CROSSING PATHS By Terry Peed It’s a Small World After All I
hope I didn’t chase any of you big, strong mechanic types away with my headline. This isn’t going to be a Disney-themed fairy tale with sorcerers and princesses and princes. OK, there might be a prince or two in this
true story.
Once upon a time (a few years ago), Helicopter Specialties president Jim Freeman and I were at a restaurant with a customer (Greg Judd, DOM of Classic Helicopters at the time) and Richard Fullmer (Greg’s Turbomeca tech rep). We were sitting around tipping a few beers and telling stories of our daring deeds (because that’s what old mechanics do), when the subject of how we got started in the helicopter business came around. Jim and I told our stories as best we could remember. Then it came to Greg’s turn. I’ve been in this business for
Greg Judd 04 2015 40
45 years now and when I heard his story, it moved me like I’ve never been moved before. I wanted to share his story, especially after the twist it took. The names have not been changed to protect the guilty. The world needs to know who they are. Greg told us that when he was about nine years old in the mid-1970s, growing up in the mountain country of northern Utah, his grandmother had a ranch up in the hills outside of the small town of Coalville. Greg lived in town with his mother who ran the local motel in the town. In those days, there was a lot of seismic work going on around the country. Everybody was looking for oil. Many companies used helicopters for oil research. There were also plenty of helicopter pilots and mechanics getting out of the military at that time, and a lot of them started working in that industry. Quite a few of my good friends started their civilian careers doing this. One particular company (I don’t know which one) was doing some seismic work up in the Coalville area and it had some day landing zones (LZs) set up on Greg’s grand- mother’s property. This oil company also required housing for their pilots and mechanics who were away from home. There was only one motel in this little town so it was pretty much taken over by “rotorheads.” The company needed an LZ and an area that it could do maintenance, refueling and storage for the night. Sometimes it would have workers in these areas for months.
Greg told us there was a patch of land across the highway
from the motel that was used by the company, and it came to be called the goat patch. I can just about imagine how exciting this must have been for a nine-year-old boy. Greg told us that he used to watch the helicopters take off and land and he used to see the pilots and mechanics around the motel when they weren’t working. There was one particular mechanic with whom Greg got along. He was a former Marine — a Vietnam veteran who was probably in his late twenties. Greg said that he was a pretty nice guy who he used to take him out to the helicopters when he was doing pre-fl ight inspections. He let Greg help him grease the rotors and prep the aircraft for operations. Greg said that he was “hooked.” He knew that someday he was going to be a helicopter mechanic, just like his hero was. This mechanic had a huge infl u- ence on this young boy without even trying. I don’t think the mechanic even gave it a thought as to how much he was infl uencing Greg. I don’t think he meant to be a role model for future mechanics but that is sometimes what happens. This mechanic even gave Greg a bunch of his helicopter magazines to read. Greg said that he still has these magazines and he always wondered what ever happened to his friend “the helicopter mechanic.” Greg fi nished his story with the statement, “I’ll never forget his name: Steve Miller!” Jim and were immediately jerked back to the present, to the table in the restaurant, and I nearly choked on my beer. Could this be the same Steve Mill- er who Jim and I knew? What were the odds? It’s a common name. The Steve Miller who we knew was the director of maintenance at West Michigan Air Care in Kalamazoo, MI. It operated a couple of AS365 Dauphins for HEMS. We had recently done some work for the company at our facility, and Steve had made a few trips out to visit us and to pick up the aircraft. I’d like to tell you about the Steve Miller that I know. I consider Steve a good friend and a biker bro. Like me, he rides Harleys and enjoys a beer or two now and then. He is an avid mountain hunter and has even brought down a buf- falo with his bow. Steve, I would have to say, on the outside, is one of the crustiest old farts I know. He’s an old Vietnam vet, Marine helicopter mechanic who isn’t really concerned
Steve Miller
DOMmagazine
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