The Last Roll Down The Runway

My last couple of years of active duty went by pretty uneventfully. ON duty, I was inspecting aircraft, filling-in for the swingshift Pro-Super occasionally, running the maintenance shift, performing engine runs, whatever they needed me to do.

OFF duty, I was playing music out at scrubby's and once in awhile up in Boise, fixing up old cars, reloading ammo and hunting. I was basically getting ready for civilian life, and because of the social climate at the time, and the "square-filling" (whether it was necessary or not), I KNEW I already had all the stripes I was going to get.

I don't always know what separates attitude from one day to the next, but it all came together at the final crossroads one bright brisk day out on the Blue Section ramp.

I was doing an IPI (In-Progress-Inspection) on a brake change, when the expediter rolls up to the spot and tells me that as soon as I get done, I'm needed in the hangar to inspect and sign off the Red-X on a crewseat installation.

Ok. I walk back into Hangar 211, find the airplane, climb the crew ladder and check the seat rails, actuator, electrical connection, pins, oxygen hose for routing........blah blah blah.........done it a thousand times as a crew chief during preflights. But this one was different. The installation was perfect----by the numbers----but I WASN'T.

"Yesterday", all was fine, but for some reason, TODAY was IT. I signed off the Red-X, tossed the forms in the cockpit, stopped and told Federhart I'd be back in an hour or less.

"Where ya goin', in case somebody asks?"

"CBPO........I need an attitude adjustment," and with THAT, I went down there and put in my retirement papers, effective the First day of August, 1988. After that, everyday looked a bit brighter. I'd had a good career. Oh, there'd been some drudgery at times, but overall, it was ok. It had been a long stretch-----20+ years in the military easily equalled 30+ anywhere ELSE, hour-wise, loss of individual rights and the inherent dangers of combat. But you knew that when you signed and raised your hand.

It was time to "roll down that runway for the last time" as we used to say.

After two tours in Blue Section "gettin' 'er done" for those folks, I thought I'd be retiring out of there, among all the guys I'd worked with over those past few years, but it was not to be.

Weapons Load Training needed a crew chief training instructor for its ICT (Integrated Combat Turn) program. Green Section had supplied somebody the LAST time there was a shortage down there, and it was Blue's turn to "donate" somebody. Guess who got transferred!!

I only had about 3 months left, Blue would be losing me ANYWAY, and they wouldn't have to "give up" anybody else for three more cycles! It made sense when ya thought about it, so the small Hangar 205, way down on the other end, became my final "home."

I had a desk. 22 years, and with 3 months left, I finally had my own desk. I had a podium in the little classroom, where I might have 4 or 5 "students" every 2 or 3 weeks. All in all, it was a quiet place to run out the final minutes of what had been a VERY LONG CLOCK.

The day before I was to officially process OUT, the two guys who ran the place, Millerbernd & Fiddler said they needed me to come in on the last day in my dress blues for a retirement ceremony. I came in the next morning and there was a Captain there who I didn't even know, Millerbernd, Fiddler and a couple of "jammer drivers". We had a short ceremony, the Captain gave me my papers, we had some chips and Pepsi, and that was it. Nobody there from Blue.

When I think back though, I had barely gotten to know these guys before I retired, but THEY had a little bash on my last day. I'd given Blue Section some long hard years.............but, the 22 years was for COUNTRY, not just a single squadron. I'd come IN quietly back in '66..........and I'd go OUT the same way.

But before I end my active duty time on these blogs, I have to share one last thing that happened on that last day..............

For YEARS there's been an old "fairy tale" that got passed around from generation to generation. According to "folklore", when you retired, you got to go back and see the Chief of CBPO (usually an officer) where you would learn the 3 great " Maintenance Mystery Questions":

1. The name of the "regular crew chief" (when you were covering someone else's airplane and the pilot would ask you about something, it was common to tell him, "I don't know for sure, sir, I'm not the "regular crew chief.)"

2. You would finally find out who "THEY" are..........

3. You would finally get a look at the "Big Picture"

and then the CBPO Chief would let you out the BACK door, so you couldn't run back up to the front and tell anybody what you saw!

WELL..............after I said goodbye to the guys and left Hangar 205 for the last time, I drove up to CBPO, officially finished my paperwork and asked to see the CBPO Chief.

The "Chief" of CBPO at that time was a Major. Cool dude.....he TOO had heard the fable because when I asked him who the "regular Crew Chief" was, he says..."ME! I AM, Sgt Bradbury.........."

ok.........."Well sir, WHO is THEY?

"THEY?"...........well.....THEY is THEM......and THEM is THEY!"

sounds reasonable........"One last question sir, WHAT is this "big picture" that nobody ever seems to see??"

"Keep it under your hat, Sarge?"

"Yes SIR..........I won't tell a soul............."

the Major walks over to someone else's desk, that wasn't being occupied at the moment, opens a side drawer, comes up with a current issue of Penthouse, opens the centerfold and says, "Right HERE, Bradbury----------THIS....is the BIG PICTURE!!"

I says to him......."That FIGURES, SIR......I KNEW it had to be SOMETHING like that!

We laughed, shook hands, he wished me well, I asked where the BACK door was (gotta do it right down to the last detail, ya know), he pointed the way and I left. I drove out the gate, stopped at Scrubby's and when I walked in (still in my blues), ol' Scrub' says "WELL?????? is it MISTER now?

"It's all over, Jim."

"Sit down Brad', order whatever you want, it's on ME!"

Though there were some bad times, I've never regretted a day in uniform. The military is by no means for everybody, but if SOMEBODY wasn't willing, this wouldn't be a free country.

It is a job that is all too often unappreciated and misunderstood. There are civilians out here who seem to think that military life is somehow some "easy way out of not having a real job" Nothing could be more the opposite. Most civilians would NEVER endure what is expected in uniform, which is why there aren't, nor have there EVER been long lines waiting to get in (with the possible exception of World War II----the attack on Pearl brought out the "Patriot" in a LOT of good men and women).

My career was also unique in that it spanned over two different service branches---------EXTREMELY different, but each as vital as the other. My Air Force career gave me two different trades (supply & aircraft maintenance) that I would put to good use during my post-retirement years.

But it was my Marine Corps time that has taught me the most, even though it only represents 3 of those 22 years. When I left Camp Pendleton in the late summer of 1969, I had nothing more to prove. Ever.

Today, people see me around town, the Marine Corps T-shirts, hats, the decals on my cars, but no Air Force memorabilia..........."NINTEEN YEARS OUT OF TWENTY-TWO......AND ALL WE SEE IS THAT EAGLE, GLOBE AND ANCHOR???"

"WE DON'T UNDERSTAND................"

"Nope...........nor could you."

It was the Marine Corps that instilled the pride and the drive. To go way beyond what your insides tell you can't be done. It was the hardest, toughest three years of my entire life. There are some, who over the years, seem to think that the only thing I learned in the Corps was how to kill.

Not so. It's more than a branch of the service. It's an attitude, stamped on your soul in San Diego and on Parris Island.

Yes, I was an Airman too, and getting bombs delivered on target is just as important as mowin' 'em down with M-14's............but it ain't the same, by any stretch of the imagination.

We will all die. I will die a Marine. Prior to that day, I'm afraid a lot of what I learned is gonna come in handy, the way things are headed in this country, although I hope it doesn't come to that.

Well..............out the gate now as a "silly-vilian!"................next stop.....the BLM.