On The Platform
Peter T. Reed USN, A-4F, 1968-1969
{ Date Of Hire By Western Airlines: 2/12/1973 }
Peter Reed was hired by Western Airlines in a class that began just two months after my class. Unfortunately, due to our closeness in seniority, we never had the opportunity to fly together. His story is about an amazing journey with one adventure after another until he ended up a Naval Aviator and volunteered to go through the training to be an LSO (Landing Signal Officer). The adventures continued after he separated from the Navy until his road to Western Airlines ended when he sold a sailboat to Bob Johnson, Western’s Chief Pilot, in January 1973, and was hired in a class that began on February 12.
His story is a complete description of the training required to become a Qualified LSO and what LSO duties entailed. I would also bet that he is the only Western pilot who turned 18 and registered for the draft at the US Consulate in Zurich, Switzerland, while on a trip to Europe.
Meet Peter Reed, an All American athlete with a scholarship to swim and play water polo at USC. He learned to sail at age 14 and eventually skippered a sailboat across the Atlantic and sailed in the Olympic Trials. In the midst of this he flew 155 combat missions in the A-4F on two WestPac cruises and was a Qualified LSO.
I may have forgotten something but you’ll read all about it!
September 1969. It was difficult to get myself up and ready for the first night recovery of jets from the midnight launch of strike aircraft into Vietnam. I was on my second WestPac Cruise, this time aboard USS Hancock CVA-19 (nicknamed the Hanna) in the South China Sea, at a location the US Navy called “Yankee Station”.
We were on our second line period, operating on the Port Watch from midnight to noon. It was a little difficult to adjust to after a month of the normal diurnal cycle of the Starboard Watch from noon to midnight. My squadron was VA-212, flying the A-4F, and one of my collateral duties as Landing Signal Officer (LSO) was to help the pilots orient themselves as they made their final approaches back to the ship.
The nickname for the LSO is “Paddles”, named for the wands they used during WWII before they had direct radio contact with the planes. The LSO is positioned on a small platform on the outboard of the landing area, abeam the arresting gear on the port quarter of the ship. My duty was to be there for the safety of the pilots and the ship, as a bad landing can endanger the on-deck crew members and equipment.
The passageway aft to the platform is one level below the flight-deck and it is accessible from the hanger deck. Things were quiet for the moment and the passageway glowed with dim red lighting to help our eyes adapt to night vision. I had traveled this path hundreds of times and was familiar with the sounds of the ship, the constant hum of activity, and the rumble of the ship’s engines as if it were a living thing. I reached the hatch and opened it. The smell of salt air, fuel oil and the sweat of the crew in this muggy, humid environment was a huge contrast to the air-conditioned officers’ spaces and ready rooms below. What was most apparent though was the tremendous noise from the dozen or so jet aircraft whose jet exhausts were just above my head as I approached the platform. These aircraft were the last of the second launch of the evening and once they were catapulted off and clear of the deck, we would start to recover those that had launched at midnight.
I climbed up over the safety net onto the small platform where two other LSOs had already arrived. One was the CAG LSO who was assigned to the Carrier Air Group command and oversaw all the other LSOs on the ship. The other was “Rocketman”, the VF-24 LSO who would be waving tonight’s period. He gave me the “Greenie Book” and asked me to record all the landings. We huddled behind a flimsy barrier which was there to protect us from the light rain and the 30-knot, ship-induced wind that was ever present during launch and landing periods.
As the CAG LSO talked to the Air Boss on the phone to get information regarding the upcoming recovery, he was also checking the Fresnel Lens Optical Landing System which is a visual indicator for the pilots so they can see where they are on the gyro stabilized glide slope. Essentially there are five vertical lights. Four are amber and the bottom one is red. Then there are six green horizontal datum lights on both sides of the middle amber light.
If the approaching aircraft is on the ideal glide slope he will see the amber light (called the meatball or just “ball”) aligned with the green lights. If he is high he will see the upper amber lights or no amber light if he is too high, or if he is below the 3 to 4-degree glide slope it will be red. In the event the LSO decides he is too far out of the parameters, the pilot will see flashing vertical red lights telling him to wave off the approach and go around.
This system gives the tailhook of each aircraft just 10’ to 16’ of clearance as they cross over the round down, which is the aft end of the carrier deck. This light system is located just forward and to the left of the four arresting wires and behind the LSO platform.
Once the pilot has visual contact with the ship about a mile away, on a straight-in approach, his closure rate is 100 – 130 mph. He will intercept the glide slope at 600’. He will then adjust his power to maintain the optimum angle of attack for landing, a plus or minus 2 knots on airspeed with about a 600 – 700 feet per minute rate of decent. When comfortable he will call Paddles describing his type of aircraft, whether or not he can see the ball, and his fuel state in thousands of pounds. If he can’t see the ball, or is uncertain where it is, the pilot will call “CLARA” and the LSO will tell him where he is on the glide slope. Besides letting the LSO know what type of aircraft is approaching, it gives the arresting cable crew below deck the gross weight (by adding the fuel amount to the zero-fuel weight of the aircraft) that they will use to set the tension in the arresting cables.
Some technical background: The arresting wires are set approximately 30’ apart. The #1 wire is usually 100’ from the round down and the deck is about 50’ off the water. A perfectly flown approach is called an “OK” pass where the tailhook will strike the deck midway between the second and third wires. The pilot’s grade by the LSO would be the highest possible, an “OK 3” with no comments.
To give you an idea of how accurate the pilot must be to make an arrested landing, if he is just one foot high on a 3 degree glide slope, the tailhook will travel another 19’ down the deck, thereby just missing the 3 wire. If he is just over two feet high he could miss all four wires and have to go around, which is called a “Bolter”. The pilot is unaware of whether he is actually going to catch a wire and get an arrested landing until he is violently thrown forward and his shoulder straps are digging into his chest. The aircraft has just gone from 120 knots to zero in less than 250’. Believe me he will only forget to lock his shoulder harness once, not wanting to experience again removing his helmet from being stuck between the glareshield and the canopy, and looking at the Air Boss sideways.
Immediately upon touchdown the pilot will go to 100 percent power to get the engine(s) back up to speed in order to regain flight, as he will quickly run out of runway down the angled deck if he misses the wires. Every landing on an aircraft carrier is graded and recorded by the LSO and posted in the ready room on the “Greenie Board” where the whole squadron can see all the pilots’ history of landings.
On that night it became very quiet on the platform after the final aircraft had been launched and we awaited the arrival of the planes returning from their missions over Vietnam. When they were inbound to the ship they would be given Marshal Instructions that would include a position on the ship’s Tacan and a distance and altitude to establish a racecourse pattern (similar to a holding pattern). They would be given a “Push Over” time so they would know what time to begin their approach. They would also be told the ship’s magnetic heading, called the Fox Corpen, which the ship steers to maintain the wind directly down the angled deck.
The F-8J aircraft of VF-24 were the first to return as they would have the least amount of fuel. Two other LSOs joined us on the platform to observe the night landings, and while we didn’t have earphones and could not hear what the pilots were saying, we were able hear the LSO giving his commands.
A dim light appeared in the darkness. Overcast skies eliminated all the stars, and the dark sky merged with the black sea, erasing the horizon. It would completely remove the pilot’s depth perception. There were only three other lights bobbing up and down behind us. They were the red, green, and white navigation lights of the plane guard destroyer that followed us like a trained dog. The destroyer was primarily there for protection in the event of an attack on the carrier and to assist recovery operations in the event a pilot ejected, or heaven forbid, someone fell off the carrier.
As the first aircraft closed at over 100 miles per hour, the pilot made his initial call to the ship at three quarters of a mile, “102, Crusader Ball, One point Four”. From our position we could now make out the red and green wing navigation lights and the aircraft’s external amber angle of attack light which gave us an indication of the his speed. (Amber for on speed, green for slow, and red for fast).
Once the pilot intercepts the glide slope and can see the amber ball in the Fresnel Lens, he will no longer look in the cockpit. His visual scan will be from the ball to his line up with the carrier deck, then very briefly to his internal angle of attack indicator which is located on top of his instrument glare shield. Then his scan will go back to the ball which gives him his glide slope.
If he is on speed he sees an amber O called a doughnut. If he is slow (high angle of attack) he will see a green V and know he needs to increase speed or lower the nose. Finally if he is fast he will see an inverted Red V indicating he needs to slow down or raise the nose a bit. He then concentrates only on flying the ball, monitoring his lineup and the angle of attack with his peripheral vision. If he deviates from any of these the LSO will give the pilot “suggestions” to get back on track.
We heard Rocketman say, “You’re going high”. Then a few seconds later he said, “Check your line-up”. We noticed the angle of attack had gone from on speed to fast, and as he made his line up correction he dropped his nose too far (to get back on the glide slope) and the airplane accelerated. The angle of attack then went back to on speed and he appeared to be in the groove. Shortly thereafter his angle of attack went green (slow) and he started to settle. Rocketman called “Power” and as the aircraft started to go below the glide path there was another call for power, then CAG and Rocketman both yelled, “WAVE OFF, WAVE OFF!”
I was stunned as I counted “one one-thousand, two one-thousand…” The pilot went to max power and ignited his afterburner… Holy Shit! “Three one…” and WHAM!
The pilot was slow to make every critical correction on his approach and the F-8 slammed into the round down at the end of the ship. I felt the shudder in my feet as the aircraft went by in a huge fireball and headed down the angled deck. I was so shocked that I couldn’t move, and as I watched the cockpit go over the side into the dark sea the pilot ejected. I became aware that I was the last man standing on the platform, still with the greenie book in my hand. Everyone else had jumped into the surrounding safety net which is around the LSO platform, designed for just this type of situation— to avoid being hit by flying debris.
The crash alarm sounded and the highly trained deck crew came out to clear the landing area so flight ops could resume. The wave-off lights were still flashing as I hadn’t been able to find the Pickle (control stick) to turn them off. I think Rocketman took it with him when he leaped off the platform.
Eighteen other aircraft were still in holding, burning precious fuel, waiting to land. A couple of the F-8s departed the holding pattern so they could refuel from the A-3 holding overhead. Meanwhile I noticed the rescue Helo heading past the ship looking for the pilot. I hoped the pilot was safe and uninjured.
“Bear” Smith, my fellow VA-212 LSO, took over the recovery as “Rocketman” headed back to the Ready Room to await the wet nugget’s return so he could personally explain to the skipper and the pilot what occurred during that disastrous approach. Meanwhile the pilots that were still airborne were getting anxious as the weather was deteriorating and the pucker factor had escalated tenfold.
This was carrier aviation at its best. Everyone had a job and they did it despite the circumstances. We worked a solid 12 hour day while on Yankee Station, with four or five launches and recoveries. The various deck crews refueled the aircraft and loaded ordnance between launches. It is amazing how smoothly it worked.
I reflected on the training that is required to make this all happen. During the day aircraft land at 45 second intervals, at night they extend it to 60 seconds. It all takes an exceptional amount of coordination and training.
BECOMING AN LSO
To make sure the squadron functions as a unit, Navy pilots are assigned collateral duties in addition to flying. Scheduling, administration, operations, and maintenance of our squadron aircraft required over three hundred enlisted technicians and mechanics. Each pilot is assigned to supervise one of these divisions when he isn’t flying. Besides being the Squadron LSO I was also the Personnel Officer. I kept the enlisted records, administered advancement exams, made recommendations for assignments, and monitored travel orders. I also assisted and counseled those with special problems or personal hardships.
I had joined VA-212 in October of 1967 just out of the RAG (Replacement Air Group), VA-125 at NAS Lemoore, California, located in the middle of the San Joaquin Valley. It was a four-hour drive to anywhere I wanted to go; Newport Beach where I grew up, San
Francisco where all the action was, and China Peak, the nearest ski resort.
I had become close friends with several pilots during our initial training in the A-4 Skyhawk and five of us decided we would become LSOs. Pete Nichols and Dave Maxwell who were assigned to VA-93, Hud Garvin from VA-94, and Gary Smith and me from VA-212 were sent to NAS Miramar for Initial Phase One Training.
The training consisted of learning all about the various systems we would be using, including the Fresnel Lens, the arresting gear and the catapults. We studied the physics of a stable vs. an unstable approach. We also learned all the characteristics of the planes we would be waving; The A-4 Skyhawk, F-8 Crusader, A-3 Skywarrior, and finally the E-1 Tracer known as the Willy Fudd or just “Fudd”. We came to know what each aircraft looked like on the approach and the various attitudes that would show us if they were on speed, fast or slow without the aid of the angle of attack light which was difficult to see in bright sun. For the A-4, the nose wheel should appear to be split by the trailing edge of the flaps, but if it was fast the nose wheel would be entirely below the flap line. If it was slow the horizontal stabilizer would be completely hidden by the wings. The other aircraft had similar identifiers.
The first portion of “Phase Two Field Qualifications” was held at NAS North Island in San Diego where we observed F-8 Crusaders, F-4 Phantoms, and the A-4 Skyhawks doing Field Carrier Landing Practice (FCLP) prior to their departure to WestPac. We then went back to NAS Lemoore to join our squadrons and assist the active squadron LSOs as they observed the rest of the squadron pilots doing both day and night FCLPs to complete Phase Two Field Quals.
On our first night FCLP period at Lemoore, Ensign Dave Maxwell, “The Stallion”, manned up his A-4 Charlie at about 1:30 am and taxied out with five other squadron mates to begin an hour or so of bounces (touch and gos) with approximately 3,000 pounds of fuel. The LSOs in training who weren’t scheduled to fly were out at the end of the runway observing the approaches.
NAS Lemoore is situated in the middle of farming country, miles from any lights at night, so it is very similar to night carrier ops as it is pitch black. We could barely see the horizon miles away. As Dave took off, all his instruments indicated normal. He accelerated and turned downwind at the pattern altitude of 500’ (operating off the ship it would be 600’). Immediately after wings level his engine began to surge and the RPM fluctuated wildly. As a precaution he climbed to 1000’ and when abeam the LSOs he asked tower for an extended downwind and a full stop landing. His request was granted. As he turned base leg he descended through 500’ and was rolling out on final when the engine quit. His instrument panel went dark and there was just silence.
In the older B or C model A-4 the pilot needed at least 100 knots of forward speed to guarantee a safe ejection so Dave dropped the nose to get a little more airspeed, leveled off to stop his sink rate, and ejected using the face curtain rather than the D-ring between his legs. It was a textbook ejection, and as he floated down to the desert floor he watched his aircraft explode in a giant fireball about a mile or so from the runway.
He got up and checked his body for any injuries and found he was unscathed, so he began his hike back towards the runway. Shortly thereafter two enlisted firemen in a pickup truck with a search light on it found him and asked if he was OK and if they could take him to the hospital. He said he was OK and asked if they could take him to the BOQ so he could get a beer. “Aye, Aye Sir, if that’s what you prefer.”
The BOQ was about 8 miles from the crash site and there was a vending machine where we could purchase beer for about $1.00. A half hour later, while relaxing in the lounge, just starting his third beer, the two firemen returned and said that they had been ordered to take him to the hospital for evaluation, and told him that everyone had wondered what happened to him. “Okay”, Dave said, “Why didn’t I think of that?”
After a thorough physical, the doctor said he was still fit to fly and told him to finish his beer and head home to get some rest. Home was in downtown Lemoore about 13 miles away, so Dave got a ride from the hospital back to the squadron, picked up his old trusty Buick Skylark and headed home. While cruising down Highway 198, still seven or eight miles from home, Dave had a period of déjà vu. He sensed silence and just heard the sound of the wind as his car slowed from 60 mph to zero as he steered the car to the side of the road. No kidding, he ran out of gas!
It was now 3:30 in the morning and there was not a soul in sight. He climbed out of the car and sat on the trunk, waiting for someone to flag down. Ten minutes later he watched a car make a U-turn on the highway and pull up behind him. It was the local constabulary with all his twirlies flashing. Still wearing his flight suit Dave explained that he just left his airplane burning in the desert, he was out of gas and asked if they would let him leave his car on the side of the road. Perhaps the officer could overlook the beer on his breath and take him home. His plea was granted.
FIRST CRUISE
The FCLP periods lasted almost a week and we were flying every night. As the pilots became more proficient the LSOs begin to recognize the small idiosyncrasies of each pilot, both their strengths and weaknesses. A stable approach requires the pilot to be on speed with the correct angle of attack and at the correct altitude when initiating the approach. If he feels high, in close to the ship, he may push the nose over to get down but that will cause the hook to rise up and skip the wires. If he reduces power in close, he may catch a one or two wire. This maneuver will be obvious to the LSO and will result in an unsafe grade. Any late line-up corrections with the rudder will cause the hook to swing out from being centered and it will skip over the wires.
At night there is no sensation of relative motion through the first two thirds of the approach. When the deck lights become more prominent in close, the pilot will get a feeling of acceleration and sense that he is going high. If he is not concentrating on the ball he might try to spot the deck which will just confuse his senses and complicate the approach and landing.
Our final Phase Three Carrier Quals lasted a majority of the nine month-long 1968 cruise aboard USS Bon Homme Richard (CVA-31), both going through our Operational Readiness Inspection (ORI) in Hawaii and while on the line at Yankee Station. Each LSO trainee had to observe a minimum of 200 day landings before he would be given the opportunity to hold the “Pickle” and the phone, while he controlled the aircraft on approach. He had to observe over 300 night landings and an additional 150 monitored by a qualified LSO, usually Floyd Probst of VA-94 or Al Crebo of VA-212, before he was eventually certified as a “Qualified LSO”.
I spent four years in the Navy, from October 1965 to October 1969. I flew 155 combat missions in the A-4F off the Bonnie Dick and the Hancock and was a “Qualified LSO” for the entire Hancock cruise. I was able to shorten my active duty time by a whole year when the military had a major budget reduction in 1969. The reduction required a cut of one pilot and two enlisted men from each squadron and I was eligible for the cut. The skipper of VA-212 offered me several options. I could stay in and complete the rest of my tour as a Reserve Officer if I wanted to, I could sign up as Regular Navy which would require an additional 3 year commitment, or I could separate from the service at the end of the month. It wasn’t a difficult decision. I took a week’s paid leave in Hawaii and then headed home to become a pilot for Bonanza Airlines. The rest of that story follows!
MY ROUTE TO WESTERN AIRLINES
As the title of this book is “Vietnam to Western Airlines”, here is the story of my circuitous route to becoming a pilot with Western Airlines and eventually a Captain with Delta.
As a child I lived in Palm Springs, California, until I was nine. We lived on the edge of town on Sunrise Way, which was a dirt road, and we had a hitching post in the front yard where neighbors or friends would tie up their horses while visiting. My twin sister Joan and I became very familiar with the Gila Monsters, lizards, and snakes while we played with our Cocker Spaniel “Coco” in our front yard.
We were riding horses about the time we started kindergarten. We learned to swim when we were 5 or 6 after observing a 4-year-old jump off the 10-meter platform at the Shadow Mountain Club during an Aquatics Show. When we were 9 the family moved to Newport Beach, where we had our first opportunity to ride bicycles. Soon my land-borne activities resulted in a love of the sea—and some amazing adventures to come. There was a marina directly across the street and when I was 14, Fred Gledhill, a boat owner, asked if I wanted to crew for him on his 26’ Luders Sloop as he was short one crew to go racing. I said, “Sure why not.” This is when I learned never to turn down an offer to do something new, for you never know what the outcome will be. As it turned out, this was the first time I had ever been on a sailboat and it was the first time I was cussed at for over three hours straight for doing just about everything wrong that was possible on a boat.
For some bizarre reason Fred apparently took pity on me and decided to take me under his wing. We spent the next two months practicing before entering another race. I don’t think we ever finished worse than 3rd for the remainder of the season. The following year Fred purchased a 60’ Ten Meter Sloop and we entered the Ensenada Race, my first overnight and international event. There were over 250 boats entered and we finished in the top 5. Ensenada was a really wild town. Hussong’s Cantina was the center of attention and I had my first drink of alcohol at 15. I think it was 150-proof tequila, and did it ever burn my throat!
I went to Newport High School and joined the swim team in my sophomore year. I was a little squirt, 5’3 and maybe 100 pounds, but with all the swimming we were doing I started growing and putting on some weight. Just prior to graduation my good buddy, Bruce Bennett, suggested we should go to Europe for the summer. He ended up unable to go so I took off on my own and spent 5 months hitchhiking and scootering all over 14 countries from Norway to Italy with a side trip to Tangiers, Morocco. I had my eighteenth birthday in Zurich, Switzerland, and went to the US Consulate to register for the draft (hoping maybe my paperwork would get lost). When I returned in December I was finally up to my adult size and weight of 6’ and 172 pounds.
I entered Orange Coast Jr. College and swam for both the water polo and swim teams, while working as a lifeguard during the summer. The following year I was awarded a scholarship to USC for swimming and water polo. At the end of my junior year fellow lifeguard, Bruce Bennett, asked me if I wanted to sail to Tahiti for the summer? One of our high school classmates had inherited some money and purchased a 53’ yawl named Kirawan. It was another unplanned opportunity I couldn’t turn down. The race started in the middle of June so we could arrive for the Bastille Day celebration on the 14th of July. We were 7 college kids. The oldest was the cook, Wayne Chase, who was 23. It took us 23 days and we finished third out of the 7 contestants on corrected time. The largest boat in the race was the 90’ Ketch Novia Del Mar owned by John Scripps (CEO of the Scripps Howard Newspaper chain). I got to sail on it in Moorea after the race and met some of the guests and crew.
I returned to USC in September and graduated mid-term in January 1965. I immediately got a job selling wholesale lumber to lumber yards around Southern California for a friend of my mother. In March I got engaged to a USC debutant from Laguna Beach and we were to be married in June, after her graduation. She even had an announcement in the LA Times and a party at the Orange Coast Country Club. I assumed being married would continue my draft deferment as I had been on a student deferment for 5 years. The Vietnam draft was really strong at that time and I definitely didn’t want to go in the Army. In early May my bride to be wanted to see my office in this “big company” that I worked for. It seems she wasn’t impressed as it was essentially a 150 square foot old paint shed under the crane at Lido shipyard next to my folk’s trailer. It was a two-man office with two phones, one chair for the owner, one stool for me, and a telex machine. No way was this business plan going to work to support the lifestyle she had always dreamed of so that was the end of my engagement. Hello draft!
Fortunately, less than a week later I got a call out of the blue from my old USC roommate, Robbie Griesser. He said, “Guess what? I am flying jets off an aircraft carrier.” “How do I get to do that?” I asked. “Go down to Los Alamitos Naval Air Station and take a 50-question test. It’s a piece of cake.” The next day I hightailed it to the base, found the recruiter’s office, took the exam, and had a physical scheduled for the following day. I showed up at 8:00 am for my physical and passed with flying colors except for my blood pressure, which was a bit high. The doctor asked if I could come back at 5:30pm for another test? He said, “And by the way, swim a couple miles, run a couple miles, and have a large meal before you get here.” That sounded a bit odd but no problem.
I drove home, swam across the channel, walked over to Newport Pier then swam down to Balboa Pier about 1½ miles, ran back to the Newport pier and repeated it, then swam back home, had a great meatloaf dinner and drove up to Los Al for my blood pressure check. The doctor put me in a small room, told me to lie down, turned out the lights and walked out. In ten seconds, I was sound asleep. Shortly thereafter he woke me up saying I passed with 110/70. A few days later my recruiting officer called and told me to come in for my official swearing in and told me that I could have my dad do the honors as he was a pilot in World War I. The officer also told me I would start flight training in July. My reaction was, “NO WAY JOSE!” I wanted to avoid the draft but I sure as heck didn’t want to start training until at least September or October. When he asked, “Why the delay?” I told him I had a once in a lifetime opportunity to sail to Hawaii on a 65’ ketch and didn’t want to miss it. Okay he said, come in and sign your obligation papers so you won’t get drafted, then you can call me when you return in August or September. I couldn’t have prayed for a better deal.
After the Trans-Pac race to Hawaii, I joined the crew of the 90’ ketch Novia Del Mar and sailed around the whole chain of Hawaiian Islands for the next two months. One of the guests aboard was Ed Converse. I had met him in Tahiti the previous summer and he asked me what my plans were for the future. I told him I had signed up to be a Navy pilot. Ed said “Fantastic!” He had been a Navy pilot and now owned a small company called Bonanza Airlines based in Las Vegas. His company was the first all-jet airline flying Fairchild F-27s and the new Douglas DC-9.
Ed said, “I know you will be getting some great training and will have a fantastic future in the Navy. Should you ever want to get out and join the airlines, I will give you a letter guaranteeing you a position with Bonanza.” Outrageous! I got hired by the airlines before I even knew how to fly!
Fast forward to October 1969. I had finished my one week leave from the Navy in Hawaii and was headed back to California. I learned that Bonanza had merged with Pacific and West Coast Airlines and made up a whole new company named Air West. I knocked on their door at Orange County Airport and they told me they had furloughed 20 pilots and didn’t know when they would be back, but they would keep me informed.
I looked over my various options and decided I would try American Airlines in Los Angeles and see if they were hiring pilots. I filled out their application and became friendly with the personnel office secretary, a lady named April. I would call her every morning at 9am to see if my application had been accepted.
After two weeks of bugging her she finally said to come in on Friday, October 31 for an interview. It was Halloween and that was spooky. The meeting went great, the Personnel Agent said they had hired a number of military pilots and he told me how American was going to be the first US carrier to have supersonic aircraft. He showed me a couple of the concept models that I might be flying in the future. I had my physical on Monday and passed with no issues. On Thursday I was notified that they had cancelled my class date as they were going to furlough some pilots for the time being. Well, that sucked!
My next effort was United Airlines. They told me they would hire me, but that I needed to take the Stanine test first. The Stanine test was invented in the 1940s by the Army Air Corp to determine if a person should be a pilot or a bombardier. The test took at least three hours and asked a bunch of crazy questions. I had no idea what they were looking for. One of the questions was, “Who would I kill first: My mother or my father?” I left that one blank.
About a week later I received a letter from United saying that I had passed the exam but they were considering furloughing some pilots so they had cancelled their future training classes. They would keep in touch. Well that really was it! Hired and fired by three airlines in a month and it wasn’t even Christmas yet.
Apparently, the economy was in a serious recession and the airlines were in a freeze mode. However, I learned there was one person who was recession proof. It was James B. Kilroy, father of one of my high school girlfriends. He was the owner of a very large construction firm, owned numerous office buildings around the US and had just purchased a brand new, very custom 72’ Ocean Racer called the Kialoa II. It looked like I was heading back to sea. Mr. Kilroy said he heard I was out of the Navy and asked if I wanted to join the boat in St. Petersburg, Florida, to race in the Southern Ocean Racing Circuit around Florida and over to the Bahamas. I thought: Wow, that sounds fantastic!
This was another one of those out of the blue, once in a lifetime opportunities. Kilroy said he would fly me to Florida but I might want to take my car as the five races would be over a month’s period and I could stay on the boat between the races. I packed up my VW bug and headed east. But just prior to leaving I got a message from a friend from the Navy, an F-8 pilot, who said he had just started flying for TWA. He said that if I spoke to the Chief Pilot in Kansas City there was a chance I could get hired.
Three days later I was sitting outside the Chief Pilot’s office with another young man, Dan Hill, (WAL hire 1974) who was also trying to get a job. He showed me his scrap book. He had several photos of himself as a kid with a TWA hat on. He had flown a B-29 in the movie “Tora, Tora, Tora,” and had 3,000 hours of flight time but couldn’t get an interview because he didn’t have a college degree. I was called into the Chief Pilot’s office first and after a half-hour conversation was told that I would get one of the last two seats available in the March 2nd class. I brought up the fact that the kid out in the waiting room seemed a hell of a lot more qualified than I was and he should give him a few minutes of his time. He invited Dan in and after a few minutes offered him the last slot in the class. But first we had to take the obligatory 100 question math exam which he handed to us and promptly left to go get some coffee. Well that wasn’t too hard and I could still race around Florida and make it back to Kansas City for my class date. Yippie!!
It turned out that on February 1, 1970, TWA furloughed almost 100 pilots. My commercial pilot dream was on hold, again, so off to Florida for a month of sailing.
In July 1970 I obtained an FAA Multi-Engine and Instructor rating in hopes of getting some students, logging some additional flight time, and earning a few dollars. A few months later I applied for and was hired by Golden West Airlines out of Orange County Airport to fly the twin engine De Havilland DHC-3 Otter. I went through ground school, had my check ride in late November, and was awaiting my base assignment when I got a call from Bob Paulin who asked me if I wanted to skipper his new 65’ ketch Bon Belle home to Newport from Gibraltar. He owned the smaller sister ship that I had sailed to Hawaii in 1965. He would pay me $700 a month which was twice what Golden West was offering. I had to do it as it was another opportunity that just fell into my lap. Besides, I thought, maybe American or United would be hiring by the time I got back.
Sailing Bon Belle was a fantastic four-month adventure across the Atlantic, all through the West Indies then through Panama and up the west coast. That adventure culminated in my getting married immediately after my arrival in Newport Beach to my Aspen ski bunny, Susie Speer. She had already sent out the invitations.
In May 1970 I got a full-time job as a yacht broker. It was the best of both worlds as I could still go sailing for demos and would occasionally teach new owners how to operate their boats. I figured I would be back with American any day so in October of 1971 I joined VA-1419, the Navy Reserve unit at Point Mugu Naval Base, California, flying the A-4C. We transitioned into A-7B Corsairs the following year.
In January 1973 one of our yacht brokers asked me if I still wanted to be a commercial pilot. He had just sold a 42’ Grand Banks to an airline pilot who lived in Balboa and suggested that I give him a call.
It turned out his client was Bob Johnson, who happened to be the Chief Pilot of Western Airlines. I went to his home to meet him and after a nice conversation he asked if I had already applied to Western. I told him I had never even heard of Western. He gave me an application to fill out, which I did right there. The next morning at 8 AM I had a call from Western that I would be assigned to the Feb 12th class if I could get a Flight Engineer Rating within the next three weeks. That was a goat-rope but I did it and best of all I was going to be based in Los Angeles, close to home. Oh yes, starting pay was going to be $450 a month but they promised we would get annual raises.
When I was five and learned to swim I couldn’t have dreamed I would become a College All-American. At nine years old I was having the time of my life playing in the desert and the mountains behind Palm Springs. When my folks said we were going to move I was apprehensive, knowing I would lose contact with my friends, but I looked forward to living on the water and learning to surf. When I was twelve the family spent the whole summer driving completely around the United States and my lust for adventure began to blossom. When I was fourteen and learned to sail I had no idea I would eventually skipper a boat across the Atlantic and sail in the Olympic trials. When Bruce Bennett asked me to go to Europe upon our high school graduation there was no way I could turn him down, so my parents bought me a new sear sucker suit and sent me on my way to hitchhike across two continents. Then out of the blue my college roommate told me I only needed to take a 50-question test to become a Navy pilot and who knew where that would lead?
What can I say? Work hard at whatever you do and never stop following your dreams.