Minot Air Force Base, North Dakota, January 1974 to June 1978

The most flights from LAX to Minot, North Dakota, required a change of planes at Denver's Stapleton Airport.  I left my Camero behind with Mom since, at some point that later Winter or early Spring, I would be attending Missile training school at Vandenberg Air Force, North of Santa Barbara.  I would then have my personal effects shipped to Minot AFB from the Visiting Officer's Quarters (VOQ) at Vandenberg, and I would finally drive my Camero to the snow and cold of North Dakota at the conclusion of missile school.

The two carriers from LAX to Denver in those days were United Airlines and Continental Airlines.  This trip I would be taking a United DC-10.  The only direct airline between Denver and Minot was Frontier Airlines, not the current carrier but the original Frontier.  They flew 737-200s.  Sometimes, the flight occasionally stopped at either Rapid City, South Dakota, or Bismark, North Dakota.  But most of the time in either direction, the flight was non-stop.

The small Minot Airport did not have jetways.  When the aircraft stopped at the modest terminal and the crew opened the front door and lowered the stairs, I made my way off of the plane.  When I faced the sunny exterior, to descend the stairs, my face was hit by a blast of freezing wind.  It felt as if I had been slugged by a frozen fist.  Even in the afternoon, the temperatures were below zero.  Inside the terminal, another disappointment awaited.  My luggage did not make the Frontier flight.  (This would be the only time my luggage would not make the connection in Denver in either direction between Minot and LAX.  Of course, more often than not, I would take Continental Airlines and only rarely United.)

I caught the Air Force shuttle bus to the base in front of the terminal.  Unfortunately, the next day I would have to take that same shuttle bus to retrieve my suitcases. 

I took the following photo of the simple base entrance sign, but in August of 1974, when I would have my car.                                                                             

I would stay at the Visiting Officer's Quarters until I was assigned a permanent room in the Bachelor Officer's Quarters (BOQ).  Another new missile officer named Jim was staying in the VOQ room next to mine, with a door between the two units.  He drove an older Dodge whose dashboard "Doors" light always remained on.  He and his fiance therefor called the car, "Doors". 

The following day, I put on my long cloth Air Force coat, to walk back to the base Dispensary where I could catch the shuttle bus to the airport.  Leaving through the entrance to the Visiting Officer's Quarters front desk, the shortest exposed route to the Dispensary, I started walking out across the parking lot for the Dispensary as swiftly as possible.  Though the sky was blue and the sun fully bright for January, a strong wind was blowing at my exposed face.  Snow snakes eddied across the blacktop.  Crossing the two-lane street, Summit Drive, in front of the VOQ and Officer's Club, I was saluted by someone whose rank or face I could not see, so bundled up were they in a parka.  I painfully returned the salute.  At this stage of my walk, I was beginning to doubt that I was going to make it to the Dispensary.  My face was beginning to freeze up.  My hands were stiff.  I had never been so cold in my life.  I crossed the parking lot of the Dispensary, propelled by the shear will to live.  I finally reached the door and quickly stepped inside, unsure if I would ever thaw out.  I spent the next several minutes waiting for the bus and trying to revive my frozen body, especially my hands and feet.

Fortunately, within a couple of days, I would get the full issue of cold weather gear, especially the brand new parka that I would wear for the next 4 1/2 years, becoming my constant companion.  Eveny winter, the extra weight on my shoulders was quite welcome as the cold set in, typically in September before my birthday.  In the Spring, usually in late May, I was finally able to doff the thing.  It would actually feel as if a great weight had been lifted off my shoulders for the brief North Dakota summer.  

Our Squadron Commander for my first few months at Minot was Col. Kukowski.  The most significant thing he did was have me assigned as the Squadron Supply Officer.  It would be my job for the next four plus years to take each new Squadron member, upon arrival, to Supply and get them their cold weather gear.  My work was well appreciated by each new Squadron member.  And, per usual, I was assigned to the 742nd Strategic Missile Squadron, whose colors were blue.  

Until I could leave for Vandenberg AFB and missile training, I would work around the Squadron office in the basement of the 91st Missile Wing building.  I would be assigned to be a Deputy Missile Combat Crew Commander (DMCCC) when I came back from Vandenberg to Steven Schurr.  He and his wife, Elaine, became good friends before he transferred out of missiles and to an Air Force weather unit, his preferred Air Force job, probably in 1977.  Unfortunately, he ended up being upgraded to Missile Combat Crew Commander (MCCC) while I was at Vandenberg.  But the Schurr's always invited me to dinner, especially during the holidays when I was not able to be home with the family.  Their young son was also named Greg.  Here is a picture I took of him when the four of us visited the Minot Zoo that Spring after I got back from Vandenberg.
                                                                            

When you were on the crew force, and paired up with a commander, they put a B&W photo of you and your commander together on the crew board under the Flight to which you were assigned within your Squadron.  Over the years, I swiped photos that were no longer being used, sometimes because the individual left his missile operation's assignment and Minot, or they took an updated photo when you got promoted from Lieutenant to Captain.  Here is a picture of Steve Schurr when he was still a 1st Lt. 
                                                                         

The pin on Steve's blue ascot with a number on it indicated the number of Highly Qualified Standardization Board (Standboard) evaluations you achieved.  An HQ meant that you had no major or critical errors during your Standboard evaluation.  They put your two-man crew into a missile launch control facility (LCF) simulator on base and tossed a number of generally realistic scenarios at you, to evaluate how you well perform.  You would also have to accompany the Standboard crew out to the field in a real Launch Control Facility (LCF) to verify your proficiency out there.

Steve would eventually get asked to join the Instructor Shop, those crews who taught classes on procedures and equipment and provided updates to those procedures on base.  For example, if a fuse popped, originally you were taught to immediately push it back in.  Later, the technical folks determined that a crew ought to wait a minute and then push the fuse button back in.  Major errors in the simulator involved damaging equipment or failing to get a security clearance for topside personnel who were either repairing the missile in the field or repairing equipment downstairs.  You could get two major errors and still pass an evaluation.  Three major errors and you "busted" the ride.  The same would be true if you got a single critical error.  A critical error usually involved making a significant error in the launch of a missile, either not launching a missile or launching the wrong missile or missiles when the Minuteman III system allowed for the selective launch of specified missiles rather than a launch of the entire Wing's missiles.

In the early days of the Strategic Air Command (SAC), it was an all or nothing scenario.  You either launched no missiles or you launched all of them.  Upgrades to the Minuteman III missiles and the equipment in the Launch Control Facility allowed SAC and the President of the United States to selectively launch even as few as one missile from the entire SAC arsenal at all six SAC missile bases.  

The 742nd Missile Squadron to which I was assigned had five flights:  Kilo, Lima, Mike, November, and Oscar.   Oscar was just up the main North-South highway from the base and the town.  Kilo and Lima were the farthest away.

Alpha flight through Echo flight were part of the 740th Strategic Missile Squadron (their ascots were red).  Foxtrot flight through Juliet were in the 741st Strategic Missile Squadron (their ascots were green).  The 740th's Launch Control Facilities (LCFs) and Launch Facilities (LFs) started south of the town of Minot, to the Southeast.  The 741st's LCCs and LFs were to the West of Minot and Minot AFB.  The 742nd's LCFs and LFs were to the Northwest and North of Minot AFB. 
                                                                                 

I was asked to type up a document for our Squadron Operations Officer.  I misspelled missile all of the way through the typed form ("missle") and had to type it all over again.  I also discovered that two other crewmen in the Squadron had the same birthday as I (1949/09/23).  I'd never known of anyone with my same birthday before.  

Vandenberg Air Force Base

When my missile class was going to shortly begin, I flew back to Southern California, picked up my Camaro from Mom's place, and drove to Vandenberg AFB.  We were each given rooms in old, wooden, WWII-era barracks.  We would spend hours daily in classrooms and in simulation/trainers on base, but our evenings and weekends were free to study or do whatever we felt like.  I would drive to Mom's on a Friday evening and visit friends and relatives on those several weekends.  Unfortunately, the gasoline energy crisis severely worsened that Spring.  Fewer and fewer gas stations were open on weekends, or those that were open closed quickly when they ran out of gas.  Since I had California license plates, we were only allowed to get gas on even or odd days, depending upon the last number of our license plates. 

I would have to go out early on Saturday or Sunday mornings, to try and find an open gas station.  The lines would already be starting to form at the pumps.  But those open gas stations became fewer and fewer as the weeks passed.  One weekend, I could find no gas and would head back to Vandenberg, hoping that what fuel remained in my tank would get me back to the base.  Nervous the entire way, I did find a station open North of Santa Barbara along the coast highway and got some gas.  But my final weekend or two, I felt it best to stay on the base rather than fruitlessly look for open gas stations in San Pedro or up the hill in Palos Verdes.  

We were told by the training staff that Santa Maria featured one of the best steak restaurants in the area, The Far Western.  We ate there a couple of times before graduation.  Great steak dinners at reasonable prices were to be had at any time.

We also learned that an electronics outlet called The Wherehouse was open North of Vandenberg.  I had read a review of Advent's new speakers in a new niche publication, The Absolute Sound.  Also, when I had visited David Zito at George AFB, he owned a pair of Advent speakers that he liked very much.  A fellow missile trainee joined me in driving to the electronics warehouse to buy four Advent speakers each (The Absolute Sound touted the "double Advent system" of pairing two speakers on each side of your stereo).  To make sure the speakers in their boxes would fit in my car and trunk, we even took out the back seat and the spare from the trunk.  After we bought the speakers, we set about attempting to fit them into the back seat area and the trunk.  We moved the front seats as far forward as possible.  I could not sit in the driver's seat and steer.  Fortunately, the guy with me was shorter than I and he could just fit behind the wheel.  I could sit in the passenger's seat with a large speaker box in my lap.  I could look out of the side mirror on that side of the car to help him change lanes.  He could not use the rear-view mirror inside the car because the view was blocked by speaker boxes.  

We managed to make it back to base without getting a ticket and unloaded the speakers.  I hooked my four speakers up to a receiver that I had bought, which was already hooked up to a new turntable.  I used Joni Mitchell's new Court and Spark as a test album, to hear how the system sounded.  I was thoroughly satisfied.

The missile staff had formed three-man crews during training.  One of the other two on my team, Taylor, was determined by the staff to be the best of the three of us and was made commander of the crew, with the other two of us alternating as the deputy during trainer rides or during our final evaluation rides.  I thought the choice was poor.  My judgment was proved out during the evaluation rides.  Even though it was my evaluation, Taylor sat in the commander's chair.  At one point I waved a security pad because I believed that we needed to conduct a security verification with a site team before proceeding.  Taylor cavalierly waved me off, and we moved on.  (The staff had drilled into us that the commander was in charge.  A deputy might disagree, and in some cases, the crew might even be run from the deputy's chair because the commander was weak.  But that situation never looked good professionally, and observers could see when the strong deputy was running the crew.)  I should have stood my ground, insisting that this was my evaluation and not his.  But I did not want to appear disgruntled or running the crew from the back seat.  I got a major error because we did not get a security verification when I said that we needed to.  The evaluator even noted, "You were waving the security pad, but you did not get it."  I kept my anger to myself.  

During the next evaluation when Taylor as the commander was actually being scored, as well as the other deputy, they committed a major error because of his lack of ability.  In addition, as I was sitting next to the evaluator in the control cab, looking down on the other crew being put their paces, the evaluator opened Taylor's crew manual, just to give it a cursory glance.  (In the section that involved missile launch procedures, you could get a major error if you were missing a page or had two duplicate pages.)   The evaluator announced, "He must of have mistreated his manual because it opened to a duplicate page."  So, Taylor got two major errors, barely passing his evaluation ride.  He had talked me into a major error during my evaluation ride.  I never said anything to anyone, but I always felt that I was the strongest of the three of us at Vandenberg missile school, and the staff had no chosen well.

During one of our classes, one of the guys from Minot was again asked by the instructor his name at the start of class.  (We'd been asked our names during the first meeting of each of our several different missile classes.)  He wearily replied, "I'm still Joe Lehman."  From that class forward, that particular instructor would smile and refer to him as, "Still Joe."  At first, nobody made the connection.

Another instructor told us about a Minuteman III missile whose Launch Facility had gotten severely flooded.  The maintenance crew could not even service the missile because it was under water.  The instructor asked us, "What do you call a Minuteman missile that is under water?"  No one said anything.  I called out, "A Polaris."  Everyone laughed because that was the punchline, as well as the primary missile at the time carried by the Navy's several attack submarines that always operated under water.  

Here I am with my Camaro in the parking lot of the WWII barracks where we lived during missile training:
                                                                       

Ann and Mom's visit

I am certain we had dinner at The Far Western.  Here are photos of Ann and me on the rocks of the coastline of the Air Force Base, March 1974:
                                                                              

                                                                            

                                                                               

Mom visited me once by flying up to Santa Maria Airport in a de Havilland Dove.  I took her back to the airport in the photo below.
                                                                             

Wash outs

Bruce Culp from Marine OCS and Air Force OTS had also been assigned to Minot.  It was clear that he never wanted a missile officer assignment.  Whether it was at Vandenberg or back at Minot, he did bad job during training.  He was living in the same BOQ building as I.  I remember that he was able to get himself reassigned to become an officer in the base Security Police.  I think he finally found a military assignment he enjoyed.  I remember that when I first got to Minot, I was friends with another guy named Troy Pombert.  But he was equally unhappy with being a missile officer.  I don't recall how he got out of the program.

Long, long drive to Minot

Tim McConnell was one of my missile school buddies.  He was headed to Minot but would be in the 740th Strategic Missile Squadron (SMS).  He had his blue Ford Maverick at Vandenberg.  We decided to drive together to Minot when our training was over.

Unfortunately, before I had left Minot AFB for California, a guy in the 742nd strongly suggested I ought to drive through Yellowstone on the way to Minot.  That was good advice if missile school had ended in late May or early June.  We were finished in April.  Bad advice I would discover for that time of year.

Here is my SAC certificate of graduation from the missile school at Vandenberg:
                                                                     

                                                                               

The second is the Air Force certificate of the 10 weeks of training I experienced at Vandenberg.

Tim in his blue Maverick and I in my maroon Camaro headed directly North.  We were invited to spend a day and night with Aunt Jean and Uncle Lloyd in San Leandro.  After settling in, that night we drove over the Bay bridge to Fisherman's Warf, to have dinner at Scoma's, a restaurant that had been recommended to Tim by a family friend. 

The following morning after breakfast we said our goodbyes to Aunt Jean and Uncle Lloyd and headed East toward Tahoe.  An accident ahead blocked traffic for a time as we reached the Sierras.  We got out of our cars, tossed a frisbee back and forth for a brief time, and took a couple of pictures before the wreck was cleared up and traffic flowed again.
                                                                            

Here I am with snow around me and Lake Tahoe in the background.
                                                                                 

Here is Tim standing in snow with Laker Tahoe again as the backdrop.
                                                                                

We spent a night near Salt Lake City in a motel.  The following day, here I was with the Grand Tetons in the background:
                                                                             

The amount of snow in that photo ought to have warned us that a drive through Yellowstone was not going to happen.  We blithely entered the park, but the road soon kept narrowing because of snow piled up on either side.  We eventually found the road ending at a barrier of packed snow, at a cabin.  A couple of German Shepards bark emerged from behind the cabin and barked at us with the sun setting further over the surrounding pines.  Defeated after realizing this was all a mistake, we were forced to backtrack and take another route.  In total darkness, we eventually shirted the park on the West side, heading toward Montana.  We stopped to relieve ourselves at a outside latrine near the West entrance to the Park.  The roads were littered with potholes.  The drive was highly frustrating.

We spent a late night at a nondescript motel in Montana.  The following morning, we headed toward North Dakota.  Darkness fell again as we crossed the North Dakota border.  The highway was wide and smooth, with several rest areas along either side at intervals.  As we were sailing along, Tim decided to veer off to the ramp of a rest area.  I had no idea what he was doing.  He quickly re-emerged at the other end.  I realized that he was just being cute.  Problem was, he did it more than once, and that started to get annoying.  We were running late for our arrival at Minot AFB.  We finally had to call the base, to let our Squadrons know that it would take us one day longer to get there.  We spent the night in another nondescript motel in Bismark.  

Tim had left a message with the front desk to awaken us at 6 AM.  The phone rang, but he did not stir.  I got out of my bed and answered the front desk reminder.  Tim still did not move.  I tossed a pillow at him. He finally moved, growling at me and angrily tossing the pillow back in my direction.

We spent a quiet, even frosty, breakfast before heading North.  We had finally gotten on one another's nerves.  At some point again heading North, Tim was gesturing at me in my car.  I did not know what he was pointing out.  When we stopped for gas in the town of Minot, he mentioned seeing a few Launch Facilities (LFs) on either side of the highway.  These would be from the 740th, his Squadron.  

We parked in the lot off of Missile Avenue, the main road from the front gate into the base.  A buddy of Tim's awaited us, as well as Jim, my former VOQ buddy.  They helped us unpack.  Here we are with our two cars after the long journey that was finally at an end.
                                                                               

Here is Tim with a buddy from missile school:
                                                                              

Here is Jim, helping me carry some of my things to my BOQ room from my car.  The building behind him is where our respective rooms were located:
                                                                                

My first room was on the other side of the building on the first floor and in the center of the first floor.  Here is a later photo.  My room is directly behind white railing to the boiler room below, on the left.  The room could get excessively warm because of that location, so I often had to leave the window cracked, to keep from sweating in winter.  Tim's first room was close to mine on the same side of the building but on the second floor.
                                                                           

Here are a couple of photos of what I saw, looking out my window in the direction of the Main Gate.
                                                                             

                                                                                    

I noticed in current aerial maps of Minot AFB, this view is gone.  Two, long, connected buildings, which might be much larger BOQs, now entirely block the view from that same window.  Our old BOQ building is dwarfed by those new, connected buildings.  That stand of trees in each photo appears to be gone.  
                                         
I quickly settled in.  Here are photos in and around the BOQ in my first few months.   The staff planted a stick tree that Tim McConnell holds.  Tim would eventually move into the larger room behind him in this photo (it had a separate living room, a kitchen of its own, and a separate bedroom).  In the smaller BOQ rooms, the bedroom also severed as the living room.  And you had to share the small kitchenette with a guy whose room was on the other side of yours.
                                                                                  

Here I am with my beloved parka on, standing near where Tim stood above:
                                                                               

Residents of the BOQ got a parking space in the side lot with a plug in.  Winter temps could get so bad that you had to have a tank heater installed in your car, and I also added an interior heater.  Otherwise, the interior got really cold and the engine could freeze.  Here I am in my parka, leaning up against my Camaro in my parking space.
                                                                           

When the weather improved, I took more photos in and around the BOQ.  Here I am with my Camaro and a new Peugeot bike that I bought:
                                                                                  

Here I am without my winter parka:
                                                                            

Here is my Camaro across from the Main Gate, in August 1974:
                                                                               

Here is Tim McConnell beside the BOQ building one evening:
                                                                                 

                                                       
Here are two photos of me on the base tennis courts.  One detriment to playing out of doors once the weather warmed up, especially in June, was the mosquitoes.  It might have been a joke that the state bird of North Dakota was the mosquito.  But until the Air Force started to fog the many ponds surrounding the base, mosquitoes proliferated.  And they were both big and persistent.  During one morning of playing tennis, I was bitten 20 times in 30 minutes.  They would sit on your arm or leg and just suck until you smashed them against your skin.  Quickly I was informed that I needed to spray myself with "Off" insect repellent any time I intended to be out of doors for any length of time.

Minnesota might be the land of 10,000 lakes, but North Dakota was the land of even more thousands of ponds because of the contours of the land.  The prairie undulated and was not at all flat.  In the dips and depressions of the land, snow accumulated.  When the snow melted, it formed these thousands of ponds in all directions around the base where the mosquitoes bred and thrived and soon set out to suck the life blood from the unwary Air Force personnel on base.  
                                                                             

                                                                                  

81 Hours of training

The Air Force gives out a lot of certificates.  I came across this from February of 1974, that certifies training of some sort that I no longer remember taking before I left for Vandenberg.
                                                                            

Final Certification for Missile Duty

Obviously, I had to complete final training at Minot before I could begin serving on a missile crew as a Deputy Missile Combat Crew Commander (DMCCC).
                                                                             

Top Secret Can to Wright-Pat, June 1974

I was tasked in June to accompany a Top Secret missile "can" to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio.  I was given a checklist, but overlooked reading that when I picked up my loaded Air Force .45 pistol at the armory, I was also supposed to be issued a box to send the pistol back to Minot AFB.  From what I remember, maintenance crews can usually replace a section of each Minuteman III missile.  But sometimes, the Top Secret section would not let them remove the data.  Those cans would have to be loaded aboard a civilian contractor flight to Wright-Patterson via Grand Forks AFB, Duluth Air Force Station, Kincheloe Air Force Base, and K.I. Sawyer AFB, before landing at Wright-Pat.  I would be accompanied by an armed enlisted man, and one of us would have to get up from our seats and keep a close eye on our can when the side cargo door was open at each of the several stops.  Saturn Airways used Lockheed Electras on these scheduled routes across the "Northern Tier" of the United States.

 Here I am before we and the can were loaded aboard the cargo Electra:
                                                                             

After we arrived at Wright-Patterson in the early morning, we were able to sign over control of the TS can and be done with it.  We were able to spend the day at the Air Force Air & Space Museum, taking pictures.
                                                                           

                                                                        B-58 Hustler
                                                                               

                                                                      B-70 Valkyrie
                                                                               

                                               B-70 cockpit and Missiles in the background.
                                                                                

                                                            EC-121 Early Warning aircraft
                                                                                

                                                             Series of Missiles behind me

We spent that night at a motel near the Columbus, Ohio, airport.  I had called back to Minot AFB, only to be told that I had neglected to get the proper boxes to ship our .45s back to the base armory--I was also told that should those pistols be lost enroute because I had failed to get the proper boxes, my career would be jeopardized, even at this early date.  Wright-Pat did not have any boxes for us.  We would have to get our weapons back to Minot AFB aboard our flights.  Even in 1974, I knew we would not be allowed to carry them with us in the cabin even though we would be in uniform.  I called TWA, our carrier out of Columbus. 

I was told we could carry our .45s in our luggage, but we would have to remove the bullets.  When we arrived at the ticket counter, I told the agent of our situation and that the bullets had been separated from the pistols.  Once in our seats, I sat glued to the window, to make sure that our suitcases got loaded.  I saw them slowly ride up the conveyor belt and into the cargo hold and was somewhat relieved.  We must have had to change planes somewhere because TWA did not fly into Minot, only North Central Airlines from the East via Grand Forks, North Dakota.  I don't remember any of that.  But once we retrieved our suitcases at the Minot airport and could confirm that the .two 45s and twelve bullets were still safely inside, we turned them in at the base armory.  My career was still intact.

Mom's visit

That first summer at Minot AFB, Mom visited. Visitors were allowed in those first few years to see the Oscar Launch Control Facility just a few miles north of Minot AFB.  Here are Mom and I on the grounds of the LCF with the site cook, Steve Fox.  He seemed a decent soul, but I later read in the local newspaper that someone had called in a bomb threat to the Minot State College dorms.  It seems that Steve was seeing a girl who lived in the dorms and wanted to spend more time with her.  So, he told her and her friends that he could make sure they did not have to return to the dorm on time that night.  It wasn't a smart plan.  The girls soon cracked under threats by the college authorities and the police.  The terrified girls quickly fingered Steve.  He was immediately discharged from the Air Force.  He stood trial and was convicted.  I later read that he was on a prison road work crew when he simply walked away.  He was soon captured and his prison term extended.  That was the last I heard about him.  He had made a really dumb mistake and it ruined his life.

Next to us is the LCF garage.  Behind us is the gate to the LCF.
                                                                           

                                                                               

Here are Mom and me in front of the BOQ entrance:
                                                                           

At some point in that first year, I saved up the money and asked David Zito to buy me a Canon camera overseas where the prices were somewhat cheaper.  Here are additional photos of that stand of trees and the parking lot covered in snow, using my new camera.
                                                                             

                                                                                  

                                                                                

In the background below is the housing area.  The Schurr's lived down the first street on the other side of Summit Drive.  You can barely see my Camaro.  
                                                                               

                                                                                 

Here I am in the first floor hallway of the BOQ, fully decked out for winter:
                                                                                 

The following are mostly photos inside my BOQ room.  In my final months in Minot, I would move to the room that Tim McConnell occupied at the end of the building on the first floor.  Otherwise, I stayed in the single room with a bathroom and small, shared kitchenette.  A high-ranking Air Force officer had decreed, not many months after I arrived at Minot, that each officer needed to have a room with his own bathroom.  He or she should have to share a bathroom while living in government quarters.  The four-man bungalows off of Missile Avenue became two-man bungalows, with each man getting his own bathroom, two bedrooms, as well as sharing the kitchen and living room with only one other officer.  The two-man rooms in the other BOQ building became one-many rooms with two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room.

This is a photo of Lt. Kenny Juliano.  He used to lie on a cot outside of the BOQ building that was to the left of where he is standing, slather himself in suntan oil, and work on his tan for hours in the few warn Minot months.  He would sometimes pull his car up onto the sidewalk outside, as seen below, to wash and wax it.  Kenny worked in the Instructor Shop.  He would eventually leave missiles and the Air Force and return to his beloved Southern California.  The BOQ building to the left of where he is standing must have been torn down a long time ago.  In the current aerial maps of Minot AFB, that building no longer exists.  The building behind him is the BOQ I occupied.    
                                                                              

I did find one photo that featured the BOQ two-man building beside Kenny that now no longer exists.  This is looking in the opposite direction, toward the front parking lot and the housing area.
                                                                            

Here is another view of the BOQ building I lived in.  The VOQ is in the background.
                                                                                

Here are buddies of mine from the BOQ in my room.  Bill Mauney is to the left; Wilmer Mitchell is the right.  Both were in the 741st Squadron.  This was likely near Halloween of 1974.  The receiver I brought from Vandenberg is behind them, as are the beginnings of my expanding record collection that I brought from Vandenberg (that originated from our home in South Gate).  I would eventually snag two of the oak shelf units for my room.  The Base Exchange carried record albums, cheaper than anywhere else.  I would spend a lot of my Air Force pay on those albums over my four plus years in Minot.

                                                                                

Here is a guy I was friends with, whose name, and face (obviously) I no longer recall.  (The Roberts 8-Track recorder from my South Gate days is in the background, with a pair of headphones on top.)  Eventually, I would buy an Advent cassette recorder and sell the 8-track recorder and tapes to the headless guy in the photo for $50.00.)  The open door behind him is to the tiny kitchenette with a small fridge, stove and sink.
                                                                              

Here is Tim McConnell in my room with the closet behind him.
                                                                               

All of the BOQ rooms came with heavy, sturdy oak furniture.  You could add or subtract from what was available in storge.  It took me several tries to fit the right types of chairs, bed and shelf units in my room.  The closet behind Tim was large enough.  I had a secret stash of porn that I kept there, along with my entire Legion of Super-Hero comics collection.   Tim and a few others would have the beds removed and replace them with either a convertible sofa or a waterbed.    

Here is Thomas Worthington Brundige IV.  He was an Academy grad from a very comfortable Baltimore family.  He was an extremely nice guy whom my friend Roger Benninger called one of the best, natural pilots he ever knew.  Both flew for the Air Defense Command's 5th Fighter Interceptor Squadron at Minot.  They flew aging, two-seater T-33's as target aircraft for the 5th Fighter F-106's.  Tom would later leave Minot and transition to the F-15.  But on a solo training flight, his aircraft malfunctioned.  He was forced to bail out.  Unfortunately, as Roger was much later to discover when he was able to read the full accident report, a one-inch piece of fabric from the strap of his parashoot got caught as he ejected.  That snapped his neck, and he was instantly killed while ejecting.
                                                                               

You can see one of my Advent speakers in the background, as well as sections of my complete collection of NFL banners.  My poster of the Super Bowl that I attended is on the door to the bathroom.

Here is a picture of Tom Brundige in his room.
                                                                             

Here is my good friend Roger Benninger in my room.  We would remain friends to this day, even when we have not communicated in years.  I would eventually visit Roger and his wife in the UK when he was stationed there in the 1980's, flying F-111 bombers.  They lived in a lovely, rented cottage in Banbury, England.
                                                                           

Roger is sitting on my bed.  My NFL bedspread hangs beside him.  Those are likely Tom Brundige's legs in the foreground.  

Here is a photo Roger later shared with me of a 5th Fighter T-33.
                                                                             

                                                                            
Here are photos of me in my room.  Lots of archeological artifacts in the two pictures below.
                                                                           

That shelf unit I believe was built for me by the headless friend in the photo above.  The tuner, receiver and power amp I bought from a guy who loved sound and music and built those units from kits.  He  lived in the two-man dorm when he had the whole space to himself.  One of the electronic units near my head is an equalizer.  I am not sure what the unit by my forehead is at this point.  Cassette tapes abound.  And the implements to coat and protect vinyl albums is on one of the lower shelves.  You sprayed on the solution and smoothed it into the grooves.  The vinyl was then protected for multiple plays.

Here I am with my beloved Sony Betamax videotape recorder.  I was the first to own one in the BOQ.  I bought it from John Ng.  He would become a friend for several years when I moved to Colorado Springs, and he was assigned there.  He became quite the entrepreneur, dealing in all kinds of electronic devices.  The only problem with the first Betamax machines was that they only recorded one-hour tapes.  Sony did not anticipate folks wanting to keep a library of their favorite movies and TV shows on tape and had to catch up.  The first show I ever recorded was a M*A*S*H episode.  It seemed a miracle to me when I first played the episode back.  Cable TV would not come to Minot AFB until my last months at the base.  
                                                                             

Commanders and Deputies

William Graham

William "Bill" Graham was my first commander.  While I do not have a photo of him, Bill was easy going, tall, lean, a good athlete, sporting a wry, even cheesy, light brown mustache, glasses, and was a married man from South Carolina.  He was very sharp and knowledgeable in the trainer.  We ought to have gotten a Highly Qualitied (HQ) rating on our first Standboard evaluation ride, but we had a major error and simply got a Qualified (Q) rating.  And, actually, Bill argued that I ought to have gotten an HQ rating because he made the error, no me.  But the Standboard Crew wrote up the critique in such a way that implicated me in Bill's error when they deliberately separated us during that crucial part of the evaluation.  You see, Bill and the Commander of the Standboard Crew intensely disliked one another.  I never got to hear the specific reasons but got that Bill knew the guy was a jerk and made no effort to disguise his contempt for the man.  The Standboard crew did not want it to look as if they had gone after Bill individually, to keep him from his HQ rating, so I was tagged with the error at the same time even though I had no part in making it.

As someone I knew well before he got into Standboard, Verne Webber was sharp, sophisticated, a great tennis player who listened to classical music whenever he was in his room in the BOQ.  He was a fun and funny friend.  (He did a running commentary on Carmina Burana that had me laughing out loud.)  He would tell me after he was chosen for Standboard, "You can be completely professional in your evaluation of a crew and still screw a guy over."  Personal feelings could intrude.  I knew about one crew commander who, in the field, was talked into a major error by the Standboard Commander.  He had badgered the Crew Commander so persistently that the Crew Commander started to step outside of the Launch Control Capsule without removing his watch.  (The electrical systems outside the LCC made it imperative that you remove your watch or other such items or you would be tagged with a major error.)  

So, off we went to take our part as an Oscar Crew those first months that I was at Minot.  Bill and I got along well.  I learned from him.  And the great secret in those first months was that (almost) every crew slept while on alert, one member at a time.  You just never, ever admitted that you slept. 

Once in a while, if your commander or deputy were on leave, and you had to pull an alert with someone else's commander or deputy, you had to very subtly find out if that other crew slept on alert.  You did not want to just blurt out that you slept.  I remember a different commander asking me at one point on the drive out to the LCF, "Did Bill sleep on alert?"  That way I was not exactly admitting that I slept on alert.  Only one time when Bill was away was I paired with a guy I was told never slept on alert.  When we got downstairs and changed over with the other crew, this commander sat down in the commander's chair and promptly fell asleep.  So, he did not use the convenient cot that was right there.  But he still had his eyes shut.  What was I supposed to do?

There were two shifts during the early days:  the night shift and the day shift.  In either shift, you had 12 hours in the Crew Capsule, 12 hours topside to sleep in the crew bedroom, then 12 hours back down in the Crew Capsule.  It just depended upon when you left the base, either in the morning or in the evening, for the Launch Control Facility (LCF--both the topside buildings and the equipment and Capsule where the crew lived down below).  

Although there was napping during the day shift, it was the night shift that demanded alternating sleep.  The commander usually took the second shift.  He would stay up as late as possible, probably at 1 AM, and then would awaken the deputy who took over answering the phone or dealing with topside personnel during the remainder of the night.  I hated trying to sleep during the first shift.  I could never get to sleep right away after we completed the changeover with the previous crew.  I would perhaps start to fall asleep just as Bill would awaken me to take over for him. 

In those early days, the alerts in the field were 36 hours each.  You had either the morning shift for twelve hours, changed over with the topside crew so that they took the night shift while your crew went topside to sleep through the night, then returned to the Launch Control Center (LCC) in the morning for the final 12 hours until the night crew relieved you at the end of the day and you took the crew Chevy Suburban back to base.  Or you arrived at the LCF in the late evening and relieved the crew down below for the night shift, went upstairs and tried to sleep during the day, then relieved the day shift for the final night until a new day shift arrived from base.  Sleepy, you drove the crew vehicle back to base and home.  It was a stupid scheme, designed to cause problems.  

After a couple of years of 36-hour alerts while I was at Minot, the Air Force decided that they could cut the size of the crew force by one-third throughout SAC by doing two simple things.  The first was to put a special tape across the edge of the plastic covers to the Commander's and Deputy's launch key panels.  It would be obvious if someone had tampered with those covers because the sealed tape would be damaged or even completely broken.  The second step was to legally allow one crew member at a time to sleep while eliminating the 36-hour alerts and changing over to 24-hour alerts.  The wasted time of either crew trying to sleep upstairs during the day or night was eliminated.  No more day shift or night shift.  Just a 24-hour shift.  No more crews driving out to the LCF or back to base in the dark of night (especially during those longer winter Minot nights), often on dicey dirt roads. 

Unfortunately, one key downside was that each line crew (those not in the Instructor Shop or in Standboard) had to pull at least two more alerts in the field each month than they used to.  Instead of five alerts, typically it was seven, or even eight.  And a lot of friends and buddies I knew in the BOQ or on the crew force took advantage of this early-out crew reduction program and left the Air Force.  Bill Graham departed.  So did Tim McConnell.  And a friend I would later make after being his sponsor (Chuck Gover).  Steve Schurr would use this opportunity to get out of SAC and move over to weather and depart Minot.  

Bill and I finally got a fair Standboard crew for our next (and last) evaluation on 6 September 1974.  My first Highly Qualified rating.  It would not be my last (many of my documents had water damage several years ago):

Michael D. Leuther

In looking through my training records in the LCC simulator on base from the Instructor Shop, I found that I had several "rides" with a Captain Michael D. Leuther.  I simply have forgotten about our crew pairing.  I suspect he and I had never experienced a Stanboard evaluation together.  

Dan Gurganus

My new commander was Dan Gurganus.  We got along well.  Again, I have no photograph.  He was a tad shorter than I, brown haired, from another Southern state if I remember correctly.  Again, our first Standboard evaluation together, the Commander and Dan did not like one another.  Again, we got a Qualified rating.  However, during our second evaluation, May 24, 1975, we got an HQ.  I was now up to two HQs.
                                                                             

Officer's Effectiveness Report (OER) 14 July 1976

This is my two-page OER from Dan Gurganus (I forgot that his first name was actually Horace, though no one called him that):
                                                                             

                                                                                  

Tim Sholtis

Tim was a handsome, dark-haired, well-liked 6-footer.  He wasn't as strong a Crew Commander as Bill or even Dan, but we got along well.  Here is a photo of Tim from the crew board:
                                                                             

Here is my photo from the crew board:
                                                                            

                       
Vandenberg AFB Pave Pepper Missile Launch

The greatest result of our pairing was that our crew was one of three chosen to launch a Minuteman III missile at Vandenberg AFB in California, on May 16, 1975.  I would be back home for two weeks.

The standard MM III missile carried three Multiple Independently Targeted Re-entry Vehicles (MIRV).  The Pave Pepper missile carried seven.  The landing zone around Kwajalein Atoll in the South Pacific.  While the number of additional MIRVs at the time was Top Secret, the Soviets had ships nearby to monitor.  The U.S. wanted them to know that more than three MIRVs could be fit upon a single MM III missile. 
              

We flew out to Vandenberg aboard an Air Force KC-135 tanker.  I spent a lot of time in the back, where the tanker lay on his stomach and operated the boom that refueled Air Force bombers or fighters.
                                                                         

                                                                                  

Here were The Grand Tetons from the boom operator's viewpoint:
                                                                             

Here we were at the Vandenberg airfield.  The reason for so many aircraft on the flight line was that SAC was holding its annual Olympic Arena competition at Vandenberg.  All six MM III missile bases sent a hyper trained, selectively paired crew to Vandenberg AFB.  Many high-ranking Air Force generals had an excuse to fly out to the coast for fun.  The winning missile wing won a prestigious trophy.        
                                                                            

Mom and Ann came out to Vandenberg to visit:
                                                                             

Here I am sitting at the Deputy's console in the above-ground Launch Control Center at Vandenberg:
                                                                           

What was glorious is that we could walk out of doors.  Here are pictures of the hillside above the Center and me standing outside:
                                                                            

                                                                                

Here is Tim taken outside the old barracks at Vandenberg:
                                                                            

Here are all three crews who would monitor the missile and turn the launch keys when required.  (Tim and I chose to have an extra day off instead of being one of the two crews who physically turned the keys that did launch the missile.)
                                                                             

Here is a photo I took at evening, looking toward the missile launch site in the distance:
                                                                              

Here is the first photo I took of the missile launching with the initial blast:
                                                                               

Here is a second photo of the missile rising:
                                                                                

Here is the final photo I took as the missile was high in the night sky:
                                                                               

The following is the official Air Force photo the staff gave us following the very successful and historic launch:
                                                                               

Crew of the Month...almost

Through the 91st Strategic Missile Wing, each month a single crew was awarded Crew of the Month honors.  Tim and I were at Kilo Launch Control Center when the wing was slowly experiencing the retrofit of missile after missile being taken out of its silo, hauled back to base and, eventually, replaced by the Command Data Buffer (CDB) feature that would allow the sending of targeting information to a single ICBM MMM III missile from the Launch Control Center rather than at the missile silo itself that took hours in the past.  We were at Kilo when only one missile in that flight was left to remove and replace.  Our communication with the Launch Facility suddenly stopped.  We would not tell what was happening with that missile.  Tim reacted immediately by notifying the base and sending a 2-man security team to sit at the site since we could no longer tell if unauthorized persons were at the LF.  But the one thing that we failed to do was to actually call in a Situation 2 security alert for the LF.  Everything Tim did was what you would expect of calling a "Sit 2".  But we simply failed to actually call it into Command back on base.  Had we done that simple step, we would have been Crew of the Month.  But they could not honor us for leaving out that one step in the proper procedure.

All crews were required to attend classes and trainer rides for the new MMM-CDB system as individual 10-missile flights of the 150 total LFs and 15 LCCs had the retrofit completed and turned back over to SAC.  Below is my certificate of completing the CDB training.
                                                                       

Final Standboard as deputy before my upgrade to Commander, another HQ

Tim and I got an HQ during our only Standboard evaluation on March 21, 1976, before I upgraded to Commander.  Now I had three HQs, one each with three different commanders.
                                                                               

First Deputy (Richard Worthington)

Even as a 1st Lieutenant (this happened at Minot but almost never at a preferred missile base such as Whiteman AFB near Kansas City), they felt I was ready to upgrade to MCCC.  After two years as a 2nd Lieutenant, I automatically was promoted to 1st Lieutenant, during what would have been December of 1975. 

In June and July of 1976, my first deputy was training at Vandenberg.  For the life of me, I cannot now recall his name (Richard Worthington).  And maybe that is just as well.  Here is his crew photo:
                                                                          

He looked like a total nerd.  Yet he was married to one of the cutest wives on the base.  I never understood the combination.  She was perky and sweet.  (Think a more sexy looking Katie Holmes from Dawson's Creek.)  They were both from Willamette ("Willamette Dammit" he would say, making sure it was pronounced properly) Oregon.  They'd attended the University of Oregon together and gotten married after they graduated. 

Word preceded his arrival in Minot from Vandenberg that he was really sharp and was going to make a very strong deputy.  What I did not understand, and somewhat resented, was that he was being paired with me.  As if I needed a strong deputy to succeed in my upgrade to commander.  Often, the staff paired perceived strong commanders with perceived weak deputies and vice versa, to make sure no crew busted if at all preventable.  Was I being thought of as "weak" and in need of a strong deputy?   

There was an old missile adage that went something to the effect that, "There are those who have busted and those who will bust."  As if nobody gets through his time as a missile crewman without busting at least one Standboard evaluation.  But that was not true for me, thus far.  As a deputy, I had three HQs and two Qs with three different commanders.       

Regardless, as the two of us went through classes and trainer rides together, I thought he was a good deputy; but he did not walk on water, as I was told he could out of missile school.                                   

I do have to admit that on the morning of our first Standboard evaluation, I was incredibly nervous.  My career was on the line, in a sense.  I thought I was a damned fine missile officer and was going to make a damned fine missile crew commander.  I had learned something from each of my previous commanders. 

To see if I could calm my nerves, I got into my Camaro and drove South.  I passed through the entire town of Minot and then several miles south of that.  I finally realized that I had better return to base and turned around.  Back on base, as we entered the trainer, a remarkable calm overcame me.  We sailed through the evaluation, did well in the field, and I got my first HQ as a MCCC, a 5.0, which pretty much means perfect.  No minor errors or major errors.  Here was my first certificate as a commander on 15 August 1976:
                                                                        

When you are on alert, you are out there as a crew, together, 60 or more feet underground for 24 hours straight.  That is not counting the one hour or more drive out to any LCF site and the one hour or more drive back to base.  Because of the fuel shortage by the Arab Oil Embargo, crews to most sites had to double up, taking two crews out to sites.  Only the Lima crew got one Air Force blue Chevy Suburban vehicle to get to that one site.  November dropped the Oscar crew off before driving on to their LCF.  Kilo dropped off Mike before driving on to Kilo LCF.  Before I got to Minot, the Air Force had eliminated taking crews out to their individual LCFs via Air Force Huey Helicopters.  (I believe there had been a crash and the Huey's used a lot more fuel than Suburban's.  (Dan Gurganus and I did get to ride out to Oscar one time on a Huey.  The pilot did a thrilling combat approach to the landing pad outside the LCF gate.)

My first deputy was odd.  Especially when he was in high school.  He used to tell me stories of when he and his buddies would torment certain classmates.  They would chose someone whom they felt was deserving of their "treatment", which was to chase that boy down, get him on the ground, holding him there, while one of the bullies would pull down his own pants and sit on the face of their victim.  I suppose this was some game of humiliation.  And he told me about one boy who was no fun to sit on because the boy would just lie there and not even attempt to struggle.  My deputy was lucky that they did not attempt such humiliations these days.  They and the school would be sued for sexual harassment.  Even at the time when they were caught doing this or were turned in for doing this, the Principal was aghast when he incredulously asked, "Let me get this straight.   You chased a boy down, got him on the ground, pulled your own pants down, and then sat on his face?"    

Even now I am appalled at anyone who would even have thought of such a bizarre way to humiliate another human being.  My deputy did not mention the presumed sexuality of their victims, but he and his buddies were straight.  At least that is what I think he believed all of his buddies were.  But, also, he was not some muscular, athletic bully.  So their victims had to have been smaller and weaker than he was.    

Regardless of his odd ideas of fun in high school, on our second Standboard evaluation, we got another HQ, 4.9.  We had one minor error that reduced the score slightly from a 5.0.  Now I had five HQs and two Qs, with three different commanders or one deputy. 
                                                                             

With my 5th HQ and no busts, I earned the Crew Member Excellence award and patch for my Crew Blues uniforms.  Here is that patch on the single crew uniform that I retained from my years at Minot:
                                                                           

Embarrassing alert

As I have mentioned, sometimes you went on alert with another Commander's deputy because he was on leave or ill.  Or your deputy was on leave, and the scheduling staff had a spare deputy just hanging around with no commander who was not part of any crew.   The other problem occurred because the Wing Commander determined to punish those who were commanders but busted a Standboard evaluation.  Such was the case on this one alert when my deputy was on leave.  I was paired for one alert with a Major officer who had busted.  Here I was, a 1st Lieutenant, and he was two ranks above me (Captain was in between 1st Lieutenant and Major).  I sat in the crew briefing room at our two-man crew table, waiting for the morning briefing before we drove out to alert.  The Major outranked me, but I was the MCCC and he was the DMCCC. 

A fellow crewmember stopped by our table and rudely asked me, "Greg, when did you bust?"  He was assuming that I was the one who had busted and was now paired with the Major in my humiliation.  I did not want to further embarrass the Major, so I simply replied, "I didn't."  I did not want to go into the details of what was actually happening.

Topside in the Launch Control Facility, while we stood side by side in front of the Security chief who sat in the security center and controlled the two security police teams for the missile Launch Facilities, looked up at us and began briefing the Major about the security status of the site and the LFs.  He was supposed to be briefing me, as MCCC.  But he had no idea that the Major was the DMCCC.  I believe the Major directed the security chief's attention, and briefing, to me, saving me a bit of embarrassment at having the explain the situation.  

After descending in the elevator, opening and then closing the main blast door, we performed our checks in the Launch Control Equipment Building (LCEB) before entering through the LCC blast door to perform change over with the departing crew.  I am certain there was some consternation when the Major stood by the DMCCC and I stood by the MCCC for that briefing.  

Second deputy, Patrick "PJ" Johnson

Here is his photo:
                                                                            

PJ was a thoroughly likeable guy.  Unfortunately, he was also an unreliable deputy.  I would sit at our predeparture desk in preparation for our briefing before going out on alert and PJ was not there.  He overslept.  I would have to call him.  Sometimes, we were passing through the town of Minot where he lived and meet him as we drove to alert.  I would be forced to call him each morning we were supposed to be going on alert so that he would be at the predeparture briefing on time.  When we were on alert and one of us was able to legally sleep, and it was my turn to sleep, I would wake up because either the outside phone or the LCC phone system were ringing and ringing.  PJ would be sitting in the deputies chair, asleep.  I would have to get out of the cot, reach over him to answer the phone myself when he was supposed to be awake, and hear the caller tell me that he had tried over and over to reach our Launch Control Center.  

During our two Standboard evaluations, I had to watch him carefully and could not let him be separated so that he might make an error.  If memory serves, he and I had two Standboard evaluations while we were paired.  The first may have been from the Fifteenth Air Force, not our local Standboard shop.  Infrequently, SAC would send an outside group to a specific missile Wing and check everything and everyone.  They would begin to take selected crews into the trainer to evaluate them.  When they showed up this time, PJ and I were the first crew on the list to be evaluated immediately.  I actually thought that we could have committed a single major error when I was asked by the Wing Commander after we were done.  However, I was wrong.  I racked up another Highly Qualified rating, my sixth, my third as commander.  
                                                                          

I seem to remember that PJ and I got a second HQ together, my last as Commander at Minot after I had been promoted to Captain.  However, it was possible that I got my seventh, and final, HQ when I was paired with my next deputy, Jake Gladden.  My pairing with PJ ended several months before I left Minot.    
                                                                                

When I had 7 HQs, I was only behind one crew commander who had 9.  But that individual left Minot, so I had the most before I left Minot.  
                                                                             
Third deputy, Willie "Jake" Gladden

PJ was paired with a different commander, possibly because the Squadron staff believed that his problem of showing up on time might be alleviated by a crew change.  Jake and I seemed to get along just fine.  As I speculated, we might have been the pairing that got me my seventh and final HQ at Minot AFB.  He was a very quiet deputy, but I took no notice that there might be problems that I was unaware of.  However, one afternoon when we were on alert together, a maintenance crew was making repairs outside the capsule as we each sat at our Commander and Deputy desks, respectively.  Several LF lights began to light up and ring, creating a lot of noise.  I started to push in the buttons which would silence the alarms.  But Jake began doing the same thing.  When this happens, the alarms continue to rung instead of being silenced.  I finally looked up in the mirror over my console to calmly tell Jake, "Either you silence the alarms or I will, but we both can't do this."  I was not even speaking loudly.

Suddenly, Jake jumped out of his chair and began yelling at me.  Not only was this disrespectful to me as the higher ranking officer (Jake was still a 2nd Lieutenant while I was a Captain), his anger was uncalled for.  I finally told Jake to sit down and shut up because his yelling at me was obviously being overheard by the maintenance crew outside.  Jake only slowly calmed down.  On our silent drive back to base, I finally told Jake, "If you are that upset with being paired with me, ask for a crew change."  I really had no idea what he was so angry about regarding being crewed with me, but if he was that antagonistic toward me, this pairing was not working because he would never tell me what his problems with me were.

Back on base, I could see the door to our new Squadron Commander's office closed.  I did not see why simply asking for a new crew pairing was being made such a big deal.  Some crews worked together, and others did not.   

At this point, I only had a couple of months left on the crew force.  I had flown to the U.S. Force Academy for a series of interviews with the History and English Departments.  While I had wanted to be accepted by the History Department, I was hired by the English Department instead.

For some reason, though, I was being called into the Squadron Commander's office.  I had no idea why.  He began by telling me that since I only had a couple of months left, they would leave me without a specific deputy, merely pairing me with whichever deputy was without a commander for specific alert.  He then launched into a totally shocking statement that left me speechless.  "I understand you are going to be transferring to the Air Force Academy.  They likely would not want you there if they knew what you were really like."  What?!?

I should have stopped him right there and demanded to know what he thought I was really like, who might have told him things about me that I was not even aware of, and what might have been said about me.  It was obvious this was all coming from his interview with Jake Gladden. But I was too shocked and disheartened to stop him and ask what he meant.  Here he was, a brand-new Squadron Commander who did not know me at all, yet he was treating me with total disrespect.  Clearly, he had only listened to Jake Gladden, asking for a crew change; but rather than independently listening to both sides in this--obvious--conflict, he took the side of Jake and never gave me a chance to respond to whatever accusations were leveled at me by Jake. 

I was a Captain.  I had earned a Regular Commission.  I had 7 HQs and 2 Qs.  I had been on well over 200 alerts in four years on the crew force.  I had passed every single Emergency War Order (EWO) monthly exam, earning from 91 to 100 points during each.  What the heck could I have done for the 742nd SMS that would have gotten me a fair hearing because my 2nd Lieutenant deputy had serious problems with me?  And, just maybe, some--if not all--of Jake's unknown accusations were not even true.  Jake was African-American, but I never treated him any differently than I would have treated any other deputy--than I treated my first or my second deputy.  

I read through our six training ride records.  We did have a critical error in a ride in December of 1977, something regarding attempting "commit a deviated sortie with I-bit set."  

As officers in the Air Force, we took Race Relations and then Human Relations training every single year.  Being gay and having a Hispanic last name, I respected all that we were taught in those classes. 

In looking through my training rides, I notice that my final ride was with a DMCCC from the Instructor Shop since I was not paired with a deputy of my own.  

Officer's Club

One Neanderthal tradition at the O Club was the yearly appearance of strippers.  I presume that this practice got phased out when more and more women officers would have objected.  And, of course, at some point in the future, women officers served on the crew force.  I went to one stripper event.  Did nothing for me, of course.   

I have to mention the time that the officers of the 5th Fighter Interceptor Squadron did a "Bar Walk" in the club.  They climbed up upon, and walked across, the full length of the bar, punching ceiling tiles as they went along.  Roger Benninger told me later that he was upset that he did not get to participate because he had stopped to chew out an officer's wife who had snootily and verbally objected to the Bar Walk.  By the time he finished discussing the situation with her, Sky Cops had arrived and broke up the melee, such as it was.  The Base Commander and the 5th Fighter Squadron Commander were also called in.  The offending officers were reprimanded and made to pay for the broken ceiling tiles and any broken glasses from the club that suffered at the hands or feet of the officers involved.   

Final Indignity/Final Alert

My final alert, my 235th, was an insult.  We were in the crew departure briefing room, I was sitting beside yet another unpaired deputy.  I mentioned that it was my last alert.  The Wing Commander entered the room to make an announcement.  He intended to recognize the significant contributions of a crewman who was leaving the crew force.  But it was not me!

The Wing Commander acknowledged a crewmember who was in the Standboard shop.  He had been selected to Standboard very quickly after his second evaluation as a deputy.  He had been in the Standboard shop most of his two years and was pulled back into Standboard after he'd briefly upgraded to commander.  He was an extremely handsome man.  His face could have been used in a recruiting ad.

I was not going to be mentioned or acknowledged.  Here I had been on the regular crew force for over two years and 235 alerts.  All of my previous crew accolades were still true.  My new deputy begged me to let him raise his hand and mention that this was my last alert, too.  I stopped him and told him, "No."  If the Wing and Squadron staff had no idea about this, I did not find it my place to remind them of something they ought to have known without being told.

The same thing was true of my never asking to be in the Instructor Shop or Standboard.  My first few years on the crew force, whenever someone appeared to be exceptional, he was asked to apply to either the Instructor Shop or Standboard.  I was never asked, so I never applied.  Believe me, had I earned a reputation of being a malcontent or difficult to work with, I would have heard about it.  Minot AFB was just like the proverbial small town where everyone new everyone else's business.  Very little was kept hidden.

For example, a member of the Instructor Shop was seeing another crewmember's wife.  I was easily able to confirm the rumors when I saw that Officer emerge from the BOQ, chasing that other crewmember's blond wife.  Both were laughing as he caught up with her and they hugged.

One of my Flight Commanders spoke about repeatedly seeing an officer pull up to another officer's neighboring house on his bicycle after the neighboring officer had left for alert.  My Flight Commander had laughed about wanting to sneak out and chain that bike so that the cuckhold's evidence could not be removed when the husband returned. 

An enlisted man committed suicide at an LF after he had received physical threats from the husband of the woman he was seeing on the side. 

A high-ranking officer was attending a briefing in which it was revealed that a woman was found to be living in an officer's room in the BOQ.  The high-ranking officer next to him leaned over and chuckled, "Was that you?"  It was well known that this high-ranking officer was living with a female captain after he took over one of the two-man bungalows.  

Lt. Col. Glaser

While Lt. Col. Kukowski, a burly football tackle of a man from an earlier era, was my first Squadron Commander, Lt. Col. Glaser was my favorite.  And likely the favorite of many of those of us in the 742nd Strategic Missile Squadron. 
                                                                           

While he may look a bit like Kevin Spacy in the photo above, he was a level-headed, sensible, understanding commander.  We were sad to see him finally move on.  It was he who conducted my sear-in ceremony to Regular Captain (a Regular Commission was important, in a way like tenure for a university professor.  I would later get a $10K severance check because I had a Regular Commission).
                                                                               

Here we are shaking my hand at the end of the ceremony:
 
                                                                               

Here was my final crew photo.  (They had transitioned to color photographs.)
                                                                           

Sports

One person was responsible for my participation in sports for either the 742nd SMS or the 91st Strategic Missile Wing Operations (OPS) against other units on the base or the Grand Forks 321st Strategic Missile Wing four times each year.

Michael Durr from Washington state loved sports.  He became a friend even to this day.  Especially after the Schurr's left Minot, the Durrs welcomed me into their home for dinners and the holidays.

                                                                               

Here is actually a photo of both the Schurrs and the Durrs.
                                                                             

From L to R:  Elaine Schurr, Steve Schurr, Durr Neighbor Sally, Mike Durr, The Durr's cat Augusta, Me, Christie Durr and Debbie Durr.
                                                             
The major sports, depending upon the season, were Basketball, Volleyball, Softball, Flag Football.  I never played softball.  Mike got me to play flag football and then volleyball.  I only rarely played basketball.  Mike looked through the records and realized that the 91st Operations Volleyball team (members from the 740th, 741st, and 742nd) compiled a record of 62-20 over the years we played for the team.  We never won the Base competition, but we did win a preseason tournament.  Here are some photos of the several teams we had when we were stationed at Minot AFB:
                                                                           

                                                                               

                                                                                

                                                                               

 
                                                                                

The base newspaper took a photo during one of our games versus the Grand Forks 321st Strategic Missile Wing.  Here I am spiking the ball.  The opponent has blocked my shot out of bounds, so my shot was effective, even if blocked.
                                                                              

Four times a year, the 91st Ops teams either travelled to Grand Forks AFB or hosted the 321st SMW Ops team for one of the four major sports.  One year, Mike and I drove all of the way to the suburbs of Minneapolis to pick up our 91st Ops team jerseys so we would have them when we played at Grand Forks that year.    

Here are some photos of our football team at Minot AFB:
                                                                            

                                                                               

                                                                                

I had played defense for most of my years at Minot, usually on the defensive line.  In my final football season, I switched to offense.  (One chilly afternoon, I caught pass after pass from our QB, Jim Bontedelli, who had been a QB at a small college before joining the Air Force.)  In our game versus Grand Forks, I caught two passes for three yards and a touchdown.  But the one play where I am certain I would have won the game, I looked back, expecting Jim to pass me the ball since I was wide open deep, he had not let the ball go and was being smothered by the defense. 

Instead, Grand Forks went down the field and scored the final touchdown.  Our defense was porous on their entire drive.  I said something to the effect of "Finally!" when our team made a good, though temporary, defensive play.  One of my teammates took massive offense at my sole comment and started screaming at me and physically coming after me the moment we lost the game.  He obviously wanted to fight me, probably because he was angry that we had lost a game we could have won right after I made my comment.  I tried to get away from him as quickly as possible because he was not letting go.  (The surest way to end your Air Force career was to get into a physical fight, especially with a higher-ranking officer, as I was to him.)  

The 321st Ops and 91st Ops also played two minor sports at the same time we would play a major sport, such as golf or badminton (my sport), tennis, bowling, ping pong, and others.  We usually beat them in the two minor sports but would lose the major sport.  Grand Forks was always upset that the two minor sports were considered on par with the major sport (that they almost always won), and we would keep the Ops trophy.  So, we changed the rules and awarded the major sport two points versus one point for each of the minor sports.  Once they got the trophy under those rules, they rarely had to give it back.

Regarding the trophy, Mike had found a massive, gaudy, red-trimmed trophy that was not being used by the Wing.  We called it the "Gilded Palace of Sin" and presented it to the Ops team that won the sports competition each quarter.  I don't have a photo of that ludicrous trophy though I wish I had. 

Sadly, the Grand Forks 321st Missile Wing was deactivated in the 1990's.  One wonders whatever happened to the sports competition we furthered, and that trophy we established, now that the Grand Forks Ops unit is gone?  I am not certain they had any other Missile Ops team that was close enough for Minot AFB 91st Ops to play.

742nd picnic

One summer day, the 742nd held a picnic on base.  The following photos are from that afternoon. 

Debbie and Mike Durr:
                                                                          

Mike Durr and Christie:
                                                                         

Terry Stahl, Mike Durr and Christie:
                                                                               

The fellow in the tank top sitting beside Debbie Durr would invite me to stay at their house until my home was completed in Colorado Springs during the summer of 1978.  
                                                                               

I don't remember this fellow's name.  
                                                                             

My first deputy and his wife on the swings:

                                                                             

 Dan Gurganus, my second commander, and our Flight commander:
                                                                             

The Durr's & Christie Durr

Especially after the Schurr's left Minot, the Durr's invited me over for holidays and for Christie Durr's birthdays.  Debbie even brought her over one Easter when she was wearing a rabbit costume Debbie made for her.  Those photos do reveal the larger room at the end of the hallway that Tim McConnell occupied before he left Minot that I moved into during my final months at Minot.

Christie's first birthday party:
                                                                           

Me, Debbie Durr, Christie Durr, Mike Durr, Neighbor, Sally, wife of neighbor:                                                                                  

                                                                                

Christie's second birthday party:
                                                                               

                                                                                  

Me holding Christie out of doors:
                                                                               

Christie again:
                                                                             

Christmas at the Durr's:
                                                                           

Augusta the cat:
                                                                              

Debbie and Christie:
                                                                               

This photo was a gem.  One of the few that was magical.  Augusta and Christie:
                                                                              

Christie the Rabbit.  Behind her is my wooden stereo rack built for me.  On either side are my new Dahlquist DQ-10 speakers that got good reviews by The Absolute Sound.  The turntable is Techniques.
                                                                                

Christie and the couch.  Under the couch is my Corona portable typewriter that I used to type up my college papers:
                                                                               

                                                                                 

The Rabbit peeking out of the door to the kitchenette.  My new Sony Trinitron TV and books in the foreground.  The little portable B&W TV is one I bought when I hoped to watch the Rams on a Monday night football game vs The 49ers.  However, frustrated, I got no signal in the crew vehicle on the route to alert.  The purchase was a waste of money.
                                                                              

Here is Christie in my lap at the Durr's house:
                                                                                

The 1977 Superbowl, Raiders vs Vikings in Pasadena

Because I was still a season ticket holder for the Rams and would attend games when I was home on leave, I was able to get a ticket to the 1972 Super Bowl, to this 1977 Super Bowl, and the Rams vs Steelers 1979 Super Bowl (which mom went to when I could not attend).  I believe the ticket cost me $35.00.  The 1977 game started in the early afternoon, very unlike Super Bowls in recent decades.  The halftime show was really cheesy compared to those lately that have become spectacles.  I took several photos that day.  Uncle Robert drove me there in Mom's Ford Galaxie, dropped me off, and would later pick me up after the game ended.  On the way to Pasadena:
                                                                             

                                                                                  

                                                                               

We would hold up large, color cards to form words or patterns.  Really sad compared to recent Super Bowls.  And the game would end before the sun went down.
                                                                            

                                                                                

                                                                                

                                                                               

Start of the second half:
                                                                               

                                                                                

Throughout the early 1970's when Chuck Knox was hired to coach the Rams in 1973 while I was at Air Force OTS, another horrible NFL anachronism existed regarding playoff appearances and the lack of home field advantage.  In 1973, the L.A. Rams were 12-2 and had beaten the Cowboys in the regular season, and they had a better regular season record than Dallas.  Yet the Rams had to travel to Dallas for the Championship game, losing a close one, pretty much at the very end when the two defenders bounced off of Drew Pearson who scored the winning touchdown when Roger Staubach was in the shadow of his own goal post and let the pass fly.  The League in those days did not value or reward home field advantage in the playoffs based on regular season records.  Championship games simply rotated among division winners without regard to the team or records during the regular season.

In a subsequent season, the Rams were 10-4 and had beaten the Vikings in the regular season, and each team had the same regular season record.  Head-to-head these days would have given the Rams home field advantage.  But the Rams had to travel to Minnesota in winter for that Championship Game.  They lost an incredibly close game, 14-10.  The one time they got the Vikings in the Coliseum, the skies opened up and the field was a mud bath.  The game has been referred to ever since as "The Mudbowl". The Rams lost another close game to Minnesota 14-7.   

The Coliseum

I would attempt to schedule leave during certain Rams games in the Coliseum.  I took a few pics at one point.  I suspect this was the Rams vs the Falcons when it was Merlin Olsen's last regular season game in 1976.

                                                                           

                                                                              

                                                                                

Mom attended one game with me:
                                                                          

In and Around San Pedro:

Ports O' Call Village circa 1976:
                                                                                 

                                                                              

                                                                               

Palos Verdes:
                                                                               

Grandparents in Yucaipa

If the Sanchez Grandparents were not visiting their son, daughter-in-law and cousins in Mexico in winter, they would be living in the trailer park in Yucaipa, CA.  Here are the last photos I have of them when Ann and I visited in 1976.  I was living in the one-bedroom BOQ in Minot room when I got word that Grandma Sanchez had dragged herself down to Mazatlan to die there instead of in the U.S.  She loved visiting Mazatlan where Uncle Leon owned a trailer park on the water that the grandparents helped him purchase.  
                                                                           

                                                                               

                                                                                

                                                                                 

                                                                                 

                                                                              

                                                                           

Ann and Mark Egan
   
They eventually married.  Here they are on the front walk leading up to the duplex in San Pedro where Mom lived after moving from South Gate.
                                                                          

Here were some photos in the house they bought in Belmont Shore:
                                                                            

                                                                                

                                                                                

                                                                                

                                                                                

                                                                              

The two bought a sailboat and learned to sail.  I went on one voyage, but my stomach did not co-operate as I sat near the bow, enjoying the spray.  They eventually divorced as their lives diverged.  Mark would remarry but was killed on a motorcycle while heading home from work on a rainy evening on the Long Beach Freeway.  Mike Mebs found the article in the newspaper and let me know. 

Mike and Lida in the Valley

 Mom and I visited the two of them in their first home in the Valley. 
                                                                         

                                                                              

                                                                                 

                                                      
                                                            
Master's Degree in the Humanities

The Air Force offered a Master's Degree in a field that I had no interest in.  However, on a visit to Southern California and Cal State Dominguez Hills, when I saw my old professors, Dr. Holter explained that the college then offered a Master's Degree in the Humanities by correspondence.  Not only was this an academic area I was always interested in studying, I could read books and write papers on alert or in my BOQ room.  From 1976 through 1978, I worked on my Master's Degree.  That, in addition to everything else that I was doing well with while on the crew force, helped me to add to my Air Force credentials.  And, most importantly, I was able to apply for an assignment to the U.S. Air Force Academy (USAFA) in Colorado Springs in the summer of 1977, realizing that I would have my Degree by June of 1978 and be able to begin teaching in the Fall of 1978.  I had a way to get out of missiles for a time.

The core of the degree were five overview Understanding the Humanities courses:  Philosophy, Art, Music, History, and Literature.  In addition, I took courses in the History of Russia Before the Revolution and one on the Soviet Union.  I took an independent study course regarding The New Yorker author, James Thurber and wrote a lengthy paper.  (At that point, I owned every single one of his books.)  I also worked with a professor in the English Department to submit my book of poetry, Son of Men, as my Master's creative project.  My GPA at the end was 4.0. 

Interviews at USAFA

I set up interviews at the Academy with the History Department and English Department.  I very much wanted to be hired by the History Department, but the English Department was my backup.   I flew into Stapleton on Frontier Airlines and changed planes to another Frontier flight into Colorado Springs.  The flight along the Rockies was extremely bumpy.  My stomach got very upset.  I was going to stay with a Minot friend in the Mountains, but as I drove to where he lived in my rental car, I realized I would never get to the Academy the following morning in time for my first interview.  I turned back to Peterson Air Force Base.  There I was able to secure a room in the VOQ.  But when I got to my room, I realized that a Major had taken up two VOQ rooms with his luggage.  The front desk told me to move his suitcases and secure the door between the two rooms.  

The following day I had interviews with current members of each Department.  Everyone was friendly and helpful. When I looked out of the windows of professors who had offices with glorious vistas, I was amazed at the views they experienced every day.  I even mentioned that to one interviewer that in my duties as a missile officer, I had no view whatsoever to enjoy.  I was so excited with the idea of working at the Academy after my many months in Minot underground.

My interview with the head of the History Department was not until the afternoon of the second day.  I was exhausted from the process and talking about myself to so many fellow officers.  I mentioned something about the Soviet Union that was too generalized and did not come out right.  The Colonel raised an eyebrow and skeptically asked, "Oh?  Who says that?"  I had blundered and could not easily backtrack, so the damage was done.  I could see myself dropping fast in his estimation.  Besides, they had a professor who was an expert on Russia and the Soviet Union who had been away the previous year--was not there that summer to interview me--but would be returning in the Fall.  

I returned to Minot and awaited the results in high anticipation, not at all optimistic about the History Department.  I was on alert when a call came through from the Department Chair of the History Department several days later who explained that they had had a number of highly qualified applicants, so I was not chosen.  However, he informed me that the Operation's Officer of the English Department definitely wanted me to call him.  I made that call and was told that the English Department would be thrilled to have me join their Department for the Fall of 1978.  I readily accepted.  But just as single mistakes, when added together with later mistakes, doomed the Titanic, this acceptance by the English Department started the process toward the end of my military career, though I was entirely aware of this at the time.    
     
(An interesting sidelight was that when I was at the Academy in the Fall of 1978, I overheard one of the new hires in the History Department who was experiencing strong conflicts with the Department Chair.  He and a couple of the other new hires had very little respect for that Department Chair and were already in open rebellion.  I had always wondered, had he chosen me instead, he would not have experienced the headaches that his other new hires caused him the next year and I might have still continued on in the Air Force with my own career.)

Oddities at Minot

There was a rumor of wife swapping among base personnel when that became a 70's thing.  I also heard that a crewman in the 741st had attempted suicide.  I was in that Squadron office one day and saw the handsome young man sitting at a desk.  (I knew him by sight but did not know him at all.)  I was about to say something about the rumor I had heard, assuming it was wrong, but he turned his arm slightly as I approached and I noticed that his wrist was bandaged, just where one would do so had one tried to cut one's wrist.  I never did learn why he did that.  And because a Missile Combat Crewman had to be psychologically stable, this action prohibited him from serving going forward.  I always wondered if it was because he was sexually conflicted.  I never heard that it was depression.       

I also heard that a security team (called Sky Cops) out at an LF said that they saw a bright light hovering over that LF.  It wasn't a helicopter.  

At the Minot AFB Credit Union was where I first established a checking account and also borrowed around $100.00 to buy an RCA portable 19-inch TV at the Base Exchange, just to establish credit which I had never had on my own.  I also subscribed to the L.A. Times.  I know the enlisted personnel who worked in the Base Post Office hated to have to maintain my stack of newspapers, especially the Sunday L.A. Times which was large, thick and heavy.  That was where I learned about our High School English and Typing Instructor, Mr. Ziven, who got arrested at his South Gate apartment for holding a men-only party. 

Every now and then, I would find a phrase in the newspaper that I thought was appropriate.  I would cut it out and tape it above the doorway to a Launch Control Center, likely where it would not often be noticed.  One said, "North Dakota Disaster Area".  Another was a phrase about nuclear weapons, "To survive a nuclear attack, a person needs to not be where one goes off."  I thought that was appropriate.  There were enough emergency rations (how long they had been in the LCC was difficult to know).  Had there been a nuclear exchange between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R., a crew was supposed to remain in the LCC for several days, to let the radiation dissipate somewhat.  Then, assuming that any topside structures and the elevator had been destroyed, you could go outside the capsule, make your way along the exterior, find the plate at one end of the tunnel to the surface and, removing that covering. letting the substance within drain down, dig through a foot or so of dirt at the opposite end, and be free to depart the area.  The tube that led to the surface, unfortunately, was filled with sand.  Of course, we were advised, a nuclear blast might quickly turn that sand to glass.  We would be unable to get out that way.  But we'd have a nifty telescope made of glass.  

The last phrase for The L.A. Times that I taped up was from an earlier century, from a snooty female Aristocrat, who wondered aloud:  "Descended from Apes?  Let us hope it is not true.  If true, let us hope it does not become widely known."  These taped phrases might have been above Kilo and Lima, and one was definitely above the doorway to a 740th LCC.  

Another almost famous situation occurred when I was out on alert.  A reporter from the L.A. Times was coming out to interview a line crew.  However, that reporter was going to be arriving just after my crew left for the base.  Here I was, a subscriber, missing out on the chance to be interviewed.

When visitors did enter an LCC as guests, they would hear the persistent humming of the equipment, knowing what it could be used for in a crisis.  As one buddy remarked, "They'd be too afraid to get too close in case they bumped up against a rack of equipment and 10 missiles would go up by accident."  

The whole aspect of missiles almost became penis envy for the two world powers.  I remember a framed print back on base that compared Soviet missiles to the U.S. missiles in size alone.  The U.S. missiles were far fewer and much smaller than their Soviet counterparts.  SAC always raised the fact that U.S. missiles were always far more accurate than Soviet missiles at reaching their intended targets.

When the Israeli Army surrounded the Egyptian Army in the Sinai in 1974 and threatened to entirely destroy them, the Soviets told the U.S. to order the Israelis to back off and allow the Egyptians to retreat.  Things got pretty tense.  My buddy Jim told me that, while on alert, they had even had to insert their keys in the consoles in preparation for launch.  It had gotten that serious.

On a less serious, though creepy, note, I woke up one night and thought I saw something scurry across the ceiling of my BOQ room.  Soon it was clear that, somehow, large silverfish, at least 6 inches in length, had invaded the entire BOQ.  They easily crawled up the walls and across the ceilings.  If you turned on the light in the kitchenette, several quickly skuttled out of site.  It did make my skin crawl because I hate most insects to begin with.  Finally, after enduring the infestation for many days, we were all forced to leave our rooms for a few days.  The entire structure was bagged off and chemical spray was introduced that killed off every one of them. 

I always loved cheesecake.  My first attempts at making one was disastrous.  However, for a time I shared the kitchenette with a Mormon.  His girlfriend had a surefire recipe that would be easy to make.  She wrote it out on a 3 x 5 card that I lovingly kept for decades.  Unfortunately, the first few times I had to actually take Graham Crackers and smash them up to make the crush.  As the years passed, they made Graham Cracker mix already crushed.  I just had to add sugar and butter to fit it into a pie tin.  Eventually, I could buy the crust premade, saving even more work.

My first wildly successful attempt I left with some buddies down the hall, Roger Benninger, Tom Brundige and Larry Dowling, and a couple of missile officers because I had a trainer ride that evening.  When I returned, only a sliver of the Cheesecake Pie remained.  "You were lucky we left you a piece," Larry explained.  They had broken out some frozen strawberries to cover each slice that they cut.  It was too delicious to survive.  

Thanksgiving on Alert

My commander--I think Dan Gurganus--and I did have to spend one Thanksgiving on alert.  Say what you will about military life, but the armed forces generally attempted to make Thanksgiving as delightful as possible and as gastronomically satisfying as if you were at your favorite relative's house for a home cooked meal for the holiday.   Turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, rolls, vegetables, and pumpkin pie were served.  I believe the food might even have been served on dinnerware and linen.  I believe it also came with a small, printed greeting for the holiday.  I still remember that meal with great satisfaction.

Food on alert otherwise

Missile duty provided what were called "foil packs" when you were on alert.  Those foil packs were often only as good as the cook who worked topside in the kitchen who, basically, took out the frozen, prepared meal item and heated it up.  Spanish Franks were available in an oily, orangish sauce.  Not good.  The Tuna Surprise was so named because it would tackle your intestines fiercely hours later, when you had forgotten that you had foolishly ordered it.  The meat loaf wasn't particularly tasty.  Mashed potatoes were indifferent. 

You could get breakfast.  But the eggs were rarely to anyone's liking.  The bacon was a heart attack waiting to cripple your major organ for life.  By the time the toast got to you, it was cold.  

The only thing worth ordering on the menu was the strawberry shortcake.  The shortcake would get defrosted, and a luscious quantity of juicy, thawed strawberries, all syrupy-sweet and sugary, were poured on top.    

For a brief time, however, at Oscar they had a marvelous cook.  He could perform miracles with whatever he was tasked to prepare.  But he did not last long.  Word got around that he was so good, the base swiped him and his superior culinary skills.   

Since each crewman carried out on alert the black crew bag that harbored your required Technical Order (T.O.) manual, the instructions and procedures needed to operate the equipment on alert; all of the good stuff got totted in a massive, green-canvas crew bag.  Books, magazines, newspapers, writing materials, changes of socks and underwear in the early days, personal items such as toothbrushes and toothpaste, and--most importantly--food.  Your own food.  You could pack sandwiches.  Some company sealed barbequed beef in a bag.  You popped it into boiling water on the two-burner hot plate in the LCC.  When it was fully heated, you cut open the bag and poured the steamy contents onto a slice of bread, the bread supplying significantly more nutritional value.  Voila, a meal. 

While the LCC had a small fridge to store milk and whatever you brought that needed to remain chilled, there were no microwave ovens in those days.  (I suspect it might have been thought that they could interfere with the launch equipment.)  Later, some manufacturer developed a two-sided, plug-in cooker.  You could make a grilled cheese sandwich by laying down the bread on each side, toss on a cheese slice, flip the two sides of the device closed, and then wait for it to finish grilling the bread and melting the cheese.  You could lay a raw burger on one side, close it up, and it would cook both sides of the meat.  Toss the cooked patty onto a bun you brought, and you had a hot, tasty burger for lunch or dinner.      

Packs of cookies and other deserts or crackers were easy to toss into the crew bag...and dangerous to your weight and health.  You could nibble on snacks all day long without realizing how many calories you were packing on. 

Was any of this very healthy?  Not really.  Over four years, a crewmember could easily develop a crewmember spread to his stomach and love handles and butt.   

Mr. Steak and food poisoning

Minot in those days was not known for fine dining.  The Officer's Club was far better than anything the town offered.  But one time the Schurr's suggested we go to Mr. Steak opposite the airport as they were having a steak and crab legs special.  The steak was fine.  It must have been the crab legs that almost sent me to an early grave.

Close to midnight, I began to feel incredibly ill.  I started barfing every twenty minutes or so.  If I had anything in my stomach, it was gone in the next hour or so.  I then developed the dry heaves.  I tried to drink something, anything, to avoid dry heaves.  Twenty minutes later, I puked up whatever I sipped.  If I consumed nothing, twenty minutes later, I had the dry heaves again.  I could not tell what felt worse.  Had I owned a gun, I might have been tempted to shoot myself because I was in such lingering agony.  After puking, I would feel OK for the next few minutes.  But like clockwork, as the time drifted toward twenty minutes or so, my stomach would start churning again and I would lose it.  This went on for approximately ten hours.

Finally, in the morning the torture began to subside.  I was supposed to be on alert that morning.  I went to the dispensary and reported my situation to Scheduling while I was still sick.  They substituted the evening shift instead.  They were always so helpful.

I never went to Mr. Steak again.       

Blizzards

Global Warming was not so apparent in the 1970's or discussed much--gas stations were switching to lead-free fuel because Detroit was creating engines that used lead-free fuel.  But this was mostly because of significantly poor air quality in and around U.S. cities.  

While at Minot, I experienced three separate blizzards while on alert.  Only a fourth blew through the state while I was back in my warm, comfortable BOQ room on base.  We would drive out to a site, and then the blizzard would hit.  We'd be stranded.  Nothing could move across the entire state of North Dakota while nature raged.  The first blizzard I endured lasted for four days.  We had to start rationing food and milk topside as we were running low of both.  This was in the days of 36-hour alerts.  Fortunately, there was another crew on site for us to rotate duty every twelve hours.  But by the third day, after we had changed over several times, the two commanders and we two deputies would have to huddle around the changeover procedure checklist because we were all getting quite punchy.  We had to physically confirm what we had to do, something we otherwise had memorized and needed no checklist before.

In the crew sleeping area upstairs, you could hear the wind howl outside for those four straight days.  In the security center also upstairs, you could not see the detached garage for hours on end.  The snow blew so hard and persistently that there was no visibility more than a foot or so even though the garage was mere yards away.  A security team out in the field became stuck.  They started walking to safely and bumped up against a barn.  They had to feel their way around to the barn door, got inside, and stayed there, trying to keep warm.  A stuck semi-truck driver kept checking on an older couple in a stuck car in front of him.  They said they were OK when he offered to let them stay in his warm cab.  He eventually found that they had frozen to death.  A car would become stuck, the driver trying to walk toward faint lights in the distance; but his body would be found after the blizzard subsided yards from his frozen vehicle.  

Back on base, the Durrs and Schurrs, respectively, told me that they would be forced to crawl through the ceilings of each duplex to reach a neighbor's unit, to share food as they were each running low.  You could not venture out either respective front door to meet up that way and share provisions.  The wind chill was minus 100 degrees for most of those four days.  

On the third shift our crew was to head upstairs to sleep, I had one remaining quarter in my pocket.  I had been savoring the notion of a Coke from the vending machine upstairs.  We finally got topside.  I walked up to the machine and pushed my quarter into the slot.  Nothing.  There were Cokes in the machine, but it was having nothing productive to do with my sole remaining quarter.  However, it would not give my quarter back either.  I slowly walked to the sleeping quarters and collapsed on the bed, exhausted.  I tried not to think about that Coke which I never got.  Had I done so, I would have surely broken down and started crying.  

In that first year or two, we had no radios or TVs downstairs.  By the second day, we had run out of stuff to read or anything to do.  We sat like Zombies, just staring at the humming equipment and not saying anything for hours at a time because we had run out of things to say to one another.  We were beyond bored.   

When our relief crews finally arrived at the end of the debacle, we were incredibly relieved.  My room back at the BOQ never looked so good to me.  There were two other blizzards that I experienced in subsequent years, both were approximately three and one-half days in length.  Only in my final year did I luck out and be in my room when the blizzard struck.  During one of those blizzards, the BOQ staff had added a metal shed beside the BOQ building for us residents to put some of our belongings in as storage.  Fortunately, that blizzard struck before anyone had a chance to put anything in the metal shed because when the blizzard finally lifted, nothing was left of that shed but the concrete slab.  None of the metal sides or top or door were ever found.

When I got back on base after the 4-day blizzard, I opened up the hood of the Camaro.  The outline of the underside of the hood was impressed upon the snow that entirely filled the engine compartment.  A guy back at the BOQ found the entire interior of his convertible Corvette filled with snow.  Here I am standing atop a snow drift at the end of the BOQ.  My head is about halfway up the side of the building:
                                                                           

Media at Minot

The town did not even have all three major networks.  If I recall correctly, some hit shows on ABC were shared by the other two networks on Minot TV.  There was also a miserable PBS channel, and I remember them broadcasting local high school baseball games, horribly served by significantly bad, local announcers.  Fortunately, we did get M*A*S*H, Mary Tyler Moore and Bob Newhart on Saturday nights.    

I remember seeing a few films in the base theater such as Three Musketeers, Four Musketeers, The Great Waldo Pepper, Zardoz, The Wind and the Lion, and others.  I saw Star Wars at the theater in downtown Minot.

On alert, beyond the texts like Look At the Harlequins! by Nabokov for my Master's Degree, I read a number of books, especially from newsmen I followed:  Not So Wild A Dream, Eric Severeid; Berlin Diary, by William L. Shirer.   

Record albums

Roger Benninger, Tom Brundige and Larry Dowling opened their BOQ doors one day and tried to coordinate playing December, 1963 (Oh What A Night) by The Four Seasons on their respective turntables.

Music, I firmly believe, kept us sane in Minot.  

Hejira

During a rare, 5-day break from alerts, I woke up each morning and put Joni Mitchell's Hejira on my turntable.  Each morning I warmed up to song after song.    

Taking Leave

With 30 days of paid leave each year, I was able to take several trips to visit friends around the country, in addition to my repeated trips back to Southern California to see family and friends there.

The Zito's in North Carolina, 1974

I don't remember the flights I took or the cities I passed through to get to North Carolina where the Zito's were stationed at Marine Air Station at Cherry Point.  They told me about the fire in the warehouse where almost all of their possessions, including family photos, were being held until the following day when they were to be delivered to their house on base.  I believe the following is the only photo I have where I was wearing an Air Force tan uniform with rank insignia that soon were entirely phased out.  We wore them early on at OTS.  But even there they were eventually replaced by the light blue shirt and dark blue trousers.  Den was wearing his Marine uniform and pointing at my missile badge, something the Marines did not have.
                                                                           

They did take me to a Confederate and, eventually, a Union fort at New Bern, North Carolina.  We ate at a favorite seafood restaurant not far away.  
                                                                           

 Here is Den at the fort:
                                                                             

Here is the front of their house:
                                                                            

                                                                             

Dennis Zito still had his red Fiat:
                                                                           

The only thing I recall about one of my return flights to Minot was that the first was aboard a Piedmont Airways YS-11, twin-engine turboprop.  The departure might have been out of the Regional Airport at New Bern to Richmond, VA.  After that, my mind draws a total blank.
                                             
The Zito's in Binghamton, New York, 1975

I believe the Marine Corps out of OTS required three years of service.  Dennis Zito left the Marines in '75 and got a supervisory position for Frito Lay on the factory floor in Binghamton. 

We went on a picnic in a local park:
                                                                      

                                                                            

                                                                              

Here are more photos around Binghamton, New York.  In the top one, Dennis Zito apparently still had his red Fiat.                                                                         

                                                                                

                                                                               

                                                   
Dennis Zito, Elizabeth Zito, and I sent a day at the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York.  Growing up in Ohio, he was a Cleveland Indians fan.  He and his twin brother graduated from Ohio State. 
                                                                           

                                                                              

                                                                              

                                                                              

                                                                                

                                                                                

                                                                             

                                                                                

                                                                                

                                                                              

                                                                                  

                                                                                   

                                                                                  

                                                                             

                                                                                 

                                                                          
This must have been from the window of my flight returning to Minot:
                                                                              

Visting Pat Byrne in New York, 1976

Pat Byrne and I kept in touch after he'd moved to New York City for TWA's international flights.  He had a girlfriend, Sandra, who had worked for TWA quite a while longer.  They had rented a house together on Long Island. 

I totally misunderstood his instructions and booked my TWA flight into Newark.  He had a long drive to pick me up.  My luggage, however, had been flown into JFK, on the flight I ought to have booked instead.  We had to stop by JFK to get my suitcase.

I did get to see a lot of New York City for the first time.  We even attempted to get tickets to A CHORUS LINE on Broadway, a huge hit at the time; but we had to settle for SHERLOCK HOLMES instead.  They encouraged me to try chocolate mousse for the first time, and I loved it.  Sandra also made artichoke hearts as a vegetable for dinner which I loved.

Pat seemed very reluctant to have me take his picture.  I did get one by stealth.  The other one he instantly held up a bag from a record store where we had stopped.
                                                                          

                                                                               

                                                                              

                                                                               

                                                                              

                                                                              

                                                                              

                                                                              

                                                                                

                                                                                

                                                                                

                                                                               

                                                                             

                 

I was able to capture a photo of the two of them together.
                                                                            

Months later they moved to Florida when the number of TWA flights to Europe slowed for the off season and winter.  I failed to get their address or phone number (no cell phones in those days), and I never heard back from them either.  Then there was the TWA labor and ownership issues in the 1980's, and the eventual acquisition of TWA by American years later.  Who knows when they might have either moved to another airline or left the industry all together?  

Patrick Harlan Byrne had been a good friend, especially when I was beginning to accept myself and accept my being gay.  I am sure working with any number of gay employees at TWA, Sandra had no problem with my being gay either.  Pat had found the right mate.  But who knows if they remained together and got married or went their separate ways at some point?  I suppose we all have our own paths to walk and, because of that, our lives at some time diverge and friendships come to an end.    

My insane trip across the Midwest and East, 1977

In 1976 dollars, the cost of the bundled airline tickets was approximately $739.00.  Remember that my brand new Camaro in 1973 was $4,000.00.  The large Advent speakers in 1974 were $100.00 each.  This was to be an expensive trip.

These are the flights, airlines and aircraft I would be taking and the friends I would be visiting along the way.

North Central DC-9 to Minneapolis via Grand Forks, ND.
Ozark DC-9 to St. Louis to see Dave Morris, my old Minot buddy from the BOQ
TWA 727-200 from St. Louis to Indianapolis
Commuter plane to Bloomington, Indiana, to see Darryl Butler and his wife*  
American Airlines BAC-111 from Indianapolis to Pittsburgh, PA
Commuter plane from Pittsburgh, PA, to Morgantown, WVA, to visit Chuck Gover, Minot buddy
Commuter plane from Morgantown back to Pittsburgh
Northwest 727-200 from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia, PA, to see David Zito, Dennis Zito and Beth
American 727-200 from Philadelphia to Los Angeles via Nashville, TN, and Dallas, TX, to visit Mom and family
Continental DC-10 from Los Angeles to Denver
Frontier 737-200 from Denver to Grand Forks**
North Central DC-9 from Grand Forks to Minot and home
  
*  I would miss this commuter flight because TWA moved up the departure time of the early morning St. Louis flight to Indianapolis without informing me.  Had the ticket counter agent told me to really hurry down the concourse to catch the flight, I might have made it.  As it was, Darryl and his wife had to drive to Indianapolis to pick me up.  He was worried about the IU - Perdue football game traffic that Saturday.

** Somehow my flight to Minot was cancelled, I believe.  Frontier routed me through Grand Forks instead, requiring the additional North Central flight back to Minot.  

Twelve different aircraft.  Thirteen cities I either merely flew into and out of, or stopped at to visit someone, or changed planes in.

St. Louis

Dave Morris took me to the Arch.  Here he is in the Visitor's Center:
                                                                

Here I am within the Top of the Arch:
                                                                               

Looking down from inside the Arch:
                                                                             

Bloomington, Indiana

I remember playing basketball in one of the campus gyms with Darryl.  Here are two photos of my visit with the Butler's in their living room.
                                                                             

                                                                                 

Morgantown, WVA

I have landed in Morgantown twice.  During one of the flights, the crosswinds were so strong, and the twin-engine commuter aircraft had to crab so significantly to land, that on the side of the plane where I sat, visually it was as if I were the pilot watching the runway approach directly toward me from my side window.  Only upon meeting Chuck in the terminal did he tell me that a week earlier, at another WVA mountaintop airport, that commuter plane did not make it.    

Here was the old Mountaineer Field that would soon be replaced.  This was the first time I saw artificial turf in person (I am scoring a touchdown, making certain that the ball would not be stripped by a defender).  
                                                                               

                                                                              

Here is Chuck and his American car.  I always knew him as Chuck but, if I remember right, this is where he informed me that his real name, known to his High School friends, was Hale.  Hale Charles Gover.  He loved airliners, ships, cars and trains.  
                                                                           

We spent a ton of time riding the People Mover and taking photographs.  In the early days, before the kinks were worked out, some riders might find themselves taken to the overnight storage "barn" for the cars and stranded.  It worked perfectly when we rode it.
                                                                             

                                                                                

                                                                                  

                                                                              

                                                                                 

                                                                              

We drove outside of the town for more pictures of the area.  I had no idea what rappelling was.

                                                                            

                                                                             

                                                                                 

                                                                                  

                                                                                   

The regular aircraft was unnecessary as there were only two of us flying out of Morgantown that morning for Pittsburgh.  A four-seat, twin-engine Cessna was what we flew on.  I got to sit next to the pilot.  The other passenger sat in one of the two back seats.  When we landed at Pittsburgh and taxied, while jumbo jets were taxiing around us, it felt like riding in a golf cart amidst semis.  While waiting for the Northwest flight, a plane filled with Air Force Academy Cadets opened the jetway and disgorged the lot of them.  At that point I knew that I would be teaching there the following year. 

Philadelphia, PA

In 1975, Elizabeth Zito had given birth to Eric Zito.  They sent me a Christmas card that year, his first Christmas.
                                                                           

David picked me up at the airport.  We were headed to Den and Beth's house to be with them and David and Den's parents for Thanksgiving that year.  David, Eric and daddy Dennis.
                                                                                

                                                                                

                                                                               

                                                                                 

Dave and Den's dad explained that he still had a portion of a bullet in his leg from combat in WWII.  The wound still seeped occasionally.  

As Den had left the Marines, David had left the Air Force.  I was the only one still in the service.  David and I spent the next couple of days in and around Philidelphia.  The Bicentennial festivities were the year before.  The Liberty Bell was still housed in a glass structure across from Liberty Hall, to handle the masses there to celebrate the Nation's birthday.
                                                                             

                                                                                  

                                                                                

                                                                                 

David dropped me off at the airport, possibly on Saturday night, maybe Sunday evening.  I shortly realized that I was coming down with a terrible cold.  As I waited for the long American flight, I got progressively more ill.  Philadelphia had been so cold, colder than I had felt most of the time in Minot.  I stocked up on as many cold remedies as I could in one of the airport gift shops.  Unfortunately, I think I had a center seat on the long flight.  The entire time I tried not to cough or sneeze on the passengers on either side of me.  But I was not very successful.  I remember when we landed briefly in Dallas, looking out the window and seeing one of the Concordes nearby as we taxied.  However, the misery went on and on.,    

When I finally arrived in LA, I was thrilled that I could spend the next few days at Mom's place in San Pedro to recuperate.  I was sick and exhausted.

I would see David Zito in Denver in the early 1980's.  He was there, living with his girlfriend while in training to become a physical therapist.  But then I would lose track of both of the Zito's.  Somehow, as the 80's progressed and everyone knew I was gay, I would lose touch with Den and Beth Zito too.  A Christmas card sent might not get one back.  After a couple of years, you realize that you have less and less in common with those with whom you shared your precious youth.  Before the Pandemic, I would come across an active profile of Elizabeth Zito on Facebook and sent a friend request.  It was not accepted.  Maybe she never saw it.  Or she chose to ignore it.  She looked as sweet and even more attractive than in years before.  Her photograph of Dennis showed some of his age.  None of us in our later 60's was the young men we had been in Marine OCS so many seasons before.  A picture of Eric Zito had shown that he was an adult and had a son of his own, and he was fully grown.    

Chuck Gover and I would tour Gettysburg and Antietam battlefields with his wife in the 1980's.  But things were rocky between them even in the early 1980's.  They would eventually divorce.  He and I would chat on the phone now and then even when I lived on Franklin St in Denver in the early 2000's.  But then we stopped calling one another.

Darryl Butler and I would stop communicating sometime in the 1980's, as well.  Just a few weeks ago, I would come across a Facebook profile for him.  He and his wife were now retired and living in North Carolina.  I would send another friend request, but it has yet to be accepted.  Again, he may not go on FB much.  Or he has chosen to let our mutual pasts remain in the past. 

Dave Morris and I would communicate into the 1980's.  He told me he would be at a Comic or Star Trek convention in Denver.  My roommate and I would drive up to Denver, but I was too poor to buy the two of us tickets to get into the hall.  And none of the directions that Dave had provided to me lead to us finding him or connecting at all.  By the afternoon, I gave up and we drove back to Colorado Springs.   I don't know whether or not he knew we were there and chose not to connect after making the original offer. or he never got the message that we were outside, waiting to connect.

You hold on to valued friends and friendships for years; but then time and distance intrude, and you lose that hold for good and forever.  

Disneyland

Mom, Ann and I went to Disneyland three different times when I flew home on leave from Minot.  One of those three visits, Uncle Robert joined us.

1975
                                                                           

                                                                               

                                                                             

                                                                                  

                                                                               

                                                                                 

                                                                             

1976

Main Street entrance:                                                                              

                                                                                 

In front of the Chicken-Of-The-Sea Pirate ship:   
                                                                                

                                                                                

                                                                                  

  Aboard the People Mover:                                                                                

                                                                             

                                                                                

                                                                                 

At the Monorail entrance:
                                                                              

At the castle:                                                                               

Tomorrowland restaurant:
                                                                              

                                                                               

                                                                                 

Golden Horseshoe (the late Wally Boag):
                                                                       

Main Street at Dusk:
                                                                          

                                                                               

                                                                               

                                                                                  

1977

These photos are marked 1977.  This would have been an additional visit to Disneyland after Mom's open-heart surgery.
                                                                                

                                                                             

                                                                             

                                                                                

                                                                              

                                                                               

                                                                               

                                                                                

                                
Ann and Me with Mom's Galaxie

Mom's Galaxie would eventually be rear-ended and totaled.  But here we are in the parking lot of a Mall, probably 1976.

                                                                             

           
Ann and Dennis Madura at the Griffith Park Planetarium
                                                                             

The Library at Cal State Dominguez Hills
                                                                             

Mom and I at the Huntington Gardens
                                                                                   

                                                                                 

When the Japanese bridge used to be painted red:
                                                                                 

                                                                                

                                                                                

Visit to Dad's

Here are two color slides I took during a visit to Dad's with Ann and Mark Egan.  Half sister Lorri, Mark and Ann:
                                                                             

Willene, Mark, Ann, Lorri, Me and Dad:
                                                                              

                                     
Sex

I had been a sponsor for two arriving 2nd Lieutenants in my years at Minot.  The first, Chuck Gover, would become a good friend for several years, even after he took an early out from missiles and moved back to West Virginia.  He was fun and funny, and we shared many of the same interests and politics.  He was straight, of course.    

The second was Steve H. (I fully recall his last name but choose to leave it out here).  One evening in his BOQ room not long after he had arrived in Minot, he asked pointed questions regarding my sexuality and what I might have done in the past.  He related stories of things that he had seen, and likely done, in his past.  Verbal foreplay, I suppose.  It was clear that he was either Bi or Gay.  For the first time in my life, I had sex with another man.  It was fine. 

A few days later, he was house sitting for a couple in the base housing area.  He invited me over.  We had sex on their bed.  Over the next year or two, we would get together in his room or my room.  He would eventually marry an enlisted woman, though they would fight constantly.  I suspect he thought of himself as Bisexual, but I wonder if the marriage was simply a cover.  He certainly seemed to enjoy sex with me, though there was no warmth or affection, and definitely he was not into kissing. 

Eventually, I grew bored with the fact that I was always the bottom in our several encounters.  I wanted to try more, but he did not.  As a result of this impasse, I stopped having sex with him.  Since he was married and had moved out of the BOQ, I did not care.  He came over to have sex one later time; but it was obviously going to be in our old roles, so I was no longer interested.  I would soon learn that he was not a trustworthy person, in reality or on the crew force.  He became buddies with another craven crew member whom almost nobody else liked or trusted.  The goal of each of them was to become a General's Aid.  Brown nosing at its greatest extent.         

John F. (again, I fully recall his last name but choose to leave it out here) played the same game of sexual banter with me in the BOQ one evening.  This was after my situation with Steve H. had considerably cooled.  John F. had a really sexy butt in a pair of jeans or a blue Air Force uniform.  So, unlike Steve H., there was some physical attraction already.  Unfortunately, the first and only time we had sex on his waterbed, we were both too inexperienced (him not at all and me too little) for it to be fully enjoyable.  He wanted to flip; but after I was the initial bottom, it had been far too painful for me to be ready to top him.

However, it was sufficiently satisfying to me to want a rematch.  When I called him in his BOQ from alert that night after my deputy had gone to sleep, he told me that he felt guilty.  He had a girlfriend, but I sensed that his guilty conscience was B.S.  He really enjoyed sex with me but now was playing a rationalizing game with himself and me.  A few weeks later, I heard a knock on my BOQ room door.  It was John F.  I knew exactly what he was there for.  I invited him in, and he sat down.  We chatted.  Since he had rejected my overture on the phone several weeks earlier, I was not going to make the first move.  Perhaps I was still a bit pissed at him but waited for him to initiate this encounter.  He did not do so and eventually left.

Several weeks later, he became one of my substitute deputies on a 24-hour alert.  Again, I did not initiate anything, but I could sense that he was interested.  But, again, nothing happened because I did not initiate anything.

On my final full day at Minot when I was checking out of the Squadron, John F. stopped me outside of the exit door to the Wing building.  He apologized to me in a non-specific way (we were standing quite near an open window to a Wing office, so he could not be too specific).  I hope he recognized that he was likely gay and did not marry that girlfriend.  That day on his waterbed, he enjoyed our encounter quite fully, letting me know at every stage how much he was enjoying himself.     

You see, for most of my life, I have never felt guilty about being gay or having sex with a man.  Oh, there have been awkward moments and encounters where genuine compatibility and attraction came into serious question.  Too many times, perhaps.  But I never felt guilt.  I still remember the old routine from Woody Woodberry on one of his old comedy records:  "When sex is good, it's great.  When sex is bad, it's still pretty good." 

Forrest Bostelman

I became attracted to Forrest when he was a new 2nd Lieutenant in the BOQ from the 741st SMS.  But he was straight.  At some point he definitely picked up on the fact that I was attracted to him.  He came down to my one-bedroom quarters to tell me that he could not offer me what I was looking for.  All this would have been a sweet gesture on his part had I not been so embarrassed that I had let my guard down toward a guy who was not interested because he was not gay.  I was fortunate that he did not turn me in.  I vowed to be a heck of a lot more careful with anyone else I might be attracted to than I had been with him.     

Final Official Photo

 Periodically, when a officer was promoted, he had to get a new official photo.  Here is my final official photograph, Dec 1977.
                                                                                  

    
Final Officer's Effectiveness Report (OER) 22 June 1978 at Minot AFB

Perhaps my "Meets Standards" rating for Human Relations was because of my situation with Jake.  
                                                                              

                                                                                   

    
Leaving Minot

All of my personal effects had been packed up by shippers contracted by the Air Force and sent to Colorado Springs.  I drove my Camero south toward Bismark and beyond.  As the last LCFs and LFs fell behind me on either side of the highway, Jimmie Rogers singing The World I Used to Know came on my car cassette player.  That seemed entirely appropriate.