First of all I’d like to welcome some new members to my little community of “Hoverers”.  As a quick recap to catch everyone up, I started this blog over a year and a half ago to pass on thoughts and experiences of my 34+ year career in the USAF.  It has, however, evolved into a somewhat wider format.  The name “Hovering over Send” comes from the experience we’ve all had when we write an email in a moment of passion and then hover that little pointer over the “send” button on the screen before we make the final decision whether or not to click.  More often than not, I click.  That’s it, the whole history.  I thought I would do this once a month or so but, as you can see by the title, I’m up to 81 and I’ve only missed 2 or 3 weeks since January 2012.  If you would like to be removed from the list, just let me know.  My feelings won’t be hurt.  All past chapters are available at hoveringoversend.com and I’m on Twitter at hovringoversend.  It’s no typo, there’s is no “e”.   I had to remove one letter to keep it short enough for Twitter.  And one more thing, you can’t access the website from an Air Force computer, The computer Nazis have it blocked!

Last week I wrote about my trip to beautiful Del Rio, TX to begin my Air Force career in Undergraduate Pilot Training or UPT.  After my first night of cockroach horror I set off to find a furnished apartment since there really wasn’t any furniture in the trunk of my Studebaker.  I wasn’t going to be too picky, I just wanted something I could afford on the pay of a new 2nd Lt, and that wasn’t much.  After a few frightening drive-by assessments I found a very clean and quiet apartment complex, with a pool, that obviously, judging by the license plates of the cars in the parking lot, catered to UPT students.  I parked the car and headed for the manager’s office to see if there were an vacancies.  I knocked on the door and heard footsteps.  The door knob turned, and then it got a little weird.  A short, elderly woman opened the door, looked up at me, began to smile, opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.  Her face went blank, her jaw fell open and she just stared.

Now, I’m not what you would call a handsome guy.  I knew she wasn’t stunned by my manly visage.  I’m tall, but not freakishly tall so I’m sure that wasn’t it.  I wasn’t quite sure what to do.  I said “hello” 2 or 3 times.  I waived my hand in front of her face.  And, just as I was about to call for help thinking she was having some kind of seizure, she snapped out of it.  She just kind of shook it off and said hello.  I introduced myself and asked if she had an apartment.  And she did it again.  Only this time it was a little different.  She obviously heard the question but it was like she was thinking real hard about how to answer it.  After an uncomfortable pause she said, “Yes I do, let me show it to you”.  It was a second story, furnished, neat as a pin, one bedroom unit with monthly exterminator visits to keep out the pervasive Texas roaches.  Perfect!  I moved in immediately.

Nearly a year later I had my last flight at UPT.  I graduated second in my class but got my last choice of aircraft to my last choice of geographical area, but that’s another story.  The night of my last flight two of my classmates invited me over for dinner.  John and Todd were best friends at the Academy and shared an apartment in the same complex.  After dinner we sat down in their living room and they got very serious which, for them, was radically out of character.  “We invited you to dinner tonight because there’s something we need to tell you.  Something we promised we wouldn’t tell you until you flew your last flight.  Do you remember your first day here, when you came looking for an apartment?”  I had to think for a moment but then I recalled my first encounter with the landlord. “Oh yeah”, I said “She was a bit odd that day”.  “Well”, Todd said, “There was a reason for that and she’s the one that made us promise not to tell you this until today”.  I was getting, more than a little, creeped out.  “Several months before you got here there was a T-38 crash in which the student pilot was killed.  He lived in this apartment complex.  In fact, he lived in the apartment you’re living in.  And, you could have been his twin brother.  When the landlady opened the door that day she was terrified and when you asked to see the apartment, his apartment, she almost told you she wouldn’t rent it to you but couldn’t think of a reason to send you away.”

I thanked the guys for telling me and waiting to tell me.  I’m not superstitious but I didn’t sleep much that night.

The year of UPT is tough one.  Lots of studying.  Highs and lows.  But it flies by (pun intended).  At the time, you’re glad when it finally ends and you pin on those silver wings.  But, in hind sight, it was one of the best years of my life.  The camaraderie, the challenges, the pure joy of flying, there’s almost no better experience.