The Fighter Pilot    -  found framed and hanging on a dimly lit wall of the Nellis ' O Club ; submitted by Tom Weeks

                                                                                                                        

A fighter jock is quite a phenomenon. He loves flying [ single seat only ] - especially aerobatics, gunnery and cross-countries.  He has a strange fascination for playing practical jokes, telling stories, playing ping-pong, and breaking glasses. His favorite hiding place is a dark, cool corner of the Officer's club or behind a pair of dark glasses. He is capricious. To amuse himself, he may fire 'practice' flares from runway mobile control, throw empty cans down Officers' Quarters corridors, or just become generally obnoxious. His favorite conversation revolves around continuous chatter concerning flying . . odd facts . . and interesting people. 

 

He has an aversion for survival training, bomber pilots, mobile control duty, Airdrome Officer duty, and over-extended fighter alert duty. He tolerates ankle-biters [other than his own] and has an overwhelming hatred for bingo. While flying, whenever possible, he avoids ice-covered runways, poor visibility, lost radio contact, engine ' flame-outs', and using the ejection seat. He would rather face a firing squad than be caught pushing a baby carriage, or carrying an umbrella. At the mention of matrimony he becomes a catatonic schizophrenic.

 

A fighter pilot is a composite.  He has the nerves of a robot,     the audacity of a Dennis the Menace, the lungs of a platoon sergeant,   the vitality of an atomic bomb, the imagination of  a science fiction writer, the glibness of a diplomat, and he is a paragon of wisdom with a wealth of assorted, completely irrelevant facts [ however, you'll need him on your side when you play Trivia Pursuit ]. When he tries to make an impression, either his brain turns to mud, or he alters into a strange creature bent on destroying the world and himself with it.

 

Who else can cram into one flying suit : check lists, maps,   Zeus fastener openers, two bullets, check lists, a dollar novel, knives,  guns, flares and snares, a flashlight, check lists, a deck of cards, wallet, keys, more check lists a lucky talisman . . and a chunk of unknown substance.

 

At home with his wife, he is docile, sweet, tender, loving, friendly,  and a straight arrow all the way, except when they're fighting and he converts into a tyrannical despot who is suspicious, diabolical and just ain't got no couth. As a father, he's tough, helpful, pro-tective, farsighted, and really proud of the kid [ although he will rarely display it in public ].

 

In the air, however, he's calculating and confident.  His voice is gruff and steely cool [an acquired characteristic regardless of how he feels inside ] pierces the garbled air waves barking terse commands. On the hunt he becomes a different person, scanning with the eyes of a falcon, blessed with the reactions of a cat, the instincts of a barracuda and cunning of a fox - and an unusual ability to completely rotate his head 360 degrees on   all axis.  When approaching the target, mind and metal fuse, and the destruction of the enemy is as sure and precise as Euclidean geometry.  Steel and fire . . split the icy atmosphere as he basks in a private moment of truth.

 

Ater the mission he's exhausted, thirsty, dirty, sweat-soaked and bedraggled. His hair matted with ' helmet rat-snarls', fresh oxygen mask ' scars' etched on a red face, he knows he has beaten the ugly Grim Reaper . . one more time. Then, with the oily odor of JP-4 fuel clinging to a salt-encrusted flying suit, he'll unleash that shiny-eyed smile and miraculously regenerate into a critical mass with a flurry of hands, arms,  and legs and body English that stuns his sometimes imbibed cohorts with tales of ' hairy' deeds done that day.

 

A fighter pilot is a magic, master impostor Houdini with the top of his uniform blouse unbuttoned.  Sometimes he looks old . . sometimes incredibly young; immature - but strangely sage. He is instant fear and lasting bravery. An instant metamorphosis - hovering between play and business.  He's present, past, and the future rolled into one.  But most of all he's got wings . . with the throttle in his left hand and the control stick in his right . . shackled to a multi-million dollar kero-sene blowtorch - always ready to squeeze the maximum out of every hour of every day.

 

Major Ford Smart, USAF [abridged]    http://www.wpafb.af.mil/museum/history/vietnam/469th/p36.htm