Reflections on the 60th Anniversary of 56-G

Last night was the Farewell banquet for the 60^th Anniversary Reunion for USAF Pilot Training Class 56-G.  It was what you would expect to see at a veteran’s reunion.  A simple room with round tables adorned with flags and other patriotic décor.  The evening was emceed by my Dad’s old pal Ralph Clemens.  Ralph, besides being one of my favorite people in the world (the Chicago native shares my love of the Cubs), was Dad’s roommate and partner in crime all the way through pilot training.  Ralph stayed in the Air Force with flying time not only in SAC flying B-47s like my dad, but also B-52s and then a long stint in which he volunteered to step away from a relatively safe staff officers position to fly F-4 fighters in combat in Vietnam.  Ralph finally retired a full bird Colonel and lives near Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery. 

Jerry Bumpus and Ralph Clemens, 1956

Ralph Clemens and Jerry Bumpus, 2016

Ralph led the group in recognition of the organizers of the reunion, as well as some classic Clemens one-liners.  Bob Smith, Jim Devaney, and Joe Rogers made us all proud with how good pilots could march as they presented to colors for the Pledge of Allegiance.  I was beside myself with honor when my Dad and Ralph requested that I give the evening Invocation.  Angie and Katie were tasked with preparing the “Missing Man’s” table and Katie spoke to its significance.  She and I were the only speakers who hadn’t graduated with 56-G.  Don’t for one second think that was lost on me.    



Ralph explained that the night would be about Remembrance.  Remembrance of their deeds, and of those who were no longer with them.  He gave toasts to the United States of America, then to their fallen comrades, and finally to the Class of 56-G itself.  Then, we dined.  I had been requested to sit at one of the tables up front to be closer to the podium.  As that table started to fill with old friends who needed to be near each other, Angie and I happily repaired to what we termed, “The Kids Table”.  We laughed and visited and had a great time over dinner and drinks with the Lukasik boys, as well as Brad McLennan, another 56-G son and former Air Force Pilot himself.  We were the kids of the room and shared an interesting bond. 



The sounds of laughter and dinner were broken intermittently through the night by the clinking of a wine glass.  An old pilot would stand, and speak of one of their own who was no longer with us and a toast was raised to him.  Cheers, indeed.  The conversations would again commence, until the glass was clinked again.  This went on and on. Clink after clink.  Name after name.  Story after story.  Toast after toast. 



The night was about remembrance, indeed.


Bob Titzer (Bad-Ass Bob, as they have often referred to him) gave the keynote remarks.

"Bad-Ass" Bob, 1956

56-G first started having reunions back in 2000.  Bob Titzer initially came up with the idea.  Bob’s Air Force career was very similar to Dad’s.  Both found themselves in SAC, flying B-47s at Lincoln Air Force Base at Lincoln Nebraska.  Though they were in different wings, they still stayed close.  Bob left the service and became a successful engineer in Evansville, Indiana.  Well, Bob made a few phone calls and gathered a few more numbers and before you knew it, the group found themselves in San Antonio rekindling friendships. I was able to attend one in 2002 in Dayton, Ohio at the US Air Force Museum.  What a treat it was for me to be able to hear the stories of those great old planes straight from the mouths of the men who flew them. 


That was 14 years ago.  The reunions are getting fewer, and farther in between. 


Bob’s remarks last night included some stats.  There were nearly 400 young men that graduated as part of 56-G.  They had endured the same rigorous training, designed to weed out those who were not prepared for the job that the Air Force needed them to do.  They truly were exceptional.  Then he mentioned how many the class lost in service.  The numbers caused me to take a step back.  In either training accidents or in combat, 56-G lost nearly one in five of its graduates.  He then talked about how many have gone on since their active duty careers ended.



At the last reunion, nearly 50 members were in attendance.  This year….. 12.  Past reunions were chock full of activities.  Dances, nights of song and presentations.  Group excursions.  This year, aside from an impromptu trip out to an airplane museum, the schedule was much more relaxed.  The men of 56-G are aging, but they are far from elderly.  In past years, grand discussions of airplanes and flying, temporary duty stations, and war stories ruled the conversation.  This year, I noticed much more of the small, sidebar talks were about names.  People who are no longer here.  The reunion was not as much regaling past exploits as it was what Ralph described, about remembrance. 



What I still saw, in each of those 12 faces though…was the spark of a 22-year-old boy.  The recharged bond of shared experiences of adventure, excitement, duty, and yes, death.  They were wild and fierce.  They were the men the boys wanted to be and ones the girls wanted to be with. 

Though they have been separated by years and miles, they still were and continue to be comrades.  They are forever tied together.



Though we could still see it through our eyes, the gray hair is gone.  No one walked with stooped back.  Supplemental oxygen was replaced by high altitude mask.  They were warriors and young.  The fire to fly still burned within them.  These old men could still, and God knows would still heed the call.  Should an alert siren blow, they’d be the first to the flight line.  They would still put “warheads on foreheads” in southeast Asia.  They would still fly low and slow giving cover to the boys in the bush.  They would still cross the arctic circle and do the unthinkable, because its who they are. 



Their oath still stands. 



During a late night conversation, a couple of years ago, Dad really opened up to me about his experiences as a bomber pilot in the height of the Cold War.  His plane and crew had one job, to put a nuclear weapon on top of a city.  He did not set the policy.  He carried out the job.  I’ll go deeper into that talk another day, but he left me with a poem that was something along the lines of,

“Beware old men of what you ask young men to do, for they just well might do it”.

Jerry Bumpus-Warrior, 1956

Alas, the aging squadron of 56-G will no more be called to duty.  They were trained weapons, perfect machines.  Their day has passed and their front line usefulness obsoleted by youth and technology.  Yet, their mission was truly accomplished and as such, we are still free. 



What these men did is part of history.  Among the class of 56-G were the pilots who flew our POW’s home from Vietnam when they were released from the Hanoi Hilton.  A man who flew the SR-71 (who just happened to sit next to dad at dinner last night and promised to drop by to see me when he visits family in Waverly, Tennessee), men who flew hundreds of sorties over Vietnam and Cambodia.  Men like Bob Wikeen who when his F-86 had engine trouble over a populated area of New Jersey, elected not to bail out, but rather flew his broken bird over the ocean and to his death.  Men like Bernie Lukasik….

Last night was also Bernie's birthday.  You're damned right we sang for him.

These men saved the world.  This world still needs saving.  We all owe a them debt of gratitude. Those who are tasked with doing it today would do well to mimic these men, their spirit, their honor, and their accomplishments.

Men like Bill McDonald who did his time as an Army draftee during the Korean War, but still volunteered for the USAF and put in another 24 years in the cockpit.

Bill McDonald-1956

Bill McDonald, Final Flight-1979

Bill McDonald, Vietnam-1968

Jerry Bumpus and Bill McDonald-2016

Bill McDonald is a hero.  He kidded with me last night.  He said, “If we don’t hurry up, we can have our next reunion around a card table”. 

I’ll be there.  Hopefully it won’t be too many more years.  These boys still have stories to tell.

Ralph Clemens-1956

Ralph Clemens, Vietnam-1970

Ralph Clemens-2016

Terry Crain (left) and Jerry Bumpus (right)-1956

Terry Crain and Jerry Bumpus-2016

WE'VE DONE OUR HITCH IN HELL-from the 56-G Class Yearbook

I'm sitting here and thinking

Of the things I've left behind

And I have put down here on paper

What is running through my mind

We've marched a million miles or more

Look at our worn out feet

I know now that I should have joined

The lowly infantry

Our commandments were the Honor Code

The OTM our Bible

But a more unholy place than this

Would surely have no rival

And then there was the Tour-Path

That hated plot of ground

A fate worse than a weekend here

Is waiting to be found

The gigs were always plentiful

Some each day, as I recall

If demerit slips were dollars

I could buy the Taj Mahal

But there is one consolation

Gather closely while I tell

For when we die we'll go to heaven

For We've Done Our Hitch in Hell

The Girls were queens I must admit

There certainly were no bores

They came out every Friday night

And checked their brooms in at the door

We've flown in planes so ancient

That the Wrights would even scoff

The wings were held with braces

And patched all o'er with cloth

But when the final taps are blown

And we've laid aside lifes cares

We'll do our last parade

Upon those Shining Stairs

Our last Group Board will then be held

Outside St Peters Gates

Captain Trostle won't be there

For he has another fate

The Angels will all welcome us

And harps will start to play

We'll draw a million chit books

And spend them all one day

The Great Commanding Officer

Will smile on us and tell

Come, take the first seats, Gentlemen

For You've Done Your Hitch in Hell

God Bless the United States Air Force Pilot Training Class 56-G, both living and gone.

Ride Safe, and with Purpose.

Scott Bumpus

Proud son of Captain William Gerald Bumpus

United States Air Force

Pilot Training Class 56-G

My Invocation for 56-G

Our  Father,

Over 60 years ago, the men gathered here tonight, US Air Force Pilot Training Class 56-G and their classmates took an oath to defend our country and uphold our Constitution.  Their actions and deeds have made it possible for their children and grandchildren to live free, and safe.

Bless these men of 56-G who are gathered with us tonight.  Be with those who are unable to attend and share this fellowship, and let us never forget those brave young men who have gone on and paid the ultimate price for our nation.  Let their names and what they have done never be silent upon our lips.

 

Father, we also ask that you bless those men and women who wear the uniform and protect us still today, may they all be safe.

Father, continue to be with these warriors gathered here tonight, as they continue their mission on this Earth.  These men, who as John Magee so famously described,

“Have gone up the long, delirious burning blue… topped the wind swept heights with easy grace where never a lark or eagle flew- and while with silent lifting mind they’ve trod the high un trespassed sanctity of space, put out their hand and touched the face of God”…

Father, use this food to nourish us and guide us for your mission and your purpose.

In Jesus Name,

Amen

More about this remarkable night later. 

Ride Safe and with Purpose

The Brothers Lukasik..... A Story from 56-G.

Tonight, I had the pleasure of getting to meet Mark and David, the Lukasik brothers.  Their father, like mine, was a member of Pilot Training Class 56-G.  The Lukasik boys are partners in a restaurant in Fort Myers, Florida and rode their Harley’s all the way out here to the reunion in Colorado Springs. 

When we finished dinner, I took the opportunity to walk over to their table to visit a while, along with other children of 56-G vets.  Mark, like his father, was also an Air Force Veteran.  Over the flowing drinks, he held court with us, regaling us with stories of his hijinks as a cadet at the Air Force Academy (79TLCWB… yes.  This is an acronym for the AFA Class of 79, ‘The Last Class With Balls’), and the commandant who was a General named (aptly) Richard Head…. You can’t make this stuff up.  Mark’s brother David, put in over 20 years with the US Coast Guard.  I’m surrounded by patriots.

Their father wasn’t with us.  He was Captain Bernard F. Lukasik. 

“Bernie” Lukasik was a name I’d heard a hundred times when my dad would talk of the members of 56-G who’d paid the ultimate price.  On the 18^th of February, 1964, Captain Lukasik’s heroism earned him the Air Force Cross.

The President of the United States of America, authorized by Title 10, Section 8742, United States Code, takes pride in presenting the Air Force Cross (Posthumously) to Captain Bernard Francis Lukasik (AFSN: 0-48211), United States Air Force, for extraordinary heroism in military operations against an opposing armed force while serving with the 1st Air Commando Squadron, 34th Tactical Group, Bien Hoa Air Base, Vietnam, as a Advisor-Pilot of a T-28D aircraft on 18 February 1964. On that date, Captain Lukasik provided airpower against advancing Viet Cong guerrillas who were intent on capturing a Vietnamese airman who had bailed out of his burning aircraft.

Despite the danger of hostile gun fire, Captain Lukasik continuously flew his aircraft at extremely low level and remained in the area until he was satisfied that the safety of the downed airman was assured. Through his extraordinary heroism, superb airmanship, and aggressiveness in the face of hostile forces, Captain Lukasik reflected the highest credit upon himself and the United States Air Force.

The next day, Bernie was shot down and killed while providing air cover against Viet Cong forces who were trying to capture a downed RVNAF airman.

Mark and I talked of his father, who was 28 years old when he was killed.  I asked Mark how old he was when it happened.  “I was 6”, he replied.  “I have great memories of dad”, he told me.  His brother David, however, was too young to have them.  “That’s why I bring him to these things”, Mark related, “So he’ll know.  So he can get a better sense of who dad was and where he came from”.

By this time in our conversation, David had left the table and gone to bed.  I told Mark about the trip that I’d taken Carter and Brandon on Spring before last, where we’d accompanied Dad on a guy’s trip to Washington, DC.  I told him of our trip to Arlington Cemetery and the short walk from the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier to Section 35, site 1427 which holds the remains of Captain Bernard F. Lukasik.  I showed him the picture where my sons posed with their Grandfather and his old friend, who left us way too soon. 

Very few words were exchanged at that point.  I wanted Mark to know that though his father left this world before my time, he was part of my thoughts and memories.  His service and sacrifice matters still, not just to him and his brother, but also to his old friends and comrades…. And to his country.  It didn’t stop with his father.  Their mother is also buried in that same plot, passing a mere 5 years after their father.  An uncle, Colonel Joseph Lukasik, USAF is also buried just feet away.

“My entire family is at Arlington”, Mark remarked. 

The Pilot Training Class 56-G did its part.  Tonight, I’ll remember Captain Bernard Lukasik…. And cherish the new friendship I share with his sons…those little boys he left behind in the early days of the Vietnam War.

 

Ride Safe, and With Purpose.

The Gray Haired Young Men of 56-G

Thanks for welcoming me back to this blog, without judgement for abandoning it.  "Writers Block" is what you call it when you're either too lazy or too afraid to write because you think it's not interesting enough to read.  Anyway, I'm back.

Dad’s military days were well before my time.  It wasn’t really a major topic of conversation around the house as I remember it.  AS a boy, I knew he’d flown, but I didn’t know any details.  He didn’t discuss them.  Not some huge secret, but rather, just a period of life that seemed to have happened and then passed.  My earliest recollections were of the stein that sat on a shelf in the china cabinet.  Two brothers born in Nebraska, while the rest of us were born in the south.  There was also the picture of a young, thin, short haired man wearing an old timey looking headset that sat a dresser at Grandmother’s house.  What seemed the most poignant to my memory were the blue uniforms that hung in the upstairs closet, shoulders adorned with silver bars, chest with wings and a name tag reading BUMPUS.  They were relics of a thousand years ago, it seemed. 

As I grew older, I noticed more.  The books.  His knowledge of airplanes.  His attitudes about war in the nuclear age.  His patriotism.  Christmas cards from men who referred to him as, “Bill”. I thought I knew all of my parent’s friends.  We were a railroad family, and as such, there was almost a “mafia like” closeness to families of similar backgrounds, but I knew that there was another chapter in their life.  I was blessed with a mind more inquiring than your average child.  As I asked questions, I learned more.  I learned the names of places like Bainbridge, Georgia, Williams, Arizona, Wichita, Kansas, Lincoln, Nebraska.  Places like Goose Bay, Labrador, and Greenham Common.  

And Arkhangelsk.

Acronyms too numerous to recount.  I learned about Strategic Air Command.  I learned about the USAF Aviation Cadet Program.  I heard the story of a young man working at the Buick Dealership on Main Street in Jackson when an Air Force Officer came in to have seatbelts installed on his car.  That young man asked where he’d gotten seatbelts and he was told that they were from an airplane and that he was a pilot.  The young man mentioned how much he’d have loved to be a pilot and the love for planes he’d developed as a boy watching the trainers from McKellar Field fly over as they trained during World War II, but since he didn’t have a college education, the option of going into the Air Force as a pilot was futile.  The officer then told him that wasn’t the case.  With a high school diploma, he could enter the cadets.  That boy, clocked out for lunch, walked across the street to the Federal Building, and joined the Air Force.

Dad, graduated with the cadet program class 56-G and in January of 1956, he became a commissioned officer in the United States Air Force.  A pilot. He received an assignment in bombers, the latest technology from Boeing, designed for one thing, to put the destructive force of one bomb, stronger than a million conventional weapons on one single city in the Soviet Union.

He did his job and came home a veteran, with two baby boys and went right to work.  Case closed. 

As I said earlier, a casual observer would think the time Pop spent in uniform was but a small piece of who he was.  As time went on, he either decided to talk more, or perhaps my ears became more in tuned to what he said.  Stories emerged, and the impact on the life of a 22 year old boy with a hydrogen bomb strapped to his ass became more evident.  The horror or war is real, whether the war was hot or Cold.

Several years back, Pop rekindled old relationships with the other boys of Pilot Training Class 56-G.  They were more than just a couple of addresses and a phone number or two that were stuffed in a filing cabinet.  They started to talk and decided a reunion was in order.  Those ancient friendships again erupted and became new again.  Dad and his core of friends were back together again. 

Albie, Porter, Ralph, Terry, Bob, Bill, and many many others…

They found time to talk (and sometimes lie) about old escapades, duty stations, missions, girls, and adventure.  Like Pop, some of them had spent their normal enlistment time and had moved on to the private work force, and family businesses.  Others had stayed in the service, racking up long and distinguished war records in Vietnam.  Others never came home. 

I write from a terminal at Bush Airport in Houston, sitting next to my wife as we await or connecting flight to Colorado Springs.  There, I have the honor of meeting up with many of the gray headed young warriors of 56-G as they attend their final reunion on this, the 60^th year of saving the world from annihilation.  I eagerly anticipate hearing the old stories again, the laughter and the inevitable tears that will accompany it.  This will be Angie’s first opportunity to be with many of them, and to put names and faces with the stories.  Our plane leaves shortly, and Pop will pick us up from the airport when we arrive.

If you’ll indulge, I hope to share some of these moments with you as the week goes on.  Follow along here and at #USAF56G

Until Then.....Ride Safe and With Purpose.