by Phil Rowe
To say that Captain Ray was unique doesn't go far enough. Ray was eccentric in the extreme. When I knew him, he was one of the oldest captains in the U.S. Air Force, a gray-haired curmudgeon with just a touch of sadism, especially towards junior officers.
He was my aircraft commander in the early days of B-52 bombers. No sterner task-master ever drove me harder to learn and perform my crewmember duties. Ray was said to chew on nails, a real grump at times, who was not fun to be around. Despite his credentials and recognized piloting abilities, he was respected but just un-popular.
Ray was the butt of jokes among his peers, for with his thick glasses, gray hair and tall, lanky build, he was likened to Ichabod Crane or one of Dickens' characters. Some said he was the best instrument flying pilot in the outfit, because he had to be. With those thick eyeglasses, they said he couldn't see out of the cockpit and had to master the instruments.
A joke that Ray's colleagues played on him deserves telling. It happened in the early days of Strategic Air Command (SAC) ground alert, when B-52 bombers were fully loaded, ready to go to war, and flight crews lived in a special dormitory not far from the runway.
In those early days, when SAC was learning how to maintain an alert force, there were a number of temporary measures flight crews had to accept. In our case, that meant being quartered in an old WWII wooden, two-story barracks for a week at a time. Boredom was a problem, sometimes overcome by pranks played on other crewmembers.
The system of button-activated klaxon horns, to send crews scurrying to their planes, had not been established. Our signal to scramble for the planes came from a hand-activated bell, rung by an enlisted man, who stayed by the telephone night and day. If he got the message from our Command Post to alert the flight crews, all he did was loudly ring the bell.
One quiet Sunday afternoon, while we were on alert, Captain Ray passed the time by taking a nap on his cot in the barracks. Others read the newspaper, watched television or played horseshoes, just outside the building.
Our WWII vintage jeep-like vehicles stood at the ready, parked in front of the barracks, backed-in for a quick get-away. If the bell rang, we'd grab our gear, tumble out of the building and jump into the vehicles for the short drive to our airplanes. We had to be able to take off within 15 minutes of the alarm bell.
Ray slept soundly that warm Spring afternoon, oblivious to the noisy television and the clanking of horseshoes just outside his open window.
Unbeknownst to Ray, his pilot colleagues were about to play a joke which would, to say the least, disturb his slumber. Collusion by the rest of us was an essential part of the trick.
Quietly, stealthily the entire alert force of 60 officers and men slipped out of the alert barracks. Only Ray and the enlisted man on duty, by the bell, remained. Even the alert vehicles were removed to the back-side of the building, making it appear that all had left. One vehicle, loaded with its six-man flight crew, was positioned to drive away from the barracks on cue.
On a signal from one of the pilots, the enlisted bell ringer did his thing. He loudly clanged the bell for all he was worth. The building resounded with bell ringing.
Ray jumped up from his bed, bleary-eyed. He grabbed his flight jacket, donned his cap and carried his boots, as he scampered down the hallway and bolted out the door. The pre-positioned single vehicle, now about a block down the street, began to speed away, making it look like the last of the crews was heading for the runway. Ray was sure that he had missed his ride, and that even his own crew had abandoned him in their zeal to get to the airplane. He tried to put on his boots and run down the street at the same time. It was a comical sight, like something from an old Mack Sennett movie. Ray's desperation was obvious.
He stopped running and just stood there, forlornly in the middle of the street. We could only imagine what he was thinking at that moment.
Some of us, watching from behind the bushes at the side of the barracks, could not contain our laughter. Ray heard the giggles and turned to stare at us, now realizing that he'd been had. He was suddenly aware that the joke was on him. And he became furious.
It isn't fit to include here all the things he said about his fellow crewmembers. You'll have to use your own imagination, but be assured, it wasn't complimentary.
If we ever had an old grump to contend with in the past, it was nothing like what we faced in the next few days. Captain Ray did not like being the butt of a joke, even a creative one like that.