Mongoose and I breakfasted at the college cafeteria,
which was full of pilots and airshow attendees, then caught the shuttle to the
field. I had an hour to kill before the briefing so I called some old buddies
who I knew were floating around somewhere. Five guys from my pilot training class at Vance AFB
(Class 73-06) were among the growing crowd of tens of thousands
of people.
If you are familiar with the terminology, you know when I
graduated from flight training: 1973. The “73” in 73-06 was the year of
graduation and the “06” was the sixth class to be graduated that year. The only
time I felt old is when I flew on airline trips with guys whose class numbers
were something like 06-06.
Mongoose scurried off to the briefing tent, since he was
the honcho that day, and soon I was joined up with the old buds.
Pete, a retired
career USAF officer with many years flying C-130s and C-141s, now ran an aviation
technology school. He was the groomsman at my wedding. Then
there was Mike. He did one tour as a tanker driver and went to
Northwest Airlines, then retired as a Delta 747 captain. He was a loquacious extrovert, a soloist in his church choir and the kind of guy
who could be happy anywhere, anytime. Later that night at Kelly's Bar,
Mike, reacting to some crazy story being told, suddenly sprang up from
the table and burst into song and dance, drawing applause from across
the whole establishment.
Another
friend, John, flew C-130s and served 25
years active and reserve. He was retired from the FAA where he was
assigned to
oversee United Airlines—my airline. I remember once he came aboard the
DC-10 I
was flying as a first officer to give a no-notice check ride. He took
one look
at me, waved his hand and said, “Oh hell! I’m scared to get on this
plane. I’m
gone!” And he did—he recused himself. While in training John and I flew
our T-37s cross country trip together. As soon as we parked our jets our
instructors jumped out and hurried away to the club leaving us to secure the planes.
As we walked away I elbowed John and pointed at his jet. "Your flaps
are still down, bozo!" He looked at my Tweet, snickered and pointed.
"Your speed brake is still down, idiot!"
Another
welcome sight was Chip who had just retired
from United as a 777 captain. Chip served one tour on active duty flying
C-141s. Low-keyed and subtle-humored, Chip was the best instrument pilot
in the class. After retiring he was content never to touch the controls
of a plane again, but he loved just to be around them.
The last guy was Ahmad, from Iran. In
1972 the U.S. and Iran were allies. Their king (they called him the
Shah) sent his young men to the U.S. for pilot training, and so that’s
how Ahmad came to be among us. We lost track of him after he left Vance.
He was a Phantom pilot in the Iranian Air Force and we knew he would
have been heavily involved in the 7-year Iran-Iraq war. None of us in
73-06 ever expected Ahmad to survive that. But he did. About 2005 he
converted to Christianity and was threatened by the local mullahs. He
came to the U.S. and got in touch with us. We helped him hire an
attorney to file for status as a religious refugee. The U.S. government
denied him refugee status but allowed him a green card after years of
hellish red tape and incompetent bureaucratic bungling. He found a job
and settled. Seeing Ahmad at Oshkosh with the other old friends was a
special treat.
There was another friend there as well, apart from the 73-06 guys—Dave from
Tucson. Dave is the guy who helped me get my RV-6. If you followed Decision Height, you might remember him
from the Seven Sierra Whiskey series
of posts. Dave met up with the rest of us and I was delighted to introduce him
to the 73-06 gang and later to Mongoose. They all wanted to see Alabama Girl and so
as we were all walking to the warbird corral I thought this day was one of the
greatest in my life. So many memories and good times I had known with these
guys, blended with the awesome place we were in, just damn near overwhelmed me. I was
only two weeks into retirement, and I was enjoying one
of the greatest times I had ever known. My cup was running over.
As we walked Dave told me he was planning a flight to
Alaska in just two weeks in his Cessna 182. Was I interested in going along? I
immediately used a question on him I had heard him say many times: “Does the sun
rise in the east?” He grinned and we agreed to discuss the details after
Oshkosh. As we approached the long rows of Yaks and CJs I thought, On top of all this, now I’m going to Alaska,
low and slow—just what I had always dreamed of. What an incredible
day this was becoming. And the flying had not even started yet!.
After I showed Alabama Girl to the gang we headed to the
briefing tent where Mongoose was busily preparing to lead the 12-ship veterans memorial formation fly-over, scheduled to launch at 1000.
Replete with high-pressure adrenaline bursts, and a judicious ration of nerve-wracking, it was to be a flight I'll never forget.
graduated from flight training: 1973. The “73” in 73-06 was the year of
graduation and the “06” was the sixth class to be graduated that year. The only
time I felt old is when I flew on airline trips with guys whose class numbers
were something like 06-06.
