Yo Yo

Bright Angle Trail, Grand Canyon - photo by JoAnn Sturman

Scott Sturman
fliesinyoureyes.com

The second or instrument training phase of helicopter flight school was located at Ft. Rucker, near Enterprise, Alabama. This was a very, very conservative part of the country and made Mineral Wells, Texas, home to the first stage of helicopter flight training, seem like Manhattan. It may have been 1972, but culturally the area was living in the 18th century. In fact Enterprise was known for its statue of the boll weevil in the city center which commemorated the destruction of the cotton economy and gave rise to the more lucrative peanut industry. I had seen statues honoring men, women, and even horses but never an insect.

Five of us, including Num, my roommate from the Air Force Academy, and our mutual good friend Dan Summer, rented a house several miles from the base in a county where possessing or drinking alcoholic beverages was illegal. It was a melancholy time of year in the Deep South with gray skies and grayer dispositions. Other than fly, watch television, or get a haircut (the local barbers offered only two: buzz jobs and flat tops), the only other social outlet was the Officers’ Club where the social dynamic was highly charged, but bizarre. It swarmed with the wives of pilots who were flying in Vietnam for a year, if they survived the tour. Maybe the women expected their husbands to be geographic bachelors in Southeast Asia, because they were exercising the feminine version in Alabama.

Instrument flying requires anticipation and precise movement of the flight controls. While flying under the instrument hood, my technique was more like fiddling with a yo yo, as the helicopter flew a sinusoidal pattern across the sky. Out of desperation my instructor pilot (IP) recommended I be transferred to a new IP with a different teaching style, who also happened to be Num’s instructor.

“Lt. Priskna, watch the way your friend Lt. Uno flies. The secret is not moving the controls. Think ahead, and make subtle changes.”

Never had I thought of flying as an exercise of not moving the controls, but since my problems stemmed from over correction, his point made sense. During our first flight my new IP made me watch Num to get an idea about the meaning of refined movements. The altitude, heading, and airspeed never varied unless he chose to make them do so. A few more days of practice and talking with Num did the trick; observing someone who flew skillfully was a “eureka” moment.

My newly found success called for a celebration. These impromptu larks were boisterous affairs and without Dan to arrange them, it would have been a bleak five months in southern Alabama. Having access to a large house, made our residence the logical spot for most of the group’s weekend parties. There were a few rules about drinking alcohol in dry counties: keep the doors and windows closed and never throw the empty bottles and cans in the outside trash. The garbage collectors made note of what they collected, and on Monday morning there would be a rap on the front door by the local authorities. No, the prudent reveler placed the discards in bags, put them in the car trunk, and took them to the adjacent county.

It’s fun to reminisce about adventures of 40 years ago and to be thankful for making so many good friends along the way. Military life is both rewarding and frustrating, but it attracts bright and adventurous young men and women who become life long friends. With so few of our leaders having military experience it's easy to see why they never learned how to dispose of beer bottles in Alabama or stay away from the Officer's Club at Ft. Rucker, but they run the country like I used to fly: like a yo yo.