Duncan Hunter's Political Awakening
I left the Marine Corps to attend college. Enrolled at the University of Colorado. I had been accepted at the Denver, Colorado Springs, and Boulder campuses. I thought Boulder would be a nice beautiful place to live and study. As I toured the school, I encountered a phalanx of filthy dope-smelling hippies. Nasty critters. They didn’t want any part of me with my short haircut and they were more than vocal that a baby killer like myself would never be welcome in Boulder. That day was the beginning of my political awakening. I went to school at the Denver campus.
A year later I was back in the Marine Corps. I soon received an officer’s commission and I headed to Pensacola for flight school. Three years later I was scheduled for my first flight in the F-4 Phantom. The date was January 28, 1986. My instructor and I walked to our jet one hour after the Space Shuttle Challenger broke apart, 73 seconds after liftoff. After countless hours in the simulator, I flew that jet like a pro. My instructor even accused me of being an Air Force pilot. How many people can say they attained one of their childhood dreams? But my dreams of flying the F-4 soon turned into a nightmare.
In the high G environment of dogfighting, my hands and feet would go numb, and I would lose my sense of touch. The coordinated use of stick, throttle and rudder is all a function of touch and as long as I wasn’t pulling Gs, I was a fairly stellar pilot. However, in a high-G environment, I couldn’t feel what I was doing and I had suddenly become very dangerous to my fellow pilots. No more supersonic jets. Goodbye F-4 pilot. Hello aircraft maintenance officer. I was off to fly a desk. Oh joy. I needed a distraction and if you can no longer fly the big badass jets, yellow Corvette convertibles are wonderful things.
Next, life after jets.
Maverick out!
I left the Marine Corps to attend college. Enrolled at the University of Colorado. I had been accepted at the Denver, Colorado Springs, and Boulder campuses. I thought Boulder would be a nice beautiful place to live and study. As I toured the school, I encountered a phalanx of filthy dope-smelling hippies. Nasty critters. They didn’t want any part of me with my short haircut and they were more than vocal that a baby killer like myself would never be welcome in Boulder. That day was the beginning of my political awakening. I went to school at the Denver campus.
A year later I was back in the Marine Corps. I soon received an officer’s commission and I headed to Pensacola for flight school. Three years later I was scheduled for my first flight in the F-4 Phantom. The date was January 28, 1986. My instructor and I walked to our jet one hour after the Space Shuttle Challenger broke apart, 73 seconds after liftoff. After countless hours in the simulator, I flew that jet like a pro. My instructor even accused me of being an Air Force pilot. How many people can say they attained one of their childhood dreams? But my dreams of flying the F-4 soon turned into a nightmare.
In the high G environment of dogfighting, my hands and feet would go numb, and I would lose my sense of touch. The coordinated use of stick, throttle and rudder is all a function of touch and as long as I wasn’t pulling Gs, I was a fairly stellar pilot. However, in a high-G environment, I couldn’t feel what I was doing and I had suddenly become very dangerous to my fellow pilots. No more supersonic jets. Goodbye F-4 pilot. Hello aircraft maintenance officer. I was off to fly a desk. Oh joy. I needed a distraction and if you can no longer fly the big badass jets, yellow Corvette convertibles are wonderful things.
Next, life after jets.
Maverick out!
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