|
|
stevetuba.co.uk
Stories VI
and How I became a legend in my own mind. A work in progress.
The CIA connection... My dad (the OM) tells this story. One evening, (a Friday) on a recommendation, a fellow shows up with a ham (amateur) radio transmitter, I think it was a Hallicrafters. It was inop, deader than a door nail, a goner, kaput, a no go, dead in the water, Tango Uniform... The OM troubleshoots it and finds that the problem is a defective main power transformer. This is something that he could not repair and the part would have to be ordered, and could take weeks to get. Did I mention that this was an emergency situation...since this guy was leaving for a South American country in two days. He HAD to have that transmitter...NOW! No ifs, ands, or buts about it! The OM explained that it would be impossible to get a replacement that soon...what with the normal delays in shipment and a weekend thrown in. Not fazed, the guy asked to use the phone. He placed a call, spoke a few minutes and hung up. Before leaving, he stated that a transformer would be here the next day! It was! This guy was a missionary and the best guess was that the call he'd placed was to the CIA...not the other place as some might suppose! At the time, it was not uncommon for the CIA to engage travelers to foreign countries in "corespondent" type activities. This guy was going to stay there for years!
Jim Lewis... Jim was at tech school (3385th School Squadron) training to be an Air Traffic Controller. He was one of 60 other guys in our two story barracks which by the way, had been condemned in 1945. The squadron had 14 barracks as I recall. One day Jim and I struck up a conversation. Jim told me about himself through stories of his life. They were great stories. He also told me about the books he'd read. It was Jim who had turned me onto Burroughs, not so much Tarzan as John Carter..."The Warlord of Mars"! I was soon hooked on the books as were a large number of us in the barracks. Fleming was hot too. We'd pass the books around though I bought all of mine. Jim knew all the characters by heart and would tell me all about them. He told me about other Burroughs books with stories taking place inside the earth, Pellucidar. I read them all. The first Burroughs book I read was 'The Warlord of Mars'...which was the third book of the series, published as a paperbacks in a 1962 printing. I read 'A Princess of Mars' (the first book of the series) in hardback...barrowed from the city of Cut Bank's library. Living in England...I mentioned my collection, which I'd not brought with me, to my immediate neighbor, Keith Alexander, the proprietor of KMABooks.
One day he showed up with a small hardback...a 1935 edition of...'The Warlord of Mars.' You've gotta love it! Time passed. Jim and I would go to the Club, to share a pitcher of beer. I never thought about it at the time, but Jim would be the one to get the beer, though we'd split the cost. During this time, even though I had other friends, as did he, we'd be alone, just the two of us as though we were being shunned. We'd both see our other friends at the Club but rarely would they join us. I thought nothing of it. Not true...I did think about and I knew what troubled my "friends"...some of them had told me...not in so many word...but I got the drift. One day I suggested to Jim that it would be fun to go off-base to the sea shore, the Gulf of Mexico. This was quit close, so it was no big deal distance wise. Jim calmly told that he could not go. What? He went on to explain why this was so. It was news to me! Keeping this in mind... So it was that we were at the Club again, but this time Jim asked if I'd do him a favour...and get the beer. I did. I noted that some of his friends were just a few tables away from ours and were watching me...get the beer. Jim seemed pleased when I returned with the pitcher.
~1963 Jim Lewis A3C at the time. 3385th School Squadron. PS. After I got out and back in Seattle, I received a phone call one night. It was Jim. He was heading for Japan. Sadly I don't remember the details of the conversation i.e. was he still in the USAF or was he a civilian ATC. Stop Press! I've just come across a photo taken in Japan...by Jim...in...wait for it...1964! This means that ol' Jim was going BACK to Japan when he'd called me. I do remember now. We had exchanged letters while he was stationed there...hence the photo. I still don't know if he went back as a civilian or not. So, if you're out there Jim, let me hear from you.
L to R...Me and Jim. This would have been after I took a 30 day leave. About 20 weeks into school.
I went to the Kadena AB chow hall exactly twice. Directly across the street from our barracks complex (1962nd Comm Group) was the best club on the whole island of Okinawa. The chow hall was right next to us on the other side. It was right out my door. My room was at the end of the two story barracks building and there was an outside door from which you had a great view of the CHOW HALL. I remember thinking how lucky I was to be THAT close. Of course this really didn't mean much in light of the fact that during week days you'd be at work and from there go to lunch. It was only a good thing for breakfast and on weekends, but after the second time...I never went back.
Well...the Club was a bit farther, by about 500 ft., but that was more than made up for by the ambiance and cuisine. It had air conditioning, pretty waitresses, nice tables and great food. In the evenings they'd have music and floor shows. It even had slot machines.
Naturally I would go there for lunch and dinner also. I was on a Filet Mignon kick for months on end. Oh! There was a interesting thing that happened one day. There was radio and TV on Okinawa. AFRTS was the provider (Armed Forces Radio and Television Service). This was the same outfit that was the technical setting for the...Robin Williams' character in the film "Good Morning Vietnam". AFRTS would use personnel from the various services to man the studios etc. On Okinawa there was a voice on the radio that you'd gotten to recognize over time. You thought nothing of it! Then one day...I'm at my table...and I hear 'THE' voice! Gads...I shouldn't be hearing THAT voice! It took a few seconds to figure out where THAT voice was coming from. I turn to look...and sure as hell...there is this A1C...wearing a uniform that was not currently on the authorized list talking just like the guy on the radio. It was uncanny to see a face connected to a voice and it was hard not to stare, thinking that at any minute he'd have to stop faking it, but no, he just kept on talking and talking...same voice. Well.........Goll---ly! I did play the slots a bit...and have a drink now and then...but not to excess. Eating at the club did cost money and I needed most of it for my photography. More cameras and lenses, film, paper etc. On the night of my going away party...held at the club...I counted over 21 Whiskey Sours on my table and was obliged to drink them all...I did. I staggered back the my room that night...glad that it was so close.
Dateline: East Bay (Pleasant Hill) CA. 1996 Hard to believe...or...My close encounter with an alien life form... I'd been flying back and forth between Seattle and San Francisco...(another story). This was about the fourth time I think it was...though not really relevant. I was heading back to Seattle and for some reason (I'd stopped smoking) decided to buy some chewing gum for the drive. There was a great selection, and since I was not really into gum per se...I picked a brand I'd never tried before. Mistake number one! Off I went. Not long after I started, I partook of the gum. Everything was just fine...until...flavor exhausted, it was time to dislodge it. A simple process...right? Open mouth, take gum between thumb and index finger...extract gum...dispose thereof. Well now...Everything went just fine except the 'dispose thereof' part. As soon as I had a hold of said gum, it turned into a life form. It, the gum, would not let go of my two fingers as if its very existence depended on staying attached to me, which it did with extreme tenacity. At first it was just a minor announce, but soon panic began to set in. You must remember that all of this was happening while driving at relatively high speeds, and in California. It was quickly turning into a life and death struggle...me against...this...this living organism. It was not content to just stay on the tips of two finger, but was soon covering them. In less than an other mile traveled, it had moved onto my middle finger also. I was in a rental car, so wiping it onto the dash, steering wheel or headliner was not an option...yet. I didn't realize that there were, buried in the 25 page multilingual instructions, warnings about the proper handling of this hazardous material. I totally missed the international symbol, you know the one in a circle, depicting a thumb and index finger with a blob of gum in between, with a diagonal slash. I must have missed the slash! I guess you were to try and spit it out... swallow it...or...get your passenger to extract it for you. I wonder if the full service gas stations were set up for this. Just drive in and...indicate with the standard international gesticulation understood the world over, your desire for "removal thereof." It did occur to me that a pair of barbecue tongs sure would have come in handy. I began to envision my ultimate demise. The medical examiner inspecting my mangled body at the site of the crash. A knowing look crosses his face...tsk tsk tsk..."Yep...another guy who can't drive and chew gum at the same time" as he finds the evidence on my hand. He then puts a check in the box next to; Y...AGWCDACGATST...as to the cause of death. I could just see myself at the Pearly Gates trying to explain it! "Well...it's like this your Honorship...." (Can you use contractions...? Is "ain't" allowed?..Or do you have to speak in biblicalees? Or if you're multilingual...can you switch in mid sentence? Or is it a "thought" thing...no talking...and if so...what happens if a swear word sneaks in there?...Or what about a double negative?..Are there any test questions? If so...do you get time to study the material? If so...Is there Internet access? Broadband?...Or are they running 286's, 12 inch B/W monitors with 300 baud modems in a computer-lab like environment?...Do you get breaks?...How long?...When's lunch? ) All of this of course begs the question, would St. Peter have simply...laughed and promoted me to Major and thrown in a DFC?
Have you ever noticed that there are some people out there that had all the cool stuff. My friend Dan's dad made Root Beer in their basement and bottled it in Coke bottles. He had great tools and stuff like that. They also had a pool table! WOW. The only thing we had was a ping-pong table. Shooting pool is something that looks so easy that everyone thinks that they can do it. So...every now and then I'd be at Dan's and we might play a game or two. It was very evident that Dan was a much better pool shot than I. I liked to think that this was so as a result of being able to practice all the time. I just never got the chance to practice. So it was that while stationed at Kadena, Swanny and I would go off-base now and then to shoot some pool. Here again was the painful fact that Swanny was a much better shot...and again just because he had practiced. I would loose every game. I would get a few good shots but in the end...lose lose lose. So it was that one day we're in Koza (a small town just outside the main gate) and just happen to pass a pool hall. I think it only had two tables...though it's not relevant to this story, just adding a little "color". The felt was green...the balls were the usual round shape and colors. Anyway...we teed off. The Okinawans watched us for a bit but soon lost interest. I mean Swanny was good...but not THAT good...and I was totally nothing. It was inevitable that Swanny would win...and he did. Game over. But wait a sec... I had seen pool demonstrations on TV. Some I thought were just complicated setups, but others I thought were based on solid physics, they just looked tough. There was one that I remembered and thought I'd try it...what had I to lose? But if I could do it...well... So...I took my time to set up the shot. As I worked on it, I noticed that I now had an audience...the Okinawans...AND Swanny! I'd never ever tried this shot before. It was all from memory. Swanny was having kittens...like yeah sure you're going to do a trick shot...blah blah...HA HA and embarrass me when you miss. As I understood the shot, it was a sure thing if you set it up correctly. I didn't know better, so I just did the very best I could. "Unconscious"...as we used to say. Two balls touching, close to a side pocket, in line with the opposite side pocket. A gap something smaller that a ball, and two more balls touching. Another ball set in the gap, touching the two inner balls. Using the cue ball, hit the ball in the gap squarely and all five balls will drop. Simple. ( 00o00) I set it up...I set the cue ball...took aim and teed off. FIVE BALLS dropped! (True story! I kid you not.) I was as surprised as my audience. Not leaving well enough alone, I was prompted to try it again! Or should I say "demonstrate". Yeah sure! Well...I set it up a second time...wait for it(!)...with the same result. (Fact). I walked out with a swagger, a bit taller and a bit smug(ger)...like a real hustler. The Okinawans considered themselves lucky not to have tangled with me...and Swanny put me in for a promotion to Major but thought the DFC a bit much. PS. Over the years I'd try that shot again...and again...and again...No comment! I guess one does lose the touch. Or, maybe, lady luck just favours the believers.
This was at Keesler. They had a pool table in the day room along with a TV. Anyway...I would play a bit...but as before there were much better player. I do thank the guys that helped he with my shots. I must admit that even then I found "fancy shots" a lot more fun than just getting the ball in the hole. The biggest problem was that it was not always possible to get the squadron's cue stick. So...one day I went into town and bought one...the kind that breaks down. Well...my stick looked exactly the same as the squadrons! So there I was one day playing my little heart out, when this guy decides that I've been goofing around long enough and wants me to hand over the stick. HAH! Double HAH! Well now! It took more than a bit of doing to convince this sucker that it WAS in fact MY cue stick. He was coming unglued! OH! Killing time as we waited for assignments, we watched TV. One morning we saw a puppet show of some kind. It was set on the moon. We all cracked up at the antics and thought it very clever. The show was on daily, so we watched when we could. Funny stuff. Years pass. It turns out that what we'd been watching those mornings were...wait for it...the Muppets...before they were the Muppets.
It's interesting but I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Even though we in the Air Force were volunteers there was a percentage of individuals that were not ready for military life. I saw examples throughout my four years. I was in my room, a Rope at the time, when I heard some kind of commotion out in the bay. I waited a bit and then someone called out to me. There was a guy in the upper bay that was going off the deep end. I headed for the stairs at the other end of the barracks, but before I get there I hear someone yell that the guy had jumped. Well...While the main parts of the squadron area was covered with crushed seashells and sand, (say that fast three times) the area between barracks was mostly sand. This guy jumped, more like dropped, about 9 feet into sand. I don't even remember what happened after the incident. There was another guy that had gotten pretty drunk, and had cut himself and was "holed up" in the latrine...blood all over the place. In the end none of these were really life threatening.
We were traveling by bus from the airport to Lackland AFB and the first stop, on base, was to have breakfast. To this day I don't know where this chow hall was, but it sure was a nice one. Wait for it. It had tables for four...covered with a tablecloth(!)...and all the accoutrements. We had "waiters", with white caps, serving us...just like a restaurant...really...I kid you not. Man-o-man...can you believe this? If this is the Air Force...we've got it made...ha ha. Well...toward the end of breakfast...our "waiter" informed us, in hushed tones, that this would be the last time...THIS would ever happen to us. Boy was he right!
SSgt. McGowan met our flight...of "rainbows". Rainbows referred to the fact the all wore different cloths, nonuniform. He would be our T.I. (Training Instructor) and this would be the one and only time we ever saw him in blues...Class A's. We were Flight 210 of 3706 Squadron. It was February, 1963. Not long after settling in, we were instructed to appear, one at a time, before SSgt. McGowan in one of the rooms in the barracks. My turn came and I knocked once as we'd been instructed. Opened the door and entered. Saluting..."Airman Tuba reporting as ordered." I said once inside and standing at attention in front of his desk. He returned the salute, which was not normal between enlisted personnel, but this was basic (training). I don't remember whether he put me at ease or not. Anyway... We had an exchange that I will never forget, and to this day wish I'd have been quicker on my feet. Hind sight! The big question he asked me, and the others I guess, was "Why did I join up?". I don't remember the exact phrase as to whether it was "join up" period, or join the Air Force. I would have had different answers depending on which branch of service I'd joined and whether I'd been drafted. The U.S. Air Force was all volunteer, I was there because I wanted to be there and I was not drafted. From his response to my "answer" I gathered that nothing I'd have said was the "right" reason...which he went on to tell me. Wait for it! It was to "DIE" he said. Well...the way he put it was..."No...you enlisted to die". Ok....I can live with that! I knew what he meant, but this was not the time nor place for a nice little philosophical sojourn into the relative benefits of becoming cannon fodder. My recruiter had sold me on the "fact" that the U.S. Air Force was run like a big business...so what was this business about dying ? The punch line was...that I'd liked to have disagreed with the good Sergeant by pointing out that "dying" is easy...and no one in his right mind wants to do so. I kept my mouth shut! At the time, the film "Patton" was a number years in the future, and I wonder, knowing that short of dying himself in the interim, he'd sure as hell would have seen it, what he thought of Patton's little speech...in particular, the part about dying. I quote... "No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country." - General George Patton Jr. I rest my case!
After about a week, things settled down. An A1C T.I. (Training Instructor) took over most of the day to day duties regarding our flight. He was good guy and we liked him. He was particularly good at teaching us the fine points of marching and close order drill. He was tall and lanky...and he looked "cool as hell" when marching...very sharp. Sadly, I've forgotten his name. Anyway... Then one day we get a new instructor. Now this guy was a Staff Sergeant and just the opposite of the A1C. He was on the short side and a bit pudgy. Gads! One day, while on break, one of the guys asks Sarge if he knows Karate? Well now...My recruiter had told me that all the Air Force T.I.'s were ex Marine D.I.'s (Drill Instructors)...which I thought was not only cool, but a good thing...you know...tough? So...I don't know what had prompted the question...but the answer that came back had us laughing for days...when you add in the rumor that he'd been an AF cook prior to becoming an instructor. His answer was...in a low a voice as he could muster...and with a pout, was..."Black...Belt"! Anytime thereafter when someone wanted to get a laugh...they'd just say the words...and it became synonymous with Bravo Sierra.
I remember the gaudy stationary. It looked like it was left over from WWII. I remember waxing the Linoleum floor, with all the cracked and missing tiles, like our stupid lives depended on it. What a waste of time. I remember standing inspections and having the T.I.'s still find tags inside our uniforms...after we'd removed everyone of them. Then to still find more tags during the next inspection...and this after the T.I.'s had supposedly found them all during the last one. Yeah sure! I guess a good clue was the fact that you were to turn in all the tags you'd found. Duh! I remember one blanket party. I remember being one of only three in our flight to score "outstanding" on the First Aid test...and one of the other two had taken it before. I remember the first time we pulled K.P. (Kitchen Police). I always thought that K.P. was a form of punishment...I mean it is punishing alright...but along the lines of having done something wrong and getting put on K.P. Well now...we get there before breakfast and get set up...and then feed the troops. Clean the place...done deal. Hey! That was not that bad...hell we'll be out of here by 10 AM. I thought! What? We have to do lunch and dinner too? My recruiter never said anything about this...at all! (See Stories VII for a real KP story while at Cut Bank AFS!). I remember the day that we ran the obstacle course. The big worry most of us had was falling into the various water hazards, of which there were many. I had been doing quite well, when I came to the "slack rope". This was a pair of ropes hung slack across a pond. I got about halfway when someone giggled the ropes and the upper one caught the brim of my cap...and it fell into the water. I went on without it. On the other side I informed the T.I. and guess what? He suggested that I go back and get it! Damn! Ok fine! I ran around to the other side, and decided to get onto the ropes again since my cap was floating right under the lower rope...and I sure as hell didn't intend to simply wade/swim in to get it. This was going to be a bit tricky since it would mean stooping down while everyone else was trying keep the ropes apart as far as possible...like over their heads. Anyway...done deal...and as I get off the ropes on the other side...the same T.I. gave me a chuckling "well done big guy" having waited with great anticipation to see me fall into the water. OH! The next day we did the whole course again!
The day came and we were graduating from basic. We'd gotten our orders and were comparing them to see who got what. I got Keesler AFB, near the town of Biloxi Mississippi. This was considered a good place...in as much as Biloxi was a resort town, right on the Gulf of Mexico. On top of that, I'd gotten the "school" I wanted. A good percentage of us were going to Keesler and as it would turn out...we'd be traveling by bus. From the middle of Texas, through Louisiana and a bit of Mississippi...about 580 miles. At the appointed hour we piled onto the buses. Based on "date of rank" an individual was placed in charge of each bus...on which he was to maintain order and was the keeper of our records. Ok fine! We'd all done the math, and realized that it was going to be long ride with our arrival well after midnight. There was nothing for it but to catch some sleep...right? RIGHT? Wrong! It is amazing that you'd found yourself in a situation that even after 40 years you don't have a plausible explanation for. Here was the deal. We were told by the guy, a runt, in charge, and in a weird way backed up by the bus driver(!), a SOB, that we were not allowed to sleep. It filtered back that the driver would pump the brakes to warn of a surprise stop...by Air Police. Where this Bravo Sierra came from I have no idea...it could have been the driver...I just don't know...but our "boy" bought into it. Periodically the driver would pump the breaks with the expected result. There were a number of obvious question...but we were all just too brainwashed to do anything about them. It was a miserable trip. Blame was placed. Revenge would have to wait...but not long...None of us forgot that trip... Life was made absolutely miserable for our little leader. The guy ultimately "flunked" out of "radio" school...and the last we heard, he was sent off to receive training as an...wait for it...Air Police! Gads! He'd paid dearly.
We arrived at Keesler AFB around 3 AM. We were met by a contingent, but were most impressed with an A3C wearing a green thingy on his left shoulder. I think his name was Little. It was really "cool" to see "one of us" in charge as opposed to T.I.'s.
We marched five or six blocks and stopped in front of a long and narrow building. Up to this day, and throughout basic, we were instructed not to carry a wallet. Not having been instructed otherwise, I didn't. So there we were being told that we'd need our AF ID cards! I must have been the only one not to have gotten the message. Great! I told the Rope...and he said to go back and get it. OK. Getting back to the squadron area was a piece of cake since tower number two was easily visible from not only where I stood, but clear out in the Gulf of Mexico and perhaps from space I would have thought. Once I had my wallet, hence the card...it occurred to me that I didn't know where I'd been. The only thing I noticed about the building was its length and that it had these big red crosses, or were they white(?) painted at intervals. This might have been enough under normal circumstances...but this was the Air Force...and it was the Cold War. Hells bells...it seem like every other building had these crosses painted on them! Anyway...to make a stupid story short...I didn't get breakfast that first day...the long building had been the chow hall...and the crosses indicated the location of emergency medical supplies (nuclear war)...hence all over the place!
After breakfast, and after we'd been to various other places, we ended up back in the squadron area. It was then that I noticed a bunch of very dejected troops dragging rakes in between the barracks. I remember thinking about them. Were they being punished? They looked like they were. Back and forth they moved, without purpose. There was a Rope in charge of them...just watching. I remember wondering what they'd done to deserve this...and reminding myself that I sure as hell will not end up doing anything that would lead to this form of mindless punishment. We didn't know it at the time, but it would be over a month before we'd start school. After a few days of indoctrination we found ourselves being handed rakes of various description. Soon WE were dragging the rakes between the same barracks! This got real old...real soon! I remember thinking that if I was were in charge...things would be done differently. Anyway...we did this rake dragging at least three or more times a week. Oh...the purpose was to rake up the pine needles that were being shed by all the trees. I became a zombi just like the ones I saw that first day! Little did I know it at the time that the day would come. Months pass.
About a month or two before I "made" Rope...I had taken it upon myself to bring a bit of precision to the barracks regarding time. I bought a Heathkit regenerative shortwave receiver. With it tuned to radio station WWV on 5, 10 or 15Mhz, I would be able to ensure that "lights out" would be right on time. I later sold the radio to one of the guys...and I'd like to think that he used to for the same purpose.
I was in charge of all (B) shift details. I assigned the troops to the various details that our squadron was responsible for...hence also the rake dragging! I realized that it was partly just fatigue duty...but also a task that needed to be done. So...I came up with a new way to do it. The point being that if we did it right, we wouldn't have to do it as often...and we'd be done sooner. To wit...one day... I demonstrated my new technique. The first guy was to rake a four or five foot swath, and move ahead a step, take another swath and so on, always just moving straight ahead. The next guy, staggered to the left was to rake that which the first guy had done, plus another four or five feet...and so on. With 10 to 15 troops, it was possible to completely clear the area between two barracks in about 10 minutes or so. To do the entire squadron took about two and a half hours...but we'd get away with doing it only half the days. There was a great feeling of accomplishment as the pile of needles grew to a massive size, and deposited into the Dempster Dumpster. One other thing I did was to assign the cushy jobs (details) to the "old guard", the troops that were going to be in school the longest. The ATC (Air Traffic Control) course, for one, was short compared to Ground Radio Maintenance which was 40 weeks. Up to this point the assignments were done randomly. It made for a great improvement in morale. Oh! There we were one day and it was to be a rake dragging day, hence the troops were milling around the tool shed. One group was right in front of the shed, about to take up their rakes, while another group stood well away, I guess hoping that the supply of tools would run out by the time they got their turn. Well now...seeing the "game", I instructed the first group to put down their tools and to form up facing away from the shed. I called them to attention followed by "forward march". I called after them to not look back...just keep marching...and added that if anyone challenged them...to come and see me. That day, the remaining group had to work a bit harder. Oh! There is an old adage in the military about not ever volunteering for anything. Keeping this in mind...Well before I made Rope...I was detailed with this other guy to the base laundry. It was from there that you'd normally pick up fresh bedding...once a week...or was it two? Anyway...we arrive...and almost immediately this cheerful A1C asks for a volunteer! Gads! My brain went into overdrive. Yes...no...yes...no...YES! My partner had kept his mouth shut...thinking...No...no...no...no...and had a most incredulous look on his face when he heard me volunteer! With a grin...the A1C looked at me...and told me to leave...as in...I was free to go. I did as I was told...no questions asked...and headed back to my squadron...leaving my partner behind. Some time later we were on KP...again. There were some duties that were supposed to better than others..."pots and pans" was considered...good...while "garbage cans" was not. I put in for "garbage cans"...and suprisingly...my "partner" from the laundry detail volunteered to join me. I guess he thought I knew something he didn't. Anyway it turned out to be a pretty good gig...relatively speaking.
I remember that we (the 85th) were called "Grangers Rangers"...after the previous First Sergeant.
I remember that the "85th" was the first squadron in the long formation of squadrons marching to school each day. I remember having to take a change of uniforms with us (every day) since it was possible to have started to school in a clear blue sky...and end up soaking wet by the time we reached school as a result of a sudden heavy down pour. I remember having a snowball fight. It was bizarre...it had snowed that year. I remember running into Ron Leason, a classmate from Franklin High School (Seattle, WA). He was in another squadron. He told me that there was another classmate (Alan Eddy(?)) at Keesler also. We'd talked about enlisting in the Air Force during our last days in school. Small world.
I remember the fantastically dark skies at night...all the stars...amazing! I remember the night...we were working shift. We'd gotten the word that the rivers were flooding...and that the bridge crossing the Milk River had been washed out. Gads! From the base, we drove up to the bridge and waited for the crew to come off the bluff. We'd turned off the headlights so that I could enjoy the view of the night sky. Damn...it was so dark that you couldn't see your hands in front of your face...to use a cliche. For some reason I decided to move around a bit...toward the bridge...that was no longer there...when I STOPPED dead in my tracks. About then my partner turned on the headlights, seeing lights coming towards us in the distance. Damn! Inches from my face was the end of a 8X8 piece of lumber to be use in the repair of the bridge. Another step and I'd have knocked myself out...or worse, fallen into the river. Oh... In progress...
Coincidences... K's.... I was born in a city with the letter "K"...Szekesfehervar. The first town that we moved to in Germany had the letter "K"...Pocking. The first city we move to in the USA has the letter "K"...New York. We moved to Seattle, WA. in King County. The name of my high school in Seattle, was Franklin HS. In the Air Force, I took basic training at Lackland AFB. Then to Keesler AFB for tech school. Then to Cut Bank AFS. Then to Kadena AB...Okinawa. (Two points) Then to Korat AB via Bangkok. (Three points) Then back to Kadena AB...Okinawa. (Two more) I returned state side via Tokyo. I now live in the borough of Kingston upon Thames in the UK You get the pikture (sic)...Anyway..."K" is the 11th letter of the alphabet. 11 times 4 equals 44, the last two digits of the year of my birth. I hear you say "fine" but what about the "4"? Wait for it. Now..in the Greek alphabet..."K"...is the 10th letter and is known as KAPPA. The 11th letter in the Greek alphabet is...LAMBDA. So...if you add the number of letters in KAPPA to those in LAMBDA...Guess what? You get...11...again...that's right. NOW...add up the letters of the first 4 (here is the 4) names of letters of the Greek alphabet, ALPHA through DELTA, and what do you get? 19! There you have it, 19 and 44...get it? 1944! If any of you think that I'm onto something...you are badly mistaken and need professional help. OH! However...If you add up the values of the letters in "TUBA"..."A=1", "B=2" etc...guess what you get?
"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.'' - Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862).
Continued: Stories VII
Copyright © Steve Tuba 2003-2010. Photography Copyright © Steve Tuba 1999-2010. |
War
stories
Dateline: Seattle ~1970
I
loved the food and the service. Nothing was
better than breakfast, coming off a night shift. I'd order bacon,
eggs, hashbrowns etc...eat it...and then order another one. I was a
regular, hence sitting at the same table we'd have the same waitress.
I set it up that I always had the same thing unless I told the
waitress differently the day before...so I would sit down and in a
matter of minutes my order would "just" appear. One day,
for breakfast I switched to waffles with strawberries...a huge plate
it was too. This went on for weeks. A bit crazy, but I loved it. 
We
got onto AF buses and headed for our squadron area and the barracks,
where we were put to bed. The next morning we were formed up and
marched off. I sure as hell didn't know where we were being taken,
but I had made a note of the fact that standing in the middle of the
squadron area was a huge red and white water tower...tower number
two. I noticed the trees and the sand also.
Red
Rope Tuba is about to change things.
I
remember that our squadron (3385th) placed first in base-wide competition.