The Upper Flight

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When we arrived in San Antonio and were moved to Medina AFS to our barracks the upper flight was there to meet us. Most of them were six to ten inches taller than us and seemed to be more mature than us by years. We were in awe of all of them and learned to know fear whenever they were present. One of them was assigned to our three man room as our advisor. He was an OT Second Lieutenant - a one-striper. That is the lowest rank possible in the upper flight but to us he was a demi-god. It never occurred to us until later that the "upper flight" had been there just six weeks more than we had!

Our class was called 69-03. There were normally four classes per year but in 1969 the federal government decided to change its fiscal year end from 30 June to 1 August. We arrived in July and were to be the last class under the old FY system. I remember on July 4th as were were walking into our new barracks an upper classman asked our advisor if we were "03's" When he answered "Yes" the other guy stated "If I were an 03, I'd SIE!" Another down the hall echoed, "If I were an 03 I'd kill myself!!"

We knew nothing and had no idea what was happening. None of us had been in ROTC and I only had the war stories my Dad and Brother had told from the 40's and 50's. I did know that you should never volunteer for anything and when they started handing out the detail assignments the first five that volunteered were assigned to latrine duty. Their job was to make the latrine clean enough for the virgin Mary to eat off the floor. Boy was I happy. I continued not volunteering until there was only one detail left and was assigned to the laundry room. I was also "counseled" about not volunteering. It seems that though I was rewarded I had still screwed up!

The Real Deal

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OTS was the "real deal." We were being prepared for war and for a future in the big picture of the Air Force. The idea was to tear our little egos into shreds, wash them away in perspiration (remember officers don't sweat - they perspire!) and rebuild them from scratch as steely-eyed killers. Newly arrived future officers were given the haircut, issued the uniform, run ragged from dawn to dusk (actually from 0530 until 2359) and expected to excel in academics, marching, sports, physical exercise, wear of the uniform,personal hygeine and to never make any mistakes at all. Everyone that went into the military, regardless of branch of service or expected rank pretty much had the same treatment; but our trainers were not allowed to yell at or swear at us. We were to be "young gentlemen." If you think for one moment that you cannot be mentally abused by someone who doesn't swear or yell, you have some thinking to do. OTS was mental abuse starting with the first day and never ending. I still get the "horrors" when I think I'm being late for something or if I'm not sure what I'm wearing is the correct "uniform."

Apparently, the best way to get a youngster to stay and play at OTS was to not only make it easy for him to quit, but to invite him to do so as many times as possible per day. Quitting was referred to as "SIEing" or Self Initiated Elimination. The way to SIE was to find an officer and tell him that you wanted to quit. He would provide you with a form letter that all you had to do was sign and the Air Force would "dissapear you." People who left OTS had their bags packed by someone else when the other trainees were not around. They left the area without ever being seen again. Supposedly, they were put on the next plane home and their names given to the draft board for super-quick selection. In truth, most of the SIE folks were moved to the other side of the base where they were placed on casual status and never allowed to get near Officer Trainees again. Later they were allowed to go to Air Force Basic Training and become enlisted personnel. They even had a name for them - they were called OT General's!

The Cossack (and Others) - Continued

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I was really close to the members of my "flight." We had 18 people in one group that ate, slept, worked, went to class, ran and generally did everything together for three months. I can remember a few of them if I try. Mr. Utley was the upper flight Captain. We had little to do with each other, but when we did it was mostly bad. His assistant was Mr. Tabor from Oklahoma. He was the "nice cop" of the two.

The most flamboyant was the Cossack. His name was Sulik and his claim to fame was that every man in his family had fought in a war. His grandfather was a fighter pilot for the Germans in WWI, his father was an American fighter pilot in WWII and he was going to be a fighter pilot for the Americans in Viet Nam. Paul could do the kazatskis dance and shout "HEY" when doing the squat-kicks. We all liked him. I've searched for him on-line and also on the Wall, but I've never found him...

Another upperclassman was named George McIlhenny and was from Avery Island Louisiana. He claimed no connection to the Tabasco McIlhennys, but I've always wondered if he was the heir to the Tabasco fortune.

One of the upperclassmen from the room across the hall (I can't remember his name) was very painstaking in the appearance of his uniform. He not only spit-shined shoes and boots, he spit-shined his high top Converse All-Stars too! He would use a Q-tip to polish the red stripe on the welt. He became famous during his final WEDGE inspection for not wearing his name-tag. He was inebriated that morning and all of us had to help get him dressed and standing at attention for the big day. When he was asked where his name-tag was, he came to attention and said, "SIR, I memorized it and threw it away!! SIR! We all got gigs because of our laughter.

A member of our flight was known as "Soapy" because we waited until he had completely soaped up in the shower and then cut the water off. He raged around yelling in his fully sudsed skin until we later provided water for his shower. I saw his name on the Wall...

The Cossack (and Others)

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I remember some of the folks from that Summer. My first room mates were Steven D. Acuff from Nashville and some little tough guy with red hair whose name I do not recall. They were pretty good mates. We quickly analyzed the requirements and set about to meet them. Here are some examples of the "musts":

1. Beds had to be made with "dust cover" six days a week and with "white collar" on Saturdays and Sundays
2. The floor, blinds, desks, beds and lockers had to be clean and free of dust. (This in Texas in Summer with the windows open all the time.)
3. Socks and underwear folded "just so" and with a smile
4. Books and other vertical items "taller tapped" from tallest to shortest
5. Shoes shined (dust removed from soles)
6. Beds 18 inches from the locker and 6 7/8 inches from the wall
7. Uniforms hanging "looking left" and all horizontals perfectly even
8. Two towels hanging with bottoms "exactly" even (these were taped and never used)

Each weekday morning we had to accomplish the above, shave, bathe and whatever in the 3o minutes between "Greenies" and "Details."

Greenies took place at 0600 on the grass in the quad between buildings. Lower classmen were allowed on the quad only during the 15 minutes each morning when we were required to remove everything but growing grass from our personal 10 foot by 10 foot area of lawn.

Details were assigned to each OT early in the program and we had 15 minutes a day to keep our areas spotless. My assigned area was the laundry room. You wouldn't believe the care required in keeping a washer,dryer, floor, walls, ceilings, pipes and drains clinically clean and polished.

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!

The Missing Years

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I would say that from sixth grade until High School graduation were my "missing years." For a very long time I didn't like me, I didn't like school, I didn't like being at home and I pretty much didn't like anything except band classes and being with my friends in the band.

Things got better when I was introduced into the 601st Militia. The "601" was where, by playing, I began to grow up. There's nothing like a bullet whizzing past you that wakes you up and makes the world a sweeter place to live in. It makes a whirring-buzzing-zinging that isn't fairly represented by the background noise in movies. A bullet in the air near you has a real presence and once you hear one you'll know what I'm talking about. Going on raids with my group was a lot like "playing war" with a good dose of reality wrapped up in it. It is really a good thing that we did not have access to stable explosives.

Things got really better when I met Patricia Anne Langley. How we could have existed for so many years, living 3 miles from each other, being in the same grade level at school and sometimes riding the same bus is almost astonishing. But, in my senior year at Greenwood High I went to a Christmas party and there she was! We dated and by March we were "going steady."

Pat has always been the rock that I could depend upon to steady me and keep me going when I would rather not. She is a jewel of great value and anything that I have accomplished in life tracks back to my love for her. Pat is a quiet, loving wife, mother and grand-mother whose very presence nourishes our lives.

We went steady for over three years and married on June 2, 1968. Pat taught school while I worked in the mill and continued my education. While I was working over 56 hours a week on varied shifts in the mill, trying to run a farm with 135 head of cattle and taking 18 hours of classes at Lander we managed to see one another once in a while.

Remember that in 1968 the war in Viet Nam was already hot and getting hotter. If you didn't have a real good reason; your draft classification was 1-A and within a month a letter came in the mail indicating that your friends and neighbors had chosen you to be inducted into the military for two years of involuntary service. Everybody dreaded that letter and did what they could to avoid being drafted.

Instead of going into the draft, you could join the National Guard or the Reserves. So I drove down to the National Guard armory and noted that the line for volunteers was several blocks long. There were only 10 openings... Going back to the Canteen at Lander to participate in my morning game of poker; I ran into the friendly Air Force recruiter. He said, "How would you like to be up in the air dropping bombs on the Viet Cong instead of in the jungle smelling them?" I said OK and the first thing I knew, I was sworn in to the United States Air Force with a reporting date of July 3, 1969. The missing years were then over. I remember everything from that day forward.

Hunting - With Apologies to Sandy

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We hunted more for sport than for food, but we didn't waste the food either. Mac and I would go hunting some Saturdays and we would tramp through the woods with Flip the squirrel dog and let the dog do most of the work. Flip would spot a squirrel, run it up a tree and then spot where it was hiding on a limb and point it out for one of us to shoot. We used a .22 rifle to save the meat and always tried for a "head shot." Some days we would come home with 3 or 4 squirrels. We would then clean them and give them to Mamma who would put them in a dishpan in salty water and soak them overnight before either frying for breakfast or stewing for dinner. I remember the squirrel and dumplings was a family favorite, but I don't remember eating a whole lot of it. I did eat fried squirrel and fried rabbit whenever we had it.

I seldom hunted with Daddy. He didn't like to roam around hunting - he preferred to sit silently in one place and wait for the game to come to him. It must have been effective, because he always came home with game. He only hunted with a .22 rifle. I never saw him with a shotgun unless he was trying to get blackbirds out of his planted fields. One time he killed over a hundred starlings with two shots from a 16 guage. Daddy told us that when he was very young - and when everyone was very hungry, the whole family would go out at night and surround bushes and drop a blanket over each bush and collect the birds that were under it for eating. It didn't matter what kind of birds they were either. I remember him saying that Crow tastes a lot like chicken!

As I've probably mentioned earlier, there were no deer in our area then. Deer had been hunted out of the area well before the War Between the States. The only SC deer were in the "low country." Someone brought us some deer meat from a hunt in the low country and Mamma fried it and covered it with gravy. I really liked it.

Sometimes we would catch a turtle or two and make a stew. The story that was most often told was that "there are 7 kinds of meat on a turtle!" I never knew because I wouldn't touch it.