Battle E under an Avionics Master Chief. He understood." The implied thought was you can't get the big award if you can't do your mission. Flying around in the sky is just not enough.

"I guess some 'counseling' is in order." He said and smiled back at me.

He stood up, ending our private conference so I stood up too and he said "Thanks James, for your input. When do you re-enlist? I want to do that swearing in!" I laughed and said I was still waiting for orders and would not commit until I had a set in hand. "That's fair, smart even. I guess you are headed off to bed now?" "Breakfast first Sir." I said and he opened the door for me and I stepped out. "They still serving fresh eggs down there?" he asked as I walked out into the outer office. "Nothing but the powered stuff right now, Sir. They go down easy with Tabasco." I said. He slapped on the back as I left and he waved the other two back into the small office. I left them to figure out what they were going to do to the Chief. I knew him pretty well and there were several bad-Chiefs waiting for his chair. Things could always get worse.

I went down got me some breakfast, I was still pretty keyed up from the night and it would be a couple of hours before I could actually get some sleep. I always read before rack time so maybe a trip to the Library was in order. While I was sitting there in the general mess, the Night Shift Maintenance Chief came by. He had been looking for me.

"You got time for some coffee?" he asked. We had in the past taken a cup together in one of the catwalks. We would chat and I'd fill him in on what it took for the AT shop to deliver every night and day. Very few people knew this, we cleared more gripes in one night than most shops did in a month. He knew this and understood that sometimes their decisions in maintenance control made no sense over in my place; he used these little coffee klatches to smooth over the rough patches.

He wanted to do some of that smoothing now. "Sure." I said. I put my used tray in the scullery and we both took cups of steaming hot liquid that was supposed to be coffee up to the Hanger bay. There was a sponson that was used as a smoking space while under way. We stood there; the water rushing by less than 40 feet away, it was soothing.

"They found the guy." He said. I looked at him strangely. "You know, the man overboard. They brought him back dead." I shook my head, only now remembering what had triggered it all. Poor bastard, I thought. Rumor was he fell down through the ships trash chute. A certain way to die as the chute put trash directly under water, many feet under water and, there were these great big bag rippers used to pierce the bags of trash so they would sink. Tough way to go.

"Sorry about the Ass chewing." He said. "I was reacting to all the damage. Lots of work on that Jet." He said. I was waiting for him to say it was me or my shop's fault, but he did not. "You know there are three new Blue shirts working down here." He said referring to the hanger bay. That is usually what happens to Yellow Shirts involved in a mishap, they demote them off the flight deck.

"Good." I said. He smiled at me and asked; "You going to tell me who it was working 703?"

"Nope." I said. "Shop secret." He nodded, giving up for now.

" You know, I had to be an asshole."

"Oh, Really." I replied.

"Yeah, I have to prove to everyone around what kind of an asshole I was, no better way then go after someone like you. Golden boy and all that. If I can be an asshole to you then I can be an asshole to any of them. Keeps everyone honest." It was a startling admission. I smiled at him. Drank some coffee, gazed out upon the green-blue Gulf waters a mere few feet away. I wondered if he knew how to swim.

"Well Chief, that is why I'll never be a Chief. With rules like that I just would not fit in your little club." I said.

"Nan, You got lifer all over you, Taylor. Hell, look you still iron your uniform and we have been at sea what, 4 weeks now. Almost no one is ironing their cloths now. No, you'll be in khaki one way or another, you'll see, as a Chief or an Officer." He said. I shook my head in disbelief. I had always ironed my uniform, even when I was an E-3 airman and fresh in the squadron. I had taken more heat from that over the years.

"No Chief, I iron because we all should look respectable even out here and your 'asshole' logic escapes me. I don't see how in the long run how it helps the Navy. Dressing me down in public like that guarantees people will leave the service. Me included. There are a lot of Junior enlisted out there thinking that if a "Golden Boy" can get reamed out for something someone else is responsible for then what about them. They will leave too. " I said. I tossed out the rest of my coffee, I was tiered enough to sleep now and was going to head on up to berthing.

"You'll see Taylor, I know these things. You'll be a lifer and I'll find out who was working 703. I am sure of it." He said. I chuckled and left him there, shaking my head at how fruitless this was. He was old school Navy, joined to avoid the draft. I was a volunteer.

Many, many years later. I ran into one of the two guys that had been working on 703 way back in 1978. He and I were both civilians and ran into each other at the Naval Air Station in Patuxent River Maryland. I was doing contract work on the S-3, upgrading the avionics package; he was working on F-18's.

Over a beer I discussed with him the great "Power Cable Debacle". It seems he and this particular Chief were roommates for many years after they left the squadron, sharing an apartment and then later a house. He said they were both surprised when they learned I had gotten out of the Navy. I asked him if he was ever asked about who had been working on 703 that night.

"Oh, he bugged me a lot about that, every time we were drunk he would try and pry it from me. But, no, I never gave in. That was sealed that night when you came up from the hanger bay and everyone knew how you stood up for us, all of us. No, that is a shop secret. Still is." He said.

And so it is.

BT: Jimmy T sends.


Buck said...

My take-away from all this? I would have NEVER made it in the Navy, given the times I would have been in. We had hard-asses in the AF, to be sure, and I ran into more than a few guys somewhat like the asshat Chief in your story, Jimmy, but they tended to be the exception rather than the rule. I can truthfully say I *never* saw or heard of an incident such as this (a rabid public ass-chewing) in my 22 years. Other than in Basic Training, of course... but that was Basic, no? SOP.

JimmyT said...

Buck, this guy was a loose cannon but as it turns out was better than maybe 90% of the Chiefs we had, not the mention our First Class's too (the E-6 who are usually the shop supervisors). We had a big turnover between deployments and in there was a lot of movement around the Squadron to get people in the place where they could do the most good. This particular Chief was the same Rate as me, AX but had never worked O-level before so there was a lot of growing up into the Job that he had to do. That was why he was not in the Shop with us, but in Maintenance.

We had an Officer with a short temper too, he was one of the flight crew and came unglued all the time in public. No one wanted to work when he was trying to fly, every little snag and he downed the jet. I think a lot of that were people conspiring to keep him out of the air too.

I have a post I am working explaining the differences in leadership that I saw and how odd it was to see two dramatically different forms right next to each other.

BT: Jimmy T sends.

virgil xenophon said...

A Great story, Jimmy, and a window into the Navy world that very few non-Navy types--let alone civilians--ever get to see.

Funny story about physical fitness in the AF in late sixties-early seventies (there WAS none). Don't know if you read the post where I explained that the Squadron I was assigned to in the UK was independent of the main base and Wing HQ with our own rnwy, O Club, etc., We were our own Air Force, for all practical purposes. Well, the guy that had the additional duty as Sq Athletic Officer was a buddy of mine--we had served together in the same Sq at DaNang and were assigned directly to the 81stTFW at RAF Bentwaters/Woodbridge from RVN. It was an annual requirement that all officers had to run an eight minute mile. (I don't think they had mandatory ht & wt requirements yet, iirc). Well, my man simply pencil-whipped it every year, logging in an improved time by 20 sec/yr for each man! We all hit the bar instead. LOL! "Old Skule" indeed!

Buck said...

Virgil: Heh. Yup, I was "there" during the '60s ~ '70s and can vouch for what you say. It's WAY different these days... I've even seen the medics at the Cannon AFB clinic fall out and run en masse. They do it every morning... or so I'm told. Not in MY AF, LOL! Never hoppen.

JimmyT said...

Buck & Virgil, in Honor of your long service to the USAF I will post in two days, an Air Force story that I have. Yes that's right I have on two occasions come to the attention of the Boys in Blue. This story is the later of the two. Standby, you should like it!!

BT: Jimmy T sends.