Charlie the Un-Stud: A Holiday Tail

 Anchorage to Denali N.P. - photo by JoAnn Sturman

By Steven R. Oberst

Background

In 2011 it was my pleasure to share with FIYE readers some of my experiences with Captain Charlie Crown in a series of stories entitled “Charlie the Un-Leader.” Charlie was by far the worst operations officer in the history of USAF helicopter flying units. Serving with Charlie allowed me to learn a lot about leadership. By observing the ultimate Un-Leader, I was given real life examples of how not to lead. Charlie was the classic bully who tried to intimidate everyone he encountered. So, it should come as no surprise that Charlie was also the penultimate male chauvinist pig. His verbal treatment of women in the 1970s was shocking even 35 years ago. In today’s world he would most certainly be dealing with numerous sexual harassment claims.

Our unit flight operations center was located in the front of a large building which also housed the offices of other tenant units in the rear of the building. People entering the front of the building had to navigate past our operations counter. To Charlie, every woman who came by the operations counter was either “Hun” or “Babe.” Charlie acted as if he were God’s gift to women, but he was more like a lump of coal in a Christmas stocking.

Charlie, aged forty-four, wore his gray hair in a crew-cut that looked like a brush. He had a perpetual sneer, squinty eyes, and fat hands. He was 5 feet 9 inches tall, weighed 245 pounds, and wore his flight suit with the velcro strips extended to the max in order to accommodate his substantial girth. He looked more like a green Pillsbury Dough Boy than Cary Grant, as he stood at the operations counter making sexually suggestive comments to every woman that dared walk past him.  After a few encounters with Charlie, women would walk an extra 200 yards to the back of the building to get to their offices - even if there was a blizzard outside and the snow was three feet deep. In the eyes of these women, Charlie the Un-Leader was Charlie the Un-Stud.

Barbie

One morning as Charlie stood by the operations counter, in walked a new victim. Second Lieutenant Barbara Bravo was newly assigned to the base communications squadron whose offices adjoined our flight operations center. The only way to access those offices from the front door entailed a walk by the operations counter. 2/Lt Bravo was a tall, attractive blonde with a nice figure had been in the Air Force for only 90 days; this was her first day on the job in the operational Air Force. Leave it to Charlie to give her a rude introduction to the dark side of male behavior.

“Hey,” Charlie called as the lieutenant walked by,  “you there, new Babe in town, I’m the town Sheriff.  So step up here to the counter for your interrogation.”

“Excuse me, Sir,” she said, trying to gain her composure, “are you talking to me?”

“I sure am, Hun, unless there’s another new Babe in here besides you,” Charlie remarked through his best shit eating grin.

“I am trying to find the 92nd Communications Squadron, Sir,” she replied.

“You’re in luck, Hun. You’ve come to the right place. We are here to help.” Charlie said as he leered over the counter at the befuddled lieutenant. “Come right up here and let’s take care of you. First of all, what is your name, Hun?”

“Sir,” she replied dutifully, “I am 2/Lt Barbara Bravo.”

“Well, Barbie, I’m the Operations Officer here, Charlie Crown. So…, are you a natural blonde? What are your measurements? I’m guessing 38-24-36. Right?”

By this time the poor lieutenant was completely flustered, but at that moment the Commander came out of his office. Knowing Charlie, he quickly rescued the young woman, taking her by an arm and escorting her safely to her new office.

Give 2/Lt Bravo credit, even after this obnoxious encounter with Charlie, she continued day after day to come through the operations center and endure his verbal assaults. Charlie seemed to enjoy his “dirty old man” role, and you could tell he anticipated her arrival each day to have fun at her expense. He always called her “Barbie,” in spite of the fact that she would correct him each time by quietly saying “Barbara.”

One morning Charlie called her over to the counter, “Come here, Barbie, there’s something I want to show you.” She hesitated for a moment, but at least in military rank he was a superior officer, so she approached the counter.  At that moment Charlie unfurled the centerfold of the latest Penthouse magazine. “Hey, Barbie, get a load of these melons,” he smirked. “I’ll bet your uniform is hiding something just like these.” The lieutenant turned red and made a quick exit towards her office.

The pilots in our unit held a monthly “We Hate Charlie Crown” meeting at the Officer’s Club. It was therapeutic for us to sip a few beers while sharing stories of the unbelievable crap pulled by Charlie during the past month. During one such Friday meeting, our unofficial meeting chair, Captain Tom Terrific, spotted Lt. Bravo sitting at the bar.  He approached her, chatted for a couple of minutes, and brought her over to our table. “Gentlemen,” he said, “Barbara has been assigned here for three months and has weathered verbal assaults from Charlie on a daily basis. I say we invite her to join us.”

“Here, here!” we all agreed.

That first month the lieutenant sat quietly as each of us described our favorite “Charlie-capade” of the past few weeks. Tom told about Charlie getting lost in the missile field and chewing out the dispatcher, Sergeant Goodman, as if it had been Goodman doing the flying. I told about Charlie’s horrible airmanship and flying skills on a recent training mission. Bruce related a story about Charlie chewing him out for wearing white socks with his flight suit.  And so it went for a couple of months. Then at her third monthly meeting, Barbara Bravo opened up. She told us how she hated Charlie calling her Barbie and the constant verbal abuse. She continued with considerable embarrassment, telling us about a package left on her desk one morning. It contained an electric vibrator and a dirty note that said, “Hope this little hummer feels good.” The note was unsigned, but she was certain that it had been left by Charlie. “I sure wish I could get this bastard.”

“Yeah,” we all agreed, “and then some.”

Although we frequently made Charlie the victim of pranks like spreading black shoe polish on the earpiece of his phone, letting the air out of his tires, or removing the lead from the mechanical pencil in his flight suit, we were always looking to give Charlie a high level shaft job, like the time Dave set him up for a checkride with the Squadron standardization pilot.  I looked over at Tom and could see the wheels starting to turn. “Gentlemen and lady, we can’t let this Fat Flightsuit with a crew-cut get the best of us. We shall come up with a plan.” Confident in Tom’s abilities as a conniver, we adjourned the meeting until next month.

Sister Ann and the Plan

At the next month’s mid-December meeting, Barbara showed up with a beautiful, slightly older version of herself. She introduced her older sister, Ann, who was visiting for two weeks over the holidays. Barbara bragged that Ann was one of the first women detectives in the Denver Police Department. As usual, we began sharing Charlie stories from the past few weeks, including  Barbara’s admission that last week she found a package on her desk with a pair of string bikini undies and a note, “Thinking of you with nothing on but this!”

“Why do you guys put up with this prick?” Ann asked us. We tried to explain that he was the Operations Officer, out ranked us, and that even the unit commander was afraid of him, but she was thinking to herself what a bunch of wimps.

“Barbara,” Tom said, “has Charlie met or seen your sister?”

“No,” she replied. “Why?”

“Good,” Tom answered as he jumped up out of his seat with a big grin on his face. “Don’t let Charlie meet or see her. If Ann is up for it, I have a plan.”

I instantly knew what Tom had in mind. It was well known among our group of pilots that Charlie was a geographic bachelor when he was traveling. Away from home, Charlie would chase women like a man possessed. It was my personal observation that Charlie had a “go ugly early” approach to picking up women, so his pick-up success rate was fairly high. Every year around the Christmas and New Year holidays, Charlie’s wife, Edith, would visit family in Texas for a couple of weeks. Charlie’s whole demeanor changed when Edith made these visits. He kept himself totally off the flying and alert schedule during these visits, so he could be free to pursue his passion for picking up women, or in his words “chasing tail.”

The previous year while Edith was absent during the holidays,  my wife and I were driving through town at about 9:30 one evening. “Hey, Steve,” she said, “ that looked like Charlie Crown coming out of the Cowboy Billy Bar with some woman, and it’s not Edith.”

This I had to see, so I circled the block and pulled up across from the bar’s parking lot. Sure enough, there was Charlie supporting a large, obviously intoxicated woman, as they staggered through the parking lot to his 1974 Cadillac El Dorado. My wife was amazed that Charlie would act so audaciously in a city near the Air Force base. I was not surprised, however, it was just Charlie being Charlie. Still, I could not resist following the El Dorado as it made its way downtown. Charlie pulled into the General Custer Motel, named no doubt after the general of Little Big Horn fame. But for Charlie, it would be a place for a one night stand instead of his last stand. Of course, I duly reported Charlie’s indiscretion at the next “We Hate Charlie” monthly meeting. Now, using this intelligence coup from last year, Tom and I concocted a plan beyond dastardly.

Charlie’s Holiday Tail

I had a little trouble getting into my disguise. The pants were too tight and the fake mustache made my nose itch. I did, however, like the cowboy hat. There I was with Tom dressed as my cowboy buddy, sitting in a dark corner of the Cowboy Billy Bar on a Friday night after Edith’s departure to Texas. The Cowboy Billy included a spacious room with a huge bar, ample table seating, and a dance floor. The bar catered to a mix of singles, adulterers, and drunks. On Friday and Saturday nights they usually had some country band wailing beside the dance floor. Tonight’s band would surely play holiday favorites like “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.” 

The bar was well known as the area’s best pick-up spot. Sitting at the bar, Ann Bravo, one of Denver’s finest, looked very much like a loose woman on the prowl. She donned a brunette wig to hide her blonde hair and carried an indiscreet purse that was just big enough to hold a small tape recorder. More than a few of the Cowboy’s customers made a run at her, but she had another game in mind.

“Gee, Tom,” I said, as I sipped my beer, soaking my fake mustache, “I sure hope Charlie shows.” 

“He’ll show alright.” Tom confidently predicted, “Like a bear to honey.” 

Sure enough, only moments later Charlie sauntered into the bar, complete with his cowboy shirt and bolo tie. Charlie was a regular at the Cowboy Billy, so before he even reached the bar, the bartender had his standard Jack and Coke waiting for him.  Unknown to Charlie, Tom had made friends with the bartender and given him $20 to make sure Charlie got secret doubles all night long. We watched as Charlie took a drink and slowly perused the area for likely targets of opportunity. We blended in well, and Charlie barely even looked our way. He did look at Ann though, but made no move. Knowing Charlie’s penchant for ugly women, I began to wonder if Ann looked too good.

I did not have to worry long;  Ann Bravo was a pro, and Charlie just a rank amateur. After a short while, Ann moved in, “Excuse me, sir, but didn’t I see your picture in the Fast City Gazette this week? Something about a search and rescue mission for a missing hiker?”

Charlie came to life and a big grin spread across his face. “Yes Mam, that was me.” (Earlier that week Tom and Bruce piloted a successful rescue mission when their crew found a lost hiker and flew him safely to the local hospital. Charlie, of course, conducted the interview with the local paper, taking as much credit as possible, even though his actual involvement was sitting behind the operations counter and harassing the dispatcher who was trying to talk to the crew on the radio. For his efforts, Charlie’s smiling picture made the Wednesday newspaper under the headline “Rescue Unit Saves Lost Hiker.”) “I’m the Operations Officer for the rescue unit at the base,”
Charlie continued.

“Oh!” exclaimed Ann, eyes wide with excitement, “Are you a pilot?”

Charlie could barely control himself. “Well, Mam,” he said with as deep a voice as he could muster, “I don’t mean to brag, but my fellow pilots consider me one of the best pilots in the entire Air Force.”

“I’m not use to all this ‘Mam’ stuff.  I’m Gidget.” she said.

“Well, Gidget, I’m Charlie and it is an absolute pleasure to meet you.”  Charlie was on a roll now, and he proceeded to take credit for every rescue, dangerous mission, and important flight that had taken place in the past 15 years. Ann sat there and listened, looking as if she were a star struck school girl. This continued for another half hour until the band started playing. Then Gidget led Charlie to the dance floor. With each dance Gidget held Charlie tighter and closer.

The band took a break. Back at the bar Charlie was giving Gidget his best lines, and the bartender made sure his glass was never empty. Gidget pretended to be drunk, but was drinking plain Coke. Around 10:00 PM they returned to the dance floor. Sometimes the truth is harder to believe than fiction, but the band’s next song was Charlie Rich’s “Behind Closed Doors.”  I thought Charlie was going to try to undress Gidget right then and there. “Oh Charlie, I want you so bad!” Gidget purred. “But I’m here visiting my sister, so I have no place we can go.”

Charlie had the answer, “No problem darlin’, I already have a room at a motel just down the street.”

This was another detail Tom had uncovered. When Edith was away, Charlie always reserved room # 11 at the General Custer on Friday and Saturday nights under the name Sky King. Earlier that evening, one of our guys, Chris, accompanied by Barbara and both wearing disguises, got the maid to let them into #11. They then hid a few items in the bathroom and quietly left the motel unnoticed.

Meanwhile, back at the Cowboy Billy, Charlie took Gidget’s arm and escorted her from the bar and to his big caddie. Fortunately it was only a few blocks to the General Custer, so even a drunk Charlie made his way there without mishap. Tom and I followed discreetly behind them to the motel.

Here is Ann’s description of what happened next behind the closed motel door:

As we entered the room, Charlie’s was pawing me like I was some kind of inflatable doll. He was so drunk it was not hard for me to push him onto the bed.  As I stood there, Charlie beckoned me to join him on the bed. “Slow down, Charlie,” I said to him. “We have all night.” Then I pulled a little nightie out of my coat pocket and held it up for him to see. “You turn the bed down and get undressed while I go into the bathroom and get into something comfortable.”

Five minutes later I stepped out of the bathroom to greet Charlie. Laying on the bed in his underwear, Charlie was anticipating a brunette Gidget wearing a little nightie. Instead he was looking at a big .45 pointed at his fat gut held by a fully clothed blonde. I flashed my badge and ordered Charlie to roll over on his stomach. “Don’t move you bastard. I’d love to put a hole in your fat ass.” I quickly put handcuffs on him. “You’re under arrest for soliciting prostitution,” I told     him.

“What?” Charlie croaked. “I never offered to pay.”

I grabbed his wallet and pulled out $200 and said, “Oh look, just what I need for evidence.” Then I pulled off his underwear, rolled him over, placed the money on his fat gut, and took several Polaroids for “additional evidence” of the crime. Before I left I could not resist saying something to this fat turd, “I expected a fearsome helicopter pilot to have a much bigger winkie than that little noodle between your legs. I’m calling a squad car to take your sorry ass and little winkie to jail.” I scooped up all of his clothes and left a naked Charlie whimpering on the bed.

Outside Tom and I were waiting for Ann when she came out of the room. We threw all of Charlie’s possessions, including all of his money into the Caddie and drove it back to Charlie’s house. We left it parked with the clothes and wallet in the passenger seat in his driveway. We hurried back to the base Officer’s Club in time to join all the pilots in our unit for a midnight toast to Ann and Barbara. As Ann recounted her “undercover” evening to everyone, Tom convulsed with laughter, which made the rest of us laugh even more. He was truly the master of pranks. “Gentlemen,” said Ann, “Barbara and I salute you, but this is an adventure that we should probably keep to ourselves for the foreseeable future.”

On Saturday morning the maid found Charlie hiding in the bathroom and notified her manager who called the police. One can guess how Charlie spent the night in that motel room – drunk, naked, in handcuffs, and waiting for the cops’ arrival.  When the cops did arrive, Charlie claimed he had been robbed at gunpoint by a woman claiming she was a police officer, who left him handcuffed in the room and stole his car.

One of our pilots, Dave, lived across the street from Charlie. He reported that around noon a police car brought Charlie home, where his “stolen” car was found conspicuously in the driveway. Dave said it looked like the cops were laughing as they pulled away, while Charlie wrapped in a sheet made his way into his house.    

The following Monday, it was all we could do to keep from laughing when Charlie came into work. When Charlie got to his desk, there was a small package on it. In the package was a Polaroid, ½ of the pair of Charlie’s underwear from Friday night, and a note that read:
   
Dear Un-Stud,

I know where you live. If you ever insult, intimidate, bully or bother another woman in public again, and I find out about it, the other ½ of these underwear and another Polaroid will be delivered to your wife along with a tape recording of your slime ball come-ons in the Cowboy Billy Bar on Friday night. And by the way, say “hi” to little winkie for me.

Have a nice day you low-life, scum bag.  

XXXX  Gidget

Later in the week after the one night stand in the General Custer, the Commander hosted the annual unit Christmas party at the Officer’s Club. Everyone in the unit was invited along with the people in our building. Tom and I were in charge of entertainment, and Tom kept the obligatory holiday tunes playing on his stereo system throughout the night. We had various skits planned to keep everyone entertained. Midway through the party, our group of the pilots came together, accompanied by Barbara and her sister Ann, for a special karaoke song. We were in fine voice, but some of us were laughing too much to get through every word. Halfway through the song Charlie, looking suddenly pale, abruptly got up from his table and headed for the exit. Later that evening, the Commander, Lt. Col Blackburn, complemented me about the party. “Fun party, Steve! You and Tom did a great job on the entertainment, but the karaoke song had me puzzled. Since when is ‘Behind Closed Doors’ a seasonal song?”

With a big grin I said, “Well, Sir, I’m sure there must be a holiday tail behind that song. Besides, Sir, you can’t go wrong with one of Charlie’s classics.”

Charlie was passed over for promotion to major later that year and discharged from the unit by August. During that time, he was still a lousy operations officer and remained every bit the un-leader. However, he took Gidget’s threat seriously, and his open season on women finally came to end.

Terra Cotta Horses in Xian, China - photo by JoAnn Sturman

Brushing Up

Fez, Morocco - photo by JoAnn Sturman

Scott Sturman
fliesinyoureyes.com

The lieutenant colonel’s thick, black hair was cut so short on the back and sides of the head that it resembled a five o’clock shadow, but he let the hair on the top grow to what seemed six inches long.  Rather than relax and lay flat, the follicles grew vertically skyward, and were then buttressed with hair gel and mowed parallel to the ground giving their bearer the ultimate flattop and the appearance of a Fuller Brush.  In the civilian world it was a look more apt to be found in a circus, but to his peers the style epitomized an officer destined for greatness.  One clever classmate coined the apropos moniker, “The Brush.”

“Mr. Sturman, drive yourself over here,” The Brush commanded in his staccato voice.

As was often the case, he had been hiding behind one of the stairwells of the dormitory, waiting to pounce on soon-to-graduate cadets, who might lose their military bearing.  The last few months The Brush was on a personal crusade to prevent me from falling into this trap, but by this point it was hopeless.  On this occasion I had decided not to march to the evening meal with my squadron but join my good friend Doug Goodman and the gaggle of intercollegiate athletes who were excused with these tiresome formalities.  It was a harmless gesture, but in The Brush’s eyes there was no such thing as a trivial disregard for regulations. 

“Yes, sir,” I grumbled, as I sauntered toward another reprimand.

“Mr. Sturman, I’m not sure there is room enough in my Air Force for you and me.  You’ve made some bad choices lately, and one of them is hanging around Mr. Goodman.  His hair is too long.  He has no military bearing and displays a horrible attitude.  Can you imagine the terrible impression, if a parent or VIP saw him strolling around the terrazzo?”

“He’s one of my best friends, and an intercollegiate athlete who happened to score 1600 on the SAT.  I could do worse for friends, sir.”

“Goodman and those friends of your’s in the 40th Squadron have ruined you.  They’re losers!  You’re as bad as the rest of those renegades.  Even your squadron patch, “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,” designed by your classmate Borenstein is an embarrassment to the Academy.”

I had begun the semester as a Cadet Lt. Colonel and squadron commander of the 40th but fell afoul of The Brush and demoted to Cadet Warrant Officer and confined to the cadet area until graduation. The 40th were indeed renegades, the most unmilitary of the Academy’s forty squadrons.  Between a cheating scandal two years prior which decimated the pool of underclass talent and voluntary and involuntary resignations from my class, the squadron had been gutted of the manpower needed to compete against other squadrons in the Cadet Wing.  What remained was a hard core of closely knit cadets who would rather march tours and suffer confinement than comply with nonsensical rules.  We finished near the bottom of virtually every competitive category except marching to meals where we placed third.  What a joke!  Some of the guys had purposely marched out of step to torment Captain Dephwad, the unpopular Air Force office in charge of the squadron.  How could we score so high in something we didn’t care about?  Maybe some other squadrons had the same idea and were more out of step than we were.

The Brush went on to have an extraordinarily successful Air Force career, and from what I understand conducted himself in a totally different fashion than the picayune fanatic who terrorized cadets.  We met briefly six years later when I was being discharged from the service, and he was beginning to pin stars on his shoulders.  He recognized me sitting with a group of other captains in the Davis-Monthan Officers’ Club and approached our table. During our conversation, he was charming and affable, in short a perfect gentleman.  The general wished me good luck with my new career, and I am certain he meant it. 

Why the one persona for the Air Force and another at the Air Force Academy?  In my squadron alone four of my classmates either resigned or were dismissed prior to graduation, in large part because of officers who would rather haze than lead.  All the departed were the type one would want as a wingman.  Two became successful businessmen, another an attorney, and the last earned a PhD from Princeton University in nuclear physics.  There was plenty of room in The Brush’s Air Force for them; all they asked was to be treated like adults after completing Fourth Class Year. 

Charlie and the Art of Unleadership

Near Chaco Canyon, New Mexico - Photo by JoAnn Sturman

W.R. Priskna
fliesinyoureyes.com

I knew S.R. Oberst from our days at the Air Force Academy and was pleased to see him again when he dropped by the detachment's operations center to say hello after ferrying a helicopter from South Dakota to the Boneyard at Davis Monthan AFB in Arizona. In tow was his operations officer, the obese and ancient looking Captain Charlie Crown, who accompanied Steve on the mission. I remember thinking, “Was that Captain Crown or Clown?” as I tried to crush his velvety smooth hand when Steve introduced him to me.

I heard stories about Charlie, but never knew the full extent of his repertoire until I read Steve's accounts about him. He would have been the perfect comic foil, but for his treachery and willingness to destroy the careers of many young officers. If it were not for Steve's quick thinking, he might have found himself in the same predicament. How was it an incompetent officer was put in a position of responsibility? In fact there is a lot of luck involved with career progression in the military. If a young officer has the ill fortune of having someone like Charlie Crown write his Officer Efficiency Report, then it is best to look for another career. Conversely, if one receives glowing reports from a high ranking, well connected officer, a career achieves a certain amount of momentum. As a newly commissioned 2nd Lieutenant, George Marshall, who eventually became a five star general, Secretary of State, and author of the Marshall Plan, received his first efficiency report from his commander, a U.S. Army Major. It was concise and accurate. “I should be working for him,” the major wrote. Marshall was an exceptional man, but would he have risen to such heights if Charlie Crown was his first commander?

My initial operational commander, Captain Henry, was a charismatic leader with a keen mind and adept flying skills, who just happened to look like a blond Steve Canyon. The lieutenants and junior captains would do virtually anything for him. It was a sad day when he transferred, and Lt. Col. Michaels, an incorrigible alcoholic but with friends in high places assumed command. He was not a malevolent conniver like Charlie, but his personal ambition, ambivalence towards others, and lack of leadership trashed many careers just the same.

Thanks, Steve, for writing about Charlie the Unleader. It is fitting to recall the characteristics of unleaders described in your series:

• Un-Leadership: Most successful people will tell you that one or more leaders they encountered during their careers had a positive impact on their lives. I call these people “Life-altering Leaders” – People in your life who contributed in a very positive way to the person you are today. But what about the people we encounter who we would never want to emulate? You know, the lousy boss or superior officer who made your life hell. Well, I think of these people as “Un-leaders” - People in your life who provided you with negative lessons that helped make you the person you are today.

• Although not an absolute character trait of an Un-Leader, most Un-Leaders are very good “brown-nosers”. Whenever a high ranking officer or VIP came to visit the unit, Charlie’s entire demeanor changed. It was humorous to watch him attempt clever ways to ingratiate himself with each new visitor. But his motivation was to gain the VIP’s ear, because one common trait of Un- Leaders, is to always take credit for everything they can for their own personal advancement. When referring to accomplishments of a group or team, Un-Leaders lead with the word “I”, such as “I did this”, “I implemented this”, “I created this”, or “I invented the internet”. Charlie was an expert credit taker. He could squeeze more “I’s” into a brief VIP introduction statement than a politician at a fundraiser.

• Most Un-Leaders are not really very good at their chosen profession. They tend to look down their noses at training or learning more about their job. However, they generally claim to be very good at what they do. Charlie’s confidence in his flying abilities knew no bounds. He never went on training flights except to get in his minimum flight requirements. Un-Leaders believe they can intimidate their way through every situation.

• Most Un-Leaders do not have any real friends. If they have a friend, it tends to be someone just like them, which means it is someone who is looking out for “me” first. Virtually every pilot in the entire squadron knew that a check ride with SK was something to be taken seriously, which meant hit the books and take some training flights to get ready. 1) as mentioned earlier Charlie had a disdain for training; 2) Charlie had no friends; and 3) his non-friends were rooting for SK.

• When confronted with personal failure, Un-Leaders will blame someone else. They are incapable of accepting blame or taking positive steps to address a failure. Further, the Un- Leader will react with anger and take on the role of an injured party. It is also highly likely the Un-Leader will seek revenge on the people they blame for their failure.

• 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.

• Some male Un-Leaders may be god’s gift to some women.

• Unleaders are bullies. They are experts at browbeating, pulling rank, or whatever else it takes to get their way. Charlie scared the weather Lieutenant, but the results of his bullying scared me.

• We’ve all heard that great leaders lead by example. They are to be emulated or copied. Great un-leaders lead by unexample. They are not to be emulated or copied. Knowing this fact alone would keep me from following Charlie through the big red door.

• Un-leaders usually cannot be counted on to contribute to a team effort. Charlie had been more un-help during THE Trip than anyone should expect from a crew member. When it comes to “crunch time” un-leaders are often un-seen, or in the case of Charlie on the last leg of this trip, un-aware.

• As stated previously, one common trait of Un-Leaders, is to always take credit for everything they can for their own personal advancement. Charlie extended this to being willing to take credit for something even if no credit was due. The fact that he slept through the entire emergency in the back of the helicopter was probably an irrelevant detail in his mind.

• Un-Leaders do not play by normal rules. They will lie, steal or cheat to get what they want. They also delight in wielding their power at the expense of others. For Charlie, just thinking about ruining the careers of five lieutenants probably gave him an adrenaline rush.

• Sometimes the only way to respond to an Un-Leader’s actions is to fight back. If there is a key to defeating an Un-Leader, it is this: Un-Leaders seldom have any real friends, but usually have many enemies. Anyone who ever served under Charlie was undoubtedly the latter. Seek help from fellow victims.

• 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.

• Leadership is not a black and white virtue. Not being an un-leader does not mean you are a leader. There are lots of people in the middle who are neither. Some of these people can improve their leadership skills, but a true leader, one who consistently demonstrates leadership traits, is rare. Leaders are people who make good stuff happen that probably would not have happened without that leader’s influence. Note: I use the qualifier of “good” stuff, because people whose leadership results in bad stuff are usually Un-Leaders.

Chapter 9. THE Farewell

Straw Hat Ornament in Peruvian Jungle - photo by JoAnn Sturman

by S.R. Oberst

The next week after being passed over for major, Charlie was back at work as if nothing had changed. He tried to get back to being the obnoxious, bullying operations officer, but the effect of THE Passover was that Charlie had lost his fear factor for some of the pilots. I myself sensed this weakness, but I remained wary. Besides I was in the process of upgrading to Instructor Pilot and had all I could handle with training flights and preparation.

At the beginning of the stories about Charlie the Un-Leader, I wrote that “Un-leaders” are people in your life who provided you with negative examples that helped make you the person you are today. I would be remiss if I did not add my opinion that another part of Un-Leader education is learning how to deal with these people. Charlie, like a wounded grizzly bear, was still someone to be dealt with and not ignored.

As soon as Charlie knew he had been passed over for major he initiated a furious letter writing campaign, no doubt impugning the character of the promotion board or complaining of some injustice. Through the grapevine we heard that Charlie sent letters to Congressmen, Senators, Generals, the Board President, Captain Kirk, Captain Kangaroo, Billy Graham and THE Forum (see Chapter 6). Charlie was trying to position himself to be selected to major the second time around, although the odds of this in the Air Force were slim to none. When the next board convened, Charlie would be 6 months short of 18 years of service, which meant he could be removed from the service by a RIF (reduction in force) and not be allowed to serve the minimum 20 years required to earn retirement.

That first morning back, somebody had posted a note on the flight operations counter stating that “Captain SK Reamer, Chief of Squadron Flight Evaluations, was selected for promotion to major.” When he saw it, Charlie angrily tore the note up and stomped away. To add insult to injury, later that week it was announced that effective October 1 another major selectee, Captain Denny Olafson, would report to our unit to take over as Operations Officer. So for about six weeks the pilots had to deal with an angry, wounded version of our soon to be former Un-Leader.

Charlie quickly got everyone’s attention by assigning tedious, but trivial tasks to anyone who crossed him. He started conducting unannounced emergency preparedness and chemical warfare drills that deprived everyone, who was not out flying, of any free time to do other duties. He also began randomly mixing up the flying schedule, so that you could not plan your personal calendar more than a day ahead. Those six weeks were ugly and everyone eagerly awaited the arrival of the new Ops Officer.

Captain Denny Olafson would not pin on his major’s oak leafs for another 8 months. It was likely that once he did, he would take over as the Detachment Commander, assuming he did not have any major screw-ups as the Ops Officer. The fact that Charlie knew this made me think that it would be a rough transition from the old to the new.

On the day Denny arrived, Charlie put on his best “Eddie Haskell” impression and gave the appearance of being a nice guy ready to help Denny transition seamlessly into his new job. Charlie fooled some of the other pilots but not Bruce. His comment to me would prove prophetic, “I don’t trust that SOB any farther than I can throw him. He’s up to something and I doubt it is something nice.”

Over the next few weeks it was apparent that Charlie was setting Denny up for failure. Actually, this should have come as no surprise to anyone, given Charlie’s track record. I partially blamed the Commander, LtCol Brad McMellow, for not preventing this from happening. Part of the problem, however, was Olafson’s lack of experience.

Denny had spent four years flying HH-43s, with a one year tour in Thailand and three years in Florida. He spent the next 6 years in a desk job. He was a nice guy and smart but had no leadership experience. And, as time would show, he was also not a natural leader. Also, Denny assumed all fellow officers were trustworthy. Certainly he was no match for Charlie.

Un-Leadership Insight
Since this is the last chapter, allow me to share my thoughts about leaders. Leadership is not a black and white virtue. Not being an un-leader does not mean you are a leader. There are lots of people in the middle who are neither. Some of these people can improve their leadership skills, but a true leader, one who consistently demonstrates leadership traits, is rare. Leaders are people who make good stuff happen that probably would not have happened without that leader’s influence. Note: I use the qualifier of “good” stuff, because people whose leadership results in bad stuff are usually Un-Leaders.

Denny’s first several weeks on the job must have been horrible for him. The Unit Operations Officer had to attend a number of meetings and serve on a number of base committees. Charlie’s approach to the transition was to provide Denny with partial truths, innuendo, misleading facts and/or incomplete information. One can only imagine how un-helpful the Un-Leader was, but none of the pilots had a clue as to how the transition was going because Denny pretty much kept his own counsel.

In early November I flew a late operational training mission with Denny. It was a real mission taking stuff to missile sites, but I was along in the left seat to train Denny on the proper navigation and approach techniques. Based on previous instructional flights with Denny, I assessed him as an okay pilot who needed more stick time. His autorotations were good, but the other emergency procedures were still a challenge. However, his biggest difficulty in transitioning from the Pedro (HH-43) to a Huey was doing basic approaches and landings. He tended to end his landing approaches too high and too fast. So, not surprisingly, he had difficult landing within the narrow confines of a missile site landing zone. After numerous practice approaches, he began to get it down. By the time we returned to the unit for the debriefing, we were the last pilots left in the operations building. After debriefing Denny how to use various cues during an approach in order to gauge closure rate and altitude, I prepared to head home. However, to my surprise, Denny wanted to talk. He opened up about how badly the transition was going and how many times Charlie had made a fool of him. “He even refers to me as a desk jockey,” Denny said.

“Well,” I joked, “that’s not as bad as “dummy.” (Charlie’s standard name for all lieutenants) “Seriously though,” I said, “what you need is the support of your pilots. Until you got here we had been battling Charlie for two years. You say the word and we will re-engage the enemy.”

Denny was clearly startled, but he said “the word.”

“Okay”, I said, “but don’t be surprised by what happens, and don’t talk to us about it. That way you can do a credible job of feigning ignorance when the ‘Charlie’ hits the fan.”

The next evening at the O’Club our group drew up the battle plan. As a friend of the Midnight Skulker of Air Force Academy lore, I am certain he would have been proud of the sheer daring and cleverness of our planned attacks. Each attack was carefully orchestrated so that the same person never did two consecutive missions, making it difficult for Charlie to deduce who the guilty party was based on flying schedules, shifts or whatever.

We started with simple stuff. Thanks to the invention of superglue, we were able to hit Charlie with a rapid series of pranks. The next Monday the attacks began. Charlie came in that morning to find his favorite coffee cup superglued to his desk. Later he would discover that his desk drawer had been superglued shut. That night Charlie would discover that superglue in a car door lock rendered the key useless. Another day Charlie went to put his coat on and discovered the sleeves had been sown shut. Of course he was so mad he did not notice the black shoe polish on his ear that had been carefully smeared on his phone receiver.

At first he suspected Denny was trying to get even but quickly eliminated him because it would have been physically impossible for Denny to have been in two places at one time. And so the war continued. Charlie was becoming more and more flustered and was working hard to catch us. So much so that hassling Denny had to take a back seat. Our antics became more clever, and we used lookouts while one of us perpetrated another dastardly attack. One favorite was letting the air out of the back passenger side tire on his 1974 Cadillac El Dorado – not just in the parking lot at work, but in the middle of the night when the car was parked in front of his personal residence. Did you know that the lead of a #2 pencil does a great job all by itself and minimizes loiter time? Tom even got his tire in the Kmart parking lot one weekend. I could go on, but you get the idea. Soon though the war would take a decidedly different turn.

Ever since he had faked the knee injury to avoid running the annual 1.5 mile fitness run (see Chapter 7), Charlie had been DNIF (duty not involving flying). Now, nearly 5 months later, this clever strategy was backfiring. Because he was not flying, Charlie was about to lose his flight pay. Seemingly always able to extricate himself from any problem, Charlie convinced the Flight Surgeon to take him off DNIF status, but give him a medical waiver for the fitness run. However, what Charlie apparently overlooked was the fact that he was back to being a copilot in training. Guess which lucky instructor pilot got the task of running Charlie’s aircraft commander upgrade training program?

The training flights with Charlie over the next few weeks were un-fun. As detailed in earlier stories, the Un-Leader was a crappy pilot - made more dangerous by the fact that in his mind, he was a wonderful pilot. Not surprisingly, the flights were grueling for me. On the bright side I got a lot of practice taking the controls during emergency procedures when Charlie crossed the line from safe to unsafe, which he frequently did. I tried my best to explain proper techniques, but Charlie’s standard response to my instruction was, “You dummy, I’ve been flying since before you could ride a bike. Who are you to tell me how to fly?”

In order for Charlie to upgrade back to aircraft commander, an instructor pilot had to indicate he was ready and recommend an evaluation flight. As the training flights continued, I felt like Charlie would never be ready. Then one day Dave Evalman, our Chief of Flight Evaluations, told me to have Charlie fly with Tom Triffick. “Why?” I said.

“Because Tom gets out of the Air Force in two months, and I get out in three months.” he replied. “Tom will recommend Charlie for an evaluation, and I will administer it.” And so, Dave was setting up Charlie one more time (see Chapter 2), but unlike the last time, Dave himself would be the evaluator.

Tom told me later that Charlie’s training ride had been perfectly awful, but he said with a wink, “Good enough for a check ride.”

Charlie’s check ride with Dave lasted nearly three hours. When it was over, Charlie had failed nearly every possible flight maneuver, instrument procedure, rescue operation, and emergency procedure. Further, Dave wrote that Charlie was a dangerous pilot unable to even perform as a copilot and in his opinion any further training would be a waste of time. He recommended that Charlie be evaluated by the Squadron Chief of Flight Evaluations, Major (select) SK Reamer, at the earliest opportunity. To our surprise, LtCol McMellow, our commander, forwarded the recommendation to the Squadron Commander.

Charlie was so enraged at Dave during the debriefing he started shouting incoherently until he was out of breath. He headed out the door, only to discover that his car keys were locked inside the car (all’s fair in love and war). In the following days the attacks on Charlie continued unabated. Denny now had a firm grip on the Operations Officer job. Ultimately, Charlie tended to sit in his office all day writing letters, making phone calls, and probably looking over his shoulder for the next attack. As it turned out, he would never fly for our unit again.

Three weeks later word came down that Charlie had orders. Somehow he had gotten an assignment with an Air Force Reserve HH-3 rescue unit in another state. A party had already been planned for Tom and Dave, so Charlie was added to THE Farewell event.

At the party Denny served as the master of ceremony. Pilot after pilot came up to give testament to what great pilots and friends Tom and Dave had been. Of course, no one came forward to praise Charlie. After everyone had their say, Denny took the mike and gave this little speech:

“We cannot end THE Farewell without saying goodbye to Captain Charlie Crown, or “Chuck” as he is known to his friends (none of us had ever heard anyone call Charlie Chuck). Charlie has been an endless source of entertainment for me since my arrival a few months ago. I want to thank him for helping me to recognize what true leadership is all about. So, goodbye Charlie and good luck to your new unit.”

When Charlie arrived at work on his last day, we had removed all of the furniture from his office and placed all of his belongings in cardboard boxes in the middle of the empty room. At the top of his voice Charlie yelled, “Someday I’ll get everyone of you bastards!” Carefully checking his phone for shoe polish, Charlie called the Commander to complain. Charlie ranted at McMellow for about 20 minutes. Meanwhile we swapped his size 7 ¾ flight cap on the coat rack for a size 6. Then suddenly he hung up the phone and started moving the boxes to the trunk of his car. We all went outside to watch Charlie leave (perhaps to make sure he was really leaving). Charlie, wearing the undersized flight cap, got into the car, started it and put it into drive. Strangely the wheels spun, but the car did not move. As a final show of their affection, the maintenance crew had put Charlie’s car on jacks so that it was about ½ inch above the ground. We all waved, turned around and went back to work.

Epilogue

So, Charlie was gone and of course the unit was never the same again. The unit pilots actually missed the fun of the recent attacks and the various shenanigans we had pulled. Several months later we rejoiced when Charlie got passed over for major the second time, but it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as THE Passover the first time. We heard that Charlie somehow managed to get a job as an Air Reserve Technician, allowing him to accrue enough active duty time to make the 18 year sanctuary and ensuring he was allowed to stay in the Air Force 20 years and retire. Anyone who ever served with him likely felt that every penny sent to Charlie in a retirement check, was a waste of taxpayer money.

I would never see Charlie again, but I got a surprise phone call from him years later on the day after I was promoted to Colonel. “Congratulations.” he said, “I guess some of me rubbed off on you.” Still surprised by the phone call, all I could say was, “Thanks, Charlie.”

Looking back, I hope nothing rubbed off, but I realize now, all of those Un-Leadership examples Charlie gave me have influenced my interactions with people ever since. Besides, think of all the uses I discovered for superglue.

Chapter 6 THE Forum

Mosque in Cairo - photo by JoAnn Sturman

by S.R. Oberst

Following THE Trip, I returned to my home base, while Charlie spent two weeks grounded in Tucson with a torn eardrum. The first morning back at work I got a phone call from Charlie. “What have you said about THE Trip?” he barked.

“Nothing.” I replied, “At least not yet, I just got to work.”

“Well, you be careful about what you say if you know what’s good for you,” Charlie whispered. “I was sick and injured my ear. Besides, nothing happened on THE Trip worth reporting to the boss.”

It was time to think like Charlie, so I calmly replied, “Charlie, I think more than nothing happened on THE Trip, and I won’t lie to cover up what happened. However, I have no plans to say anything to Colonel McMellow about THE Trip, provided you agree to one thing.”

There was a long pause on the phone. Charlie clearly was caught off-guard. “What?” he croaked.

“It’s pretty simple, Charlie,” I replied. “You agree to never schedule yourself for another cross country trip with any pilot in this unit.”

After another long pause, Charlie mumbled what I took to be an agreement with my condition. Feeling I was on a roll, I decided to have a little fun at Charlie’s expense. Charlie held all enlisted people with disdain, and would never voluntarily give them anything, so I added, “Oh, and by the way, I already spoke with Sergeant Topper, and he is keeping details of THE Trip to himself. He wants me to thank you for the keg of beer you are providing for the maintenance unit party at the end of this month.” With that our conversation ended.

On the first day back from THE Trip I turned in the flight records. On the last leg I credited Charlie with AC time (alternate crew member) instead of CP (copilot) time. I logged FP (First Pilot) time. This seemed fitting since Charlie slept off his hangover in the back of the helicopter during this phase of the flight. I was shocked when I opened up the MAC Flyer, a monthly safety magazine published by the Military Airlift Command, the forerunner to today’s Air Mobility Command. On the page giving kudos to crews who had executed successful emergency landings was a short article about our lost hydraulics landing. In the article Charlie was listed as the aircraft commander, and I was listed as a crew member for the emergency landing at Davis Monthan Air Force Base. Somebody at MAC headquarters assumed AC meant Aircraft Commander, or more probably Charlie made one of his infamous phone calls. Needless to say, Charlie never tried to set the record straight, so he was officially credited with an emergency landing, albeit, one achieved without access to the flight controls.

More Unleadership Insight:

As stated previously, one common trait of Un-Leaders, is to always take credit for everything they can for their own personal advancement. Charlie extended this to being willing to take credit for something even if no credit was due. The fact that he slept through the entire emergency in the back of the helicopter was probably an irrelevant detail in his mind.

My agreement with Charlie was to never say anything to our Unit Commander, Lieutenant Colonel McMellow; however, it did not mean I could not share my adventures with my fellow pilots. So, the next Friday night at the Officers’ Club, I did a lot of sharing. After considerable laughter about Charlie’s antics and the colorful Hawaiian shirt, I noticed that Captain Tom Triffick was looking intently at his beer with a big grin on his face. I’d known Tom long enough to know his devious mind was cooking up some scheme to further undo Charlie the Un-Leader.

“Hey guys,” Tom said excitedly. “If Charlie is so enthralled with letters written to adult magazines, let’s start our own letter writing campaign. We’ll make up ridiculous stories about Charlie’s sexual exploits and send them to his favorite adult magazine.”

At first we were all skeptical of this idea, but after the second round of beer, we began to see the light. Soon, Tom was scribbling story ideas on a napkin. He became the unofficial author, and the rest of us served as editors. The first story, of course, detailed an encounter with a sex goddess named Wanda. It dealt with Charlie’s incredible staying power and ability to get it up over and over again. Within a week Tom had the story completed, and it was mailed to the magazine’s reader section known as THE Forum under the pseudonym “Big Charlie.”

One morning the next month Tom announced an important meeting at the O’Club that night. When most of the pilots arrived, Tom produced a copy of the adult magazine with THE Forum section. There in black and white was an unedited version of our letter. Cheers and uncontrolled laughter followed.

With this success under our belts, the letter writing campaign continued each month with a new letter from Big Charlie. By the third month, Big Charlie had generated such reader interest that letters from other readers began appearing referencing earlier Big Charlie stories. Tom challenged us to keep providing story ideas and and we gladly did so. From a south of the border frolic with Juanita to an orgasmic picnic lunch involving ants and honey, we concocted the kinkiest stories one can imagine. The campaign continued for the next nine months.

Undoubtedly Charlie was reading the same stories every month, probably out loud to his wife. As far as I know he never had a clue that he was Big Charlie. How did this practical joke benefit our group of pilots, since the target never knew he was the butt of the joke ?

Imagine the meanest, most condescending, obnoxious, immoral, unreasonable supervisor you have ever known - Charlie. Now imagine every time you encounter this supervisor performing Un-Leadership at its best, you think about Wanda or Juanita, or whoever. You won’t be able to stop smiling, if not outwardly at least inwardly. For twelve pilots dealing with Charlie became more bearable because we found humor at his expense. Yes, laughter is the best medicine for dealing with Un-Leaders.

But every good joke has an ending, and Charlie’s reign of terror was running out of time.

Chapter 4 THE Comeback

Lake at Pokara, Nepal

by S.R. Oberst

Note to the reader: It's time to digress at bit. Prior to Charlie's ill fated cross country trip, he received a flight evaluation by the Squadron Fight Examiner, Captain SK Reamer. By all accounts Charlie's performance bordered on incompetence. Even the most rudimentary flying skills were a challenge to Charlie's ham fisted techniques. As a consequence, he was downgraded to co-pilot status. How did Charlie, so lacking in judgment and ability, regain aircraft commander responsibilities? Let's see how Charlie resurrected his career:
Charlie failed THE Checkride on a Friday. By Monday he was plotting THE Comeback. SK had busted Charlie back to co-pilot in-training status. This meant that he could not fly without an instructor pilot on board. It probably did not help Charlie’s ego when our Detachment Commander, Lt Col Brad McMellow, passed his own SK checkride, albeit with a “needs training” notation on the evaluation sheet. But instead of showing any embarrassment or regret over the failed checkride, Charlie’s true character rose to the top. In a closed door session with McMellow, overheard through the office wall, Charlie blamed the checkride failure on the weather, the aircraft, and the evaluator. Strangely, and to my surprise, he did not blame me who had been his co-pilot. He insisted SK had been out to get him. He told McMellow he planned to take immediate steps to rectify the situation and regain his flight status.

Another Un-Leadership Moment:
When confronted with personal failure, Un-Leaders will blame someone else. They are incapable of accepting blame or taking positive steps to address a failure. Further, the Un- Leader will react with anger and take on the role of an injured party. It is also highly likely the Un-Leader will seek revenge on the people they blame for their failure.

Charlie immediately began a letter writing and telephone campaign to impugn the character of Captain SK Reamer. He boasted about a letter he wrote to the Squadron Commander, Colonel Andy Devine, claiming SK was a vengeful flight evaluator who made his reputation at the expense of the many capable pilots who he had failed his checkrides. He protested the manner in which his own evaluation had been conducted and demanded an immediate re-evaluation given by a fair and impartial flight evaluator. Charlie discovered SK was meeting the same promotion board for major that next year. He claimed SK specifically intended to hurt his promotion chances, thereby improving his own. Charlie also stated SK was jealous that he was an Operations Officer rather than a Chief of Flight Evaluations.

There were four instructor pilots in the unit, and McMellow insisted Charlie participate in training flights with each of them in preparation for his re-evaluation flight. Charlie did not take instruction well, so these training flights were a nightmare for the instructors. He would belittle their flying skill and complain about their instruction methods and critiques. Two of them went to McMellow and requested that they no longer be part of Charlie’s training program. McMellow asked Captain Dave Evalman, our unit Flight Evaluation Chief, to take a training flight with Charlie. Under Dave’s watchful eye, Charlie flew a practice checkride. Dave declared that Charlie needed more training, and as a result Charlie turned on Dave and attempted to make his life miserable. Dave, with less than two years remaining in the Air Force, infuriated Charlie by ignoring his taunts.

Whether it was due to Charlie’s campaign or just luck, the re-evaluation flight was scheduled with the undemanding Captain Bill Pansy. Charlie’s good fortune continued on the day of the flight with perfect flying conditions, light winds, and clear skies. I was the co-pilot - it sucks to be the junior guy. The evaluation flight was relatively uneventful. Pansy sat in the jump seat and was asleep during the instrument portion of the flight. He seemed more interested in a fly-by of Mount Rushmore than with the flight evaluation, so Charlie did a simulated rescue mission under the nose of George Washington.

Returning to the base practice field, Charlie’s emergency procedure performance was marginal. He cheated on the manual fuel procedure by not rolling the throttle back as far as he should. This went undetected by Pansy, so Charlie got away with flying in automatic fuel mode while giving the impression he was flying manually. As we hovered in to the final stop in front of the unit hangar, Pansy was already congratulating Charlie on a successful evaluation. Let’s just say that Santa had nothing on Captain Bill Pansy when it comes to giveaways.

THE Comeback was complete – Charlie had regained his flight status, but this did not end the saga. Rather it marked the beginning of a two year long effort to discredit, embarrass, and destroy Captain SK Reamer’s career. Charlie was relentless in his efforts. He was able to identify other pilots flunked by SK, and he recruited some of them for his many nefarious schemes. He obviously did not confide with anyone in our unit regarding the details, but we heard about peculiar things that happened to SK and instantly deduced Charlie was behind them. For example, we heard that following every trip SK took to one of the squadron's ten detachments, an envelope or package would arrive at his house from each place he had visited. The contents ranged from sexy lingerie or underwear to copies of “girlie”magazines or a flyer from a local strip joint.

A few weeks later most of the pilots in the unit got together at the Officers’ Club for a few beers. Usually we had a good time laughing about Charlie’s latest escapades, but THE Comeback and the ongoing vendetta were not funny. As we sat somberly enjoying our beers, someone said, “Too bad we can’t do to Charlie what he is doing to others.” Hmmm. The wheels started turning. What could a bunch of lowly pilots possibly do to the invincible Charlie Crown?

Chapter 5 Part 4 THE Trip "El Mucho"

Hillside Nepal - Photo by JoAnn Sturman

by S.R. Oberst

We checked into a motel across from the El Paso airport that made a Motel 6 look like the Ritz Carlton. Reluctantly I decided to go to dinner with Charlie. “How bad can it be?” I said to myself, “It’s just dinner. What’s the worst that can happen? A little heartburn - maybe.” But Charlie had a way of turning little events into big disasters.

LT and I waited in the motel lobby, which was actually a Quonset hut with vending machines and a coin operated vibrating chair. We wore blue jeans and T-shirts, but when Charlie rolled in he was wearing his favorite Archie Bunker outfit - slip-on gray hush puppies, brown corduroy pants, and a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt. While berating our lack of fashion sense, Charlie
called a cab from the pay phone. Then he asked, “You boys ready for some Mexican?” Taking this to mean Mexican food, we both replied that we were.

Only when the cab stopped on the American side of the Bridge of the Americas, did we realize Charlie was taking us to Juarez, Mexico. A short walk and we were in Mexico. No need for a cab on this side of the bridge – everything you could possibly want was at hand. As a kid growing up in East LA, I had made a few trips down to Tia Juana, so I was not too surprised by what I saw. On the other hand LT, who was born and raised in the deep South, was completely caught by surprise.

Charlie led us to a nearby restaurant, a smoke filled cantina attached to a large two story building with no windows. We found a table near an old juke box. LT immediately shoved a handful of pesos into the machine and punched in some songs. Eventually a waitress came with menus and took our drink orders. LT and I ordered beers, while Charlie preferred a beer with a tequila shooter. He immediately began flirting with the waitress. The waitress made Wanda of Wichita look like Miss America. Although at this time of my life, I had not yet heard of the term “coyote ugly,” it certainly applied in this case. This did not stop Charlie, who obviously lived by the axiom - “Go ugly early. Why waste time?”

Charlie tried a lot of lines on the waitress. He told her we were in the U.S. Air Force, adding that he was the pilot and we were his crew. She asked Charlie if he was an officer. “Yes,” he replied, “I am a Captain.” The woman promptly began calling him “El Mucho Capitano”. Charlie ordered another beer and shooter.

We placed our orders, and I began checking out the surroundings. It was a fairly typical, rundown old saloon except for the wall that connected it to the adjacent building. On this wall was a big mirror next to a very large red door. To the right of the door was a little office about 10 feet square that had obviously been a recent addition. Between this office and the red door was a sign that read: “No Entrada sin Medico Evaluacion.” “Now what the heck does that mean?” I wondered to myself. Charlie ordered another beer and shooter.

As we finished our meal, a sharply dressed young Mexican man came to our table and introduced himself as the manager, Senor Gomez. He sat down next to Charlie and in perfect English said he had observed Charlie’s interest in our waitress. He then explained that there were far more desirable women available to be our “dates” for the evening. “You see,” he said, “Here in Juarez there are many beautiful but lonely women. We do not allow them in the cantina, but let them look at our customers from the next room. They can see us through the mirror on the wall. It is likely that many beautiful women have seen the handsome Americans and would love to meet them.”

Charlie was drooling. LT was confused. And just as the jukebox started playing “House of the Rising Sun,” the light bulb clicked on in my head – next door was a cathouse! Senor Gomez politely excused himself, promising to return later. Charlie ordered another beer and shooter.

“Gentlemen,” Charlie said, “As your leader it is my duty to make sure you have a good time tonight. So, I am going to lead us next door for some little Mexican cutie pies. But first, I have to take a leak.”

Un-leadership Momento – El Ejemplo We’ve all heard great leaders lead by example. They are to be emulated or copied. Great un-leaders lead by unexample. They are not to be emulated or copied. Knowing this fact alone, kept me from following Charlie through the red door.

Quickly I explained our predicament to LT. He agreed with me and did not want to go next door either. “How do we shake loose from the Captain?” he asked. I had a plan and motioning for Senor Gomez, I put it into action. I asked Gomez if there were any women named Juanita in the other room.

“Yes, of course, would you like to meet her?” he asked.

“No, not for me. We want El Mucho Capitano to go first,” I replied. I asked Gomez to return to our table and invite El Mucho Capitano to meet Juanita. I quickly ordered more beers.

Charlie returned. By now the effect of all those beers and shooters was obvious, and Charlie was unsteady as he walked back to our table. Undaunted, he turned toward the red door. I winked at Gomez and he immediately joined us, “It is my pleasure to inform El Mucho Capitano that the beautiful Juanita has chosen him to be her date for the night. She awaits your visit beyond the door.”

Charlie lurched from the table and started for the door. Then he turned and said, “Come along, gentlemen, the ladies await.”

“We still have beers to finish Charlie, you go ahead without us,” I replied.

As Charlie approached the big red door, he was directed to the little office for what was probably more than a “turn your head and cough” experience. A few minutes later he came out and headed for the red door. He had a big, silly grin on his face as he looked our way. We raised our half empty beer bottles in a salute as he disappeared behind the big red door.

Senor Gomez came back to our table and invited us to join Charlie. “No thanks,” I said, “It is already late, and we need our crew rest before our flight tomorrow to Tucson. Besides, we are both on the Alpha Roster today.”

Gomez responded, “What about El Mucho Capitano, is he not on the Alpha Roster as well?”

“Nah,” I said, “He’s just the copilot.”