Warner R. McGraw
submitted by: Alva Leon Matheson
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We were a FOL (forward operating location) of the 20th TASS, a Tactical Air Support Squadron of FACs (Forward Air Controllers). We flew O- 2s and OV-10s day and night, interdicting the Ho Chi Minh Trail in the southern panhandle of Laos.
I formed my first impression of Colonel McGraw soon after my arrival at Pleiku, from the stories still buzzing amongst the other pilots about a recently completed operation called Tailwind. The Army Special Forces had inserted a large force into Laos near the Trail in an ill-advised attempt to disrupt enemy operations. Highly classified, very risky, and difficult to execute, Tailwind met disaster from the outset. Surrounded, outgunned, pinned down, and unable to maneuver, the team suffered heavy casualties from vicious North Vietnamese attacks. Low on ammunition and medical supplies, the team urgently called for resupply. Rescue helicopters had been driven away by overwhelming ground fire.
Someone proposed a plan for resupply of critical items by removing the rear cargo door of an OV-10, stationing a Special Forces trooper in the front end of the small compartment, and filling the rest of the bay with the desperately needed supplies. The pilot would dive the OV-10 down into the maelstrom of ground fire, pull up sharply, and the Special Forces trooper would kick out the boxes.
Desperate situations produce risky plans, and this one required tactical surprise and perfect timing. Several young FACs volunteered to fly the mission, but Colonel McGraw refused to put his young troops in such clear danger.
He flew the mission himself – successfully. His courageous action revealed not only his skill, but also his character.
To a group of young warriors in their twenties, he was the old man, over forty and on his last assignment before retirement. His effective leadership – by example – was all too rare in Vietnam.
Colonel McGraw won our devotion by absorbing or deflecting the inevitable bureaucratic fecal matter as it rolled downhill. He spared us those distractions and frustrations and allowed us to focus on killing trucks and staying alive.
One day I overheard his end of a loud telephone conversation as he responded in colorful language to a call from higher headquarters. “My guys are the ones sending you that Intel, so don’t tell ME what’s going on up here!” He slammed the receiver down and smiled that crooked little smile.
He frequently reminded us that no target in this war was worth the sacrifice of a pilot’s life, though we knew he had taken just that chance when the lives of troops on the ground were in jeopardy. We knew that if any of us were shot down, he would go to any length to rescue us.
He never told us that – he didn’t need to. We knew he was that kind of guy. Of course we would have done the same for him and for each other. His leadership produced a close-knit, confident, aggressive group of professional FACs with sky-high esprit de corps.
His most enduring lesson for me personally, was a chewing out I earned one memorable evening. I was already a captain when I arrived at Pleiku, and most of the line pilots were lieutenants fresh out of undergraduate pilot training. I was instantly a leader of men. Colonel McGraw appointed me flight commander, training officer, and instructor pilot. My contemporary, Captain Bill Hartsell, received similar responsibilities, though we both flew full schedules as line pilots.
One of our scroungers had “acquired” a case of steaks, and we laid on a barbecue and beer bust for that evening. I was supremely chagrined to have been scheduled to fly the last daylight mission. I would miss most of the party. Grilled steaks represented a slice of heaven in the beleaguered Central Highlands of Vietnam. Steak was a rare treat not to be missed, and I was missing it.
As the fortunes of war would have it, my services were required beyond the normal return time, and I was in a foul mood as I finally approached the base in darkness. Knowing that the party was in the little patio area between our hooches, I fibbed to the control tower about my position on initial approach. Lights out, I entered the traffic pattern from a steep dive at high speed, roaring over the party at rooftop level. Pulling up and rolling over in a maneuver known as a whifferdill, I lined up with the runway, turned on my lights, and landed. After dearming, I taxied back to the parking revetments.
Climbing down from the cockpit, I was surprised to see Colonel McGraw sitting in a jeep behind the airplane. No one had ever offered me a ride after a mission!
He cheerfully called out, “Get in, I’ll give you a ride!” I tried to decline, explaining that I needed the walk after being strapped in for more than four hours.
He directed me to climb aboard. Putting the jeep in creeper gear, and starting across the ramp at about one-mile per hour, he said, “Nice pass!”
I knew that statement couldn’t be for real. He continued, “No, really, that was a nice pass.” After all, he WAS a fighter pilot.
I’ll never forget what he said next:
“You may not realize it, but I know what goes on amongst the guys in this outfit. They really look up to you and Hartsell. I know that you can do things like you just did, but not all of my kids can get by with it. Old Dad here has to carry a heavy burden of the welfare of these kids. The worst part of my whole career is writing to the wives and mommas of these guys who are killed.”
I listened quietly.
“I can’t run this show by myself. I need the help of you and Hartsell. We have to set an example that will help keep these guys alive until they go home. If you keep doing things like this, somebody is going to die trying to emulate you....”
The jeep put-putted across the ramp as the words kept coming, cutting into my soul like a dagger. By the time we halted in front of the ops shack, my head burned with shame, and I was practically in tears of regret from having let my hero down.
Not once had Colonel McGraw raised his voice. Never had he directly criticized me. He just explained.
I vowed to never let him down again. And I didn’t, at least until my fini flight, after he was long returned to the States. And neither have I ever forgotten that talk. I learned more about effective leadership during that eternal drive across that ramp in Pleiku, Republic of Vietnam, than could be taught in all of the Squadron Officers School and Air War College courses put together.
I lost track of my hero for exactly thirty years. But on September 22, 2000, at the Mother of all FAC reunions at Fort Walton Beach, Florida, I literally bumped into a slightly built old guy with mischievous eyes and a slightly crooked smile. His hair was long enough to be combed, though, and that threw me off for a minute.
But here was Lieutenant Colonel Warner R. McGraw, USAF, Retired. About half a dozen of us who had served, flown, and fought under him gathered around our hero. Even a casual observer could have noticed the respect and reverence we gave to this man.
He introduced his lovely wife, Anna, and we spent several happy hours reminiscing about all the guys, and those turbulent months we had spent together. Only then did I learn that he had helped pioneer the art of airborne forward air control, flying the T-6 in that role in the Korean War. And that he had flown as a troop carrier in North Africa, Sicily, Italy, and on into Germany, in World War II. And of his instructing in the T-6, flying the F-86, the F-102, and many other types of aircraft.
We honored the names of his “kids” and my comrades at a touching ceremony, dedicating a beautiful memorial to the fallen FACs of Southeast Asia, installed in the Air Park at Hurlburt Field, where we all trained so many years ago.
The years have been good to Warner R. McGraw. After a heart attack and a few surgical procedures, he doesn’t fly any more. He doesn’t remember things like he used to, but neither do I. He has more hair than I do, and his stomach is flatter than mine is, but he was kind enough to not point out those facts.
I have promised to go visit him, and like my promise thirty years ago, I intend, Lord willing, to not let him down.