In spring
1972 I enlisted in the Air Force Reserve to be a medic - before the Army could
draft me. That meant I would first be on active duty, and then have reserve
duty for six years: one weekend every month and two weeks during the summer.
So, I spent the second half of that year on active duty. First was basic
training in San Antonio. Early one morning the son of a Chief Master Sergeant
(the highest enlisted rank) told me his father’s favorite joke:
“What is the
difference between the Air Force and the Boy Scouts? The Boy Scouts have adult
leadership.”
Then I had
tech school in Wichita Falls. Finally, I had on the job training in a hospital
near St. Louis.
In 1973 I
started graduate school at Carnegie Mellon University. I also was working for one
weekend a month as a reserve medic in the clinic out at the Greater Pittsburgh
Airport that was part of the 911th Tactical Airlift Group. Most of my job was helping do the annual flight physicals. That meant
I did tasks like eye tests, hearing tests, blood pressures, pulse rates,
electrocardiograms, and even footprints.
From 1973
until 1975 on paper I belonged to a unit called the 911th Mobility Support Squadron.
It is jargon meaning replacement troops, and had the acronym MSS. No vowel you
add to make it pronounceable looks good. I vote for mess. You may remember the 1988
movie Bull Durham about a minor league baseball team. Kevin Costner plays the
veteran catcher Crash Davis who just has been sent to the Durham Bulls to balance out
a trade. When he walks into the team manager’s office the manager scowls and
asks, Who are you? He introduces himself by replying that he is just the player
to be named later. My reserve unit felt like that. We were only a minor league
team. Morale always was near zero. If I did not have to be there, I would have
preferred to be somewhere else.
In July 1975 I was told I had been reassigned. Now I belonged to
the 758th Tactical Airlift Squadron. I walked up the hill to the base
operations building to sign in with my new unit before going to work. When I went
in, I noticed that everyone was smiling. They all were happy to be there. Their
Admin sergeant welcomed me. His first five words were that: we are all
professionals here.
Before I headed down the hill to work at the clinic, I needed to
stop and use the bathroom. What I saw there amazed me. Inside the toilet stall
door, under a clear plastic cover, was a sheet of paper listing exactly what each
aircrewman (pilot, copilot, and flight mechanic) had to do to handle an
in-flight nightmare – having one of the two piston engines on the plane fail.
The title read Don’t just sit there; have an accident. As I washed my hands I
looked around and saw that the same emergency procedures also were posted on
the wall above every urinal. I thought, wow, these guys are really serious.
The 758th flew a twenty-year-old cargo plane called
the C123K. If you saw the movie Con Air then you have seen one. It looks like the
one shown above. It has a high straight
wing with two piston engines, and a fuselage shaped like a pig. It carries 15
tons of cargo or up to sixty troops The C123K was not pressurized, and wasn’t
really even watertight. It has a wimpy official name - the Provider.
But the C123K
had a secret. Under the wings there also were a pair of auxiliary jet engines.
Their added thrust could get the plane into the air from a very short dirt
runway. It also could keep the plane flying normally with one piston engine
completely shut off. The Air Force had a series of jet fighters whose names
started with the powerful word Thunder: the F-84 Thunderjet and Thunderstreak,
and the F-105 Thunderchief. So the 758th renamed their plane the mighty
Thunderpig.
The 758th had adult leadership. They believed in personal
empowerment. Treat all your people like adults and give them room to blossom.
Tell them what needs to be done, and let them work as a team to get it done.
Other than emergency procedures you don’t need to spell out exactly how.
Now, that was not the typical attitude in Pittsburgh back then.
Mostly you got arrogant management butting heads with powerful unions like the
United Steelworkers, the USW. Loadmasters
in the 758th were a burly, boisterous, bunch of Polish-American sergeants who worked
as hammersmiths over at a USW forge shop. Most were almost in the same shape as
back when they had played high school football. They were proud of their
reserve unit and treated it like it was their football team.
Eighteen months later I watched the 758th accept an award – the Grover
Loening Trophy for best flying unit in the Air Force Reserve. Here is one reason
why. One of their planes was flying low at night with a full load of Army
Rangers getting ready for a paratroop drop. The ramp and door on the back of
the plane already were wide open when one engine sputtered and then quit. They
began to lose altitude rapidly. The crew feathered the propeller, started up
the auxiliary jets and the mighty Thunderpig climbed and got them home safely.
A less skilled crew probably would have crashed and killed all 45 people
aboard.
Personal empowerment comes in all sorts of places. I found it in an
Air Force Reserve unit. Which unit does your workplace resemble more, the Mobility
Support Squadron (a mess) or that Tactical Airlift Squadron? Could you help
change it?
An image of a C123K came from Wikimedia Commons.