DEATON II

In the winter of 1998 I got a phone call from George Savani. George was touching base after what must have been several years. When he called the first time I was flying. My daughter Alanna answered the phone and George proceeded to tell her that “your father was a real gunslinger”. When I got home the next day she demanded to know what “the guy who called” meant by that. When George called back that evening I told him never to tell my girls about that gunslinger stuff. It was hard enough dealing with them when Meighan and Alanna learned the biological process by which they came into being, and that their mother and I were still doing that same thing as often as possible. We chatted for awhile and George gave me John Pappas’ phone number as well as Arlie’s. It had been 28 years since I had spoken to Arlie but I called him that same night. He wasn’t home so I left him a message: “this is Frank Doherty calling” and left my phone number. Thirty seconds later I called him back and said: “cancel that. This is Delta Airlines 767 Captain Frank Doherty calling, and I’d like to remind you that you busted me on that check ride”. Within the hour Arlie called back and started chewing me out, telling me how I deserved to fail, that he did me a favor, and that it was a long time ago so shut up and forget about it. He paused for a moment and then began to apologize for making me feel badly all these years. I let him go on for a while because it was kind of cool to hear him get all repentant and apologetic, and then he said that it was because of him that I was flying 767s and that he should get all the credit. Without pausing to catch his breath he started in on “Ruby, don’t take your love to town”. We talked for about 30 minutes, and we’ve had an ongoing conversation for the last ten years. Most of our talking has centered on our shared experience in South East Asia, the people and the events we remembered, and the changes that had taken place in our lives over the years. This conversation is very important to me because it reminds me of how far all of us have come since 1970.

We went to training for proficiency checks annually as First Officers and every 6 months as Captains. On more than one occasion I was paired with a kid who was as terrified by the checking process as I was. We got a day of ground school, a day of recurrent training in the simulator, and then the check ride. It was pretty easy to tell when my First Officer was scared to death because I was nervous too. So I’d relate to them the story of Deaton and my check-ride, and then I’d tell them that it was okay to be nervous, but it was against the rules to be stupid.

I was originally hired in December, 1972 by Western Airlines, headquartered in Los Angeles. I padded the hell out of my flight time on the application and when I got called in for my interview I noticed that my total time had been corrected to a figure more closely resembling what I really had. The chief pilot, Gordie Shields, asked me what I had flown and didn’t flinch when I said that most of my time was in an L-19. For some reason unbeknownst to me he said that I had everything that Western was looking for, and welcomed me aboard. You could have knocked me over with a feather, and in spite of my elation I couldn’t help thinking that these guys must be desperate.
The first three days of class at Western were made up of orientation. There were thirty-three of us in the class, and I was the fourth youngest. The class was roughly divided between Air Force and Navy, with two civilian pilots and me. An older man, Bill Heinbaugh, was conducting this portion of orientation and asked us how many had heavy, multi-engine time. Most of the Air Force guys were C-130 or KC-135 drivers, so about half the class raised their hands. “The rest of you guys flew fighters?” All but four of us answered yes. So he asked us about our experience. One of the civilian guys flew a corporate 737, the other civilian flew corporate turboprops. The next-to-last guy was a Navy “Stoof” driver. I have no idea what a “Stoof” is, but all the other Navy guys laughed. Finally Heinbaugh gets to me and says “what about you?” I told him I was an Army pilot and I flew 0-1 Bird-Dogs. Everyone laughed, and an F-4 driver said “you gotta be kidding”. Heinbaugh said “you’re going to have a tough time”. Between this remark and Deaton’s check-ride I had all the motivation I would ever need.

In 1997 I started commuting to Salt Lake City as a 767 Captain. Because I was on reserve I shared a “crash pad” with four other pilots, all of whom I’d known in the past. Not far from the apartment was a Vietnamese restaurant that served the traditional Pho soup that was eaten for breakfast, and I would go there every few days. The first time I went the woman that ran the place offered me a big spoon and fork. I pressed on with the little white ladle that is ubiquitous in Asian restaurants, and chopsticks. The next couple of times I went the lady offered me the spoon and fork, but I declined. She’d stand in the back of the restaurant and watch me put the hot chili oil and the fish sauce in the bowl, dump in the basil leaves, and start to eat. When she couldn’t stand it any longer she walked over and asked me not “if”, but “where” I was in Vietnam. I took one of my roommates, Jeff Lugar, a 727 Captain, to this restaurant one morning and he talked about Vietnam. When he told me he was a Headhunter in Ban Me Thout in 1971 (?) I almost fell off the chair. I had known Jeff for quite a few years but never knew that he was in the 219th.

In the cockpit the conversation occasionally turned to “where did you learn to fly”? It always amused me to look at the expressions on my first officers’ faces when I told them I flew 0-1’s in South East Asia. I was a brand-new Captain when a lot of “Mavericks” and “Ice Men” arrived on the airline scene. They flew very fast airplanes that went straight up for as long as they wanted; it was inconceivable to them that anyone in the industry flew something with a tail wheel. They were really hot pilots that knew everything about flying; with the academy guys being the worst know-it-alls. But they were curious and they’d probe a little about combat flying. The only stories I ever told was about the ARVNs diving into the Loach at Dak Seang, or about Bob Jackson and I capturing the guy in the rice paddy. No, that’s not true. I always told about Meyers and the M-79 grenade launcher. Meyers…all I have to do is say his name and I start to laugh. John’s wife has to be the most patient woman in the world. A saint on earth, really, and when God calls her to heaven all she has to do is walk outside, because she’s going straight up!

One beautiful afternoon I was coming from Dallas to Orlando in the 767 and the route took me right over Rucker. I got out the low-altitude airway chart for S.E. Alabama, found Cairns approach frequency, and called them on the radio. “Cairns approach, this is Delta …” “Delta … what can I do for you”? “Cairns, Delta … is approaching the Bird-Dog IP for landing”. A rather long pause, and then ATC came back with “Bird-Dog IP? Boy, you are old”.

I’ve had a chance to fly a lot of airplanes. Some like the 737 and the 767 I’ve loved. A few, like the DC-9-30 or the 727 I could have lived without. But the Bird-Dog was like my first big romance, like my beautiful Katie. I loved them first, best, and forever.