Lt Colonel Dan Rooney - Fly Into the Wind

To my girls: Jacqy, Victoria, Tatum, Mia, Reese, and Devyn. Thank you for your unwavering support.

I will never forget the day I flew with Lieutenant Colonel Dan Noonan Rooney, although I have every excuse, as I had been knocked unconscious that very morning. I was riding my bike uphill and out of the saddle (and, ironically, into the damn wind), when two idiots came hurtling downhill around a corner and plowed head on into me. I dont know how long I was unconscious, but when I came out of the ether, my very first thought was Noonan must not know of this. You see, not everyone gets to fly in the back seat of an F-16 Viper, and I knew if he or the flight surgeon ever got wind of what was definitely a concussion (or the fact that for several hours I didnt know whether I was blown up or stuffed) my chance would be gone.

It was the 2007 PGA Championship at Southern Hills in Tulsa, and I was there working the event for CBS. Growing up in Northern Ireland, surrounded by soldiers, I had an affinity for the military, and ever since / , something had ached inside of me. I had lived in America since 1993, had fallen in love with the place, and I couldnt bear the thought of terrorism reaching the shores of yet another place I thought of as home. When Dan described his vision for Folds of Honor and asked if I would help in promoting the launch of the foundation, I jumped at the chance, to say the least. Our troops had our backs downrange, and this was a chance to do something for their families if they didnt make it home.

It was well over 100 degrees Fahrenheit that afternoon, and after three hours of ingress and egress education (none of which got past the concussion), I put on my harness, which connects me to the ejection seat, and tightened the straps. How the hell is he walking upright? I thought, as I walked like a crippled lobster behind Dan, across the sweltering apron, toward that beautiful machine. He turned around, giggling, and said, You dont tighten up until you get in the seat, you moron. Right, I knew that. You know all that ingress and egress stuff you just sat through? he said.

Uh-huh. I nodded.

Forget it, just dont touch anything yellow.

As it turned out, the ejection handle under my seat was yellow. Enough said. I loosened my straps and did my best Tom Cruise swagger to the bottom of the ladder, climbed up, and shoehorned myself into the back seat. Not a lot of room.

At the time, my daily driver was a Porsche 911 Turbo, so I didnt think Id be freaked out by the airplanes acceleration down the runway. Math was never my strong suit, so I dont know how many times a 911 Turbo goes into 29,000 pounds of thrust. Suffice to say that we hadnt gone a nine irons length down the runway before I wanted my mommy. Everyone had told me that I should eat a banana before I did this, as bananas taste the same coming up as they do going down, but I dislike being told what to do, so Id had a big sweaty cheeseburger and a chocolate malt for lunch. That was beginning to feel like a bad decision.

I have no idea what speed we were doing when Dan pointed that damn thing vertical, but I felt the change of direction in my dental work, and that was just the beginning. Once we were at 20,000 feet, Dan pulled the F-16 on its back and rolled over. I felt like some idiot had touched something yellow, and I was being catapulted out of the canopy. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can prepare a layperson for the violence of such an experience, and it was right then that I started to wonder if the crazy idiot in front of me was a human being. No normal person could do this for a living, I thought, as my testicles snapped back into place. If Id known that that was going to happen, I would have bought them a little G-suit of their own.

What an hour of my life that was. We pulled nine Gs twice, I didnt pass out, and the cheeseburger didnt come out of either end of me! We rocketed over the clubhouse at Southern Hills at what seemed like about 13 feet high, and when Dan said it was time to land, I squealed like a little boy, Nooooooooo! It was too much fun! But CBS had documented the whole thing, and Folds of Honor was up and running. I was right about one thing: Lt Colonel Dan Rooney is no ordinary person.

A few weeks later, I called Dan and asked how I could get my then-Irish ass to Iraq. He pulled a few levers (none of them yellow), and the following year, I was there with the USO, a trip that changed my life forever. I came back wantingno, needingto be an American. And I did: I became a U.S. citizen and even started my own foundation, Troops First.

It takes a special person to give an alcoholic drug addict in the throes of mental illness the opportunity to have such an experience, but if you read this book youll get it, just like I did, and you will find yourself equipped with the tools to make your life and the lives of those around you better. Dan Rooney is a special friend to me and was an inspiration at a time in my life when I thought I had no purpose.

Noonans fighter-pilot mind can process information at extraordinary speeds. This gives him the unique ability to see details and dimensions that most people never notice. Fly Into the Wind is the awesome culmination of Lt Colonel Dans study of life. His single-seat-fighter-pilot mentality drives his ethos that one person can trigger enormous change and impact. His personal struggles taught him that in order to ascend, we need to feel pressure on the underside of our wings, and to have the strength to hold those wings steady in the storm. Dan has found that strength in his faith, and in common sense too. Every player on the PGA Tour knows that its easier to find that difficult flag, the one just over the bunker, if you have the wind in your face. Downwind gets you nowhere near, and nothing in life is valuable without the challenge that comes before it.

David Feherty

THE SKY WAS THE COLOR OF PERFECTION THAT MORNING, STEEL blue that stretched out for miles over the vast beige and burnt green pastures of Oklahoma. Pilots refer to a sky as majestic as this one as CAVU, or ceiling and visibility unrestrictedthe ideal conditions for flying. Rare to achieve but impossible not to appreciate. When I walked over to the F-16, climbed up the ladder, and strapped myself in that day, I had never felt better. I had just returned safely from my third tour of duty in Iraq and looked forward to a routine sortie, a basic training flight, free from the dangers of the war zone.

Brave 1, cleared onto hold 18 left.

I gently pushed the throttle forward with my left hand and taxied the F-16, or Viper, as those who fly call it, onto the runway. I aligned my jet in a side-by-side formation with my flight lead, and we waited for takeoff clearance. Once airborne, I would rejoin into a fingertip formation, a mere three feet separating our wingtips. Flying so closely would be incredibly dangerous in the world of traditional aviation, but the fighter-pilot nation is anything but traditional. Theres an unparalleled level of precision and trust that permeates our world.

As I waited for takeoff clearance, my eyes systematically scanned the LED screens and vast number of dials, ensuring all systems were in the green. The Pratt & Whitney 229 engine growled below me. Brave 1, wind 190 at 13, cleared for takeoff 18 left, came over the radio. My flight lead gave me a quick salute, and I watched the rapid line of sight of his F-16 taking off into the wind. I followed exactly ten seconds later, moving the throttle to afterburner. The snarling beast came to life with a chest-pounding 29,000 pounds of thrust, more horsepower than the entire starting grid at the Daytona 500. Within seconds, I was yet again living my boyhood dream and slipping the surly bonds of earth in my single-seat fighter jet. CAVU, and the feeling of transcendence that accompanies it, was mine.