Since 1919 a parachute manufacturer has provided a gold “caterpillar” lapel pin to those who punch out of a disabled military aircraft. The informal Caterpillar Club’s motto is; “Life depends on a silken thread”. Tell me about it.

Labor Day, September 6, 1965 my call sign was “Dodge Two”, refueling at 14,000 feet over NE Thailand before heading Downtown (Hanoi) in a Thud with eight 750 lb. bombs.  While connected to the KC135 tanker (Boeing 707), “Dodge Three” (Capt John Betz), in one uninterrupted RT (Radio Transmission) stated: “Dodge Two your are gushing fuel…Dodge Two you are on fire… BAILOUT, BAILOUT!.Unbeknownst to me; both Dodge One and Dodge Three saw panels blow off around the engine exposing a severe fire.

I closed the throttle to clear off the tanker and without checking gauges or asking questions ejected instantly.  Total time from Betz noting the gushing fuel to explosion was six seconds.  My ejection beat the explosion by ONE SECOND.

Once I pulled up the seat handles, which blew the canopy off, then squeezed the trigger, which literally shot me out of a cannon; the other functions were automatic. Seat belt opened automatically; seat man separator straps kicked me out of seat, and then instant chute opening (lanyard was connected). It was a violent jolt as I went from 315 IAS (about 400 mph) to dead stop instantly and in time to see two burning halves of my Thud enter overcast beneath me.

It’s about a ten-minute ride down from 14,000 feet. Got the emergency radio out and was talking to Dodge Lead (ex Thunderbird Gayle Williams) who had aborted the bombing mission and gone rescue mode.  I was descending in and out of cloud layers.  But, Dodge flight thought I was on the ground and darn near ran over me as they homed in on my emergency locator beacon while I was still descending in the chute. Funny now. Not then. Three Thuds swishing past is a real attention getter.

The descent was over a tall thick nasty forest. The prior week I had to turn guard channel off (emergency radio frequency) as a medic, hanging from a rescue chopper, vividly described the condition of a pilot’s testicles to a doctor back at base. The pilot was alive but impaled on a tree and they were discussing what part of his private anatomy to cut to get him out of the tree.

That was on my mind as I descended.  An instructor way back in Water Survival School explained how to reach up and cut four parachute risers to turn a stable military parachute into a guidable sport chute (sorta).  Now look, it’s your first parachute experience. Are you really gonna cut four risers holding your life saving canopy? I looked down at those intimidating trees, thought about my testicals, and decided to cut the four risers.  It worked beautifully as I was able to guide the chute to land in a small clearing.

After landing I heard a machine gun going off. I asked Dodge to confirm friendly territory. Confirmed.  It probably was my own 20mm Vulcan cannon cooking off somewhere in the nearby wreckage.

A while later Dodge flight went Bingo (out of fuel, out of here) but as they departed, Gayle advised me a rescue chopper was inbound and homing on my emergency radio beacon.  I was Golden (all is well that ends well).

What the hell, just for fun, I shot off all my emergency flares and orange smoke bombs and spread out the colorful chute canopy.

The chopper pilot heroically managed to land in the small clearing amongst tall trees.  After jumping onboard; the heavy fuel laden chopper struggled to get airborne.  Turns out, the chopper had suffered a radio failure inbound and lost my position until he saw my flares and smoke. Call it luck of the Irish.

Got delivered to Naked Fanny (Royal Thai Air Base Nakhom Phamon) where an indignant USAF Brigadier General wearing Jump Wings chewed my ass upon learning I had cut four risers.  “…can’t have out pilots cutting risers…blah, blah”.

There was no transport to Takhli, so I headed off to the O’club Bar.  Ran into an old Aviation Cadet classmate.  He kindly flew me back to Takhli in his personal CIA unmarked T-28. Actually, he let me fly it, as I had trained in T-28’s at Spence Field, GA in 1956.

My pay in 1965, including housing and combat hazard allowance (about 72 cents a combat flight hour) was $995 a month. The unmarked T-28 CIA job paid $5,000 a month.  (I resigned from USAF when I got back to McConnell to take a CIA job, but how that got screwed up is another story and I ended up a TWA B-727 co-pilot.).

Back at Takhli, they reckoned the Thud explosion was caused by a freak failure of the fuel valves to shut off after the tanks were full.  The internal bomb bay tank burst and the gushing fuel was sucked into the engine hot section and blew panels off then exploded. CO wanted to send me to Clark (Philippines) for a medical checkup as I had back pain. I begged off. Pilots like to avoid doctors.

My neck was stiff from the opening jolt.  That night in my cot, every time I wanted to turn over I had to pick my head up like a watermelon and turn it over.  It didn’t hurt that much, I just couldn’t move my head.  Fifty years later, my neck is still stiff, back still hurts, knees gave out and both rotor cuffs need babying.

Next day I couldn’t turn my head at all but I lied about it so I could fly a combat mission up North (Hanoi). I’m a farm boy. You wanna get right back on that bronco that just threw you before you think about it too much.

Postscript: Years later as TWA co-pilot based in Kansas City I was sitting in a coffee shop on a Philly layover with Flight Engineer Bill Wirstrom. He asked where I flew in the military. He had flown choppers out of Naked Fanny and rescued five Thud pilots including one incredibly lucky guy who ejected one second before his plane blew up during refueling.  He remembered the date, Labor Day, 1965.  So did I.

The Kansas City Star came out and took our picture, blah, blah, blah.

Never heard of “muscle memory” theory back then but each flight, awaiting takeoff, I would go through the physical motions of an emergency ejection because there wouldn’t be time to think about it when it happens. Snap heels back, throw head back, shoulders back, reach for ejection handles and practice this thought process: Thottle-Bottle-Visor-Blow and Go. (Close throttle, Actuate emergency oxygen bottle, Pull helmet visor down, Blow the canopy, and squeeze.