Rivet Ball
In the early hours of January 13th, 1969 I was forced to accept something that I had known for a while, but had pushed to the back of my mind: I was mortal and was going to die.
This was the first of several incidents when my chance of survival was a good deal less than 1 in 2. This wasn’t the scariest, but it was the first, and following on the heels of the terrible events of 1968, it had the biggest impact.
In the end the only “death” was an airplane, Rivet Ball, the Air Force’s only RC-135S. The military version of the Boeing 707, the fuselage broke in half, like an eggshell, on impact. A very talented pilot, John Achor, the aircraft commander, was responsible for that miracle.
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But (somehow) I have *missed* the rest of the story – is it posted elsewhere? And your signature is almost washed out in the wheat field – though from 1969, those others look very clear considering this photo’s age.
This obviously was a life-altering event…but you are so calm in relating it. Are you able to fly still? Did you find yourself changing your behavior afterwards? How do you deal with the memories?
I am in awe of those who face their own mortality in a very real sense and continue on unrattled. I don’t know if I would behave myself or be able to think with any clarity.
Karen, if you click on the WWII Army-Air Force symbol on the side bar, and then go to the bottom of the page you will see a link for Shemya. That covers this incident and the one that followed that cost the Air Force two of the most expensive aircraft in its inventory. If you look at a time line of 1968 for the US you will see one of the worse years in American history.
Ellroon, there is something liberating about accepting your morality. If you accept it you go on as if each day may be your last, so you don’t put things off. Plan for the future, but live for the day.
Among those of us who have racked up thousands of hours there is a saying: flying isn’t the problem: it’s where you are when the aircraft stops flying that you have to worry about.
I don’t like flying because it’s boring and confining, the actual danger is minimal. The truth is I’d rather fly low levels over the jungles than climb 30-foot trees to retrieve a stupid cat.
Wow Bryan that was a lucky escape indeed. My father had at least one similar experience while in the RAF during WWII. Even now in his 80s he still adopts a similar attitude to life as you.
Jams, my Dad sat in the plexiglas nose of a B-24 during WWII, so he got to see the trouble first. I can imagine your Dad had some hairy moments in Mosquitoes, and more than one. It was my experience that a lot of people on the ground tend to be annoyed at aircraft flying over them during hostilities, and tend to take actions to alter that situation.
It just seems to be the logical way to live, accepting reality.