Top Gun / Fighter Jets

I started at Embry-Riddle 4 years after the original Top Gun was released on VHS, every flight student there thought they were Tom Cruise and wore Ray Bans and a leather flight jacket. Every dorm room that had flight students had Top Gun playing on the old 12" screen with VHS built in. I hated that freakin movie and thus played a lot of Euchre while drinking a lot of Natural Light with the maintenance students.

25+ years later my wife and I watched the original on streaming the night before we went and watched Maverick on Imax. Thoroughly enjoyed them both!


I'm probably about the same age as you, I seriously considered going to Embry-Riddle. Kinda wish I had. At the time I was just under the height limit, and had 20/20 uncorrected vision. Although I likely would have ended up in aerospace engineering, that's what really interested me and I always did very well in any science based class.
 
I'm probably about the same age as you, I seriously considered going to Embry-Riddle. Kinda wish I had. At the time I was just under the height limit, and had 20/20 uncorrected vision. Although I likely would have ended up in aerospace engineering, that's what really interested me and I always did very well in any science based class.

I went to riddle for AE, it was a small and relatively affordable school back then and you basically had your Flight Students, Engineering Students, and your AMT (maintenance) students. It is a much different place now, much larger campus, new buildings, much more expensive, and they offer all kind of degree programs to help you give them your money.

I have been employed as an Engineer since I graduated and have been (and continue to be) involved in some great military and commercial programs, so I guess I can't complain.
 
A classmate in college went to nuclear engineer route courtesy of the Navy and ended up on a sub. We always teased him he was gonna have to dance on the tables so they had something to watch down there. Never saw him again after that.

He did have a cool $75,000 check courtesy of the gov't that bought him a new truck while he finished school.

We always said the nuke guys make the most money in the Navy. Huge Huge bonuses are offered to them every time they have an opportunity to get out. They all end up on a submarine at one point or another. The only nuclear powered ships are subs and aircraft carriers.
 
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Brother in law graduated from the naval academy and was the commander on the USS Tucson sub. I guess it was family day don’t recall but a bunch of us went out to San Diego for a ride. Got to submerge and then go up on the “sail” coming back in, a life time experience for sure. We each got a styrofoam cup to write whatever you wanted on it. They put them all in some type of cage or something and I believe in the torpedo chamber. When we got down to I think it was 600 feet they open the chamber and the pressure crushes the cups and became souvenir. My wife sat in his captains chair in his quarters and as they did would tilt the sub she slid in the chair across his “room”. Will never forget that ride, so glad we went.
 
Not a jet, but a few years ago a buddy and I split the cost (about $1500 at the time) for a "Aerial Combat" session in Las Vegas. You sit in the back seat and the pilots spend about half an hour chasing each other around the sky, as though in a real dogfight. Can't remember what kind of plane it was, but it was fast and could spin enough to make you question your decision. Had one hell of a ride!
 
Nearly ten years before the original "Top Gun" hit the screen I was a rescue swimmer in a Navy helicopter squadron aboard USS Constellation. The air wing was deploying with F-14's for the first time and making a big deal of it. We rotary wing guys quickly got pretty tired of the jet jocks swaggering about the flight deck on their way to or from their new toys, sneering at us in our beat up, twenty year old H-3's with oil and hydraulic fluid running down the sides of our aircraft as we stood our alerts on the front of the angle deck before and after each day's flight operations. The jocks all proudly wore their Grumman-supplied "Anytime, Baby...!" patches on their freshly pressed flight suits


Anytime.jpg


(yes, you can iron Nomex if you work at it long enough), while we hung out with our flight suits at half mast, tied around our waists, oblivious to the fuel, oil, and other substances soaked into the fabric (fire resistant? Yeah, right!).

nl01.jpg

Me, on a different ship, with a different type of helicopter, and properly attired and groomed, which was really different for me...

The fact that the helicopters were the first aircraft off the deck in the morning, providing, among other things, plane guard duties, in case any of those fine fixed wing fellows had some sort of unsolvable problem requiring them to leave the comforting confines of their cockpit and take a swim in the deep blue sea, made no impression on the jocks, nor did the fact that we were also the last aircraft back on deck at the end of flight ops each day, for the same reason. There was also the fact that we rescue swimmers were enlisted swine, who had no more business wearing a flight suit, no matter how sloppily, than a goat has wearing a fedora, as far as the jocks were concerned. In fact, the jocks would more likely give precedence to the goat, Academy mascot that he was...

20180719_074942.jpg

My squadron patch (Helicopter Antisubmarine Squadron SIX, what a mouthful!) and a custom patch that we swimmers had made in the Philippines.

When we arrived at Subic Bay in the Philippines we decided to get a little of our own back. We commissioned a small roadside t-shirt shop in Olongapo to make a dozen or so bright yellow shirts with the image of an H-3 in a hover over the ocean, with a dripping wet two-tailed cat hanging miserably from the rescue hoist cable, and underneath, a legend that said, "Anytime, Baby!" They turned out incredibly well, and we began to wear them while standing next to our aircraft as we did before, now with big s**t-eating grins on our faces as the jocks walked by, scowling fiercely at our presumption. Had we no respect for our betters? Um, nope. The fighter squadron skippers loudly and profanely demanded that our CO forbid the wearing of those t-shirts anywhere aboard ship. He, a Vietnam era combat search and rescue pilot with many rescues under hostile fire to his credit, loudly and profanely refused to do any such thing. The whole kerfluffle was carried to the air wing commander, himself a combat veteran in the attack community (A-7's) and former CO of the Blue Angels, who told the jocks, with a twinkle in his normally steely blue eyes, to individually and collectively lighten up and drop the subject. Peace settled once again on the flight deck of the mighty Connie and flight operations continued apace. The jocks quit complaining, though they never really got the point of the exercise, to wit: We fling-wing types could never do what they could in their new, amazingly capable and formidable fighter craft, but our contribution to the air wing was not to be overlooked nor denigrated, either. We ended the deployment after six months without losing a single aircraft from the air wing, and as eager as we were to get a rescue we were happy to have it so, since doing our job meant that someone else was having a really bad day, and we wouldn't wish that on anyone.

Sadly, though the quality of the art on those yellow t-shirts was top notch, the quality of the shirts themselves was far below any reasonable standard. My shirt fell to pieces in less than a year, and none of the others lasted much longer. There remains not a single example (nor any photos, as far as I can determine) of the shirt that caused such consternation among the pilots of VF-24 and VF-211 and such mirth among the rescue swimmers of HS-6 (and the pilots too, truth be told). The crew of the good ship Constellation were amused for a time, and the deployment went smoothly. The alarms and excursions of later years were largely missing from this cruise and those of us who remain recall it with fondness and nostalgia.

It was a good cruise.
 
Nearly ten years before the original "Top Gun" hit the screen I was a rescue swimmer in a Navy helicopter squadron aboard USS Constellation. The air wing was deploying with F-14's for the first time and making a big deal of it. We rotary wing guys quickly got pretty tired of the jet jocks swaggering about the flight deck on their way to or from their new toys, sneering at us in our beat up, twenty year old H-3's with oil and hydraulic fluid running down the sides of our aircraft as we stood our alerts on the front of the angle deck before and after each day's flight operations. The jocks all proudly wore their Grumman-supplied "Anytime, Baby...!" patches on their freshly pressed flight suits


View attachment 466155

(yes, you can iron Nomex if you work at it long enough), while we hung out with our flight suits at half mast, tied around our waists, oblivious to the fuel, oil, and other substances soaked into the fabric (fire resistant? Yeah, right!).

View attachment 466157
Me, on a different ship, with a different type of helicopter, and properly attired and groomed, which was really different for me...

The fact that the helicopters were the first aircraft off the deck in the morning, providing, among other things, plane guard duties, in case any of those fine fixed wing fellows had some sort of unsolvable problem requiring them to leave the comforting confines of their cockpit and take a swim in the deep blue sea, made no impression on the jocks, nor did the fact that we were also the last aircraft back on deck at the end of flight ops each day, for the same reason. There was also the fact that we rescue swimmers were enlisted swine, who had no more business wearing a flight suit, no matter how sloppily, than a goat has wearing a fedora, as far as the jocks were concerned. In fact, the jocks would more likely give precedence to the goat, Academy mascot that he was...

View attachment 466159
My squadron patch (Helicopter Antisubmarine Squadron SIX, what a mouthful!) and a custom patch that we swimmers had made in the Philippines.

When we arrived at Subic Bay in the Philippines we decided to get a little of our own back. We commissioned a small roadside t-shirt shop in Olongapo to make a dozen or so bright yellow shirts with the image of an H-3 in a hover over the ocean, with a dripping wet two-tailed cat hanging miserably from the rescue hoist cable, and underneath, a legend that said, "Anytime, Baby!" They turned out incredibly well, and we began to wear them while standing next to our aircraft as we did before, now with big s**t-eating grins on our faces as the jocks walked by, scowling fiercely at our presumption. Had we no respect for our betters? Um, nope. The fighter squadron skippers loudly and profanely demanded that our CO forbid the wearing of those t-shirts anywhere aboard ship. He, a Vietnam era combat search and rescue pilot with many rescues under hostile fire to his credit, loudly and profanely refused to do any such thing. The whole kerfluffle was carried to the air wing commander, himself a combat veteran in the attack community (A-7's) and former CO of the Blue Angels, who told the jocks, with a twinkle in his normally steely blue eyes, to individually and collectively lighten up and drop the subject. Peace settled once again on the flight deck of the mighty Connie and flight operations continued apace. The jocks quit complaining, though they never really got the point of the exercise, to wit: We fling-wing types could never do what they could in their new, amazingly capable and formidable fighter craft, but our contribution to the air wing was not to be overlooked nor denigrated, either. We ended the deployment after six months without losing a single aircraft from the air wing, and as eager as we were to get a rescue we were happy to have it so, since doing our job meant that someone else was having a really bad day, and we wouldn't wish that on anyone.

Sadly, though the quality of the art on those yellow t-shirts was top notch, the quality of the shirts themselves was far below any reasonable standard. My shirt fell to pieces in less than a year, and none of the others lasted much longer. There remains not a single example (nor any photos, as far as I can determine) of the shirt that caused such consternation among the pilots of VF-24 and VF-211 and such mirth among the rescue swimmers of HS-6 (and the pilots too, truth be told). The crew of the good ship Constellation were amused for a time, and the deployment went smoothly. The alarms and excursions of later years were largely missing from this cruise and those of us who remain recall it with fondness and nostalgia.

It was a good cruise.

Too bad you didn’t post this the other day. I was at the place of an F15 and F18 pilot and would have asked him about it.

He’s got all the walls in his garage fairly covered with posters of the jets he flew.

Cool stuff.
 
One of the biggest surprises to me was how big those things actually are- They had a Tomcat here at an airshow and I was just astounded

We also have an SR 71 blackbird parked at the space and rocket center- That is a great great story to have been developed in the 60s With all custom machined parts- Way ahead of its time

The very first one that was put out on the tarmac in front of all the congressmen and everybody behind the project would not turn over because the oil viscosity was too thick- They jumped it off with a Buick Wildcat- Sounds like something out of a Leslie Nielsen movie

 
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Nearly ten years before the original "Top Gun" hit the screen I was a rescue swimmer in a Navy helicopter squadron aboard USS Constellation. The air wing was deploying with F-14's for the first time and making a big deal of it. We rotary wing guys quickly got pretty tired of the jet jocks swaggering about the flight deck on their way to or from their new toys, sneering at us in our beat up, twenty year old H-3's with oil and hydraulic fluid running down the sides of our aircraft as we stood our alerts on the front of the angle deck before and after each day's flight operations. The jocks all proudly wore their Grumman-supplied "Anytime, Baby...!" patches on their freshly pressed flight suits


View attachment 466155

(yes, you can iron Nomex if you work at it long enough), while we hung out with our flight suits at half mast, tied around our waists, oblivious to the fuel, oil, and other substances soaked into the fabric (fire resistant? Yeah, right!).

View attachment 466157
Me, on a different ship, with a different type of helicopter, and properly attired and groomed, which was really different for me...

The fact that the helicopters were the first aircraft off the deck in the morning, providing, among other things, plane guard duties, in case any of those fine fixed wing fellows had some sort of unsolvable problem requiring them to leave the comforting confines of their cockpit and take a swim in the deep blue sea, made no impression on the jocks, nor did the fact that we were also the last aircraft back on deck at the end of flight ops each day, for the same reason. There was also the fact that we rescue swimmers were enlisted swine, who had no more business wearing a flight suit, no matter how sloppily, than a goat has wearing a fedora, as far as the jocks were concerned. In fact, the jocks would more likely give precedence to the goat, Academy mascot that he was...

View attachment 466159
My squadron patch (Helicopter Antisubmarine Squadron SIX, what a mouthful!) and a custom patch that we swimmers had made in the Philippines.

When we arrived at Subic Bay in the Philippines we decided to get a little of our own back. We commissioned a small roadside t-shirt shop in Olongapo to make a dozen or so bright yellow shirts with the image of an H-3 in a hover over the ocean, with a dripping wet two-tailed cat hanging miserably from the rescue hoist cable, and underneath, a legend that said, "Anytime, Baby!" They turned out incredibly well, and we began to wear them while standing next to our aircraft as we did before, now with big s**t-eating grins on our faces as the jocks walked by, scowling fiercely at our presumption. Had we no respect for our betters? Um, nope. The fighter squadron skippers loudly and profanely demanded that our CO forbid the wearing of those t-shirts anywhere aboard ship. He, a Vietnam era combat search and rescue pilot with many rescues under hostile fire to his credit, loudly and profanely refused to do any such thing. The whole kerfluffle was carried to the air wing commander, himself a combat veteran in the attack community (A-7's) and former CO of the Blue Angels, who told the jocks, with a twinkle in his normally steely blue eyes, to individually and collectively lighten up and drop the subject. Peace settled once again on the flight deck of the mighty Connie and flight operations continued apace. The jocks quit complaining, though they never really got the point of the exercise, to wit: We fling-wing types could never do what they could in their new, amazingly capable and formidable fighter craft, but our contribution to the air wing was not to be overlooked nor denigrated, either. We ended the deployment after six months without losing a single aircraft from the air wing, and as eager as we were to get a rescue we were happy to have it so, since doing our job meant that someone else was having a really bad day, and we wouldn't wish that on anyone.

Sadly, though the quality of the art on those yellow t-shirts was top notch, the quality of the shirts themselves was far below any reasonable standard. My shirt fell to pieces in less than a year, and none of the others lasted much longer. There remains not a single example (nor any photos, as far as I can determine) of the shirt that caused such consternation among the pilots of VF-24 and VF-211 and such mirth among the rescue swimmers of HS-6 (and the pilots too, truth be told). The crew of the good ship Constellation were amused for a time, and the deployment went smoothly. The alarms and excursions of later years were largely missing from this cruise and those of us who remain recall it with fondness and nostalgia.

It was a good cruise.

Rescue swimmer is all you had to say. THANK YOU SIR! You guys went to the aircraft every day with the intention of risking your life while saving ours should the need arise.

Added in first edit: Thankfully I was never in need of rescue but I have witnessed a few guys step off that helo on to the flight deck, soaking wet with sea water thankful for the rescue. I'm sure they had a renewed appreciation for you.

And as an S-3 guy I can sympathize with your plight with the pointy nose guys. The T-shirt story is awesome. I sure wish there was an example for you to show. Yes, this type of thing does go on within a carrier air wing. We had a feud between the Tomcat guys and Prowler guys that resulted in guys being locked in their stateroom and the CO/XO stateroom doors being removed to be stowed away in hiding for days. They even had the PR's make curtains so they could at least have some privacy.
 
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Rescue swimmer is all you had to say. THANK YOU SIR! You guys went to the aircraft every day with the intention of risking your life while saving ours should the need arise.

And as an S-3 guy I can sympathize with your plight with the pointy nose guys. The T-shirt story is awesome. I sure wish there was an example for you to show. Yes, this type of thing does go on within a carrier air wing. We had a feud between the Tomcat guys and Prowler guys that resulted in guys being locked in their stateroom and the CO/XO stateroom doors being removed to be stowed away in hiding for days. They even had the PR's make curtains so they could at least have some privacy.

The Army really was lame when it came to that stuff.

no call signs
no special shirts
took patches away

we were an army of one