Here's a funny little short vignette about Cubi Point NAS , Philippines. (which was on the South end of Subic Bay Naval Base.) Cubi point was a tricky place in which to operate a large aircraft like a C141.
When you landed the usual direction, which was to the East, you entered Subic Bay between two mountains, then right at the West end of the runway itself was about a 50 foot sheer drop off. You didn't want to land short at Cubi Point. Over the years of visiting various Naval Air Stations all over the world, I became convinced that the Navy made a certain percentage of the runways difficult to fly into on purpose, so they could kill off all of their incompetent pilots.
Cubi was that way. The runway was carved out of the side of a mountain at the South end of Subic Bay. The steep grade was so close to the taxiway, that a C-141 couldn't use it. We had to land, then do a 180 on the runway and taxi back to the parking area on the runway.
Operating into and out of Cubi at night had its own set of hazards because of the proximity of high terrain in all quadrants. It was not common to land to the West, but when you did, the approach to the runway was over a high ridge, after which you had to fly a visual approach with a 4.5 degree glide slope, which is pretty radical for a large aircraft.
I had landed to the West at Cubi before as a copilot, and also as an aircraft commander. In these previous visits I had learned that there was one approach and landing procedure that worked, and one only. Just before you picked up red over white on the VASI lights, you lowered approach flaps and the wheels, and slowed to approach speed.
VASI =visual approach slope indicator--these were an apparatus on the left side of the runway at about the touchdown point that had both red and white lights that could be seen through a horizontal slit in this long metal box.
There were two boxes, one nearer and one farther down. If you were on glide slope, you saw red lights in the far VASI indicator, and white lights in the nearer. It was clever, because if you started going under the proper glide slope, the nearer lights started turning pink before they turned red, so you knew you were starting to go too low before it got out of control. If you started going too high, the far VASI lights would start turning white, but would also become pink before they turned white. It was a simple and clever landing aid, and was very helpful, especially when doing a night visual approach.
As you hit the glide slope point as indicated on the VASI's, you then went to landing flaps, and pulled the engines back to idle. You literally glided under idle power all the way to touchdown. There was, however, one tricky maneuver you had to do at the last second to land correctly. As you brought the nose of the plane up prior to touchdown, you were in a pretty high sink rate condition.
In a normal flare maneuver before touchdown, your sink rate wasn't so high as it was at Cubi, and the engines were also at a higher power setting. The thrust of the engines hitting the ground, as you brought up the nose of the plane, acted like an air cushion under the wings, and softened the impact. At Cubi Pt, what you had to do was at just the right time, at the last moment before touchdown, was spike the engine power up for a second or so, then pull it back off right away. This added the thrust cushion I spoke off, and also helped kill the sink rate.
I prided myself on being a good pilot, and had never had a single bad landing in my years of flying the 141. I had done the "Cubi Point" maneuver before, and done it with no problems. However, on this one day, I got lazy and complacent, and got a little slow in air speed, so my sink rate went up, and I came in with the last second power addition a little too late. Well, you'd think being just a little off wouldn't be any big deal, but being a little off in an airplane usually has its negative consequences. We hit so hard that I bit my tongue, and a couple of crew members had their necks snapped back so hard they thought they had whiplash. In the cargo compartment the crash lights came on (these came on with an impact force of 2.5 Gs or more). The upper crew bunk mattress flew out of it's position and landed on the flight engineer.
It was bad. Now it was embarrassing enough to realize you'd just screwed the pooch, but you also knew with no doubt that the rest of the crew were going to deal you some serious misery. The harassment you got was also not limited to the flight crew. As I rolled out to the end of the runway, the asshole Navy Tower controller called me on the radio, and in a voice as nice and helpful sounding as he could make it, said "MAC----- will you require any emergency assistance" . Of course, that only gave the copilot an entre' for his wise ass remarks.
He answered. "Stand by Cubi Tower, we're checking for casualties, I'll let you know if we need medical help". The copilot then called the tower and said. "Cubi Tower, we've checked out the crew, and we only have some minor cuts and bruises, no need for an ambulance". (of course, the rest of the flight crew is laughing out loud all this time)
The flight engineer who's not at the engineer's panel has the ground duty of being the "scanner". He debarks the plane and acts as your eyes outside the plane, does a quick visual check, and he puts in the landing gear pins, and chocks the wheels. After we parked, the scanner started counting out loud over the inter phone. So I said, "what are you counting sergeant" He said, "Captain, I'm counting the number of tires we'll have to change, because several of these wheels are square now."
This crap went on for the whole time we were on the ground at Cubi, and for days afterward. When the copilot called for taxi clearance to the runway, the Cubi Pt ground controller said "before taxi, MAC----- please remember to reset the field elevation. It was previously 55 feet, it is now 50 feet. (implying that the plane's impact with the ground had smashed the whole airfield down 5 feet). If you couldn't take shit as well as dish it out, you did not want to fly on a USAF flight crew. I was intensely glad we had no passengers on the plane when I made that hard landing, because there may well have been casualties in that case. That was not my finest hour in the cockpit--but it was funny.
Semper Fi,
David
Because I flew a plane that regularly flew into areas like Thailand where lots of drugs are produced, drug interdiction was always a big priority. C-141s came in for a lot of emphasis, because they were all based in the USA, flew in and out of the far East, and then back to the states on an every day basis. Planes like C-130s usually stayed in theater, and did not normally return to the states, except in an out of the ordinary circumstance. This made the 141 the drug smuggling plane of choice. If you saw the film "American Gangster" then you know how it was done. It was a pain in the ass, and totally unnecessary, because the air crews weren't doing the smuggling. It was done by support personnel, like maintenance and fleet service. It was easy for them to hide drugs on the aircraft, and then tell their buddy back in the states which plane it was on and where it was hidden. Whatever the case, the situation led to the air crews undergoing a lot of harassment.
It was all so much bullshit, but we did occasionally get some laughs out of it. They would line the crew up outside the plane, and dogs would sniff us and our baggage down. One time, this dog "alerted" on one of the flight engineer's book bag, and the Air Policeman thought he had a hot one. So he opened up the bag to allow the dog to stick his nose in. The dog did, and came out with the Engineer's ham sandwich, which he promptly ate. Guys used to put all kinds of crap like black pepper and hot mustard in their book bags, just to screw with the dogs.
I was at Kadena AFB Okinawa, on a through flight, and the local drug czars had decided that the usual drug dogs were too large to get into some of the nooks and crannies on the plane, so they brought out this little stumpy brown drug mutt of about 20 lbs, and turned him loose on my plane. The dog promptly disappeared into the belly of the plane, and never came out. Apparently he got down in some pooled hydraulic fluid or something and the fumes overcame him, who knows? I had a hard departure time, and while the dog handler wasn't too happy, I was ordered to leave, dog or no dog. I sort of thought he might wander out during the flight, but he never did. About 2 days more into the mission, the dead dog started smelling, and I mean BAD. You should have seen the looks on the faces of some of my passengers. It was total bewilderment. I told the loadmaster to tell them that the smell was a new antiseptic spray for the airplane, but it wasn't working out too well because of its bad smell. I'll never forget the rest of that flight, we were all wearing masks soaked in aftershave on our faces. The plane was tail number 59404. I was told that a few years later in Marietta Ga., when they were stretching the C-141 by 22 feet, and making it the B model, they found a dog skeleton on 59404. No doubt there were a few puzzled people there.
Another drug interdiction incident that happened to me was at U-Tapao Thailand. This one wasn't too funny, because I ended up in the middle of a confrontation between a 4 star and a 2 star General. At U-Tapao, they'd had some incidents with drug dogs sniffing down the crews. In one case a guy got bitten, so they decided to haul the crews into the secure customs area and have us stand by a chain link fence separating us from the dogs. They would then sniff us through the fence. This was demeaning enough, but not intolerable. Then on a succeeding flight into U-Tapao, the sniffing procedure had gotten completely out of control.
We were unloading our bags to get on the crew bus to go into the customs area, as before. About then, here comes this wire cage on wheels being towed by a flight line vehicle. Then an Air Policeman got out, went over and opened the cage and said "everyone in the cage, the new procedure is to haul you into the secure area in the cage, and you press up against the wire, and let the digs sniff you then". To say I was stunned was to say the least. One of the enlisted men started to get in and I said, "hold your position Sergeant, we're not getting in that fucking cage." To put this in perspective, a whole bus load of our passengers was still sitting there watching all this drama. No way I was getting into that cage, and most especially not in front of them. The drug interdiction crap had gotten steadily more and more intrusive, and it was time to make a stand. The Air Policeman Sgt said he would arrest me if I refused to get in. To which I replied that he couldn't arrest me, because by USAF regulation an enlisted man couldn't arrest an officer. I suggested he get the AP commander to come and arrest me.
The AP commander came out (Capt), we had words, he then hauled me over to the Wing Ops officer's (Colonel) office, and we had more words. In short order, I ended up in the Wing Commander's (2 Star General) office. He threatened me with everything from jail to getting thrown out of the USAF. I still stood my ground. Some things are worth going to the mat over. The 2 star was in SAC, and I was MAC, so I asked if I could call back to MAC HQs and let him hash it out with them. We did call Scott AFB, and I got rapidly kicked up the chain of command to the Commander of MAC's (4 star General) personal quarters. (It was something like midnight in Illinois) General Moore could not have been nicer. I explained the situation, and that I had refused to comply with the local drug procedures, because they were demeaning, probably unlawful, and his air crews should not have to put up with it. He said, "Captain, I am in complete agreement with you, and you did the right thing." He then said "Put that 2 star on the phone" . General Moore was PISSED, and I could hear him yelling from 4 feet away from the phone. All the 2 star was saying was "Yes Sir, Yes Sir, and more Yes Sirs." The 2 star finally hung up and turned to me and said, "You're free to go Captain, and I'm sorry for the inconvenience" He then turned to the Colonel and said "Get rid of that damned cage, and I better never see it again". In a 10 year career in both the USMC and USAF that was one of the most satisfying moments of all. I never thought I'd get to witness a Major General get chewed out like a buck private.
Semper Fi,
David
Probably every Marine in Echo 2/3 followed a different path into the Corps. Mine was a bit more exotic than most. I was a scholarship football player at Texas Western/UT El Paso. I guess I was a pretty good player too. I was a pass receiver. In Fall practice of 1965, I performed well enough to move ahead of a player who had been a 2nd team
all-American the year before. However, during the last practice before our first game, disaster struck for me, when I broke my ankle in a freak practice incident. This put me out for the year, and I ended up "red shirting". It also put me into a bit of a personal tail spin because I was so down because of the hard luck injury that cost me the season. I
started drinking a little here and there, and hanging out in Juarez, and generally going the wrong way with my life. Some of you may have seen the movie "Glory Road" about the first team of all black basketball players to ever win the national basket ball title. Bobbie Joe Hill, from Detroit, the point guard on that team, was a friend of mine, and we used to hang out on campus and drink a little Thunderbird wine (yeah I know, that crap'shorrible, but I was a college student). One night in April 1966, after a drink or two, we thought it would be real funny to streak the girls dorm naked with sacks over heads. (Yeah I know now that wasn't a real good idea). So we disrobed, put grocery sacks with eye holes in them over our heads and climbed this tree that allowed you to enter Bell Hall (girls dorm) through a 2nd story window. We turned on the hall lights and went yelling up and down the hall a couple of times. The hall was soon filled with screaming and laughing girls. We
made our successful escape, but a couple of days later I got called into the Dean of Men's office. I had been made by a couple of the girls. I'm not certain exactly how I was ID'd, but I will say that I had dated a few of the girls on that floor. They must have seen something they recognized (heh heh heh). My accomplice was not ID'd, and the Dean told me that he wouldn't throw me out of school if I identified my partner. I refused, and I was suspended from school. I've never regretted one second for not being a rat, even though it cost me. I like to think I had a small part in the national basketball title, because I didn't give up Bobby Joe, who was the key player on the team. Bobby Joe is dead now, because he kept drinking Thunderbird, and I quit. The head football coach found out about my suspension, and he knew like everyone else that it was next stop US Army for me. He happened to be friends with Capt. Ron Brown, who was the coach of the Quantico Marines football team. He arranged with Captain Brown for me to enlist and I would play two years
for the Quantico Marines. I got sworn in and got a service number which I called in to Capt. Brown , and he told me that he was cutting orders to Quantico for me.
I went to San Diego for boot camp on May 31 , 1966, and that was an experience. I was in superb physical condition, and came close to being the first Marine to ever score perfect on the 500 point physical test. (I still think I really did score 500 pts, but oh well).Because of my athletic background, the physical part of boot camp was a breeze. However the mental harassment got to me like it did everyone else.
There is one funny incident that happened in boot camp that I still laugh about. You all know about getting called to the duty office, and that was never good, and it usually involved punishment to one degree or the other. I was in first battalion at San Diego, and we were in these Quonset huts. The platoon street ran down between the huts, and the duty hut was at the end of the row.
About 2 weeks into boot camp, we were cleaning our rifles one day, and I was sitting on my bucket cleaning away. It happened that I was just across from the open door of the duty hut. If they wanted someone, a DI would step out and yell "Private------ to the duty hut" at which point all we privates would sound off the same thing. This one day the DI's wanted Clifford Ginn, who was a very large black kid. He came running up, and as perthe printed orders on the door, he banged so hard on the door I thought he was going to knock it down, then he yelled, "SIR, PRIVATE GINN REQUESTS PERMISSION TO ENTER THE DUTY HUT, SIR". Now no DI is ever going to let a private off easy. They always had something chicken-shit to say at this point. This particular time, a DI said "I CAN'T HEAR YOU, TURD!!!!"
Private Ginn wasn't yet fully aware that we were no longer in a democracy, because he responded to the DI by saying " THEN HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW I'M OUT HERE ?". About one second later, a big hairy arm reached out and pulled Ginn into the duty hut. I started laughing so hard that a DI ran out and began kicking me around. Ginn and I got
PT'd in the sand pits until our tongues hung out, but that laugh was
worth it.
Three weeks into boot camp my orders to Quantico Special Service came through, and this is where my problems began. Privates don't get their orders until boot camp is over , so the receipt of my orders at that point triggered my inquisition at the hands of all 4 DI's. They were more than curious about why I was special. When I told them what was going on, the shit hit the fan. I was accused of being everything from a coward to a draft dodger. From that point on, I was the butt of every lousy detail, every bit of extra punishment, every beating that the DI's wanted to deal out. All I could think was "Thanks a lot Capt. Brown, for sending my orders so early". Boot camp was not a grand experience for me.
Towards the end of boot camp, another funny thing happened. Charles Whitman killed 15 people from a sniper's nest on the University of Texas campus. On Sunday, when we were able to read our one paper a week, I found out about the killings. Our head DI called us all together, and he wanted to talk about the sniper. He was just proud as a Peacock about Whitman. He said no one else but a trained Marine marksman could have done what he did. He went on and on about how good Whitman was with a rifle. I was sitting there chuckling to myself that only a DI could say something like that and get away with it.
After all these years, one thing still amazes me about DI's was their ability to keep a straight face, when I know they wanted to laugh their asses off. The Ginn incident being a prime example. The day I knew for sure that DI's had superior self-control was the day of the infamous "shipping over" talk. Our head DI got us all together and said "Nearly all of you but Private Millican (he couldn't resist a dig) will be going to Viet Nam after training. Most of you are too stupid to stay alive for long. However, you do have the opportunity to guarantee an MOS that will be safer and easier than some other MOS's. All you have to do is extend your enlistment at least 2 years." The very first question came from this nice, but not very bright, private whose name I will withhold.
He was a 2 year enlistee, and as such, was something over 100% certain to be an 0311, and head straight for Westpac. He said "Sir, I want to be an 0311, how many more years would I have to sign up to be sure I got that MOS"? At this point I choked back a laugh, but I couldn't stop from smiling. That DI must have had nerves of steel, and the self control of a cat burglar, because he never even smirked. Without pausing, he said "Private, that's a tough one, you might have to extend at least 4 years to get 0311" Cutting this short, he DID extend
4 years to get 0311. Years later, I got curious about how many of the Privates in my boot camp platoon got killed in VN. I got out my yearbook and checked names against the KIA list, and unbelievably, only one guy in my platoon was KIA. Guess who? Yep, the guy who shipped over for 4 years to be a grunt. I think he may have been the first deserving recipient of a Darwin Award.
After being harassed, tormented and beaten by DI's over my early orders
to Quantico, I was ready to graduate. The day came, and when I got my
orders, they had been changed to Westpac. I wasn't too happy, and I was
especially pissed that I'd gone through all that misery from the DIs for
nothing. Of course my DI's were pleased as punch. To say that I went to
Viet Nam pissed off, and with a bad attitude, is a fair statement.
My journey to Viet Nam began on a cool, foggy morning at El Toro MCAS, a place I visited many times as a USAF pilot. As we were filing on the Continental Airlines 707, this Sgt Major yells, "Why so quiet Marines, you're all coming back, some of you intact, and some of you tacked-in". I failed to see the humor at the time. We stopped in Honolulu to refuel, and then flew to Kadena AFB Okinawa.
As we got off the plane, just next to it was parked a C-141. I had never seen one before, and little did I know that I would one day be a pilot in command on one. In 1976, I was serving a TDY stint as supervisor of flying at Kadena, and I parked my flight line truck on the very spot the Continental plane head delivered me to Okinawa, and sat there about a half hour just reminiscing. It was a strange feeling.
Okinawa had lots of memories for me. It was strange going back to all the bars and eating places my buddies and I had visited when 2/3 was there in March of 67. Most of the places were still open, but the action was almost nil, because the large numbers of Marines were no longer there.
After a few hours on Okinawa, I got on a DC-8 and flew into Da Nang. I was processed through there in a couple of hours, and got on a C-130 that landed at Phu Bai, and then delivered me to Dong Ha. I got processed into battalion then was sent to Echo company where I got an M-14, 2 magazines, a helmet and body armor. It's safe to say that this
was all a bewildering experience for me, as it was for most of you. To leave the states and be in the combat zone in about one day was a shock. I think I am lucky for being assigned to Echo 2/3.
I met some of the finest people I've ever known there, and my best friend in Echo
is still my best friend today. As I look back, there weren't any rich kids or politician's sons there with us. They were all poor or middle class white , black and Hispanic kids, who would all just as soon not have been there, but who did their duty to their country. As in all wars, there were two types of Marines in VN.
They were the young Marines like myself, and the career Marines, who we boots called "lifers". Lt. Cannon was probably the most experienced lifer of all, and though he was
as Gung Ho as they come, when the shit hit the fan, he wasn't "in the rear with the gear" he was always right in the middle of the action with his guys. I can't think of a Marine that I've ever known who I respected more than Lt Cannon. He was a leader of Marines and the heart of Echo co.
I was particularly close to Sgt Morningstar. He and I stood many a radio watch together, and I got to know him very well. The news of his death hit me pretty hard. During the war, many of our friends paid the ultimate price. I think the worst price of all was paid by the fathers, mothers, brothers and sister of those who did not return. For all of us who made it home, the war is over, but for those who lost their loved ones, the war will never end.
I've had a long time to think about this, and I now realize that the Marines who deserved the most respect were the black Marines who were fighting and dying for a country that had not yet completely set them free. I'm not sure I could have done it, in their place. One of my best friends in the Company was James Anderson, a black Marine from Philadelphia. He and I spent many an hour filling sandbags and burning shitters and griping about our situation (as all Marines do). He was always smiling and always positive. He told me he had plans for raising a family back home. He never got the chance, as he was killed May 3
1967. I think about Andy all the time.
I left Echo in May 1967 as a stretcher patient on a C-141. I was probably the only pilot in MAC whose first flight on a 141was as a medevac patient. I also left Echo with hard feelings about an injustice that was done to me by a company officer. I've been angry about it all
these years. I guess when I carry a grudge, it's a serious one. Recently I spoke with Rod Skelton. He emailed me, and said he needed to talk to me. We talked, and he told me that the person who had done me the injustice was ill, and had felt guilty about it for many years, and he wanted my forgiveness before he died. When Rod said that, I felt bad that I had caused a basically good man to feel such guilt for so long. Frankly, I felt ashamed of myself about the whole thing. Now, for the first time in over 40 years I feel completely at peace. It's been a long journey.
Semper Fi,
David
 | ||||||
Here's a funny photo for when I send in the Congo operation article. That's me on the right, and my two copilots and the navigator. We formed our own African music group, and are clowning it up. We are at a place called N'Sele, and in the background is what's called the Stanley Pool of the Congo River. It was 15 miles wide there , and you could not see the north bank of the river.
Semper Fi,
David
This page was last updated: October 3, 2010
For more of David's experiances,
please go to page three.
This photo has nothing to do with pages 1, 2, or 3 either
but lets face it, it's also a great attention gainer, so that you won't miss page 3.
S/F
Paul
| ||||||
