Think Big -Work Hard -and Follow Your Dreams
Getting instrument rated was a VERY, very short course, as I recall, taking only a couple of weeks and 7-9 hops, total. It went by very fast. After that, Ellyson Field proved to be most interesting, to say the least. The place was over-run with pesky, loud Marines with bad hair-cuts -and even worse manners
. Enough said about that. . I very was glad to be out of that place, and back in an all-Navy environment, by the end of training. I must say that the flying the Bell TH-13 was a very new and different experience and certainly turned out to be kind of fun.
Sitting up front with nothing but Plexiglas between you and the trees was certainly an interesting sensation. We learned basic helicopter flight and techniques in that aircraft. After solo we had a few more hops in the H-13 and then moved to the Sikorsky TH-34, a bigger, heavier aircraft. It was a loud, ugly old workhorse, but mastering it certainly did give you a sense of satisfaction. There was nothing "automatic" about the H-34. It was two hands . . two feet . . all the time.
Every time you twisted power on the collective with your left hand, you had to add right rudder to compensate for the torque and thrust generated by the tail rotor. Take power off . . . need to use rudder to compensate. Later on, after arriving in the Fleet, I had to laugh at the braggart jet pilots, talking about how difficult it was to fly their craft. Having flown it all, over the years, I can say with first hand assurance, helos require a greater amount of dexterity, a keen sense of situational awareness and are definitely much harder to fly. They are even harder to fly than the large commercial jet airliners, which I have been flying the last 27 years.
Other than college student loans, I had never been in debt my entire life, so, it was a big deal to apply to Navy Federal Credit Union for a $1200 loan to buy a ski boat (hell, that was 4 month's pay).
By now, I figured I might make it through the program and wanted to enjoy some of the premiere water-skiing that the Pensacola area had to offer. So, I bought a new 14' Boston Whaler with a 40 horse Johnson. It was on the small, sparsely outfitted side, but could easily pull 2 skiers and it was easy to haul around on the back of the GTO.
My choir and flight training buddies spent every weekend, that we weren't off singing someplace, on the Blackwater River, perfecting our slalom and consumption of adult beverage technique. There was usually a cook out and beer drinking on the river bank after a full day's skiing. Those were very good times, because we knew in a short time, we would all be heading separate ways to meet the needs of the service.
In the spring of 1967, things accelerated pretty fast, now that we were in Advance Flight Training. We blew off a LOT of steam skiing and partying on the Blackwater River!
I recall a memorable trip to New York City, specifically to sing on The Johnny Carson Show -and other wonderful trips to entertain The Navy League in the Philadelphia and Detroit areas.
For the Carson show, we were all lined up on risers, behind the famous curtain before show time, when the curtain parted slightly and "Here's--Johnny"! He strolled over and struck up a conversation with our Director, LT Darrell "Butch" Engwell. He then made small talk with a few of the guys, asking if anyone was from Kansas. One of our soloists was and Johnny went on about how two land-locked boys from Kansas ended up in the Navy. He made several comments to some of us directly and pretty much had us cracked up the whole time.
The show's director had told us that Johnny would talk with us to loosen us up before the show, but we were falling off the risers, he was so funny. Johnny had served in the Navy and I know we deeply affected him with our singing. After we had sung, the curtain closed and Ed McMahon went to a break. While we were waiting to be given the signal to silently climb down from the risers, Johnny came through the curtain, with tears welling in his eyes and gave us heartfelt thanks. I know I saw tears in his eyes when he thanked us.
airline tickets and flew her down from Boston to pin my wings on in the traditional ceremony. On the morning of the 26th of May, 1967, the big day arrived. I was finally, after some 22 months of training, a "Designated Naval Aviator". It was a wonderful time, knowing how proud I had made my mother of me. I had been the first ever in my family to have graduated from college, or to be commissioned in the military -now I was a Naval Aviator!
I was extremely happy, in spite of the fact that none of us had planned -or wanted to fly helicopters -now we had all been given orders to the challenging, exciting world of ASW [Anti-Submarine-Warfare] to replace all of the seasoned aviators who were being given the chance to garner the thrills and glory and Air Medals in Vietnam. Perhaps you note the sarcasm dripping from the words above. Being young and foolish and looking for the glory of combat, I was NOT exactly thrilled at the idea of flying helicopters off ships, in cold Artic waters, looking for submarines!
The celebration over, the next day I saw my mom off back to Boston, packed up my gear and hooked up the trailer for the ski boat and hit the road for Nuclear Weapons Delivery School in Norfolk, Virginia. This was a very short course [ as I recall, only 2 weeks ] before heading to the Fleet RAG [Replacement Air Group] training squadron for the Sikorsky SH-3A in Key West, Florida. Norfolk was great, with Virginia Beach nearby and I hoped I could get back there sometime. I failed to mention earlier that the orders I received upon Designation were to HS-9, based at NAS Quonset Point, Rhode Island. For me, this added insult to injury, as the reason I had joined the Navy 2 years earlier was to "see the world" and here they were sending me right BACK to the place I had come from -Narragansett Bay. . .Rhode Island.
It took only two week's time in Norfolk, at FAETULANT, to learn the skills to lay waste to large areas of real estate with helicopter deployed nuclear weapons. That was certainly a comforting thought! With that knowledge safely tucked away, the Boston Whaler got hitched up again and turned the GTO south to the I-95 -for Key West, Florida,
where I would be spending the next 4-5 months acquiring the skills in a Fleet-type aircraft. My sister and most of my extended family (on mom's side) -aunts, uncles, cousins had moved in years past from New York and New Jersey to the Lake Worth-Palm Beach area. This was a good place to spend the few days before reporting to HS-1, the SH-3 RAG, at NAS Key West.
It was a relatively short, scenic drive down Rt. 1, from Palm Beach to Key West and I anticipated coming up as frequently as the schedule allowed, to visit during training. The drive from the Mainland to Key West is certainly a thrilling experience, over the 13 bridges that span and link all of the "Keys" down to the last one in the chain, Key West. I have not been in a little town, before or after, that has had so much character and charm. It was definitely a great place for a bunch of single, young Navy pilots!
When we did not have something planned on a weekend there, we got in our cars and drove back up across all those bridges to sample the wonderful social life of Miami, or in my case, Palm Beach. The waters surrounding the Keys is absolute crystalline and great for diving. We practically lived on my boat, skiing, diving for lobster and spearing fish for frequent beach parties. We had no other choice but to live in the BOQ [Bachelor Officer's Quarters], due to the tight nature of local rentals. But, the Navy provided us with a BOQ, the likes of which I have *never* seen, before or since. It was one of the tallest buildings in Key West and brand new. Although we did not spend much time in our rooms, everyone that I knew liked our quarters for the convenience and style. We had our own dining room and bar and it was equidistant from the flight line to the beach to the night life downtown.
Shortly after arriving in Key West I was called
into the CO's office, congratulated and advised that my promotion to Lieutenant Junior Grade had come in and since there were 3-4 other people who were to also be promoted, there was a ceremony planned. This was great! I wasn't an Ensign anymore, like some of the guys who had gone through the program as Cadets and I would be arriving at my first Fleet squadron a "seasoned" Lt j.g --ya, right. . can you spell "nugget" "That" -and 10 cents would get us a cup of coffee -and the most junior collateral duty job in the new squadron.
It did not seem that long ago that I was commissioned an Ensign and now they wanted to pay me more to fly their airplanes. I guess this isn't so bad after all. As it turned out, the flying in Key West was pretty good also. At least the weather was great -when there wasn't a hurricane. The SH-3A had not been in the fleet all that long in 1967 and I certainly appreciated some of the more automated features over flying the H-34 -not to mention, it had two engines. Unlike the previous two helicopters I had learned on, the SH-3A had an automatic fuel control linked to the collective.
If you are not familiar with a helicopter's collective, it is the control the pilot uses with his left hand, which changes the pitch angle of the main rotor blades -thereby the lift they generate. In the reciprocating engine helicopters, the collective has a throttle-grip, like a motorcycle, which you twist -and release - power on/off as you raise/lower the collective. In the SH-3A, like other modern turbine-powered helicopters, raising/lowering the collective caused the fuel control to sense the power required and it provided what was necessary when you raised or lowered the collective.
Since we are talking controls, I will mention for the benefit of the helicopter uninitiated, that the helicopter also has a "stick", much like you find in many fixed wing aircraft. Except it is called the "cyclic" and instead of being hooked up to ailerons and elevators, it controls the pitch angle of the entire main rotor hub on its axis. Push the cyclic forward, the entire main rotor tilts forward, thereby giving forward thrust. So a helicopter can be backed up or flown sideways by merely moving the cyclic in the direction of intended travel. With each movement of the cyclic, there must be an appropriate movement of the collective, to control the lift needed for the maneuver. Each change in power creates more or less torque, necessitating some form of rudder input to dampen out the effect. So, a helicopter aviator has his hands -and both feet always busy, unlike pilots of other aircraft. My view is that it takes more skill to fly a helicopter than any other craft.
The training started with classroom time, where we were taught about the aircraft and how it worked -mixed with some basic FAM hops. As it progressed, we learned everything we were going to have to know about being a copilot and up to speed when we arrived at our respective Fleet squadron.
As we progressed, there was a mixture of day and night hops, where we were instructed and performed every aspect of the ASW mission, in addition to utilizing the other aspects in which helicopters excel; such as Search and Rescue and visual reconnaissance.
The most impressive and disconcerting aspect was accomplishing an "auto-hover" at night. The aircraft was set up by flying into the wind at 200 feet and about 100 knots. When Auto Hover was engaged, the aircraft would automatically "slow down-and-go down". The whole purpose of the exercise was to develop a trust in the machine so that you could accomplish a hover at 40' to lower the sonar into the water -in night and IFR conditions -to listen for Soviet submarines.
I NEVER got very used to -or comfortable with, that maneuver! Especially, later, in real life, hundreds of miles north of the Arctic Circle off Norway, when ending up in the water would have meant about 4 minutes of "useful consciousness" time!
I found out in Key West that the Navy's helo community was pretty small. The XO of the RAG when we went through ended up a year or so later being my CO in my first Fleet squadron at NAS Quonset Point, RI. Several of the students going through with me ended up in either my squadron or in HS-5, across the hanger at Quonset. One of my LCDR instructors also ended up in my squadron as a Department Head.
The time just flew by at the RAG and at Key West -imbibing in the very same spots haunted by Earnest Hemingway, hand picking your lobster dinner from the coral in the crystal clear tropical waters. The flying was great, our confidence soared and we knew that some meaningful missions awaited us when we got to our respective squadrons. We were in the middle of the Cold War and the Soviets had quiet submarine technology which would pose a challenge to the best of us. It was still fresh in my mind, having seen Nikita Kruschev banging his shoe on the desk at the UN and shouting, "We will bury you!"
As much as I would have loved to join some of my comrades in arms in Viet Nam, I knew that keeping the Soviets at bay was equally important in the inexorable march of Communism against our way of life.
Off to the squadron -and real life!
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