Roger Ball!
He was the second of two children and born on 25 January 1940 in Shandon Baptist Hospital in Columbia South Carolina. He, in every way, gave the appearance of a normal, healthy, well-developed kid of average height, slender but not skinny. History would show that he was anything but normal.
His name was John Monroe Smith, and “Roger Ball!” is his story—a tale that should be told. It intertwines the true, firsthand accounts and experiences of a fighter pilot with the significant developments in the fighter community and historical events in which Captain John Monroe Smith, USN, call sign “Hawk” was a part. Finally, it speaks to the men who laid their careers and sometimes their very lives on the line for their shipmates and their country.
Hawk was a legend in the fighter community. During his thirty-year career, he forged a reputation as a skilled and lethal aviator in the air-to-air combat arena, a natural tactician, and consummate leader. To many, he was one of the most essential pathfinders in the modernization of the naval air war arts.
He was just a man, but his story, his life adventure, is a high-fidelity history of personal achievements for naval tactical aviation, devotion to a cause, and service to his nation. It was a time during and shortly after the Vietnam conflict that America became ideologically divided. The military was disillusioned with the intrusion of nonwarriors in the White House over the conduct of the war, and tactical aviation of all the services was struggling to catch up to the realities of the war’s hard lessons. It was a time when the Navy needed leaders and tenacious thinkers to set things right again. It was Hawk’s time!
TOPGUN’s New Tigers
In July 1977, Hawk sat Comfortably in his office in the TOGUN hangar at NAS Miramar feeling a sense of accomplishment in what TOPGUN had managed to do in a relatively short time. When considering the talent and perseverance of his staff, maintenance personnel and most talented fighter pilot instructors in the world, life could not be better.
Hawk happily took the call of Rear Admiral Gus Kinnear from the Office of Legislative Affairs. He explained that he was on his way to Miramar to review the condition of TOPGUN’s three T-38s and talk about new aircraft. Whatever hawk was feeling earlier had just ratcheted up about 10 points on the Richter scale at the mention of new aircraft. They desperately needed them.
Hawk was cautiously hopeful. It couldn’t have happened at a better time, or worse time depending on problem aspect. TOPGUN had three T-38s in inventory—all hard down and all in the hangar.
Cracked wings, a main fuselage fuel cell that leaked like a strainer, and a third T-38 that had suffered extensive damage when the left flap separated from the aircraft and hit the vertical tail and rudder during a tactics sortie.
The only thing that kept these T-38s flying was the talent, tenacity, and mechanical Voodoo that both the Navy mechs and contractors practiced on the F-5s and the Mongoose A-4Es every day to keep them in the air.
Picking up first F-5F from Northrop assembly line
Hawk was waiting for Rear Admiral Kinnear when he arrived at the TOPGUN hangar. After cordial greetings, Hawk escorted him to the hangar bay. There, in the middle of the hangar, cluttered with wing sections, tail assemblies, fuel cells, engines, and a hundred parts only maintenance personnel would recognize, sat the entire inventory of TOPGUN’s T-38s in various stages of disassembly.
The discussion that followed Admiral Kinnear’s inspection was short. He thanked Hawk, returned to DC, and made his report.
On September 8th, 1977, Hawk and LCDR Thunder Bud Taylor flew to Palmdale, California, and picked up the very first F-5F from the Northrop assembly line. Although The F-5F looked much like the two-seat T-38, the F-5F was the two-seat variant of the F-5E Tiger II—a true fighter—not a trainer.
This F-5F was the first of three which would replace their weary T-38s. It had thicker skin, a Mk-39 twenty-millimeter cannon in the nose, heavier landing gear, missile rails, 22 percent more thrust, and was far better equipped for the rigors of air combat training.
When Hawk and Thunder Bud rolled up to the TOPGUN line an hour later, the entire squadron was on hand. This was groundbreaking news in FIGHTERTOWN and was properly headlined in Miramar’s Jet Journal and the Navy’s Approach magazine.
TOPGUN officer staff dropping trousers and mooning the camera for a photo
Northrop’s photographer and Bob Lawson covered the arrival with scores of photos of the Navy’s first F-5F as Rear Admiral Tissot, Hawk, Thunder Bud, and squadron personnel gathered around their new jet.
When the ceremony had ended, the admiral, Hawk, Bob Lawson, and most of the others departed. As JOs are often prone to do, the TOPGUN staff made the best of a unique opportunity. They had most of the squadron officers together, a brand-new F-5F, and a professional photographer to record something for posterity—something special.
With those elements, the Northrop photographer captured the shot that almost destroyed the reputation of TOPGUN and nearly jettisoned Hawk from the Navy. There, in front of their
brand new F-5F, nearly the entire TOPGUN officer staff dropped trousers, and
mooned the camera.
The photo was a well-kept secret, that is, until Hawk received a package from Northrop addressed to the Commanding Officer, Navy Fighter Weapons School. Hawk tore through the wrapping paper and positioned the photo to gather light. The sound of Hawk’s jaw hitting the desk could have been heard in the next hangar.
There, in an ornate, eight by eleven-inch frame, was a high-gloss color print of the Navy’s very first F-5F Tiger II acting as the backdrop for ten pink little bottoms.
Hawk was horrified. There was little he could do at this point, however. If he had a picture, everyone had a picture. There was going to be hell to pay. He was sure of that.
Moons over TOPGUN officer staff photo at Tailhook Convention
When the moons over TOPGUN photo arrived from the Northrop photographer, Hawk was caught somewhere between being horror struck and doubled up with laughter. It was funny, damn funny, the kind of funny only comrades-in-arms would understand. But if the photo got into the wrong hands …
Hawk pulled his staff together for an all-officers’ meeting. He acknowledged their sense of humor, complimented them on their creativity, but expressed serious concerns over its distribution. His staff guaranteed him that the photo had not been released.
In the course of the conversation, the staff persuaded him to test the water and hang the photo at the TOPGUN suite in the Hilton Hotel during the Tailhook Convention in September.
The Tailhook Convention was an annual event for Tailhookers—Navy and Marine aircrew who operated off carriers. Selected guests and other service members were also invited. The attendees were a stout group there for the camaraderie, naval symposiums, question and answer sessions with senior naval leadership, and the opportunity to renew old friendships. Surely, Hawk surmised, no one in such a crowd would object to hanging the photo within the confines of the TOPGUN suite.
CNO’s Visit
And he was right. Everyone that came through the TOPGUN suite thought the photo was spectacular. It was hilarious and captured the imagination, spontaneity, and the unsinkable sense of humor that flourishes in naval aviation. The true test of its acceptance came with the arrival of the Chief of Naval Operations.
Hawk met Admiral James Holloway and his entourage at the entryway. Hawk charged the CNO’s glass and introduced him to several TOPGUN instructors. As they moved through the suite the photo, hanging prominently near the door of the suite, caught the CNO’s eye.
There was a pregnant moment of pause; an unmistakable quiet spread over the revelers. The admiral walked slowly toward the photo and the closer he got, the more he grinned. The CNO studied the photo and began to laugh. All joined in. The CNO commented that it was one of the funniest pictures he’d ever seen.
And it certainly was funny, but much of the laughter erupting from the TOPGUN suite that evening was due to relief. The photo had now passed muster with the highest authority in the Navy; it seemed to offend no one at the Tailhook Convention, including the CNO. Much of the pressure was off Hawk now. If anyone happened to complain, the response would be, “Well, the CNO seemed to think it was pretty funny.”
Marines to the Rescue
NFWS received the last two F-5Fs on 13 October and 18 November 1977.
The new Tigers not only had better availability and durability, they also had a
performance envelope much closer to the MiG type aircraft they simulated.
Hawk pushed his squadron and began limited training for fleet fighter units. They trained as much as they could, but all the while Hawk kept his finger on the pulse point of the squadron. He was ever alert for signs of exhaustion.
Fatigue became apparent a few months into the training expansion. Aircrew as well as maintenance personnel had been on the road for weeks at a time. Liberty on weekends was iffy and subject to the needs of the fleet. Though no one complained, Hawk knew they needed help. He’d already squeezed everything he could from the Navy—parts, money, fuel, and especially people—but it occurred to him that the Marines were an untapped resource.
Hawk had a friend who might be able to help. Colonel Mike “Lancer” Sullivan, USMC, was a former CO of VMFA-323 and working for the Commandant of the Marine Corps. He was well known for his ability to get things done in DC circles.
Hawk placed a call to Colonel Sullivan. “Good afternoon. Colonel Sullivan speaking, sir.”
“Colonel Sullivan, this is Lieutenant Commander Monroe Smith at Navy Fighter Weapons School. How are you, sir?”
“Hawk, great! By the way, congratulations on your command!”
“Thank you, sir. I’m calling because we could use your help out here.”
“Shoot. Anything I can do to help the boys in dark blue.”
No promises
“Colonel, we’re expanding the syllabus and spending a lot of time on the road. We’re trying to get the fleet and the Marine units more training and on-the-road lectures. I’ve already hit the Navy manpower guys and that well’s run dry. I think you know where I’m going with this.”
“I think I do, Hawk, but continue.”
Following a serious discussion with the colonel in which Hawk laid out the pestering knee knockers that bedeviled TOPGUN’s mission. Hawk came to a conclusion and stopped. It seemed like an enormously optimistic wish-list, but Hawk, never a man to hold back, was surprised with the Colonel’s response.
“Hawk, I know what you’re doing out there and every one of us who wears wings is impressed with the school’s accomplishments. I can’t promise a thing over the phone, but I think, at least in some of those areas, we might be able to help. I’d like you to write a letter. Send it through your chain of command addressed to the Commandant of the Marine Corps. Make it action to me and I’ll take it from there.”
“Colonel, I can’t thank you enough.”
“Remember Hawk, no promises.”
“Roger, sir. Got it.”
Hawk responded quickly. He drafted a letter, addressed the issues, and routed it to the Commandant of the Marine Corps, via Chief of Naval Operations. Just to be on the safe side, so he didn’t appear to be bypassing other senior commanders, he also routed it through Fighter Wing and AIRPAC.
Turn of events
Admiral Tissot’s staff at Fighter Wing endorsed the letter and forwarded it, but shortly after AIRPAC received the letter, Rear Admiral Frederick Gale “Ted” Fellowes, Jr. on the staff of AIRPAC, directed Captain Tom Cassidy, a special projects officer, to return the letter to the CO of TOPGUN in-person, and explain to Lieutenant Commander Smith that the letter was poorly written and would not be favorably endorsed through the chain of command.
Captain Cassidy arrived at TOPGUN and enthusiastically completed his task. Hawk respectfully thanked him for his instruction and his time and bid him good day.
This was a turn of events Hawk could not have anticipated.
In an unusual discipline technique, Rear Admiral Fellowes, a high-ranking naval officer in a position of authority and responsibility, took a course of action that would affect an entire squadron, and in truth, the Navy fighter community. The worst of it was, Hawk did not know why.
Bypassing the chain of command
Hawk deliberated over his options. He had a squadron to run, a critical training program to maintain, and he needed more people. There were other ways to make the system work. He carefully weighed the risks and benefits and then called Colonel Sullivan to explain what had happened.
“Colonel Sullivan, Hawk here.”
“Hawk, haven’t seen that letter yet. Any problems?”
“As a matter of fact, yes sir, there is.”
Hawk covered the high points. Colonel Sullivan quietly thought the situation through while Hawk impatiently waited for an answer.
“Hawk, let’s do this. Resend the letter. This time send it directly to me. I’ll take it from there.”
“This isn’t gonna turn into a giant sweat-grenade is it, Colonel?”
“Nope, everything’s already in work. We’re just waiting for the letter.”
Hawk resent the letter directly to the Commandant coded for Colonel Sullivan. The response time from the Marine Corps was remarkably short and remarkably generous. In typical can-do Marine fashion, headquarters reassigned several additional maintenance technicians, extended the tour length for Marine aircrew to thirty-six months, and as part of the bargain, assigned a third pilot.
Hawk was ecstatic and grateful beyond words to Colonel Sullivan and the Marine Corps. He knew help was on the way, but he also knew he’d probably have to endure the wrath of Rear Admiral Fellowes for bypassing the chain of command. Hawk understood and accepted the fact that all things worth doing came at a price—and this was very much worth doing.
Photo credit: U.S. Navy and David “Bio” Baranek
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