The year was 1963 and the place was Williams AFB, AZ. I was an aircraft electrical instructor on the F5 (Skoshi Tiger) airplane that was being bought by many foreign countries such as Norway, Greece, Turkey, Nationalist China, S. Korea, Phillipines, etc. We would bring about 50 of their technicians over, train them for 3 months, then a team of us guys would go back to their country for another 3 months to help them get set up with their new airplanes.
An Air Force General and his inspection team showed up unexpectedly one Saturday and caught Williams AFB completely by surprise. Our Base Commander was frantically trying to kill some time untill key personnel from all base units could be called in to try to impress the visiting General.
Our school facilities was always a good show, with all the various trainers and training devises and actual operating parts of the F5 aircraft. They tried to contact our school commander and Non Com in charge with no luck. But they did get in touch with me and asked me to get together a show-and-tell for the General. I managed to contact one other of our guys and told him to stay on the phone getting as many of our instructors together as possible. As it turned out, no one was available but me.
I jumped into uniform and drove down to the school facilities. When I got there, our Base Commander and some of his aides were there along with the visiting General and his, all officers.
I had to get into the main office building to get the keys to all our classrooms which means I had to pass right by all those officers. I got confused by what the proper saluting procedure was. Technically, I was supposed to salute the General and he would return my salute. But something got screwed up in my mind and I was popping salutes in all directions, not wonting to leave anyone out and hurt anyones feelings. I must have looked like a windmill as I passed in review past all those officers trying to salute each one of them. Most of them were nice enough to salute back and not laugh openly about how screwed up I was.
I got past the last officer and went up the steps to the office building. I didnt have a key to that building but no sweat. I whipped out my $1.25 el cheapo pocket knife and slipped the blade in the slot between door and lock. About three skilled twitches of the knife blade and I popped the door open. I had bought old el cheapo for just that purpose. I ran inside, grabbed all the classroom keys and went back outside.
The General was standing there grinning. "Let me see that "key" you have there, sarge," he said. I sheepishly produced my old pig sticker, its genuine plastic imitation pearl handles gleaming in the sun. The General solemnly opened the single blade of the knife, held it up before the base commanders eyes and asked him, "is this blade just about an inch longer than regulation allows?"
I was thinking, Geezzz, I hope they are joking, I hope, I hope, I hope. As luck would have it they were. I showed them every training devise we had and operated all of them whether it was, radio, navigation, radar, engine, hydraulic, etc. The base commander had whispered to me to keep them interested as long as possible while his people could get the rest of the base ready for inspection. So I put on the best show I could and held their interest as long as I could. They were all pilots, of course, and were genuinely interested and asked questions which prolonged things for quite awhile.
The base commander showed his appreciation with a nice letter of appreciation to go into my personal records. We called those pieces of paper "kudos" or "attaboys". They didnt do any damage and could sometimes do good. What was surprising was a glowing letter of appreciation from the General, also to be put into my personnel file.
Jump forward about 6 years to 1969. I had been called up to Langley AFB, Virginia as part of a "de-breifing" team to try and figure out why Murphys Law had stomped the heck out of us on a bug spraying job in the mideast. After one of our meetings, we stepped out into a wide hallway where the coffee and do-nuts were. Then down the hallway comes a general with his usual following of aides.
Generals are kind of like politicians, they nod and smile and shake hands a lot. He nodded his friendly way past me about 3 or 4 feet, stopped and came back to me. "I know you dont I sargeant?" he said. I mumbled a donut muffled, "Yessir," swallowed the donut and added, "Williams AFB, AZ."
"You pick locks with pocket knifes, dont you sarge." What could I say but yessir. We both smiled real big as he shook my hand and said it was good to see me again. After he left everyone gathered around and asked if I knew the general and I said, "Sure, he is a pretty good old boy, once you get to know him as well as I do."
"What was that about picking locks with a pocket knife?" someone asked.
"Those are code words that only those of us skilled in the darker arts, like me and the general, would understand," I explained. Then I refused to answer any more questions on the grounds that I might accidently divulge classified information.
Fast forward to the year 1971, England AFB, La. I and my right hand man, Sgt Winston are called to the orderly room and told that we were to act as "commanders" or some such goofy thing at an award ceremony. The commander of Tactical Air Command will be there passing out the medals and awards himself.
"I dont know nothing about that ceremonial type of crap," I told the first sargeant. Winston said, "Me neither."
"20 years in the military and you guys dont know how to march troops?" the first sargeant said disdainfully.
"You got that right," I said, "I have been on the flightline fixing airplanes, supporting the air forces primary mission, while all that ceremonial crap was being taken care of by admistrative types." Winston said, "Yeah, me too."
The first sargeant, being one of those administrative types, got his feelings hurt by my remarks and we were getting into it pretty good when our squadron commander, Major Metcalf stepped out of his office and wonted to know what all the commotion was about. The first sargeant told him that Winston and I were just trying to get out of the awards ceremony duty by claiming not to know how to march troops. The Major was just as incredulous as the first Sargeant, "20 years in the military and you dont know how to march troops?" he said.
"You got that right, sir, I dont even remember what all the commands are for moving troops from point A to point B." I said and Winston added, "Yeah, me neither."
The Major was convinced that we were just trying to get out of the awards ceremony duty but I insisted, "I will screw it up," I flatly insisted. Winston said, yeah, he would screw it up too.
The Major said we were just supposed to form a formation in place, stand at attention during the awards ceremony, dissmiss in place and walk out of there. No marching required. Surely, we could handle that.
"Something will go wrong and I will screw it up, bigger'n hell," I flatly stated again and Winston said, "Yeah, bigger'n hell."
The Major and first sargeant held a democratic vote on the matter and Winston and I lost.
The day of the ceremony, a whole bunch of us Airmen go straggling down to the area behind a hangar where the award ceremonies were held. They had a platform about a foot high built there where the high ranking wheels would sit and the awards would be handed out. There was only one gate out of that area and there wasnt much room for a formation.
Winston and I were pretty much confused while everyone was looking to us to make some kind of decisions. There was a young second Lieutenant there who was going to be standing out front in what I remember as a group commanders position but he didnt know from nothing about nothing. Finally a staff sargeant, who was going to be our flag pole man, the guidon bearer, took over and we formed into two flights, one for Winston and one for me. So far, so good. Looked like things might work out.
The lieutenant was standing out front near the awards stand, behind him was the guidon bearer, and behind that was me and Winston standing in front of our flights. The lieutenant and the guidon bearer were mostly standing in front of my flight
As everyone arrived for the awards ceremony, I recognized my old friend the General from back in my lock picking days, now the Commander of Tactical Air Command. He glanced over toward our formation, kind of did a double take, and looked hard at me. Then, with a smile, he raised a hand and made motions like he was picking a lock at me. I smiled and nodded my head. It is nice to be recognized. He gave me a thumbs up and a handwave. That man had a phenominal memory and was a nice guy to boot.
Just before the ceremony began, some officer came over to inform us that when the ceremony was over, we would march right out that gate right over there. My nerves shattered. Winstons flight was pointed straight at the gate. Mine was pointed at the awards ceremony stand. Geez, what the hell kind of orders were we supposed to give to get out of this mess!!
The awards ceremony was starting. I glanced over at Winston who was looking back at me, his eyes pleading for help. I leaned forward a little and went pssst, psssst to the guidon bearer. He leaned back a little bit and I whispered, "What the hell kind of orders do we give to get us out of this mess," I asked. Winston was leaning as far left as he could to hear what the guidon bearer said and the lieutenant up front was leaning so far back as to almost fall on his keester. It took a long drawn out whispering session to try to get it all straightened out.
The Lieutenant was supposed to bellow, "Forward by order of flights, March." Since the guidon bearer and the Lieutenant were sort of in front of my flight, I would yell, "Flight #1, forward march." The Lieutenant, followed by the guidon bearer and then my flight would angle toward the gate and then behind us, Winston would give the command for flight #2 to follow in behind #1. Simple stuff.
I whispered to the guys behind me that they were flight #1 and to follow my commands. Everything was looking up. An officer on the stand motioned to our lieutenant who screamed forward by order of flights march. Before I could say anything, that dumbazz Winston shouted, "Flight #1, forward march," and headed for the gate in a high lope. His flight followed him.
My flight, thinking they were #1 (which they were) bolted forward on Winstons command. I threw out both arms against the front ranks trying to hold them back but my feet were skidding along on the slick grass and I was being forced straight at the awards ceremony stand. In a panic, I turned to face my flight and was shouting halt, halt, halt, at the top of my lungs. By the time I got them stopped, I was standing with the back of my legs against the awards ceremony stand.
I heard this roaring laughter and turned and was almost nose to nose with my old friend, the General with the exceptional memory. I could tell that he was impressed enough with me to never, never, never, forget me ever again. I gave him the most innocent shrug I could manage which drove him into shrieking fits. My flight was such a jumbled up mess that the only command I could think of was, "Aw Shxt, just fall in behind that other flight." They kind of sidestepped to clear the awards stand and sort of expanded and collapsed ranks in accordian fashion as we headed out the gate.
We dismissed right down the road from the gate and I start giving Winston a hard time. He keeps saying he is sorry but I told him I dont wont to hear none of that sorry stuff. I told him it was just a case of simple arithmetic, there was a flight #l and a flight #2 and given two simple choices, he screwed up both of them. He said he was sorry and I told him I didnt wont to hear none of that sorry stuff. He wonted to know if I thought we ought to go by the orderly room and explain to the first sargeant and Major Metcalf and I told him hell no, I was going AWOL.
And General Momyer, if you are out there sir, and you happen to read this sir, I prefer to be remembered as the sargeant with the non-regulation pig sticker. Please forget the ceremonial stuff. Please, Sir?
An Air Force General and his inspection team showed up unexpectedly one Saturday and caught Williams AFB completely by surprise. Our Base Commander was frantically trying to kill some time untill key personnel from all base units could be called in to try to impress the visiting General.
Our school facilities was always a good show, with all the various trainers and training devises and actual operating parts of the F5 aircraft. They tried to contact our school commander and Non Com in charge with no luck. But they did get in touch with me and asked me to get together a show-and-tell for the General. I managed to contact one other of our guys and told him to stay on the phone getting as many of our instructors together as possible. As it turned out, no one was available but me.
I jumped into uniform and drove down to the school facilities. When I got there, our Base Commander and some of his aides were there along with the visiting General and his, all officers.
I had to get into the main office building to get the keys to all our classrooms which means I had to pass right by all those officers. I got confused by what the proper saluting procedure was. Technically, I was supposed to salute the General and he would return my salute. But something got screwed up in my mind and I was popping salutes in all directions, not wonting to leave anyone out and hurt anyones feelings. I must have looked like a windmill as I passed in review past all those officers trying to salute each one of them. Most of them were nice enough to salute back and not laugh openly about how screwed up I was.
I got past the last officer and went up the steps to the office building. I didnt have a key to that building but no sweat. I whipped out my $1.25 el cheapo pocket knife and slipped the blade in the slot between door and lock. About three skilled twitches of the knife blade and I popped the door open. I had bought old el cheapo for just that purpose. I ran inside, grabbed all the classroom keys and went back outside.
The General was standing there grinning. "Let me see that "key" you have there, sarge," he said. I sheepishly produced my old pig sticker, its genuine plastic imitation pearl handles gleaming in the sun. The General solemnly opened the single blade of the knife, held it up before the base commanders eyes and asked him, "is this blade just about an inch longer than regulation allows?"
I was thinking, Geezzz, I hope they are joking, I hope, I hope, I hope. As luck would have it they were. I showed them every training devise we had and operated all of them whether it was, radio, navigation, radar, engine, hydraulic, etc. The base commander had whispered to me to keep them interested as long as possible while his people could get the rest of the base ready for inspection. So I put on the best show I could and held their interest as long as I could. They were all pilots, of course, and were genuinely interested and asked questions which prolonged things for quite awhile.
The base commander showed his appreciation with a nice letter of appreciation to go into my personal records. We called those pieces of paper "kudos" or "attaboys". They didnt do any damage and could sometimes do good. What was surprising was a glowing letter of appreciation from the General, also to be put into my personnel file.
Jump forward about 6 years to 1969. I had been called up to Langley AFB, Virginia as part of a "de-breifing" team to try and figure out why Murphys Law had stomped the heck out of us on a bug spraying job in the mideast. After one of our meetings, we stepped out into a wide hallway where the coffee and do-nuts were. Then down the hallway comes a general with his usual following of aides.
Generals are kind of like politicians, they nod and smile and shake hands a lot. He nodded his friendly way past me about 3 or 4 feet, stopped and came back to me. "I know you dont I sargeant?" he said. I mumbled a donut muffled, "Yessir," swallowed the donut and added, "Williams AFB, AZ."
"You pick locks with pocket knifes, dont you sarge." What could I say but yessir. We both smiled real big as he shook my hand and said it was good to see me again. After he left everyone gathered around and asked if I knew the general and I said, "Sure, he is a pretty good old boy, once you get to know him as well as I do."
"What was that about picking locks with a pocket knife?" someone asked.
"Those are code words that only those of us skilled in the darker arts, like me and the general, would understand," I explained. Then I refused to answer any more questions on the grounds that I might accidently divulge classified information.
Fast forward to the year 1971, England AFB, La. I and my right hand man, Sgt Winston are called to the orderly room and told that we were to act as "commanders" or some such goofy thing at an award ceremony. The commander of Tactical Air Command will be there passing out the medals and awards himself.
"I dont know nothing about that ceremonial type of crap," I told the first sargeant. Winston said, "Me neither."
"20 years in the military and you guys dont know how to march troops?" the first sargeant said disdainfully.
"You got that right," I said, "I have been on the flightline fixing airplanes, supporting the air forces primary mission, while all that ceremonial crap was being taken care of by admistrative types." Winston said, "Yeah, me too."
The first sargeant, being one of those administrative types, got his feelings hurt by my remarks and we were getting into it pretty good when our squadron commander, Major Metcalf stepped out of his office and wonted to know what all the commotion was about. The first sargeant told him that Winston and I were just trying to get out of the awards ceremony duty by claiming not to know how to march troops. The Major was just as incredulous as the first Sargeant, "20 years in the military and you dont know how to march troops?" he said.
"You got that right, sir, I dont even remember what all the commands are for moving troops from point A to point B." I said and Winston added, "Yeah, me neither."
The Major was convinced that we were just trying to get out of the awards ceremony duty but I insisted, "I will screw it up," I flatly insisted. Winston said, yeah, he would screw it up too.
The Major said we were just supposed to form a formation in place, stand at attention during the awards ceremony, dissmiss in place and walk out of there. No marching required. Surely, we could handle that.
"Something will go wrong and I will screw it up, bigger'n hell," I flatly stated again and Winston said, "Yeah, bigger'n hell."
The Major and first sargeant held a democratic vote on the matter and Winston and I lost.
The day of the ceremony, a whole bunch of us Airmen go straggling down to the area behind a hangar where the award ceremonies were held. They had a platform about a foot high built there where the high ranking wheels would sit and the awards would be handed out. There was only one gate out of that area and there wasnt much room for a formation.
Winston and I were pretty much confused while everyone was looking to us to make some kind of decisions. There was a young second Lieutenant there who was going to be standing out front in what I remember as a group commanders position but he didnt know from nothing about nothing. Finally a staff sargeant, who was going to be our flag pole man, the guidon bearer, took over and we formed into two flights, one for Winston and one for me. So far, so good. Looked like things might work out.
The lieutenant was standing out front near the awards stand, behind him was the guidon bearer, and behind that was me and Winston standing in front of our flights. The lieutenant and the guidon bearer were mostly standing in front of my flight
As everyone arrived for the awards ceremony, I recognized my old friend the General from back in my lock picking days, now the Commander of Tactical Air Command. He glanced over toward our formation, kind of did a double take, and looked hard at me. Then, with a smile, he raised a hand and made motions like he was picking a lock at me. I smiled and nodded my head. It is nice to be recognized. He gave me a thumbs up and a handwave. That man had a phenominal memory and was a nice guy to boot.
Just before the ceremony began, some officer came over to inform us that when the ceremony was over, we would march right out that gate right over there. My nerves shattered. Winstons flight was pointed straight at the gate. Mine was pointed at the awards ceremony stand. Geez, what the hell kind of orders were we supposed to give to get out of this mess!!
The awards ceremony was starting. I glanced over at Winston who was looking back at me, his eyes pleading for help. I leaned forward a little and went pssst, psssst to the guidon bearer. He leaned back a little bit and I whispered, "What the hell kind of orders do we give to get us out of this mess," I asked. Winston was leaning as far left as he could to hear what the guidon bearer said and the lieutenant up front was leaning so far back as to almost fall on his keester. It took a long drawn out whispering session to try to get it all straightened out.
The Lieutenant was supposed to bellow, "Forward by order of flights, March." Since the guidon bearer and the Lieutenant were sort of in front of my flight, I would yell, "Flight #1, forward march." The Lieutenant, followed by the guidon bearer and then my flight would angle toward the gate and then behind us, Winston would give the command for flight #2 to follow in behind #1. Simple stuff.
I whispered to the guys behind me that they were flight #1 and to follow my commands. Everything was looking up. An officer on the stand motioned to our lieutenant who screamed forward by order of flights march. Before I could say anything, that dumbazz Winston shouted, "Flight #1, forward march," and headed for the gate in a high lope. His flight followed him.
My flight, thinking they were #1 (which they were) bolted forward on Winstons command. I threw out both arms against the front ranks trying to hold them back but my feet were skidding along on the slick grass and I was being forced straight at the awards ceremony stand. In a panic, I turned to face my flight and was shouting halt, halt, halt, at the top of my lungs. By the time I got them stopped, I was standing with the back of my legs against the awards ceremony stand.
I heard this roaring laughter and turned and was almost nose to nose with my old friend, the General with the exceptional memory. I could tell that he was impressed enough with me to never, never, never, forget me ever again. I gave him the most innocent shrug I could manage which drove him into shrieking fits. My flight was such a jumbled up mess that the only command I could think of was, "Aw Shxt, just fall in behind that other flight." They kind of sidestepped to clear the awards stand and sort of expanded and collapsed ranks in accordian fashion as we headed out the gate.
We dismissed right down the road from the gate and I start giving Winston a hard time. He keeps saying he is sorry but I told him I dont wont to hear none of that sorry stuff. I told him it was just a case of simple arithmetic, there was a flight #l and a flight #2 and given two simple choices, he screwed up both of them. He said he was sorry and I told him I didnt wont to hear none of that sorry stuff. He wonted to know if I thought we ought to go by the orderly room and explain to the first sargeant and Major Metcalf and I told him hell no, I was going AWOL.
And General Momyer, if you are out there sir, and you happen to read this sir, I prefer to be remembered as the sargeant with the non-regulation pig sticker. Please forget the ceremonial stuff. Please, Sir?
Sorry...i just
Pretty funny stuff from a distance Jbird. I'm surprised they didn't award you with "Rookie of the Year".
