Honoring a hero: a son's final tribute to his father

  • Published
  • By Master Sgt. Yancy Mailes and Senior Airman Brian Stives
  • 366th Fighter Wing
MOUNTAIN HOME AIR FORCE BASE, Idaho (AFPN) --  The journey came to an end in the echoes of a 21-gun salute -- which shook Troy Curnutte back to the present.

Moments before, he had allowed himself to drift away, to reminisce about his father and the times when they would talk and laugh together.

A bugler started to sound Taps, and the man rose from his chair. Then he paid final homage to his father -- retired Lt. Col. Bill Curnutte -- the best way he knew, with a farewell salute.

Mr. Curnutte's father, a veteran fighter pilot who flew combat missions in World War II and Vietnam, was his role model and best friend. He passed away May 7, 2003. Five days later, the Curnutte family laid to rest their patriarch at the Greenlawn Memorial Cemetery in Chesapeake, Va.

Mr. Curnutte knew many things about his father's long Air Force career.

"He had flown so many hours in more than 25 different aircraft," Troy said. "I could picture a young, green second lieutenant and then fast forward to that experienced and seasoned pilot flying combat missions in Vietnam."

There were other things about the fallen veteran his son didn't know. But over the next months Mr. Curnutte would unravel new details about his father's life.

The search started when Mr. Curnutte looked in a worn, blue military briefcase sitting in the back of his parent's bedroom closet. Inside were many of his father's military mementos -- including letters, medals and the flag that covered his casket.

And the briefcase held was something unexpected.

"As I was about to close the lid, I stuck my hand in the very back flap and was surprised to pull out a wrinkled and stained letter," Mr. Curnutte said. "The letter was postmarked March 25, 1969, and was sent to my dad by a Lt. James Fegan who was at the Wilford Hall hospital [Lackland Air Force Base, Texas]."

That's where Mr. Curnutte started to learn about some of the mysteries of his dad's military past. His father volunteered for Vietnam duty and flew from Da Nang Air Base, South Vietnam, from June 1968 to June 1969. He was a 366th Tactical Fighter Wing command pilot and flew F-4D Phantom jets on combat missions with the 390th Tactical Fighter Squadron -- the "Wild Boars."

The son sat down, carefully opened the fragile envelope and began to read.

"Thank you for your letter, it is great to hear from my friends at Da Nang and particularly you," the lieutenant wrote.

Emotions overcame him as he learned of a secret his father carried with him to his grave.

Lieutenant Fegan continued, "I was told of your hair-raising mission in support of my rescue. I saw and heard the guns. I was among them. When I heard that you were going after the big guns with in-country ordnance, I was really overwhelmed. I guess that the true definition of a fighter pilot is when one throws away the odds and lets it all hang out for one of his fellows.

"I was very humbled, impressed and amazed by the efforts of all involved in my rescue," the lieutenant wrote. "But your efforts made a particular impression, and I thank you for a job well done and I am glad that no harm came to you when you dared the guns with in-country ordnance."

Mr. Curnutte said he felt a lump rise in his throat.

"In all the discussions I had with dad over the years about his days in Vietnam, he never mentioned this particularly dangerous mission he flew near Tchepone, Laos, against overwhelming enemy odds, to help rescue a downed fellow fighter pilot," he said. "Maybe that was because he didn't want to talk about it, since it was over Laos."

Mr. Curnutte read the letter over and over again. That's when he began to realize there were many heroes supporting that fateful rescue mission that day.

"I was so proud that my dad was one of them," he said.

When he finished reading the treasured letter, tears were streaming down his cheeks. Tears shed with pride for a father who had served his country with honor and distinction. Afterward, he knew in his heart there was one final mission he would have to fly for his father and committed himself to find out all he could about that day over Laos.

Mr. Curnutte soon learned that Lieutenant Fegan was one of the young pilots who served with his father in Da Nang. Other than that, he knew very little. So he began calling everyone could to help him find out what happened that day. He posted his plight on Internet Web sites requesting the help of former Gunfighters -- the 366th's nickname.

The key to unlock the mystery arrived in an e-mail from a pararescueman who was on an HH-3 Jolly Green Giant that helped in the rescue.

The PJ said that on Jan. 17, 1969, enemy gunners shot down a Phantom over the Chepone area of south central Laos. Both crew members ejected, but only Lieutenant Fegan made it out alive. Once the injured Airman hit the ground, he began talking with A-1 Skyraider pilots and forward air controllers orbiting overhead. They fought to keep the young man alive and then get him out.

The "Sandy" -- what Airmen called the Skyraider -- pilots comforted the lieutenant and assured him a rescue team was coming. But enemy fire was intense. Two Sandies and a Jolly Green Giant went down from enemy fire.

Finally -- 20 hours later -- a rescue team pulled Lieutenant Fegan to safety.

After getting the e-mail, Mr. Curnutte knew what happened that day. But he still didn't know what role his father played. Before he could fully digest all that material, he received Lieutenant Fegan's address. The former lieutenant now lives in Louisville, Ky.

So Mr. Curnutte wrote him a letter and received a quick reply.

"Troy, your letter arrived here a couple of days ago," the former lieutenant started. "Though I walk with a limp and have a lot of interesting scars, I'm pretty active, became a physician and now work as a medical officer in a corporation.

"But it was me, the shave-tail first lieutenant, for whom your dad did the incredible," he wrote. "Immortality is in the stories we leave to be told again and again. There are countless people who know only part of the story of Jan. 17 to 18, 1969, but do know of the incredibly brave work of that colonel -- Gunfighter 3 -- in the rescue of a humble first lieutenant."

When Lieutenant Fegan crashed, Colonel Curnutte received orders to scramble his jet and provide cover for the rescue mission. Normally, alert aircraft were loaded with munitions that forced them to fly low over the enemy in order to be effective and accurate. This placed the aircrew in hazardous situations as every enemy gun could, and did, fire at them.

When the North Vietnamese anti-aircraft artillery began targeting the circling Sandy pilots, they called in Colonel Curnutte to silence them. However, before he could get there, the guns had already downed one A-1, killing the pilot and injuring another.

As Colonel Curnutte flew in to destroy the target, he listened to the chatter on the radio. He led his flight in over the target, spotted the enemy -- there were more than 10,000 enemy troops reported in the encampment -- and dropped their bombs. The guns fell silent. Then a Jolly Green Giant helicopter lowered its PJ, who lifted Lieutenant Fegan from the cover of the jungle.

They all flew to freedom.

"At this point, I knew that my ultimate mission had indeed taken on a new purpose," Mr. Curnutte said. "With everything I now knew concerning my dad's efforts in the rescue mission, it was obvious to me that he certainly deserved a medal for his heroic actions on that day."

As he began the campaign to gain his dad the recognition he deserved, he contacted his father's former commander, Col. Cecil Foster. With his help, the Air Force finally awarded Colonel Curnutte a Distinguished Flying Cross for his actions that day.

"As I opened the medal case to see the Distinguished Flying Cross, I put my hand on my dad's flying helmet," Troy said. "I could picture him in that cockpit, with that certain expression and smile on his face, and read the citation aloud to him."

Ironically, a week later -- over Vietnam -- Colonel Curnutte earned another Distinguished Flying Cross for his actions in destroying an enemy bunker complex. The colonel led his flight of Phantoms through low clouds and visibility in mountainous terrain to destroy the target.

In the days after he received his father's medal, Mr. Curnutte opened the old blue briefcase and thumbed through the papers once again. He held the medal and realized he still wanted to do more for his father. He wanted people to remember his father and what he did that day over Laos. He wanted to find an F-4D Phantom and immortalize his father's memory and pay homage to the Gunfighters, now flying out of Mountain Home Air Force Base, Idaho.

After much searching, he found a dilapidated Phantom that would never fly again and transferred it to Texas. He led a drive to raise money to restore the old jet -- one his father actually flew from Da Nang -- to its former glory, and painted in its original Wild Boar combat colors.

On March 25, 2006, he got his final wish. With a crowd of 500 family and friends watching, Mr. Curnutte pulled a sheet to unveil the jet as the newest display at the Historic Aviation Memorial Museum in Tyler, Texas. On the cockpit's edge was his father's name.

It wasn't the first time Mr. Curnutte had seen the jet. In July 2005 he'd gone to the museum after the jet arrived there.

"They opened the canopy," he said. "I sat down in the seat where dad was sitting 37 years ago. It was overwhelming, especially knowing what those guys did in that cockpit and how they faced danger every day."

In a more formal ceremony that day, 390th Fighter Squadron commander Lt. Col. Jeff Prichard, presented the long-overdue Distinguished Flying Cross to the hero's widow, Ginnie.

That night, while still delighting in his accomplishment, Mr. Curnutte went home and looked at the tattered blue briefcase and thought about the journey to which it led him. But deep in his heart he knew there was still one more thing he'd have to do before his final mission for his father ended.

He made one final promise to himself -- and his father -- and then wrote it down:

"On Father's Day, I will lay your medal upon your grave, look up, stand smartly and give you a final salute. And I will picture you once again back in that cockpit, with that special smile on your face, and proudly watch as you raise your hand and return my salute."

Editor's note: This story is a compilation of an account written by Troy Curnutte.