Pure Joy

Yesterday I took my little grandson, Asher, to the playground. As he was digging in the sandbox, burying some Hot Wheels cars and then promptly forgetting where he put them, I gazed up at the clear sky. It was Sunday, a little bit after noon. As I looked up, I saw the USAF Thunderbirds flying in formation toward Lake Michigan. The Milwaukee Air and Water Show was going on, and the pilots were on their way to thrill the crowd at the lakefront.

I had driven past the lakefront the day before. The Thunderbirds put on a show then too. The beach was packed with people. There was no parking anywhere. Everybody wanted to sit back in their lounge chairs, crack open a beer, and watch the pilots do their tricks.

Well, maybe not everybody was there. I know friends in the peace movement who view the air show with absolute disgust. They say that it is shameful to waste millions upon millions of dollars on aircraft whose sole purpose is to kill and maim human beings. The money could be used to feed, house, and educate people. I tend to agree with their opinion. We spend much more money destroying than creating. I feel certain that some of my friends were protesting the Air Force display in some lonely vigil. They usually do that.

Yet…

I remember flying. I never flew jet fighters, but I flew Army helicopters. I can recall how it felt to be a pilot. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes I had a pure, unadulterated feeling of joy. I use the word “joy” intentionally. I often truly felt joyful when I flew. I remember flying once in the clouds. It was dark and claustrophobic in the cockpit. Then we broke out through the top of them. Suddenly, there was a bright blue sky above me and the purest white below. That moment was like a religious epiphany. It was absolutely glorious.

As I watched the Thunderbirds turn together in formation high above me, I had a hint of that old feeling. I don’t know if the fighter pilots are doing the right thing. I don’t know if I did the right thing all those years ago. I do know that they feel what I felt when I was in the air. That feeling can never be taken away from them. It can’t be taken from me. 

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Frank (Francis) Pauc is a graduate of West Point, Class of 1980. He completed the Military Intelligence Basic Course at Fort Huachuca and then went to Flight School at Fort Rucker. Frank was stationed with the 3rd Armor Division in West Germany at Fliegerhorst Airfield from December 1981 to January 1985. He flew Hueys and Black Hawks and was next assigned to the 7th Infantry Division at Fort Ord, CA. He got the hell out of the Army in August 1986.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.