Steven K. Ladd's Blog

I’ve had lots of great reviews of Phantom to Warthog since it was published in October of 2020. I’m grateful for each and every one of them (except for a handful of trolls), but in January 2023 the Air Force Historical Society requested a copy to be reviewed in their Fall edition. I asked my publisher to provide a copy with compliments and waited……and waited…….and waited. A couple weeks ago, the Foundation notified me the review would be appearing this month and sent me a copy. The book had been reviewed by a retired Marine Corps Major General–a fighter pilot–and I was pretty much blown away. After all, the greatest feedback comes from those who have been there and done that and General Anderson’s review highlighted a number of experiences and attitudes we shared. I’m awfully proud of this review–no need for me to elaborate. If you’ve thought about reading Phantom to Warthog but haven’t gotten around to it, perhaps the General’s evaluation will give you a nudge.

Semper Fi, General

 

From F–4 Phantom to A–10 Warthog: Memoirs of a Cold War Fighter Pilot.

By Steve Ladd, Col, USAF (Ret).

Barnsley UK: Air World Books, 2020.

Maps. Tables. Diagrams. Illustrations. Notes. Appendices. Glossary. Index.

I approached this review with a jaundiced eye. I, too, went through USAF Undergraduate Pilot Training and conversion to F–4 fighter pilot within one year of Colonel Ladd. In fact, many of our anecdotes and experiences are similar. I have also read and listened to fighter pilots sharing their experiences on many occasions. Often “there I was. . .” could be replaced more accurately with “once upon a time . . .”

In his introduction, Ladd promises a look at the fighter pilot worldview and not an autobiographical look at his achievements. He couldn’t have done it an iota better. His recollections are thoughtful, extremely accurate (in my assessment), and self-deprecating. His writing is artful and compelling. He separates the wheat from the chaff. If a Leadership is weak or ineffective, he identifies what constitutes this judgment. If some fighter pilot antics are juvenile and thoughtless, he says so without making excuses. What Ladd does most effectively is describe the fears, joys, and values unique to the professional fighter pilot. All of this is accomplished in a most readable and interesting journey through his career and experiences. The reader is taken through the rigors of flight school, starting in a small prop aircraft and culminating in piloting the sleek “White Rocket” Talon jet. He explains the rationale for aircraft mission selection and brings Survival Escape Resistance and Evasion training into the reader’s mental image.

True to his promise, war exploits are treated in a matter-of-fact manner, but the squadron pilot’s exploits of “baby” bullfighting in Spain and the grand destruction ofan Officer Club’s grand piano are sure to entertain any reader.

Ladd provides quite an excellent description of the challenges of being a flight instructor and then transitioning to a new aircraft, the A–10 Warthog. He is skilled and tenacious in his defense of this pointedly single-mission ground attack aircraft that is slower, uglier, and more basic than all of its predecessors.

Ladd’s biggest challenge might be his ground staff tour at a European NATO headquarters. His description of the personalities and idiosyncrasies of our allies is perceptive and entertaining. Needless to say, he was effective in this assignment and was rewarded with another opportunity for airborne leadership of his fighter-pilot brethren.

This book is informative, funny, entertaining, and a truly excellent read. On a personal level, I enjoyed most the evaluation of leadership opportunities both seized and squandered. Colonel Ladd not only provides their descriptions, but also thoughtfully analyzes their results.

My critical read of this book yields very high marks indeed for accuracy, readability, and humor. Upon completion of your reading of this book, I’m confident you will be able to answer Ladd’s question: Was he lucky?

Joseph T. Anderson, Maj. Gen., USMC (Ret)

 

The post Journal of the Air Force Historical Foundation book review appeared first on From F-4 Phantom to A-10 Warthog.

I recently engaged in a social media discussion started by a former fighter aircraft mechanic. He was justfiably proud of his contributions and received a number of supportive comments on the string. I was reminded of a passage in the book that paid homage to the legions of professionals who make it possible for people like me to do what I always loved, safely and securely. The following excerpt is my small tribute to the backbone of our profession. God bless the technicians, specialists and all those who cared for those superb macines, day in and day out–and a special thanks to the choreographers of this noble effort: The Crew Chief.

Fighter aviation, more than any other profession I am familiar with, requires the individual to place considerable confidence in fellow aviators and many other members of the team. Being able to rely on your back- seater for accurate information in a two-seat fighter or your wingman in a formation is crucial in a combat scenario. The concept of exploiting additional pairs of eyes when seeking out potential enemies is one of the cornerstones of survival in the world of the fighter pilot. A flight leader must know his wingmen will follow orders instantly and without question. This compliance is predicated on the wingmen having faith that the leader has the skill and judgment to provide directions that are comprehensive and reliable. The mutual trust required to manage a complex fluid scenario involving a number of other aircraft to a successful conclusion cannot be overstated.

Trust also extends beyond the cockpit in the fighter business. Our aircraft are maintained by a force of superb technicians, most of whom specialize in one aspect or another of the bird’s systems: engines, electronics, flight controls, avionics, life-support systems, armament controls, hydraulics, pneumatics, fuel systems and on and on. There are specialists who hang the weapons, service the ejection seats and maintain canopies and navigation systems and most of these folks are more or less anonymous as far as the pilot is concerned. There is, however, a single link between all these technicians and the airplane driver and that connection is the crew chief or CC. The CC is normally responsible for one aircraft and it is he or she that ties the efforts of all these other folks together to present a safe, flyable aircraft to the jock when he (or she) strides purposefully up to the bird to appropriate it for a couple of hours’ sport. The entire report card for the aircraft is contained in Air Force Form 781. This is a large white loose-leaf notebook which catalogues the efforts of all the aforementioned specialists and culminates in the crew chief ’s personal certification that the airplane meets all the many prerequisites for flight and is ready to go.

This process would be unremarkable except for the fact that the vast majority of crew chiefs are youths in their 20s or early 30s. In a period when adolescents in the same age group are aggressively demanding $15 per hour for flipping hamburgers, they are performing a far more responsible function for far less compensation.

I was always impressed with the professionalism and enthusiasm of the young men and women who kept their airplane spit-shined and serviceable and then loaned it to me to take out, ride hard and bring back wet. There was a ritual that accompanied this transfer of machinery: the CC would salute smartly as I approached, hand me the Form 781 and after I signed it off (the pilot still retains the last formal remnant of responsibility), he or she would follow me around the bird while I preflighted it, follow me up the steps and help me strap in. Then, together, we would step through a start sequence and perform a visual check of those flight controls which I couldn’t see from the cockpit. Once accomplished, the CC marshaled me out of the parking spot, ensuring clearance from potential obstructions and snap one more sharp salute as I rolled past. At this point, more often than not, the CC would bless his/her bird and my flight by planting a kiss (via the fingertips) on the passing wingtip. I was always a bit buoyed when receiving this special send-off.

How do you reward this kind of dedication from someone so young? I found unembarrassed respect and a touch of kinship to be effective. After all, we were both in this together. Occasionally, when I wanted to show special appreciation, I would walk up to the aircraft, return the salute and ask, ‘How’s the bird today, Chief?’ If the answer was positive, as expected, I’d sign off the form with little more than a glance, forego the preflight inspection completely and head straight up the steps, leaving the CC watching me in astonishment before hustling up behind me for the strap-in and the remainder of the ritual. While my intentional flouting of established procedures (and admittedly slapdash technique) would have landed me firmly in the shit had things gone wrong, the motivational effect on that kid whose name was stenciled on the airplane was dramatic and IMHO well worth the risk.

I must reinforce my opinions with a true adventure. In January, 1979, the 92nd Tac Fighter Squadron ‘Skulls’ deployed as a squadron to bring the first A-10s to RAF Bentwaters in the UK. The complete saga can be found in the book, but I’m going to begin this excerpt at Lajes, in the Azores, starting engines for the last leg of the journey home. The tankers are already airborne, waiting for us to join up our gaggle of ’Hogs and come aboard. We’re starting engines and going through the final flight control checks when my crew chief plugs his microphone and headset into the communications port inside the ladder door. ‘Sir,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’ve got an oil leak on your number one (left) engine.’ Employing the most versatile expression in the fighter pilot’s phrase book, I reply ‘Ahhhh, shit!!’ and a number of crucial facts race through my brain:

Elaine will be waiting at Bentwaters and she’ll be sorely pissed off if I don’t show (get-homeitis)Tankers are airborne, flight plans are filed, international clearances have been approved and there’s no way this flight’s going to wait for Steve to get his airplane fixed if it ain’t real quickIf I get left behind today, God knows how and when I’m going to get home. The whole deployment is based on multi-ship travel with tanker support; there are simply no single-ship trans-ocean deployments so I will have to wait for another organized crossing or go home commercial air and leave my bird behindDid I mention Elaine will be waiting at Bentwaters and she’ll be sorely pissed off if I don’t show?

My crew chief ’s already on the case. I’ve shut down the engine, he’s popped open the engine nacelle on number one and he and a couple others are feverishly going through the myriad oil lines, looking for my leak. I can’t see their efforts (and wouldn’t know what they were doing if I could), but I can hear metal on metal and I silently will my crew chief to find a bigger hammer, if that’s what it takes.

All around me, A-10s are beginning to taxi. They’ll leave my space in the sequence open right up until take-off, but significant delay is simply not an option. The end of our departure window is minutes away and I am in real danger of becoming an unwilling tourist in the Azores. My crew chief comes back up on the headset: ‘We think we’ve found it sir, crank up number one and let’s run it for a quick leak check.’ Engine running, after what seems to be an eternity, he says: ‘You’re good to go, Sir.’ This is where the trust comes in; there’s no need for ‘Are you sure, Chief?’ only the positive inflection on the most versatile phrase: ‘Shit hot, Chief; like it a lot! I owe you one’, followed by ‘Lajes Tower, Warthog 21 taxi to join the flight’ and the unsaid ‘saved by the bell’. As I rolled out, I noticed the fingertip kiss being bestowed on the wingtip and gave the man of the hour a smart salute and a heartfelt thumbs-up.

The presence of trust doesn’t mean you stop thinking. Taxiing out, my mind wanders to ‘what ifs?’:

What if the leak returns with a vengeance? It’s 2,000 miles over water to Bentwaters and, although the ’Hog will fly on one engine, it won’t fly very wellWhat if I end up in the frigid Atlantic, a long, long way from home?What if the damn Poopy Suit leaks and even if it doesn’t, who’s going to be out there to pick me up?

All reasonable concerns, I think, but I didn’t dwell on them; it was show time! Nevertheless, I spent a lot more time than usual checking the number one engine oil pressure gauge on the way home. I needn’t have worried; she ran like the proverbial Swiss watch.

 

 

Remember when you were a kid—7 or 8 years old? I struggle to do so, but there are a few incidents I can’t forget. If you lived in a cold climate (and, as an Air Force BRAT I did—from time to time), you’ll remember your mother preparing you to venture out into the snow-covered environment outside your front door. There were layers upon layers of cold weather apparel—underwear (thermals if you had them), jeans, shirts, sweaters, multi-layered socks and boots of some description, capped off with big, wooly mittens, connected by a string so you wouldn’t lose one of them and an equally enormous wooly hat pulled down over your ears. Add your Nanook of the North parka or Navy Peacoat and you were doing a credible impression of the Michelin Man. I remember Mom launching me out into the frozen wasteland that was our front yard, and I did all that I could do swathed in all that cozy warmth: Sweet Fox Alpha.

Fast forward many years and I had forgotten all about those halcyon days because I was now a fighter pilot in Uncle Sam’s Flying Circus. All my early training and my combat tour had been accomplished in warm climates, and my follow-on assignments to Torrejon, Spain and Homestead in Florida were equally balmy for the most part, but then, at the ripe old age of 32, I found myself driving F-4s at RAF Bentwaters in England. I arrived in the summer and, as I had always done before, strode out to my mighty Phantom in nothing more substantial than a flight suit (with sleeves rolled up and zipper at half-mast—you could get away with that in those days).

As the days grew shorter and autumn arrived, the preflight briefing was supplemented with a new item: North Sea temperature. I wasn’t quite sure what this had to do with anything until one chilly September morning, the weatherman announced that the North Sea temp was 59 degrees Fahrenheit (15 degrees Celsius). This pronouncement was greeted with a cacophony of wails and catcalls from those who had been at Bentwaters longer than I and one of my colleagues explained to me that this was the inaugural decree of 1977 for donning the dreaded Anti-Exposure Suit. From this point forward, any sea temp below 60F would result in the requirement to ‘suit up’ in the fighter pilot’s cold weather armor. When I got to my locker that day, I was greeted with the sight of a great rubber ‘onesie’ hanging on the door and memories of Mom heaping layers of clothing on me before tossing me out in the snow came flooding back.

To explain this properly, I need to give you a brief tutorial on the anti-exposure suit. Known to all who wore them as a ‘Poopy Suit’ because of the odor generated after wearing them over an extended period, this form-fitting torture chamber is made of rubber with tight seals around the neck and wrists. There are integral booties to keep your feet dry, a single straight zipper across the chest which enables you (with a little help from your friends) to peel the damned thing on or off over your head and a smaller vertical zipper at the crotch (more about that later). The requisite layers of clothing involved are underwear, thermal underwear, Nomex fire-retardant flight suit, anti-exposure suit, harness and ‘G’-suit. Consequently, it is very low on the list of comfortable lounging apparel. It has its advantages, however: if you are forced to eject over very cold water (below 60 degrees Fahrenheit) it keeps you relatively dry and, with a bit of luck helps you live a few minutes longer until you’re picked up by someone who just happens to be in your vicinity. We routinely wore them when flying training missions over the North Sea or North Atlantic and I can tell you now, we didn’t look forward to trying to do our thing while encumbered with what amounted to a hot, heavy suit of rubberized armor.

If the Poopy Suit was uncomfortable during an hours’ air combat maneuvering over the North Sea, it was damn near unbearable on a lengthy deployment flight. In my book, From F-4 Phantom to A-10 Warthog, I’ve devoted a full chapter to a squadron A-10 deployment from Myrtle Beach AFB in the US to RAF Bentwaters in England via the Azores in January 1979. Try it; you’ll like it. The following is derived from that chapter.

On over water deployments, fighters are accompanied by a C-130 ‘Duckbutt’ aircraft. These shepherd aircraft also provided a much more sophisticated level of navigation than the A-10s had onboard and additional travel aids such as weather avoidance radars and long-range radio communications.

We were very slightly jealous of these goodies, although not one of us would have sacrificed one pound of JP4 jet fuel to have them installed in our jets. What we did covet in a very big way was one of the most basic features of any large aircraft: a toilet. In a very cramped cockpit, we could always find room for a bit of food and liquid, but unlike our Big Buddies the tanker crews, there was no short stroll to the conveniences to dispose of the natural consequence of our sustenance. As always, the Air Force had found a way to cater to our biological needs, at least in terms of liquid waste. Long ago, in the dawn of time, some clever boffin had come up with a contraption which allowed fidgeting aircrew in a tiny cockpit to relieve themselves.

Known officially as a ‘Urine Collection Device’, this gadget was undoubtedly renamed by a pilot in less than a heartbeat and was universally renowned as the ‘Piddle Pack’, essentially a thick vinyl bag tapered into a handy receptacle at the top. Inside the bag were three or four highly compressed sponges which looked like thin cardboard when dry but would expand dramatically when liquid was added.

The bad news, if you recall the dissertation above, is that maneuvering through the varied and numerous layers of clothing, including the Poopy Suit, to locate the necessary appendage for insertion into the Piddle Pack was about as close to Mission Impossible as it comes. If you successfully managed this process, on mission completion you rolled the open receptacle end closed and clamped it shut with heavy twist ties. Then, after landing, you greeted the eager young Crew Chief who climbed up the ladder to help you unstrap by handing him (or her) this slightly glorified specimen bag. This was not the reunion they were hoping for after you’d abused their airplane for the last hour (or much longer on a deployment).

The final blow to carefree long-distance flying was the fact that the A-10 had no credible autopilot. Therefore, in order to make any reasonable attempt at using the Piddle Pack it was necessary to use hands, knees or in some cases feet to fly the airplane safely while working on Mission Impossible in the background. A few of our number who suffered from TBS (tiny bladder syndrome) actually gave this a try enroute and we added insult to their obvious injury through unrestrained harassment on the radio as they fell out of formation while fumbling with the aircraft, the Poopy Suit and their appendages, not necessarily in that order. Fortunately, on the deployment, none of them actually hit the water while flailing about but reported success rates for Mission Impossible were inconclusive. The rest of us managed to hang on, painful though it was, until we were able to sprinkle the tarmac after landing.

 

Talking about something I loved doing is easy. Responding to questions from interested folks on camera takes it to a whole different level. Last night (very late–to catch the Stateside Prime Time audience) I linked up with C W Lemoine–‘Mover’ — for a round of spontaneous grilling about my career, my book, and what I like to put on hamburgers (Really!). I enjoyed the format immensely. There were some great questions from folks who were obviously into fighter aviation and a chance to chat about Phantoms and Warthogs–my two most favorite fighting machines. Here’s how it panned out–I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Live Q & A–Mondays with Mover 14 June 2021

Ed (Boris) Beakley contacted me recently and asked if I would provide an excerpt of my book, From Phantom to Warthog for inclusion in his excellent website, Remembered Sky. The focus was my transition from F-4 to A-10 and the different approaches taken by the Navy and the Air Force in categorizing roles and pilots (or aviators, depending on your point of view). Like me, Boris has experience in both air-to-air and attack roles, but the Navy makes a definite distinction between fighter and attack wings, squadrons and pilots. On the other hand, we Air Force types see ourselves always as fighter pilots, albeit in varying roles. Our units are all designated ‘Fighter’–Squadrons and Wings and even we Hog drivers wouldn’t refer to ourselves as Attack pilots in casual conversation.

Remembered Sky began so as to tell the ’72-’73 story of USS Midway, Carrier Airwing Five and to further focus primarily on the Attack mission side. The site has grown appreciably, but Boris has delved into the differences, semantic and otherwise between the Naval and Air Force philosophies in role and unit designations. Here’s my contribution to his project. I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Remembered Sky–Phantoms to Warthogs

Tired of watching Detectives, Spies, Alien Creatures, Cowboys, Zombies, Steamy Sex Scenes and Bad Language during lockdown?

Here’s another option: A crusty old fart talking about fighter pilots, fighters and a culture that once existed in the Air Force many years ago.

You won’t find these films competing for Oscars, BAFTAs or anything else–and they are terribly exclusive, un-woke and politically incorrect (just me and the guy doing the interviewing–no attempt at all to pander to any race, religion or sexual orientation).

Nevertheless, if you’re interested in aviation, particularly that relating to fighters, and an era that’s sadly no longer with us, you might find these interesting. They’ve assaulted your senses on Facebook in the past, but I’ve compiled them to give you one stop shopping. There are a couple more in the mill and I’ll be adding them to these originals as they’re produced.

I hope you enjoy them–Queue the Drum Roll!

Mondays with Mover Box Set–Four episodes 11-28 Jan 2021

The Fighter Pilot Podcast 8 April 2021

Scale Modeling Now Review

 

 

I recently did an online interview with the prestigious Smithsonian Air & Space Magazine. The short (print) version has been originally published in the April/May 2021 issue of the magazine and I’m providing a page photo here. The full online interview has just gone live and here’s an update. Enjoy!

https://www.airspacemag.com/military-aviation/phantoms-and-warthogs-180977298/

 

My Blog gives me an opportunity to rekindle memories of days gone by and highlight, at least for the moment, certain vestiges of the trade that have long since disappeared. My last foray into better times was a virtual visit to that hallowed institution, the Stag Bar.

Today, for those of you who are old enough, I’d ask you to cast your mind back to times before political correctness, woke, and command-level ass covering began to eat away at the warrior mentality. For those who are simply interested in the psyche of the fighter pilot or those who WERE fighter pilots but never had the chance to express themselves in prose or poetry without fear of retribution, I give you, the Hog Log (aka the Doofer Book in some squadrons).

I can’t give you a firm historical reference for emergence of the first Hog Log, but those who were in a position to know advise me that the tradition was gathering pace in the mid-70s and was certainly well known in the 80s. That’s the data reference I’ll use in this article. As the Operations Officer at Det 4 of the 81st Tac Fighter Wing I inaugurated the Detachment’s Hog Log (See the photo) shortly after we began operating at Fliegerhorst Nörvenich, a German fighter base near Cologne. The initial entry was 6th August 1980.

Rules of Engagement for Hog Logs worldwide were similar and relatively simple. Ours read like this:

No one is immune to harassment in this volumeEntries must be reasonably legibleLies will be toleratedThis volume is for the exclusive use of Det 4, 81st Tac Fighter Wing personnel and deployed Hog DriversContents of this log are unofficial and will not be released to wives/significant others, full Colonels and above and anyone else without a need to knowFinally (and this was the standard for every Hog Log I ever saw) DATE & SIGN YOUR F****NG ENTRY.

It should be apparent from the ROE above that the express purpose of the Hog Log was entertainment. Politics, religion and other potentially explosive issues were scrupulously avoided. As stated in rule number one EVERYONE was fair game and this made for some truly inspiring entries—procedural fumbles, gaffes, and personal buffoonery were all attacked with gusto (and it must be said, normally in good humor). Embarrassing photos and amateur cartoons appeared and were often converted to ‘caption contests’ to maximize humiliation of the subject.

Indiscretions by deployed pilots were commonly highlighted in the Log and but, in keeping with ancient tradition “what happens on TDY (Temporary Duty) stays TDY.” Although this principle has likely altered with the deterioration of the fighter pilot culture, I never knew it to be violated.

I can’t do the Hog Log justice without an example or two, so here are a few that jumped out at me when I went through the Log:

We had one pilot (we’ll call him Major ‘S’) who regularly flew with us at Nörvenich. During his spare time, he managed to strike up a ‘relationship’ with a local lady, who, unfortunately, hadn’t aged very well. She was painfully thin with a sallow complexion, stringy hair and a constant expression of despair on her face. Because they were sensitive and caring friends, his fellow fighter pilots named her ‘The Dead Lady’ and Major ‘S’ absorbed vast amounts of flak from them. Undaunted, he continued to pursue her with enthusiasm. In September 1982, one of his squadron mates ‘rewarded’ his persistence with the following Hog Log entry:

Citation to accompany the Award of ‘The Meritorious Servicing Medal’(MSM)

The MSM is awarded to Major ‘S’, whose tireless pursuit of the Rigor Mortis Madonna has subjected him to endless taunts and catcalls from those with better taste. Major’S’s dedication to this thankless task establishes him as ‘The man who discovered a questionable alternative to masturbation,’ and a serious contender for inclusion in the Necrophiliac Hall of Fame.

His efforts reflect little credit upon himself and military aviation in general

Copperhead, 18 Sep 82

Flying Buffoonery was lampooned mercilessly in the Hog Log. Mistakes that would otherwise be debriefed confidentially were showcased with abandon—again, no one was court martialed or drummed out of the corps for anecdotes highlighting screwing things up in the air, but the ‘culprits’ were always fair game at the bar. The following 19 March 1982 entry covers a brief lapse (or ‘brain fart’) by one of the deployed flight leads. The potential for international incidents was there, but fortunately did not materialize. In the entry ‘ADIZ’ is the Air Defence Identification Zone—the absolute barrier between West and East Germany. Flying into the ADIZ was strictly prohibited. Here’s ‘Honker’s’ entry”

All goes well during the Close Air Support and flight lead ‘Gambler’ (in a most confident voice) says “Egress; time to go home.” ‘Honker (the wingman) looks at his compass and confirms we are heading 090—East. “Hmmm, I wonder why we’re egressing into the ADIZ?” Honker lets Gambler go until the hair is standing straight up on his head and calls Gambler on FM radio: “Hey Gambler, why are we egressing east?”

-Pregnant Pause-

Gambler comes back “Oh, yeah, I guess we need to head west!”

Remember—in Germany, good guys are west and bad guys are east

My final Hog Log sample is relatively mild, but I’m using it for a couple reasons—first, it was one of my better entries and second, the offender in this scenario was a talented, but undistinguished Captain in the 78th Tac Fighter Squadron when it took place. Fast forward 30 years and Mark Welsh had four stars on his epaulets and was Chief of Staff of the US Air Force. (‘Bodine’ – Sir – if you’re reading this, please get in touch)This may be because of his ability to see into the future. Read on.

The 78th has given birth to a new. breed of over-achiever. Picture this: USAFE Stan Eval (a higher headquarters inspection team) is in attendance (trying to think of something to criticize after their first 3 hours here). One of the aforementioned inspectors innocently asks “How many Ops Guidance Letters (OGLs are operational notes to pilots which must be read and initialed when they are produced) have there been this year?”

“We’re up to 82-10”, I answer— “why do you ask?”

With a satanic gleam in his eye, the Stan Eval-er snaps open the OGL book to the sign-off page where Welsh has cleverly initialed up through item 82-16. Red pencil bobbing furiously, he disappears into the sunset.

Give me a break, Mark—tell me what’s going to be written next week, next month, next year—or maybe you could read my palm……or check out your crystal ball.

                           Ladd, 26 March 82

I could never do justice to the vast store of wit and wisdom that filled the Hog Log with just a few examples. If you’re lucky enough to know someone who was flying fighters in the ‘70s. ‘80s and maybe the early ‘90s, buy them a beer, ask them about the Hog Log. You’ll surely have a fascinating couple of hours.

My Blog gives me an opportunity to rekindle memories of days gone by and highlight, at least for the moment, certain vestiges of the trade that have long since disappeared. My last foray into better times was a virtual visit to that hallowed institution, the Stag Bar.

Today, for those of you who are old enough, I’d ask you to cast your mind back to times before political correctness, woke, and command-level ass covering began to eat away at the warrior mentality. For those who are simply interested in the psyche of the fighter pilot or those who WERE fighter pilots but never had the chance to express themselves in prose or poetry without fear of retribution, I give you, the Hog Log (aka the Doofer Book in some squadrons).

I can’t give you a firm historical reference for emergence of the first Hog Log, but those who were in a position to know advise me that the tradition was gathering pace in the mid-70s and was certainly well known in the 80s. That’s the data reference I’ll use in this article. As the Operations Officer at Det 4 of the 81st Tac Fighter Wing I inaugurated the Detachment’s Hog Log (See the photo) shortly after we began operating at Fliegerhorst Nörvenich, a German fighter base near Cologne. The initial entry was 6th August 1980.

Rules of Engagement for Hog Logs worldwide were similar and relatively simple. Ours read like this:

No one is immune to harassment in this volumeEntries must be reasonably legibleLies will be toleratedThis volume is for the exclusive use of Det 4, 81st Tac Fighter Wing personnel and deployed Hog DriversContents of this log are unofficial and will not be released to wives/significant others, full Colonels and above and anyone else without a need to knowFinally (and this was the standard for every Hog Log I ever saw) DATE & SIGN YOUR F***ing ENTRY.

It should be apparent from the ROE above that the express purpose of the Hog Log was entertainment. Politics, religion and other potentially explosive issues were scrupulously avoided. As stated in rule number one EVERYONE was fair game and this made for some truly inspiring entries—procedural fumbles, gaffes, and personal buffoonery were all attacked with gusto (and it must be said, normally in good humor). Embarrassing photos and amateur cartoons appeared and were often converted to ‘caption contests’ to maximize humiliation of the subject.

Indiscretions by deployed pilots were commonly highlighted in the Log and but, in keeping with ancient tradition “what happens on TDY (Temporary Duty) stays TDY.” Although this principle has likely altered with the deterioration of the fighter pilot culture, I never knew it to be violated.

I can’t do the Hog Log justice without an example or two, so here are a few that jumped out at me when I went through the Log:

We had one pilot (we’ll call him Major ‘S’) who regularly flew with us at Nörvenich. During his spare time, he managed to strike up a ‘relationship’ with a local lady, who, unfortunately, hadn’t aged very well. She was painfully thin with a sallow complexion, stringy hair and a constant expression of despair on her face. Because they were sensitive and caring friends, his fellow fighter pilots named her ‘The Dead Lady’ and Major ‘S’ absorbed vast amounts of flak from them. Undaunted, he continued to pursue her with enthusiasm. In September 1982, one of his squadron mates ‘rewarded’                     his persistence with the following Hog Log entry:

Citation to accompany the Award of ‘The Meritorious Servicing Medal’(MSM)

The MSM is awarded to Major ‘S’, whose tireless pursuit of the Rigor Mortis Madonna has subjected him to endless taunts and catcalls from those with better taste. Major’S’s dedication to this thankless task establishes him as ‘The man who discovered a questionable alternative to masturbation,’ and a serious contender for inclusion in the Necrophiliac Hall of Fame.

His efforts reflect little credit upon himself and military aviation in general

Copperhead, 18 Sep 82

Flying Buffoonery was lampooned mercilessly in the Hog Log. Mistakes that would otherwise be debriefed confidentially were showcased with abandon—again, no one was court martialed or drummed out of the corps for anecdotes highlighting screwing things up in the air, but the ‘culprits’ were always fair game at the bar. The following 19 March 1982 entry covers a brief lapse (or ‘brain fart’) by one of the deployed flight leads. The potential for international incidents was there, but fortunately did not materialize. In the entry ‘ADIZ’ is the Air Defence Identification Zone—the absolute barrier between West and East Germany. Flying into the ADIZ was strictly prohibited. Here’s ‘Honker’s’ entry”

All goes well during the Close Air Support and flight lead ‘Gambler’ (in a most confident voice) says “Egress; time to go home.” ‘Honker (the wingman) looks at his compass and confirms we are heading 090—East. “Hmmm, I wonder why we’re egressing into the ADIZ?” Honker lets Gambler go until the hair is standing straight up on his head and calls Gambler on FM radio: “Hey Gambler, why are we egressing east?”

-Pregnant Pause-

Gambler comes back “Oh, yeah, I guess we need to head west!”

Remember—in Germany, good guys are west and bad guys are east

My final Hog Log sample is relatively mild, but I’m using it for a couple reasons—first, it was one of my better entries and second, the offender in this scenario was a talented, but undistinguished Captain in the 78th Tac Fighter Squadron when it took place. Fast forward 30 years and Mark Welsh had four stars on his epaulets and was Chief of Staff of the US Air Force. This may be because of his ability to see into the future. Read on.

The 78th has given birth to a new. breed of over-achiever. Picture this: USAFE Stan Eval (a higher headquarters inspection team) is in attendance (trying to think of something to criticize after their first 3 hours here). One of the aforementioned inspectors innocently asks “How many Ops Guidance Letters (OGLs are operational notes to pilots which must be read and initialed when they are produced) have there been this year?”

“We’re up to 82-10”, I answer— “why do you ask?”

With a satanic gleam in his eye, the Stan Eval-er snaps open the OGL book to the sign-off page where Welsh has cleverly initialed up through item 82-16. Red pencil bobbing furiously, he disappears into the sunset.

Give me a break, Mark—tell me what’s going to be written next week, next month, next year—or maybe you could read my palm……or check out your crystal ball.

                           Ladd, 26 March 82

I could never do justice to the vast store of wit and wisdom that filled the Hog Log with just a few examples. If you’re lucky enough to know someone who was flying fighters in the ‘70s. ‘80s and maybe the early ‘90s, buy them a beer, ask them about the Hog Log. You’ll surely have a fascinating couple of hours.

Today I’m honored to announce a milestone: 400 Amazon Global Reviews of my book ‘From Phantom to Warthog.’

Here are my thoughts on the importance of reviewing the books you read:

 

OK, now I’ve written my book, Pen & Sword have published it, printed it and distributed it, and you, my friend, have purchased it. What now?

Well, with a bit of luck the next step involves you reading it and enjoying it immensely. Then, you can either loan it to a family member or friend, or carefully pack it up as a Christmas present (if you haven’t dog-eared the pages). Alternatively, you can put it on your shelf where it will rest, looking down on you, for all eternity.

Let me give you another alternative: Before you shuffle it on or relegate it to antiquity, reflect on the book you’ve just read and take the time to review it.

Your review won’t mean a great deal to you, but to a rookie author, it’s vitally important. It provides me with valuable feedback: did I appeal to readers as I’ve hoped I would? Are there important facts I left out or could have described better? Positive comments will be received with undying gratitude, constructive criticism will be accepted as exactly that—something to build upon. At my age a follow-up is less than likely, but you never know…….

Thank you for your continued support.

I’ve posted my reviews so far below and I’ll add to them as new ones arrive:

1. Click here for worldwide Amazon reviews

2. Scale Modelling Now review

3. Goodreads reviews

4.Click here for Andy Fraser’s Review of ‘Phantom to Warthog‘

5.Vietnam Veterans of America Review

 

 

Thanks again for your support, encouragement and patience!