THE MISADVENTURES OF JETHRO P. SUGGINS, SSGT, USAF

Episode 2

(Wherein our hero feeds the hungry)

The door should have been locked. It was always locked, except today. The shift supervisor had called in sick and temporary help forgot to lock the door. That's how Henry and Edgar got out. In no time, they were miles away. It's not that they were really dangerously crazy. They had been committed to the mental institution at Northern State because of "unusual neurotic behavior." But now they were free and while enjoying this breath of liberty, they came to a high fence. It had a sign nearby that read, "U.S. Government Installation - Keep Out - Security Line Badge Required - Violators Will Be Prosecuted - By Order of the Commander."

Henry and Edgar had learned long ago to ignore signs. They seldom knew what the fancy words on the signs meant anyway. With a deftness that would have made Rambo proud, they were up and over the fence. The U.S. Air Force Security Police or S.P.'s would have normally spotted them right away, but an accident at the opposite end of the flightline had most of the security units busy.

It was 1:30 AM and Henry and Edgar were getting to stay up much later than usual. Even though the steady wind was January cold, all the lights and sights and sounds of a big Air Force airport, at night, were fascinating to them. It was during all this that they happened to wander out of the darkness into the artificial light of a monstrous C-141 that was boarding passengers, bound for sunny Hawaii. The airport bus, loaded with travelers, had just arrived and they were beginning to climb the steps that lead into the big jet. An airport security escort was having an argument with the crew chief over how many seats had been installed in the aircraft, that usually carried mostly cargo.

It was during this discussion that our two fugitives joined the end of the passenger line, unnoticed. As the stowaways got on board the security escort blurted out to the crew chief, "You're two seats short. These passengers at the end of the line have no place to sit."

The crew chief, Sgt Taylor, was by now looking very bewildered. He was newly assigned to his current job and unsure of his ability. "I don't see how, but I guess I miscounted. Won't take but a minute to put in two more seats. Come on Airman Evans, give me a hand."

While the seats were installed, Henry and Edgar praised the special treatment they were receiving. "We haven't ever had anybody wait on us like this before!" beamed Edgar.

"Yeah, and this is sure a whopper of an airplane. Are you this kind to everyone?" asked Henry to the crew chief.

"We do our best to serve our passengers sir." bragged Sgt Taylor, feeling suddenly important. "Here you go, your seat is all prepared. Sit down and make yourself comfortable."

"Thanks!" Henry and Edgar said in unison.

Meanwhile, at the opposite end of the flightline, Jethro P. Suggins was smack dab in the middle of an engine change. It had been a few weeks since he accidently blew away a flight crew that had walked behind his aircraft's jet wash exhaust. He'd finally talked his way out of that one, at least to his superiors, and he was trying to keep a low profile. I don't need the spotlight on me for a long while, he thought and I mean to keep it that way.

Suddenly the voice of the shift chief, MSgt Salazar, rang out, "Hey J.P., dispatch just called. We got a #3 engine bleed valve stuck on the passenger ramp, J-7, aircraft #0018. It's due for engine start any minute. Take the truck and get your buns over there, pronto!"

"Now Sarge, why doesn't the dadburn launch truck cover that? That's his territory! Besides, you know that when they say "engine bleed valve" stuck that it can't be a jet engine problem, especially when the engine isn't even running yet! That's the pylon bleed valve, the one that let's air to the engine and that's A.R.U.'s job!" shouted J.P. (A.R.U. was Aircraft Repair Unit, which were those jobs attached as crew chief specialist tasks.) "Not only that, but I gotta get this engine changed!"

"Look, Suggins, launch truck is already covering another red ball. (Red ball was the name for emergency.) Dispatch wants you there in case it isn't A.R.U.'s problem and the rest of the crew here can take care of the engine change till you get back. Now quit jawing before you get my backside in a sling," Salazar scolded.

Complaining and muttering all the way, SSgt J.P. Suggins climbed down off the yellow B-4 scissors ladder stand, that extended up to the jet engine on the wing. With his toolbox in hand, he headed for the truck. Trouble with this man's Air Force, he thought, was that there was never enough mechanics to cover all the jobs. We're always so short handed that we gotta play these silly games. How does the saying go? Never time to do it right, but always time to do it over.

Stretching the flightline speed limit a little and watching out for S.P.s who were known to dish out speeding tickets, J.P. headed for aircraft #0018. In short order he arrived, parked the truck and fought thru the crowd of passengers, mechanics (properly called technicians, to make them feel more important), and flightcrew to get to the aircraft discrepancy logbook forms, located in the aircraft flight deck (kind of like a huge cockpit). The forms always had to be checked first to discover the exact nature of the write-up or discrepancy and to make sure no other specialists would be endangered by his working in areas adjacent to them. Finding the write-up to be as told him by his shift chief, he headed for the #3 engine, only to be met by the crew chief, coming up the stairs of the flight deck.

"Hey Suggins!" said the frazzled Sgt Taylor. "You can probably rest easy. I think the #3 pylon bleed valve is the problem, but dispatch wants you to stand by till launch, in case the problem changes. Why don't you stay inside with the passengers, where it's warm?"

"I won't argue with that," said Suggins. "It's colder than my wife's feet on a winter day out there!" J.P. tried to get as comfortable as possible near a heater vent when he noticed he was being watched by one of the passengers.

"Did I hear the sound of a south Georgia accent just now?" Edgar commented.

"Why, tarnation, if this don't beat all! Edgar Peabody! What in the world are you a doin" here? I ain't heard nothin' bout you since your Daddy ran off with the preacher's wife!" said a very surprised Suggins. J.P. loved people, expecially old friends from back home. He had always thought that Edgar, however, and in fact, Edgar's whole family, was kind of strange, something about inbreeding, but he tried to be a friend to everyone.

"I knowed it was you J.P.! Meet my pal Henry. He and I are headed for Hawaii, with all these folks, on this fine aereoplane!" spoke Edgar jubilantly. "I only got one regret, though. I'm starving! When do they feed us around here?"

J.P. gave a smile to Henry, who weakly smiled back, acting as though he was very sleepy. All this excitement had come way past his bedtime. "If you're hungry, why don't you eat from your flight lunch?" asked J.P. Some of the passengers were already snacking from the loaf of bread size, white boxes that the crew chief had distributed.

"We didn't get no flight lunch." Edgar said innocently.

"What! You're a manifested passenger on a Military Airlift Command flight and you have no flight lunch?" scoffed Suggins. "Why that's pure horse feathers! I'll be right back!" In a flash, our hero was out the door and down the ramp. He went to ask the crew chief why two passengers had no flight lunches but he quickly saw that Sgt Taylor was super busy getting the pylon bleed valve replaced, so he yelled that he was running to the flight kitchen to get a couple lunches and he drove off in a flurry.

The smell of other passengers snacking on food made Edgar even more hungry. He knew Suggins had gone for two lunches, even though Henry was dozing. If Henry wasn't hungry, Edgar was ready to eat both the meals. He knew J.P. would be back soon, so in the mean time, he decided to wander around the aircraft and investigate, to take his mind off eating, just till Suggins returned. His little walk brought him up the ladder to the flight deck where passengers were not permitted. At first, the flight crew member didn't notice Edgar right behind him, in all the commotion of preparing for flight. "What's this switch for?" Edgar said as he cranked the APU (Auxiliary Power Unit) fuel start and ignition switch to the "on" position.

"Hey, what are you doing?" shouted the flight engineer. "you're not allowed in here! The APU was a standby miniature jet engine that was used as a power backup, should external power from a ground cart, not be available. The engineer quickly turned the APU switch back off.

"Do you you could have killed someone just then?" said the engineer. APU exhaust could badly burn someone walking by. The APU exhaust area has to be checked to make sure no one is in the vicinity before it can be properly started. What are you doing up here anyway?" Edgar didn't like to be scolded. That's how they treated him at Northern State.

Edgar said nothing but reached for the switch again. The engineer immediately grabbed Edgar's arm and a struggle ensued. The burly engineer was finally forced to push Edgar, who was screaming and kicking by now, to the floor. The noise brought attention and two more crew members helped hold Edgar down, while the S.P.s were called. Security was just putting hancuffs on Edgar as Suggins arrived with two flight lunches.

"You know this man Suggins?" said the security policeman.

"Yeah, sure." answered J.P., beginning to feel embarrassed. "He's from my hometown. What's he done?"

"We just discovered that this guy and his friend over there are not even on the flight manifest." He then explained to Suggins what Edgar had done in the flight deck. "You'd better come with us to the security confinement area, J.P. and explain yourself."

For the next hour, Suggins attempted to free himself from all guilt in the matter, telling his side of the story. Finally, J.P. was released to the custody of his boss, MSgt Salazar.

"What are you doing with two flight lunches, Suggins?" asked Salazar. You must be awfully hungry."

"Actually, I've lost my appetite," said J.P., too emotionally drained to explain.

A SIMPLE THING

(By Suzy Jackson, as told by her father)

It had been one of those days. Riding herd on two small boys, ages two and four, shopping and household duties had really worn me down. My husband had left for his graveshift job and my boys and I prepared for bed. We all said our night time prayers, giving our thanks, pleading for protection, confessing our faults. The prayers of my children were so innocent, so heartfelt. I wondered if I could ever again approach God's throne with the same kind of deep sincerity.

As I crawled inside my bed, I smiled within, grateful I had a restful nights sleep to look forward to. I had just about fallen asleep when I received a distinct impression to check on the boys. This thought I dismissed immediately, for I had just checked on them before retiring. Again the thought came, stronger than before, to check on the boys. As I struggled out of bed, I wondered, why am I doing this? I wasn't long puzzled, for as soon as I entered their room, the odor of smoke was strong.

Quickly, I pulled the plug on the humidifier, thinking it was out of water and running dry. On closer examination, however, I found it still had enough water inside and besides, the smoke smell was not coming from that appliance. I began sniffing about the room and covered Alex, our two year old. As I bent down to kiss Christopher, our four year old, the acrid smell was nauseating. It was then that I remembered the little night light by Christopher's bed, now covered by a pillow. Pulling off the pillow, I discovered the little four watt night light, minus the plastic bulb cover, had burned a large black hole into the fabric. Above the pillow were shelves of stuffed animals and bedroom curtains. There was plenty there to feed a potential fire.

I threw away the night light, cleaned up the mess, aired out the room and desperately hugged my boys. We all got down on our knees and very sincerely thanked our kind Father in Heaven, who watches after us, despite our follies and further thanked Him for the promptings of the Holy Ghost. Prayer is such a simple thing. A simple thing that's so important.

WHO IS DISGUISED?

It happened on a Sunday morning. The Primary had asked the Elder's Quorum to help with a presentation to the children. One Elder was to come dressed as President Lorenzo Snow and give a history of his life, as if he were Pres. Snow. I was chosen and went to a greal deal of effort to procure the necessary clothing and props to accomplish the task, complete with wig, beard and cane. I had thought my disquise was complete until a little Sunbeam walked up to me and said. "Did I hear that Primary teacher call you Pres. Lorenzo Snow?" I nodded and she continued, "Oh good, I thought you were Brother Ray."

WHAT, ME DIRTY?

When my brother was discharged from the U.S. Marines, in 1970, I was in the military and he came to live with me at the Air Force base. We were saving our money in order to get an off base apartment, so he got a job, on base, at the aircraft wash rack, directly across the street from the barracks. The only trouble was that he was no longer in the military and therefore, was not authorized to be on base, nor to eat in the mess hall, nor to live in the barracks. He "looked" military, but if it was ever discovered that he was there under false pretenses, we both could get into serious trouble. The deception only had to last for a couple weeks and then we would have enough money to move off base, so we decided to chance it.

To stay in good graces with the Air Force and to qualify to stay off base, it was important that I had a "clean" record. Those who had bad reports on their records were considered "dirty." This, we all tried to avoid, but it was especially on my mind during this period of chance taking. My brother and I had, of course, the same last name, "Ray," and so he wore an extra pair of my coveralls that included no rank or insignia, only the last name. This clothing he wore to his civilian contractor's job at the wash rack.

By the end of the day his coveralls were pretty soiled and keeping us both looking somewhat presentable, took some doing. In the room, at the barracks, next to mine, lived a Chief Master Sergeant (E-9) that was a widower. Almost all others in the dorm were E-5 and below. Considering our circumstances, the Chief being there made me extremely uneasy because he was naturally curious and would want to meet my new roomate. Knowing this, we were careful to avoid his presence.

Despite our efforts, however, my brother was coming back from work one day and accidently bumped into the Chief, coming down the hall, near my room. Taken aback the Chief said, "Boy, Ray, you sure are dirty!" The Chief didn't know how right he was! His remark so bothered me that we packed up and left that night, staying with friends until our own place was ready.

WHAT IF I GET DRAFTED?

In 1968, the Vietnam War was raging and personnel were being drafted under the old Selective Service Program. An Air Force Recruiting Command full Colonel told his staff that new, innovative methods must be used to recruit men into the Air Force. Too many were being lost to the draft, he said. He organized attractive pay incentives to encourage his men. One enterprising recruiting sergeant responded especially well to the Colonel's program, although in a devious way.

The sergeant began by revisiting over 100 prospective recruits who had recently turned down his offer to join the Air Force. To these he explained that he was not trying to talk them into the military but was only there to "warn" them. If they should receive a draft notice, it would come in an official U.S. Army envelope, he said. If they would rather join the Air Force, than be drafted, it was most important that they not open the official envelope. To do so, he told them, was tantamount to receiving a court ordered summons. (This was not so.)

Once opened, they were obligated to be drafted. To avoid such a fate, they must immediately request to join the Air Force. Having made his visits, the Sergeant called the Air Force motorpool and scheduled a number of buses to be ready on the week following.

Next, he acquired several boxes of U.S. Army envelopes, addressed them, stuffed them with blank paper and sent them out. At the appointed time, the motorpool buses were filled with new recruits, the sergeant received his pay incentive and a surprised Colonel was careful not to ask any questions.

MISADVENTURES OF JETHRO P. SUGGINS, SSGT, USAF

EPISODE 1

(Wherein our hero demonstrates his concern for a flight crew)

SSgt Jethro P. Suggins never tried to get into trouble. In fact, avoiding it was his desire, but it always seemed to find him anyway, or anyways, as he would say. It was 1972 at McChord AFB, in Tacoma, Washington, in the great Pacific Northwest. SSgt Suggins had been in this man's Air Force for six years. He had grown up in Valdosta, Georgia, adjacent to Moody AFB and Air Force jargon and friends had been in his blood long before he had enlisted. In later years his family had lived in Kentucky and Tennessee and he found life in Washington a bit strange, especially with all these Yankees everywhere. Folks in these parts that really "knowed" him didn't mind his being from the south and called him, "J.P."

Suggins was only about 5' 6" but he had the voice projection of a guy twice his size. He was stocky and probably could have done without quite so many "extra helpings" at mealtime. He spoke two languages, English and Southern. His face was ruddy, yet well featured and when he looked you in the eye, it was as if no one else mattered.

The flightline jet engine maintenance shop was J.P.'s duty section and he worked graveshift, four days on and two off. Airport work required 24 hour coverage and the schedule gave everyone an eventual weekend off. J.P. said the schedule was really invented by the "tater heads in the front office," to keep him from knowing what days he had off.

It was on a mid October night, at about 0100 hours or 1 AM, when J.P. and his engine run crew pulled their blue Air Force stepvan truck just outside the "circle of safety" of the massive C-141, four engine, Starlifter. The safety circle was a large green line painted around the parking spot of the big jet to indicate that only authorized personnel wearing proper safety gear could enter there. The nights had begun to get pretty cool and frost settled in on everthing after dusk. As usual the flightline was a bustle of activity, with the most service trucks surrounding those aircraft that were about to launch, like so many pit crews around race cars.

The smell of JP-4 or jet fuel, that was primarily made up of kerosene, was mixed with the chill, fall breeze. Huge, powerful outdoor lights, similar to the type used at popular sporting events, shown down on the busiest parts of the maintenance ramps. Several aircraft hangers, seven stories high, a football field wide and three football fields long, bordered the taxiways on one side, while the active runway and wide open spaces bordered it on the other. Blue ground lights, spaced about twenty feet apart, fringed the flightline transport areas and on the active side, red lights gave warning that this was the corridor for takeoffs and landings. A beautiful, clear, starry sky completed the spectacular scene that was largely taken for granted by the many uniforms performing their duties below.

All the hustle bustle on the ramp that night, however, barely caught the eye of Suggins and company. His group had just changed a bleed valve actuator on the #4 engine on an aircraft that was not due to fly for a couple of days. It was parked on a remote "run spot" that was a few hundred yards from the hub of maintenance activity. Since the part had been changed, it now required an operational check to see if it would perform as advertised with the aircraft and engine running or "on line." Suggins and three other specially trained engine mechanics were about to perform that task.

The Lockheed C-141 aircraft was sort of like a large yacht with wings. It could be used for hauling everything from 70,000 pounds of cargo to 150 passengers. The wingspan was 160 feet; it was 145 feet long and the rear of the aircraft at the "T" tail was 40 feet high. Four engines produced a total of about 21,000 pounds of thrust. It had battery power, a plug in for external power and an APU or auxilliary power unit that provided support until the engines could be started. In short, the aircraft cost millions of dollars and had to be operated using a checklist. Any deviation from the procedures, with a machine that massive, could cause damage to equipment and death to personnel. Suggins and his crew performed an average of five aircraft runs a night. It was easy to begin to take things for granted; a dangerous mistake.

"This place is 'bout as crowded with planes as hair is on my bald old head," said J.P. "Ain't this a grand spot to churn and burn?"

"Mighty fine," answered Sodowsky, graveshift's representative from Poland. As usual, the military brought people from all over the states and even the world to work together. Petroski and Samanski represented day and swingshift respectively. This was actually coincidental and yet entertaining, for all three had an unusual sense of humor.

"I'll do the walk around inspection, J.P." offered Jay Eseltine, a tall, lanky buck sergeant from Oregon. "I guess it's my turn to stand ground on the long cord."

One of the four members of the run crew always "stood ground" or posted himself about 25 yards in front of the nose of the aircraft in view of the run crew. His or her job was to monitor conditions during run thru the intercom cord. Engine start, ignition, fuel drain or "dump" during shutdown, in addition to any emergency situation , was monitored from the ground. It was the safety link of the cockpit or flight deck with the surrounding area.

"Must be my turn for the right seat," said Jim Coleman, a by the book SSgt from Tuscon, Arizona. If any of the crew needed to know the latest checklist procedure, he was the one to consult.

Sodowsky took the engineer panel and Suggins was at the left seat. Right seat primarily monitored gages, insured the brakes were on and watched out the windows for emergency situations.

The engineer monitored the fuel transfer and supplemental engine/aircraft gages and the left seat was in charge, regardless of rank. He oversaw the run and operated the throttles.

"Brakes, lights and tower." J.P. bellowed thru the headset. This phrase told the run crew that the parking brakes were set, the run lights were on, (rotating red beacons on the top and bottom of the center fuselage or mid section as well as red and green lights at the wing tips) and that the aircraft control tower had been notified that an engine run was taking place to preclude any hijacking or unauthorized starts. The exhaust blast area had to be clear for about 100 yards behind the aircraft to prevent heat and turbulence from harming equipment or personnel. Run lights were a visual warning to trucks passing by or passenger and flight crews that an engine run was taking place and that they were to stay clear.

Many blue Air Force trucks dotted here and there, shuttling aircraft "specialists" and parts. Each truck had a communication radio to contact job control or another truck and were all given radio call signs or handles. For instance, Suggin's truck was Mike 6, for jet engine mechanics, Golf 3 took care of bringing ladders and maintenance stands to and from aircraft, so that they could be safely climbed upon to fix and repair, November 4 was the avionics specialist, November 5 took care of electrical problems, (commonly called spark chasers) Mike 1 was a small pickup truck that housed a Chief Master Sergeant or a junior officer or supervisory personnel that oversaw the entire flightline procedure. If you were talking to Mike 1 you were usually getting instructed or being chewed out. These were only a small part of the many vehicles that were all over the ramp.

"Well, boys and girls, I do believe we're ready for engine start," J.P. announced. "You agree?"

"Looks good on the engineer panel," Ski chanted.

"Ain't waitin' on me," said Coleman.

"Ready on the ground. Number one engine clear to start," said Jay Eseltine.

"Roger, #1 engine starter button in," barked Suggins.

The red starter light illuminated on the pilot's (left seat) overhead panel. It was located about two feet above and aft of J.P.'s right shoulder. Once depressed, the button stayed there or "sucked in."

"You've got engine rotation," Jay said thru the intercom.

"Indicated," answered Suggins.

When the starter turbine began to rotate from the air pressure produced by the A.P.U., it turned the reduction gearbox, which turned the jet engine. A large rush of air could be heard flowing into the pneumatic or air duct. When the engine RPM indicated 15%, Suggins placed the fuel start and ignition switch to the "on" position and said, "ignition." This action opened the fuel valve in the pylon, above the engine and began firing the two, high voltage igniter plugs in the combustion section of the motor. At this point, the entire engine, about the dimensions of a full size car, shuddered as spark and fuel met and resulted in "lightoff." Once combustion had occured, the ignitor plugs automatically shut off. The turbine of the engine was then driven by the combustion section and the compressor section that supplied compressed air for combustion. A compressor shaft connected to the turbine and the whole process became self sustaining. As long as fuel was provided, the motor would run almost indefinitely, providing that there was no part fatigue or malfunction. RPM began to climb toward 45% and the starter button "popped," indicating the starter had disengaged.

"You got a light, J.P.," said Jay, seeing the heat waves at the exhaust of the engine.

"Roger that. Button is popped, speed advancing toward idle. All indications look good," said Suggins. "This bad burner seems "bout as happy as a toad on a lilly pad in July."

"Wish it was July out here," Jay exclaimed. "Can't be more than 20 degrees. Tonight I'm putting this GI issue parka to good use."

"Exhaust gas temperature is normal on my engineer gage," Ski responded. "Fuel flow is OK, oil pressure holding, hydraulic pressure checks, but engine RPM is about 2% high."

"Jay can tweek it down a little on the fuel control once we get all four started," J.P. answered. "#2 engine clear?"

"Clear," Jay said.

"Switching over to # 1 engine generator power." offered Coleman.

Number two, three and four engines were started in like manner and the APU shutdown with no hitches. The aircraft vibrated noisily against the brakes as if begging to be let loose in freedom. Suggins felt the power of that massive machine and it still surprised him how they could let a little ole' country boy like him, operate such a big hunk of metal.

"We better let the engines stabalize at idle before we do our power checks." said J.P. This better make the flight crew happy, after all the trouble we done went thru to fix it. It took me two hours in the cold to change that dadburn six inch bleed valve actuator. Ya ever hold a flashlight in your mouth and tools in your hand, while trying to change sumpin' in the dark?"

"Lots of times," Ski answered, "but the flight crew only wants it repaired, they don't care how hard you had to work to get it that way."

"Quit picking on the flight crew," Jim Coleman countered, "they got to fly this thing ya know, not just play games with it on the ground. If we don't fix it right, they could get killed." Jim was a former flight crew member before cross training to jet engines or "jets."

"Yeah, sure but half the time they write up things that ain't even broke," Jay offered.

The contention and bickering between ground maintenance specialists and flight crews was long standing. It was caused by the basic difference or perspective between the two groups. On the one hand, the flight crew was concerned that the aircraft operate properly and safely. They wanted the write-ups or discrepancies fixed and fixed right. If the flight manual or -1, as they called it, said something should operate a certain way, that's the way they wanted it. Maintenace types like jets, or hydraulics or instruments, had their own manuals, like the -2-4 or the -2-6 or whatever, that told them how their system operated.

The flight manual and the specialist manuals didn't always agree. Some malfunctions that occured in the air, could not be duplicated on the ground. Specialists were interested in fixing a write-up as soon as possible and often answered discrepancies with the words, "Could not duplicate," or "CND." This did not score points with the flight crews, who considered such answers as excuses or as evasive. It looked to them like maintenance was just a bunch of goof offs who wanted to hurry and sign off the write-up so that they could get back to their card games or sleep time in the back of the truck. Unfortunately, sometimes they were right.

To specialists it appeared that flight crews were a bunch of stuck-up fly boys, strutting around in their flight suits, acting as if they were God's gift to the Air Force, making up discrepancies on a whim, so that they could have an excuse for extra crew rest. Unfortunately, sometimes they were right. On and on it went, each side thinking the other to be in the wrong or at least suspicious. What they should have been doing was working together, which only happened rarely. Neither side wanted to be the one to concede. As a result, tension betwen them did not slacken.

"We gonna jaw all day, wasting Uncle Sam's gas or are we gonna get this bird fixed?" said J.P.

"Ain't waitin' on me throttle jockey, you're clear for taking these babies to power," Jay encouraged.

Jets had changed the six inch bleed valve actuator, which was on the left side fo the TF-33-P7 engine. A four and three quarter inch bleed valve was on the opposite side, also controlled by an actuator. The two sizes indicated the circumference of the butterly opening on each side of the compressor, where excess air was allowed to bleed off.

Ambient air, in varying flying conditions, brought moisture that formed on engine parts. After long, repeated, pneumatic operation, the actuators would corrode and stick, making removal and replacement (R&Ring) necessary. In order to operationally check such replacements, the motor had to be brought to full power or 1.9 EPR (engine pressure ratio). After stabalizing at power, sometimes called military power, the engine was quickly decelerated to 1.7 EPR in a "snap deceleration."

This could only be done with two symmetrical engines at a time, #1 and #4 or #2 and #3. Numbered from left to right while facing in the forward direction. Commonly called the inboard and outboard engines. Symmetrical acceleration prevented uneven power application and loss of aircraft control or "jumping the chocks." Chocks, of course, were the wooden blocks that prevented the tires from rolling forward. Today, (2006) run chocks are commonly used, which block the tires much more dramatically. Once the throttles were brought to 1.7 EPR, power should hesitate momentarily, then drop. This would indicate the bleed valves had opened properly.

"Going to military on the inboard engines, let's make some noise!" Suggins exclaimed.

Even though #4 engine was the one that had the problem actuator, Suggins checked all four engines, just in case the flight crew, heaven forbid, had made an error, or perhaps another sticking actuator had developed. A bad bleed valve actuator could cause a phenomenon called compressor stall, sort of like an exaggerated backfire on an automobile exhaust. If this happened on a jet engine, it could send a blow torch fire out the front, instead of the rear of the engine. The resulting explosion and vibration could rip a motor apart.

As J.P. advanced the throttles to full power, strong, hot blasts of kerosene smelling exhaust poured out for hundreds of feet behind the aircraft. Having stabalized, he sharply brought back the throttle to 1.7 EPR and the power very normally decelerated.

"Returning to idle with the inboards. Get your trusty, rusty allen wrench out Jay and tweek down #1 engine idle about four clicks," said J.P. "That idle speed is still a little high."

Jay went under the engine to make the adjustment. Walking under a running jet engine is always a bit unnerving and dangerous. The heat and the noise, even at idle is fearfully strong. Ear plugs and ear noise muffs are worn and yet the vibration and heat can be felt thru the entire body of the person. Care must be taken to always approach the engine from the side. The front of a jet engine, especially a turbofan jet engine, like this one, is a huge vacuum cleaner, sucking up gobs of air and any other thing that gets too close, like ear protectors, hats, gloves, metal hardware and yes, even people. This was not a time to be careless.

After making the adjustment, Jay headed for the front of the aircraft and was almost to his designated spot, when he tripped over the intercom long cord. In so doing, he pulled loose one of the wires on his headset. Now he could receive sound, but could not transmit, although, at this point, he had not discovered it yet.

"Looks like you done good, buddy boy," said Suggins. "Going up to mil with the outboards, is it clear?"

Jay had scraped his knee when he had tripped and was rubbing it. He gave J.P. the thumbs up sign and the outboards went to power. About this time, down the ramp and adjacent to the rear of the Suggins bird, a flight crew was waiting to walk across the ramp, headed for the flight crew command post. A major, two captains, a lieutenant and two senior enlisted, an engineer and a loadmaster, had just finished a long flight. They were looking forward to a quick debrief and crew rest. When they realized the C-141 in front of them was operating at power, they motioned to Jay to let them pass.

The crew were carrying their luggage and manuals and looking impatient. As soon as Jay saw them he told J.P., over the now faulty intercom, to bring power to idle because a flight crew wanted to pass. J.P. heard nothing but brought the throttles to 1.7 EPR to check the bleeds. As Jay heard the engines start to decelerate, he motioned for the flight crew to cross, thinking J.P. had heard him.

The flight crew began ambling across, rather arrogantly. When they had reached about the halfway point, J.P., unaware of all this, slapped it up to military power. Panic broke loose. Jay started screaming into the malfunctioning headset. The dignified, proud stroll of the flight crew became, instead, a run for their lives. Hats, luggage, security badges, sunglasses and manuals all were dropped and went flying end over end down the taxiway. If a track coach would have been watching, he would have been proud of the new 100 yard dash times they set as they scrambled to the other side. They were slightly singed, but otherwise physically OK, however, to say that they had suddenly become very angry, would have been an understatement. The folks at the command post, instantly got told what happened.

"What in blazes is the matter with Jay," Coleman said, looking at him through the right front window. "He keeps hopping up and down, waving his arms!"

"Speak to me Jay," Suggins ordered as he brought the throttles down to idle.

It was then that J.P. began to know something was amiss, for he could see Jay moving his mouth, but he heard no sound. Just then, the Mike 1 supervision pickup truck pulled up to speak to Jay.

"Tell that idiot to get away from the front of the aircraft during an engine run! Doesn't he know that's against procedures!" J.P. barked.

"Hey, the Chief, don't look none too happy and he's giving you the cutoff sign!" (made by bringing the hand quickly across the throat, meaning shut down engines, NOW!) said Ski.

J.P. and company spent the next hour, explaining to the bosses at job control how it was all a big mistake and an accident. He apologized over and over and at first was not believed, but eventually, because no real harm was done, he was forgiven. 0700 or 7 AM found him back at the shop for shift change, where small groups congregated around to hear how Suggins, singlehandedly, showed a flight crew who was boss. J.P. denied repeatedly that he had done it on purpose but the guys on day shift, out of the earshot of surpervision, would not believe it. He was beginning to enjoy the attention when finally someone asked,

"You may think you can fool the guys at the head shed that it was all an accident but you're talking to the folks that know better. Come on, tell us. How did you do it?"

"Well, Suggins finally said. "You know, ...it wasn't easy."

CONDENSATION'S INSPIRATION

Our old military housing had single pane windows and frequently condensation would form on the inside when the winter months arrived. Our seven year old daughter, Suzy, asked why water was there. I explained, in some detail and in child's terms, how when warm, moisture laden air, came in contact with the cold window, it condensed, leaving water. I explained that we called this condensation and we repeated the word several times. A short while later, her Mom came home and Suzy wanted to show off what she had learned. "Look, Mom," she said, pointing to the window, "conversation." Thinking of all the words I used trying to explain the concept to her, I wondered if her label wasn't, at least, partly correct.

No One Knew They Were Coming

It was in the early 1960's, back in the days when Robert McNamera was Secretary of Defense. His inspection teams would land at various air force bases, without warning and check for regulation violations, safety hazards, unnecessary expenditures and ineffective leadership. If any of these conditions were found by his team, it might become necessary to fire or transfer commanders, call for further investigation or even, in extreme cases, close down the air force base. McNamera's no notice inspection teams were about as welcome as the news that you needed a root canal.

Having mentioned the above, you can probably guess that the folks at a stateside air force base, which shall remain anonymous, were less than enthusiastic at the thought that their base might well be inspected by this team in the near future. Still, it accomplished nothing worrying about it so...on a beautiful, clear, spring day, in the above mentioned time frame, one each KC-135 refueling tanker landed and pulled up to it's parking spot and shut down. It had been a long flight. The crew grabbed their bags and headed for the base hotel for some much needed rest.

The flight crew had hardly left when next on the scene emerged a slightly rotund, inexperienced and yet overconfident aircraft maintenance crew chief. He was there, primarily, to service the aircraft with fuel and check for any mechanical discrepancies. The large, cargo aircraft was parked on PSP material, which was a temporary runway metal surface. It was pliable and had uniformly spaced holes drilled inside, making it flexible and easy to install in areas where concrete had not yet been poured.

When the young crew chief prepared to attach the refueling hose from the massive KC-135 to the JP-4 fuel bladder, he discovered that the hose would not quite reach, being about two feet short. The aircraft would have to be towed slightly so that refueling could be accomplished. Or would it? After all, he reasoned, towing the aircraft would require several people to help. Surely he could figure a way to move the aircraft himself without bothering anyone.

Our hero thought it thru and devised a plan. "The tanker is parked on a slight incline," he thought. "Perhaps I can remove the wooden wheel chocks that block the huge tires and then place them about three feet forward, so I'll know where to stop the aircraft. Then I can go upstairs and release the parking brake and reapply it when the tires hit the wheel chocks. Think of all the manhours I'll save the air force," he pondered. With visions of self admiration dancing in his head, he unfolded the plan, but after releasing the brake he could not get the aircraft to budge. Perhaps a little push on the tire from a tow tug would get things in motion. Sure enough, the aircraft started to move.

Quickly our mental giant shut off the tug and ran upstairs to the pilot's seat to man the brakes. The bulky aircraft lumbered forward at a very slow pace while mankind's gift to the air force yawned. Upon finally reaching the wheel chocks, the tires, instead of stopping, pushed the chocks down into the flexible PSP and continued on. Our hero, sensing something was amiss, applied the brakes, but to no effect. He was later to discover that the aircraft must be running to generate hydraulic pressure to the brakes. The gigantic aircraft, loaded with one frantic passenger, and the help of gravity, began to pick up speed. Not only that, but the gravity of the situation began to sink deep into Einstein's brain bone.

To make matters even more hysterical, while our valued air force asset was pounding with remarkable force on the brakes in a futile attempt to get them to apply and while he was screaming great obscenities in the upper decible ranges, he was also heading, by now, at break neck speed, toward the active runway. In front of him was a recently landed and taxiing B-52 behind an air force "Follow Me" truck, being led to a parking spot. When the B-52 was unable to reach the careening KC-135 on the radio, it slammed on it's brakes just in time for the KC to plow between the B-52 and the "Follow Me" truck.

By this time the world's smartest crew chief was feeling like he was in the latter stages of a massive cardiac arrest. He was heading straight for the nose of a parked, with power on, KC-97 aircraft. The 97 crew chief spied the KC-135 coming straight for him and saw our mentally gifted hero bail out, just in time to bail out himself. The two aircraft, then collided headlong amidst fire and explosion. Emergency vehicles were rallied to the scene and as our nimble footed and bruised hero lay in a wretched heap, mouth agape, promising career melting before his eyes, who should he see approaching the parking area? You guessed it and as usual, no one knew they were coming.