Chapter 8 THE Passover

Yosemite Falls from the Top - Photo by JoAnn Sturman

by S.R. Oberst

The Summer of 1975 stands out in my memory for several reasons:
The flying was great. Every day I basically strapped myself to a helicopter and flew all day, logging over 100 hours per month from June through September.
Our unit softball team won the base intramural championship.
Participated in two rescue missions resulting in three credited “Saves”.
Managed to squeeze in numerous hikes and fishing trips.
Got all 9s on my OER (see Chapter 7).
Started training to become an instructor pilot
Oh, and last but certainly not least, Charlie met the Air Force promotion board in July.

Not a single pilot in our unit could imagine the existence of a “Major” Charlie Crown in the USAF. It was unthinkable that such an Un-Leader would be promoted. So, it was with a mixture of fear, anticipation and hope that we awaited the outcome of this promotion board.

Not that I was thinking of Charlie’s promotion board all the time. There was too much great flying to be experienced. I saw things a kid from east LA had never seen before. Imagine coming in for an approach to landing at a missile site helipad and scattering about 40 antelope as you flew in their direction, seeing a giant mule deer buck silhouetted against the prairie skyline on top of the highest ridge in the area, or spotting wild turkeys in a clearing in the national forest while on a simulated rescue mission and watching as the flock of about a dozen scurried for cover.

Earlier that spring I had flown on a rescue mission with Charlie to medevac two ranch hands who were severely burned in a propane tank explosion. Charlie was not scheduled to fly, but as the Ops Officer, he was the first to know about rescue mission call-outs. Charlie by far flew less hours per month than any other pilot in the unit, and his flying skills were notorious (see Chapter 3 and Chapter 4). However, this close to his promotion board, he must have decided he needed every bit of recognition he could get. And so, of the four rescue missions our unit had prior to July, Charlie flew on three of them. This meant he bumped deserving and more qualified pilots, so he could pump up his last OER before the promotion board met. The only rescue mission Charlie missed was when he hurt his knee the day before the annual fitness run (as detailed in Chapter 7).

Of course, every Air Force officer knows that you want to have a new official photo in your personnel folder that goes before the promotion board. This must have been a concern for Charlie. Quite simply, how could he hide the fact that he looked old and overweight? This question was of interest to our group of pilots. Fortunately, we had an “insider” at the base photo shop, SSgt Eddie Perez, an Audio-Visual Technician, who just happened to play on our unit’s softball team.

Eddie was an exceptional athlete and was our center fielder. During games Eddie made it seem that anything hit in the air past the infield was an out. Eddie was also one of those rare people who can light up a room with wit and attitude. He was a fun guy to know and be around. Eddie had heard our stories about Charlie, but had yet to meet him until Charlie came into the photo shop for his pre-promotion photo in early May.

A week later as the softball team was celebrating another win with some post game beers, Eddie told us of his first encounter with Charlie at the photo shop. “Wow!” Eddie exclaimed, “Now I understand what you guys have been going through. Captain Crown is truly the most obnoxious and unprofessional officer I have ever met!” Eddie told us when Charlie came into the office, the airman at the counter told him he would have his photo taken by another airman at the shop. Charlie went ballistic and verbally assaulted him. He demanded that the senior photographer in the unit take his picture. The commotion brought the unit commander, Lieutenant Kodak, to the counter, and Charlie quickly coerced a change of photographers to none other than SSgt Eddie Perez.

As expected and in spite of Eddie’s talents, the developed pictures showed Charlie to be old and fat with at least two extra chins. Charlie immediately returned to the photo shop and blamed Eddie. But, Eddie, having met Charlie before, was ready. He convinced Charlie he needed to change his appearance for the retake. We laughed hysterically as Eddie described the key elements to Charlie’s makeover – Grecian Formula and a girdle – resulting in an official photo that soon would be seen by the promotion board.

Un-Leadership Insight Un-Leaders may use clever methods for disguising who they really are. As the old saying goes, “You can put a dress and lipstick on a pig, but it will still be a pig.” Don’t be caught off guard if an Un-Leader masks his identity with charm and “Eddie Haskellish” good manners. An Un-Leader with dyed hair or fake sincerity, is still an Un-Leader.

As we all counted down the days to Charlie’s board, the calendar turned to June. One afternoon, I walked into Flight Operations from a long day of flying that started at 5:00 AM. At about that time, the flight dispatcher got a call requesting a flight out to a missile complex to pick-up the Wing Commander. Apparently his car had broken down, and he needed to be back at the base that evening. Since I would run into my 12 hour crew day limitation, the dispatcher needed another pilot. Only two pilots were available – Charlie and 2nd Lt. Kris Polly, the newest pilot in the unit. Since Kris was still a co-pilot in training, Charlie had to go along. As they left the building I heard Charlie say, “I’ll navigate. Let’s see if this dummy Polly can fly.”

Missile complexes with their green buildings can be difficult to find any time of year, but especially in June when the South Dakota prairie turns a vivid green. The buildings blend into the surroundings. It was a 45 minute flight to the site where the Wing Commander was waiting. About 75 minutes after Charlie left the base, a call came in from the site wanting to know where the helicopter was located. The flight dispatcher’s attempts to contact Charlie on the radio were to no avail. Fortunately, Lieutenant Bruce Cameron was flying in the vicinity and was able to make contact with the missing helicopter. Apparently Charlie had navigated them past the missile site and into Wyoming. Lacking sufficient fuel to make it back to the site and the base, Charlie and Kris were forced to land at an airfield near a coal mining town. The lone fuel operator was closed for the day, so they had to spend the night. Meanwhile, Bruce had sufficient fuel to swing by and pick-up the Wing Commander.

Later, Kris told us that Charlie had picked the wrong point on the horizon to fly towards and had failed to keep track of time. It was a valuable navigational training lesson for Kris and another humorous Charlie flying story for the rest of the pilots. A few days later, Charlie “injured” his knee to avoid the annual fitness run, so this turned out to be Charlie’s last flight before the promotion board a few weeks later.

The promotion board convened and was followed by a wait for the results to be released, usually four to six weeks period. During my years in the Air Force, I learned that promotion boards frequently confounded anyone trying to predict who would or would not be promoted. I knew many fine officers who got passed over. I also knew of many who got promoted that shouldn’t have.

Most of us remember where we were and what we were doing when historical events take place - the assassination of a president, an earthquake, or 9/11. On the day the major’s promotion board results were released, Monday, August 4, 1975, I flew the entire day. At the end of the day I walked into flight ops, and found Bruce behind the flight dispatch counter with a sad look on his face. “Steve,” he said, “I’ve got bad news, the Major’s board results were just released.”

“Oh no,” I thought, fearing the worst possible outcome.

“Yes,” he said, “It is my sad duty to report to you that Captain Charlie Crown has been passed over.”

And then he started laughing. “This calls for a party!” I declared.

It is amazing how quickly a truly memorable party can be arranged. The “Pass Over” Party held on August 9, 1975, is hands down the greatest party I have ever attended. There was a variety of entertainment, including some guy in drag as “Wanda of Wichita” (see Chapter 5, part 2) and 2nd Lt. Polly reciting a poem on how to navigate to missile sites. Eddie Perez showed up with an enlarged photo of a Grecian Formula-girdle wearing Charlie, which quickly made its way to the dart board. The sober moments were fleeting. We wisely chartered a bus to deliver party goers safely home. I found my contribution to the party in a shoebox of mementos not long ago. It was a song sung to the tune of “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” with apologies to its author, JR Robertson.

The Day They Drove Old Charlie Down

Charlie Crown was the name,
And he served on the northern plain,

'Til some old promotion board came and passed him by again.

In the summer of seven-five,
We were angry, just barely alive.

By August fourth, the Board was done.
It's a time I remember, oh so well.

(Chorus)


The day they drove Old Charlie down, and it left him cryin’.
The day they drove Old Charlie down, and all the boys were singin'.
They went 
Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na.


Back to flyin’ my chopper,
Then one day they called me down.

"Beaver quick, come see, it looks like a Captain Crown!"

Now I don't mind flyin’ high,
And I don't care if my hover’s no good.

Ya fly when ya can and ya leave the rest,

We remember Cap’n Charlie’s end cuz he’d never pass the Major test.

(Chorus)


Like my father before me, I'm a flyin' man,

Like the pilot before me, who took a Charlie stand.

He was just forty-five, old and gray,
But a Pro Board laid him in his grave.

I swear by the skids below my feet,
You can't raise a Crown back up when he's in defeat.

(Chorus)

The guest of honor missed the party. But Charlie would try to get the last laugh as his time in the unit came down to its last chapter, and we bid him farewell.