OK, first, the following story is not a story about an actual flying event. My blog, “The Flying Life,” is meant to encompass more than just flying. It’s also written to illuminate the many colorful personal stories/lives of Aviators with whom I have had the privilege to come to know. I realize everyone from all walks of life have their stories, so I’m not saying aviators are more special than anyone else, but since my entire life, since birth, has been steeped in aviation, with the requisite pilots, I have a fair few stories to tell.
Second, I’ve debated on whether or not to write this story. It is true, though the names are changed to protect the identity of those involved. The event I’m going to write about occurred over forty years ago. I hope that is enough distance, in relation to time, to insulate and hide the participants, because even though I do hide their actual names, some people are really good at internet sleuthing and find the actual events I’ve written about, since the internet seems to encompass everything that occurs in life.
Many years ago, and well before my first child was born, I was on a military trip to MacDill AFB; it was the early 80s. I was at the Officer’s Club, having a gin and tonic, decompressing, after having done hot pit refueling turns, having flown three sorties in a row against Aggressor F-5s. I was a new fighter pilot, 2nd Lt., and flying against the Aggressors. It was my first experience dog fighting them and it was exhausting. I had been huffing and puffing against the constant G forces on all three sorties while looking back, over my shoulder as the Aggressor’s took turns gunning the shit out of me. I don’t think I felt any less of a fighter pilot as I did on that day.
So after my flight debrief I sought the refuge and solace of a bar seat by myself and with my favorite adult beverage. I wanted to lick my wounds/ego, and go over the lessons that the Aggressor pilots debriefed me on while they were still fresh in my mind.
As I was lost in deep, dog fighting thought, a fellow squadron mate, Lt Col type, saddled up next to me and wanted to chat. I really wasn’t in the mood, but for some reason he was and since he was senior, and a really nice guy whom I respected, I gave him an ear. You know how it is, sometimes you can tell when a fellow human wants to talk, to socialize, for whatever reason they do and because I’m an empath, I’ll always listen, even if I’m not in the mood.
So I bought this Vietnam Vet the first round of drinks as he began to tell me of his flights that day. Given his experience he fared better than I did. This gentleman has a wonderfully colorful history that I would love to tell, but if I did, you would know immediately who he was, or at least by doing an internet search you would find out. Suffice it to say, based upon his background and experience, when he talked, like EF Hutton, I listened (You have to be pretty old to understand what that EF Hutton comment means).
Why “Tom” wanted to diverge from talking about flying fighters to talking about women, I don’t know. It could be because I gave an extended glance to a smoking hot woman walking in front of Tom and I that caused him to talk about the most amazing story of a man having an affair that I’ve ever heard. I found out from others that the story was absolutely true.
It was the 70s and relatively shortly after America left Vietnam. Tom returned from Thailand, got a flying slot in the Air Force Reserve, the unit we were both flying in at the time, and then was hired by the airlines shortly after that.
As he became ensconced in his new, American lifestyle he also became familiar with his fellow squadron mates in the reserve unit and then, extending beyond the boys (no women fighter pilots then), he became acquainted with a very lovely young lady in the unit. She was enlisted and worked as a 702 (secretary) in the command post.
Their love affair blossomed rapidly and became extremely romantic, physical, and all encompassing when they both were at the unit together. They each had their own civilian jobs, Tom’s aforementioned airline pilot job, and his mistress’s position as an administrator with a local business.
Tom never hid the fact that he was married, but he did say, in order to keep the lady engaged with him, that he intended to divorce his wife one day (he said in fact he never did (intend to get divorced). He just loved the sex with her so much he didn’t want it to end so he led her on. Due to his lying, indiscretion, and deceit his life was soon to take on a nightmarish twist.
The guys at the squadron knew of his extramarital relationship, he never really hid it, particularly since whenever the unit had a deployment Tom always volunteered to go on it as did “Veronica,” his lover.
As months turned past a year, Veronica demanded that Tom get divorced and marry her, as he would promise while they were having sex. Whenever Veronica pressed him to commit ever deeper into her world, Tom reverted to his usual discourse that his wife wasn’t well and that divorcing her now would kill her. They would have to wait until she healed…whatever her medical condition was, his wife’s, Tom never elaborated. How he got away with that vagueness when they touched on the subject of divorce I’ll never know, or maybe Tom just never told me the deeper discussions between he and Veronica on that topic.
As another round of drinks were bought, and Tom took a bathroom break, I noticed the sun was low on the horizon and ladies began to fill the club. Since I was married at that time, and since Tom was talking about his infidelity, I resigned my observation of the ladies to just that, looking. I was still waiting for the hammer to fall in his story, since you knew it was going to. My only question was how this would all end. I swear, to this day, I never thought of the twist that would occur to bring horror to Tom’s life, and it still causes me to believe that sometimes you just can’t make this shit up.
With a refilled gin and tonic in my hand and a scotch in Tom’s he continued his narration…
So, after a year and a half of leading Veronica on, she decided to move things along.
Tom came back from an airline trip one afternoon to find most of his clothes on the front yard. He was embarrassed, at first blush, because he knew the neighbors were probably laughing, figuring the couple had a fight and that was Tom’s wife’s way of coping. But, on a deeper level he knew why the clothes were in the yard, he just didn’t know to what degree his wife knew of his extracurricular activities.
Walking into the house his wife greeted him with total indifference so he pressed her for the reason as to why his clothes were on the front yard.
“Well I had a very nice lunch with a young lady today. She was very sweet, cute, and well built. She informed me that you and she were in love and wanted to get married, but you had to divorce me first. She said that you kept telling her I was ill and that getting a divorce would kill me. She showed me a few pictures of you and her on some of your military trips. You two look so sweet together I might add. So, since I am not ill and you leaving will not kill me, you can leave. Take your shit and go.”
Tom scrambled to do damage control. Besides being an excellent fighter pilot, he was really good with bullshit. I mean really convincing and good. He could charm the pants off a lesbian and get her to sleep with him he was so smooth a talker. Charming took on a whole new meaning when he was working a lady. I saw it first hand. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wrote the book Karma Sutra and had all of his conquests to act out each position.
After extended talks, with drinks, both on the couch in on their deck in the backyard, Tom was able to convince his wife that Veronica was certifiably nuts. His wife told him that none of the pictures Veronica showed him were just of Tom and Veronica and he said that proved there was no relationship, that she had a school girl crush on him (She was in her early twenties) and that though he did talk to her and they had dinners together, it was always with a group of people, not just them. His final argument to bolster his position was to call anyone in the squadron and that they would vouch for what he was saying.
At the end of the evening Tom’s wife apologized and never realized how obsessed the young lady was with him. She asked Tom to keep his distance from her since she was afraid she might do something drastic.
About two weeks after Tom’s wife’s luncheon with Veronica, Tom was spending the weekend with Veronica. She had asked him to help her move some items from her mother’s house to her new apartment and also asked him to put some items in a U Store It self storage unit. Tom told his wife he had an airline trip and that was his excuse to get away for the weekend.
Tom was adamant to Veronica that having lunch with his wife was definitely not cool, that she was sick and that lunch almost killed her. Obviously, he said, she said, that she didn’t appear to be sick and in fact seemed very healthy. She said she wasn’t buying the sick routine anymore and he needed to divorce his wife ASAP since she wanted to get married and now added that she wanted kids.
He was horrified and now realized he was in way too deep. He had no idea how to extricate himself from what he considered was now an untenable situation.
On Monday Tom left Veronica’s apartment to really go fly an airline trip and he pleaded with her to never meet his wife again; he promised Veronica he would marry her but to let him figure out the details.
On Friday Tom arrived home from his airline trip and again all of his stuff was on the front yard.
“Oh my god, what fresh hell is this he thought,” as went into the house.
If Tom’s wife was indifferent the first time, this time she was downright hostile.
“So I had lunch again with that little bitch of yours. She said she spent last weekend with you at her new apartment. She said we needed to get a divorce so you and she could get married and start having kids. So, take your shit and get the fuck out of here. And don’t try and charm me, it’s not gonna work, I don’t trust you. I hate you.”
“Ya know,” Tom continued, as he nipped on his scotch, “For like the first time in my life I was out of ideas and words. I truly thought that was the end of my marriage. I never wanted a divorce, I just liked the sex. I didn’t love the girl, I cared for her, but I never would have married her. I was staring at my life and knew I was going to lose my home, my wife and my kids and I was scared. I begged my wife to let me stay the night on the couch and that I would leave the next morning. That was the only thing she acquiesced on, she agreed to let me spend the night on the couch. I tried to talk to her that evening and a couple times when she was near me I kept telling her that the girl was lying and was crazy and everyone knew it.”
Taking an extended gaze out the window of the O’club, just as the last vestiges of the sun dropped below the horizon, and then taking a long slug from his scotch, Tom further revealed, in his next narrative, just how evil some people can be. However, what your thoughts on evil are, how it manifests itself and what actions can be considered evil I guess is subjective when based upon a person’s beliefs and morals.
At six am Saturday morning the paperboy delivered the newspaper, its bang against the front door announcing it rather rude arrival. With nothing to do, Tom, who’d barely slept that night, retrieved the newspaper, grabbed a cup of coffee and then sat on the back deck to look at the news.
After reading the front and a middle page of the paper Tom ran up to where his wife was sleeping, threw the paper on the bed and told his wife she owed him an apology. Still half asleep, his wife, in no mood for his charm told him to leave her alone. He demanded she read the lower headline on the front of the paper. Reaching on the night stand she grabbed her reading glasses, put them on and then read the smaller headline on the front page. Then she leafed through the paper and found where the rest of the story was printed. She read the article twice; all the while Tom just stood leaning against the door frame of the opened bedroom door, arms crossed.
Dropping the paper from covering her whole face and with a look of total shock, she slowly lowered the paper to the bed’s cover’s and then threw it to the floor. She then got out of the bed and hugged Tom and apologized.
“You were right Tom and I am sorry I doubted you. That lady is beyond nuts, she is certifiably crazy. I am in total shock. Bring your stuff back in the house. Please forgive me, I love you.”
What was written on that headline was the story of a military employee, female, Veronica, who had killed her mother a couple of weeks earlier, chopped her up in multiple pieces, packaged each body part in cedar filled plastic bags or boxes, and then placed them in a self storage facility….they were the very same boxes that Tom had helped Veronica move into the storage unit a week ago.
But, the story doesn’t end there. There is an odd twist that Tom told me as we downed our third drinks.
It turns out that one of the other men in the Reserve unit in which Tom and I belonged, was in was secretly in love with Veronica. He too was an airline pilot. Whether he and Veronica were having a relationship at the same time as Tom and she, Tom doesn’t know since he never saw, or spoke to Veronica again. But, after Veronica was sentenced and went to prison, at least twice a month this other guy, call him Joe, would visit her in prison. Joe was married and had grown kids. What his reason for seeing her was and what they talked about, Tom doesn’t know, nor will he ever.
Because, to put a period on this, whole draconian affair….A year after Tom told me of his near death experience with Veronica I was picked to go on active duty with another fighter unit. On my very last flight in the same unit as Tom and Joe, before transferring, Joe was leading a four ship of fighters on a low level and bombing mission; I was number four in that flight. As we approached the target Joe impacted the ground at 550 knots, totally obliterating himself, a jet and leaving a wife, three kids, and one hell of a mystery amongst all those that knew of Joe and his fascination with a murderer.
Fate is an unpredictable and mysterious force.
COPYRIGHT MARCH, 2023 ROGER BLAIR JOHNSON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Unbelievable story his wife was lucky she didn’t chop her up. Wow!
Holy cow! What a story. Karma? My mom would say, “Be sure your sins will find you out.” She’d follow that up with, “God is not mocked.” Based on this story, I’d be hard pressed to say she was wrong.