This is a pure dribble and trivia warning for
those classmates' and others not given to wasting their valuable time on such
matters Exit
now! Should you however, claim to be a true dribble and trivia
hater, yet who on selective occasion's resort to dribble/trivia voyeurism, know
that Ollie the Web master has the means to identify and expose you!
I must say here classmates that I have no intent to
insult your intelligence with regard to military jargon, acronyms, slang etc.
with this ( ) bit. I do it at the insistence of the Webmaster who has rejected
my effort a couple of times for sloppy work and not doing the -- put explanation
in quotes bit -- Ollie wanted to make the bio clear as possible for non military
readers, or even military readers in the next millennium who may be so
politically correct they won’t even know what SLJ NCO/OFFICER or FIGMO means.
For my other noble classmates, this updated bio is in response to Ollie's
call for a "show and tell" format that employs both words and
graphics which we wish to share about our personal life experiences in
our travels through our military careers and beyond. While I indeed hope it is not an early sign of senility, I find with
each passing year my memories of family, friends and events become ever more
important to me. Going through the family photo albums, and my "I love
me" type wall hangings, in that "I love me" hideaway, (which I am
sure none of you have) brought so many warm memories flooding back along with
laughter, lumps in my throat and a tear in my eye. A wise man once told me in my
early days in the service: "Gordy,
if you can’t cry you cannot laugh. And if you don’t get a lump in your
throat when they play the Service Hymns and the National Anthem, you’re in the
wrong business and the wrong country"!
I have probably included far too many
pictures and graphics which hopefully will not be viewed as "en grand
seigneur" (look it up if you can’t guess) but rather memorabilia that is
near and dear to my heart. I hasten to add
I WILL BROOK NO EDITORIAL COMMENT, EDITING, SNIPING FROM ANYONE UP THERE IN
THE STANDS WHO HAVE NOT AND/OR IS NOT IN THE PROCESS OF PREPARING THEIR OWN BIO
PER THE REQUEST AND PLEADING OUR DEDICATED WEB MASTER. Speaking of Ollie who
views his 58B Web Master Job as a labor of love. I am honored to have him as a
classmate and friend. Those of you who know what truly serious medical problems
he has lived with day in, day out for these past years, I know share my
amazement of his stamina and great attitude toward life and his fellows. Ollie
has the patience of Jobe, a Heart of Gold and the tenacity of a Jack Russell
Terrier!
Before I take off on my effort, I commend the Bios
of Jim
Haynes, Ben
Halsted and Jim Hope,
which clearly
shows the OCS Selection Board and our Country got winners who indeed earned
their
pay! These Bio's are really worth a read.
During my career I had my share of tight
squeaks and unpleasant situations ranging from gruesome aircraft accidents in
which I was personally involved where dear friends were lost, out where the
rubber really met the road. I will not dwell on the tragic events of Vietnam for
to recall the criminal waste of resources and most important, the flower of
American Youth tightens my jaws to the point of breaking. Like the man said "The
Troops in the Field won the Battles, but Capital City wouldn’t let them win
the War!" So I have chosen to write my effort in a somewhat flippant
vein, except where I wander off and/or get carried off a bit. If you know
Highland Scots, you know they are given to speaking their mind, and my family
are indeed Highland Scots, so I guess it’s in the genes. If you don’t care
for the flip approach and straight talk, this is where you should hit the delete
button on this epistle and go read something really interesting.
AWAY WE GO:
Born Toronto Canada, 14 April 1931,
an "Aries" no less! Raised by my Grandparents who immigrated to Canada
from Scotland. I suspect in these PC (Politically Correct) times I can identity
myself as a "Shorter Than Average - Caucasian - Scottish - Canadian - American
- Texan!" My Grandparents raised a family of One boy and Nine Girls
plus Gordo (who in the 1930’s looked like an urchin
straight out of "Angela’s Ashes") in the dark days of the
depression -- A tough time indeed to feed and cloth thirteen people, plus the
Cat and Dog! I was fourteen when WAR TWO ended. I was a member of the
Royal Canadian Air Cadet Squadron in Toronto. I was not only turned on to the
Military, but wanted to see all those places in the Newsreels. When I was old
enough, seventeen, I saw the best place to start seeing the world was the "Land
Of Milk and Honey" THE
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. A country of opportunity like no other in the world—A
country who after defeating it’s enemies is the first to give them a helping
hand. It is like the famous Canadian
Newsman Gordon Sinclair says--
In April 1948, I made my way to
Niagara Falls, New York and the Armed Forces Recruiting Offices in the Post
Office. The ‘See The World’ Navy Recruiter was gone that day. The Army
and Recruiters shared the same office space, but the Army Recruiter was
out for coffee, so my choices were limited. The Master Sergeant Recruiter
asked me if I could read? I proudly announced that I had a Junior Matriculation!
He was duly impressed or acted like he was. He even told me I could be a Pilot after
Basic Training--- that was beyond my wildest expectations. After the paper
work and a night in a Hotel in Buffalo, it was off on a Troop Train, yes Troop
Train, to Lackland for 13 weeks Basic Training, via Cleveland, St. Louis, and
Kansas City (Boy those were truly great "Poker and Crap games") on the
train ride.
We arrive at Lackland Base, Squadron
BN2, and Flight #2940, on the South (Kelly) side of the Base, given 10 minutes
to mail our clothing home but could not leave the Squadron area — so our goods
wound up in Training Instructors "Good Will" bin. Now the Fun & Games begin!
Man were those Tarpaper Shacks hot in May-July for a boy from way up North! We
had outdoor "Johns" which we shared with the odd snake and scorpion
which were plentiful in those days. Since I was 113 pounds soaking wet at the
time, weight control was not a concern thank God as it would be some ten years
hence. Smarting off was unwise -- rather that pulling a white one and trip to
the ramp, it was a crack across the mouth or a kick in the butt and a trip to
the Grease Trap on Kitchen Police (KP). While the Air Force was setting the pace in
gearing up for execution of President Truman’s executive order to integrate
the Military, Basic Training was still segregated. The Air Force's plan was to
integrate small units first and wisely so. At this time in our history it would
have been a sporty course to start integration at the Basic Training Center. But
do you classmates who were at Lackland at this time remember how sharp the Black
Troops were at marching and cadence counts! They made the White Flights look
like we had clubfeet. Being from Canada, I didn’t know what all the racial
fuss was about, I soon learned. On my first trip to town I head for the movies
and the Balcony, which were considered the best seats where I came from, because
for one thing, you could smoke up there. I no sooner sat down and an usher grabs
my collar and I get a quick lesson of dos and don’ts in Texas.. Got my first
attaboy in the at Lackland when I qualified as Sharpshooter with the .45
automatic pistol and carbine. Did not do well with the Crowd Killer Grease Gun
(.45 Caliber Machine Gun). As I recall, just to keep it pointed down range got
you a passing grade. Big thrill day when Flight 2940, had their first ride in a
Military Aircraft. A huge Transport C-47, were we thrilled. They called this a
motivation ride -- it did, and I was! Damn I loved the Air
Force! I remember one of my Flight mates saying when he goes home on leave
and his friends see all his cloths, low quarter and brogan shoes etc., the whole
town will try to enlist!
Will you ever forget your first shoe shine
at "Tony’s Mirror Palace" downtown? He was still doing a land office
business during our OCS days. Albeit, I had to send my shoes to Tony via courier. Basic
is over and Flight # 2940
chipped in Ten Bucks a piece for our TI (Training Instructor) Staff Sergeant
Boyd’s good-bye present, which was not mandatory, but clearly encouraged! We
had those same type of collections when the good Sarge went off on week-ends to
visit his sick sister, or was it his Mother? No matter-- When out processing,
and since the Recruiting Sergeant promised, I ask," Where's The Plane?"
As I recall the answer from the Sgt. went something like "Listen up Shit
Bird. First you ain’t no American, and if you ain’t American you can’t be
no Officer. Second, even if you were American, you be too damn little (I would
have made our Bob Fields look obese) to be a Pilot. And last, you got orders for
Lowry Field (in Denver Colorado) and Gunnery School or maybe permanent KP duty!
So get your ass going boy." Would you believe it was Troop Train time again
with the Train coming right on the Base. With the Lackland Band playing "Off We Go into
The Wild Blue Yonder", we were out of there and off to save the world! The
"Games of Chance" were even better than the train ride to the Alamo City.
Would you believe that in those days pro gamblers would join the Service for the
sole purpose of making their fortune!
When we got to Kansas City, they turned us
loose to start our leave. I head for Toronto Canada where I was big stuff with
that chevron on my arm. When my old pals asked what PFC meant I replied
"Praying for Corporal!" Leave is over and off to see the World via the
Greyhound for Denver Colorado and Lowry Field where the "No Help"
wanted sign was out, at least for little guys. Next came Fort Francis E. Warren,
Cheyenne WY, where I narrowly avoided becoming a "T-tless WAC" as
Clerk typists were referred to in those days. Managed to get on a draft to
Hamilton Field, at San Rafael California, garden spot of the Air Force in
those days. On pass in San Francisco I have my first encounter with a guy who's
a little light in the loafers. When I ask "Do you have a sister?" he
heads for happier hunting grounds. Finally it is a Bus ride to the Presidio /
Fort Mason, San Francisco where I get to go on my first Ocean Voyage on the
United States Naval Transport Ship (USNTS) Brewster. The ship pulls away
from the pier to the strains of all the Service hymns by the 6th Army Band. We
wind up dropping anchor and sitting in San Francisco Bay for two days! I drew KP
in the Officer’s Galley/Mess where at the end of my shift I
"liberate" (That's Steal), goodies that were prepared strictly for the
Officers after movie snack time, for my enlisted swine shipmates in the bunking
space. Here we slept 6 high and prayed the guys above you made it to the head
(Men’s Restroom) before he upchucked. The trip took 28 days with enroute
stops where needless to say we didn’t get ashore, like Hawaii! We washed our
clothing while underway by tying it to a rope and throwing it over the side —
Gordo makes big mistake and does a super wash the first go around (10 minutes) I
pull up what appeared to be a sleeve! Last stop the Island of Guam, home
of the 19th Bomb Wing (Heavy),
20th Air Force and the B-29’s which was the biggest thing I ever saw
lift off the ground! I lived in the famous Quonset Hut,
with again, the outdoors John, but this time no running hot water and no
scorpions. Instead we had running cold and cold running water, huge rats,
lizards, toads, mosquitoes etc sharing your space. We literally made a path with
that hard GI Christmas candy and had at the rats with an M-30 carbine.
My job was in Maintenance/ Material Control where I do a respectable job.
With just a tad mind you, of admiration for the leadership of the NCOIC, and a
little baby-sitting time for my OIC/Squadron Commander. I get the additional
duty as "Scanner" on the long - range practice bombing missions to
Japan, Philippines etc. Will never forget the mission to Haneda (sp?) Air Base,
Tokyo! We load up auxiliary fuel tank in one bomb bay and cargo rack in the
other bomb bay loaded with Dixie Peach Pomade, (called foo foo grease and known
in later conflicts as Hair Dressing/Spray) and smokes which were the coin of the
realm in Japan those days. The foo foo grease went for about 5 cents a jar, and
about 40 cents for a carton of cigarettes on Guam-- but in Japan, these goodies
were worth their weight in gold!
On these long missions they used scanners
to relieve the gunners and to give engine reports to the flight deck who could
not get a good visual on the engines from there viewpoint. After hours of
simulated bombing runs around Japan we land go to our billets in downtown Tokyo.
We shower, shave and shine and get ready to hit the town with our trading
material -- problem, the enlisted crew members
who are all First Three Graders want to start the evening at the GHQ (General
Headquarters) Rocker Club -- problem, Gordo and another scanner are Corporals.
Solution! We get spot (instant) promotion to Technical Sergeant with borrowed
shirts provided by the Flight Engineer. Later that night I am in the
darkest corner of the Rocker Club’s Bar where a stiff face Army Staff Sergeant
is eyeballing my stripes and playing 20 questions with me (I am 18 at the time
and a razor blade lasts me a month!) All I can think of is that Fort Stockade
will be my next assignment. We get through the evening except I get a real once
over from the MP at the entrance of our billets (New Kaijou building spell?)
which is very close to General MacArthur’s Headquarters. Next night the two
kid Corporals go on the town with their own shirts.
After four days and nights of fun and games
we pack up and go to preflight the plane. Bad News -- It is now when I get my
first SLJ (Shitty Little Job). While on the hardstand at home base on Guam one
of those big, nasty rats the size of a small, make that medium sized cat must
have gotten on board through the nose gear wheel - well when the rat guard was
off. For whatever reason, maybe the Sir Rodent got some flight lunch leftovers;
the big R is "mort" (that's dead). Problem is we don’t know about
the unmanifested crewmember till five days later when we board the aircraft and
get knocked over by the aroma! Guess who gets the job to wiggle into those
tight spaces to find the Big R’s remains? You got it, the 113-pound Corporal /
Scanner. Quick thinker that I am, I ask the Crew Chief if I can contract
the job out? He approves and I quick find me a Japanese Flight Line Worker who I
get to understand the task at hand through and interpreter. My Japanese
"Contractor" becomes an instant man of means with my remaining foo foo
grease, cigarettes and hack watch. The good news -- I come to find out is that
it’s policy when a Rat, dead or alive is found on an aircraft, it stays on the
ground until wiring bundles and channels are inspected. Our Flight Engineer is a
top notch, thorough Master Sergeant whose word was law to the Aircraft
Commander. Since I had selective memory loss as to where I found my
"Removal Contractor" or what he looked like, we couldn’t pinpoint
where the remains were found, so the inspection could be narrowed. We were
forced to do the complete inspection, which was good for four more days in
Tokyo. I was complimented by the Flight Engineer for being a quick study! Same
type trips to Clark Field in the Philippines were not as popular. The Filipino
Insurgents, Communists and Huks (their name depended on your political
views/sympathies) were upset with their political leaders and our Government for
not coming through on land reform promises made to the Guerilla Fighters during
WAR TWO! These folks had a habit of zeroing in with crew
served and hand held small arms on aircraft in the Clark approach/departure
pattern.