During my sophomore year in college, the Cuban Missile Crisis happened, and in a moment of madness I applied for—and later was accepted to—the Navy Pilot Training Program.

Applying consisted of two physical examinations at Sandpoint Naval Air Station in Seattle. The final test was to go for a ride in the back seat of a Navy training airplane. Here I was dressed in a suit and tie and being strapped into the plane. The last thing the guy helping me said was, “When the plane has a serious failure, unbuckle the straps and jump out. After falling for 5 seconds pull this ring to open the chute. Good luck.” With that the pilot, who was smoking a cigar, started the engine, left the canopy open, and started down the runway.

As soon as we were 200-300 feet above the runway, he calmly turned the plane upside down and I was hanging by the leg and shoulder straps and looking down at the blacktop through the open canopy. The pilot then flipped us right side up and we started up in a steep climb. He then put us through all the aerobatic maneuvers a Navy Pilot has to learn to do.

To end this test he cut the engine power and pulled the nose up. This resulted in a stall and we began to fall nose first toward the beach at the north end of Lake Washington. As we fell we began to spin and the pilot counted the number of time we rotated. Then he said, “Watch those people on the beach.” At about our second rotation, as we were picking up speed going straight down, a man got up, ran to a boat pulled up on the sand, and frantically started pushing it into the water.

When the pilot reached three and a half rotations he applied power to the engine and pulled the plane out of the spin. At this point I would guess we were at about 1,000 feet above the beach. With that he laughed, headed back to the runway, and landed us.

Fortunately I did not get sick and actually enjoyed the ride. When I got out of the plane he shook my hand and said look over there. Out of the clouds a blue Navy jet came screaming down the runway upside down about 500 feet off the ground, and then a second, third, fourth, and fifth jet came and did the same and disappeared up into the clouds. Then they appeared again and landed in close formation.

After they rolled to a stop and got out, a van picked them up and took them to the BBQ bar. Then two or three cargo planes landed with all their support stuff. I had no idea Seattle Seafair was two days later and the Blue Angels were there to put on a precision air show. All in all it was quite a day.

A few weeks later I was notified I had been accepted to the Navy Pilot Training program. I then elected to wait until I graduated, two years later, to be sworn into the Navy, after which I was assigned to a training class and given a reporting date.

I left for Pensacola, Florida about two weeks after Patti and I were married. She was going to live with my parents until I graduated from basic training and was commissioned a Second Lieutenant. Unfortunately, or fortunately as the case may be, I failed a urine test on the second day I was in Florida and was moved to a holding barracks pending a repeat of the test. I failed three days in a row and, according to some Navy regulation, I was disqualified from becoming a Navy Pilot.

And, according to my contract, if I was disqualified for medical reasons before I was commissioned, I was discharged from the Navy. I had served all of five days on active duty and spent the next several weeks waiting for the official papers to send me home.

While I was waiting, I had a bunk in a barracks with others waiting, and I could go to mess hall to eat. I wasn’t with my class long enough to be issued a uniform and my civilian clothes were in storage somewhere, so all I had to wear was Navy underwear, shoes, and a “poopie Suit” (Navy tan coveralls).

In addition, I had no idea concerning military etiquette. As I wondered around the enormous base I didn’t know if I was to salute anyone or not. So I just avoided anyone who looked like an officer. What were they going to do to me, kick me out of the Navy? Oh wait, they were in the process of doing that already. Sometimes I went to the beach and I still have a small basket full of shells I collected there.

One day, another guy waiting for his discharge told me the USS Enterprise was arriving down at the pier and suggested we should go watch and try to get aboard. The two of us borrowed enough clothes to make complete candidate uniforms, and we arrived at the pier just in time to see the Admiral’s car being lowered to the pier and him driving it away. Then a lot of sailors and officers disembarked and we decided to go aboard.

After I stepped onto the gang plank behind my friend, I asked him if he knew what we were supposed to do to get on board. He said, “I think we have to salute the flag and ask the boatswain’s mate for permission to come aboard.” After it worked for him, I did the same. Suddenly we were on an aircraft carrier.

We had no idea where to go or what to do so we went up to the flight deck and wandered around. After a few minutes an officer came out and asked what we were up to. We told him we just wanted to see a carrier before being sent home. He then gave us a tour and invited us to lunch with a few officers still on board.

After lunch he escorted us back to the pier and we went back to the barracks and returned our uniform pieces back to their rightful owners. A few days later my discharge arrived, and I was told I was no longer in the Navy.

Unfortunately, to get off the base and fly home on a military ticket I needed to be dressed in a uniform. So once again I had to borrow enough uniform pieces to look the part, collected my civilian clothes, and flew home to Portland after a bizarre six weeks.

Ken Kaiyala
07-14-23