An Anniversary
It’s November 18th, 1969–forty, hard-to-believe, years ago, today.
I’m twenty.
It’s my last day in Savannah, Georgia.
The day’s events are mostly a blur.
I know I wore a coat and tie.
I know I was happy.
Oddly, though, the details are lost to recall.
Fortunately, the part that’s important, I do remember.
That was the day I graduated from flight school. It was the single most difficult thing I’ve done, and, over the course of sixty years, the accomplishment of which I’m most proud.
Flight School began in March at the now defunct, Fort Wolters, Texas. The first thirty days were very much like the movie, An Officer and a Gentlemen. That is, the Army’s goal was to winnow a group of…gee, I don’t know, a hundred guys, maybe, down to about oh, sixty.
That first Thirty days we didn’t come close to a helicopter or anything resembling one. It was all 4 AM physical exercise and all day harassment. I recall disassembling a brass belt buckle and–using Brasso and a cotton swab–shining the INSIDE, then putting it back together. Yes, we’d be asked to disassemble our buckles on occasion to show that we’d done that particular task. That’s just one of the insane things we were forced to do.
Why were we abused to roughly? Roused out of bed at 2 AM and made to do all manner of idiotic things? Several reasons, only some of which include…
- There were too many of us competing for too few pilot slots.
- They wanted survivors and those who wanted to fly so badly they’d sustain any insult and do any ridiculous task to achieve that goal.
- They were trying to develop individual discipline and group teamwork. No loose cannons, no individual glory hounds.
Here’s a photo of me taken sometime during the last few months at Ft. Wolters. You’re not alone, I don’t recognize me either! I was never that young.
The next training phase, also at Wolters, ran from April through July. It was the year Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. We were so immersed and focused on flight training that, for us, the moon walk nearly went unnoticed. I think we may have mentioned it in passing and drove-on with studies and flying. So far as we were concerned, walking on the moon was child’s play compared to the professional life and death struggle in which we were engaged.
The last phase of training occurred at either Fort Rucker, Alabama, or, Fort Stewart, Georgia. I went to Georgia. A group of us heard that Steward was “harder” to get through than Rucker—though the training administered was exactly the same. Since we were tough guys, we purposely chose the harder school. What were we thinking!!?? Youth, I guess. Advanced aircraft and advanced aircraft skills were taught at this stop—along with a bit less harassment. Got through that without out too much pain and suffering–mostly.
On November the 17th, we had the first of our two part graduation with the designation, Warrant Officer. On November the 18th, we were award our Army Aviator wings. By Christmas, we were in Vietnam.
This photo is from that second day. I’m in there somewhere, but couldn’t tell you where. Those black things stuck in the ground are rotor blades from the type helicopter we’d fly. You walked between them to the barracks, which is behind the group. Principles and traits of leadership are written in yellow on each blade. Of course, the object of our earnest and fervent desire, Army Aviator wings hang between the blades. On this day, they were also on our chests for the first time.
There’s a web site that lists Army flight school classmates and what’s become of them. I spent some time there a few days ago. It’s surprising how many of those twenty year-old faces are gone. Some lost in Vietnam, some in aircraft accidents, some to random causes.
It’s very spooky to see death-details of a person, who in your mind, is twenty, immortal, and with whom you shared such intensity. This is especially true if you’ve not seen them since that November day. You tend to think of them as they were then, forever twenty. But, no. Some are gone. You recall laughing, or eating, or flying with, or just daydreaming with them, never thinking that 40-years later, they’d be dead by 10, 20, or…40 years.
Still, that’s the way of things, nothing unnatural or remorseful, just part of observing, “An Anniversary.” Thanks for stopping by. See you again on Friday.
Oh, I posted a few pictures at this link if you want to see a couple of more.
Themocracy
Rather handsome young man in that photo, Airman Kindley!
Happy anniversary. I have a great deal of respect for anyone who’s spent time in the armed forces protecting our great country.
The Old Silly
Happy anniversary, Galen. Thanks for sharing. And I agree with Marvin about respect and gratitude. You (and your classmates) deserve it.
Aha – so now I know where the Spartan 20 comes from. Enjoyed the photos and being able to share this special anniversary with you. I want to throw in my respect and gratitude along with Marvin’s and Alan’s.
This was interesting to read, thanks for sharing.
Happy Anniversary. Thank you for serving.
Great photos! I liked the pics on your link, too. It’s hard to imagine choosing such a rough course …and enduring so many abuses to make your goal. I think I would have been a lousy Army brat, so good thing Daddy was out when I was a toddler!
I think I like thinking of people as being frozen in time, too. It would be incredibly difficult to find out their lives had tragic endings when you’d gotten so close.
Elizabeth
What an accomplishment! I still can’t imagine how I got to be THIS DAMN OLD. It went by in a flash.
Loved the pictures too!
I echo those who thank you for your service, Galen.
I love the photo of the young Galen. Can you see that young man when you look in the mirror? All I see in my mirror is my mom.