"7 High" Chapter 1 "Gateway to the Air Force"

“7 High”

Recollections of a Combat Defense Squadron “Ramp Rat”

Chapter 1

“Gateway to the Air Force”

The King The Kid

March 5, 1960, Elvis Presley had returned home from Germany and was discharged today from the United States Army. The King of Rock and Roll had gotten himself drafted and served his hitch in the US Army. I was a Central Valley High School senior, in Spokane, Washington USA, looking ahead to the future. Cannon fodder to step in for the King.

Back then, every young man had the Selective Service System, Commanded by General Hershey, to look forward to. This was popularly known as “the Draft”, and was mandatory for all US young men.

Looking back, from a distance of fifty years, I think national service was a good thing. The loud protests that brought the Vietnam War to an end were because young people were vested enough in our nation to care. Just the other day I heard someone on the radio say that if we still had the selective service system there would have been no wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Although I wasn’t drafted, I would never have enlisted, if there had been no national service requirement. It wasn’t considered onerous, but was merely a part of growing up, one of the rites of manhood. It was a common bond shared by all citizens, even celebrities as big as Elvis.

Since both sides of my family had Air Force connections, it was an easy decision for me. As Elvis was getting out, in the spring of 1960, my friend, Dave and I took the application tests and were accepted into the Air Force with enlistment to begin in September.

The Air Force recruiter was willing to take me on as a photographer; all I had to do was pass another test after joining up.

May 1, 1960 – A Soviet missile shoots down an American Lockheed U2 spy plane; the pilot Francis Gary Powers is captured

My senior year had been my first year at Central Valley. I signed up for Miss Carrabba’s Photography Class because it was something I was already familiar with, an easy grade. Having learned photography years before, at the hands of the master, George Knight.

George Knight was a local institution on Broadway in Spokane, occasionally even getting a photograph into the newspaper. He had been a photographer in the Army, and was heavy duty to the point of formulating his own processing solutions, and not from some Eastman premix.

I had my own darkroom setup, but the Central Valley school darkroom was very nice. The school was only a year old, and had much better equipment. In photography class I listened to Miss Carrabba’s war stories of aerial photography in the Air Force and was hooked for sure.

Since I had read the entire textbook before the first class, I was a shoo in for the job of photographer for school events, for the newspaper and annual. This is my annual photo.

As school photographer there were many chances to get out of classes to cover various functions.

September 30, 1959, I had barely started at Central Valley when I was given the assignment was to ride downtown in a carload of cheerleaders, and/or “Bearettes”, to photograph Ronald Reagan. Miss Carrabba gave me the press camera, three number five flashbulbs and two double sided film packs and told me to go with a carload of girls to intercept Mr. Reagan, who was coming into town from the Spokane airport at Geiger Field.

I found it difficult to concentrate on the assignment, and wasted two flashbulbs in the car, and ruined my last remaining film sheet in the Ridpath Hotel. I was lucky to get any pictures at all. For this shot I was most embarrassed to sit on a young lady’s lap.

Ronald Reagan was then starring hosting “GE Theater” on television. He was passing through Spokane on his way to Hanford to make a speech for the General Electric Father/Daughter banquet on October 1, 1960.

May 16, 1960 – Nikita Khrushchev demands an apology from U.S. President Dwight D. Eisenhower for U-2 spy plane flights over the Soviet Union, thus ending the 1960 Paris summit.

Graduating from Central Valley High School in Spokane that June, I headed for Priest Lake with the J class hydroplane that I had spent the winter rebuilding in a very cold shed. Learning that my new hydro would only turn in one direction, I crashed into a dock and spent many hours in the loft above Bishop’s Marina fashioning a fiberglass patch on the crushed sponson.

Just like this, only different.

After repairs, the boat would take on water at slow speeds. The method I employed all summer, was to start the engine while standing on the dock, jump in and punch it. As long as the boat was in a plane, everything was fine. As long as the engine ran fine, which was seldom, everything was OK. But, if anything went wrong, the sponsons would fill with water and then it took two people to pull the boat up onto a dock to drain. I drilled holes in the rear of the sponsons and kept them plugged with thermos bottle stoppers.

It was possible, but dangerous, to pull these plugs while at speed. The water would drain, but to do a good job you needed to increase the angle of attack. This is where it got tricky, especially if you were carrying a passenger. It was not uncommon that summer to travel with a young lady on the front deck.

Priest Lake, Idaho

That summer, the news was full of the U-2 incident, and the capture of pilot Francis Gary Powers by the Soviet Union. Nikita Kruschev was enraged, and we could see ugly photographs of him scowling out at us from the Spokesman Review newspaper racks in front of the Leonard Paul Store, and the magazines, too.

July 1, 1960, the Soviets shot down one of our RB-47’s over the Barents Sea. It was a big international incident, and was a long way from Priest Lake Idaho. If you had told me that I would find myself humping around one of these same RB-47s I wouldn’t have had any clue as to what you were talking about.

July 1, 1960 – A Soviet MiG fighter north of Murmansk in the Barents Sea shoots down a 6-man RB-47. Two United States Air Force officers survive and are imprisoned in Moscow's dreaded Lubyanka prison.

July 13, 1960 – U.S. Senator John F. Kennedy is nominated for President at the Democratic National Convention in Los Angeles, California.

July 28, 1960 – In Chicago, the Republican National Convention nominates U.S. Vice President Richard M. Nixon for President and Henry Cabot Lodge, Jr. for Vice President.

While these were just newspaper stories to us, world tensions continued to increase. Gary Powers was sentenced to ten years in prison for espionage by the USSR. Fidel Castro’s revolution in Cuba continued to anger the US by nationalizing all foreign owned property in response to our embargo.

August 6, 1960 – Cuban Revolution: In response to a United States embargo against Cuba, Fidel Castro nationalizes American and foreign-owned property in the nation.

August 19, 1960 – Cold War: In Moscow, downed American U-2 pilot Francis Gary Powers is sentenced to 10 years imprisonment by the Soviet Union for espionage.

In the southern United States, segregation was being challenged. From the perspective of a WASP kid in the Pacific Northwest, this might as well have been happening on another planet. The only segregation that I had ever seen was the unused restroom at the Union Pacific depot in Spokane marked for colored. I had ventured to check it out while waiting for a train and found that it was used only for the storage of mops and buckets.

September 12, 1960, none of this stuff was at the top of my brain when I was processed into in the Air Force at Spokane, WA. My mother dropped me off at the recruiting station in the Coeur d’Alene Hotel in Spokane. I was shocked to see that she was crying. This made me think that maybe this was serious.

I had already taken the aptitude tests, but now they did the physical. They really did have a whole bunch of us get naked, line up and bend over, etc. I remember signing a long paper indicating that I had never been affiliated with an extensive list of organizations that I never had any idea existed. We then were sworn in as a group.

Some of the group was going into the Army and were heading for Fort Ord by bus.

Dave Wirth, from my class at CV, was the only familiar face. There were another three guys from Wenatchee, and one from Whitman County, going into the Air Force, and headed for Lackland Air Force Base, San Antonio, Texas, “The Gateway to the Air Force”. We had no clue.

The six of us Air Force enlistees were bussed to Geiger Field, Spokane International, to be flown on commercial transportation to San Antonio, TX. On our orders it said, “airflight jet Surcharge Dallas to San Antonio via Braniff Air Lines, auth”. That sounded good.

What a great trip it was. My first airliner flight, and it was fantastic. Even better, it turned out to be the milk run, with lots of short flights. Our first hop was on Northwest Orient Airlines to Pendleton, Oregon, on a Douglas DC-6. What a great takeoff roar! The service was wonderful, with beautiful stewardesses. They fed us, with real silverware, and good food. The cute salt and pepper shakers were complimentary, as were the cigarettes.

http://www.aerodacious.com/ccCAM009.HTM

Flying was a lot more fun, back in the day. Take off and landings, with those four huge roaring engines turning propellers, were exciting. I remember thinking that this Air Force business was going to be all right. Just this trip alone was going to be worth the price of the first four years. Not every leg was wonderful though. Coming out of Salt Lake City, the plane was crowded and hot, with rough weather, crying babies and airsick passengers.

We had to wait in Amarillo for a connection, and spotted the biggest bug I had seen in my young life, right there in the airport. Leaving Amarillo, on Braniff Airlines, we were practically the only passengers on the plane. Some of the fellows were soon in the back playing cards with the stewardesses, who were even better looking than those on Northwest. It was great feeling, when one of them asked me if I was in the Air Force. No one had ever asked me that before, especially, a gorgeous stewardess.

As we were flying over Texas at dawn, I was looking out the window. Watching the sun come up with gritty eyes, I could see a square piece of land with a puddle in it, then another square with a puddle, next to another square with a puddle, on and on forever. It looked terribly barren to a northwest kid. This was my first time to Texas, watching the puddles pass below and listening to those big engines droning into the dawn.

From Dallas to San Antonio we were among the first to fly on Braniff’s new Boeing 707. Talk about lucky. There was a crowd of people at the airport to see the new jet airliner. The news media was there, and we could see a huge tv camera and operator mounted on top of a van. There must have been celebrities present.

We couldn’t believe that they were going to let us fly on this airplane. The 220 was the hottest version of the 707. It was even more amazing that the Air Force had paid an extra surcharge for the flight. We might not have been so enthusiastic had we known the history of Brannif’s 707 deliveries. They had crashed the first one.

October 19, 1959, A Boeing 707-227 crashed northeast of Arlington, Washington while on a test flight for Braniff International Airways. Four people were killed in the crash, and four survived.^[26]

The 707-220 was designed for hot and high operations with powerful Pratt & Whitney JT4A-3 turbojets, only five of these were produced, however only four were ultimately delivered with one being lost during a test flight. All were for Braniff International Airways and carried the model number 707-227. This version was made obsolete by the arrival of the turbofan-powered 707-120B.

The 707 wings are swept back at 35 degrees and, like all swept-wing aircraft, displayed an undesirable "Dutch roll" flying characteristic which manifested itself as an alternating yawing and rolling motion. Boeing already had considerable experience with this on the B-47 and B-52, and had developed the yaw damper system on the B-47 that would be applied to later swept wing configurations like the 707. However, many new 707 pilots had no experience with this phenomenon as they were transitioning from straight-wing propeller driven aircraft such as the Douglas DC-7 and Lockheed Constellation.

On one customer acceptance flight, where the yaw damper was turned off to familiarize the new pilots with flying techniques, a trainee pilots' actions violently exacerbated the Dutch Roll motion and caused three of the four engines to be torn from the wings. The plane, a brand new 707-227 N7071 destined for Braniff, crash landed on a river bed north of Seattle at Arlington, Washington, killing four of the eight occupants.^[15]

In his autobiography, test pilot Tex Johnston described a Dutch Roll incident he experienced as a passenger on an early commercial 707 flight. As the aircraft's movements didn't cease and most of the passengers became ill, he suspected a mis-rigging of the directional autopilot (yaw damper). He went to the cockpit and found the crew unable to understand and resolve the situation. He introduced himself and relieved the ashen-faced captain who immediately left the cockpit feeling ill. Johnston disconnected the faulting autopilot and manually stabilized the plane "with two slight control movements".

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boeing_707

As we entered the aircraft, there was soft music playing over the intercom. The configuration was; two seats on each side, separated by a console. It was spacious and luxurious. The Braniff service was great, and the Stews were beautiful.

Braniff 707 220

We could hardly hear the engines as we taxied into position. The power of the jets after riding propeller aircraft was amazing. After a very short take off roll, the Captain pointed the nose up and let it rip. The cabin floor was too steep to climb.

It was a very impressive ride. I bet it looked good from the ground, too. I had no clue that I was to see many takeoffs like this. Way too soon we were landing in San Antonio.

By now our group had grown in size to nearly thirty. A fellow in grey AF fatigues, wearing three stripes, met us at the airport. After some waiting around, he loaded us onto a blue school bus, and drove this motley crew to our introduction to the world of basic training, our Gateway to the Air Force, Lackland Air Force Base.

During the ride, I had some time to look around the bus at my fellow passengers. There were a bunch of hoodlums. Around the bus, were greasy “Duck Ass” haircuts, black leather jackets, and not just a few with attitude. This looked like a rough and boisterous group of teenagers to me. Not at all like the clean cut, well-behaved, group from Spokane. I wondered if I had made a mistake. The bus was pretty rowdy and I somehow managed to get crosswise with one of these sinister looking hoods. He decided that here was a young geek that needed some serious harassment. This would give me something to look forward to.

We were unloaded into an auditorium sort of place and spent some time watching the A1C that had delivered us there flirt with a WAF while we waited for another bus load of recruits. This was the most impressive thing to me. I don’t remember any of the presentation.

We were all very tired. They walked us to a mess hall, still carrying our suitcases. We had a rather leisurely meal. It wasn’t bad, but Braniff had fed me well. I would rather had a nap.

After the meal, we shambled as a group to our squadron area, assigned to the 3711th Basic Military Training Squadron, (BMTS). We were Flight 1101 and our barracks number was 6519. We met our Training Instructor, (TI). Never thought I would forget his name. He was a four-stripe guy with a bad attitude. Without realizing it, we were to learn a lot from that attitude, at the time it just seemed… well… unnecessary. We all made a mental note to watch out for those four-stripe guys.

The internet says that AF recruits are now referred to as “trainee” in the first weeks of basic. Back in the day, we were airmen, right off the bus. Dipshit airmen, lower than whale shit airmen, but, airmen. Even us sorry ass rainbow flights were airmen.

(See Appendix B, References, for links to some interesting descriptions of AF Basic Training.)

We played, “Pick up your suitcase!” “Put down your suitcase!” for quite a while. My hand was sore from hauling the damn thing around before we started. Packing a bunch of movie camera equipment made that old suitcase even heavier. (The movie gear was sent home, along with my civilian clothes, without having shot a frame.)

Lots of guys got picked on worse than me, but I caught my share. We had another training session, of which I must have learned something, but remember nothing. I, for one, hadn’t slept very well the night before departure, and it had been way more than 24 hours since we had taken that flight out of Spokane.

When we finally got to our barracks, my first impression was the mirror finish on the floor. I wondered how they did that and suspected that we would soon be finding out.

First, we learned how to report. Each of us had a turn at approaching the TI’s office, knocking correctly, entering just so, standing at attention and reciting, “Sir, Airman Basic whatever, reporting as ordered, Sir”. A lot of guys got the chance to do it more than once. Then there was a lot of other stuff. I’m afraid I was not the least bit interested in how to make a bed, but rather to get into it. But that was not yet to be. Beds were not even to be sat upon.

When were finally allowed to turn in, it seemed like only a few moments after the lights went out that there was yelling, “Fire, Fire, Fire!” and the lights came on again. With much shouted “encouragement” from our TI, we finally managed to exit the barracks. “Move it, Dipshit, Move it.” “My grandmother could move faster than that.”

Of course we did it all wrong, so we went back and did it again. And again, and over again, that night we played the fire drill game all night long. We would get into bed and a few minutes later, “Fire, Fire, Fire”. Over and over until we got it right. Did we ever get it right?

There was an audience of TIs with flashlights for the first couple of turnouts. They could have sold tickets the first time. What a fiasco. With dipshits flying out of the barracks in various stages of undress, it was hard to keep from laughing at some of the situations. The TIs had a line for every occasion, and they were humorous, the first time you heard them. It was funniest if the tirade wasn’t directed to your neighborhood.

We were a rainbow flight, wearing our civilian clothes for the first week or so. We had only been issued pith helmets, and a web belt with canteen. We learned how to report, march, salute, and turn corners. After we got our haircuts, all those hoodlums didn’t stand out anymore. In fact, we surely were all dipshits now.

We were marched to a small Base Exchange (BX), where we purchased specific items as instructed. A certain type of padlock, flashlight, notebook, etc, so that everyone’s would be the same. The people in the BX knew exactly what we were allowed to purchase.

At 0500 each morning, our TI greeted us. We had just a few minutes to get ready before falling out for PT. When “Road Guards Out”, was called we had about a minute to finish up before “Fallout on the road in Flight formation”. While doing PT in the dark we could smell the mess hall. That morning mess hall odor is not something I can describe, but I would know it instantly, even today. It was the same smell at every mess hall at every base.

The mess hall procedure was very strict. No talking or looking around, period. There were always TIs from other flights here and they took particular pleasure in chewing out someone else’s dipshits. We side stepped through the chow line, took our metal trays to a table and then filled bowls rather than glasses with liquid because bowls held more. Milk and lemon aid were available. Then, eat as fast as possible, take trays, bowls and silverware to the KP window, and fall in behind the chow hall.

Special jobs, such as chow runner, squad leaders, road guards, and latrine queen were assigned to conspicuous airmen. By carefully trying to be invisible at all times, I managed to escape these special duties. But, I did have plenty of opportunity to work for the latrine queen and floor polishing crew on numerous occasions.

Our civilian clothes were getting pretty nasty by the time we received our uniforms in that giant building known as “The Green Monster”. It was hot in the Monster, there were huge standing fans pushing air. It smelled like a WW II surplus store. As we filed along in line people yelled at us and threw items of clothing. We were issued a blue duffle bag to put everything in. It was all to be done just so.

We were issued gray Air Force fatigues, 505 tan summer uniforms, with bush jackets, heavy blue overcoat, raincoat, two pair of brogans, low quarters, underwear, socks, brass, headgear, etc. We were also measured for winter blue uniforms. It was a mountain of stuff, and it was difficult to cram all this gear into the duffle bag.

We marched back to our barracks in our new, baggy, grey fatigues, wearing our service caps without brass. It was the look of a flight just out of the belly of the Monster. But, to us, it felt like we had finally made it. Finally, we were not a rainbow flight anymore. With our new brogans, we could actually march pretty swell. “Let me hear those heels!” our TI would holler, and we did our best to wear the heels off of our new brogans.

At some point we were allowed to wear our hat brass on our pith helmets.

After this, guys that screwed up during drill could be identified later by a vertical scratch on their foreheads. This was obtained by being out of step, or some other infraction. The TI would come up behind you and smack the top of your pith helmet, jamming it down on your head, scratching your forehead with the inside end of the hat brass. See GeezerFlight Pith Helmet for a better explanation.

Any “free” time allowed us was spent learning how to shine our shoes, and prepare our area for inspection. Footlockers had to be organized very precisely. A pre-completed gig slip was placed under the dust cover on each bunk. Two others were carried on our person at all times, in case of infraction. We also needed to memorize our chain of command and security instructions. We were aware that there was a squadron “patio”, but it was next to the Orderly Room, and our TI didn’t believe in letting dipshits go there.

We had junior training instructor, an Airman Third Class (one stripe). He was in charge the first time we got a smoke break. He parked us in front of the barracks, put us at ease, and said, “Light ‘em up”.

We didn’t know what to do. There was a long silence, then he asked, “Haven’t you ever had a smoke break, before?”

“NO SIR!” He taught us how to take a smoke break. First we had to learn to respond to “Light ‘em up” with “THANK YOU SIR”.

Then we had to learn field stripping of the butts, and to put the trash in your pocket. Along with most of the flight, I had given up hope of ever being able to smoke again and quit carrying cigarettes days before.

We were periodically marched to the laundry and the small BX where one of the next items we purchased would be a plastic case for our cigarettes and matches. Also, Kiwi and cotton balls for the brogans and shoes, spares for inspection items, and paste wax or neutral Kiwi for the barracks floor.

Boxes of fancy Air Force stationary were very popular. All of us in my squad had a box. It was good when everyone’s footlocker looked just the same.

The days blurred into PT, Drill, Classroom Training, getting ready for inspections, inspections, grunt work and KP. The entire flight pulled KP several times. So you got a chance to try all the delightful aspects. Some jobs were worse than others.

I learned the interfaces of a large dishwashing apparatus known as a “clipper”. This was much preferable to some other KP assignments, like pots and pans. This was a skill I would be able to use in the future.

It was great being in the fourth squad. Usually, when they were teaching us something in the field, the command would be; “First two squads, get down”. I can remember those poor saps having to “get down” and “get up”, again and again, to get it just right. Seldom did the third and fourth squads have to “get down”.

Our junior TI liked to play “O’Grady Says”, a fun game where you are not to follow a command unless O’Grady says. After having instant obedience beat into your head, it was nearly impossible not to come to attention when it was called. You would lose, because the TI didn’t say, “O’Grady Says”, “Attention”. The losers had extra fun, of course.

The memory work was coming along slowly. We could not tell in advance what questions were going to be asked. When assigned barracks guard duty, we could be sure that we would be ordered to recite specific security instructions. (They can be found in Appendix A, Memory Work.) It was harder to come up with the answers under pressure, and it didn’t pay to memorize them in order, as some were more popular than others. I learned the shorter ones first.

We learned how to sleep on top of our finely made bunks using only the “dust cover” for a blanket; how to shove a cotton ball down the tube of your “inspection” toothpaste; how to lay out a footlocker to pass inspection and then leave it alone. We learned how to get the floor and our brogans so shiny you could see the cracks in your teeth. We learned the most important thing of all, how to be invisible to training instructors.

Getting mail was a big deal and it was several weeks before I received any. We were allowed to make a phone call, but there was no one home back in Spokane, and this was way before the days of answering machines.

Mail Call was an event, usually held in front of the Orderly Room. We were put at ease, our TI picked up the mail for the flight and called out names to come forward and get our mail, or he threw it towards us, depending on mood.

Envelopes that were "Sealed With A Kiss" or smelled of perfume were held up and commented upon at great length. One lucky guy, a Texan named Labeau, had a very prolific girlfriend, receiving multiple smelly, racy, lipstick stained letters at every mail call. He was the envy of everyone in the flight, probably our TI, too.

Then, one day while running laps on the PT field, I came across the hoodlum fellow from the bus that had been screwing with me every chance he got. That poor fellow was in the ditch, puking his guts out. I stopped, running in place so as not to get in trouble should a TI be watching, and pointed out to him how easy it would be to kick his ass. We got along fine after that.

We received our vaccinations outside, in the field next to the squadron area. Duty flight basic airmen were used to give the shots. These guys were dipshits just the same as us and did nothing to inspire our confidence. There were two identical processing lines. We removed our fatigue shirts, and proceeded in single file.

The first station was two garbage cans with alcohol and cotton, one on each side, these guys took a large wad of cotton and wiped your arms with the alcohol. We then stepped forward to the next station where the airmen on each side of you had needles to stick you with. At least one of these guys was showing off with three needles in each hand. Some of the biggest guys fainted and fell down in this line. The airman in front of me stepped away with a needle still stuck in his arm dripping blood.

When we finally did get a patio break, nothing in the world had ever tasted as good as that cold “Dr Pepper”. It was so cool and sweet I drank three bottles just as fast as I could. Try that some time on a hot day and see if you don’t feel poorly after.

26 September 1960 – The 2 leading U.S. presidential candidates, Richard M. Nixon and John F. Kennedy, participate in the first televised presidential debate.

In basic training, we had no idea what was going on in the outside world, and totally missed this historic event. But we did learn that the military calendar, like military time, just had to be different.

27 September 1960 back in Spokane, before enlistment, I had a good aptitude score for electronics, but elected to sign up in the “general” career field to get into photography. The recruiter told me I would have to pass the photography test at Lackland. All of this was true.

At a certain point in training I took the “bypass” test. It seemed pretty certain that my career was on track as planned. On September 27th I was notified that I had qualified, and was assigned Primary AFSC (Air Force Specialty Code) 23230, Apprentice Still Photographer. This was great news.

Our Flight, 1101, was getting pretty good at drill. In the Texas heat it was very invigorating for a northern lad. I passed out a couple of times before I learned how to get a handle on it. Once, at Honor Flight inspection, the inspection team was coming down my rank when it started coming on. By the time they got to me, my vision was completely black, but I made it through the inspection. After they moved to the next guy, I went down, smacking my head on the asphalt. But, I didn’t get a gig for it, that was the main thing, and we ended up winning Honor Flight.

Then we KNEW we were TOO COOL, marching with the Honor Flight Guidon, doing monkey drills in front of the chow hall. The waiting flights of rainbows were hopefully watching in awe. We had an A3C holdover acting assistant TI and he taught us a lot of good drill moves. While the heels on our brogans were starting to wear down, the toes were shining up pretty good.

Marching at night was fun. The flashlights we had were the “usher” type. They had a red plastic tube that illuminated, with white light out the tip. Marching with those flashlights at night, we did look good. Coming to an intersection, the TI would call “Road Guards Out” for the corner men to do traffic control.

During this time, one day we were marched to the other side of the base and spent the entire day taking tests. I remember a lot of spatial relationship questions, math and geometry that was way over my head.

Another time we were assigned as “duty flight” and sent to do various chores. Some of us finished early and were actually allowed to sit in the shade for an hour or so. I caught a twenty-minute nap, what a great day.

My bunk was in the upper bay of the two story, open bay barracks. There were some small, screened openings in the ceiling of the upper bay, leading into the attic. After lights out, one southern dipshit ventured up into the attic one night. His clowning was rewarded with some nervous laughter. The next night, he tried it again, even though now discouraged by his fellow airmen. This went on until one night he went up there for a smoke after lights out and fell through the ceiling.

In the ensuing investigation, a dirty towel with my numbers stamped on it was found. This must have been a towel that I had donated to a floor polishing work party. I thought it had been thrown out. About twenty of us were identified as having contraband in the attic. We were scared, mostly of being “set back” to a younger flight, and when offered an article 15 and extra duty we took it. So, while the rest of the Flight was in San Antonio on a town pass, we were polishing the orderly room floor with dry socks.

Then, while on base liberty, two of us crossed the street in a “non square” fashion and were caught by a TI who not only took our gig slips, but when he found out which flight we were from, took us directly to the mess hall to spend the rest of the day on KP. First, we did pots and pans detail in 505s. When we had finished that, we spent the afternoon eyeing and quartering potatoes. Big garbage cans full of spuds to be cut instead of a day off.

One day, the flight was assembled in a room in the squadron classroom complex that we hadn’t seen before. It was a little fancier than the regular classrooms with polished wood and flags. With much graveness, and ceremony, it was announced that our entire flight had been selected to ship out to Okinawa.

Okinawa had been in the news all summer, as our treaty with Japan had been renewed and no longer allowed nuclear weapons on Japanese soil. Weapons and aircraft were being moved to Okinawa, straining the resources at Kadena AB. Our entire flight was being sent there as emergency Air Police augmentees.

It is difficult to believe just how badly this demoralized our flight. Going to that classroom, we had been marching sharp, we were Honor Flight. Coming back, there were heads bobbing all over the place. We could hear the other flights whispering about us as we waited at parade rest in front of the chow hall. “All shipped out, and the Honor Flight, too.” Then there were rumors that our TI was being reassigned.

We went back across the base after this for the same battery of tests over again. I’m not sure if we were given any reason for taking them over. It would be curious to compare the scores. I know I didn’t try nearly as hard the second time.

I don’t remember there ever being any resolution on the shipment to Okinawa, it just seemed to get lost in the works. Looking back, I wonder if we were the guinea pigs in someone’s research project or the Air Force had just changed its mind. Certainly, SAC wouldn’t have been happy about untrained airmen humping it's aircraft.

During this time we were also having fun qualifying with the M-1 carbine, completing the bivouac exercise, with the gas house, confidence course and night march. Also, having finally completed the extra duty from the article 15, I was able to enjoy a base liberty, and completed same without ending up on KP.

A typical day sampling the luxuries of Base Liberty might go something like this. First, a stop at Frosty Fred’s for something cool. Think ice cream. Maybe stroll by the Roller Rink to see if there was any action. Sometimes a WAF or two could be found here. We never saw very many WAFs, they were more like urban legend. They called their brogans “abners”, for “Li’l Abner”, a character in the Al Capp comic strip.

Another favorite airman basic pastime was taking pictures of each other, with a cheap BX camera, in front of the barracks and the aircraft displays. I had a stationary box full of those black and white photos, but lost them years ago. Mom has this one in her photo album.

My fellow airmen introduced me to things like, “Have A Tampa Jewels” and “Crookettes” little cigars. There was a newsstand that had all the hometown newspapers. It made you realize that there were guys from all over the country suffering here.

One time we saw a real snappy drill team with cleats and chrome helmets give an inspiring demonstration. We were going to sign up for a drill team, for sure. Another day, we saw a hypnotist do a show in a recreation hall. That was kind of spooky and afterward we weren’t sure that we weren’t doing some posthypnotic thing. There was a lot of joking about it, back in the barracks, but we weren’t sure.

In those days, Basic Training consisted of two phases. Five weeks in first phase, at the end of which some (lucky?) airmen were shipped out to tech school, while others continued on with another three weeks of basic. I had been hoping to be shipped out to a Photo Tech School, but that didn’t happen. My buddy Dave Wirth, from home, left for Keesler AFB for electronics tech school, I got to stay at Lackland.

I never crossed paths with Dave again. I attempted to contact him while writing this story, and I learned that he had stayed in the Air Force for five years, then had a successful career as an engineer, at home in Opportunity, WA. Dave’s Mom advised me that he passed away in 2007. She still has the same phone number that was on our first Air Force orders in September 1960.

For second phase our flight, 1101, was combined with flight 1100. We were now known as flight 1100-01, and moved into the 1100 barracks, with their TI.

It was a lot like starting all over again. Our new TI considered us to be "set backs", that needed to be straightened out immediately, and that would be his main task from here on out.

There were different rules for lots of things, including footlocker setup, and during inspection he grabbed me by the front of my fatigues and pulled me to the side, trying to dump me into my footlocker. I held onto a bunk, and he finally just gave my footlocker a kick that sent it sliding halfway down the bay and down the stairs.

Another time he threw a can of Comet at someone. It hit the sharp edge of a bunk rail, and exploded. Green powder went everywhere. It was a disaster to clean up.

12 October 1960 – Cold War: Nikita Khrushchev pounds his shoe on a table at a United Nations General Assembly meeting, to protest at the discussion of Soviet Union policy toward Eastern Europe.

Patio breaks were much more important to us at this point than international politics.

During second phase, the patio at our new barracks saw a lot more use. It was closer to the BX and there were a bunch of Mexican kids that hung out there to shine shoes. They used alcohol and spit, and would sniff the alcohol to get a rush. They did such a good job, that I finally had them shine the bill of my service cap. I never again got a gig on that item, so they solved a big problem, but the hat always had a certain smell after that.

22 October 1960, my eighteenth birthday slipped by. I remember looking out the barracks window at the setting sun and the lights of the base, feeling sorry for myself.

One evening, they bussed our flight, and a few others, to San Antonio for the Shrine Circus. We all got dressed up in 505s with bush jackets and service cap. That was to be the first and last time I ever wore a bush jacket.

Getting off base was like going to a different planet. It was strange to see people in civilian clothes. There were even people with hair, just walking around. Whenever I hear the song “San Antonio Rose” it brings back this evening.

26 October 1960, orders were posted promoting us to Airman Third Class, E-2. That was one stripe, back in the day. But, the promotions weren’t effective until Nov 10, 1960. So, we didn’t get to strut around Lackland with our new stripes.

We did get to participate in a big parade and graduation ceremony that meant standing at parade rest of attention in the hot sun for a good long time. It was long enough I felt myself starting to pass out and bent over enough to get some blood back in my head, to a chorus of urgent vulgar whispered demands to get back at attention from my flight mates.

26 October 1960, our shipping orders were posted I couldn’t find my name at first. I finally found it on the back of a page, after a long list of other airmen. Thirty-five poor saps, they were all assigned AFSC 77010 and were going to be apprentice Air Policemen at Bunker Hill AFB.

On the back of the page, after that bunch, there was my line. “A3C Marston, Assigned Primary AFSC 23230, Apprentice Still Photographer”, just like they had promised.

But, the orders continued, “Directed duty assignment 77130, Apprentice Air Policeman”. A3C Marston will report to 305th Combat Support Group, Bunker Hill AFB, Peru, Indiana, no later than Nov 18, 1960.

I thought that there must be some mistake, but was not in the mood to question authority those days. Maybe this could be straightened out later, at least I’m getting out of Lackland. So, hooray? I’m going to be a cop? But, on the bright side, finally, we were FIGMO, “Finally, I Got My Orders” and could purchase our “AWOL” Bags, a satchel, blue with gold lettering and AF insignia.

I still have mine, how about you?

Click here for more.

We also purchased that blue plastic case we were so proud to carry our orders around in.

1 November 1960 the best time at Lackland was staying in the barracks after graduation with no TI. Even though we were still Airman Basic, we had the freedom of the base and could come and go as we pleased. It felt wonderful, and didn’t last nearly long enough.

3 November 1960 thirty-six of us “Almost Apprentice Air Policemen” shipped out for Bunker Hill AFB, Peru, Indiana. We were permitted a ten day leave before reporting. I remember throwing my duffle bag on the back of the ton and a half truck in the squadron area. I was wearing blues and it was hot, and I was oh so happy to be leaving Lackland AFB.

Because of my interest in railroads, I elected to take the train home. Boarding the train (MKT “The Katy”) in San Antonio, there were “Special” furlough coaches for the military. These were very old coaches and contained a lot of other GI’s. They were mostly Army, right out of basic. Quite a few of them were older, draftees, and they had a completely different attitude.

The first town the train stopped at, the Army guys loaded up with booze. Then it started getting rowdy. You wouldn’t want your service cap, with the spit shined bill, to get loose in this environment.

This fun went on and on to Kansas City. If it wasn’t a troop train, it was close enough to get the flavor. When the puking started I spent a lot of time trying to stay out of the way and keep my uniform clean.

Thankfully, the train From Kansas City to Chicago didn’t have “furlough coaches”. At Union Station in Chicago, I caught the Northern Pacific “Vista Dome North Coast Limited”, to Spokane. I sat in the dome car the entire way. Anxious to get home, the trip seemed like it would never end.

After getting off the train in Spokane, still slick sleeved, I was saluted by a scared looking A3C, while in the station with my folks.

That was absolutely the funniest thing that had ever happened to me in my Air Force career. My family was glad to see me, but they couldn’t understand why I thought this was so hilarious.

Recollections of a Combat Defense Squadron “Ramp Rat”

Chapter 1

Appendix A

Memory Work

Security Instructions

Compliments of: 3973CDS.com

1. I will take charge of my post and protect personnel and all Government property in view.

2. I will secure my post in an alert manner and observe everything within sight or hearing.

3. I will report all violations of orders I am instructed to enforce.

4. I will relay all messages and distress signals from other posts to Air Police Headquarters.

5. I will quit my post only when properly relieved.

6. I will give the sentry who relieves me all instructions that I have received from Officers and Non-commissioned Officers of the Air Police.

7. I will not talk to anyone except in the line of duty.

8. I will give the alarm and notify Air Police Headquarters in case of fire, disorder or other emergency.

9. I will call the Non-commissioned Officer in charge in any case not covered by instructions.

10. I will be especially watchful at night and challenge all persons on or near my post and allow no one to pass without proper authority.

11. I will apprehend and turn over to the Air Police Officer or NCO In Charge, any person who is on my post or who attempts to cross my post without proper authority.

Recollections of a Combat Defense Squadron “Ramp Rat”

Chapter 1

Appendix B

References

Current advice and description of AF Basic Military Training

http://usmilitary.about.com/cs/airforcejoin/a/afbmt1.htm

“Warrior Week”, An Evolution of Basic Field Training at Lackland AFB”, William J. Allen Chief, Office of History, 37th Training Wing, Lackland AFB, Texas, 1 December 2000.

https://web.archive.org/web/20130217082237/http://www.37trw.af.mil/shared/media/document/AFD-061212-033.pdf

***Here is an interesting description of Air Force Basic in 1968.