Image via WikipediaOfficers Training School seemed horrible, but looking at it 40 years later I feel like it wasn't that difficult. It was the worst of times - it was the worst of times at that point. There in San Antonio, at Lackland AFB I first learned about "No Pain, No Pain!!" They whittled at my pea sized brain and I resisted. They whittled some more and I fought hard. They fought harder and I caved in and began learning to be a machine.

It took more than Captain Fox and Lieutenant Alfred Truman Parmalee the Fourth to break my spirit. They -and five or six days of "I really, really hate it here", were enough to change my whole way of life. I began to base my existence on fear. I reacted to imperfection with a hellish will. Life was mainly about showing the Air Force that I was made of tougher stuff and that I would show them who would quit. I always felt that this was the beginning of my PTSD. There was no blood and no trauma, but there was a terror of others finding out how scared you were. Bravado started slipping in where mild mannered country boy used to rule. It was at OTS that I was introduced to the military bar. Mixed drinks on Saturday night cost forty-five cents and draft beer was a dime. Booze came in very handy for getting through another week so that we could return to the bar.

Failing at my next step in life at UNT (u something navigator training) added to the misery. I started to come unraveled. Apparently the Air Force was giving me one more chance to become an asset by allowing me to attend missile training. I promised myself that I would pass it with flying colors.

The first part of training was at Chanute AFB; right outside of Rantoul Illinois. Chanute was interesting. It looked like it may have been left over from WWII or Korea. Older buildings, lots of landscaping, etc.,etc. My class of 4 young lieutenants drew the early morning shift - arriving at 6:00 a.m. each weekday and finishing up at noon. I have to say that the curriculum was not the toughest in the world. The real objective of the course seemed to be aimed at informing us that "the pointy end of the missile comes out of the hole first." Four weeks passed quickly and soon I was back in Sacramento packing up to move to Vandenberg AFB for seven more weeks of orientation.

At VAFB, we learned about codes security, basic launch control center operations and some about responding to an Emergency War Order. Mostly we just heard war stories about what it "REALLY" was going to be like. We also learned about the SAC policy that in order to pass a test you had to have everything 100% correct. I was paired up with Captain Walter Hinck who had just finished a year at Osan AFB in Korea as a Security Policeman. He seemed to be OK and very smart. The group was rounded out by John P. Colson and Rich Bender. John and I still converse once in a while.

A Rain Check, Please!

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Anyone that has followed this ride for long has realized that the High School years were not my favorite and that I scarcely wish to think about them. They were there and they were formative and I'm stuck at that. Anyway, in order to carry on with what I started, I've decided to take a "Rain Check" on those years and start out with college graduation so that the story can go forward. I owe this idea to a good friend who encourages me to continue - Thanks Mike!

I graduated Lander (a college at that time) in 1969. I had already enlisted in the Air Force earlier that year and had undergone the poking and prodding, the testing and the waiting associated with induction - all except the swearing in. I was sworn in on July 3rd in Charlotte and boarded an aircraft for my first flight ever. It ended in San Antonio and we were met at sometime after 11:00 pm by an enlisted man whose job it was to herd us to the first holding point. I've stated earlier what that night was like; so let's fast forward to the memories of the next few weeks.

The first week was designed to level us to a common denominator of frightened, exhausted, sleepy, brain-dead individuals. It wasn't "Hell Week" by any standard, but it did rate as "Heck Week" for sure. At every meal we had three minutes to eat and then we had to move on. I learned to eat quickly, but like a "gentleman" so that I didn't get written up for some violation. I remember double-timing a lot and I remember being "counseled" quite a bit for things like being late for formation (at least 5 seconds, but late), having salt stains on my blue web belt, needing a shave (true) and needing a haircut (not true) and on and on. We were allowed 50 demerits the first week and I got a bunch of them.

Just being scolded and given a demerit was one thing; but the real pain involved was learning how to "write gigs". We had to use the Air Force OTS "Gig Slip" and it had to look like the one in the manual. The one in the manual was typewritten. We only had black Skilcraft pens (made by blind people) but we had to make the form look typewritten. I was in a state of despair after the first night. I couldn't make the writing look like it was typed, so I got more demerits for being late with my writing.

We had PT every morning and of course there were certain weather conditions which governed our outside activities. There was a "green flag" which said activities were OK for everyone, a "Yellow Flag" which allowed some outside physical exertion, a "Red Flag" which indicated that those not acclimated (at least three weeks living in Texas) could not exercise and the "Purple Flag" indicating all outdoor activities were banned for everyone.

Here's how it worked. The "underclass" (those with less than six weeks in the school) exercised all at one time. At the time indicated on the schedule if there was a red flag then it was lowered and the yellow was flown until we completed our activities - then it was replaced by the red again. Six weeks later, after we were acclimated, PT was done later in the day and inevitably a purple was replaced with a red while we exercised. The show did go on!