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Sometime in my Junior year of high school, around when Mike went into the Air Force, I decided that I would join him. This inclination wasn't born out of some romantic patriotism, but of sheer practicality. My dad had left, my older brother Mike left, so I figured there were too many mouths for Mom to feed as it was. Except the vague plan was modified when Mike came home after 6 months and started looking for work and a place to live. I decided that I was going into the regular service and not coming back any time soon. Also, I was talking with a friend, Mike Collins, about going in at the same time. He wanted to go into the Navy, so I figured, what the hell; they're all alike, right? I ignored the fact that I didn't know how to swim.
So we talked with a recruiter and, in the following couple of weeks, we went in for a physical at a government office in Oakland. There were HUNDREDS of kids, just like us, parading through the drab grey government halls, in groups of 25 or so, following a yellow line on the floor, dressed only in boxer shorts and socks, carrying the rest of our stuff in a plastic bag in our right hands, bewildered and just a little afraid. At one point we filed into a room and everyone lined up against a wall. The doctor told everyone to turn around and face the wall with hands low and palms facing behind us. So we complied, of course. Eventually, the doctor was behind Mike, next to me. He asked Mike a few questions, then pulled him from the line. I proceeded through the remainder of the exams for another hour or so and concluded. Mike dressed and waiting. As it turns out, Mike was culled from the herd for a small patch of psoriasis on his arms. And that was the end of his short, military 'career'.
After a short talk with someone there in the Navy, they assured me that you really should know how to swim before you sign up. I quickly decided to talk instead with an Air Force recruiter. I took the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) test, and they told me that I could do pretty much whatever I wanted to do. I wanted to be a Jet Engine mechanic. They said that the waiting list was long for that vocation, but if I was in a hurry, that I could just go in with the guaranteed 'Field' of Mechanic, and there was a pretty good chance of me getting that job. They gladly took care of the rest of the paperwork and I signed on the dotted line.
On August 15, 1972, early in the morning, my friend Charlie drove me to the induction center in Oakland. As he drove off, I realized I was all alone, and would be for the next several months. Those next 24 hours were a major culture shock.
After a long stay at the induction center, we climbed on a bus, then a charter plane, then another bus in Texas. When we arrived at maybe 11:00pm, a real mean guy with a crew cut got on the bus and started yelling for no good reason. We all got off the bus quickly and it had to be 100 degrees outside. It was very strange. We were at Lackland AFB in San Antonio Texas for about 6 weeks of basic training.
It was very hot in Texas that time of year, and it prevented us from doing some of the physically demanding exercises. But what was MUCH worse was going to classes on boring military crap after lunch in the non-air conditioned classrooms. I think it was a test of our ability to stay awake. VERY painful!!
At the end of the 6-week training, we gathered around as we learned what jobs we got and where we were going next. Myself, and many others in our flight, were going to Lowry AFB in Denver Colorado for 6 months of technical school "Weapons Mechanic" (aircraft munitions). In my following assignments, I never had to load bombs onto the planes, but instead I worked in
After training, I went to my first real base: George AFB in the Mojave desert near Victorville Calif. I worked in the Gun shop on the F-4 Phantom. Within a couple of months, someone in our shop was being deployed and was selling his 450cc Honda, a street motorcycle. I learned to ride on the deserted roads and then eventually with friends into the nearby desert stretches and San Bernadino mountains. I had a LOT of fun there and eventually roomed with Mugavero, still a good friend of mine.
After about a year there, I received (deployment) orders to Keflavic Iceland! I was terribly disappointed since many of the 'lifers' in the shop had gone to one of the many AF Bases in Thailand and the single guys (and some married men) had a blast. Very few had been to Iceland and NONE of them had fun there. But after about 2 to 3 months, my assignment was changed to Tahkli Thailand, a small base in the south of Thailand. I had so much fun there that I dedicated a full page to my 1974 one-year tour in Thailand.
Eventually the party was over and the entire Squadron of F-111's came back to Nellis AFB, in Las Vegas Nevada in 1975. I know it sounds like fun, but it really wasn't. It was a serious let-down. A big part of it was the military atmosphere stateside was very strict. There was, once again, an 'open-ranks' inspection every morning. That means that I had to have a clean uniform, shined boots, and a compliant haircut. And room inspections about once a week! UGH!! There was NONE of that overseas! But I did buy another motorcycle: a 1974 650cc Yamaha street bike.
I got out of the Air Force 3 months early on May 15, 1976. Although I don't remember EVER thinking that I wanted to stay in and become a 'Lifer'. However, there was some serious pressure from...the lifers! I had always been thinking that I would take advantage of the GI Bill which is the US Government would give me money, for at least 4 years, to go the college. It wasn't a LOT of money, kind of like Social Security. But it was enough to help get through college.
Almost immediately after I got out, I solicited my friend Rich to help build Mom some new kitchen cabinets. Then I went on a cross-country motorcycle ride with a friend. Read about it here.