Mach Doc
Carl Haller was a hero in my book. They called him Mach Doc. Mach as in mach 3: shorthand for three times the speed of sound; 2300 miles per hour. That was how fast the SR-71 Blackbird flew.
I was walking out of the base chapel in my dress uniform, a young captain in the United States Air Force. The pilots and crew of the 9th Strategic Reconnaissance Wing, the doctors and staff of USAF Beale, and the Beale AFB community had gathered to pay our last respects to a pilot, a doctor, and an American hero.
It was about noon, with cold but clear blue skies overhead. As I stepped out into the bright sunlight I heard a noise in the distance. I was puzzled as it rapidly grew louder and louder. In that split second I saw it - the Blackbird barreling down towards me at what seemed like tree top level. It was shocking, unexpected, a complete surprise. As it roared past overhead the pilot pulled back on the joystick and soared straight up, afterburners blazing, and then peeled off, up and out. The plane was gone as quickly as it had come, in a blink of an eye. It made me think how suddenly life can come, and go - as it did for Major Carl Haller.
On March 24, 1972 Captain Haller became the 252nd pilot to fly the Blackbird, a list that eventually had less than five hundred names over the four decades the SR-71 was flying.
It was an incredible aircraft - and actually a spacecraft - that one would only expect in a science fiction novel, not an actual airplane designed, built, and operational in the 1960’s. The plane was 92% titanium - unheard of. Titanium was a rare and expensive material across the world. Ironically, the source of the precious metal was the Soviet Union. Using subterfuge and phony middlemen the United States over the years bought enough titanium to build 32 Blackbirds.
Of the 32 Blackbirds built, 20 survived. Twelve crashed, however not a single pilot was killed, a tribute to the Lockheed engineers who designed the plane.
The pilots who flew her were the best of the best. A large number of SR-71 pilots were promoted to general later in their career. Carl Haller, Mach Doc, was the only Blackbird pilot who would ever become a physician.
You would never have known that Dr. Haller had that honor on his resume. I knew him as a good guy, an upbeat, energetic, and enthusiastic doc. He was a Flight Surgeon, which meant his job was to take care of the pilots and flight crews on base. These folks were generally in excellent health. Being a pilot himself, he related very well with his fellow flyers, and was a great one to joke with the air crews. He had been there, and then some.
The story was that he was a fighter pilot in Viet Nam, and had been shot down and rescued. He rotated back to the states, and trained for flying the Blackbird, a prestigious honor in itself. It was a difficult and expensive plane to fly. He piloted the Blackbird for his first time in 1972.
Unfortunately due to a health issue he was placed on DNIF - Duty Not to Include Flying. But that did not stop him. His love for flying and flyers led him to medical school, and he retooled to become a Flight Surgeon for the Air Force. He was assigned to Beale Air Force Base, home to the 9th Reconnaissance Wing and the SR-71 Blackbird.
The pilots called him Mach Doc. I had to ask around to find out the story. Carl was never one to volunteer it. Had I not asked, I never would have known. He was happy in his job as a doc, and a great asset to our hospital team as well as to our flight crews.
I remember a Saturday in early December, 1983. I was looking for a Christmas tree and an unusually strong and cold blustery wind was blowing the trees around. Several toppled over. It was that strong.
The next Monday at work, I heard of the tragedy. Carl Haller had been killed by a falling tree as he drove out the base back gate. His small sports car was crushed. The hospital and the entire Beale family was also. He was such a young man, I think no more that in his early forties. It was devastating news.
The chapel was packed to overflowing. I sat after the service was done pondering the irony of a great man surviving the dangers of air warfare, of flying a rocket ship, of fighting his way through medical school as probably the oldest in the class - all of that coming to nothingness in an instant. I thought how randomness trumps God’s will, karma, and the odds. I think I was one of the last ones filing out.
But I was glad I did when I did. Because I realized that moment like Carl’s life was just as fleeting as mine. As the Blackbird disappeared, the sound of its engines did too, leaving me now alone with the chirping of the birds, and a cold breeze in my face.
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