Long-time Lompoc Valley resident Robert Appleby “Bob” Wyckoff died earlier this month, but his legacy will continue as the poet who has inspired generations of Air Force missileers by depicting their quiet mission in seven verses.

Wyckoff, who was 83 at the time of his Dec. 2 death, also served as a leader in Lompoc’s aviation community and on the board for the Vandenberg Village Community Services District for two decades. 

But as an Air Force captain in 1973 he authored “Missileer,” a seven-verse poem that captures the mission of the unique force whose members pull duty seven stories below ground in the cold winter of the Great Plains states. (Scroll down for the poem.)

Long after he left the military, “Missileer” remained iconic for intercontinental ballistic missile crew members who have served in the decades since. Likewise, Wyckoff and his wife, Eileen, remained supportive of the missile community.

Leaders from the intercontinental ballast missile community praised the poem for “eloquently capturing the alert duties that often went unspoken.”

“Bob Wyckoff remained an Air Force missileer long after he hung up his uniform,” said Maj. Gen. Michael Lutton, commander of Twentieth Air Force. “For decades, he was our mentor, friend and advocate, and his poetry inspired new airmen in the ICBM force while bringing voice to the triumphs and challenges of those already serving.

“I was humbled when Bob honored my request to pen a poem about ICBM maintainers. Then, as always, he was gracious and a true gentleman. We will miss him dearly.”

Lt. Col. Anthony Santino of the 576th Flight Test Squadron at Vandenberg Space Force Base echoed the sentiment.

“Though the chapter of Bob’s life closes, his legacy will live on forever,” he said.

Wyckoff — born Nov. 4, 1940, in Newark, New Jersey — landed in a missile career due to a typo, according to his family.

Armed with an English literature degree from Colgate University in Hamilton, New York, he enlisted in the Air Force, abbreviating his degree as “Eng.” That inadvertently launched him into the engineering job with ballistic missiles.

Wyckoff filled multiple missile jobs at Malmstrom Air Force Base in Great Falls, Montana, and earned a master’s degree from USC.

He continued his career at Randolph Air Force Base in San Antonio and at then-Vandenberg Air Force Base.

“Bob was smart enough to learn engineering, engaging enough to become a leader and loving enough to be the quintessential family man until his last breath,” his family said.

After retiring from the Air Force as a major in 1982, Wyckoff worked for base contractors at Vandenberg.

Both he and his wife earned private pilot’s licenses, leading them to protect the Lompoc Airport from encroachment. He also served on the Lompoc Airport Commission.

Additionally, Wyckoff served as a member of the Vandenberg Village Community Services District board from 2000 to 2020.

Among organizations, he was active in the Central Coast Section for the American Institute of Aeronautics & Astronautics, helping foster science, technology, engineering and mathematics programs and the annual science fair for students.

He also was a volunteer and commander of the Santa Barbara County sheriff’s Aero Squadron.

Wyckoff earned various honors, including being named Lompoc Valley Man of the Year by the Lompoc Valley Chamber of Commerce & Visitors Bureau. 

He is survived by his wife of 60 years, Eileen; two children, Steven Wyckoff and Lynne Wyckoff Madera; and two grandchildren.

A funeral service will be held at 3 p.m. Tuesday at Starbuck-Lind Mortuary Chapel, 123 N. A St. in Lompoc, with military honors. 

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the American Institute of Aeronautics & Astronautics Central Coast Section, P.O. Box 5302, Vandenberg Space Force Base 93437, or email aiaa.centralcoastca@gmail.com for information on how to make an online donation.

“Missileer”

In vacant corners of our land, off rutted gravel trails,
There is a watchful breed of men, who see that peace prevails,
For them there are no waving flags, no blare of martial time,
There is no romance in their job, no glory at high noon.

In an oft’ repeated ritual, they casually hang their locks,
Where the wages of man’s love and hate, are restrained in a small red box
In a world of fiick’ring colored lights, and endless robot din,
The missile crews will talk awhile, but soon will turn within.

To a flash of light or worldly tone, conditioned acts respond,
Behind each move, unspoken thoughts, of the bombs that lie beyond.
They live with patient waiting, with tactics, minds infused,
And the quiet murmur of the heart, that hopes it’s never used.

They feel the living throb, of the mindless tool they run,
They hear the constant whir, of a world that knows no sun.
Here light is ever present, no moon’s nocturnal sway.
The clock’s unnatural beat, belies not night or day.

Behind a concrete door slammed shut, no starlit skies of night,
No sun-bleached clouds in azure sky, in which to dance in flight.
But certain as the rising sun, these tacit warriors seldom see,
They’re ever grimly ready, for someone has to be.

Beneath it all they’re common men, who eat and sleep and dream;
But between them is a common bond, of knowledge they’re a team.
A group of men who love their land, who serve it long and well,
Who stand their thankless vigil, on the brink of man-made hell.

In boredom fluxed with stress, encapsuled they reside,
They do their job without complaint, of pleasures oft’ denied.
For duty, honor, country and a matter of self-pride.

— Capt. Robert A. Wyckoff