then I could apply for pilot training once I was in. Had I known two out of three guys don’t make it, I’d probably not have jumped at the chance. As it turned out, after I completed my maintenance
training two years in, I was finally able to start flight training. In basic training, we flew the H-23, a little piston Hiller. I went straight through training without any hang- ups or anything. I just really picked up flying very quickly. I went on to the advanced course for the Piasecki H-21, a helicopter for troop transport, resupply, assault mis- sions—that sort of thing. We did external-load sling work with it too. After nine months of training, I was sent back to Fort Bragg [North Carolina] and put on a strategic air com- mand unit that was supposed to be ready to ship out in 24 hours to go to war. We and another unit were deployed to Vietnam, and we were the first units to turn rotor blades in Vietnam, in 1958.
How did you turn your military flying experience into a civilian career? I flew four and a half years in the army and got out in 1961. When I got home, I sold insurance for three years as I waited for a helicopter job opening. When I applied for my civilian license, I had more hours than the civilian instructor pilot who flew with me for that rating. After getting my civilian rating, I applied for different jobs, and I found one in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, at Inland Airlines. They had piston Bell 47 helicopters. Their primary contract was with utility companies. We did transmission-line inspections and anything else people wanted with a helicopter, including photo flights, Santa Claus deliveries, and helicopter rides. Most of the time, though, I was flying power-line
patrol. That consists of flying as close as you comfortably and safely can to the power line for visual inspections. They were long hours. I could log 1,000 hours a year just doing power lines. We worked for two power compa- nies, one in North Carolina and one in South Carolina. I’d fly one month in North Carolina and then in South Carolina the next month. I worked for Inland for 20 years; then, the power companies decided they wanted to upgrade to a Bell JetRanger. My boss didn’t have one of those, so I lost my job. Thing was, I knew the power companies like no one else, so I got a Bell checkout in the 206 JetRanger. I had to bootleg some time around to get the minimum hours to qualify for the job for commercial applications. Then I
started applying to and working for whichever contractor had the utility contract. Of course, I still flew all the other jobs the contractor needed—putting air conditioners on roofs and replacing objects that were too difficult for other machines to lift. We even set telephone poles that were rigged up the slopes. They’d dig the hole and I’d take the pole up, drop it in the hole, and go back for another one. Anything you could do with a helicopter, we did. My last flight was in 2001.
Which flight stands out most in your mind? We had one rescue that was very interesting. We were patrolling the power line. The metal support structures holding the 44,000-volt, three-phase line had crossarms. On that day, I saw two little heads above the crossarm. We flew up there, and we found two little boys sitting on the crossarm. One of them had been on a high-voltage line and had burned himself. He was flailing around. Emergency crews were there, but they didn’t have any- body trained to do this type of rescue. I happened to have an experienced lineman with me who had just undergone the training for removing a man from a tower by climbing up the tower, securing the man in a proper way, and bringing him down. We landed and talked to the rescue crew. We radioed the power com- pany and had the power turned off. The lineman climbed up there in his regular shoes—he didn’t even have his line shoes—and brought the boy down. The boy lived, and he’s fine to this day.
Thirty-one thousand hours without an accident or incident is impressive. Surely you had mishaps along the way?
I describe helicopter flying as hours of boredom inter- rupted by moments of stark terror. I’ve had several par- tial- and full-engine failures. If the engine sputters or quits altogether, you have just a second or three to react. An engine failure is where your pay grade is really earned. I always had someplace where I could put the heli- copter when the engine failed. I landed in a garden one time, in a farmer’s field one time, and, in the military, when we had an engine failure after passing over a ravine, we landed in a paddy. I have a habit of always checking my gauges every minute or so. I looked down one time and saw there was zero oil pressure. About that time, it started to get rough and I thought, well, I’m gonna find a place. I
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