On Jets & Screaming Babies

Have you ever felt unwanted?

Insecure? Unpopular? Been invited to leave town, or opposed trying to enter?

Could be that you need a psychiatrist.

On the other hand, you may be a base or unit commander in the U.S. Air Force . . .

So begins a new booklet (Shotgun Wedding) by the U.S. Air Defense Command, whose screaming jets, while admired from afar, sometimes make enemies and alienate communities around air bases. Despite the jesting tone, the problem and the booklet are dead serious; the ADC's mission is to defend the U.S., and unlike other branches, it must live, work and perhaps fight amidst the people. Says the booklet: "No weapon . . . can be as crippling or devastating to a mission as congealed public opinion marshaled against a project."

To avoid noise--and enmity--the Air Force last year ordered jet pilots not to roar through the sonic barrier near populated areas. The ADC's chief, General Ben Chidlaw, put the problem to friendly Cartoonist Milton Caniff, whose syndicated (550 papers) Steve Canyon promptly got his jet base out of a jam with local townspeople. Last week, in Shotgun Wedding, ADC men read the even more instructive how-to-do-it story of a real but unnamed jet base commander (actually, Colonel Harry Shoup of Truax Field at Madison, Wis.). The story:

Female Barrier. The Air Force took over the city airport, which was named for a local hero, and then tried to change the name. For 18 months two local papers complained about the "Air Force grab." When two jet squadrons moved in with a roar-angry petitions were passed around. Relations were at "breaking point" when Colonel Shoup went to work. First, he decided to take and chart all phoned complaints.

"After lunch we hit the alltime high of the day on squawks," said his report. "It was always a woman on the phone and baby [roused by jets] screaming in the background . . . I learned that a woman has enough mad and enough breath saved up to make an impenetrable conversational barrier anywhere from four to six minutes after she starts. A man is a fool to try to break in . . . to explain why a jet makes noise."

Men always called in the evening. One complaint: "My bridge partner has made four bids in a row which I have missed in the last half hour because of the noise of your damned airplanes. At a penny a point, I can't afford this." Colonel Shoup patiently explained his air-defense mission to all callers, replied to all mail complaints, even sent "his most personable officers" calling on annoyed householders.

Night Prayer. Colonel Shoup changed the take-off pattern so that jets turned away from built-up areas, schools and nearby mink ranche, (mother minks frightened by noise stop breeding). He invited community leaders to his base, briefed them on Soviet striking forces and on his defense mission, showed them a jet scramble. He notified the public of extra flight activities, spoke at civic clubs, showed groups around the base. Soon, Madison changed its mind about the Air Force. Said one elderly resident, formerly quick to complain when awakened at night by the banshee shriek of a scrambling jet:

"Now, when one rouses me, I lie quietly there in bed and say a little prayer. First, to thank God that some alert American youngster is up there in that jet watching over me. Second, I ask that the plane and the boy get safely back. After that, with no trouble at all, I turn over and go right back to sleep."

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