I was awake at six AM

I was awake at six AM. I showered, shaved, and dressed. I'm sure I would have had breakfast. After I checked out of the motel, I headed for Lackland AFB, on the southwest side of San Antonio. There was a four lane divided highway that pretty much circled the city. It was Loop 410. I took it and was soon at Lackland. I soon found the OCS area and pulled into a diagonal parking space. I saw more of those sharp looking guys with white shoulderboards. They were wearing what were called "Silvertan" long sleeve and trouser combinations. They wore ties, which were tucked in the shirt between the third and fourth button. They wore garrison hats with officer insignia, and white gloves. These dudes were truly cool! I approached one of these men. Though I knew he didn't rate a salute, I saluted anyway. I told him that I was reporting in for Class 58-B. He gave me the once-over and said, "Follow me."

I walked on his left, slightly behind, a position of deference in the military. We walked a short distance to a building, which appeared to be similar to others in the area. It was two story, with two entrances. We went in to a small stairwell foyer, right through a door into a hallway, and right again into a large room. There were tables that had been set up. People were milling about, it appeared somewhat disorganized. I was quickly processed in. I would have to have an escort to find my assigned barracks. I was assigned to Fifth Squadron, home of Echo and Kilo Flights. No one from Fifth Squadron was there yet, so someone was called. It was just eight o'clock, Sunday morning. I was a bit early, it turned out.

I was escorted to the Fifth Squadron barracks. I was shown my assigned room and told to make my bed. My few belongings that I brought, were in my car. I was told that I would be escorted to park my car and retrieve my belongings. This was really different. I had not had such handling before. It was sort of a cross between being a prisoner and a V.I.P., but the distinction wasn't clear. After moving my car to a parking lot, where it would be parked for the next six months, I carried my stuff back to my barracks room. All the while, accompanied by a "Gentleman of the First Class" (GFC) as they were called. I made my bed, as instructed, and was just getting unpacked, when I was rather rudely interrupted by another "Gentleman". He entered the open doorway by banging on the metal screen, which was in the lower portion of the door. This made a nice, resounding, "Bang". He then directed me to come to "Attention" when a GFC entered a room. . Where did one come to attention? Why, six inches from the side of and at the foot of your bed, thats where. I only needed to be told once. This GFC wanted to know what I was doing. I explained that I had been instructed to make my bed and unpack. Anyone could see that I had done the former and was doing the latter. Why hadn't I made my roommates bed? What was I, a "Buddy Flusher?" I assumed that was someone who saw to his own needs and left his classmates swinging in the wind. A good assumption! I was directed to make my classmates beds. There would be plenty of time to take care of my inconsequential things.

I started making the other bed in my room, finished, and went next door to make more beds. One of the GFC came by to inquire if I were Catholic. By that time in my life, I no longer considered myself Catholic. I was Protestant. The Protestant church service was at ten o'clock, I was told. I kept very busy making beds. In time, some other new arrivals came in. I could hear them being given tender, loving indoctrination by the GFC. In time, I was instructed to get ready for the church service. I was told to put on a uniform that had no enlisted insignia (stripes). The only thing I had, was a set of fatigues without stripes. That would do. For some reason, I had not brought a fatigue cap with me. It may have been in the car. I was told to wear my garrison hat - with officer insignia. There had been a new garrison hat insignia in the drawer of the steel tables in the center of the room, next to the windows. I removed my old airman's insignia and put the new, larger medallion in its place.

My escort was obviously also Protestant. I don't know if anyone else from our barracks went to this service or not. There were a few obviously new Gentleman of the Second Class (GSC) who were in attendance. We took a seat and soon the service began. It was a typical, non-denominational service. The minister, Chaplain Boardman, dressed in typical ministerial robes, conducted the service. For me, it was the high point of the day, so far. I remember the sermon being somewhat poignant. I recall perhaps cracking a smile or two. I did not realize that I was being scrutinized. Up to this time, all I had seen were GFC with two or three stripes on their shoulder boards. When we left the service, we stood in front of the building I would come to know as Fremoyer Hall. My escort spoke to other GFC. Then some dude came up. I couldn't count all the stripes he had on his boards. He wanted to know what I found amusing about the service. He was the Officer Candidate Wing Commander, an O/C Colonel. Whatever I said as a reply was apparently acceptable, as he left as abruptly as he had arrived. My escort and I returned to the Fifth Squadron. I made more beds. Soon, it was time for lunch. The few of us who had arrived were instructed to fall out onto the sidewalk in front of the barracks. We assembled on the left sidewalk, which led to the entry on the left side of the barracks. My estimation is that this would be the northwest entrance. We stood at attention, in our non-descript uniforms. The entire First Class was all over us. There were at least two of them for each one of us. We had all sorts of questions asked of us and comments made.

We marched out to the road that bordered the northeast of the OCS area. The First Class took up positions that would be the front of our two-flight squadron. We marched, eight abreast to the dining hall. At the dining hall, we GSC were to file in single file. We were at "attention" while moving. When we stopped, we assumed the position of Parade Rest, feet about eighteen inches apart, arms behind your back, with hands one over the other on your upper buttocks. This was the "relaxed position" of being at "attention" forward as many paces as required, and then, returned to parade rest

If spoken to, you were required to come to attention and if appropriate, respond to your communicant. All communication ended with "Sir", unless you were unfortunate enough to have been addressed by one of the females. There were six squadrons of male Officer Candidates and one squadron of Females. There were only four or five women who had survived to become First Class. Some of them were pretty tough cookies. O/C women were called "Ma'am", not "Sir". Some of these "ladies" had voices, which were hard to determine which gender had spoken to you. This, especially if they were behind you and there was a lot of noise to distract you. If you made a mistake and called one of these ladies by the wrong title, you were ready for a real once over. The first meal at OCS was not a fun experience, but it would get worse. When the meal was over, we returned as we had arrived By now, it was at or about one o'clock and all the new GSC had arrived. We were ordered into the large room, which divided each wing of the barracks. It was called the "Day Room". Don't ask. During the course of the afternoon, we had ample opportunity for training. We were sent back to our rooms, only to be directed to reassemble in the day room. There was instruction in our rooms, in the hallways, wherever and whenever it was deemed appropriate.

We were given handouts that contained essential information, including our memory work. A quick look showed that I had a lot of it already memorized. We learned about "Student Delinquency Reports", a three by five inch form which one was supposed to have, filled out in sets of three, on your person at all times. These forms were called affectionately, "white ones". There were a dizzying amount of details. These would be repeated, I found, but the first day at OCS was getting wearisome. It was getting about mealtime. "Fall Out", was the order. This time, we were all on the sidewalk. There were quite a few more of use than there were of them. With more to accept the verbal onslaught, we each had less attention than at the noon formation. Finally, we were marched out to the road, which bordered the northeast of the OCS area. We formed up as if we were going to hold a parade. I noticed that there was a marching band at the head of the mass of humanity. The GFC were resplendent in their well-tailored finery. Their white gloves and shoulderboards gave them a distinguished military cadet look. These guys could have been from the Air Force Academy, West Point, or Annapolis. It made me rather proud to think that I was going to be one of these professionals. Right now, though, I felt like Gomer Pyle after pulling a KP tour.

After a sufficient time for "instruction" - you may spell that "harassment"; we were ready to begin the parade routine. It was nearly dark, but there was enough light to see what was going on nearby. Right in front of the Fifth Squadron position, the Second Group Staff was assembled. There were four GFC in formation. The parade ceremony is a time-honored tradition, and this was my first encounter, up close and personal. A parade was held every morning and evening before the approaching meal, except Sunday morning. Parades were held at least once a week during the afternoon. Add it up, and you find a lot of them in six months. After the ceremony, the band started playing and we marched to the mess hall.

It was always the same routine for getting into the mess hall and to the cafeteria-like serving line. Once in the serving line, the GFC laid off you - until you arrived at your table, that is. At each table, several GFC sat so that the Second Class would be properly supervised. We had to sit at attention, four inches from the back of our chairs. We had to keep our heads up, and eyeballs "caged" or looking straight forward. Try eating that way some times. We were instructed to take small bites, as when we were spoken to, we could take three chews, and swallow to be able to reply. One did not talk with food in one's mouth. Beverages were swallowed one swallow at a time. There was a member of the Second Class designated as the Table Gunner who would ensure that pitchers of the beverages of the meal were in place, at the table. This duty was rotated through the Second Class members.

There are a number of details that will surface. They probably started immediately, but may not be noted at the onset. It would get pretty involved, not to mention dull, if all these things came to light right now. The day was not done at five or six PM. We were at it until ten each night. By the time this first day ended, I was sure that this was going to be no picnic.

The first day had just ended, or so it seemed, when the sound of Reveille sounded by a bugle. It was 5 AM. A voice was sounding from the Second Class day room. "Gentlemen, the time is now 5 AM. The uniform of the day is fatigues. There are 75 days until Black Friday. There are 82 days until the True, Absolute, and Ultimate Salvation of the Air Force". This was the "Minute Caller". A duty performed by two GSC in both day rooms, up and down stairs, on a rotating basis. The Minute Caller was allowed to get up early so he could get shaved, dressed, bed made, and generally ready to fall out for the morning formation. They would go to each latrine and place a big pile of shaving cream on one side of each sink, and a small mound of clothes detergent on the other side. The shaving cream should need no explanation.

Minute callers were assigned alphabetically in normal order. Conversely, in reverse alpha sequence, one GSC was assigned to assist in the cleanup of the "Wheel House", or the barracks, which housed the two Groups and the Wing Staffs. The lucky GSC, who went on cleanup detail after breakfast, took with him a pail filled with cleaning supplies to the formation. Each of the six squadrons sent a man. The Seventh Squadron, or the WAF, did not participate in this. I never asked why. It may be that, having so few members; they would be overly burdened by this responsibility. Well, being at the end of the alphabet, I had the first Wheel House duty for the Squadron. This only happened on Monday through Friday. I only recall performing this task twice as a GSC. I remember marching in the early morning parade with the squadron. At the dining hall, while waiting to get in and through the serving line, the GFC would call your name, as "Mister Wilson!" As I've said, when spoken to, one was required to come to attention and reply "Yes, Sir"! or "Ma'am" as appropriate. These stinkers would call out, "Sergeant Wilson!", anticipating a response. If you came to attention to such a call, the GFC would be all over you. "Are you a sergeant, Mister?" This led to a dialog back and forth, which they dearly enjoyed. They would try such tactics on me, but I never responded to Sergeant. I had not had the rank - as most of my peers had before coming to OCS. Eventually, some bright GFC discovered that I might have been an Airman, as the first four ranks are called. Calling me "Airman Wilson!"got an occasional reaction, but I usually covered it by taking one step forward and then returning to "Parade Rest" as if I were going to do it anyway.

This first full day of OCS, and my day at the Wheel House was unlike any other. Someone marched the six of us cleanup guys to the Wing/Group barracks. We did not return to the squadron barracks with the rest. At the Wheel House we were to clean up the latrines (bathrooms) and the halls and dayroom. We were not to clean any rooms of the First Class housed there. After our tasks were completed, we were released to return to our respective squadrons to finish our own room cleanup. We had made our beds upon arising.

Some men went immediately to the latrine to shave, others did their bedmaking first and then went to clean up when the crowd had subsided. Arising at 5 AM, we usually were ordered to "Fall Out"! at 5:30 AM. It took a while for the GFC to hassle us on the sidewalk in front of the barracks. About 5:45, we marched out to the road and formed up as a unit, then marched to our position in the parade. At about 6 AM, the parade started, and we were shortly at the dining hall, as the distance was not too great.

I cannot remember how we handled the uniform situation. The older men all had uniforms with stripes on them. I was, I later found out, the youngest man there, and as a consequence my uniforms had not been worn that much. Any slight showing of the location of where stripes had been meant that garment was unsuitable. The only thing I could ever use was my overcoat - the good old "horseblanket". I recall that we could obtain our uniforms at any outlet, including the Clothing Sales Store. Perhaps it was this, our first full day, that representatives of several purveyors of military clothing came to Fremoyer Hall and had set up displays. A schedule was established for squadrons to review their wares. We had been cautioned not to purchase anything before we arrived officially at OCS. All this did was put us all in the same boat - no "Buddy Flushing" encouraged here. I looked the displays over when we arrived for our Fifth Squadrons turn with the retailers. I selected Lauterstein's clothiers. I'm sure they were not Irish Catholics.

I ordered the three sets of fatigues, the 1505 Bush Jacket, pith helmet, two pair of 1505 short trousers, two pair of 1505 long trousers, two blue wool shirts, and two blue worsted pair of blue trousers. Shade 1505 is a tan color, which became a standard for many years. I ordered a blue dress gabardine and a "Silvertan" dress uniform that would be tailored for me. Additionally, I ordered two "Silvertan" shirt and trouser combinations. These items would be delivered incrementally. The needs were immediate for the fatigues, and were a stock item that would be tailored. We would wear the blue wool shirt/trouser combination due to the fact that it was winter, even in San Antonio. Though I did not need much money immediately, my clothing purchases just about ate up my reenlistment bonus. I was now glad that I had it.

When I changed rooms, I don't recall, but I do remember that on the 31st of December, our third day of OCS, I was rooming with three other guys in the northwest corner room. I recall that just after lights were out, one of the GFC came to our room. He asked us if we would like to smoke - not allowed after lights out. It was, after all, New Year's Eve. It was the end of a very hard third day. Nearly all of the men were married and thus away from their wives and their children. As it turned out, none of the men that I roomed with in the early weeks were there at graduation. By the way, I never smoked.

In a short time, the chaos became more organized. We had some uniforms and started to look like we may have belonged. The Second Class could not hold a candle to the First Class, though. As time went on, we discovered some of their tricks, though. When we marched, the First Class sounded like a professional drill team. You could really hear them as each heel struck the pavement. We sounded like the Donald Duck drill team with Hughy, Dewey, and Lewey. OK, they had been at this for three months and we were just coming together as a unit. Remember how it was at basic training? The day when we all marched together and we sounded like one, not like fifty Girl Scouts having an outing? It turned out to be just a bit more than experience. The GFC had their rubber heels of their footwear replaced when they purchased them and had leather heels installed. Big difference! When these GFC came to "Attention" you knew it as their heels clicked. They didn't "Thunk"; they went "Wham"!

There was a small Base Exchange facility at Fremoyer Hall. It was there that we purchased white towels, washcloths, a small laundry bag, and squadron sweat shirts and pants. We had gray baseball caps that had our squadron logo as well. The sweat suits were for physical training, which was probably held three times each week in the afternoon. The towels were for bathing and for setting up our toiletry drawers. Each room had build-in closets and drawers below. Each person had sufficient hangrail space for his uniforms, which had to be in a precise order. There were four drawers for the remaining items. The two top drawers were fitted out with towels as liners. There was something that we bought which provided the cardboard over which a new, ironed towel was stretched. This was placed in the bottom of the drawer. The toiletry articles were prescribed and uniform. We were to use tooth powder, as a toothpaste tube was unsightly. Colgate made the tooth powder in a white elongated can with red lettering. Denting the back of the can to flatten it slightly would meant that it didn't rock from side to side as the oval can was inclined to do. Replacing the toothbrush often was a good idea. The double blade razor must be clean at all times. A little pile of laundry powder on the sink in the latrine each morning would keep the razor sparkling. Clean the razor with your toothbrush, naturally.

Return to basic training for the underwear rolling, sock rolling and other little techniques. There were required items, and each item was to be in its place, not a bit out of place, either. There was a designated drawer that was not subject to inspection. It was called a "Panic Drawer". You could keep anything in there. We all had them. I soon found that squirreling away candy bars was a good idea. At the meals, one really didn't have time to eat. You would take a bite and there was the inevitable "Mister Wilson"! I mentioned the necessity for displayed items to be in their proper place. Once a week, the barracks was inspected by the Tactical Officer and the O/C Squadron Commander. Demerits were assigned for infractions. There was a whole range of reasons for demerits. If you accumulated too many, you had to spend time on the weekend afternoons, walking the ramp. Actually, on the first of these inspections, the entire Second Class received sufficient demerits to spend time on the ramp. The number of demerits allowed declined during your training. By the time you were First Class, exceeding six demerits brought ramp time. Yes, the First Class did get to walk the ramp.

Actually, the activity started with a thorough inspection by the GFC supervising the ramp. This was held out on the parade grounds where we had Physical Training and parades. The first weekend, all the OCS Second Class was there and quite a few of the First Class. The latter may have been there as a punishment, or as part of their duties as squadron officers. In any event, it took over two hours for the inspection to occur. Every hour, ramp participants were given a five- minute break; otherwise, you were either at attention or parade rest. Standing at parade rest for the better part of an hour can get wearisome. If a GFC came near, perhaps to speak to you or whatever, you were expected to come to "attention". This little change in position could be welcome to help with blood circulation.

I remember having sufficient demerits to walk the ramp for six hours the first weekend. You could only walk off four hours on Saturday or Sunday. Five or more hours meant you were Ramped Over and could not leave the base on Saturday. Nine or more demerits beyond your allowed maximum mean't you had some for the next weekend. After the inspection phase, the actual walking started. You were assigned to a space and would start at attention, walk twelve paces, stop, do an About Face, and retrace your steps. This, over, and over, and over. I had only one additional time on the ramp, the next weekend, but only a couple of hours. After that, I caught on to the importance of playing by the rules. Some folks never seemed to be able to do that.

Within a few days, probably by the beginning of our second week, a fewer number of us would be assembling. What was beginning was the "Self-Initiated Elimination" or SIE process. People who found the training too demeaning, demanding, or otherwise not to their liking, were actually encouraged to opt out of the program. Many men, and I'm sure the women as well, had a different expectation of what OCS would be like. This, of course, was the intent. Make the life of the Second Class a living hell and see how many you could get rid of voluntarily. The efforts of the GFC were not to go unrewarded.

We began academics during our first week. It was no doubt as soon as our second full day there. After our breakfast formation, and our hassled breakfast, we returned to the barracks to complete our room, hall, dayroom, and latrine cleanup. We were to be at Fremoyer Hall for class at seven, sharp. There was not a lot of time for reflection; you were in constant motion, unless some GFC had you in a brace, another word for being at attention. This could be anywhere except the stairwells and the latrines, I soon discovered. Actually, all the rules of conduct were written in the "Training Manual - Officer Candidate Corps", or TMOCC. The second class was not authorized to use abbreviations, acronyms, or contractions. I can't was I cannot and it had better not be used at all. We had five hours of classes each day. Some courses we had every day. There was a communicative skills course, for written and oral communication. You have to remember, these people were largely high school graduates. There were some exceptions, of course, but few actual college graduates. We had a course called "Air Power", there was a history course of sorts, called simply "World". We had a speed-reading course called "Tachistoscopic Training" which taught us to absorb about 85% of the materials we scanned in about 10% of the time we took when we first started. I cant remember how we carried our books, notebooks and other materials to and from class. I do remember that during the breaks between classes, the little exchange got a workout with us buying candy bars. How we got them back to the barracks, I dont know. The academics, over at noon, each squadron would march individually to the dining hall for lunch. By then, the GFC were itching to get at us. They could not train us in Fremoyer Hall. The noon meal always passed, but not without some incident. Each day some poor GSC had to make the number of days announcement. The number of days until Black Friday was the days until the First Class became Graduating Class and The Second Class became First Class. On that day, at a parade ceremony, the roles were reversed. The long-suffering Second Class assumed their new ranks and for the rest of the day, the former First Class assumed Second Class status, for the rest of that day only. The next day, they were considered Graduating Class and as close to commissioned officers as you can get. All were deserving of a salute. Up to now, all Second Class members saluted First Class commissioned ranks, about one third of the class. The True, Absolute, and Ultimate Salvation of the Air Force, referred to graduation day, one week after Black Friday. This countdown went on, day by day, until, at last, Black Friday. It may have stopped then. Occasionally, some enterprising GSC would substitute the days remaining until our special days. He would catch feigned holy hell for that display of initiative. Back in our barracks, the afternoons had some regularity, depending on the weather. We had physical training, decked out in our squadron identified sweat togs and sneakers; we would go to the parade field and go through various calisthenics exercises. There were the inevitable pushups, and sit-ups, jumping jacks, etc. We received a pretty good workout, both classes at the same time.

I don't recall if the ladies joined us for "PT", "OOPs", sorry, I mean't "Physical Training". They did join in our parade practices, which were held several times a week. They were individually assigned to specific squadrons. We had Miss Emily Zajchowski assigned to our Fifth Squadron. There were only five Second Class WAF, as I can remember. I don't think any of the women dropped out. They would have had one hell of a time if all the Second Class WAF left. There would be no First Class to train the next incoming class.

Within the first two weeks, and after we had proper uniforms, there would be the first OCS Club night. For several hours, each Friday night, we would go to the club for relaxation. It may have been so for the GFC, but for the GSC, it was the continuation of training at a different pace. I'm getting ahead of myself. During one of our parade practices, I was asked in a loud voice by some GFC, if I had a date for the first OCS Club night. I of course, had none. It was suggested that O/C Zajchowski might be a candidate. I might inquire. I had to approach her in the ranks and ask if she would favor me by accompanying me to the club. She knew and I knew that this was at our expense, but it did serve a greater purpose. We were not aware of the marital status of any of the WAF. At that time, a WAF could be married, but not pregnant, on active duty. Since there was no opportunity for the single men to seek out the single WAF, the kind gentleman was just helping out. Well, maybe.

Officer Candidate Zajchowski said that she would be delighted to accompany me. Emily was, and I'm sure, still is a fine person. She was a short, fairly attractive, young lady. I recall that the fateful Friday night came and I was escorted to the WAF barracks, or Seventh Squadron as it was known. On the way, my GFC escort asked what I was going to do to serenade or otherwise amuse my date. What in the world? Nobody said anything about a serenade. I objected that I was unprepared. My escort was not a bit flustered by this oversight. I could just "Fake It". When we arrived at the barracks, one enterprising GSC had a guitar with him. He was a young black O/C from one of the other squadrons. His date was one of the two black ladies in the Second Class. Fortunately, the serenades started in squadron order. My mind was racing. What on earth could I do? I decided on a hastily crafted poem. When my turn came, I spouted it forth. On the literary scale, I probably deserved a gentlemans "C". I received polite applause and Emily was relieved that I survived. I think she was more nervous than I.

We then were allowed to stroll to the OC Club. No marching tonight! When we arrived, after probably everyone else was there, we were at the tail end of a line for the receiving line. The OCS Commissioned Officers, including the colonel who ran the outfit were there. We were privileged to meet every one of them. Naturally, I was able to introduce my date, Officer Candidate Emily Zajchowski. Every club night, there was some entertainment. This night, the First Class put it on. Actually, it wasn't bad at all. This was the first time that any of the married men whose wives were in the area, had seen each other. Most of the First Class had brought their wives to San Antonio by now. Once you got this far, the chances of failure were substantially reduced, but it did happen.

The Second Class wives were few, as most men didn't take the risk of moving a family until they had three months under their belt. I had a very good time, under the circumstances. After an appropriate time, they started to drift out of the club. I walked Emily back to her barracks. I did not ask her for another date. As it turned out, one of the other single Officer Candidates took a fancy to her. They eventually married - after graduation. A relationship between sexes was highly discouraged. It could have very serious consequences.

Sometime in late January, I had a feeling that something was going on. There was unusual activity, but nothing you could recognize. After the evening meal, and after the usual hazing, we were assembled in the day room. We were told that some special activities would be conducted in the basement. The dialog sounded sinister. We were to enter a new and more difficult phase of our training. I bought into this completely. I think we all did. We were herded downstairs and into a large room. It was completely dark. The First Class had flashlights, which they used sparingly. We were ordered up against the concrete block walls. The personal abuse became unbearable. We were subjected to all kinds of humiliating things. There was one thing I knew, they could not touch you, and they never did without permission. The training leading up to this night had been getting worse and worse. Suddenly, I had my fill of it. They were asking if you wanted to quit. The air was filled with "No, Sir!" Finally, for whatever reason, I wasn't going to continue with this. I said "Yes, Sir!" I was immediately taken out of the room to the hallway. I was told by someone in the hall to go to my room. I complied. I paused in the dayroom for a relaxed drink from the water fountain. It had hit me that my life was again going to change. Here I was, quitting OCS and I had a six-year enlistment to fulfill. Boy, was I ever in a pickle.

Back at my room, I tried to formulate a plan. Suddenly, one of the GFC came for me. I was to come back and join the party. Everyone in the now illuminated room was milling around a couple of tables laden with cold soft drinks and a bunch of pastry goodies. No one was aware of who had said "Yes, Sir"! No one missed me. The GFC whom I had met in the hall on my way out came up to me, offering his hand. He shook mine, and said, "I thought you were going to deck me". I guess I must have looked pretty angry when he saw me. We that remained had passed the test. I believe that they called this night by some name. It was the culmination of what the First Class called "Hell Week". The number of SIEs went to zero. I was in a two-person room now. My first three roommates were no longer in training. I believe I actually helped set the stage for their little escapade, by opting out. It gave the whole thing an air of credibility. No one ever mentioned anything. Few probably knew.

On the twelfth of February, Lincolns Birthday was observed. These presidents birthdays were national holidays, some of us remember. One of the GFC approached a few of us the day before - a Sunday. His advice was to get out of the area, get a motel room and get away from that place. I believe the GFC was O/C Lieutenant Armstrong, the Honor Council Representative in the Squadron. He was a good man, and a fair one. The guys who heard his advice thought it sound. I had the car. Four of us would find that little cottage motel on the Austin Highway where I had stayed on December 28th. We got our first good nights sleep. That was a very good suggestion by O/C Lt. Armstrong.

One time, perhaps much earlier, the entire OCS Wing attended an evening concert in downtown San Antonio. We were dressed in our blue dress uniforms and bussed to the site. I don't recall what the event was all about. It was a reprieve from the usual training we received during the evening. The First Class made a big deal over losing the opportunity to help us achieve our potential. A few weeks later, an announcement was made that there was another concert. We GSC were ordered into our blue dress uniforms again. For an unannounced reason, only a few of the First Class were going. We should have smelled the rat right away. The Squadron Commander, O/C Captain Lintner and the Operations and Training Officer, O/C Lieutenant Gardner marched us out to the road. We then marched to a point along the perimeter road adjacent to the Wheel House. This was after dark, of course. We all had our flashlights as required. We were then instructed to then shine our lights on the balcony at the second floor fire escape exit. There appeared a few of the GFC singing and playing an instrument or two. This, our second "concert". We felt cheated; they were elated.

One afternoon, after Hell Week we were having Physical Training. After the exercise routines, we were given an opportunity to have some free time. A couple of us GSC were standing, talking. One of our classmates, I believe his name was Peter Green, was doing some kind of stunt, by himself. Whatever it was, he hit the ground, intending to land on his two feet. He instead hit with his left ankle slightly bent and he immediately doubled up in agony. We ran to his aid. He had fractured his ankle. An ambulance was called, and Peter was whisked away to the hospital. That weekend, we went to see him. He was still in bed and would be for a few more days. His foot was in a cast. The next weekend, he was hobbling around with crutches. He would not be able to return to Class 58-B. He would be washed back and start again in 58-C starting in March, or so he believed.

Each day was the same and yet different. We found out that the GFC were merely people like us; only they had arrived three months earlier. Some of them were real gentlemen and others, were much less. Fundamentally, the brighter and more talented held positions of responsibility and authority. Our Squadron Commander, O/C Captain Lintner, had been a Master Sergeant. He was probably as old as you could be and still receive a commission. The Operations and Training Officer, O/C Lt. Gardner was a college graduate. There was little opportunity to really get to know people. We changed roommates every once in a while. I have no memory of any of them while I was Second Class. One afternoon, while out on the parade field in one of the frequently held parade practices, I was approached by a GFC. He was going around and checking for "white ones" in the left breast pocket of the fatigue top. As we changed uniforms, your "white ones" were supposed to be switched from one uniform to the other. This, I normally did. For some reason, I had neglected to include my set of filled out forms. When this GFC came to me, and requested, "Permission to touch", as he was required to do, I said, "No, Sir!" Suddenly, all hell broke loose. I was instantly surrounded by a crowd of GFC. I would have received demerits for not having "white ones" on my person. Now, I was testing the system. I was told to prepare for a "Special Inspection" at a specific time that afternoon. When we returned to the barracks, there was a flurry of activity. I had a troupe of my classmates coming to my assistance. My recollection of who was involved is dim. There were many, as my room was filled. To insure that my uniforms would be as wrinkle free as possible, I climbed onto the table and they lowered me into my trousers. My socks and shoes were put on so I didn't have to bend over. I was dressing in the prescribed 1505 short sleeve shirt and trouser combination. I probably had my "shirt garters" on. These were elastic devices, which attached to your socks and the tail of your shirt to keep the shirt smooth and flat across your back. Once I was dressed, I was carried, vertically, up the stairs to the First Class quarters. The only person I know that was involved was John Gerry. Others, lost in the blur of helpful concern, I now wish to thank. You know who you are. I wish I did, too. On my own, I went to my inspector's room. There, I was subjected to a whole series of interrogatories. I was asked for my wallet. Yes, I did have my "white ones". They inspected my wallet. What was the serial number of my ID card? What were the serial numbers of the small number of currency bills? The "piece de resistance" was the instruction to give all the commands, start to finish, in a parade ceremony. These, to be given in a loud and clear voice, as on the parade field. I did it, and I actually amazed myself. In time, I was finished with my special inspection. It had been an interesting aspect of the training.

Soon, it was time for interviews by the First Class for individuals to replace them. I was scheduled for an interview by the Second Group Operations and Training Officer along with O/C Doyle Cooter. For some reason, we were interviewed together. I didn't think that this was a good idea then, and I still don't now. In any event, I did not provide the politically correct responses that were probably desired. I was not selected for that position, Doyle Cooter was. I think they made an excellent choice. The people of the Wing and Group staffs lost contact with the Second Class. I retained it as Second Flight Lieutenant. I was one of five commissioned ranks in a squadron. Beside the Commander and the O&T Officer, was an Adjutant, and the two Flight Lieutenants. There were between four and five O/C Master Sergeants and the remainder were O/C Technical Sergeants. These last two ranks did not rate a salute, but saluted all the O/C Commissioned ranks. The Second Class rendered the same salutes.

My academics were coming along fairly well. I had little good experience to draw on being a weather observer. I knew little of Air Force Regulations and Directives. Someone in Personnel, perhaps would have a real leg up in this area. The day we had heard about for two and a half months arrived at last. It was Black Friday. In the afternoon, a parade ceremony for the Change of Command was held. The Second Class became First Class, the First Class were now Graduating Class. After the parade, at the OCS Club, shoulder boards were switched. I received mine from the Second Flight Lieutenant, he got my bare ones. When I left the club with several of my new First Class mates, I was prompted by a new member of the Graduating Class to receive salutes. That day, all members of the former First Class would be saluting me, as would lower ranked members of the now First Class. This heady stuff only lasted the rest of the day. This evening, the new First Class marched in their new positions at the head of the Squadron. The transition was smooth. The now Graduating Class stayed out of sight. We had a quite relaxed final week before the graduation the following Friday. The new Second Lieutenants took little time to clear out of the barracks. We mover upstairs to our new quarters. I was to room with O/C Roman Biliunas, the First Flight Lieutenant. I hadn't known him very well during our days as GSC. It turned out that I felt pretty much the same way as we graduated. He was a very closed-mouthed individual. He came from East European stock. He was a very bright young man, well, probably five or six years older than I, but still young in the grand scheme of things.

I had made arrangements to fly to Plattsburgh for the week that we had off. I drove some of the freshly minted OCS First Class to the airport with me that Saturday morning. I don't remember much about that weeks leave. I do know that I had received a telegram a few days earlier that my mother had delivered. I now had a baby sister, Deborah Ann. When I arrived at home, there were now new sounds, a baby's wail among them. I didn't spend much time there . Anne and I caught up a bit after three months apart. She again was on Spring Break from Skidmore. I remember that Anne had to be going to New York City for some school event. We decided to take the train to the city, an all day affair. I had purchased my ticket and the morning we were to depart, my father was to take me to the station in Plattsburgh. I was about to leave when I couldn't find my train ticket. I searched high and low for it. I knew where I had put it, but it was not to be found. Finally, I decided that we had to leave. We would be late. We rushed to Plattsburgh, and to the station. They actually were holding the train for me. I got on and bought another ticket from the conductor. I remembered that the ticket was negotiable. It could be turned into cash at any D&H station. Thats probably what happened. I always suspected my several week old sister. It couldn't have been my now sixteen-year old brother.

When we arrived in New York, I accompanied Anne to visit her Great Aunt Mabel and Uncle Jean Brady. They lived in way upper Manhattan. We had been invited for dinner. I was not prepared in any manner for that dinner. We probably had steak and creamed potatoes along with a vegetable. This was after the tomato aspic and cream cheese salad, which was very generously served. There were homemade rolls to die for. The meal was abundant and extremely filling. For dessert, we had ice cream and cupcakes. Sound dainty? These cupcakes were in reality, small cakes, perhaps four inches in diameter, frosted with a delicious icing. The ice cream? A one fourth gallon - take a half-gallon brick of it, cut it in two and you have a serving. I was dying. Would we have seconds? Anne's aunt was a dear lady, quite overweight, whose diet would drive any doctor right up the wall. She never exercised. Of course, she lived to be one hundred and two.

In New York, Anne was to stay at a certain hotel with the other members of the class. She had her own room, of course. I got a room and went that evening after dinner to talk with her. She was a proper lady and didn't want the door to the hallway closed. I told her that this was New York and one didn't leave their hotel room door open. She insisted. A hotel security detective came along and seeing the open door, inquired about the problem. Anne told her story. The security man told us that it was dangerous to leave a door open, and to forget the "proper thing". The door was, and remained closed. I left the first thing in the morning for my flight back to San Antonio. When I returned to the San Antonio airport, I found that I had left my car unlocked. The only thing missing was a neat 35mm Zeiss-Ikon camera I had purchased from a sergeant while I was stationed at Loring AFB. I blamed myself for leaving it in the first place, and the car unlocked in the second. Maybe I was learning a valuable lesson: Don't cry over spilt milk. When something cannot be undone, to fret over it does no one any good.

Back at OCS, we busied ourselves with the job of preparing for the arrival on Sunday of our own Second Class. Their room assignments had been made and we were familiarizing ourselves with their names. There was one guy named Jolly that I couldnt wait to meet. We had our own "Jolly Ollie", a name we gave to Prentis Ollis. A big man with a perpetual smile on his face. Poor Ollie took a lot of flack with his seemingly perpetual grin. It was not exactly what our GFC expected in a future leader. A rather stern demeanor was helpful at times, even if you had to turn it on.

Since I was experienced with early arrivals on day one of OCS, I was, with others at the Wheel House to perform escort duty for our new arrivals, especially the early ones. They came in unexpecting as lambs for the slaughter. I don't believe any were disappointed. The treatment we had received on our first day was carried on in the finest traditions of Officer Candidate School. I think that our class was a bit more civil than that of 58-A, but I wasn't always there downstairs for everything that went on.

During this and other days in the first week, we did spend a great deal of time training our Second Class. There was a great deal of information, which had to be transferred to them, and not a lot of time to do it. I'm sure that they were going through the same sort of trauma that we had experienced three months earlier. I must say that they were fortunate to have started in March, rather than December, as we had. The weather was warming up and we no longer were wearing the blue wool shirt/trouser combination. When you fell out at 5:30 in the morning you didnt freeze your buns as we had. We had no field jacket to wear, so we were there in our nylon or silk underwear and the thin cotton/polyester material of our heavily starched green fatigues. Our First Class could move around while hassling us, which helped them keep warm, as we stood at attention and getting a nice chill.

The nylon and/or silk underwear were desirable for their quick drying properties. We learned that you didnt really use your laundry bag for actual laundry. The small white bags were modified with a zipper so that they would not have to be untied from the end of our bunks. The zipper was not exposed as it rested against the blanket and sheets covering the mattress. We would wash out our undies at night and hang them up on a wooden hanger for overnight drying. In the morning, they would be zipped into the laundry bag for changing into, after our evening shower.

Thats how we managed in Fifth Squadron. Each squadron did things just a little differently. They even had different memory work for the GSC to cram into their obvious pea sized brains. I neglected to tell how I discovered a First Class trick while I was still a GSC. In the day room were two closets, one on each end of the room. One, on the northwest side was for outgoing laundry and dry-cleaning. The other closet was for inbound items of the same. We would send things like fatigues and 1505 uniforms to the laundry. There were washers and dryers in the basement, but that was time consuming. There wasn't a lot of time to spare for things like laundry. I remember going to the outgoing laundry closet to deposit my laundry bag - one of the ones issued in basic training - and my laundry ticket, which listed the contents. A GFC ahead of me had just deposited his and I happened to notice that his laundry ticket had "OCS Special" written at the top of it. I inquired what that meant. He sort of stuttered and stammered and came up with a lame explanation. By then, several other GSC had arrived to hear the tail end of the explanation. The GFC left, and we knew we were on to something. I wrote "OCS Special" on my laundry ticket, and waited to see the result. Well, as the GFC had said, it involved extra charges, but they were well worth it. Extra care was taken in the pressing of the uniforms, something we had to touch up when the laundry was returned. It saved an hour or more a week.

One the tricks that our First Class had pulled during Hell Week was to have a Palace Revolt within the squadron. There was suddenly a big shakeup in the organization. They replaced the Squadron Commander with one of the real obnoxious O/C Technical Sergeants. The Squadron Commander, now an O/C T/Sgt. was largely out of the picture. There were several other personnel changes, designed to shake up the troops. It worked! There was confusion and obviously talented leadership was replaced by near incompetence.

Naturally, all this was reversed when Hell Week was over. Collectively, we decided that the ruse was a good idea, but didnt want to take it quite so far. It was decided that I would be the one to fall from grace and be reduced in rank. This was to happen during one of the day room sessions that the GSC endured as we had. Something was to precipitate a sudden flare of tempers. It had to do with training practices and procedures. I was the outraged party. This was all ad lib, and it worked out beautifully. A shouting match developed, I did not agree with some drastic change. I obviously lost my cool and calm demeanor. The suddenly shocked Second Class were all at attention and were bewildered. I was hustled out of the day room by three or four other GFC, who had their hands full doing it. The other ranking O/Cs tried to restore calm and order. I retired to my room and reflected on my superb acting job.

I don't know what went on in the day room after I left. Some time later, though, two members of the Second Class braved a lot of hassle when they came upstairs and requested to see me. They were escorted to my room, and entered. I inquired as to what they wanted. It turned out that they were there to counsel me. This was surprising. I had to give some response to their concern. I believe they thought I had gone over the edge. I thanked them for their interest and said some appropriate things, all true, as I knew them. I believe they felt better, I know that it had been some experience. My outburst cost me my Commissioned O/C rank, and someone was appointed in my place. I kept a low profile for the rest of the week. When Hell Week was over, I assumed my old rank and position.

During this, our second three months, our academics changed a bit. We started a course on Military Justice, based on the Uniform Code of Military Justice. This handbook contained just about every aspect of military law. It was good experience, as I had only been the recipient of its use, but had not read any of the volume. In our fifth academic term, I failed an exam in Military Law. I wasn't the only one in our class, fortunately. John Gerry, a member of our squadron as Second Class and now the Second Group Materiel Officer, also busted the course. We received a little counseling from the instructor. It was our only academic deficiency thus far. If we improved slightly in our final term, things would be fine. We did. They were.

It wasn't long before we were in the month of June. We received our assignments. I was to attend Weapons Controller School at Tyndall AFB, in Panama City, Florida, with further assignment to the 623rd Aircraft Control and Warning Squadron, at Naha AFB, on Okinawa. I was talking with some of the more experienced O/Cs and they told me that it was a good idea to ship a car to anywhere in the Far East, as it could be sold for considerable profit. Sounding like a good idea, I requested that my orders include authorization for such shipment.

One Saturday, a few weeks before graduation, I took my Ford down to the dealership for service. I had driven the car only slightly during my stay, but I wanted to be ready for my drive back home on the 20th. At the garage, I was informed that I would have to have new front wheel bearings. I knew that I had not had them attended to properly. The cost seemed very high - it probably had been inflated. I asked about a new car. If I could sell an old car on Okinawa, why couldnt I sell a new one for a greater profit? I bought a new 1958 Fairlane Ford. It had manual transmission and an AM radio. There were no frills. The paper sign in the back window said, "Built in Texas by Texans." I got financing on site and called USAA for auto insurance. In short order, I was driving my first new car.

I wanted to put a few miles on the car to make sure there were no unexpected Bugs. I drove that car as much as I could. The next weekend, my friend O/C Lt. Eugene Haskins and I were out on Loop 410 putting on some miles. He was our Honor Council representative, and a very nice guy. When one drove in OCS, all windows were either open or closed. If open, they were all opened the same amount. No hands or arms outside except for legal signaling. Eugene smoked. Our windows were open. As he finished a cigarette, he flipped it out the window.

On base, he wouldn't have done this. On Loop 410, it happened. The cigarette went out the front right window and in the right rear window. We were not aware of this. Not until I smelled something burning and looked back to find the back seat ablaze. The cigarette had landed where the back seat and the back vertical portion met. Right in that crack. I stopped the car and we beat out the flames. The open windows had provided plenty of oxygen for a fire. Each portion of the seat was damaged, not a lot, but about the area of your hand. I called my insurance company, USAA. They suggested a repair shop. One of the O/Cs volunteered to have his wife pick up the car, take it to the shop, and bring it back again when finished. This was O/C Alfred Edwards, whose wife I had met at our OCS Club functions. She seemed like a very lovely young woman and was somewhat of a life saver for me.

Black Friday came and went. We were now graduating Class. On Wednesday night before graduation, there was a Commissioned Rank O/C party at the OCS Club. I really dont know why this was held, for it excluded a high percentage of the two classes. In any event, the office holders of both classes had an opportunity to have a social experience. I recall ordering a Vodka Collins. It took some time for the drinks to be served. Several of us were drinking the same drink, so we next ordered a pitcher of Vodka Collins. This certainly speeded up the process. There was another process that was speeding up, more about that in a minute. The pitchers came, and were consumed. More were delivered. More were consumed. I was severely intoxicated, it seems. I knew full well what was happening, it was just slowed down a bit. A couple of the new First Class made sure that they and I arrived back at the barracks. The next morning, I was certain that I was not long for this world. I knew that I could not appear in the formation. I skipped breakfast and slept in. When the others returned, I dragged myself out of bed, took a long hot shower, and feebly got dressed. Fortunately, all of our academics were over. All we had was a graduation practice at ten AM and later in the day was our Graduation Ball. I kept everything together and everything down through the graduation exercise practice. We went to lunch at last and after, I felt vastly improved. I might live to become a Second Lieutenant, after all.

I recall taking my roommate over to a motel where his date for the Ball was staying. She was a very pretty girl and he was obviously very taken with her. We drove to the Ball and they went their way, and I, mine. I suspect that there may have been someone beside myself without a date. That would not be too hard if you went all around the room to count noses. I had my meal, whatever it may have been, and as soon as was socially correct, I left for the barracks and some needed sleep.

The next morning, Im sure there was a formation for breakfast. It would be our last. The graduation ceremony was held outdoors at ten AM. There was the usual Chaplains homily, Im sure it was a good message, but it was lost on me. The address by Colonel Barnard also fell on my deaf ears. I could only wait for the order, "Gentlemen, you are dismissed"! We tossed hats in the air in celebration. I had no lovely lady to pin my new shiny gold bars on, so Lt. Bob Senecal pinned on mine and I pinned on his. We had made it this far. It had been a grueling six months, unlike any other equal period in my life. There would be a lot of challenges ahead, but for a few moments, the accomplishment was sweet.

There was out-processing and the new Identification Cards with Lieutenant on them. I recall having driven to the processing site. As I drove back to the OCS area, an Aviation Cadet walking along the road saluted me. With pleasure, I returned his salute. I went to Fremoyer Hall for a few items at the little exchange. There, I saw Peter Green who had washed out of our Second Class because of a fractured ankle. He waited on me as I purchased some additional insignia and a pair of Ray-Ban Polarized aviator style sunglasses. I learned that he was supposed to return with the 58-D class, which would start in just over a week. I don't know if he ever graduated.