Good advice

This reminded me of Maj. John W. I. Ball. My first two years of college I was an Army ROTC cadet. Why? Because I wanted to be on the rifle team and the coach was one of the cadre. I had the marksmanship skills, but I'd heard that you had to be EXCEPTIONAL to make the team if you weren't a cadet. Get in good with the coach, get a spot on the team. So that's how I ended up in BDUs. 

That Fall semester, I had a plethora of new and exciting experiences. I burned down Sgt. William's tent on a newbie campout (flaming marshmallow bomb incident), rappelled off of Old Main (4 stories), Suicide Cliff in Palo Duro Canyon (100 ft drop), learned I fucking rock at orienteering, and participated in my first Field Training Exercise in a finger of Palo Duro Canyon. We loaded up on two Hueys at the ROTC field on campus and off-loaded at the drop site in the Canyon, spreading out and setting up a defensive perimeter (oh yeah, we also had M-16s with blanks. I got very familiar with the M-16). The upper classmen who had signed on the dotted line with Uncle Sam got to rappel from the choppers. Super cool and I was so jealous.

Those three days went by as a blur, but I managed not to get snake bit, broken, or even dead. And one of the biggest reasons was Maj. Ball. He'd been a chopper pilot in Vietnam and was by far the most colorful character I'd ever met. He told the funniest stories and had the most incredible smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made you forget he'd seen shit that would make normal people's souls shrivel. He gave us the safety talk about entering and exiting the helicopter intact. His biggest piece of advice was to keep your heads down, that the West Texas wind could grab the rotor blades and dip it down, separating you from yourself in a heartbeat. He also said to always be aware of where the tail was and not to walk into it. Simple, huh? But fully dressed out, carrying my weapon, running in combat boots, my mantra was "Head down, don't walk into the tail, head down, don't walk into the tail, head down...." It must have worked, because none of us died. 

Maj. Ball was also the sponsor of the Night Hawks, the "social club of ROTC". Since I was still a baby cadet and no one took me seriously (for good reason), I wasn't a member of this exclusive club so I wasn't at the Christmas party that year. The reports I got were that the party was rocking, Maj. Ball was in his usual good spirits, and after the party he went in his bedroom and shot himself. It was the first experience I had with suicide, PTSD, and Vietnam veterans. It was the first Catholic wake and rosary I'd ever attended. It was the first time I realized most people hide who they really are and what they really feel from the rest of the world. It was the first step in growing the fuck up. 

So now, every time I see a chopper, I automatically think of Maj. Ball. And I keep my head down and stay away from the tail.