Installment #1

Installment #2

I become an Air Force Pilot   

or

How it took me 10 years and 17 attempts to enter Pilot Training

My route to becoming an Air Force Pilot was a long and arduous one. I have to regress a bit to start this story --

1955 Attempt #1 occurred when I applied to, and was accepted for, what would be the second graduating class of the Air Force Academy. It was quite a process, requiring Congressional nomination, letters of recommendation, etc., but I did it. In the Application Packet you were allowed to list your top three choices of career fields. I put Pilot, Pilot, Pilot. 

1956 Since I knew where my college education would come from, I did not pursue any scholarships. During my Senior year the school had a 'College to Career' day, wherein Seniors could skip a day of school to visit a nearby college. 

Skipping a day of school sounded like a good idea to me. I literally picked a bus at random. The college I visited was La Verne College (now the University of La Verne). It was a fun day, getting to see a college campus. When I returned, I threw away all the materials I had received.

 I was tentatively scheduled to start at the Academy in the summer of 1956, after graduating from High School. You can imagine my alarm when, just days after High School Graduation, I received a letter from the Air Force stating that the size of my incoming Academy class had been cut and I was being dropped.

Zounds!  There went my life plan, up in smoke. It was too late to apply to other colleges -- I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do. Then, out of the blue, came a letter from La Verne, noting I had expressed an interest in attending there (Hah!) and stating they had an academic scholarship which no one had applied for. If I could qualify, it was mine. Was I interested?

Was I interested? Does a duck quack? Suddenly I had a burning desire to attend La Verne College. Which I did. It helped that La Verne had an excellent reputation at a training source for teachers. My life plan was back on track.

Installment #3

1956 Attempt #2

1957 Attempt #3

1958 Attempt #4 were all essentially phony ones. This was the time in America when every male was required to register with Selective Service at age 18 and would most likely be drafted into the Army. There were exceptions for those attending college, but I deemed it prudent to avoid the off-chance bureaucratic mistake or national emergency by having an active Air Force application on record at all times.

What I did was to go out to March AFB in Riverside, California to take the written test and physical for Air Force Pilot training (known as the Aviation Cadet Program), listing Pilot, Pilot, Pilot for my three choices. At that time, the Air Force would accept you for Pilot Training through a program known as Officer Candidate School (or OCS), providing you had 2 years of college. 

I did this every year I was in college, turning down my slot when it came due -- then applying all over again for the following year. I sort of had to fudge it for applications #2 & #3 since I was just entering college for application #2 and had just finished my first year for application #3. OCS was three months of misery at the conclusion of which you were commissioned a 2^{nd Lt} and entered Pilot Training, which lasted one year.

I would pass the test and physical; then tell them I wanted to enter OCS the following June at the close of the current year of college, just before my one year eligibility ended. When the time came for me to depart, I would decline my class date (which was permitted), wait for one month and redo the whole process. 

The only limiting factor was that you had to wait one year between applications. This allowed me to be covered at all times and still continue my college education. Things were looking good--I would have my teacher's degree in my hip pocket and was assured of a pilot slot with the Air Force.

Other events: Although I wanted to, I simply could not afford to live in the college dorms, so I commuted every day between my parents' home and school.

to be continued . . .

Installment #4

1959 Attempt #5  was made during the summer between my Junior and Senior year of college. This was the big one -- This time I was actually going to enter the Air Force at the end of the school year in 1960.

Other events: I proposed to Kaye, and she accepted, both of us knowing it would be two years before we could get married, since Aviation Cadets were not permitted to be married.

1960  Attempt #6 came during my senior year, in February, 1960, just months before I would enter OCS. 

For quite some time I had been a member of Civil Air Patrol (which is another story) and I had taken to helping out part time in the local AF Recruiting Office. As noted above, my problem was that you were not allowed to be married before you entered OCS or the Aviation Cadet program. 

The Recruiter told me about a new program called OTS (Officer Training School), which was set up for college graduates. You got treated a lot better than in OCS and, oh, by the way, you could be married. So I applied for OTS using my current application scores, once again specifying Pilot, Pilot, Pilot for my 3 career choices.

Here was the solution to my dilemma -- or so it seemed. I applied for OTS and was accepted with the proviso that I cancel my Aviation Cadet slot, which I did. Now things were on track for me to both get married and enter Flight Training. So, I completed my Practice Teaching and graduated, with both a BA degree and a California Teaching Credential. 

Then, disaster struck again. Days following my graduation, as I was preparing to enter the Air Force, my wings were clipped. The Air Force sent me a letter. The decision had been made to cut pilot slots for that year and since I had applied 'Pilot Only' in my career field choice, my application was returned.

Not again! How could lightning strike me twice in the same fashion? I was devastated. I had bet it all on entering the Air Force after graduation and now had no prospects. Well, there was one other prospect -- my wily Recruiter suggested that I make local recruiting history by enlisting in the Air Force, thereby gaining the office three counters from the same person in one year.

My initial reaction was, "No way!". I was not interested in an Air Force career unless I was going to fly. But, I was out of other options, and the Recruiter convinced me that when I arrived at Lackland AFB in San Antonio, Texas (where Basic Training took place), I could switch to an OTS slot. 

I realized my one-year-wait clock had restarted in February and I had eight long months before I could try again. The Recruiter assured me that upon arrival at Basic Training at Lackland AFB, Texas, the powers there would notice my college graduate status and shift me into OTS immediately. So I enlisted in the United States Air Force in June of 1960 and off to Lackland I went.

Other events: I left the Singer with Kaye embarked on a three-day train ride to San Antonio, TX. New recruits were called "Rainbows" (due to the assorted colors of their clothes) when they arrived.

We were housed in old, World War 2 era, barracks. Although the regime was rigorous, I had attended several Civil Air Patrol (CAP) summer encampments and was, therefore, somewhat accustomed to the routine.

Due to my CAP training, I was enlisted as an E-2, which meant I had a stripe on my sleeve during Basic Training. Today, there are several programs which provide an entrance at the E-2 rating, but back then it was virtually unheard of.

to be continued . . .

Installment #5

 1960 Attempt #7 fizzled. At Lackland I was singled out and tentatively programmed for OTS, only to learn I still had to wait out the year before I could make a new application. I was returned to my Basic Training Squadron and advised to apply again at my next base. 

1960 Attempt #8 was another disaster. Following Basic Training I was assigned to Keesler AFB, in Biloxi, Mississippi, to attend Air Traffic Control School. I chose this field because I felt it was the closest I could get at the time to airplanes. Of course, my year was still not up, so no one would help me. I was told to wait until I arrived at my permanent duty station. 

Other events: Interestingly, enough, in those days, lower grade enlisted had to apply for, and receive, permission from the AF to get married. Besides some paperwork, this involved meeting with the Base Chaplain for a series of interviews during which I had to attempt to convince him I was mature enough for marriage.

A constant problem was money. At that time, when you got married, the AF withheld a portion of your pay and mailed it to your wife. I do not know if that is still the case, but it was then. Our problem was that the supplement check did not arrive for some 6 weeks. In the meantime, we existed on what was left of my paycheck -- $6 a payday.

to be continued . . .

Installment #6

1961     My next assignment following my Technical Schooling was to Edwards AFB, near Palmdale, California as a Radar and Tower Air Traffic Controller with the 1925^th Air Traffic control Squadron. We arrived there in January, 1961.

   Attempt #9 was a heartbreaker. When I submitted my paperwork at Edwards, I was advised that I had incurred a two year directed duty assignment (!!!), which no one had seen fit to warn me about. I was barred from applying. At this point, I was becoming somewhat discouraged, particularly since I was approaching the magic 26½ year age limit which would forever ban me from Pilot School. 

  I began my tour as a Radar Traffic Controller, but switched to Control Tower Operator. 

  After a period of time, our unit received a new Squadron Commander who promptly hauled me in to demand why I was spending my time in enlisted status when, as a college graduate, I could attend OTS. I explained my predicament with the directed duty assignment and the fact that the Air Force had once again dropped Pilot candidates from the OTS list. 

  He informed me that there was such a thing as a waiver to the directed duty assignment and that I should worry first about becoming commissioned, then attending Pilot Training. Seeing the wisdom of his remarks, I applied for and received the waiver and signed up for OTS with Aircraft Maintenance Officer as my career field (again, the closest I could get to aircraft with what was available).

to be continued . . .

Installment #7

   Other events: Initially, at Edwards, we were unable to secure Base Housing, so we rented an apartment quite some distance from the base. One's status on the housing list depended on rank and time on the list. It seemed that each time I called to check, someone else who outranked me had bumped me down.

   I was working in the Radar Approach Control (RAPCON) facility, so I began to call to check on the list at precisely 10:00 am and 2:00 pm every day. After a few days of this, they would not answer the phone, knowing it was me. Finally, I made such a pest of myself we were magically bumped to the top of the list and were able to move on base. How wonderful!

   We had one unit in a row of tiny, single story apartments. Very small, but right on base and, best of all, cost us only our housing allowance. Our unit was on the end. Our next door neighbors were a wonderful couple from Louisiana.

   Payday was every two weeks. One day, about a week before payday, the couple next door visited us, which was not unusual in itself, but they seemed very nervous. Finally, after some chit-chat, they rose to go and sheepishly asked if they could borrow a dollar.

   We were somewhat stunned. I wasn't sure we had a spare dollar. We finally came up with one and gave it to them. On payday, they returned our dollar. Apparently that is all they had had to live on for the full week.

   For the rest of our time there, we would save out a dollar for them, knowing that, halfway between paydays, they would need it, and they did.

   Those tiny apartments, were for couples only, so after our first son, David, was born, we qualified for a real house on base. Much nicer than the apartment, but we missed the close companionship of our neighbors.

to be continued . . .

Installment #8

   Our parents lived less than 3 miles apart, just over the mountain ridge from the base. We would go down occasionally on weekends to visit them. We had a friend from the same town, who would ride with us. How he managed to jam himself and his bag of dirty laundry into that tiny hole behind the seats, I don't know.

   One Sunday, Kaye had decided to stay with her parents for a week and the friend and I were returning alone. As we were driving through the mountains, there was a sharp crack -- the car lurched to the right toward the edge of the cliff.

   I managed to get the car under control and we skidded to a stop perilously close to the drop-off, as we watched the right front wheel bounce over the edge. When we got out to check, we found the center portion of the wheel still attached to the car with the lug nuts. Tiny cracks I had not noticed between the lug nuts had finally given way and the rest of the wheel had broken off.

   We retrieved the wheel by climbing down the cliff side, then mounted the spare and gingerly, quite gingerly, drove on back to the base. Following this incident, I decided it was time for us to have other means of transport.

   I gave the Singer to my younger brother and purchased a used Triumph TR-3 sports car.

to be continued . . .

Installment #9

   Another interesting tidbit is that I was selected to be the tower controller for a U-2 base. At that time, the U-2 was a big deal. This secret reconnaissance aircraft's existence and activities had finally came to light when Francis Gary Powers was shot down over Russia in May, 1960, but the covert flights continued.

   Each day, I would drive to the base and was handed a script, which I followed closely. There were times when absolutely nothing was happening and I would transmit taxi and takeoff instructions. Then, when a U-2 was taking off or landing, I was mute.

   The control tower was a small wooden box on stilts, quite a change from the modern, multi-story tower I had become used to at Edwards.

   My next assignment was at Medina Base, outside of San Antonio, Texas for Officers Training School in an Aircraft Maintenance position.

to be continued . . .

Installment #10

1962  Attempt #10  was made after arriving at OTS at Medina Base and was a joke. I was advised that as a student, I had to wait until I was posted to my next duty station.

   Other events: Although I was allowed to be married while in OTS, Kaye was not allowed to accompany me. Thus she and our son, David, moved back in with her parents for the 3 months I would be in training.

   This arrangement had its ups and downs. Although wonderful people, her parents could not get used to the fact that Kaye was now an independent adult. They still thought of her as their minor child.

   Just days before I was due to graduate from OTS, I received a call from my mother. My older brother, who had been battling cancer for quite some time was near death and she wanted me to come home immediately so I could attend the funeral.

   I applied for an emergency leave and was told to come back that afternoon. When I arrived, I was ushered into a room to find five officers seated behind a table. In rather blunt terms, they told me that I could not leave so close to the end of my training. 

   They advised me that, provided I did well on my final tests, I was slated to finish 5th in a class of 360, and would be a 'Distinguished Graduate', which meant I would be awarded a Regular, instead of a Reserve Commission. 

   Obviously, they could not legally refuse my request for emergency leave, but they told me if I persisted, I would be washed out of OTS and discharged from the Air Force. 

   Oh boy -- that meant the end of all my dreams. I asked if I could have some time to consider this, and they said, "Yes, 5 minutes", and set a timer. 

   When the bell rang, I told them I would stay and was ordered back to training. That night I called my mother and advised her of my situation and that I would not be coming home. She said she understood, but I do not believe she ever completely forgave me. My brother died (at age 29) and I missed his funeral.

to be continued . . .

Installment #11

   I finished OTS and was assigned to Chanute AFB, near Rantoul, Illinois for Aircraft Maintenance Officer School. I picked up Kaye and son David, in California and we drove to Chanute.

   What a change it was, moving from enlisted to Officer status! Not the least was finances. We went from making $100 to $220 a month, over a 100% increase.

   Seemingly flush with money, we disposed of the Triumph and purchased a brand new, 1962, Austin-Healey Mk 2, sports car. This was a premium car for its time. It had everything -- a straight six engine, triple carburetors, electric overdrive and speed, speed, speed. My Mother thought it scandalous that we paid $3,200 for it when a new Ford or Chevy sedan could be had for $2,000.

   Knowing that the Illinois winters could be bad, we purchased a removable hardtop for the Austin-Healey.

   Attempt #11 at Chanute, was a replay of the others. No applications could be accepted while I was in student status. 

Other events: On arrival in Illinois, we stayed for a few days with Kaye's relatives who lived some distance away. Finding that impractical, we checked into a hotel in Rantoul. Finally, we found a house to rent in town.

   Although quite small, it was a comfortable place to live. Later, we were able to move into quarters on the base.

to be continued . . .

Installment #12

  Attempt #12 was equally disappointing. Following my schooling, I was assigned to the 355^th Tactical Fighter Wing at George AFB, near Victorville, California. We drove back across the United States, arriving in the desert in October, 1962.

   Now, it seemed, I had acquired a three-year directed duty assignment following the Maintenance schooling. I did not have three years left. 1963 was fast approaching. In December, 1964, I would pass the 26½ year age limit. 

   Other events: I served as the Wing Standardization and Training Officer and finally as a Flight Line Maintenance Officer. Our second son, Craig was born at George. 

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