Air Force Veteran Malcolm Copeland on Thunderbirds and Military Transition
- 8 hours ago
- 9 min read
Mastering Your Post-Service Career through Strategic Entrepreneurship and Proven Military Leadership
Malcolm Copeland stood in front of a jet engine the team wasn’t supposed to be able to fix in time. It was a Sunday in a small Midwest town, the one day off for the Air Force Thunderbirds. The call had come in at 6:00 PM: a fighter jet needed an entire engine swap before the morning launch. Normally, that’s a fourteen-hour job; a massive undertaking, and precise alignments. Malcolm and his crew didn’t look for an out. They didn’t say no. They just worked. By 8:00 AM, the hangar doors rolled back, the jet was ready, and a sixty-year legacy of never canceling a show stayed intact.
That moment of high-pressure execution defines the way Malcolm moves through the world. It’s not just about the work; it’s about the mindset of "Point A to Point B" and the refusal to let a standard slip.
Malcolm’s story isn’t just a highlight reel of military precision. It’s a life that spans from culturally diverse Long Island, NY to the high-tempo flight lines of South Korea, and eventually to a reality TV show that changed his life in a way the producers never intended. It’s a journey marked by the early loss of a father, a childhood obsession with the patterns inside machines, and a relentless drive to build something that lasts. Today, he’s an entrepreneur, a father of six, and a strategist for his own brand, helping veterans navigate the same transitions he’s mastered himself.
While you keep reading, click play below and listen to Episode 235
LISTEN
New York Roots and the Silence of Loss
Before the Air Force ever gave him a wrench, Malcolm Copeland was already an engineer.
He grew up in West Islip, New York, home to Ralph Macchio and Mariah Carey. It was a culturally diverse, vibrant environment where kids played outside without cell phones and the air smelled of New York City energy. His mother belonged to the "Mother’s Club," a tight-knit community of families that coalesced every week. Malcolm was the kid in the library who was supposed to be reading but was really just taking things apart. He didn't want to read a book about electronics; he wanted to wire up the family’s new amplifier so he could watch a movie. He was a kinesthetic learner in a world that mostly rewarded sitting still.
His parents provided a stable, blue-collar foundation. His mom worked for the VA, a nurse in the operating room and his father was a postman for the USPS, a six-foot-four Marine veteran who served in Vietnam. But the stability of Malcolm's childhood was shattered when he was thirteen.
His father, the life of the party and Malcolm's primary male role model, passed away unexpectedly. He was forty-eight, a man who pushed through a swollen foot and a busy work schedule until a blood clot dislodged and took his life.
Shortly after, the family moved to North Carolina for a fresh start, trading the urban intensity of Long Island for the quiet of the woods. But the loss followed him. Schoolwork fell to the back burner. He wasn't interested in the traditional path. He saw his sister coming home from college and still having to answer to their mom, and he knew that wasn't for him. He wanted independence, adventure, and a way to make his own money.
He walked into a Navy recruiter’s office first. They told him he’d have to spend six months at sea on a ship. He walked right out and down the hall to the Air Force. Malcolm enlisted at seventeen. He told them he just wanted to work on cars, but his mom stepped in. She told him he was going to fix aircraft instead. It was the decision that would define his next fourteen years.
Lackland and the Lesson of the Padlock
The Air Force didn’t just give Malcolm a job; it gave him a system that required absolute accountability.
He arrived at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio in the middle of a July. For a kid from Long Island, the heat was a shock, but the discipline was the real wake-up call. You couldn't move. You couldn't fidget. The bugs would buzz by your ear and you just had to stand there, shellshocked by the sudden removal of your autonomy.
Malcolm made it to the final week, feeling like "hot shit" in his dress blues, ready for graduation. Then, he made a mistake that almost ended his career before it began.
He was in a final out-processing briefing when he reached for his dog tags. They were jammed. He looked down and realized that in his rush to lock his locker, he’d accidentally left the heavy padlock attached to the keys on his dog tags. He’d been walking around with the lock hanging from his neck. He ran back to the dorms, desperate to hide the evidence, but his Training Instructor (TI) was already waiting.
His locker had been pulled out. "Airman Copeland, in my office." Malcolm was certain he was being recycled. He thought of his family coming out for graduation and how he’d have to tell them he failed. Inside the office, the TI stared into his soul for what felt like an eternity. Then, the TI busted out laughing. "This is the dumbest shit I’ve ever seen. Get out of my face."
That moment was Malcolm's first real lesson in military grace and accountability. He learned that you can’t celebrate too early, and you have to own your screw-ups. He moved on to technical training, but the world was about to change. He was in his electronics principles class on 9/11. His class was told, "This is the end. You're going to war."
WATCH THE EPISODE
The Art of the Red Ball, AFSOC, the Thunderbirds Legacy
Malcolm's first real assignment was Cannon Air Force Base in New Mexico; a place he jokingly describes as being known for cattle farming. It wasn't the exotic location he’d dreamed of, but it was where he learned the grind. He eventually volunteered for South Korea to get away from the desert and into a high-tempo unit. In South Korea, he was assigned to Pacaf (Pacific Air Force).
It was there he mastered the "Red Ball." A Red Ball is a high-priority repair that happens when a pilot is already in the cockpit and ready to taxi. You have less than five minutes to diagnose the issue, find a "known good" part on your cannibalized jet, steal it, install it, and get the pilot in the air. It taught Malcolm organization, speed, and the ability to find the pattern in a chaotic environment. He had a nine-out-of-ten success rate for his jets flying.
After Korea, Malcolm was recruited into Air Force Special Operations Command (AFSOC). He was sent to Edwards Air Force Base in Palmdale, California. At Edwards, he was part of a detachment working on the very first CV-22 Ospreys coming out of the factory. These weren't established legacy jets; they were new, complex tilt-rotor aircraft that could fly like a plane and hover like a helicopter. Malcolm became a "dedicated crew chief," which meant he didn't just fix the plane, he flew on it.
This was the era of the Osprey’s development, and Malcolm saw history being made. He was part of the crew that tested the first guns attached to the aircraft and the first time a Humvee was picked up by the lift. His specific aircraft, number 25, even had a moment of Hollywood fame. It’s the jet you see in the opening scene of the first Transformers movie; Malcolm’s name is on the side of that plane.
Malcolm was a forward thinker. He was already planning his next move, using his time to study for his electrical engineering degree. He knew the flight line wouldn't be forever.
Malcolm’s career reached its most significant peak when he joined the Air Force Thunderbirds.
He first saw the team while he was locked in a hangar with them in Albuquerque. At the time, he was a "hardcore maintainer" in greasy coveralls, and he looked at the Thunderbirds, in their shiny boots and tailored uniforms, as "pretty boys." He didn't think they were real maintainers. But a conversation with crewman Jerry Duck changed his mind. Jerry showed him that underneath the pomp and circumstance, they were just like him; only more disciplined.
When Malcolm finally made the team in 2008, he realized he had to earn his patch. It wasn't just handed to him. Every morning, he had to march in formation and scrub the unit’s patch on the hangar floor while the entire 120-member team screamed in his face. It was designed to break your ego and ensure you could perform under pressure.
Eventually, the yelling stops. He got proficient. He got the team’s respect. Malcolm traveled to the Pacific and Europe, performing in front of massive crowds at events. He learned the routine so well that he and his crew could communicate with just a look or a hand signal.
The Thunderbirds legacy wasn't just about showmanship; it was about the refusal to fail. He had done eleven years on the flight line, and while he was forced out of the team because of a prescribed rotation, he left with a mindset that was ready for the civilian world.
Civilian Transition: From TV Altar to Germany and Entrepreneurship
Malcolm’s transition to civilian life didn't involve a standard office job. He believes in "structured risk.” It’s the idea that you can take a big gamble if you have the right data and advisors.
While on terminal leave in Las Vegas, he decided to participate in a "social experiment." He was cast on the first season of Married at First Sight. He walked into a wedding in New York City and married a stranger at the altar. For Malcolm, it was a way to find a partner using "experts," rather than just guessing in a bar.
The marriage didn't work. Shockingly … they were incompatible, and it ended in thirty days. But the broadcast itself was the real catalyst. A woman in Germany saw Malcolm on the show, liked his honesty, and reached out. That connection led to an international romance that eventually saw Malcolm leave the Air Force Guard and move to Germany to be with her.
He inherited a blended family of three of her children, plus they soon had their first on the way. Today, there’s six children in total. Living in a small German town, where he didn't speak the language, he describes as one of the most challenging times of his life, but he used his military structure to navigate it. He finished his electrical engineering degree and his MBA online through Thomas Edison State University using his GI Bill.
He even became a hot yoga instructor, traveling to Denmark and Berlin to teach. For Malcolm, also a jiu-jitsu practitioner, hot yoga was the balance his rigid military body needed. He was building a brand-new identity thousands of miles from the flight line.
Life in Germany was relaxed, but Malcolm knew it wouldn't last. Malcolm eventually took a job with a telecommunications company, but in 2020, COVID hit. He was the "low man on the totem pole" and was laid off. With a family now depending on him, he had to pivot. He moved back to the States, got everything settled in Charlotte, North Carolina, and moved his family several months later.
There was a moment at the airport in England where the German kids were almost stopped from leaving. At the very last second, they were allowed through. He made it back to the U.S. and realized he needed to create a legacy that his kids could inherit.
He started as a life insurance agent on the side, but he wanted to build something more tangible. He realized that veterans are built for entrepreneurship, but they often lack the structure to get from an idea to a functioning business. He had an epiphany: why has nobody put all the pieces together into one system?
He founded Eighth Ascent, a company that offers a 28-day system for veterans. He takes them through everything, from data-backed market analysis to setting up a business address and running social media ads. He helps them "AI-proof" their ideas and ensures they have something a bank will actually fund. He’s not just a consultant; he’s a navigator.
He knows that most businesses fail because of a lack of structure, and he’s made it his mission to help 1,000 veterans a year find their "dream business." He’s currently working on getting his company approved for the GI Bill, so veterans can use their benefits to build their own futures rather than just getting another degree.
Malcolm’s current azimuth is focused on a scary reality: the displacement of the American workforce by AI.
In his day job as a sales engineer, he sees how corporate America is recording keystrokes and gestures to train the agents that will eventually replace humans. He cites a statistic that 300 million jobs globally will be lost to automation by 2030. For Malcolm, this isn't a theory, it’s a timeline
He tells veterans that it’s riskier to stay in a "safe" job than it is to build their own business. If your task is repetitive or programmable, it’s being automated. He’s encouraging veterans to move into management levels or "high-human-element" roles like the trades where the need is exploding and the AI can’t easily follow.
Closing
Malcolm’s life proves that transition is an evolution, not an ending. He’s gone from a fatherless kid in New York, to Osprey crew chief and team member of the Thunderbirds, to a reality TV groom, to a father, and finally to a business leader. He believes in living a life of adventure and "Point A to Point B" precision. He’s outrunning the AI boss, and he’s inviting every other veteran to join him on the climb.
CONNECT WITH MALCOLM COPELAND
VIEW OUR MOST RECENT
 |  |  |  |
