Chapter 5 Part 1 THE Trip "This Sure Looks Like Kansas

Crocodile in Costa Rica - photo by JoAnn Sturman

by S.R. Oberst

During the next few months there were a few personal milestones in my career - becoming an aircraft commander, being promoted to first lieutenant, and flying my first mission to the “Boneyard,” or what I refer to as THE Trip.

The H-1F was an old helicopter that was gradually being replaced throughout the squadron by newer aircraft. Our unit was not so lucky as to get these new aircraft, but as other units upgraded to new helicopters, some units like ours received their hand-me-downs. The oldest of the old were then flown to Davis-Monthan AFB near Tucson, Arizona, to be “mothballed” at the aircraft graveyard which was referred to as the the Boneyard. Our unit had made several of these “ferry flights” to the Southwest. It was a wonderful break from the normal routine and the Dakota’s minus 40 degree wind chills.

My first opportunity to make THE Trip wasn’t until the following spring. Our unit was assigned to take one of the newer H-1Fs to the rescue detachment at McConnell AFB near Wichita, Kansas, and then fly one of their real old ones to the Boneyard. I was excited when Operations Officer Charlie Crown announced I would be the aircraft commander for this trip. But my exhilaration was momentary dashed when he informed me he would be the co-pilot. This certainly took my fun-meter down to the bottom. At that time little did I know what a truly memorable trip this would be.

I was determined to make the most out of this opportunity. I did everything by the book: putting maps together, plotting routes, planning fuel stops, and trying to account for every possible detail. Charlie did nothing directly related to the flight, but he was busy on the phone calling places where we would remain overnight to set up his personal social calendar. You see, Charlie was what was known as a geographic bachelor. Although usually found in transportation units which fly the C-141 or C-5 cargo planes, geographic bachelors were common throughout the Air Force including helicopter units. These married guys were easily recognized, because their wedding rings came off as soon the wheels or skids came off the ground. (According to the Urban Dictionary, a geographic bachelor is a man who is married, travels frequently, and claims he is a bachelor while away from home.)

The day of the flight was clear and blue. I went to flight ops and got my weather briefing for the flight south. Planning fuel stops for a helicopter can be tricky because the wind can play havoc with fuel consumption, so I was pleased to see a forecast predicting a brisk tail wind for the entire day. As I mentioned earlier, Charlie did not like to fly, so I was not surprised when he announced he would be my navigator and do all of the map reading while I flew the aircraft. On these types of flights an aircraft mechanic accompanied the pilots to serve as crew chief. Our crew chief was SSgt Luther Topper, who everyone called LT. He was a lanky kid about 6 feet 6 inches tall. Having played on our intramural basketball team with LT the past season, I knew he was pretty good in the low post, but I did not know about his talents as a crew chief. Charlie treated most enlisted people like sub-humans, so it was no surprise when Charlie directed LT to load his bags as if he were directing a bellhop in a hotel lobby. LT just grinned and said, “Yes,sir, Capt’n, Sir.” As I loaded my own bag into the baggage compartment of the helicopter, he smiled and winked at me, “How ‘bout you, Loooo-tenant, you need help with your bag, too?”

We were in the air by 6:00 AM. As I flew, Charlie became quite talkative as I mostly listened. It was not long before Charlie began to share stories about his plans for his social life during the trip, starting with a woman named Wanda from Wichita. When I politely refused his offer to have Wanda hook me up with a girlfriend, he accused me of being “too married”. I took no offense with that label.

We stopped for fuel somewhere in Nebraska and had lunch at the airport diner. Charlie had the “special” chili and LT a giant cheeseburger ominously named “The Cornhusker Gut-bomb.” Charlie’s chili ended up being a regrettable choice for LT and me, since later that day Charlie filled the cabin with his brand of chemical warfare. And then when the stench could be no worse, Charlie began bragging about his sexual exploits. I looked behind me in the cabin only to see LT with his feet up sleeping off his gut bomb. Charlie rambled on about some woman he had met in a bar on his last trip to Wichita and all the crude things he planned for her tonight.

More Un-Leadership Insight:
Most male Un-Leaders I have known love to brag about their sexual exploits. Charlie was no exception and frequently recounted lurid escapades that demonstrated his prowess in the bedroom. He definitely considered himself God’s gift to women.

We landed for fuel somewhere in the middle of Kansas and then took off for the final leg to McConnell AFB. Charlie finally bored of talking about his own triumphs and pulled a “girly” magazine out of his flight bag and began reading aloud the “Letters to the Editor Forum” section. I could not help noticing how similar Charlie’s personal stories were to the letters in the magazine. Hmmm. Something told me to file this one away in my brain for future reference.