Frank Watson-May 18, 1980

Every generation has at least one life-changing event that impacts the way they see the world.

I remember every detail about the open house at Fairchild Air Force Base in 1980.

My in-laws had been visiting for about a week, and I had talked them into staying an extra day to see the air show.

It was a glorious Sunday afternoon.

We had airplanes on display from bases all over the country.

More than 10,000 visitors had just watched the Air Force Thunderbird’s show, when I noticed ominous clouds building in the west.

The volcanic activity on Mount St. Helens had been in the news, and many of us admired the eccentric, reclusive Harry Truman as he steadfastly refused to leave his home on the mountain.

But natural disasters happen to other people, so I didn’t connect the clouds to the volcano until the base PA system announced that the open house was canceled, and the base was to be evacuated.

I found my boss, and he said I should take care of my family and come in the next morning.

I drove the five miles home as the ash cloud enveloped us, and everything became as dark as night.

The next morning was eerily calm.

I packed a change of clothes and drove to the base.

I arrived to an empty office and found my phone ringing.

At that time, aircraft maintenance was divided into four squadrons, and I commanded the shops that worked on various aircraft systems.

One of my shops was a laboratory, and duties included predicting the life remaining on a jet engine by examining the engine oil.

The sergeant in charge of the lab had jury-rigged a test to determine the composition of the ash.

The ash was not poison as some feared, but pure silicon, very finely powdered sand.

The next phone call was my boss “inviting” me to headquarters.

I told the senior staff that my lab had determined that the ash was non-toxic.

As I was the only junior officer present, I was given the task to begin cleaning the ash off of more than 300 acres of concrete parking ramps and taxiways.

I went directly to our squadron barracks where my unmarried airmen lived.

By noon, I had assembled a work force of about 50 young airmen, and we began clearing the ash from around our building.

I told them that we would clean one square yard of concrete then clean another, then another until we had cleaned the entire 300 acres.

I didn’t tell them how to do it because I didn’t know, but they soon figured it out.

They swept the ash into piles, shoveled it into trash cans, hauled it away, and washed the area down.

I almost stopped them when they used fire hoses as their water source.

The regs forbade use of fire equipment unless there was a fire.

After considering for a few seconds, I decided that the regs didn’t apply to this situation.

Late that afternoon, I called two of my senior sergeants and asked them to come in the next day and to bring as many men as they could.

By Tuesday afternoon, we had two 400 man shifts using the same technique we used the day before.

Ten days later the entire base was cleared of ash, and we resumed normal operations.

I learned a lot from those 10 days.

I learned things that shaped the way that I would think from then on.

I learned that even seemingly impossible jobs are doable if they are broken down into small tasks.

It is possible to eat an elephant–one bite at a time.

I learned that bright young people, unencumbered by rules and regulations, will find the best way to accomplish challenging tasks.

And, I learned that sometimes the best thing a boss can do is get out of the way.

(Frank Watson is a retired Air Force Colonel and a long time resident of Eastern Washington.

He has been a free lance columnist for over 18 years.)