The Almost Ultimate Screw up

The Almost Ultimate Screw-Up
      “Angelo, I’ll get the inside, you get the outside”, I yelled as we jaunted out to the S-2/A aircraft we would use for today’s training. Getting the inside and outside simply meant who would preflight the inside versus the outside. I would fly first so I would do the inside which included going out of an overhead hatch to check the top of the aircraft, going back down through the hatch to the inside of the aircraft, closing the hatch and pre-flighting the cockpit area, etc. I was in a hurry today. I was feeling particularly good.
     As I walked out on the wing looking for any screw that might be out of place or loose gas caps, my head was full of thoughts about how I got to this point. College, AOCS, (Aviation Officer Candidate School), and two years of flight training. All of it came to this: Angelo and I were headed out to a small airport, along with six other aircraft to practice landing on an aircraft carriers. Cool!
     By the way, this training was taking place in Corpus Christie, Texas. I must say, there was not a lot to do down in, “CC”, except drink Long Neck beers, dance the Texas Two Step, look at the sage and enjoy a lot of particularly good flying weather.
     “Hay, Timmo, you about done?”, Angelo yelled, bringing me back to earth. I finished my pre-flight, popped down through the hatch and plopped my butt into the left seat. Damn, I felt good.
     Angelo was not doing well in training. I was number one in the class. They put us together so, ostensibly, Angelo could learn from me. He was a great guy. I was full of myself.
     The taxi and takeoff were normal. Taxi and takeoffs were always normal, unless you lose an engine and end up landing in Corpus Christie Bay, like a friend of mine did. He recovered. Ended up flying for United, of all things.
     “Timmo, twenty miles from the field. You want to start down?”, Angelo shouted over the roar of the engines located on each wing, about five feet away from where we were sitting.
     “Naw”, I said, cockily. “In a minute”. I did this just to remind Angelo who was the shit hot pilot here. “OK, get clearance for lower”, I directed. I think I saw Angelo roll his eyes at my attitude, but I’m not sure. He had a habit of rolling his eyes when he spotted bullshit.
      As we descended I made up my mind that this approach and landing was going to set records for shit-hot-ness, so I pushed the power levers full forward and red lined the airspeed indicator. For a moment, my thoughts went to a guy in a class ahead of me who did something similar. In his case, though, the engine quit when he made a turn and sadly, he plummeted to the ground. As my airspeed increased on the descent, I wondered if he had been red lining as well.
      I crossed over the runway numbers, the numbers on the first part of the runway, not the end, as is usually done, and broke hard left. The aircraft responded beautifully as I turned it up on its left wingtip, almost like a tether ball wrapping itself around a pole. I was looking straight down through my side window at the Texas sage, eight hundred feet below. Really moving now, I needed to bleed off some airspeed. Angelo was right there for me. “Gear down, flaps full, hook down”, (The hook was simulated. It would be used at the carrier later in training.), I shouted. Angelo reacted perfectly.
     As the aircraft slowed, I came out of my turn and rolled out directly on center line, on airspeed. “Balls On”, I thought to myself. I worked the power levers expertly, descending at a perfect rate.
     “Call the ball”, the LSO, (Landing Signal Officer), ordered. He was on the ground, calling the shots, mike in hand, from that point until we touched down.
     “Roger Ball, fuel state 5 point 2”, I answered, confidently. The pass was perfect. I touched down, feeling like superman.
     Angelo turned over to me, “Man, I wish I were you right now. That was perfect!”. I smiled.
     I slowly taxied the plane to the end of the runway, reveling in my greatness. We were about half way down the runway when a call over our headsets. It was a call that sent my heart into my throat, started my life flashing before my eyes and brought my aviation career to a temporary full stop.
     “You left the overhead hatch open”, the LSO said with as many words. LSO’s were like that. Few words, a lot said. Immediately I turned my head around to look. The overhead hatch door, the one I was supposed to close, was wide open, the noise attenuating stuffing torn to shreds, flopping in the wind. Had that door come off in flight we would have both been killed. No doubt.
     “Who's in the left seat?”, the LSO asked. (Remember, the guy flying did the overhead pre-flight and was responsible for the hatch.) I was sweating like a stuck pig. Before I answered I turned to Angelo who was looking straight ahead. “Still want to be me?”, I asked.
     He continued looking straight ahead saying, “Nope”. Between Angelo and I, it was I getting the lesson, not he.
     “Sir, Ensign M. is in the left seat”, I responded, sheepishly.
     “Park the plane, report to me”, the LSO directed.
     “Yes sir”, I answered as I took a little power off, taxiing even slower.
     The LSO reminded me of my abject stupidity in a two hour sit down, (I didn't sit.), that day and he did so in no uncertain terms. But, I finished training on time and, as it turns out, Angelo and I both went on to complete our carrier landings aboard the USS Lexington.
     This was one my worst flying days ever but it was also one of my best. I learned the cliché, “Haste Makes Waste”, is an absolute. I also learned that being an over bearing, thinks he’s the ace-of-the-base, full of bullshit young Ensign aviator in the United States Navy may not get you one thing and may just get you another.
     It may not get you that occasional free beer at the Officer’s Club because no one wants to continuously hear how great you are.
     And, it may just get you killed. I was lucky.

     Speaking of beers, I recall I bought all the beer at the Officer’s club that night. It seems in the Viet Nam era, taking money out of a young ensign’s pocket to buy someone else's beer was one of the most effective teaching methods available.