Benny had pioneered several operational innovations in the C-130 including LAPES drops and several short-field landing techniques. Benny was a pilot’s pilot. He rose up through the ranks due to his hard work and innovative thinking. If it ever had been done in a C-130, Benny had done it. He also looked out for his guys. He stood up for, and protected, his pilots. Young pilots on overseas rotations can get “frisky” and wind up in trouble with local authorities. He knew what training and dedication it took to accomplish a mission and he went to bat for us. That didn’t mean we had carte blanche. We were expected to fly by the book and God help us if we crossed the line. None of us wanted to either disappoint him or face his wrath, so we played by the rules. But we also played. We were expected to blow off steam, within reason.
Irv was so excited about our new commander that he set about creating a calling card for squadron pilots. He thought it would be a real icebreaker with the ladies. He insisted on designing and financing the cards himself. He promised to have them ready soon. He didn’t have enough time to finish them before we left for Germany so he arranged for his wife to ship them to us.
The pre-departure routine remained the same as last time with the only major difference being our destination. Now we were bound for Rhein-Main Air Base in Frankfurt Germany. Rhein-Main was a dual use facility. Civilian aviation was on one side of the field, the military on the other.
Our BOQ set up in Rhein-Main was unique. It was a round building, two stories high with rooms around the perimeter and a large open rotunda in the center. Every rotation had its “must have” item for the pilots. These trends started when one or two crews went out on a trip and brought back something unique. It then became the rage. On our last rotation, it was porn pens from Turkey and rugs from Crete. This time it was the Italian cap pistol.
Shortly after arriving in Rhein-Main, one of our crews went down to Aviano, Italy (the home of the Globe Bar) for an overnight. One of the pilots saw cap pistols for sale in Pisa and brought a half dozen back. They were incredibly realistic looking. The pistol was a replica of a snub-nosed .38 caliber revolver. You could break it open just like the real gun but instead of inserting bullets, you’d insert a plastic, six-shot cap ring. These caps were loud and they rarely misfired.
Everyone wanted one, they would be perfect for an after-hours gunfight at the Officer’s Club. Soon, we were all armed, but not so dangerous.
One afternoon, Benny called a pilot’s meeting to be held in our Q rotunda. Benny and the Ops Officer, Sweats Tollefson, set up in the middle with all the pilots in a circle around them on the second floor balcony. The word had been passed; we were going to ambush the Boss. The meeting began quietly enough with Benny and Sweats reviewing some operational notes about European flying. Other boring, miscellaneous crap was covered until, finally, the meeting was about to end. Someone shouted, “NOW,” and we all drew our pistols and started firing down on Benny and Sweats. The noise in that enclosed rotunda was deafening. Sweats hit the deck unsure of what the hell was going on. Benny just stood there smiling throughout the fusillade. When all of our caps were spent, Benny calmly reached inside his flight suit, pulled out his cap gun and fired back at us. We all laughed hysterically as we stood there in the gun smoke-filled rotunda. Our ears rang from the hundreds of rounds fired. Benny went right along with the joke. A lesser man would have court-marshaled all of us.
Colonel Benny Fioritto was Italian. His parents had emigrated to the U.S. from Sicily when Benny was a baby. I found all this out when a mission to Sicily came open for us. One airplane and crew were to fly to Sigonella Air Base in Sicily, drop off some parts for the Navy, and return the next day. Our crew was selected but there was a caveat; Benny wanted to come with us. His family had come from the town of Catania. Since this town was near the base, Benny would have an opportunity to see his birthplace and visit with some relatives who stayed behind. Benny was a hands-on Commander. He sat in the back for most of the flight down there but he wanted the landing at Sigonella. He and Mike switched seats and Benny and I brought her into Sigonella. His Aunt and Uncle met Benny and took him into town. He returned several hours later and took us all into town for drinks and dinner. The tavern he chose was ordinary looking, but the people inside were anything but ordinary. They all had known Benny’s family. They were very proud that one of their own had gone to the U.S., been very successful, and now was back among them. We couldn’t buy a drink all night.
Chapter 12
Things were quiet back at Rhein-Main. Our crew took extended trips to Greece, Turkey, Spain and Portugal. Late one evening, Irv came into my room highly excited. He had received our squadron business cards. The front of the card had a drawing of a cartoon C-130 with a giant handlebar mustache on its nose. Wrapped around the fuselage of this cartoon 130 were crisscrossed ammunition belts. The airplane was wearing a Mexican sombrero. Underneath the squadron designation was the phrase “Fioritto’s Banditos.”
I was very impressed with the card and told Irv that I liked it. Irv said: “If you think that’s good, turn it over.” On the flipside were the letters LAGNAF. No explanation, just letters. I looked at Irv for an explanation.
“That’s our squadron theme, it’s like Semper Fi or Veritas.” he said.
“I don’t ever recall seeing LAGNAF in any Latin I’ve ever read.”
“Oh that’s not Latin. It means Let’s All Get Naked And Fuck,” he said.
I was speechless. He was handing out these cards to everybody he met, including the Base Commander and the Chaplin. He was also handing them out off base to German civilians. This had all the makings of an international incident. Irv didn’t care, anything to pick up chicks. My only hope was that he wasn’t volunteering to de-cypher the cryptic letters on the back.
We managed to finish our rotation without any major crises. Irv did get into a minor scuffle at the O Club one night. The Base Supply Officer and his wife were having a drink at the bar when Irv passed them one of his cards. The wife just happened to flip the card over and wanted to know what the letters on the back of the card stood for. So Irv told her. Her husband leapt up and snatched the cards out of Irv’s hand. Irv grabbed them back and both of them wound up rolling on the floor, fighting for possession. The other patrons intervened and a major fistfight was avoided.
Chapter 13
After our return to Pope, I prepared myself for my next career move, to the left seat, as Aircraft Commander. Technically, flying the C-130 is about the same whether you’re in the left or right seat. The only difference is which hand flies and which one operates the throttles. It does take time to transition but after doing it for a few hours the new seat feels natural. The big job difference was the responsibility. The Aircraft Commander is ultimately responsible for the airplane, crew, passengers, and cargo. He needs input from his crew but he alone must answer for all. Several weeks of ground school were also required. As 1973 rolled in I had my hands full with training school. I was lucky with scheduling and the weather and was able to finish up by the end of February. I liked this feeling. As Mel Brooks said: “It’s good to be the King.”
My first mission as a brand new Aircraft Commander was a sweet one. The U.S. Navy was conducting torpedo tests in the Bahamas, near Andros Island. They would launch the torpedoes, without explosives, at dummy targets. They would retrieve the spent torpedoes and ship them to a testing facility in Florida, near Patrick AFB. Our job was to fly to Andros Island, load up the torpedoes, and fly them over to Patrick AFB, near Cape Kennedy. It was a short, 45-minute flight each way and we did this once a day, for a week. Most of the day we were free to roam around in the beautiful sunshine. We spent many hours touring Cape Kennedy, eating seafood, drinking beer, and laying in the sun. All in all, not bad duty.