Allen Woffard, CSM, COSS, and a few other letters
In 2009, a call came over the radio that we had an F-16 inbound with an In-Flight Emergency (IFE). As we scrambled and prepared to receive the aircraft, Don Llewellyn, the airfield manager, contacted the tower (ICC) to gather details and prep for arrival.
The fire department rolled to the field, and John Griffith — “Griff” — and I began pulling and staging equipment in case we had to put the jet on the hot pad, or park it in the hangar.
We were set.
The weather sucked. Cold. Misty ass water that couldn’t commit to rain — just enough to wreck visibility and piss you off. Definitely not banana-hammock weather. That sucked.
Runway lights came up. The call went out: IFE five minutes out.
I was cold.
Don, Griff, the fire department, medical team, and I were outside and ready to receive this massive yard dart. It was almost supper time, so hurry the fuck up — please and thank you.
Once it was determined the hot pad wasn’t needed, my job was to ground-guide the aircraft in front of the hangar and chock the landing gear.
I had my materials. Wind was at my back. My ass was set.
John was positioned behind me on safety, with one of our massive portable extinguishers, just in case something went sideways.
And it almost did.
The way John saved my life — and prevented me from FOD’ing (Foreign Object Damage) a multi-million-dollar, fuck-around-and-find-out aerial delivery platform — was by yelling one simple word:
STOP.
I had just parked the “Hoover” (our nickname for the F-16) and was walking toward the aircraft. I watched the water lift from the ground and swirl into the intake — a miniature water tornado. Mesmerizing.
But I was still on mission.
I was about to follow normal protocol from other aircraft and chock the nose gear. I was a millisecond away from joining that swirling water and becoming Allen-burger.
And not the healthy lean kind either — I was 280 pounds at the time. That would’ve been about 10% lean and 97% chubby fat molecules.
John’s STOP came through my earplugs and my headset. To this day, I cannot imagine the frequency or volume Griff produced to cut through an engine less than ten feet from me.
John pointed to the rear gear.
I altered course, bent, chocked the rear gear, stood up — and immediately realized what almost happened.
I then pissed about three cups coffee down both legs.
I was now warmer and more fragrant than I had been eight seconds earlier.
After we pinned the gear, transferred the pilot to medical, and towed the aircraft into the hangar, I shook for a solid twenty minutes.
Fight-or-flight had kicked into full afterburner. I could’ve held a case of Sherwin-Williams paint and shaken that shit into separate molecular elements.
I don’t know exactly what Don or Griff were thinking, but I know they’d seen similar shit on the flight line during their Air Force years.
I owe my life to John Griffith — Griff — AGE Rage — you pick.
The Moral Is Simple
I had worked dozens of aircraft.
Muscle memory almost killed me.
Chocking the front gear — something I had done countless times — nearly sent me into the afterlife. And like every bug hitting a windshield, the last thing on my mind would’ve been my ass.
Approach every task — at home, in the field, or anywhere else — like it’s your first damn time.
Do NOT assume hazards behave the same way every time.
Look at your environment and your task like a child watching cartoons — eyes wide open, noticing everything.
Be ready to go right.
Stay clear of what’s in front of you.
And when you’re stressed, tired, rushed, or distracted — have someone watching your back.
This one event permanently changed how I approach and push safety.
Communicate potential and actual hazards.
Make damn sure people understand them.
If a task or environment is new to someone, orient their mindset to the worst hazard first, then the controls.
Do not assume they’ll notice the swirling mist and avoid it.
Control the situation.
Communicate clearly.
And piss BEFORE work.
Wow!
Sharing the real story of our (Safety Professional) f#$k ups, or near misses really helps our folks understand that any human can make mistakes. Potentially life altering/ending ones.
More Allen wisdom! We can all learn from others’ experiences, regardless of our or their profession. Safety is safety.