THE DAY I SHOT

MYSELF DOWN
by Pete Purvis

ey, I’d like you to meet the guy who shot himself down.” Quite often, that’s how

“H my friends have introduced me. This unique honor belongs to me and another
Grumman test pilot, Tommy Attridge, who did it in an F-11F-1 fighter that he flew
into a hail of 20mm rounds he had just fired during a supersonic gunnery test. Several years
later, as a test pilot for Grumman Aerospace flying out of Point Mugu, California, I found a
more modern way to do this using a Sparrow missile and the no. 6 F-14A Tomcat—at that
time, the Navy’s fighter of the future. Nearly 30 years later, that day—June 20, 1973—
remains sharp in my memory.

80 FLIGHT JOURNAL
 This is how it’s supposed to go: the missile drops down
far enough to clear the airplane and then travels on its
merry way (photo by Ted Carlson).

Four photos from the actual misfiring sequence show the severity of the flames from the initial firing; the failure
of the missile to drop and properly clear the airframe; the missile dangerously close to the cockpit and the way-
ward Aim-7 about to tumble away from us (official U.S. Navy photos by PH1 Bill Irving, courtesy of author).
F-14 SHOOTDOWN

It wasn’t a dark and stormy night. The midday sun was two of its eight cruciform wings (four forward, four aft)
bright in the clear blue southern California sky. The inserted into slots in each launcher. These triangular fins
Channel Islands off Point Mugu stood out in blue/gray stark are 16 inches wide and, when the missile is attached to the
relief against the glistening ocean below as Bill “Tank” launcher, stick into the bottom of the fuselage.
Sherman and I flew west toward the test area in the Pacific The test point for that day was in the heart of the low-
Missile Test Range. Tank and I had known each other since altitude transonic range where the high-dynamic pressure-
we were in the same class in the Navy’s F-4 replacement air flow fields close to the fuselage are mysterious. The zero G

The Raytheon AIM-7 Sparrow missile that misfired was

group training. He had a combat tour as a Navy radar inter- launch parameter meant the missile would not get any help
cept officer (RIO) and was good at his business: analytical, from gravity as it was pushed away from the airplane by the
competent and cool—the kind of guy you wanted to have two semicircular feet embedded in the launcher mecha-
along when things got hectic. I had learned the real value of nism. Each of these feet was attached to a cylinder that con-
a good RIO over North Vietnam while flying combat mis- tained a small explosive charge that was set off by pulling
sions in the F-4B Phantom from the USS Coral Sea. the trigger on the stick.
One of the myriad development tests of a tactical air- This particular launch was not thought to be risky from a
plane is weapons separation, whether those weapons are pure separation standpoint because preceding Sparrow
bombs or missiles. That day, we were testing a critical point launches from the F-14 wing pylon, forward and mid-fuse-
in the Sparrow missile launch envelope. We weren’t testing lage positions in identical flight conditions had demonstrat-
the missile’s ability to kill airplanes, only its ability to clear ed favorable release dynamics and good clearance between
our airplane safely when fired. The crucial test point took the missile and the aircraft throughout the entire launch
place at .95 Mach, at 5,000 feet altitude and at zero G, and sequence. In fact, Raytheon—on the basis of its own aero-
PHOTOS COURTESY OF WARREN BODIE

it consisted of firing Raytheon AIM-7 Sparrow missiles from dynamic analysis—was concerned that the missile would
the farthest aft station (no. 4) in the “tunnel” that is under severely pitch nose down as it had on two of the three prior
the F-14 between the two engines where most missiles and launches at this condition, and possibly be so far below the
bombs are hung. On the F-14, the Sparrow missiles are aircraft as it passed the F-14’s nose radar that it could, in the
mounted in semi-submerged launchers in the tunnel with real world for which it was designed, lose the rear antenna

82 FLIGHT JOURNAL
radar signal and compromise the target acquisi- “AS I REACHED FOR THE LEFT FUEL SHUTOFF HANDLE, THE NOSE
tion portion of the missile trajectory. Raytheon
engineers had predicted a two-foot clearance. PITCHED UP VIOLENTLY; SO SHARPLY THAT THE FORCE OF MORE
Independent Grumman wind tunnel tests con-
THAN 10G CURLED ME INTO A FETAL POSITION. I COULDN’T
firmed the Raytheon analysis. Such, however,
was not to be the case for this launch. REACH EITHER THE FACE CURTAIN OR THE ALTERNATE HANDLE
Hal Farley—the other Grumman test pilot
sharing the missile separation program—and I BETWEEN MY LEGS. IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG FOR ME TO FIGURE
had flown an extensive buildup series to get to
this critical data point. Flight-test programs are OUT THAT I WAS NO LONGER IN CONTROL OF THE SITUATION”.
very orderly evolutions. Engineers and test
pilots study historical and forecast data carefully as test The test pilot—in this case, the test crew—has two prima-
points progress from the mundane to the hazardous. This ry jobs: first, to hit a specific data point (aircraft attitude,
one was no different. Neither Hal nor I had flown missile altitude, airspeed, G loading) in the most efficient manner,
separation tests before this series. And they didn’t cover it and then relate unusual phenomena and analysis to the
at the Navy Test Pilot School, either. One of our Grumman folks back on the ground. On this day, the second part was
colleagues, Don Evans—a former Edwards USAF test pilot covered by several million dollars’ worth of test instrumen-
and one of the most experienced sticks in the outfit—had tation. Very fortunate, because things were about to get
warned us during flight test “bonus” discussions that for exciting.
other than first flights, high-airspeed tests and structural We hit our point in the sky (567 KIAS, 5,000 feet, 0 G),
demos, weapons separations were the most perilous, pri- and I pulled the trigger. Ka-whumpf!!—a much louder Ka-
marily because of their unpredictable nature. Hal and I lis- whumpf than we’d experienced before. The missile
tened to Don, but his thoughts didn’t sink in until we did a appeared in my peripheral vision as it passed from beneath
bit of on-the-job training. We soon learned that, once they the left nacelle. It was tumbling end over end, spewing fire.
departed the mother airplane, stores sometimes had minds That’s weird! My first thought was, I’ll bet stray pieces
of their own; they sailed away and were known to barrel- FOD’ed the left engine. My instant analysis seemed to be
roll over the top or, perhaps, disintegrate ahead of the air- confirmed a few seconds later when the master caution
plane. Once you’ve seen that happen, you become wary of light flashed in front of me. My eyes jumped to the caution
staying too close when chasing the test airplane. We often panel, which had begun to light up like a pinball machine!
had eager Navy pilots flying photo chase, and we had to HORIZONTAL TAIL and RUDDER AUTHORITY, numerous
warn them in no uncertain terms that this wasn’t a Blue lesser lights, then BLEED DUCT! That’s the one that usually
Angels’ tryout. came on before fire warning lights. I disregarded all but the
During the preflight briefing, the engineers once again BLEED DUCT light and tried to punch it out by turning off
displayed graphs that showed the predicted missile-to-fuse- the bleed air source. That didn’t work! Now the chase told
lage clearance as a function of time after trigger pull. As me I was venting fuel, and I had a “pretty good fire going.”
expected, clearance was seen to be tight. But we had the “How good is that?” I asked in my cool-guy, smart-ass best.
utmost confidence in Grumman’s lead separation engineer, There’s the left fire warning light! He’s right! Shut down the
Tom Reilly, and his data. All previous launch data used dur- left engine. Well, that didn’t work either. As I reached for
ing buildups had come out on the money. We were good to the left fuel shutoff handle, the nose pitched up violently;
go. so sharply that the force of more than 10G curled me into a
The test missile was a dummy AIM-7E-2, an obsolescent fetal position. I couldn’t reach either the face curtain or the
model of the Sparrow with the same form, fit and function alternate handle between my legs. It didn’t take long for me
as the AIM-7F, the missile scheduled for the Fleet. The 7E- to figure out that I was no longer in control of the situa-
2’s casing, however, was slightly thinner than the 7F’s. The tion. “Eject, Tank, eject!” And as the high G force (data said
missile launcher feet contained a smaller charge because it peaked at 1.3 seconds) bled off to a point at which one of
Raytheon’s engineers thought a larger charge might fire the us could reach the face curtain, either Tank or I initiated
feet with enough force to break the missile casing. the ejection sequence, and in just one second we went from
The rest of the briefing was routine. As usual, F-14 no. 6’s raucous noise and confusion to almost complete peace and
test coordinator, Bob Mottl, was facilitator and ensured that quiet.
all the supporting cast had their moment. Tom gave us the The ejection was smooth, and after my body completed
usual five-inch stack of 5x7-inch index cards that detailed about four somersaults, the chute opened. The opening
each step of the test. Jim Homer, Grumman’s range coordi- shock was gentler than I had expected. In fact, I hardly
nator, briefed us on the boundaries of the test area and an noticed it. All the action from missile launch to our ejection
array of test frequencies and range procedures. Tank and I took only 39 seconds! It seemed much longer. We had
briefed our chase F-4 crew—Lt. Col. Fritz Menning, USMC, ejected at an estimated 350 knots, having bled off 150 to
from the VX-4 tactics development squadron (who had 200 knots in the pitch up, and at 7,000 feet—2,000 feet
chased many previous flights) and PH1 Bill Irving, the top higher than we started. Post-accident analysis of the instru-
aerial photographer at the Naval Missile Center, Point mentation showed the violent nose-up maneuver was
Mugu. After the routine ground checks, we took off and caused by a full nose-up stabilator command, the result of a
flew directly to our test location about 80 miles offshore probable burn-through of the control rod that actuated
between Santa Rosa and San Nicolas Islands, directly west of nose-down commands. Had the stabilator command gone
Los Angeles. full nose-down, you wouldn’t be reading this story.

APRIL 2001 83
F-14 SHOOTDOWN

As I stopped swinging in the chute, I saw Tank about 75 vest all the way. In my state of diminished IQ—probably
yards away and 100 feet below me. We waved at each other about 20—I had forgotten that very basic step on the way
to indicate we were in good shape. We both waved at Fritz, down. I flailed about the surface, kicking, treading water with
who circled until he was low on fuel. We had hoped to wave one hand and searching for the life-vest toggle with the
at a helicopter, but to travel 80 miles in a helo flying at 120 other, then treading water with both. My addled brain real-
knots takes a long time—even though it launched a few min- ized that this maneuver wasn’t going to be a long-term sur-
utes after we ejected. Our airplane descended in a slow, shal- vival technique. Epiphany! You’d better stick your head
low left spiral, burning fiercely in a long plume reaching under water, submerge if you must, open your eyes and find
from the trailing edge of the wing to well beyond the tail. It the damned toggles, or you’re going to die. Doing so, I found
hit the water in the same altitude as it had descended—5 to the right one, pulled it, and once again ascended to the sur-
10 degrees nose down and in a 10-degree left bank. On face, this time from about eight feet down. Next, find the left
impact, it broke up and scattered pieces in a 100-foot radius. toggle. Now that I was at least floating, I figured I didn’t need
The largest chunk was the left portion of the tail section that to perform my immersion act again, so I somewhat calmly
floated in a pool of pink hydraulic fluid. found the left toggle and inflated the rest of the life vest that
The parachute ride was calm, serene and long. The only contained most of the neck collar and thus, lots more com-
noise was the chase plane roaring by several times. As I hung fort.
in the chute, my thoughts turned to the next phase: water Now that the most basic water survival goal—floating—
survival. The sea had been achieved, I turned my attention to getting rid of
below was calm. First the chute, which I found still connected to my left quick-
thought: did the air- release fitting. Release was a bit difficult because no tension
plane crash sound was on the riser. Small problem. A few shrouds plus the yel-
reveille to the sharks, low raft lanyard were wrapped around my left ankle. The
who must be lurking shrouds untangled easily, but not the lanyard.
hungrily below await- The life raft episode, which at times brought to mind
ing their next meal? thoughts of monkeys playing football, would roll an audi-
Oddly, that was the ence in the aisles if included in a water survival flick. Where
last time I thought of was the raft? Because I hadn’t seen either the raft or its shad-
sharks for the rest of ow on the way down, I assumed it hadn’t inflated but it
the day because my must be on the water nearby. I couldn’t turn around very
mind soon became well because of my stiff neck. I soon saw the raft about five
otherwise engaged. yards away out of the corner of my eye. I remembered rafts
Sharks weren’t some- being yellow, but this one was black and at first glance
thing I could control, seemed partially inflated. Both illusions were caused by the
but water entry was, protective cover draped over the raft’s side. I began to swim
so I began to go toward it and after splashing through one yard of the five-
through my water yard gap in about 10 seconds, the light turned on. I’ll bet if I
survival tactics. I pulled on the yellow raft lanyard it would come to me. I did,
pulled the right han- and it did.
dle of the seat pan to release my When attached to the Now the fun began! I remembered the raft was attached to
launcher, two of the mis-
life raft, which was supposed to sile’s 16-inch-wide triangular
the seat pan, so there was no way I was about to get rid of the
remain attached to the pan on fins protrude into the bottom seat pan and see my new home headed toward Hawaii. I
the end of a long yellow lan- of the fuselage (photo by Ted didn’t recall that the raft had a lanyard to attach your har-
Carlson).
yard, or so I’d been told. I ness to the raft. Now came the time to board the raft. I
peered carefully below, but saw remembered the “method” from earlier days in water survival
no raft or shadow on the water. Pulled the left one. Still no training. “Face the low end of the raft, grab the sides, pull it
sign. Sure hope there is one. toward you, do a snap roll, and you’ll be in a nice, comfort-
Bear in mind that the last time I had hung in a parachute able position on your back.” Right! But this approach didn’t
harness was in preflight some 16 years before, and then not consider that the idiot boarding the raft still had his seat pan
for very long. I wasn’t about to perform a creative search for strapped to his butt. The outcome of this trick was an invert-
my life raft using chute steering or other acrobatics best left ed raft parked on top of my head. I flipped the raft and rest-
to the 82nd Airborne. Nor did I care to enter the water in ed.
other than the prescribed manner, so I gingerly walked my Let’s try this a different way: hoist yourself into the raft on
fingers up the risers and found the parachute’s quick-release your stomach, rest, then try a sneaky slow-roll. After about
fittings (they’re parked a foot or so above your shoulders 45 degrees of roll, I became hung up on something. My oxy-
when you’re hanging under a parachute) so I could actuate gen hose was still connected to my seat pan. I fumbled
them when I hit the water to avoid becoming tangled in around and eventually freed the hose. Now, continuing my
parachute and shrouds—yet another way to die. roll to 135 degrees, I was sort of face up but still hung up. It
After what seemed like a very long time hanging in the must be the seat pan. I disconnected it, and very carefully
chute, the water suddenly rushed up at me, an event that pushed it to the foot of the raft—I certainly didn’t need to
according to survival school anecdotes signaled impending puncture it now. Still hung up! OK; disconnect the mask
water entry. Water entry was like jumping off a 10-foot div- from the harness. No luck. About now, my tired and befud-
ing board—just like they said. I plummeted about 10 feet dled mind decided to take stock of the situation and sort out
under, then bobbed to the top while trying to actuate my life priorities. I am in my raft and floating nicely; it’s pretty calm

84 FLIGHT JOURNAL
F-14 SHOOTDOWN

(a 5- to 7-knot wind and a 4-foot swell at about twice a by the second crewman. Using sign language, he told me to
minute), and I have better things to do now than flail about get out of the raft. Hesitant to leave the security of my new-
trying to get flat on my back in this raft. found home, I somewhat reluctantly obeyed. Strange
Where’s Tank? I figured he was behind me because he thoughts race through the mind at times.
yelled from that direction a few minutes ago. I had replied I got into the horse collar the right way on the first
by waving my arms. I was too weak to do much else after attempt. (Getting in the wrong way is probably the most
flailing about, and I was nauseous from swallowing seawa- common mistake in rescues.) As I came abreast of the helo’s
ter. door, the crewman grabbed me and pulled me in. I let him
I turned on my Guard channel beeper—mainly to see if it do everything his way. At this point, I wasn’t about to insert
would work. Half the world knew where we were, probably my own inputs, the wisdom of which I had begun to sus-
including the Soviets who regularly shadowed Pacific Missile pect not long after entering the water nearly an hour before.
Range operations with trawlers offshore. Planes had been I saw the other helo getting close to Tank, who had a flare
flying around us when we ejected: two F-4s (Bloodhound in his hand that was billowing immense clouds of orange
96, the chase and Vandy 6 from VX-4) and Bloodhound 21, smoke. I walked forward in the aircraft as far away from the
an S-2 used by PMR for range clearance. We also carried a door as I could get and watched as the crewman hoisted the
PRC-90 survival radio, which is much better suited for talk- swimmer aboard. Both helped me out of my flight gear.
ing to other humans, so I stowed the Guard beeper and Then I strapped myself onto the canvas bench along the left
pulled out the PRC, connected the earphone plug to the bulkhead, looked out the open door at the welcome sight of
plug on my hardhat (this was probably the most coherent the ocean now below me and smoked one of several ciga-
thing I’d done since jettisoning the airplane), turned to rettes offered by the crewmen as we flew to the beach some
Guard transmit/- 40 minutes away.
receive and held a Naturally, a large welcoming committee had gathered on
short confab with the ramp to meet us: Capt. Clyde Tuomela, the Navy’s
Tank. We were Mugu F-14 program manager; Cdr. “Smoke” Wilson, his
both fine. We were deputy; Mike Bennett, Grumman’s local flight test manager;
the only people Hal Farley, and a host of others. Tom Brancati, Grumman’s
talking on Guard, manager at Point Mugu, happened at the time to be en
so I attempted to route to Washington to brief the Navy on program progress.
raise someone on You don’t lose a hand-built development airplane costing
Plead Control, untold millions every day, so Tom, after being notified of
PMR’s main range- the loss of the F-14 as he passed through Dulles airport, had
control frequency. to gather his data and thoughts quickly to explain this one.
Another problem. We had lost two airplanes previously: no. 1 on the second-
After about a ever F-14 flight when the hydraulic system failed, and no.
minute of turning 10, the carrier suitability demonstration airplane, which
the channel selec- flew into the water during an airshow practice at Patuxent
tor in both direc- River, killing the F-14 project pilot, Bill Miller, who had
tions to select the ejected earlier from no. 1 along with Bob Smyth, the direc-
channel, I realized Pete Purvis prepares to test-fly an F-8 tor of Grumman’s flight test.
Crusader (photo courtesy of author).
one must push the One tenet of the fighter pilot’s creed is: “I would rather
button in the cen- die than look bad.” You have got to look cool as you dis-
ter of the selector change channels. Another victory for the mount—just as though nothing had happened, kind of
IQ-challenged! Bloodhound 21 flew low overhead, and we John Wayne-like. Yeah; right! As I stepped down from the
began conversing about our major concern. Where was the helicopter and my feet hit the ground, I began to shiver
cavalry? It was about 10 minutes away, in two helos. Super! uncontrollably, and I had great difficulty talking. The ther-
Relieved, I tried to get comfortable. I first sighted the helo mal shock from flailing around in the 60-degree ocean for
as he passed the foot of my raft several hundred yards away, almost an hour had hit. This embarrassing state didn’t wear
headed for the wreckage. Almost in unison, both off until later in sick bay, after I had belted down four raw
Bloodhound 21 and I let him know neither Tank nor I were brandies.
at the wreckage. “I’m at your nine o’clock.” (I was really at Shooting myself down was merely a prelude to the water
his three; another good argument for giving direction first, fiasco. It was apparent to Tank and me—and to our manage-
then clock code.) I vectored him to me over the radio. ment—that we required some remedial survival training.
He quickly locked on. “Don’t need a smoke.” I was happy And so we got ours in the middle of December in the out-
to hear that. If lighting off a smoke flare followed the trend door, unheated pool at NAS Miramar. But that’s another
of my misadventures of the past hour, I probably would story.
have doused myself in orange smoke or opened the wrong That evening, Tank and I had our Grumman bowling
end and burned myself. league scheduled. We went. Luckily, neither of us dropped a
“Do you have any difficulty?” asked the helo pilot. ball on our foot. 
“I’m hung up on something in the raft,” I said.
“I’ll drop a swimmer,” he said.
After about 30 seconds, he splashed down about five
yards away, disconnected me from whatever had me hung
up, then guided me toward the horse collar being lowered