Over my 58+ years of life I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know some amazing people.  Some of which have made a huge impact on my life.  They’ve been great commanders, coworkers and friends that filled the role of “mentor” before the term was destroyed by Air Force bureaucracy.  Today I need to write about one of them.

When you show up at a new flying unit one of the first stops is the Stan/Eval (Standardization/Evaluation) office.  When I flew B-52s I was a Stan/Eval pilot and I know how the rest of the crews look at the Stan/Eval guys.  In SAC we wore black scarves and black seems to be the universal color for Stan/Eval sections.  In fact, evaluators used to be lovingly called “Black-Throated Nitpickers”, in honor of our seemingly endless penchant for delving into the minutiae of flying.  No one, no matter what they say, is happy to see a flight examiner appear at the counter at show time.  So when I showed up at Youngstown in 1984 one of the first people I met was the Chief of Stan/Eval, LtCol Kenny Gould.

Kenny was one of the few guys that had made the transition from A-37s to the C-130. Not many pilots were willing to “lower” themselves to flying a crew airplane but Kenny had come from tankers so he embraced the Herk and quickly became an expert on venerable B-model.  And that’s what terrified every pilot when they learned that they were scheduled to get an evaluation from Kenny.  Kenny knew the airplane inside and out and he knew the regulations just as well.  He held himself to the highest standards and he had his way of doing things and his techniques were tried and true.  He could be, to say the least, intimidating.  What most guys never figured out was that, although he held himself to nearly impossible standards, he didn’t demand everyone else do the same.  He loved to teach and share his knowledge but, when you’re an evaluator, others often take instruction and technique as criticism and policy. Kenny knew the difference.  He taught me volumes about what it means to be a fair evaluator, a good example to the younger pilots,  and techniques I used to instruct for my entire career.

When I first trained in the C-130 I went through the formal course at Little Rock as a copilot.  I think I was 20 hours short of the required hours to go through as an aircraft commander but I wasn’t bothered.  I was a reserve bum at the time and I figured I could just go through it again in a year or so in the left seat.  More paydays!  But after 6 months back at Youngstown Kenny insisted that I should just do the training at home station and that he would do most of it.  He always managed to throw me a curveball and the biggest one was on my checkride.  We were on a cross-country to Kelly AFB in San Antonio and I was feeling pretty cocky about how it was going.  But on the last day, after the engines were started, he looked over at me and said, “OK, now taxi to the runway, but you can’t touch the nosewheel steering, you can only use the engines.”  After a moment of thought  and, I’m sure, a deer in the headlights look I headed out for a long taxi on, thankfully, very wide taxiways.  It took a few minutes, but by the time we got halfway there I had it wired.  It’s a technique I passed on for the next 28 years.

After he retired, Kenny continued to work in Base Ops in airfield management and remained the voice of experience in the squadron.

Kenny passed away this week at the age of 76.  He will be missed by those that looked to him for his wit and wisdom.  God speed on your journey Kenny.  Clear skies and a strong tailwind.