The One, the Only . . .

Marc Gilbertson
Aug 30 1949 - Jul 30 2020

I think everyone knows that as you get older, especially as you get really older, you should expect to start losing things: your hair, your memory, your energy . . . your friends. However, I don’t think anyone expects to lose two friends – two good, dear friends - in the span of less than a month. It’s just not right, especially when they had so much life ahead of them. I guess it doesn’t matter if it’s right, nobody said that life is fair.

There is a special place in my heart for Marc and there is an additional sad irony that as with Bob Luttio, who was also a friend of Marc's, I had known him since 1975. They were totally different people yet only in their personalities not in the depth of our friendship. (Keeping a friendship going for 45 years shows what kind of people they both were.)

Marc and friends - brief respite from hardworking AF Trip to Utah

When I joined the unit Marc was this big, handsome dude that was a Flight Engineer for the flying unit. His civilian job was working in Civil Engineering for the base as a grounds guy - you know, mowing, raking, snow removal.  Yes, that job was a total waste of his great skills and he soon got out of the “weeds and seeds” business and ended up as a full time FE (eventually to become the head guy.) Over time we became very good friends – and I was only one of many of his good friends which says a lot about him – and it was my good fortune that we did.

Over the years, besides being a great FE, Marc proved to be a very involved crew member in flights. (Very involved, something I applaud since if the pilots eff up he dies a split second behind them and a spilt second before me, the navigator.) Anyway, some FE’s just kind of did their engineer thing fiddling with the fuel and the engines but not Marc, this guy paid attention to everything! A few quick stories to illustrate.

Okay, Gilbertson, I'll give you a lift but not all the way to Lima!

According to Curtis N. Breeding, pilot extraordinaire, on a particular pilot training mission using a very ineffective (some would say worthless) approach aid to land at Duluth, they were quite a bit off from landing profile when he committed to land. Marcus, correctly so, stated “Go around.” At which time, the landing should be abandoned – but it wasn’t. Curt commented that he could make it. Again, Marc said “Go around” which again Curt, with a pilot’s usual "self confidence," said he could make it – and did. After landing, to both of their credit, there were no fisticuffs. More importantly, Curt apologized to Marc – and appropriately so – for not going around as he should when any crew member says those magic words. As Curt later said, it was a lesson in CRM (Crew Resource Management) from Marc that stuck with him forever.

   

A couple other stories of the many that I could tell. Oddly, they also relate to Marc and landings.

On a final flight for a gentlemen farmer who was also a C-130 pilot, Ray Yokiel, we were busy "training" (buzzing his farm) in southern MN when someone suggested making an approach to his little private strip. Okay, it was me and it seemed like a good idea at the time! Anyway, Marc was the engineer and as we were drifting down to the grass strip, Marc reminded Ray that “it’s a just a low approach, right?” Well, of course, you can guess what happened: big green airplane does touch and go on little grass strip. Marc responded with a very intense and descriptive set of words – and then laughed uproariously as did we all. Effing Yokiel!

Another Hardworking AF Trip – to Hawaii

Thanks, Marc, for helping pull me out of the ground.
(Also note some same cast members keep showing up!) 

This story puts an end cap to the theme of Gilbertson and landings and again has Curt Breeding in the co-starring role (with astute observations by moi.) We were on a very fun and interesting training mission in January in Alaska (fun and interesting, two words seldom used with Alaska and winter.) We were taking a group of Inuit scouts back to their various homes in northern Alaska – pick them and their snowmobiles up from training sites and drop them off at home. Very interesting flying into very challenging stops. One of last ones was to some little shit bird village hundreds of miles from anywhere (Alaska is very big.) I gave up navigating and we just had one of the scouts stand up behind Curt and point. Sure enough, out of the haze pops yet another tiny, icy, snowy landing strip. Could we make it? Should we even try it? Having seen Curt operate before the answer should be obvious; we all just became passengers – except Marc. He was sitting on his feet in his seat (an odd habit he had when flying with Curt) who was less than impressed with Curt's plan. You would think he would have learned his lesson by now with Breeding! I will just say, we made it. Upon landing, however, Marc had an astute question for the good Major, “So what are we going to do now?” Very good question - the old saying that landing is mandatory but takeoff is optional comes to mind - this was a VERY short runway in crummy weather conditions. (On the other hand, none of the crew was up for sleeping in an igloo.) Well, the good news, especially for Curt, is that we did make it out and back to Anchorage where the pilot bought the beers for the crew – and Marc forgave him once again.

The more personal part of these reminisces is that flying was not even the most important aspect of Curt's or my relationship with Marc; the military was just the original cause for meeting not the substance. I can’t even tell you how or why we became very good friends we just did. Such good friends that he became one of the three "charter" members (along with Curtis and me) of an annual event that grew over the years to a large and fairly constant group of buddies that have managed to meet once a year for over 30 years since (with only a few memorable exceptions.) The very first year, 1988, Marc and Curt were kind enough to humor me and go up one weekend to my old hometown of Alexandria, ostensibly to golf and goof around - adult beverages may also have been involved, I think.  In any event, the three of us had a great time – played golf, hooted and snorted and played horseshoes with my mom and dad (who both became great admirers of my two goofy buddies and some others who eventually joined our happy band over the years.) Here is just one example of how special Marc was: if my dad would teach you how to play horseshoes you’re in very elite company!

I think this is Marc’s last golf outing circa 2004 Dacotah Ridge

(He was in such hurry to leave that he left his clubs behind and one of us had to bring 'em back!)

I have been a very lucky man to have so many good friends in my life and none better than Marc. I could only hope that people will think half as much of me as they do of Marc when I am gone.

Rest in peace, my dear friend, no more bad landings for you!