by Greg Sandora
“Give me the keys from the ignition, you won’t be going anywhere but jail tonight. Don’t get any bright ideas either, I have backup on the way. Believe me, you don’t want the trouble.”
He was right about that, I was tired and just wanted to get home. I reached into the glove box then handed him my license, registration, and keys.
I said, “You’re right, officer, I don’t want any trouble with the Windham Police.”
He corrected me, “State Police,” and mumbled something taking my keys and paperwork back to the squad car. Moments later, returning to my window rather quickly, he gave me my paperwork and keys, speaking apologetically.
“Oh Senator Canon, I am so sorry for my mistake. I really hope you can realize I didn’t know it was you. It’s very late and dark and I didn’t recognize the car. My sergeant wants me to be sure to tell you - in the future - he would personally like to arrange escort if you need it, or happen to be in a hurry, and also he would like to apologize on behalf…”
I cut him off, “Listen son, I understand you’re only doing your job, and a good job at that. It’s my fault I can’t seem to keep this lead foot off the gas, not yours. Tell your sergeant I said everything is okay, and to forget it and I mean that, to forget it.”
Sounding relieved, “Thank you, sir. It’s an honor to meet you, and I'm sorry for the circumstances. By the way, my sergeant told me you were probably running for president.”
“We’ll see son, have a good night.”
I hit the pedal all the way to the floor and tore off in the black 63 corvette, the only year Chevy made it with the split rear window. I had dropped the 350 and replaced it with the faster 409 engine. I burned a lot of rubber leaving only a cloud of smoke. I passed three more cruisers, blue lights flashing, still on their way to the scene, hitting 110 as I passed through Raymond. One trooper even started to turn around, siren blaring, but then his lights turned off and all was quiet.
By then it was three o’clock in the morning and the roads were empty except for the cops I passed. I respect the police and would never cause a working man any problems. The trooper was just a regular guy trying to make a living and support a family. I’m all about helping these guys fight against the big money that makes their lives so hard.
Nothing like the Colonel, he had a cop’s legs broken once to keep him from showing up in court. Mom was coming home from a party one night when she was young. After dropping off a few girlfriends, she was picked up for drunk driving. The cops who brought her back to the station were a bit rough with her. The Colonel was so pissed he hired some Portland thugs to rough up the cop who arrested her - just enough to scare him into skipping court, dismissing the case against Mom. The men the Colonel hired went too far and broke both the cop’s legs. He never made it to court. Lucky for me no one ever traced the incident to the Colonel. If that kind of thing ever got out it could cause a lot of trouble. The Colonel had a few other skeletons, mostly land grabbing, but nothing that ever stuck.
CHAPTER NINE
I learned to fly with the Indiana Air Guard. In ’75 after graduation, I spent the summer traveling through Europe with nothing but a backpack. It was the same summer I decided all I wanted to do was fly fighter jets.
The A-10 is the ultimate machine, with a cruising range of 800 miles and a top speed of 420 miles an hour; I couldn’t wait to get in one and fly it. The first time I ever saw one, I was nearing the Indiana Guard base for a flight physical. The sound was deafening as the jet, the military calls the tank killer, flew from what looked to me to be 20 feet off the ground straight up to 5000 feet in a few seconds. The thrust from the engine looked like the burning end of a lit flare, as the jet headed straight for the sky.
The plane was equipped with a fuselage built to withstand 23 mm gunfire, an autopilot for close to ground missions, and night vision goggles, so it could be flown in the dark.
There were a lot of kids my age wanting to fly for the guard that day. I managed to pass the flight physical with flying colors. The doctor even commented to his assistant that I was a physical specimen. He only found one problem he needed to tell me about, I was partially colorblind, something to do with blue, gray, and green. I’d never noticed my impairment before, since in real life I rarely pick out numbers from closely colored dots. I guess the military has their reasons, but I always thought I could see all the colors in the rainbow.
I guess the doctor must have sensed my disappointment because what he said next surprised me. He told me he would put me through if I really wanted, but I’d be on my own after that. He wanted to be sure I knew, if I failed again, I’d be on ground patrol. Taking me aside, he said, “Listen kid, some guys like you memorize the test, you could try that. It’s up to you, if you want to chance it.”
I said, “I do, sir.” Then I got the bright idea to find Base Commander’s office and march in to introduce myself. I figured meeting the guy couldn’t hurt my chances. The base commander was an important looking guy in his fifties. From a seated position behind a steel-gray desk, he looked up at me for only a second - motioning me to speak before continuing with his work.
He must have liked what I had to say because when I finished he jumped up to shake my hand, “Son you’re the only one who had the gumption to come up here and find me today. I like your chutzpah, the guard needs the type of guy who takes the bull by the horns to fly one of these things. Have you ever been in an A-10 Warthog, son?”
I didn’t want to spoil my chances, but I told the truth. “No, sir.” I never forgot what that gravelly voice said next, “Well son, if you want to stick around for a while, I’ll see that you get up in one today. If after that, you’re still as gun ho about this as you are now, then I guess we’ve got our new pilot.”
That day, all on my own, I made something big happen in my life. The same afternoon, I was introduced to a captain by the name of Bill Mitchell. In what I later realized was only a routine ride, with a face full of my own vomit, I made a fast friend for life. Bill was the Squadron Commander, strong and confident. He took me under his wing and showed me the ropes. We had so much fun in the guard together. Bill was good-looking - I knew it from the way women gawked at him. Not the usual way girls do, when they don’t want to get caught. I’m talking about a ‘stop what they’re doing, I don’t even care if he see’s me’ type of stare. I wasn’t jealous, though, ‘cause after, they’d look at me and smile, too. I felt cool just being with him.
I met Kathy on a warm fall day in 1977. Bill and I had driven up to Georgetown from Lexington to go to the State Agricultural Fair. The pulling was my favorite, I loved to watch the oxen and draft horses work the loads. As a trainer in college, I modeled my own workouts after the methods I observed watching the contestants with their animals. “See how they do that,” I told Bill.
“Do what?” Bill asked.
“See how they work the animals to fatigue, and then when their energy starts to drain, they give them a short rest?” Digging into the dirt for traction, coats glistening with sweat the animals gave it their all. The arena filled with the sound of animals breathing heavy and snorting as they caught their breath.
Bill answered, “You mean sort of working in spurts and then taking it easy?”
“Not exactly, see how each pull gets shorter and the rest gets longer? The last pull is an all out effort to total fatigue.”
Bill replied over the applause, “Well I never really gave it that much thought. You’re always analyzing everything.”
By the end of the day, I was feeling the chill as the sun completely disappeared. I had left my jacket in the truck. It was so warm at noon when we got to the fair, I didn’t think I’d need it. The only light was coming from the carnival midway and some strings the organizers had strung up along the walkways.
I asked Bill, “Hey, want to grab a slice of pizza and a coke and head back to the…”
I never finished the thought ‘cause that’s when I saw her.
The most beautiful girl I
’d ever seen was walking toward me wearing this pair of green knickers. Kathy got in line. I couldn’t believe my good luck. I quickly took the next place behind her. I stood there transfixed, looking at this beautiful blonde. I noticed her hair was a little wet making her natural curls bounce as she moved. She had great legs, what I could see of them. I remember staring down at my sneakers, pawing at the mix of trampled grass and sawdust, as if that would help me get the nerve to say something. I was fidgeting a little to keep warm, worrying she might get her order and just walk away.
Just then fate and luck merged, Kathy turned around, and in the sweetest carefree voice said, “Oh, please go before me, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“That’s when I blurted out in my half shivered voice, arms crossed against my body, “Your hair’s wet.”
She smiled, “Yeah, I was walking by the water flume ride and some kid sprayed me, I must look gross.”
“I blurted, you don’t look gross at all your hair looks great wet.” I couldn’t believe I was hearing myself say the following and it’s still embarrassing 27 years later, “I fly jets for the Indiana Guard.”
Her answer, without missing a beat, “You do, do ya?”
I gathered myself and called out as she was walking away, “Hey, what’s your name?”
She smiled the most beautiful smile back at me, “Kathy Winn,” she called back.
I watched her every motion as she walked away before being swallowed up by the crowd.
Just then, Bill with pizza in hand said, “Jack, I got us both a slice. I could see you were busy, you ready?” Just then, I realized I was getting colder by the minute. I grabbed the slice he held out and headed quickly for the truck. We could both move pretty fast, but the trade-off was the faster we ran the colder I got. I settled for a very quick walk, legs straight out like a speed walker.
We hurried into the parking lot and headed for the truck. I didn’t pay attention to the barker sitting high up in a perch joking with us as we passed. Once I saw the truck, I broke into a run with Bill just a split second behind me. By the time I sat in the driver’s seat, it was so cold it sucked the remaining heat right out of me. Teeth chattering, I started the car. I turned the temperature dial to red but waited while the truck warmed up, being careful not to turn the fan on until I knew it would blow some hot air.
Bill said, “We shouldn’t have had those icy drinks.”
I responded, teeth chattering, “Ya think?”
Once the air was warm, I turned it up full blast and slowly returned to my preferred temperature –warm. I put the truck in reverse and got into the long line of cars waiting to leave. “Bill, that girl I met was an angel.” He said, “I saw, did you ask her out?”
“No,” I answered, “But I’ll tell you, I wish she was…my girlfriend.”
Then, I changed the subject, feeling bad that I hadn’t taken the chance.
“Bill, are you going up tomorrow? I need four more hours of flight time this month.”
I remember Bill telling me he had his hours. Then he told me he was going to ask his girlfriend Melissa to marry him at the fireworks the next night. He said she made him tingle and vowed he’d never look at other women if she said yes.
Melissa was originally from Waterville, Maine. I loved her mid coast accent; it was adorable. Even though we moved when I was young, talking to her felt like home. Her brown eyes sparkled with love when she looked at Bill.
That night, thinking of Kathy Winn, I pulled out of the State Fair, hit the gas, and headed for home. Trying to get her out of my mind, I cranked up the AM Radio of my old Chevy Step side. We listened to Hank Williams all the way back to Lexington and sang the choruses at the top of our lungs.
I took my hours the following afternoon, which was also the day I probably pulled the craziest stunt ever in that jet. I always fooled around, doing loops and rolls, pushing it once I got out of eyeshot from base. But what I did this day was fool hardy and could have landed me in the brig.
It was a beautiful partly cloudy day when I got the okay from the tower to take off. The sun was just barely peaking through beautiful white powder puffs, the kind I always loved to fly through.
I’d close my eyes and pull the throttle all the way back and push the speed to the max, then with my back pressed four G’s against the seat, I’d open my eyes in the middle of the bright white mist. In the complete whiteout, I’d pull the stick back and go straight up toward the sun.
That wasn’t the crazy part. For some reason on this flight, I got the bright idea to fly from our base in Indiana all the way to Lexington, Kentucky to my mom and dad’s ranch. I knew I’d have to push hard to get there and back in my allotted time. You don’t take a 9 million dollar jet out for a joy ride and get back late.
To fly down to the ranch, I would have to press the envelope the whole way and fly away from the homes. Those A-10’s are really loud, not so much when they’re coming at ya, but after they go by, and I didn’t want some overly concerned citizen to call the base wondering what was going on. So I flew high, the full forty thousand foot ceiling, as fast as I could go, and then on to Lexington. My plan was just to see if I could make it there and back, but once I got close, I dipped down to under one thousand feet. When I flew by the ranch, I brought it down really low—so low I could see my parents sitting on the front porch looking up.
The A-10 was designed to come up on tanks from near ground level and eat em up with rapid-fire canons. The technology was so good a pilot could hug the ground, unseen, come up over a hill and fly right at a tank, do business and then fly nearly straight up a mile high out of harms way in seconds.
What I did after seeing my parents watching was purely on impulse and something I’ve never even mentioned to Bill. After a Fly By, I quickly turned it around and landed on the dirt road along the far side of the ranch. I turned toward the house and taxied all the way up to the front yard.
My mom nearly fainted and all I could hear my dad saying was, “Do you have a screw loose, son? Are you crazy? Has the Indiana Guard made a terrible mistake giving you the keys to that thing?”
“They don’t have keys, Dad,” I said, jumping down off the wing. Those cockpits are pretty high up—about ten feet in the air.
“Dad, Mom, I wanted to see you both, but I do have to get back. Dad, will you grab your stepladder from the garage? It’s too high for me to climb back up.”
My dad could still move pretty fast in those days, and all he wanted was me to ‘Get that plane back to the barn,’ I think he said.
I climbed up onto the wing, slid the canopy closed and hit the ignition. I remember Mom and Dad running back to the porch, Dad carrying the ladder. I taxied down to the end of the dirt road - then full-out throttle up, light from half empty tanks, barely made it off before the road was gone - scraping through some trees on the way out.
CHAPTER TEN
“Jack it’s your brother on the phone,” Kathy said, shaking her head.
“What’s he sound like?” I asked. She was holding the receiver against her side so he wouldn’t hear. Kathy usually didn’t put me on the phone when Roger called. She’d listen for a while and tell him I’d call him back. This wasn’t one of those times. Kathy handed me the phone with an ‘I don’t know’ look.
I’m the younger of two sons. I have an older brother named Roger. You know how some things in retrospect seem better than they actually were? The good times look great and the bad times seem to fade off or you forget.
We all went to the bus station that June day - my brother had just graduated from high school. Roger grabbed us all together for a big hug saying, “Don’t worry Momma, I’m going to go kick some commie ass and then I’ll be back to help Daddy with the ranch.” Mom told Roger not to talk like that, as she fixed herself. His big toothy smile reminded me of our dad - Roger looked just like him. Before the military, Roger enjoyed his life. He loved the ranch, anything to do with that place. He'd bring his girlfriends up to the hayloft in the barn. I r
emember the girls used to giggle a lot. He loved to ride horses and especially motorcycles. He'd leave a cloud of dust, riding fast down the long dirt road in the back of the house on an old Indian he bought off a guy in town. I was his kid brother, six years younger. To me, Roger had the whole world on a string.
What I most remember about Roger was that he was so kind to me.
“Roger,” I said as I put the receiver to my ear.
“You no good piece of dog shit,” Roger was slurring his words again. “You ain’t a war hero, just a pretty boy who lands planes in the backyard to scare his friggin mother half to death!”
“Roger,” trying to make some sense of his rant, “you've gotta get some help.”
My brother was a liability to the campaign, to my parents, to anyone who was unlucky enough to be near him. It started the summer Uncle Sam took him from us. That happy-go-lucky kid that hugged us when he left fell back into our arms with a hurt time couldn’t dull when he returned.
My father tried so hard to bring Roger back to the way he was, but he just wasn’t able to.
We all piled into the car and drove to the bus station, excited to pick up Roger. It had been two months since he was wounded in action, and the Army was sending him home. I couldn’t wait to see him.
Mom said, “We’ll give Roger his old room and he can go to college. Oh, Ted, it’s going to be so wonderful to have our son home.”
The news of Roger, hurt in a hospital thousands of miles from home, almost killed our mother; she couldn’t sleep more than a few hours a night and watched the news every chance she got, as if that would bring him home faster. She hollered, cried, sat on the porch, and smoked. She even called our minister to ask the point to all of it.
The truth was, the war was dragging on and more and more young men, mostly from poor families, were being sent halfway across the world to fight. Despite many arguments with Mom, our dad refused to arrange for a deferment, so two weeks after his Senior Prom, Roger packed his bags and went to war. Mom never quite forgave the Colonel.
