I hadn't meant to join the Air Force. Ralph Hafener had the job I wanted, operating a grinder lathe in the machine shop where we worked. When he announced he was going to join the Air Force to avoid being drafted, if I would go with him, I figured it was an easy and somewhat honorable way to get him out of the way. After all, I didn't have to actually sign up, did I?
So we went together to the old Post Office Building in downtown Buffalo. We stripped, we coughed, we dressed and took the aptitude tests. I scored high; Ralph, a technical high school graduate, scored low. We'll take you, Lane, the sergeant said, but not your buddy. Hey, sarge, both of us or nobody, I declared. You win, the sergeant said. Sign here, both of you. It wasn't until we were driving home, bragging about our military coup, that I realized I wouldn't be running that grinder lathe after all.
A Lesson Learned
I may have recalled that deception nearly four years later when I was about to be discharged from my contracted military service. I was offered my choice of Air Force assignment if I would simply sign the re-enlistment papers. It was suggested that there were bombers at MacDill Air Force Base, in Florida. Then the colonel would sign my release from a job category rated critical to the mission of the Strategic Air Command--bombsight-navigation systems maintenance--and I would be free to apply for Information Services School on Staten Island. But I had not worked in that specialty for three years, having wangled various assignments to fly an Underwood. You sign first, I said. The colonel, wary, said, don't you trust me? Sir, I don't trust the Air Force, I replied. And that was that.
Two months later I was working for a civilian newspaper. Too late I learned the gross pay of a rookie newsman was less than the take-home pay of a staff sergeant--and I had to pay for my own room and board, medical, dental, clothing and transportation. And beer at civilian prices.
still to come:
boot camp in february
i learn how the air force does things
dancing in the snow
pneumonia, and its rewards
ralph goes to the desert
with long hair, i get the armband
the D.I. goes on strike
taking turns in basic training
real military bivouc--but no on weekends
airmen don't get bullets
waiting for tech school
scaling the red rocks with bill green
cleaning gutters for ike
shoveling pre-dawn coal
grits? what the hell are grits?
typing the bowling scores and washing buicks, for a second stripe
loyally working on real airplanes; god, i hate winter
frozen to my work
pre-flight drill, without a work order
the gunnery mechanic's tool box
sergeant george's typing test
ed musinski--photography afield, in ohio and heyford
jim brady and kid Ory.
Sniping mice on pizza nights
racism in art
courier on a new Schwinn
the tech reps
how the navy does it; the introduction of transistors
an artist's reward
sgt george goes fishing
sergeant lepinski and the adding machine
he gets a girlfriend, and a heart
the monthly reports--seven carbons, no strikeovers, no errors
captain morris and the command from on high
sgt george's solution
the captain's reward: no more mister nice guy
a brand new air force base, and a brand-new career, by the skin of my teeth
white birches outside my window
writing headlines, while listening to louie prima
the secretary of the air force wears polka-dot boxers
8th air force liked my fuel-tank photo
five miles of shoreline
the sentry dogs
burying cigarette butts
the duck blind and the generals
a lonesome clarinet
god loves Whips, and air force photographers
shipping home bricks, a bike and paving stones
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