The Fighter Pilot's Prayer

A few years ago I had an interesting Halloween.

I'm at the fire station Sunday morning for a quick, one hour meeting with the head of our membership committee discussing membership issues. After the meeting I get to run up to my son and his wife's home to see everyone, including the little grandkids and their costumes. As an added bonus I also get to participate as an actor in my son's fantastic Halloween Celebratory Garage especially designed to scare kids of all ages. Their garage is so popular that local organizers made the garage a stop on the hay wagon ride.

So, anyway, near the end of the meeting the other party and I are looking to wrap things up when an alarm comes in for a bad two vehicle crash. The house clears out, but one ambulance is still in the garage. Hmmm. I'm a driver and she's an EMT. She looks at me and says "Let's go!". We hop in the last remaining ambulance and are on our way to the accident site.

Turns out it was a head on collision between a small compact car and a large SUV. The SUV won. There were seven people in the SUV and six in the compact car. SUV folks/kids were all belted in. Car occupants apparently were not. SUV occupants are not badly hurt, car occupants are. When we arrived on scene people were laying on the shoulder of the road like cord wood. The driver of the car was DOA and a nice looking young lady in the back seat was unconscious with a compound fracture of the arm. We had to cut the car out from around her. When I say "we" I mean the folks who were doing the work and me, standing there with the back board upon which to load her. The car had bent due to the impact, trapping the young lady's legs between the back of the front seat and the front of the back seat. Finally had to take a hydraulic ram to bend the car away from her so her legs were freed from the back of the front seat.

What a mess.

We ended up with about 8 ambulances and TWO medivac helicopters. The hospital went on Mass Casualty Incident Alert and we started shipping wounded to the hospital. I drove two wounded to the hospital, came back to the scene and then drove three more to the hospital. Quite an experience. THEN we had to restock the ambulances and retrieve missing equipment. There was so much equipment spread around that it was all taken back to our station where we hosted a sorting party. By the time all was said and done I no longer had time to visit the Infamous Halloween Celebratory Garage.

Rats.

Big rats.

I go home, shower up, have a bite to eat, and head on back to the station. I'm on duty at the fire station at 6:00 p.m. We had one call early in the evening for a little kid, allergic reaction to peanuts. A neighbor gave the kid a caramel coated apple as a treat, forgetting that he was allergic to peanuts, a component of the caramel covered apple. The call went well. The young guy reacts much less negatively to peanuts than in the past. He's in good shape. I take his blood pressure and it was 120/80. I look at him and to make him feel better say "Man! I wish MY blood pressure was like that!". The father looks at me and says "ME TOO!". We threw an oxygen mask on the kid just to help his breathing. Later on during the call the kid sneezes into the mask, blowing snot all over the inside of the mask. I look at the kid and say "That mask is ALL YOURS now, buddy!. The kid grins and the father laughs. That's me ... "Don, the Stand Up Fire & Rescue Comedian". Truth be told, it's good medicine. The medics took the kid to the hospital, non-emergency, for a check up. I suspect he's fine, except for missing Halloween. He and I should have a beer sometime and whine to each other about that.

Late that night, about 11:00 we get another call. Elderly gentleman, classy guy with a nice wife. Reminded me of my folks. He had a skin graft site start to bleed. Nothing big. We put a fresh bandage on the site and told him to stop whining, at least he didn't miss Halloween.

Went to bed about midnight.

4:30, we get an alarm. Elderly woman, cardiac arrest at a retirement home. Not a good sign. We get on scene, along with the more experienced medics. It's evident that she has passed away but because she is still slightly warm to the touch we need to work on her. When I say "we" you should reference previous related comment. It was amazing to see the pros at work. If she had a chance of living this would have done it. The EMT for whom I drive is performing the chest compressions while the lady is on the floor of her apartment. The EMT runs out of steam and I'm up to bat. I start chest compressions. It's time to transport so we place her on a cot (with wheels). I'm still up to bat so I hop up on the lower support bar of the cot, grab onto the other side with my right hand and continue chest compressions with my left. Just like in the movies. We are wheeled down the hall, into the elevator, through the lobby and out into the parking lot. All the time I'm performing chest compressions. We get to the ambulance and things go a little awry. As the cot is stopped at the ambulance everyone (except me, 'cause I'm still working) let's go of the cot, a wheel decides to lock up (stone?) twisting the direction of the cot, stability is lost and .... over we go.

Time slows down.

My adrenal glands, still asleep at that time of the morning, are awakened by the silent scream in my mind. Suddenly I am keenly aware of the fighter pilot's prayer ("Please God, don't let me f**k up"). Adrenalin shoots through my body, replacing approximately 50% of my blood.

What happens next is viewed like a slow motion movie.

This unfortunate lady is NOT going to hit the pavement.

My left hand catches one of the straps holding her upper torso onto the cot. My right hand grabs the upper hand rail. There is NO thought process to this. It just happens very, very fast. I stop the fall of the cot at about a 45 degree angle and block her body roll with my body. She is securely belted in, but she is shifting due to the angle. The other guys are still half way through the fighter pilot's prayer when I'm already righting the cot. I hop back on and continue the chests compressions.

GOOD GRIEF!!!!

We load her up into the medic's unit and send them on their way.

I'm ready for a beer. Where's that kid that missed Halloween? It's 5:00 p.m. SOMEWHERE in the world.

We finally get back to the station at 6:45 a.m.

My little phone alarm has been singing it's heart out in the bunk room since 6:00. I had it set to "Funky Town". When I get to the bunk room my poor little phone is going "BOOP BOOP Da BOOP da BOOP BOOP DA BOOP" pant ... pant ... pant ... "BOOP BOOP Da BOOP da BOOP BOOP DA BOOP" pant ... pant ... pant ... . Over and OVER and OVER for 45 minutes. Luckily there was no one trying to sleep. Otherwise I'd be looking for a new phone.

Quite a day.

I LOVE volunteering with fire and rescue.

Tale from the USO

Actually entry in the USO diary.

A classic

"I dreamt I was talking to God and He sneezed ..... I didn't know what to say to Him."

Henny Youngman

'nuff said

I love small town America.

Hard Seals and Iron Butts

In June of 2005 four hard Navy Seals left their base in Afghanistan on a mission against the Taliban. The names of these incredible warriors are:

• Matthew Axelson
• Michael Murphy
• Danny Dietz
• Marcus Luttrell

The next day three of them were dead, one later being awarded the Medal of Honor.

The day they died 16 very brave men flew into harms way in a helicopter to rescue the Seals, only to be shot down and killed during the rescue effort. The survivor, Marcus Luttrell, fought for his life for many days until he was finally rescued. He went on to write the book “Lone Survivor”.

In my opinion, anyone who wakes up safe under the flag of the United States of America should read the book. I don’t care if you support our military efforts in Afghanistan or not. As George Orwell said “We sleep safely in our beds because brave men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm.” And now our women protect us as well, of course.

What is one to do in honor of these brave souls, as well as all the others out there?

One man, Jim Otto, founded REDWING 19, INC to honor these men.

www.REDWING19.com

Another man, Mike Kneebone, president of the Iron Butt Association worked with Jim and came up with a plan to raise funds for the families of the 19 heroes killed on a remote, desolate mountain. The Iron Butt Association is a club for bikers who like to ride long distances in a limited amount of time. Their annual event is a ride around the United States, where you get extra points if you stop by Alaska. I am not kidding.

A motorcycle ride was planned to raise funds and break records. The funds were raised by charging a fee to join the ride. The ride broke records by signing up 500 bikers to ride 1,000 miles in 24 hours or less, all within the borders of the Commonwealth of Virginia.

So that was two records:
• Largest such ride (500 bikers)
• All within one state

As you might expect, I signed up for this one. Come on! How could I miss a long hard ride in support of such deserving families?

Two other friends, John and Steve, joined me, along with 497 other lesser known friends.

I left home at 4:45 Saturday morning, and returned at 1:30 Sunday morning.

The ride was spectacular. We left the staging area at 5:30 am, fifty at a time and traveled to:
• Richmond
• Norfolk, home of Navy Seal Teams
• On to I-81 in western VA
• Down to Bristol VA near the North Carolina border. Kudos to Black Wolf Harley-Davidson for hosting our lunch break.
• Back up to I-66
• And East to the staging area

The ride went very well for the first 850 miles. John and Steve really know how to pick ‘em up and put ‘em down. Mile after mile after mile.

Then, coming North on I-81 we hit a little rain. By “little” I mean animals lining up two by two. The rain was so heavy that my waterproof riding jacket was soaked through to the skin. The rain was so heavy that we literally could not see the road … except when the lightening shot overhead.

Hey! Time for a little break! So we pealed off the next exit and hung out with about 30 of our lesser known friends at the local gas station until the rain let up.

And off we went. Picking ‘em up and putting ‘em down. Mile after mile after mile.

Our 18 hour ride took 19 hours because of the elephants, and zebras, and hippos and all other God’s creatures lining up two by two on I-81.

What a great ride!

What a great fund raiser!!

What an honor to ride in support of the families of Redwing 19.

Mike Kneebone handed me my second Iron Butt certificate, and it was a great pleasure to meet him. Mike is legendary in the long distance riding circles. Think of it this way; the long, grueling ride we took is entry level to the Iron Butt Association. Entry level!

Got home at 1:30 am, informed my wife to put the life insurance policy back in the file drawer, took a shower and slept like a baby.

Safe.

Under the flag.

"Those Bastards from NACA!"

I ran away from General Chuck Yeager.

And it was supposed to be such a wonderful day.

Nuts.

Jim, my oldest son, was reenlisting in the Air Force for the last five years of a most successful twenty year career. He was stationed at Edwards AFB, about two hours northeast of Los Angeles. I was honored to have been invited to attend his reenlistment ceremony.

General Yeager was going to be on base to participate in a dedication ceremony recognizing his achievement of breaking the sound barrier back in 1947 (see "The Right Stuff" for more details).

Anyway, as part of the ceremony, General Yeager agreed to swear in about six military personnel who were reenlisting that day, Jim being one of them.

Now, let me take you back to the early days of World War II.

My father, Jim's granddad, was in the Army Air Corp Reserves, working on a research project with the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA). NACA was the predecessor to today's NASA. My dad was working at the then Lewis Research Center in Cleveland, Ohio, helping our country to develop one of our first jet engines. He was a most talented tool and die maker, shaping the future of our country out of metal.

Today's jet engine turbine blades are individual pieces, slotted into a center hub. As the engine heats up, the metal expands and the blades and hub become one solid piece.

The problem was that back in the days of WWII we did not have the metallurgy nor technology to do that. So, the turbine blades and hub had to be cut out of a solid block of metal.

Think about that. Think of all those curved blades cut from a single chunk of metal. All those angles, all those close tolerances, all that skill.

My dad was working with a partner creating this blade/hub combo.

One mistake and they had to start all over again.

My dad went on vacation part way through the job and guess what?

Yep, his partner made a mistake and the job was toast.

My father requested to be put on nights for a whole year in order to create this blade/hub combo all by himself. And he did. At the end of that long year of night work the blade/hub combo was beautifully completed and ready
for testing.

All that time my mother was keeping the household together, trying to keep a noisy kid quiet (my sister) while my father slept. Both of my parents doing what they could to help in our nation's defense.

Quite a feat.

So, back to the present.

I get to thinking that General Yeager, being the jet jockey that he was, might agree to sign a note to my folks recognizing their contribution to our country. After all, as a test pilot at Edwards after the war, he probably tested some aircraft powered by a descendent of that engine built and tested at Lewis Research.

Pretty cool, huh?

I print up a heart warming note on a little 3X5 card, hoping that I can get the good General to sign it. My plan was to frame the card along with a couple of pictures of the event and give it to my parents.

Sure enough, after the reenlistment ceremony, General Yeager is signing autographs.

My chance to strike!!

I, with my little 3X5 in hand, get in line behind people with books and event programs awaiting the General's autograph.

As I step up to the General seeking his signature, I hand him the 3X5 and start to tell him this wonderful story of my dad working nights with NACA, helping to develop this jet engine.

It would have brought tears to your eyes just listening to me.

Except he wasn't listening.

He was just signing the card not really caring about my heart warming story.

Until he finished signing the card.

Just as he finishes signing the card, he looks up at me and says "Did you say NACA?!?".

I, not understanding the peril I was in, proudly answer "Yes!", puffing out my chest just a little bit.

The General, still holding the card, looks sternly at me and says, and I am not making this up "Those bastards at NACA did everything they could to try to prevent me from breaking the sound barrier!!!".

And then we lock eyes.

Do you know what I mean by locking eyes?

Does it ever happen to you that sometimes, hopefully rarely, you come across someone that when you make eye contact you immediately know that this is not going to have a happy ending?

That's what I mean by locking eyes.

I'm locking eyes with General Chuck Yeager, national icon.

I'm locking eyes with a gun slinger.

He's locking eyes with a chubby computer dweeb.

"This isn't quite what I had in mind" says the rabbit to the wolf.

Now, I want you to know that what happened next is not something of which I am proud. It just sort of happened.

You need to understand that I had a mission in mind (the note from General Yeager to my parents) that I had thought about for a long time. And he's holding that signed note in his hand as we are locking eyes.

What happened next was not well thought out. It was more a matter of instinct. I suppose in a humble manner, an act of courage for me.

As this pregnant pause in my conversation with General Yeager extends for several millennia, I suddenly snatch the card out of his hand, say "ThankyouverymuchGeneralYeager.Haveaniceday", turn around and run away.

I figure, if I was figuring anything at all at that particular moment, that one of three things could occur:

1 - I would be tackled from behind by an 80+ year old retired gun slinger.

2- The word "Security!!!!" would be bandied about and I would be thrown off
base, sans 3X5.

3 - The General would be so shocked that anyone would be so rude to him that it would buy me time for the great escape.

"I'll choose door number three please".

Which is just what happened.

I got a way with it. HA! HA! HA!

I GOT AWAY WITH IT!!!

Of course, I'll probably have to forego any future opportunities to meet General Yeager, but hey(!) I got away with it!!!

So, my parents received a nice frame with pictures of Jim's reenlistment including a picture of the honorable (but slightly stunned) General Chuck Yeager along with a very nice note, personally signed by him.

Isn't that nice?

He's such a nice man.