By Bob Alvis, special to Aerotech News
Air Force work days back in the late 1970s were pretty routine.

With the nation not involved in a ground conflict, the force toiled away, honing its skills for combat.

Training and keeping pilots and crews ready for action at any moment if the world required it kept the troops, myself included, focused on “the mission statement” as we went about our day-to-day tasks.

At George Air Force Base in Victorville, under the command of Tactical Air Command, a steady stream of F-4 Phantoms and F-105 Thunderchiefs took to the skies every day and in a very dangerous profession, maintained a pretty good safety record. But then came that one day …

May 16, 1979, was like so many other days in the High Desert, with clear skies, a light breeze and warm temperatures.

The hundreds of airmen and personnel on the George AFB flight line went about their routines, not knowing what was about to make this day stand out for the rest of their lives.

Late in the afternoon a little after 4 p.m., as the base started to empty, a long line of cars at the back gate signaled quitting time for the rank and file as a flight of four F-4 Phantoms were taking to the skies.

At that moment, one of those aircraft became the centerpiece of what many would call “the greatest disaster that never happened.”

F-4E #69-7269 was going to fall victim to a long chain of missed opportunities, starting with a 14-day inspection oversight by the crew chief, the preflight crew, the crew walk-around and the end-of-runway crew.

As the Phantom climbed off the runway the outer wing, which had not been pinned, in quick order folded and created a force on the airframe that made it fly like a toy plane in a young child’s hand.

The flight line crews stood in amazement looking on as, at 500 feet off the deck with full afterburners blazing, the plane hung in the air like an ornament on a Christmas tree. The amazement turned to fear, as the out-of-control jet drifted towards the rows of parked aircraft on the flight line. Ground personnel scattered with no real place to hide from the impending disaster. Amazingly, the Phantom had gained about another 250 feet and had rolled on to its back still wallowing across the sky — and over the parked aircraft.

The lieutenant in the front seat with his feet on the instrument panel, seeing only brown and no blue (and yelling “Roll over!), had no idea that his back-seater had already had enough. With a pull of the lever, the canopy blew and the pilots were in full ejection mode — and the ground, from an upside down aircraft, came at them pretty fast! The afternoon breeze had picked up and was just one of the blessings that day, as it filled the chutes and with just one swing had the pilot and co-pilot on the ground.

Of course, now that lifesaving breeze was dragging them down the line of parked aircraft, but quick-thinking airmen ran into the chutes to collapse them and ended up keeping our two intrepid airmen from getting banged up even more than they already were. Low-altitude punch-outs in those ejection seats had a bad reputation, but the line “meet your maker in a Martin Baker” would not hold true this day!

So with the crew now on the ground, what about the massive beast still wandering in the skies above the base with hundreds of eyes fixed on its death dance?

As the Phantom now slid off on its side, it made its way across the base and was headed for a fiery ending. As people in their cars leaving the base looked at all the commotion playing out, fear must have had them spellbound as the careening Phantom was heading straight for them! By a miracle, it passed over them at just 50 feet and headed for LOX storage and the POL dump (fuel storage) facility. With people scattering in all directions, miracle number two showed up, as for some unknown reason the craft wallowed up, then straight into the ground, ending its flight in a small area between the cars and base facilities that would have made a pretty big bang if it had plowed into them. The final curtain call was not pretty for this old warrior, and with a giant fireball and billowing black clouds, it put a hole in the ground that had people diving for cover all around the area.

Amazing that the only human casualties this day were an airmen looking for his lost watch on the adjacent baseball field who was burned when the fireball rolled over him; two airmen at the LOX facility trying to jump a 10-foot fence (one ending up with a broken shoulder and the other with a broken ankle); and the last an airman in the fuel ready room who panicked and jumped out a window, cutting himself up. Amazingly, the stage was set for the death of many, but by pure luck on this day the outcome was families reunited and a story for the ages that would played out at chow halls, dorm rooms and dinner tables with friends and families for a long, long time!

To end this, a short sidebar: remember the 1970s song Chevy Van? And the lyric, “I gave a girl a ride in my wagon; she crawled in and took control”? Well, imagine the weary AMS Chevy van owner/airman that, after this drama in the sky above the base, came out to the parking lot to get into his ride — only to find out that the “girl” that crawled into his van that day was named Martin Baker and that she’d made herself right at home, as that wayward ejection seat totaled his van and shattered his rock and roll dreams that night!

Follow-up memo, seen May 17, 1979: “Please inform all stations that locking pins on all aircraft are to be painted fluorescent orange. Blue is no longer acceptable.” Ya think?
Till next time, I’m locking those pins! Bob out …