“7 High”
Recollections of a Combat Defense Squadron “Ramp Rat”
Chapter 9
“El Camino de Morón”
Along the road to Morón de la Frontera
Morón de la Frontera was founded by the Phoenicians and settled by the Romans, who called it Arunci. The Arabs later gave it a hybrid name from the Hebrew moram, meaning “elevated site,” and the Spanish frontera, referring to its 250-year position at the border of the Muslim kingdom of Granada.
9 May 1964 our caravan of six or eight vehicles set out from Zaragoza, driving through Madrid to Seville. Our car, like the rest, had a rack on top full of household goods. The whole affair must have looked more like Roma on the move than “SAC Trained Killers”.
By now we had perfected the art of motoring in España and always carried the necessary items; 20 mm ammo can with ice for a cooler, Sterno can and folding tin stove for cooking, and our botijo for cool water.
After filling the bottle we would insure that the outside surface was damp, then cover the bottle with a damp cloth. The water or wine would stay cool all day. These are still available, it’s 12 Euros now, for the grande, they were very cheap back in the day.
http://www.pereruela.net/tienda/detalleArticulo.asp?A=82&F=10
On arrival In Seville, we hit the language barrier again, just when we thought we were getting pretty good. Our new landlady was an imposing Señora with tinted prescription glasses and an attitude. She was disgusted at our accent, asking where did we come from? She made a face when we told her Zaragoza, and said, “Speak English.”
On the bright side, she immediately put is into a brand new apartment in Seville, on Calle Bami #4 first floor, rear, with a little balcony overlooking an area that might have been a little park. It was mostly used as a kiddy playground. In front, there was a pharmacy on the ground floor. A duplicate apartment building was under construction across the street.
Calle Bami #4 Sevilla, España 1964
The building was new, as were the furnishings. In the living room was a highly polished hunk of furniture for displaying nicknacks and locking up the liquor.
There was a matching grand polished armario in the bedroom that was so big that it was impossible to close the bedroom door.
The kitchen had a gas range, and a refrigerator. The bathroom had nice facilities, tub with shower, Americano style toilet, plus a bidet.
Tile floors again. This was nice because it was hotter in Seville, and they were cool. Calle Bami was one street in a complex known as “little America”. There were lots of Air Force and even retired Air Force personnel living on the block. The streets were lined with coches with SAC stickers.
Back home in Zaragoza, we had the only car in the building and always parked right in front of the door. On Calle Bami, competition for parking spots was high.
Here, there was no portero and the landlady considered us “riff raff” and didn’t live in the area. The complex lived up to the moniker “little America”, complete with SSgt Ralph and Alice Cramden living right across the air well. The neighborhood was a bit of a slum by Spanish standards.
American GIs had the poor taste to work on their vehicles in the street. One of my neighbors painted an entire Renault with GI black enamel spray cans right in front of the apartment, and it looked great when he finished.
The Spanish folks, if they were rich enough to own a car, they didn’t live in a place like Bami, if they were rich enough to own a car, they certainly would pay someone to work on it. There was a Spanish Army Major and family living upstairs. That is his motorcycle in the photo.
The storefront downstairs was a pharmacy. Around the block was a small market and bar. It was a nice neighborhood, with just a few drawbacks; first the Americans, second the hospital Virgen de Rocio just to the north. When they ran the incinerator at the hospital, and the wind was right, the stench was real bad.
Looking at Calle Bami #4 today is a mindblower. The neighborhood has really grown up. The Virgen de Rocio is a university teaching hospital and has expanded considerably.
A little practice with the controls, and you can “drive” anywhere with this. Turning the corners is sometimes a little trick, and they didn’t go everywhere with the camera car.
It takes a couple of seconds for the street view to come up. If you get street view, you still need to expand the view to get the full street. There is a little double chevron upper left of the view to click.
If you don’t get street view, you have to move the little orange guy over to the little red marker to get the street view started. If I figure out a way to link directly to the street view, I’ll fix this up better.
Today’s Bami neighborhood is very upscale with cafés in front of every place. It looks like it a very nice place to live. Wonder what the rent is like? There were several retired USAF NCOs living in Bami when we were there. They had been stationed there and came back after retirement, one major reason being the reasonable prices at sixty pesetas to the dollar. With the Euro/Dollar rates like they are now, I bet it is high rent in the neighborhood.
In this photo of Doug you can see the “playground” between the buildings below, and the hospital across the street behind, Calle de Marques de Luca de Tena, which wasn’t even paved when this photo was taken. Even further in the background is the apartment complex where SSGTs Mahac and Richardson and others lived.
If you drive around behind the building with the Google Maps, you can see our balcony from the street.
If you drove around the hospital Virgen de Rocio, in the Google Maps exercise, you will have noticed how much it has grown. Of special notice to me was the rack of “City Bikes” in front of the Hospital.
Our ‘new’ Grundig wasn’t ‘new’ anymore. It had gotten mildly smashed by the Spanish transport we hired in Zaragoza. After attempting to have it fixed, we finally gave up and just accepted that it was never going to be the same. We couldn’t wait for them to try and fix it again, it was our lifeline to the outside world. I strung up an antenna in the air well. There was a low power FM AFRS Station at San Pablo AB. Late at night, Radio Caroline could be heard, but very faintly. I was getting a lot of free records from the clubs, as my mates ordered that country western music.
Tough Tiger Doug
San Pablo AB, now the Seville airport, had facilities like commissary, base exchange, and NCO Club, and was adjacent to the Santa Clara housing facility. So we didn’t have to drive all the way to Morón for groceries or the flick. In fact, the Tiger only made it to Morón a couple of times during our entire tour.
Morón AB was closer to and named for, Morón de la Frontera. It was about forty miles of interesting drive from Seville. While clearing onto base, I had gotten an idea what the daily commute was going to be like. It was a slow and complicated trip, especially at night and during inclement weather.
From Bami, there was more than one way to get to Morón AB. We chose the route depending on whom we were commuting with. Often we had to drive north, through Seville to the base housing area, Santa Clara, to pick up a flight member. I believe Gomez lived there, and Miller moved there after we downsized.
The shorter route to MAB from Bami was south; through a shantytown we sarcastically called Hollywood or Stink City, this place had no electricity, water or sewer.
As we drove through “Hollywood”, the ditch along both sides of the road served as both sewer and trash dump. It was not uncommon to see animal carcasses and people defecating in this filth alongside the road. The stench was overwhelming, and it was slow going, with a lot of pedestrian traffic and donkeys pulling water vending wagons, but it was still quicker than going through downtown Seville.
It never occurred to take a photo in this place. We were too anxious to get through the stink. Looking at the map, it must have been in the neighborhood where Dos Hermanas is now. I will be anxious to see what it looks like.
In the course of our commute we passed both shacks and castles. Most buildings were whitewashed with either tile or thatch roof.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alcal%C3%A1_de_Guada%C3%ADra
Traffic consisted of everything from black clad senoras afoot, bicycles, donkey carts, motorcycles, a few cars, and the popular Pegaso trucks.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pegaso
I wish I had a photo of the “Bread Man”. He had a early morning delivery route with a dark colored donkey cart. He had been hit by GI’s going to work so many times that base personnel had donated a large variety of reflectors for the rear of his cart.
If we commuted via the shorter southern route to the base, there was no gas available in between but there was a station on base, something ZAB hadn’t. What with El Cisne right across from the main gate it hadn’t ever been a problem there.
I don’t recall selling CAMPSA coupons or cigars, or any black market dealings at MAB. Perhaps we just took it for granted by then? Maybe somebody can jog my memory?
15 May 1964 there were a few of us from ZAB that went to work on B Flight for SSgt. Gomez. Gomez and Capt T had graduated from the same military management course, “Advanced Bluster and Bullshit 201”. Maybe they had served in the same Army together. Gomez was worse than Capt T in one way. He carried a clipboard, and took notes.
Since I didn’t live in the barracks, I wasn’t exposed to any pre operational Morón propaganda. I just showed up for work as scheduled. So, that first guard mount at Morón was a real eye opener. I was in the third rank, trying to be invisible, maybe third down the line, another A1C to my right.
When the command dress right dress was given, the A1C to my right gave my skinny self a shove that sent me sprawling down the line into the next fellow, knocking the carbine off his shoulder and causing this fellow to take offense. So did I, and made a mental note to find out who this A1C smart ass was, and get even. Maybe he thought he was shoving a TDY troop.
Dress Right; Dress!
Notice the ton and a half posting vehicle, base gooney bird, and alert area #1.
Photo courtesy of Steve Trapini and 3973CDS.com
The 3973 Combat Defense Squadron made a really big deal out of guard mount, it wasn’t just “B Flight”. Back at ZAB, only on day shift did we line up outside, and then only if the weather was nice, and that was mostly because day workers were around.
Never had I been at a guard mount anywhere that included a weapons inspection until that first “B Flight” guard mount at Morón. It is not like we cleaned our own weapons. I certainly don’t recall any weapons being sent back to the armory because they didn’t pass inspection.
The rank wasn’t called to present arms. Somehow you were supposed to intuit that when the inspecting official stepped in front of you, you presented your weapon. Here is SSgt Gomez inspecting the troops of “C Flight” just before I arrived at MAB.
SSgt Gomez inspecting “C Flight”.
Photo courtesy of Steve Trapini and 3973CDS.com
Gomez went down the first squad doing weapons inspections. Luckily, I wasn’t in the front rank, so I had some warning. Someone else fresh from ZAB or a TDY troop was in the front and didn’t know what do. When he stepped in front of you, you were supposed to come to inspection arms. You offered the open cylinder .38 in your right hand, and six rounds of ammunition in the open left hand. Gomez in action could hard ass with the best of them.
Each flight was supposed to wear a different colored dickie. I’m told that “A Flight” wore blue. “B Flight’s” were made out of some old drapes from the NCO club and were sort of gold color. They were very itchy and usually only worn at guard mount. “C Flight” maybe white? “D Flight” maybe red? I need some help here.
Short sleeves fatigues were mandatory at MAB during summer months, as prescribed on the duty roster. I happily cut down my worn army surplus fatigues. By this time, the Air Force had given up on grey fatigues. Suitable green fatigues were now available at the clothing sales store on base.
There was a rule in the Air Force, probably still in effect. The two best bases in the world were the one you just came from and the one you were going to. It wasn’t long before I had a list of things that I didn’t like about Morón.
At Morón air policeman weren’t trusted to have their SOPs, there was a regulation that the SOPs had to be WORN on the outside of the uniform. How humiliating and unsharp was that?
In the dark, that white thing flopping around in the breeze wasn’t very stealthy.
Another complaint I had about Morón; they didn’t issue the .45 Colt at all. The .38 Smith & Wesson Model 15 “Combat Masterpiece” was the required handgun. After spending so much time mastering the .45, I was being forced to give it up for a weapon that I considered to be vastly inferior.
I felt the .38 was dangerous, going back to the cocking episodes I had witnessed on folding chairs. Fewer rounds, slow to reload with no handy magazine. Also it felt puny in the hand, giving no confidence. The .38 holsters were crap, also. They would flop around when you were running, you could easily drop your weapon, or it would flip up and hit you.
At any rate, I soon fell into the habit of not bothering to load the .38. They could make me carry it, but they couldn’t make me shoot myself with it, was my attitude. Especially when posted as comm/plotter it was easy to forget to go outside and stand in line to load your weapon under the supervision of a NCO after guardmount.
On the ramp at Morón, the mission was the same as Zaragoza, but there were slight differences. MAB had two B-47 reflex alert areas, twice as many B-47s. Basically picking up ZAB’s mission, so the CDF flights had more TDY personnel. The fighter alert hangar was completely manned by the Spanish Air Force.
At Zaragoza, multiple pickup trucks had been used for relief and postings, while at Morón, the covered ton and a half was used to haul troops from the barracks to guard mount, and then for posting, slowing things down considerably.
Posting vehicle at Combat Defense Squadron barracks.
With the two alert areas, one on the far end of the runway, it seemed to take forever for the shift change to be completed and we could get the car pool together for the ride back to Seville.
It didn’t take too many shifts to get caught up on the local scuttlebutt. It seems that “B Flight” had been responsible for a bad score on an inspection, as a result NCOs and senior airmen had been hand picked by command to make corrective action. The remedy selected was the Captain T approach, and they were going to be coming down hard. It was a good thing that Capt T had been sent to Torrejón AB, for he would have loved it and it would have been horrible. As it turned out it was a short-lived reign of terror. As soon as we passed the next ORI, the pressure would be eased back.
I might have done a few shifts on the ramp at Morón, but my A1C stripes were still hanging by a thread, and A1Cs usually didn’t have to hump. Like Zaragoza, the permanent party flight personnel at Morón were a pretty tight group, watching the TDY meat come and go.
Reflex Alert Area #1 photo courtesy Tony Santos & 3973cds.com
The ramp setup at Morón was very similar to Zaragoza, with a row of alert B-47s facing the main taxiway. With the closing of ZAB, a second alert area, #2, had been created at the end of runway 21. So essentially the ZAB mission had been transferred to Morón.
It was sweet to come to a new base as an A1C, assigned to better posts, it was much easier to get to know your way around the base than as a true “ramp rat” slogging posts.
I humped the ramp a few times. Point guard for B-47 reflex turnaround upload and download of weapons for sure. The B-47s were loaded the same as at ZAB. Either one big fat green weapon or three/four slim silver ones. Weapons were trailered to and from the MMS area on special bomb carriers pulled by 2 ton trucks with a strike team escort.
Any of these security jobs was a lot easier when you knew what was going on. The teams doing the work were under a lot of pressure. If something went wrong and the job went on and on, points would be lost and brass would start to accumulate around the aircraft. These folks needed to be checked, but gently.
MAB posts I remember pulling include alert area 2 access point, BOQ #1, to get fingernail drilled at dentist, command post, aircraft guard area 1, strike team, MMS patrol, and alt CSC/ADT operator.
The MMS area had no bumper pool, or comfy overstuffed chair for the Alternate CSC, which was a concrete block room without windows, an older style drop target ADT panel, with a large bank of off gassing clear cased batteries behind it.
Furniture in this cell consisted of a Steelcase desk with typewriter, VHF radio and three telephones, the regular base phone, the direct line to CSC, and the red phone. In the desk was a stock of forms 53, etc, paper and carbon paper, a well used eraser wheel with a frazzled brush and little scraps of paper to put under the carbon paper while the erasing was going on.
Given the good weather, alternate CSC/ADT operator was not such a good post. In My Humble Opinion…
23 May 1964 Torrejón Air Base, Spain; Ann Margaret decorates a F-102. Sorry, Stars and Stripes has broken all their links to the rest of the article…
Stars & Stripes photo.
I soon discovered that the A1C that had shoved me during that first guardmount was a Pennsylvania Polak named Kosa. A1C Kosa was “B Flight” bay chief in the barracks, and had a certain reputation for being a hard ass, and local legend.
Kosa was so “gung ho” that he had a illuminated SAC emblem on display in his room.
A1C Kosa photo.
This Kosa character voluntarily went to “Tough Tiger” school TWICE, and ate that shit up. As bay chief, the hallway floor on his flight needed to be polished one last time, after the flight left for work, and if you look closely at the duty rosters, you will see that there was an appointment for that last minute floor buffing position on the flight duty roster.
Scanning these old slides, I realized that Kosa is always grinning. Also notice, he was always the one NOT properly at attention.
A1C Marston photos circa July 1965
At least Kosa didn’t have time in grade on me, his date of rank was the same as mine, we were both rookie A1Cs, but he had been around Morón long enough to become a living legend.
A1C Marston preparing to inspect A1C Kosa
As part of his duties as bay chief, A1C Kosa drove the posting truck from the barracks to CSC. This was a canvas covered ton and a half vehicle, and although he denies it, I remember that the troops in the back singing a song about him to the tune of “Davey Crockett”.
It went something like, “Otto, Otto Kosa, he is our Bay Chief”. “He fought single handed through those ORI wars and did something that made himself a legend forevermore.” There were verses. Now, I admit that I didn’t ride the posting truck much, but I do remember the truck pulling up to CSC with this chorus coming from the back.
I was posted around the different areas for a few months. A1C Jim Christian was our comm/plotter, and I rotated through that post under his supervision.
The comm/plotters work area at Morón was a tiny space like a closet. The flight commander’s desk was on an adjacent raised platform, so that he was looking down into the little booth.
“B” Flight comm/plotter A1C Marston
The tip and ring switchboard and VHF radio were inset into the wall. There was a typewriter and desk space at the foot of the flight commander’s throne. With barely enough space to turn around, shift change was a problem; with two comm/plotters trying to co-exist in that tiny space during busy times.
The shine on my boots was ruined more than once this way. That chair would get you every time. Big chunks of black Kiwi scraped off your lovely shine had a way of turning up later.
One of the comm/plotters duties was to keep the high tech security plotting board up to date. The plot depicted on the board would be a normal reflex turnover situation. With 10 reflex in a row on the main ramp, another 10 near the end of runway 21, and a few turnaround aircraft parked outside alert area 1.
Tail numbers were typed and cut out and pasted on aircraft cutouts glued to magnets, each of these representing an aircraft, most of which were reflex alert B-47s. Alert area #2 was unconventional, with three on the run up pad and the remainder covered wagon style around a small ramp area.
The comm/plotter room was far from the best situation, and I don’t think there was much competition for the post, since the weather outside was Andalusian. The worst was a little warm rain in the winter. Totally agreeable weather for a ramp rat, and the B-47 was a friendly aircraft.
In this warm, humid weather, the feeble air conditioner at CSC would freeze into a block of ice, and no air could pass through. Although various methods were tried to speed this process, and there was no other ventilation. The only solution was to turn it off and swelter while waiting for the ice to melt.
They loved the simulated security exercises at Moron. Even at the flight level. It wouldn’t be long before I would know the favorite spots that Gomez liked to plant penetrators. We kept pretty good track of him, and could usually tell when something was about to be up.
Having the second alert area made for a little more fun. It was a good excuse to race down the taxiway in those ratty pickup trucks. With flags flying, lights flashing, blue smoke belching, those rolling wrecks were be lucky to get to 40mph, and they felt like they were coming apart at that speed.
Flight level exercises could not realistically get above a 7 High, since you didn’t call troops out of the barracks for a flight level exercise if you wanted to live. So flight commanders would take the hapless troop on CSC standby or goon squad to be used as infiltrators. I could never get chosen for this duty, I would have been good at it. That’s probably the reason I didn’t get picked right there.
My recollection is typing the duty roster and watching the mold grow and the air conditioner drip in CSC while these guys were out having simulated fun in the balmy weather.
A1C Dudley Easton, comm/plotter on the flight that relieved us, was even more meticulous at coffee preparation than I thought I was. One morning he poured out a freshly made pot of mine in contempt. I stayed and watched him build his pot trying to steal a secret.
One of the disadvantages of being comm/plotter was that you could not leave until the flight commander, and he could not leave until all his troops were in. At first, Christian and I commuted with SSgt Gomez. Turns out we had a lot in common; for starters, our wives were all named Linda.
Commuting with these guys gave this young airman a lot of information, with much more insight and a lot less bullshit than I would normally hear from the ramp rats.
It turned out the stern, crewcut, nitpicking SSgt Gomez turned his military hard ass off when leaving the base, and was a great party animal. We used to stop at little farms down a dirt track off the main road. His Spanish was excellent and he was a happy outgoing character.
These little places along the road had bottles of beer submerged in tubs of tepid water and maybe a table and chair. We would stop for a beer and then off down the road to the next place. Warm beer had never been my favorite and I was the lightweight of the group.
Jimmy says he remembers me chasing chickens, and I deny it. It would have gotten my boots dusty.
Coming off a midnight shift, many times it was noon before we arrived in Seville. Being drunk on warm beer in the hot sun at noon, after working all night was surreal. I remember having one last icy cold one at the tavern around the corner before turning in for the day.
Things had been going so well that I had almost forgotten about the trouble I hadn’t quite left behind at ZAB. I was notified to report to the Squadron Commander’s office after work on a midnight shift.
At the BDCL building, I was ushered into Capt Mitchell’s office. After I reported, he had me sit down. If he recognized me, he gave no hint. He didn’t seem angry, and after Capt T, it was scary that he was so quiet. I would have been more comfortable if he had been boiling mad and yelling.
After reading through my file, he said, “So, Major Meade thinks he can send me his discipline problems, does he? I’m going to send this back no further action taken.” “You will lose your Spanish drivers license for six months.”
I “yes sir’ed”, saluted and got the hell out of there before he could change his mind.
The loss of my Spanish driving privileges was going to be a huge pain in the butt, but it was nothing compared with the loss of a stripe or two.
Funny thing, in taking me off the road, they put the Tiger behind the wheel. To be fair, let me just say that she didn’t have much experience. This was going to be an interesting and fearsome six months. Somehow, we got the Tiger a Spanish driving license.
26 May 1964 USAF Boeing B-47E Stratojet, 53-2296,[39] of the 509th Bomb Wing, inbound to RAF Upper Heyford from Pease AFB, New Hampshire, suffers uneven throttle advance on attempted go around, port engines fail to respond, wing drops and bomber cartwheels between two loaded B-47s before striking storage building which the day before had contained JATO bottles. Prompt response by rescue personnel and apparatus douse the fire and three of four crew are pulled from the wreckage alive: pilot Capt. Robert L. Lundin, North Platte, Nebraska, co-pilot 1st Lt. James V. Mullen, Des Moines, Iowa, and passenger Lt. Col. Robert E. Johnson, Los Angeles, California. Navigator Capt. Lowell L. Mittlestadt, 27, of Elmhurst, Illinois, is KWF. One firefighter is hospitalized after being overcome from smoke and a dozen others are treated for minor injuries and smoke while fighting the blaze.[164]
June 12, 1964
12 June 1964 B-58 from Bunker Hill crashes at Morón. Arrived at work to learn that a B-58 had gone off the runway while landing. It was quite the sensation. I previously had my fill of the Hustler, and distained to go look at it.
23 June 1964 my Spanish drivers’ license is suspended for six months. I drove out to San Pablo AB to turn it in at the Air Police office. The Tiger drove us home. I knew the true meaning of fear. Sitting in the right seat in Seville traffic was an experience. The Tiger was fearless. The gearbox in the VW was in shock.
8 July 1964 - U.S. military personnel announce that U.S. casualties in Vietnam have risen to 1,387, including 399 dead and 17 MIA.
13 July 1964 the VW is paid for and I can’t drive it. I commuted to work with other fellows on the flight. A1C Honeycutt had a 56 Chevy with at least one broken motor mount. Occasionally the engine would move and crush the distributor cap against the firewall. Honeycutt carried a spare distributor cap for just these times.
SSgt. Machac drove a pristine white Rambler station wagon. American cars in good shape were a rarity in España. Neither the roads nor the gas was really suitable for American cars.
SSgt. Richardson drove a Tempest station wagon that had been repaired locally, with a tractor flywheel. Also the shock absorbers had been replaced by using a torch to cut the inside rear wheel wells. The resultant “U” shaped flaps would get to vibrating as the car went down the road until the whole car was humming. It sounded like a cross between a steam engine and a John Deere tractor.
Seville was quite a bit warmer, and it was difficult to sleep in the daytime, with the heat. We bought a fan, something that would never have occurred to us in Zaragoza.
18 July 1964 - Six days of race riots begin in Harlem.
27 July 1964 - Vietnam War: The U.S. sends 5,000 more military advisers to South Vietnam bringing the total number of United States forces in Vietnam to 21,000.
In Seville, we took it for granted that we would have a maid. We got lucky and quickly found a wonderful maid that really hit it off with the Tiger and Doug.
She was more than willing to sleep in if we needed. We included her in outings to the beach and other activities. We were happy to get her certain things from the BX that she liked. She was from a very traditional family, she and her Novio had been engaged for years and were saving up to get married.
While this worked out well, I soon discovered it meant that while I was at work, the Tiger had a reliable baby sitter, the car and access to neighborhood AF wives with plenty of experience. They found every excuse to drive out to San Pablo to the BX, the excuse being to take in a movie, but they ended up at the NCO club while the hubbies were at work.
It wasn’t long before I heard that the Tiger had been stopped for speeding on San Pablo and had a girlfriend and a couple of young airmen in the vehicle. I was not a happy camper. Gossip like that traveled like lightning inside the squadron. Our old friend Lucille, being a party animal, was often the topic of this kind of rumor.
1 August 1964, it was official. 5BX was coming up for real. After years of hearing about it, now we were going to have to pass the 5BX test for real. A failure meant daily trips to the gym until passing. Depending on my fellow airmen for the commute meant that I could not afford to fail. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/5BX
I first heard about 5BX back at Bunker Hill. Designed for the Royal Canadian Air Force, the CDS troops had been skeptical that it would really happen. At Zaragoza the entire flight had to go the gym one time. Everybody passed although nobody really came close. Now, facing 5BX for real for the first time, our worst fears had been confirmed. .
The Royal Canadian Air Force exercises, supposedly took only eleven minutes per day. I sweated it out for much longer than that, every day after work, I worked up a sweat on the tile floor at Bami, trying to get into shape for the test.
Exercise number one was standing fruit picking toe touches; Exercise two was sit-ups; Exercise three was lying on your back holding your feet up; Exercise four was pushups; Exercise five was the run.
The number of repetitions for each of these exercises was determined by your age and job. Of course, us young AP's, in the saddle and cutting the mustard, were way up there, with the flight crews.
2 August 1964, the morning after an attack by U.S. special forces, from Operation 34A, on a North Vietnamese radio transmitter located on an offshore island – one of these destroyers, the USS Maddox, was reported to have come under attack by DRV naval patrol boats in the Gulf of Tonkin. This attack, and the ensuing naval actions, known as the Gulf of Tonkin Incident, were seized upon by President Lyndon Johnson to secure passage by the U.S. Congress of the Southeast Asia Resolution (better known as the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution) on 7 August 1964, leading to a dramatic escalation of the Vietnam War. It has since been shown that the Gulf of Tonkin Incident was partly a fabrication, including testimony by participants, such as squadron commander James Stockdale, in the events themselves.
4 August 1964 - United States destroyers USS Maddox and USS C. Turner Joy claim to be under attack in the Gulf of Tonkin. Air support from the carrier USS Ticonderoga sinks 1 gunboat, while the other 2 leave the battle. It turns out this whole deal was bogus, designed to draw the US further into the conflict.
5 August 1964 - Vietnam War: Operation Pierce Arrow - Aircraft from carriers USS Ticonderoga and USS Constellation bomb North Vietnam in retaliation for strikes against U.S. destroyers in the Gulf of Tonkin.,
7 August 1964 - Vietnam War: The United States Congress passes the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution, giving U.S. President Lyndon B. Johnson broad war powers to deal with North Vietnamese attacks on U.S. forces. The whole affair was lies fabricated from confused reports.
16 August 1964 - Vietnam War: In a coup, General Nguyen Khanh replaces Duong Van Minh as South Vietnam's chief of state and establishes a new constitution, drafted partly by the U.S. Embassy.
28 August 1964 - Philadelphia 1964 race riot: Tensions between African American residents and police lead to 341 injuries and 774 arrests over four days. Racial tensions had been in the news for at least ten years. I delivered plenty of papers with the Little Rock school issues on the front page, back in the mid fifties. Tensions had been rising ever since.
It was the heat of the summer in Seville and I was still struggling with the 5BX. I still wasn’t up to the required number of repetitions for each exercise. Thinking about it, I never even occurred to try the run, taking it for granted that would be the easy part. Folks didn’t go running unless they were on the track team or the cops were on their tail.
Talking to guys on the flight, the word was that certain pill, easily obtainable from any friendly Spanish pharmacy would turn a lazy ramp rat into a veritable tiger. Prescriptions were not required in Spain, as long as you knew what you wanted, they would sell it to you. I don’t remember the name, but it was supposed to be like a super ‘benny’. There were at least a couple of us that decided to go this route, so I made a stop at the pharmacy downstairs at Bami.
The 5BX test was another one of those activities scheduled after work on a midnight shift, for our convenience. So, according to the instructions, I took a couple of those pills just before getting off work. It never occurred to me to try them out in advance, that was poor thinking.
By 0900, when we got to the gym, I was zooming. Those pills didn’t make me feel strong at all. In fact, the legs felt like rubber and I didn’t feel like working out at all.
The first exercise was easy, the toe touching, fruit picker thing. I got through this all right, a little wobbly, maybe, but the instructor was looking at me strangely, and asked me if I was OK. Things were roaring past my head. I told him I was fine, but things were happening so fast it was hard to keep up.
Next exercise was the sit-ups. I had practiced the hell out of those sit-ups. Ripping into it with a vengeance, I managed to get through the set, although towards the end there were a few sloppy ones. When I tried to get up afterward, things didn’t work so well and the instructor was very interested now, as I was perspiring so heavily it was running down my face, burning in my eyes. Now, I was flopping around on the mat, trying to make my legs work. He said, “You don’t look so good. Maybe you should stop?” Hell no, I didn’t want to quit. I came here to do this thing.
The next exercise was holding the feet off the ground. This is harder than it looks. Turns out it hurts like hell after just a little while. Again, I managed to squeak through with a few sloppy ones at the end. This time I didn’t even try to get up afterward, just scooted over to the edge of the mat, sweating like a pig.
Then came the pushups. I had never been good at pushups, but practicing at home I had been cranking out about 25 or so. It was not to be today. If the legs had felt like rubber, the arms absolutely were. First one arm buckled and my face hit the mat. I struggled back into position and the other arm rubberized and I crashed down onto my face again. I couldn’t even get one good pushup.
The instructor told me that I was awfully pale and was done for the day. I begged him to let me go do the run and come back and try the pushups again, but he wasn’t buying it. I was failed and screwed.
The penalty for failing 5BX was a scheduled regimen at the base gym. This would mean that I had an extra base appointment and wouldn’t be able to ride home with my car pool. Besides the prospect of the gym, there would be extra hours spent on base trying to catch a ride home.
After all that drama, I ended up only attending one session. At the guy, the same guy that was the instructor for the test was setting up a target range for air pistols. From my experience with CO2 extinguishers on the ramp, I helped him procure a large bottle and make a hose connections for the Crossman air pistols, which really gave them some firepower. After being charged from the fire bottle, they would freeze up during rapid fire.
These were real nice air pistols, roughly the same heft as a .45. The fire extinguisher was a real improvement, solving the charging problems with the Crossmans’ and making the range much more fun. He turned out to be a good guy. He signed off on my 5BX. I don’t remember doing any exercises, certainly not the run.
4 September 1964, the duty roster at 3973rd CDS.com indicates that SSgt Reese was Flight Commander, SSgt Gomez was “on pass,” whatever that meant. A1C Christian was comm/plotter and I was second man on strike team under A1C Kosa. SSgt Mahac was Alert Area Supervisor Honeycutt was AIC at the MMS area. Since Gomez wasn’t present the NCO’s had sort of bumped up a notch. Reese was normally Alert Area Supervisor.
This was a midnight shift, and I bet anything that after posting, I was switched with Christian as comm/plotter, stuck in the stuffy office doing the typing, while Christian and Kosa enjoyed the beautiful balmy night, pulling one penetration exercise after another.
The air conditioner struggled and clanged on the wall. At night, when the humidity came up, it would freeze into a solid block of ice. All the while there were folks to be dispatched, notifications to be made, checklists to be completed, and at least a blotter entry for each of these games. There was also the next day’s duty roster and any incident reports, performance reports or anything else that needed to be typed up in multiple copies.
It would have been much more comfortable on the ramp, humping a B-47, at least out there the transistor radio, with the help of that crew chief headset wire, you could work the world on AM.
11 September 1964, I reenlisted and I was awarded a measly re-enlistment bonus and travel pay to Spokane, Washington, where I had enlisted. The travel pay was more than the bonus. We banked the whole thing.
Back at Zaragoza, on 5 September 1963 I had received a letter from Maj. Meade, stating that we had until 31 January 1964 to decide. Thinking there was no reason to delay, we made the decision to re-enlist on 1 November 1963.
The world had changed a lot since we made that deal. We thought we were signing up to stay in Zaragoza, and that John F. Kennedy would be President of the USA.
I recalled a conversation back at Bunker Hill, as a rookie A3C, while on MMS patrol. I had said that I would never re-enlist unless I was an A1C with 4 years time in grade. That had seemed so fantastic at the time, it was humorous, but I had made it somehow. And, I actually did re-enlist. Now, that was funny. Again, I could see Harvey and Oop whooping it up if they could see this.
Since I had already extended to take the shipment to Spain, it wasn’t really four more years. Basically, we could expect one more stateside duty station. The guys that had been to Japan gave such good reports that I looked into the possibility of getting sent there, but concurrent tours going that direction weren’t being approved.
Anyhow the bonus and travel pay It also gave us a little, $1200, nest egg for returning to the States. The really big deal was that as an A1C with over four years service, I was eligible for benefits that included accompanied travel and auto and furniture shipment to the next duty station.
20 September 1964 - Goldfinger was the latest Bond movie. Evenings, the Tiger would drive us out to the base flick at San Pablo when I wasn’t working. We didn’t go to the NCO club much, there were all kinds of places to eat and drink downtown at reasonable prices.
8 October 1964 A1C Dudley Easton, often the comm/plotter that relieved me, A1C Terry Peterson, base police, I think, and I were awarded the Combat Master Scroll. I have no idea how this happened, there were only three of us on the base that received the honor. Maybe it was a mistake, I’m pretty sure that’s what Dudley thought. I don’t know if there was actually a patch for this or not. It would have been in poor taste to wear something like that. Another patch I didn’t wear was this one. I really don’t recall anyone at Moron wearing patches except the TDY troops.
Not sure the patch was available during my time there.
14 October 1964 - American civil rights movement leader Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. became the youngest recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize, which was awarded to him for leading non-violent resistance to end racial prejudice in the United States.
15 October 1964 - Nikita Khrushchev deposed as leader of the Soviet Union; Leonid Brezhnev and Alexei Kosygin assume power.
1 November 1964 Vietnam War - Mortar fire from North Vietnamese forces rains on the USAF base at Bien Hoa, South Vietnam, killing 4 U.S. servicemen, wounding 72, and destroying 10 B-57 jet bombers, one Navy F-8 Crusader and fifteen A-1Es were destroyed.
This is just the kind of thing we didn’t like to hear about. The USAF still had a reputation from Korea regarding base defense, or the lack thereof, and the way AP’s had been left behind in defensive positions. These tales circulated as common knowledge on the ramp. Combat Defense really meant Defense, even at Tough Tiger school proactive security measures were not in the mission. Outside the fence was somebody else’s responsibility.
3 November 1964 - U.S. presidential election, 1964: Incumbent U.S. President Lyndon B. Johnson defeats Republican challenger Barry Goldwater with over 60 percent of the popular vote.
20 November 1964 C-130’s with augmentee troops stopped at Morón AB on the way to the Belgian Congo. This was Operation Dragon Rouge. The aircraft were from the 322d Airlift Division from Châteauroux-Déols Air Base, France. The augmentee kids didn’t even know how to clear their weapons.
28 November 1964 - Vietnam War: United States National Security Council members, including Robert McNamara, Dean Rusk, and Maxwell Taylor, agree to recommend a plan for a 2-stage escalation of bombing in North Vietnam, to President Lyndon B. Johnson.
29 November 1964 “B Flight” was working midnight shift, the duty roster posted on 3973CDS.com shows SSgt. Miller as flight commander. This is an extremely rare roster, I was assigned strike team leader. In my recollection, I didn’t get out to play very often. Who knows what Miller was up to. A1C Kosa & A1C Davidson on comm/plotter, two guys couldn’t fit into that little box, especially if one of them was Kosa. More likely one of them was the “perpetrator” for the shift.
Notice too, that training was scheduled for 2330 with guardmount not until 0015. An extra half hour of el toro poo poo deducted from our day. If everything went smoothly, we probably didn’t finish posting until after 0100. At which time the swing shift commuters would begin their trek back to town.
Who knows what the training was about? Bill Miller did like to get us together to make speeches. One his favorites ended with the words, “Your asses are grass, and I’m pushing a lawnmower.” Another of his favorite phrases was being, “In the saddle, cutting the mustard,” that was supposed to be a good thing.
SSgt Miller was a WWII Army veteran and had served in Europe as well as the Pacific theater. He was a survivor of the Bataan death march. He couldn’t be busted except by an act of Congress. It was a good thing, because he typically finished off a fifth of vodka on every shift. He had an on-going battle with personnel over a ribbon, the French Croix de Guerre that he had been awarded, but didn’t show up in his records. Miller was 40 something, we all thought he was an old old man.
Miller commuted with us for a while, he had a blue Opel station wagon. When space opened up in the Santa Clara housing facility for him, it was out of the way for the rest of us. Then I remember riding with SSgt Machac, A1C Honeycutt, and maybe A2C Smith? Maybe SSgt Reese for a time also. Didn’t he live in the same complex as Machac?
Although the weather in Sevilla was never severe, a little rain did make the roads slippery, commuting in the darkness was extremely tricky, and although it was about 40 miles, many times it took hours to make the trip.
One of the dangers was the large trucks I mentioned before. The rear lighting system on the trucks had a green light on the left side controlled by the driver. He was supposed to turn the light on to acknowledge that he was aware of your presence.
A green light with a left blinker would mean do not pass, a green light with a right blinker was supposed to indicate that it was safe to pass. He might even flash the green light a few times to emphasize that it was OK to pass. It wasn’t safe to trust these signals. The foul smelling black diesel exhaust pouring out of these trucks tempted you to pass to get some fresh air.
Many times on that road we had seen truck drivers give the signal to pass when, knowing the road it would not have been safe to pass at that spot at any time. The drivers must have just done it for sport.
Rumors continued to circulate that USAF commuters in Spain were going to be honored with a special battle ribbon, which would feature two tire tracks on a field of flesh.
8 December 1964 another B-58 accident at Bunker Hill, a landing gear collapse kills the Bomb/Nav.
USAF Convair B-58A Hustler, 60-1116, of the 305th Bomb Wing, taxiing for take-off on icy taxiway at Bunker Hill AFB, Indiana, is blown off the pavement by exhaust of another departing Convair B-58 Hustler, strikes a concrete manhole box adjacent to the runway, landing gear collapses, burns. Navigator killed in failed ejection, two other crew okay. Four B43 nuclear bombs and either a W39 or W53 warhead are on board the weapons pod, but no explosion takes place and contamination is limited to crash site.[41]
23
December 1964 - Wonderful Radio London commences
transmissions with American top 40 format broadcasting, from a ship anchored
off the south coast of England. The transistor radio didn’t work in CSC, but 
tuning the bands for music
late at night was still one of our favorite pastimes at Bami. I had run an
antenna wire up to the roof, and the Grundig hauled them in.
25 December 1964 Christmas Day in Seville. We had what was left of our ornaments from ZAB. Living in “little America,” this year we weren’t the only ones in the building with a tree. I got a brick for Christmas. What did I get Linda? Doug got a very cool trike with a headbadge even. We probably had a party.
22 January 1965 I won the futbol lottery. This was huge.