The Time: Nov 1990, The Place: Dayton, Ohio
The Event: Memories of a Friend
I first met Fred Carrington at the US Army Primary Helicopter
Flight Training School, Ft. Wolters Tx. He was around six foot tall, fairly
solid, and he drove me crazy with his grin. "The Grin" started with a slight
raising of the cheeks, followed with an upturning of the ends of the mouth
and parting of the lips, and culminating into a full mouthed, "count all
my teeth", beaming grin. "You know whut ah mean. Vern?"
The distracting aspect of "The Grin" was that he always
had it with him.
Flight School was a grind, physically and mentally. We
were constantly pushed towards our limits; yet whenever I'd look over at
Fred, he would flash "The Grin". At first I thought he was crazy. After
a while, I was sure of it. Then one day I let the light shine through and
figured out what he was doing. Fred was working just as hard as all of
us, harder, in fact, as he was married and had a young son. He received
the same amount of free time we all got, 90 minutes a day, from 1630 to
1800 hrs. and Sundays off if you earned a pass. He would meet his family
each day with "The Grin" and they warmed in its radiance. He was just as
tired as we, yet he always played with his boy. He too was worried about
grades, performance, ability, yet he would patiently listen to his wife's
troubles with groceries, rent and clothing. "The Grin" made all things
bearable. "The Grin" was Fred's way of telling all he would not be beaten.
I learned to truly respect "Th Grin".
Fred and I were both prior service and we both had a
tour in Viet Nam. We had no illusions as to where we were going for our
"graduation trip". Fate was kind in a way, as I was stationed back in the
Delta again and Fred came with me.
We were in different outfits but met often to share drinks
and stories. My wife was about to give birth to our first and his was a
month behind with their second. Both being new to helicopter combat operations,
I was incredulous to find out he had volunteered for "Scouts". This was
the single most dangerous mission in Army Aviation. Pilot mortality was
usually measured in weeks, and damn few of them. I tried to talk him out
of it, told him he must be mad. He just looked up at me and turned on "The
Grin". I smiled, we talked some more, we parted. That was his last sunset.
He was scouting on the Cambodian border, somewhere near
Moc Hoa. His small scout helicopter was hit from the Cambodian side, a
VC sanctuary, with a barrage of gunfire. He was wounded and his aircraft
was handling poorly. As he tried to escape, his ship was rocked with another
burst of fire. He blew up in midair. The tears made it difficult to fly
home that night.
Time passes. His wife had a beautiful baby girl, and
years later remarried. I later became a Scout pilot but was lucky enough
to remain around to tell of it. Part of it was due to the memory of "The
Grin", what it stood for and the man that owned it.
I found his name on "The Wall" in Washington D.C. one
cold, wet winter night. I touched it, and was warmed by its radiance.
Ed Gallagher,
(The author is a former US Army helicopter pilot with
over 200 combat missions in Viet N am and Cambodia)
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