Yesterday, I had the rare honor and privilege of boarding a retired C-124 Globemaster II----Big Shakey, at Travis AFB. It also unexpectedly ended up being a crucible to push through my age, my weight, my physical limitations, my fear of my limitations, my pain, my other fears, and eventual terror and panic. This is the same class of plane that my dad flew in as the flight engineer. It is also the plane he survived and escaped after its horrific crash, fireball, and burning maelstrom that consumed it. It is 5 stories tall. I knew there would be ladders. I hoped I would be able to climb them. There were 2 ladders--rungs far apart, even for my long legs. I managed the first ladder up into its belly slowly, with trepidation....stretching my stiff leg and foot upwards, reaching for that high, first rung, with kind encouragment from retired Air Force vets, and a Navy vet---my brother: Take your time. Make sure your foot is securely on the rung. Take your time. Keep reaching with your toe, youre almost there. Take your time. Make sure youve got a good grip with your hands. Take your time. Dont look down!. We explored the massive cargo bay, the hot morning heating it rapidly. Then it was time for the 2nd ladder. It was white metal, and stretched towards infinity, up to the cockpit (the general public are not allowed there). It may have well as been Mt. Everest. Again, with much encouragement, I slowly ascended each step. My breathing was increasingly more rapid and shallow, my heart pounding hard and fast--deafening in my ears. I had to constantly keep wiping my sweaty palms--made more-so by the heat, and my raging fear--which was now like fire clenching my heart like a fist. Sweat was running down my face. By mid-ladder, I realized I was having a full-blown panic attack---but I was the only one who could get me up there. Only me. And I was going to get up there.....God Dammit!. I kept going. I stopped several times, and purposely gasped for breath, and chuffed it out--hoping to keep my head clear, calm my mind, and help me relax. I HAD to get up there. If Dad could survive a crash, pull/push himself out of the top hatch, fall far and land hard on his face, then run like hell---I was going to make it up there too, for myself, and to honor him. I finally reached the top. This was the scariest part. I tried finding decent handholds for purchase on slick metal, with sweaty hands---then the final thrust of momentum for getting over the edge forward, and not falling backwards into the abyss of the cargo hold, far below. I victoriously sat at the flight engineers station, my hands reaching out to touch the controls and gauges with my fingers. It was phenomenal. The volunteers were wonderful about telling us in detail about all the stations, specific job duties, the plane, their own experiences, and answering our many questions. And especially....discussing the unwritten law and stories of the separation between the Enlisted and the Officers! Military jargon and acronyms----it is a language all to itself, and we Military Brats learned to speak it fluently. It felt so natural and wonderful hearing and speaking it again. The heat finally drove us out. We were all dripping with sweat. I wouldnt doubt that it was over 95-degrees inside the cockpit by then. That first backwards step downwards on the ladder was my worst moment, fearing I would lose my grip. I gasped and chuffed more air before I lifted my leg over, then slowly, slowly made my way back down, again with quiet encouragement. I emerged from the belly of the plane shaking, but exhilarated. I felt closer to Dad than I ever could in real life--with even more compassion, empathy, and appreciation of his experiences. His grit, cussedness, and the curse/gift of Hobart stubbornness saved him. And it was that stubbornness that got me into that cockpit, and out again. What an absolutely incredible experience. I will always cherish it. Thanks, Dad. youtube/watch?v=c9KHo9z86rA
Posted on: Thu, 12 Jun 2014 06:56:45 +0000
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