Thunderbirds come to Oklahoma
4.12.20 Covid Thoughts
Once upon a time, as a young boy growing up on an Air Force base in the lush southwestern corner of Oklahoma, Altus to be exact, the first object of daily hero worship were the cowboys. They were a common sight off base, in town - hats, boots, trucks, the occasional chaps. They were the real McCoy, likely had cows hiding somewhere. We rode horses, suffered through dust storms, dreaded tornados (except Dad whose protocol when the sirens went off was grab a beer, his camera and the kitchen stool to post himself on top of the station wagon to get a shot).
Annually, the USAF's drill team, The Thunderbirds, would roll into town for an air show.
Now, cowboys are cool when you're 10 years old. Horses are cool. But these guys...they were as close to deities as one was ever going to meet. We would attend the shows religiously, beginning at our previous post in Charleston.
At one show in Charleston, these masters of aerobatics suffered a casualty. One of the planes flew into a flock of seagulls - yes, an actual flock of seagulls - the resulting crash killed a pilot. This was an assumed sacrifice. Mind you, Vietnam was still going on, service members died daily. These were people my father had served with, knew personally in some cases.
So, this particular year, my elementary school was having its annual 6th grade vs faculty softball game. It was a big deal. On Friday, classes stopped early and the whole school filed out to the adjacent ball field for the festivities. The air show was the next day.
It was a spectacularly clear, warm spring day. At some point, during the game, with the entire school assembled, they rolled into town, and took note of the assemblage.
They were in standard, tight formation, coming in low to land at the flight line. Planes coming in low and fast was not unusual, but they were usually lumbering C-5 Galaxies, the biggest thing in the sky, not these agile little fighters, flown by THE top guns of the day. They blasted over us and disappeared, to the cheers of all present. Then, to everyone's shock and delight, they came back.
The second pass was the same as the first - in formation, fast, and low, a few hundred feet up. Then, as they approached the horizon, they started doing what they do best, peeling out of formation in tight sequence, one after another, going straight up, pulling god only knows how many gs, while corkscrewing into the sky.
Reorganized, they plummeted earthward, directly over the ball field, then shot off in different directions. This went on for a good half hour. When they were done, they did another pass, in formation, and simultaneously tipped their wings side to side, a wave to the adoring kiddos.
The pilots were supposed to come over for a cookout at our house that night. However, due to a sickness in our house, the event was cancelled. I was crushed. The thought of having these men, these angels come to earth all to myself, well, I was amped, but it was for the good of all.
We did go to the show though. And, as usual, they did not disappoint.
There is something about the sound of jet engines blasting by, mere yards over the ground, that by itself gives me the shivers. When two fighters fly directly at each other, then flip 90* and fly past each other at high speed, separated by maybe 20 feet, belly to belly, well, it takes your breath away.
Stats: Takeoff speed - 178 mph. Diamond formation - 460 mph, minimum altitude 50 feet. Solo - max airspeed 700 mph, minimum altitude 30 feet. G range: -3 to +7.33. That alone will get your heart pounding.
Another thrilling part of these shows was getting to meet the ground crew and pilots after the show. They would park their planes in dramatic fashion and the crowd could get as up close and personal as you pleased.
Mind you, these were the best of the best (no insult to the Blue Angels), pilots and ground crew alike. Childhood hero worship at its best.
Flash forward to today:
4.12.20 Covid Thoughts
Once upon a time, as a young boy growing up on an Air Force base in the lush southwestern corner of Oklahoma, Altus to be exact, the first object of daily hero worship were the cowboys. They were a common sight off base, in town - hats, boots, trucks, the occasional chaps. They were the real McCoy, likely had cows hiding somewhere. We rode horses, suffered through dust storms, dreaded tornados (except Dad whose protocol when the sirens went off was grab a beer, his camera and the kitchen stool to post himself on top of the station wagon to get a shot).
Annually, the USAF's drill team, The Thunderbirds, would roll into town for an air show.
Now, cowboys are cool when you're 10 years old. Horses are cool. But these guys...they were as close to deities as one was ever going to meet. We would attend the shows religiously, beginning at our previous post in Charleston.
At one show in Charleston, these masters of aerobatics suffered a casualty. One of the planes flew into a flock of seagulls - yes, an actual flock of seagulls - the resulting crash killed a pilot. This was an assumed sacrifice. Mind you, Vietnam was still going on, service members died daily. These were people my father had served with, knew personally in some cases.
So, this particular year, my elementary school was having its annual 6th grade vs faculty softball game. It was a big deal. On Friday, classes stopped early and the whole school filed out to the adjacent ball field for the festivities. The air show was the next day.
It was a spectacularly clear, warm spring day. At some point, during the game, with the entire school assembled, they rolled into town, and took note of the assemblage.
They were in standard, tight formation, coming in low to land at the flight line. Planes coming in low and fast was not unusual, but they were usually lumbering C-5 Galaxies, the biggest thing in the sky, not these agile little fighters, flown by THE top guns of the day. They blasted over us and disappeared, to the cheers of all present. Then, to everyone's shock and delight, they came back.
The second pass was the same as the first - in formation, fast, and low, a few hundred feet up. Then, as they approached the horizon, they started doing what they do best, peeling out of formation in tight sequence, one after another, going straight up, pulling god only knows how many gs, while corkscrewing into the sky.
Reorganized, they plummeted earthward, directly over the ball field, then shot off in different directions. This went on for a good half hour. When they were done, they did another pass, in formation, and simultaneously tipped their wings side to side, a wave to the adoring kiddos.
The pilots were supposed to come over for a cookout at our house that night. However, due to a sickness in our house, the event was cancelled. I was crushed. The thought of having these men, these angels come to earth all to myself, well, I was amped, but it was for the good of all.
We did go to the show though. And, as usual, they did not disappoint.
There is something about the sound of jet engines blasting by, mere yards over the ground, that by itself gives me the shivers. When two fighters fly directly at each other, then flip 90* and fly past each other at high speed, separated by maybe 20 feet, belly to belly, well, it takes your breath away.
Stats: Takeoff speed - 178 mph. Diamond formation - 460 mph, minimum altitude 50 feet. Solo - max airspeed 700 mph, minimum altitude 30 feet. G range: -3 to +7.33. That alone will get your heart pounding.
Another thrilling part of these shows was getting to meet the ground crew and pilots after the show. They would park their planes in dramatic fashion and the crowd could get as up close and personal as you pleased.
Mind you, these were the best of the best (no insult to the Blue Angels), pilots and ground crew alike. Childhood hero worship at its best.
Flash forward to today:
LAS VEGAS (KLAS) — The U.S. Air Force Thunderbirds took to the Vegas valley skies on Saturday to honor and say thank you to all the individuals helping fight the coronavirus pandemic.
Many residents looked to the skies to catch a glimpse of the Thunderbirds flying over area hospitals.
Me again:
One of the pictures shows a missing man formation. As opposed to the standard formation, a chevron / "V" like you would see geese flying, or a diamond, where one plane is in the "slot" of the chevron, there is an empty space between the group and the farthest plane. The meaning of this is to honor a lost comrade, the person who would have filled out the formation, someone in the team has been lost.
I've seen this at military funerals, but rarely if ever for a civilian display.
Below, if I've done this right, is my program from a show in Altus, 1970-72, can't remember. The picture probably doesn't show the faded ink, but every pilot on the team signed it. Collected quite a few ground crew autographs too.
Hang in there people. There is still good in the world.
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