Last Flight

Last Flight

February 17, 2007, 0350 curbside at 24th and M, Washington DC. 16 Degrees with a light breeze. Going home after my second week of freezing temps to my home in SoCal. Fly my aircraft, ride a horse, climb a mountain and get back to living. I’m tired of the cold.

0425 paying the taxi fare at Dulles in front of the United Airlines counter, still cold.

0450 engaging the self-serve ticker machine and it delivers my ticket, baggage tag and boarding pass. Hmmm, that Marine is all dressed up early…? Oh, maybe,,,Hmm, “Good Morning Captain, you’re looking sharp.”

Pass Security and to my gate for a quick decaf coffee and 5 hours sleep. A quick check of the flight status monitor and UA Flt 211 is on time, I’m up front, how bad can it be? Hmmm, that same Marine, he must be heading to Pendleton to see his lady at LAX for the long weekend all dressed up like that….? Or maybe not?

“Attention in the boarding area, we will begin boarding in 10 minutes, we have some additional duties to attend to this morning but we will have you out of here on time.”

That Captain now has five others with him, BINGO, I get it, he is not visiting his lady, he’s an official escort. How I remember doing that once, CACO duty. I still remember the names of the victim and family, The Bruno Family in Mojave…, all of them, wow, that was 24 years ago. I wonder if we will ever know who and why?

On board, 0600: “Good morning folks this is the Captain. This morning we have been attending to some additional duties and I apologize for being 10 minutes late for pushback but believe me we will be early to LAX. This morning it is my sad pleasure to announce that 1st LT Jared Landaker USMC will be flying with us to his Big Bear home in Southern California. Jared lost his life over the sky’s of Iraq earlier this month and today we have the honor of returning him home along with his Mother, Father, Brother and uncles. Please join me in making the journey comfortable for the Landaker family and their uniformed escort. Now sit back and enjoy our ride, we are not expecting any turbulence until we reach the Rocky Mountains and at that time we will do what we can to ensure a smooth ride. For those interested you can listen in to our progress on button 9.”

Up button 9: “Good morning UA 211 you are cleared to taxi, takeoff and cleared to LAX as filed.” From the time we started rolling we never stopped. 1st LT Landaker began receiving his due.

4 hours and 35 minutes later over Big Bear MT, the AB320 makes a left roll and steep bank and then one to the right…Nice touch CAPTAIN. Five minutes out from landing, the Captain, “Ladies and Gents after landing I’m leaving the fasten seatbelt sign on and I ask everyone in advance to yield to the Landaker family. Please remain seated until all members have departed the aircraft. Thank you for your patience, we are 20 minutes early.”

On roll out, I notice red lights, emergency vehicles everywhere. We are being escorted directly to our gate, no waiting anywhere, not even a pause. Out the left window, a dozen Marines in full dress blues. Highway Patrol, Police, Fire crews all in full dress with lights on. A true class act by everyone, down to a person from coast to coast. Way to go United Airlines for doing the little things RIGHT, because they are the big things; Air Traffic Control for getting the message, to all law enforcement for your display of brotherhood.

When the family departed the aircraft everyone sat silent, then I heard a lady say, “God Bless You and your Family, Thank You.” Then another, then another, then a somber round of applause. The Captain read a prepared note from Mrs. Landaker to the effect, “Thank you all for your patience and heartfelt concern for us and our son. We sincerely appreciate the sentiment. It is nice to have Jared home.”

After departing the a/c I found myself along with 30 others from our flight looking for a window. Not a dry eye in the craft. All of us were balling like babies. It was one of the most emotional moments of my life. We all stood silent and watched as Jared was taken by his honor guard to an awaiting hearse. Then the motorcade slowly made it’s way off the ramp.

I have finally seen the silent majority. It is deep within us all. Black, Brown, White, Yellow, Red, Purple, we are all children, parents, brothers, sisters, etc…we are an American family.

What you don’t know is that on the flight I was tapped on the shoulder by Mrs. Landaker who introduced herself to me after I awoke.

Early in our taxi out from the gate at Dulles, the gent next to me (a Fairfax City Council Member and acquaintance of the Thuot family) were talking to the flight attendant and mentioned that we had sons serving on active duty, “What do you say? How tragic, they must be devastated.” He said many of the passengers had told him the same thing so somewhere in the flight he shared his tidbits with Mrs. Landaker. Our flight attendant had been struggling with what to say, to find the right words, so he told the Landaker family of passengers who were parents of service members who connected with their grief as parents. After I gathered myself, I stepped back to their row, two behind me and introduced myself to Mr. Landaker (a Veteran of South East Asia as a Tanker) and Jared’s uncle and brother. What a somber moment. Their Marine Captain escort was a first rate class act. He had been Jared’s tactics instructor and volunteered for this assignment, as he said, “Sir, it is the least I could do, he was my friend and a great stick. He absolutely loved to fly, It’s an honor to be here on his last flight.”

1115: On my connecting flight, my mind raced. How lucky I was to have had an opportunity to fly my father to Spain and ride the carrier USS John F. Kennedy home in 1981. The same year Jared was born. How lucky I was to have my father on the crows landing when I made my final cat shot in an F-14. Jared’s father never had that chance. Jared was at war, 10,000 miles away.

When Mr. Landaker and I were talking he shared with me, “When Jared was born he had no soft spot on his head and Dr’s feared he would be developmentally challenged. He became a Physics Major with Honors, high school and college athlete, and graduated with distinction from naval aviation flight school! He was short in stature, but a Marine all the way.” Visit his life story on line at www.bigbeargrizzly.net. Bring tissue.

February 7, 2007, Anbar Province, Iraq. 1st LT Jared Landaker United States Marine Corps, Hero, from Big Bear California, gave his live in service to his country. Fatally wounded when his CH-46 helicopter was shot down by enemy fire, Jared and his crew all perished. His life was the ultimate sacrifice of a grateful military family and nation. His death occurred at the same time as Anna Nicole Smith, a drug using person with a 7th grade education of no pedigree who dominated our news for two weeks while Jared became a number on CNN. And most unfortunately, Jared’s death underscores a fact that we are a military at war, not a nation at war. Until we become a nation committed to winning the fight, and elect leaders with the spine to ask Americans to sacrifice in order to win, we shall remain committed to being a nation with a military at war, and nothing more. (And possibly no funding if congress has their way!)

1st LT Landaker, a man I came to know in the sky’s over America on 17 February 2007, from me to you, aviator to aviator, I am unbelievably humbled. It was my high honor to share your last flight. God bless you.

Semper Fi

We're still here.

We are still here. Our government may have changed and the world certainly has, but here in the heart of America, we are the same. You certainly won't hear of us booing kids from another country or throwing garbage on the field when another countries athletes take the field. When you look for us forget what you want us to be and remember who we are. We are a nation of immigrants, some legal some not, but all equal and , so far, free. And read the next message carefully, this is us.

Got these in E-Mail.

P-51 Story-THE MUSTANG
Old aviators and old airplanes never die. They just fly off into eternity.
This is a good little story about a vivid memory of a P-51 and its pilot by
a fellow who was 12 years old in Canada in 1967. You may know a few others
who would appreciate it.
It was noon on a Sunday as I recall, the day a Mustang P-51 was to take to
the air. They said it had flown in during the night from some US airport,
the pilot had been tired. I marveled at the size of the plane dwarfing the
Pipers and Canucks tied down by her. It was much larger than in the
movies.
She glistened in the sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.
The pilot arrived by cab, paid the driver, and then stepped into the
flight lounge. He was an older man; his wavy hair was gray and tossed. Looked
like it might have been combed, say, around the turn of the century. His flight
jacket was checked, creased and worn - it smelled old and genuine. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a quiet air of
proficiency and pride devoid of arrogance. He filed a quick flight plan to
Montreal (Expo-67, Air Show) then walked across the tarmac.
After taking several minutes to perform his walk-around check the pilot
returned to the flight lounge to ask if anyone would be available to stand
by with fire extinguishers while he "flashed the old bird up. Just to be
safe."
Though only 12 at the time I was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher
after brief instruction on its use -- "If you see a fire, point, then pull
this lever!" I later became a firefighter, but that's another story.
The air around the exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from fuel
fumes as the huge prop started to rotate. One manifold, then another, and yet
another barked -- I stepped back with the others. In moments the
Packard-built Merlin engine came to life with a thunderous roar, blue
flames knifed from her manifolds. I looked at the others' faces, there was no
concern. I lowered the bell of my extinguisher.
One of the guys signaled to walk back to the lounge.
We did.
Several minutes later we could hear the pilot doing his preflight run-up.
He'd taxied to the end of runway 19, out of sight. All went quiet for
several seconds; we raced from the lounge to the second story deck to see
if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as she started down the runway. We
could not.
There we stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19. Then a roar ripped
across the field, much louder than before, like a furious hell spawn set
loose---something mighty this way was coming.
"Listen to that thing!" Said the controller.
In seconds the Mustang burst into our line of sight. Its tail was already
off and it was moving faster than anything I'd ever seen by that point on
19. Two-thirds the way down 19 the Mustang was airborne with her gear
going up. The prop tips were supersonic; we clasped our ears as the Mustang
climbed hellish fast into the circuit to be eaten up by the dog-day haze.
We stood for a few moments in stunned silence trying to digest what we'd
just seen.
The radio controller rushed by me to the radio. " Kingston tower calling
Mustang?"
He looked back to us as he waited for an acknowledgment. The radio
crackled, "Go ahead Kingston ."
"Roger Mustang. Kingston tower would like to advise the circuit is clear
for a low level pass."
I stood in shock because the controller had, more or less, just asked the
pilot to return for an impromptu air show!
The controller looked at us. "What?" He asked. "I can't let that guy go
without asking. I couldn't forgive myself!"
The radio crackled once again, "Kingston, do I have permission for a low
level pass, east to west, across the field?"
"Roger Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass."
"Roger, Kingston , I'm coming out of 3000 feet, stand by."
We rushed back onto the second-story deck, eyes fixed toward the eastern
haze.
The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a muffled screech, a
distant scream. Moments later the P-51 burst through the haze. Her
airframe straining against positive Gs and gravity, wing tips spilling contrails of
condensed air, prop-tips again supersonic as the burnished bird blasted
across the eastern margin of the field shredding and tearing the air.
At about 400 mph and 150 yards from where we stood she passed with the old
American pilot saluting. Imagine. A salute! I felt like laughing, I felt like crying, she glistened, she screamed, the building shook, my heart
pounded.
Then the old pilot pulled her up. and rolled, and rolled, and rolled out
of sight into the broken clouds and indelibly into my memory.
I've never wanted to be an American more than on that day. It was a time
when many nations in the world looked to America as their big brother, a
steady and even-handed beacon of security who navigated difficult
political water with grace and style; not unlike the pilot who'd just flown into my
memory. He was proud, not arrogant, humble, not a braggart, old and honest,
projecting an aura of America at its best.
That America will return one day, I know it will. Until that time, I'll
just send off this story; call it a reciprocal salute, to the old American