“7 High”
Recollections of a Combat Defense Squadron “Ramp Rat”
Chapter 4
“Operation Clutch Pedal”
23 November 1961 Returning to Bunker Hill AFB, we soon found many changes. The 305th Combat Defense Squadron had moved into a new, two story, concrete block barracks. I was roomed with a short timer, A2C Tekulve who had just returned from Morocco. Harvey and Oop were next door, but the latrine was shared facility for the bay.
There had been some major changes in the chain of command. Capt. Billy Mitchell was now the Squadron Commander, the new jeep had made 1Lt, and TSgt Butler was now B Flight Commander.
Before I was completely unpacked, I was selected for TDY again. This time it was “Operation Clutch Pedal”, to Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
This was such a sweet deal that usually only the brown nosers got to go. It was TDY for three, our Flight Commander, TSgt. Butler, selected himself, an A1C who had just acquired an almost new Pontiac Bonneville convertible, and me. That had something to do with why he was picked, but I have no idea why I was chosen. Maybe word had come back from Forbes to keep an eye on me. If so, thank you, Kansas.
14 December 1961, we loaded weapons and ammunition and gear into the cavernous trunk of the Bonneville,
and set out for Milwaukee, to meet three B-47s that were on a dispersal exercise from the 307th Bomb Wing at Lincoln, Nebraska.
307th Bomb Wing
The 307th had recently failed an Operational Readiness Inspection, (ORI), and on Nov 27th the Wing Commander had been replaced.
We had sweated out our own ORI, at Bunker Hill. My special participation consisted of being posted on a grassy embankment somewhere outside the base. It was a nice day and had box of c rations. I didn’t see anyone for 12 hours and don’t know what I would have done if I had. Communications consisted of double ended flares, being smoke on one end and fire on the other.
We had been made to understand that to fail the ORI was a terrible thing and understood that life must have been unpleasant at Lincoln right about then.
http://www.307bwassoc.org/history.htm
The weather didn’t cooperate, spitting rain and snow. We had to leave the top up on the Bonneville. Driving north, through Gary, Indiana. I had read about steel mill towns, but was unprepared for the filth and squalor that was visible from the highway.
Reaching Chicago, we took the “Skyway”. This was my first time on a toll road. I had seen a freeway before, there was a small stretch, about 20 miles, in Spokane. The Skyway was a real pike, with a toll plaza every few miles. This was an eye-opening experience, something that I had heard about at Motorama.
We stayed on toll roads most of the way to Milwaukee, it was much faster, but there wasn’t much to see from a toll road. Approaching Milwaukee, it was nice to be back on the highway where we could see more of the countryside.
Billy Mitchell Field was a few miles south of Milwaukee, and we found our way to the Wisconsin Air National Guard, 128th Air Refueling Wing and checked in at their Operations Center.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/General_Mitchell_International_Airport
http://www.wimilw.ang.af.mil/content/home.html
The 128th Air Refueling Wing was flying F89s. Really, F89Js, and in the hangar that housed the Operations Center was the Squadron Commander’s spit shined aircraft parked on an equally spit shined hangar floor. Over the next few days, I would get to spend a lot of time counting the rivets on this beauty.
The 128th was in the process of transitioning to KC-97s. One of their first aircraft was on the ramp, and they were excited about it. It was difficult to share their enthusiasm for their “new” aircraft, and not mention that we were from the fastest air force patch in the world. They were incredulous upon hearing our B-58 stories. And, when they heard that our Squadron Commander’s name was Billy Mitchell, they knew we were bullshitting.
They treated us really well. They assigned us two vehicles, a pickup for the guard, and a staff car for Sgt. Butler. Sgt. Butler told us that the one with the best heater would be for the ramp. It was quite brisk outside, and this was a good omen. They offered to put us up in their barracks, but Sgt. Butler made a deal, and we checked our weapons in their armory and departed for Milwaukee, with the provision that we would call in periodically.
We drove into Milwaukee and checked into the brand new YMCA. Excellent private rooms, nicer than any hotel I had enjoyed, and they apologized that the military rate had been raised to $5. We went out on the town and I fell “in love” with a cocktail waitress, much to the amusement of my companions.
The morning was early and very cold when we reported back in to 128th Operations. We stood around forever. No one knew anything about our rendezvous aircraft. We drank coffee and read bulletins and stood around some more.
I had plenty of time to inspect that F89J in the hangar. It had retained the “Mighty Mouse” rocket launchers in the forward portion of the wing tip fuel tanks. This would have been such a fun machine to fly. Looking directly into the nose of this bird produced a dizzy effect. It seemed to move, ever so slightly. Maybe it was the hangover…
*** these links are rotten, for the f89j research...
These link are for the f-89J
http://home.att.net/~jbaugher1/p89_10.html
here is the whole list
http://home.att.net/~jbaugher1/p89.html
Sgt. Butler called Bunker Hill and Lincoln and finally Offut AFB, no one would give us any information, so about three o’clock we went back downtown Milwaukee to further enjoy the local hospitality.
This routine went on for several days before we were recalled to Bunker Hill. I must say, we were sorry to leave. At the Field, we had been generally treated like SAC royalty. And the hospitality of Milwaukee could not be beat. We never found what happened to the B-47s we were supposed to meet.
And, the 128th Air Refueling Squadron, from Billy Mitchell Field, is still pumping JP-4, in 2009. Flying the same KC-135s we were humping around in 1961. In fact, the squadron joined SAC in 1976. Here are a couple of photos.
2002 Air Show at Vandenberg AFB
I couldn’t tell who posted these photos at:
http://www.freqofnature.com/photos/vbg2002/index.html
The Schlitz theme is truly Milwaukee patriotic. Wonder if I ever humped this bird? It looks like an old friend with a new paint job. As I watch the air tanker news, it makes me feel good to know that a lot of my old friends are STILL in the air.
Here (Appendix B, References) is an interesting chart comparing the aircraft bid for the new USAF air tanker. It seems to an old ramp rat that if Boeing really wanted the deal they would have bid a 717 variant. Four engines would be nice.
It was too soon that we had to bid farewell to Milwaukee. I vowed to return soon to see my new love, but, events changed that plan and I never made it back.
On the way back to Bunker Hill, we took our time, and traveled the highways. We stopped at places that Sgt Butler knew. Riding in the back seat of that huge Bonneville, I had plenty of time to think about getting back to Milwaukee to see my new true love, and realized that I needed some wheels of my own.
The previous summer, Harv had put down some serious dough for a 1952 Studebaker Land Cruiser. I think I put in $50 and Harv came up with $70 for the purchase. It was a darker sort of dull metallic green, certainly no whitewalls, and it was never this clean as these photographs. It would really fly, had lots of room, and the radio worked great.
http://billstudepage.homestead.com/files/stude.htm
http://www.abandonedbutnotforgotten.com/studebaker_plant.htm
The Land Cruiser was a local product, from South Bend, Indiana. It had suicide doors and a V-8 with overdrive. It would cruise easily in the 75 to 80 mph range. Studebaker thought of everything, there was an auxiliary starter switch and light under the hood. These items were frequently used and much appreciated.
On this particular vehicle the throw out bearings made so much noise that you needed to hold in the clutch at stoplights to keep folks from gawking. As per the reputation, the Studebaker used nearly as much oil as gas.
We bought five gallon cans of oil at “Monkey Wards” to carry in the trunk. Every time you filled the gas tank, you put in two quarts of oil. Gas was 22 cents a gallon at the Clark stations, and they gave you stamps too.
This particular vehicle no longer needed a key for the ignition, the switch having been replaced with an eight ball toggle switch.
Also, the deck behind the rear seat had been torn out. This enabled empty beer cans thrown towards the rear of the vehicle to end up in the trunk.
The Land Cruiser was prone to vapor lock. This could happen at any time and usually at the most inopportune moments. It would flood the carburetor, and nothing in the world could restart it except time.
The vehicle had been banned from base, for several reasons and several incidents. After we purchased and installed seat belts, the sticker was scraped for lack of insurance. Usually stashed in a parking lot across the highway, it was used by everyone who knew how to get it started, often ending up on base with a visitor pass. There was a stash of these in the glove box.
There were numerous incidents. One time my buddy and I had to rescue it from a swamp, where it had been left by a towing company with little hope of ever getting their dough.
Another time, we had taken dates to the drive-in movie in Kokomo. Forgetting to take the Studebaker out of overdrive, I parked on a slight incline. Sometime during the movie, the car rolled back, breaking the window that the speaker was hooked into, which showered glass down the back of my trousers. I couldn’t just pull them up and move the car, but had to get out and shake the broken glass out of my pants, to the tooting of horns and flashing of lights from cars all around us.
During the time we had been TDY to Forbes Harv had to spend a lot of time on the telephone dealing with incidents involving the Studebaker back in Indiana. One of which concerned that it had been left in the Squadron Commanders parking spot in front of the barracks, with a visitors pass in the windshield.
It was hard to tell who was driving the car, since word had gotten out. He was in hot water quite a lot over the activities of his vehicle.
We used that Studebaker to get to places like the “Punkin’ Vine”, bar in a Bowling Alley in Kokomo, Indiana. We also liked the “Peppermint Lounge”, out on the highway. There was a fellow who played the organ there named Woody Marstens. He did a very good job, jostling the old tube amplifer to make thunder. A fine musician, he had both a corvette and a handgun.
Getting around in that Studebaker, we discovered that there were a lot of nice little towns in the area. I liked Kokomo every bit as much as Peru. In Kokomo, the train came right down the street. We could sit in the bar and jock trains at the same time.
We had tried driving the Studebaker to Harv’s home in Neoga, Illinois, but, after a few times, we determined it could be done cheaper, and faster, by hitch hiking in our blues. As soon as we were off the last day shift, we would put on our blues and grab that AWOL bag with the Air Force logo to point at the traffic.
Before the Viet Nam War, servicemen were treated very well. Hardly a car would pass before we were offered a ride. Picked up by all manner of folks, they fed us and went out of their way to take us further down the road. I remember being dropped off loaded down with fruit.
We went west on Highway 24 to Logansport, Indiana, then over to Gilman, Illinois, and south on Highway 45. If we were making good time it would still be daylight when we hit Chanute AFB at Rantoul, Illinois.
Chanute AFB was an Air Training Command facility and home of the 3345th Air Base Group. Occasionally, we did stop and visit, only because a ride would terminate there.
My friends especially enjoyed hassling the white hats working the gate. There was one trip in the Studebaker, Oop was driving and he swung into the base, ran the main gate, hooked a u- turn and ran back out the gate.
There was much hilarity, with poor Harv pissed off because Air Police might have gotten the license number. I was more concerned that Oop had just assumed that since we didn’t load our weapons they didn’t either.
Occasionally, when the skip was just right, we would hear the Chanute Air Police on the VHF radio at Bunker Hill. They were on exactly the same frequency, and some of the call signs were even the same. Some folks only added to the confusion, and soon there were units responding to a BX robbery on both bases at once.
These days, Chanute AFB at Rantoul, Illinois has been left to grow weeds. Here are some interesting links.
http://www.abandonedbutnotforgotten.com/chanute_afb.htm
http://www.abandonedbutnotforgotten.com/CFAB/CFAB.HTM
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chanute_AFB
Next, we came to Champaign, IL. Champaign was the big city in the area. When we drove this route, we had a tendency to stop and party in Champaign, this was one of the things that made driving slower than hitchhiking.
Then, it was on to Mattoon, Illinois. Matoon had a Square with the Courthouse in the middle. Cruising around and around was very popular on Saturday night. We did a lot better by using his Mom’s black ’58 Impala.
After passing through Neoga, Illinois we followed a series of perfectly squarely laid out country roads to the family farm. These were gravel roads and every turn was ninety degrees. Probably the roads were on section lines. Harv had perfected his four wheel drift on these corners for years and loved to demonstrate.
Farming was a whole new experience for me. I never thought that I would find myself in gum boots, shoveling out the bottom of the silo. The smell of silage is something that I would never have thought I would get used to, but I did. I drew the line at chewing it, though.
Clamping the calves was a novel experience for a city boy. Those calves were very hard to hold on to, which was my job.
I had never even seen a guinea hen before. They were the farm security and didn’t like me much. Harv had to stop me from shooting one particularly pesky one.
After a days work on the farm, we hit the local taverns for refreshments. These local places were all very Country, and I suppose Western, places. The folks were real good to us, buying more beer than we could drink.
At a large family picnic, hosted by one of his relatives, I was introduced to corn on the cob. I thought I had enjoyed this treat all my life. But, it turns out I had been eating was what they called “field corn”, fit only for the livestock. This was “sweet corn” and I had never had corn this good, and kept going back for more until they caught on to me.
Almost every three day break, Harv brought a few us down to help out on the farm. One time, an airman from Albequerque, New Mexico drove us down to the ranch in his 1957 Chevy.
We were on our way back from terrorizing a go-cart track. The racing had gotten a little too intense and one of the ladies we were escorting went off the track and under a cyclone fence.
This poor fellow was trying to follow Harv on his home turf, those square cornered roads, when he rolled his 1957 Chevy into the ditch. No one was hurt, but the Chevy had the roof smashed in and the windshield broken.
When we flipped it back over, a lot of oil had run out into the hood and it went all over the place. It started up just fine and after putting oil in it, we decided the best thing to do would be to go ahead and drive it back to Bunker Hill.
It was a terrible trip. The top of the car was smashed down enough to restrict headroom considerably. It was very hard to see through the smashed windshield, and this was complicated by the fact it was raining, and a lot of oil was blowing back onto the windshield. Someone came up with the solution that newsprint would clean the windshield, and that REALLY made a mess to see through. It was a very long trip!
If these automotive adventures seem like war stories, well, maybe, but there were much crazier things that happened when airmen mixed with automobiles.
There were several fellows who would think nothing of running down mailboxes, just for the sheer hell of it, after a few drinks. We had a guy on our flight that specialized in just this. It wasn’t considered too abnormal.
Lots of the guys that had returned from isolated tours at Tule, Greenland or Goose Bay, Labrador liked nothing better than brawling. When you went out with them, they didn’t want to chase women, or anything else; just get drunk and fight.
But, the 305th CDS felt like home.
Recollections of a Combat Defense Squadron “Ramp Rat”
Chapter 4
References
F-89 Descriptions by model
http://home.att.net/~jbaugher1/p89.html
“Defensor Fortis”, A brief history of USAF security and those dedicated few who Defend the Air Force at the Ground Level. By Kali R. Pinckney, 2003. U-Publish Com
307th Bomb Wing History
http://www.307bwassoc.org/history.htm
http://www.strategic-air-command.com/wings/0307sw.htm