Chapter 22

THE WAY OF AN EAGLE IN THE AIR.

(One year of Air Force basic pilot training for jet aircraft pilots at Vance Air Force Base, Enid, Oklahoma from early April 1970 to late March 1971)

I check in at Vance Air Force Base about 3 days before I’m required to check in. Doing so stops my official leave (with pay). I have no military work during the next 3 days, nor were they subtracted from the 30 days of leave I’m allowed per year. That’s nice!

After arriving at Vance at night, the following morning, I find the officers’ chow hall a short walk from my BOQ, and starting eating my meals there. I discover that Air Force chow is not as “manly” as the Marine chow at Quantico. Also, I’m not allowed to eat an unlimited amount. This day I relax; put my personal things in order inside my suite (relishing such “luxurious” spacious quarters in which to dwell, in privacy). I go to the BX (base store) to see what is available to buy.

I now begin a new life of living on “hardtop” on noisy military air bases. I walk around in the nearby area on base, to acquaint myself with this new place, and (like a little kid) watch the airplanes take off and land as flight training is going on (full scale) for the classes ahead of me. Watching the small straight-wing 2 jet engine T-37s taxi in and out, that plane’s loud, high-pitched engine noise is most annoying. (Now in 2024, I wonder how much of my precious God-given hearing I lost to that plane’s destructive noise.)

The T-37s use the runway nearest to the “inhabited” (built-up) side of the base where I now stand watching them.

Parallel to that runway and just past it, is the runway for the sleek, fast supersonic; coke-bottle shaped, impressive T-38 that I will train in during my last 6 months here. I crane my neck to watch one after another T-38 overhead, fly down “initial” 1500 feet above the runway at a fast speed of 300 knots, break mid-way down the runway (1500 feet above the runway), by banking 60 degrees, pulling 2 Gs to maintain level flight and reducing power to kill off air speed, while turning 180 degrees into the opposite direction to fly downwind while lowering landing gear and flaps, then make another 180 degree descending turn on crosswind to line up on the runway on final approach to land at a speed of about 150 knots. I am intimidated.

“With such a fast-flying, descending, turning, long sentence as that, I reckon you would be intimidated.”

‘Hush, please.’

Thus far, I’ve used my God-created brains to somewhat excel in my classroom studies since I began them at the age of 6. I have used the abundant physical strength, with which God had blessed me, to excel in rigorous physical training in the Army and Marines. I consider that I had been naturally endowed to do well in those 2 areas, and thus was enabled to arrive at this high plateau of starting jet pilot training. Thank Thee, my Dear Lord, for bringing me thus far.

Our Creator God ordained that during our life on earth we use our natural God-given mental and physical abilities as we trod this sod and till it for our bread. But Almighty God did not ordain that we imitate the way of an eagle in the air by flying and soaring high in the sky, especially at supersonic speeds. This day, before I even start flight training, watching the high speed of that sleek, short wing T-38 during its landing phase (typically the most difficult phase of basic flying), causes me to wonder if I have the physical and mental dexterity (finesse) to think fast enough, and to act and react fast enough correctly, with minute, precision movements of stick and throttle, brakes and rudder, to safely land a supersonic T-38 Talon.

It sure is different from riding a horse, plowing a field with a horse, or driving a team of horses pulling a wagon. (Don’t forget that is how I started out in life, not so long ago.) Such natural God-ordained “moving” at man and animal’s created speed is laid-back and relaxed, not requiring the constant, speedy mental calculations, quick reactions and precise, correct movements that are required to pilot a supersonic airplane, especially to bring it back to earth in a safe landing.

Thus far, you’ve read of 8 of my military buddies getting killed while performing military duties. Enemy soldiers in Viet Nam killed the first 3 young men on the list, as they fought on the ground in the Marine infantry. The remaining 5 buddies so far on the list, become fellow pilots who will die when their planes crash. In this chapter, I will add 3 more names to that list, 3 pilots I meet here at Vance who later die piloting airplanes. I’ll add a few more pilots before this true story ends.

Each time I pilot a military aircraft; I’m fighting for my life (similar to being in war), by striving to be the best pilot in the sky (with a main goal of keeping myself, and any other soul in my aircraft, alive). I give God the glory for keeping me safe during that time, and I can now tell you of it in my old age. Several pilot and navigator buddies and acquaintances died in plane crashes long before old age, some were only about one-third of my present age, when one small mistake or aircraft malfunction caused their plane to crash, instantly killing them.

Upon starting pilot training here at Vance in early April 1970, I start receiving military hazardous duty pay, because a military pilot’s duty is classified as hazardous. At this time, that extra pay is $110(?) per month. It’s the same amount as combat pay. My first 3 buddies on the KIA list started receiving that amount of combat pay when they arrived in Viet Nam to fight (and to die) in the ground war. I receive the very same amount, just for fighting to stay alive in the air, while piloting a military aircraft in a peacetime setting. About 12 aviation buddies and acquaintances of mine lose in that battle for survival, dying in plane crashes in a peacetime setting. Thank Thee, Lord Jesus, for keeping me safe and alive!

So, “flight pay” is my next pay raise, and a large one, $110(?) per month, compared to the 5% or so COLA raise back about last November. I get paid twice a month. After deductions for taxes and such, each paycheck every 15 days now contains over $40 more, a big help to becoming more financially sound.

The military pays for my travel from Quantico to Vance AFB, calculated by the mile. At this time, each mile traveled by car pays just over 20 cents per mile (I think). Possibly that sounds low to you, but gasoline costs about 33 cents a gallon. I receive that “travel pay” soon after arriving at Vance. Likely it was about $200, much more than the cost of gas for that distance. It greatly helps my thin wallet.

On arriving at Vance Air Force Base, I enter the world of noisy military jet aircraft to live with that most unpleasant sound until March 1975. It’s miserable enough to have to endure it all day during waking, working hours. But mechanics here at Vance work on these jet engines at night, tuning and testing their output and such, not all that far from my quarters. That loud noise often keeps me awake in the middle of the night, as I try to get my needed sleep.

“Welcome to the downside of such vain worldly glory, Farm Boy!”

During the following 3 days or so, all other pilot trainees in my class arrive, and we launch into pilot training. I think there are about 60 men in this class, divided into 2 sections of about 30 men each. There are 2 Iranians, one in each section. (Search 1970 history to see the U.S. and Russia in a cold war struggle to obtain favor with mid-east nations, each of those 2 great powers “aiding” these small Mid-east nations in various ways. One of the many things that the U.S. did, was to train military pilots for Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, etc.)

There are 4 of us Marines from my Quantico class in my class here at Vance, 2 of us in each section. I’m glad to see their 3 familiar faces now, a month after we parted at Quantico. There’s a total of 14 or so Marine officers in pilot training here at Vance, the most senior being a captain. He soon calls an informal meeting of all us Marines (after working hours), for us 4 new men to get acquainted with all our fellow Marines already here, and to discuss current Marine Corps affairs.

Aside from the 2 Iranians and us 4 Marines, all other student pilots in my class here are Air Force officers; mostly 2^nd lieutenants, but two are captains.

For the 1^st time during my military active duty, I’m required to go to the local telephone company, obtain my own phone to be installed in my living quarters on base in my name, and pay the monthly phone bills myself. The Air Force requires that, so I can be called “at home” anytime. (There were no cell phones back in those ancient days.)

Pilot training starts with a welcoming “pep rally type” speech by the enthusiastic base commander, Colonel King. He’s a pilot of course. Next is orientation instructions. Classes pertaining to flying, start immediately. We are issued the gear pilots wear and use. It felt great to be issued a pilot’s helmet, oxygen mask, G-suit, gloves, and such.

All 60 (or so) trainees in my class are given a pilot’s medical physical exam by an Air Force flight surgeon (doctor) at Vance’s medical facility. During it, as soon as I meet the Doc after much “processing” by lower staff, I tell him that most recently I had a thorough pilot’s physical exam at Quantico, passing it, inferring that I didn’t need another physical exam just a few weeks later. (Military pilots are required to take a medical physical checkup once every 12 months.)

That Air Force Doc immediately took on a most serious (somewhat offended) attitude toward what I said, and took time to clearly explain to me that Air Force doctors properly give physical exams to pilots-to-be, inferring that Navy doctors likely do not do it properly. (Reader, please don’t forget his lecture. Because 2 chapters later, I’ll relate to you the flip-side of that doc’s proud speech; a proud Navy doc’s speech to me.)

In the first classes of piloting instruction, we are taught everything we need to know about a Cessna 172 single engine propeller airplane, because that simple airplane is the first bird we learn to pilot (sort of like the diaper stage of military jet pilot training).

“Lt. Richard, saying that will offend small aircraft pilots.”

‘If they can’t soar with the Eagles, let’em stay in the nest.’

Almost immediately after classes start, we start flying the Cessna 172. It will be over 2 weeks before we each start flying it solo. By then, all classroom instructions pertaining to its engine, flight characteristics and capabilities, necessary emergency procedures, etc. will be finished. Each day we fly the Cessna propeller plane; we board a bus on the Air Force base, and ride it across the south edge of Enid to the small Enid municipal airport out past the opposite side of the city. There, civilian pilot instructors teach us to fly this prop plane. All things considered, it is best for the Air Force to contract a civilian company to train us in this airplane. Thus, they do so.

But, an Air Force major commands this training. He is in our “ready room” in our building at the municipal airport each time we are bussed out here to fly. He’s in charge of it all, and quite vocal. He’s a great guy! I don’t recall his name. I’ll call him Major “Pug” ⑨ because “Pug” is our call sign when flying this Cessna (a weak sounding call sign for a small plane). “Pug Zero Eight requesting landing conditions.”

Major “Pug” is a colorful officer, in speech and such. We all quickly come to like him. Tho he’s quite strict with us, it’s for our good. So, we respect him for his severity also. He appears to be about 50 years old. So, it’s almost time for him to retire. We fly the Cessna under Major “Pug” about 5 weeks.

When we finish that short initial stage of flight training, the civilian instructor pilots and student pilots celebrate together with a “beer blast” (a drinking party). I don’t go, because attendance is optional. My classmates later said that Major “Pug” got sentimental at the party. “You might think I don’t like you because I’m hard on you in training. Actually, I’m just a sentimental old man.” He spoke such to them in sincerity. He enjoyed training young, green pilots. We all liked Major “Pug”.

Not long after we each finish flying our 30 hours in the Cessna and move on to the T-37 jet, the Air Force sends Major “Pug” to Viet Nam. There he is soon killed when the C-47 he was piloting crashed. We didn’t get any details of the cause of the crash. I do not know if enemy ground fire, or bad weather, or mechanical failure, or pilot error, or some combination of the above caused his plane to crash. All of the few souls on board his C-47 died in that crash.

My class here at Vance will be flying the supersonic T-38 when we hear that Major “Pug” got killed that way in Nam. We are saddened by the news, and think back on the times with him out at the municipal airport, where we began our pilot careers flying that little “Pug” puddle jumper of an airplane. Being the commander of T-41 training, Major “Pug” was the very first pilot to “command” me during my pilot training. And about 9 months after I first met him on these peaceful Oklahoma plains, I get the sad news that he died a violent death when his plane crashed in far away Viet Nam.

From now on, such sad news (of another pilot friend or acquaintance) will periodically reach my ears. Each time, it’s a solemn reminder that, as a military pilot I constantly stare death in the face, and that at any time I’m manning those controls, violent death might be only a split second away.

I’m plenty aware of that fatal danger from the very first time I take a flying lesson in the Cessna 172. So, to the best of my capabilities, I apply myself to piloting, the first and foremost motivating factor being survival. Flight time for each lesson is typically just over an hour. I think we solo out after 12 hours of flight time (10 sessions or so). So, during those first 12 flying hours, take off and landing practice is in focus. We do many touch and go landings for practice.

My flying skills are satisfactory, thank God, and I solo out without any delay, not failing any flight lesson. As I taxi out solo the 1^st time, I’m somewhat apprehensive, of course. Then I “take the active” (line up at the starting end of the active runway), “cob” the throttle to full power upon getting permission to take off, and soon that little “Pug” lifts off the runway and climbs into the air. ‘Now I have to land this bird all alone! There is no instructor pilot sitting beside me this time! No other human soul in this airplane! What a thrill!’

It’s also a sobering thought. A voice comes thru the radio’s crackling static, assigning a “flight area” to me. I fly there, practice the basic maneuvers I’m supposed to, and fly back to the airport to practice several “touch and go” landings before finally taxiing back to the “chocks”. I’m greatly relieved and happy to have flown little “Pug” solo. Because I was the only pilot in that plane, I was the “pilot in command” according to aviation rules. But in reality, my Lord and God was the Pilot in Command. I was His co-pilot. That was always the case each of the many times I was the only human pilot in an airplane.

Now, I am using aviation maps. I told you that I like maps. And I like using aviation maps, just as I liked using the military ground maps at Quantico to find all my points on that “map test”. All our flying in the Cessna is VFR (visual flight rules). We never fly inside clouds. We always keep the ground below us in sight. My folded map is clamped onto my “knee pad” strapped onto my left thigh. I’m required to keep up with my location by correctly spotting roads, highways, towns, cities, creeks, rivers, lakes, and such terrain features on the ground below that are shown on my map. This aerial map work is fun!

A T-41 civilian instructor tells us of a previous student pilot getting lost while flying the Cessna. Failing to find his location on his map, he didn’t want to radio in that he was lost. So, he did a most dangerous thing. He landed on an open highway, taxied up to a nearby Dairy Queen, and shut off his plane’s engine. He got out, asked someone to show him that location on his aerial map, then took off again from the highway and found his way back to the base. That is most dangerous, and illegal! If just 1 vehicle had come along on that hwy at a critical time when he landed or took off…crash right into it! Or if he failed to spot just 1 electric wire in his path and cut thru it…crash! Oh, the dumb, dangerous things some pilots do.

“Hare-Brain Fly Boy Richard, were you ever guilty of any dangerous flying stunts??”

‘(Fifth Amendment Silence)’

The short time of flying the Cessna soon passes. By the time we are 2 weeks or so into it, we finish all classroom instruction concerning this propeller plane, and we start studying the T-37 jet trainer. We study weather, as pilots must ever beware of dangerous weather conditions. We study the effects high altitude has on our physical bodies, and “go up” in an altitude chamber, a pressure chamber where they “thin out” the air inside it to simulate high altitudes we will soon fly thru.

Those young guys from the Mid-east nations our Air Force train to be pilots, are so dangerous in a pilot’s seat. Some had extremely limited previous use of any kind of machinery or experience in driving a vehicle. (They grew up using donkeys, like I grew up using horses.) Because of their limited ability with the English language, a lot of the critical classroom instruction about aviation and complicated jet aircraft; they cannot grasp. That makes for dangerous situations with them.

Before our pressure chamber “ride”, the instructor briefs us like this. “I’ll take the chamber up to 5,000 feet, and we will… Then I’ll take it on up to 10,000 feet, where you will take off your oxygen masks to breathe the thin air for a while to experience its effects on your brain.” The Iranian student pilot in my section took the instructor’s words literally, thinking that pressure chamber (built onto a concrete floor inside a large metal building) was somehow to literally rise up to those altitudes in the sky.

One instructor is inside the chamber with us, wearing his oxygen mask. For safety observation purposes, another instructor sits outside on a stool at the side of the chamber, staring at us thru a round glass porthole (like a ship’s porthole). As we “reach” 10,000 feet or so, the Iranian just happens to glance at that porthole, and jumps in shock when he sees the instructor’s face still outside the porthole, thinking the guy outside had somehow risen 10,000 feet up into the sky with us.

Because our jet trainers have ejection seats, I practice parachute landings by strapping on a parachute that is open and lying on the ground behind me. One end of a 100-foot-long rope is fastened to the chest area of my parachute harness. The other end is fastened onto the back of a pickup truck. As the truck starts up slowly, I run to keep up with its speed. As the truck picks up speed, the parachute rises up in the air, lifting me off the ground while I’m still able to run at the truck’s speed. Then the truck driver speeds up, causing the chute to rise more vertically, lifting me 50 feet high or so. Then a guy riding in the truck bed releases that end of the rope, and I float down to the ground, much simpler than my airborne training at Ft. Benning. We do such preparation for flying jets while still flying the Cessna.

The purpose of each class being divided into 2 sections (as I said before), is for 1 section to be in class half a day, and to be in the ready room and sky the other half of the day. So daily, each section rotates, typically after lunch. And each week, we rotate to fly in the afternoon if we had flown in the mornings the previous week, and vice versa.

I told you that 3 other Marines came here from my class at Quantico, and they are in my pilot training class here at Vance. One of them just didn’t have the knack for flying airplanes, not even the Cessna. He failed (washed out of pilot training) in the “Cessna stage”. He was a good-natured guy, pleasant to work with. I don’t recall his name. The Marine Corps assigned him to a different job elsewhere, and he soon left Vance. He was in the other section with Marine Tom P ⑦. The one other Marine is in my section, Tom M. Both of these 2^nd lieutenants are good men, and I enjoy their “Marine” companionship in my class on this Air Force Base.

(Newscast) The late 1960s and early 1970s saw violent anti-war protests on university campuses in our nation with terrible acts of arson, destruction of buildings and property, and the loss of human life. At the end of April and beginning of May 1970, as I am finishing my flight training in that Cessna prop plane, violent students at Kent State University in Kent, Ohio are setting fire to campus ROTC buildings and such. The National Guard is called in. On 4 May 1970, Guard soldiers fire on students, killing 2 guys and 2 girls, and wounding 9 other students.

During 1970, similar deaths occur on at least 2 other university or college campuses. You can easily search that period of U.S. history for more details. Likely, that was the first time ever in our nation for such fighting and killings on “school” campuses. Truly it was a turbulent time, new, never before seen, turbulent waters running thru our nation.

The weather is getting hot here in Oklahoma when my class starts flying the T-37 jet trainer in early May. My Navy pilot logbook shows that I “logged” 84.2 hours flying the T-37 here at Vance, now wearing the impressive (but uncomfortable) pilot’s helmet and oxygen mask, while sitting in an ejection seat I can use if both engines quit. I’ll only briefly write of my 5 months of training in the T-37. But I’ll break from that for now, to tell you how my personal life is shaping up in Oklahoma.

Each week, during the 5 or 5 and half workdays, I seldom use my car. I walk to the chow hall and to the bus stop for the bus to the airport to fly the Cessna, and then walk to the nearby flight line on base after I start flying the jets. Again, I thrill to have a job with no daily commute. Many weeks, I never use my car except on Saturday afternoons and Sundays. But I typically give that car a good and fun workout on weekends.

Upon arriving here, I look in the yellow pages of the phone directory for church listings, and start attending 3 or more Baptist churches to see what they were like. I end up attending 3 churches in Enid the whole year I’m here, never sticking with just one. I attend Bible Baptist Church the most, because it has the best Spiritual food I find in the churches in Enid. But I soon began spending about every other Saturday afternoon and Sunday away from Enid.

In late May or so, my preacher friend, Evangelist Bobby Jackson, flies to Oklahoma to preach revival services for a week at Owasso Free Will Baptist Church just north of Tulsa. During that week, Owasso Pastor Bob drives Bobby to Hillsdale Bible College just west of Oklahoma City to preach in chapel there. That college is about 70 miles southeast of Vance. I get permission to absent myself from training just a few hours that day to drive down there, and listen to Brother Bobby preach to the college students. Revival services in Owasso are to run thru the following Sunday night service. Pastor Bob is kind enough to invite me to come on Saturday, and spend that night at his house. I’m delighted.

At Vance on many Saturdays, we have morning classes or training other than flying, much so until the last few months. So, on Saturday afternoon, I drive to Owasso, find the church looking at its address I have, and attend revival service that night. I spend Saturday night at Pastor Bob’s along with Evangelist Bobby. Sunday, I attend morning and evening church services to listen to Evangelist Bobby preach, bid them Farewell that night, and drive back to Enid late Sunday night for the early start of pilot training Monday morning.

At Pastor Bob’s house in Owasso, he said to me, “I want to introduce you to a fine Christian lady in my church.” He did so. She and I chat after church Sunday night. Two or 3 weeks later, I call Pastor Bob from Enid, he gives me the lady’s phone number, I call her to ask for a supper date Saturday night, and she accepts. So, I soon go to Owasso again on Saturday, and drive back to Enid late Sunday night after church. In church that Sunday, Gerry and Dean invite me to stay at their house if I come back in the future. So, I begin the custom of going to Owasso about every other Saturday for a date that night (usually including fellowship with other church members), and to attend both of Pastor Bob’s church services on Sunday.

Somewhat distant Owasso becomes practically my only social outlet while stationed at Vance AFB. Owasso Free Will Baptist Church is spiritually on fire. Pastor Bob’s powerful preaching helps me much spiritually. Gerry and Dean have a son and daughter, Mark being 11 years old or so, and Kim is younger. Those 2 nice kids are impressed to have a pilot in their house. I enjoy being with those 2 kids, like having a little brother and sister. God caused me to blend in with their family. So again, as in Birmingham and in Fredericksburg, God graciously gives me an adopted family. I’m most blessed!

(Now, back to flying!) The flat, spacious prairie scenery here (wheat country) quickly becomes pleasant to me. It’s most lovely to view from the air as I fly almost daily the 5 weekdays, and sometimes (rarely) have 2 training flights in 1 day. At the start of T-37 training, with pilot instructor seated beside me I typically fly north to Keagelman auxiliary field to practice several touch and go landings. After practicing a few, I fly up high in a nearby assigned area to practice acrobatic maneuvers (aileron rolls, barrel rolls, loops and such), to hone up my proficiency in flying a small jet capable of such maneuvers.

I practice stalls and stall recovery. Also, I purposefully stall out the T-37 and put it into a spin after stalling it, to practice spin recovery. Such flying is adventurous! An instructor pilot is with me during all the above-mentioned training flights, coaxing me, coaching me, giving me pointers, telling me what I’m doing right or wrong, and yelling at me at times, of course.

Remember how terrifying it was to 6-year-old me, to watch Air Force trainer planes overhead our farm practicing stalls and spins. I would run into the house to Mother. Now (just 18 years later) I am the human soul high in the lofty sky practicing these dangerous maneuvers. I hope I am not now terrifying some 6-year-old kid looking up at me from the ground.

I am more apprehensive about flying this jet plane solo the first time, than I was with little “Pug”. But I’m also more elated when I return safely from my 1^st solo flight. I enjoy plenty more solo flights in the T-37 jet. It just feels good to be high up in the sky, all alone.

But on my 2^nd or 3^rd solo flight, I had a minor emergency. The T-37 has internal fuel tanks only, located in the fuselage, and in both wings. Wing tank fuel is burned first, to take that weight out of the wings, as that is safest for balancing the plane. Then the fuel in the fuselage tanks is burned last.

As I fly solo monitoring the fuel level in each tank by keeping an eye on the separate fuel gages, I see that the left-wing tank is not feeding at all. It stays full. I joggle the electrically operated fuel switches off and on in attempts to get the switch on that tank to open up. All attempts fail. The tank stays full. I soon radio base to tell them the situation. They order me to return immediately and land. I do so, working diligently to keep the lopsided weighted plane level during landing. I’m most relieved to climb out of that cockpit all-safe.

“Did that make you a hero, Pilot Richard?”

‘Not much of a hero! But I was plenty content that it made me a “safely returned alive” pilot!’

My 5 months of T-37 training was from early May thru September, or so. That is a period of plenty dangerous summer weather in NW Oklahoma and southern Kansas where we fly (storms with high winds, hail, etc., and tornadoes). Our pilot commanders and instructors keep close eyes on the reporting and forecasting from the base’s weather department. We stay grounded when the weather is deemed too dangerous to fly.

But sometimes, summer storms whip up quickly when many T-37s are airborne. A weather recall goes out over the radio, and we all rush back for landing. A few times I see ferocious dangerous cloud formations form around me while airborne. I see “soup bowl” formations appear along the bottom of a level dark cloud layer on a hot summer day, indicating that one of those “soup bowls” could easily enlarge into a twister. Occasionally a pilot in the air spots a small tornado. There’s plenty danger lurking in the high skies to keep any pilot alert.

In the T-37, we practice flying by the airplane’s instruments (IFR: Instrument Flight Rules). We practice flying at night. And we each fly a “Cross country” flight, flying to another base on Friday to spend the night there, maybe on to another base on Saturday, and back to Vance on Sunday. This is not a solo flight. I ask my instructor, Captain Bittner, if I may fly to Columbus Air Force Base (Mississippi).

“Sure. I’ve never flown there. I would like to go there for a change.” I was happy with my instructor’s answer.

Columbus AFB was just over 30 miles from Daddy’s house. I look forward to flying in there, having Daddy or my brother Sidney come for me, to take me to Daddy’s to spend the night. And then when I fly out the next day, I want all my family members who can come, to come to the base to watch their “Pilot Farm Boy” fly away. I got excited over that prospect.

But bad weather in the Columbus area those 2 days forced me to fly elsewhere. I chose an exciting destination, The Air Force Academy near Boulder, Colorado. Captain Bittner and I fly there. Viewing the breathtaking Rocky Mountain scenery around Boulder from the air (and from the ground), made up for my disappointment over not flying home. Also, The Air Force Academy was impressive with its fancy chapel and such. I leisurely walk around on Academy grounds in the cool mountain air, beholding man’s vain “greatness” in the impressive man-made structures there.

As I re-edit this in 2024, I’m most glad I saw that highly impressive scenery and man-made structures, for once in a lifetime. God knew best, sending bad weather to Mississippi.

It is a plentifully eventful, exciting, and busy summer for me, flying the T-37. Thank God for 84.2 safe hours piloting my first jet. I never failed a flight session in this bird. We trainees each try our best, and encourage and help each other in every way possible. The much time we each sit in the ready room waiting our turn to fly, we rehearse flying procedures together, giving each other hints, quoting the emergency procedures, that we are required to memorize, to a buddy, and vice versa. It’s an exciting, promising time in our young, vibrant lives.

At Quantico and here at Vance, my classmates are getting married one by one, and some are welcoming their first baby into their lives. It’s a good time in life. We are young, full of energy, ambition, and are excited about becoming pilots.

Here’s an amusing story about this Redneck Farm Boy Pilot. Vance AF Base has a main tower to control aircraft as they take off and land. But because of the high volume of touch-and-go landings, a little (mostly glass) hut named “Mobile” is located right close beside each end of the runway. Two controllers would “man” the one Mobile at the upwind end of the runway, to control (by radio) our takeoffs and landings. One student pilot is assigned to sit in Mobile with them, to record on paper the initial takeoff and the final landing of each bird. (I stood that duty of student pilot recorder a few times.)

One day while I am airborne flying solo, 2 new controllers come on duty in Mobile, with my classmate (Marine Tom M.) to do the recording. I fly back to base, shoot a few touch-and-goes, and then make my final landing. Later on, when Tom sees me in the ready room, he’s chuckling. “When you first radioed Mobile upon flying back to the base, both controllers burst out laughing at your rural Southern accent.”

“Is such a guy actually up there piloting one of our birds?” a controller asked in jest. My redneck Southern drawl fitted a farmer plowing horses. It certainly didn’t fit a military pilot flying jets. By God’s Grace, I safely plow thru high skies in jets for almost 5 years, during which time several city boy pilots with proper accents whom I know, crash and die.

One Air Force 2^nd lieutenant in my class (in my own section) failed (washed out of pilot training) in the T-37 phase of training. So, he was transferred to a different job in the Air Force. I could readily sense that piloting scared him. Upon washing out, his relief was apparent. He didn’t have the heart for it. Better for him to wash out now, than to later kill himself (and others?) in a plane crash, as a few of my fellow pilots did.

This summer or fall, the senior ranking Marine student pilot here graduates (that captain whom I soon met upon arriving at Vance). By now another Marine captain (Captain Doug ⑩) has come here a few classes behind me. So, he will be the senior ranking Marine officer here till a few months after I graduate. After Doug ⑩ graduates from Vance, he will join me in TA-4 Skyhawk training at MCAS Cherry Point, North Carolina. Months later he will crash the TA-4 he is flying, and die in the crash due to a senseless (totally stupid, insane) pilot maneuver.

My class starts training in the T-38 around the start of October 1970. I’m plenty daunted at the prospects of piloting this swift T-38. Now, I must run with the big dogs. I must leap from the nest to soar high and fast with the fast birds. Weeks before we finish flying the T-37, we start studying this more complicated supersonic T-38 Talon. There’s much to learn in the classrooms about this fast bird.

In the T-37, my instructor pilot sat beside me in the same cockpit. Each of us had a separate full set of controls, and a separate complete instrument panel in front of each of us. There was a lot of safety in that cockpit setup. He could closely observe every little (stupid, deadly) action of mine.

But the sleek, slender T-38 has 2 separate cockpits, front and rear. Each cockpit has a full set of instruments and controls, but my instructor cannot personally see me as we fly. That is quite a difference. Also, each cockpit is narrow and cramped in this sleek supersonic bird. The first time I close the canopy to my cockpit, I feel plenty claustrophobic, not like riding in a horse-drawn open wagon at all. I simply tell myself that I must adapt to that. By God’s Grace, I do. Also, my movements are extremely limited in this tiny, cramped cockpit.

My first flights in the T-38 are instrument-training flights. I sit in the rear cockpit with a vinyl hood pulled over the inside of its canopy, so that I cannot see outside. I practice flying to various points on instruments alone, and doing instrument approaches to the runway for landing. Of course, Instructor Pilot Hull sits in the front cockpit observing everything outside and inside the plane. I even practice instrument takeoffs from the back veiled cockpit. Instructor Hull always lands the plane when I’m in the back cockpit. By God’s Grace, I excel in this instrument phase of training in the T-38. Just as I am apt at using maps, so am I apt at flying by observing the instruments only.

On 1 November 1970, I get promoted to 1^st lieutenant, 15 months after the date of 1 August 1969 on my officer’s commission. I relish the promotion in rank, and the nice increase in my pay that it brings. Likely I also get a 4% or 5% COLA pay increase in November. My wallet welcomes each and every pay increase, no matter how great or small.

Soon after arriving at Vance, I join the credit union on base here. I get a loan from this credit union on 2 different occasions, once to help a Christian back in Alabama who needed financial help. I live simply, spending little money for my own self, faithfully making monthly car payments and credit union payments, and looking forward (with passing time) to getting out of debt.

My commission as a Marine officer was dated 1 August 1969, tho I didn’t receive that commission until university graduation day on August 23^rd. At this time the Marine Corps is promoting us to 1^st lieutenants in just 15 months, quite fast because of the numbers of junior officers being killed in Viet Nam. (My Air Force classmates here at Vance remain 2^nd lieutenants for 18 months or 2 years, before being promoted to 1^st lieutenants. After Marine Tom M. and I are promoted to 1^st lieutenants, we have occasion to “rib” our Air Force 2^nd lieutenant classmates about their lower rank.)

About the time of this promotion, we go into visual training in the T-38, touch and go landings, acrobatic maneuvers, stalls and such, pretty much like the T-37 training I described to you. (Of course, for all this visual training, I now occupy the front cockpit with Instructor Hull in the rear one.)

Essentially, the most critical thing is to become proficient in safely landing any plane any pilot flies. I have difficulty landing this fast bird. I think the main difficulty has nothing to do with the fast speed at which this plane lands (tho that is a big factor). My main trouble is with Instructor Hull’s caustic mouth. Instructor pilots each have their individual natures. Some speak few words in a calm voice. Some yell a lot at the student pilot. The latter is Instructor Hull’s nature.

It’s not necessary for an instructor to yell at me or to berate me with many filthy words, like they did back in Marine Officers’ Candidate School the summer of 1968 at Quantico. The reason being that I am self motivated to do my best. It suits my nature for an instructor to kindly tell me what to do, and to kindly explain what I’m doing right or wrong. Then I do my dead-level best to get it right. But I tense up under Hull’s berating, causing my farm boy piloting skills to deteriorate.

Approaching the critical point in training where I’m to solo out in the T-38, I fail 2 consecutive touch-and-go landing practices in a row. That calls for me to fly with my section commander (a major), for him to evaluate my piloting ability. In the ready room, he briefs me on what I’m to do during the flight. Then once we 2 men strap into the 2 cockpits, he hardly says a word the whole time we are in the airplane. I pilot the plane (from the front cockpit) much better in that peaceful silence, make safe landings, and the major gives me the OK to fly that fast bird solo.

My first solo flight in the T-38 is this same day, after the major and I taxi back in, and he briefly debriefs me. I soon again strap a T-38 onto my back with no instructor pilot in it, only Almighty God and me. When that speedy bird lifts off the runway (with both afterburners aflame at full blast) my heart floods with the thrill of flying it alone. A controller soon radios me with my assigned training area. I fly out to it, practice all the acrobatic maneuvers I’m permitted to practice solo, then “play around” some fleecy cloud formations to gaze on their beauty, before returning to base for a few touch-and-go landings, before taxiing to the chocks. I’m elated to have flown alone in a supersonic jet, partly elated just to still be alive upon doing that!

Though the T-38 flies at fast speeds all the time, only 1 time do I fly it at supersonic speed, just briefly straight and level at high altitude with Instructor Hull in the rear cockpit, mainly just to experience the sensation of breaking (passing thru) the sound barrier. Only one supersonic flight is in our training syllabus. Local folks don’t like hearing those overhead sonic booms at all. Such environmental reasons keep supersonic flying at a minimum.

Soon after I solo out, Instructor Hull talks to me at our table in the ready room, explaining that he has come to understand that I do better piloting if he does not yell at me and berate me. I’m relieved that Slow Learner Pilot Instructor Hull finally “saw the light”, but I wish he had seen it much earlier. Anyway, from then on till I graduate, he uses quieter instructing methods on me, much to my relief. The tranquility is most pleasant.

Our pilot training takes a 2-week break for Christmas and New Years. Several of my classmates go home for such a long break. I stay at Enid, just as I stayed at Quantico for Christmas last year, when we got 1 week off from training. By staying in the immediate area, I don’t take official leave against the 30 days I’m allowed each year. But I’m off work, of course. That’s nice. I previously told you I reported in at Vance about 3 days before I was required to do so, stopping my official leave early, and giving me 3 free days to relax on base.

My 2 remaining Marine buddies from my Quantico class, and now in my class here (Tom P. and Tom M.), each got promoted to 1^st lieutenant about the same time I did. Tom P. ⑦ recently got married (the month we had off between Quantico and Vance, I think).

While at Vance, Tom P. and his bride rent an old, small farmhouse about 8 miles from the base out amidst the wheat fields. They plan to leave during the 2-week Christmas break. “Richard, how about house-sitting for us while we are gone, staying in our house to keep an eye on things there?” I was a little surprised when Tom P. asked me to do that. But I like the idea of having a change of scenery, so I readily agree to that.

I drive to Owasso twice to spend each weekend nearest to Christmas and New Year’s. It’s a blessing to enjoy Christmas and holiday festivities with my Christian friends there, similar to being in the Tiptons’ house during that holiday season 1 year before. Staying in Gerry and Dean’s house those weekends, I give their son (Mark) an impressive model of the T-38 for a Christmas present, and he is awed by it. “You actually fly this?” was his attitude toward me as he gazed on that sleek model. I can’t recall what I gave their daughter (Kim), but she was also happy with her Christmas gift from me.

I pass a quiet 2 weeks out there on the lonely prairie in Tom P’s farmhouse (no jet engine noise at all). On weekdays, I take long walks on the straight roads that delineated each square mile section of land here. I like driving in Oklahoma also. One can see forever. “Grasshopper” shaped oil pumps dot the flat landscape, being scattered throughout the wheat fields. It fascinates me to watch their “grasshopper heads” constantly bobbing up and down amidst the growing wheat, as they pump oil (money for the farmer who owns the land) from the wells below. I perceive that landowners here receive handsome incomes from wheat plus oil. I wish Daddy’s poor farm had pumped oil like that.

Frankly, I’m plenty bored out there in Tom’s isolated house. I don’t like having to prepare my own meals, even tho they let me freely eat from the plentiful food in their kitchen. It suits me better to be on base, eating in the nearby chow hall, going to a base theater movie occasionally at night, and doing other things so conveniently available to do on base or in town. Remember I told you of being bored deer hunting out in the woods near Dad’s when I was a university senior. I’m learning that I enjoy being in town, or on a college campus, or on a military base, more than being out in an isolated rural area for any length of time.

New Years brings 1971 A.D. to this earth, as we all journey toward Eternity. My 25^th birthday soon follows. When pilot training resumes right after New Years, I welcome it and am happy to be back in my BOQ suite on base with a full and busy day each day, high up in the sky oftentimes.

We start practicing formation flight in the T-38, 2 plane formations, and then 4 plane formations. In close formation, I maintain 2 or 3 feet between my plane’s wingtip and the wingtip of the plane next to me. That is close, and makes for a tense situation. Each and every change of the controls (throttle and stick), must be smooth and gradual. We also start night flying, also more stressful. We practice night formation, ever so dangerous and stressful. Thank Thee for flying with me, Lord.

The tension and stress cause me to fly much in my dreams when I sleep at night, tensing up while just dreaming of that tense flying. Soon both of my jaws began to ache. I’ve no idea what causes them to hurt. So, I go see the flight surgeon to tell him about my aching jaws, wondering what strange jaw disease might have befallen me. Doc sort of chuckles, nodding knowingly. He explains that the pain comes from me “gritting” my teeth and clenching my jaws during the tense, stressful flying, and while dreaming about that flying. He said that the pain should subside with time. It did, to my relief.

I begin to take evening drives after work, 2 or 3 times a week to relieve tension. I find a restaurant in Enid serving a buffet supper, better chow than in the base’s chow hall. So, on days I go for a drive after my workday, I often first go to that self-service buffet restaurant for a good supper (all I want to eat), and then “wind down” more during a relaxing ride with soothing music coming from the car stereo’s 5 speakers. Such “down time” sure helps during stressful supersonic jet training.

I’m tested on leading a 4-ship (4 plane) formation of T-38s on IFR flight from high altitude back to base, descending and coming into the landing flight pattern, where we then cancel instrument flight rules to fly the landing pattern VFR (visual flight rules). The required skill, timing, and finesse are stressful. Thank God for enabling me to perform well.

It feels great to enter “initial” (as “Lead”), flying south at a speed of 300 knots at 1500 feet above the runway, with 3 other T-38s “stair-stepped” off my left wing in close formation. Midway down the length of the runway that is 1500 feet below me, I break to the right in a 60-degree angle of bank to make my sharp turn back to the opposite direction. Number 2 pilot slowly counts 1, 2, 3 seconds and breaks likewise. Numbers 3 and 4 pilots follow the same course 3 seconds apart. It looks like an air show. (Many times, I observe that “performance” from the ground here at Vance.) Then we 4 pilots (4 separate planes), shoot a few touch and go landings (individually) for practice, before taxiing into the “chocks”, and taking off our helmets before our proud swelling heads split our helmets apart. (None of us four student pilots are flying solo for this.)

Mastering that sleek, supersonic bird brought on a fulfilling sense of accomplishment. After such an afternoon flight, I might go eat supper at that buffet restaurant, and then take a drive in my T-Bird to wind down. The T-Bird seems so simple and easy to handle, after leading a 4-ship formation flight of supersonic T-38 Talons.

Also, it sure helps me relax to drive the 120 miles or so every other Saturday to Owasso, and forget about the stress of flying fast jets, as I fellowship with good Christian friends in Owasso, attending Pastor Bob’s church Sunday morning and evening, and returning to Vance late Sunday night.

Gasoline is cheap in this oil producing state of Oklahoma. Frequent “gas wars” bring the price even lower at times. So, when I’m out on the road, each time I pass a gas station I look at their posted price, and stop and fill up my tank if their price is the lowest I’ve seen lately.

At this time, regular gasoline in my hometown of Vernon, Alabama is about 33 cents a gallon. Here, I can usually find it for 30 to 31 cents. But when a “gas war” rages fiercely, I recall buying gasoline for 25 cents a gallon for certain, (possibly as low as 22 or 23 cents a gallon). You young souls who never saw vehicle gasoline below about $2 per gallon probably think I am writing fiction now. No, just writing ancient history of Good Ol’ Days.

I fly an IFR (instrument flight rules) solo “out and in” to another Air Force base a few hundred miles away. (I don’t recall which base.) I file my own flight plan at Vance; fly solo to the destination base, to land in daylight. A flight instructor from Vance had flown there to watch over the few of us student pilots who each, separately, flew solo to this destination. Then I activate with the FAA (Federal Aviation Administration), the return leg of my flight plan back to Vance, and take off solo in the dark. Yes, a night solo flight in that T-38 from another base, to fly alone back to my home base. Unspeakable adventure for this Farm Boy!

Nighttime flight has its own fascinating sights of the lights of the cities and towns below, the lovely stars and moon above, and such. It thrilled me to be alone in that lovely night sky at the controls of that “sports car” type of jet airplane. I flew back to Vance for a few touch-and-go night landings, before taxiing back in to the chocks, reporting details of my flight to instructors in our ready room, getting debriefed by them, filling out the paperwork, and soon going to bed to again fly at night, in my dreams.

Toward the end of T-38 training, each student pilot in my class flies one “cross country” flight in this bird just as I had previously done in the T-37, with an instructor pilot. I ask Instructor Hull if he and I may fly to Columbus AF Base. He readily agreed. Again, I’m overjoyed at the prospects of family members coming to the base at Columbus to see me pilot this swift, sleek bird. But, as with my T-37 “cross country” flight, again, my vain hopes are thwarted by bad weather.

The day we fly toward Columbus, the sky is overcast at Columbus. Approaching the base at Columbus, I’m flying high above that cloud layer and must descend thru it. That alone is no problem. I would fly the descent on instruments. But if there were a chance of ice forming on the engine intakes, we must divert to our alternate destination instead. (The jet engine blades on this small, fast bird are made of extremely thin and light metal. If ice forms on the engine intakes and small pieces of ice break off and fly into the engines, it can easily damage those delicate blades enough to cause the engines to seize up.)

As the time nears for us to start our descent thru that solid cloud layer below us into Columbus, Instructor Hull asks Columbus Approach Control (on the radio) if there is a chance of icing when we descend thru that cloud layer. They report that there’s a slight chance of “rim icing (on engine rims)”. With that report, Instructor Hull plays it wise and safe by telling them we are diverting to our alternate destination (in Louisiana, I think).

And thus, my T-38 cross-country flight became lackluster, thwarted from flying home by weather, just as had happened with my T-37 cross-country flight. A few days before, I had called Daddy and told him of my plans to come, weather permitting. He drove down to my brother’s (Sidney) house nearer the base to wait there for my “arrival call” to them. They watched in disappointment, as that solid cloud layer overhead stayed solid all day, causing the hope of seeing me that day to evaporate. Would that the cloud layer had evaporated instead!

“Our Lord sure knows how to keep Pilot Richard humble.”

‘Apparently so.’

Strong, fierce winds howl across this open, flat Oklahoma prairie where Vance AFB is located, typically being strongest in late winter and early spring. This year, a deep snow (in late January or early February) grounds all airplanes at Vance for several days. No one flies.

While taking a walk in that snow around the athletic field near my BOQ, I watch kids sledding across that flat field with a parachute tied to the front of their sled. They place the sled at the upwind edge of the field, toss the chute up into the strong wind, jump on the sled and enjoy the ride as the wind in the chute pulls the sled across the flat field. As the sled nears the downwind edge of the field, one kid jumps off, grasps an edge of the chute and yanks it down to stop the sled. Fascinated, watching their fun, I silently commend their ingenuity.

I just wish landing the T-38 in a strong crosswind was such fun, instead of being deadly dangerous. Most of the time those strong winds blow thru Enid from west to east. Thus, it would be much easier for pilots to land in that area if runways have been built on an east-west line, to land westward straight into a headwind. Do you think the runways at Vance were laid in that direction? NO! All 3 runways are parallel, running north to south. Often when I land that fast T-38 at Vance, a strong crosswind from the west is pushing my bird directly sideways.

The procedure for landing a large-wing airplane (like the T-41 Cessna prop and the T-37 jet) is to bank into the wind (dropping the wing the wind is blowing against), while kicking in and holding opposite rudder to keep the plane flying straight (in line with the runway), and to prevent the plane from naturally turning in the direction of the “bank” (the dropped wing). That is a plenty difficult maneuver.

But the procedure for landing a small-wing airplane (like the T-38) is more difficult. Dropping one wing would result in insufficient wing surface (lift) to keep the plane flying (lifted) at landing speed. So, we “crab” (referring to the sideways movement of a crab), the T-38 into the crosswind while landing it.

Upon turning onto final approach, I angle the T-38 into the crosswind at an angle sufficient to stop the crosswind from blowing (pushing) the plane sideways. Tower or Mobile informs me of wind direction and speed on the “radio”. The stronger the crosswind, the wider of an angle I turn the plane into the wind, angled slightly away from the runway, but flying in a straight line with the runway. Then as soon as the main gear (wheels) of the bird touch the runway, with precise and timely finesse, I bring in opposite rudder to line up the bird with the runway, so that it doesn’t run off the windward side of the runway as the bird comes to take its “moving direction” from the direction its tires are facing on the runway. Such landings keep a pilot on his toes, to put it most midly, and make for painful jaws day and night!

Of course, when bad weather, strong winds and such natural hazards reach certain, pre-determined limits, we “stand down”, not flying until weather improves. But flying quite regularly in adverse winds and weather here at Vance hones us into skilled pilots. Instructor Hull told of the Air Force pilot training base in the desert area of Arizona, where the sky is clear and quite calm most every day of the year. Thus, pilots graduating from there gain little or no experience flying in adverse weather. Then, upon being transferred to a different locale on this planet to serve as an Air Force pilot, they sometimes tend to “clutch up” when they find themselves flying in adverse winds and weather.

These strong, western plain winds are most annoying also in everyday life, when I do most anything outdoors. When I wax my Thunderbird, it’s my custom to lay cloths, towels, wax can lid (and such) on the car’s vinyl roof, when I’m not using any of those items. The 1^st time I do that in Oklahoma, the wind kept blowing them away. I had to put them inside the car on the floorboard. and open and close the car door each time I took out or replaced an item. (That’s just one example of constantly battling the wind here. I care not for it, at all.)

Once, I observed a small songbird low overhead, striving to fly into a strong wind, but kept getting pushed backward; necessitating that small, light pilot changing his flight path to a different direction.

Tho Instructor Hull was assigned as my instructor in the T-38, each student pilot flew once or twice with a few other instructor pilots to glean experience from variety. I flew once with an instructor from a different training squadron (right here on Vance), who unnecessarily “rough handled” the T-38 in ways I considered dangerous. Our own flight commander (the major) strictly forbad his instructors to do such. As I think back on that, I was blessed to be in one of the safer training squadrons.

A month or so before I finish flying the T-38 (and graduate from Vance), a new instructor, 1^st Lieutenant R. ⑪, enters my squadron (his start as a green instructor pilot). I fly with Lt. R. just a few times. To me, this novice instructor had a too casual attitude toward such a dangerous job, often not staying keenly alert to the instrument panel, and to what we could observe outside the bird while in the air. I perceived him to be a novice instructor and a careless pilot in general. Just a very few months after I graduate from Vance, he and his student pilot die when their T-38 crashes. Likely if Instructor Pilot Lt. R had been alert, he could have easily prevented that crash. (I’ll give you that story when we reach that future point in history.)

Our training load lightens up toward the last, which is a welcome relief. A few weeks before we finish flying, all of our classroom instruction comes to an end. The logical reason being that classroom instruction is to be applied while flying here at Vance. Thus, we first had to be taught each phase in the classroom before the time came for us to put it into practice high up in the sky in the pilot’s cockpit.

Graduation Day in sight makes student pilots smile as wide as the skies we fly!

Upon all classes ending, we essentially work half a day (the time we are in the ready room and up in the sky flying). That gives me a few free hours each weekday. This is the 1^st time for me to have such short workdays since going on active duty as a Marine officer at TBS, Quantico in September 1969. I enjoy breathing easier.

Most every weekday, I take a good long jog of several laps around the athletic field near my BOQ (after the big snow melted and there is no more parachute sledding). I welcome warmer weather in March. Also, I find myself often sitting in my suite alone reading my Bible for somewhat long periods of time (the 1^st time in my life to regularly read the Bible at length). Along with leading me to do that, God the Holy Spirit is stirring up my heart to serve God.

I have told you the main events of my last 3 months at Vance (January thru March 1971) training in the T-38, the big snow, strong winds, and such. As our graduation date (late March) draws nigh, each of us student pilots, more eagerly looks forward to that happy event with joyful anticipation.

I feel most blessed to achieve pilot status. I rejoice in my desire to soon serve My Lord full time. I’m thankful I do not resist God’s calling, as so many Christians do. From high school days when I first became desirous to become a military pilot, I have maintained a goal of serving just one term in the military to experience being an officer and pilot. Then I want to get discharged from the military to do something entirely different with my life (though not knowing exactly what that something will be). Now, at Vance in late February and March 1971, I thrill at the prospect of doing some kind of Christian ministry full time after my military time ends.

A few weeks before I graduate at Vance, my younger brother, Joe (U.S. Army), returns home safely from the battlefield of Viet Nam. All our family and friends are most thankful to God for that mercy and grace.

I log 120.2 hours flight time in the T-38 supersonic 2-engine trainer jet. The entirety of it was a “high” adventure. Right at the end of this final phase of pilot training, all my classmates and I have to take another medical exam to see if we are still healthy enough to be pilots. (Remember that, because about 2 months later, the Marines will make me take a medical exam at Cherry Point. And the Navy Doc there, will lecture me on how the Navy does it right, but likely an Air Force Doc does not do it right, flipside of AF Doc’s speech.)

I invite my girlfriend in Owasso to attend my graduation and the evening banquet following it. She agrees to do so. My brother Joe and his wife Mavis make plans to come for graduation also, bringing Daddy and my stepmother, Lucille. I’m so glad they get to come, and it’s a great joy to see Joe again for the first time after his return from Viet Nam. All my guests arrive on time. The ceremony is plentiful grandeur. I receive silver U.S. Air Force pilot wings. My girlfriend pens them onto my chest that was pumped full of vain pride.

Graduation is indoors. But then my graduation class and guests go out to the athletic field to sit on bleachers to watch flyovers of a formation of T-37s and then T-38s, in a most chilly wind. Daddy and Lucille were plenty relieved when that shivering part was finished.

Then in the afternoon, I am allowed to show my guests around the base, and go out to the flight line where a T-37 and a T-38 are on “static display” for the guests to look into the cockpits and such. We observe touch and go landings from the flight line, taking plenty of pictures this day. After all that, Joe, Mavis, Daddy and Lucille leave in the late afternoon. My date, wearing a lovely dress, attends the evening banquet with me. Vance Base Commander, Colonel King, sincerely compliments her on how nice her dress looks. I’m wearing my Marine dress white uniform.

I think Graduation Day was on a Friday. I drive on to Owasso the next day to stay with Gerry and family, and attend Sunday church at Pastor Bob’s church. Everyone at church has such kind Farewell words for me. I spend Sunday night with Gerry’s family. Early Monday morning, I bid Farewell to Gerry as he leaves for work, and to Mark and Kim as they leave for school. I soon blast off in my T-Bird to depart from Oklahoma. I had come to like Oklahoma much, just as I had come to like Virginia ever so much! It was a year of rich experiences in this flat prairie of wheat fields and oil wells, and daring adventure in the high skies above it, along with rich Christian fellowship!

“Pilot Richard, don’t try any fancy flight maneuvers in your Thunderbird driving home to Vernon, Alabama. And don’t drive as fast as you flew the T-38!”

‘Yes, Sir!’

The End of Chapter 22

On to Chapter 23

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