Share Your Memories
Harold Hinson, Oct 1961 - Mar 1965
I was on the 482nd website yesterday [12/14/2009] and saw the news that S/Sgt Harold Absher had passed on Sept 9, 2009. I met Sgt Absher when arriving at Seymour Johnson on the first day at the Electrical Shop in Oct 1961 and he was assigned to be my training NCO. I think we hit it off because of our country backgrounds. As I remember he grew up in Tazewell, Va. and I was from Warsaw, Va. That was forty eight years ago and I still have fond memories of the man and his wife Kitty.
When I was looking for a home to move my wife to N.C., Sgt. Absher told me about Robbins Trailer Park where he lived. He asked me if I would be interested in working on the planes at the Base Aero Club, where he was a member. We would spend a Saturday doing maintenance on the planes in exchange for logged flying hours. I remember those flying days with Sgt Absher - one bad day in particular when we were in the NAVY NAVION and the touch and go’s created a big clean up for me. I also remember his kindness in teaching me how to take over the controls and fly.
I recently wrote him an email when I saw Sgt Absher’s posting on the death of Sgt Skipper. I regret that I did not receive a reply and now I know why. God Bless You.
When the Cuban crisis popped, Bill Murray and I and our wives were on leave vacationing in Sebring, FL (my home). We went to Homestead and called the Fire Control shop from the BX. Dillis Brooks said he would be right up. His first words were, "are you ready to go to work?" We said no, so he said better clear out before the gate is locked. Before we left we drove by the ramp --- which scared the heck out of me. Rows and rows of F-100s with a single big bomb center line and armed guard between every two planes. By the time we got back to Sebring we had been recalled to Seymour. Then I spent most of the "hot" part guarding the Ops Bldg.
But when the crisis had cleared and the runways closed at Homestead, I was kind of volunteered (because they knew I was from FL) and did sort of volunteer myself to fill in as Hot Room Operator at the Miami International Airport, but based at Homestead AFB. I worked three eight hour shifts with a permanent operator, and then was on my own. I am no longer sure of the dates, but I was working the day Capt. Stonestreet (Sr alert pilot) and his wingman scrambled on the hijacked (prop jet electra, I believe) passenger plane that went to Cuba. I remember in the Hot Room afterward Captain Stonestreet musing that he wondered if he had been ordered to destroy the airliner to prevent it from falling into Cuban hands, could he pull the trigger knowing there were innocent passengers aboard. Didn't happen, but interesting message there.
I also worked the day we participated in Operation Sky Shield. We had both "hot" and "cold" F-102s. The cold unarmed for the exercise, and the hot, of course, for normal alert. MOADS, when calling the scramble, would first say either "hot" or "cold". I would the push one bell for a cold scramble or two bells for hot scramble.
I remember when Lt. Flaherty made a test flight after engine work. After the Miami tower was made aware that this was not a scramble of any sort, they scheduled him for the diagonal strip and gave permission for the requested "max performance takeoff." That got the phone ringing from the tower. "Have that pilot call us as soon as he lands" (that happened often). The pilot was accused of aerobatics in the pattern. Lt. Flaherty said they had given permission for a max performance takeoff. "Oh, if that's what it was, there will be no more of that at this airport."
I was also working when two Navy F-4 Skyrays came in. They were interested in our alert and had MOADS and the tower scramble them as if it were one of our hot scrambles. We didn't have ladders for Skyrays so the pilots had to run at the back of the wings, jump up, run forward on the wing, make a big leg swing to the foot recess, then into the cockpit. Thought they would both have had hernias, but I guess they didn't.
Etc., etc. ... and I didn't even know what I was doing.
Robert L. Baker, Col.
I am sending a copy of the order which gave me the honor of establishing Detachment #2 at Boca Chica NAS, Key West, FL. and what an honor it was. This was before Herb Sherrill became the permanent Det Commander.
On 12 June, 1963, myself (Capt. Baker), Capt. Paul Davis, Capt. Ken Gero, Capt. Nick Ranone, Lt. Don Kaufman, and one other pilot, not listed on the orders or recalled, took off in six deuces headed for Boca Chica. Two other pilots, Lt. Charles Simpson and Lt. Bob "Zeke" Zembraski were authorized to drive their cars and would meet us there.
We arrived at Boca Chica in a nice tight formation, flew a great pattern, and all landed safely using max aerodynamic braking (noses high in the air) and drag chutes. I thought it was pretty impressive! But even more impressive was what we saw when we taxied to our alert area. There stood M/Sgt James Jackson, at attention and saluting, in his neatly pressed and starched fatigues (which he always wore) along with about half of the fifty or so maintenance men who were already in place under the able leadership of Lt. Paul Dockery.
What a great crew and what an impression we made on the Navy that day. As soon as we climbed out of our deuces, the Navy and Marine pilots who were also standing alert, came up to us and asked "What kind of landings were those?" We explained, "NORMAL," but they were not used to seeing those nose high "grease jobs" as compared to their "controlled crashes" on the carriers. (And by the way, I have nothing but praise for those carrier pilots and their carrier landings).
The Navy people were generally great to work with, however a few problems had to be straightened out. First off, some of our airmen got chewed out for walking through the "Quarter Deck" to get to the latrine. (The Quarter Deck is, we found out, Officer Country). Next, I had a call complaining that our airmen were in the Exchange wearing baseball caps with their fatigues. Those good looking red baseball caps were part of our official fatigue uniform but I eventually had to get Col. Weaver to call the Base Commander.
That first night we had a couple of scrambles and had to do a little minor maintenance so we had a couple of those large maintenance work lights that we turned on and I thought we had started World War III. The Navy "runs red" at night and we were ruining their night vision!
All this to say that I was really proud to be a part of the 482nd and have guys like Lt. Dockery and M/Sgt Jackson taking care of the maintenance. They were superb and they kept those six deuces in tiptop shape.
[ED NOTE: I misplaced this piece from Ray some couple years ago ... and found it this evening. As I finished typing it in the late hours, I noted it was midnight of June 8/9. One year EXACTLY since Ray died. Co-incidences are fascinating, but especially enjoyable in old age. GCW]
Ray James Epperson;
Jan 16, 1943 - June 9, 2006
Here is the story behind an article that appeared in various newspapers in North Carolina in June of 1962.
I had week-end duty on the T-33 and Capt George asked me if I wanted to go for a ride. I had signed up for a ride, so I said yes. He never said where we were going and why the other officer had backed out. We took off and flew straight to Winston-Salem.
When we landed we were met by the Air Guard Reserve and Capt. George started telling this crazy story. They pulled me out and put me on a stretcher and headed toward the hangar. I was then told it was a drill.
We took off again and landed in Greensboro, to do the same thing again, and I was worried because my Mom & Dad were going to meet me there for a short visit ... and there was no way to let them know that I was going to be pulled out of the back seat and rushed away with flashing red lights and sirens going.
My luck, they were on the wrong end of the runway when we landed and the Greensboro Guard were not as careful as in Winston-Salem ... they dropped me several times during the drill.
I got the T-33 ready for flight back to Seymour Johnson and we took off, this time I got to fly it back. Capt. George took over when we got to Goldsboro, but he had one more trick up his sleeve. Before we landed, he did several rolls and dives and spins to see if I would get sick. Well, I knew if I did, I would be the one to clean it up, so I held my own.
That was the best day of my life in the Air Force.
Wandering around the web...
...and came across your site. I was a Weapons Controller at Washington Air Defense Sector, Ft. Lee AFS, Va from 1962-64. The 482nd was one of our alert squadrons for active air defense. I remember them well as a bunch that always delivered.
I remember during one of the Sky Shield exercises, I was target controller for a B-58 coming back inbound to the US supersonic, one of the 482nd guys was in a great position for a 135 beam intercept. He made a great intercept and the PK table gave him a "kill". The 58 pilot could not believe that he had been "shot down" by an F-102. I had to authenticate 2-3 times to confirm that he was "out of the war" and had to return to base. He just could not believe.
Just goes to prove that the 102 had a potential to be a good weapon.
I was also the Senior Weapons Director on duty the day JFK was killed, the 482nd was just coming off alert when we got the word. Spoke with the CO, we agreed together to put the pilots back in the cockpit but to not start engines as we did not know what was happening while the 444th out of Charleston ran an intercept on a unknow in the ADIZ which appeared to be coming from Cuba. After about 15-20 minutes everything settled down and the 482nd pilots were released from alert when the 48th finally came up.
John R. Stephens, PO Box 710104, Maxeys, GA 30671-0104 --- (706) 759-2283
Tell from the Alert Hanger
[I was assigned to the Flight Line ('63 - '65) but I was also called upon quite often to fill in at the Alert Barn. For the most part it was not bad duty. A few nights stick out in my memory of those times.]
The Dog
One was the night we had a knock at the back door. It wasn’t unusual for the Security Police to want to get something to eat late at night from the kitchen. I went down the hall in my sock feet and snatched the door open. The next thing I know I’ve got a German Sheppard about a foot from my face. The A. P. dog handler was holding on to the leather strap and looking a little shocked. I don’t know what I looked like but I thought I might need a change of clothes after I swallowed my heart.
With the outside noise and my sock feet the dog didn’t hear me coming to the door. After we all calmed down and they were inside, he took the leather-working collar off the dog and put a choke chain on him. He said, "Now he is just like anyone’s pet. When I put the leather collar back on him he knows it time to go back to work."
He got something to eat and when it was time for him to leave he put the leather collar back on the dog. The dog looked at me as if to say, "Okay, am I going to have any more trouble with you." I didn’t move… I’m not sure I was even breathing.
The Cold A. P.
One night we had two downloaded birds setting in open bays ready to be towed back to the flight line the next morning. It was pretty cold and the wind didn’t help much either. Well this A. P. working inside the fence decided to get in the cockpit of one of the birds to try to warm up a bit. He knew enough about the aircraft that he had to remove the canopy jack to lower the canopy. What he didn’t know was that when the canopy was pulled down to within about four inches of the canopy rails the canopy went into cinch down. All the air pressure was dumped on one side of the cylinder and the pressure on the other side held the canopy down so the pilot could lock it.
Well, time came for him to report in and he didn’t call. They tried calling him and got no answer. They called out the troops and went looking for him. There he was, sitting in the cockpit, looking around, scared to touch anything, with his radio and weapon sitting at the bottom of the ladder.
As Forrest Gump would say, ”I wonder what ever happened to that nice young fellow!”
How to Clean an Alert Bay
We had a young pilot that was always getting into trouble. Some said his family was very wealthy and he became a pilot just for kicks. He would do something crazy and the Old Man would ground him for thirty days. Well, it seems he had been slow to get out to the takeoff point during a scramble from the Alert Hanger. Someone had gotten on his case about it and this night he planned to fix the problem. His bird was in number two bay and when the horn went off I went up the ladder to help him strap in. He said once air and ground power was pulled to kick the chocks and get out of the bay. Well, him being an officer and me a two stripper I did just what I was told to do. I got out of the bay and ran behind the blast shield.
He lit the burner inside the bay and took off on the taxiway that leads out to the takeoff point. He just cleared the trees. When I came from behind the blast shield and looked back in the empty bay that’s just what I saw. An empty bay. The chocks, ladder, drip pans and everything not tied down was hung up in the fence out back.
We didn’t see him on the Line for another thirty days.
"Quick Draw" Carlson
It was the day of TV cowboys. Richard Carlson had bought a western style .22 revolver with leather holster and liked to practice his draw in his room on the third floor.
I roomed in 304, my bunk against the outside wall. There was enough space between the end of my bunk and the latrine door to sit a standard issue gray chair when the room was busy. About 6 to 8 guys were in there one evening in late 1959 as my tour was within a few days of ending. I had taken the desk chair and assumed the position above, leaning back on two legs. Lynn "Mouse" Markley was on my bed. We made a little noise, just enough to attract some attention, and an open hallway door was an invitation, understood by all. Everything seemed fine.
Dick appeared in the hall doorway, directly opposite me, wearing his gun and holster, smiling broadly. Dick said something like, "Alright Willick...this is it!" He drew the pistol and pointed it at my forehead. I saw empty chambers and had heard the weapon cock as he drew. In a split second I kicked out of the chair into the bathroom (luckily the door was open). I got up and yelled at Carlson to put that God-damned weapon down and then yelled at Mouse to verify that the weapon was holstered. When all of that was established, I stepped back into the room and picked up the chair.
Dick had a real hurt look on his face, and said he was just fooling around, and that the weapon was empty. I was still raving about not caring and not to point that damned thing at me again. Anyway, the guys wanted to see the gun so Dick handed it over and it moved across the room. Mouse and I were good friends and he decided I must have over-reacted for a reason...so he opened the revolver cylinder and a .22 long fell out on the bed. The room went quiet. Mouse whistled softly. I calmed down immediately...vindicated.
Dick Carlson turned white standing between me and Mouse, "I was going to pull the trigger."
"I knew you were," I said. But I understood why I had bolted so violently. The life I've had since that moment and all of my progeny exist because of that knee-jerk reaction.
As it turned out, Dick had loaned the weapon to his room-mate, Harold Inda, for some target practice. When Dick reached to get the weapon that night for a little foolishness, he had not checked the chambers, trusting Harold to have returned an unloaded weapon.
I think of that moment often...trying to figure out exactly which thing that followed in my life was the reason I wasn't killed. Still can't put my finger on it. Maybe it was something in Dick's life, which would have been wrecked at that point also.
I was assigned to the 482nd in the spring of 1960 after the radar course at Denver. I served there until my discharge in '63. I did OJT on the MG10 for nearly a year under the tutelage of a couple of Hughes A/C reps. I was one of several new assignees that came in at about the same time. The Commander at that time was Lt. Col. Smith, who went on to Rota, Spain. Col. Weaver came on at that time and his program to "whip us into shape" earned him little love among the lower ranks. I remember a brutal period of 12 hour days that seemed to go on forever. I did not stay in touch with any of the other guys and consequently cannot provide any information other than that having to do with my short service there. I do, of course, have any number of anecdotes and will relate my favorite here.
When the Ready Pad had sunk beneath the B52s so that they had to be towed to the runway after their preflights we were sent to Myrtle Beach while repairs were done. The move was to take place on a Monday. Lt. Col. Smith and M/Sgt. Nelson spoke to us at a squadron meeting on the Friday prior to the move. The Commander got up and gave us the basics of the move and the time frame. M/Sgt Nelson followed him and provided us with a warning. To paraphrase "now gentlemen we're going to a town that is strict in it's enforcement of the laws regarding drinking and drunken behavior. The first man who gets arrested for drinking is going to be treated as an example. I will come down hard on him. The Commander and myself are going down tonight and we'll expect to see you all bright and early on Monday morning.
Monday saw nearly all of us reporting for duty as stipulated but nobody knew where the Commander or the First Sergeant were. After some inquiries it was found that they were in the lock-up in town.They had been arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct. We never heard another word on the subject from either of them.
My Memories of the 482nd FIS
The Tarheel Squadron
Kenneth E. Gwinn, TSgt, USAF, Ret.
1944 - 2006I arrived at Seymour-Johnson AFB about the 1st of June, 1963 to join the 482nd FIS. The unit was in the final phases of completing the Configuration 10 modification to the weapons control system (radar) and I was assigned to assist on the crew that was installing and checking out the system. At that time the unit was working 10-12 hours a day 6 days a week so we were staying quite busy.
Within a couple of months we had completed the mod and things began to settle down a bit. The shop then divided up into 4 flights and I was assigned to D flight. It was our responsibility to do all the system calibrations in the cal barn. If we completed a bird we would assist the other flights with maintenance on the line.
A few months after my arrival, Lt. Col. George Halliwell became our squadron commander. About the first thing that he did was put us on 8 hour days, 5 days a week. About a month after he took over we had our first squadron party in the hanger so he could get to know us and we him.
By the spring of 1964 the unit was getting its flying hours in and down to 4 ½ day work weeks. Not long after that we would have our sorties in by the 20th of the month and Col. Halliwell was having to call HQ to get more hours to keep us busy. Morale was high in the unit.
During any exercises that we had (ORI, TAC Evals, etc) D flight was on the line continuously with the nitrogen carts. As soon as the bird was chocked and the engine shut down and it was safe to approach the aircraft, we had the door open and was hooking up the line to refill the nitrogen tank.
Comm shop had put a speaker in our shop and monitored the maintenance control frequency of the aircraft. After the pilot cleared the runway he would call into maintenance control as he taxied back to the ramp and report any discrepancies he had encountered. If there was a radar problem we would usually be on the line and waiting for him to shut down. Many times we had the system fixed before he was finished debriefing.
During the last year and a half before the unit deactivated, I worked with A1C Richard Miller on the "goodie cart" crew. It was just he and I and we would go in at 2300, call maintenance control to find out which aircraft were flying WSEMs the next day and on which rails. We would go to the line and run the goodie cart on those rails and if there were any problems we would repair them.
We got a good routine going. We would both open the first aircraft and get set up to run the test. Then one of us would run it while the other went down the line opening the other aircraft. As soon as we had all the aircraft set up we would go back and start to close the ones that we had tested. Most of the time we would be finished by 0100. Doing this pre-testing saved a lot of WSEM writeups and gave us almost a 100% qualified rate on the rails.
During that same period the shop supervisor had to tell the afternoon supervisor to keep the troops there and not release them until after 1700 because they were beating the day shift people home. Those were good days when after everything was OR we could be released from duty. A couple of guys would be put on standby just in case.
One thing that I did not enjoy was having to become an augmentee missile loader. I hated that with a passion. But I got lucky and after almost dropping a missile from the handling frame I was sent to the flight surgeon and xrays proved that what I had tried to tell them about my elbow locking up was true. There was a small fragment of bone in the joint (left over from an elbow fracture about 8 years earlier). I was taken off the load team and sent to Ft. Bragg to an orthopedic surgeon where they removed the fragment. Never went back onto a load team...yippee.
One of my fondest memories at the 482nd was the summer that we had a joint command exercise that involved SAC, TAC, and ADC. Of course, our job was to defend the base from the invaders. Units from bases all along the East Coast was involved. At the end of one day (when one of the invading TAC fighters just barely cleared the top of the hanger) the report came back that over a hundred aircraft had launched an attack on the base but the 482nd was successful in its defense and only 4 invaders had gotten through with a loss of only 2 of our aircraft (simulated loss, not actual).
But the biggest thrill during this exercise was watching the deuces in the dogfights and aerial maneuvers above the base and being able to watch them close the distance between them and the faster aircraft they were after. The Thunderbirds would have been proud of the aerobatics.
It was a sad time in 1965 when we got news the unit was shutting down. Many of us were anxious and wondering where we would be reassigned. Luck was with many of us in the radar shop and about half of us were reassigned to Richards-Gebaur AFB just outside Kansas City, Missouri.
I stayed there about 15 months, then to Goose Bay, Labrador for 3 months and had that unit close on me also. From there I went to Bergstrom in Austin, Tx where I crosstrained into Inertial Navigation Systems.
Well, 8 months later I was in Southeast Asia, in Thailand. From there it was Yokota AB, Japan with TDYs to Korea. I left Japan in 1972 and went to McGuire AFB, NJ and work the big boys, the C-141s. Love that bird about as much as I did the deuces. Fifteen months later found me back in Thailand. From there it was Shaw AFB in South Carolina until 1978 and then to Kadena AB, Okinawa for 4 years. I retired on DEROS from Kadena and moved back home to Tennessee.
During my AF career I worked on F-102s, F/RF-4C, D, Es, C/RC/EC-130s, C-141s, C/KC-135s, F-105s, & B-57s. The Glorious deuce is still my favorite bird.
As an afterthought, everyone knows and loves the quirks of the TF-102. Although this was not a 482nd bird, but rather a Richards-Gebaur one, it present me with a challenge. It seems this particular TF blew a hot-air duct in the nose wheel well on takeoff. The cockpit of course filled with smoke so the pilot blew the canopy. To make a long story short, he brought the aircraft back and landed it.
Know what is in the wheelwell above the airduct? An 8 inch bundle of wires belonging to the radar system, all melted together. Guess who gets to do the repairs, radar. There were 8 of us assigned to the repair team working 8 hour shifts, 7 days a week, on a rotating schedule. 4 months and 20+ miles of wire later we had the system fixed and the aircraft was flying again.
LONG LIVE THE MEMORIES OF THE 482ND FIS, THE TARHEEL SQUADRON, SEYMOUR-JOHNSON AFB, N.C.
[I hope "Mac" (insert) will forgive me for breaking up his letter...I'm using parts of it all over the place...but this neat story belongs here. It shows how glib and bright we really were. GCW]
My roommate, A/1C Leo G. Lewis, worked in Airborne Communications. He was from Alabama and a real 'neat freak' which makes for a good roomie. I never had to worry if the room would pass inspection, Leo made sure it was always up to snuff. Leo worked nights and I was day shift. One day the 1st Sgt came through the barracks when Leo was up and I was at work. He asked if he could inspect Leo's locker and, of course, Leo agreed. Every uniform was precisely the same distance from the next, the shoes were shined and lined up, towels folded, etc. Sgt Nelson commented on how neat it was and then asked, "Tell me, what does Mac's locker look like?" Leo replied, "Sarge, Mac taught me how to do this." After that I could do no wrong. The truth was, that if I could get the doors closed, it was good enough.
[Mac's email is OR1851@aol.com and hopes his friends will let him hear from them. GCW]
"Toady Frogs"
"The Deuce had one feature that was very useful: Those delta wings in a rain storm. And in the swamps (moist marshland) of North Carolina, rain was known to come up quickly. And so it was one summer afternoon when we had a flight up and everyone had just returned to the flight line to receive their birds. Neighboring ships provided cover as airmen ducked under wings from every direction.
"Since I was in NADAR, I had two clean tapes with me, which, when put back to back, made a neat stool. So I settled down to watch the rain and enjoy the drops splashing on solid concrete sections with thickly tarred seams. Then a little frog appeared. No bigger than a man's thumbnail. Then another. Then another. We started looking, trying to find out where they were coming from.
"And then, suddenly, it RAINED buckets of water. And just as suddenly, toads were landing all over the place. Most landed on their feet but some hit on their backs and kicked a few times before turning over. One of the planes taxied in and a crew chief had to leave to park it. He stepped on toads as he went and was soaked before he made it to his slot. I'd say there was a toad for every six by six inch section of concrete...thousands of them.
"Just as suddenly the hard rain stopped and it just sprinkled for a while. The toads were no longer dropping. If they hopped under the wing onto dry concrete, they would turn around and go back into a wet area. Fifteen minutes after the rain was over there wasn't a toad to be seen on the flightline except for the dead ones. The rest had all managed to hop off the concrete into the surrounding marsh. Most had headed east to that area between Ops and the alert hangar.
"I turned the incident in to one of those research foundations that study such phenomenon so we may be famous, obliquely. And I never had a satisfactory answer for what I saw. There was no debris of any kind. Just toads. All the same size. None died in the fall...none. Theories like a tornado lifting a pond or a water spout etc, simply do not apply. And you can't grow a toad as big as your thumbnail overnight...all the same size, all alive, and none killed in the fall.
"The late Douglas Adams (Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe) would have explained it as a spatial delivery of vertebrates to a very minor planet in a very minor solar system in a very minor section of the galaxy. Works for me. I can't come up with a better explanation."
ADDENDUM: I have been looking for a living witness to the above. While at Bill Plemmons' supper table on May 18, '02, I flipped out a casual, "Do you remember the day it rained frogs?" His wife commented first, sort of an indication of negative disbelief. Bill contradicted her, "No, there were hundreds...thousands..of them. I don't know where they came from but they were there, covering the flight line." When Bill said "thousands" I knew he had been out there rather than remembering a tale told by others. That's two of us...so the rest of you don't have to be shy.
Louise Basden, the widow of Dan K. Basden writes to say, "I remember while we were at Seymour Johnson, Dan came in one nite talking about the FROGS."