![The author said, ‘Nothing happened for several seconds, then…wham! I was diving straight down in a violent spin. I had never seen a spin, let alone been in one.’ [Illustration: Joel Kimmel]](https://www.flyingmag.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2026/03/FLY0226_1.3-ILAFFT-e1773669787103.jpeg)
During the Vietnam War, I served as an electronics engineer in the Air Force. I built and tested electronic gear for counterinsurgency warfare. I was stationed at Eglin Air Force Base, Florida. I flew weekly on test flights and loved the adventure of flying in all the elderly bombers, fighters, and cargo planes.
My vision wasn’t good enough for flight training. That was probably for the best. I don’t have the fighter pilot personality. Fortunately for me, the base had a flying club equipped with a Cessna 150 for pilot training.
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My flight instructor was Major Auger. His name always makes me think of stalling and spiraling into the ground like an enormous drill bit. Sorry, I don’t remember his first name. Like me, Major Auger was an Air Force “ground-pounder.” His eyes had also prevented him from Air Force training.
I was slow to solo. I like to think it was because I was too cautious and reluctant to take risks. Or maybe I just wasn’t as competent as the average student.
Major Auger always made a really big issue of avoiding stalls. He often closed the throttle on me and said, “OK, you have no engine. Set up a landing!” As I looked wildly around for suitable fields, he often pushed the control wheel forward and bawled me out for not making stall avoidance my primary concern.
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When I practiced departure stalls with him, he demonstrated how the plane with full power would stop climbing and “mush forward” without a clean break. Then he’d jam the wheel forward and prevent a full stall. I practiced without him, but the plane never behaved as it had for him. It kept climbing but never “half-stalled” as it did for him. By golly, I’m going to make this thing stall.
Fortunately, I had 5,000 feet below me. I pulled up the nose and waited for the stall. The sound of the air rushing past became less and less, but the Cessna’s attitude never changed. The noise of the rushing air stopped then rose again. Crap! I’m flying backwards!
I jammed the wheel forward still expecting the nose to fall. Nothing happened for several seconds, then…wham! I was diving straight down in a violent spin. I had never seen a spin, let alone been in one. However, Major Auger had described it in detail, and I knew just what to do. I stopped the spinning instantly with the rudder pedals, but the airspeed took forever to recover.
Finally, the sound of rushing air became loud again and I pulled back on the wheel. Nothing happened. The sensation of no air resistance on the elevator control has been described as the “broomstick in a barrel response.” I remember thinking, “Well, I don’t know what else to do. I’ll just push the wheel forward again and wait.”
This time I watched the airspeed indicator. When it passed 70 mph, I pulled back on the elevator and was relieved to see the nose pull up and return to level flight. Whew! Those trees below looked awfully close.
I have since learned that it would have been safer if I had neutralized the wheel, rather than keeping it forward. In a less-forgiving airplane I might have ended up inverted. By the time I had my private certificate, Major Auger’s constant harassment had taught me to react to all emergencies by first pushing the stick forward a bit and then figuring out what I must do.
Once I had a private ticket, I was permitted to fly the aero club’s Piper PA-18 Super Cubs. They’re two-seat taildraggers with 150 hp engines. Compared to the Cessna, PA-18s are rocket ships, and I loved to fly them.
I used to practice crosswind landings at Destin, Florida (KVPS), a small public airport 10 miles away from the busy base. Yes, taildragger landings are a bit tricky, but it was fun to overcome the challenge.
Flying out of Eglin AFB was also exciting because we shared the runway with all the jets and heavy cargo planes. For example, the controller might say, “Aero club Piper, you are eighth to land behind the C-124. Orbit King Hangar until it’s your turn.”
Eglin AFB had two 12,000-foot runways that were at right angles to each other. They made a big L-shape as seen from the air.
One day I was taking off on Runway 18. Runway 9 was used exclusively by a wing of Strategic Air Command B-52 bombers. Even though my little Super Cub was airborne when it had barely cleared the big runway numbers, I was instructed to stay low and fly down the entire runway as if I were a larger, faster aircraft. That way, everyone would know where I was.
As I approached the runway, a B-52 was just lifting off. It didn’t occur to me that there might be a turbulence problem. When I passed over the intersection…wham again! Suddenly I was upside down at about 300 feet. Without thinking I went into emergency mode. I aimed the nose at the runway and continued the roll to the right. In three or four seconds everything was back to normal. Thank you, Major Auger!
My suggestion for the flying community is that, when surprised by ice, loud noises, or any surprise, first react by aiming the nose downward then figuring out what to do next. Also, I believe these lessons would be much easier to learn if beginning students were given actual demonstrations of spins, unusual attitudes, and how to recover.
This column first appeared in the February Issue 967 of the FLYING print edition.
