By Mike Barton
Public Affairs Specialist

Paul Vota says he’s no hero.

Perched 25 feet above the hangar floor beside the partially assembled rotor head of an H-53 helicopter, he surveys the cavernous workspace and points to another man. “There’s someone you should tell people about,” he says, explaining why he thinks the other is such a good choice.

“How about this guy?’ he asks, nodding his head toward another, again piling virtue upon the shoulders of a co-worker in a hopeless attempt to divert attention from himself.

It’s not that Vota, an H-53 aircraft mechanic here, is shy. He is just unable to see himself as others do.

Vota has worked on helos at the depot for the past 10 years; one of many silent heroes peppered throughout the depot who come here, do their jobs, blend in. But during that time Vota has also done something else – he has built a reputation as a man whom you can count on.

When Vota came here in 1994 from Naval Air Station Willow Grove, Pa., he was well armed. He brought 12 year’s worth of experience in helicopter mechanics. As a former Army reservist who flew in the aircraft that he repaired, he understood the importance of his work. And hidden deep beneath his easygoing exterior, buried somewhere in the maze of his genetic building blocks, was the spark that set him apart from the average Joe.

You see, Vota really likes what he does. He thinks it’s important. And his attitude is infectious. People who work with him begin to understand just how important their own roles are in the greater scheme of things. “You have to have a mind for the greater picture,” says Vota, referring to the newer, younger generation of employees who are filtering into the depot workforce. “If you’re going to be a grown-up, you’ve got to give (your employers) their money’s worth.”

The buzz of power tools and the clang of progress, faintly accompanied by the fiery notes of an old Joan Jett song drift through the hangar air as Vota and his team work on the 53’s rotor head, making adjustments to the aircraft’s pitch control rods. As another trainee observes from the side, aircraft mechanic Kathy Ducharme adjusts the vernier scale on one of the rotor spindles. What does that do? “It allows maintenance Marines and sailors to see the blade angle during shipboard operations,” she explains without hesitation. Like a proud father, Vota smiles and nods in approval. Ducharme tilts her head in his direction and adds, “Paul taught me that.”

“These people are hungry to be successful professionally as well as personally,” says Vota later as his co-workers drift off for a brief lunch. “They want to make a living and they want to do some good things in their lives and it’s good to see.”

One might wonder why Vota hasn’t pursued a higher place in the pecking order here, seeking the role of a supervisor or work leader. The answer is that, to him, success means he is doing exactly what he likes best – sharing his knowledge while keeping his hands and eyes on the aircraft that he has come to know so well.

“Paul is always an inspiration to everybody,” says Donnie Causey, the Aircraft Overhaul and Repair supervisor. “He does good work, does it by the book and with a positive attitude.” Causey smiles. “Everybody likes him.”

For Vota, success comes in many forms, but it all seems to revolve around having the right attitude. It was this can-do attitude that put him on the ISO 9000 implementation team for the 950 Division, and led him to help with computer-related matters in preparation for the switchover to the Navy-Marine Corps Intranet. “Some guys work on cars – for me it’s computers,” he says.

Wait a minute. He’s good with aircraft, he’s good with computers and he’s good with people. People actually like him. Is this guy for real? Next thing you know, he’ll start spouting haiku or something.

If there is a chink anywhere in his armor, it will be difficult to find. Pry further into his ordinary-guy disguise and like some sort of middle-aged Clark Kent, his description of his off-duty activities is just as low key as everything else he says about himself. “We’re home bodies … pretty common folk.”

Then he reaches for his wallet and you think, no, he’s not going to – but he does. High atop the muscled shoulder of a crouching warbird, in a hangar full of machines that Vota has spent the better part of his life caring for, he displays photos of his kids and grandkids. The smile on his face is gigantic.

Wow, this guy is for real.

And, apparently, just the kind of hero the depot is looking for.

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Cutline: Paul Vota inspires co-workers with his infectious attitude about the work that they do at the depot. (Photo by Mike Barton)