Christmas Eve 2008

I think with a name like "The Snivel Log", my occasional meanderings can only exceed your expectations. First some history.

As a young First Lieutenant in my Helicopter Squadron, Marine HMH-464, I was given possibly the most powerful job any company grade officer could have: "Flight Schedule Writer." It was the type of responsibility which probably should have been managed by a Major, the Operations Officer himself, but it was such an intensely, annoying routine, to create the daily schedule of training, operational or maintenance flights that the squadron would execute each day, it was typically given to a highly responsible Lieutenant. Before you think I just gave myself a compliment, I should add I was the only available lieutenant at the time, so the job was mine. I should also add that our squadron had almost literally been invaded by neighboring nemesis , HMH-461, a similar squadron of CH-53E Sikorsky Super Stallion helicopter pilots. In order to deploy to Operation Desert Shield, that August, on the USS Iwo Jima, "461" acquired all of my squadron's functioning birds and took off to chase Saddam out of Kuwait, and presumably be home for Labor Day BBQ on Topsail Beach. Along with the helicopters they took almost every capable pilot and Marine, not currently wanted by the Jacksonville, NC sheriff's department. Notice, I was not on that list of pilots, that's another story, but it did make me available to write the flight schedule for this squadron without a single helicopter able to leave the hangar in one piece.

In those days, 1991, the flight schedule was written in pencil, with a good eraser, as changes were frequent throughout the day. The flight schedule itself, usually a single page of self-explanatory departure and return information with accompanying remarks, conceptually seemed to permeate every aspect of squadron life, indeed it reflected our reason for being. In the Marine Corps, however, pilots were generally judged by their day jobs like Supply, Maintenance, or Coffee Mess Officer, yet the daily schedule heralded the fullfillment of that promise, which began with a slippery recruiter who showed you pictures of blue-eyed jet pilots hurtling off carriers. Those jet pilots (nor recruiters) did not conjure up thoughts of managing 4 or 5 surly lance corporals in the Hydraulics Shop; there was no mention of regular 24 hour phone watch duty where you actually looked forward to meeting the Dominoes deliveryman. No we were humble helicopter pilots who gave each other even more humble nicknames like "Turtle" and "Melonhead". The flight schedule, however, made sense of all this, this is what you are here to do: just fly. Each morning was an elegant game of strategy between the Operations and Maintenance Departments, each with competing interests: Operations was determined to fly training and operational missions to support pilot training and 2nd Marine Air Wing missions...Maintenance was even more determined to work on these beautiful machines and eventually test separate engine, transmission and flight functions to put them into full flight status, at which point they were loathe to use them for a mission, lest they break and lessen the availability of aircraft. That's right, they were like classic cars which needed to be tinkered with to perfection, maybe even taken out for a gentle spin.

By noon or so, Maintenance officers would divulge the number of aircraft available and the schedule came together. An enlisted marine would type the final draft, with no sense of urgency, since chances were, there would be a change before he finished, and then I would present the schedule to my boss, Major Steve Taylor, the Operations Officer; next the Safety Officer for him to review that our plan was reasonable and safe (and that he was scheduled for one of the flights), and finally the squadron Commanding Officer for signature.

The tools of the trade were fairly simple: pencil, eraser, typewriter, motivated Marine. Simple except for The Snivel Log. The Snivel Log was a book where any pilot could record his unsolicited daily, weekly or monthly notes, to make it know to the schedule writer that he was unavailable on those days, to fly. That is except in the cases where any pilot would record his unsolicited daily, weekly or monthly notes letting the Schedule Writer know the he was AVAILABLE to fly. These submissions were usually written in large, bold letters as I have here. The term "Snivel Log" was a term so ingrained in squadron life, nobody ever reflected on it's insensitivity, much less it's humor, nor did anyone recognize this highly egalitarian and flexible approach to each pilot's daily schedule, which never found it's way into any other aspect of Marine culture. Since flight hours were valuable to pilots, and sometimes scarce, people never sought to challenge anyone else's unwillingness to fly. For sure the term was borne out of times, say Vietnam, when NOT flying was an act of self preservation, and actual sniveling may have been recorded in more desperate terms than in 1991.

In 2008, it is even more appropriate to adopt the Snivel Log term to shine light on what may in retrospect be seen as whining about what a tough year 2008 has been, or what could be better, when in reality, these are truly amazing times we live in, and any misery is in relative terms just sniveling.

On this Christmas Eve, I have 2 amazing children, Timmy, 11 yrs., and Katie, 17 yrs., who give me joy every day of the year. After almost 20 years, I have reconnected with Ellie, who I admired years ago when we were at college together, and I love everyday we can be together. I have been able to spend a little more time these past few years with my mother who just turned 70, and an accomplished family of brothers and sisters. I have a job and great health, and a car full of presents to wrap. Certainly nothing to snivel about.

I hope to provide regular updates to The Snivel Log on various topics, thanks for joining, Semper Fi!