FLYING on the RAZOR’S EDGE
Strap in for a deep dive into the mindset of the 2023 Blue Angels lead solo pilot Julius Bratton – callsign Whiskers
2023 Blue Angels lead solo pilot Julius Bratton — callsign Whiskers.
CALLSIGN feature
Story & photography by Alan de Herrera
I’m perched on the edge of a rusty barge floating on the calm waters of Lake Washington. My nervous trigger finger taps on my camera’s shutter button. It’s August, and Seattle’s Seafair air show is in full swing as a massive jigsaw puzzle of beach goers, air show junkies and photographers hold their breath in anticipation of the audacious Blue Angels’ Opposing Knife Edge Pass — a daring, near-miss spectacle of aerobatic bravado and the thrilling blend of aerospace technology and mind-bending skill. Two blue and gold F/A-18 fighter jets now rapidly approach each other head-on at a staggering 920 mph closure rate.
The tension in the crowd builds with an air of anticipation. Ripping across the lake, they produce 56,000 pounds of combined thrust as their jets now outrun the sound of their engines. In what looks like an eerie game of chicken, it’s a breathtaking display of razor-focus, extreme precision and nerves of steel.
“Ready...hit it!” calls Whiskers, as the jets make a synchronized roll into one another, immediately stopping in a 90 degree bank as their canopies whiz past each other, defying the boundaries of extreme trust and sheer grit. They level off and slam their control sticks back into their guts making an aggressive vertical pitch skyward as the immense gravitational forces crush them into their seats. The deafening roar of their engines echoes across the lake in a symphony of raw power.
The iconic blue flight suits, the crest and the gold helmets. The symmetry of it all. This is the US Navy’s Flight Demonstration Squadron. America’s pride –– the Blue Angels. They push the boundaries of precision, showcasing choreographed and synchronized aerial formations and high performance demonstrations to millions of spectators each year.
The team is divided into two elements: the Diamond formation and the Opposing Solos. The Diamond is made up of four unified blue and gold jets, flying in perfect harmony with their wings at times just inches from each other.
And the solo pilots, who bring the heat going full throttle with their gravity-defying maneuvers, showcase the high-performance capabilities of their sleek F/A-18 Super Hornets nicknamed the Rhino. And when they all come together, it's like an aerial ballet on steroids, a six-jet Delta Formation flying as one single unit. Nobody does it better.
With a burning desire to uncover the secrets behind the Blue’s solo program, I wanted to delve deep into the mindset of these exceptional naval aviators who are flying on the razor’s edge. I needed the inside scoop from this year’s Lead Solo himself, Lieutenant Commander Julius Bratton –– call sign Whiskers.
There is no doubt that achieving the peak of high-performance aviation demands a distinct mix of mental, physical, and technical proficiency. However, the real game-changer when flying like this is the mindset –– the secret sauce that fuels these Blues pilots in their relentless pursuit of excellence.
I’m flying out to meet Whiskers in Pensacola, the revered hometown of the Blue Angels, for a one-on-one to talk about his role on the team and how he got there. It’s a rare opportunity to pull back the curtain a bit on this incredible organization and see what it takes for these aviators to do what they do at such a high level. The meeting also goes far in cementing Whisker’s commitment to sharing the power of the Blue Angels organization by meeting me on his day off.
“Welcome to the bachelor pad,” he says as he opened his front door. He’s 33 years old and comes from the small farm town of Woodlawn, Tennessee. He’s got a solid football player’s physique, soft spoken with a wide bright smile and a firm handshake.
Entering his home my senses were hit with a wave of fighter pilot vibes. Adorning the left wall were two large farewell frames. One showcased his first fleet squadron VFA-86, better known as the Sidewinders. This is where he earned his call sign “Whiskers” reflecting the curiosity of a cat, the story goes. While deployed with the squadron in 2015, he flew combat missions into Iraq and Syria off the deck of the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower in support of Operation Inherent Resolve. The other frame proudly exhibited his time as an instructor pilot with The Gladiators, squadron VFA-106.
When Whiskers joined the Blue Angels in 2019, he brought his meticulous attention to detail with him. While diving into his public Instagram page before coming out to meet him, a peculiar detail caught my eye. It seemed that amidst his valiant pursuits as a fighter pilot, he also harbored an interesting relationship with his lawn. The challenge of maintaining a vibrant, lush green yard during his prolonged absences from home had become an arduous task and therefore an obsession. As we walked out to the backyard, he tells me proudly, “I really love working on my lawn. It allows me to put in effort and reap the reward over time.”
Pointing to a large patch of healthy green St. Augustine he says “When I bought this house the lawn was great. Then I went to California for winter training for my first year, came back three months later and it was dead, just gone. So I went to war and started figuring it out.” What a perfect metaphor. Here’s a guy who’s so focused on mastering his flying while at the same time putting that same dedication into his lawn. “But I can’t get the grass to grown next to the tree. Too much sand in the soil,” he adds with frustration. Whiskers is full of humility and I’m convinced his blood runs blue.
We sit down at his dining table to discuss his current role on the team and the long arduous journey to get there. After throwing on some blues music, he hands me a water bottle then pours each of us a small cup full of trail mix. The one with the delicious M&Ms. I ask what inspired him to become an aviator. “My dad took me to a fly-in in Tuskegee, Alabama,” he proudly states. “I think I was five or so. That was my first memory of flying in the backseat of a plane. And from that moment on I was like, ’this is what I want to do.’
For many underprivileged minority kids, the world of aviation remains an elusive dream. I was curious how Whiskers viewed his rare role as an accomplished minority aviator on this team. “As an African-American on the team, you become aware that representation matters –– like people being able to see someone that looks like them. It gives them that extra level of relatability, and it's a very real feeling for people to have and that's just human.” “Being a black pilot in the Navy, I feel that our minority sailors appreciate seeing a pilot of color that looks like them, especially if they've never seen that before,” he added. “The military is a melting pot, and we are fortunate that all of our country’s demographics are represented.”
Whisker's journey to earning a coveted spot in the Blues squadron began just like every other Blues pilot –– flying on and off aircraft carriers. Carrier aviation is one of the most difficult and dangerous tasks in aviation and is the unforgiving gantlet that forges unparalleled skill sets, cultivates unshakeable confidence, and instills a tenacious grit. Even the most seasoned fighter pilots will tell you that “trapping” on a moving carrier at night can raise your heart rate to that of a scared rabbit. “The instructors and more senior aviators in your squadron help teach you the rules to live by,” Whiskers tells me. “And you just try to honor those rules.
You’re going to make mistakes, and hopefully they don’t cost you your life.” Whiskers tells me about one tough return to the ship that rattled him. “I was coming back from a combat sortie stacked overhead and waiting to commence,” he remembers, describing where the fighter jets gather near the ship as they wait to land. “I kept hearing a bunch of people getting power calls,” he continues referring to the request for him to push more power.
“It turns out the pilots were having to land on the ship which was pointed directly into the sun.” From the clear skies above the ship Whiskers couldn’t see the problem below. ‘I was like, what is going on down there?’ he continues. “I remember rolling out..and soon enough could see the sun was at the worst angle. You couldn’t see the lens clearly for glide slope. The sun was right in my eyes and I could barely make out the ship. As I’m coming in close, I realize I’m overpowered and need to pull some power. Then I hear the LSO give me a power call and in my mind I don’t need it because I’m going high. So I add power just a little and I hear a much louder power call, and I’m like, ‘what.’ By that time the jet’s already gotten slow and you can feel it start to come down.
So I go military power as I get the flashing wave-off lights. Now I’m in full afterburner and I’m still falling from the sky. I ended up slamming onto the deck,” he laughs. “Paddles told me I’m a no grade on the one wire.” In Navy talk, that means you were too low and in danger of hitting the back of the ship. “My hook to ramp distance could have been three feet or less,” he says shaking his head. “It was one of those passes where everything was fine until it wasn’t. You’re like, ‘dude, how did it go from we’re fine to I’m in full afterburner?’ It’s crazy how fast this happens,” he adds with a smile.
Whiskers is in his final year with the team in the role of Lead Solo pilot flying the famed No. 5 jet. He works off his opposing wingman in the No. 6 jet, Lieutenant Commander Griffin Stangel, call sign “Pushpop.” The solo pilot’s job is to demonstrate the maximum performance capabilities of the Navy’s workhorse, the powerful fire-spitting Boeing F/A-18 Super Hornet. She’s a twin-engine, supersonic, fighter capable of flying almost twice the speed of sound and rocketing up to 40,000 feet in only a minute.
Former lead solo pilot John “Gucci” Foley described the role to me as “a fighter jet flying on steroids. Whiskers is at the absolute maximum performance of an aviator.” C.J. Simonsen, another former lead solo told me, “It’s the most intense flying that anyone will ever do in this world. That feeling of always being on the edge. Never being comfortable is what probably kept me alive.” In a more serious tone, Gucci adds, “When you get into that mindset, you’re so focused ; you’re nibbling on the envelope, but you can’t stay there indefinitely or you will bust your ass. Flying like this is not really dangerous, but it is inherently unforgiving.”
Whiskers’s journey as lead solo pilot began through the typical solo pipeline, first as the team’s narrator in the No. 7 jet, then into the No. 6 jet as the Opposing Solo for the 2022 season. “In your first year in the demo as six, your job is don’t hit the ground,” he says with a smirk. “Six’s job is to create lateral and vertical separation. As far as our opposing passes go, my job is to be on the show line as a stable platform while also managing our timing.” “As five you’ve been on the team the longest. You can kind of mentor and be the shepherd. We build that trust early on through practice and execution,” he continues. “We both understand each other’s struggles and know how demanding the flying is.”
As I bit down on another chocolate, I wondered if Whiskers also had a relationship with his jet like so many other military pilots I’ve read about. To “become one with the jet” and spend that much time together, I would assume there is some form of connection between this man and his machine. With a slight grin, he explains it this way: “Flying a fighter jet is like having a very jealous girlfriend.” I’ve had a few of those in my time so I’m anxious to hear what comes next. “She’s going to require your time and focus, and you will have to put in the work or bad things can happen. And the reason I say girlfriend is because we have an ejection seat so it could be a short-term relationship.”
Shooting all over the sky like an out-of-control rocket, the Blue Angels solo pilots are a spectacle of daring aerobatic maneuvers and a testament to the resilience of the human body. Whiskers’s gravity-defying maneuvers would make the average person pass out, all while enduring the brutal toll of g-forces on his body. The g-force, a measure of force against gravity, exacts a heavy toll on both the pilot and the aircraft. The human body, despite its impressive resilience, has a limit beyond which it simply cannot endure. And one of the most vulnerable is the inability to tolerate high g-forces in extremely tight turns.
Sustained high g-forces, akin to the feeling of one’s body weight multiplying, is one such limit. Unlike their fellow military pilots, the Blues fly without the aid of anti-g suits designed to prevent blood from draining from the head during high-g maneuvers . They bravely face the physical challenges, not out of machismo, but because the suits interfere with their ability to control the flight stick in tight formations. Withstanding several times the force of Earth's gravity is akin to wrestling with a relentless phantom. Your body feels much heavier, your vision tunnels as you begin to blackout.
The pilots refer to it as G-LOC, g-force induced loss of consciousness. “I put a lot of respect on the Anti-G Straining Maneuver,” says Whiskers. Flying without a G-suit required us to re-learn how to consciously, preemptively and efficiently G-strain in order to keep the lights on.” “It’s super hard on the body,”Whiskers tells me. “From the ground it doesn’t look that aggressive. But at the end of the day, if you do this long enough, you’re going to have back and neck issues.”
“When you hit those high positive Gs, your internals are going left when the jet is going right,” Gucci told me. “You got to hit through something. It’s a force. It’s will power. You say to yourself, ‘I’m not going to let this machine beat me,’ he added with a tenacious grit in his voice. “It’s not really about how many Gs you can pull but more about how long you can sustain them.” Blues pilots also grapple with negative g-forces which reverse gravity causing phenomena such as red out, where blood is forced into the head, causing capillaries to rupture. It's a brutal physical trial that requires a different approach, a focused relaxation, to counteract the expansive pressure. The pilots must stay in peak physical condition to keep up their g-tolerance. This requires a rigorous workout weight training routine, six days a week, focusing on building core muscle mass mainly in the abs and glutes. Hydration and diet are also key. “I need to start my hydration and nutrition and rest a least two days before to give my body the best fighting chance.” says Whiskers. “You try to avoid things that make you not feel great like alcohol. For me it’s spicy food.”
The Blue Angels are a perpetually evolving entity. Each year, a third of their officers and enlisted force is replaced, half of the Delta formation. Even the Boss, the guiding star, only holds the reins for two years. Yet, the core remains unyielding, the spirit of the Blues unbroken as seasoned members humbly depart for duty back in the fleet and new members arrive for training. Their crucible lies in the barren desert landscape of their winter home at Naval Air Facility El Centro in California. A stark contrast to the warm beaches that serve as their headquarters and homes in Pensacola, Florida. As winter sets in, the Blues begin their annual ritual of rebirth, shortly after their season concludes in November. New recruits and seasoned veterans alike converge here, pouring their hearts and souls into each and every practice.
The training of the Blue Angels is a relentless study in the pursuit of perfection where pilots build their skills, confidence and unshakable trust. The days are long. They practice tirelessly, flying two to three times per day practicing maneuvers until they are embedded in their muscle memory. Every maneuver, every turn, every twist is repeated until it is etched into their very being. Briefing, debriefing and critiquing every one of their flights with meticulous detail working out challenges and mistakes. “On every single flight you think, ‘how can I make the deviations from perfection even smaller?’ Whiskers tells me. Each new pilot stands on the shoulders of giants, the legendary Angels who came before them. The grueling schedule sees them fly nearly 120 training flights until they are hammered into a formidable team in only three months. “If you want to be great or do anything at this level, you’re going to have to work when you don’t want to,” he tells me. There are some days on the Blues you just don’t want to fly planes. Fifteen sorties a week and you’re tired of waking up every day at 5am. You learn how to push through… and endure the suck because every one of us is going through the same experience. It’s the common strife that builds the closest bonds.”
The inherent risks of the Blue’s awe-inspiring performances are both a testament to the unyielding courage of its aviators and a somber reality of the perils they have faced. Among the fallen, Opposing Solo Lieutenant Commander Kevin "Kojak" Davis, whose No. 6 jet crashed in Beaufort, South Carolina during an air show performance in 2007. Navy Investigators concluded that Kojak most likely had suffered a blackout, due to a “brief loss of situational awareness” while losing control of his jet during a high-speed, high-g turn. He was the 28th Blue Angel to die in the demo during their 77 year history. In a call with the team’s Commanding Officer that year, Boss Kevin “Nix” Mannix, he poignantly recalled his team mourning the loss of Kojak on that fateful day. He also emphasized that he understood the resilience required in the face of such tragedy. "It was the hardest, most challenging part of my Navy career," Nix told me. “He was the greatest guy in the world. It was very, very tough.” “Then the question is, when do we start flying again?,” he continued. “In the Navy, you get back into the saddle. You get back into the jet –– get the confidence back. We understand the risks and we’ve come a long way. We grounded for about two weeks, then got the pilots back in the air. That’s the strength of the Navy and the Blue Angels.”
The list of fallen Angels grew again in 2016 with the tragic crash of Opposing Solo Marine Corps Captain Jeff “Kooch" Kuss near Smyrna, Tennessee during a practice demo. Kooch was performing a split-S maneuver on take-off which involves the jet climbing steeply into the air, then twisting and diving rapidly. I spoke with Kooch’s wingman, former Lead Solo pilot Ryan “Droopy” Chamberlain, who told me about how the team honored Kooch’s legacy six days after the crash. “When the team would return from our weekend we would always love smoking the beach in Pensacola at sunset,” Droopy tells me. “So when they had to fly Kooch back home in Fat Albert, I got permission to fly with them to get our buddy and bring him home. I wanted to bring Kooch into the break one last time. And we did.” “They announce it all over Pensacola that day and I heard thousands of people came out to pay their respects as we flew down Palafox street and then along the beach,” he continues. People said they could hear a pin drop,” he finishes after taking a deep breath. “It meant so much to all of us.”
The Blues pilots employ a method practice referred to as “Chair Flying,” a form of subconscious imprinting. It’s essentially a mental practice of their flight procedures similar to what some Formula One race car drivers do when they sit in their static cars and visualize running the track. But instead of burning imaginary rubber, the Blues pilots burn through the sky in their minds. In this strategy, a pilot sits –– often with their eyes closed –– and vividly imagines each element of their intended flight profile. This includes their radio calls, flight control movements, the physical sensations they will encounter. “It’s very important to sit there in silence and just visualize the whole routine,” Whiskers tells me. “We learn a version of this in flight school. You are thinking ahead so you never find yourself behind the aircraft.” “It allows you to take a very dedicated moment and think through exactly how you are going to do things,” he adds. “Is something distracting me? Maybe I'm tired today, didn’t sleep well. And I might not be functioning at my highest level? So I really need to double down on the details and be very vigilant about everything I do. So it allows us to have a mental check and balance,” says Whiskers.
Curious to see how this technique is done, I asked Whiskers if he could demonstrate chair flying through the Opposing Minimum Radius Turn, which is considered one of the most complicated and dangerous maneuvers the solo will fly. I sit across the table, my eyes glued to this man who’s at the height of his flying career. At the tip of the spear. He's about to embark on a metaphysical journey, one that transcends the physical constraints of his home and our interview. “Let’s start from the beginning,” he says. His eyes slowly draw their curtains shut, his head taking a submissive bow. It’s a Blues ritual, an Angel’s intimate dance with his mind. “Coming off my single MRT, I’m hoping I’m about 1500 feet AGL,” he says. “I expect to see in my periphery Pushpop joining up on my left wing as I listen to the Diamond set up for the Double Farvel.” Closing my eyes, I listen intensely as he begins to take me along on a virtual backseat ride. I can see Whiskers’s wingman Pushpop off our wing. Like two bullets shot from the same gun, we fly fast towards an invisible target in the sky.
Whiskers starts, his voice echoing a gentle intensity. “Lining up from behind the crowd checkpoints, I ease the pull and roll out,” he says. His right arm lifts a bit. Under the table, I imagine his fingers curling around an invisible control stick. He's there, in the cockpit, in his element. We’re now no longer in his home. We’re in the air, the ground a distant memory as he goes into the zone and becomes one with his jet. “I'll get us down to 500 feet AGL, about 400 knots. Once stable I’ll call smoke on. I’ll call lead left and start flying directly beside him. At smoke off, I’ll slide down and aft and start adding power back to get the engines spooled up so I’ll have enough power to fly that arc at 380 knots. If I’m too slow, then we're going to have mismatched turn circles. If we bring it in too fast, we're going to be very g’d up throughout that turn.” At .4 nautical miles in front of center point, Whiskers calls with a measured cadence, “Ready… hit it!” as the two pilots execute simultaneous blind rolls. Whiskers then immediately executes a hard 6G left turn through Pushpop’s jet wash in a dramatic spectacle of aerodynamic prowess.
As the two jets diverge, initiating a wide radius turn, I watch Whiskers take a breath, his chest rising as if feeling the g-forces push against him. Their wings now slice through the cool air forming sleek vapor trails as they continue through the arc, each jet pulling up to a 6G sustained 270-degree turn as their paths curve away from each other. I notice his right shoulder move, perhaps mirroring the flight stick of his jet making incremental adjustments, aiming for that perfect timing at center point. Whiskers turns his head sharply to the left as they both radio “contact” the moment they make sight of each other. Each jet now mirrors the other’s arc as their jet exhaust leaves a trail of white smoke tracing a perfect circle in the sky. “Descend down into our second hit at 300 feet by the second cross,” Whiskers says quickly.
Emerging from this geometric arial ballet of metal and roaring thunder, we now complete the full circle and hit center point once more as Pushpop’s No. 6 jet streaks past us daringly close in a spectacular display of aerial audacity. “Whiskers clear. Pushpop clear,” he calls out. Both pilots roll wings level pull 40 degrees. “Ready…hit it!,” Whiskers says as each jet makes a steep climb into the vertical, straight up towards the clouds while executing simultaneous aileron rolls. One, two, three and a half times ending up inverted as each jet leaves twin spirals of smoke in their wake. He now slowly opens his eyes. In that moment, I realize, I didn’t just watch him chair fly, I witnessed the precision that’s been etched into his soul. It was a master class on flying in the high-performance zone.
The searing sun is merciless as I step out of the air-conditioned cocoon of my rental car onto the blazing asphalt of the Blues headquarters parking lot. I check my watch –– 15 minutes early, just as I had planned. I was told the Blues live and die by the clock and that “Whiskers was a stickler for punctuality” and “viewed being late as a bad look.” I’m here to photograph the team’s Wednesday practice and take a few portraits of Whiskers afterward before I flew home. A faint aroma of fresh paint and jet fuel lingered in the air as I walk through the gate and past the Blues hanger, a large fighter aircraft repair shop where blue and gold F/A-18s go through maintenance.
The Blue Angels get older jets from the fleet they affectionately call “Beaters,” after they near their service lives prior to retirement prior to heading off to the aviation boneyard. On the tarmac I see six shiny blue and gold jets lined up for the practice today along with the team’s C-130J Super Hercules cargo plane, affectionately known as “Fat Albert,” responsible for shuttling 50 team members and 35,000 lbs of supporting equipment to and from each of the 35 shows they do each year.
As I step into the entrance of the squadron’s headquarters I am now in their world. Directly in front of me is a long hallway running through the heart of the building adorned with hundreds of framed photos spanning 77 years of Blues history. I make my way upstairs and down a second hallway, where more images are on display. The framed images capture the essence of now legendary pilots and teams who graced these very halls. The photographs whisper tales of daring maneuvers, synchronized precision, and unwavering dedication to excellence. I stop at two old wooden bar doors. To my right is the Blue’s revered ready room. This is where the magic happens. Only a privileged few get a chance to visit their inner sanctum. I’m immersed in a realm of legend and legacy as my Garmin smartwatch suddenly chimes, signaling an elevated heart rate. I’m on sacred ground.
Among the crowd of air show regulars and hardcore photographers, there's a secret spectacle that awaits half-way through the team’s air show demo. It’s called the Sneak Pass and it’s an infamous mind-blowing demonstration of the Super Hornets’ power, speed and human ingenuity. I’m now positioned at center point and near the show line, eagerly awaiting the spectacle that is about to unfold. I clutch my camera tight with my trigger finger at the ready. I will only have a second or two to capture Whiskers’s sneak, and I’ve come all this way from Los Angeles to get this shot.
“Here he comes!,” yells one of the team members as we quickly turn our heads left. Looking through my viewfinder I can’t see or even hear him. The sky is empty. I look up. Like a silver bat hell-bent on its destination, Whisker’s jet suddenly emerges so low to the ground it’s as if he’s coming straight out of the forest that surrounds the air field. In an almost supernatural way, a large vapor cloud forms around his fuselage as he blast past us at a staggering 730 mph and a razor-thin fifty feet off the ground while he flirts with the sound barrier. I get off only two shots as the unmistakable roar from his engines leaves a ringing in my ears. If I had blinked, I would have missed the entire thing. My smartwatch alarm sounds again. Elevated heart rate. After hitting center point, Whiskers launches his jet skyward banking hard right in a 7G, 45- degree angle for his rendezvous with the Diamond and the battle against gravity is on. But it’s not over.
Pushpop suddenly screams overhead from behind us like a loud crack of thunder, pitching his No. 6 jet skyward in an aggressive 7.5G, 85-degree vertical climb, ending with a series of aileron rolls as he quickly becomes a small speck in the sky. He levels out inverted at 10,000 feet. Droopy told me the Sneak Pass is "an attention getter,“ and he was right. "When you're at that airspeed, parts of the jet can be supersonic even if the airplane isn't," he added. “The margin of error is zero,” C.J tells me. “A misstep, a lapse in focus at that speed and low altitude could be catastrophic. You’re really putting yourself in the zone and that’s unique.” “You have to feel the jet, become one with it,” says Gucci. “A hyper state of focus. Whiskers has the unique ability to walk the edge, to nibble on the envelope, to get his juice when he's on that brink. But you can't linger there. You have to have the discipline to back off, and that's exactly what 5 and 6 are doing every day. And the coolest part is that he’s going to pass the hat down to his 6. Then Pushpop becomes that guy,” Gucci tells me with enthusiasm.
As Bratton smoothly landed his blue and gold jet for the last time the torch was then passed to his wingman Lt. Cmdr. Stangel, who’s now in the prestigious role of lead solo pilot for the 2024 season. Bratton leaves behind a legacy of a true aviation rockstar and ambassador of goodwill. “I think I’m at the point now where I’ve done about all that I really want to do,” Whiskers tells me with grateful eyes. “I’ve gotten the experiences, been there, got the t-shirt so to speak. As a pilot you never stop growing. You’ve seen things and you have more tools in your bag.” Looking me dead in the eye he then says, “But if you ever show up to work, and just think you can mail it in one day, you could end your life. So that’s a real threat. You can never get complacent. That may sound very trite. But that’s the reality of the job.”