the swash plate june 2014

Volume 9, Issue 2 CHPA • The Swash Plate www.chpa-us.org

June 2014

From The Executive Director Jay Brown

• “From The Executive Director” Jay Brown

• “Reunions and Gatherings”

• “Welcome New Members”

• “The Sound That Binds” Keith Nightingale

• “What The Huey Means To Me” Pat Dougan

• “2014 Convention Information.” Randy Zahn

And much, much more!

Presenting!

Before I get into the latest news from your association I want to take a moment to wish America a very Happy 238th Birthday. America … the land of the free and the home of the brave, a nation born out of war that began its very existence by standing up to and facing down tyrants. America is a nation that, to paraphrase President Ronald Reagan, has not become anything, it is always becoming what it will be. When America started out it wasn’t very much to look at unless you liked forested land, mountains, clean rivers and streams, abundant wild life and a people that knew what they wanted, to be free to live their existence by their own rules of law unhindered by any foreign interference. They might not have known what it looked like but they knew what it was and knew they would recognize it once they figured it out. And so the process of becoming America began.

Over the course of the last 238 years America has made its share of mistakes but we always corrected those, apologized where necessary and moved forward, always keeping the original goal in mind, to live and breathe free. For a nation that so readily fought a war to create itself, America for all her faults has always been reluctant to take up arms except in those instances where all other measures had failed. We take up arms in the name of freedom, not only our own but in support of others who suffer and die under the unlawful rule of tyrants and bullies who would deny them that which we have come to take for granted. America. Her “purple mountain majesties” and “fruited plains” reaching “sea to shining sea” still in the process of becoming. Happy Birthday, America and to the flag that flies over you. With God’s grace and blessing long

may she wave. Now, on to the latest happenings in CHPA. Director Dan McClinton

has been working with his contacts to produce a short recruiting video for CHPA. I’ve seen the first cut and it is quite impressive. Thanks Dan for your hard work on this project.

We’ve also increased the inventory of the CHPA store to include some requested items like insulated travel mugs and Flight Crewmember rockers that can be added to the CHPA patch. Take a few minutes to visit the CHPA store at http://www.chpa-us.org/chpa-store and do a little shopping. If you don’t see what you like drop us a line and let us know what you’d like to have included.

CHPA Director Randy Zahn continues his hard work on the 2014 Convention and Annual Business Meeting and we should have the schedule and registration set up on the website soon. Make plans now to join us in Riverside, CA, September 7 – 10 for another great party. We hope to see you there.

http://www.chpa-us.org/chpa-store


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CHPA continues to receive quite an assortment of patches from our members. These patches are displayed at our booth at HAI, Quad A, and VHPA. Several of you have donated patches, but we’re always looking for more. They are very eye catching and help us garner attention. So please dig through your old patches and if you have some you’d like to share, send them to us at:

CHPA • PO Box 42 • Divide, CO 80814-0042

GOT PATCHES?

American Heroes Airshow Mark Hilton

Vice President for Administration Rich Miller and Director

Mark Hilton represented CHPA at the 2014 American Heroes Air Show at Camp Mabry in Austin, TX. It gave us the opportunity to give our new outdoor venue banner and display tent a good first run. It also allowed us to network with good people like Ms Dianne White Delisi - the civilian aide to the Secretary of the Army, Texas Capital Area. Thanks to Rich and Mark for their hard work in getting CHPA out in front of the public and for being great ambassadors for your association.


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The Sky Behind Me, a Memoir of Flying and Life By

Byron Edgington CW-4 (ret.)

“What a pleasure to read this book and get to know this man who so dearly loved every minute of his exciting career. If he handled choppers as well as he handles the English language, it must have been pretty exciting to be in the sky with him.”— Thomas E. Barden, Professor of English and Dean of the Honors College U. of Toledo & Author of Steinbeck in Vietnam, Dispatches from the War. University of Virginia Press. www.upress.virginia.edu

“Chock-full of heart-stopping drama, gut-wrenching lows, euphoric highs, tragic personal loss, laced liberally with humor and garnished with deep introspection, Edgington’s story gripped me from the very first page keeping me spellbound until I finished the very last sentence. You don’t have to be a pilot to enjoy this story for this is a tale anyone can relate to if you have ever yearned to pursue a dream of your own.” — Randolph P. Mains, author of Dear Mom, I’m Alive, and Journey to the Golden Hour.

Amazon.com/Randolph-P.-Mains

“The Sky Behind Me is one man’s forty-year love affair with helicopters and his almost poetic rendering of a life lived in the sky.” Free download is available at http://goo.gl/LYKul. Buy it at Amazon http://goo.gl/klFGF

http://www.upress.virginia.edu/

http://goo.gl/LYKul

http://goo.gl/klFGF


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Reunions and Gatherings

Welcome New Members

Are you planning a reunion or event that may be of interest to our members? Let us help you get the

word out and support veterans groups of all sizes and locations. Just send a message with the information to [email protected]. If you have a logo, send that along as well.

Be sure to include accurate contact and registration information and we’ll take care of the rest.

Warrant Officer Birthday Celebration

A 96th Warrant Officer Birthday Celebration will be sponsored by the Audie

Murphy Chapter of the WOA and the Texas Army National Guard on July 9th from 1000

-1200. The event will be held at Camp Mabry in Austin, TX. POC: CW3 Murray 512-

782-5939 [email protected]

50th Anniversary Vinh Long Outlaws Association

62nd, A/502nd, 175th Assault Helicopter Companies 50th Anniversary Reunion of the Vinh Long Outlaws Association at Washington, DC - Sept 18 - 22, 2014

Outlaws, Mavericks, Bushwhackers, and Roadrunners at Vinh Long, Vietnam 1964 -1972

Contact: Tom Anderson ([email protected]) Info: www.vinhlongoutlaws.com (Click: "Reunions")

CHPA extends a hearty “Welcome Aboard” to these new members, who joined in June, 2014. John D. Craig Francis C. Soares David Taurino

mailto:[email protected]



http://www.vinhlongoutlaws.com/


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Continued on Page 7

The Sound That Binds Keith Nightingale

Unique to all that served in Vietnam is the UH-1 Iroquois helicopter. It was both devil and angel and it served as both extremely well. Whether a LRRP, US or RVN soldier or civilian, whether, NVA, VC, Allied or civilian, it provided a sound and sense that lives with us all today. It is the one sound that immediately clears the clouds of time and freshens the forgotten images within our mind. It will be the sound track of our last moments on earth. It was a simple machine - a single engine, two blades and four man crew - yet like the Model T, it transformed us all and performed tasks the engineers and designers never imagined. For soldiers, it was the worst and best of friends but it was the one binding material in a tapestry of a war of many pieces.

The smell was always hot, filled with diesel fumes, sharp drafts accentuated by gritty sand, laterite and anxious vibrations. It always held the spell of the unknown and the anxiety of learning what was next and what might be. It was an unavoidable magnet for the heavily laden soldier who donkey-trotted to its squat shaking shape through the haze and blast of dirt, stepped on the OD skid, turned and dropped his ruck on the cool aluminum deck. Reaching inside with his rifle or machine gun, a soldier would grasp a floor ring with a finger as an extra precaution of physics for those moments when the now airborne bird would break into a sharp turn revealing all ground or all sky to the helpless riders, all very mindful of the impeding weight on their backs. The relentless weight of the ruck combined with the stress of varying motion caused fingers and floor rings to bind almost as one. Constant was the vibration, smell of hydraulic fluid, flashes of visionary images and the occasional burst of a ground-fed odor-rotting fish, dank swampy heat, cordite or simply the continuous sinuous currents of Vietnam's weather: cold and driven mist in the northern monsoon or the wall of heated humidity in the southern dry season. Blotting it out and shading the effect was the constant sound of the rotating blades as they ate a piece of the air, struggling to overcome the momentary physics of the weather.

To divert anxiety, a soldier/piece of freight, might reflect on his home away from home. The door gunners were usually calm which was emotionally helpful. The gun had a large circular aiming sight unlike the ground pounder version. That had the advantage of being able to fix on targets from the air considerably further than normal ground acquisition.

Each gun had a C ration fruit can at the ammo box clip entrance to the feed mechanism of the machine gun. Pears, apricots, apple sauce or fruit cocktail, it all worked. Fruit cans had just the right width to smoothly feed the belt into the gun which was always a good thing. Some gunners carried a large oil can much like old locomotive engineers to squeeze on the barrel to keep it cool. Usually this was accompanied by a large OD towel or a khaki wound pack bandage to allow a rubdown without a burned hand.

Under the gunners seat was usually a small dairy-box filled with extra ammo boxes, smoke grenades, water, flare pistol, C rats and a couple of well-worn paperbacks. The gun itself might be attached to the roof of the helicopter with a bungee cord and harness. This allowed the adventurous gunners to unattach the gun from the pintle and fire it manually while standing on the skid with only the thinnest of connectivity to the bird. These were people you wanted near you - particularly on extractions.

The pilots were more mysterious. You only saw parts of them as they labored behind the armored seats. An arm, a helmeted head and the occasional fingered hand as it moved across the dials and switches on the ceiling above. The armored side panels covered their outside legs - an advantage the passenger did not enjoy. Sometimes, a face, shielded behind helmeted sunshades, would turn around to impart a question with a glance or display a sense of anxiety with large white-circled eyes - this was not a welcoming look as the sounds


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of external issues fought to override the sounds of mechanics in flight. Yet, as a whole, the pilots got you there, took you back and kept you maintained. You never remembered names, if at all you knew them, but you always remembered the ride and the sound.

Behind each pilot seat usually ran a stretch of wire or silk attaching belt. It would have arrayed a variety of handy items for immediate use. Smoke grenades were the bulk of the attachment inventory - most colors and a couple of white phosphorous if a dramatic marking was needed.

Sometimes, trip flares or hand grenades would be included depending on the location and mission. Hand grenades were a rare exception as even pilots knew they exploded - not always where intended. It was just a short arm motion for a door gunner to pluck an inventory item off the string, pull the pin and pitch it which was the point of the arrangement. You didn't want to be in a helicopter when such an act occurred as that usually meant there was an issue. Soldiers don't like issues that involve them. It usually means a long day or a very short one - neither of which is a good thing.

The bird lifts off in a slow, struggling and shaking manner. Dust clouds obscure any view a soldier may have. Quickly, with a few subtle swings, the bird is above the dust and a cool encompassing wind blows through. Sweat is quickly dried, eyes clear and a thousand feet of altitude show the world below. Colors are muted but objects clear. The rows of wooden hootches, the airfield, local villages, an old B-52 strike, the mottled trail left by a Ranchhand spray mission and the open reflective water of a river or lake are crisp in sight. The initial anxiety of the flight or mission recedes as the constantly moving and soothing motion picture and soundtrack unfolds. In time, one is aware of the mass of UH-1Hs coalescing in a line in front of and behind you. Other strings of birds may be left or right of you - all surging toward some small speck in the front lost to your view. Each is a mirror image of the other: two to three laden soldiers sitting on the edge looking at you and your accompanying passengers all going to the same place with the same sense of anxiety and uncertainty but borne on a similar steed and sound.

In time, one senses the birds coalescing as they approach the objective. Perhaps a furtive glance or sweeping arc of flight reveals the landing zone. Smoke erupts in columns – initially visible as blue grey against the sky. The location is clearly discernible as a trembling spot surrounded by a vast green carpet of flat jungle or a sharp point of a jutting ridge. As the bird gets closer, a soldier can now see the small FAC aircraft working well below, the sudden sweeping curve of the bombing runs and the small puffs as artillery impacts. A sense of immense loneliness can begin to obscure one’s mind as the world’s greatest theater raises its curtain. Even closer now, with anxious eyes and short breath, a soldier can make out his destination. The smoke is now the dirty grey black of munitions with only the slightest hint of orange upon ignition. No Hollywood effect is at work. Here, the physics of explosions are clearly evident as pressure and mass over light.

The pilot turns around to give a thumbs-up or simply ignores his load as he struggles to maintain position with multiple birds dropping power through smoke swirls, uplifting newly created debris, sparks and flaming ash. The soldiers instinctively grasp their weapons tighter, look furtively between the upcoming ground and the pilot and mentally strain to find some anchor point for the next few seconds of life. If this is the first lift in, the door gunners will be firing rapidly in sweeping motions of the gun but this will be largely unknown and unfelt to the soldiers. They will now be focused on the quickly approaching ground and the point where they might safely exit. Getting out is now very important. Suddenly, the gunners may rapidly point to the ground and shout “GO” or there may just be the jolt of the skids hitting the ground and the soldiers instinctively lurch out of the bird, slam into the ground and focus on the very small part of the world they now can see. The empty birds, under full power, squeeze massive amounts of air and debris down on the exited soldiers blinding them to the smallest view. Very quickly, there is a sudden shroud of silence as the birds


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retreat into the distance and the soldiers begin their recovery into a cohesive organization losing that sound. On various occasions and weather dependent, the birds return. Some to provide necessary logistics,

some command visits and some medevacs. On the rarest and best of occasions, they arrive to take you home. Always they have the same sweet sound which resonates with every soldier who ever heard it. It is the sound of life, hope for life and what may be. It is a sound that never will be forgotten. It is your and our sound.

Logistics is always a trial. Pilots don’t like it, field soldiers need it and weather is indiscriminate. Log flights also mean mail and a connection to home and where real people live and live real lives. Here is an aberrant aspect of life that only that sound can relieve. Often there is no landing zone or the area is so hot that a pilot’s sense of purpose may become blurred. Ground commanders beg and plead on the radio for support that is met with equivocations or insoluble issues. Rations are stretched from four to six days, cigarettes become serious barter items and soldiers begin to turn inward. In some cases, perhaps only minutes after landing, fire fights break out. The machine guns begin their carnivorous song. Rifle ammunition and grenades are expended with gargantuan appetites. The air is filled with an all-encompassing sound that shuts each soldier into his own small world - shooting, loading, shooting, loading, shooting, loading until he has to quickly reach into the depth of his ruck, past the extra rations, past the extra rain poncho, past the spare paperback, to the eight M16 magazines forming the bottom of the load - never thought he would need them. A resupply is desperately needed.

In some time, a sound is heard over the din of battle. A steady whomp whomp whomp that says; The World is here. Help is on the way. Hang in there. The soldier turns back to the business at hand with a renewed confidence. Wind parts the canopy and things begin to crash through the tree tops. Some cases have smoke grenades attached - these are the really important stuff - medical supplies, codes and maybe mail. The sound drifts off in the distance and things are better for the moment. The sound brings both a psychological and a material relief.

Wounds are hard to manage. The body is all soft flesh, integrated parts and an emotional burden for those that have to watch its deterioration. If the body is an engine, blood is the gasoline - when it runs out, so does life. It's important the parts get quickly fixed and the blood is restored to a useful level. If not, the soldier becomes another piece of battlefield detritus. A field medic has the ability to stop external blood flow - less internal. He can replace blood with fluid but it’s not blood. He can treat for shock but he can't always stop it. He is at the mercy of his ability and the nature of the wound. Bright red is surface bleeding he can manage but dark red, almost tar-colored, is deep, visceral and beyond his ability to manage. Dark is the essence of the casualty’s interior. He needs the help that only that sound can bring.

If an LZ exists, it’s wonderful and easy. If not, difficult options remain. The bird weaves back and forth above the canopy as the pilot struggles to find the location of the casualty. He begins a steady hover as he lowers the litter on a cable. The gunner or helo medic looks down at the small figures below and tries to wiggle the litter and cable through the tall canopy to the small up-reaching figures below. In time, the litter is filled and the cable retreats - the helo crew still carefully managing the cable as it wends skyward. The cable hits its anchor, the litter is pulled in and the pilot pulls pitch and quickly disappears - but the retreating sound is heard by all and the silent universal thought - There but for the Grace of God go I - and it will be to that sound.

Cutting a landing zone is a standard soldier task. Often, to hear the helicopter's song, the impossible becomes a requirement and miracles abound. Sweat-filled eyes, blood blistered hands, energy-expended and with a breath of desperation and desire, soldiers attack a small space to carve out sufficient open air for the helicopter to land; Land to bring in what’s needed, take out what’s not and to remind them that someone out there


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The Swash!

One of the things we all know, nobody tells a better story than a combat helicopter crewmember, whether it’s the truth or “enhanced truth.” Our most entertaining and informative stories come from you, our membership. We often receive responses from our members when an article is published that opens a memory or touches a nerve, in a good way.

So where are all the story tellers out there? All you veterans of the skies of OEF and OIF with an idea for an article, or a story to tell it’s as easy as sending it in. Take a moment to lay fingers on keyboard or just put pen to paper and send them in. You can email them to [email protected] or through the US Post Office to: CHPA • PO Box 42 • Divide, CO 80814-0042

Help us help you tell the tales of your experiences and continue to preserve our shared legacy of combat under a rotor disc.

[Call for Articles]

cares. Perhaps some explosives are used - usually for the bigger trees but most often its soldiers and machetes or the side of an e-tool. Done under the pressure of an encroaching enemy, it’s a combination of high adrenalin rush and simple dumb luck - small bullet, big space. In time, an opening is made and the sky revealed.

A sound encroaches before a vision. Eyes turn toward the newly created void and the bird appears. The blade tips seem so much larger than the newly-columned sky. Volumes of dirt, grass, leaves and twigs sweep upward and are then driven fiercely downward through the blades as the pilot struggles to do a completely vertical descent through the narrow column he has been provided. Below, the soldiers both cower and revel in the free-flowing air. The trash is blinding but the moving air feels so great. Somehow, the pilot lands in a space that seems smaller than his blade radius. In reverse, the sound builds and then recedes into the distance - always that sound. Bringing and taking away.

Extraction is an emotional highlight of any soldier’s journey. Regardless of the austerity and issues of the home base, for that moment, it is a highly desired location and the focus of thought. It will be provided by that familiar vehicle of sound. The Pickup Zone in the bush is relatively open or if on an established firebase or hilltop position, a marked fixed location. The soldiers awaiting extraction, close to the location undertake their assigned duties - security, formation alignment or LZ marking. Each is focused on the task at hand and tends to blot out other issues. As each soldier senses his moment of removal is about to arrive, his auditory sense becomes keen and his visceral instinct searches for that single sweet song that only one instrument can play. When registered, his eyes look up and he sees what his mind has imaged. He focuses on the sound and the sight and both become larger as they fill his body. He quickly steps onto the skid and up into the aluminum cocoon. Turning outward now, he grasps his weapon with one hand and with the other holds the cargo ring on the floor - as he did when he first arrived at this location. Reversing the flow of travel, he approaches what he temporarily calls home. Landing again in a swirl of dust, diesel and grinding sand, he offloads and trudges toward his assembly point. The sounds retreat in his ears but he knows he will hear them again. He always will . . .



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What The Huey Means To Me Pat Dougan

Continued on Page 11

Speech at the dedication of UH-1H 66-00932 at the 90th ASB, Fort Worth, TX, June 14, 2014

This is a humbling experience, and I thank all of you for inviting me. By the way, Happy Flag Day and of

course, Happy Birthday … you all did know today is the Army’s birthday? I’ve had a lot of fun during the past couple of weeks pulling El Tee Chin’s leg about what I am about to

say. So, enjoy watching him squirm in his chair and hoping I don’t say something to kill his chances for the Career Course.

I was asked to speak at this dedication because this particular helicopter, 66-00932 was one of the 187th Assault Helicopter Company’s originals and it came across with the unit in its deployment from Ft Bragg to Vietnam. I see a few of the veterans in the audience that probably flew in this bird.

The Blackhawk on the nose is its original marking. However, when the CAV unit that had been the Blackhawks since Custer’s days were deployed, the 187th had their name changed to the Crusaders.

Having never been a Blackhawk pilot, I ask El Tee what he wanted me to speak about. Then he gave me one of the toughest speaking tasks I’ve ever faced; “What did the Huey mean to me” but he only gave me five minutes to tell the story.

I have been writing this speech for one week … and forty-six years … so please indulge me if I slightly delay your departure. By the end, I think you will see that to keep my talk relevant, it is as much about you and your families mixed in with my love for the Huey.

The importance of this day should be focused on you ... Not some old fogie’s war stories about a Huey. To get started, I can tell you it is not this aircraft that is important; it is the Huey, what it is and

represents to every flight crew. As importantly, it is what it represents to every grunt on the ground who ever felt the relief as they heard one approach.

Why is the Huey important? I know everyone here would like to believe they are going to be part of a mission that is significant, to know they made a difference. In Vietnam, there were no operational books or manuals on missions for Huey crews; we wrote them for you. We made a difference. One only has to look at the mortality and morbidity statistics from any previous war to recognize the importance of the Huey.

Huey crews, and I do mean CREWs … crew chiefs, gunners, tech support, maintenance and of course pilots … set a standard of excellence that will be hard to duplicate. In the year I spent with the 187th at least a third of the people that went home injured or in a box were not actual flying crews. They were individuals who volunteered for missions above and beyond their MOS. Why? Because that was the Huey’s mission.

When our brothers on the ground needed us, nothing stopped us from getting there. The Huey got us there and them back home. It was their unselfish dedication and the personal sacrifices that deserve the recognition, not an airframe.

I never saw a Huey mission aborted, and all too often saw pilots fly thru the gates of hell to get people out. I hope that sense of mission and that sense of love for fellow man continues, but I fear technology is now superseding the human condition.

What is being on the forefront? In World War I it was the biplane and the legend of

the Red Baron. … aerial warfare began. General Billy


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Mitchell’s dive bombers blew a ship out of the water and all of a sudden we had aircraft carriers. Naval warfare has never been the same.

Then, at the beginning of World War II, Winston Churchill gave his ever famous speech to the House of Commons ... “Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few” A tribute to the Spitfires and Royal Air Force.

The Huey helicopter is the Sopwith Camel, the dive bomber, or the Spitfire of my generation. The Huey and its crews inaugurated helicopter warfare and modern combat has never been the same.

At 19, and flunking out of college, the selective service board decided to enroll me in the very extended semester program for Uncle Sugar’s Mean Green Maturity School. It didn’t take me long after arriving at Ft Leonard Wood to think back on my TWO flying lessons in a Cessna 150 to know that walking or slogging through a rice paddy was not going to be on my preferred bucket list.

Those basic trainee sergeants were bound-and-determined to get me into OCS. I’ll never forget the sales pitch they gave me. “We are 17,000 second lieutenants behind for the last fiscal year!” I was too inexperienced to figure out the meaning behind the statistic, which in retrospect should have made me eminently qualified to be a second lieutenant. All I could dream about and lusted for was flying a Huey.

It finally happened in the seventh month of flight school. As any of the other Vietnam pilots in here know, the knee knocking adrenalin that was pumping through us at the time was probably just like what’s going on under your camos right now. The anticipation was almost overwhelming and they hadn’t invented Depends yet.

As we did every day for the previous seven months, we strapped into that beautiful beast with our instructors and started the preflight checklist; finally, the call out, “Chief, is the rotor clear and untied?” Then the moment our lives changed, forever … “CLEAR!” TIC, TIC, TIC; as the igniters fired and then that all too familiar whirring sound of our first turbine engine starting to turn. That sound to this day still drives my blood pressure and emotions out of sight.

That day … that minute ... that moment in time has been etched into our memory like yesterday. Our lives changed, forever. The only thing that supplants this is the birth of your child.

In a matter of weeks, we would be flying Hueys in the jungles of Vietnam. Little did we realize that there was so much more to learn, and it wasn’t about flying. It was about so much more. It was an almost daily infusion of exhilaration, terror, suffering, mourning, exhaustion, teamwork, mission, laughter and joy. Fortunately, after forty-six years we now seem to dwell only on the teamwork, the mission, the laughter and joy.

Due to scheduling issues, in the second half of flight school, I was one of seven RLOs who were transferred to fly and train with an inaugural class of warrant officer candidates based on the new graduation schedule.

You all do know what an RLO is don’t you? A Real Live Officer! I was a lieutenant, not a Warrant Officer or worse yet, a Warrant Officer Candidate. Personally embarrassing at the time, but it was one of the best things to ever happen to me.

Fortunately for you, you are being deployed as a unit and will be coming back as a unit. You know each other, have worked with each other and even before you get to your next assignment, you know what each other does, possibly who their families are, and most importantly who you can depend on.

Vietnam was different and thankfully for you, the Army learned the importance of cohesiveness. When I got on that plane to Vietnam, by myself, I knew no one. When I left the OW at the gate she knew no one. You all know what an OW is don’t you? Original Wife (BTW she still is the OW; it’ll be 47 years July 1st.) Now,


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that’s what you call a combat veteran. I was assigned to Vietnam on the day that the 187th changed their names from Blackhawks, the

marking on your dedication helicopter, to Crusaders, the patch I am wearing. Look at the shield and cross. Everyone thought we were an Episcopalian special ops unit.

I was assigned as a 1st platoon section leader and soon thereafter, platoon leader. After the company arrived from its mission, I met my platoon and was surprised to see four of my wobbly-one buddies in my platoon. I had been riding the bus, going to classes, and flying with them for the past five months.

That flight school camaraderie developed into a nucleus of professionalism and friendship that flying in combat creates. Its bond is unbreakable over time.

Forged in combat, with the tutelage from the experienced Huey Blackhawk aircraft commanders, the five of us also became aircraft commanders and developed into a precision team. The Blue Angels had nothing on us. After seven more months of flying together, 8 - 12 hours a day, some days much more and seldom less, we no longer went to the flight line and strapped in ... we strapped the Huey on … we became one with the Huey and one as a flight. Our unit was no different. This happened all over Vietnam.

That bond and experience in dealing with an Assault Huey platoon through every level of emotion has guided my life ever since. There is an unexplainable exhilaration and emotion to being part of a section, platoon, and company where everyone was a key player and full partner.

This feeling can never be explained which will be impossible for your families to understand; it can only be experienced. It makes no difference if you are flying a Huey, torqueing a wrench, or flying a desk. It happens.

In closing, you are now getting ready to generate your own memories and experiences to recite to your children and grandchildren. So, let me give you a couple of words of advice to insure your memories and experiences stay with you.

While you are away, I want you to do a few things that will help you forty years and longer from now. Spouses too!

Take pictures. With the advent of digital there is no reason why your experiences shouldn’t be the most documented in history. Take pictures of all the people around you … and what they are doing. Let National Geographic worry about the scenery. Take lots of face shots … Annoy your friends, take more pictures.

Write down who everyone is ... what they did and what they mean to you. Trust me, you’re gonna forget many of them if you don’t. Even if you think you hate ‘em now, you won’t in forty years.

Spouses and families, you too can form a bond ... this journey will be a whole lot easier for you if you will go out of your way to be there for each other.

Men and women … tears are always authorized! Occupy your time, now; help each other and this immediate crisis will mellow. What seems like a long

time now will be over very shortly. My wife and I have been there twice ... Twice! We know. Gentlemen and ladies, God speed; I know there isn’t a veteran in this room who wouldn’t trade places

with you so you wouldn’t have to go. We can’t, so I promise, we will be praying for you and your families. Oh Yeah! The Huey! What does it mean to me? It is now just a helicopter on your mount of honor.

But it still carries a lifetime of memories that a Chinook couldn’t sling load.


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COMBAT HELICOPTER PILOTS ASSOCIATION 2014 CONVENTION Riverside, CA ‐ September 7th – 10th, 2014

Welcome to Riverside Riverside, CA is ideally located in the Inland Empire. Along with stunning views and glorious weather

there are things to do for people of all ages. Riverside is not a suburb of Los Angeles. It is the home of the California citrus industry and while it may have the California Citrus State Historic Park, it isn't Orange County.

One of the jewels in the crown of Riverside is our host hotel, the architectural wonder that is The Mission Inn. The Mission Inn is one of the most historic hotels in the United States dating back to its early beginnings as an adobe guest house in 1876 to its current grandeur. There is a lot to do in and around Riverside, but chances are you’ll be quite happy just to stay at and enjoy all that the Mission Inn has to offer. The guided tour of the hotel is not to be missed!

Southern California was also an epicenter for the aviation industry; names like Lockheed, McDonald Douglas, Hughes, Northrup Grumman and others all had their beginnings in So Cal, and while many of them have relocated or disappeared the aviation industry and history is still well represented by museums. There is the Planes of Fame museum in nearby Chino, the March Air Reserve Base Museum, and a short drive from the hotel, the Palm Springs Air Museum and Wings and Rotors in French Valley, who will be hosting the CHPA for a barbeque at their facility. Wings and Rotors was started to preserve the history of the Vietnam War, the helicopter and those who flew in the machines that we all know and love.

Wine Country is also a short distance away and a wine tasting at Wilson Creek Winery is on the agenda. Wilson Creek specializes in an Almond Champagne that will be available with the CHPA logo label. This champagne is what Wilson Creek calls their “Oh my Gosh” champagne, because that is the most often heard remark when people come and taste it for the first time. When I first visited Wilson Creek, neither my wife nor I cared much for champagne. We tasted it, did the OMG thing and left with a case of it!! Trust me, it is amazing.

Also on the itinerary is a dinner at The Salted Pig. The Salted Pig is a gastropub that opened on Valentine’s Day of 2011 and has become an extremely popular venue with amazing food and an eclectic variety of beers and cocktails.

The CHPA 2014 Convention will be your opportunity to share tales and meet up with old friends, as well as to meet and make new friends in the historical surroundings of the Mission Inn. Once we get the schedule of events set we’ll have a registration link on the CHPA website to make registration easy. Please remember registration for the Annual Convention and Business Meeting and registration for the hotel are two different things.

Save the date and plan to join us. You won’t be sorry that you did!

Hotel Information The convention officially runs from Sunday, September 7 through Wednesday, September 10. You will

be staying at the spectacular Mission Inn Hotel and Spa located at 3649 Mission Inn Avenue in Riverside, California 92501.

The Mission Inn is located in the heart of old town Riverside where you will enjoy many attractions. The room rate is $129.00 plus tax, per night based on single or double occupancy.

For those of you who choose to arrive early or stay late, the same room rate is available from three days prior to three days after, based on availability. Please make your hotel reservations NOW by visiting the Mission Inn website at www.missioninn.com. On the main page, find and select the “Reservations” section at

http://www.missioninn.com/


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Call on Us! Contact Quick Reference Chairman of the Board – Robert Frost Buzz Covington [email protected] [email protected] President – Mick Tesanovich Mark Hilton Call us! [email protected] [email protected] 800•832•5144 VP Administration – Rich Miller Alex Horony Fax us! [email protected] [email protected] 719•687•4167 VP Membership – Al Major Randy Jones Write us! [email protected] [email protected] CHPA

PO Box 42 Secretary – Rhea Rippey Dan McClinton Divide, CO 80814-0042 [email protected] [email protected] Treasurer – Loren McAnally Randy Zahn Remember! [email protected] [email protected] Feel free to contact

us any time. Executive Director – Jay Brown [email protected]

the top. Then select the “Groups” option on the top of that page. You should then enter our designated group code of COMBA090704 and then log in. After logging in, select the dates of stay and continue your reservation process. Online reservations are based on the availability of our contracted room block and are only available at the contracted group rate on or before August 8, 2014. You may cancel up until 48 hours before arrival at no penalty. For pre and post night reservations, please contact the Hotel’s Room Reservations Department at 800-843-7755 and reference the group name of CHPA Annual Convention & Business Meeting. If you have any special needs, the Reservations Department will be available to assist with those as well. Remember that the CHPA block rate is only available up to August 8, 2014.

The hotel check‐in time is 4:00pm. While you should not expect to get into your room before then, it may be possible to do so.

Transportation & Directions The closest airport is Ontario International Airport (ONT) (NOT Ontario, Canada!!!), which is about a 20

minute drive to the northwest. The hotel does not offer a shuttle service but there are taxis, rental cars, and they have partnered with

Super Shuttle who offers a 10% discount. Check on line at http://www.supershuttle.com/Sales/MissionInn.aspx for information and reservations.

The next closest airport is John Wayne (Santa Ana) (SNA) (45 minutes) and other area airports include Palm Springs (PSP), Burbank Bob Hope Airport (BUR), and Los Angeles International (LAX), which are all served by the major airlines.

Travel safe and we will look forward to welcoming you at The Mission Inn!














http://www.supershuttle.com/Sales/MissionInn.aspx

the swash plate june 2014

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