The communications shown here, were to his close friend Francis "Joe" Riedell, the one who encouraged him to fly. They provide an insight or a focus into the life of this brave pilot, who gave his life for his country.
A card from Army pilot Keith Yoakum to his friend, Francis "Joe" Riedell (referred to as Joe hereafter), shows Keith's enthusiasm for the Apache as well as his recognition of its complexity and his need to learn. This copy of the card was put up at the memorial service for Keith at Hemet Ryan Field, California, where Keith learned to fly. The pinkish areas were most likely torn by tape.
The AH in the AH-64A designation seen above, is for Attack Helicopter. The A at the end, stood for an earlier model; the day he was killed, Keith was flying an AH-64D, an improved model.
While Joe provided him with encouragement, which helped set him on the path to becoming an aviator, Keith had an internal drive. He went on to become a much-decorated pilot and an inspiration to others. Joe says he was always on the go and always had everything in perspective. He says he was the most ambitious and the hardest-working person he ever saw.
As a teenager Keith came to get a job at the transmission shop where Joe worked in Hemet, which was in line with the runway to Hemet Ryan Airport. Keith was given a pick-up-and-delivery job, but soon graduated to working in the shop with Joe.
When planes would fly by, Keith would run out to watch them till they disappeared into the distance. Joe said that if you like planes so much, why not learn to fly? Keith responded that he loved planes, but had been told he wasn't smart enough to fly. Joe said, "If I can do it, you can do it." At the end of that work day, he told Keith to meet him at the airport on Saturday morning. And that Saturday Keith was there.
Joe walked with him around a Cessna 150, doing a preflight with him and explained controls to him. Then he watched as a CFI, a Certified Flight Instructor, took him up. Keith thoroughly enjoyed it . From then on there was no stopping him.
Joe said, "He spent all the money he made on flying and dreamed of being an aviator of some kind. He cleaned yards. He did anything and everything to fly. He spent money that was not even cold yet."
He was 18 when he earned his civilian private pilots license. Joe was there the day Keith soloed in the Cessna 150 at Hemet Ryan, watching him take off, soar through the air and come in for a landing.
They kept in touch over the years. Keith never got to take his friend up in the Apache but he did get a chance to let him sit in the cockpit of one on the flight line at Ft. Campbell, Kentucky (shown to the right). For Joe, Keith's death in Iraq was keenly felt: like the loss of a son he never had.
Below is a picture that Keith sent his friend, which he allowed the media to
use following his death. But I'm not aware the newspeople knew
anything of the story behind the picture which gives us an insight into this
man.
Here's an Apache down on the ground with
mechanical trouble, in a war zone. Keith, a maintenance man,
landed to look at the problem, and before he went to work on it, this
thumb's-up picture was taken of him. The Apache down had a
hydraulics problem, and while he worked on it, other helicopters
circled above, covering him. In the message written on the back of
this picture (shown below), Keith refers to nursing the helicopter home.
Keith didn't fly his own helicopter home, but assumed the risk of flying the
troubled one. This was Keith's way. He was a maintenance
test pilot who flew what he worked on.
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