Chapter 21
COME YE…APART…AND REST A WHILE.
(From
the time I leave the Tiptons’ house near Fredericksburg, Virginia on a weekday morning
at the end of February 1970, thru reporting in at Vance Air Force Base, Enid,
Oklahoma for military basic jet pilot training at the end of March
1970.)
The
following morning, I have breakfast with the Tipton family, bid Farewell to Mr.
Tipton when he leaves for work, and then to their 3 sons when they soon after,
leave for school. I soon put my bag into my T-Bird, bid Farewell to Mrs. Tipton,
and drive away, never again to see this house of many
fond and cherished memories of just over 5 months that I lived in
the fine state of Virginia. Thank Thee, Lord Jesus, for this hospitable
Christian family being so kind to me, and for making my time in Virginia ever
so blessed and rich.
I head
down Interstate 95, and as I soon drive thru Richmond on it, I think about
Brenda’s family going about their daily routine in Richmond and about Brenda in
class at Mary Washington College back in Fredericksburg. South of Richmond, I
take Interstate 85 to head toward Atlanta, Georgia.
Since
arriving at Quantico back in late September, each day had been chock full of activity. I seldom
had much time alone. Now, alone by myself, and cruising pleasantly
along on the wide, open highway in the nice T-Bird, it’s certainly a
time for reflection. It’s a time to be most thankful to God for
enabling me to graduate high in my TBS class, and thus to be approved
for jet pilot training that I so desired. Another major
step upward, accomplishing that goal.
Not
all the guys in my class fared so well; several not getting
their 1st choice of the Marine job they wanted. Also, I felt sorry
for the fellow Marines around me who smoked and drank alcohol, as I saw those
vices already destroying their health, reducing
their strength, energy, stamina and such, even this early in their lives (in
their early 20s). On Monday mornings, several guys in my platoon would be “dragging”
physically because of drinking on the weekend. I would be most refreshed on
Monday mornings, after a day and half of wholesome activities and rest. Truly,
sin destroys and kills.
I saw sin
destroying military officer careers here right at the start of
such careers. One 2nd lieutenant in my company got into such a terrible
crisis as a result of his sins of immorality that he
went UA (unauthorized absence). He ran away. Previously, that was called AWOL
(Absence without leave). The U.S government put the FBI on his trail, and they
captured him after several days (tho he had gone quite far). They hauled him
right back to The Basic School, and put him under
house arrest in the BOQ until his court martial. (He is the one I wrote
of in Chapter 19, who did not graduate.)
During
that time of house arrest, he was not allowed to do any training with us. They
made him keeper of our small library on the 2nd floor of the BOQ.
The few times I walked by the library (glancing into its large glass window) on
my way to the classroom or such, he looked so downcast, sitting in there
alone (in uniform) with practically nothing to do. I never heard the outcome of
his court martial. The lightest sentence likely would have been a dishonorable
discharge from the Marines. Possibly he was also fined, and
might have been made to serve a short sentence in a brig (Navy jail).
One of
my Navy ROTC classmates at Auburn U. graduated at the end of spring quarter
(end of May 1969). So, he graduated from TBS here at Quantico at the end of
November (or Dec.) 1969. After my company moved into the main BOQ in late
October, I would drop by Lieutenant G’s room sometimes at night to chat, before
he soon graduated.
He
smoked and drank so heavily. He told me of him and some Marine
buddies, playing outdoors, pouring whiskey into a helmet liner, and then each
of them simultaneously sucking that whiskey thru straws, to
mix more air with the alcohol to make it quickly reach their brain cells
and send them on a high drunk. Then they would race out to a pole,
circle the pole and race back to the starting point. They roared with laughter
watching each other repeatedly falling and staggering back
up as they tried to run in that drunken state. Did they not care that the aerated
alcohol destroyed plenty of brain cells that never replace
themselves? Stupid, slow suicide!
Young Reader Friend, don’t you dare to
be so stupid.
Lieutenant
G’s misbehavior frequently got him into trouble with his superior officers. He
and an equally sinful classmate of his hatched up a scheme to get back at those
superior officers. Upon graduating from TBS (thus soon relocating far
from Quantico), those two guys took 2 girls and checked into a fine hotel near
Quantico, registering under the names (and addresses) of their company
commander and company executive officer that were 2 Marine majors. (At
that time, hotels did not require any identification when a guest checked in.
The guest simply filled out name, address, and phone number.)
After
those 4 young sinners spent a drunken night of immorality, before
checking out, the 2 guys trashed the hotel room, so that their 2
superior officers would be accosted for that crime. But 1 of those guys accidentally
left his military ID card in the room. (The Judge of all the earth saw to
that, no doubt.) The hotel contacted the company commander, handed over the
ID card to him, and both culprits soon became known. They were well
disciplined for that crime. Seeing them destroy their lives and ruin
their military careers during their youth was a tragic sight. Lieutenant
G drank and smoked ever so heavily that I venture to say
that, as you read this, likely he has been breathing the eternal smoke of
Hellfire for a few decades.
Unsaved
Reader Friend, it is not necessary for you to soon join
him in that torment. Right now, you can repent of your sins to
your Creator God and trust in Jesus Christ to save you unto
eternal joy.
Heavenly Father, I
thank Thee for blessing me with a strong healthy body and for saving me from
sinful vices that destroy a person’s health and physical body. I thank Thee for
Christians who taught me to live upright respecting my elders, and who made me
work hard thru out my upbringing. Regarding these important matters, I pray
that all parents will do their grave duty toward God and toward
their offspring.
I
don’t recall ever catching a cold or getting sick during this cold
winter, training outdoors much of the time. Some of the smokers and drinkers
were plagued with colds. I told you about sleeping in the open on the ice and
snow one night. Thank God I didn’t catch the slightest cold that night. I ate the chow hall’s healthy food to
nourish the healthy body God blessed me with, shunned all vices, and did all
the physical training to the extent of my body’s ability. The extreme
physical exertion caused me no undue suffering, but
several smokers and drinkers “suffered” thru it. I thoroughly enjoyed it all, and even begged for more at times!
Likely it was late January when our platoon
was jogging 2 or 3 miles at the end of our PT session that day. It was so cold
I noticed that the sweat on our eyebrows was turning into frost. In vain pride,
I took off my sweatshirt and T-shirt to jog a while shirtless. Lt. Virgil
followed suit. No other guys in our platoon were stupid enough to do that. I
didn’t catch a cold.
Before
they cut TBS from 6 months back to 5 months in order to
speed up the training to send more of us hurriedly on to Nam to die, it was
typical for each platoon to jog a 9-mile loop (one or more times during
that 6 months). But they cut that out in our 5-month training sessions. Lack of
time for it.
Three
weeks or so before we graduated, one morning just before lunch time, our
platoon commander, 1st Lieutenant Lopez, led us out more than a mile
on our jog to the place we always made a U-turn and jogged back. As we
approached the turning point, I started yelling, “The Loop!” Just
a few other such crazy buddies joined me in calling for our platoon to
run The Loop. Most guys in the platoon were hoping such agony would not
materialize.
First
Lt. Lopez slowed the pace, came back midway to jog at the side of the jogging
platoon, so all of us could hear him. “If we jog The Loop, you’ll have no time
to eat lunch.” (Lunch followed this jogging time, and then class after lunch.)
I (and the few others who were crazy enough to keep screaming “The
Loop!”) prevailed.
We
jogged the whole 9 miles non-stop. Then we hurriedly
showered, changed into clean uniforms and dragged into class on time at 1 PM.
The non-hackers in our platoon weren’t at all pleased with us few crazy
dudes begging for a 9-mile run as opposed to a 3-mile run, and moreover
missing lunch to do it. My actions were not conducive to
maintaining good standing with my platoon compatriots. Ah, TBS was an exciting
Marine Corps adventure for me! I am most glad I didn’t miss it, by going
directly to Pensacola flight training from Auburn U.
Almighty
God perfected
the time of the year I went thru TBS. Basking in the pleasant autumn
weather to the tune of rifle and pistol fire (and the smell of gun smoke) was
perfect for those fine autumn weeks on the outdoor shooting ranges. Then, the
many days and few nights I spent out in the field in the snow would have been most
fatiguing in mid-summer heat. Also, I would have been plagued by
Poison Oak and Ivy, and by mosquitoes and ticks taking unauthorized
blood donations from me.
And
sleeping on the hot summer ground (instead of on snow and ice), I just might
have awakened in the middle of the night to behold one of Snaky’s fellow
creatures coiled on my chest and staring at my face from inches away. “Howdy,
Snake Terminator! I heard it thru the grapevine, what you did to my fellow
Snaky!”
‘But
that was long ago, and a long distance from here.’
“In
case you haven’t noticed, we serpents are long creatures. Thus, long
times and long distances pose no problem for us.”
‘Can’t
we negotiate, please?’
“You
didn’t allow my fellow Snaky to negotiate as you flayed him to pieces.
So just hold still now while I pierce your nose! I’ll load your face so full of
poison that the pain and suffering will be short-lived, due to rendering you
short-lived.”
That
would not have been enjoyable at all!
As I
slept on top of that thick layer of cold snow and ice, it was such a comfort to know that all
of Snaky’s fellow creatures in that area were far below that
white frozen layer, hibernating deep down in holes in the earth, sound
asleep day and night. Those sleeping arrangements suited me
perfectly!
Appropriate
cold weather clothing and gear kept me plenty warm playing war out in that
cold. Returning from such training (on Saturdays for instance), I would take a
hot shower, change into civilian clothes and eat a healthy hot lunch in the
officers’ chow hall. Then I would fly my T-Bird down to Fredericksburg for a
date with Brenda, eating supper and chatting with her before a warm glowing
fireplace in the Tiptons’ cozy basement in a lovely snow-white world. Truly,
it was a most rich time of my life, young, vibrant, full of
energy and life, doing what I wanted to do with my life at that time!
My
time at The Basic School was slightly longer than 5 months. That
“starting period” of my active-duty military time was the most enjoyable period
of my 5 years and almost 5 months of active duty as a Marine Corps
officer. Living in that BOQ complex where I could most conveniently take
care of all my personal needs inside that complex (chow hall, barbershop,
laundry, dry cleaning, snack bar, the limited necessary shopping,
and such) was a great aid in staying keenly
focused on the intense training and studying that I was undergoing. The Marines
well planned it that way. Also, our instructors were top-notch Viet Nam war
veteran Marines. Overall, it was an honour to train under them.
No matter what the weather be, we went right ahead with scheduled
training in rain or snow. There were no
delays. Essentially, no problems cropped up. It was a rare period of
time in my life when essentially
everything went as planned and scheduled. That “smoothness” factor
was refreshing. You well know the frustration brought on
by delays, cancellations, change of plans and such. TBS was practically void
of all such.
Also, my brief occasions of social life with the
few friends I made (handpicked of my own choosing), were void of
conflicts and/or any unpleasant times spent together.
1. I highly enjoyed the nature of my work, in my element, and achieving highly desired goals
during that time (mainly, jet pilot training). Actually, no
other job in our nation’s entire military and coast guard,
held any attraction for me.
2. My job was practically void of problems with
weather, man, or machinery.
3. My social life was most rich and pleasant, with no
conflicts with the people in my social world.
Thus, OVERALL, my 5 months at TBS
Quantico, were the very best of all my life that I lived in my native country, before
relocating to Japan just short of my 28th birthday, to thereafter (essentially) live the remainder of my life on earth in Japan.
Tho I highly desired to become a military officer,
the serious duty and responsibility of properly commanding lower
ranking military men under my command daunted
me plenty, being
responsible for their very lives (especially in battle). The simple side of me
would have preferred to have been a buck private (the lowest rank) during
all my time in the military, and thus simply follow
orders to the best of my ability.
Army parachute training was purely following
orders. I gave no orders to anyone. Marine Officer Candidate School required me
to lead a few times, and The Basic School required me to lead more times. But much
of these latter 2 training sessions, entailed me personally
following orders given to me. I liked that simple element.
Meeting the
Commandant of the Marine Corps in person was definitely
a highlight of this
training at Quantico. That four-star general extended a handshake to me,
and stood there chatting personally with me just briefly, probing me
for sound advice on how to best operate our nation’s Marine Corps.
“Lieutenant Yerby, aren’t
you exaggerating a little now?”
‘Absolutely not!
With that last phrase, I simply switched to writing pure fiction!’ Oh, my time at Quantico was
a rich experience in my life! (By the way, standing there
chatting in person with The Marine Corps Commandant was probably the closest I
came to being “promoted” to the
rank of general during my military career. J)
Military
training (playing soldier) out in the fields and forests (outdoors in
God’s nature), suited me perfectly (tho
I desired not that career). That gave me much pleasure during
this time in TBS. I strove hard to rank high in my class to become a jet pilot,
because I want to experience the vain thrill
and glory of flying a small fast military fighter or attack jet high up in
the sky. And I am glad that I achieved that goal.
But…confined
inside a tiny, cramped cockpit, wearing a helmet with an oxygen
mask strapped tightly against my mouth and nose, and the discomfort of
brief periods of weightlessness or pulling 4 or 5 positive G’s, was all most
uncomfortable. It looks so impressive to see a military
jet pilot wearing his helmet and oxygen mask, but it is plenty
uncomfortable to experience that unnatural, confining attire.
My
vanity caused me to love the glory of flying those small fast jets. I am
thankful to have achieved that experience along with its thrills. But the “natural”
God-ordained act of walking
those lovely hills of Virginia alone 6 hours or more on a pleasant
autumn day, with my map and compass, searching for and finding all
my “points”, was far, far more pleasant.
Another
reason this time frame was so enjoyable, was my social life in Fredericksburg
with the girls at the Baptist Student Union and with the Tipton family. A very
few of my fellow Marines were plenty decent and upright. But many were
base, lewd sinners, whose “unspeakable” sins constantly spewed forth from their
mouths when I was around them. What a relief it was to head down to
Fredericksburg most every Saturday afternoon to spend the remainder of each
weekend with a Christian family, and to be around Christian girls.
The
lovely Virginia scenery also made this time most pleasant to me. My short stay
in Virginia was a most cherished time for me. I thank God for it.
I’m thankful I didn’t go from Auburn to flight training in Pensacola, Florida
(as I first desired). Had I done so, at the start likely I would often have come back to Auburn on
weekends. Getting totally weaned away from Auburn was much more
profitable, no doubt.
“Best All Around”
All
things considered (as explained thus far), in my element in the Marine
officer training at Quantico and in my social life at Fredericksburg, my stay
in Virginia was the most pleasant and fulfilling period of time of my almost 28 years of life in the U.S.,
before I went to Japan (and then took up life in Japan).
Gaining
the comfort of a regular paycheck and free necessary medical and dental care
(for the 1st time in my life of poverty), also helped make it the
best. Also, were I to be killed or die on active duty, my poor Dad would
receive $10,000 from the U.S. government (basic military life insurance). Best
to not even consider that, but it was there, and would have been an immense
help to him, in case of my demise.
In 2nd
place to this pleasant first 5 months of active military duty,
was the very last 5 months
of my active duty in the Marines (in Japan). During the last 5 months of
my active-duty period, my workload was, by far, the lightest it
had ever been thru out all my military active-duty time. During the last 5
months, I was finishing up at Iwakuni, Japan, obtaining permission to get
discharged in Japan and getting a Japanese visa to stay here. I had learned
enough of the Japanese language to converse quite well with Japanese friends I
had made in Iwakuni and Hiroshima. Also, I rejoiced in my Lord’s Calling to be
a missionary here in Japan, and eagerly looked forward
to soon entering that lifetime calling and service. All that made my last 5
months of active duty as a Marine captain,
unspeakably pleasant.
Today,
upon departing from my 2nd major relocation after going out from my earthly father’s house, I am most thankful
to have done well thru out The Basic School’s training at Quantico, and
to have obtained my immediate goal of now being headed to jet
pilot training, which will be my 3rd major relocation on
earth.
Another
major step in my overall goal has been accomplished!
And with each accomplished step, more apprehension and anxiety recede,
and more bless-ed assurance builds within me, thank God.
On this
day, I leave the Tiptons’ house with a heart overflowing with joyful
accomplishment, and cruise all the way to
Auburn, Alabama (my 1st time to drive such a long distance in 1
day), arriving close to 9 PM. I then spend about 7 or 8 days in Auburn,
drive on to Birmingham to spend about 9 days with Mr. and Mrs. Mars, and then
on to Daddy’s house to spend about 9 days there, before driving on to Vance Air
Force Base in Enid, Oklahoma.
Arriving
in Auburn close to bedtime, I drive to the old house behind the Baptist Student
Union. The BSU owns that old house, and 2 or 3 Baptist boys (university
students) live in it. They are sort of caretakers of the BSU, and likely lodge
there free for doing that service. I know all of them. So, when I arrive there
unannounced and ask if they have a place I can sleep, Randall says, “Sure. That
room is empty. You can sleep in it.” What a relief to “rack out” in the Auburn
Baptist Student Union, after a long day’s drive from Fredericksburg,
Virginia.
The
next morning, I drive to the girls’ dining hall (where I had worked), while
breakfast is being served. As I enter the dining area,
I spot Wanda sitting at a table eating breakfast. She sees me
about the same time I spot her. Each of us breaks out into a wide smile. She
stands up, comes to me and gives me a nice hug. We briefly greet each other, and leave it at that. I am quite sure she is
going steady at this time, so I leave her alone.
I
serve myself a big breakfast (for free as a guest), and
talk with the student workers whom I know and with the dietitians (the bosses).
The bosses let me work on the serving line while I stay in Auburn,
and let me eat my meals here for doing that. What a privilege! I
fellowship with Baptist girls and other girls I know who eat in this dining
hall. I take Julie to a concert on campus. I attend a basketball game. It was an enjoyable week or so of
leisure with university friends, after going “full steam” for 5 months of
Marine officer training at Quantico. I did not see Beverly the several meals I
was in the dining hall. Possibly she had graduated at the end of the fall
quarter.
I go
to the Navy ROTC offices and talk with my former instructor, Major Cleveland.
(Likely this is his last year at Auburn before being transferred to a different
duty station.) I tell him things went well for me at Quantico (TBS), and that I
am glad to now be assigned to jet pilot training with
the Air Force. I do not ask the major to let me come to his class in my 2nd
lieutenant’s uniform and speak to the Marine students in his class, as was
typical for someone like me to do. I had all my uniforms in my car. But I just
wasn’t interested in visiting his class. Neither did he mention it.
As we
spoke of John’s death, Major Cleveland told me that Jim W. had been killed in
Viet Nam. Jim was a classmate to John ②. They both were my age, and both were my Navy ROTC
classmates before I got set back 1 year because of my injury in the car wreck.
Besides me, there were only 4 other Marines in that class. Sad to hear of a 2nd
buddy of that 4, getting killed in Viet Nam. Jim was a most likeable guy. I
enjoyed being around him in ROTC.
I ask Major Cleveland if he was sure about Jim. “Yes, a man
dropped by here who knows Jim’s family (living in northern Florida). The man
had recently asked Jim’s dad how his son was. Jim’s dad broke
down weeping, and said that his son had
gotten killed in Viet Nam.”
You
can see that I didn’t assign a number to Jim. That’s because it was
Jim’s brother that had gotten killed in Viet Nam. (So mistaken
thinking had stemmed from the conversation in the above paragraph, where
the son’s name was not spoken.) But I believe this mistaken
news that my Auburn buddy Jim had been killed, and I am saddened by it, of
course. So, you can imagine my shock more than 14 months later when to my great
surprise, I “bump into” Jim in the officers’ chow hall at Marine Corps Air
Station Cherry Point, North Carolina. I then tell Jim
what Major Cleveland had told me. Jim replies that it was his brother that got
killed in Nam.
The
leisurely week or so at Auburn is most enjoyable, seeing old friends
and being on the familiar campus (re-living those pleasant and fun
college days). Most likely I stopped in on my former landlady, Mrs. Taylor, and
greeted her, but I don’t recall doing so.
(This
was my last time to be at the Auburn University that I
was familiar with. The next time I will visit this university campus will
be in the spring of 1986, more than 16 years later. Regrettably,
Auburn University will change plenty during those 16 years, no longer
anything like the campus and the atmosphere that I knew in the
good old days.)
Leaving
Auburn, I head up U.S. Hwy 280 to Birmingham to stay a week or longer with Mr.
and Mrs. Mars. He had “retired” from the roofing business. because of age and
declining health. But he now works a “lighter” job. His
neighbor friend (Dan), owns several small gas stations in about a
70-mile radius around Birmingham. Mr. Mars now delivers boxes of cans of engine
oil, brake fluid, transmission fluid, and such, to
those gas stations. Mr. Mars soon asks me if I want work, hauling those
products to Dan’s gas stations.
‘Sure,
I want a job!’ I thank God for making me into a creature that desires to work
much, instead of play much.
So, I
soon find myself driving a pickup truck each day, delivering boxes of cans of engine
oil, other automotive fluids, and such, to Dan’s gas stations in north Alabama.
It was such easy work, mainly just driving (seeing the USA).
(The roofing work had been fatiguing toil that often coated
areas of my skin and clothing with the black coating or aluminum paint.) Now each
night I return to the Mars house from “driving”, I am not dirty with such, nor
am I very tired. We three enjoy Mrs. Mars’ delicious home cooking for supper,
as we talk much about old times, present times, our
families and such. It’s such a joyful time!
I’m on
paid leave from the Marines. Dan is paying me for this hauling work. All
such income helps me to make my car payments, Quantico credit union payments,
and to get ahead financially in life. Life is rich beyond measure with
friends abounding, steady income, and wonderful opportunities, all from the
Bountiful Hand of Our Loving Heavenly Father. Thank Thee, Lord God
in Heaven!
This
is my last time to see Mr. Mars while he is still in reasonably
good health, daily going about “normally”. Just over a year later,
when I come visit them after finishing basic pilot training in Oklahoma, Mr.
Mars will then be in the hospital. I am most thankful for this enjoyable (icing
on the cake) final stay with them in their nice house, while Mr.
Mars is still active.
After
this memorial visit with them, hauling oil and such, I bid them Farewell and
drive on to Daddy’s house to stay 9 days or so. I help Daddy a little with his
farm work while visiting many relatives and friends here in
my hometown area. It’s always nice to come home again. My younger brother, Joe,
is now on the deadly battlefields in Viet Nam. Thoughts of him weigh heavily
on our minds, as we pray for his safe return.
In late
March 1970, I bid Farewell to family, relatives and hometown friends, point
my T-Bird west, and head for Oklahoma. It meant a lot to me to spend this time
in Auburn, Birmingham, and Vernon, the
3 Alabama locales that had been “home” to me.
It’s
only about 26 miles on back roads from Daddy’s house to U.S. Hwy 82 near
Columbus, Mississippi. I get onto 82 going west, and soon pass thru Starkville,
just west of Columbus. I guess Starkville, Mississippi was the furthest west
I had ever traveled, except for the time I flew with the ROTC Rifle Team
from Auburn to Oxford, Mississippi. So, this farm boy is now off to new
adventures in America’s heartland (the Mid-west).
Daddy’s
younger sister, Sarah Alice, and family live in the “Delta” area near U.S. Hwy
82 somewhere close to Greenville, Mississippi. I took their address and phone
number with me, call them from a pay phone when I get near there, get
directions to their house, and stop by to visit her, Uncle Densil, and their 3
children. Uncle Densil is a preacher, having been called to preach somewhat
late in life.
I keep my visit brief and soon head
west, crossing the large Mississippi River for the first time in
my short life. All that afternoon, I drive completely across southern
Arkansas on U.S. 82, thru Texarkana, Arkansas, and on into Texas, driving till
about bedtime, and then checking into a motel in northeast Texas for a night’s
rest. I had never before been in this big state
of Texas.
The
next morning, I eat eggs, sausage, toast and grits for
breakfast in the motel’s restaurant. Till now, I think each time I had eaten a
meal in a café or restaurant; I received 1 or 2 small “pats” of margarine
with my meal. This Texas breakfast comes with a nice size serving of whipped
butter in a paper cup, and the cup was not all that small. I had always heard,
“Everything is big in Texas”. But seeing the size of that cup and the round
scoop of white butter, I dumbly assume it’s a
complimentary cup of ice cream. I didn’t even sample it to confirm my dumb,
mistaken assumption.
I ate
my toast and grits without butter, and sort of hurried thru my breakfast before
my free dessert of “ice cream” melted. After I ate everything else,
I put a spoonful of that “ice cream” into my mouth, and
was plenty shocked to taste butter. Sure do wish I had enjoyed that delicious whipped butter on my toast and in my grits. That regretful
experience was my initiation into “Everything is big in
Texas”.
If you
want to look at U.S. road maps, you can see the
northern Texas cities and towns I pass thru on U.S. Hwy 82, as I travel west
to U.S Hwy 81. I then turn north on 81
and follow it all the way to Vance AFB just south of Enid, Oklahoma, and
close on the west side of Hwy 81. So, I got onto U.S. 82 just 26 miles or so
from Daddy’s house near Vernon, Alabama, and then traveled only 2
highways all the hundreds of miles to Vance AF Base, so far away in
Oklahoma. Why, I usually had to turn onto more different roads than
that, just going from Daddy’s house to visit some friend or relative only 5 to
10 miles away.
(I
suppose that’s profound enough to think upon, briefly.)
As I
travel west thru northern Texas, the terrain levels out and the highway becomes
straight, enabling my mind to grasp the vastness of Texas nothingness as
I travel straight on, and on. I enjoy this new adventure of viewing new
scenery. Traffic is sparse, and I can see far ahead on the straight highway. I
had heard that Texas State Troopers were quite lenient about the speed limit
posted on these open highways passing thru barren, open land. Apparently, my
Thunderbird had also heard of the kindness of Texas State Troopers,
because it proceeds thru northern Texas at a positive rate this day.
“Lieutenant
Richard, just exactly how fast was that?”
‘Can
you keep a secret?’
“Sure,
I can! Just whisper it into my ear, and this will be just between
you and me!”
‘Then
I don’t mind telling you, that it was somewhat slower
than the speed of those military jets I will soon start flying thru the vast
skies over Oklahoma and Kansas!’
I stop
for lunch along the way. I find Texans to be friendly. Since this
day, I have visited Texas a good number of times down thru the years,
and so much enjoy being in that vast state of friendly folks with
its laid-back western atmosphere.
It
always fascinates me to read or hear true stories of people “uprooted” from
their “roots” (home place) by military service or other jobs that move them
often, or by poverty, disaster, refugee status, or for any reason. Often
interwoven into such life stories is one (or a very few) special personal
possession that they took with them (family pictures, a child’s toy, doll,
etc.), that reminded them of home, and thus came to
mean much to the person “on the move” (becoming a “security blanket”).
In my
stateside military life on the move, you can easily guess my one
such favorite toy that I always carried with me. Rather, it
always carried me, my nice Thunderbird car.
I bought it new just over 3 months before graduating from Auburn University.
That luxury was the crown on my university days. I then drove it
to Quantico, Virginia, now to Enid, Oklahoma, and lastly, I will
drive it to Cherry Point, North Carolina, my 3 Marine Corps duty stations
stateside, before the Marines send me to Japan. Where upon, I then take up
residence in this foreign land. (And I will take a few other long, State-side
trips in my T-Bird, the times I go on leave (vacation) from Cherry Point, back
home to Vernon, Alabama.)
‘I don’t
ever want more belongings than I can take with me in my T-Bird.’ I
once said that to Mrs. Tipton when I was in their Virginia home chatting with
her. And I fairly well abode by that rule the
following few years I lived in the U.S. before coming to Japan. I wanted no
more possessions than I could pack into the car’s trunk and backseat. That left room remaining for 2 passengers to ride in the front
seat. And that was the arrangement a few weeks ago when I packed up to leave Quantico, and then gave Mrs. Tipton and Brenda a ride to my
TBS graduation ceremony.
The
Thunderbird was my one unchanging possession, during 4 and half years of
several long moves and long trips. Moreover, it was a nice
possession. I spent many long hours behind the T-Bird’s steering wheel,
cruising long distance highways. I slept in it a few
nights. The car was attractive, comfortable, and pleasant with a 5-speaker
stereo player for my tapes of Gospel singing and other soft music. The T-Bird
had plenty of power and endurance for long trips. I thank God for graciously
providing it for me.
“And
it flew across flat, straight, open Texas highways faster than a military jet;
didn’t you say so, Lieutenant Richard?”
‘There
you go, already changing that story and exaggerating it.’
U.S. Hwy
82 (East and West) intersects U.S. Hwy 81 (North and South) at Ringgold, sort
of out in the middle of Texas nowhere. From there, I head just about due
north on U.S. 81 into Oklahoma, passing to the west of Oklahoma City and
entering wheat country, where man has made the lovely flat land into a
checkerboard fashion of a road each mile with a fence row each half mile, dividing
the land into neat, square mile sections of 640 acres each. Those large
flat sections of wheat fields were so much larger than the small 40-acre
farm on which I grew up. This land is a beautiful sight for me to behold. One
can see forever. I enjoy gazing on that vastness, (from my
car on the highways, and more so, soon, from a bird’s eye view from
airplane cockpits high above it, as I train to be a pilot. I come to love
and enjoy this flat, vast scenery during my one-year stay in
Oklahoma.
Darkness
falls on me. I arrive safely at Vance Air Force Base after dark, show my orders
to the sentry at the gate, and ask him directions to
the BOQ office. I drive there; show my orders to the civilian man at the
desk, and he assigns a BOQ room to me. He is of a laid-back and friendly nature.
I’m friendly to him. Thus, we chat a little as he looks at my orders, and then
at his list of vacant rooms.
He hesitates
in deciding which room to give me, as if he is turning something over in his
mind. I have no idea what matter was on his mind to cause him to briefly delay
in deciding which room to assign me. But my Precious, Caring Lord was working
in this man’s heart to do me a great favor that would make this 1
year stay at Vance AFB much more pleasant for
me.
Most
of the BOQ rooms here for bachelor officers have 2
guys to each room, just like I had been put into a room with Lt. Wright at Camp
Barrett at Quantico. I expect the same rooming situation here, sharing a
room with a roommate. But instead, my Lord gives me the desire of my heart, a private
room all my own. In fact, it is a small suite all my own. Thank
Thee, Lord Jesus, for being so gracious.
Likely,
this kind man was in his 50’s or possibly early 60’s, and a slow, drawn-out,
speaker. Finally, he spoke up. “Most of our rooms are doubles, but some
buildings have one single room on the first floor at the end. I presently have one
single room that is unoccupied and available. Would you prefer it, to rooming
with another guy?”
‘Yes, Sir!
I would prefer that!’
“Then
you can have the single room.”
I fill
out the necessary form. He gives me the door keys to those quarters, and simple
directions to its nearby location. Driving there, I
easily locate it, open up, unload most of my few
things, park in the parking lot close behind this BOQ building, and take
up residence in my new private quarters in the Wild, Wild
West (Oklahoma). New Adventure! My 3rd Major Relocation,
after going out from my earthly father’s house.
Unlike
the massive, sprawling BOQ complex at Camp Barrett in Quantico, the BOQ complex
here is several small 2-story wood frame buildings with about 3 suites
each on the 1st floor and 2nd floor. Yes, suites
instead of just 1 one room. I look over my new private quarters in joyful
amazement: a living-room/study, a bedroom with closet, another closet in
the hallway, and my own bathroom. The Air Force is known to be more extravagant
than the Marines. This is the first time in my
life to have this much space to live in alone. I like the wood
floors here. Concrete floors destroy one’s feet and legs.
At
Camp Barrett, I had been assigned to room
with Lt. Wright for only 4 months, during which time we were most busy
out in the field and in the classroom. We did little more in our room than
shower and bed down for the night. Both Lt. Wright and I usually left each
weekend (to each go our separate ways, of course). Thus, we didn’t have to
endure being together in that small room much time at all. At that time there
were no restrictions against smoking in the BOQ rooms. It was such a relief
to me that Lt. Wright did not smoke.
But I
am to be here at Vance for a whole year, and overall, I will have more free
time than I had at Quantico. I, being a loner by nature, am most thankful
and glad that I did not have to live in the same suite
with another guy this year, as the majority of the single pilot trainees did.
If I had to share a suite here, possibly the other guy would have been a Smoker.
That smoke would have tormented me terribly.
I had
spent a long, scenic day; gliding over long, straight stretches of Texas and
Oklahoma highways. So, I soon happily bed down in my newly acquired suite for the night’s rest I definitely
need. Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the
Lord my soul to keep.
“Good
‘Okie’ night to you, pilot-to-be Richard, who is already flying your
Thunderbird car low level across wide open flat Texas and Oklahoma.”
‘Well,
good night, to you too, I guess.’
The
End of Chapter 21