Army Aviator by the Grace of God
and Blessed to be a Centaur
When I entered the United States Army as a Second Lieutenant in May 1968, freshly minted from Loyola University ROTC, I never thought of becoming an Army Aviator. As a Distinguished Military Graduate, I was offered a Regular Army Commission, my choice of Branch, and my first place of assignment. I chose Armor Branch and Europe as my first assignment. Following a brief assignment with the 6th Squadron, Ist Armored Cavalry, 2d Armored Division in Fort Hood, I went to the Armor Officer Basic Course at Fort Knox. My Class Leader was a CPT Wesley Clark, fresh from West Point via a Rhodes scholarship. After graduation, our career paths diverged. He became a 4-star General in command of USAREUR and eventual Candidate for the Democratic Party Presidential nomination. I became an Army Aviator.
After successful completion of Ranger School but failing at Airborne School, I arrived in Europe where I was assigned to K Troop, 3d Squadron, 2d Armored Cavalry in Amberg, Germany. The Squadron was short of officers and men due to Vietnam levies for replacements. For a brief couple of months, I was Acting Troop Commander. This was most likely because I was the only officer left in the troop after my Troop CO and XO completed their commitment and separated from the Army. Then, two Captains, Charles Frizzell and William Jones, both fresh from Vietnam via Flight School arrived in the Squadron. My new CO was CPT Frizzell. He and CPT Jones strongly encouraged me to volunteer for flight school. I said that I wore glasses so I could not be a pilot. They told me that the Army had reduced the standards so that as long as your vision was correctable to 20/20 you could be a pilot. I thought, “Why not?”
I took the FAST test, a flight physical, and completed the application process. Aviators were in high demand in 1969 and 1970. I was sure I would be going to Flight School post haste. In January 1970, I received orders. To my surprise the orders were for Advisor School via a Vietnamese Language Course. I called the USAREUR Aviation Officer to find out what happened. He told me my physical was rejected because I was 7 pounds overweight. He assured me that if I lost the weight, he would have me on orders to flight school within the week.
Not to waste time, I immediately scheduled an appointment with the Regimental Flight Surgeon and began a crash diet. I began fasting, exercising, and anything else I could think of to lose those extra pounds. The appointment date, as well as the date for reporting to Advisor School, was fast approaching. Some days I was a pound or so below while other days a pound or so over. I arrived at the Flight Surgeon’s office really nervous. Should I have passed on breakfast? Did I drink too much coffee? Would I make the weight? The Colonel asked what I was there for. After listening to my tale of woe, he took my physical and looked it and me over. He asked me if I was sure I wanted to be an Army Aviator. I replied, “Yes, Sir.” He then asked what weight I needed to be. I told him 165lbs. He took his pen and wrote 165 on the weight blank. He asked if I needed anything else. I replied, “No, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” I saluted smartly and left.
I sent the physical back to the USAEUR Aviation Officer. Orders arrived within the week sending me to Flight School. I reported to Ft. Wolters, TX in April 1970 for flight training.
Before starting, we were told we needed to take another flight physical. “No sweat,” I thought as my weight was down. I thought the physical went well, at least until the doctor called me in for a chat. He was looking at my vision test results. He said my eyesight without glasses was slightly less than okay but still correctible to 20/20. He said I might have been a little tired when I took the test. He looked thoughtfully at me and then said, “I think you were just tired. If I put your new result down, they will boot you out. So I’m going to just list your previous score.” Then he said, “After a couple of weeks, the Army will have too much invested in you to boot you out.” I said a silent prayer of thanks.
I began flight training. Short guys like me trained in the TH-55’s, derisively called the Mattel Messerschmitt. I
struggled to learn to hover in one spot. No matter how hard I tried, I could not keep the TH-55 in one spot. My IP suggested the study hall. There I encountered the draconian little training aid that consisted of a one foot square piece of plywood at the end of some spring device and a ping pong ball. The goal was to move the ping pong ball to different points on the plywood without having it fall off. There were no high tech computer devices back then. After several night sessions of torture with that “aid” and several more flight periods, miraculously it all came together. I could hover. It reminded me of learning to ride a bicycle. One day you couldn’t balance, the next day you could. Go figure!
Primary 1 then proceeded fairly uneventfully until one flight period when I was supposed to fly solo back to the heliport. My IP told me he needed to use the helicopter I was scheduled in because the helicopter he was scheduled to fly was restricted from certain maneuvers he needed to demonstrate. We switched helicopters. My flight back to the heliport was uneventful. However, my IP experienced an engine failure on his return to the heliport. His landing was less than a roaring success. Although both he and my stick buddy survived, my stick buddy was injured and set back while recovering from his injuries. I don’t know if my stick buddy ever became an Army Aviator.
I finished Primary 1 training otherwise uneventfully and nervously awaited my end of stage check ride. Everything went fine until the straight-in autorotation. The Check IP decided I pulled pitch too high for his liking and initiated a powered recovery. He pink slipped me. I had one more chance or Advisor School here I come.
My “pass the next check ride or go straight to Fort Benning” check ride was scheduled quickly. I spent a couple of sleepless nights fretting and praying. Please God help me to pass! I really want to be an Army Aviator. The day of the check ride I met my Check IP and after the briefing, we proceeded to the helicopter. He was a man of very few words. He told me what maneuvers he wanted to see me do. I felt his eyes boring in on me. I was sweating bullets or maybe it was just the summer heat in Mineral Wells, Texas. The flight was going well and he even said so. Then he said, “Let’s go do that autorotation.” I sucked the seat up 3 inches.
As I came around the pattern, lined up with the landing strip, and entered autorotation, I was determined not to pull pitch too high. I waited and waited some more. We got closer and closer to the ground. I began the flare. Not wanting to repeat my error, I waited and waited. No way was I going to pull initial pitch too high. I waited some more. Then, I heard a voice inside my head, or maybe just inside my helmet headphones. It was one word. That word was “Pitch.” I pulled initial and ended up executing a good autorotation. When we came to a stop, the Check IP said “Nice Ride.” The IP never mentioned anything during the debrief other than his statement “Good ride, you passed.” The remainder of Flight School was uneventful and I got my wings in December 1970. I made it.
Some may say it was the Check IP who spoke that word in my headset. He never said he did nor said he even heard it. Of course, some might say that the Check IP was God. You’ll have to decide.
Following a Cobra transition at Hunter-Stewart AAF and a 30-day leave, I landed in Vietnam in March, 1971. I already had one KIA in a Cobra having nailed a Buzzard while low leveling down the railroad track returning to the airfield. Luckily, the bird only impaled itself on the starboard wing stub and not the tail rotor. Talk about stink! Fortunately, as a student, I didn’t have to clean up the mess after landing.
I arrived at 90th Replacement with the clothes on my back. My duffle bag with all I took to war went missing in action. Welcome to Vietnam. Luckily all my worldly goods were eventually located. I remember filling out the “dream sheet” where you were asked your preferences for assignment. Before leaving for war, my dad, who served in WWII in Burma, advised, “Never volunteer for anything.” However, leaving the sheet blank didn’t seem like a good choice. Who knows? Maybe the Army would grant your request. Yeah, maybe in your dreams! That’s probably why it’s called a dream sheet.
I was Cobra qualified and Lam Son 719 was in full swing. The ARVN was not doing well. Before leaving the States, I remember watching the evening news showing South Vietnamese troops hanging on the skids of Hueys as they tried to withdraw from contact. I figured my fate was sealed anyway. I listed my choices as the Command Airplane Company, the VIP Helicopter Company, and some other unit for which I probably wasn’t qualified. Within a day or two, assignments were posted on the bulletin board. I found myself assigned to the 2d Brigade 25th Infantry Division. The next day someone picked me up at 90th Replacement and transported me to F Troop, 4thCavalry. I soon learned that I had been blessed beyond measure. I was a Centaur.