I may have gotten to the game late compared to the warriors who flew the F-100 and F-105 during the ’50s and early ’60s, but I got there as fast as I could.
My first hero was Captain Dick Hackford (RIP), my T-38 instructor with a “100 Missions F-105” patch on his shoulder. I was riveted by his stories of Rolling Thunder. I wanted to be a fighter pilot hero just like him and pick a “Thud” on graduation. But that was not to be; my class got two dozen F-100s.
Arriving at Luke in ’67 I was not to be disappointed. My two greatest memories of Hun training was an occurrence during my first week when a Starfighter crashed on takeoff and a Hun crashed in the final turn. My roommate, Major Elmer Slavey (RIP), stated: “Welcome to the world of fighters kid;” and later in training my first solo low level at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
In Vietnam, Bien Hoa allowed me to join the last great generation of warriors the air force has ever had. I loved it so much I got to do it again in ‘72 albeit in the Phantom II. The good news was both of my F-4 squadron commanders were Hun pilots too.
No offense to the guys today, but the life that these men led will never be replicated. I was lucky to get in on the tail end and get a glimpse when they were willing to open up and talk about it. It all ended in the mid-eighties when political correctness became the rule.
Now the SSS carries on in our memories and in our great magazine. Thanks to all the great men who flew the Hun (and some other great fighter jets too).