An Ordinary Guy

1. 1970-71 Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

Fire! Fire! Uh radio to engineer fire number two engine. Engineer to radio, cutting fuel, let me know when it’s out. Roger radio to engineer fire out. I heard a few chuckles. Guess I was a little excited because I was sitting right next to the engine. The fire was spectacular as the flames followed the airflow above and below the wings.

This was late 1970 when I was an ATN2 (aviation electronic tech navigation and radio second class (E-5)) flying as a radioman in VW4 Navy weather squadron 4. This was the first flight when an engine fuel line broke and caught on fire.

Summer 1971
Early summer is the beginning of the hurricane season when the air crews would work out of Rosy Roads Puerto Rico Navy base while on a mission. Our crew was stranded on my first trip because the ‘big Buda’ toll tractor ran into our APS 20 airborne search radar dome and destroyed it. Consequently we had to wait until one was manufactured and shipped to us which would take ten days for the honeycomb fiberglass dome. For ten glorious days we were stranded in Puerto Rico. All we had to do was report in each morning and if we had no work, go play. All the enlisted guys were quartered in an old WWII barracks high up on a cliff overlooking the beach. The barracks were intended for thousands of guys and now there were only twelve inhabitants so we made ourselves at home and bought some coolers and filled them up with ice, beer and cokes. We also stocked up on snacks as there was no food or drink for a mile or more from the barracks…….

The first Saturday we were awakened at the crack of dawn to the sound of explosions. We were fascinated to see a long line of old Higgins landing crafts loaded with Marines approaching the beach from the sea, just like the old WWII movies. Just below us were observers with radios watching the maneuvers on the beach.

Hundreds of Marines all landed and charged up the beach yelling and screaming when all of sudden someone blew a whistle and they formed up and commenced to march straight towards our barracks. Oh crap. We are in deep doo now, I thought to myself as they worked their way up the steep slope towards us. We were twelve swabbies with hundreds of Marines marching towards us.

My earliest recollection took place a couple months before my third birthday in 1949 when my brother was born. I was with my father in the front seat of the car when we pulled up outside the hospital. I squinted my eyes with the reflection of the sun off the concrete as the nurse pushed my mother and new little brother in a wheelchair down the long sidewalk to our car. The nurse got them situated in the back seat. Keep in mind that there were no baby car seats in 1949. I was so excited trying to see my new brother that I started jumping up and down to look over the high back of the front seat just as my father was pulling away from the curb. Amid my jumping I landed on the door handle which pushed down to open and the door flew open and I tumbled out of the car right on my head. I remember my mother screaming but all I could think of was that it’s a long way home and I wasn't going to be left on the street. So I popped up running as fast as I could to catch the car which had now stopped. I don’t remember much more about that day except having to sit facing forward and being very still.