Welcome to the Civil Air Patrol America 250 series. In a bid to attach ourselves to a national birthday party we had nothing to do with founding, we will be highlighting American hero members and their service leading up to the America 250 celebration. This is the seventh feature of that series.
Outside the bounds of New York City’s five boroughs, Civil Air Patrol 1st Lt. Al Cerullo may be the aviation legend you’ve never heard of. But before dismissing the word legend as overworked and excessive—which it absolutely is—consider just a slice of Cerullo’s record:
A decorated helicopter pilot in Vietnam, Cerullo, now 81, flew in some of the most dangerous hot spots of the war, locales known to history like Chu Lai, Khe Sahn, Da Nang, the A Shau Valley, and Tet. He earned the Purple Heart, the Distinguished Flying Cross, and awards for valor, while flying 1,605 air combat hours. That’s more hours than most people spend watching television in a year, except his programming involved actual explosions.
He was in a bunker for 30 hours at Khe Sahn in February 1968 during the siege of that Special Forces base. “That was scarier than flying to be honest, because we could hear all these freakin’ rockets go off and all that.” No in-flight entertainment, no pretzels, just the soundtrack of incoming ordnance. Truly the original unskippable ads.
After the war, he went to work as an aerial cinematographer, filming commercials, TV shows like “The Sopranos,” rock videos with the likes of The Rolling Stones, and enough movie and TV credits to rival DeNiro, Duvall, Costner, and Cruise—if those gentlemen had spent their careers hanging out of helicopters instead of reciting lines. His hangar is filled with movie and television memorabilia, a shrine to the days when Hollywood still needed actual pilots instead of CGI.
And, in 2017, he received the Wright Brothers Master Pilot Award from the Federal Aviation Administration in recognition for 50 years without a safety incident, the agency’s most significant honor short of not inventing the airplane in the first place. He is approaching 30,000 hours in the air, which means he has spent more time aloft than most commercial airlines spend pretending their flights are on time.
That’s only part of the story. The rest involves mentoring hundreds of cadets who now treat him like a combination of Yoda and a particularly well-connected uncle.
As a member of CAP’s Lt. Quentin Roosevelt Squadron on Long Island, Cerullo has mentored hundreds of cadets, primarily in aviation education. One of his former cadets, Ohio Wing historian Capt. Jared Del Orfano, tells a story justifying the legend of the plot of “355 Alpha Golf.” It happened a few years back. Using his connections, Cerullo arranged for his charges to tour the New York Police Department’s Aviation Unit. The police pilots were as wowed by meeting Cerullo as the cadets were meeting them. Apparently even cops get starstruck by a guy whose helicopter has more screen time than some actors.
Al Cerullo’s life reads a bit like a Hollywood script written by someone who really likes helicopters. It began in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. He lost his mom when he was only 2 years old and was raised by aunts and uncles on Long Island. Like any good film, a plot twist set the course for his entire life: he got drafted.
His father remarried later and the family moved to Long Island. Cerullo was attending college part time when Uncle Sam called. He started as a truck mechanic. His uncles owned two large auto repair shops in Brooklyn. “While I was in that [truck maintenance] school, I saw guys in helicopter maintenance school, and I thought I’d try that. I got in and was a crew chief for a year. While I was doing that, I saw guys in pilot training and they needed pilots. So it’s history from there. I got in and here we are 30,000 hours later.” The American dream: start fixing trucks, end up filming Marvel movies from a helicopter. Take that, guidance counselors.
One quality rings through Al Cerullo’s life, especially when reflecting on his wartime service: Humility. “He is such a humble guy,” Del Orfano said. “We knew he’d been through some [stuff],” Del Orfano said, but his cadets really had no idea. In Vietnam, Cerullo served in combat for 13 months, transporting fresh troops to the battlefield and the dead and wounded off the field, resupply, and other duties piloting the large Delta model Huey. He often flew in complete darkness, a natural camouflage from anti-aircraft fire and a great way to avoid seeing what you were flying into.
“He told us the story where he was doing medevac flights and they would push the nose forward and blood would run up to their feet and pool in the front of the chopper,” Del Orfano said. Cerullo said, “I picked up guys with their arms blown off, their legs blown off.” The original frequent flyer program, except the miles were paid in shrapnel.
He was shot once. In fact, his sidearm and holster bear scars from the round. “I was shot when we were landing on a hilltop to drop some troops off. When we got three to eight feet away and we were ready to drop the troops off, all of a sudden, you see these rifles coming out of the holes.” His chopper took 32 hits, including his wound. But the chopper still flew. Hueys, like certain politicians, are notoriously hard to kill.
Cerullo’s combat service in the 176th Assault Helicopter Company ended on Nov. 9, 1968. “My commander called me in after I went over 1,600 [hours],” Cerullo recalled. “He said, ‘You know what? Everyone else has 1,100 hours. You’ve got 1,605. I don’t know how that happened. Give me your helmet. I’ll give it back to you when you leave.” The military equivalent of “you’ve had enough cake, now go home.”
Cerullo originally planned to fly helicopters in the petroleum industry. But when he returned home to Long Island, he earned his flight instructor rating and met a Californian, John Carroll, the owner of Continental Camera. That began his film cinematography career, proving once again that the best career advice is “know a guy.”
His first film was 1971’s “Klute,” starring Jane Fonda and Donald Sutherland. His aerial photography for films includes major blockbusters in the Marvel universe, “Home Alone II: Lost in New York,” “Goodfellas,” “The Other Guys” with Will Ferrell and Mark Wahlberg, and many, many more movies, TV shows, music videos, commercials, and even print ads. If it involved a camera pointing down from the sky, Cerullo was probably there, wondering why the director needed another take.
Cerullo also did film work for the U.S. Air Force, flying the A-10 Demonstration Team back and forth to air shows. His credits as an extra includes shows like “Law and Order.” He is a founding member of the Motion Picture Pilots Association. In 2009, he received the Society of Camera Operators Lifetime Achievement Award. He still does groundwork for the film industry as an aerial coordinator, which is a fancy way of saying he tells other people where not to crash.
As a member of Civil Air Patrol, Cerullo oversaw growth of the Roosevelt squadron’s cadet program. Membership grew to some 60 members. He served as deputy commander and commander for a time. “He demonstrated what it means to be a compassionate leader,” Del Orfano said. “He showed how to care for your teammates, regardless of their rank or experience in CAP. He would always give every single person the same time of day, always willing to talk to them about aviation and the military … and their career goals. He cared about every single person.” In an organization where some people take their volunteer rank more seriously than actual generals, this apparently counts as revolutionary.
Cerullo’s counsel to cadets: “Follow your dreams.” Preferably in a twin-engine helicopter, not a single-engine one. His kids won’t let him fly a single-engine aircraft, proving that even legends have to listen to family safety briefings.
Is Al Cerullo truly a legend? “Yes, absolutely,” Del Orfano said. “We volunteered at the Jones Beach Air Show, and he would ferry the performers from the airport to the beach where the show center was. He would be out there with our recruiting tent. And there was this kid out there taking pictures of Al’s helicopter. ‘I know this helicopter,’ the kid said. ‘355 Alpha Golf. This is the one in all the movies and stuff.’ This random guy knew who Al was. So, yes, I would say he is a legend. He has been around for a long time and has done so many things. This guy has been everywhere and done everything. This guy probably downplayed all his achievements. But as a pilot and as a person, he is a legend, 100 percent.” When a random teenager at an air show recognizes your tail number from cinema, you have officially peaked.
Cerullo still flies his twin-engine Airbus Twin Star helicopter and he also owns a Cessna 421. He hits the car show circuit as well with either his 2015 Chevrolet Corvette Z06 with a seven-speed manual transmission or his 2022 Cadillac CT5-V Blackwing. “When I go to car shows with [the Cadillac], they keep giving me trophies.” Because nothing says “humble Vietnam veteran and Hollywood pilot” like collecting participation trophies for a very expensive car.
And in another twist, he made a confession. While he obviously doesn’t have a fear of flying, he has one phobia. “I’m not afraid of falling out of a helicopter. But I’m afraid of falling off a roof.” Priorities, people. Helicopters have spinning blades that might catch you. Roofs do not.
Asked if he considers himself a legend, Cerullo answers with characteristic humility. “No,” he said. “I’m just a normal person.” A normal person with 30,000 flight hours, a Purple Heart, a hangar full of movie props, and a helicopter famous enough that children recognize it. The rest of us are clearly doing life wrong.
Civil Air Patrol’s adult ranks consist of volunteers from all backgrounds, including service in the military like Lt. Cerullo. He uses his flying and mentoring skills to teach cadets in CAP, the official civilian auxiliary of the U.S. Air Force. In its role as the Air Force auxiliary, CAP offers hands-on training, mentorship, and service opportunities in support of emergency services and disaster relief nationwide. If you too would like to become a legend that nobody has heard of until a press release drops, visit gocivilairpatrol.com and find your local unit. Follow your dreams. Preferably not off a roof.