Reunion Book

The Reunion by Hosted by Jim and Michele Stark | Make Your Own Book

Classmates,

Jim Stark here reporting that what follows are two narratives from Jim Donovan and Chuck Geiger. Donovon spent one tour with VAW-12 and then had a 30-year career flying for United. The following account is about his near tragic failed night cat launch and it’s gut wrenching.

Chuck Geiger’s report of his 31-year Marine Corps career gives a rather modest account of his squadrons and travels, retiring as a Colonel. What he doesn’t mention are his decorations, which include two Legions of Merit, Distinguished Flying Cross, Bronze Star w/combat V, Defense Meritorious Service Medal, Meritorious Service Medal, Air Medal with numeral 22 and the Combat Action Ribbon. When I finally contacted Chuck, I was bringing him up to date on all his

classmates experiences and was telling him that you all had crashed four aircraft. “Make that five,” he said, “I left a Phantom at the bottom of DaNang Bay with battle damage. Read on …..

Loss of

E1B in 1966 off USS Lexington by Jim Donovon

Doing night

carrier quals as instructor with a new pilot in the left seat. On third launch starboard bow catapult holdback fitting broke prematurely just as we got the launch salute. A/C was accelerating towards the bow and we continued the T/O with engine at max power and wind over the deck but no cat thrust. The a/c staggered into the air in a stall, we pulled the gear up and dumped fuel but couldn't get flying speed so we pancaked nicely in front of the onrushing bow of the Lex. We bounced once and the second time was very violent.

Cockpit filled with water quickly and that old Dilbert Dunker training paid off as we sank in the dark. Looked for the bubbles and followed them to the surface. Inflated my vest and went for my light and flare but saw the Lex bow about to hit me. Swam away as fast as I could ,aided by her bow wave but still scraped down her hull and heard the screws churning and basically lost consciousness.

Had an 'out of body' experience where my recently deceased grandmother was welcoming me into a bright tunnel and other departed family members were also there. Suddenly I was back in the water and saw the stern passing me and the crewmen on deck were throwing their flashlights down at me to mark my position. Took a deep breath and all my senses came back in vivid fashion. I even remembered the 'tits' on the night end of my flare and lit it off.

The place was alive with floodlights from the ship and a light from the 'angel' chopper that was in a hover over me. Rescue swimmer dropped in beside me and I gave him a big hug and a 'thumbs up'. The other pilot was aboard already and we hugged again and were back on the flight deck and welcomed by the XO and the docs and taken to sick bay and really did have a shot of 'Jack Daniels' to calm us down.

The ship had stopped and launched a utility boat with armed marines due to sharks in the vicinity of the crash site. Luckily the Captain had just come onto the bridge as we launched and saw the potential danger of running over us so he ordered full rudder over, and basically did a 'weave' around us and that saved our lives. The turns were unexpected and many crew were thrown from their bunks by the evasive maneuvers and lots of wardroom china got broken.

Accident report found that the holdback fitting was defective and 49 others were found in the fleet and from the same batch. I believe an A4 Skyhawk on the west coast was also lost from the same defective fitting.

I did wind up having a water landing in my logbook printed in ocean blue ink. Kind of a nice touch.

I then decided to spend the rest of my airborne career at 35000' in short sleeves, on autopilot, trying to choose between filet mignon and prime rib. Not all was easy as I experienced a massive bird strike on T/O (Rochester), bomb scare with ransom note and evacuation on the runway (Dulles), lightning strike that burned a 3 inch hole in the radome and completely destroyed the antenna and scared the wits out of the passengers as it discharged with a loud bang from the discharge wicks on the tail (Chicago), numerous flight attendants who hesitated to give the required neck rub on their first flight. The things we pilots have to endure!

Warm regards to all my classmates. You were the best.

Jim Donovan

Chuck Geiger, Navy Preflight class 28-62 - - Abbreviated Bio

Three days after getting my wings at Kingsville TX in 1964, I married my long time friend and now life-mate and business partner, Carole. Off to Cherry Point, NC where I joined VMFA-115 which was transitioning from the F4D Skyray to the brand new F4B Phantom. We trained for deployment to WestPac. We arrived in Japan and almost immediately took up residence in sunny DaNang. 15 months later Carole and I reunited and I spent two years training replacement aircrews before returning to ChuLai myself. Another 15 months and a total of 377 combat missions later Carole, our two sons and I arrived in Scotland for our dream tour flying Mk 6 Lightnings with the Royal Air Force. The next few years were spent in professional schools, Auburn University, several fighter squadrons and deployments back to WestPac. I was proud to command VMFA-451, attend the Naval War College, pick up a total of 3 Masters degrees and serve in the Office of the Secretary of Defense. My final flying tour was as commander of Marine Air Group 15 in the Far East where Carole and I spent 2 years. By that time I was dual qualified in both fixed and rotary wing aircraft and flying the F/A-18. I completed my active duty service as Deputy Commander and (for a short time) Commander of the Naval Space Command. Since then I have served in positions of responsibility in the business world and, in 1998, Carole and I started C Geiger Consulting, a business and executive leadership consulting firm consisting of Carole Geiger PhD & Chuck Geiger MBA. We live on 17 acres in western Virginia near Roanoke and are trying to cut back just a little in our professional endeavors to enjoy DAR, Kiwanis, and visit our grand children (ages 15 and 18).

Fond memories of Preflight and the summer of ’62.

1. To this day I hum to myself the song you, the entire class, created to sing to me as we marched to chow and to class down that endless grinder. The song was “Teenage MarCad” (to the tune of “Teen Angel”) since I was all of 19 at the time and you were all college graduates. I think I laugh more about that now than I did then.

2. I remember the dreadful night at the ACRAC (Aviation Cadet Recreation and Athletic Club) when, with the help of a jostling crowd, I managed to adorn myself with a large pizza down the entire front of my dress whites including my shoes. Bummer.

Reunion activities and related costs are as follows:

Arrive Marriott, Monday, October 11, 2010 mid-afternoon. Hospitality room set up to meet and greet, pick up name tags, enjoy wine or beer, and visit. Six pm catered Fish Fry (and Chicken) followed by 5-minute presentations “What I’ve been doing for the last 48 years, plus one preflight memory.”

Tuesday, October 12; Breakfast and beach/pool time in morning at hotel. Afternoon Dolphin Boat Cruise with box lunch on board. Return to hotel for cocktails and a catered barbeque.

Wednesday, October 13; Early pick-up at hotel for ride to NAS and tour of base. Attend Blue Angel Practice session. Adjourn to museum to meet Blue Angel pilots who will sign autographs. Tour Museum and have lunch at Cubi Bar. Tour of Navy’s yet to be opened Flight Academy (like a space camp for kids, but simulates Navy pilot training.) Attend IMAX Theater show. Evening, dinner on own at one of several beach restaurants.

Thursday, October 14; Departure day, or for those who would like to stay and play golf, golf has been arranged at Main Side. Rental clubs are available. A historic downtown tour can also be arranged through our caterer for those not playing golf with lunch at an Irish Pub.

Rates have been quoted for all the above activities:

Monday night Fish fry $22/per person.

Tuesday Dolphin Boat Cruise with lunch $40/per person

Tuesday night barbeque $22/person

Wednesday Base Tour/Museum/Cubi Lunch/IMAX $42/person

Hospitality Room Set Up; beer, wine, decorations, etc $30/classamte

Optional Day downtown tour with lunch $42/person

Reunion Shirts $37.50 each

Everyone participating in the Monday through Wednesday activities with their significant other will need to send me a check for $282. If attending alone, cost would be $156. Hotel expenses will be charged directly to your credit card.

Anyone planning to stay an extra day (Thursday 10/14) to play golf, will pay green fees that day. The historic downtown tour is also available that day for $42 which includes lunch.

Classmate Update—The host and the hostess with the mostest!

Dean & Debbie Tuggle

My wife, Michele, and I just had a delightful visit with Dean Tuggle and his wife, Debbie, who operate a Bed and Breakfast on the banks of the Ohio River in Aurora, Indiana. Tuggles’ Folly, is a beautiful Victorian home that sits high on a hilltop overlooking the river.

Tuggles' Folly

Dean and Debbie have filled their B&B with treasured antiques and handcrafted furniture and fixtures. What a fascinating and comfortably warm accommodation it is—second only to the warm hospitality of our gregarious hosts. Dean is still the wonderful story-teller and outgoing friend-maker we all knew in preflight. Navy man Dean commands his own armada consisting of a 43 foot motor yacht and a swift (fastest on the Ohio, they say) power boat. Our first night was spent cruising up the Ohio to a lovely dockside restaurant for dinner.

As fast as an airplane---and just as expensive!

If ever in the Ohio River Valley, you must check out our classmate at TugglesFolly.com. Dean has been dealing with some health issues this past winter and is midway through his treatments. He looks great, feels great and has become our first official “sign up” for the preflight reunion this October.

Preflight Memories from Dean Tuggle

There are lots of memories from preflight, some are more worthwhile to remember than others. Here are a few of mine. It was either the second or third day; we were on a run, which was never my strong suit. I was rapidly falling behind and two guys came along side of me, each one grabbed an arm and said that I would finish that run. I had decided that I would flunk the physical and not put up with the horseshit. I was so impressed with the spirit of team work that I stayed with the program.

By being in the band, I got out of some of the drilling, which wasn't a bad deal. But when the band went to the Texas State Fair, in the admiral's plane, I might add, made for a great memory. The first weekend that we got free, I and two other guys went to Bob Stoddard's folks place over in Alabama and water skied. We're out skiing in this swamp, me on the skies, when the boat starts to slow down. I'm eating line like mad to stay up; and Bob points to what seemed like a thirty foot alligator! As soon as he saw that I noticed it he grinned and speeded up again.

Another that has stayed with me was when we got back from survival. I am sure everybody remembers that the bus was late and the mess hall was closed. We were beyond curfew. I told everybody to get cleaned up and head for the burger joint and I would take the heat. I truly wasn't looking forward to the next day and sure enough the call was made bright and early for me to get to the sergeant's office on the double. I was asked in no uncertain terms why our class was out so late. Standing there scared to death, I told the good sergeant the story. It was a great relief when he said "good decision" now "Get out of here!"

I am really looking forward to our get together this fall and sincerely hope that everybody can make it to Pensacola.

Dean

Prefilght Memory by Bob Stoddard

MOVE, HERD!

Sergeant Hoffman did not deign to address us as a platoon, or a company, or with any other accepted military term. We were a herd, in our varying civilian attire. College boys. Know-nothings. Bootcamp babies with no earthly value to man or beast. Bewildered, intimidated, secretly amused, we were herded down a street that in no way resembled the shady lanes of our hometowns or the storied campuses from which we had so recently departed.

In our disarray, we were silently awed by the sight of other formations underway on that hot July morning. Some were under the watchful eye of other sergeants, marginally less disdainful, markedly more martial. They seemed to be in step, and their uniforms were uniformly spotless. Other groups were being marched by members of their own kind! They strode along confidently, and in their casualness they displayed more competence than we believed we would ever achieve.

We were taking our first steps (literally) toward becoming what the Navy, through its Marine Corps drill sergeants, wished us to become. A single-minded, squared-away, gig-line centered, ramrod straight cadet. Ready in all respects for sea duty. Finely-honed to be trusted with the most complex and expensive machinery our mid-twentieth-century Navy could produce. Trained to fly against the military might of the Soviet Union, braving all "though moonlit cloud or sunlit sky"! That was what motivated us to endure this demeaning and exhausting trial, and to hide our underlying amusement at the simplistic world into which we had been thrown. Being yelled at and instructed in the most basic way by men whose educational level was on a par with the janitors who swept the halls of our universities was so bizarre as to be comical; but only in the privacy of our conversations, far from the listening ears of sergeants.

Not that we didn't jump when they barked! Humiliation, physical pain, and exhaustion are stimulants to produce a strong sense of attention to duty. The threat of being singled out, made an example of, "sweated down to a puddle of piss" were ample incentive for complying with whatever unlikely or outlandish command came forth from the distended mouth of Sergeant Hoffman.

Later, though, when we had endured his tongue-lashings and sweated his rightful puddle of piss on the grinder or the obstacle course; later, when we would be yelled at by guys with golden wings on their shirts who knew how to fly while we did not; later, our incentive would shift somewhat. The immediate shame of being the direct object of Sergeant Hoffman's insults would metamorphose into the deeper, longer lasting fear of failing to get a set of those wings for yourself. No dread of bounced landings or missed approaches or "bad headwork" downs, not to even mention the fear of dying in a fiery crash, could hold a candle to the ultimate fear of going back home to announce that you just couldn't hack the program. That would be the ultimate shame, the penultimate failure, not to be contemplated. No amount of pain or numbers of sleepless nights or hours of numbing class work were enough to make us consider such a fate.

When have we faced such a daunting challenge in our lives since those days?

Preflight Memories by Bob Stoddard

As far as I know, only there is only one member of Pre-flight class 28-62 whose name appears on the Viet Nam Veterans Wall in Washington, DC. That classmate is John Abrams, killed while flying for HAL-3 in the Mekong Delta. John was also a squadron mate of mine in HS-7 in Norfolk from 1964-1966. I met John for the first time after lights-out on our very first night in Pensacola, in that crowded bunk room where about sixty of us huddled in nervous anticipation of the next encounter with our drill sergeant.

My roommate from college, Ed Higginbotham, had entered the program several weeks ahead of me, and he advised me sternly NOT to show up at Pre-flight early on the first day. I arrived around five PM, and had enough time to get the full brief about the Quarterdeck (which I traversed without the proper acknowledgement), the position of attention (which I had already memorized, thanks to Ed), and when to assume that position (whenever Sgt. Hoffman entered the massive bunk room).

I was also made aware, at the top of Sgt. Hoffman's lungs, what was expected of me (of all of us) at reveille the next morning. To wit: be standing at attention beside your bunk, with a sheet in each hand and the pillowcase over your head. Seemed a bit extreme to me, but I was prepared to do whatever the Sergeant wanted, if it meant I escaped his undivided attention.

We had turned in at taps, after a pointed lecture on how to make up a bunk with hospital corners, with the top sheet turned down so that a dollar bill fit precisely across it. About an hour later (I was not asleep, and I doubt many of us were) in comes our last arrival, John Abrams. The bunk above me was one of the only ones left, and John struggled into it with many questions, which I and those around me tried desperately to hush up.

Of course John wanted to know what the straight skinny was; and although it seemed to me that I was risking some sort of hideous torture from the sergeant, I got him somewhat quieted down and then informed him of the next morning's drill. "When the lights go on tomorrow at 5 AM, be standing beside your bunk with one sheet in each hand and your pillowcase over your head"!

"You gotta be shitting me"!!

Naturally, John was skeptical. He had not yet experienced Sgt. Hoffman's cold stare or apoplectic screams. He would soon get more of them than any of us ever wanted, when we were being outfitted with uniforms and such a few days later. That's another story.

"Listen, Buddy", I said, "I don't care if you believe me or not; but when the Sergeant flips on those lights in the morning, you DO NOT want to be the only sad sack in this room without a sheet in each hand and a pillowcase over your head! Now hush the hell up and let's get at least a little sleep"!

I don't remember who else I met on that first day. It was a shocking day, even allowing for the good advice I got from Ed Higginbotham. Was it on that first day that we learned how to enter the sergeant's office? ... Step smartly to the brass plate in the middle of the double door. Right face. Position of attention. With right hand, slam the metal-trimmed entrance as hard as you possibly can, bruising your thumb painfully in the process. Sergeant doesn't look up. Slam again, even harder. Sergeant asks the private if he hears some kind of pitiful tapping. Slam until the walls shake.

"What the hell do you want, lowlife"?

"Sir! Cadet Stoddard to see the Drill Sergeant, Sir!"

"Stoddard, why is your OD jacket over your head"?

Sir! My OD jacet was unbuttoned during RLPI, Sir"!

"Unbuttoned? You worthless puke! Assume the position! Give me thirty pushups"!

Thirty quick pushups.

"Stoddard! Who is that outside my door"?

"That's my roommate, Cadet Stark, Sir"!

"Why is he here"?

"His OD jacket was unbuttoned as well, Sir"!

"Stark! Give me thirty pushups"!

"Stoddard"!

"Sir"!

"Are you going to let your roommate do his pushups all by himself"?

"No sir, sergeant"!

Thirty more....