Chicken Hogs
There's been a fair amount of attention paid to the Chicken
Hawk phenomenon–People in the Bush administration who never saw combat
but who think combat is a swell occupation for the sons and daughters of people
they don't know. My purpose tonight is not to jump on that obvious and easy
target. They're just jerks, that's all.
Rather, I'm concerned with the notion of gravitas,
a sense of significance that one projects through one's bearing, not necessarily
based on one's deeds.
"Gravitas" is a term that appeared on the political scene when Dick
Cheney was anointed as Bush's running mate in 2000. This conclusion was generated
by a blue ribbon committee charged with deciding who would be the best candidate
for Vice President. Many of us have forgotten that Dick Cheney was the chairman
of the blue ribbon committee that recommended Dick Cheney as the VP candidate.
If you were a novelist, you wouldn't dare to make this stuff up...
Pundits nodded sagely, just 3 years ago (can it be that recent?), noting that
it was brilliant for the Bush campaign to add the serious appearing, tight-lipped
Halliburton CEO to the ticket. Good counterpoise to a Yale frat boy whose crowning
political achievement had been to make Texas so business-oriented that its deficit
approached $7,000,000,000 within 2 years of his departure. (Yeah. A 7 followed
by 9 zeroes.) I guess you've gotta build a platform on at least the appearance
of principle.
My three regular readers may recall that one catalyst of my Bush resentment
is that he and I raised our hands and swore to uphold the Constitution and to
show up as ordered and do what we'd be told, at the same New Haven USAF recruiting
office. The record is pretty clear that Lieutenant Bush subsequently failed
to report for duty after finagling an assignment from Texas to Alabama.
The assignment coincided with his oh-so-vital participation in a congressional
campaign now remembered only by the candidates. He must have been a pivotal
player–he was later to demonstrate his management skills by trading Sammy
Sosa from the Rangers to the Cubs. Swell.
The Gravitas Inversion
I don't take a lot of things seriously. I don't possess Gravitas,
whatever-the-fuck that is. As I navigate through my reality, I find much to
laugh at and little to take seriously, except the spectacle of public "servants"
fattening themselves at the trough of the common wealth. A sense of irony was
my take before I went to Viet Nam, but it was hard-wired by the time I got back.
We were the first wave of pilots to return from "Nam" and be assigned
to the Strategic Air Command. We immediately noticed that all of the Test Flight
officers who hadn't been in combat were poring over the flight manual looking
for semicolons to stump the crew members on the next exam:
Describe the navigation lights on the wingtips of the KC-135 aircraft:
are they colored bulbs with clear lenses or clear bulbs with colored lenses?
Why would a pilot care about such a detail? Meanwhile, we were scheduling our
next visit to the Stag Bar to trick each other into buying drinks by playing
"Dead Bug." What were they gonna do? Send us to Viet Nam? Hah!
Dead Bug!
My premise this evening pretty much revolves around the important ritual that
pilots call Dead Bug! There's a wonderful Dead Bug sequence in The
Great Santini. Rent it.
Here's the ritual. You go fly a mission. You land and repair to the Stag Bar.
You order a round. The glasses become empty.
This is serious, far more serious than the fact that you just landed with a
hole in your airplane, streaming fuel, #2 engine out, no oil pressure on #1.
That's just part of the job. What's at stake here is that SOMEONE BETTER BUY
A FRICKIN' ROUND!
| The obvious solution is that a seemingly mature officer,
devoted husband, father of 3 and Defender Of Our Freedom, cries out DEAD
BUG! at the top of his lungs and immediately throws himself
and his chair straight back onto the floor, wiggling his feet in the air.
Last guy on the floor buys. It's a reflex test.
Baseball players and pilots value fast reflexes.
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Here, the game is demonstrated on the flight line by the oh-so-serious "Wild
Weasel" crew
members of the 333TFS, Takhli RTAFB, Thailand, 1968. The Wild Weasels were
guys who flew around North Viet Nam in F-105 "Thuds," hoping someone
would fire a Surface-to-Air-Missile at them. Now the way you defeat a SAM is
to immediately dive right at it as fast as you can!
If it whizzes past your canopy at a 1,000 knot closing rate, it's a successful
engagement. Then you fire your missile at the ground station that launched
their missile. The F-105 was called the Thud because of the
sound it made when it dropped out of the sky, which it always wanted to do since
it was basically a brick with wings. Cool. 2 or 3 hours of this kind of fun
and a guy could develop a thirst...
And shed every pretense that anything else matters as much as hanging it out
over the edge every day.
I'm reminded of the disconnect between seriousness of mission and seriousness
of demeanor because Doc introduced me
to the legendary Drazen
Pantic Wednesday night. Drazen is the guy who brought
the Internet to Yugoslavia when Miloshevic was killing people who did things
like that–truly dicey times. Drazen's picture is misleading. It makes
him appear somber but in person he smiles easily and often. No obvious gravitas.
Just a joyful appreciation for the passing scene. My instant comment upon meeting
Drazen was, "You're much better looking in person!"
Where's the Beef?
This disconnect between reality and demeanor seems to me universal. Rent a
late forties movie and notice how guys behave after returning when their buddies
didn't. They're joking around all the time! Now fast-forward
to the demeanor of our administration's warmongers. They're Oh so Serious...
So full of the weight of the world... Such vital things to ponder and decide
and, regretfully, put someone else's kid in harm's way...
I'm not alone among veterans in this insight. I got an email from a
guy who was there when we coaxed (fly would be an overstatement)
our burning C-130 onto the tarmac at Tay Ninh on 25
June 1968. |
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He agreed with my conclusion that you'd
never follow a manager into battle, and that the Bush administration is
deep-sixing the values that made our country great.
Another C-130 Pilot, John Robb, seems
to agree. My conclusion is that if you never put your ass on the line,
you'd better look as serious and self-important as you can.
But if you're dealing with serious matters, including making ends meet
in the kleptocracy
John Robb describes, it helps to keep it light and keep smiling. John
was landing C-130s by starlight in 1995, trying to keep Miloshevic from
killing Drazen. Good show! |
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Da More I Steal, Demeanor I Look
It goes without saying that rich people who would rather control the country
than serve her don't really deserve our vote, no matter how grave and determined
their demeanor.
12:22:39 AM
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