Normal Mayday

Normal” MAYDAY

Ron Berger

Page II

Normal” MAYDAY

“NORMAL”

MAYDAY The eye in the sky

By

Ron Berger

Ron Berger

Page III

Normal” MAYDAY

Published by:

berger publishing 14662 Mountain Vista Dr. Rancho Belago, CA 92555 951-485-3052 Email – [email protected] Web page – www.bergerbooks.com

Copyright ©2007 by berger publishing All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored or transmitted, by any means, without the sole, written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal. Printed in the USA by: Create Space Publishing, LLC An Amazon Company 100 Enterprise Way, Suite A200 Scotts Valley, CA 95066 ISBN 13 – 978-0-9799257-0-2 ISBN 10 – 0-9799257-0-3 Library of Congress Control Number: 2007906565 Second printing

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Ron‟s other books –

The House That Ron Built (1-4137-8605-7) (978-1-4137-8605-7) PublishAmerica, LLLP

Are You Being Served Yet? (1-4241-2485-9) (978-14241-2485-5) PublishAmerica, LLLP

P-Nut, The Love of a Dog (1-59824-303-9) (978-1-59824-303-1) E-Book Time, LLC

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Ron Berger

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CONTENTS

Dedication . . .

1X

Acknowledgements . . .

X1

Author‟s Note . . .

X111

Dreams . . .

1

Lackland AFB, San Antonio, TX . . .

7

Keesler AFB, Biloxi, MS . . .

15

Burtonwood AFB, Warrington, England .

33

Dhahran AFB, Saudi Arabia . . .

67

Tinker AFB, Oklahoma City, OK . . .

103

Volk Field, Camp Douglass, WI . . .

107

Vandenberg AFB, Lompoc, CA . . .

115

Civilian Life . . . . . . .

123

March ARB, Moreno Valley, CA . . . .

129

“Normal” Civilian Maydays . . .

139

Southwest Airlines . . .

149

Over & Out . . .

153

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Dedication – This book is dedicated to all the “old timers” as well as the “new timers” in the air traffic control business. Those that I met at March ARB in Moreno Valley, CA and those I didn‟t in places like LAX, ONT, SFO, etc., are all worthy of praise from every flyer. It is also dedicated to those that have

suffered

through

the

“Normal”

Maydays that many of us encounter on a regular basis.

May this book help in

knowing that you are not alone.

Ron

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Acknowledgements Although the last 48+ years have diminished

my

memory

powers,

the

pictures that my mind portrays are very clear. The Master Sergeant in England, my tower “buddies” both in England and Saudi Arabia, the Tech. Sergeant in Oklahoma all have been “live” memories all these years. All were top-notch people, as well as some of the best “tower operators” around. Even some of the officers, especially the Major and Captain in England, were high in my minds‟ memory banks. Without their help and backing, I would not be the person I am today – whatever that is. Truly the United States of America can be comfortable in the knowledge that there is many more of this caliber in our Armed Forces.

This is only a small

sampling of personnel to be remembered. I remember many more.

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Author’s Note – When I first started to write this book my idea was to relay my experiences in air traffic control, as a control tower operator, and show how “exciting” and nerve racking this line of work could be. Reaching the mid-point of my writing I realized that I needed more, up-to-date information about this trade. I wrangled a visit to the control tower at March Air Reserve Base in Moreno Valley, California and had a chance to interview several operators. I learned a fact that I wouldn‟t have thought of on my own and decided that I needed to revamp the writing somewhat. “The planes are safer than forty years ago”, was the response I received. The “older” operators were able to share their old “mayday stories” with me, but the younger ones had trouble understanding what we were talking about.

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This is actually a GREAT situation. By no stretch of the imagination does this mean

that

maydays

just

don‟t

occur

anymore, but rather compared to the number of flights going on at any one time, the mayday rate is really quite rare. I also do not want to downplay the importance of the air traffic controller. Without their presence, the skies would be a very dangerous place indeed. It can still be a stressful, dangerous, traumatic, nerveracking, tense, taxing and a hectic type job that requires straight thinking, quick action and well grounded personnel. My hat is off to all those in this profession. I, therefore, decided to relate some of the “maydays” that I experienced in my “normal”

life

experiences.

along

with

my

military

I‟m sure many of you have

gone through the same type of experiences and so I have changed the title of the book to “Normal” Mayday.

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DREAMS –

One of my dreams, when I was a young boy, was to be an airline pilot.

I

could picture myself as the pilot directing the flight of a DC-6 or some other plane heading into the wild blue yonder. I‟m sure other children had similar dreams, but mine seemed overpowering.

I even started to

look into private flight schools where I could get my start. My other dream was to go to California some day.

I had watched

Wisconsin play in the Rose Bowl in 1953 and all you could see was sunshine and short pants. All we had in Wisconsin was snow.

My desire became very strong

during the next two years and I just had to find a way.

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Of course, being young, money didn‟t seem to be an overriding factor in those days.

Somehow I would get the

money to fulfill my dreams. I was healthy and didn‟t shy from work. After all, I had a job since I was 10-½ and really wasn‟t without one ever, so why worry? The further I aged, I began to realize that the reality of it all was that financing just the move out of my home town would be a considerable task.

How would I

possibly learn to fulfill my dreams when I couldn‟t afford to get out of town?

The

saying at the time was that, “if it cost a nickel to go around the world, I wouldn’t have enough to get out of sight.” My neighbor, two doors away, had joined the Air Force and was home on leave. I stayed home from school one day and

we

had

a

long

talk

about

his

experiences so far and it dawned on me that the answer to my dreams started that

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day. Even though I knew that being a pilot in the Air Force would take more education than I had, maybe just being around planes would satisfy my itch to fly. Little did I know the path I would have to follow to satisfy that itch. Upon high school graduation, I also had dreams of becoming an engineer. Either mechanical or electrical was the thought, but not a train. mechanical

might

be

I figured that better

thinking

because there didn‟t seem to be too much of a future for an electrical engineer. The thinking then was not very progressive and not being able to see into the future, mechanical seemed to be safer in the long run. I was accepted by the Milwaukee School of Engineering for the fall term. All I had to do was to find a part time job to finance my schooling. My brother allowed me to stay at his apartment for this

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experiment and after spending three days looking for work, even getting the paper hot off the press, the word was that I was too young to get work.

In Milwaukee you

needed to be 18 for work without a permit. This

whole

discouraged me.

process

really

I wouldn‟t be 18 for

another four months.

That would not be

soon enough for me to enter the fall term and seemed to throw me completely out of the picture. It didn‟t take me long to think back to my visit with my Air Force neighbor and my next step seemed to take shape all by itself. A quick trip to downtown Milwaukee, to the Air Force recruiting office, led to the county seat of Walworth County since the recruiter traveled between the two.

With

my mother in tow, we traveled to Elkhorn to sign up. I was able to get all the papers needed and was told to get them signed and witnessed by a Notary and drive down

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to Beloit, Wisconsin on the 5th of July to start the process of enlisting. I was on my way to financing my way out of town. Driving down in my car with my friend and his girl friend, it became apparent that definite and distinct changes were about to happen to me.

I was

separating myself from what I was used to and entering into something that was totally different from my lifestyle. I came to grips quickly with this thought, and besides you didn‟t have too much time to think right then, and on the train back to Milwaukee I had talked myself into understanding and accepting what I was about to partake in. The physical and swearing in didn‟t take much time and then we were put on a train bound for nowhere.

Thinking that

traveling first class was the way it was going to be from now on soon evaporated upon leaving Saint Louis on what is warmly referred to as “The Katie Line”. This train

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took three days to get to San Antonio, Texas. It stopped at every crossing, picked up cans of milk and generally saved fuel by coasting most of the way. We called it the cattle car. Upon

reaching

San

Antonio,

I

wondered why every home we saw had white rock roofs. Only after we backed into the station and were escorted off the train, did I realize that any other roofing product would have burned up. It was hotter than I ever thought it could be. However, before my four year tour was over, I would realize that Texas wasn‟t nearly as hot as Saudi Arabia. My trip to realizing my dream was taking a torturous line of travel and the thought occurred several times that maybe I made a mistake.

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USAF MILITARY SERVICE LACKLAND AFB, SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

Lackland AFB was not, by any stretch

of

the

imagination

a

summer

vacation spot. You had to have a mission or duty to be there during the summertime. The one good thing about it was that it was right next to Kelley Air Force Base – one that had real airplanes. Of course the only time we really saw them was when we were on a march and got close enough to

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actually see what the real Air Force was about. At that time we had B-36‟s and a number of jet fighters. This was really the transitional period between WW-II aircraft and what we know of today as awesome jets. Actually

getting

that

close

and

personal really scared me and I began to rethink my desires and dreams.

I had

never been in an airplane before and, in fact, really never been to an airport before. Seeing some of these massive planes, even from a distance, gave me the shivers and a very healthy respect of those that did fly them. Being slim in stature, didn‟t lend itself to the picture in my mind of “wrestling” these big planes around in the sky. Basic training was something that you wouldn‟t want to go through again, even though I‟m sure it was much easier than the Army or Marines had.

Most of

what we went through had very little to do

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with your final job in the service, but had everything to do with “whipping” you into shape. The one thing you didn‟t want to do is “wash out” which meant you might have to do it over or you could be sent home as a failure. You just counted the days and the weeks took care of themselves.

Eleven

weeks seemed an eternity, but actually went by fairly quickly. I located another “friend” from home who had gone through basic several months before and was now “permanent party” on the base. He had a stripe on his arm and, of course, I was a “slick sleeve”. Being basic training, the thought of calling him sir – everyone above you was a “sir” – was hard to do. We both exchanged some pleasantries and parted company. I never saw him again and often wondered what his final job in the service ended up being. After about six weeks of marching, drilling, KP, and other “duties”, this included

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“guarding” an empty barracks with no weapon, just by walking around it for four hours at night, we were herded into a large building and given a battery of tests. There must have been a dozen or more that we had to attempt and then we were marched back to our regular duties.

It seemed to

take forever to get the results, plus I had really forgotten about them until one day the results were known.

We were then

“herded” back to the same building and individually

interviewed.

Actually

the

interview consisted of – “you qualify for this, how would you like that?” My first reaction was of relief since I didn‟t qualify for cook or air policeman. Those seemed to be two of the worst jobs in the service. But I had no idea what a control tower operator was either.

My

answer to the interviewer was –“You bet, and what is a control tower operator anyway?”

Ron Berger

Once I was given a brief

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description of the position, my dream started to come back to me.

Not that I

would be a pilot, but rather, I‟d be as close as I could be to airplanes without being a pilot. I thought my lucky stars were starting to shine again. How could I be this lucky? I had no idea of how all this would come about, but I knew that the Air Force would have a plan for me and I just had to be patient. A few days before basic training was over, we were given an insight into where our next assignment would be. I had no idea where Keesler AFB was and I only had a slight recall where Mississippi was. How to get there was also pretty much left up to you.

I was learning quickly what

others had already experienced.

I was

doing some traveling the likes of which no one

in

my

experienced.

whole

family

had

ever

I would have to make a

number of decisions and do them quickly.

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I reached home via train and decided that I would depart, after a short leave, also by train. My leave was short, since I hadn‟t really any leave time accumulated as yet and I tried to make the best of it. It seemed that in the short time I was away, everyone realized they could get along without me. This was a blow to me and it was even more so several years later when I returned after being gone a long time. You just can‟t return home once you‟ve left. It should be noted that, at least at that time, Chicago was a place where all trains stopped and none continued on through. Once you arrived at one station, you more than likely had to find your way to another station to catch your connecting train.

Being in a large city after coming

from a small town can be very daunting to say the least. I always had the fear that I wouldn‟t be able to report on time and be in a lot of hot water. I was always defensive

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because I didn‟t want to look like, or act like, a country bumpkin. Having to be told something that nearly everyone else would think was common sense was threatening to me and I was always on my guard. Once I got on the train to Mississippi I figured my worries were over for a little while.

We were only about ten miles

outside of Chicago when the conductor told me that I couldn‟t sit in my assigned seat. I showed him my ticket, but he said that seat was always reserved for him.

I had the

feeling that I would be put off the train at the next stop. The conductor found me another and the rest of the trip was uneventful.

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KEESLER AFB, BILOXI, MISSISSIPPI

Upon arriving at Biloxi, everything seemed to be just right. The train station was just outside the base and the town was the other side of the station.

You could

walk everywhere you wanted. I had taken my bags to the barracks and decided to venture into town.

Several of us from

Lackland arrived about the same time and went into town together. Upon crossing the

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tracks into town, one member started to lag behind.

Thinking he was tired from the

travel, he assured us he was alright. As we rounded the first corner in town, the thought of having a cup of coffee came to our minds and it was agreed to enter the first café to get one. I was surprised when the “tired” one said that he really didn‟t want a cup. Thinking that he may not have the money for a cup, I offered to pay and basically started to drag him in. Being new to the South and the rest of the world for that matter, thinking that some things may be different from your little home town never entered my mind. Just as my “tired” friend stepped one foot into the café a policeman, who was having coffee, shoved him out again. We were astonished and sat down to think about it.

As we

looked around we started to see signs saying

–

“colored”

and

“white”

on

bathrooms, drinking fountains, store doors,

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etc., and then it dawned on us that our “tired” friend was “colored”. He wasn‟t tired, but understood where he was and what was expected of him. much

thought

We never gave it

because

he

was

from

Minnesota and I‟m sure nothing like this was rampant there. We decided that if they wouldn‟t let our friend in with us, then they didn‟t want our business either. We all left and never went back into town during our 13 week stay. We had an interesting indoctrination before we started “Air Traffic Control School”.

Our first week was donated to

kitchen police or KP.

They said that by

doing it this way we wouldn‟t have to pull any KP while we were in actual school. Every day we were up and on the road by 4 AM.

Marching in a group with flashlights

and arm bands. We weren‟t off duty until about 9 PM and then it was arm bands and flashlights again. Each day some three or

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four people got off KP because they didn‟t need that many. However, my name never came up. Each day was the same as the previous day. You just kept shuffling along until the seven days were up and you could rest. The rest wasn‟t for long.

Our

classes started the next day and I was on the “C” shift which meant that we ate lunch around 3:30 in the afternoon and our dinner was at midnight. This was the schedule for the entire 13 weeks. The entire process of teaching us to be air traffic controllers was based on one and two week long segments of which you had a test after each one. If you failed one test you were put back in the following class so you could take it over. That put a lot of fear into a number of us since we didn‟t want to be left behind as our buddies went on through. They taught us everything from weather

to

Ron Berger

the

art

of

talking

on

a

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microphone. We didn‟t get any real handson experience and since we were at school at night, even the practice control tower was invisible to our naive eyes. All that you could really see was blinking lights which really didn‟t mean much at the time. It was frightening to climb the open stairway all the way to the tower at night.

You‟re just

hoping that there is another step there after the one you‟re on.

Needless to say my

eyesight really wasn‟t that good at night. I didn‟t have any trouble during the day, but until I was familiar with my surroundings my eyes didn‟t pick up all the details. As the schooling droned on, we also had marching competitions that had to be completed. One was held on a Saturday morning and we marched around our barracks compound until one group after another was eliminated. Of course, if we would have been smart, we could have been out near the front, but nooooo – we

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had

to

be

the

best

marchers

and

consequently we circled the block about a dozen times before we were given the first place prize which was the afternoon off. The rest also got the afternoon off and they were able to start much earlier. The Christmas holidays came up and we were given a period of time off for whatever we wanted to do. Some stayed at the base and others, like me, made plans to go home. I had met another airman that didn‟t live to far from my home in Wisconsin and he had indicated that he was also going home. Since he had a car I asked if I could ride along. He was gracious enough to allow me to do so and I did share some of the driving responsibilities.

However, I

had been thinking about it for some time and decided to drive myself back to Mississippi in my own car. This

was

going

to

be

another

challenge since I hadn‟t even driven outside

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of the state before. Little did I know that this would be the first of many long distance drives I would make both in the service and out. I had great faith in my 1949 Plymouth and we made good time coming back.

I

was only going to be at Keesler for another month or so and then would be through with school and on to somewhere else. During our Christmas leave, our Airman‟s Club burned down on the base and our one respite from the drudgery of school was taken away from us. This club was better than the Officer‟s Club and everyone was saddened by its demise. During my schooling we had been asked if we had a preference as to where we served with the Air Force.

My first

preference was England (I don‟t know why) and then any place in Europe. When I got my orders they directed me to APO 124 – England. I can tell you one thing - APO 124 is not on the map of England. After a lot of

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digging, I finally found out that APO 124 represented a place called Burtonwood AFB which was located just outside the town of Warrington – which was directly half-way

between

Manchester

and

Liverpool. Now I knew exactly where I was to go, but had no idea of how to get there. I enjoyed my 30 day leave, but the scary thought of what lay ahead was always on my mind. They paid you travel money, but based only on the shortest distance and the cheapest fare.

That

meant that there wasn‟t much money to make too many decisions. Actually, while I was home, I saw a Greyhound bus go through town and it said New York on it. Can you imagine?

This town of 5,101

people and about 1200 miles from New York had my connection. I made the ticket purchase and tried to slow down the time before I had to use it.

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Already I was noticing that the “regulars” that I hung out with in high school didn‟t seem to care what I was doing any more and just didn‟t have the time for me. This was a blow since I had a lot to tell them

and

I

companionship.

was

anxious

for

their

However, they had their

own schedules and I was the one that was interfering with their plans. I thought since I would be gone for three years, they could at least spare me a little time.

The hand

writing was on the wall and I boarded the Greyhound to never-never land. The bus stopped at the station around 10 PM so a lot of my trip was at night. My Dad waved and my Mother had tears in her eyes, but I was off to see the world. My Mother was really frightened for me, but didn‟t say anything until long after I was out of service. You can imagine how she might feel.

She was only out of the

state several times and that was to Iowa

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and Minnesota. And then only about thirty miles inside those states.

I think she

thought I might fall off the face of the earth. The bus trip droned on until we got into Pennsylvania.

The bus driver was

having trouble shifting and requested a different bus at the next stop.

We left

Wisconsin in one of those large cruisers that had split level seating (they were the cream of the bus crop) and ended up getting into a “regular” bus with none of the “glamour” of our former conveyance. It was like renting a Cadillac and getting a Ford. Oh well, it got us there without any more problems. Entering New York City was an experience all by itself. The City probably had at least a half dozen Greyhound stations and I get off at the first one. Having no idea where I am or how to get to where I‟m going, I am thankful that there was an information booth there with military

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personnel that saved the day. I needed to go to Manhattan Beach, which was a military gathering point and the information people directed me to go up the street about 3 blocks and then down the subway entrance and take a certain train until the end of the line. This was about two in the morning and it was freezing out and my duffel bag weighed a ton. There was snow and ice on the walks and I had trouble just standing up to say nothing about trying to carry my duffel bag with my very heavy winter uniform coat on. One time it slipped off my shoulder and I couldn‟t lift it back up again. Someone, I don‟t know who, walked by and stopped to help.

I was really

thankful since I was losing ground to others going the same place. A subway?

I had only read about

the New York subway. Once we were on, the urge to fall asleep was overpowering. However, being the kind of person that I

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was, I had to stay awake all the way.

I

could have slept since the information people were right. It was the end of the line and it just wouldn‟t go any further. It was turning daylight when we arrived just outside the base. It was still very cold. The base was right next to the Atlantic Ocean and there was ice on the water.

I was

hoping that my stay here would be short. I had no inclination to visit any spots in New York City. It was just too big for my little brain to grasp. So I wiled away the days until I received word that I would be leaving the next day for McGuire AFB in New Jersey. The bus ride took several hours before we reached McGuire. This was a “real” Air Force Base. They had all sorts of planes there. We checked into operations and found out that several of us would not be getting on this flight and would have to wait until the next day.

Ron Berger

As I was sitting

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there pondering what would happen next, I spotted an AWOL bag (small carry-on) that had the same AF serial number as mine, except for the last number (we had to print our

number

on

the

side

for

easy

identification). I had to find out who owned the number next to mine and discovered that it belonged to a person who lived about 15 miles from my home town. Anyway – he got to fly out that night and I had to wait until the next day. The next afternoon we were off. Our first stop would be Newfoundland to refuel. Since our landing pattern was over water we had to, by regulation, wear a life preserver.

Just prior to landing we were

told to put on our Mae West.

They were

fairly bulky life preservers and added considerably to your front end posture. We had to put them on over our very bulky and heavy winter overcoat which was quite a chore. We all remarked that if we had to

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ditch we would surely sink once our coat soaked up the water. I‟m sure that two Mae West life preservers would have been needed to hold up the extra weight of a wet overcoat. The snow was so high on both sides of the runway that you had no idea where you were. Once we were at the terminal, we were allowed to get out and stretch as well as grab a bite to eat. It was truly a “cattle call” but you were already tired and hungry so you didn‟t mind the insensitivity of it all. After the refueling was completed we were again back in the air. Of course our take-off was over water so the same procedure was required.

It was good to

close your eyes for a time, but you always had in your mind that everything below you was water that was very close to freezing. It was a feeling you weren‟t comfortable with and wouldn‟t be until you landed again.

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Our Scotland.

final

stop

Everything

was

Prestwick,

seemed

to

go

smoothly until a minute or so before touchdown when my riding partner began to throw up. This prompted me to have the same thoughts, but, thank heaven, the urge quickly subsided. I really don‟t know why we landed there, but this was the first taste of being in a “foreign” country and that was probably why, since they were very friendly and accommodating. We had three days to wait for our train to depart for Warrington so we had nothing to do in a country that really didn‟t accept US currency.

It dawned on

us, as we finally located a place to eat after they “rolled up the sidewalks”, that maybe we would have to wash dishes to pay for our meal.

Regardless, we wanted to eat

first and figure out how to pay second. Once we were filled, the time to face the music came. I, along with my buddies, was wonderfully surprised at the outcome. I had

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approached the cashier and just opened my wallet and said, “I have no idea how much it was, but just take what you need”.

She

looked at us in a “motherly” fashion and said not to worry.

She proceeded to

explain the exchange rate and told us what every coin was worth in their money.

I

believed her to be telling the truth since the comparison was real close to ours.

She

also told us to be careful once we got to England because she believed they would take advantage of our stupidity. As we took the train towards our final destination the sky went from clear and sunny to dark and gloomy. entering

an

area

that

We were

was

heavily

industrialized and coal burning was their major source of energy. It left coal dust on everything. The seats in the train coaches were covered with it and you could taste it once you got out. Fog was also another factor to deal with.

Ron Berger

That created enough

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moisture in the air that the coal dust stuck to everything it landed on. The only saving feature was that, we were told, it rained quite often and that helped wash off the coal dust. It didn‟t help the inside things, but when your wet coat made contact with a dirty seat it picked up a lot of black dust.

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BURTONWOOD AFB, WARRINGTON, ENGLAND

We spent our first night on the base in the “transit barracks”.

This also was

somewhat of a shock. We arrived hungry and were told how to get to the “chow hall”. This was a case of catching a bus, riding for several miles and a dozen stops until we finally reached the chow hall.

Once we

entered we noticed that there weren‟t many people inside.

We picked up a tray and

started through the line. We were quickly

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told that the chow hall was closed.

We

inquired where we might get something to eat we were directed to the bowling alley across the street which had a coffee shop in it. Thinking that finally we would be able to hold off the hunger pains real soon we stood in line for about 20 minutes. I noticed that the menu indicated prices which I wasn‟t

familiar

with.

However,

just

watching the “burgers” being cooked had us glued to persist. We placed our order and had to pay upon ordering.

When we

handed them some dollar bills, we were told that they couldn‟t take them and we had to have “script”. Where do you get script at that time of night and couldn‟t they make an exception for us just once?

No, was the

answer and we were back on the bus to the transit barracks with empty stomachs and our sad story. An older sergeant came to our rescue. He was the one to tell us how to

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get to the mess hall in the first place so he apologized at the erroneous information and “sold” us some script so we could get something to eat at the bowling alley. Another trip on the bus, standing in line and finally getting something to eat was worth the effort. learned

This was another lesson we “on-the-job”

and

we

were

wondering how many more we were in for. The next day we made it to the chow hall on time for breakfast and once back were given directions to our squadron‟s barracks. These were WW II Quonset huts, whose half round structures were all over the base. They had been there since the beginning of WW II and never updated. They were cold and small.

At least six

people shared a hut and each had an oil burning stove for heat.

You needed the

heat most of the time. If you weren‟t cold, you were wet and your clothes stood up in the corner while they dried.

Ron Berger

We learned

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quickly that if it rained on a certain saint‟s birthday, it would rain for 40 days and 40 nights. It really did and your clothes really never dried out before you had to use them again. Upon checking into our squadron‟s headquarters the next day, I found out that I could either go into GCA (Ground Control Approach radar) or the control tower.

I

chose the tower since they seemed to have more people and maybe I wouldn‟t have to work so hard at something I knew very little about.

My supervisor was a Master

Sergeant who ran a very tight tower. He showed me around and assigned me to a team.

Our work schedule started off on a

swing shift (5PM to Midnight) and then came back the next day at noon till 5PM, the third day from 7AM till noon and then came back the same day at midnight until 7AM. Once you completed one round you would be off for three days. This allowed

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for us to get to know some of the places around the base without having to hurry. This schedule also allowed us to go to “midnight chow” which was one our most favorite meals. We may miss breakfast at times, but never tried to miss midnight chow. This is where the famous “shit-on-ashingle” was served and they made it like no other. Learning the “King‟s English” was one of the hardest things I had to do. When you start in the tower, you began at “B” position. This position is responsible to get the clearances for all IFR (instrument flight rules) flights and write them down on tiny long strips of paper to be put in front of the “A” position controller – the one with the mike.

After about the first three or four

words I was completely lost. Nothing the Air Control Center operator said to me registered. It was like learning to listen to Russian.

Ron Berger

I would have to ask again and

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again for the same information and have them speak real slow. Then I would have to repeat it to make sure everything was copied correctly.

This wore on both our

nerves. It wasn‟t too long that some of it began to “sink in”.

Soon I realized that

much of the information they gave us was repeated time and again.

It got so you

could write it down before they gave it. Only the altitude seemed to change and just a few other specifics. Now the position was becoming familiar and I began to enjoy the job. Of course, once you start to enjoy something you are usually given something else to do. Now I was given the opportunity to ”talk to the planes”. That, in itself, wasn‟t as easy as it sounds. When you talk with a person

your hands do

some

of

the

communicating. When you talk with a pilot, he can‟t see your hands. Nothing could be more embarrassing than telling a pilot to

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park his plane over there and be pointing toward the spot. Of course, it didn‟t take many of those goofs to get your hands in your pockets and keep them there. Another problem that messed with your mind was that you had numerous speakers facing you and all of them were on. When you were busy, several of these speakers would be blaring at the same time and you had to hear them all. You had to determine which needed answering first and

what

information

to

give

him.

Obviously a plane about to land had the priority and the one wanting a radio check could wait a minute.

Many times when

there seemed to be an awful lot of radio traffic you would key all the transmitters just to answer one call.

This would let the

others know that they weren‟t the only ones asking for your attention.

It takes

considerable practice to get used to all this “confusion” and make sense of it. Also it

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starts to impress on you that just one slip in writing a clearance or talking with a pilot could lead to terrible accidents. We always had a tape recorder going in the tower and a number of times it had to be played back to exonerate us from giving misinformation. The tape would run for 24 hours and then a new one would be installed.

The old one would be kept for

some time and then re-used. wanted

to

forget

to

You never

record

your

conversations. Actually it recorded only on two channels so if you received a call on a different

channel,

you

would

key

a

recording channel as well so at least your side of the conversation was recorded. This procedure saved our necks several times.

It‟s surprising how many “officer”

pilots failed to properly respond to “enlisted” controllers.

They knew that we were

enlisted Air Force personnel and they were the cream of the crop.

Ron Berger

Some just didn‟t

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take to being told to do something by someone probably not worthy to polish their shoes.

There was always the common

complaint from the high and mighty about the lowly and insignificant controller. We were very fortunate to have a Major in charge of our squadron who stood up for his controllers. Being a Major wasn‟t a very high rank, but on this base he also happened to be the only instructor pilot. He was in charge of making sure the base commander, who was a General, had sufficient flight hours to keep his flight pay. This gave him more clout than the average Major would ever have.

Our commander

would also check out all his controllers and if they passed his test, you were one of “his”. Needless to say this was not an easy test, but once passed you didn‟t have to worry about any other pilot complaint. If a complaint was filed, he would usually call to get our side of the story and then tell the

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pilot he was wrong and to not do it again. One day the General decided to hold a drill to see how sharp everyone was in case of an attack.

He had people going around

throwing bags filled with flour signifying a hand grenade.

These enemy troops went

to the GCA trailer, opened the door and threw in a flour grenade. The operator on duty called the Major and the Major called the General and the games were shut down. room

If you have ever been in a dark watching

radar

and

then

have

someone open the door to the bright light, quickly close it and run off, you would know what transpired. It took several minutes for that operator to regain his eyesight to be able to again look at the radar screen. If the timing and conditions had been different a plane on final would have lost vital instructions to land safely. The Major told the General that he would shut down the

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whole field if the games continued. They didn‟t and the field stayed open. To pass the Major‟s test you had to be ready for a grilling, not only in the tower, but in the air. You had to be recommended by your shift supervisor and then it would start.

Mine started on a swing shift and

almost as soon as we reported, the second in command came up to test me on my knowledge of tower procedure. test did not go well.

This first

I had just finished

hanging wallpaper for my shift supervisor in his off base home and really didn‟t know this was coming.

Needless to say, my

performance

lacking

was

and

it

was

decided to try again the next shift.

My

supervisor and I spent the better part of our seven hour shift going over the procedures. The next day everything went smooth.

I

had passed the first part of the test. Now the hard part was about to happen. I was lucky that the second in command also

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handled this part.

He and another pilot

would take off and pretend to get lost, loose power, disobey tower orders, and anything else they could cook up. How you handled each problem was graded and after the test, the results were known to you. We had a meeting and the strong and weak points would be discussed. You were then watched to see how you performed during normal operation.

Passing all phases of

this test qualified you for another step up in your AFSC. These numbers told everyone your qualifications, expertise and theater of operations.

Mine went from a 27231 to

27251 by passing the tests. Now, technically, I could operate any position in the tower. It wasn‟t long after this testing that another step up was issued. This one didn‟t require any testing, but only a recommendation from your immediate supervisor. A friend of mine and me were given the number of 27251L.

Ron Berger

This now

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meant that both of us qualified to be shift supervisors, but didn‟t have the rank that the regulations required. We both took over teams and held them for the remainder of our tower days. During my time as team supervisor a number of experiences happened that would make most people start taking Paxil right away. However, this type of pill hadn‟t been invented yet and we just had to drink more coffee. Coffee was a necessity and there was always a pot going. One time we cleaned the pot by scraping the inside and pulling out what appeared to be the skin of an elephant.

Once this was completed,

with some difficulty I might add, the coffee never quite tasted the same.

That didn‟t

prevent us from drinking it, but the taste was definitely different. Coffee was needed to keep us on edge and ready for anything. You never knew when trouble would rear its

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ugly head and you would be right in the middle. Burtonwood

was

a

supply

and

maintenance base and lots of repairs were being achieved daily.

Many times this

would necessitate a test flight and the results

generally

were

anything

but

rewarding. One such test flight resulted in a jet fighter, somewhere over Scotland, couldn‟t find his way back to Burtonwood. Apparently his instruments went haywire and he needed proper bearings to get back. The radio transmission was very weak, since he was many miles from base, and just trying to understand him was a problem. After about ten minutes of weak and garbled transmissions we were able to correctly give him headings to home. He eventually landed safely and we were written up in the Base newspaper as “saving him and his plane”. Thank heaven these incidents didn‟t happen every day.

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One New Years Eve most of the tower personnel wanted to party, but someone had to cover the swing shift. Since I had virtually cured myself from festive and excessive drinking, my partying wasn‟t really required to welcome in the New

Year.

And

since

I

had

the

qualifications, I could take over the shift all by myself. I knew it wouldn‟t be busy and, in fact, I only had one incoming flight scheduled the entire shift. Burtonwood AFB was also noted for the Weather Squadron that flew daily, 12 hour missions over the Atlantic Ocean to record weather statistics.

When I first

arrived they were flying B-29‟s and soon changed to B-50‟s.

These were more

advanced, but looked pretty much like the B-29‟s. The longer these planes flew, the more trouble they were having and for any weather plane to come back without declaring an emergency was a rarity. This

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was almost standard procedure. Once we knew what the estimated time of arrival, we would call the fire department and put them on notice. We never had a problem before, but we were getting used to everything turning out alright. Around

an

hour

before

their

scheduled return it started snowing. This was the first time I had seen it snow in England and was told that it was a freaky thing at the base anyway.

As the time

passed and the B-50 got closer, the snow seemed to increase. I had trouble seeing the start of the runway.

Just before the

plane touched down, I could see that the wings were at a 45 degree angle to the runway. This was not good. Planes need to land level with the runway.

My entire

career flashed before me as all I could see is that there was going to be a hell of an accident on New Year‟s Eve. Here I was, the only person in the tower, dressed in

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civilian clothes (I was already in base operations in my civvies when I was asked to fill in for the person who wanted to party) and I knew I couldn‟t talk my way out of this one. The B-50 landed safely and I had to count my lucky stars and give thanks for my good fortune.

When I saw the person I

substituted for, I let him know that I would never do that again. I think he understood and realized that he could have gotten into a lot of trouble as well. My friend, who also now was a team supervisor, preceded me on the tower shift schedule. Twice, on two consecutive days, I reported to the tower to relieve him only to find it filled with “upper brass” listening to the tape recorder.

Apparently there had

been two accidents, not serious to the planes or pilots, but serious enough to warrant investigation. This told me that it could happen to anyone, anytime and I had been lucky so far. Everything he and his

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shift mates had done apparently was by the book and they soon vacated the tower. Some days it seemed like no one wanted to fly and others it seemed like everyone wanted to fly. The weather had a lot to do with this decision.

Many days

were filled with clouds and rain and only a few saw the sun in all its glory. For some odd reason, for which I can‟t recall, my friend and I were on shift together and the only ones in the tower.

That afternoon,

during our five hour stint, we had 500 operations. An operation was one landing or one takeoff. We had a lot of base planes doing touch and goes.

This practice

included a short landing and an immediate takeoff

again,

which

counted

as

two

operations. When you realize that this pace averaged 100 operations every hour you start getting the picture of how busy things were. We had planes just going around the traffic pattern as well as incoming and

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outgoing planes that had to be worked in between.

I will always remember that day

because of the heavy traffic and how well he and I handled the load. seemed to click just right.

Everything

It was one of

those “career defining” days. Several months later, we had a surprise

arrival.

The

Strategic

Air

Command (SAC) was famous for surprise operations and that day thirty six B-36s were scheduled to arrive in the next thirty minutes. When they did arrive they literally blocked out the sun. It all came about right at the end of my afternoon shift and we were required to stay on to keep continuity going. It needs to be said that if there was a SAC operation going on there was always a SAC operations officer present in the tower and he was in charge. He monitored everything said and if the pilots requested something he didn‟t like, he would take the mike and tell him no. It also didn‟t matter

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whether the Operations Officer was a Captain and the Pilot was a Colonel. The Captain was “in charge”, period.

The

parking ramp was totally packed.

The

planes were wing tip to wing tip.

They

remained for four or five more days and allowed any personnel that were interested to go through the planes. If you have ever been to an air show and had a chance to go through a B-36 you‟ll know that the term “go through” really doesn‟t apply. You can visit the front half of the airplane or the back half, but to get from one to the other was by means of a sled. This sled was positioned over the bomb bay and you had to be on your back and pull yourself along.

Needless to say, we

weren‟t allowed to give that a try. It was enough to just see how big and awesome this plane really was. Nothing equaled its size in any country‟s air force. It seemed massive.

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As my luck would have it, the departure operation was on my first shift back. I arrived at five in the afternoon and we did our thing when about two hours later, these same SAC operations people came up to the tower. These people just don‟t come up to pass the time of day or just watch airplanes take off and land. Their mission was evident the moment they walked in. It also needs to be said that no one was allowed in the tower except those authorized.

However, no one questioned

these folks.

Soon the activity around the

planes heated up and the pilots started to call in for taxi instructions. We had been told

that

all

would

take

off

without

interruption and any other aircraft would just have to wait. This operation took well over an hour just to take off. One of the last B-36s to leave called back to report engine problems and he would have to return. I don‟t know if any of

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you know how much fuel these planes hold, but the pilot estimated that it would take him FIVE HOURS to pump off enough fuel to make the plane light enough to land again. After

a

few

minutes

conferring

with

Manchester Air Traffic Control Center, a 100 mile holding pattern was established for him to dump his fuel. I need to clarify that the fuel evaporates quickly and nothing hit the ground.

About this time the SAC

operations officer told the pilot how to dump the fuel faster and he expected the plane back on the ground within three hours. All the pilot could do was say “yes sir” and get on with the program. Everything ended fine and the repairs were made and by my next shift the B-36 had long left. Usually

one

day

a

year

was

dedicated to what is commonly called an “air show”. This one was no different from the others. Plenty of USAF planes as well as the British Air Force and crowds of

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civilians, as well as service personnel roamed the ramps. Normal air traffic was limited and only

a

few

flights

were

allowed

in

Burtonwood‟s air space. However, several fighters did some high speed passes to thrill the

crowd

–

to

the

crowd‟s

delight.

However, one of the fighters had a problem lowering his landing gear and made several passes by the tower for us to verify the exact position of all the gear. An F-84 fighter had a “tricycle” landing gear – meaning two main wheels and one nose gear.

This particular jet‟s

problem was his left main which only extended down to a 45º angle. Our active runway – determined by the direction of the wind – would make it so the fighter would land pointing left of the crowd. This pilot was the same one that had been “lost” over Scotland and was a very competent airman, the pilot of this fighter.

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He felt competent he could land it safely using just two of the three wheels.

This

meant if the plane “listed over to the left and the damaged gear collapsed the plane would plow to the left right toward the crowds viewing the show aircraft.

This

scenario was all most too much to fathom. The plane was running low on fuel and had to land. Our fire department was notified, but couldn‟t move fast enough to do much good. The plane landed on the two good wheels and when it finally came to a stop, leaned over on the left gear, but it did not collapse. The sweat stopped pouring and we could finally take a deep breath.

I don‟t

believe anyone in the crowd on the ramp had any idea what just happened or what didn‟t just happen.

That was enough

“show” for me and was real happy when that shift was over.

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Burtonwood wasn‟t just an Air Force Base, so we did have various civilian flights nearly

every

day.

B.O.A.C.

(British

Overseas Airways Corp.) or Bo-ac as we called them was one of our regulars. This gave us a taste of how “foreign” pilots talk and how they interpreted our instructions. English was the universal language of air traffic control but the different accents of English were like other foreign languages. We also had British Royal Air Force pilots land occasionally and that gave us all a chance to see the different airplanes of the Royal Air Force. They took some liberties with us occasionally and pretended to not understand our “English”. One RAF fighter pilot wanted a compass check down our inactive runway one night.

This was a

standard procedure to make sure their compasses

were

registering

correctly.

Well, this Bloke flew over this runway at about 500 miles an hour and then decided

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to stand it on its tail and shoot out of sight. This runway was very seldom used since it was much shorter than the active one and it was right next to the bowling alley. About a minute later, our commanding officer called us on the phone and demanded to know “what the hell was that?”

That particular

procedure was forbidden.

All I said was

that it was an RAF pilot who apparently didn‟t

understand

the

Nothing more was said.

Kings

English.

That same pilot

asked for proper clearance to climb to 40,000 feet. I called the control center and got permission for him to climb to 20,000 and call passing 10,000. He returned my message relay by saying he was already at 29,000 feet.

So much for understanding

how air traffic control works. Generally Base Operations and the tower personnel work very closely.

They

give us information and we give them different information so they can complete

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their work. One day we were told that an F100 was about to call in for landing instructions. This was because his regular base was socked in with fog.

We had

never seen an F-100 before so this was going to be a treat. The pilot was given the proper instructions and he requested a “flyby” to familiarize himself with the field. We didn‟t have any other traffic at the time and had no reason to say no. About half way over the field, right in front of the tower and base operations, the pilot decided to stand it on its tail and disappear. The noise was so intense that I‟m sure the entire base heard

it.

Base

operations

called

immediately and asked who that pilot was. I told the operations officer, who was getting his pen ready to write him up as soon as he landed, that he said his name was Colonel Chuck Yeager. All I heard was silence and then a thank you. Needless to say Colonel Yeager‟s name was well known

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for his daring exploits in breaking the sound barrier and nothing more was ever said. Colonel Yeager was in charge of a squadron of fighters in the southern part of England and had considerable clout. Not many pilots could be compared with him in any aspect of flying. He became my hero just by defying standard procedure and getting away with it.

He was just having

fun. My tour of duty in England was for three years. I had had the minimum time in grade for my next promotion (A-2C) and that was a slam dunk. I was approaching the minimum time in grade for my next promotion and the likely hood of making it was also a slam dunk (A-1C). I imagined that it would leave me just enough time to earn another promotion to Staff Sergeant before it was time to go back to the States. I started to think about re-enlisting and possibly making a career out of it. After all,

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there were worst jobs out there and I was certainly doing well in this one.

You could

reenlist after you completed two years of service. I had a little time to go so I thought I‟d wait. My buddy and I were called one day to dress up and prepare to be interviewed by the promotion board. We had found out that there were three openings and only the two of us had the required time in grade. This should be a “no contest” unless you put your foot in your mouth and did badly in the interview. This was to be a two part interview. If you passed the first, you were set up for a second. Both of us passed and were already planning on sewing on another stripe. Our interviews were to be held one after another and so we arrived at the same time. Before we could even get nervous over potential questions, we were both told that we wouldn‟t be getting promoted,

Ron Berger

but

rather

we

were

being

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transferred to Saudi Arabia. Where the hell was Saudi Arabia? You have no idea how glad I was to have held off re-enlisting. The shock of this assignment hit like a ton of bricks.

Not only were both of us feeling

good about our current positions and hope for the future, but we had no idea where Saudi Arabia was and what we should expect once we got there. We both cleared the base and sat in base operations for three days waiting for some sort of flight going to Saudi Arabia. Of course, any body in their right minds just doesn‟t go to Saudi Arabia.

Nearing the

end of our third day, our Commanding Officer saw us there and asked how the connections were going. We told him our sad story and he told us to be back there at 8:00 in the morning and he would see to it that we got a flight. He was planning to fly to Germany and had a full load on his C-47, but he said he would take care of that. The

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next

morning

he

had

“bumped”

two

passengers and got us on. He was sure that once there we could get a flight to Saudi Arabia. The

flight

to

Germany

was

uneventful. The Major even came back to the passenger cabin to talk with all aboard, including us. He was that kind of person. He asked us to explain some of the problems of air traffic control with a General on board. I think he was sort of proud of his boys. Our stay in Germany was short since our flight out was the next day. I was sort of glad to be leaving as soon as we were. The German bus drivers looked at us like “how did you guys ever win the war?” After all, this was only eleven years after the end of WW-II and there were still lots of evidence as to the horrors of it all. Our flight to Saudi Arabia took longer than we thought. We flew to Rome where we refueled and ate. We were transported

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past some of the well known Rome landmarks doing about 50 miles an hour and came to rest at a transit barracks for the night.

The next morning we were

loaded up again and off we went. This time we stopped in Athens, Greece and stayed there for three days.

I‟m sure regular

airlines couldn‟t stay in business scheduling their flights like this.

We stayed in the

enlisted man‟s hotel which meant we didn‟t have private baths or air conditioning. Officers had much nicer accommodations. It was hot and muggy, but we tried to see as much as we could.

We took pictures

and visited historical places.

The people

seemed to be friendly enough, but you were always on your guard. Finally we were on our way again. We stopped in Beirut, Lebanon to refuel and eat.

We were corralled to walk in

certain areas and to not move out of those boundaries.

Ron Berger

They said there was a lot of

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disease in the area and these paths were safe. Really it was more like you should be safe from bodily attack by staying in the prescribed path. They had just had some sort of rebellion and there was a lot of damage all around. This was not a place I would have liked to lay over for three days. We lucked out and shortly took off again. For the next five hours we saw nothing but sand. Mounds and mounds of sand as far as your eyes could see. This had to be the largest sandbox in the world. What was I getting into?

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DHAHRAN AFB, SAUDI ARABIA

The

landing

at

Dhahran,

Saudi

Arabia showed us that not all planes land to fly again. We observed a burned out hulk of a plane that didn‟t make it just several days before.

We were hoping that the

accident wouldn‟t be repeated today. We arrived safely, but were greeted by searing heat. It was 125 degrees Fahrenheit and the dry heat made you feel that you were scorching your lungs.

Ron Berger

We arrived by an

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unscheduled troop flight and didn‟t have many waiting to greet us at the ramp. As we were soon to find out, the once a week regular flight from the States was greeted by cat calls for extra water. Some really enjoyed

watching

the

faces

of

new

personnel as the call, “did you bring any water” went up from the crowd. This whole experience had to be one of the biggest shocks in my life. How could anyone live here?

We were able to check into our

barracks and then went out to explore the base.

We continued to walk until 2 AM,

when it seemed to “cool down” somewhat. We felt that if we closed our eyes we would stop breathing if we tried to sleep before it cooled down.

We soon adapted to the

searing heat. The air conditioning had been turned off for the “winter” and wouldn‟t come back on for another several weeks.

We were

concerned that if it was 125 in the

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“wintertime” what was it going to be like in the summer? You never knew if you were in or out of the shower since you were wet most of the time.

You could buy summer

uniforms that consisted of long – short pants, short sleeve shirts and long (to the knee) socks. This really didn‟t help much, but it was better than the regular uniform. Our

duty

consisted

everyday in the tower.

of

working

They were short

personnel and that was the reason both of us were sent here.

They needed team

supervisors without giving up the higher promotion slots. We had the rating, but not the stripes. We learned later that we had gone

from

definitely

obtaining

our

promotion in England to falling to 65th and 66th on the promotion list in Saudi Arabia. This was really bad news especially when we learned that they only had 2 to 3 open slots every quarter and at that rate we would have been discharged before getting

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another promotion. This really didn‟t give us much to look forward to. Our tour of duty in England was for three years. Both of us had spent about 18 months there so when it came time to calculate our say in the desert, which was a one year tour, we only had to count up 61/2 to 7 months. This really meant that we would be able to go home almost a year sooner than we originally anticipated. This was welcome news for sure. However, we saw things during those seven months that made you wonder if you would make even the shortened tour of duty without going berserk.

We were witness to more than

one airman being transported out in the late evening in a white jacket with his arms strapped down. The conditions were quite a shock if you came from a high flying environment. No beer. No women. It was forbidden to even look at a woman. You couldn‟t take pictures, especially of their

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temples.

Being in the tower though, we

were able to take a number of these prohibited pictures without being detected. Our windows

were

tinted

and

nearly

impossible to see in. It was rather strange, but a number of us took up photography as a hobby. We experimented with settings, time lapse, double exposure and anything else that we could think of. We had to send the film out to be processed, but we got it back within a week. We were always in or around the tower, even during our free hours. There wasn‟t much to do and the most activity was where we worked. The library became one of my favorite hangouts.

I really

became interested in reading while I was there and that urge hasn‟t left me to this day. We were always anxious to be around the tower on Thursdays when we received a number of civilian airlines landing at the base. Some of these were Swissair, KLM,

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TWA, and Royal Saudi Airlines. We were mainly interested in TWA because this weekly flight was our mail flight and it always received priority clearance.

One

day we gave the clearance to TWA and the pilot put one of the stewardesses on the mike and that soft voice was music to our ears. Not having spoken to a female for some time, all of us in the tower nearly wet our pants just listening to her voice. It was really hard to reply because your tongue was thick and your brain was empty. We certainly didn‟t sound very professional and I‟m sure the pilot knew what our reaction would be and had a good laugh over it. One night while my team was on duty, we received a call from Bahrain Control Center that they had received a call from

a

KLM

over

flight

experiencing engine trouble.

that

was

He was

several hundred miles to the west of us, but we were the closest airport with a rescue

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squad, and had asked if he could make an emergency landing. I called down to base operations and they would have to get in touch with the officer of the day for an answer.

This wasn‟t easy since they

couldn‟t find him so I said OK. The pilot has feathered one engine and the propeller was stuck in zero pitch. This meant that the flat part of the propeller was facing out and a terrible drag on the airplane. Normally it would be in the position where the thin part was facing front and almost no drag resulted. We were told that he could only make one approach to the airport and he wouldn‟t have enough power to pull up and go around.

We relayed all this to GCA

(ground control approach) and waited for the plane to come into our area. About fifty miles out we received KLM‟s call and gave him all needed instructions and told him to contact GCA for a radar approach.

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descent

and

could

approaching the runway.

see

his

lights

The fire trucks

were in place and ready for action. About the time he should have touched down we heard GCA say that he was too high and to pull up and go around for another try. I felt that I was going to witness a massive crash with lots of civilians on board. I called GCA and said that we were told he had to land and wouldn‟t be able to go around. Soon the pilot broke in and said he wanted to get the feel of the airport before landing and he was alright in going around. This took the edge off a little and the second approach was successful. I

watched

as

the

passengers

deplaned thanking my lucky stars that they were safe.

The pilot called back and

thanked us for all our help. Just prior to KLM‟s landing, they had finally found the officer of the day and he requested that we send the plane somewhere else. I told him

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that he was already on final approach and was running out of fuel.

The option for

another field was not valid and he was committed to our field.

We didn‟t hear

anything more regarding this and I‟m sure the Officer of the Day didn‟t want it to be known he wasn‟t readily available, plus everything turned out OK anyway. It was a great feeling to know you were able to help a plane in real need. After being there for several months, we received word to expect “someone important”. We had no idea who this might be, but soon plane loads of “Saudi guards” started to arrive and take up positions along the main streets on the base.

This was

really a rag-tag bunch of men who carried a variety of rifles and weapons. It still didn‟t give us a clue as to who was arriving. Soon another plane arrived and the King of Saudi Arabia deplaned and was taken to some area on the base. All the guards stiffened

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to attention as the motorcade passed by and then they went into their normal slump. It wasn‟t long before the King was again on his way out and the guards again had to stand up at attention. The King‟s plane left and then so did the guards. King Saud was a powerful person and the US Air Force was only there because he allowed us to be there. If he said GO – we would pack up and leave.

We could take anything that

wasn‟t nailed down. All other facilities had to stay. Several years after I had left, the King did say GO and away we went. We have been back for various lengths of time or when it suited the Kings needs, but the threat was always there. One hot afternoon a number of C124 Loadmasters started arriving. We had no idea why or what their mission was, but as soon as they landed, armed military guards deployed around all the aircraft. They continued to guard these planes until

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we started to receive a large number of Strategic Air Command‟s B-47s.

This

brought

SAC

back

memories

of

the

maneuvers back at Burtonwood. You could tell that we were now in the “jet age” since SAC had replaced all their B-36s with B47s. We later found out that the C-124s were filled with arms slated for delivery to Lebanon. All this just reminded us that we were in the Middle East and things happen quickly, especially wars.

You got the

feeling that a war could start any minute and you would be right in the middle of it. One of our favorite pass times was to tune one of our receivers to Radio Moscow.

What we received was the

English version of their propaganda – expounding on all their achievements, especially in their “new” space program. It was a little hard to take since they were ahead and we were playing catch up.

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One of the jobs of the Air Force, while we were there, was to train Saudi pilots to fly. We had nothing against the Saudi pilots, but they sure took their orders from someone else. One day, they all lined up and took off, without much help from us. All we could do was to make sure that other aircraft weren‟t in their way. Several days later, one of our instructor pilots came up to the tower and asked if we had heard from them. We said no – why? He said that he had no idea where they flew off to. About a week after they took off, they came back. Of the ten that took off only five made it back. The other five crashed in the desert after getting lost. Apparently they flew to Cairo, Egypt for a vacation because they thought they had been working too hard. The Air Force gave them five more planes and it was back to their old tricks of pretending to not hear us or understand us and do whatever they wanted to.

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ARAMCO is an oil conglomerate made up of Americans and Arabians and they had a “complex” about three miles north of the base.

To be truthful, the

Americans had the knowhow and the Arabians had the oil. Actually the entire air field was originally built for the express use of the Arabian American Oil Company and they had about five or six planes hangared there. Before the Air Force took over the facility, the company used to fly the King around where ever he wished to go.

They

still did favors for him from time to time. The

Aramco

complex

was

just

like

hometown USA. There were wide streets and green grass everywhere.

They had

stores and a movie house that was tops in the entire area. They had a radio station that played music all day and night without interruption or commercial.

They had a

hospital and great doctors that would give free medical attention to any of their

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personnel including the Arabians.

One

doctor told us that one of the workers at the hospital told him that his wife was having a baby. The doctor told him to bring her in and they would take care of her. He said no. Apparently she would rather have it out in the sand like so many other women. The doctor wanted to know how she did that and the worker said that you just scrape out a hole in the sand, squat and have the baby.

This method had its drawbacks.

Women could only have about three babies before the chemicals in the sand shrunk the birth canal down so far that passage was impossible and the woman would die. He said it so nonchalantly that it was hard to fathom why they would favor that method over a clean hospital. We had opportunities to visit the complex but we never over used our invitations. The people running Aramco air operations were very nice to the Air Force

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operations personnel.

They were the

closest thing we had to an American civilian. It was good to talk to them without saying “sir” all the time. A number of years after I left, I ran across an article in the paper saying that the Saudi Government had taken over the partnership.

I guess

they figured that they had learned enough and now wanted all the profits. While I was at Dhahran, I wanted to do something that might help others that followed me. Maybe something that would guide them and make it easier for them to learn the ropes.

I thought some sort of

training manual would do the trick and so I started to put together the information that would be needed. I had purchased a small typewriter and this would be a good exercise in refreshing what I had learned in my second year of high school. I worked on this manual during the late night hours while I was on duty, since there generally

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wasn‟t any traffic. The manual took on a question and answer format.

It had 101

questions and the proper answers.

This

was a take-off on one of our tower manuals which was labeled “Tower Operations 101.” I received a lot of help from ARAMCO since they were here from the beginning and could give me a lot of background material. This project took about a month to complete and it fulfilled a need in me to do something in the writing area. Once I had finished, I presented it to our Commanding Officer. He took several looks at it and basically said thanks and showed me the door. My feelings were hurt that

my

efforts

weren‟t

taken

more

seriously. Our CO wasn‟t a pilot or trained in any part of our operation and only had experience in the “business” end of the job. As far as I know it was scrapped and no one ever saw it. Well, at least, it took away some of the anxiety you conger up just

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waiting for your tour to be over. It kept my mind busy thinking and writing and that was a blessing. The day finally came when my abbreviated tour was over and it was time to clear the base and check out. They gave you a week to clear the base which means that every place that you may have gone to has to sign you out making sure you didn‟t leave any debts or papers behind.

This

included the library, motor pool, Doctor‟s and Dentist‟s offices, and a number of other places.

Each place had to OK your

departure. This was standard procedure at every base. During this week we spent a lot of time either in base operations or the tower just to keep track of the regular troop plane that arrived every Thursday. Several days before it was scheduled to arrive, we got word that it had landed in Bermuda and had engine problems. After a day delay there,

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word was received that it landed in the Azores and had to have an engine change. Another several days went by and we heard it was in Tripoli with more troubles. Basically one week had passed and it finally arrived. We were very nervous just thinking about flying back on this plane that has so much trouble getting here in the first place. The next morning we got onboard with our fingers crossed and many prayers on our lips.

This plane was a “Super

Constellation” and was really a class plane of the day. We took off around 6 AM and headed west.

About 30 minutes into the

flight the noise of the engines stopped. You can imagine the fright that went through the cabin. All we could think of is that the plane barely made it over and now was going to plow us all in the big sand box below us. After, what seemed to be as eternity, the noise of the engines came back on and was

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music to our ears. Thirty minutes later the pilot used the PA to inform us that during that “silent period” the superchargers were cut in and he was sorry he hadn‟t told us at the time. Apparently at 11,000 feet this was standard procedure, but was unknown to us.

We felt better about the whole thing

and held out hope that we may get back to the States in one piece. We

landed

in

Tripoli,

Azores,

Newfoundland and finally Charleston, South Carolina. The plane didn‟t miss a beat and we had flown through a bad storm over North Africa and landed in the rain in the Azores.

Again

there

was

snow

in

Newfoundland and the banks were as high as two years before.

The view of the

United States, along the eastern seaboard was a sight for sore eyes. There was snow in some places and green showing up the further south we flew.

Touching down at

Charleston was a relief.

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We had been

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airborne almost three days and now it was night and we were at a strange airport without a plan of how to proceed. Several of us quickly decided to taxi over to the civilian side of the base and seek a flight out as soon as possible. Some didn‟t have the money to fly, so their solution was where was the bus station? I was able to get a space on a Delta flight that would eventually end up in Chicago.

This part of the flight however,

would stop at three or four airports prior to ending up in Cincinnati, Ohio where I had to change planes. The time between planes was short and the flight to Chicago was also short. Now my only problem was how do I make the last 100 miles to my home? I took a taxi to the Greyhound Bus Station and bought a ticket. The only problem was that the bus wouldn‟t leave until 2:30 PM and it was only 7 in the morning.

The

hardest part of it all was staying awake until

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bus time. I was also in great need of a bath since I hadn‟t had one since leaving Saudi Arabia. The

Greyhound

finally

departed

Chicago and the countryside started to look more and more familiar. Approaching my home town, I asked the driver if he would leave me off close to my house since the bus passed right by and I wouldn‟t have to lug my duffel and AWOL bag all the way back from the bus station. First he said he couldn‟t and then changed his mind. He left me off a long block away, but it was certainly closer than if I had stayed on to the station.

I was finally home after two

years away. I had asked my mom to leave up the Christmas tree until I got there. This was now in February and you can imagine what color the tree was. It still looked good with the ornaments on it, but the needles were just about all off.

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My first stop was the tub where it took three separate fillings to get me clean. It felt good to just sit and soak. When I started to “prune” I declared myself clean and got out. My mother had arrived from work and was glad to see me. She might not have been that happy if she came before I took a bath. My first thought was to get in my dress blues and walk the town. I was so anxious to see everyone and was deflated when it appeared that they had their own lives to lead. The band wasn‟t waiting and the welcome home party wasn‟t happening.

Of course the first thing you

want to do is see your girl, if you have one, and get reacquainted. I was in between girl friends at the time and knew I had to make up some time. Since I‟m a practical person and understand how most things work, I just knew I had to get some wheels to operate with. When I left for overseas, I told my dad

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to take his car and mine and trade them in for something better for him. He did that and now I needed to go from “shanks ponies” to four wheels quickly. One vehicle that really struck my fancy was a 1957 Chevy. I found one the next day at the Chevrolet dealer and said that I‟d like to buy it, but I would have to take it to a friend of mine to have him look it over. This friend used to be my neighbor and was like a father to me. He taught me a lot about automobiles and motorcycles. His opinion was valued and I wouldn‟t buy a used car without his OK.

The dealer

agreed and I made a trip out to see him. He listened and agreed that it was a fine buy. It was beginning to snow and getting late so I drove home and parked in front on our house.

My mom wanted to go

downtown that evening, since the stores would be open late, and so I got ready to go. I opened the door to let her in and went

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around opening my door.

Only one

problem – my door was smashed in. The tracks led from the driveway across from me and I promptly knocked on their door. The owner of the car that left the tire tracks that led to my smashed door and then away, was gone. I went back inside and called the Chevrolet agency to let them know the bad news. They were really upset since they didn‟t take out any insurance for me to drive it off the lot. Then I called the Police. As I was starting to tell the officer what had happened, there was a knock on the door. I told the officer to hold on and answered the door only to find a police officer standing there. After hanging up the phone, the officer said that he had seen the hit and run and followed the car through town. Once the car went past the police station, he pulled him over and arrested him for hit and run. Once he had him at the station, he came back to my place to let us

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know what happened. This is really hard to believe, but there is only one police car in town and it just happened to be coming down our street at the exact time the accident occurred. He asked me to come down to the station to fill out some paper work. The car could be driven so he said I could continue to give my mom a lift downtown. At the station, my neighbor – who hit my car – was sitting there and asked me when I got home.

I wasn‟t in a very

talkative mood and told him that it was my car – or one I was going to buy – that he hit. He said he never felt anything. He wanted to know where I was buying it and I mentioned that it was the Chevrolet agency and his face turned pale.

He was a

mechanic at the Chevy place and now would have to fix it on his own time and money. I don‟t really know what happened to him on the hit and run charge, but this

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wasn‟t the first time he had seen the inside of the police station. Now I needed to let my dad know to follow me out to the agency so I could turn the car back in. This meant going to the tavern and “prying” him loose from his buddies and driving out in the snow.

He promised he would be right

behind me. The agency was relieved to know that

their

mechanic

was

the

one

responsible and wouldn‟t have to pay anything out of their pockets. I told them that

I

would

have

to

“think”

about

purchasing the car and would sleep on it. I stood outside for over an hour waiting for my ride. It had been snowing continually, but not really hard. Finally my dad showed up and I assumed that he had lost track of time. But, his answer was that he also was in an accident on his way out and had to stop at the police station to fill out some papers. His car wasn‟t damaged badly and

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it was not visible especially when you just wanted to get in out of the snow. The next day the Ford agency got my business. I really didn‟t like Fords, but the salesman really went out of his way to solicit my business. He had called my mom just prior to my returning and asked when I would be home. He left a message for me to stop by and he would give me a good deal. I don‟t know about the good deal. In fact, a year down the road I realized that it wasn‟t a good deal at all. I drove away that day with a brand new 1958 Ford Fairlane 500, black with gold trim, 2 – door. I felt on top of the world. While driving around that evening, a strange noise erupted from the engine compartment.

Nothing I could do would

stop the screeching noise. I worried about it all that night and the first thing the next morning I went back to the Ford agency. I should have taken this as an omen and just

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left it there, but when you‟re young and stupid, those things don‟t enter your mind. They worked on it for several hours and told me to check it out.

While patrolling the

streets that night, the same sound sprang forth again. The next morning, I was rather upset and back we went.

This time the

mechanic really took things apart and found that one of the rocker arms didn‟t have an oil groove in it.

He didn‟t have a

replacement so he used a small saw and cut one in. This would allow the oil to get to all parts of the rocker arm and, hopefully, stop the squeaking.

His improvisation

worked and I just knew that all my car problems were over. Now I could roam the streets in relative quiet and search for a new girl friend. My thirty day leave seemed to go by rather quickly. My biggest problem seemed to be getting auto insurance on my new car. I had visited one agent and his prices were

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out of reach. Another one, that handled my dad‟s insurance, would be happy to write me up on his policy. But, I was insistent on having my own.

My dad didn‟t have the

best reputation in town for paying his bills and I didn‟t want to be associated with that image. So the agent wrote up one that cost more, but satisfied my needs. Then as I was walking out he asked, “you‟re out of service now aren‟t you?” I said no, that I still had a little more than a year to go. Then he informed me that he couldn‟t write a policy if I was still in the service. He said my only hope was to write my base commander at my new station and ask about service insurance.

Something was

going to be needed quickly or I wouldn‟t be able to drive my car on the base. Several days later the forms arrived and I applied immediately. My trip to Oklahoma was uneventful except for several snow and sleet storms

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along the way. I stayed over in Tulsa for an extra day to give the roads a chance to clear up. The last hundred miles went by in a hurry and I soon found myself at the gates of Tinker AFB in Midway City, just east of Oklahoma City.

The following pictures of Dhahran, Saudi Arabia were taken by the author as a means of passing the time. Experiments with time exposure and different angles were one of the “fun things” to do to keep us busy.

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Upper: King Saud‟s arrival with all his “Guard” Lower: Our “GCA”(ground control approach) unit

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Upper: Swissair DC-6 Lower: Middle East Airlines

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Upper: Crowded ramp in front of Base Operations Lower: Locals in front of TWA “Super Connie”

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Upper: Dbl. exposure of author and controller (C124 & C-47 in background) Lower: Front of my “wings home”

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Upper: Control tower console Lower: View of tower and “all the king‟s men”

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Author - counting the days to go home. (The paper on the wall behind author was our “days to go home” sheet)

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TINKER AFB, OKLAHOMA CITY, OKLAHOMA

Tinker was a huge, sprawling base that had thousands of troops and lots of planes. I was ordered to report to the 3rd AACS Squadron.

This was a mobile air

traffic squadron that supported activities at summer camps and other areas that needed temporary traffic control. Usually, a temporary duty was for three months and could be almost anywhere. My friend from Burtonwood and Dhahran was also sent to

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Tinker and was already on temporary duty at Guantanomo Bay, Cuba. I arrived about a month after he did so I had to wait for an assignment. Our daily routine was really dull. We had to report at 8:00 AM for class, which lasted until noon. Afternoon was taken up with practical application of the mornings learning.

This usually ended about 3 PM

and the rest of the day was ours.

After

about a week of this, I volunteered to build some mock-ups for our instruction.

A

space was allocated, the supplies provided and the work began. This got me out of the classes, which I thought were a bore anyway.

It also provided some sense of

satisfaction

because

I

was

creating

something with my hands and that was rewarding.

I made it last as long as

possible. The weeks rolled by and I was ingratiating myself to a Captain in our

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squadron that I was told would be the leader of the next temporary assignment to Wisconsin. He found out that I could type and decided that I would be needed in his office while on assignment.

This would

mean that my hours would be less than being on the tower‟s schedule.

That

sounded fine with me and had offered him a ride to Camp Douglas when the time came. He accepted and now all we had to do was wait for departure time.

This assignment

was not overstocked with volunteers, but it was close to my home town and that suited me just fine. Driving

up

to

Wisconsin

was

uneventful and the Captain stayed at my house overnight while we both rested. The base was only about 150 miles further up and it would only take three hours to get there. Captain

Before retiring that evening the wanted

to

visit

a

downtown

watering hole and asked which one would

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be good. I took him into a bar where I knew the proprietor and left him there to soak up the suds. I went to see a girl friend and we conversed for some time. I later picked him up at the bar and he seemed to be quite relaxed.

We left the next morning for the

base.

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VOLK FIELD, CAMP DOUGLASS, WISCONSIN-

Camp Douglas was a summer camp for different Air National Guard units from different states.

A unit would arrive

and train for two weeks and then another group would follow.

We arrived about a

month before the first group to get things all set up and running.

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We had a mobile

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control tower and a mobile GCA (radar) unit to get ready to use. We also had to set up an entire office including desks, files, copy machine, typewriters, etc. We produced a weekly report and kept things humming. Until the Guard units arrived we were given ration money to eat off base. The Guard units were to run the mess hall during their time on base, so until then, we found the nearest restaurant. During our time there we were able to get acquainted with many of the local population.

Even the owns

were getting to know our vehicles.

One

night as we sucked up some root beer at an A&W stand, we were approached by a group of young high schoolers who wanted to chase us away.

They were afraid we

were there to ogle their girls. There was one that was really good looking and we had

struck

up

a

good

conversation.

Anyway – they couldn‟t stand the “Army” personnel coming into town doing that and

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were going to show us the meant business. I told them that we were not Army. They weren‟t sure I was telling them the truth and continued to confront us. I recognized one of the young men and asked if he was the son of my former high school principal? I mentioned the name and sure enough he was.

That

basically

ended

the

confrontation and we talked about the good “ole days” back in Whitewater. I was able to obtain where he lived and asked if he thought it would be OK if I visited his father. The next time I was in their town, I rang the bell and had a very nice little talk with my ex-principal, who now was the principal of the high school there. Later in the day I stopped downtown and went into a clothing store. I bought a sweater and wrote a check for it.

The

manager of the store didn‟t want to accept the check since it was written on an out of town bank.

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I mentioned that I had just

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come from my ex-high school principal‟s house and he could verify who I was by calling him. He did and I was verified. You just never know who can help you. Every two weeks I would make the drive south and stay with my parents for a couple of nights. I would return late Sunday afternoon to get ready for the next Air Guard Group. About a month into our stay at Camp Douglas, the Captain was called back to Tinker for some reason. None of us knew why, but I‟m sure his love for the sauce had something to do with it. In his place we received another Captain who thought he was God. Nothing we did was right. One night a fight broke out between a Sergeant from our group and one from another group.

The fight was one sided

and the latrine was splattered with blood. We knew that “our” guy was OK because he came back into the barracks and hunkered down under the covers.

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About

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thirty minutes later the Captain came in shouting all sorts of things. He wanted to know where our Sergeant was.

We all

knew where he was and that he wasn‟t in his bed, but one that was normally empty. Nobody owned up and the Captain left. As it happened, our Sergeant gave himself up the next morning and was placed under arrest.

The guy he smashed was in the

hospital, badly beaten, but not permanently. Our guy re-appeared several weeks later as a “slick sleeve”. He had been busted all the way back to Airman Basic from Staff Sergeant.

We had no idea why the fight

broke out other than our guy just didn‟t like the other one. After that incident, everything got shook up. He made a lot of changes and one of them was to put me back on a tower schedule. There wasn‟t much time left to go so I really didn‟t care. It was good to get back to the “basics” again. While working

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in the tower one night, a friend of mine and I were talking about our next assignment. I had mentioned to him that I would really love to get out to California. We had two temporary duty stations in California – one at Vandenberg AFB near Lompoc and Beale AFB above Sacramento.

I really

didn‟t care which one since I didn‟t know anything about the state anyway. wanted a free ride out to California.

I just As

luck would have it, this sergeant friend of mine had to return to Tinker earlier than the rest of us and I asked him to put my name in for the next trip to California. He said he would and then departed. Several weeks later all of us packed up and made the trip back to Tinker. My first day back, I checked in and found my name on the list to go to Vandenberg in about thirty days. This was a great feeling. I had no idea where it was and only that it was in California and I was

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on my way. The days seemed to drag by. But soon, time came to hit the road again. The weird thing about it was that the Captain that originally rode with me to Wisconsin would also be our CO at Vandenberg. However, this time he said he was going to buy a car and drive himself. This was fine with me as there were three of us traveling together with our entire luggage, there wouldn‟t have been room. However, I‟m sure that if he insisted, someone would have had to find another way out. Our trip was twice as long as the one to Wisconsin and we made a few stops along the way. We stopped in Dallas so one of the riders could see his parents again, Mammoth Caves just into New Mexico, the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas all lured us to visit. On our way to Lompoc, we had to take several detours because of road construction. There aren‟t many ways

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to get to Lompoc and we had taken what showed as the best route. Trying to watch the road we came around a turn and there, straight ahead was the largest body of water in the world. What a sight. The sun was about two hours from setting in the West and it glistened off the water like a million jewels.

I almost ran off the road.

We had to stop and just observe the beauty of it all.

This was the culmination of my

other dream.

I knew now that I was in

California. We finally made it to town and then about five miles further we entered Vandenberg AFB.

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VANDENBERG AFB – LOMPOC, CALIFORNIA –

Vandenberg AFB was brand new. All the parts weren‟t completed yet and there was construction everywhere.

It felt

like we were out in the “boonies”.

You

could get lost quickly if you wandered in the wrong direction.

It became foggy nearly

every night during the fall and winter time.

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The entire base gave you the creeps after dark.

This surely wasn‟t the sunny

California I had dreamed about, but it was California. It reminded me more of England than the United States. The only difference was that we drove on the right side of the road. Since there wasn‟t any air traffic at the base, as yet, our main duty station was at the Santa Maria Airport. This airport had quite a few small aircraft and a few commuter airlines that would make brief stops to service a handful of passengers. Under a special agreement with the Air Force, military planes would be able to utilize the airfield until Vandenberg was finished. This in no way meant that fighters and bombers would utilize it, but rather supply and ferrying type aircraft would land here.

After all, the big wigs needed to

continually check up on the progress.

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I was, again, assigned to the “office” to do all the paperwork that was needed and kept the squadron headquarters back at Tinker appraised of everything that was going on. This was a “slam dunk” since I had the same duties when I first arrived at Volk Field, Wisconsin. I also had the same Captain in charge and he didn‟t want to change things very much. Usually my work was over by noon and the rest of the day was open to do whatever. This gave me quite a bit of time off and I took advantage of it by doing some exploring in both Northern and Southern California.

I was mainly interested in the

large cities, since I came from such a small town. And, since I had a new automobile, I felt I could really explore without much trouble. One trip found us in San Francisco for the weekend. We had gotten paid that day and didn‟t want to waste any time

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getting there. So, with our checks in hand, my buddy and I set off for our weekend trip. We were all set for a great time; however, San Francisco wasn‟t ready for us. When we arrived it was night and all the banks were closed. We tried to get the checks cashed at several different places, but were told that just because they were government checks didn‟t mean they were good.

We were getting desperate and

needed a place to sleep. We drove around for several hours, getting to know the place as well as search out a place to sleep. We had found the largest park in the city and pulled off the driving lane and snuggled down for a little shuteye. Only about an hour later, there was a banging on the window. It was the police with their flashlights wanting to wake us up. They let us know that we had violated a number of laws and could end up in jail. After all, being in the park after 10:00 PM,

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parking off the driving lane and apparent vagrancy was amounting to a hefty fine if nothing else.

I showed the officers my

government check and said that we had money, but no one would cash it. After all, we had much rather have been in a motel than in the car sleeping. The officers took pity on us since they knew we were between a rock and a hard place. They told us where we could park for the night and it would be OK. They waited for us to leave the park and we wound up at the beach parking lot next to the Pacific Ocean. The lot was huge and we were the only vehicle there. About two hours later I felt a rocking motion and I looked up to see what was happening.

I was really surprised to find

another car trying to push mine down toward the ocean. When they saw me in the front seat, they immediately backed

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away and left. After that, I didn‟t sleep very soundly. The next day we scoured the area for a bank and found a Bank of America that was willing to cash our checks. Upon leaving the bank I noticed a piece of paper on the windshield.

It was a PARKING

TICKET! We pretty well had enough of the Northern California area and hotfooted it back to base as fast as we could. I have never liked San Francisco since then. Even though I have been there many times since, I only stayed as long as I needed to stay and then vamoosed.

Next we would try

Southern California to see if our presence was more welcomed. About this time, the Air Force in its all knowing wisdom, decided that I was just having too much fun and needed to get back in the tower. I was put on a shift and, again, applied my trade.

When I say

“tower” don‟t get the picture that it was a

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normal tower like you would see at most airports, but rather a temporary tower that we took with us to all our three month endeavors. It was only about nine feet high (with the observation part extended) and the windows were only as high as your head. It was noisy and cramped. Not only did you have all the transmitters and receivers humming, but the air conditioning to keep them cool made the most noise. All this in only about an 8 foot by 8 foot trailer was like living inside a drum.

Only two

persons could survive this incarceration at a time. It‟s a good thing that the air traffic was light. Southern California was more to my liking. In fact, Santa Barbara was a great place to visit. There were a lot of “students” and their friends around the entire area. A friend of mine had hooked up with a college student and wanted to borrow my car for his date. There was no way I would let him

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borrow my car. I made a deal with him that if his date had a friend, we would double date. The appropriate calls were made and shortly we had a double date going.

It

didn‟t do much for my friend, but I found the girl of my dreams and we were married, once I got out. My time in the service was running short. Upon getting back to Tinker AFB in Oklahoma, I started counting the days to the end. My thoughts were only of getting out, but not what I was going to do once I was out.

Then it was brought to my

attention that I hadn‟t written this wonderful girl since I came back. My first letter was a marriage proposal and my life now had a different direction to follow. The proposal was accepted and now plans were afoot. Getting out on the 4th of July was to have great meaning to me. After one week of freedom, we were married on July 11.

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CIVILIAN LIFEAbout ten years into my civilian life, I was in a position of indecision. The builder I had been working for was in a tough spot and the banks took over the project. Again, the ups and downs of the building industry were in the down position. I had heard on the radio that the FAA (Federal Aviation Agency) was looking to hire a number of air traffic controllers. Apparently there had been a number of vacancies created by attrition as well as expanding responsibilities.

I had never

heard this advertisement before and it

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came at the very time I needed some comfort. I called the given number and received all the information needed. I was scheduled to take the test and arrived in high spirits. When I looked the test over, I realized that it had been a long time since I studied any of this information. Now only my instincts could see me through.

I

finished the test and left the room believing that I wasn‟t as smart as I thought I was. About a month later, I received the results and was very pleasantly surprised. I had received an 88 (out of a 100) and with my 5 point veteran‟s preference, I figured with a 93 they would be calling me any day. I called back, after several weeks of silence, to hear that they didn‟t have the money to hire just yet and if I wanted to take the test again, to possibly increase my score, I would be welcomed to do so.

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This didn‟t sit well with me and a call to my congressional representative was in order. He called back the next day to verify that the FAA didn‟t have any money – at least until the next budget in January and this was only October – and there wasn‟t anything he could do.

Knowing that we

didn‟t have enough beans in the cupboard to last until January, other measures needed to be taken. Before January arrived, I received a notice in the mail that I had qualified to be a “Sky Marshall”. I could fly around with a gun to protect it from any hijackers. That offer would pay about half of what an air traffic controller would bring. I am very glad that I wasn‟t able to get back in air traffic control.

I realized

many years later that instead of going on “Paxil” at age 60 I would have gone on this anti-anxiety/depressant at age 30. My life would have a bundle of nerves and I‟m sure

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that drinking would have made great inroads in my life. When President Reagan fired all those controllers back in the „80s, my heart went out to them. Although I did not believe in their cause at the time, I felt empathy toward them. They had, as well as have, a tough job.

It can be exciting as well as

totally exhausting. Your day can go from zero to 100 miles an hour and then back again in about the same time it takes to write this sentence.

Although my chosen

field of endeavor also had many moments of anxiety and excitement very few were in the “life and death” framework.

When

things get hectic in air traffic control, you have to keep your wits about you or people could die. I believe you have to be of a certain “breed” to survive in air traffic control. You have to be able to think on your feet and converse in a rapid, but concise manner.

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You have to be able to do several things at once, especially listening and talking. My toughest technique to learn was to listen to several speakers at once, decide which one needed the information first, and then speak to them and then not forgetting the others that called in wanting something. There are many airplanes and only one of you. Sometimes it feels like they all want you at the same time. Every now and then, you run across someone that shouldn‟t be in air traffic control.

Such is a person that cannot

control events properly even though there is nothing else to hamper their decisions. One such person I knew in service had me climbing the walls when a simple moving direction on the ramp went haywire. I had need of making a trip to the rest room, which was several flights below the tower, and shortly heard the engines of a large transport plane directly in front of

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base operations.

Not only had we been

“schooled” on this practice, but it was well ingrained into every operator that only passenger

type

aircraft

parked

there.

Racing back up three flights of stairs just in time to reverse the previous tower to pilot communication and sent the cargo plane where it belonged. This doesn‟t sound like much, but “goofs” like this can get you in more trouble than it‟s worth. This was a simple matter and the “operator” failed the easiest of tests.

I could never leave that operator

alone again.

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MARCH AIR RESERVE BASE – MORENO VALLEY, CALIFORNIA On July 14, 2005, I was finally given permission to visit the air traffic control facilities on the base.

This was the

culmination of over six months of phone calls, emails and requests submitted to the Air Force asking for permission. My contact on the base – Mr. Lawrence Froehlich – did everything he could to expedite my request, but the military doesn‟t move very fast for “nonessential” requests. I had come into contact with Larry through one of my neighbors who knew him

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quite well. Her husband, who was in the Air Force and has since passed away, was a good friend and now that Larry lived just across the golf course, the acquaintance was continued. I also had another neighbor that knew Larry quite well. He was a pilot in the Air Force, now retired, and also promised to help. Finally, the Air Force said to just pick a date and time with Larry and “DO IT”. I‟m sure that after giving them all the information I had on myself; they figured that I wouldn‟t be a threat to the base. It was a daunting experience just getting this far.

The line of travel to the

main gate was a serpentine vehicle path, lined with cones and concrete barriers. I felt like I was on a car testing facility to test the cornering ability of my van.

Upon

entering the assigned gate, I was directed to an office for further directions.

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personnel wanted my vehicle registration, vehicle insurance, driver‟s license, and a pint of blood. Everything is true except the blood. Then I had to be re-cleared through the gate. After “9/11”, I can see the need to increase security. However, there are other gates that you don‟t need a clearance to enter. You may come and go at will and not be challenged. Base Operations was situated under the tower about a mile from the gate.

It

wasn‟t hard to find since the tower can be spotted from nearly every corner of the base. After several inquiries I finally met with Larry and we sat in a “greeting room”, along with three other air traffic related personnel. For well over an hour we talked about the Air Force, control towers and bases, changes in operations, airplanes, and war stories.

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Our conversations were interrupted several

times

with

requests

for

their

attention. Even a falconer came in to state that an eagle had been spotted to the west of the runway and a warning needed to get to any planes in the area. A bird of that size could be sucked into a jet engine and cause all sorts of problems. This

falconer

joined

in

our

conversation. He was a native of England and still had his accent. Come to find out, he used to live in Liverpool and he was quite

familiar

Burtonwood.

with

Warrington

and

It was fun to find out how

small the world really is. While we were still telling war stories a call came in for Mr. Enrique Ganibe, who also was involved with air traffic control, from Volk Field in Wisconsin.

I was

surprised that operations were still going on there. Again, the world shrunk.

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March ARB used to be March Air Force Base until the first round of base closures occurred.

This is the base that

Bob Hope first started his Christmas shows that he continued for so many years. They reduced the importance of the base to a “reserve” status. All branches of the armed services are represented except the Coast Guard. The Army, Air Force, Marines and Navy – along with the National Guards are now the personnel on the base. I was told that If all the units assigned to March ARB were actually on the base, there would be more personnel than when it was active Air Force alone. Today was a quiet day, according to Larry and Enrique. They had one tanker flying touch and goes and that was it.

I

inquired about the amount of traffic and they said that last year they had about 103,000 operations. This equates to about 282 per day. They would be hard pressed

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to get to that number that day, but I didn‟t have any doubts about the total number. Both Larry and Enrique had been tower operators in the Air Force. It seems like the Air Force has supplied nearly every operator in air traffic control.

The two

young lady operators that I met on my visit to the tower were also ex. Air Force. Just seeing two females in the tower took me by surprise. It seemed like the Air Force finally realized that women could talk and think at the same time.

Both operators sounded

very professional.

When I was a tower

operator, it was a male exclusive position. It‟s good to see that progress is finally being made on many fronts My interview extended to the serious side of air traffic control. Accidents, close calls,

mental

break-downs

and

health

issues became the topic of conversation. Although March ARB appeared calm to the naked eye, some of these issues were

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apparent. I also delved into why we didn‟t see more maydays or anxiety related health problems. The reply was that with today‟s airplane the mayday frequency was much less.

They were safer and larger.

That

meant that they didn‟t need as many to do the same job – therefore fewer planes to deal with. This theory would not apply to the civilian side of things. Although there are bigger and safer planes, there are also more of them to deal with. Plus – if there was an accident, there would be many more casualties than in my time. There were also different rules to operate by now than when I was active. Smoking is not allowed and I didn‟t see the ever present coffee pot.

I was told that

neither has been allowed in the tower for some time.

Maybe that is why there are

fewer health problems on average.

Most

now drink water and have given up the smoking habit long ago.

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March ARB is getting ready for a number of C-17s starting to arrive in late 2005. This plane replaces the C-131s that were first placed in service in the 1960s. This is a step-up for the base. They have various missions that seem to be most vital to the overall security of our country. They fly to the Antarctica to resupply those that are stationed there, during the short fly-in window. They also had the duty of flying prisoners

to

wherever

they

were

interrogated. Also flying troops, healthy as well as wounded, to their destination. They also have tanker duties. They have a fleet of tankers that are called upon during any crises or emergency to make sure that the gas station is always available. They truly have a worldwide mission. March

ARB

is

also

going

to

accommodate DHL (a worldwide shipper) starting in late 2005.

This will up the

operations by thousands per year.

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base was chosen by DHL for its location and size.

Close to freeways and major

transport terminals, March ARB will now be part civilian as well as military. The City of Moreno Valley, as well as Riverside will surely benefit from this move. As you can see, there seemed to be many “Maydays” in my life so far. However, this really is only my military side and my civilian side also has plenty to shout about. Although I‟ve touched on a part of my civilian life, much more was in the works for me.

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“Normal” Civilian Maydays – One

of

the

most

frightening

experiences that one can encounter in their lifetime is to be in a situation that you didn‟t expect and have no way of getting out of on your own. Such an incident happened one day in the late 1980‟s when I had the need to rush back to Wisconsin – from California – to attend my aunt‟s funeral. Coming from California one doesn‟t always think about the weather, especially when

you‟re

thinking

time

is

short.

Between Christmas and New Years is usually fairly warm here and it‟s as it should be in all parts of the country – right?

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However, once in the mid-west, the weather is a story all by itself. I started my trip from Orange County Airport the day after Christmas.

This was

well before the airport moved out of the past, crowded and antiquated structures that just couldn‟t accommodate the great numbers of travelers passing through. My American Airlines flight was delayed for several hours, but I can‟t explain why. I think the person behind the counter just said it was late getting in. This didn‟t set to well. When you have hundreds of

people

“stuffed”

into

temporary

accommodations – not suitable to man or beast – the nerves start to fray and your patience tends to vanish. Finally, we were able to board the DC-9 and I settled in for a five hour flight. Then to my surprise, we only went several thousand feet in the air and floated over to the Burbank Airport. I didn‟t recall seeing

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Burbank on the schedule. This five minute ride was quite a surprise, but we weren‟t on the ground long and only a few passengers boarded. Then we were off and running. Darkness was now setting in since we were late in getting started. By the time we got close to Chicago Airport it was snowing up a storm. You couldn‟t see the end of the wings.

We “circled” for some

time and finally came in for a landing. This was really scary since I knew the visibility was really bad.

Once on the ground we

taxied around on the taxiways for about thirty minutes because they didn‟t have a gate for us to unload. Finally, we made it to the terminal and deplaned only to find my connecting flight to Milwaukee had already left. The information people gave me a flight number for another airline that had a vacant seat that was leaving for Milwaukee

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in about an hour. I walked – rather ran – to that gate and reserved a seat. I now had forty-five minutes to spare so I was just watching the snow fall and waiting for my aircraft to arrive.

I was

getting a little nervous since there was no aircraft

outside

the

window

and

the

scheduled time was fast approaching. Then the attendant came over and said, “Follow me.” I couldn‟t imagine where he was taking us because I couldn‟t see any plane at the gate.

When the door

opened, the cold wind and snow blew through with all the furry that Chicago is noted for. At the bottom of the steps was a small, two engine, propeller driven plane that was completely hidden behind the extendable loading ramp used for regular sized airplanes. I couldn‟t believe my eyes and was wondering why I was so anxious to get to Milwaukee anyway.

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Upon entering, there was only about twelve seats and no place to put your luggage. I fell into one and my bag fell into another and I had a chance to look around. I noticed that the door to the cockpit was open and there was only one pilot. There were all sorts of red lights blinking and I noticed the pilot getting out a map.

He

stretched it out, like you or I would a road map, and perused the contents. For all I know it could have been a road map, but I know that ten feet off the ground you couldn‟t see the road anyway. We taxied out to the active runway and prepared to take off. Looking out the window gave you the feeling of what an ant sees when a person walks by. The regular planes completely dwarfed us. We could have plowed into any snow bank and never been found until the spring thaw. With the engines revved to full power, we plowed through the snow and

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finally became airborne. Now all we had to do was plow straight ahead for one hundred miles and we should hit Milwaukee. Flying in a small craft when the snow is

really

coming

down

is

quite

an

experience. All I was hoping for was to see the lights of the airport and know that we were still over land.

I used up all the

prayers that I knew, plus inventing some new ones, when finally General Mitchell Field loomed ahead. All the while we were in the air, the door to the cockpit was open and all the same red lights were blinking and still only one pilot as an occupant. You could see what the pilot saw; which wasn‟t good. Finally we landed. Milwaukee never looked as good as it did at that moment. I was able to get my rental car and make it to my brother‟s apartment.

I rang his bell

several times with no response. I then rang the manager‟s apartment and he let me in.

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However, once in, still no one answered my knocks. I again imposed on the manager who knew who I was and he let me in. No one was home and I couldn‟t figure it out. I had asked him to not meet me at the airport, but as it turned out he did anyway. I then called the airport to see it I could page him. The person at the other end wasn‟t all that interested, but agreed to do it. I have no idea if they did or not, but about an hour later he and my sister-in-law arrived to find me almost asleep on their couch. On the return trip, the DC-9 was packed.

It seemed like everyone was

coming out to see the Rose Bowl game. This was when there were still areas on a plane where smokers could light up. However, since there were more nonsmokers than smokers, it was determined that the entire plane would be non-smoking. This put me near the tail of the plane with

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all those who wished to smoke, but couldn‟t and neither could I to calm my nerves. I happened to sit next to a farmer and his son from Iowa. This was their first flight in a “modern aircraft.” He let me know that his wife said it was OK for them to go and they probably just ran off and let their tractor running in the fields. I was sitting next to the window and they both kept leaning over me to look out the window.

I finally traded places with

them so they could view the world from space. They even bragged about the great food they were served. They were having the adventure of their lives. Then they had to go to the “john” and about ten minutes later I thought I‟d go. Lo and behold – when the john door opened there were about six of them in there, all their buddies from Iowa, SMOKING!

I

couldn‟t wait to land. I don‟t know if Iowa

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won or lost the next day, but I was sure glad to be home again.

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Southwest Airlines During the last few years before my retirement, I worked for several companies that required airline travel for business. In the building business, usually you spend most of your time locally. company

had

a

project

However, one in

Northern

California and once my responsibilities came into play (Director of Customer Service & HOA Director), I made from three to four trips a month, many requiring one or two day lay- over‟s. This went on for several years and the number of flights produced “free trips” faster than I could use them. The next employer had offices in the Bay area and although I didn‟t fly there as much, I still racked up plenty of “free flights”.

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Southwest became the airline of choice after experimenting with United and American. Southwest was the only one that seemed eager to take-off and get you there on time. Since it was only an hour‟s flight you sometimes forgot to allow for the unexpected. Our on-time record was well over 95 percent of the time. The remaining 5 percent couldn‟t be helped by Southwest anyway. I‟ve flown Southwest many times since and for longer distances and have never been disappointed.

Their award

winning customer service and business sense has made it one of America‟s best. They have also been featured in my other book – “Are you Being Served Yet?” This books deals with the best and worst customer service programs that I have experienced.

Southwest had the highest

rating in my simplistic, down-to-earth survey of one.

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As of this writing, Southwest has not had a fatal accident in their 30+/- years. They‟ve

had

close

calls

and

minor

accidents, but no one lost their life. This cannot be said for any other airline that has been around for any length of time. You get the feeling that all parts of the airline business have come together the way they should. Kudos to all employees and staff of Southwest.

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Over and OutNo self-respecting controller would ever use those words together, but in my time, it was common phraseology – in the movies. To say “over” you are asking for a reply and when you say “out” you are hanging up the mike. Therefore you can‟t use both at the same time. This book only touches on the number of times that I “sweat blood” during a tower shift. There were many incidents that I didn‟t feel scared about until after they happened. Of course, when you‟re young you are able to shake off those feelings quite quickly. I can only say that the Lord was with me on many occasions.

He

wasn‟t just my co-pilot – He was my PILOT. Although I was happy to be out of the Air Force and in a more sane

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occupation, I will ever be grateful for the opportunity to have been an Air Traffic Controller. I learned so much about myself and I increased my confidence ten-fold. I felt like there wasn‟t anything I couldn‟t tackle and conquer. What a “life learning” experience.

Of course, that can lead to

other problems – but that‟s another book. Military service has a way of making you grow up quickly. The latest theory now is that 16, 17 and 18 year olds still have part of your brain missing. According to the latest driving safety records, this age group has more accidents than those that are more mature and older. This is related to the “missing part” of their brain that has not developed as yet. Judgments are impaired and a good portion of “common sense” is still missing. I don‟t know if all this is true, but the military has a way of plugging up this hole and completing the entire brain transformation.

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Now that we don‟t have the draft and all service members are volunteers there are a lot of young people missing out on this “fast-track” process. That may be the reason that there is more crime with the younger generation than ever before. You have to fill that hole with something and the service does a great job. It‟s a good thing that we really don‟t need the draft.

However, the majority of

those that do volunteer will become the very back bone of this country.

Sure –

there or those that just go to college, land that lucrative position, beg, borrow and steal their way to the top but, so many of them find themselves on the wrong side of the law in later years. So many CEOs have gone from making millions of dollars to pennies a day in prison.

Most veterans

have a real sense of duty and honor that is so needed to keep this great country on the right track. Besides – what other company

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can you join, where they feed, house and clothe you, with no experience and come out with a head full of knowledge? Ron

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