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[Audio: Doc – Remember]
[Audio: Cole – Alternate 1]
Some of my favorite stories are about people who get unexpected opportunities and do their best to rise to the occasion when presented with what must have seemed like unattainable circumstances just ten minutes before they came to be.
Scot Halpin was 19 when he moved from Iowa to San Francisco. He was a musician and artist who ultimately went on to earn an MA in Interdisciplinary Arts from San Francisco State University. But before that, he went to a concert and became immortal in some small way. It was 1973 and The Who were in town on a tour in support of the then newly-released Quadrophenia album. Halpin and his friend bought tickets to the show from a scalper and arrived 13 hours early to get a good spot near the stage.
A dozen songs in, Keith Moon, The Who’s drummer, keeled over and was unable to complete the show. Pete Townsend stepped to the mic and asked if there was a drummer in the audience. Tom’s friend caught Bill Graham’s attention from stage left and, after a brief discussion, Scot was sitting behind the drum kit. He grabbed a pair of sticks, kicked the band over, and finished the show.
Alberto Cupido is an operatic tenor. One night in the year 2000, he took a night off to go see someone else sing for a change. He was attending a performance of Verdi’s Aida in Parma at which tenor Gegam Grigorian sang the lead tenor part. Aida has a notoriously difficult but beautiful tenor part, which should have made for a great show. But Grigorian lost his voice during the first act. The call went out to the audience. “Is there a tenor in the house?” Dressed in street clothes and holding a copy of the score, Cupido walked onto the stage and completed the performance.
These examples happen to capture my imagination more than others because they’re musical and they ignite one of my more intense passions. But you can find examples in almost every other field worth pursuing. Third-string quarterback Tobin Rote took over for Bobby Lane in the last two games of the Lions’ 1957 NFL Championship run. Jack Swigert ascended from the backup crew of Apollo 13 when Ken Mattingly was exposed to the measles.
But they capture my imagination for another reason as well. Nobody really expected Scot Halpin to get up and play. Alberto Cupido could have just given his voice a rest and stayed in the audience. Nobody really expected to see Tobin Rote play or Jack Swigert fly. But each was prepared. Against long odds that it would be necessary or that the opportunity would arise, they each carried with them the preparation and willingness needed to meet circumstance. To play, to sing, to fly. To be a part of – and to tell – a story.
Some stories are greater or lesser, depending on your viewpoint. And that’s okay. This one, for what it’s worth, is mine.
______________________
Ever since I started Airspeed, I’ve been going to the Battle Creek Field of Flight Air Show and Balloon Festival. I grew up in Battle Creek in the late 1960s and most of the 1970s before moving upstate after fourth grade. My uncle flew corporate aircraft for Kellogg’s that whole time and it was at Battle Creek that I first saw the US Air Force Air Demonstration Squadron – The Thunderbirds – for the first time. They were flying McDonnell F-4E Phantom IIs or Northrop T-38 Talons then and they made the best noise of anything at the air show.
I don’t know what actually planted the seed of flight that later caused me to become a pilot and pursue advanced ratings. The time I spent in Battle Creek was as bad in American History as any my generation has seen, what with Viet Nam, Watergate, the killing of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy, long lines at the gas pump . . . You get the idea. But credit my parents. What I remember is Apollo missions going up what seemed every few months and hearing the sky come unzipped every summer as jets crisscrossed the southwest part of town.
My cousin, Tim Reed, said that if you touched the fuselage of a Thunderbird F-4E Phantom or T-38 Talon right after it landed, you’d burn your finger off. I think I believed him at the time, but, even so, that would have been just a Styrofoam packing peanut on top of the pile of mystique and wonder that I had already built up in my mind about the Thunderbirds. They were steely-eyed men in fitted flight suits whose eyes were permanently focused on the horizon and who could split the heavens and call down fire from the skies with a wave of a hand.
When we went to the playground, we’d get on the swings and swing hard, pretending to be fighter pilots. Feet blocking the sun for a moment at the top of each arc. It created a momentary eclipse. We thought of it as muzzle flash.
What filled the well of desire from which I drew to do my first solo? To continue shooting approaches when every gauge on the panel seemed cursed? To go from single-engine private pilot schmuck to typed in the DC-3 in the space of 40 days? (Though still a schmuck?) It could have been any number of things, but the Thunderbirds would be a really good guess.
Flight is demanding, expensive, and sometimes dangerous. It seems impossible during some lessons and on some paydays. It requires a spectacular and abiding reason to start flying and stay flying. Like the noise that fighter jets make.
Since then, that enchantment with fighter jets has stayed with me. I have always loved seeing a fighter jet hurl down the runway just off the pavement, building speed to an impossible rate and then pulling straight up at the departure end, climbing vertically into the sun. And when the humidity is right, those condensation clouds that form over the wings at high angles of attack? When the very atmosphere can’t get out of the way fast enough and surrenders up in ragged streaming clouds over the trailing edges of the wings? If that doesn’t get you worked up, we just can’t be friends. No hard feelings, but you go stand over there and me and mine will just stand here at the fence by the taxiway misty-eyed, shouting, and pumping our fists in the air.
Man, if I could do that just once. That big pull. Accelerate down the runway and then show the apparent wind the bottom of my airplane and just watch the vapor roll violently over the tops of the wings. That’d be a thing, man. That’d be a thing.
[Audio: F-16 summary]
A few years ago, I gave that thing some serious thought. There are something like three ways to get into an F-16. One involves getting shot at and has a very low probability of success. One involves a commission as an officer in the Air Force and better eyesight than I had at the time at which it would have mattered. And one involves being part of the media.
In late 2005, podcasting and other Internet media seemed to be taking hold and was beginning to challenge traditional channels in some quarters. I wondered if a podcast would ever grow to the point where it would present a sufficient audience to warrant a media flight with the Thunderbirds. There was one way to find out. So, in early 2006, I released the first episode of Airspeed and began cranking out an episode every two weeks or so.
I also began making the two-hour drive over to Battle Creek each summer to cover the air show. It was only a two-hour drive and I could stay with Tim, who still lives near town and is an excellent photographer to boot.
The Battle Creek airshow is a natural wonder of the State of Michigan. With the demise of the Muskegon airshow two years ago, it is now the only major airshow between Chicago and Detroit. Every single year, the show brings jet teams and a wide array of other performers. I got a balloon ride with Dave Emmert my first year at the show and got up with Mike Mancuso in his Extra 300L my second year. And I gave the broadest coverage I could in return, including having my buddy Jim Angus chase people to the show with his blowtorch radio station about an hour north of town.
I called the show two months ahead of time to ask about consideration for a media ride with the Thunderbirds. Show organizers recommend members of the media to the jet teams and the jet teams decide who they’ll fly. When I got ahold of the committee member, she indicated that they’d already submitted the recommendation for that year’s show. Bummer, but no big deal. It’s not like I was going to miss the show just because I’d missed the selection for the Thunderbirds flight. There’s next year and the year after that. After all, I looked at this Thunderbirds ride project as a 10-year thing.
As usual, I called Suze, the show’s media director, a couple of weeks prior to the show to remind her that I’d be there again and that I was up for whatever media flights might be available. Not to pester her, mind you. She’s as fair and hardworking a media director as ever I’ve met and I don’t want to be that guy who shows up and wants all of the best opportunities. I know that the media crew at Battle Creek bends over backwards to get everyone the best exposure it can and I’m happy with that.
We chatted for a few minutes and then hung up and my thoughts returned to the life as usual. Until two days later when the phone rang.
It was Suze. She said that the organizers had neglected to nominate an alternate media flyer. I had apparently come to mind because someone from the F-104 Starfighters team had heard my annual interview with executive director Barb Haluszka and mentioned it to her the week before. Anyway, Suze said, might I be interested in being the alternate?
I quickly went through the rhetorical question about how all that bear poop got into the woods. She forwarded the e-mail from the Thunderbirds’ media chief that contained the release and another form and the directions for submitting a one-page proposal that the Thunderbirds would review in determining my eligibility.
I didn’t get much work done that afternoon or get much sleep that night and, by the next day, all of my stuff was dangling out of a fax machine at Nellis AFB. In addition to the podcast, I had lined up seven radio signals from around the state – Four AM and three FM. The idea was to hit stations where I knew people and that were more than a half hour drive but less than a two-hour drive from the show site. Getting a ride like this involves showing that you can offer an audience in two ways. The military jet teams want generalized publicity that supports their public relations and recruiting missions. And the airshow organizers want you to chase people to the airshow. I called in a lot of favors and tried to come up with a proposal that served both interests as best I could without over-promising.
The week before the show, I received an e-mail from SSgt Russ Martin. It went over how to prepare for the ride.
[Audio: Martin Audio]
Okay, this was actually beginning to seem real. An e-mail from the Thunderbirds’ media chief. Just chatty enough to get the point across in an accessible way but definitely covering some serious subject matter.
Wednesday, July 2 rolled around. I finished up as much work as I could, packed my gear, and headed for Tim’s place in Athens, Michigan, about two hours away. I cranked up Liquid Tension Experiment 2, my trusty drive-to-airshow music, and set out toward the setting sun for Battle Creek.
[Audio: Battle Creek summary]
Tim and I headed to the field early on Thursday morning. The balloon festival was already underway with launches scheduled for morning and evening, but today was arrival day for most of the airplane-related performers.
Tim and I walked around the grounds to kill time. A pretty big thunderstorm had come though the area the night before and the high winds had relocated a couple of the vendor tents on the show site and had knocked out power and caused damage in some of the communities to the west.
We connected with Tim Eernisse, Deb Kirk, and the rest of the crew from WGVU, with whom we had become friendly over the prior two years. Tim Eernisse had helped get Tim Reed and me onto the ramp the year before to get the John Mohr and Mike Goulian interviews. And that got Tim Reed up close and personal with an F4U Corsair, which was enough to make Tim Eernisse a part of Tim Reed’s free-beverages-for-life club were the two to find themselves at the same establishment.
I heard that the primary flyer was to be Jeff McAtee, the afternoon news anchor at WWMT-TV in Kalamazoo. Jeff had been named a media rider with the Blue Angels the year before, but logistical problems had kept him from flying. Jeff was a commander in the US Navy Reserve and was just about at the maximum age for a flight, which must have made last year particularly disappointing for him. So it was no surprise to see Jeff as the primary flyer this year. But no one had seen Jeff yet. I will confess to visualizing Jeff in a ditch somewhere with a dead cell phone battery, but actually wished no ill on him. I drank a lot of water and kept an eye out for any van that looked like it might be from a TV station.
We all waited for the low ceiling to lift, blow over, or both. We had heard that it was going to be a beautiful afternoon. We all walked around the taxiway and speculated about when the F-15 or the other performers might show up. All the while, though, I was looking across the field to the Western Michigan University College of Aviation. That’s where the Thunderbirds would be basing their operations. Tim and I were supposed to be at the gate at 2:30. At around 1:45, we headed for the car, drove around the east side of the airport, and arrived at the assigned gate.
Suze met us and we stepped just inside and watched the Thunderbirds’ C-17 arrive and begin unloading. No sign of a TV van yet. Interesting.
We stood next to a woman and her daughter. Neither had the look of media or flight operations personnel, so we made small talk. She introduced herself. I don’t remember her first name, but my heart sank when she said that her last name was McAtee. “Yeah, Jeff’s in there getting suited up. He’s so excited!”
How nice for Jeff. Rats! No ditch, no dead cell phone battery, no nothing. He’s in there and he’s going to fly.
I sent out a couple of disappointed posts on Twitter, but couldn’t bring myself to work up a froth over it. Jeff was a good choice as primary flyer. And besides, I was the alternate. This is as far as alternates get. Inside the gate, but not inside the building. But still closer than most media. Or fighter jet fanboys.
I figured that they’d keep us around for a few more minutes until Jeff got through the exam by the doc and then shunt us over to the viewing area with the rest of the media. I consoled myself by taking advantage of the location to shoot some good pictures of the C-17.
Then Suze rounded the corner of the building with a tall staff sergeant. They made a beeline for Tim and me. Suze jockeyed us over away from the McAtees and then said quietly, “Steve, I think you’re going to get your media flight.”
[Audio: Music transition.]
[Audio: Cole – Alternates 2]
I rock back on my heels a little. Okay, this is good. I think. I meet Tim’s eyes and he hoists his camera bag and follows Suze, the sergeant, and me.
We walk through the gate and into the building and turn the corner into the school’s large conference room. Blue-uniformed sergeants move rapidly around stacks of equipment and a couple of piles of flight gear. The sergeant turns out to be SSgt Martin, the guy who had written me the e-mail.
“Here’s the deal. All media need to have a camera crew here to cover the suit-up and preparation. You’ve got your camera guy here. Jeff says that his camera crew is out covering the storm damage from last night. We’re going to have you suit up and, if his camera crew doesn’t get here, you fly.”
Okay. Still an alternate, but about to get fitted for a gee suit, helmet, and mask and be ready to fly. I sneak a phone call to Rod Rakic, who happens to be at the Apple Store in Chicago and close to a computer connected to the net. I give him my Twitter password and ask him to quietly kill those disappointed tweets.
Jeff had a flight suit on and is getting fitted for his gee suit. SSgt Martin leads me over to Maj Charla Morgan Quayle, Thunderbird 9, or “Doc,” as she prefers to be called, the Thunderbirds’ flight surgeon. Doc takes my blood pressure, listens to my heart and lungs, and asks me a lot of questions. I had given basic medical information on the initial paperwork that I sent to Nellis and she covered all of that and more.
She speaks in hushed tones to maintain the confidentiality of my health information, but the room is also noisy and not much of the audio turned out to be usable. But she says some of the coolest stuff of anyone that day. That’s her at the beginning of the episode telling me to get it all down so I can remember it. The show notes of what I’m speaking now go more than 20 pages, so I hope I’ve met the good doctor’s recommendation.
Then we talk about the Anti-G Straining Maneuver or “AGSM.” The human heart can keep blood in the brain at accelerations of up to about four gees. Beyond that, the blood drains out of the brain and heads to the blood-bearing muscles of the body, usually in the legs, the gleuts, and in the midriff. The AGSM involves tightening these muscles to keep the blood in the upper body (and, particularly in your noggin). To keep pressure on your diaphragm, you also breathe in three-second bursts. After you take in each breath, you lock it down by saying the word “hook.” That the hard “K” at the end of “hook” helps you to hold that breath when it’s all you can do to raise your chest enough to make room for it. Because of that vocalization, most people call it “hooking.”
Doc has me practice it a few times and gave me some pointers.
You also wear a gee suit. A gee suit is like a cross between pair of high-waisted pants and a blood pressure cuff. When you pull gees, the aircraft senses it and pumps air into bladders that constrict around your calves, thighs, and midriff. This helps you to strain and keep that blood where you need it.
The signature maneuver of the Thunderbirds media ride is the nine-gee pull. You build up airspeed, light the afterburner, go knife-edge, and pull. Pull hard. You pull until you hit nine gees and then you hold it for a few seconds. At that gee load, it’s not uncommon to have your vision narrow and become gray and colorless (called “graying out”), and you can even lose consciousness if you fail to strain properly or if you carry the gee load for too long.
I weigh about 200 pounds dripping wet. A “gee” is an expression of acceleration equal to the acceleration of gravity. That’s about 32 feet per second per second or 9.8 meters per second per second. At nine gees, I’ll be experiencing about nine times that. A weight equivalent of 1,800 pounds. I effectively weigh more than a fully-loaded Cessna 152. Fuel, pilot, passenger, charts, coffee, and all.
But pulling nine gees is all in a day’s work for an Air Force fighter pilot. It’s necessary in order to maneuver effectively for many operations. Ask any opposing pilot how tough it is to out-turn an F-16. He or she will likely not answer because he or she’s busy with the F-16 that was ahead of him or her a moment ago and is now on his or her six.
And, speaking of gee suits, that’s the next stop. Having passed scrutiny by Doc, they give me a flight suit and a pair of boots to put on. I head for the men’s room. The conversation with Doc was one thing, but not the adrenaline is pumping. I shed my usual airshow attire. The cargo shorts and golf shirt that are my usual uniform for flying give way to the sage green of an Air Force flight suit and a pair of shiny black boots. The change in the mirror really brings it home for me. There’s was a decent chance that the alternate is going to fly.
Back in the conference room, SSgt Robin Bailon from Kaneohe, Hawaii, who handles aircrew life support, patched me up. The empty Velcro on the breast and shoulders is covered with a command patch, an American flag, a “Thunderbirds Media” patch, and, coolest of all, a big Thunderbirds squadron patch on the shoulder.
SSgt Bailon helps me into the gee suit and then she and SSgt Kristi Machado, the team’s aerial photographer, who comes from Deltona, Florida, help to lace me up. The gee suit has to be pretty tight or the airplane won’t be able to give you that consciousness-maintaining hug at high gee loads.
Then comes the harness. Here’s audio.
[Audio: TB Suit-up 01]
After that, they fit me for the helmet and face mask. The helmet part is pretty easy. I think that SSgt Bailon is pretty good at estimating the size of a person’s noggin because the one she hands to me is a perfect fit the first time. It’s just a matter of adjusting the chin strap.
Then it’s the face mask. The face mask seals over your face from under your chin, up around the sides of your face, and up over the bride of your nose so that the visor sits on top of it when you bring down the visor. It clips to either side of your helmet with bayonet clips.
This is the first of two sobering moments in the experience. You hear two clicks on each side of the helmet as your face as the mask fastens on. You realize that the mask is fitted with a valve that forces you to pull in each breach and then push it out. Just as you’re getting used to that idea, SSgt Bailon covers the end of the hose and asks you to blow out to see if any air escapes around the edges of the mask.
Once she’s satisfied, it becomes a point in the process where there’s a photo op. You raise the visor and your photo or video person gets a shot of you thumps-upping. It’s a very cool shot and I see why they do it. But, as they set up for that, you’re left standing there for a little while with the helmet and mask on and the visor down. Alone for a moment in a busy room. It’s really the first time since you were putting on the flight suit that you’ve had a moment to think.
There you are. Your face is completely enclosed. You have a moment to get very acquainted with your own head because you’re in very close quarters with it. You have to consciously demand and expel every breath. You can hear your breathing and it sounds hollow and somehow stern. Standing there, you suddenly realize that this isn’t all jet noise and fun. This is the tip of the spear, ladies and gentlemen. This is how men and women dress to do into harm’s way. And the aircraft that I’m suiting up to fly is designed to deal death and destruction if necessary and called for by the country’s leaders. I look around the room at everyone moving around here and there. For all of the flash and precision that everyone is going to show an airshow crowd on Independence Day, all of these people are first and foremost military personnel and all that that entails.
This is solemn and important stuff. I’m getting a glimpse into a different world. And I need to treat this opportunity with respect that it’s due.
I’ve caught up to Jeff now. We’re gong through the remainder of the preflight prep together. If he’s bothered by my catching up, he doesn’t