by Tanya Whitney
When I joined the Army in early 1983, I wanted to challenge myself and learn a trade that would give me a chance for a decent job after my enlistment ended. Laid off from my previous job, I was having trouble finding another one. I was a twenty-one-year-old woman with only a high school diploma. I knew I needed specialized training, or I would be stuck in dead-end jobs at minimum wage or married young like so many of my classmates. Determined to escape those options, I decided to join the Army and train to become a helicopter mechanic.
Before joining, I was a cable repairer for the sensors set out to look for oil and gas pockets in the swamp. Because many areas were hard to access, the company contracted a helicopter to assist with our work. The mechanic often talked with us when the helicopter was out on a mission. He told us about the training and requirements to obtain a license.
The biggest incentive for me was hearing his annual salary range and the salary I could expect to receive as a mechanic. A federally issued license was needed to obtain the best pay. At that time in 1983, the minimum wage was under five dollars an hour. As a licensed helicopter mechanic, I could start at ten dollars an hour. Since there were a lot of helicopters in my area of south Louisiana supporting the oil and gas industry, I decided to try.
Four years in the Army would give me the thirty-six months of experience needed to apply for an Airframe and Powerplant License (A&P) from the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA). Instead of my paying for the training, I reasoned it would be best to get paid while training for the experience required by the FAA.
I wasn’t sure whether I had the aptitude to become a mechanic. Math, science, and electronics were not my best subjects. I knew how to use basic tools but had no experience with the more specialized equipment used on aircraft. Still, I took the test for job qualification at the recruiter’s office. My entrance test score for mechanical aptitude was at the bare minimum. However, any job I enlisted for would be a new skill learned. In a matter of days, I signed an intent to enlist and took a physical.
Two months later, I boarded a Greyhound bus and headed south on my first solo adventure. During the hour-long ride, thoughts of uncertainty and certainty challenged each other in my head. Then the bus stopped, and I had no choice. I was at the Military Entrance Processing Station in New Orleans. The time had arrived to own up to my decisions and swear my Oath of Enlistment.
The sergeant completing my paperwork asked me what I wanted to train for in the Army since my scores were good enough for any Army job. I actually had an extremely high score in the combat section for infantry, a 121 when only a ninety was needed, but women were restricted from that branch and many others until 2016. Quite a few jobs in aviation had recently opened to women, so I explained I wanted to work on helicopters and why. My Mechanical Maintenance score was at the minimum of one hundred required for the aviation field.
The sergeant cocked an eyebrow at me and said, “You don’t want to work on helicopters. Too much time in the field. How about becoming a Utility Airplane Repairer?”
Thinking this might be an easier way to get the FAA Airframe and Powerplant license, I shrugged and responded, “Sure, why not?”
He scheduled me to ship out for Basic Training at Ft. Dix, NJ. I remember that day, February 28th, 1983, as the final episode of M*A*S*H aired on television that night. A bunch of us Army and Air Force recruits sat watching it in the New Orleans hotel lobby where the processing station set us up before leaving for our respective training sites. Afterwards, we hit Bourbon Street for one last hurrah of drinks and dancing.
The next morning, we boarded planes and took off for our new adventures. It was my first time flying on an airplane. I had the opportunity to fly in the helicopter a couple of times at my job, though it wasn’t the same. There, we only flew a couple of hundred feet above the ground. This was an aluminum-skinned vehicle flying 20,000 feet above the clouds. I figured I needed to get used to it since I would be working and flying on them for the next four years. Still, it didn’t stop my white-knuckle hold on the seat for most of the flight.
Basic training wasn’t too bad, other than it snowed eight inches the night we went out for bivouac. We had a Senior Drill Sergeant who was Cuban. We couldn’t understand half of what he said because his accent was so thick. Most of our instruction came from the Junior Drill Sergeant. While he was strict, he treated us with respect and didn’t try to use his position to harass us. Sometimes he joked around with us during breaks in training.
During those eight weeks, I learned how to be a soldier, how to “hurry up and wait,” and to run to every place I was supposed to be. The goal of Basic was to teach us how to be a team member while relying on and recognizing individual capabilities. We were broken down and built back up, gaining confidence in our ability to solve problems and accomplish the mission.
I graduated from Basic Training in May 1983. After the ceremony, the platoon was dispersed to various locations depending upon which Advanced Individual Training (AIT) we were attending. I received orders to Ft. Eustis, VA. Two other girls in my platoon were going to the same place. One was going to train as an Armament Repairer, and the other was going to also train as a Utility Airplane Repairer. In Basic, it took time to build trust in each other. Having someone you just lived and trained with for the last eight weeks provided comfort in having familiar people you could rely on if necessary.
For thirteen weeks at AIT, I learned how to be an Army Airplane Repairer. Some coursework was easy, some of it hard. I quickly mastered the bookwork, finding instructions in the maintenance manuals, and completing the maintenance forms. The actual hands-on work, not so much. Inspections and preventive maintenance were simple because there were checklists to follow. Some of the repair work on components and systems was more difficult.
On one of the last hands-on tests, I failed because I didn’t complete the repair in the allotted time. I knew what I was doing wrong, but the instructor wouldn’t accept my explanation in lieu of the time requirement. That failure still makes me cringe when I think about it forty-plus years later, because it knocked me out of the running for Distinguished Honor Graduate. I ended up third in the class. I think it meant more later because I graduated with honors in every Army class I attended afterward. However, I realized that regardless of my place in the class that day, I was now a trained Army Utility Airplane Repairer.
At graduation, I stood tall to receive my diploma and orders. I was curious where I would be stationed. Many in the previous class received orders to locations that had no airplanes. Some didn’t even have helicopters. Also, rumors had begun to circulate that the Army was going to stop training airplane mechanics and turn strictly to contractor maintenance. Most people in my class received orders to locations that had helicopters. A few received orders for units with no aircraft.
I was lucky, though. I was assigned to stay at Ft. Eustis and work at the school I just graduated from. Though I was working on training aircraft, U-8F Seminoles, U-21 Utes, and OV-1 Mohawks, which would never fly again, we maintained them to be fully operational. I obtained experience on a variety of airplanes and did maintenance that I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to do in any other unit.
In two years, I became a rather good mechanic. I also worked on helicopters, mostly UH-1 Hueys and AH-1 Cobras. At Ft. Eustis, I worked on every aircraft the Army owned at that time. I helped “pickle” two aircraft for the museum on base and turned two of the first AH-64 Apache helicopters into maintenance trainers.
During the last six months, I was certified to run the engines on the airplanes to certify system operations. Even though it was only stationary and I wasn’t allowed to taxi the airplane, it was a task that only a few were granted. It increased my knowledge and prepared me for my goal of getting my A&P license.
I transferred to a new unit in 1985 and was promoted to Sergeant. At Ft. Belvoir, VA, I became a crew chief on a C-12 Huron and part of the aircraft recovery team. As a crew chief, I flew on missions all over the continental United States, Canada, and Central America. Since I was a history buff, this was an exciting time because I visited sites I previously read about in books as a kid.
As part of the recovery team, we repaired broken airplanes off-site. During the last months I was at Ft. Belvoir, I took on the role of Production Controller. In this capacity, I scheduled the aircraft maintenance. All these various aspects increased my confidence, along with the experience needed to meet the time requirements to apply for the A&P license.
In October 1986, the Army formally ended the Airplane Repairer job specialty. Everyone was offered reclassification and a new duty station. Before this, I entertained the thought of re-enlisting. However, I wasn’t interested in the positions or locations they offered. Since I was a few months away from the end of my enlistment at the end of February 1987, I declined the offer.
The civilian contractor in charge of the airplane maintenance offered me a job on-site. I was ambivalent about staying in the area as a civilian. While I enjoyed the location and the people I worked with, it would have been a hardship with the excessive cost of living. I was also ready to return home and get a job. I accomplished the goals I set. I also managed to save enough money to tide me over while working to complete the examinations for the A&P license. Also, I guess I was homesick and ready to return to Louisiana. I signed an intent to finish the last two years of my obligation in the Louisiana Army National Guard.
After my active-duty enlistment ended, I took all my paperwork, job books, and additional training records to the local FAA office. There, I received the forms and recommendations for testing to obtain a license to work on aircraft. That consisted of three written tests, an oral test, and a practical test.
The FAA testing was more difficult than I expected. The Army taught us to follow the maintenance manual step by step. In the civilian world, you were expected to use the manuals as a reference guide. Needless to say, I barely passed one of the written tests and had to retake the oral portion to pass. On the practical, I did fairly well until the sheet metal portion. We had to make a patch, and I can still see the smiley faces on my rivets. (And no, they shouldn’t be smiling.) The tester took pity on me, though, and submitted the paperwork to the FAA.
Four months later, I held my A&P license in my hand for the very first time. It signified the end of a long journey and a hard-earned certification. I placed it in a special pocket of my wallet where it would be the first thing I saw every time I opened the wallet. Excited and feeling accomplished, I began applying for jobs in the aviation industry.
By the end of 1987, I was employed full-time as a Helicopter Systems mechanic with the National Guard. While a license wasn’t required to work there, I kept up to date with the FAA requirements to keep my license valid. Eight years later, in 1995, I returned to active duty at Ft. Belvoir, VA. Assigned as the National Guard’s Aircraft Maintenance Supervisor for its airplanes, I inspected the units and contractors working on the airplanes until my retirement in 2010.
In 2000, I completed the requirements for a Master’s Degree in Professional Aeronautics with a concentration in Aviation Operations and Safety. At this point in my life, I knew that finding a maintenance job after my enlistment would be difficult since I was on the backside of forty years old. However, with the A&P license and the degree, I intended to search for a supervisory or managerial job. Upon my retirement, I realized that with my retirement pay and disability pay, I no longer needed to work.
In my career, it turned out I didn’t need that hard-earned A&P license after all. Yet, the pursuit of that A&P license gave me the confidence and courage that propelled me on my unexpected career path. Any time I began to doubt myself, I remembered the uncertainty of that time in my life at twenty-one years old and the persistence needed to achieve my goals. I became confident in being able to handle any curve life threw at me.
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Tanya Whitney, retired US Army, began writing poetry and prose a few years ago as part of her PTSD therapy. Her poetry primarily deals with her military service but has also written other pieces. She has individual poems published in several anthologies. She also has published short stories to her credit.
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