“Mom, can we go next door?” asked Ellie as they finished lunch. She was very excited. Mr. Ed had told them that they could have their first flight lesson if they did well in school today, and it was time to go. Mother thought for a moment, as she looked around the kitchen.
“You need to help clean up from lunch first.” They both cleared their places and helped put away the leftover food before bolting across the front lawn and ducking under the big maple tree and between the scrub pines.
“Hi, Mr. Ed. We’re here to help!” Matt shouted as they slid to a stop on the gravel driveway. Mr. Ed was finishing washing the outside of the Loach, just as you would a car. He put down the wash brush and smiled.
“Great. Today you get a lesson in how to fly this aircraft. The first thing you need to do is learn how to get in. Matt, come here and put your feet on this bar.” As he pointed to the front left of the aircraft. “We call this a landing strut. You have to open the door using this latch. Twist it counter-clockwise and pull the hatch open. Ellie, can you hold it open for me?” She moved to the nose of the aircraft and held the door open.
“First, put your left hand here,” he motioned to the door frame near the front windscreen “and then your right hand here,” on the opposite side of the doorframe. “The next thing you need to do is step up onto this ledge just below the seat.”
Matt’s head stuck up above the top of the fuselage, giving him a close-up view of the rotor blade hub above the cockpit. “Wow, it’s a good thing I’m not any taller – I’d need a helmet!” he exclaimed.
“You sure would. We never flew these without helmets. It’s too easy to get a haircut if you’re not careful. All right, the next part is a little tricky. You have to throw your right leg over the collective and the cyclic,” he said motioning to the two control sticks jutting out from the floor. “Now be careful not to kick them. While twisting around a bit, drop your backside into the seat.”
Matt’s first try was sloppy. He reached out with his left foot and tripped on the collective as he tried to get over it.
“No, no, your other right foot!” After a moment of shimmying, he was able to get his right foot over both controls. His left foot still was outside of the aircraft while his leg hung on the collective.
“Alright, last step – you need to pick up your left foot and put it beside the cyclic.” Once that was done, Matt was sitting in the pilot’s seat. His right hand instinctively rested on the cyclic, the big stick jutting up from the floor between his knees. He looked around, taking in all the switches, buttons, levers, dials, and controls. Matt’s mind raced, as he tried to decide which question to ask first. Then he found a trigger on the cyclic and gasped.
“Is this how I shoot the gun?” Matt asked.
Mr. Ed chuckled, shaking his head. “No, that’s how you toggle the radio. Now I know you have a bunch of questions. How about you let me show you around the cockpit? Then if we miss anything, you can ask about it. Ellie, step up on the side rail and lean in so you can see.” He helped her to the ledge beside the pilot’s seat as she frowned.
“Can I sit in the other seat?”
“You’ll get a turn. It will be easier for me to point things out and talk to you both if I’m in the cockpit, not leaning over one of you. Hold there for a few minutes, and we’ll trade out,” Mr. Ed explained, before walking around the blunt nose of the Loach and opening the right side door. He stepped up, swinging in with a practiced motion but slowing as he settled toward the seat. “Wow, I’m not as limber as I used to be. I also never flew this kind of aircraft, so some things are a bit different, let me see here. . .” He glanced around, orienting himself and quickly recognized the familiar labels and shapes.
“Alright, let’s talk about the controls first. The cyclic is that stick that is kind of between your knees. You hold it with your right hand. It has a few buttons on it. If you squeeze the trigger, the short-range radio transmits; the red button just above your thumb transmits the long-range radio. The pointy circle at the top of the cyclic is the ‘Chinese hat’. You can use that like cruise control, but it never worked very well. The cyclic controls the swash plate, which changes the angle of the rotor blades through part of their rotation. It is hard to describe, but the swash plate changes position and changes the rotor blades’ angle as it passes over part of the swash plate that causes more thrust to be made in part of the rotor’s rotation. You push the collective forward and the swash plate works with the rotor to create thrust pushing the aircraft forward. Pull right and the rotors push more air toward the port, or left side. Pull left and more air pushes to starboard. We call pushed air “thrust”, since it pushes you in the opposite direction. If you fill a balloon with air and let go, air rushes out. We call the air that pushes the balloon in the opposite direction “thrust”. It is one of Newton’s laws of motion, ‘For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.’
“I know I just threw out a lot of new terms. You guys holding up okay?”
“It’s a lot to remember,” Matt exclaimed, just a little overwhelmed.
“And how are you doing, little lady?” Mr. Ed asked, in his best grandfatherly voice and smile.
Ellie’s eyes were wide, darting around the inside of the cockpit, desperately wanting to fit in, but not really understanding all the new words. She decided to bluff, “Thrust, like the air coming out of a balloon when you let it go.”
“Hey, that’s right! Only we control where and how hard that thrust comes off the rotors.” He pointed up through the green Plexiglas ceiling window at the blades of the helicopter, before flattening his hand in the center of cockpit.
“A helicopter can move in eight directions,” he began motioning with the outstretched hand, “Up, down, left, right, forward, and backward – and it can spin left or right. Hovering, or holding level flight over one spot, is the hardest flying skill there is. You have to balance all eight directions at one time. The cyclic controls left/right and forward/backward, so if you can master that, you are halfway to hovering.
“The collective is next. It is the stick beside your left leg. It points toward the front of the aircraft. The collective changes the pitch, or rotation of all of the blades. When pushed down toward the floorboard, the blades are in a neutral pitch, meaning they just cut through the air. They do not bite the air to create thrust. As you pull the collective up, the angle of the blades increases, making more thrust over the entire rotor, which, in this case, is lift. As you create more lift, the helicopter moves up. If you lessen the amount of lift, the helicopter starts to fall. This is because of another of Newton’s laws - gravity. The collective moves the helicopter up and down. The throttle is also on the collective; you twist it to increase or decrease how fast the engine is running. You really have to balance the throttle with the blade pitch so you don’t over-torque the engine.”
“What’s torque?” Ellie interjected.
Mr. Ed smiled, “Well, that’s a good question! You see the blades up there. When the engine is on and the blades are spinning, they produce torque, or rotational force. It is kind of like a top. You wind them up with a string and spin them on a surface. The spinning is a type of torque. If you do not control it, the aircraft will just spin around like a top. That is where those pedals down by the nose come in. Those pedals act like the collective, except for the tail rotor. It makes thrust in the opposite direction as the main rotor’s torque. That balances the forces. If you press a pedal, the pitch on the tail rotor changes and increases or decreases the amount of thrust coming from the tail. Increase the thrust, and you move opposite the main rotor’s direction of spin. Decrease the thrust, and you allow the main rotor to spin your nose. In a straight level hover, all these directions are balanced. The thrust coming off the tail rotor balances the torque made by the main rotor.”
“Which are the pedals,” interjected Matt.
“The thrust coming down from the main rotor holds the aircraft up,”
“The collective controls that.” Ellie chimed in, pointing across the seat.
“That’s right, and your position is maintained by tilting the main rotor. . .”
“By moving the cyclic,” Matt and Ellie finish his sentence in unison. Their excitement building as they began to understand how to fly a helicopter.
“Mr. Ed! Now that we know how to fly, can we take it up?” Matt asked.
“Oh no, no, no,” Mr. Ed said, wagging his index finger. “Remember I told you this aircraft is nowhere near ready to fly. It would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to earn a flight worthiness certificate. This helicopter probably will never fly again. The Army took all the fluids out of the engine. Some of the avionics are missing. There isn’t even a battery on board anymore.” He rambled on, cataloging other missing parts in his head. “Plus, you’re not ready! It took me weeks of flight school to learn how to fly. It is a lot harder to do than it sounds like – kind of like jumping up and down while rubbing your tummy and patting your head.” He patted his head and rubbed his belly, asking the kids to do the same.
“Whew, that is hard,” Matt cried as he alternatively patted, then rubbed with both hands.
Ellie looked sad, “I was hoping we could fly with you sometime.” Mr. Ed climbed out of the right side seat and walked around to where she was.
“Sorry, darling, this one is just for looking at.” He stopped for a moment, looking thoughtful.
“Say Ellie, would you like to sit in the right hand seat? That’s where the pilot would sit.” She bobbed her head enthusiastically and ran around the nose to the other side door. Mr. Ed reached down to help her up.
“I can do it!”
He stepped back and watched for a moment as she sprung into the aircraft, standing on the seat, before twisting and sitting down like a pro.
“Man, it must be nice to be young. . . .” Mr. Ed said wistfully. “Matt, hop out and let me into that seat, so I can point out the rest of the console. You can take a turn standing on the landing strut.”
Ellie grinned, holding the cyclic and pretending to fly as her brother came around and climbed into the doorway beside her. Mr. Ed worked his way into the left hand seat.
“Alright, there are lots of dials, gauges, switches, and such all over the panel.” The instrument panel is on a pylon in the center of the aircraft, leaving the space in front of the pilot’s feet open, providing a clear view of the area directly in front of the aircraft. Mr. Ed started pointing out features.
“This is the artificial horizon, the black part is always down, and we use that when you can’t see outside very well. It is very easy to lose track of where the ground is in fog, clouds, or smoke. This helps the pilot know which way is up.
“This is the altimeter; it shows how high you are. This is a barometer; it tells you the atmospheric air pressure. You see, how well the rotor blade grabs air is dependent on the humidity, altitude, temperature, and air pressure. You need to know each of these factors across your flight path to determine how much load you can carry. If you have too much weight and try to climb a mountain, for example, you might not make it since you’ll create less lift as the pressure and temperature drop.”
“Mr. Ed, what are those empty holes?” Matt asked, pointing towards one of the vacant spots on the console.
“Well, this aircraft was used after Vietnam, in the United States, so they added extra radios to talk to ground control stations. When the aircraft was retired they took out any parts that could be used on other aircraft.”
Mr. Ed pointed out each dial as he talked, “This is the transmission temperature, the engine temperature, the rotor RPM gauge, oil pressure, hydraulic pressure. . .”
“I could never remember all of this!” Ellie interrupted.
“Ha” He chuckled, his face smirking. “That’s why we all went to flight school. We did not have time to figure it out by trial and error. Lives were on the line! We studied, and we learned – just as you do at school. Would you like to hear more about that?” Mr. Ed asked while easing back out of the cockpit.
“Yes sir, we would.” Matt replied, anxious as ever to hear another story.
“Both Basic Training and OCS were really hard. Yeah, we did some fun things, but we were there to learn some tough, important lessons. In Basic Training, we learned how to be followers. It seems the most important lessons were following directions and becoming physically and mentally tough. In OCS, we learned how to be leaders, how to communicate with troops, how to navigate, how to plan a mission. Maybe most importantly, we learned that the mission comes first. In Flight School, at Fort Wolters, Texas, we learned how to fly, how helicopters worked, how they broke, how to fix them, how to perform an inspection, how to communicate on the radio, how to use a checklist, how to crash land a broken helicopter, and all sorts of important things. We spent the first two weeks in the classroom and the hanger learning aerodynamics and the fundamentals of helicopter flight. We learned how air moves over a surface. We learned how to read a weather map, what the operating ranges were for the engines, and what the instruments were. They drilled all sorts of figures about our helicopters into our heads. We knew the exact rotor circumference. What the minimum safe clearances were. All kinds of statistics.
“We simulated autorotation dozens of times. You see, there are not any ejection seats in a helicopter, so when there is a problem either you land or crash. To auto rotate, you use the built up inertia, or momentum, in the rotors to soften your crash. We will talk more about that later. Inertia is another of Newton’s Laws, by the way, ‘An object in motion tends to stay in motion.’
“The only time in my life where I learned more in such a short time was my first few weeks in Vietnam. After all that time in the classroom, we finally laid hands on a helicopter. We spent hours going over every nut and bolt of our piston-driven Hiller OH-23s, which looked a lot like the helicopters on the TV show M*A*S*H, if you’ve ever seen that. They did not have turbine engines with lots of power like the Hueys. They were not pretty, but they had a cyclic and an engine. Best of all, we learned how to fly them! Every nut, bolt, widget, and gadget had a specification. We checked and double-checked everything during preflight inspections. The ground staff had already been through these aircraft and maintained them well. We still inspected them. This taught us attention to detail – a skill that I needed throughout my career in the Army. It is something I have been grateful for many other times in my life.
“My name was low on the flight rotation list, so I had to wait a couple of days before I got into the instructor’s pattern. I worked out and hit the books hard. I memorized every switch, circuit, and button on the instrument panel. I was twenty-minutes early for my first scheduled flight. I reviewed the day’s weather, radio frequency, and a dozen other little things. Those twenty minutes seemed longer than any Christmas Eve; I was so excited to be flying! I would finally get to be a pilot. It was an amazing, nerve-wracking feeling, and I was in the flight suit waiting in the ready room. The appointed time came and went. I checked the weather again, looked outside at the flight line, chatted with a couple of other flight candidates, and waited. An hour later, my flight instructor finally came in. He was in his late thirties, short, yet fit. He walked with a swagger. He introduced himself as James Todd and told me to grab my gear. He glanced at his watch and at the door – apparently, I was not moving fast enough!
“‘It’s time to go, Lieutenant,’ he rushed me. The way he drew the word out was almost like a curse, LOOOO-TENN-ANT. He had a deep Texas drawl and wore a ‘cav hat,’ complete with silver bars and black and gold tassels. He looked more suited to riding horses in a spaghetti western than flying helicopters.
“‘Let’s GO!’ he shouted at me again. I did not know whether to try to be social and talk, just listen, or start jumping while asking how high.”
“What’s a ‘cav hat’?” Matt cocked his head to the side, asking the question.
“The ‘cav hat’, or cavalry hat, is a black cowboy hat worn by men in the 1st Airmobile Cavalry division. A long time ago, the cavalry rode horses and chased Indians across the Great Plains. Near the beginning of the Vietnam War, a few men thought they would start wearing the same kind of hat. They thought it looked better than the standard field cap, which is kind of like a ball cap. Almost everyone in the cavalry thought they were just the best thing since sliced bread, and they acted like it too.
“Todd had flown with the 1st Cav for his last deployment to Vietnam and had been back in the United States for about a year, having retired from the Army after a mixed career in artillery and as a helicopter pilot. He had been an artillery observer in Korea and volunteered for flight training during the late 1950s, becoming an officer and joining the cavalry as a scout helicopter pilot in Vietnam. He made Captain near the end of his tour and commanded a stateside cavalry squadron when he got back. The command stint was short lived, as the Army quickly found out that Todd was a great pilot but not a great administrator. He loved flying, so when the call went out for experienced pilots to become instructors at Wolters, he retired from the Army and signed up as an instructor. One time, he told me, ‘This is the best job I’ve ever had – all the flying I want with none of the Army bureaucracy.’
“Enough of that, let’s talk about my first flight. We briskly walked to the aircraft and started a preflight. My first task was to climb inside and turn on the battery, checking the instrument panel, fuel level, navigation lights, and radios.” He pointed out each control or switch as he talked.
“Once those were done, we checked the flight surfaces, depressing the yaw pedals fully on either side, pushing the cyclic and collective to check swash plate movement. Everything moved freely and seemed to be in fine shape. Once we were done in the cockpit, we got out and started checking hatches, covers, and windscreen connectors. Anything that could be loose we checked. It seemed like another hour had passed when Instructor Todd finally said, ‘Let’s start it up.’
“We followed the start checklist. I used a card, even though I had memorized it earlier in the week. The motor started quickly, and we idled to allow it warm up. I kept a close eye on the transmission case temperature, oil pressure indicator, revolution per minute gauge, and a dozen other items while feeling the machine vibrate around us. Watching the gauges was important. It was the best way to catch a problem early. We did a quick microphone check and radioed the tower for flight clearance. Todd told me to keep my hands on my lap and not touch anything while he moved us over to a nearby practice field. The short flight took about five minutes, during which he pointed out several landmarks around the heliport. As we approached the stage field, which is what we called a practice field, he flared the helicopter, which is a technique you use to slow down and go from forward flight to a hover. Todd brought us to a hover over a small concrete pad, just in front of a low bush. He eased the ship back a few yards and had me look out the lower windscreen at a small bush.”
“Do you see that palmetto?”
“Yes sir, I see it.”
“Good, now, gently place your feet on the yaw pedals. I’m going to hold the collective and cyclic, and you work on keeping us pointed at that there bush.”
“As soon as he spoke, we started slowly spinning to the right. I applied left pedal, and we whipped back around to the left, well overshooting the bush. Off the left pedal and onto the right, this time, passing it by almost ninety degrees. We swung wildly, and I was afraid I was going to crash my first day out without even touching the cyclic. The bush that was supposed to be outside of my front window was now beside me. Back and forth we went a few times – maybe getting better, probably getting worse. It seemed the harder I tried the more wildly I went wrong. Sweat was pouring out from under my helmet, and my face was flushed. I was embarrassed. I thought for sure I would never be able to fly a helicopter, let alone master it and fly one with troops onboard. I knew I was going to wash out, or fail flight school, and wind up in infantry training. I felt discouraged. Todd must have known, because he did not let me get away with it.
“‘Stop! Move your feet back. I have the aircraft,’ commanded Todd.
“We turned about 45 degrees and eased to a stop pointing at the bush.
“Hovering is the hardest part of flying helicopters. Almost everyone overcorrects at first. You have to be gentle; sometimes you only have to think about making a movement and your body will make the correction without you ever moving your hands or feet. Now, take a breath and let’s try it again.
“I took a deep breath and wiped my forehead with my sleeve, easing my feet back toward the pedals. I told Todd I was ready.
“‘Good,’ he replied, ‘yaw is yours.’ It felt easier this time. I squeezed the pedal a bit, relaxing quickly and turned the ship about 45 degrees, guiding her to a gentle stop. I squeezed the other pedal and swung back, overshooting the bush, but no longer wildly out of control. I eased off and eased onto the other pedal. I feathered it just a bit. For a moment, I felt like I was tap dancing – a little left, a little right. I was mostly keeping the bush in front of the ship, but we were still wiggling back and forth. It was taking all of my concentration to keep the bush within the front Plexiglas.
“‘Alright, I’m going to take back yaw. Yaw is mine. Feet off the pedals.’
“I had not noticed to that point, but my hands were clenching the side of the seat. My knuckles were white, and my breathing was heavy. Sweat soaked my flight suit. I thought this would be impossible.
“‘Good!’ Todd said, ‘We might make a pilot out of you yet, Lieutenant. Most folks can’t keep the bush in front of the ship on their first day out.’
“Todd added power and forward thrust, bringing the air speed up as we moved away from the stage field and up to about five hundred feet. He eased the ship around toward the heliport. Then without warning, he dropped the throttle to an idle. I remember spinning my head toward him in terror.
“‘This is an autorotation drill,’ he said, in a totally under control voice.
“‘First thing you need to do is put neutral pitch on the collective and add right pedal, without engine torque. You need to ease the tail rotor. Watch the rotor RPM, if they get too high as we fall you can add a bit of pitch to slow your descent and slow to blades. If you add too much too soon, you will not have enough inertia in the rotors to flare and land safely. You also need to ease back on the collective.’
“This whole time we were falling like a stone – the altimeter buzzing around, four hundred, three hundred, and then two hundred feet! The ground was rushing up toward us. Trees that had looked like blades of grass were now reaching up. I thought we were going to crash right into them and become casualties during my first helicopter flight. Todd knew I was in a near panic, and he calmly talked me through the rest of the procedure.
“Near the bottom of your glide, you start adding collective. You’ll generate a lot of lift and cushion your fall. You don’t want to get to a hover – just ease your descent to a controlled, but probably hard, landing.” About the same time, he opened the throttle. The twin rotor blades above us clawed into the air, and our descent slowed. Next, we stopped; then, we were moving back up.
“It was approaching sundown when we returned to the flight line. Todd had flown us around a little more – pointing out important landmarks, water towers, power lines, and other navigational reference points.
“‘You need to familiarize yourself with all these,’ Todd said. Much later, I realized that first flight was just to make sure I did not freak out, get airsick, or have vertigo during the rough flight. It was not really about me learning how to fly.
“Over the next few weeks, we flew almost every day. Most of the time, I flew with Todd. He seemed to have adopted me. The other pilot candidates pulled random instructors. Many of them were civilian contractors, not Army pilots like Todd. I was lucky to have the consistency. We got along well, and he was a great instructor. The first few flights followed a predictable pattern – simple procedures at first – just yaw, just collective, just cyclic. About a week into this pattern, I was flying with Todd again. He flared the ship and landed near the edge of a stage field.
“‘Alright,’ he said, ‘you’ve handled each control separately. Now, it is time to put them all together. You’re going to take off and fly to the other end of the field.’
“During that week, I had grown more confident. I was able to keep a target in the front of the ship. I could ascend by adding collective and throttle. I could move side to side and front to back, but I had never done all three at once.
“Todd told me he would rest his hands and feet on the controls, so that he could bail me out if I got in trouble. I eased the collective up, gradually twisting to add throttle. The ship began to vibrate, and I could see the grass beaten by our rotor wash. As we cleared the ground, the ship began to spin. I slapped the pedal too hard; the tail rotor shuddered and struggled to grab enough air.
“‘Ease off the yaw; let the ship catch its breath,’ said Todd.
“I reflexively followed his order, and just like he said, the vibration eased and the spin slowed. Within a moment we were up and pointing in one direction about fifteen feet off the ground. We started slipping to the right – slowly at first, then, picking up speed. I jerked the cyclic over and felt a jerk from above and behind me. We dropped about ten feet. I saw the small shrubs below rushing up. The rotor blades found clean air to bite, and we stopped falling. Now, we were drifting left.
“Todd coached, ‘Easy now, Make slow easy corrections; don’t jerk the cyclic. Add some collective and bring her back up.
“After a few moments, my movements became gentler, as I remembered my lessons and practice from earlier sessions. Both hands and both feet were moving – all in different directions. It was not pretty, but we were hovering.
“Todd continued, ‘Alright, now ease the cyclic forward – just a little.’ I pushed forward just a hair, and we started creeping forward, gently sloping toward the ground.
“Next he told me, ‘Add some collective and a touch of throttle.’ I eased up on the collective, and we leveled off and started gently moving up, while moving forward. It was forward controlled flight! This was a huge milestone. I am still not sure how I did it that first time, I could not think of anything else, I was more focused than I can ever remember being.
“‘Alright, looks good. Now gently, down on the collective. Bring the cyclic toward you just a hair.’ I followed his instructions, and the aircraft gently flared and came to a stop. ‘Hover here for a moment and collect yourself.’
“I had done it! Four weeks into training and I had just flown without help! It felt amazing. I was busy patting myself on the back, and quickly the aircraft started yawing to the left and drifting back and to the right. My momentary lapse of concentration nearly cost us controlled flight.
“Todd made subtle corrections as he asked me if it felt good to fly without help. ‘Ship is mine’ he said, as he brought us back to a level hover.
“I sheepishly answered, ‘Yes, Sir,’ as he eased the ship to the ground. Once down he reached up and shut the engine down. Once the rotor stopped spinning, he took his helmet off, unbuckled the five point harness, and threw the door open. As Todd jumped out, he said. ‘Hop out. Let’s take a quick walk.’
“Taking on the tone of a big brother, he told me, ‘Harrison, when you’re flying you absolutely cannot lose focus. You must be tuned into your aircraft and maintain situational awareness at all times. When you get into combat, there will be other distractions. Flying will be second nature to you. However, you also have to know what is going on, in your aircraft, with the mechanics, with the troops in the back, with the Command and Control ship, with the rest of the formation, with the terrain, and with the enemy. When you get to Phase II of flight school, you will work more with other aircraft. Advanced School will really teach you how to use them. Right now, you need to practice the fundamentals. The faster you can figure out how to be soft, but strong, on the cyclic, the better you will be. Now, saddle up!’
“We got back in the aircraft and went through the prestart checklist. The aircraft had not been off long, so it came up to temperature quickly. We went back and forth across the field dozens of times that day, until I was getting it right.
“Over the next week, the process of hovering and straight level flight became much easier. It was probably about ten days after that first jump across the field that another instructor, Vladiff this time, a seasoned Chief Warrant Officer and combat veteran, said, ‘You’re doing okay on straight and level. It’s time to orbit the field.’
“He wanted me to take off, and fly a circular pattern around the field. That particular field was about a mile long and half a mile wide, so there was plenty of room. We eased up and started moving forward, as we approached the end of the field he started coaching me, ‘Ease the cyclic to the right and add a little bit of right yaw. The ship should glide around to the right. When you’re almost pointed in your new direction of travel, ease off both, and your momentum should take you right around.’ My first few times around I badly overshot my planned heading, needing to correct back toward the target.
“We added movements quickly after that. Once I had the fundamentals down. the rest of flying the ship fell into place pretty easily. Not that flight school got any easier! We started experiencing random in-flight emergencies. Our flights became longer, making our trips further out and at higher altitudes. During one of the longer, higher flights, with Todd again, he reached up and shut down the master circuit breaker, killing the engine. Instinctively, I pushed the collective toward the floor and put the cyclic in a neutral position. The helicopter fell like a stone.
As we fell, the blades actually sped up. I could see the rotor RPM gauge moving toward the red line, or system max, so I eased the collective up. This added some pitch and slowed the rotor spin, creating a little lift and slowing our descent. I scanned the horizon and found a stage field, adding a touch of cyclic to glide us toward the field. About two hundred feed off the deck I really started adding collective, cushioning the landing for a controlled crash. This was my first powerless autorotation. Looking back, I am glad that we had practiced that maneuver so many times.
“Flight procedures became more and more complex, and so did our unexpected in-flight ‘emergencies’. The instructors would cut power and simulate hydraulic leaks, engine failures, failed tail rotors, and all sorts of crazy things. They rode the failing ship right to the edge. Each flight was a test. Once we were comfortable with flying our aircraft, we began more complex navigation and cross-country flights.
“Everything looked different from the air, and at night, things looked very strange. We learned to pick out different shadows. Grass looked a little different from trees, rivers and roads had their own shades of black. Once our eyes fully adjusted, it was amazing how much we could see at night without lights. The part that amazed me the most was the number of helicopters that were flying around Fort Wolters. Pilots were in high demand in Vietnam, so the base and airspace was always buzzing.
“After eight weeks, we completed Primary Flight 1. It felt great to know that we had not washed out. My class, 68-02, moved onto Primary Flight 2. The nearby Warrant Officer Candidates moved to the hill, where they would live for the second session. The commissioned officers moved to the Bachelor Officer Quarters. Primary 2 was a lot of fun. We worked on navigation, cross country flight, formations, confined space landings, and a dozen other things. We mostly knew how to fly, even though most of us had only thirty or forty hours of stick time. Now we were learning how to use the helicopters. The highlight of Primary II was my first solo. It was late in the afternoon, on March 18, 1968, when Todd instructed me to land on a stage field. He told me he needed to relieve himself and that I should make a couple of racetracks, or circular flight patterns, around the field while he took care of his business.
“By this point, I could comfortably control a ship, but I still had never flown completely by myself. He nodded reassuringly and stepped back away from the aircraft while motioning up with his arms. I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, visually cleared the area around the ship, and grabbed the collective and cyclic.
“Adding power and pulling up on the collective, the ship began to vibrate. It bumped once or twice, and then cleared the grass field. I was drifting sideways, so I added a bit of cyclic and found a hover at about twenty feet. Then I added a little more power, while easing the collective forward and transitioned to forward flight. I gradually ascended to about 100 feet and began a gentle circle of the stage field. I was flying the helicopter all by myself! Solo! I circled the field four times that day, changing speed and direction gently – not really pushing the ship at all. It was just a nice easy flight.
“On my fourth lap, I noticed Todd standing in the clearing waving and grinning. I flared the aircraft, maybe a bit too exuberantly and dropped dangerously close to the ground before recovering level flight and easing down about a hundred feet from him.
“Todd jogged over and beamed, ‘Congratulations, Lieutenant, you just soloed. Now don’t ever land like that again.’
“I was ecstatic that night, bragging to all my classmates about being the first to fly solo. We were relaxing in the lounge of the Bachelor Officer Quarters when three of the instructor pilots, led by Todd, crashed through the front door screaming, ‘Harrison, get over here right this second!’
“I thought maybe that landing had been a major problem, and they were here to wash me out. I was done for, gone, off to slog through the jungle in the infantry. I stood up and hustled to the doorway, and they surrounded me. They pushed and shoved me out the door and into the courtyard. My classmates filed out to see the commotion. The Instructor Pilots were yelling so many things and all at once that I do not remember what they were saying. Before long, my back was to a large fountain with two instructors on both side yelling. Todd was in my face yelling at the same time.
“Todd reached up and pushed me. I was not expecting this and stumbled backward, over the edge of the fountain and into the water. It was March, in north Texas, and it was cold. The instructors started howling with laughter. The rest of my classmates quickly figured out this was a tradition and lined up to give congratulations; most of them also gave a strong pop to my left chest, symbolizing where my silver aviator wings would be pinned one day. Within a few minutes, the combination of cold Texas wind and water from the fountain had me shivering, despite the excitement of that impromptu awards ceremony.
Matt looked disturbed. He had been sitting in the pilot’s seat for the last forty-five minutes, listening intently to stories from flight school. He sensed the pause in the story and held a finger up, making eye contact with Mr. Ed.
“I don’t understand why they pushed you into a fountain and punched your chest,” Matt stated with a puzzled look.
“Well, son, that was a long time ago. Things were different in the Army and in our culture. All they did was a little initiation. It was like a rite of passage. When you look at how other groups have done that throughout history, a cold bath seems pretty tame in comparison.” He paused and thought for a moment. Then Mr. Ed reached out and patted Matt’s shoulder. “Most things worth having are not easy to get, and sometimes you have to deal with big barriers to get them.” He stepped out and made sure both pilot’s doors were open. “OK, guys, time to paint the rear floor board.”
He rummaged around a nearby toolbox and came out with two cans of flat green spray paint. Tossing the paint to the kids, he said, “Here you go – one on each side. Start with smooth side-to-side motions, about a foot off the floorboards. Just squeeze the nozzle. Everything should be gentle and smooth, graceful, even, just like handling the controls.” The kids worked quietly spraying the interior rear floor a dull olive color. The paint added fresh life to the nearly fifty-year-old aircraft. Occasionally, Mr. Ed would offer some guidance, but mostly he just let them paint. After a few moments he asked, “Do you see these serial numbers on the door?”
Both nodded as he pointed to the large stenciled number on the tail as the veteran noticed, “They match the tail number! That is odd. These doors come off for combat and are in a pile with other doors – sometimes for months. It’s really unusual to find matching numbers on removable parts like this!” His excitement was infectious and Matt and Ellie started chatting about how they couldn’t wait to tell their parents.
“I’ve got a little more work to do today. Next time, we’re going to work on the trailer. This aircraft is going to make an appearance at an air show in two weeks, so we have a deadline! You two should get ready to head home. Thank you for your help today. The back seat looks great! Can you ask your Dad to come over with you tomorrow afternoon? I could use his help running new wire for the trailer lights.”
Matt and Ellie said, “Yes sir, thank you for talking with us today!” They handed over the bottles of spray paint and headed home for the night.