A Day in the Life of a US Navy Plane Captain

3/3/2023 | Me

[rlmorel]

The Life of A Plane Captain in the United States Navy-1977

Back in the mid-to-late Seventies, I was an Aviation Machinist's Mate in Attack Squadron VA-46, the Clansmen.

In 1976 and 1977, I was a Plane Captain in the US Navy, aboard the USS John F. Kennedy on a Mediterranean deployment. At sea, you worked 12 hours on, 12 hours off 7 days a week at sea (I believe this is still the standard for all deployed vessels)

Plane Captains were the entry level job for most Airmen in the Navy. You went to a training squadron (mine was the VA-174 Hellrazors at Cecil Field, FL) where they taught you to be a Plane Captain. My CO while I was there was, of all people CDR John McCain. (I know!) After that, they send you to a squadron, where after you do your time in the mess hall or anywhere else they decide to stick you, you are assigned to the Line Division in your assigned squadron. Mine was VA-46 known as The Clansmen. I came from a squadron that was commanded by CDR. John McCain, and sent to the squadron McCain was in when he was on the flight deck of the USS Forrestal when that deadly fire occurred back in 1967. I should have probably been worried at this point.

VA-46 was an attack squadron flying A-7 Corsairs, and while I was there, we transitioned from the A-7B model to the A-7E. They had a Scottish theme, we had the MacDougal Tartan and Clan crest painted on the planes, and the pilots had the plaid MacDougal tartan Glengarry hats for ceremonial purposes (Change of Command, etc) and even had kilts and spats which I saw them wear on at least one occasion. (When me made a port call to Scotland in 1976, we were treated very nicely)

So, when you get to a squadron, you become a Plane Captain. This makes a lot of sense, because you learn about the entire plane. I was an Aviation Machinist's Mate, so I worked on the engines and buddy stores (D-704 for those of you who might remember them) but as a Plane Captain, you were mixed in with Aviation Ordinancemen, Aviation Structural Mechanics, and so on.

Even though you were at sea, the compartment for the Line Division was universally called by everyone, everywhere, the "Line Shack". You made a lot of your friends here for the next several years, and some of your enemies too. If you had problems with people, they might go away when the person leaves the Line Division and goes to another shop, and you become friendly with them later. Some, you just avoid. But your friends, especially those who end up in your same shop (Mine was "Powerplants") they are the guys you would go out on liberty with to drink Peroni in Naples or out to the Los Caracoles in Barcelona.

This narrative consists of a single launch cycle, which defines your existence as a Plane Captain. You do this sequence over and over, every day. If your plane was in the hangar, you worked with Plane Captains for other planes.

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As a Plane Captain, you were responsible for being there when the plane was fueled, you checked the hydraulics and oil levels, you cleaned the struts on the landing gear, checked the brakes and the condition of the tires. You were responsible for carrying the chains that the plane was tied down with (at sea, anywhere from six chains to 24, and they were heavy, steel chains.

You had to be available at all times during your shift to "ride brakes" and sit in the cockpit ready to jump on the brakes if the plane broke free from the tractor. This has been known to be hazardous, if I recall correctly, there was a Plane Captain lost on a Pacific carrier as he rode brakes when a wave washed the plane over the side as it was spotted on the lowered elevator. Don't remember which ship.

You didn't sit there waiting with the plane all the time, but if a move of the plane was planned, you had to be in the cockpit. Sometimes, the "move" happened as you ran up to the plane...sometimes...it took hours, or...might never happen, so you might sit in the cockpit for hours twiddling your thumbs or have someone yelling at you as you climb in wondering where the hell you have been! Before climbing in, you had to run over to the wheel well on the main mount, grab an iron pipe, stick it in a pump, and pump it so you knew there was pressure in the hydraulic system to activate the brakes if needed. (If there were chronic hydraulic leaks, you had to pump it all the time to be sure)

You had a lot of tasks before a pilot arrived.

When the plane was scheduled for a launch, you would go on deck, and do an inspection. You would check the cockpit, check the ejection seat (ensuring the safety pins were in, and the "head-knocker" (the last safety mechanism on the seat behind the pilot's head) was "down) and the condition of the cockpit was clean with all the important switches in the default off positions.

You would take fuel samples, using your TL knife blade to insert into a spring-loaded thing that would spit fuel from the wings and fuselage tanks into a glass mason jar (IIRC) and you would examine the fuel for water. You were responsible for removing magnetic plugs and checking for metal shards, and checking oil and hydraulic filters for a "popped" indicator that would signal a clogged oil, fuel, or hydraulic filter which needed to be changed. All the while you would look for any damage to any hydraulic or fuel lines caused by rubbing or actual physical damage. You would examine the plane with a well-rehearsed and rigid walk-around similar to what the pilots do, but more in-depth.

You took the red Naugahyde covers off of all the pitot tubes (I think perhaps two of them, meant to keep out the rain or snow) and place them in the red canvas bag you would later stow in the avionics bay with the open door.

You would check for hydraulic and oil leaks. You would check the condition of the tailhook for damage, and look in the tailpipe for any cracks in the metal or visible damage, oil, or fuel. All the time, you look for Dzus fasteners that might not be fully in, and either screw them in with your speed handle or replace them before the pilot arrived. I cannot remember for sure if I carried a speed handle as a Plane Captain)

Open all the external doors to the avionics bay, check for any indications of damage, and leave it open, because on the A-7 Corsair, that was where you stored your wing-locks, main-mount locks and all the safety pins. You would need that door open to put those things in when the plane was ready to launch. They were secured firmly in there so they wouldn't move around in flight...I recall all the pins with flags went into a red canvas bag when you removed them.

Check the canopy for cracks, and using special liquid for the purpose, would polish the plastic canopy and clean anything on there, then leave the steps open and the ladder down for the pilot.

Check the gun ports for the gatling gun for damage, and coming to the front of the plane, view the radome for damage.

Before proceeding into the air intake for the jet engine, you would make sure everyone around you was aware you were diving the intake, you would take your tool belt off, ensure your pockets were empty (they should be anyway) and you would climb up and crawl into the engine intake.

On the A-7, it was a long, yet comfortable crawl to the front of the engine because it was a big intake. You would look for any foreign objects or damage, and when you got to the engine, you would examine the seal all around the front of the engine where it met the airframe, to ensure it was undamaged and in place. I recall that you had to rotate the compressor blades with your hand and look for any damage. Then, backing out feet first, you would be damn sure something didn't fall off your person as you exited. Didn't want that knife or wallet (that you weren't carrying!) going into the engine when it started.

Additionally, if there were ordinance or drop tanks on the wings, you checked all of them for security. If it was a fuel tank, you would pop the fuel cap and visually verify the fuel level in it. If it was ordinance on the pylons, you would check the ejection racks (MER-Multiple Ejection Racks) or (TER-Triple Ejection Racks) for security and safety pin placement (The lack of which was the root cause of the fire aboard the USS Forrestal) and if there was ordinance, you visually checked it for security by trying to wiggle it, and you would visually verify each piece of ordinance either had a safety pin in it, or in the case of iron bombs, a wire that went through the little propeller on the fuse and back to the ejection rack, which kept the bomb from arming until it was dropped. (When the bomb dropped, the wire was pulled from the propeller, enabling it to spin and arm after it left the plane.)

When the pilot arrived, they would do their walk-around. Some pilots were extremely thorough and did their inspection with almost as much thoroughness as you did, and you knew they were a good pilot from simply watching this. One of our pilots, a Lt. Leenhouts (The leading naval aviator with carrier traps for some time at the end of his career, in which he was a CAPT or CDR when he retired) was stellar. He was good. Some other pilots were seemingly quite lax, doing the equivalent of kicking the tires. They depended on you 100% to do your job, and I found that a little concerning. If I were a pilot, I would "trust but verify". They weren't allowed to dive the intake...:)

Then the pilot would climb into the cockpit, and you would climb up after them and help them strap in and get settled in any way they asked of you. You removed the safety pins for the seat, showed them to the pilot who would visibly nod in approval (but they would leave the "headknocker" down until you handed the plane over to the Yellow Shirts, who would direct them to the catapult) and you would climb down, closing the foot-steps and folding the ladder and snapping the door to the ladder shut.

Finally, if there is no deck well close enough to your plane to drag an air hose from, a "Huffer" (a vehicle with a large hose for air to start the engine connected to a small special gas turbine in the vehicle to blow bleed air (from its own little turbine) through the hose to the plane, and its stream of hot jet exhaust would exit the huffer from the top of the vehicle. They were very careful not to park the huffer so that this hot exhaust would be under any ordinance or aircraft part it could damage) would drive up, and you would drag the hose over from the cart and hook it up to the plane using the specialized quick-release coupling on the hose. You checked the connection, then walked up to the front of the plane just off the port side of the plane (not directly in front) so both the pilot and the "Huffer" operator would see you clearly at the same time.

You made sure everyone was ready, got the attention of the pilot, and put two fingers (peace sign) in the air above your head, and pointed at the pilot saying with that signal "Are you ready to start the engine?" The pilot would positively signal you with a thumbs up, and pointing not at the pilot but at the fuselage of the plane, you would vigorously waggle your two fingers above your head. The Huffer operator, seeing the signal, would start up the Huffer.

When they did, the big, fat, reinforced cloth tube would fill and turn from flaccid to solid, and compressed air would flow through the hose into the side of the plane. A special pipe would take that forced aire and blow it directly into the turbine blades on the turbine, causing them to turn, and since the turbine was connected to the compressor blades at the front of the engine, they would start compressing the air, forcing it into the combustion cans. The pilot, seeing the RPM reach a certain point, would put the throttle to a point that fuel would begin flowing into the combustion cans right just forward of the turbine, and as the fuel begins flowing he immediately shoves the throttle to an indent on the side of the throttle body, and that causes a gigantic spark plug (the length of my forearm and hand, if I recall correctly. I remember this clearly because I got the crap knocked out of me because I took a shock from one when removing it because I forgot to short it out first and discharge the pent-up charge stored in a capacitor. Didn't follow the instructions!) to begin firing repeatedly.

Like a gas stove being lit by a match, the first combustion can lights off, and each adjacent combustion can lights off in sequence until they are all lit off. The pilot watches (and you watch as well) for indications of a wet start (clouds of raw fuel coming out the tailpipe because the fuel didn't ignite for some reason) that might turn into a hot start (giant ball of flame if that plume of raw fuel lights off) and you communicate with the pilot on this, giving special hand signals (as if he needs them, because he can see the instruments that you cannot) to inform him of what you see.

When the engine lights off and is self-sustaining, the pilot signals you to disconnect the Huffer hose, and you do so. The Huffer drives off to the next plane to start it up.

You position yourself and wait. The pilot is organizing himself, checking all his gauges, oil pressure, hydraulic pressure, etc. so you wait. As you wait, you look at the area around you, being aware of launches, your place in the launch, orienting yourself to the time and place, making sure you know where you and your plane are IN that process.

But you also closely monitor the aircraft at this time. As the pilot is settling in and you wait for his out of cockpit attention, you examine the plane looking for smoke, hydraulic fluid, oil, or fuel. If you see anything, you immediately summon a "White Shirt" (Troubleshooter) over to examine the issue, or if it is dramatic enough (like the proverbial "cow pissing on a flat rock") you issue the universal and urgent CUT signal to the pilot by repeatedly drawing the fingers of the hand across the throat. The faster and more vigorous the gesture conveys the urgency)

If there are no problems, you signal the pilot you are removing the safety pins and locks (using, if I recall correctly the universal hand motion guys use to convey sexual intercourse, but you simply make the OK sign with one hand, insert the forefinger from the other hand into the OK sign, then retract it once...not in and out as is usually done!) and you proceed to remove the main mount locks (two large pipe shaped iron-hinged clamps with a red flagged pin that goes through the side opposite the hinge to secure them, the wing locks (for the folding wings) and any non-ordinance red flags, you show them to the pilot, he gives you a thumbs up, and you place the flags with pins in the red canvas bag and there were special storage mounts for the main mount locks where you would wrap the lock around them, close the lock, and insert the pin to keep it in place. (I recall this was done at this time because now there was full hydraulic pressure. You didn't want to remove things like the wing locks, where if there was a pressure failure, they would just fold up, hitting the plane parked next to them. At least that is how I remember it 45 years later...:) Honestly, I don't remember if we put the wing locks in the avionics bay, or if we took them below with us. They were very big, awkward, and heavy. Can't remember!)

Once all the locks and pins were stored securely in the avionics bay, you closed the door, and with your TL knife, would insert the flat end of the blade into the notch on the rectangular fastener (there were, I think eight of the fasteners for that access door) and slam the palm of your hand against the handle of the TL knife to snap it closed.

Walking back to the front of the port side off the plane just to the side of the nose, you began your checks with the pilot.

You get their attention by holding up your hand, palm out, straight above your head, patiently signaling that you are requesting the pilot's attention. When he sees you, the first thing you would do is called the "wipeout" sign. This involved making sure nobody was standing next to the plane where they shouldn't be, then putting your fisted hand fully extended straight out in front of you, and make three or four wide cirlces as if you were stirring a caldron of bubbling hot soup. The pilot would mimic your motion by cycling his control stick in several big circles as you watched the control surfaces. The ailerons on the wings would go up and down, the UHTs (Elevators) would up and down, and you give the pilot a thumbs up signifying "Your control surfaces are all functional."

Then for the first of three signals delivered in quick succession, after making sure nobody was standing in the way, you would extend your hands in front of you together with your palms together and horizontal to the ground, and open them with a "V" sign, joined at the ball of your hand signaling "Open your flaps." as you watched the flaps open fully.

For the second signal, which had something to do with initializing some kind of gyroscope, you held your hands above your head as if you were holding a softball, then made a quick three stroke motion as if you were wiping it off or polishing it with both hands. They would turn on some component, check it, and then give you a thumbs up.

Third, there was one other signal in that sequence to lower the Ram Air Turbine (RAT). I don't remember exactly, but I think it was putting your fingers on the right side of your helmet, then extending that arm straight out to the side. The pilot would extend the RAT, you would give a thumbs up, and you would reverse the signal, bringing your fingers back to the side of your head after making sure nobody was standing near it. (I am having trouble remembering this, but I do remember the RAT was on the starboard side of the plane, so I suspect that I might have walked around to the starboard side and given the three signals. I would then see the starboard flap extend, and the RAT pop out of the side of the plane. After watching it get retracted, I would walk back to the port side of the plane, check the port flap, and give him the signal to close the flaps by doing the reverse gesture of opening the flaps by bringing the palms of the hands back together. Again, I am a bit hazy on that, but that is what I think we did) The pilot, after all tasks in that sequence would wait for your thumbs up before proceeding.

For the final check, you would signal them to drop the tailhook. You looked aft, made sure it was clear, and nobody was ducking under the plane (Men have been killed where someone was scooting under the plane when the tailhook came down and crushed them and fatally injured them, this was well known, and safety on this was carefully observed) The signal involved putting your left hand, palm down, straight out in front of you, making a thumbs up gesture with your right hand, and putting the tip of your thumb against the palm of your outstretched hand. You then pulled your thumb downwards in an arc away from your hand and the pilot would drop the tailhook.

There was a damper mechanism on the tailhook that the Green Shirts (The Airframes sailors in your squadron who handled hydraulics) would adjust. You wanted that damper adjusted so the tailhook would come down steadily, but...they didn't get it adjusted perfectly, or it went out of adjustment over time, so sometimes, instead of coming down nice and smoothly, it would come down with a shuddering, slow motion, shaking as it slowly descended to the steel flight deck. That was okay, generally. But sometimes, when they lowered the hook, it would come down blindingly hard and fast against the deck, sometimes even chipping the non-skid covering, and would land with a crack hard enough to hear even through your hearing protection and over the sound of the jet engine. This would not prevent the launch, but people would notice it and submit a five-part MAF form (Maintenance Action Form, the goldenrod copy to Maintenance, the green copy to the Airframes shop, the blue copy to somewhere else, and so on.

Military bureaucracy.

In any case, if the tailhook came down correctly, the Plane Captain would give a thumbs up to the pilot, then, making sure nobody was in the way to get maimed by a retracting hook, give the pilot the signal to raise the tailhook by extending the left hand straight in front of you, palm down, and bringing the fisted right hand with extended thumb around in a wide sweeping arc until the tip of the thumb met the palm of the extended hand. When the hook was up, it was followed by a thumb's up.

The last thing we would do is get the pilot's attention by holding our hand up, palm out, waiting patiently to catch their eye. When they acknowledged you had their attention (I recall they didn't always give you a thumbs up in all this but sometimes, just looking directly at you and nodding their helmets, visors lowered, was how they indicated they were ready for you)

When you had their attention, you would point directly at them with your left arm fully extended, and do a chopping motion on the back of your head with the knife edge of your right hand. This was the signal for the pilot to reach above their head, and retract or stow the "Head Knocker" which they would acknowledge with a thumbs up. At this point, the ejection seat was now fully armed. If they pulled the ejection handle now, either between their legs or above their head, two large spring-loaded hammers on top of the seat would extend upwards. When the rocket on the seat fired, the two extended hammers would demolish the canopy, and the pilot would be propelled upwards through the now disintegrated plexiglass canopy.

When you got the thumbs up once the head knocker was stowed, you delivered a snappy salute to the pilot, and I recall, as a courtesy, they would return the salute.

If there was any ordinance on board, the Red Shirts in your squadron would come around, do one final visual and physical check on the ordinance (like the one done by the Red Shirts who put it on the plane, you did during your preflight inspection, and the pilot did during their preflight inspection. If the pilot was carrying something like a Walleye (optically guided bomb) you would go over, stand directly in front of the optical seeker, and hold your hand up. Presumably, the pilot would lock the aimer on your hand, then when you put your hand to the side, the seeker should slew to keep track of your hand. (I don't remember this step perfectly, but I remember doing it as a Plane Captain...not the Red Shirts)

Anyway, nobody wanted to shoot a plane off a catapult with wiggly or loose ordinance or drop tanks. People could get killed, so there were lots of physical checks. At this point, the Red Shirts would remove all the arming pins from the ordinance (including the arming pins that prevented drop tanks or MER/TER racks from accidentally being ejected while the plane was on the ground.)

When all that was done, the very last direct thing you did was deliver a snappy salute to the pilot, and I recall, as a courtesy, the pilot would return the salute. (I don't remember if they always did, but...in my memory, it seems they did. I could be wrong.)

Then, we would stand around and wait for a Yellow Shirt (and the Blue Shirts who tailed them like remoras that latch onto a shark) to come over and take control of the plane. This could happen quickly, or might take fifteen minutes or more, as you stood around cooling your heels.

When there was a space in the queue towards the catapult, a Yellow Shirt (with the one or two ubiquitous Blue Shirts) would come over and signal the pilot. The Blue Shirts scurry to each main mount, and the Yellow Shirt would give the pilot the signal "Removing chocks" by placing both fisted hands above his head with the bottoms of each fist touching each other, thumbs extended directly out to the right and the left. When the Yellow Shirt took his two hands outwards away from each other, the Blue Shirts would dutifully remove the chocks from the wheels and get out of the way.

The Plane Captain would, at the same time, furiously take the six chains off (two on each main mount fore and aft, and two on the nose gear facing forward) by hitting the metal triangular lock release on the chain, extracting the hook on one end from the plane, and the other from the pad-eye on the deck. These chains we draped over our shoulders, three on each side, by hooking the two chains running down our back into the hook of the single chain running down our chest, the nexus of the three hooked chains sitting directly on our shoulders on each side.

These chains, six of them, weighed around 75 pounds total, so walking with them could be a little ungainly. (If you had twelve chain tie-downs for rough weather, I recall it was positively clumsy. There was also a 24 point tie down for really rough weather, and it was an all-hands operation where the Plane Captains would all chip in together, carrying all the chains and helping to secure them to the pad eyes in the deck.)

Once the Yellow Shirt saw the chocks were out, tie down chains were removed, and there was nobody standing where they shouldn't have been, the Yellow Shirt would hold up his hand, palm out, signifying "I need your attention to begin directing you." The pilot would acknowledge him, and the Yellow Shirt would gesture him to increase power and begin taxiing by holding his arms to each side with his fingertips touching together over the top of his head, then bringing them apart and back together repeatedly in unison to taxi straight ahead. If he wanted him to go left, he would point with one arm straight and motionless in the direction he wanted him to taxi the plane, while he would fold and unfold the other arm above his head repeatedly until he was pointing the plane in the appropriate direction, then would begin gesturing with both arms in unison above his head extending and retracting them. When he wanted the pilot to stop, he would bring together both clenched fists, thumb-side to thumb-side, directly above his head.

The Plane Captain, with all the chains (and I think the wing locks, one in each hand) would stand off to the side as the plane taxied up to just behind the Jet Blast Deflector (JBD), then we would get off the flight deck, into a catwalk, and be prepared (in case there was a problem and the plane could not launch) to follow the plane to a spot area and tie it back down and help the pilot out of the plane.

If the plane did launch, we went below, hanging our chains on the scupper near the catwalk (I think) and were free for some period of time, maybe an hour or more. We might go eat, play cards, write letters, shoot the breeze, do some training, or if we were inclined, help other Plane Captains do their jobs in any way you could. You knew when the plane was due back, so you had to make sure you were prepared and ready, waiting in the catwalk with your chains and wing locks for the plane to return.

You would hear the Air Boss in the island say over the flight deck speaker system "Corsair 307 inbound" in that loud, metallic voice they all seemed to have, and you got ready. When the plane landed, you went to where they were going to spot the plane, usually parallel to the waist cat or up on the bow, and as they taxied the plane all the way up to the bow on the port side, across the flight deck to the starboard side, then aft to the area where the flight deck widened, you stood waiting for the plane to arrive, usually side by side with a couple of chock-carrying Blue Shirts. Yellow Shirts directing the plane in team would hand the plane off to each other until it reached its destination.

The Yellow Shirt would position the aircraft where they wanted, then give the stop signal described above. When the plane was stopped, the Yellow Shirt gave the "Insert the chocks" signal, the reverse of the "Remove the chocks" signal by bringing the fisted hands with thumbs extended together until the thumbs touched directly above their head.

The ever-present, chock-carrying Blue Shirts would rush forward to insert the chocks, and the Plane Captain would put the wing-locks in place. We would then secure the plane to the flight deck with the six chains. As soon as we got the chains on, we would run over to the avionics bay on the port side, use our TL knife in the same way we secured those latches, by placing the flat end in the release part of the latch and slapping it with the ball of your hand. We did this in rapid succession, completing the task in about 5-10 seconds. The door would flap open (hinged on the bottom) and you would retrieve the canvas bags with the main mount safety clamps, the nose gear clamp, and the ejection seat pins.

Grabbing all these, we would clamp the two main-mount clamps onto the main struts, insert the nose gear pin and give the Yellow Shirt a thumbs up. He would signal the pilot to cut the engine by pointing at the plane and drawing his hand across his throat, and then go out to direct the next plane being taxied his way, the ever present Blue Shirts in tow behind him to get positioned where the next plane would be spotted.

We took our TL knife, using the same motion to release the stair panel, extended the stair, climbed up, and released in the same fashion the foot-step recesses for the pilot. The pilot would open the canopy, we would insert the safety pins for the ejection seat, and the pilot would hand us their bag (I recall they had some kind of olive sailcloth bag, about the size of two or three stacked videocassettes with stuff in it, maybe a manual, charts, or lunch...I don't remember!)

We climbed down with their bag, and they would climb down after us. We would hand them their bag, they would mouth an unheard (over the din of jet engines) "Thank you." and then they would walk away.

We would walk around the plane inspecting it, looking for any obvious issues, close the canopy, close the footsteps, retract the ladder, and close the avionics bay. We would know if the plane needed to be re-spotted, and if so we had to stick around to ride the brakes.

If the plane was scheduled to be fueled, we would be on hand, and the Purple Shirts would come out lugging a black hose behind them once the plane was spotted. If the canopy needed cleaning, we might do it then.

And we would wait. If the plane needed maintenance, you might need to be around to ride brakes if it was taken below to the hangar bay. Otherwise, you could head below and take a break.

When your planes weren't flying, you had to wash the planes. Since there is little water available at sea, you don't get to wash planes like you would a car. There is no water hose. You have cleaner in spray cans you have to spray on the plane, let it sit, then wipe it off with rags which were delivered to your shop in large bales perhaps three feet on each side held together with baling wire. Those damn bales had all kinds of cut up clothing items in them, and the material wasn't always any good for wiping off the cleaner. Some would just smear it. The stuff was awful, all chemicals, and you would breathe it in. So, if planes weren't flying you were laying on your back, spraying this stuff on the belly pan which was smeared with streaks of oil, hydraulic fluid and fuel, with dirt and grit all mixed in. On a windy flight deck, you would spray this stuff, the foam would blow into your face, eyes, and mouth. I hated it. But it was what you did.

If the plane was scheduled to fly another sortie, you would be told when it was expected to launch, so you get up on the deck early, and begin the process all over again. I cannot remember for sure, but I don't think it was uncommon to have your plane fly two or three sorties in a twelve-hour shift. Sometimes, another one at night. I don't know if that is accurate, it has been a long time, but that is what my memory tells me.

[rlmorel]

LOL, I might, but you know how these things are if they get into the hands of people who might spit and say “That isn’t how it is done!”

Besides, I suspect I am a sexist fossil from bygone days...they might look at it and say there are too many “he” and “him”, too many “Man” and “Men” and try to change it all up!

Part of the reason I write it the way I do is to capture the time, and in woke publications such as the Navy Times or All Hands, I would never pass muster!

[rlmorel]

I very much appreciate your saying so. It has been a lot of fun both introducing people who have no exposure to it, and hearing from those who know “some other part of that elephant”!

[Chode]

and you do it well...

[rlmorel]

You know, I got to know Chiefs early on, because my mess assignment as a lowly Airman Apprentice/Airman was to the Chief’s Mess on the USS JFK during the time we went out for sea trials down to Guantanamo before we left on our 1976 North Atlantic deployment. (if I remember that correctly)

That was the best I could expected for a mess assignment, I think.

The food was awesome, the crowd of people we served was smaller, and if we did our job, we didn’t have anyone bullying us around. Chiefs apparently have bigger fish to fry than mess attendants, but I heard it was not that collegial up on the crew decks. Apparently there, mess attendants were fair game for anyone in a bad mood, and as we all know, s**t rolls down hill!

I started working there at maybe 165 lbs, and when I left, I weighed 183 lbs!

Part of it was, working in the scullery, they would bring in scads of leftover food we were expected to simply dispose of by shoving it down that foot-wide gaping hole of a garbage disposal. When we weren’t shoving perfectly good food down that garbage disposal, we would turn it on, stand about five feet away, and see who could toss in a glassware plate or bowl. It would make a satisfying sound (especially to a young guy to whom all loud and dissonant sounds signal a good time involving things disintegrating or blowing up) that was a mix of glass being instantaneously rendered into small shards and immediately digested by that gaping maw to transit the pipes of the ships to be excreted out into the water somewhere!

Anyway, I loved pineapple upside down cake, which was an apparent specialty of the cooks in the Chief’s mess! As those trays came through when was working the sink, I would use a long spatula to scrape the pineapple upside down cake into that great, black, ravenous hole, but an equal amount (I suspect) went into my own great, black ravenous hole.

So, one day as I was having breakfast, I looked down, and...I couldn’t see my crotch where my legs met! My gut was in the way! I weighed myself, and came in at 183 Lbs! I was horrified. After I got out of there, my weight came back down to about 170 lbs, where it stayed until I left the Navy. Like most men, as I aged, I got up as high as 228 lbs before I started, and about six months ago, I almost made it back to 183 lbs, which was my target. No way I was going to make it to 170 lbs. Life is too short to starve, in my opinion!

I did my time before we deployed overseas in the Chiefs Mess, and I remember working in the scullery on July 4th, 1976, and there was a television in the scullery that showed the festivities in New York. I felt awfully homesick as I watched that, and seeing the sailors on liberty walking around the town barhopping made me as jealous as I could be.

Oddly, I was serving time in the Chiefs mess with a guy named Stuart who was in my company from boot camp, but was now part of ships company or some other squadron. I knew him for two reasons: In boot camp, he had been chosen from our company to take part in the boxing matches (”Smokers”) that had been held in boot camp. He had put on a good show before hand, taunting his opponents in our own boxing matches in the company, but he didn’t do well in the intra-company smoker, and was easily defeated, earning some degree of scorn.

Secondly, we had a joke we would do in the scullery, when one of those solid aluminum cooking paddles was cleaned in that long dishwashing thing fed by steam, act oar-like thing would come out hot as hell, and someone with gloves would take it off the rack and hand it to the “new” guy as a joke, and he would play a little hot potato before dropping it on the deck.

At the time, I wasn’t above this, so I handed it to him (he wasn’t wearing those rubber gloves) and it burned his hands pretty good, though not enough to blister them. I didn’t know that someone had turned the steam temperature up on that thing, so when I pulled it out and handed it to him, instead of hearing a wide-eyed yelp of surprise, I heard a real scream of pain. I thought he might kick my ass, and he could have, but to his credit, he didn’t. I didn’t pull practical jokes on people after that. It is too easy for something to go wrong, and besides, I never enjoyed having them played on me, although I always resolved to bear them with good nature if I could.

Two examples of this unfortunate dynamic in practical jokes:

Sometime later, on another deployment, we had been at sea for a while and were nearing the point where people become irritable and bored. A sailor in our Powerplants shop was sitting at a small table, and had fallen fast asleep sitting upright with his elbow on a table, his palm outstretched supporting the side of his head. As he sat there sitting upright, asleep in his long-sleeved green flight deck jersey, his entire armpit was exposed.

One of the guys shushed us with his finger to his mouth, pulled out his Bick lighter, and decided he was going to give the sleeping guy the armpit equivalent of a hot foot.

He silently crept over, placed the lighter about 3 inches under the taut, green jersey fabric covering the guys armpit. He lit the lighter, and turned to give us a silly grin. Those of us watching saw smoke, smelling burning hair immediately and then a millisecond later the subject of the prank leapt to his feet screaming.

Apparently, there was a tiny hole in this guy’s jersey armpit that none of us could see, and the flame went right through the hole and lit the guys armpit hair on fire. He wasn’t burned enough to cause damage, but I felt pretty bad just sitting there watching it, and I know the guy who did it felt really bad, because he and the subject were buddies, and I know he definitely didn’t want to hurt him.

But that wasn’t the worst example. The worst mother of all pranks screw ups occurred around 3 AM one morning while we were steaming in the Mediterranean.

From what we were told (and it was our division officer who told us this is a group) there was a guy standing watch on the Port Quarter, sitting in the little chair in his pea coat, wearing his sound powered phones on his head. He had apparently fallen asleep, which as everyone knows is very bad, but fortunately (or actually, unfortunately) two of his buddies dropped by to say hello and chat with him, only to find him asleep.

Apparently, this was too rich and opportunity to pass up. One of them crept over on his hands and knees and tied the guy’s shoelaces together as he snoozed. They then backed into the hatch out of sight and with cupped hands, called out in a loud stage whisper “Man Overboard! Man Overboard!”

If the accounts were to be believed, they got exactly the result they were looking for. One can imagine the guy hearing this and leaping to his feet, his unseeing eyes bulging with panic as he scanned the ocean, then immediately stumbling and planting himself face down on the metal deck, His buddies giggling hysterically in the background. Their joke had played out exactly as they hoped.

Except for one thing.

There was a person in the catwalk above them in the dark who heard the guy call out “Man Overboard” to their sleeping buddy, and raised the general alarm. At 3 AM in the middle of the Mediterranean, probably 5-10,000 men on maybe half a dozen to a dozen ships were awakened from their sleep and began rushing up and down ladders as the entire group executed the Man Overboard drill, only it wasn’t a drill.

We heard the guys got severely punished by court martial, but that was all we ever heard.

[Mr.Unique]

Writing this must have been an excellent exercise for you. I enjoyed reading it.

I had a break from my USAF active service to go to college. While in the USAF Reserve at March AFB, I worked for General Dynamic on an F-16N maintenance contract for NFWS & VF-126 (NAS Miramar). I was hired as an Avionics Lead, but we had few people, and everyone had to be available for Plane Captain duties. It was the best job of my life. I liked the launch and recovery, inspections, towing, brake riding, and contact with the aircrew. I wasn’t so fond of the wash rack.

There was a mix of former Navy and former USAF on the contract. It was interesting exploring the differences between USAF and Navy culture and procedures.

[rlmorel]

I had another funny anecdote, that to this day makes me grin when I think about it.

Everyone calls the Chief "Chief", right? So I was standing in a group one morning, and our Chief Ordnanceman was in that group. His name was...AOC Lamb.

With each one, Chief Lamb looked more and more irritated, and when the young airman came by and cheerfully said "Good Morning, Chief!" he nearly flinched!

As the guy walked away, Chief Lamb growled to no one in particualar:

"When I get out of the Navy, I am going to get myself a dog, and I am going to name it 'Chief'. And every morning, when I get my cup of coffee, I am going to kick that dog and say 'Good Morning, Chief!'"

Now, I liked Chief Lamb, he was a straight talking, no bull kind of guy, but I found it hilarious, and I was reminded of that episode years later in the movie "We Were Soldiers" where the figure Command Sgt. Major Basil Plumley (played by Sam Elliot) would walk by one of the lower-ranked soldiers who would desperately try to find a way to make small talk with him, only to be excruciatingly rebuffed each time!

[rlmorel]

Thanks for serving, that has been one of the fun things in this exercise, is reading how other branches handle this. (I get the distinct impression that, yes, F-16s must be a pain in the butt to wash, although I suspect diving the intake on those must have been much like the A-7!)

By the way, my best friend who joined with me, and is my best friend to this day, served in VF-126 back in the mid-late Seventies. Hahaha...I really worked hard to get him a transfer to my outfit, but the Navy doesn’t make that easy. They said it could be arranged if I found a guy in my outfit who was interested in a trade, so I got a guy nicknamed “Bear” Baldridge who was interested, and we began the process.

Bear once pinioned me against a bulkhead for waking him up to go to the shop when he overslept. (You can see “Bear” above at the post #55 above. He was standing third from the Left in the back row. He was a big guy with a bushy beard, and not someone to be trifled with. But I always got along well with him, both before and after this incident)

I walked up to his rack, and after saying “Bear...Bear...they’re looking for you in the shop. Bear, wake up...” to no effect, I gently grabbed his foot and wiggling it said “Bear...”

Well, in a flash he leaped out of his rack, and had me by the throat against the bulkhead, growling like the bear he was nicknamed for, and looking absolutely as menacing as one, too. His eyes were bulging, and his lips were peeled back from his teeth as growled menacingly in a low voice “Don’t you EVER touch my feet...” before releasing me and crawling back into his rack.

I disconsolately went back to the Line Shack, and told AD1 Cook that when I woke Baldridge up, he made it clear he wasn’t going to cooperate, so “Cookieman” (as we all knew him) got up and said “Follow me.”

As we approached our berthing space, there was one of those ever present buckets on wheels with a mop in it, the ones that have the mop wringing device on top. Without even missing a beat, Cookieman, who was walking briskly in front of me, stuck out his hand and effortlessly extracted the dripping wet mop.

He walked up to Bear’s rack, and using the dripping wet swab, brushed aside the stupid blue curtains we all had, and shoved the mop into Baldridge’s face saying in a low, monotone voice “Bear. Come on, Bear. Get up out of that rack.”

Baldridge leaped to his feet, his eyes blinking rapidly in his dripping face, fists clenched ready to do combat, but when he saw it was AD1 Cook, after soundlessly opening and closing his mouth, turned around and opened his rack.

Anyway, our transfer agreement never did get consummated, and my buddy happily served out his tour of duty in Miramar!

[poconopundit]

That's terrific, freepersup.  Google images is terrific at finding pics.

As for the troubles with posting big images, have you tried putting a specific width on the image?  There are limits on the size FR will allow.  Anything over 800 pixels is maybe too much because you are slowing down the loading of the page for everyone.  In that case, send a link to the image and maybe find a smaller image to post as an example.

The syntax for posting an image is:

< img width=800 src=http:///site.com/myimage.jpg>

[freepersup]

High Five!

In my exuberance, I had failed to initially notice that there were copyright restrictions on the image by the original photographer, and the website had some kind of policy against hot linking to their site, so I attempted a few end runs, and eventually was able to capture the URL of the image and post it on rlmorel’s thread.

I understand basic HTML just enough to be dangerous, with regard to image posting codes, so I can attest to the fact that it wasn’t a sizing issue.

Your post and link, however, were a fortuitous act of serendipity, that was key to my success in sharing the Corsair on static display at my hometown airport, and for that I am grateful.

I would note that your find was the first key step, and from that image page, I spotted the subject Corsair, which led me to the Airliners website.

Thank you again, and thanks much for the follow-up.

Cowboy Up! Eagles Up! freepersup!

PS

I have not yet heard back from rlmorel, in regards to whether a/c 304 was a plane that he had physically worked on when aboard the a/c carrier USS JF Kennedy.

[freepersup]

Well THAT sucks! I just tried this link and it is a NO GO!

Error 1011 Ray ID: 7a3574e7deb93235 • 2023-03-05 21:29:50 UTC
Access denied
What happened?
The owner of this website (imgproc.airliners.net) does not allow hotlinking to that resource (/photos/airliners/7/0/2/5313207.jpg).

Was this page helpful? Yes No
Cloudflare Ray ID: 7a3574e7deb93235 • Your IP: Click to reveal • Performance & security by Cloudflare

[freepersup]

FINALLY! The a/c image(s) that I wanted to capture online.

(Carmelo Turdo Photo)

(Mike Heideman Photo)

SOURCE:https://www.silverhawkauthor.com/post/warplane-survivors-usa-illinois

[poconopundit]

These are terrific pics, freepersup! Nice work.

[rlmorel]

Heya freepersup...thanks for trying. That site looks like they are serious about safeguarding their images, as least as far as law-abiding people will try to respect their wishes.

Ah well.

But I was able to locate that serial number, it is: 158026. And looking at it, it was assigned to VA-46 in 1990...darn, so not one I worked on...:)

158026 (MSN E342) taken on strength ca.1972, this plane was first assigned to Attack Squadron 83 (VA-83) at NAS Oceana, VA. In 1983 it was transferred to VA-105, also at NAS Oceana. Come 1985 the plane was with VA-15 at Oceana, then to VA-46 at NAS Cecil Field, FL in 1990, taking part in Operation Desert Storm in January 1991. In about 1992 the plane was assigned as a ground instruction trainer at Naval Air Technical Training Center, Memphis, TN. Now at the Heritage of Flight Museum, Lincoln, IL, on loan from National Naval Aviation Museum.

I went to this website, it has a lot of good information: http://www.joebaugher.com

In any case, I saw you had success! About an hour ago I saw your post, so I began digging around...thanks for finding that photo! Strong work!

[rlmorel]

I had to laugh-when I found that database, I had to look, and I had not worked on this one I posted at #30 either...I was deflated, but I had to laugh!

To paraphrase the famous Dan Akryoyd sketch from SNL:

"Corsair 160713, you ignorant slut. Someone like you, Corsair 160713 who hops from squadron to to squadron with the frequency of a cheap ham-radio. But hell hath no fury like an aviation enthusiast scorned..."

Those things just moved around near the end of their service lives, like I had no idea they did!

[freepersup]

Thank you for the reply and great thread.

My hometown airport where the Clansmen Corsair is on static display also has a gamma goat, a UH 1, an F-4, and a C-45, all of which I have had personal or working relationships with, within both my private affairs and military careers.

I participated in rigging the gamma goat for airdrop, as I was an airborne parachute rigger in a heavy drop aerial delivery company (612th QM Company) in the US Army.

I made several military static line, and hundreds of MWR-sponsored sport parachute freefall jumps out of the UH-1, while stationed at Ft Bragg, NC, with the 82nd Airborne Sport Parachute Club.

I packed the drag chutes and assisted in the packing of the drogue chutes, and the emergency personnel chutes of the F-4 Phantom jet, while assigned to the Parachute Shop, with the IL ANG, at Capitol Airport, in Springfield, IL.

Last but not least, I got the bright idea to get married in a C-45 Expeditor, otherwise known as a Twin Beech.

I don’t know if I have it in me to ever write a book or long essay, but maybe a few threads will someday surface.

BOATSWAIN! Pipe the Plane Captain aboard! Aye! Aye! Sir!

[freepersup]

It’s good to be among my own kind. I sincerely want to take the time to thank both of you for your FR friendship and dogged research. Good Times!

It beats arguing politics with some of our rather stodgy curmudgeons. High Five!

[poconopundit]

You da Man, freepersup!

Your excitement is fuel to guys like rlmorel who have the knowledge, but who need the good audience feedback to keep that hobo muse busy.

[freepersup]

🍊👍🍊🤜🤛🍊👍🍊

[gawatchman]

As I remember it the LOX guy told everyone that the safety officer was going to “have his ass” if he didn’t get the LOX delivered on time. Then he gets to the safety officer who told him she was going to “have his ass” and she was a hot blond to which he reacted with a big smile. I don’t really care to see it again though just because of the ending.

[rlmorel]

Thanks again for your service, FRiend.

We are lucky. We got to see a lot of things, and we benefited from it. I sure did.

It changed my life. Not as much as marrying my wife, mind you, but...pretty close!

I keep track of what I write and save it. I doubt I’ll ever write any books, but...I sure do enjoy writing and sharing with like-minded people. I suppose the best I will do is write short stories...:)

I hope you do the same, or more!