Socrates'N Suitcase

I was worried; my oxygen mask and crash helmet with visor masked my deep, sweat-drenched frown. My beady eyes – small now – but round and sparkling, animated with anticipation as I again ‘zeroed in’ on the procedures I had studied so fervently. I radioed my flight test engineer in the control room at Lockheed flight test center and said, with a timorous, doubtful statement, “Larry, I’m sure I followed the flight test procedures you detailed for me on the mission profile card. I’ve reviewed it in my mind twenty times or more. I even sat in the cockpit and ran a critical analysis for an hour yesterday and another hour before take-off. But as I reached the first test point on airspeed, angle of attack, and yaw input, the plane went crazy – it snapped into an inverted nose-down roll. It really surprised me; it took me several thousand feet to recover. Remember yesterday – it didn’t act like this at all!”

I was a little worried now but I couldn’t let this ‘anomaly’ bother me.

“As a Lockheed experimental pilot,” I said to myself as I was climbing back to the designated altitude to try again, “I feel-—no, you do not feel-—you are a small part of the legacy of famous aircraft and intrepid men.” Lockheed designed and built the P-38 LIGHTNING for WWII. It became famous in the Pacific theater of operations creating the United States’ greatest ace and Medal of Honor winner, Major Richard Bong, with 40 victories. But Bong and Lockheed would come to a very sorrowful departing – his death in the crash of an experimental P-80 SHOOTING STAR while taking off from Lockheed’s Burbank, CA. plant, the home of it’s renowned ‘Skunk Works’. The date was August 6, 1945, the same date long to be remembered – Hiroshima. The P-80 was the United States’ first operational jet fighter. I have mentioned in the past I flew the P-80, both in gunnery training and during several of my early combat missions.

The ‘104’ was born in the ‘Skunk Works’; the design aim being to produce a supersonic fighter that would have performance capability in excess of MACH 2 and combat altitude of over 60,000 feet.

So, although I was alone in the cockpit this day trying to figure out what went wrong at 30,000 feet, I was in the company of esteemed designers, builders, and widely known experimental flight test pilots.

“Not like yesterday at all,” (this was my 10th flight in the #8 YF-104A) as I stated earlier to Larry, meant that I had flown this specific ‘stability and control’ test the day prior and everything went according to the flight test plan. But the electronic mechanism designed to send signals from the test aircraft to tapes located behind the cockpit had malfunctioned, and none of the data collected was useable for studying past performance before planning the next experimental flight. When you hear about aircraft accidents today the familiar word is the importance of recovering the ‘flight data recorder’. Well, in 1957 it wasn’t as sophisticated. Since there was no data from my previous test, I was asked to do the experimental flight over again. Of course, I agreed to do so.

I took off and climbed to 30,000 ft. and started the experimental flight. I controlled the aircraft as precisely as possible as called for on the flight test card. I was less than 40 seconds into the test, when WHAM!! – the plane snapped into a pitch-up and snap into an inverted roll. It was then that I radioed Larry – after I got control of the plane – and myself!

“OK,” I said to Larry, “maybe I did something wrong. I’m going to try the test once again, but if it re-acts the same, I’m coming home. I’ll climb back to designated altitude and, on an open mike, I’ll talk my way through. I think in this manner we’ll both be able to try to determine the reasons for the unusual behavior of this lady. Whether it’s a sore back, or breasts, or rear end, something is bothering her.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Larry, “but everything seemed to go so well yesterday. Hope nothing is wrong.”

How soon we were to find out!!

“Roger,” I remarked, as I leveled off at the proper altitude. “I’m ready!! I’ll talk through each step!! OK! Here goes!! I’m at altitude, attaining – there I am – at the indicated airspeed as called for, angle of attack coming – coming – there it is – holding angle of attack – airspeed – OK, here comes the rudder – more – more – WOW!!, Why so much rudder?? Wham!!! Damn it Larry!!! Here I go again!, I yelled!! “I have a vicious pitch-up!!! I have huge roll input!! Going crazy – I’m upside down – the plane’s going crazy!!!”

The nose had yawed right with horrific violence – everything became a blur as the plane tumbled out of control toward the ground. I said to myself, “This is crazy – this isn’t me – this is terrifying –“ and for a nanosecond my first combat mission flashed before my eyes – with the terror I experienced in seeing flak and tracers – and realizing for the first time the enemy was trying to shoot me down – with the intention of killing me!!!

Now this damned ‘104’ is trying to do the same thing!!!

I couldn’t talk any more – I had to get control; the airplane had stalled out. I was about 60 degrees upside down and yawing – I don’t even know which way – I was so disoriented – but I knew I was heading down –- fast. I didn’t move the stick or push either rudder pedal. I didn’t advance the throttle; I quickly checked the exhaust gas temperature – and the RPM gauge – the engine had not flamed out.

One of the first things a test pilot learns is not to ‘fight’ the controls. You never learn how not to be scared. Was I scared? You’re damn right! One thing I remember – there is a difference between being afraid and scared. In combat and testing, I was never afraid to accept my responsibility but I was sure as hell scared – a lot!

I said to myself, “Take it easy – you have altitude. OK! Now, roll it upright – little roll input – easy – easy – little rudder – whoops!! – the other way – easy on the stick – check the tuck – check the tuck – little more roll – little bit at a time – Jesus! The altimeter is unwinding in a hurry!! Just a touch of rudder – just a touch, damn it!! – don’t know what’s wrong – little bit – little bit-.” Slowly – ever so slowly, I finally had the lady by the cheeks of her beautiful butt; I had to caress them ever so slowly to keep from inducing a secondary stall – and sure enough she responded and I pulled out of my dive. I had beaten the wicked witch who had the determination to fatally test the law of gravity – on me. I finally had #52-962, the eighth ‘104’ built with the ‘8 BALL’ painted on its side, flying level. I had lost 18,000 feet. I had everything pretty well under control; pitch, roll, and yaw wise at this higher altitude, but I applied minimum stick force ever so slowly so I wouldn’t get into a secondary stall. Yes, I had literally been ‘behind the 8 ball’.

I called Larry, gave him the particulars, and told him something was wrong. I didn’t know what it was but I knew something was amiss; so much that I instinctively started to climb and head for the dry lake at Edwards AFB. The dry lake bed had save me many times during past test flights when things were not functioning properly, particularly the new YJ79-GE-3 (General Electric) engine, a beautifully designed, but, what turned out to be, an extremely troubled engine.

What the hell, Lockheed was stretching the state of the art for an intended production fighter. Everything was new – new design of aircraft – new engine – new variable inlet guide vanes – new main fuel regulator – new type of afterburner; new altitudes never explored, and high speeds never researched in a combat situation. It was first time in any aircraft the engine was combined with a fully variable duct system that could adapt itself to all contrasting conditions from take-off to Mach 2.2; at least it was supposed to. The F-104’s wings were also unique, tailored purely to the supersonic regime – extraordinarily small span and area – without sweep. The next time you take a look at the new generation fighters – the F-14, the F-15, the F-16, look at the leading edge of the wings. They look like Mt. Rushmore compared to the F-104’s 16/1000th of an inch thick leading edges.

The STARFIGHTER had new radar, new gun, a new pilot’s handbook to write, and new emergency procedures to test.

Front-line air-to-air combat pilots convinced Kelly Johnson, corporate vice president-research and development and ‘Skunk Works’ genius, to go for performance at all cost. The result was one of the most startling airplanes ever built. The ‘missile with a man in it’, as it was called. As far as moving at very high speed in a straight line it had few rivals.

But nothing worked as designed. More than a dozen times I would be in the throws of an experimental test flight and the engine would flame out – just flat ass quit – for no apparent reason. I would go through the normal operating procedures to try and get the engine started and gingerly head for home. Sometimes, no, many times, I couldn’t get the engine started again so I hurriedly took the option of the dry lake bed at Edwards – to ‘dead stick’ the aircraft – into the same dry lake bed where the space shuttle first landed 15 years later; it offered test pilots both lots of room. The reason I did not always try an emergency start is simple; the procedure was far too time consuming, too disruptive, and no guarantee that the procedure would work. At a rate of descent of over 11,000 ft./min. and at speeds of over 300 mph, there is little time to do anything but plan a flameout landing; a flameout landing that had to be planned with minimum turns.

Was the lakebed going to save me one more time? My mind was suddenly and inexplicably filled with the past. Burbank – and the dry lake at Edwards!! Why did Bong have to die? Why Burcham?? In all due respect to management, Bong shouldn’t have been flying out of Burbank in an aircraft of such new design. He had a flameout in an F-80 soon after take-off and ended in a gravel pit killing him instantly. Why not Edwards where there was lots of room for error? XP-80 first flight pilot and chief Lockheed test pilot Milo Burcham was piloting the third YP-80. He had just departed the Burbank airport when he reported a flame out. During an emergency landing, he slammed into a gravel pit and was killed instantly. Why Burbank? Why not the dry lakebed? I picked Edwards for a couple of reasons. I was too far away from Palmdale. In the event of an emergency; experimental pilots aren’t paid to eject from every test vehicle that presents a sudden unknown problem. Also, Edwards (named after an experimental test pilot who died in the crash of a flying wing) is a wide open lake bed which gave me options for direction of landing and a high indicated airspeed on final approach – I planned to avoid any pitch-up, yaw, and roll situations.

I reached what I thought was a safe altitude, called Larry and told him my plans. He told me to switch frequency so Lockheed could monitor my approach to Edwards. I gave him a ‘ROGER’ on that and radioed Edwards.

“Edwards tower this is Lockheed test 2962, over.”

“Roger 2962, go ahead,” was the instant reply.

“Edwards, 2962 is declaring an emergency although it is not a ‘MAYDAY’. Request landing on the lake bed at speeds above normal; not sure of my direction as yet – don’t want to make too many turns – not sure when I’ll drop my gear – would appreciate, however, fire truck following, over.”

“Roger 2962. Wind is light varying N to NW at five knots, altimeter 30:01.”

“OK Edwards! I’ll have to make a 90 toward the north – will call about three miles out on final – straight in toward north.” “Wind’s not that bad and I don’t want to move this thing around too much.”

I said to myself. “I feel something is wrong – don’t know – but I feel as if I’m encased in an eggshell.”

“Edwards,” I radioed, “I’m presently at three one thousand feet west of Barstow – parallel to ‘58’ (Hwy. 58) – Harper dry lake is at one o’clock. I’m on the letdown.”

“Roger 2962,” came the reply from Edwards. “Keep us informed. We are monitoring your Lockheed frequency, can keep them informed if necessary. The fire trucks are rolling.”

I gingerly started to lose altitude; pulled the throttle back to about half quadrant and cracked open the speed brakes. The thought of fire trucks rolling was not comforting.

I started down. I had descended about 2,000 ft. when I ran into a rumble of Clear Air Turbulence. I inched back on the throttle, and instinctively closed the speed brakes to reduce buffet. I told the tower I was in CAT; I knew Larry was listening. I then said to myself, “OK ‘EIGHT BALL’, take it easy – we’ve been through a lot of things together – we’ll get through this – take it easy. Get me home and we’ll hit my apartment and enjoy a martini or two and laugh and giggle. And gosh knows what will happen then!”

Just as I looked down to check the airspeed indicator, I was met with a horrific WHAM! The nose violently pitched almost straight down and then continued to move through 90 degrees. I was starting to tumble. I called, “Larry!!,” as I was pulling hard, real hard, back on the stick, “I’ve lost control!! I have zero pitch input! I’ve got to get the hell out!! Now!!”

At that instant I reached for the ejection ring between my legs with both hands and pulled as the aircraft continued to tumble. BOOM!! – I was out – ejected upward – upside down – at 27,000 feet.

I might add more detail about ejection. The F-104 was the first fighter designed with a ‘downward’ ejection seat because of its excessive speed at low altitude where, of course, the air is dense. Any ejection, up or down, at high speeds would be like hitting a brick wall – a thick brick wall – at 700 miles per hour. No question; that’s EXCEDRIN headache #1!! In reference to the F-104, the ejection systems, at that time, were not powerful enough to eject the pilot ‘upward’ for fear of jamming him, due to high dynamic pressure, into the horizontal and vertical tail, each having a leading edge with a .001 inch radius. I wasn’t ready for sliced ‘Suitcase’!! Thus F-104 pilots ejected ‘downward’.

It’s a funny thing about life – or fate. Three of my test pilot friends were soon to be killed in the F-104 when they were forced to eject close to the ground. The ejection system either didn’t function at low altitude, or they were too close to the ground when the made their decision to eject. My system worked; and I had 27,000 ft. of space – below me.

I can still remember the tremendous blast of rushing air – like going down hill in the front seat of a mile high roller coaster – only this blast was instantaneous – it hit me at about 450 miles per hour. One second after I ejected the lap belt separation system worked – it blew the belt in half and freed me from the seat. For a few seconds the seat and I were inches apart floating to a stop as we reached the apex of our arc. I was in awe – astounded! Me? At 27,000 feet! Motionless – not a whiff of air – not a sound – suspended in time! This is a dream!

The force of the blast that threw me upward was quickly waning; gravity was waiting to grab me. If the system didn’t work! If my chute didn’t open! I was at 27,000 ft. and there was nothing but empty, unfilled space below me. And gravity didn’t give a rat’s ass. I was his! A lanyard, one end attached to half of my seat belt and the other end attached to a pin in my chute, seemed to be hanging around. It was slithering OH! so slowly, like a torpid eel in water. Then the seat drifted – or fell – away. The eel became a frozen rope and pulled the pin that was to arm my parachute to open at 15,000 ft. Then I began to fall too!!

A DOWN-TO-EARTH AWARENESS
THAT I WAS ON MY WAY –
DOWN-TO-EARTH

I started in the form of a roll, then a tumble, followed by a corkscrew – all in slow motion, at first, but the big ball below was intent on grabbing me – hard by my tail – and gravity was anxious to speed up my downward direction. Strong, powerful, and violent gusts of wind hammered at my body for about 10,000 feet. The thought of clear air turbulence streaked through my mind. I was like a leaf being blown from a tall oak tree in a vicious wind storm – sway and tumble – no control – no power over anything – no stability – just another body, simply subjected, nakedly, to the divine agency to which the order of things is prescribed. Would I be a favorite son or a fatality of sorts? Would I be vicariously and rudely shoved back in time to Greek mythology? Would I become Icarus and fall to my death by flying too close to the sun; or, would I become the winded horse Pegasus carrying the thunderbolt of Zeus and be allowed to live and, like he, be captured by my bellerophon (Lockheed) and continue to ride through many adventures?

Speaking of thunderbolts, what the hell happened?? This isn’t me, falling through space worrying about my damn ‘chute’ opening. These systems have failed before. Where’s the ‘D’ ring for manual opening? Where are my hands? I can’t find the ring if I can’t find my hands!! Where are my feet? What happened to my airplane? Was ‘8 BALL’ pissed off at me? OH God! something was just torn away from my body. Oh my God! I’m going to hit the ground!!

My thinking was interrupted – with an abrupt, cruel, intense punch in my crotch and chest. My chute had opened – with a vicious snap. WHOMP!, a big shaking, followed by a smaller one. The sudden, momentary shock was extremely violent – I was a rag doll in the mouth of a giant killer lion – then he dropped me – PLOP!!! And there I was!!! Suspended in space for a second or two hanging by two leg straps and a chest belt – at 15,000 ft. in an empty, cold, unfriendly void. But, then, I was in air – air gracious enough to fill my chute and control my rate of descent. Suddenly, I was swaying at intervals during which all continuity was suspended. I was being treated as a non-entity. I was stunned – this wasn’t me – I’m having a nightmare!!! I’m dreaming – Clark Gable and Spencer Tracy and a snazzy blonde in TEST PILOT. Then a sudden, abrupt switch to reality – the wind came – wheezing through the shrouds rocking me back and for the – back and forth – Christ!! This can’t be me! I was in a back yard swing, out of control, only I couldn’t put my feet down to stop it. I was afraid to look down, but when I did – it was the most frightening – OH my God!! Would those straps hold me? Will I fall?? I still had about 12,000 feet to go. My first experience in a parachute! I–will–never–forget–it!!!

Just like I’ll never forget the first time I made love to a girl friend; only it really isn’t making love. It is more like a fumble-rumble-tumble; same as my parachute ride. Yes, ride! The first time-you’re only along for the ride—a very short one!

That made me feel about as good as in that parachute. I didn’t need a reminder of sex – my first time. I was fumbling, swallowing hard, had increased mental intensity, afraid to reach for something – and miss. I was pulling up – trying to get settled in my seat strap – pulling down on the shroud lines – and I was doing some damn heavy breathing.

It all happens so fast – one really doesn’t know what to expect. Not much difference – the first time – between ejection and trying to make out! It’s frenzied, sudden, and ends up being---disheartening!!!

I looked around. I could see San Bernardino, Barstow, Edwards, Lancaster, Palmdale, the Valley. All those places and hundreds of thousands of people – shopping, milling around, laughing, visiting each other, yet I was all alone. I looked at my legs and arms and hands. I moved them. My hands were holding on to the rigging with a tighter grip than ‘Vice-Grip’ pliers. I wasn’t about to let go. Somewhere along the line I had lost my left glove, my watch, and the strap on kneeboard had been torn off, leaving what appeared to be a nice bloody gash inside my left knee. My flight suit looked like the remnants of a flag flown at full mast during a hurricane. It was in shreds. But my helmet, visor, and oxygen mask stayed with me. Thank God! I was sucking, rather readily I might add, emergency oxygen. My laced-up boots were still on my feet. I looked down – still, I’m guessing – 5000 feet of void – I moved my head around – didn’t dare make a body turn – didn’t want to disturb anything. The wind still had that eerie sound to it as it continued to pick its way through the shroud lines. Reminded me of ‘Inner sanctum’ – but that was a squeaky door.

I really felt depressed. How could this happen to me? Then I started to think. “You’re in the big leagues now, Suitcase. This is serious stuff, ejecting out of an experimental aircraft. You’re not a ‘fly boy’ any more. You are dealing with a very profound, abstruse, difficult subject manner – this test flying stuff. It’s beyond the ordinary knowledge or understanding of most everyone. Most people think of test pilots in a leather jacket and white scarf in the company of glamorous women. No glamour here, my man. You better pray it wasn’t your fault because of a dumb mistake.”

I was looking for smoke from my crash – nothing!! I remember thinking that I hoped a United Airlines DC-6 wouldn’t run into me. Why United? Why a DC-6? I have not idea!

I looked down. “WOW!!,” I said to myself, “I’m coming down pretty darn fast. I better get ready for my sudden, abrupt stop.”

I don’t know at what rate of descent I hit the ground; I went from so many feet per second to PLOP!! Wham!! Right on my rear end!! Just like that!!! I do remember, as I neared the ground, seeing a small ranch house, or cabin, with clothes on a wash line. A blessing!! The clothes gave me an indication of which was the wind was blowing – so when I hit the ground I would be prepared to get up and run in the chute so I could grab the lower shroud lines and collapse it. Sounds good!! That’s what they do in movies. But this was my first ejection and parachute ride and I was never given any in-depth lectures or practice in landing in a harness, say, by jumping from a tower as you see in training movies.

The clothes’ line was strung from the roof of the cabin to a pole about 30 yards away. It was high enough to help me with my depth perception. When my eyes were even with the clothes, I closed them, tucked in my legs a bit, went limp – and waited. WHOMP!! I hit the ground – hard. The chute did not collapse; the wind was stronger than I anticipated. Let me tell you, there was none of this getting up and run stuff – I was being dragged. I managed to roll over on my stomach, used my elbows for speed brakes – I still have scar tissue – and slowly crawled forward to shorten the distance to the bottom of the chute. I finally managed to get it to collapse – then I did too!!

After a few long minutes, I sat up, took off my helmet and oxygen mask, and looked around. No one came from the cabin; there were no telephone or electrical lines to the cabin. Water from a hand pump? Washing by hand with a board? Maybe I didn’t have it so bad. I couldn’t see a soul after sweeping 360 degrees of close-up and extended length vision. I was alone sitting on my ass in some huge dried up, dusty, brown grass-like field. My back was killing me. My knee had stopped bleeding but my elbows looked like someone took a fish-scaling knife to them and dropped them in the dirt.

But I was more concerned about what happened to the aircraft. I knew the engine had not flamed out. What caused such a horrendous pitch – downward? I couldn’t move the stick? Was it a hydraulic failure? Did the tail come off? I was thinking, “Should I have stayed with it long enough to switch to emergency hydraulic power?” The way I was tumbling, I couldn’t find my arms or legs let alone a check on hydraulic system failure. I kept thinking!! My God!! What if I am responsible?? This really isn’t happening!! I’m going to lose my job!!. Is my experimental career over already??

I also looked for smoke – from the wreckage – but nothing except a lot of dust and haze on the 360degree horizon. Still no one in sight! I was as alone as a jailbird in solitary; I was desolate – accompanied by a sense of sadness and loss. The wind was getting stronger – blowing from the west. I pulled in more of the chute. I took a white panel and pressed a small section hard against my knee and elbows. What a mess they were. I decided not to move. Lockheed would be looking for me by now anyhow. I unhitched one side of the parachute risers and let the chute flare out, the blood from my knee and elbows adding a third color and contrast to the orange and white panels.

I heard a motor. It wasn’t the sound of an airplane. I struggled to stand up and saw a truck driving toward me. It continued until it came right up beside me and stopped. The west wind pushed the dust away from me. It was driven by a farmer with eyes the size of an “on deck” baseball batter’s circle. I had taken off my helmet, so at least he knew I wasn’t from another planet – I think!!

“I seen yah come down – from way off,” he said. “Took me a time to git here. What happened? Is you busted up? You one of them paratroopers from out yonder at Bicycle Lake? Wher’d yawl come from?”

I said, “I don’t know what happened. I just got here myself. (my try at dry humor went directly over his head) and I’m OK, but I would appreciate a ride to the nearest town. I’d like to make a phone call.

“Boy, ain’t no towns round here. Yaw’l in the middle of nowhere. This yous’d to be alfalfa – ain’t nothin’ now. No water – ‘cep’n for washin’ like thet cabin over there. Thet underwear thet’s a blowin’ probably got ‘nuff chemicals in et to cure thet guy’s pecker in case he was a catchin’ sumptn from a wonderin’ woman. Heh Heh Heh!! As I says, ain’t no towns but I kin take you to a country-like store. They got a phone outside. Cumon, git in.”

His name was Gus. He helped me gather my chute and helmet and off we went. I made the mistake of telling Gus my back hurt a little. From that time on, until Lockheed picked me up in a plane at the edge of a dry lakebed, Gus told me about his back troubles, his wife’s lumbago troubles, his kid’s troubles, and money troubles. On the way to the ‘country-like’ he asked, “How much you trouble shooters make tossin’ ‘round the air like that?”

“Not enough,” I answered.

“You married?”

“No thanks?

“Heh Heh Heh!! Yeah, marriage is like jumping int’a a hole in the ice in the midd’l winter; you do it once and you remember it the rest of yer days!! Yer smart! Got girl friends?”

“Not enough! Although I am dating a blonde right now.

“What’s ‘er name? She pretty?”

“Her name is Jane and, yes, she is very pretty; she could make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window just to see her pass.”

“Heh Heh Heh!!!. Probably wanted to see her ass. Heh Heh!!. That’s a good’ n.”

“How long have you been married, Gus?

“Hell mah man, I’ve been in love with the same woman for thirty-eight years. If my wife ever finds out she’ll kill me. Heh Heh Heh!! Now!, Jest a kiddin’, Gus said, “I’m a married to mah third one. Nice lady. Took on two of her kids and I guess she like that. We ain’t got much money, but we git along. You see, I drive a tractor for a big rancher near’n Ridgecrest and when I work pay’s pretty good. Long hours though.”

We were now bouncing along a dirt trail in Gus’s pickup truck headed toward the edge of Harper dry lake. This was after I called Lockheed, collect. Ellie Hawks, the chief of flight test accepted the call.

The conversation was surreal.

“Hi, Suitcase. Where are you calling from?”

“I’m out here at a crossroads with a one pump, one ‘coke’ machine gas station.”

“Oh?? Where??”

“I don’t know! Somewhere south of Harper dry lake – so I’m told. My map shows a pinpoint called ‘Lockhart.’”

I was beginning to realize that for some reason or other, Ellie didn’t know I had lost an airplane. I found out later that the guys upstairs in engineering were in a panic and Ellie had just returned from the bank or something; no one had the chance to call him.

“Did you have a breakdown or something??”

“Yeah, Ellie. You’re number 8 airplane is broken way down – into a thousand pieces is my guess. For Chris’ sake, Ellie, I just ejected from #8.”

Dead silence for a long, long second!!!.

“Wha!!, What??. Yuh, yuh, yuh mean yuh bailed out?? Wha wha where?? What happened? Are you OK?? For crap sake, (Ellie did not swear – a great man – but not just because he didn’t swear) what happened?? Are you Ok?? Where you calling from?? Are you OK?? Can we come get you?? Ca ca can you walk??”

“Yes, yes, Ellie, I’m OK, OK.” I said. “Thanks for asking. How about a raise? Seriously, I don’t know what happened. I lost all pitch control. The airplane just pitched straight down and started to tumble on me so I had to get the hell out; had a nice guy pick me up – took me to this ‘Grapes of Wrath’ junction.”

“Gosh, I can’t believe it. Wait a second.!! Larry just walked into my office. Just a minute -.” Mumble, mumble – “OK!! Larry is happy you’re OK! Can you get to Harper dry lake??”

“Yes, I’m sure this man will take me. But I want to give him a tip; I didn’t bring any cash with me; next time I will.”

“Heck, we don’t want anymore ‘next times’. But don’t worry about the tip. We’ll pick you in the Bonanza – give us an hour.”

“OK!! Great!! Have Larry review the voice tapes with you. That’s all we have left anyhow. See yah in about an hour. And Ellie, I’m OK. Relax.”

“Hey!! Wait! Wait! What’s the number there. I’ll call you right back.”

So, in a few minutes the phone rang, and Ellie and I discussed what happened in more detail. Ellie had reached the zenith of his excitement and was calming down. I think he was also relieved in knowing I was OK. Ellie told me Tony LeVier was on his way to pick me up.

I suggested to Ellie that Larry accompany Tony so he could brief him on the way.

As we continued the drive toward Harper, my conversation with Gus was vapid; passing the time as we drove; but he turned out to be a very nice man. It helped me through my anxiety of being in the middle of nowhere, having just lost an experimental airplane worth tens of millions of dollars, and not knowing the reason why – that’s what was haunting me. But Gus said, “Ain’t no use ah worryin’ ‘bout a dumb airplane. Lockheed’s got plenty of ‘em. If they don’t, they can build ‘em. They only got one of you. Ain’t no more ‘Suitcase’s comin’ ‘long--unless they being’ in the form of pocketbooks. Heh heh heh! Pardon my a laughin’ but I can’t wait tah’ tell my friends I picked up a Suitcase that fell outta’ the sky. Heh heh heh!”

I laughed, but then I got serious. I said, “Gus, there aren’t many men like you around. You did me a favor today and you topped it off by making me feel good. Ah! A friend in need-how much to be wished for! Gus, there was a Greek by the name of Euripides. They call him ‘the philosopher of the stage’ because of his plays. He wrote one about Hercules. Watch that bump!! Wow!! My back! Thanks. Anyhow here’s a guy born about 500 years before Christ yet he wrote about you.”

“About me? Chris’n sake. Do I look that old?”

“No! no! But he talked about men like you when he wrote, ‘Real friendship is shown in times of trouble; prosperity is full of friends.’ In other words, Gus, you strike me as the kind of man who would help anyone in time of trouble – just like you helped me today. I thank you very much.”

“Hell, Mr’n Suitcase. It’s my pleasure. Happy to hav’n helped.”

Tony landed the twin Beech on Harper dry lake and taxied to a stop bringing a cloud of thick red dust with him. Larry, my flight test engineer was in the co-pilot seat. I introduced the two men to Gus. Larry took one look at my knee and elbows and jumped back in the plane and grabbed a first-aid kit. He poured some liquid on gauze and started to wipe my lesions. It stung like hell. He then broke out three large Band-Aids and stuck them over the very bloody skin. While Gus was carrying the chute and helmet over to Larry to put in the plane, Tony took me aside and said, “Don’t worry, Jack, we think we know what went wrong. Larry and I could see the wreckage from the air. We saw the hole the airplane made, then the ripped off tail section, and finally the mangled tip tank. It looks as if the tip tank was torn loose due to the clear air turbulence you reported. It probably wasn’t installed correctly. It then, somehow, jammed into the tail and cut through it like butter. It reminds me of the fatal accident we had at Big Spring in a T-33 – tip tank came off and tore into the tail. Only the instructor was at low altitude. Do you remember that?”

“How could I forget,” I said, “The pilot was one of my instructors.”

“Anyhow, we think that’s what caused your tumble; thank God the ejection seat worked perfectly. We have some experts on their way to the sites now; I radioed the coordinates.”

I was relieved, but depressed. How could something like this happen? I asked Tony if he had a few bucks. He went over to Gus and thanked him and then we all said our good byes. When Tony shook Gus’s hand his palm had a fifty-dollar bill in it. Tony LeVier is my kind of man. When it was my turn I didn’t say much – just shook Gus’s hand, gave him a hug, said “Thank you,” and started to turn toward the airplane. My tear ducts were leaking.

Gus gave me a firm handshake, put his left arm around my right shoulder and said, “You’n a good man, Mr. Suitcase. And remember a clean tie will always attract the soup of the day. Be careful! But I’m sure you can handle it.”

“I promise, Gus. I promise.”

When we arrived at Palmdale there were a lot of solemn faces around the huge hanger. When they saw me walking things lightened up and I was given a big welcome. I walked directly to the crew chief on number 8. He had tears in his eyes. He said, “Thank God; thank God you’re OK. I don’t know what I would have done…”

I told him, “Please don’t worry; I am sure it was not your fault. What happened today is what experimental flying is all about. Better me than a young pilot.” Then I quoted something I remembered from Emerson: the years teach much which the days never know.

I then reported to the flight surgeon, (my back was just a bruise.) I was given a prescription for pain if it got worse; the doctor sewed a couple of stitches in my knee, and had my elbows cleaned and bandaged. I then filed a tape-recorded, detailed recounting of events, and visited with Ellie, Tony, and Larry. Things were getting serious; we were losing too many aircraft.

I didn’t know it then, but my time would come again.

Tony flew me to Burbank. On the way, Tony told me my aircraft, the No. 1 YF-104A, ‘Suitcase’s Appleknocker’, (my crew chief had painted a flying Suitcase on the right side) which I had been test flying, continued to be down for maintenance and additional instrumentation and wouldn’t be ready for another week. The ‘Appleknocker’ was the first of seventeen YF-104As off the assembly line that were to be used as experimental test aircraft. He said, “I don’t want to even hear from you until a week from day after tomorrow.”

I went to my apartment located a few miles from Burbank.

I did go to the plant a few days later, though. Tony gave me a copy of Dr. Barron’s (Lockheed’s flight surgeon) medical report. It stated, and I quote, “On the basis of Mr. Simpson’s story and physical findings there is no evidence of pathological or physiological causation of the accident. It appears that the escape system, personal equipment, and the pilot’s training and good judgment were all instrumental in saving his life and preventing serious injury.”

It took me a few days to capture any semblance of walking correctly because I never hurt so much in my life; my neck, my shoulders, chest, elbows, my inner thighs, even my cushy ass. I always played tennis or worked out religiously every other day and I thought I was in good shape. Tarzan, if he missed a vine and fell out of a tree, could not have taken the abrupt tugs and pulls and shakes on his body without hurting in the same way, and he had a Jane who worried about him, too! Ah, yes, my Jane; a gorgeous lady. I decided not to say anything about the accident. She knew – but kept it to herself. You can’t fool a woman!

Anyhow, I had our flight test secretary type a letter for me thanking Gus. I wanted it on Lockheed stationery. I also packaged a model of the F-104 and sent it to him – with the tail on.

Tony told me to make sure I didn’t come back to work too soon. His first premise about the cause of ejection turned out to be true. The tip tank was installed improperly. The rest is history. He didn’t offer to show me the pieces.