Col. Joe R. Smith of Wichita Falls, Texas, has joined the elite 1 percent of American pilots who have managed to keep their machines in the air for 50 years without the Federal Aviation Administration having to fill out extra paperwork. The agency, apparently running out of more exciting things to celebrate, bestowed upon him the Wright Brothers Master Pilot Award, named after the two bicycle mechanics who once convinced the world that flinging yourself off a dune in a glorified kite was a good idea.
The honor recognizes “exemplary aviation expertise, distinguished professionalism, and steadfast commitment,” which in this case translates to Smith having spent five decades not hitting anything important. At its heart, officials say, the distinction is about safety: a half-century without a documented mishap. Smith, who has commanded Civil Air Patrol’s Southwest Region, Texas Wing, and Oklahoma Wing at various points, has been a pilot for nearly 51 years. “I’m a little surprised, because I don’t feel like I’m that old,” he said with a laugh, a statement that will surely age like milk.
Smith caught the flying bug as a youngster in rural central Florida while watching reruns of “12 O’Clock High,” a show that made World War II look like a lot more fun than it actually was. Only later, while applying to the Air Force Academy, did he discover his father had been an Army Air Corps gunner who never actually left training. The elder Smith did, however, once spot burning ships torpedoed by German U-boats off the Gulf Coast, giving the family a tenuous connection to early Civil Air Patrol coastal patrols and a ready-made dinner-table story.
A 1976 Academy graduate, Smith belonged to the last all-male class before women arrived and trained at Craig Air Force Base just before it closed. He logged more than 4,400 hours, much of it in KC-135 tankers babysitting SR-71s that were too fast and too secretive to hang around for long. His best assignment, he insists, was California, where he met future CAP Col. Harriet Smith, then a squadron commander. She followed him to Mississippi, they married, and thus began what he calls “a great partnership,” which is military-speak for “we both like airplanes and neither of us has filed for divorce.”
Harriet, now Southwest Region deputy commander, pinned the award on her husband with tears in her eyes. “He’s more than just my wing man; he’s my husband,” she explained. “We trust each other with our lives, physically and emotionally.” The couple has spent 44 years proving that two people who both think it’s a good idea to leave the ground in a metal tube can still share a checking account.
Joe’s favorite CAP job is instructor pilot, where he waits for “the light bulb” to come on in a student’s head—that magical instant when the kid in the other seat realizes the airplane will not fly itself and that the instructor would prefer not to die today. He currently serves as Southwest Region assistant director of safety, a title that sounds impressive until you remember the organization’s entire existence is built around volunteers who already have day jobs.
Reflecting on the award, Smith called it a wonderful journey made possible by professionals in the Air Force and Civil Air Patrol who somehow kept him from becoming a statistic. Civil Air Patrol, the official civilian auxiliary of the U.S. Air Force, continues to welcome adults from all backgrounds who enjoy wearing uniforms, flying government airplanes, and teaching teenagers how not to bend them. Those interested in joining the ranks of people who have not crashed for 50 years—or at least those who hope to try—can visit gocivilairpatrol.com and find their local unit before the next generation of television shows about World War II bombers airs.