An Independence Day carol

Flying Safety, July, 2003 by Donald V. Kelleher

In the first place it was Independence Day eve, and Major Marley was very much alive. But A/1C Ebenezer Screwge thought he was looking at a ghost when the Major suddenly appeared. One minute Screwge was alone in the room, and the next he was confronted by the distraught pilot. For Jacob Marley, Major, USAF, didn't knock when he entered. He simply walked through the locked door to the splintered squeal of shattered wood. White as a sheet, breathing hard, and hair standing on end, Major Marley stared with an icy eye at the mechanic. Sawdust from the pulverized portal floated through the room and settled to the floor.

"Are you a ghost, Sir?" asked a pop-eyed Ebenezer. Marley informed him in no uncertain terms that he was not. But Eb needed further proof.

"Then why are you wearing that chain, Sir?" I read a story once about a ghost that wandered about the area wearing a chain he'd forged in life. A heavy chain it was, exceeding long, with old cash boxes and mortgages attached thereto."

I'd like to foreclose your mortgage, thought Marley. Instead, he informed Screwge that his chain was the chain that was forged to be an integral part of the MA-1 runway overrun barrier. Major Marley related to Screwge how, on his latest landing, he had engaged the chain instead of the barrier. "It happened an hour ago," continued Jacob, "and do you know why I didn't engage the barrier?"

Ebenezer didn't know, so Jacob Marley enlightened him.

Marley's accident happened when the brakes on his T-bird (T-33) failed. They failed because the reservoir was empty. The aircraft had contacted the barrier at the extreme left side, going through the same and on into the chain department. The reservoir was supposed to be checked every night during the postflight inspection. That was SOP. But last night it wasn't checked...Screwge didn't check it.

So Jacob Marley determined that Screwge would heed the gospel of Accident Prevention. "Three spirits will haunt you," Marley told his crew chief. He promised that three ghosts would visit Ebenezer Screwge: The Ghost of Accident Prevention Past, Accident Prevention Present, and the Ghost of Accident Prevention Future. "And I hope they scare you as bad as you scared me," grated the Major through clenched teeth.

"The first spirit will be here at 2400," intoned Jacob Marley as he turned on his heel. With a final sizzling glare, he departed, hair still on end and the chain clanking in his wake.

Tiny Tim poked his head through the doorless doorway. "Hey, Eb," asked Tiny Tim, "what'cha doin' outa bed so late for already?" It was 2355. "And what was Major Marley doin' wrapped up in that there chain?"

Screwge told him the story and watched the look of blank amazement that came over the Airman Basic's face. Tiny Tim was 19 years old. He was 6 feet 5 inches tall in his stocking feet and weighed 375 pounds. He wore a size 2 hat. Tiny Tim's head looked like a pea on a drum. But he was fearless, so Screwge allowed him to stay. At 2359, A/2C Bob Ratchet puffed into the room. Bob Ratchet was Tiny Tim's supervisor and buddy, and kept a close watch on the kid. At midnight. when the Ghost of Accident Prevention Past taxied up to the barracks in a B-24, there was a roomful of mechanics awaiting him.

The Ghost of Accident Prevention Past was a sight to behold. He appeared to be about 22 years old, and golden bars glistened on his shoulder straps. The airmen stared at his cap. They had heard of the legendary thousand-hour crush. They were awed to be in the presence of a twothousand hour crush. The shavetail sported a gorgeous p ink uniform, brown shoes, and an acre or two of white silk scarf. He wore sunglasses and carried a swagger stick. Above the left pocket of his blouse was a pair of silver wings. And he was humming "Bless 'em all."

The young pilot looked at his watch. "There's a war going on," he informed the gaping trio, "so you can understand why I want to make this powwow a short one." He gestured with his swagger stick. "In my time we had aircraft accidents, of course..." The Ghost of Accident Prevention Past motioned impatiently, "...But why talk about it? Come along. You can see for yourself."

The B-24s rendezvoused with their escort of Mustangs and the formation flew into the brightening east.

"That's the coast of France." The Lieutenant pointed and the mechanics looked. Far below, through the broken, fleecy clouds, they saw the coastline. Another type of cloud suddenly appeared close by, and then another; nasty little clouds that spewed snarling chunks of shrapnel, then whipped away into nothingness. The B-24 bucked and steadied, then flew on. "And that was flak," remarked the spirit.

Ebenezer Screwge felt the cold sweat run down his back and sides. Bob Ratchet gulped noisily and Tiny Tim shivered. The quartet in the Liberator watched the crew perform their duties.

"Now this is what your accident prevention program is all about." The ghost smiled grimly at their terror. "This is war. Here is why you preserve the potential of a peacetime Air Force. Any Air Force clobbered by accidents isn't about to perform its mission. I understand that if the time ever comes when your USAF must fight, it will have to do so immediately. You won't have the time to build an Air Force from scratch, like we did in my day. Surely you can understand that an accident that puts an aircraft in the salvage yard, or a pilot or mechanic in the hospital, is the most inexcusable sort of waste."