REMEMBER ME, MR. PRESIDENT?

By FRANK TWAIT Special to The Tribune
Published: April 8, 2003

TAMPA - Thirty-five years ago at Moody Air Force Base in Valdosta, Ga., I had eight instructors and two dozen or more students under my command in F Flight - called ``F Troop'' by students familiar with that television sitcom. Typically, 32 new second lieutenants would start the training program, and their numbers would dwindle to 24 or fewer by the time they got their wings. Some eliminated themselves because of fear or airsickness, and some were so uncoordinated they couldn't walk down a hall without bumping into things.

The T-37 jet trainer was like a Volkswagen with wings, relatively easy to fly and great for instruction because of the side-by-side seating. You could show the student what you wanted by ``hangar flying'' with your hands, which was easier than trying to talk him through it in one of those trainers in which the instructor sat in a back seat.

Also, when you got miffed with the student, you could reach over and squeeze his oxygen hose till he turned blue.

A disadvantage was that when a student got sick, you had to sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and watch.

Generally when a new class arrived, we would get a message listing any students from what could be considered VIP families. We weren't sure of the point of most of those messages, considering a Very Important Person could wash out just as easily as an NVIP.

We were more reluctant to wash out several Iranian students we were training at the time. After all, the U.S.-allied shah of Iran was paying our government a lot of money to train them, and if they washed out, we worried they might jump off a tall building rather than face the humiliation of returning to their country as failures.

Another quirk was that we would be alerted in each class to some student whose uncle was a deputy sheriff in Louisiana's Plaquemines Parish. It seemed to me that every man in Plaquemines Parish had to be a deputy.

Conversely, we seldom got word of any real VIPs. At one base, the son of the Air Force chief of staff went through the training and none of the regular guys knew it until his dad came down for graduation ceremonies. With a kid like that hanging around, you wouldn't have wanted to say unkind things about the Pentagon within his earshot.

In one class of ours was a Lt. Miller, son of the chairman of a glue company. That, by itself, didn't mean a lot, but his sister was actress Susan St. James, and she brought a couple of cute Hollywood friends to his graduation.

In that same class was Lt. Wilson, son of the founder of Holiday Inn. That kid could have bought Valdosta. We had a heck of a nice party after he graduated. Mr. Wilson rented out his local inn and forced us to indulge in alcoholic beverages.

We didn't know about these kids' heritage until very late in the program.

Mr. Bush And Ms. Nixon

It must have been late in 1968 when some weather hit us really hard. We hadn't turned a wheel for a week, and we were getting behind the training timeline. I went in to give the students their morning briefing and informed them that if the weather stayed bad, we'd have to fly on the weekend, so not to make any plans.

``There will be no excuses and no exceptions,'' I commanded in my commander's voice.

Well, it rained all Monday and Tuesday. And Wednesday morning, this fuzzy-cheeked lieutenant came to my office and said: ``Sir, I know what you said about this weekend, and I don't want any special treatment. If you say no, I'll understand. But my dad is a congressman from Texas - George Bush is his name – and this weekend he's throwing a party in Washington for the Apollo astronauts, and he invited me to come. And, sir, he got me a date with Tricia Nixon, and I'd sure like to go!' ''

I let him go.

When he returned, he reported to me that it had not been the most satisfactory date. Ms. Nixon wouldn't let him smoke, and the Secret Service was in his pocket all night. As I recall, a month later she asked him out again and he declined, so she took Barry Goldwater Jr.

`Haven't Changed A Bit'

The day he graduated, Lt. Bush came in to bid me farewell, and I asked him what he planned to do with his life. I'll never forget these words: ``Sir, I'd like to be just like my dad. I admire that man so much.''

``Hot damn,'' I thought, ``isn't that what every dad in the world would love to hear?''

A few years later, when young G.W. was the managing partner of the Texas Rangers, I wrote to him to say that because he had caused me to compromise my integrity way back then, I was calling in my chit. I wanted a couple of tickets to see his ball club, in seats where I actually could see the players.

He sent me two tickets - Red Sox/Rangers, Roger Clemens vs. Nolan Ryan - and I was in the second row, next to the dugout. Might have made it to the front row if Muhammad Ali hadn't been there.

Before the 2000 presidential election, I went over to Top of the World in Clearwater for a Bush rally. As the candidate passed by, shaking hands, I called out, ``Hello there, Lt. Bush!'' He looked at me for a few seconds and replied, ``Frank Twait, Valdosta, Ga. You haven't changed a bit.''

I told him I thought he had grown a little taller.

Frank Twait moved to Tampa in 1978 after 22 years in the service, then taught JROTC at Countryside High School for 11 years. Today he volunteers at Tampa's Museum of Science & Industry and works at perfecting his golf game.