“7 High”

Recollections of a Combat Defense Squadron “Ramp Rat”

Chapter 5

“Back Home, Again, in Indiana”

B-58 Hustler

December 1961. It was cold. Hawk weather in Indiana. The Hawk swoops in from the north, picking up cold moisture over the Great Lakes then descends fiercely upon the bucolic countryside of Indiana.

The Strategic Air Command basing requirement specified cold, and windy. Freezing rain was another great feature of sentry duty. Especially on perimeter, there was no escape. The rain would freeze on your raingear, and if you bent an arm or leg wrong it would crack the material.

The first two B-58s were added to the alert area on the last stub of the southwest Christmas tree. It wasn’t long before it was determined that the upward opening hatches of the B-58 were incompatible with freezing rain. Any inclement weather was a problem. Shelter structures were installed in Area 5 and on two hardstands in the alert area. Then four B-58s were on “trial” alert.

The B-58 required more ground equipment that other aircraft on alert at that time. B-47s and KC-135s only used a MD-3 for electrical power to get the first engine started. The deuces and sixes used a regular compressed air cart. The B-58s needed a special stand just to get to the crew positions, and a special “start cart”.

From a sentry point of view, the Hustler sucked. The shelters restricted the view, and worse, hardly helped with the weather at all. The Hawk could swirl snow around the corner of the shelter and throw it in your face. Worst of all, it was impossible to see your entire post from any point.

Even without the bad weather, it was a grind. Ironing fatigues and shining boots every day, even though it might all be a waste and you ended up spending all night in arctic gear freezing your feet.

Three swing shifts, which I hated the worst, turned into three graveyards, going to work at 2330 dressed in arctic gear, getting off at 0730.

Breakfast was the meal served in the mess hall both going to and getting off work. The mess hall routine was eggs to order. The cook dripping sweat on the grill would ask, with great sarcasm, “How do you want your eggs, Sarge?” You might as well ask for them runny, because that was how they were going to be.

In the winter we never saw any daylight on midnight shift. A bright spot would be the B-58’s taking off in the dark. They would sit on the end of the runway; light all four afterburners, and just sit there, warming up the cornfields. When they finally released the brakes, they leapt into the air.

Below is a link to a great video clip. To get the feeling for this you really should stand in the cold and dark for several hours first, to get in the mood. But, if you are unwilling to do that, crank up the sound and put the clip on full screen. Then, play it about twenty times.

Night B-58 Hustler takeoff - clip from “Fail Safe”, 1964. ***

http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=39135998

I wish they had a clip of one of those monsters just sitting on the overrun with all afterburners blasting.

The KC-135 was a much friendlier aircraft to guard. You could see under it easily, and in cold weather, the MD-3 Generator would be running most of the time, to keep the take off water from freezing. This unit would also provide protection from the wind and warmth for the hands.

The sound of these units would be music to my ears now, and I am actively looking for a sound bite. Maybe I can talk the folks at the Chanute Museum into filming a startup and putting it up on YouTube.

Believing that the B-58 was going to be the replacement for the workhorse B-47, I was more than ever convinced that I needed to get off the ramp.

Christmas in the barracks wasn’t much of a deal, working those shifts, it was just another day. There was a scraggly Christmas tree in the day room and the orderly room clerks had carols on the radio, which was mildly annoying down the hall.

We couldn’t even hear the MD-3s running from inside our new barracks. Oop shipped out, and I moved in with Harv. The new barracks really was nice, our bay was on the second floor. Not far from the Orderly and Day rooms. The rooms were much easier to get ready for inspection, having no sink or facility.

At the BX, I purchased a Columbia stereo record player. While it had three speeds, 33, 45 and 78, we only used the 33 1/3 speed and the automatic changer to play albums. I joined both the Columbia and RCA record clubs.

Back in the day you see, they had these vinyl platters, called albums. They came in a cardboard folder with writing on it. If you put the platter onto the player and lowered an arm with a needle gently onto the outer edge of the disc (record), it would make music.

The record companies had deals like 12 records for 99 cents, and then they sent you a record a month after you had purchased a few, they would give one free for every two purchased. Actually, these were a pretty good deal at the time, and by ordering records for my fellow airmen I would pretty much get all my records free.

27 December 1961 the 43BW from Carswell AFB lost a B-58 over Missouri, the crew managed to get out. We were working at the time and did not get sent to the crash site.

Captain Mitchell, our Squadron Commander shipped out, leaving our Jeep, now promoted to 1Lt in charge. Having a jeep for a squadron commander did not enhance the credibility of the outfit. Listening to the NCOs and short time airmen gave me the idea that it would be better to apply for an overseas shipment than to wait for one to Morocco, or worse.

17 January 1962, I applied for an overseas shipment. I requested Spain or England. The idea was that none of us were ever going to get out of SAC, and these were the best overseas SAC deployments. It was as simple as stopping by the orderly room and signing a form. Of course, nothing happened.

The B-58 continued to set records, both in the air and on the ground. I was posted in Area 5 on a B-58 nuclear weapon upload procedure. The Hawk was giving me fits, and they were having trouble with the aircraft.

There was a MSgt maintenance supervisor with an OMS Metro Van parked in front of the shelter containing the B-58. The sergeant was wearing one of those grey field jackets that was totally greasy. You could tell the stripes on that jacket had a lot of miles on them.

The convoy bringing the weapon pod was on its way from the back gate of the MMS area, crossing the runway to reach Area 5. Maintenance crews were swarming over the aircraft removing the existing pod.

Maintenance guys are using the Metro to warm up, and I’m doing the same, sitting on the engine cover, bullshitting with the MSgt driver, when suddenly there is a hell of a crash. I turned my head and a chill ran through me. The nose of the aircraft is pointing up in the air and it looked like they had dropped the pod.

People were running in all directions away from the aircraft. I started frantically trying to get the door open. The MSgt told me, as he reached for the mic on the van’s radio. Don’t worry, Son. If you see it hit the ground, everything is going to be OK. I wasn’t sure about that at all.

He called Job Control and in a very calm voice told them, “We’ve had a little accident out here on Juliet Two,” and looking at me still trying to get out, “Oh, and you better let CSC know, too.” “That will save you running to the phone,” he told me, and I was very grateful, for just trying to make sure that everyone on scene had a line badge displayed was a major project. Usually, just standing in front of them at port arms was enough, but excited brass was not something to mess around with.

The fire department and strike team were soon on the scene, with Col Travasani in his POV was not far behind. He parked it right on scene near the B-58 shelter and when the duty officer, who happened to be our new jeep squadron commander arrived he wanted it moved first thing.

I tried to suggest that it wouldn’t be prudent to mess with Col Travasani, especially during a crisis. Our Jeep didn’t appreciate this at all. It was very difficult to be low profile in this situation.

15 February 1962, another B-58 from Carswell was lost, and again the crew survived.

20 February 1962, John Glenn became first American to orbit the earth. I listened on my transistor.

Bucking like mad, I was starting to get better posts. MMS Access Controller, learning to operate the ADT panel, and CSC Standby, watching the Comm/Plotter and, getting to drive errands once in a while.

Since there was no rifle range at Bunker Hill, for carbine qualification, we were loaded onto bluebird busses and driven to Fort Benjamin Harrison, outside Indianapolis. It was an old fashioned range with a concrete pit below the targets for the spotters. Targets were hauled down to be scored and raised up again for the next round. A red flag, known as “Maggie’s Drawers” was used to indicate targets that weren’t being hit at all.

We ate in the mess hall at Fort Ben. It was a shock to see the tin trays again. Later, I met a WAC that was stationed there and drove down several times to meet her. They had an Enlisted Men’s Club, something that Bunker Hill didn’t have. A much older base than Bunker Hill, there were even trees along the streets.

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

One day shift, the SSgt in charge of the “A Strike Team” had me driving so that he could nap. When the klaxon went off, we were rolling and he could hardly have me stop to change drivers.

Starting off down the taxiway toward the runway, the tower was already flashing the green biscuit gun at us. This vehicle had spent its entire life idling in the alert area. It was a challenge to get one of these trucks going at any speed.

We were spewing black smoke at about 35 mph as we came around the corner onto the runway and I punched it. That was entirely too much for the Ford, and it spluttered, coughed a couple of times and died.

The Sarge was having a fit, the guys in back were yelling punch it, punch it, while I was shifting down, trying to get it to catch again. I finally did get it running, but it wouldn’t go much over 35, and the Sarge is sorry now that he ever let me “Go For It”.

I had that truck up to warp factor four point oh, black smoke still rolling out the back and we’re sputtering along, when the guys in back start hollering again. The tower is flashing us the red light and we could see the first of the KC-135s starting its turn onto the runway.

More yelling; punch it, punch it. Well, it was just about punched. We rolled along a ways, looking for a taxiway, when the back seat reported the lead aircraft on the runway.

The mirrors were vibrating so bad I couldn’t see anything. Turning around to look out the back, through the smoke from our vehicle, I could see black smoke coming up behind that first aircraft.

The Sarge was having kittens. “Get off the Fucking Runway, Marston!” This was roared into my tender ear. There was no taxiway in sight, and we had passed the turnoff that went to the firing pit.

I didn’t see any alternative but to hit the weeds, and I saw no need to slow down. We went into the weeds at 40mph. The weeds turned out to be deep mud. Hub deep mud and it was obvious right away that we weren’t going to drive it out.

The klaxon turned out to be a Coco Alert, and everything turned out ok, as far as I know. But that Strike Team Leader wasn’t happy with me at all. He had been the one yelling to get off the runway, but he didn’t like it when I did. Then, there was the realization that everyone on board was going to have to get their spit shined boots very, very muddy.

Out in the “Real World” Hoosier Hysteria was going on, and one of my crew mates introduced me to the Hot Girls in Warsaw, Indiana. Warsaw was just far enough away from Bunker Hill that the local girls weren’t used to the swarms of airmen.

I got hooked up with this Chick that worked at the “Bunny Hut” a, soon to be defunct, drive up hamburger joint with no connection to bunnies at all.

Her name was “Tiger” and she was famous for the damage she could do with her fingernails, and proud of it. More than once, I had my back raked to shreds.

April 12, 1962, there was a B-58 crash just as we were leaving base for a three day break. We were driving toward the main gate, in the Studebaker. We heard the explosion and could see black smoke coming up off the end of runway 05.

59-2462 65 B-58A n/a
Assigned to the 305th BW; destroyed 4/12/62 - near Bunker Hill AFB [now Grissom AFB] IN; accident cause was control system failure shortly after takeoff; AF pilot Capt. William Hale (survived); AF Nav/bombardier Capt. Duane Dickey (fatal); AF DSO 1st Lt. George O'Connor (survived).

Harv punched it and we went roaring toward the main gate. As we approached the gate we could see the guard hanging up the phone and coming outside to stop us, but Harv kept the pedal down in the outside lane and we shot through. I tried to duck down, but the fink turned us in. We got a chewing out when we got back, which was better than spending the weekend walking around in the weeds.

Still looking to get my own wheels, and still having ideas of going back to Milwaukee, I had been looking for a vehicle. In fact it had turned into a favorite pastime, test driving cars.

Tiger’s brother Kenny really had this activity scoped out, and the dealers were cooperative. As long as we left a car behind they would let us drive anything we wanted. One day we drove both a T-bird and Corvette out and tried them on a marked quarter mile.

The Corvette was faster, but it overheated.

Tiger’s Father didn’t like me taking Kenny out, getting him liquored up, and giving him all kinds of bad ideas. It must have been sometime in here when her dad fell out on the lawn in his shorts to kick my ass for getting Kenny drunk again.

Things were bumping along back at the base, there was another

Studebaker incident. One morning, I was asleep in my bunk, having come off swing shift. I was awakened by the Jeep Squadron Commander smacking a fancy whisky bottle filled with Windex across my legs.

He was totally pissed off and wanted to know why the Studebaker, which was banned from the base, was parked in his spot again. And, by the way, what was I doing with booze in the barracks? I offered him a swig of the windex, but I wasn’t getting any points with the jeep, ever.

21 April 1962 Back in the Pacific Northwest, the World’s Fair opened in Seattle, Washington. Shortly thereafter, I crashed the Studebaker. Even worse, this was just after finally choosing a car and putting a down payment on a 1957 Ford at a dealer in Warsaw.

I hadn’t been drinking, leaving Warsaw about 0100 to head back to Bunker Hill.

The Studebaker liked to cruise about seventy. I was headed south on highway 15, when I overtook a southbound vehicle. Flashing the high beam headlights a couple of times, I proceeded to pass. When I was just about alongside, the vehicle turned left without signaling.

I jerked left on the wheel and missed the vehicle, but the maneuver left me on the driver side of the car as I split the intersection and went over a good size cliff. The Studebaker landed like an airplane crashing, nose first, and broke in half at the firewall.

My head went into the windshield on the passenger side, and my elbow punched into the glove box.

The engine compartment of the Studebaker was right side up, but the rest was on it's side, driver side down. I turned off the lights and ignition, being afraid of fire, and struggled to push up on the heavy passenger door to get out.

The other vehicle had stopped, and the occupants were standing at the top of the cliff watching. I heard somebody say, “Somebody is alive down there.”

None of them ventured down the cliff, and I climbed up by myself. I saw them looking at me real funny, and one of them told me they could see bone through the cut on my forehead. I tried to hold the flap of skin closed, while they drove me into North Manchester, Indiana and dropped me at the Police Station.

The Desk Sergeant, called the local doctor out of bed to come and stitch me up. Then he started calling for his patrol. It must have taken him twenty minutes to raise them, but it seemed like it was SOP at North Manchester. He kept calling, “Manchester, Five Four", Manchester, Five Four”. It really was car 54!

After the Doctor did a great job of sewing me up, and assured me that he would testify as to my sobriety, I asked the Desk Sergeant to call the barracks for me and get some one to come pick me up. He didn’t do it the way I wanted, but called the Base Duty Officer. They were sending the Base NCO on duty up to North Manchester. That was just great!

Car 54 was finally located, and upon arrival at the scene, clambered down the cliff to inspect the Studebaker.

The trunk had been full of empty beer cans, plus a case of home made barbeque sauce that some one had given us. When the Studebaker had crashed, all this mess had erupted from the trunk, into the passenger compartment, through the missing rear deck. It was a pretty gory, and Car 54 was soon on the radio asking just how drunk this guy was and how badly was he hurt?

I was having a fit, as the Air Force was really down on the DUI, and this would have meant the immediate loss of a stripe. The single piece of luck was that the NCOOD, was from the Combat Defense Squadron. He showed up in his POV, and wasn’t too hard on me.

I had to break the news to Harv that I had wrecked the Studebaker, after just having spent all my dough on another car. With nothing else, I gave him my movie camera, and promised him my projector, just as soon as I could get it from Spokane.

When I finally got back to Warsaw, the dealer had sold the ‘57 Ford that I had money on. Rather than cough up my money, they offered me a good deal on a ’58 Fairlane 500 with the interceptor engine. This was way more car than I needed, but the deal was hard to turn down.

I polished and waxed it it all the time, even taking it to work in the MMS area on weekends.

3 May 1962 another B-58 from Carswell AFB crashed, killing the crew.

14 May 1962 Prince Juan Carlos of Spain marries the Greek Princess Sophia. The Royal Wedding was in Athens.

24 May 1962, Harv and I were in North Manchester at the wrecking yard, retrieving the seat belts from the Studebaker. We listed on the good old Studebaker radio to Scott Carpenter orbiting the earth in a Mercury capsule.

We suffered through another ORI. This time, on a different perimeter, I was attacked by Red Winged black birds that followed me around all day. Swooping and diving on me, it gets to be quite unnerving after a while, and I longed to put a carbine round right where it would do the most good.

With wheels, fun or trouble would find you in the barracks if your car was in the parking lot. Many times we would fill the car with airmen and beer and head for a quarry near Logansport for swimming.

That summer there were repeated reports of intruders in the corn fields on the base. The corn they grew on base was reported to be popcorn. The B-58 Hustlers sitting at the end of the runway with afterburners lit gave it their best shot to touch it off.

Several times, they would empty the barracks for personnel to search through the fields.

Lining up in rows, sweeping through those corn fields was not our idea of fun. We never found anyone, but we searched repeatedly. This gave us more incentive not to hang around the base while off duty.

One of these midnight shifts, we had a Seven High report of a shot fired in the 319^th FIS non alert parking area. I was on the “B” section of the strike team, we responded, but the guard in the area said that he hadn’t heard or seen anything. As the sun came up, we could see the bloody footprints following him around his post. He had shot himself in the foot, stuffed his SOPs into his boot and continued to hump his post.

Then, there was that one July trip to Warsaw that I will never forget. There was a favorite parking spot near the airport in Warsaw. It was a hot night, and all of a sudden, the Tiger wanted to get naked in the back seat of the Ford. Really naked.

Afterward, watching the airport light, noticing how it was different from the one at the base. I had the sudden realization that I had just made a huge mistake. I have a memory of beating on the steering wheel of that Ford.

5 August 1962 Marilyn Monroe was found dead in her Los Angeles home, and I missed airman of the month by a freckle. By now, I was working as Alternate Comm/Plotter/ADT Operator at the Alternate CSC in the MMS Area known on the radio as “Vector Papa”.

The 305^th Bomb Wing B-58s were declared operational in Aug 1962, ahead of the only other B-58 wing, the 43^rd Bomb Wing at Carswell AFB in Texas.

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

Between March and September 1962, the B-58s had racked up two fatal accidents and thirty in-flight incidents. Just Bunker Hill alone probably had twice that number on the highways.

Morale was good, we were proud of the outfit and the fact that we had achieved operational status, and passed our inspections. My part in this mighty military machine was to scare the birdies on the outer perimeters.

When I started getting calls from the Tiger on the barracks pay phone I told the other guys in the barracks to talk to her, but I knew the axe had fallen. It wasn’t long before the Tiger’s Mother called the Base and asked to talk to the Commander. Our Jeep got called on the carpet about it at morning briefing.

I found myself in Jeep Commanders office. There was a distinct possibility that he had figured that out that I was a problem. He told me that I should take care of this problem immediately, his concern being that he might loose MCS points, in the Squadron rating system.

Condoms started appearing on MY doorknob.

“7 High”

Recollections of a Combat Defense Squadron “Ramp Rat”

Chapter 5

References

The Hawk

http://www.greglasley.net/zonetail.html

Bunker Hill AFB and the B-58 Hustler

http://www.strategic-air-command.com/bases/Bunker_Hill_AFB.htm

http://www.aviation-history.com/convair/b58.html

http://www.nrdc.org/nuclear/nudb/datab7.asp

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/B-58

History of the B-58

http://home.att.net/~jbaugher2/b58.html

http://www.b-58hustler.com/

Night B-58 Hustler takeoff - clip from “Fail Safe”, 1964.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8gedUtdyNw&feature=related

B-58 flyby - short news clip

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZToDL9vjLw&feature=related

B-58 News Clip, audio en españole

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rRzFLETm2tw&feature=related

http://www.globalsecurity.org/wmd/systems/b-58-fc.htm

This page has detail on the B-58 program, which was being cut back, even as we were first assigned.

http://www.strategic-air-command.com/wings/organization.htm

     The Organizational Maintenance Squadron assigned a crew to each aircraft, supervised by a crew chief. Its job was to keep the plane flying. Each crew continually checked every system on its aircraft to insure it was working properly. They reported problems to Job Control, who scheduled specialized maintenance. The ground crews performed routine maintenance, such as changing engine oil and supervising fueling operations. Many SAC bases were located along the northern border of the United States. The O.M.S guys spent many a cold winter night keeping their plane clear of snow. An often unrecognized job was that of sweeping snow off the huge slippery wings.
      The Field Maintenance Squadron contained the specialized shops, essential to maintaining the highly technical aircraft. They included Engine, Electrical, Hydraulics, Fuel Systems, Air Frame, Sheet Metal, and Parachute. The F.M.S. Ground Power Equipment Shop maintained the generators, blowers, heaters maintenance stands and other equipment essential to working on the aircraft.
       The Avionics and Electronics Squadron maintained the electronic navigation and bombing systems and a host of other "black boxes" carried by the aircraft. The Munitions Squadrons uploaded and downloaded the nuclear weapons. They also maintained guns and the stand off weapons.