First, I am not the most religious man, but I do believe in God. Didn’t always feel strongly about the teachings when I was growing up. But events over the past 78 years have strengthened my beliefs. Some of those events scared me to the brink of death, but only made me realize that I do have a guardian angel.

           In 1969, I was a helicopter pilot in Vietnam. That year was a comparatively quiet time over there as the Tet Offensive of 1968 wiped out the Viet Cong as a fighting force, and the North Vietnamese were just becoming active in pushing forces into South Vietnam. Life as a helicopter pilot was relatively good compared to what the “grunts” experienced. I slept in a wooden building, had a three-hole wooden latrine to use, and a real bed to sleep in, just like federal prisoners. Even got to take a cold shower each day. One morning, the operations clerk came around at the usual 0500 hours and woke me for the day’s mission. As I sat up, I had a feeling. Nothing I could put my finger on but just this feeling. Something was off.

           Upon arriving at my aircraft, my crew met me, and we began our preflight inspection. Still, that feeling stayed with me.

           “Hey Posey,” I called out to my crew chief, “How does she look today?”

           “Good Sir, Captain Head flew it last night after they finished putting the rebuilt rotor head on her.”

           “Well, we are stand-by aircraft today, so unless someone else can’t fly, we get the day off,” I told my crew. A few minutes later, we received word that another aircraft could not depart, and we were to take their mission. That feeling roared to me, something was not right.

           “Okay, let’s start her up,” I said to my copilot, and he executed the start-up procedures. Everything appeared normal with good indications on the instruments. As I stared at the instruments, that feeling was screaming at me. We started to pull out when the pilots who could not start their aircraft came over and stopped us.

           “Hey Matt, let us take the mission. I am a low-time pilot, and you are a high-time pilot. I need more hours, so let me take the mission,” Chip said. He had just come back from Hawaii, and I was pushing 160 hours of flight time for the month when 140 was the maximum in a thirty-day period. Most pilots easily got 140 hours within a 30-day period before they were required to have a 3-day downtime.

           “Chip, you can have it, but just don’t abuse my crew chief and gunner,” I said jokingly and exited the aircraft along with my copilot. Suddenly, the feeling was gone, and we began walking back to flight operations, watching my aircraft depart. Upon reaching flight operations, we walked in, and the OPS NCO was crying and turned white when he saw me.

           “My God, who is flying your aircraft?” he asked.

           “Chip is. Why?” I responded.

           “The aircraft crashed just outside the perimeter. They are all dead.” I was shocked and afraid that I had missed something in the preflight. Captain Head came and found me, and we were both shocked. An accident investigation found that, when the rotor head was rebuilt by another unit rather than our maintenance unit, the wrong-size bolts were used. They had torn out the release mechanism for the rotor blades. Was someone watching out for me?

           A month later, I woke again, and that feeling was with me. I told my crew I had a feeling and that everyone should be on their toes. Later that day, while participating in a combat assault, we were shot down and landed in a clearing with US troops. Over the course of the next nine months, I had that feeling several times, and each time, we were shot down. The results were never good as I had a door gunner wounded, a door gunner killed, and two crew chiefs wounded. It got to the point where each morning, my crew would ask how I felt, not concerned for my health but for their safety. At this point, after 19 months of flying in Vietnam, I was convinced I had a guardian angel.

           My first son was born a year after I returned from Vietnam. Life was good. He was as good a baby as one could ask for. My wife and I decided to drive cross-country to see her parents. We spent the night in the Holiday Inn outside of Saint Louis. When I woke, that feeling was on my shoulder. It had been a year and a half since I had it, and now it was back. We got on the interstate early and headed out, but did not get far when fog covered the road. That fog did not slow anyone down, as traffic was moving at 60-plus miles per hour, and you could barely see 50 feet. Suddenly, an overwhelming stench filled the car. My newborn had filled his diaper, and along with it, more methane gas than I thought was humanly possible. I had to pull off and get this changed. While changing him at a restaurant, we decided to eat breakfast before getting back on the interstate. When I attempted to get on the ramp, the State Police had it blocked and were directing traffic to a detour. Seems that an hour before, in the fog, there was a sixty-car accident on the interstate. If it had not been for a dirty diaper, I would have been right in the middle of that mess. Guardian angels work in mysterious ways, I began to think.

           When I returned home, but remained in the military, I found life a bit boring and took up skydiving and mountain climbing. Every weekend, my wife and kids would join me at a drop zone with a picnic basket. Many times, my wife would pack my parachute. Talk about love and trust. One day, however, I had that feeling. It had been four years after Vietnam. For Christmas, my Dad had bought me a new parachute. It was beautiful, and the newest square canopy that had just come out. I carefully packed it. My wife saw that something was bothering me.

           “Why don’t you skip jumping today. You look like something is wrong,” she said.

           “No, this will be a great jump. Perfect weather, new parachute. Perfect day,” I said. Once in the air, my confidence was not as high as it had been on the ground. At 10,000 feet, I exited the plane and decided that at 4,000 feet I would deploy my chute so I could fly it for a bit before landing, and I did. But what came out was not a deployed parachute but a laundry bundle, it appeared. I struggled to untangle the mess but kept an eye on my altimeter. Okay, at 2000 feet, I cut away and deployed my reserve parachute. Another mess that looked like a streamer. Again, I worked at untangling the mess. What the hell could have happened? I had over 100 jumps and was a qualified senior parachute rigger. Finally, the mess opened, and relief swept over me, just as I hit the ground.

           When I woke in the emergency room, I was told my ankle was broken, and I was going into surgery. My wife was standing next to me. She slowly placed a piece of paper on my chest.

           “Hi Hun, What’s that?” I asked.

           “That is a check. I sold all your parachute equipment on the drop zone. You can get a new hobby, or you can get a divorce, but me and the kids are not going to watch you kill yourself,” she said, and I knew she meant it. I found a new hobby.

           Over the course of my life, other events have occurred where that feeling has come over me, and when it does, I pay attention. I am convinced we all have a guardian angel. We just have to listen to that angle.

Matt Jackson

P.S. True story.

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