We Will Not Forget 6
These are some of my notes regarding the tragic Forrestal (CVA-59) fire 50 years ago this Saturday, on 29 July 1967.
Firefighters check what remains of Whip’s A-4E Skyhawk after the fire was extiguished.
Lessons Learned
Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. George Santayana (1863–1952)
Tonj The Navy—and I am certain it is true for the other services as well—often dwell on “lessons learned.” How can the past be relevant? How can we make our history more relevant? More so than any other organizations, all too often the lessons learned by the military came at the great cost of blood and lives.
The Forrestal (CVA-59) fire of 50 years ago this Saturday, 29 July, literally affected the thousands of people on board ship that day. Many still bear the scars after a half century and often, they are invisible.
But not all scars are bad.
For one of the pilots on board the flight deck, then Lt. (j.g.) Richard M. “Whip” Wilson, whether or not even obvious to him he carried the lessons he learned that day on through his life. And many people may owe their lives to him and those lessons.
Whip is in the front row, fourth from left.
That 29 July, Whip, a graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy Class of 1964, had just fired up the engine in his A-4E Skyhawk BuNo 152024, coded 310. He was assigned to VA-106, one of two light attack squadrons on board Forrestal. His aircraft was spotted just behind the jet blast deflector for the No. 3 catapult.
Right after the Zuni rocket fired, he saw his plane captain, “eyes as big as saucers,” frantically signalling him to shut down his engine. As he did so, off to his side he saw fuel on the deck. “I thought the [fuel] drop tank was over pressurized.” Then a bomb went off. Off to the right side of his aircraft, which was aft of the island by about two aircraft lengths, he saw bodies and debris.
As he dismounted his aircraft, he noticed that it wasn’t chocked—the wheels had no blocks to prevent the aircraft from rolling. By that time the fire was two stories high. He saw that the aircraft wasn’t moving, so he ran toward the island. About 30 seconds later his aircraft was on fire.
In talking about those day’s events today, he brought up the subject of lessons learned. He stated that those deaths, the fire, the trauma, did not need to happen. Procedures to prevent such an occurrence had, as noted in a previous blog post, not been followed.
Whether he consciously considered it or not, he can’t say, but in his post-Navy career in senior flying positions for Delta Airlines, acknowledgment and respect for procedures were in the top of his toolkit.
His resume is impressive. At Delta he was a line second officer on DC-8, Convair 880, and L-100, then second officer instructor on DC-8 and L-1011, then lead second officer instructor for both aircraft. Later. a line first officer and captain on the DC-9, DC-9 and L-1011 pilot instructor, L-1011 captain and Fleet Manager. He retired flying the MD-11 as a captain flying mainly the Atlanta-Tokyo route plus Atlanta-Tokyo-New York-Tokyo-Atlanta. He was at John F. Kennedy International Airport briefing for a JFK-Tokyo flight on 9/11.
When we spoke, it wasn’t about credentials and merits, it was about rules.
On one long-distance flight a warning light came on shortly after take-off. It was for a failure in a portion of the wing deicing system. Of itself, it was rather insignificant. The plane would not fall out of the sky, no one was in danger. But in the greater scheme of things, the deicing system is a protection against icing situations. The book said land and have it repaired unless no ice would be encountered. Flight Control and maintenance thought it okay to continue. Whip requested in writing verification that he would have a 6,000-mile ice-less trip or he would land the plane. He landed.
On another flight en route to Hawaii, he sensed a very slight bump when turning the aircraft. It was nothing of great concern. It just felt different. When it happened again, it got serious. He switched to manual control and could feel something was not right. He dumped fuel and landed the aircraft. While not of great worrisome magnitude there was enough of a “something isn’t right” sensation and repeatability that told him something indeed was wrong. It turned out to be a main landing gear door actuator that was letting the huge door move into the airstream. There is no telling what could have happened had the door opened wide enough to get some purchase on the airstream to rip it off. There was nothing in the rule book for this. But it was recognition, taking responsibility, and action in the face of an unknown. It could have been nothing. But deep down, Forrestal told him it could be something.
These were just two of the events that occurred over his long flying career. With the exception of the frustration of their flight delays, his many passengers were unaware that they owed their safety to the men of Forrestal.
