A few weeks after the accident investigation board’s report was made public, Jeff Kennedy was served with a formal letter of reprimand by the Air Force. It rebuked him for violating the two-man rule and entering the control center at 4–7 without permission. No mention was made of the valuable information he’d obtained there or the bravery he’d displayed trying to save the missile. Air Force regulations permitted a violation of the two-man rule during an emergency, if lives were at risk. But Kennedy wasn’t granted an exemption from the rule. His punishment sent a clear message: the rowdy, hell-raising culture of the PTS crews would no longer be tolerated. They were held responsible for what had gone wrong, not aging equipment or the decisions made at SAC headquarters. And to enforce strict discipline, an officer now accompanied a PTS crew everywhere, like a babysitter, whenever it visited a missile site.
David Powell was given an Article 15 citation—“dereliction of duty”—for attaching the socket to the wrong tool. Powell thought that if he accepted the charge, he’d be admitting negligence and assuming responsibility for the accident. Powell refused to sign and faced the risk of a court-martial instead, where he could defend himself before a panel of military judges. The Air Force didn’t seek a court-martial and gave him a lesser punishment.
Jeff Kennedy had planned to spend the rest of his career in the Strategic Air Command; now he desperately wanted to leave it. Kennedy applied for a medical discharge, hoping to return home and attend college in Maine. The Air Force balked at the request, despite his injuries. Kennedy was sent to Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas, for a medical evaluation. He was placed in the psychiatric ward there — along with Greg Devlin, who was also pursuing a medical disability claim.
Devlin had torn his Achilles tendon, suffered burns on his face, neck, back, and hands. He spent ten days at a Little Rock hospital recovering from the skin grafts. But the Air Force was not pleased with Devlin. He’d spoken to reporters about the accident, without SAC’s permission. And he’d filed a $1.5 million lawsuit against the manufacturer of the Titan II, Martin Marietta; members of the armed forces cannot sue the federal government for damages after an injury. David Livingston’s family and Rex Hukle had also decided to sue Martin Marietta. One of the attorneys suing the defense contractor, Bill Carter, was an Air Force veteran and a former Secret Service agent who hoped to obtain compensation for his clients — and to establish in court that the Titan II missile system was unsafe. Carter owned a farm near Damascus and had represented a neighbor sickened by the oxidizer leak there in 1978. During that case, the surgeon general of the Air Force had denied that inhaling oxidizer was bad for you, claiming it was “a substance no more dangerous than smog.”
Devlin could not believe that he and Kennedy had been confined in a mental ward, after everything they’d been through. The place was full of crazy people, like a scene from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Devlin already felt shunned by the Air Force. After returning to duty, he’d been put to work selling hot dogs at the base — a job usually reserved for airmen caught with illegal drugs or facing a dishonorable discharge. But selling hot dogs was preferable to staying in a loony bin. Kennedy would have none of it. He told the staff to release them immediately and move them to a different wing at the hospital — or he’d contact the press. They were promptly transferred. After being examined by physicians, Kennedy was denied a medical discharge, and Devlin was denied a full medical disability. It would have allowed him to use Air Force hospitals for the rest of his life.
A few months later, at a ceremony in Little Rock, both men were given an Airman’s Medal for Heroism, the highest peacetime honor that the Air Force can bestow. Kennedy didn’t want to accept it. But his local congressman in Maine, David Emery, said that if he took the medal, the Air Force would allow him to leave. Kennedy was given the medal by Verne Orr, the secretary of the Air Force, in a room full of reporters. Airman’s Medals were also given to Rex Hukle, Don Green, Jimmy Roberts, and David Livingston’s father. Intended to boost morale, the award ceremony was dismissed by the PTS crews. They thought it was a public relations stunt — and couldn’t understand why Jim Sandaker, who’d returned to the launch complex twice after the accident, didn’t get the highest honor, too.
Jeff Kennedy was granted a “temporary medical leave by reason of disability” three days after receiving his medal. Although the Air Force could recall him to duty in the future, Kennedy’s military career was essentially over. He moved back to Maine, sued Martin Marietta for $7.5 million, and settled out of court for a much smaller sum.
