Ok, so it wasn't precisely an F80, but rather the T33 trainer version. But to the best of my knowledge the only differences are the lack of armaments or hard point mounts for them, and the dual seat and dual control cockpit.
I had joined the USAF ROTC Officer “training” program during college. Until the post-Vietnam era, public universities, which had been granted land by the Federal government upon which to build their campuses, were required to have all male students participate in two years of Reserve Officer Training, forming a Corps of cadets (ROTC), with some hopefully going on to an additional two years in the program followed by commissioning as an officer for at least four years of service.
In theory this could have been a wonderful way to have young people participate in public service, though there were a few things less than stellar about the actual program. The first was that it was for men only...true public service to the country and community should not be based on sex. The second was that it was only for military service rather than a broader based way to help build and further the American experiment, particulary for those without interest or capacity to join organizations whose primary purpose was to kill people.
But the biggest weakness in the program was that it didn't even provide any real value in terms of military training...no classes on strategy, tactics, war history or battles to study, no academic aspect at all. The program consisted totally, as best I can recall, in marching around an athletic field under the “command” of those cadets who had signed up for the second two years of the program and eventual commissioning into the military. The rest of the students were basically just fodder for these future officers to drill.
The University of Florida offered only a choice between the Army and the Air Force...there was no Navy or Coast Guard component. I really don't have any idea of why I did so, since at the time I had zero intention to do more than the required two years, but I chose the Air Force ROTC. So in Sepetember of 1963 I picked up my black shoes, khaki normal wear, blue “dress” uniform, and the kind of cap worn by ice cream scoopers in Baskin and Robbins, though in both khaki and blue variations, and prepared for two years of boredom marching around an open field, mostly, except for winter, in the Florida heat and humidity.
Thus my surprise when the Air Force offered me an enticing financial incentive to enter the second two years of the program and a stint as a USAF officer. The fact that I have no recollection of how that occurred probably is a pretty succinct comment on the impression it did or did not make on me. But it did solve a rapidly escalating and serious financial bind for me.
My dad had expectations for me built, I think in part on the lack of educational opportunities he had in his own life. Though I never learned the details, he had to end his formal education after the 8th grade, likely to provide financial support by going to work and helping his family's economic survival. I believe he was probably a good student, and thus was deeply motivated for me to achieve what he we unable to...thus his extreme anger and disappointment when I turned down multiple scholarship offers to instead attend the UF in Gainesville, at the northern end of the Florida peninsula.
I really lacked the independence, self confidence, and maturity to be away from home. While my relationship with my then girlfriend Cheryl was a good part of my reluctance to be far from home, there was more to it then that even if Dad did not think so. I clearly remember crying a good part of the way as Mom and Dad drove me up to Gainesville from Miami.
That choice by me contributed in a major way to my desire to be as financially independent of Dad as possible. Summer jobs and government “National Defense” (NDEA) loans were my main source of financial “freedom,” but by the end of my sophmore year it was apparent that I either needed to ask for more from my poarents, or somehow garner more resources on my own.
The offer from (I suppose) the commander of the Air Force ROTC program was to pay for tuition, books, plus a modest living allowance until graduation. The repayment was four years as an Air Force officer. The Gulf of Tonkin phony “attack” on a US warship occurred during the summer between my freshman and sophomore year (1964). Though in retrospect it is possible that I would not have been drafted, at least not prior to my graduation, or could at least have deferred conscription until I got my degree, the odds are probably even that I would indeed have been drafted at some point, and the last thing I wanted to contemplate was facing life as a “dogface” foot soldier. I was never a great physical specimen and it is possible I would have failed Basic Training, but I believe I felt it was not worth taking a chance, and if I had to go into the military, going in as a junior officer in the Air Force, with the side benefit of them paying much of the cost of my last two plus years of college, seemed by far the best way to go.
But by the time I got my time piloting the T, a lot had changed, and in many ways for me and the nation, not positively. Although at the time I did not think much about what the consequences might be, in retrospect my “bravery” in taking on the entire US Air Force about Vietnam would more correctly be called bravado. I was aware that they might send this trouble maker to some freezing outpost for four years (Thule, Greenland was much on my personal radar). They could have done a lot more to make an example of me and my life a living hell.
Sometime during my Junior year of 1964-65 I and others became aware that the Vietnam military incursion was both futile, and a crock of bullshit. I don't recall exactly when the Pentagon Papers were leaked by Daniel Ellsberg but it was well after I, and one other ROTC cadet, a Philosophy Major, began to openly question the lines we were being fed by fairly senior USAF officers. In particular, I vividly recall the visit of an Air Force Chaplain, who was lecturing us on having confidence in the legality of orders issued to us.
As a Jew I had become acutely aware of the Nazi era in Germany. In fact, for my Bar Mitzvah birthday, rather than the joking tradition of a fountain pen, I asked my parents for a copy of William Shirer's “Rise and Fall of the Third Reich” and, at 13, had read it cover to cover, and was well aware of Adolph Eichmann's 1961 trial defense of “just following orders.”
So when the Chaplain made the statement that, were the class ordered to drop nuclear weapons on Moscow we could be confident that the “dirty Russkies” were, at the same moment, destroying DC,iIn front of the whole class I asked him about the Eichmann defense and how to reconcile that statement and the trial.
I actually don't recall his answer, but I'm pretty sure it was logically inconsistent nonsense, because shortly after the lecture I was called into the Commandant's office and told I had “embarrassed” the Chaplain. Aw, poor guy!
Needless to say, by the time I got to the mandatory six week summer training at Eglin AFB in Northwestern Florida, my reputation preceded me.
In fact, at one point, though I don't recall whether it was before or after my jet flight, I was told by the officer overseeing our group that I had a very low rating by my “peers.” I was not told why nor how to improve that rating. So my only response was that these beer swilling braggarts of sexual conquests that were largely made up, were not my “peers.”
The day ot my T 33 flight I was issued a parachute and given a brief explanation of how it worked...so brief I recall nothing about the details, but in fairness I was probably experiencing most things that day as somlewhat surreal and thus erased this from my memory. Nor do I recall how I actually got into the cockpit, though I suspect walking with the parachute pack slung beneath my butt, even in the short distance from the vehicle transporting me to the flight line, was probably pretty uncomfortable.
I do remember, once I sat down on that chute, being strapped in by an enlisted crewman. And I certainly remember quite vividly watching him pull the “Remove Before Flight” red banners and their attached “keys” from the two ejection seat arm rests. I needed no warning about not touching these until and unless instructed by the pilot.
My preception of him is pretty dim...I think he was a Major, and my memory tells me he had short and receding grey hair...but I also might be mixing him up with my first girlfriend Candy's father, also a Major at the time I dated her, but in the Marines. At any rate it was the pilot who told me that, if he deemed it necessary to bail out, once that decision was made, within less time then it takes to write this he would jettison the canopy and be gone, leaving me to figure out if I thought I could fly a plane he no longer thought he could (not bloody likely). I also remain acutely aware that what I recall as chisel points on the top of my seat, designed to punch through the canopy in the event it failed to eject. That memory is quite vivid because it seemed to me that the top of my “loaner” helmet was above those same chisel points and I kept reminding myself to duck “just in case.”
The taxi out and takeoff didn't make any impression on me. I do remember feeling a bit uneasy when the canopy closed...there's not a lot of room overhead and it is clear why military pilots are not too tall nor too wide. The amount of space around you, for those familiar with it, is rather similar to that of a mocern Lotus sports car. Snug doesn't begin to describe it. The takeoff was not memorably aggressive...certainly the Major was not trying to show off or scare me and just as clearly the plane is capable of a much grater takeoff angle. Nor do I remember the climb to whatever cruising angle he chose...I'm guessing it was under 10,000 feet but that is indeed a guess. I don't recall using an oxygen mask on the flight.
The Major did a number of fairly gentle “S” turns as well as a “Split S” climb. Looking down we were well under the cruising altitude of a commercial jet liner. Still, on a very clear day the visibility was extensive. I don't recall seeing any big cities such as Apalachicola or Tallahassee but Eglin is such a huge base it seems to go on forever.
At one point the Major did a wing roll and flew inverted, asking me to notice that it was “just like sitting in your living room” and to also note I was not hanging from the shoulder straps. I disagreed, saying my ceiling did not look like the ground view above the canopy.
The view forward from the rear seat is largely blocked by the lead pilot's seat back, so when I was instructed to take over control I was bit concerned that it would be basically instrument flying from the “get go.” I suspect, but don't know for sure, that in actual pilot training the student is in the front seat. Fortunately I had always been fascinated by planes and had once even made a cardboard instrument panel for some plane, done from a photo in a book. I used Mom's canned goods to draw circles for the various instrument sizes. I cut out the pointer needles from cardboard, pinning them to the center of the dials and moving them manually of course.
The Major had me fly “straight and level” for a bit, and I used the “Turn and Bank” indicator gauge to ensure that the wings were level and the Horizon indicator and altimeter to ensure I was neither climbing nor descending. The plane was quite stable. I watched the dual throttle control to be sure the officer was not going to play tricks on me by increasing the setting and causing the plane to climb. The cockpit was surprisingly, though not totally, quiet, and with headphones on I could not hear any change in engine sounds very well.
I was then told to institute a number of gentle turns and changes of heading, relying on my now “co-pilot” to watch for other traffic in the area. I was allowed to so some horizontal “S” turns but there was no suggestion of anything in a vertical direction. There was no particular sensation of speed, though the rate at which the ground was passing below us was pretty impressive. It is normal to fly most planes at about 75% throttle, so assuming this was the case I would guess we were moving at roughly 500MPH.
And then
He asked if I could see a fighter which had just taken off from the field and was climbing rapidly. I think it was an F102 or 104...though they do not at all resemble each other I really don't recall which it was and have no real reason to think that. Since I have worn glasses my entire life perhaps he wsa concerned about my visual acuity or depth perception.
At any rate I acknowledged that I could indeed see the plane, and he ordered me to set what I judged to be an intercept course with the fighter, moving the throttle to 100%, the accelration resulting pushing me deeply into the seat and generating a noticeable increase in G force.
Without experience judging distances in a plane I can't really say how far from the fighter we were...I was successful in setting an intercept course that would have resulted in us crossing just behind him...if we had more power. As it was I never really got close, but the Major told me the course I had set wsa appropriate.
And then two things happened almost in unison, which cut short the flight. Both the radio and the air conditioner failed. Had I known more, the first would have caused as much concern for me as the second, but I really was unaware of the risk of being unable to communicate with other aircraft, either military or civilian, nor the tower about returning to the field and laanding. As it was my focus instantly became the AC, as the plane rapidly became a “pheasant under glass” situation when the temperature in the cockpit shot up to well over 100, and both the Major and I rapidly became covered in perspiration, interfering with both concentration and vision. He took over control, increased the throttle setting again, and banked us sharply to return to the field.
I have no memory of how he made the field aware of our predicament...I don't recall any “wing waggling,” but I suspect he turned on the landing lights and, perhaps, there were lights on the wing tips he could use for signaling, as I know they have such lights on the US Navy F18 model I built. At any rate we quickly descended and landed, and he opened the cockpit as soon as the airbrakes slowed us down enough to ensure the wind woould not rip it off the plane. Even the hot and humid Florida air felt cool compared to the suddenly clasutrophobic cockpit, and my legs were wobbly as I climbed from my seat onto the wing once we parked, assisted by a ground crewman.
Still, it ws a pretty amazing experience.
My brief Air Force “career” ended sometime thereafter, in my Senior year in college. With my diploma in hand and my request for deferment for Grad School denied, I reported to some officer somewhere I don't recall for my pre-commisioning physical exam.
I sat around waiting for the result, and then the examining doctor told me I was rejected...for three conditions I have had my entire life. I was and remain “color deficient,” I was born with “flat feet,” and I was underweight for my height.
I was completely baffled. I wondered if my “punishment” for questioning the war was to be shunted in as a non-officer, but the doctor told me the Air Force would not take me at all.
Now what? I wondered. Were they going to REALLY screw me over and get me drafted as an Army grunt and send me to Vietnam? All I could do was go ahead and enter Grad School and wait. After a term at Florida I was selected for a Fellowship at the University of Georgia. It was there, several weeks or a couple of months later, that I reccieved a DD214 Honorable Discharge from the USAF. There were, of course, no listings of the places I “served” on the back of the document, and the accompanying form said, I think, something about me being released for the convenience of the service for “failure to keep myself physically fit,” which was a real laugher.
Sometime after that I got the dreaded “where are you and what are you doing?” questionairre from the local Brevard County draft board, since, though married, my parents' home was still my official permanent address. The form had two questions to which my answers, though accurate, looked very odd together. The first was whether I had every been honorably discharged from military service. With my DD214 and certificate, the answer had to be “Yes.” But the second asked whether I had ever been rejected for military service for any reason (I think the form might have stated reasons such as physical or others)...and of course that answer also had to be “Yes.' Very odd.
I waited with more than a bit of concern until the small envelope containing my new draft card arrived. I no longer recall what the letter code was on it, but it basically meant I could not be drafted.
I know this is significantly longer than my usual posts, but it was important to me to put my brief time piloting a military jet into the context of my life at the time. The lead photo on this piece is a model of the T I just completed. Below are some other views of the completed kit.
