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From: GALL [jm.lela.presse@wanadoo.fr]
Subject: Crusader last dance
Dear Crusemen,
As reserve officer with 12F, I was aboard French aircraft carrier Foch last
28 october 1999 for the very last shipborn "dance" of a Crusader.
I send you 3 photos:
All the squadron lined along the safety line, just behind the bow cat officer. Dressed with his yellow shirt, he held up high his saber for a final salute...
For some minutes, nobody said a word, even the pilot.
OUT ARE THE F-8s, OUT ARE THE (GUN)FIGHTERS
So long
Jean-Marie GALL "Galou"
jm.lela.presse@wanadoo.fr
Many reports of the gala event were passed via email; click here to go to a collection. Larry Nowak's note (following) just about brings tears to the eyes.
I wanted to take a few minutes to try to share with you one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. Judging by the post-event email traffic, I am not alone in feeling this way.
First, the guys. Terrific guys. Both French and American, Navy and Marine. Guys with everything from 300 to 3,000 hours in the F-8. Some who just flew it, most who deeply loved it - with a passion perhaps surpassing any other love in our lives. I saw guys that I haven't seen, literally, in 35 years. We immediately bonded, and the real wives watched over us like indulgent mothers. The trophy wives, of whom there were several, didn't have a clue. But they sure looked good....
We talked flying the F-8 in every way, and against every type of aircraft. We heard stories from the guys there that would curl your hair, and ones that would make you laugh out loud. One of the guys had ejected TWICE, within two months, and was absolutely hilarious. Talked about the time that the wing came off his bird, he didn't know it, and was zealously going through all the spin recovery techniques, including blowing the wing, until someone advised him that he HAD no wing. Another (French) guy had a cold cat, stayed in the airplane while the carrier passed overhead, hearing the thrumm of the screws as they passed by the plane, before ejecting - and lived. Talk about balls and SA! And they were all "our kind of guys". Guys who had lived and flown on the edge, could laugh at themselves, and left the highpoint of their lives in that cockpit.
The planes themselves were stunningly beautiful. Sitting in the cockpit was like returning to the womb. The hands and feet just moved, without conscious thought, to the right places. Think a procedure, and the right switches were under your fingers. And the wonderful sound of the J-57. No other sound like it. Just idling, it set my blood racing. And when they banged the burners, if it wasn't better than sex, it was damned close.
The French pilots from the last active squadron were wonderful. Just like we were at their ages. And they flew the plane beautifully and illegally. The airshow passes were often at less than 100 feet, and more than 500 knots, all right over us. Oil cooler doors open, hard lights on the burners passing over our heads. The noise too powerful to be heard, only felt. Glorious.
As we watched them, we laughed, and we cried. We turned to each other and shared the joy and the longing. We were watching the final moments of our youth, and a special time in the annals of flying, as they passed into history. For many it was incredibly bittersweet. For moments we were 23 again, not 55 or 65, or even 75. And then, at the end, that youth was forever gone. Replacing it was a knowledge that what we had done was good, and special, and a privilege beyond description. And we were all, regardless of service or country, bound together by this shared bond.
The highlights were uncountable, but some of the greatest occured at the final formal banquet at the Chateau Friday night. Antoine, the CO of the last true fighter squadron, made a beautiful and moving speech about the love of the airplane and the special nature and bond of those who flew it. And his speech opened and closed with a wonderful and powerful recording of the J-57 spooling up to MRT and then crashing into burner. It sent chills down the spine, and made the hair on the back of the neck stand up. At many times during his speech he had to stop speaking to regain his compusure. Yves, French F-8 pilot #1, and a retired French Admiral, spontaneously climbed up onto a chair on the stage, and in highly accented English said: When I went to VF-174 to learn the F-8, they taught me one most important thing: When you are out of F-8's, You are out of Fighters!" The place went crazy, as you might expect.
I hope this doesn't all sound either too maudlin or too melodramatic. I would not have missed it for the world. It was filled with memories that I will carry to the grave, and resurrected others that never should have faded.
I wish that you guys had been there with me. That would have made it perfect.
Happy New Year!
Larry
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