spookyboss wrote:
I met Robin Olds at an airshow and invited him to take a look inside our goon.
I'm not usually one prone to 'hero worship', but Olds is legitimately one of my personal heroes and role models as a fighter pilot, USAF officer, and warrior leader. For all of the fantastic stories about him -- most of which I'm certain are true -- Olds is a phenomenally down to earth individual.
Back in 2003, he visited Moody AFB for the 479 FG 60th reunion. At the end of one of the evening events, as the crowd began to thin out, there was a small group of T-38 students and instructor pilots left starting to sing fighter pilot songs.
Some of you may not be familiar with the practice, but it's a tradition going back as long as military men have flown airplanes of singing raunchy and funny songs, all of which generally dealing with a fighter pilot's three favorite things -- flying, sex, and drinking. The songs are some of the same songs that rugby teams and groups like the hash house harriers sing while they're in the bar, but with an aviation theme.
So, anyway, General Olds hears the "choir practice" and migrates over to the group, joining into one of the songs. The song that was being sung was a version of "Korean Waterfall", which goes something like this:
Quote:
Along the Northeast Railroad one bright and sunny day
By the wreckage of this Thunderchief the young pursuiter lay
His parachute hung from a nearby tree, he was not yet quite dead
Oh listen now to the very last words the young pursuiter said
'I'm going to a better land where everything's all right
Where whiskey flows from telegraph poles, play poker every night
There's not a f*cking thing to do, but sit around and sing
And all of our crews are women; oh death, where is thy sting?
Oh, death, where is thy sting?
Oh, death, where is thy sting?
The bells of Hell will ring-a-ling-a-ling
For you but not for me!
So-o-o, ring-a-ling-a-ling-ling; blow it out your ass!
Ring-a-ling-a-ling ling; blow it out your ass!
Ring-a-ling-a-ling-ling; blow it out your ass!
Better days are coming, bye-and-bye!'
So, as we are in the middle of belting this one out, Olds starts waving his arms and saying, "Stop, stop, stop!"
"Do you guys have any idea where this song came from?," Olds asked the group. After a moment's pause, he continued, "My dad taught ME this song after he came home from flying in WWI. It's a version of an old hobo song that his squadron changed the words to. When I was the Wing Commander of the Wolfpack,
I changed the words to the song he had taught me and introduced it to the Wolfpack pilots. Notice how the wrecked airplane in the song
isn't an F-4!! Brings a tear to my eye to hear you guys sing it today."
I've never seen a group of fighter pilots more speechless for such a long period of time. Fortunately, one of my fellow instructors broke the silence by singing a Dick Jonas song called "The Ballad of Robin Olds." It was a very memorable moment.
To make a long story even longer, on a different evening that same week after a full day of events at the reunion I happened upon him alone in the hallway of my ex-squadron, drink in hand, quietly gazing at the photos of a "Herritage Wall" that I'd recently put up.
I siezed the opportunity to talk with him, naturally.
What ensued was 30 or 40 minutes of great discussion about all kinds of topics, from how he concieved and "sold" the idea of Operation Bolo to why he named his airplanes
Scat. All of it was free of the usual hyperbole that accompanies the storytelling most fighter pilots do in public...it was just two pilots from a squadron -- one from the 40s and one from the 00s -- talking in the squadron after hours.
What surprised me far more than his storytelling was when he stopped the conversation and asked me about
my background and experiences, and had me tell
him a couple war stories about the Iraq war and how things had "really" happened during
Shock and Awe from a Captain's level.