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Stories IX Stories X
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stevetuba.co.uk
Stories III
and How I became a legend in my own mind. A work in progress.
They ARE closing Cut Bank Radron!
The bad news was that it...the news...became true, as opposed to a rumor ...quite late in my tour. Worse yet, I was designated to stay till the bitter end. All of the "old guard" had rotated out, which left just a few of us that knew enough to effectively help the mission. I wish I knew who actually decided who stayed and who got to leave. Cut Bank Radron was part of the cold war early warning air defence system, a major player in what was known as Semi Automatic Ground Environment, SAGE for short. We had the FRT-49...a pair of 20KW VHF/UHF transmitters along with the solid state GKA-5 data link. They were to be dismantled and moved to another location, the next site west, as I recall. SSgt. Shippers was charged with this task and at one point asked me if I wanted to join him. I can't say, even now, what my thought process was. At one point it would mean moving to the new site...and putting back together that which I'd just taken apart. My tour was already extended...and would be 15 months as it was. To help Shippers would mean another two months or more and it may have meant staying on at the new location to "train" them. Did I mention that Cut Bank, the city, had for years been one of the coldest places in the contiguous US!
Interestingly, I don't remember the next assignments for anybody I worked with except the NCOIC (Non-Commissioned Officer in Charge), TSgt. Grover...and I think he went to Cold Bay...some place. I think that there was a grimness about it all...the tour. You came...did a job...and you left. As I look at the photo below, I'm struck by the fact that I'd left nothing behind. There is not the smallest bit of me still there. I have since seen a photograph taken in 1997 (33 years later) and the base looks like a ghost town. At first sight I felt like the WWII vets going back to their bases here in the UK, only to find weeds growing in the cracks between the slabs of barely visible concrete that used to be a runway. A real shock!
After a 30 day leave, I went on to Okinawa. It would have been at least a month or two later, when one day out of the blue, I ran into SSgt. Shippers! I say "ran into" in the sense that he wasn't looking for me and I wasn't looking for him, he was just there in the hall in front of the orderly room. Though I was surprised to see him...it wasn't total. You see...he was married to an Okinawian. In a sense...they were just coming home. It would not surprise me if he took a discharge on the island and has lived there ever since. Oh...TSgt. Grover, the NCOIC of Cut Bank GATR...was also married to an Okinawian. For his next tour he went to Cold Bay...Alaska...714th AC&W Sq...I think it was. (I've looked it up.) Anyway...he told me about his epic adventure re-locating the FRT-49/GKA-5...and that as a result of his successful mission, he was awarded a medal. Now that I think of it...he was the most logical person to make the move...AND to teach the troops. He was the one that had taught us. So maybe things would not have been as bad as I thought re helping SSgt. Shippers. Life...Just another fork in the road!
Cheating at the Air Force Academy...1965 Speaking of TSgt. Grover...We were at a Commanders Call and I was sitting next to him. The CC was held at the Base Chapel/theater (see below) which allowed the showing of films related to USAF news...etc. One segment was sports...as in the Air Force Academy Falcons against Army. The voice is describing the game...blah...blah...blah...'the pass is to Fritz Greenlee...catches...runs to the...yard line...' Gads! "I know that guy...the one that just caught the pass...I went to high school (Franklin) with him", I said to sarge. He says..."why aren't you there?"...meaning at the Academy. I'm not sure what he meant. He didn't elaborate (later) and I never asked. A few months pass. Then I read in TIME or NEWSWEEK magazine that there has been a major incident of cheating on exams at the Air Force Academy. A real scandal. Ultimately, 105 cadets would be asked to resign...(expelled). Four more would resign later for knowing about, but not reporting the cheating. In the end, I served my country honorably and with some distinction...while others not only didn't, but were a disgrace to the uniform and to all those from whom they sought favour and brings into question their true ethics and morals prior to their appointment to the Academy. This type of person should have known their limitations...On the other hand, perhaps that's why they cheated. In final assessment, who was the better man?
"The Victors"...the film that "got me"... I had been on station for some months when I heard that there was an opening for projectionist at the base theater. I inquired, and got the job. I had done "projecting" all the way back to grade school, so except for the fact that there would be two projectors to run, it was no big deal and the job did pay and you got to watch the flick for free...as one would sure as hell expect. I mean you couldn't be expected NOT to watch it...right? There was a film every night...which meant that sometimes (there were two of us alternating) you'd HAVE to watch it a second time. The whole process was not that complicated. Load reel one on projector number one, index it to the first frame. Load reel two on projector number two, index it to the first frame. The reel boxes had the reel numbers on them, but it was always a good idea to check the reel number on the film itself. This was cut right into the film. Wait for the house lights to go out. Power is already on...hit both the audio and lamp switches at the same time on projector number one. The show has started. Check focus. Sit back and watch the flick. The Victors was about WWII. I think it was a "six reeler", a long film. Close to the end if each reel, there would be a mark that you'd have to watch for and when it showed the second time, you threw one set of switches off...another set on. Remove the reel that was just shown, put on the next reel in the sequence...ok? OK...so there I was, reel number three was getting close to the end. Reel number four was loaded and ready to go...right? Right! First mark...audio on...second mark...lamp on...reel four is playing...audio and lamp off on the reel three projector. Another perfect change over. GADS! Now, at that instant my brain stopped functioning normally. Priorities changed. I saw what I saw, but what did my brain make of it? I've always contended that one can be a victim of your own knowledge and or imagination. It turns on you. Anyway...on the screen is a message. Now, it was toward the end of December...and here is this message. I vaguely remember seeing seasons greetings in theaters before. AND here was one right there on the screen. Something to the effect that "Seasons Greeting from the Management to all the service men and women...etc...etc". WHAT the hell had happened. I would have thought that something like that would have been at the end of a film...right? Jeez...you don't suppose that that reel had not been re-wound? But it WAS reel four and I had two reels to go. Well...things went from bad to really bad. I was unable to fathom it. It was possible that a splice had been made incorrectly such that this was not in fact reel four...but that would not explain the seasons greetings being at the beginning and not the end. Unless the film had been turned end for end. There was no motion, just a marquee, a graphic. All these things went through my mind in a flash. I killed the projector lamp. My audience was not happy. The last thing on the screen was the greetings...I stopped it before anything else appeared. It was pandemonium up in my booth. I checked all the reels for numbers...the hell with what box they were in. I looked at whole sections of film, trying to piece together the sequence. I started reel five...This was not good...Hell...I may have tried reel six too for that matter. Anyway...I don't know to this day why...but I finally put back reel four and hit the switches. If you can believe this...the greetings were...IN a film in THE film. It was at the end of "that" film...but at the beginning of my reel. For me it was just IN the film. None of this would have been a problem had it not been at the reel change! To this day I cringe when I see that "The Victors" is playing on the late show. I've also thought about therapy.
A case of mistaken identity... I was more than half way through tech school. I know this to be the case because it was after taking a 30 day leave. It was then that I got around to swapping out my ill fitting, mismatched and wrong coloured basic training issued fatigues for a set that fit properly. And it was not long after that, that I was nominated for a "Rope". A Rope was a student leader...and it would mean attending SSgt. Albert H. Plante's (NCOIC) classes for two weeks (I think it was). Class started with an inspection...then things like marching troops, close order drill, regulations dealing with moving troops on roads etc. and was covered in great detail. There were four grades of Rope. Green (in Rope school), Red (Rope in charge of a barracks bay), Yellow (shift Rope) and White (squadron Rope). Anyway...being a Rope had its perks...like sharing a room with another Rope instead of the open barracks. The day I graduated, the lads in my bay bodily carried me down stairs and into the shower. You were in charge of any detail you were assigned to...you were the boss. I was sharing a room with A3C Fuller. He and I were both "Red Ropes". We were the same height, same build, we both wore glasses (air force issue)...hell...we looked like bloody twins...from a distance.
Well...He said that he went into the Lieutenant's office, saluted (good)...and once the interrogation began...put himself "at ease"...not GOOD! A bit later he decided to put his hands on his hips! (Jeez!) Today we'd call it "attitude"! At one point, SSgt. Rose who'd been standing in the doorway, came up from behind and smacked Fuller's hands off his hips. As I understand it, there were a number of things that had been pointed out to Fuller...that were subsequently, not done. Anyway...they thought they had been talking to me...or it should have been me...when in fact they had talked to Fuller. OK? I still don't get it. I mean, did Fuller think that it was all a joke...? Now the funny part. It was not uncommon to have visitors on base. Like the family visiting the "kid". This was the case with Red Rope A3C Fuller. Now...Six days a week (6 hours a day) we'd be in school. We would march there and back. I would carry the squadron colors past the reviewing stand and then hand it off to one of the troops for the rest of the march to school, and be in charge of the formation coming back. The big one was the noon formation (our shift), with drum and bugle corps, sometimes the band. As I said, I carried the guidon out ahead of the column. It was a typical Mississippi day, bright and hot. A perfect day for the proud parents to get great 8mm movie footage of their "son" marching to school...right? Wait for it... Fuller would later tell me that they, the parents...well...they mistook me for him...and I can only imagine that they got some really fine shots of me...and to this day, pass the images of me, off as him.
Left to right: John M. Johnson, unknown and Wilson R. Rightmer (already a Rope in this photo). Now the REALLY funny part...Yeah right! My buddies John M. Johnson and Wilson R. Rightmer were Ropes too. Early on at Keesler, Johnson and I were bunk mates, I had the upper. As I recall, Rightmer was a Yellow Rope. Johnson was promoted to White Rope, leaving a Yellow Rope slot open to be filled from the ranks of the Red Ropes of 'B' shift...my shift. Wait for it!...........You guessed it! As close to cloning as I ever want to get...and I hate you Fuller. Then again it might have been the fact that I was buddies with Jim Lewis...or just the fact that I was getting 'short'...(a short time before leaving).
Speaking of "John M.". Things had settled down and some of the troops took up...wait for it...painting by numbers. You know the ones. Anyway...John M. would do a bit of painting...then put it out of sight and harm, by storing it on top of the metal wardrobes we each had. Ok fine. Color number such and such...a day later a different color and so on. The picture was taking shape. Then one day John M. exclaims that he thought he'd done a color the day before...but finds that he's doing it again. The color had been brown. He carried on...and stored the painting like always. Next day...same thing! He thought he was loosing his mind. He'd paint the color...and the next day the paint was gone...and he'd have to do it all over again! What was to have been a relaxing experience...was turning into a nightmare. At first I thought he was just making it all up...a joke. Well now! It was no joke! Wait for it... It seems that as soon as John M. carefully painted in all the brown numbers...and stored the painting...the cockroaches attacked it with great relish. They seemed to like the brown paint to the exclusion of all the others colors. They would eat every bit of it...clean as whistle! Speaking of chess... Sometime later...chess became the hot game to play. Boards popped up out of nowhere. It was great fun to play a few games after school, before hitting the books. So it was, that after a few weeks of play...it became clear as to who were the best players...and finally...the "best". The competition came down to upper bay verses the lower bay. I was in the lower and was deemed its best player. One day a match was organized between me and the "hotshot" of the upper bay. Well now... I had learned to play chess at an early age...but I never had formal training...as in never having read a book on the subject. I didn't know a Sicilian Defence from a Russian Gambit. So it was...the day came. I won't bore you with play-by-play...except to say that the further into the game we got...the more nervous my worthy opponent became. Close to the end...he began to shake. He was good...but I took the day. I'd like to able to say the my brilliant play reduced him to a quivering mass of Jello...but...I guess it didn't help that we played under the infamous "PsyOps" variant of the rules. Pithy comments were rendered and excepted...during play. The openning pawn move could easily elicit...after staring at it for a minute..."mmm...Now THAT...is an interesting move!". Another one that got a good laugh was..."now...tell me again...how does the horse move?". Epilog: I did win the game, but I realized that I was not ALL THAT great a player. It was just that the others were worse.
Old sarge... We were studying test equipment. I don't remember in which building we were in, but it was not Allee or Wolfe hall.
So...one day the instructor left the room and the class broke up into small groups. I was interested in O'scopes and signal generators and since I'd played with the scope before, it would be the sig-gen this day. I twiddled the knobs, cranked the crank, flipped the switches...etc. The one thing that I was most curious about was this big knob with a big dial in the lower right hand corner of the front panel. The dial had all kinds of marks and numbers around the edge. It was called the "Attenuator". I could tell that it was not a pot...potentiometer...just by feel, but what was it then? How did it work? I had to know!
My HP 608 on its side, lower left. So I did the only logical thing. I had already determined that there were no seals or at least those that were, were broken already. I located the four large knobs on the back, and started to un-screw them. Once they were all loose, it was just a matter of pulling the cabinet off. Done deal! There it was in all its glory. GADS! It was a thing of beauty, I mean the construction was so...clean! The scale for the frequency was on this "huge" drum. There was no backlash in the tuning mechanism! AMAZING. And so smooth. Ok...on to the attenuator. I had to turn the unit up side down to...see...and just had a glance....when.... The instructor came back into the classroom! WELL...the shit hit the fan...as we used to say! At one point he asked who had opened it? There was dead silence...but without hesitation...I admitted* that I was the one. As I recall, we got into a long winded one sided dialog about not being authorized...and blah blah blah...did I know how much it cost...blah...blah? In the end...he left again only to return a few minutes later...and ordered me to see Sgt. such and such at such and such. (He didn't actually say "such and such at such and such"...I'm just indicating that I don't remember). So I go to such and such room where I find a grey haired MSgt. (Master Sergeant) and he's expecting me. With kind and humors eyes, he asked me a few questions...starting with why?...Why did I open the sig-gen? I told him. We chatted a bit and I was dismissed with a smile. There was surprise on the faces of my classmates...I guess they thought I was "a gonner"...I'm sure the instructor had hoped for blood. Teach me a lesson...as it were. At break, I was asked by the guys why I had admitted to the "crime"? *It never occurred to me not to. Anyway, I went on to tell them what happened with the old sarge. Years later I would own one of those sig-gens...An HP-608. Over the years I'd have to open it up...(in fact the one I bought was defective)...and every time I did...I would remember the first time. I wonder if the instructor ever saw the inside of one...not counting THAT day? Or, did he know how the attenuator worked? Sarge...wherever you are...I salute you. PS. The attenuator was, as I explained to sarge, "some type of piston arrangement" controlled with string and pulleys driven by the large knob. Years later as a result of my work with L band waveguide as it applied to GOES satellite reception, I became familiar with the concept of..."waveguide beyond cut off". This was the principal of the 'piston' used to provide the calibrated output for the sig-gen.
A day never forgotten I was on (B) day shift...There were three shifts...'A' shift 0600-1200hrs, 'B' shift 1200-1800hrs and 'C' shift 1800-0000hrs. We were studying HF (High Frequency) gear and SSB (Single Side Band) reception. This was when I saw my first R-390! WOW! Great fun. This day started like any other...but it would not end that way. I guess it's the shock that causes us to remember an event, forever etched into your mind. So it was...we were on break...when someone came running out to tell us the news. There were classes learning RTTY...Radio TeleTYpe and the news was being typed out on one of their machines...from sources like AP (Associated Press) and UPI (United Press International). The date was...November 22, 1963. And the mesage read...in effect... PRESIDENT KENNEDY HAS BEEN SHOT/KILLED...IN TEXAS! After the initial shock...I thought about the chain of command and all that...the fact that he had been our commander in chief... Break over...we went back to class... The world continued to turn... Follow up! Dateline London: April 13, 2004 I've just heard from Denny Stiltner! I nice surprise. He says, in part: "Our paths seem to cross too often. Three times that I know of. You see, the kid who came running with the teletype about Kennedy's assignation (sic) was me. I was tuning the (Teletype) converter when that came up. I kept that (the teletype printout) for years until God saw fit to relieve me of it." (Lost in a flood). Amazing! As I said, Denny arrived at Cut Bank AFS a short time after I did. It was less than a month. He would have been behind me at tech school by that same amount. Of course I didn't remember the individual that brought out the message...because as much as anything...he'd not brought it out to me specifically...the message was just passed along, rippling through the formation. I find it an amazing coincidence that I would find out that the person that brought the message that day...would later turn out to be my roommate...and then to find out fourty years...after the fact!
The story of Englands' first Geocache... What the hell is a "geocache"...you ask? Glad to explain it. Well...we're all familiar with GPS...right? No? Ok...How is your spherical trigonometry?..Orbital mechanics?..Newtonian physics? Cesium beam clocks, Rubidium? Nanosecond timing? Spread spectrum? Love it... Cutting to the chase...You can buy a handheld GPS (Global Positioning System) receiver for a relatively small amount of money with which you could determine your location, to a fair degree of accuracy, anywhere* on the face of the earth. So...for example, if your friend, who has just moved to a new location (town, state, country) were to give you their new co-ordinates (they have GPS also), you could enter that information into your GPS (receiver) and then you could "find" them...you could navigate right to them. I hear you asking, why not have them just tell you their address? (A look of profound sadness, a roll of the eyes, a slow shake of the head, a long silence, a deep sigh...and a tsk tsk...TSK! "Where do they find em?" a la O. Hardy.) OK FINE!...Your friend hasn't moved at ALL...ok? BUT your friend has buried a treasure, like a pirate would, and a pirate sure as hell would not give you an address...right? I mean, what do you think the big "X" is for...huh? So as I was saying, they have buried this little treasure, and given you co-ordinates, like latitude and longitude, and it's your task, should you choose to do so, to find it using your GPS. Geocaching is just a formalized version of a treasure hunt using GPS. There is a small twist. The treasure is usually made up of a number of items...You as the hunter would bring a few items of your own and after taking an item from the cache, you are obliged to leave something of yours. There are variables. You also make an entry in the log book, date, time etc. Kept pithy. The cache is usually out in the open, and hence needs protection of some sort from the elements. Tupperware is great. A real geocache location is published on the Internet. Anyone interested just goes for it. Later, they relate the experience on the net. The more caches the better. Collect them all boys and girls. So...geocaching was spreading out of the states and I was telling my wife, Agnes, all about it by reading the daily accounts of geocachers. She thought it was all pretty funny, and that we, here in the UK, should participate. Well...the rest is history...as they say. It didn't take long to dig out the large plastic container that I'd brought from the states, that she'd then managed to burn a hole in, to serve as the "chest". A bit of duct tape sealed the hole. We all put something into the cache. A digital watch, a bottle of beer, a Coke, a Beanie Baby, some coins etc and the log book and pen.
All set...I announced the location of England's first geocache (stash became cache over time) on the Internet. It was now simply a matter of waiting. It was not long before we had our first hit. A bit later the second. I think it was at this time that we decided to take a look at the cache log book etc. It was possible that someone had found it, but not published an account of the adventure, just a note in the log. So we looked. Time passes. Looking back on it now, I think it was a pretty good location. There are only three ways to enter the park, not counting the houses that border it. Ok, four if you count slipping through a fence. The first one was easy, straight in from the north. This would be the most common I would think. The second is through an alley, BUT you'd have to know that it's there. The third one is via a path at the southern end before the A3, over a bridge spanning the Hogsmill...leading to a pub. You'd have to know about that one too. You could slip through the fence along the A3 but it would be a long walk and very poor navigation at that. Now! Assuming that you came from a distance and had not cheated by looking at a map, you would find yourself generally west of the target on Elmbridge Avenue...or...well east on the wrong side of the river. From there it would be possible to walk in...but not drive. The bottom line was that from a car...when you were the closest, to the west, you'd not be able to get to the cache directly.
I'd rate it a nice problem. Anyway...that was the way it was...UNTIL. One day I'm here at the computer looking out toward the river. It was possible to see the occasional dog owner walking the dog. Then I see this guy on a bike with a dog, right in the middle of where my cache was located. GADS! AND he's going right to it! You've got to picture it...Was this a guy searching with a GPS? Or... Well I didn't have to wait too long...He picked it up...opened it...closed...looked around...AND then took off with it! The sad thing was that there was nothing of any real value in the container. If the truth be known, I was more pissed at the loss of the container than the contents. Now the funny part. I hear you asking...Why didn't you run right out there...etc...? Well I was busy...busy setting up my 8mm Sony Camcorder. I got the guy ON TAPE! Had I simply run out there he'd have gotten away on his bike...and his German Shepherd would have surely bitten me in a place that I would not appreciate or at the very least not find funny. PS. A day later, on a whim, I went out there to check things out. There was the container, with some of the contents! There was a new entry in the log book. I need to find it...and when I do...I'll publish it here. As I recall...he tells of drinking the beer. I found it.
It was my fault. By the time October came around, the grasses had died back. No more two meter tall foliage...more like nothing. I took a chance that no one would be walking in the middle of rough turf as opposed to the trimmed grass of the paths. Live and learn...huh? I did promise myself that if I ever spotted that sucker............
Continued: Stories IV
Copyright © Steve Tuba 2003-2008. Photography Copyright © Steve Tuba 1999-2008. |
War
stories
The
good "news" was, that it was a fact. Cut Bank Radron,
"The pride of the 29th", was to be closed down, by order of
the Secretary of Defence, Robert McNamara. This was part of a base
closing frenzy that had gripped the administration.
40
below was common during the winter. All cars and trucks had block
heaters installed, to prevent the engines from freezing up, which
were plugged into electrical sockets at each parking position. Cut
Bank Radron was just three miles from the Canadian border and was
considered an isolated tour which meant that a normal tour was 12
months. I think that by this time...any place sounded better. In
retrospect...if I'd stayed...and never left the states...I would most
likely never have gotten my Nikons. I guess that there was just no
good reason to stay.
Oh!
It turns out that the "rumor" about the closure of the
base was started by a civilian source. The SAGE system's main
computer was located at Great Falls, Montana. The connection between
it and the radar squadrons was via landline...telephone
lines...Ok...special lines...secured and armored I'm sure.
Anyway...they were laid and controlled by a civilian TELCO. As anyone
will tell you...you never want to mess with the TELCO...So...as I
understand it, they were "in the know" about the
closure...a year ago...and it leaked out as an administrative
issue...nothing more.
One
day, over the squadron PA ...."
Attention...Attention...Attention in the 3385th squadron area...Red
Rope Tuba to the orderly room...Red Rope Tuba to the orderly
room". Off I went, and right into the Squadron CO's, 2nd
Lieutenant Robert E. Earlewine's, office. Salute. Standing at
attention...I'm asked about a number of things of which I know
absolutely nothing...nothing! I find myself saying things
like..."It was not me that you spoke to...sir"...etc. The
Lieutenant exchanges a glance with SSgt. Rose who was there
also. I'm dismissed. A minute later it's the PA again...except this
time it's calling for Red Rope Fuller. Fuller later tells me the
sordid details of what happened.
I
began to read books on chess, which I continued to do even into my
next tour at Cut Bank AFS Montana...see photo. The more I read...the
worse my play became...I kid you not! My opponent had read a few
books...and thought that I had too. He expected my moves to reflect
his. My play simply confused the poor guy to a degree, that by the
time the game ended...he had rendered himself a nervous
wreck...unable to comprehend my moves. We were playing on different
planes in the fractilian universe of chess. We were both playing
chess alright...but not the same chess.
Anyway,
there I was looking at the prospect of playing with more test
equipment than I could imagine. This was going to be great fun
playing with all this MIL Spec equipment.
Dateline: London June 6, 2000
I
thought about where to "stash the cache". The Hogsmill
River runs north, two hundred meters from our eastern property line.
In between is a vast park which follows the river south for about a
kilometer. To "hide" the cache well is one thing, but I
thought it would be fun to be able to monitor it on a day to day
basis. It was late summer and the various plants had grown to over
two meters in height. Pathways were mown around these "wild"
islands of natural vegetation. For those not familiar with this
area, it would a be pleasant experience, at least getting close to my
cache, since I planted it right in the middle of tallest plants. I
took a well averaged reading with the GPS (Magellan "GPS
Tracker"), photographed it and the cache.
