VMFP-3 80s Flashback

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RF-4B Phantom Plane Captains
By Marc "Devil Dog Of The Web" Iseli / Updated Dec. 2025
Rolled into the Joint Reception Center on October 29, 1979, sporting a shiny new 6011 MOS and all the confidence of a boot with no clue. VMFP-3 took one look and said, 'Yeah, we’ll take him.' Thus began my epic quest to become a plane captain (6014) on the RF-4B Phantom, the recce pig that only a mother, or a desperate Marine, could love. Back in the early eighties, being a plane captain meant you were the poor soul responsible for keeping a herd of ancient Phantoms flight-ready, which was about as easy as herding cats with a Rottweiler. If you have ever tried to keep those birds in the air, you know it was a miracle every time one actually flew. The job was a big deal, mostly because the plane captain was the last line of defense between the Phantom and total chaos. Day one, I got sent to the infamous Line Shack, a name that fits, since it was basically a sardine can with insulation stuffed in the walls and ceiling, probably to keep the hamster cozy and warm.

To this day, I have no idea how the Marine Corps picked our MOS, out of the hat, maybe darts, maybe a drunken game of bingo. Either way, I lucked out (or drew the short straw) and landed 6014, plane captain. Perfect for a control freak like me who wanted to boss around a Phantom and everyone within shouting distance. Earning that title meant months of tailing grumpy old short-timing plane captains, learning the dark arts, and then sweating through a written test and a board of officers who looked like they hadn’t smiled since Korea. Pass that FUBAR, and you've got your wings, sort of. Here’s what a plane captain actually does, assuming you haven’t run screaming yet.
Aircraft Custodian and Daily Responsibility
If you thought mornings were for coffee and quiet reflection, think again. We got assigned our own Phantom at zero-dark-thirty and became its personal babysitter. The job? Crawl all over that jet, poking and prodding for leaks, busted hydraulic lines, mystery fluids, bald tires, and whatever else the Phantom decided to throw at us. Check the intakes for FOD, make sure panels and fasteners aren’t about to fall off mid-flight, and pray the cockpit ladder doesn’t collapse under your weight. Plane captains knew their jet better than their own rack, spotting trouble before it turned into a full-blown maintenance nightmare. In VMFP-3, where the birds carried enough spy gear to make James Bond jealous, knowing your Phantom inside and out was non-negotiable.
Pre-Flight Aircraft Preparation
Before every mission, we got to play Phantom dress-up: yanking and installing pre-flight pins on anything that could explode, collapse, or otherwise ruin your day. Fuel levels? Check. External tanks? Shake ‘em and hope they’re full. Camera bay doors and sensor panels? Try closing those monsters solo, and you’ll need a chiropractor. Pitot tubes and probes, aka eye pokers, had to be uncovered, and engine covers yanked off before the pilot tripped over them. Chocks and tie-downs? Double-check, unless you want to see your jet taxi itself. We also had to wrangle with the ordnance guys, avionics wizards, and the photo shop crew, because the RF-4B was basically a flying camera store with wings.
Supervising Aircraft Servicing
We didn’t do every bit of maintenance ourselves; sometimes, we just stood around looking important while the shops did the heavy lifting. Power plants, hydraulics, avionics, you name it. Our specialties? Hot refueling in the pits (try not to set yourself on fire), topping off the hydraulics, filling up the oxygen, wrestling with the LOX bottle, dragging out the Nitrogen Service Cart, and checking oil levels like we were running a Jiffy Lube for jets.
Launch Procedures on the Flight Line
Best part of the gig? Launching the bird. Nothing like standing in front of a roaring Phantom, flapping your arms and throwing hand signals like you’re directing traffic at the world’s loudest intersection. I got so good at reading lips that I could have worked Vegas. The launch dance went like this: pilot gives the nod, we check for smoke, fire, leaks, and anything else that might ruin someone’s day. Then it’s time for the control surface ballet: the pilot wiggles the sticks, and we make sure the ailerons, rudder, stabilators, flaps, slats, and speed brakes all do their thing. Final check: no leaks, gear doors working, tanks bolted on, canopy locked. If it all looked good, we gave the taxi signal, watched the Phantom roll out, tossed a salute, got one back, and then watched our bird thunder down the runway, right past the line shack, where we’d be waiting for the next round.
Aircraft Recovery
Once the Phantom limped back from a mission, it was our FUBAR again. First up, play catch with the chute, right in the engine exhaust, because why not, and wrap it around the wing tank like a Christmas present from hell. Check for hot brakes, drag the jet through the pits for hot refueling, and then wrestle that heavy fuel hose under the belly, which was basically a CrossFit workout before CrossFit was cool. Park the bird, chock the wheels, pin the seats, interrogate the pilot about what broke this time, and then try to stuff that filthy chute back into its small compartment. Usually involved punching it in, slamming the spring-loaded door, and ending up with hands blacker than a boot’s soul. Never lost a chute deployment on my watch.
Maintenance Duties
We were supposed to be mechanics, power plants, airframes, you name it, but mostly we were jacks-of-all-trades and masters of none. Help the shops with major repairs, top off the air in the canopies, fill the oil, swap tires, and wire things so they don’t fall off in flight. Worst job? Fuel sampling. Always dumped on the new guy, because nothing says 'welcome aboard' like shoving a metal rod into a glass jar and getting jet fuel up to your armpit. Towing the jet with a two-point tow bar? I could back a Phantom into the hangar or Hush House like I was parking a Cadillac. Washing the bird was another treat, taping off the canopy for reasons lost to history, crawling under the jet, and soaking yourself in soapy water while wondering why you didn’t just join the Air Force.
Documentation and Aircraft Logs
Biggest headache? Inspections and logbooks. Plane captains had to sign off on everything, which meant the weight of the world, and a few angry Gunny Furrs, on your shoulders. Maintenance control always wanted more jets ready yesterday, so the pressure was on to rush inspections and slap your name in the logbook, praying nothing fell off in flight. I hated being rushed, but somehow, we pulled it off. The squadron racked up 50,000 accident-free hours in 1988, which is either a miracle or proof that the paperwork gods were smiling on us.
Relationship with Maintenance Shops and Pilots
Despite all the chaos, I loved being a plane captain on the RF-4B Phantom. The pilots and maintenance crew were my tribe, and I got tight with Marines from every shop, especially Cpl. Paul Genarie from hydraulics, my partner in crime and roommate. Overseas, you didn’t have cell phones or social media, just a bunch of Marines stuck together, so you either bonded or went nuts. We had some top-notch officers and flight crews, and they trusted us to keep their rides in one piece.It really hurt when we lost two of our youngest crew in 22 May 1981, Pilot Lt. Pete Keenan and RSO Lt. Bill Lauerman, who were killed when their RF-4B Phantom crashed in Ely, Nevada. I was the last PC to strap them in that day and send them off. I still think about them to this day. ( More detail on this here)

The Line Shack
Honoring the plane captains of VMFP-3.
Ground Support Equipment
All ground equipment used by plane captains.

Alright, you glorious Rat Phixers and Phlyers, if we ever survived a TAD, a Det, or a BOHICA, who haven't, and you didn’t think I was the biggest gaff off in the squadron. Got a sea story, or some grainy photos your ex didn’t set on fire, and they’re only slightly illegal? Send ‘em by email, snail mail, or safety wire it to a carrier pigeon. I collect ‘em all, just nothing that would incriminate me.
80svmfp3@gmail.com

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