11-21-2009, 11:20 AM
I was having a little look at some old stuff and came across Jives old interview.
Boy he's been a busy boy.
I wonder if any of this shit can be checked out.
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#1 Posted: Sun Dec 17th, 2006 06:23 pm
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AN INTERVIEW WITH MEMBER "SAINT"
Saint
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Joined: Wed Jun 28th, 2006
Location: The Rocky Mountains, New Mexico USA
Posts: 846
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MyJob: Lead Teacher for an Alternative High School
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MyLove: Vickie - It took 34 years to find her.
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Status: Offline
START OF INTERVIEW ::popcorn::
QUESTION #1:
How do you think you'll be earning a living in 10 years?
Good afternoon, Frank! Nice place you have here! Well as to my future occupation...it's a given. I've had a kind of "Forest Gump" life. I've had 182 jobs in my life and I'm on my third career. But after being everything from a fighter pilot to a corporate chef, I've finally found my destiny.
I am now, and will forever after be a teacher!
That's my destiny and I'm lucky enough to have found it. Many people look their whole lives to find their place in the world. I love my job so much now that I'm planning on teaching even after I retire. Hopefully I'll die at the podium:
"Class please open your books to page URRRK! (thump)
Here's a short ( and I do mean short, cause the long version would need publishing rights!) synopsis of my life so far!
After I graduated from high school, I attended New Mexico State University. While I was there, I took the AFOQT (Air Force Officer's Qualifying Test) on a lark, cause my friend was taking it and I didn't want to sit out in the sun. Guess What? It came back with the highest score West of the Mississippi since WWII! the recruiters were ecstatic!
They offered me a fighter pilot slot, if I would join ROTC and graduate by a specific date. I studied Electrical Engineering (like father, like son, eh, Tim?) , learned to fly Cessna single engine aircraft at the local airport, and graduated meritorious graduate, Who's Who in American Colleges, Crimson Scholar, 3.85 cumulative. Boy, I though I was pretty hot stuff! hahaha!
Then I went away to Enid, Oklahoma to attend Undergraduate Fighter Pilot school. What an eye-opener! I come driving up in my bright yellow '69 Camaro, and I suddenly noticed that all the other cars in the parking lot were Porches and Saabs. It went something like this:
"Hi, I'm from New Mexico! (Said with hick accent)
"Hello, I'm from Harvard and he's from Yale" (said with severe snobbishness)
Hi, I'm doomed! (said with crestfallen expression)
But it turned out that where you were from actually didn't matter all that much. All that mattered was ,"Did you have "the hands"! Thanks to a college career that involved extensive videogame time, I had all the reflexes and hand to eye coordination I needed! By the way, I still am really in to computer and videogames. (What the hey!, Everybody needs a hobby and at least that one keeps me at home! )
So I graduated and asked for EuroNATO JETPAC (F-16's and A-10's) or maybe B-52's out of Dyess in Abilene. (Which is where I went to boot camp, by the way. Those guys get to carry live nukes everyday and they are a blast to hang out with!) but I was assigned to be an instructor pilot right there at Vance AFB. I flew T-37 "Tweets" and T-38 "Talons" You've probably seen the latter, they are those skinny little white fighters with a black stripe on the nose that escort the shuttle when it is landing. If not, just check the black enemy jets in Top Gun, it's the same plane. By the way, the instructors were always really nice to me. Guess what I found out one day as I was sitting in the HQ for over-Ging an aircraft? My Dad's picture was there in the Hall of Aces and everybody on the whole base knew it except me! Blast it all!
After six years of "800 mile an hour driver's ed" as we called it. I was pretty tired of the whole thing. So I decided to go out and explore the world. Actually, I think I was just tired of Oklahoma. It's boring, even from the air! So I went into the inactive reserves, and I'm still there! My official title is 1Lt. Jonathan St. Ives USAFR.
I did the Marco Polo thing. No, not the swimming pool game, the traveling the world thing. During this period, which I refer to as my "Forest Gump" period, I think I must have worked in every kind and category of occupations that is known to mankind. (flamethrower carrier on an asphault gang in Phoenix? What was I thinking then?)I have been everything from a grease monkey to a corporate executive and everything in between 179 jobs total! (yeah, I kept track! )
Meanwhile, I skyrocketed in the corporation! We were doing pretty well, but the corporation that I was working for decided that I was good management material, so they promoted me to kitchen manager. I ran the Tempe store for a year then they decided to give m control of another restaurant in the Arizona Center in Phoenix.
From there I was promoted to regional manager and finally I became the International Training Manager in charge of training all crews for new stores. I had 20,000 people in my division and I was hanging out with millionaires! Sure enough, something had to happen. My father died.
Someone had to move back here to take care of my Mom. Kris was too far away, so I left it all and moved back here to Farmington. Full circle, sigh.
I had to find something to do, so my mom thought I might like to be a substitute teacher until I could decide on my 180th job or 3rd career. I began doing just that. Well, what do you know? I was really good at it!
When the school system learned of my extensive experience and background, they asked me if I would like to be a "real" teacher. You bet I said yes! While I taught mathematics to junior high kids everyday, I went back to college to get my third degree , this time in education. ( I now have 11 years of college, so how come I'm not making more than the president?)
After a really stellar first year, I was hand-picked to head up the math department at a state-of-the-art middle school, Mesa View Middle School. I worked hard there for ten years until my name came up in association with a new program and school for alternative kids, The Transition Academy.
I took over as lead teacher and director 6 years ago and I've been here since then helping the kids that need me the most.
The future may have another move in it, since the director of another school is retiring and my name has come up again. This is my fourteenth year of teaching and I plan to retire from this job in another 12 years.
You can see that I have really found my niche in life!
After this seemingly endless trek, I finally found the girl of my dreams. Her name is Vicki and it turns out that we were always in the same part of the world at the same time, but had never met each other until we both moved back to Farmington. We even went to the same high school and sat in the same classes!
We were married fourteen years ago and I have been happier than I have ever been in my entire life. I have finally settled down. We have one son, Joe. He's twenty and works for a solar power company, designing self monitoring systems for oil rigs and well sites. He's a great kid! He has given me two beautiful granddaughters, Morgan, and Jordyn.
Experience:
93-94 Substitute Teacher
94-95 Math /Science Heights Junior High School
95-97 Math Teacher Mesa View Junior High School
98-99 At-Risk Summer School Rocinante High School
97-98 Math Dept. Head Mesa View Junior High School
98-05 Lead Teacher Transition Academy
Awards:
95-96 Intel "Most Innovative Teacher" Award
96-97 "Who's Who in American Teachers" Award
97-98 "Disney Teacher of the Year" Nominee (Top Ten in the Country)
97-98 "Who's Who in American Teachers" Award
98-99 "Who's Who in American Teachers" Award
98-99 "Red Apple Teacher Award" American Foundation for Excellence
in Education
99-00 "Millennium Teacher" Who's Who in American Teachers
00-01 Golden Apple Teacher of New Mexico Nominee(Top Five in the State)
02-03 Community Education Coordinator
03-04 "Who's Who in American Teachers" Award
04-05 "Who's Who in American Teachers" Award
05-06 "Red Apple Teacher Award" American Foundation for Excellence
in Education
05-06 "Who's Who in American Teachers" Award
05-06 "Red Apple Teacher Award" American Foundation for Excellence
in Education
05-06 Nominated for “Disney Teacher of the Year”
06 07 "Red Apple Teacher Award" American Foundation for Excellence
in Education
Achievements:
Summer School At-Risk Teacher 99-98
TV101 Producer and Director 97-01
Community Outreach Supervisor - Fire Program 97-99
Behind the Scenes Program: Theaters and Radio Stations 97-99
Airport Orientation Program Head: Professional Development for Junior High Students
"Voice of Mesa View", Morning Announcement Program 94-01
School Dance D.J. 97-99
Farmington Municipal Math Evaluation Placement Exam: Writer and Developer
"Battle of Pythagorus" Web Lessons (downloaded by several major universities!)
C.O.R.E. Team member 94-97
Co-designer and contributor to Mesa View's Web Page 95-00
"Civil War" Thematic Unit Project: Author
"The Sky is Full Of Stars" Thematic Unit Project: Author
"The Universe of Y2K" Thematic Unit Project: Author
UNM Teacher Development Program: Sponsor/ Teacher
Fort Lewis College Student Teaching Program: Mentor Teacher
Morning Tutoring Program: Leader
Detention Hall Supervisor
Hewlett-Packard Technology Grant Winner 98-99
Track and Field Announcer 96-97
Wrestling Announcer 97-98
Video Election Coverage Project: 96-97
Spelling Bee Enunciator: 94-01
Lead Teacher - Transition Academy
Mentor Teacher - 2005 - present
QUESTION #2:
What's the scariest experience you've ever had?
There's the time I had a fuel imbalance:
I had only been soloing for a short time. Soloing consisted at that point of flying around the pattern at Vance Air Force Base in Oklahoma, doing touch and gos.
One day, my instructor informed me that I now had the proficiency to go to the next stage of training. Area solo. I was to fly out to a practice area, located over Kansas, and practice some acrobatic maneuvers, and then navigate home. I was a little scared, (much as you feel the first time you drive a car without anyone else in it on busy streets) but I knew this was a big step in my training.
So the next day I got up, dressed in my flight suit, and roared to the base in my '69 Camaro, eager to make my first step into the burning blue. At the flight briefing, I relaxed a little; I knew the route by heart having flown there many times with my instructor. All I had to do was fly due North, cross a river, then instead of going West to our alternate practice field, codenamed "Dogface", I just flew North some more and made sure not to descend below flight level 50 (5,000 feet.) My DME marks were very clear also. (Distance Measured Equivalent from the Air Base)
As long as I stayed in my area, between my altitudes, I had the whole sky to myself. I put on my parachute, pre-flighted my jet, and rolled down to the end of the runway. I taxied into position, ran the throttles all the way up to "Military Thrust" and stood on the brakes as the engines revved up to a high whine. The plane bucked and thrashed like a bronco about to be ridden as I scanned the instruments for any engine malfunctions. Everything looked good. "Well," I thought, "off we go, into the wild blue yonder." I released the brakes and shot down the strip.
What a feeling! The sky was gorgeous over Kansas that day! Stratocumulus clouds littered a bright blue sky. Those kinds of clouds look like big cotton balls, and are shot full of holes and tunnels just asking to be flown through. As I entered the area, I did my instrument checks, and made extra sure my zero-delay lanyard was connected. (A strap that connects to the seat and automatically deploys the parachute if you eject. I had a problem remembering to connect it sometimes.)
My heart was pounding wildly and I gave in to the thrill. I pushed the throttles forward and watched the IAS needle (Indicated Air Speed) run up to 220 knots. The engines roared in my ears, the vibration of the jet smoothed out and it streaked across the practice area. I cranked the stick hard to the left, the plane spun on its axis, spinning aileron roll after roll. The world spun like a carnival ride in my window.
I flattened out, then pulled straight back into a loop. I was staring straight at the sun. It seemed like I was going to fly right off the planet. At the top of the loop, I again pushed the stick left and righted myself with a near-perfect Immelman. I was now facing the opposite direction, but at a much higher altitude.
I was going over in my mind the things that my instructor had taught me concerning "energy management.” High and slow was good, because of the potential energy in the situation, but low and slow was bad. So with a quick flip of the stick, I rolled over upside down.
Now I look straight up, to see the world above my head. I pulled back on the stick and the plane fell away towards the Earth. The sound of the wind increased to a scream, the G-forces crushed me back into my seat, making it harder to breathe. The edges of my vision began to grow dark, the tunnel closing to the center. The G-suit pumps began to inflate my G-suit.
Just in time, I remembered my M1 maneuver. I squeezed my calves, then my thighs, then my stomach muscles and chest muscles. I breathed in and out shallowly and quickly, literally squeezing the blood in my body back into my head. (Try it; it makes your face turn purple!)
As I pulled out of the dive, I was flashing across Kansas. I slowed down, realizing I could quickly fly out of my practice area, smacking some crop duster or farmer in a Cessa and basically ruining both our days.
It was time for a quick systems check now. Engine EGT (exhaust gas temperature) Check. Altitude. Check. Oil pressure. Check. DME. Check. RPMs. Check. Radio frequency on Area Control. Check. Right wing tank fuel. 800 lbs. Left wing tank fuel. 600 pounds,
HUH?!!! WHAT THE...?!!!
I toggled the switch again. 800. 600. 800. 600. Yep. It was reading correctly. I realized right away what was happening. The T-37 "Tweety Bird" Twin Jet Trainer had three tanks, two in the wings and one in the fuselage. The wing tanks were supposed to feed evenly into the center tank, but it was obvious that one tank's valve was stuck shut. Not uncommon, considering the aircraft had been built in the 60's.
I tried to remain calm, although my heart was pounding wildly. "Just my luck," I thought. "Everyone else has a flawless solo, but my #$%@**& plane breaks on me." Calm down, now. Think of what to do.
From the stand-ups that I had been made to do in the flight room (you stand up and recite the emergency procedure by heart, and God help you if you screw up.) I knew I had to reach over, open the red switch cover and switch the aircraft to "Fuel Gravity Feed." This would open all the valves and allow the fuel to drain down into the fuselage tank, evening itself out by gravity.
That was supposed to fix the vast majority of fuel problems, according to my instructor. I couldn't do any more acrobatics, because now the engines would flame-out if the were inverted, but that was OK, because all I had on my mind was getting home as quickly as possible. I suddenly felt very much alone and small in that vast blueness.
I checked my gauges again. 800. 550. I chose the best curse words I knew and yelled them into my helmet. It hadn't worked. Things were getting worse. I could feel some stick force beginning to build up now, as the aircraft began to crab a little to the left, thanks to the heavy wing.
I remembered another student who had declared an emergency for a fuel problem, and how the instructors had chortled about that for days, not considering any kind of fuel problem, other than being out of fuel, a real "emergency." Nevertheless, I was scared out of my young mind. I forced myself to be calm again. What else was there to do? Then I remembered the checklist velcroed to my thigh. It had the other emergency procedures in it!
I looked up fuel emergencies and under "If Fuel Gravity Feed Fails." It said to pop the circuit breakers on the valves manually. I reached over and pulled out the little round circuit breakers on the right side of the cockpit. I waited breathlessly for minute, and then checked the fuel again. 800. 500. Damn! That hadn't worked either! It must be a mechanical problem.
In frustration, I dipped the left wing, shook the stick and danced back and forth on the rudder pedals. The little jet snapped back and forth through the sky, shaking itself like a shaggy dog in a sprinkler. I tried the gauges again. 800. 480.
Well, that was it. I took a deep breath and prepared myself to make the radio call. "AREACON, AREACON, this is Baron 07. I am declaring a precautionary for fuel imbalance and returning to base. Over." "Roger that precautionary, Baron 07, do you have situation in hand or do you need assist? Over." "Negative, RAPCON. Situation under control. Over."
You NEVER wanted to call ground control with a precautionary or an emergency and not have a plan in mind. They would give you help, but you would never hear the end of it, and could even risk washing out of UPT. (Undergraduate Pilot Training.)
Then came the nuclear bomb. "Baron 07 this is AREACON. Be advised there is a weather recall on for Vance. You'd better hurry, over and out."
SON OF A ....!!!! Great. Just great. What that little sentence meant was that although the weather was nice over Kansas, it had deteriorated greatly over Oklahoma since I had left and a weather recall was on. That also meant that everybody and their brother was on their way back to the airbase. I would return home to a crowded pattern, bad weather, low visibility, and crosswinds....with a crippled aircraft!
"Thanks, AREACON. Baron 07 over and out." Suddenly that phrase had a darker meaning. I was beginning to wonder if I might not really be over and out.
The little jet struggled back to Oklahoma. The turbulence increased. I was jolted and thrown from side to side. The sky turned black.
Despite my trimming the plane all the way as far as the trim tabs would go, the stick force was getting incredible. I had to hold it with both hands and I was crabbing at almost a 30-degree angle to keep flying straight. The muscles in my forearms were beginning to burn with the strain. Despite the cold, sweat was running down my face and into my flight suit. I decreased the thrust from my left engine and increased the thrust of my right to try to straighten the aircraft, but it had little effect.
By the time I reached Vance, after what seemed like hours, but was only about 45 minutes, I realized I was in serious trouble. I knew there was no way for me to go around the pattern. I wasn't worried about that exactly, but I was seriously worried about landing. In order for me to flare out, the plane would have to be straight. That was something that was beginning to seem impossible.
It was time. I set my jaw, narrowed my eyes and made another radio call. "RAPCON, RAPCON this is Baron 07. I am declaring an emergency for severe fuel imbalance. Be aware I have control issues. (Control issues? I was barely flying the damned thing!) I am requesting a straight-in, please give me a vector. Over."
Requesting a straight-in during an emergency was basically like saying, "Get everybody the Hell out of my way! I am coming straight to the runway and landing come Hell or High Water!!" The Radar Approach Controller was a very sweet guy and very professional. Without commenting on the stress in my voice, and keeping his very calm and controlled, he replied. "Roger that straight-in, Baron 07. We have you on visual. Fly course 180. You are 5 DME from runway, on speed and on glide path. You are cleared to land." Then after a slight pause... "Good luck Baron 07. Over and out."
Now I had to concentrate. I could see the runway lights in the darkness. Rain was pelting my window, but at least I had that. By sheer luck, I had come into the pattern pretty much lined up for landing. I went over in my mind what I needed to do to get down. My plan was to sideslip down the glide path to the end of the runway. Then, when I hit the ground effect layer (the air that is within 8 feet of the ground and a little thicker) I would mash on the left rudder, straighten out for a few seconds, kill the engines, and hopefully let the plane drop quickly to the runway.
I slipped down to the ground, the runway getting bigger and bigger in my window. I checked my pitch picture; I was looking good, except for the fact that I was almost sideways to the runway. As I felt the ground effect layer suddenly "float" the jet, I cranked on the left rudder. The nose snapped perfectly straight down the runway! I killed the throttles, even though I was still a good 6 feet off the ground. The jet dropped to the ground with a sickening jar that rattled my fillings.
I was DOWN!! In that second, however, a slight crosswind lifted the nose just slightly, and because of the overbalanced wing, the nose swung back to the right. Then it came down again. At 180 mph the jet began to skip sideways down the runway. I knew in seconds the wingtip would catch the strip, turning me into a "six million dollar man" (in reference to the terrible crash displayed at the beginning of that TV show) I, and the metal of the aircraft, would then become one very messy object.
The plane was no longer going fast enough to fly, so the stick was useless in my hand, although I still gripped it as hard as I could. Now I had to control the craft with the nose gear steering button and the rudder pedals. I quickly depressed the button on the stick and stepped on the left pedal.
Too much! The plane shot back to the left side of the runway like an overcorrected car on an icy freeway! I tapped the right pedal. The jet shot back to the other side! I could see the grass under my right wing! I knew if I went into the grass, the ground would sheer off my gear, the plane would cartwheel, and I'd end up a "smoking crater.”
Dancing back and forth with tiny quick movements on the pedals, I forced the plane bit-by-bit, inch-by-inch back to the center of the runway. Whew! Then I took a sharp breath! The runway markers! I was over 700 feet down a 1500-foot runway and I hadn't even begun to start braking!
No time now! I locked up both brakes, putting all my leg strength into the tops of the rudder pedals. Who gave a damn about the tires now! My airspeed began to slow, but I knew in a flash that it wasn't enough, I was going to have to max aerobrake!
I smiled right about then. A grim, teeth-gritted, sardonic-ironic smile. There was a method to the instructor's madness after all, I thought to myself. We had just covered max aerobraking that week. It was still fresh in my head. No doubt because situations like this had happened in the past!
Since I had slowed down, the craft would no longer fly, but I could still "pop a wheelie" in it with the stick. I threw down the flap control to "100% flaps.” This gave me a bigger wing surface. I dropped the speed brake. A panel under the nose dropped straight down and grabbed the air. Then I pulled hard back on the stick. The nose jumped into the air. I was dragging the air with both wings, trying desperately to use the drag to slow me down.
It was working! My airspeed indicator dropped through 150! 140! 125! 100! The nose dropped back down now, since there wasn't even enough speed to keep that up. I could see the striped lines that indicated the end of the runway coming towards me fast! How far away were they 200 feet? 100?! I couldn't overshoot!
It was all up to the brakes now. God please don't let the brakes explode! 80! 70! 60! 50! 30! 20! I was rolling to a stop!
I had done it! I was alive!! I hit the canopy release and shut down the plane. I listened to the engines wind down and sat back as I opened my visor. The cold rain hit my face, it was freezing, but it felt wonderful. I took a deep, deep lungful of cold air.
Then I heard the sirens. I remembered that magnesium brakes can continue to build up heat, even after the plane stops, and that I was supposed to egress right now. I quickly climbed down the side of the plane and walked over to the grass. I sat down on it as the fire trucks came screeching up to the plane.
One group of men immediately began to pour foam onto my smoking brakes. Another medic rushed over to me. 'Are you all right, sir?" I looked at him; he was checking my pulse and eyes with a little flashlight. "Sierra Hotel!" I told him. (Fighter slang for "s**t hot" which meant just about anything you wanted it to, depending on the situation.)
"Can you give me a ride back to the flight deck?" I asked him. "Sorry sir," he replied, "I have to stay with my group. If you were injured, you'd be transported by the ambulance, but as it is, you'll have to walk back."
Crap! I looked at the lights of the flight debriefing building. They had to be close to a half-mile away and it was raining! I wanted to debrief quickly because there were about 12 beers in the touch-and-go lounge that were screaming my name.
Suddenly, I laughed. A great big, sidesplitting, deep-down-in-the guts laugh. The airman looked at me quizzically. I told him through teary eyes...
"You know...after that, suddenly the idea of walking just doesn't seem so bad!!"
There's the time I had to eject:
I was flying a dawn patrol mission once in Oklahoma. Our aircraft was the T-38 Talon that day. A fun little twin jet, but it was made in the fifties and known for funny malfunctions like stuck throttles.
I was flying with Jim Duncan that morning. We checked out a jet to do some "navigational practice" but of course we were really going to fly to the mall in Wichita.
At the run-up at the end of the runway, all the instruments looked fine, we let go of the brakes and raced down the strip in afterburners, quickly reaching 120 kias. It was a hot day, though, so the "refusal point" (the point at which you can no longer stop the plane before the runway ends) was actually ahead of the "take-off point" (the point at which the plane leaves the ground.) Which leaves a very bad "Twilight Zone" area where you are going to fast to stop and not fast enough to take off.
It was right there when I heard a loud "BANG" in my right engine. The Emergency Fire T-Handle lit up, along with enough other caution lights to light a Christmas tree. We were on fire.
I quickly pulled the T-handle to extinguish the fire. Now I had to make a life-or-death decision, and I had about 1⁄10 of a second to do it.
Try to brake and possibly end up like the six million dollar man when my landing gear sheared off in the grass and the plane tumbled?
Or take a burning aircraft into the air?
I chose to pull up and try to make it around the pattern. I still had one good engine after all. RAPCON (Radar Approach Control) called me and said "Baron 07 you are on fire and trailing smoke." I replied, "Roger, RAPCON, Baron 07 is declaring and emergency and requesting a go 'round. Clear the pattern please and give me a vector."
(Which basically means get everyone the Hell outta my way, I'm going from where I am now straight to the other end of the runway and I'm gonna land on it come Hell or High Water.)
I felt good about that because it was my first emergency (other than a fuel imbalance but that's another story) and I had a good plan. They tend to get rather angry when you call them and ask "What should I do?" You are, after all, a fighter pilot. And they take great care to convince you that you are the greatest that ever lived for this very reason. There's no time to doubt yourself. (Which BTW is why I sometimes come off a little arrogant to people I meet, it's not my fault, really.)
I flew the aircraft off the ground, then suddenly I heard another loud "BANG" from the left engine. Now there were very few lights on the dash that weren't blinking at me. The alarms were screaming in my ears. I began to really wonder if I was going to make it, because our aircraft did not have zero/zero ejection seats. Ours were 100/100. 100 feet of altitude or 100 MPH were required.
Zero/zero seats will turn you right side up automatically and they have little rocket engines that take you up to a safe altitude before your chute opens. Ours were just 100 pound bombs that would just as likely shoot you straight into the ground with your chute opening afterward and settling on the crater. (We called that doing a "Bugs Bunny".)
We still had a little thrust, so I pulled back slightly and we gained altitude, I was beginning to feel a little better. I put a left bank into the stick and ...
The aircraft banked RIGHT! This is not good. We were no longer pilots. Now we were just passengers. ( I found out later that the fire had burned through the control cables.) I did feel relieved, though. Because now it was a no-brainer. We had to eject.
I told Jim, "Prepare to egress, stow all loose items!" A few things right herre about bailing out of a plane. First pull in your legs or you'll be a lot SHORTER, if you know what I mean. Second, stow loose items or that pencil in your lap will make it impossible to have children later. third, lean your neck back and tighten up your neck muscles or your tongue will touch your toes as you punch out.
If you've ever jumped out the the swingset, you know what a "zoom and boom" maneuver is. We trade all our speed for altitude, the plane stalls out, we eject at the top. I used the trim tabs to trim the plane nose down so that it would go straight back to the ground after we left. then I yelled, "EJECT! EJECT! EJECT! ( You always say it three times and never use that word until you mean it. We used to tell the students that if they heard us say "eject" the third time, they would be flying solo, whether they were ready for it or not.)
Jumping out at around 100 mph must feel much like getting swatted with a flyswatter does to a fly. The wind is incredible. The "buttkicker strap" threw my seat away from me and since the "zero delay lanyard" was connected, the seat automatically pulled my ripcord. I got a good chute, no twists or line-overs.
I looked over and saw Jim, he gave me a "thumbs up" to indicate he was fine.
The plane wobbled a bit, then...
FLATTENED OUT AND TOOK OFF LIKE A GUIDED MISSLE! I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It shouldn't be able to do that... but it was. Straight out and straight at Enid OK which was five miles off the end of our runway. I found out later that it did destroy a structure. Nuked it good, but no one was there at the time, since it was 0430 in the morning. And of course the Air Force rebuilt the structure for the owners, better than new.
As for me, I came down in a freshly plowed field and ate approximately 3 lbs. of Oklahoma dirt. Otherwise I was fine. I had to retell this story to the next 5 classes of incoming students, since I was the only pilot on the base that had ejected at the time.
Jim came down on the power lines, but he was fine too. His only gripe was that some Okies had come along but wouldn't help him climb down unless he gave them his helmet. (A very expensive item that is specifically formed to the individual pilot's head.)
The Air Force's investigation revealed that I had taken a birdstrike to the right engine and that the pieces of broken turbine had traveled over to the other engine and broken it, so I didn't have to pay for a 6 million dollar aircraft! Whew!
We fondly call that, "Giving the plane back to the taxpayers!"
So I lived happily ever after..so far.
There's also the time I looked down the barrel of a gun with a crazed PTSS vietnam vet on the other end, the time I almost hit a rock while cliff diving, the seven times I wrecked my car, the time I died, the time I almost shot seven men in cold blood because I thought they had killed my friend...
But truthfully the time I was the most scared was every one of the 100+ times my wife, Vickie has been near death in the hospital.
QUESTION #3:
What is your position on prostitution - do you believe that offering or taking compensation for sexual favors should make one a criminal?
What's with the criminal questions, Frank? Do I sound like someone who would know what it's like to be on the wrong side of the law? Don't answer that.
Here's my take. Sure it's their body and their decision, but prostitution breeds disease and crime and society as a whole pays the price for that. You and I. I also think about the poor girls trapped in that life. Do you think any girl when she's 12 thinks, "I'd like to grow up to be a career prostitute?" No, they don't. Why not? Because everyone knows that a prostitute's life is a living hell.
Should our society condone this and legalize it? Absolutely not.
QUESTION #4:
What is your position on legalizing marijuana?
Yeah, I can read between the lines here, Frank. What you really want to know is have I ever done marijuana. That's a personal question and I won't answer it. I grew up in the 60's and 70's, draw your own blasted conclusions.
Do I condone that behavior now?
Absolutely not. I have to visit too many friends and relatives in the graveyard to ever condone it. Unlike younger members, I understand quite painfully the consequences of that behavior. The worst thing about smoking, grass or cigarettes, is that it kills you years before you really die.
Think about one of the most perfect days you've lived. I'm betting the farm that you didn't just think of a day at work. You thought of a day at a lake or maybe a day when you were camping.
If you smoke, all that will be gone. Smoking hits you at the prime of life. Just when everything gets good. You have a spouse, some children, a nice home and a good career. That's when the docs will tell you that they see a spot on your lungs. If yo get emphysema like my father, you'll have to sit down in the shower. All camping, fishing, swimming, running and living wil be over and you'll just have to watch TV and wait to die.
So...no...don't legalize a way for people to destroy themselves and their lives. That's just wrong.
QUESTION #5:
If you could instantly and easily make one improvement to this website, what would it be?
That's easy! I want the "hovering feature' where you can see the first couple of lines of a thread just by hovering the mouse above it! Too cool!
QUESTION #6:
Why did you pick the username "Saint?"
It's my middle name. My parents had a sense of humor.
Thanks!
Thanks for doing the Interview, Saint! :bow:
- Frank
Boy he's been a busy boy.
I wonder if any of this shit can be checked out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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#1 Posted: Sun Dec 17th, 2006 06:23 pm
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AN INTERVIEW WITH MEMBER "SAINT"
Saint
Forum-Orator©
Pioneer100© Member
Polymath
Joined: Wed Jun 28th, 2006
Location: The Rocky Mountains, New Mexico USA
Posts: 846
MyResume:
MyJob: Lead Teacher for an Alternative High School
MyForum:
MyLove: Vickie - It took 34 years to find her.
MyWish: A Playstation 3
MyFile: [Download]
MyIntro: [Download]
MySex:
Status: Offline
START OF INTERVIEW ::popcorn::
QUESTION #1:
How do you think you'll be earning a living in 10 years?
Good afternoon, Frank! Nice place you have here! Well as to my future occupation...it's a given. I've had a kind of "Forest Gump" life. I've had 182 jobs in my life and I'm on my third career. But after being everything from a fighter pilot to a corporate chef, I've finally found my destiny.
I am now, and will forever after be a teacher!
That's my destiny and I'm lucky enough to have found it. Many people look their whole lives to find their place in the world. I love my job so much now that I'm planning on teaching even after I retire. Hopefully I'll die at the podium:
"Class please open your books to page URRRK! (thump)
Here's a short ( and I do mean short, cause the long version would need publishing rights!) synopsis of my life so far!
After I graduated from high school, I attended New Mexico State University. While I was there, I took the AFOQT (Air Force Officer's Qualifying Test) on a lark, cause my friend was taking it and I didn't want to sit out in the sun. Guess What? It came back with the highest score West of the Mississippi since WWII! the recruiters were ecstatic!
They offered me a fighter pilot slot, if I would join ROTC and graduate by a specific date. I studied Electrical Engineering (like father, like son, eh, Tim?) , learned to fly Cessna single engine aircraft at the local airport, and graduated meritorious graduate, Who's Who in American Colleges, Crimson Scholar, 3.85 cumulative. Boy, I though I was pretty hot stuff! hahaha!
Then I went away to Enid, Oklahoma to attend Undergraduate Fighter Pilot school. What an eye-opener! I come driving up in my bright yellow '69 Camaro, and I suddenly noticed that all the other cars in the parking lot were Porches and Saabs. It went something like this:
"Hi, I'm from New Mexico! (Said with hick accent)
"Hello, I'm from Harvard and he's from Yale" (said with severe snobbishness)
Hi, I'm doomed! (said with crestfallen expression)
But it turned out that where you were from actually didn't matter all that much. All that mattered was ,"Did you have "the hands"! Thanks to a college career that involved extensive videogame time, I had all the reflexes and hand to eye coordination I needed! By the way, I still am really in to computer and videogames. (What the hey!, Everybody needs a hobby and at least that one keeps me at home! )
So I graduated and asked for EuroNATO JETPAC (F-16's and A-10's) or maybe B-52's out of Dyess in Abilene. (Which is where I went to boot camp, by the way. Those guys get to carry live nukes everyday and they are a blast to hang out with!) but I was assigned to be an instructor pilot right there at Vance AFB. I flew T-37 "Tweets" and T-38 "Talons" You've probably seen the latter, they are those skinny little white fighters with a black stripe on the nose that escort the shuttle when it is landing. If not, just check the black enemy jets in Top Gun, it's the same plane. By the way, the instructors were always really nice to me. Guess what I found out one day as I was sitting in the HQ for over-Ging an aircraft? My Dad's picture was there in the Hall of Aces and everybody on the whole base knew it except me! Blast it all!
After six years of "800 mile an hour driver's ed" as we called it. I was pretty tired of the whole thing. So I decided to go out and explore the world. Actually, I think I was just tired of Oklahoma. It's boring, even from the air! So I went into the inactive reserves, and I'm still there! My official title is 1Lt. Jonathan St. Ives USAFR.
I did the Marco Polo thing. No, not the swimming pool game, the traveling the world thing. During this period, which I refer to as my "Forest Gump" period, I think I must have worked in every kind and category of occupations that is known to mankind. (flamethrower carrier on an asphault gang in Phoenix? What was I thinking then?)I have been everything from a grease monkey to a corporate executive and everything in between 179 jobs total! (yeah, I kept track! )
Meanwhile, I skyrocketed in the corporation! We were doing pretty well, but the corporation that I was working for decided that I was good management material, so they promoted me to kitchen manager. I ran the Tempe store for a year then they decided to give m control of another restaurant in the Arizona Center in Phoenix.
From there I was promoted to regional manager and finally I became the International Training Manager in charge of training all crews for new stores. I had 20,000 people in my division and I was hanging out with millionaires! Sure enough, something had to happen. My father died.
Someone had to move back here to take care of my Mom. Kris was too far away, so I left it all and moved back here to Farmington. Full circle, sigh.
I had to find something to do, so my mom thought I might like to be a substitute teacher until I could decide on my 180th job or 3rd career. I began doing just that. Well, what do you know? I was really good at it!
When the school system learned of my extensive experience and background, they asked me if I would like to be a "real" teacher. You bet I said yes! While I taught mathematics to junior high kids everyday, I went back to college to get my third degree , this time in education. ( I now have 11 years of college, so how come I'm not making more than the president?)
After a really stellar first year, I was hand-picked to head up the math department at a state-of-the-art middle school, Mesa View Middle School. I worked hard there for ten years until my name came up in association with a new program and school for alternative kids, The Transition Academy.
I took over as lead teacher and director 6 years ago and I've been here since then helping the kids that need me the most.
The future may have another move in it, since the director of another school is retiring and my name has come up again. This is my fourteenth year of teaching and I plan to retire from this job in another 12 years.
You can see that I have really found my niche in life!
After this seemingly endless trek, I finally found the girl of my dreams. Her name is Vicki and it turns out that we were always in the same part of the world at the same time, but had never met each other until we both moved back to Farmington. We even went to the same high school and sat in the same classes!
We were married fourteen years ago and I have been happier than I have ever been in my entire life. I have finally settled down. We have one son, Joe. He's twenty and works for a solar power company, designing self monitoring systems for oil rigs and well sites. He's a great kid! He has given me two beautiful granddaughters, Morgan, and Jordyn.
Experience:
93-94 Substitute Teacher
94-95 Math /Science Heights Junior High School
95-97 Math Teacher Mesa View Junior High School
98-99 At-Risk Summer School Rocinante High School
97-98 Math Dept. Head Mesa View Junior High School
98-05 Lead Teacher Transition Academy
Awards:
95-96 Intel "Most Innovative Teacher" Award
96-97 "Who's Who in American Teachers" Award
97-98 "Disney Teacher of the Year" Nominee (Top Ten in the Country)
97-98 "Who's Who in American Teachers" Award
98-99 "Who's Who in American Teachers" Award
98-99 "Red Apple Teacher Award" American Foundation for Excellence
in Education
99-00 "Millennium Teacher" Who's Who in American Teachers
00-01 Golden Apple Teacher of New Mexico Nominee(Top Five in the State)
02-03 Community Education Coordinator
03-04 "Who's Who in American Teachers" Award
04-05 "Who's Who in American Teachers" Award
05-06 "Red Apple Teacher Award" American Foundation for Excellence
in Education
05-06 "Who's Who in American Teachers" Award
05-06 "Red Apple Teacher Award" American Foundation for Excellence
in Education
05-06 Nominated for “Disney Teacher of the Year”
06 07 "Red Apple Teacher Award" American Foundation for Excellence
in Education
Achievements:
Summer School At-Risk Teacher 99-98
TV101 Producer and Director 97-01
Community Outreach Supervisor - Fire Program 97-99
Behind the Scenes Program: Theaters and Radio Stations 97-99
Airport Orientation Program Head: Professional Development for Junior High Students
"Voice of Mesa View", Morning Announcement Program 94-01
School Dance D.J. 97-99
Farmington Municipal Math Evaluation Placement Exam: Writer and Developer
"Battle of Pythagorus" Web Lessons (downloaded by several major universities!)
C.O.R.E. Team member 94-97
Co-designer and contributor to Mesa View's Web Page 95-00
"Civil War" Thematic Unit Project: Author
"The Sky is Full Of Stars" Thematic Unit Project: Author
"The Universe of Y2K" Thematic Unit Project: Author
UNM Teacher Development Program: Sponsor/ Teacher
Fort Lewis College Student Teaching Program: Mentor Teacher
Morning Tutoring Program: Leader
Detention Hall Supervisor
Hewlett-Packard Technology Grant Winner 98-99
Track and Field Announcer 96-97
Wrestling Announcer 97-98
Video Election Coverage Project: 96-97
Spelling Bee Enunciator: 94-01
Lead Teacher - Transition Academy
Mentor Teacher - 2005 - present
QUESTION #2:
What's the scariest experience you've ever had?
There's the time I had a fuel imbalance:
I had only been soloing for a short time. Soloing consisted at that point of flying around the pattern at Vance Air Force Base in Oklahoma, doing touch and gos.
One day, my instructor informed me that I now had the proficiency to go to the next stage of training. Area solo. I was to fly out to a practice area, located over Kansas, and practice some acrobatic maneuvers, and then navigate home. I was a little scared, (much as you feel the first time you drive a car without anyone else in it on busy streets) but I knew this was a big step in my training.
So the next day I got up, dressed in my flight suit, and roared to the base in my '69 Camaro, eager to make my first step into the burning blue. At the flight briefing, I relaxed a little; I knew the route by heart having flown there many times with my instructor. All I had to do was fly due North, cross a river, then instead of going West to our alternate practice field, codenamed "Dogface", I just flew North some more and made sure not to descend below flight level 50 (5,000 feet.) My DME marks were very clear also. (Distance Measured Equivalent from the Air Base)
As long as I stayed in my area, between my altitudes, I had the whole sky to myself. I put on my parachute, pre-flighted my jet, and rolled down to the end of the runway. I taxied into position, ran the throttles all the way up to "Military Thrust" and stood on the brakes as the engines revved up to a high whine. The plane bucked and thrashed like a bronco about to be ridden as I scanned the instruments for any engine malfunctions. Everything looked good. "Well," I thought, "off we go, into the wild blue yonder." I released the brakes and shot down the strip.
What a feeling! The sky was gorgeous over Kansas that day! Stratocumulus clouds littered a bright blue sky. Those kinds of clouds look like big cotton balls, and are shot full of holes and tunnels just asking to be flown through. As I entered the area, I did my instrument checks, and made extra sure my zero-delay lanyard was connected. (A strap that connects to the seat and automatically deploys the parachute if you eject. I had a problem remembering to connect it sometimes.)
My heart was pounding wildly and I gave in to the thrill. I pushed the throttles forward and watched the IAS needle (Indicated Air Speed) run up to 220 knots. The engines roared in my ears, the vibration of the jet smoothed out and it streaked across the practice area. I cranked the stick hard to the left, the plane spun on its axis, spinning aileron roll after roll. The world spun like a carnival ride in my window.
I flattened out, then pulled straight back into a loop. I was staring straight at the sun. It seemed like I was going to fly right off the planet. At the top of the loop, I again pushed the stick left and righted myself with a near-perfect Immelman. I was now facing the opposite direction, but at a much higher altitude.
I was going over in my mind the things that my instructor had taught me concerning "energy management.” High and slow was good, because of the potential energy in the situation, but low and slow was bad. So with a quick flip of the stick, I rolled over upside down.
Now I look straight up, to see the world above my head. I pulled back on the stick and the plane fell away towards the Earth. The sound of the wind increased to a scream, the G-forces crushed me back into my seat, making it harder to breathe. The edges of my vision began to grow dark, the tunnel closing to the center. The G-suit pumps began to inflate my G-suit.
Just in time, I remembered my M1 maneuver. I squeezed my calves, then my thighs, then my stomach muscles and chest muscles. I breathed in and out shallowly and quickly, literally squeezing the blood in my body back into my head. (Try it; it makes your face turn purple!)
As I pulled out of the dive, I was flashing across Kansas. I slowed down, realizing I could quickly fly out of my practice area, smacking some crop duster or farmer in a Cessa and basically ruining both our days.
It was time for a quick systems check now. Engine EGT (exhaust gas temperature) Check. Altitude. Check. Oil pressure. Check. DME. Check. RPMs. Check. Radio frequency on Area Control. Check. Right wing tank fuel. 800 lbs. Left wing tank fuel. 600 pounds,
HUH?!!! WHAT THE...?!!!
I toggled the switch again. 800. 600. 800. 600. Yep. It was reading correctly. I realized right away what was happening. The T-37 "Tweety Bird" Twin Jet Trainer had three tanks, two in the wings and one in the fuselage. The wing tanks were supposed to feed evenly into the center tank, but it was obvious that one tank's valve was stuck shut. Not uncommon, considering the aircraft had been built in the 60's.
I tried to remain calm, although my heart was pounding wildly. "Just my luck," I thought. "Everyone else has a flawless solo, but my #$%@**& plane breaks on me." Calm down, now. Think of what to do.
From the stand-ups that I had been made to do in the flight room (you stand up and recite the emergency procedure by heart, and God help you if you screw up.) I knew I had to reach over, open the red switch cover and switch the aircraft to "Fuel Gravity Feed." This would open all the valves and allow the fuel to drain down into the fuselage tank, evening itself out by gravity.
That was supposed to fix the vast majority of fuel problems, according to my instructor. I couldn't do any more acrobatics, because now the engines would flame-out if the were inverted, but that was OK, because all I had on my mind was getting home as quickly as possible. I suddenly felt very much alone and small in that vast blueness.
I checked my gauges again. 800. 550. I chose the best curse words I knew and yelled them into my helmet. It hadn't worked. Things were getting worse. I could feel some stick force beginning to build up now, as the aircraft began to crab a little to the left, thanks to the heavy wing.
I remembered another student who had declared an emergency for a fuel problem, and how the instructors had chortled about that for days, not considering any kind of fuel problem, other than being out of fuel, a real "emergency." Nevertheless, I was scared out of my young mind. I forced myself to be calm again. What else was there to do? Then I remembered the checklist velcroed to my thigh. It had the other emergency procedures in it!
I looked up fuel emergencies and under "If Fuel Gravity Feed Fails." It said to pop the circuit breakers on the valves manually. I reached over and pulled out the little round circuit breakers on the right side of the cockpit. I waited breathlessly for minute, and then checked the fuel again. 800. 500. Damn! That hadn't worked either! It must be a mechanical problem.
In frustration, I dipped the left wing, shook the stick and danced back and forth on the rudder pedals. The little jet snapped back and forth through the sky, shaking itself like a shaggy dog in a sprinkler. I tried the gauges again. 800. 480.
Well, that was it. I took a deep breath and prepared myself to make the radio call. "AREACON, AREACON, this is Baron 07. I am declaring a precautionary for fuel imbalance and returning to base. Over." "Roger that precautionary, Baron 07, do you have situation in hand or do you need assist? Over." "Negative, RAPCON. Situation under control. Over."
You NEVER wanted to call ground control with a precautionary or an emergency and not have a plan in mind. They would give you help, but you would never hear the end of it, and could even risk washing out of UPT. (Undergraduate Pilot Training.)
Then came the nuclear bomb. "Baron 07 this is AREACON. Be advised there is a weather recall on for Vance. You'd better hurry, over and out."
SON OF A ....!!!! Great. Just great. What that little sentence meant was that although the weather was nice over Kansas, it had deteriorated greatly over Oklahoma since I had left and a weather recall was on. That also meant that everybody and their brother was on their way back to the airbase. I would return home to a crowded pattern, bad weather, low visibility, and crosswinds....with a crippled aircraft!
"Thanks, AREACON. Baron 07 over and out." Suddenly that phrase had a darker meaning. I was beginning to wonder if I might not really be over and out.
The little jet struggled back to Oklahoma. The turbulence increased. I was jolted and thrown from side to side. The sky turned black.
Despite my trimming the plane all the way as far as the trim tabs would go, the stick force was getting incredible. I had to hold it with both hands and I was crabbing at almost a 30-degree angle to keep flying straight. The muscles in my forearms were beginning to burn with the strain. Despite the cold, sweat was running down my face and into my flight suit. I decreased the thrust from my left engine and increased the thrust of my right to try to straighten the aircraft, but it had little effect.
By the time I reached Vance, after what seemed like hours, but was only about 45 minutes, I realized I was in serious trouble. I knew there was no way for me to go around the pattern. I wasn't worried about that exactly, but I was seriously worried about landing. In order for me to flare out, the plane would have to be straight. That was something that was beginning to seem impossible.
It was time. I set my jaw, narrowed my eyes and made another radio call. "RAPCON, RAPCON this is Baron 07. I am declaring an emergency for severe fuel imbalance. Be aware I have control issues. (Control issues? I was barely flying the damned thing!) I am requesting a straight-in, please give me a vector. Over."
Requesting a straight-in during an emergency was basically like saying, "Get everybody the Hell out of my way! I am coming straight to the runway and landing come Hell or High Water!!" The Radar Approach Controller was a very sweet guy and very professional. Without commenting on the stress in my voice, and keeping his very calm and controlled, he replied. "Roger that straight-in, Baron 07. We have you on visual. Fly course 180. You are 5 DME from runway, on speed and on glide path. You are cleared to land." Then after a slight pause... "Good luck Baron 07. Over and out."
Now I had to concentrate. I could see the runway lights in the darkness. Rain was pelting my window, but at least I had that. By sheer luck, I had come into the pattern pretty much lined up for landing. I went over in my mind what I needed to do to get down. My plan was to sideslip down the glide path to the end of the runway. Then, when I hit the ground effect layer (the air that is within 8 feet of the ground and a little thicker) I would mash on the left rudder, straighten out for a few seconds, kill the engines, and hopefully let the plane drop quickly to the runway.
I slipped down to the ground, the runway getting bigger and bigger in my window. I checked my pitch picture; I was looking good, except for the fact that I was almost sideways to the runway. As I felt the ground effect layer suddenly "float" the jet, I cranked on the left rudder. The nose snapped perfectly straight down the runway! I killed the throttles, even though I was still a good 6 feet off the ground. The jet dropped to the ground with a sickening jar that rattled my fillings.
I was DOWN!! In that second, however, a slight crosswind lifted the nose just slightly, and because of the overbalanced wing, the nose swung back to the right. Then it came down again. At 180 mph the jet began to skip sideways down the runway. I knew in seconds the wingtip would catch the strip, turning me into a "six million dollar man" (in reference to the terrible crash displayed at the beginning of that TV show) I, and the metal of the aircraft, would then become one very messy object.
The plane was no longer going fast enough to fly, so the stick was useless in my hand, although I still gripped it as hard as I could. Now I had to control the craft with the nose gear steering button and the rudder pedals. I quickly depressed the button on the stick and stepped on the left pedal.
Too much! The plane shot back to the left side of the runway like an overcorrected car on an icy freeway! I tapped the right pedal. The jet shot back to the other side! I could see the grass under my right wing! I knew if I went into the grass, the ground would sheer off my gear, the plane would cartwheel, and I'd end up a "smoking crater.”
Dancing back and forth with tiny quick movements on the pedals, I forced the plane bit-by-bit, inch-by-inch back to the center of the runway. Whew! Then I took a sharp breath! The runway markers! I was over 700 feet down a 1500-foot runway and I hadn't even begun to start braking!
No time now! I locked up both brakes, putting all my leg strength into the tops of the rudder pedals. Who gave a damn about the tires now! My airspeed began to slow, but I knew in a flash that it wasn't enough, I was going to have to max aerobrake!
I smiled right about then. A grim, teeth-gritted, sardonic-ironic smile. There was a method to the instructor's madness after all, I thought to myself. We had just covered max aerobraking that week. It was still fresh in my head. No doubt because situations like this had happened in the past!
Since I had slowed down, the craft would no longer fly, but I could still "pop a wheelie" in it with the stick. I threw down the flap control to "100% flaps.” This gave me a bigger wing surface. I dropped the speed brake. A panel under the nose dropped straight down and grabbed the air. Then I pulled hard back on the stick. The nose jumped into the air. I was dragging the air with both wings, trying desperately to use the drag to slow me down.
It was working! My airspeed indicator dropped through 150! 140! 125! 100! The nose dropped back down now, since there wasn't even enough speed to keep that up. I could see the striped lines that indicated the end of the runway coming towards me fast! How far away were they 200 feet? 100?! I couldn't overshoot!
It was all up to the brakes now. God please don't let the brakes explode! 80! 70! 60! 50! 30! 20! I was rolling to a stop!
I had done it! I was alive!! I hit the canopy release and shut down the plane. I listened to the engines wind down and sat back as I opened my visor. The cold rain hit my face, it was freezing, but it felt wonderful. I took a deep, deep lungful of cold air.
Then I heard the sirens. I remembered that magnesium brakes can continue to build up heat, even after the plane stops, and that I was supposed to egress right now. I quickly climbed down the side of the plane and walked over to the grass. I sat down on it as the fire trucks came screeching up to the plane.
One group of men immediately began to pour foam onto my smoking brakes. Another medic rushed over to me. 'Are you all right, sir?" I looked at him; he was checking my pulse and eyes with a little flashlight. "Sierra Hotel!" I told him. (Fighter slang for "s**t hot" which meant just about anything you wanted it to, depending on the situation.)
"Can you give me a ride back to the flight deck?" I asked him. "Sorry sir," he replied, "I have to stay with my group. If you were injured, you'd be transported by the ambulance, but as it is, you'll have to walk back."
Crap! I looked at the lights of the flight debriefing building. They had to be close to a half-mile away and it was raining! I wanted to debrief quickly because there were about 12 beers in the touch-and-go lounge that were screaming my name.
Suddenly, I laughed. A great big, sidesplitting, deep-down-in-the guts laugh. The airman looked at me quizzically. I told him through teary eyes...
"You know...after that, suddenly the idea of walking just doesn't seem so bad!!"
There's the time I had to eject:
I was flying a dawn patrol mission once in Oklahoma. Our aircraft was the T-38 Talon that day. A fun little twin jet, but it was made in the fifties and known for funny malfunctions like stuck throttles.
I was flying with Jim Duncan that morning. We checked out a jet to do some "navigational practice" but of course we were really going to fly to the mall in Wichita.
At the run-up at the end of the runway, all the instruments looked fine, we let go of the brakes and raced down the strip in afterburners, quickly reaching 120 kias. It was a hot day, though, so the "refusal point" (the point at which you can no longer stop the plane before the runway ends) was actually ahead of the "take-off point" (the point at which the plane leaves the ground.) Which leaves a very bad "Twilight Zone" area where you are going to fast to stop and not fast enough to take off.
It was right there when I heard a loud "BANG" in my right engine. The Emergency Fire T-Handle lit up, along with enough other caution lights to light a Christmas tree. We were on fire.
I quickly pulled the T-handle to extinguish the fire. Now I had to make a life-or-death decision, and I had about 1⁄10 of a second to do it.
Try to brake and possibly end up like the six million dollar man when my landing gear sheared off in the grass and the plane tumbled?
Or take a burning aircraft into the air?
I chose to pull up and try to make it around the pattern. I still had one good engine after all. RAPCON (Radar Approach Control) called me and said "Baron 07 you are on fire and trailing smoke." I replied, "Roger, RAPCON, Baron 07 is declaring and emergency and requesting a go 'round. Clear the pattern please and give me a vector."
(Which basically means get everyone the Hell outta my way, I'm going from where I am now straight to the other end of the runway and I'm gonna land on it come Hell or High Water.)
I felt good about that because it was my first emergency (other than a fuel imbalance but that's another story) and I had a good plan. They tend to get rather angry when you call them and ask "What should I do?" You are, after all, a fighter pilot. And they take great care to convince you that you are the greatest that ever lived for this very reason. There's no time to doubt yourself. (Which BTW is why I sometimes come off a little arrogant to people I meet, it's not my fault, really.)
I flew the aircraft off the ground, then suddenly I heard another loud "BANG" from the left engine. Now there were very few lights on the dash that weren't blinking at me. The alarms were screaming in my ears. I began to really wonder if I was going to make it, because our aircraft did not have zero/zero ejection seats. Ours were 100/100. 100 feet of altitude or 100 MPH were required.
Zero/zero seats will turn you right side up automatically and they have little rocket engines that take you up to a safe altitude before your chute opens. Ours were just 100 pound bombs that would just as likely shoot you straight into the ground with your chute opening afterward and settling on the crater. (We called that doing a "Bugs Bunny".)
We still had a little thrust, so I pulled back slightly and we gained altitude, I was beginning to feel a little better. I put a left bank into the stick and ...
The aircraft banked RIGHT! This is not good. We were no longer pilots. Now we were just passengers. ( I found out later that the fire had burned through the control cables.) I did feel relieved, though. Because now it was a no-brainer. We had to eject.
I told Jim, "Prepare to egress, stow all loose items!" A few things right herre about bailing out of a plane. First pull in your legs or you'll be a lot SHORTER, if you know what I mean. Second, stow loose items or that pencil in your lap will make it impossible to have children later. third, lean your neck back and tighten up your neck muscles or your tongue will touch your toes as you punch out.
If you've ever jumped out the the swingset, you know what a "zoom and boom" maneuver is. We trade all our speed for altitude, the plane stalls out, we eject at the top. I used the trim tabs to trim the plane nose down so that it would go straight back to the ground after we left. then I yelled, "EJECT! EJECT! EJECT! ( You always say it three times and never use that word until you mean it. We used to tell the students that if they heard us say "eject" the third time, they would be flying solo, whether they were ready for it or not.)
Jumping out at around 100 mph must feel much like getting swatted with a flyswatter does to a fly. The wind is incredible. The "buttkicker strap" threw my seat away from me and since the "zero delay lanyard" was connected, the seat automatically pulled my ripcord. I got a good chute, no twists or line-overs.
I looked over and saw Jim, he gave me a "thumbs up" to indicate he was fine.
The plane wobbled a bit, then...
FLATTENED OUT AND TOOK OFF LIKE A GUIDED MISSLE! I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It shouldn't be able to do that... but it was. Straight out and straight at Enid OK which was five miles off the end of our runway. I found out later that it did destroy a structure. Nuked it good, but no one was there at the time, since it was 0430 in the morning. And of course the Air Force rebuilt the structure for the owners, better than new.
As for me, I came down in a freshly plowed field and ate approximately 3 lbs. of Oklahoma dirt. Otherwise I was fine. I had to retell this story to the next 5 classes of incoming students, since I was the only pilot on the base that had ejected at the time.
Jim came down on the power lines, but he was fine too. His only gripe was that some Okies had come along but wouldn't help him climb down unless he gave them his helmet. (A very expensive item that is specifically formed to the individual pilot's head.)
The Air Force's investigation revealed that I had taken a birdstrike to the right engine and that the pieces of broken turbine had traveled over to the other engine and broken it, so I didn't have to pay for a 6 million dollar aircraft! Whew!
We fondly call that, "Giving the plane back to the taxpayers!"
So I lived happily ever after..so far.
There's also the time I looked down the barrel of a gun with a crazed PTSS vietnam vet on the other end, the time I almost hit a rock while cliff diving, the seven times I wrecked my car, the time I died, the time I almost shot seven men in cold blood because I thought they had killed my friend...
But truthfully the time I was the most scared was every one of the 100+ times my wife, Vickie has been near death in the hospital.
QUESTION #3:
What is your position on prostitution - do you believe that offering or taking compensation for sexual favors should make one a criminal?
What's with the criminal questions, Frank? Do I sound like someone who would know what it's like to be on the wrong side of the law? Don't answer that.
Here's my take. Sure it's their body and their decision, but prostitution breeds disease and crime and society as a whole pays the price for that. You and I. I also think about the poor girls trapped in that life. Do you think any girl when she's 12 thinks, "I'd like to grow up to be a career prostitute?" No, they don't. Why not? Because everyone knows that a prostitute's life is a living hell.
Should our society condone this and legalize it? Absolutely not.
QUESTION #4:
What is your position on legalizing marijuana?
Yeah, I can read between the lines here, Frank. What you really want to know is have I ever done marijuana. That's a personal question and I won't answer it. I grew up in the 60's and 70's, draw your own blasted conclusions.
Do I condone that behavior now?
Absolutely not. I have to visit too many friends and relatives in the graveyard to ever condone it. Unlike younger members, I understand quite painfully the consequences of that behavior. The worst thing about smoking, grass or cigarettes, is that it kills you years before you really die.
Think about one of the most perfect days you've lived. I'm betting the farm that you didn't just think of a day at work. You thought of a day at a lake or maybe a day when you were camping.
If you smoke, all that will be gone. Smoking hits you at the prime of life. Just when everything gets good. You have a spouse, some children, a nice home and a good career. That's when the docs will tell you that they see a spot on your lungs. If yo get emphysema like my father, you'll have to sit down in the shower. All camping, fishing, swimming, running and living wil be over and you'll just have to watch TV and wait to die.
So...no...don't legalize a way for people to destroy themselves and their lives. That's just wrong.
QUESTION #5:
If you could instantly and easily make one improvement to this website, what would it be?
That's easy! I want the "hovering feature' where you can see the first couple of lines of a thread just by hovering the mouse above it! Too cool!
QUESTION #6:
Why did you pick the username "Saint?"
It's my middle name. My parents had a sense of humor.
Thanks!
Thanks for doing the Interview, Saint! :bow:
- Frank
I would stop eating chocolate.. but I'm not a quitter!
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