You go through flight training in pairs, and stick buddies form a unique bond. One of you flies while the other does fuel checks, helps navigate, and the like. We both eventually left the Army at about the same time.
My stick buddy went on to a career as a Special Agent in the FBI on the director’s security detail. Years later, while I was trudging through medical school, he was keeping the FBI director safe in some of the world’s most exotic locales. We remain close today.
They threatened us with violent gory deaths if we smuggled a camera aboard for our first unsupervised solo trip. The motivations for this were eminently sound. However, the first thing we did when we got up into the pattern was fish out my trusty waterproof 35mm Minolta and start hamming it up like a pair of sugar-fueled teenagers. It’s been thirty years. The statute of limitations on whatever they were going to do to us has likely expired.
One guy in my class found himself ready to solo without a handy stick buddy. I have no idea why, but I got tagged to keep him company. He was a redneck National Guard pilot and a nice enough bloke. As I myself hailed from the Deep South we got along swimmingly. He made his radio calls, lifted the aircraft, and had us headed out into the training area in short order. Then he passed the controls to me.
Momentous Moments
Mind Where You Spit
Would you trust such a child as this with a multimillion-dollar airborne
war machine? Me, neither, but Uncle Sam felt otherwise.
I wanted to be a military pilot for as long as I can remember. As a kid I devoured every book in our school library about World War II. I saw myself tearing about at the controls of a Lockheed P38 Lightning hunting Jerries. Alas, little kids obviously have a skewed view of war.
I was born in 1966. Flying Lightnings for Uncle Sam just wasn’t in the cards. However, I found the next best thing in Army helicopters.
I briefly considered the Air Force, but their war machines seemed too complicated. I wanted to fly, not manage. I figured Army helicopters were a better facsimile of the timeless Lightning than an F15 Eagle.
Getting there was not half the fun. It was in fact quite grueling. However, the first time I flew a helicopter for real was a magical thing indeed.
My first ride as a pilot was in a Huey, and I will be forever grateful for that. The Rotary Wing Flight School at Fort Rucker was transitioning from the piston-driven TH55 to the turbine-powered TH67 as its primary trainer. In the interim they briefly used Vietnam-era UH-1H Hueys. The first time I tugged on the up stick and felt that Lycoming T53-L-13 engine lift me free from Mother Rucker was indeed fairly epic.
You actually soloed in Hueys in pairs. I realize that’s like being partially pregnant, but it was nonetheless a thing. On the magic day with my trusty stick buddy as my copilot I took off from Lowe Army Airfield to guide that magnificent machine where I willed it.
My compatriot explained that there was something he had been longing to do in a helicopter. I stiffened a bit but figured I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. He then fished around in the pocket of his flight suit and retrieved a pouch of Red Man chewing tobacco. He shoved a fistful of that vile crap into his face and smiled at me like a Democrat at a gun buyback before resuming control of the aircraft.
In short order my buddy needed to spit. Chewing tobacco always seemed about on par with sucking dog turds to me, but I have admittedly never tried it myself. Maybe it’s actually awesome.
My pal dropped his sliding window and turned away, his face in the slipstream. He remained in that orientation for an uncomfortable period before calmly requesting that I resume control of the aircraft. I did so, and he slowly turned around. His face was awash with foul brown tobacco juice. It seemed that fluid dynamics and Bernoulli’s effect at 120 knots indicated airspeed had taken their inevitable toll.
My backwoods buddy ultimately got himself somewhat unbefouled before we returned to Lowe. His first solo flight was actually more like my second solo flight. I ultimately flew a great deal more than did he. However, none of that stuff got on me, so I didn’t much mind.
