"ON GUARD"
By Fred Kuzyk. Copyright 2001, Freddy The K Communications. No reproduction without permission.
That Was Now, This Is Then.
To this day, if I hear an aircraft overhead, I still have to look up & see if I can identify it. If it's a military craft, I wonder if anyone I know is aboard...
The monsterous cavern of the hangar at Downsview is empty now, just like it was during ceremonies, such as a Change Of Command Parade, when the aircraft would be out on the flight line. I can almost hear the last strains of "Oh Canada, we stand on guard for thee". The 400 Squadron Pipes & Drums Band is marching off, with the Colour Guard. We in our ranks are marching behind. The 411 Squadron Brass Band begins to play the RCAF March Past. You could feel the history, tradition, pride. Then as the tune ends, the band suddenly breaks into the theme music from the "Friendly Giant" TV show and we all groan & wince. As we use to say: "It's hard to soar with eagles when you fly with turkeys".
There we were, manning the bastions of democracy against the communist hoards. Some of us believed we were standing on guard for thee. Although they didn't give us any weapons. Well, it wasn't exactly a growth industry - the Air Force Reserve was in a steady decline since the late 1950's. Probably because the communist hoards never showed-up in Canada. Today, a good number of the products in your home are likely made in the Peoples Republic of China, by some of those expected communist hoards. As a child in Hamilton during the late 1950's, I remember seeing the occasional transient fighter jet over the city. The 424 Air Reserve Sqn at Mount Hope was flying Mustangs. Air defence was big then. But things changed. The fighters would soon go, as the Air Reserve went from fighters to transport. Expediters & Otters came around 1960. Then in 1964, budget cuts forced the Air Reserve to lose about 2/3 of its numbers. Hamilton Air Reserve operations were shut down, along with those in London, Calgary, & Vancouver. Toronto Reserve units became the last ones flying in Ontario.
Now CFB (Canadaian Forces Base) Toronto is called Downsview Park. Long term plans include parkland, trails, ponds & museums. Many buildings I remember have been demolished & others converted to civilian uses. The hangars are now used for indoor soccer. Visiting it recently, I was astonished to find that the 400 Squadron offices were still there & unlocked. I felt like Dean Jagger's character in the movie "12 O'Clock High", when he visits the abandonned airfield he served at many years earlier.He can hear the lads singing one of their squadron's songs. He finds a keepsake & in the end leaves. I too found some keepsakes & heard the ghosts in the silence. Memories flooded forth. Sights, sounds, smells from 20 years ago. I swear I just hear the clang of someone dropping a drip tray under the belly of an Otter. Is that the sound of a "mule" tow tractor racing off from Aircraft Servicing with a tow bar banging behind it? I can still see & feel it like it was yesterday. The people, events, emotions. For decades, locals around the Base wondered what went on behind the barbed wire. So did I. I was a student at York University in the mid 1970's and lived in the neighbourhood. I had an interest in flying & was a student pilot at Maple with the York U. Flying Club. As a Fine Artsy, I reached a point where I craved some adventure & disciple that the military offers. So, I enlisted & from 1978-82, I did find out went went on behind the barbed wire.
The military thrives on the need for young people to belong in groups. You could also do it elsewhere - 4H Club, CYO, Junior Achievement, or street gangs. But in the Canadian Armed Forces you not only worked & learned together, but they also fed you, clothed you, gave you medical attention, housed you ( in barracks or PMQs), sent you on exotic trips (like a Search And Rescue in Sudbury), and generally exposed you to a myriad of stimuli & realities. As well as cheap booze & smokes! And they paid you for it! All this & money too. The young are also impressionable. Everything seemed fresh, new & is carved in stone. I was exposed to lesbians, alcoholics, air-heads, wife-beaters, dopers, psychotics, submissives, sadists, witches, the depressed & suicidal, as well as some good folks. We had it all. A few made careers of it. Some achieved great things & comfortable lives. Most just came & went - like the transient aircraft that we serviced. At the time, who'd of thought that all this was fleeting. That the aircraft we worked on would go. That the Squadrons would be gone & the Base itself would be history. Hey, like Maple Leaf Gardens, it was a relic from the past. A substantial hunk of real estate that many wanted to get their hands on. But the Base was more that under-used runways and land. For awhile, it was our lives.
It was a setting, a place & time that would not last, nor is unlikely to ever return. A little, isolated island smack dab in the middle of the largest Metropolitan area in Canada. An island of security & sometimes insanity, that you could become afraid to leave or venture off of. Populated with a real cast of characters that at times were surreal. It had all the elements of comedy, conflict, drama, tragedy, surprizes, disappointments, victories, lust, loathing, fear, jubilation - that make a good story. It was the greatest of times but also the shitiest. It was a time before the 403 & 407 hiways but you still could commute easily. When virtually everyone lived in the 416 Area Code, you only "dialed" seven digits, the switchboard still had plugs & cables, and cell phones were non-existant. Beer was in stubby bottles, Disco was king, AIDS wasn't invented but the pill was. Before Kareoke, PCs & the GST. Capital Punishment had only been abolished for 2 years & the Conservatives amongst us believed that we were going to hell in a hand basket, as crime would go through the roof. Journey back with me to the time when Otters flew about Toronto & the float planes landed in Toronto Harbour. Back to the days of mis-spent youth. Some of the names have been changed to conceal the guilty. Any similarity to actual people & events is strictly INTENDED!
Next article: "In The Beginning, There Was GMT"
"ON GUARD"
By Fred Kuzyk. Copyright 2001, Freddy The K Communications. No reproduction without permission.
In The Beginning There Was GMT
It was a lot harder getting in than getting out of the organization. First step was to report to the 2 Air Reserve Wing where you would fill out lots of paper. The government loves to kill trees. There was a process of tests, medicals, mug shots, finger printing & criminal record checks, blah, blah. After completion of the stages and after many trips, kindly old Warrant Officer Graham told me that I was accepted. "Repeat After Me", he said as I took the oath to work for the Queen & country. "Congratulations", I would now begin the military indoctrination of General Military Training or GMT.
GMT was conducted in the 2 ARW HQ. In a period of several weeks in a classroom, our small group learned the basics of being a citizen soldier. Military Police (MPs) spoke to us about military law & our obligations as citizen soldiers, or as they called it "citizens plus", because of the extra rules that applied to those in the military in addition to all the laws governing ordinary folk. We were subject to extra provisions, such as obeying lawful orders. There were harsh penalties for desertion, AWOL, leaking secrets to enemies, etc. Rules & regulations, we came to know, were not short in supply. We learned about aircraft nomenclature and the history of the Air Reserve & RCAF.
My favourite lecture was on ABC, also known as NBC (no this had nothing to do with American TV networks). This referred to Nuclear Biological & Chemical warfare (or Atomic Biological & Chemical). The Reserve Officer who was our instructor was a teacher in civilian life & really got into the topic. So did I, as a Strategic Studies student. I was already well versed on the deterrence policies of MAD (Mutually Assured Destruction), which simply meant that if the Soviets nuke North America, the Yanks would nuke them back before we all fried. Anyway, the instructor gleefully enlightened us that the same good people who gave us Bayer aspirin also gave us such goodies as mustard gas or nerve gas. Not the kind of thing that was mentioned in their commercials! Both sides had nerve gas & chemical weapons in WW II but they were considered too horrendous to be used. These weapons were not new, as chemical warfare was used centuries ago. Such as when an enemy's water supply was tainted with dead animals, or a plague victim was flung over the ramparts. So, our ancestors were well versed in the art of war! Later on, our buddies in Baden, Germany would become familiar with working on aircraft while wearing the fully encapsulated NBC suits. But here at home, living under the protection of the U.S. nuclear umbrella, such threats were minimal, so drills were uncommon. Except the one time I remember a surprise alert at the Base. Personnel were running around with Geiger counters & we had to report to areas designated as "safe" and hide under desks.
There were practical drills during GMT. We learned about military rank & positions. It was kind of like poker - a Master Corporal beats a Corporal that sort of thing. There was dress & deportment. We had our dress uniforms & fatigues. There were also ties & RCAF tartan dickeys. Flat hats, berets, wedge caps - and for the ladies, bowler hats (which I thought were cute). All in any colour, as long as it was CAF green. Although I don't believe we were actually issued uniforms until well established in your Squadron. That way, the new kid really stuck out! We learned how to stand at attention, at ease, & to stand easy. Taught how & when to salute. And of course how to march. We'd march all around the Wing under the tutelage of Corporal Dorothy Rice. Dorothy would later be a fixture at 400 Squadron but this was my first encounter with her. Some of the trainees had problems with marching. Some would swing their arms out of sync & march like tin soldiers. As a one-time Sea Cadet, this was old hat for me. But we all passed GMT.
I can't recall if they asked what Squadron that I wanted to be assigned to or not. I seem to remember that I liked the idea of being affiliated with the "the City of Toronto" rather than the "County of York" Squadron. In any case, 400 was a nice round number. 411 reminded me of Directory Assistance with Ma Bell.
So, it was off to the 400. Both squadrons "paraded" (worked) on Thursday nights and on alternate weekends. My very first night is mostly a blur. I'm sure I was introduced to "Mother Marl" the Orderly Room Sergeant, who explained all the little finance details to me. They wasted no time collecting Mess Dues. Everyone was required to join the club corresponding to their rank. The Officer's had their mess. Although I would never step foot in the place, I would hear that this was boring, where they would always stand with one hand in a pocket, the other clutching a drink while retelling war stories. The Sergeants & Warrants also had their mess. This was known as "Menopause Manor". But the Corporals & we privates had the Junior Ranks Mess. This was the largest & the most "happening" of the messes. Marl issued me a Meal Card for lunches on the working weekends. My photo with name would eventually be added to the personnel hierarchy board. I 'd also get a photo ID Card & my dog tags. You'd wear the dog tags in case the airplane you were on crashed so they could then identify your remains! I'm sure I was introduced to some of the key superiors. I was ushered in to the classroom where all the lads were getting some drill from Sergeant Lockett. I was announced & took a seat to a chorus of "Scrote, scrote, scrote" from the assembled masses. I discovered that this was squadron -speak for "scrotum"! An auspicious welcome indeed. I had arrived!
After business had concluded for the night, we adjourned to the Apollo Lounge at the Junior Ranks, as was standard operating procedure. The Apollo was the classy lounge on the 2nd floor. Downstairs was the "snake pit" with pool tables, shuffleboard, darts, etc. I didn't know all of the player's names at the time but I recall that Huey was there. Huey had a pronounced speech impediment that you couldn't miss or forget. I learned to be patient while his eyes rolled & he attempted to get something said. Interestingly, Huey could sing without missing a beat. MCpl Bob Stopp ("with two P's") was also there. The guys were talking shop. Stopp mentions that something is "US". I assume that this means it comes from the States. Sometime later I'd find out that this meant it was "un-serviceable". Strange. When something was serviceable it wasn't called "S". I don't think they were intentionally trying to exclude the new kid, they just forgot that not everyone was on the same page with the lingo. Later I would master the language & add a few words of my own. Someone mentions something about "grunts". I just got to ask, "what's that"? Huey says they're the same as "P - P - P - Pongos", he finally concludes. It's explained that a grunt is an army type. It's suggested that the name comes from the sound that an infantryman makes when shot dead. OK, that works for me. I also discover that we call the Military Police "Meat Heads". No explanation is necessary. They also talk about the trips they have been on. About travel to the base in Germany & the upcoming Summer Camp. Booze is cheap here - 50 cent beers or shots. Cheap smokes, too. There's camaraderie. The unit appears cohesive. Everyone is included & is a member of the team. So I say to Samantha Helyer, one of the Admin Clerks, "I think this is the start of something great". That sentiment wouldn't always be so, but for now I was flying high!
Next Article: Hey, Hey, Hee, It's An Airman's Life For Me.
"ON GUARD"
By Fred Kuzyk. Copyright 2001, Freddy The K Communications. No reproduction
without permission.
Hey, Hey, Hee…It's An Airmen's Life For Me
(Revised July 28/01)
"Why even the name 'airman' sounds like something from a gol' darn Funny
Book".
(From "No Time For Sergeants", the 1950's movie about the peace-time U.S.
Air Force.)
They say that war is hell. But the peacetime military can be hell, too. Often
they are under-funded, under-strength, and under-employed. In this context,
I began to settle in to Squadron routine. Getting to know the place, the
Otter, the job & people.
When you first arrived, you were just a recruit. You would eventually have
to choose a trade. In the Squadrons, there were only so many to choose from.
The girls often went to the Orderly Room & were Admin Clerks. But a few
became technicians. Examples were Tony Cardoni, Jillian, Yolanda, Joanne
Pilsener, & Donna Lugey. Some of the women techs were useless. Many of
the women became Safety Systems (SS) techs. They'd pack parachutes, service
aircrew helmets & extinguishers. We didn't have ejection seats &
such for them to play with. Packing chutes wasn't considered very manly but
Smitty wanted to do the trade. He was a bit of a dweeb. The other technical
trades were: Aero Engine (AE or "Fitter"), Air Frame (AF or "Rigger"), Instrument
Electrical (IE), Communications or radio (COMM) techs. The #2 Regular Support
Unit (2 RSU), the Regular Force personnel that looked after the planes on
a daily basis, had a few more trades. Such as: Metal Tech (who could fabricate
panels & parts), Refinishing Tech (who stripped & painted planes),
and Photo Tech (who looked after the aerial cameras & developed film).
At "real" bases where they fired ordnance, they also had Weapons Techs. But
not here. In the American USAF, they had many more specialized trades, such
as Tire Techs, that did nothing but know about every kind of tire used on
their planes. Things weren't so specific in the unified Canadian Armed Forces.
So I had to choose one of the Reserve trades. I remember that there was a
sales pitch by some of the techs. Riggers & Fitters were the most plentiful.
Well the AirFrame lads swayed me by saying that the engine guys were always
covered in oil & grease. Besides , 90% or so of the plane was Air Frame
- from brakes & wheels, hydraulics, skin & struts, cables & controls,
right down to windows & seats - were Air Frame. I was eventually sold.
There was another position that you could aspire to, that of Air Crewman.
These were the lads that would accompany the planes, do the paradrops, check
the planes & do repairs while in the field, etc. Many were considered
but few were chosen.
At some point, I was issued my very own aged, metal toolbox. This contained
rudimentary hand tools. Sockets, pliers, a multi-tip hammer (copper or lead
on one side, rubber on the other). If things didn't fit you could always
"get a bigger hammer", as the saying went. There was also side cutters for
the removal of split pins (not "cotter" pins, as I was corrected). The pliers
were handy for twisting lock-wire used on critical nuts & bolts. Common
tools issued for servicing the planes were screwdrivers (to unfasten DZUS
fasteners or panels), a 90 degree flashlight, an inspection mirror, and Ear
Defenders (hearing protection "ear muffs") for use during aircraft starts.
I'd come to know that the Otter was indeed a versatile craft. Primary missions
were light transport, Search and Rescue (SAR), and aerial photography. The
planes could carry about 9 people or a bunch of stretchers for medical evacuation
(Medevac). The U.S. Army bought a bunch of them & they called them the
"Flying One Ton Truck" for their cargo carrying ability. Sometimes we called
them the "Steam Otter", because of their age. They were great for parachute
drops and with their Short Take Off & Landing (STOL) ability, you could
land in many places other planes couldn't. Especially when they were fitted
with floats or skis, you could land on lakes or snow. Yeah, they were crude
but dependable & fun.
Life revolved around our two hangars. There were signs posted to remind everyone
that smoking wasn't allowed on the hangar floor. Signs & posters cautioned
about the danger of sparks, so no clickers on shoes or hobnailed boots were
permitted. There were also reminders about the danger of FOD (Foreign Object
Damage) which is what happens when stray bits of garbage gets thrown around
by jet blast or prop wash, or when items get sucked into engines. The south
hangar was the Servicing Bay where the in-service planes were kept. The north
hangar was the Maintenance Bay, where the sick birds were repaired. It's
also where the Royal Canadian Navy "Banshee" jet fighter sat. This Korean
War vintage McDonnell-Douglas plane probably flew off the deck of HMCS
Magnificent, one of the aircraft carriers Canada use to have. The Air Reserve
was restoring it for the museum in Ottawa. I hope they weren't in a hurry
for it. It would sit there for a total of 13 years. Between the two hangars
were the RSU shops. This comprised: a tool crib, tire bay, metal shop, repair
office, photo shop, engine bay, electric shop & battery room, and they
also had a canteen for food and beverages. Above the shops was a storage
area, reached by a freight elevator. There was a passageway between the hangars
that you could drive a mule through but too narrow to take an Otter! At the
back also were stairs that lead to the 2 Air Reserve Wing & to the AirCrew
Selection Center. The ACSC was where hopeful pilot & navigator candidates
would receive their initial screening. In front of the canteen was the
Meteorological Section, or Weather Office, as well as a Departure Lounge.
Folks waiting to board one of the military passenger flights occasionally
used this. It was possible for those being "shipped out" to grab a flight
to Trenton & from there to any base the CAF flew to, even Germany. Above
this area was the 400 Squadron offices, reached from stairs in the Servicing
hangar. I'd see lots of this place. On the south wall of Servicing were doors
that led to the RSU offices, where their Warrant & Officers hung out.
There was also a door to 411 Squadron's offices. Never went there. The pilot's
area was also on this side. They had a Briefing Room with folding theater-type
seats. We'd have the odd briefing in there. There was also a room there where
charts were stored for any area we had to fly to. Aircraft Servicing was
at the front of the hangar on the south side. This is where we spent a lot
of our time. When I first started, they had a TV set in Servicing. Just about
everyone was huddled around it to watch the exploits of "Black Sheep Squadron",
the WWII program that featured "Pappy Boyington" & his misfit fliers
shooting down the Japs. This only took place on Thursday nights at the time
that we were working. Fans of the show had to wait until summer re-runs,
as the set was removed. Someone decided that we'd get more work done that
way. Playing cards would suddenly become popular.
The military loves acronyms and I was becoming familiar with them. We've
touched on some of the popular ones like FOD, SAR & GMT. But there were
tons more of them just for Officer job titles. SAMEO referred to the Squadron
Aircraft Maintenance Engineering Officer. While BAMEO meant the Base equivalent
of this title (which was a RSU Officer). The Base Administrative Officer
was the BADO. SECURO was the Security Officer. FINO was the Finance Officer.
CO was the Commanding Officer. You get the idea. I learned the word "snag",
which was a problem with an aircraft that needed to be fixed. You could use
it in a verb tense, as in "I'm snagging aircraft 3671", which meant that
you were taking it out of service because of a problem. "Prang" meant to
damage a plane, either by the plane contacting something (like the ground
in a crash) or by something contacting the plane (like driving a mule into
the side of a parked plane). There were stories about those dumb-ass Reservists
with the Montreal Squadrons who pranged another aircraft wing by towing it
into a hangar door. Of course, we never pranged aircraft, except for legitimate
crashes.
A Day In The Life
A typical night or weekend would begin with "signing in". At the bottom of
the stairs to 400 Squadron, hung a clipboard with a sign-in sheet on it.
You'd print & sign your name & indicate whether you were here for
a half day (Thursday night) or a full day (Saturday or Sunday). Sometimes
we'd head upstairs to use the washroom, say "Hi" to the Orderly Room girls,
or check for mail. Up here is where our CO, SAMEO, FINO, etc. were doing
their thing. If we didn't arrive in uniform, we'd have to go change or put
on our white coveralls if we expected to do anything messy. White is a misnomer,
as the coveralls could get quite dark with use. In the summer we'd often
not have a uniform under the coveralls, just jockey shorts. There were a
couple of locker rooms. My locker was in Maintenance, in a bathroom by the
foot of the stairs that led to Wing. In one of the toilet stalls was graffiti
that said "Doug Burley drinks on trains, Doug Burley trains on drinks". It
was from before my time. After changing, you'd report to Servicing. Sergeant
Jim Train was in charge behind the desk. On the wall hung status boards that
had metal tags for each of the aircraft. These were reversible - red on one
side indicated the plane was not in service while white or green meant that
it was ready to go. We had about 10 planes but one (9420) was the "Hangar
Queen" and always sat in Servicing Bay kind of like the Banshee, never to
fly. There was something wrong with it that it never quite flew right.
Measurements & weight and balance checked out but nobody could find out
why she didn't handle right. It was one of those unsolved mysteries. So we'd
just use it for spare parts. Notations on the status board in the various
columns indicated if an A/C (aircraft) was flying & what its mission
was, departure time, pilot in command, etc. At one time we had two crews,
"A" and "B", in Servicing. I was on the "B" Crew, under MCpl Wally Wellington.
Sgt Train would assign aircraft to the senior Cpls & MCpls for the A,
B, AB, DI, & PI checks. The DIs & Bs were the first concern. (B =
Before Flight check, DI = Daily Inspection). There were checklists for each
& under supervision, we'd complete them. This involved things like checking
oil levels, the amount of fuel on the gauges, draining a bit of gas from
each of the three tanks to check for condensation water in the fuel, etc.
In the AF trade, this also involved tire pressures, checking the movement
of controls, ensuring the presence of control locks & covers and then
their removal before flight. Generally, checking the condition of the interior
& exterior of the plane. We had our tool pouches that carried the basic
tools needed: flashlight, screw driver, etc. On a nice day, we might do the
checks outside the hangar. The other checks were done for other instances.
An "A" check (After flight check) was done as the name implies. An "AB"
(After-Before flight check) was done if a plane landed & was doing a
quick turn around back into the air. A "PI" (Periodic Inspection) was a major
operation & was done when the hours dictated. This was a big job that
took time.
Once the checks were done, they had to be signed for in the A/C logbooks.
Only qualified techs had Signing Authority for the various trades. After
the inspections & paper work was completed, it was time to roll them
out. We'd open the hangar doors. This took a bunch of us "mutts" to unchain
each door & push them off to the sides. They never upgraded the doors
to electric power. In winter, you might wait to the last minute to open the
doors. In summer, we often would open them first thing to let air & light
into the hangar. Experienced techs would drive the tow tractor "mules". You
also needed a current Military Driver's License, called a "DND 404". If your
404 had expired it took time to get it renewed. This was a great way to get
out of work, the same with not being currently qualified for a task. I can
remember days when those who showed-up weren't qualified to do much of anything,
so the poor Sarge would end-up having to sign for checks & tow himself!
Somehow the birds were readied on those rare days, even if the Warrants &
SAMEO would have to get their hands dirty, or else the pilots would find
their missions "scrubbed".
Dave McNee is in the cockpit of a plane "riding the brakes". The static electric
grounding wire is removed from the grounding plug on the plane. "Brakes On",
he says. The statement is repeated as we hold up the tow bar, lining it up
with the tow hook on the mule as it backs up. Contact, the hook is locked.
"Chocks Out", someone says as the crew removes the rubber chocks from the
main wheels. "Brakes Off" the mule driver shouts. Dave McNee repeats this
as he removes his feet from the pedals. The Otter slowly lurches ahead, away
from its spot and it turns into the center of the hangar. We walk from our
positions at the wing tips with it, ensuring ample clearance. Constant flashing
of a thumbs-up signals that we're OK. The plane slowly goes over the rails
of the hangar door tracks and on to the tarmac. We stop our "wing walking".
A couple of us jump on to the mule. It then picks up speed until the plane
is brought out to a spot near the grass at the edge of the flight line. The
mule turns a circle and then backs the plane into its spot. If we had to
put one in a tight area, say between two planes, then the A/C would be turned
in front of the others. The A/C brakes applied, tow bar unhooked from the
rear of the mule, the mule turned around, tow bar latched to the front hook
of the mule, and the plane would be pushed forward carefully into its spot.
After parking the plane and before releasing the tow bar, the brakes went
on & metal ramp chocks were placed on the wheels. The process was continued
until all the flying birds were parked.
Each spring, we'd convert a couple planes to float configuration. Towing
the float Otters was a little trickier. They handled differently than the
normal 3 point Otters, being on 4 wheels. They also stood higher and level
- you got use to the Otters in their usual configuration with a nose-up attitude
when on the ground. The floatplanes took more room to manoeuvre. The tow
bar could only move so far. You had to use the technique of placing the plane
in front of its spot, unhooking, and then pushing it in. The small bow or
nose wheels (which retracted by arcing up over the front of the float &
into its top) often wouldn't pivot around to go in the other direction. So
while the mule driver pushed the plane, a tech would kick it repeatedly with
his steel toe boot, until it turned around. To get into the floatplane (amphibian
is more correct, as these planes could land on water or on an airstrip with
the float's retractable wheels) one had to climb onto the float & up
a ladder to one of the rear doors. Since the plane sat so high, a long tool
was used to put on the pitot cover.
Meanwhile, while we were ground-handling the planes, the pilot's would have
their briefing. They'd get the weather forecast from the Met Section. Depending
on flying time & destinations, the planes would need sufficient fuel.
Often, they were filled at the end of the flying day, but sometimes one might
slip through the cracks. Servicing would call for a tanker truck or "Bowser".
Eventually, you'd see the Bowser making its way from the motor pool area,
over by the tower across the runway. Turning the bend in the road, finally
reaching the flight line. The Otters burned aviation gasoline. Which meant
we saw a lot of the old yellow Bowser with "AVGAS" and the NATO numbers on
its side. When a transient jet A/C need fueling, we'd see the modern, green
camouflage Bowser with "TURBO" and the corresponding NATO fuel numbers. So
the truck pulls up. You'd connect a grounding wire from the Bowser to the
plane (for that pesky static electricity). I believe we also connected one
to a ground point on the tarmac. You'd stand by with a fire extinguisher,
just in case. The Otter had three fuel caps on the left side. These were
a simple, round aluminum cap with a thread cut in it. On top were two slots
to aid tightening & loosening with the shank of a screwdriver. They had
a small chain securing them to the plane so we couldn't lose them. Incidentally,
they weren't cheap. I once had to order a replacement for a defective one.
Looking up the part number, I noticed that the cost was several hundred dollars.
A princely sum for something that someone could easily lathe from some round
aluminum stock? I recall the Sarge saying that with a low volume part like
that, unit cost would be high. Personally, I think deHavilland was ripping
the CAF. Tales of those $500 military hammers & toilet seats suddenly
seemed plausible! The pilots liked to have the front tanks filled, rather
than the rear, for better weight & balance. The fuel nozzle wasn't like
those at a self-serve station that kicked-off as you got near the top of
the tank. It kept on pumping. To avoid embarrassment & being coated in
volatile hi-octane gas, you'd have to listen carefully with one ear cocked
next to the filler neck in-order to slow down pumping. Like most things,
you got good at this with practice. New kids would always get their first
gas bath, then walking around in a gas soaked parka or uniform until they
could change clothes. Fueling done, you'd hold onto the nozzle while the
Bowser driver reeled-up the hose. Disconnect the ground wire & it was
down to the next plane or send the Bowser back to the barn.
Sometimes before starting the Otters we'd "walk the prop". This supposedly
made the engine start easier, especially if sitting outside in the cold for
any length of time. Otters have a large, three-blade propeller. After making
sure that the batteries & mags were off, we'd rotate the prop in the
direction that it turned by having a few techs line-up & taking turns
grabbing a blade as it came down and taking it as far as you could. The next
person would grab the next blade as it came down. This pumped a bit of oil
around & loosened the pistons in their bores. If the pilots still weren't
ready to depart, sometimes the crew chiefs would have us do a "FOD Walk"
on the tarmac. We'd line-up spaced several feet apart & slowly walk the
flight line looking down for debris. While a small screw or a stone might
get sucked into a jet engine, it wasn't very likely with an Otter. I think
it was simply one of those traditional "busy work" kind of jobs for us.
Once the pilots were finally ready to go, they'd do a pre-flight circle check
around the plane - grabbing this & jiggling that. Also making sure that
the pitot cover & engine intake cover were removed & that birds hadn't
nested there. Sometimes there was a co-pilot or aircrew. They'd all board.
Depending on the mission, there might be passengers or cargo to load. Sometimes
the cargo doors were removed, if they were doing paradrops. We'd hook-up
an APU (Auxiliary Power Unit) onto the back of a mule & bring it to the
right side of the plane. It was always good to start the APU by servicing
before bringing it to be certain it worked & had gas, again to save
embarrassment. There was an attachment socket on the plane where we'd plug
in the power cord. Starts were noisy. We'd wear our ear defenders. We
communicated with the pilot via hand signals. One hand inserting into the
other was the sign to the pilot that you were plugging in. You'd throttle
up the APU to a certain RPM. Meanwhile, a partner manned a dry chem or CO2
extinguisher off to the left, where he could see the pilot & engine.
The pilot would twirl an index finger in an upward circle, indicating that
he was about to start the engine. The extinguisher man would ditto the signal.
You'd hear the starter whine & build-up speed. Then it was engaged &
the prop would jerkily turn. The engine would sputter & sometimes fail
to start. A re-start would then happen. Once the engine caught, there were
puffs of smoke. The prop would burst into a blur. The engine would race &
produce its own deafening noise. The APU guy would signal "disconnect" by
pulling one hand out from the other. Pilot would acknowledge. Keeping clear
of the dangerous prop, the tech would unplug. Once the engine was stable
& warmed a bit, the pilot could decrease throttle. He'd give the signal
for "chocks out" (2 fists together, thumbs outward, and move the hands apart)
and we'd reply. Chocks were removed & placed in the mule. Since the plane
hadn't burst into flame, the extinguisher was then stowed. If in tight quarters,
we could watch his wings & marshal him out. This wasn't usually necessary.
We'd exchange a thumbs-up or a salute with the pilot and they'd be off to
taxi, do their run-up & take-off.
After they were all in the air, it was a down period for Servicing. We might
be detailed to mop drip trays or sweep the hangar floor. Or maybe to wash
a plane. This was done with very long handled brushes, pails of soap &
water hoses. A large crew made the task enjoyable & everyone managed
to get soaked. If you were on the Maintenance Crew, you might be assigned
a PI in the Maintenance Bay. Not very common on nights, more often the PIs
& repairs were done on weekends, so the Maintenance Crew could slip away
early on a Thursday night! Quite often we'd have some kind of drill until
it was time to put the planes back into the barn. Sometimes it was a practical
drill on some piece of equipment. Sergeant Kevin Lockett would be the instructor.
More often the drill was a lecture in the classroom & Lockett would go
on & on. To break up the boredom, he would occasionally do something
completely different. Like bring in a ghetto blaster & play Frank Zappa's
"Catholic Girls". We'd howl. Then one time someone brought in McLean &
McLean's "Fuck Ya" & that tune became a Squadron theme song for a time.
Today, those "drills" are more memorable than the legitimate technical ones.
There wasn't a radio in Servicing so that you could hear the aircraft &
tower transmissions. I thought this odd. You couldn't tell when they were
landing, so you had to look for them out of the Servicing window. As they
taxied to the flight line, you'd grab the orange paddles, or flashlights
with the extensions that glowed if at night, and a parka if it was cold,
from the hooks by the door. You'd run out to meet the plane & marshal
them in. Visual signals told the pilot where we wanted it. If the flight
line were crowded, sometimes we would have one person direct the pilot to
another way down the line. We'd indicate the spot we wanted the plane in,
then whether to come forward, turn left or right, and when to stop. Pointing
at one wheel while waving towards yourself indicated that you wanted the
brake applied on that wheel & have the plane turn with the other. Two
arms waving towards you told the pilot to keep coming straight, while crossing
your two arms meant for him to stop there. Otters could not go backwards
so it was important to know how they handled. They were "tail draggers" but
that tail wheel could be turned by remote control by the pilot to help make
a tight turn. Once parked, it was a matter of throwing down the chocks,
installing covers & locks, giving them their "A" check, and tow them
in.
And so it would go. It would take several months of OJT (On the Job Training)
to complete "Common Aircraft Servicing CSR 123 Otter". Eventually, you'd
be qualified to sign for A, B, & DIs in your trade. Later, you'd qualify
on the PIs. Then, in my case, it was completion of "AirFrame Technical Basic".
All of these providing reams of forms signed by Supervisors, SAMEO, BAMEO,
CO, & Admin. Clerks; to fill-up your Unit Employment Record (UER). You
fell into your groove & mastered your trade. At times, even a simple
job could be overly complicated due to the bureaucracy. Forinstance, the
Otter had its own on-board engine fire extinguisher. To check or repair this
involved three separate techs. You'd all have to cram into an access panel
in the belly called the "hell hole" (named for appropriate reasons). Safety
Systems was responsible for the actual fire bottle. Air Frame for the mounting
bracket. Aero Engine for the plumbing leading to the engine. All just to
make sure it was charged & in place. I remember doing a repair while
working with the RSU. The Privates & Corporals did all the difficult
work under the supervision of the Sergeant. Then the RSU BAMEO, Captain Enema,
had to come & inspect the work. He glanced at the plane silently. After
which he grunted "OK" and went back to his ivory tower. You never saw him
or the SAMEOs much. I got the distinct impression that while he may have
known the tensile strength of various metals, he had no clue how an airplane
went together or came apart. He'd never physically install a part but he
was like the Pope giving his blessing on our labours.
Flying was the best part. There were ample opportunities to go along for
the ride. A daytime excursion around the CN Tower & downtown was always
a blast! There were frequent take-off & landing practice sessions. Sometimes,
the pilots would do "touch & go's", where they would touch down on the
runway & immediately take-off again, to do another circuit around Downsview.
Night flights were also exciting. The sight of the city & airport lights
out the window was awesome. Looking out the window you could also see the
aircraft's own lights - the flashing strobes & the reflections from the
red rotating beacons. Yep, I never grew tired of going up for a flight (or
a "fright" as we called it).
Andy Gyorffy was a Crewman. In his Flying LogBook, he had the following entry:
"Float Otters are beautiful!" Indeed, they were. Since they spent a lot of
time landing, mooring, and being in water, they carried additional equipment
- rubber dingy, Mae West's, A bilge pump, hip waders, anchor, ropes, etc.
The dinghy & life preservers were needed safety items. The pump was needed
because the floats weren't entirely waterproof. They'd all leak a bit, so
you'd pump them out. We'd place some kind of orange chemical inside the floats
to help spot leaks on the outside for repairs. Thus the bilge water was always
orange coloured & really stank! Hip waders were used by the Crewmen in
tasks such as beaching the plane or getting it out from the sand. Each year,
exercise "Rubber Duck" was conducted, during which float operations were
practised & perfected. I believe this involved a lot of time on a lake
near a pilot's cottage. Which also meant lots of fishing, drinking &
fun! I recall being on a "fright" that landed in Toronto Harbour for some
practice landings. It was marvellous.
All was not serious stuff. There were plenty of jokes. One of the running
jokes was to send a new recruit off to several people for "a bucket of prop
wash" or "a few feet of hangar line". He would then be re-directed elsewhere
in this fruitless search. I didn't fall for this one. Then there was the
time we took Chip Ray's locker from the locker room & suspended it from
one of the rafters in the hangar. Took him the longest time to look-up &
find it, then there was the problem of getting it down. A couple of guys
did a number on Bob Stopp & his new car. They kept adding gas to it.
He would go on about how fantastic the mileage was. Then they would siphon
out gas & he couldn't understand why it was now lousy. Bob was too easy.
There were two "Relief Tubes" on the Otter, better known to us as Piss Tubes.
We'd have some fun with these. There was a compartment at the tail, behind
a bulkhead at the rear doors, which housed the belly camera, radio gear,
power inverter, and other stuff. A curtain gave you privacy from the cabin.
One of the tubes was located here, while the other was in the cockpit. It
was just a funnel on a rubber hose, with a hook to mount it on the wall.
A joke was to tell a new kid that this was the pilot's intercom to the crewman
at the rear. In reality, helmets & headsets plugged into jacks for radio
& intercom. We'd tell the kids to give it a try & speak into the
funnel or hold it to their ear. They'd usually become pissed themselves when
they found out what this was really used for! It wasn't environmentally friendly.
The tubes simply drained out the plane's belly. I hope the urine dissipated
enough at altitude that we never wetted anyone!
I remember being on an extended flight. Major Ken Money was the pilot. I
believe his Co-pilot was Captain Dave Byart. Now Dave was a funny guy, a
joker. Instead of choosing the tube right where he sat, he got up to relieve
himself by employing the privacy one at the back. Ken Money was a pleasant
man, one of the first men picked for Canada's astronaut program. He was efficient
and serious. Well, this time he turns around & says to me "Let's have
some fun", with a huge smile. At just the right moment, he begins pitching
the a/c's nose up & down, doing a series of "Rollercoasters". Dave eventually
comes forward & is laughing. He says, "the piss kept coming back up the
tube!" With each steep dive, gravity was overcome & the liquid would
come back to haunt him. I think it was a bit messy back there but nothing
was shorted-out.
There weren't any provisions for taking a dump. I guess you had to pull the
plane over at the nearest gas station rest room. Except for aircraft 3669.
I always liked "69" (great number). This plane was done-up as a VIP aircraft
(in case we had to fly someone important) by Rick Richarz. Rick was one of
the RSU techs. He may not have been keen at regular jobs but give him a project
& he would really dive into it. He built the RSU Canteen & did a
hell of a job. So it was with 3669. Everything in the cabin was plush. There
was RCAF tartan curtains on the windows. The interior had a nice covering.
The lighting was like that in an airliner, as were the ventilation controls.
The seats were large, comfortable airline types, a vast improvement over
the standard small, Spartan variety. I think there was even carpeting on
the floor. The piece de resistance was a porta-potty in a compartment with
a locking, sliding door. Bloody luxury! It was a thrill for me going up in
this plane, not having been on 707's or other commercial planes at this point
in time. Everyone liked to fly in this baby & hoped to join the "Mile
High Club". What's that, you ask? It's having sex while flying above 5,280
feet. I never personally joined that club. I'd bet the farm that a few did!
You'd come to learn that there were rivalries between the various trades.
Rivalries also existed between the Squadrons. We tended to feel superior
over those idiots in Montreal who were always pranging planes. We also felt
superior to those boobs in our sister 411 Squadron. There were rivalries
between the Reservists & the Regular Force of the RSU. Some of them called
us "donkeys". It was frustrating to have a new, young Reg Force Private,
who you had made an effort to befriend, begin to make disparaging remarks
about "asshole Reserves". There was also friction at times between our people
& the others on base. Like the miserable Private in stores who issued
me a dress uniform tunic that was 3 sizes too big. Air Force & Army always
saw themselves as different from each other. Even while wearing the same
blasted green uniforms.
So you also got to know the personnel, the denizens of the asylum. Some of
the associations would last for decades. The bonds would form & strengthen
at Summer Camp. But before we go to North Bay, lets meet some of the players..
Next Article: It's A Family Affair.
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