Chapter 21
COME YE…APART…AND REST A WHILE
(From
the time I left the Tiptons’ house near Fredericksburg, Virginia on a morning
at the end of February 1970 thru reporting in at Vance Air Force Base, Enid, Oklahoma
for jet pilot training at the end of March 1970.)
The
following morning I have breakfast with the Tipton family, bid Farewell to Mr.
Tipton when he leaves for work and then to their 3 sons when they soon after
leave for school. I soon put my bag into my T-Bird, bid Farewell to Mrs. Tipton
and drive away, never again to see this house of many fond and cherished
memories of just over 5 months that I lived in the fine state of Virginia. Thank
Thee, Lord Jesus, for this hospitable Christian family being so kind to me and
for making my time in Virginia so blessed and rich.
I
head down Interstate 95 and as I drive thru Richmond on it, I think about
Brenda’s family going about their daily routine in Richmond and about Brenda in
class at Mary Washington College. South of Richmond, I take Interstate 85 to
head toward Atlanta, Georgia.
Since
arriving at Quantico back in late September, each day had been chock full of
activity and I seldom had much time alone. Now, alone by myself, and cruising
pleasantly along on the wide highway in the nice T-Bird, it’s certainly a time
for reflection. It was a time to be most thankful to God for enabling me to
graduate high in my TBS class and thus to be approved for jet pilot training
that I so desired.
Not
all the guys in my class fared so well; several not getting their 1st
choice of the Marine job they wanted. Also, I felt sorry for the fellow Marines
around me who smoked and drank alcohol, as I saw those vices already destroying
their health, reducing their strength, energy, stamina and such even this early
in their lives (in their early 20s). On Monday mornings, several guys in my
platoon would be “dragging” physically because of drinking on the weekend. I
would be most refreshed on Monday mornings after a day and half of wholesome
activities. Truly, sin destroys.
I
saw sin destroying military officer careers right here at the start of such
careers. One 2nd lieutenant in my company got into such a terrible
crisis as a result of his sins of immorality that he went UA (unauthorized
absence). He ran away. Previously, that was called AWOL (Absence without
leave). The U.S government put the FBI on his trail and they captured him after
several days (tho he had gone quite far), hauled him right back to The Basic
School and put him under house arrest in the BOQ until his court martial.
During
that time of house arrest, he was not allowed to do any training with us. They
made him keeper of our small library on the 2nd floor of the BOQ.
The few times I walked by the library on my way to the classroom or such, he
looked so downcast sitting in there alone with practically nothing to do. I
never heard the outcome of his court martial. The lightest sentence likely
would have been a dishonorable discharge from the Marines. Possibly he was also
fined and might have been made to serve a short sentence in a brig (Navy jail).
One
of my ROTC classmates at Auburn graduated from Auburn at the end of spring
quarter (end of May 1969). So likely he graduated from TBS here at Quantico at
the end of November 1969. After my company moved into the main BOQ in late
October, I would drop by Lieutenant G’s room sometimes at night to chat, before
he graduated a month later.
He
smoked and drank heavily. He told me of him and some Marine buddies pouring whiskey
into a helmet liner and then each of them simultaneously sucking that whiskey
thru straws to mix more air with the alcohol to make it quickly reach their
brain cells and send them on a high drunk. Then they would race out to a pole,
circle the pole and race back to the starting point. They roared with laughter
watching each other repeatedly falling and staggering back up as they tried to
run in that drunken state. Did they not care that the aerated alcohol destroyed
plenty of brain cells that never replace themselves? Stupid
slow suicide! Young reader, don’t you dare to be so stupid.
Lieutenant
G’s misbehavior frequently got him into trouble with his superior officers. He
and an equally sinful classmate of his hatched up a scheme to get back at those
superior officers. About the time they graduated, those two guys took 2 girls
and checked into a fine hotel, registering under the names (and addresses) of
their company commander and company executive officer that were 2 Marine
majors. (At that time, hotels did not require any identification when a guest
checked in. The guest simply filled out name, address, and phone number.)
After
those 4 young sinners spent a drunken night of immorality, before checking out,
the 2 guys trashed the hotel room, so that their 2 superior officers would be
accosted for that crime. But 1 of those guys accidentally left his
military ID card in the room. (The Judge of all the earth saw to that, no
doubt.) The hotel contacted the company commander, handed over the ID card to
him and both culprits soon became known. They were well disciplined for that
crime. Seeing them destroy their lives and ruin their military careers during
their youth was a tragic sight. I wonder if either of them is alive today in
2016.
Heavenly Father, I thank Thee for blessing me with a strong healthy body and for saving me from sinful vices that destroy a person’s health and physical body. I thank Thee for Christians who taught me to live upright and who made me work hard thru out my upbringing. Regarding these important matters I pray that all parents will do their duty toward God and toward their offspring.
I
don’t recall ever catching a cold or getting sick during this cold winter
training outdoors. Some of the smokers and drinkers were plagued with colds. I
told you about sleeping in the open on the ice and snow one night. Thank God I
didn’t catch the slightest cold that
night. I ate the chow hall’s healthy food to nourish the healthy body God
blessed me with, shunned all vices, and did all the physical training to the
extent of my body’s ability. The extreme physical exertion caused me no undue
suffering, but several smokers and drinkers “suffered” thru it. I thoroughly
enjoyed it all, and even begged for more at times!
Likely
it was late January when our platoon was jogging 2 or 3 miles at the end of our
PT session that day. It was so cold I noticed that the sweat on our eyebrows
was turning into frost. In vain pride I took off my sweat shirt and T-shirt and
jogged a while shirtless. Lt. Virgil followed suit. No other guys in our
platoon were stupid enough to do that.
Before
they cut TBS from 6 months back to 5 months to speed up the training and send
us hurriedly on to Nam to die, it was typical for each platoon to jog a 9-mile
loop (one or more times during that 6 months). But they cut that out in our
5-month training sessions. Not enough time for it.
Three
weeks or so before we graduated, one morning just before lunch time our platoon
commander, 1st Lt. Lopez, led us out over a mile on our jog to the
place we always made a U-turn and jogged back. As we approached the turning
point, I started yelling “The Loop!” Just a few other such crazy buddies joined
me in calling for our platoon to run The Loop. Most guys in the platoon were
hoping such agony would not materialize.
First
Lt. Lopez slowed the pace a little, came back midway at the side of the jogging
platoon so all of us could hear him. “If we jog The Loop, you’ll have no time
to eat lunch.” (Lunch followed this jogging time and then class after lunch.) I
(and the few others who were crazy enough to keep screaming “The Loop!”)
prevailed. We jogged the whole 9 miles, then hurriedly showered, changed into
clean uniforms and dragged into class on time at 1 PM. The non-hackers in our
platoon weren’t at all pleased with us few crazy dudes begging for a 9-mile run
as opposed to a 3-mile run, and moreover miss lunch to do it. Ah, TBS was an
exciting Marine Corps adventure for me!
Almighty
God perfected
the time of the year I went thru TBS. Basking in the pleasant autumn weather to
the tune of rifle and pistol fire was perfect for those autumn weeks on the
outdoor shooting ranges. Then, the many days and few nights I spent out in the
field in the snow would have been most fatiguing in mid-summer heat.
Also, I would have been plagued by Poison Oak and Ivy, and mosquitoes and ticks
taking unauthorized blood donations from me.
And
sleeping on the hot summer ground (instead of on snow and ice), I just might
have awakened in the middle of the night to behold one of Snaky’s fellow
creatures coiled on my chest and staring at my face from inches away. “Howdy,
Snake Terminator! I heard it thru the grapevine, what you did to my fellow
Snaky!”
‘But
that was long ago and a long distance from here.’
“In
case you haven’t noticed, we serpents are long creatures. Thus, long times and
long distances pose no problem for us.”
‘Can’t
we negotiate, please?’
“You
didn’t allow my fellow Snaky to negotiate. So just hold still now while I
pierce your nose! I’ll load your face so full of poison that it won’t hurt
long.”
That
would not have been fun at all!
As I
slept on top of that thick layer of cold snow and ice, it was such a comfort to
know that all of Snaky’s fellow creatures in that area were far below that white
frozen layer hibernating deep down in holes in the earth, sound asleep day and
night. Our sleeping arrangements suited me perfectly!
Appropriate
cold weather clothing and gear kept me plenty warm playing war out in that
cold. Returning from such training (on Saturdays for instance), I would take a
hot shower, change into civilian clothes and eat a healthy hot lunch in the
officers’ chow hall. Then I would fly my T-Bird down to Fredericksburg for a
date with Brenda, eating supper and chatting with her before a warm glowing fireplace in the Tiptons’ cozy
basement in a lovely snow-white world. Truly, it was a most rich time of my life!
My
time at The Basic School was just over 5 months. That “starting period” of my
active duty military time was the most
enjoyable period of my 5 years and almost 5 months of active duty as a
Marine Corps officer. Living in that BOQ complex where I could most
conveniently take care of all my personal needs inside that complex (chow hall,
barbershop, laundry, dry cleaning, snack bar, the limited necessary shopping,
and such) was a great aid in staying keenly
focused on the intense training and studying that I was undergoing. The Marines
planned it that way. Also, our instructors were top-notch Viet Nam war veteran
Marines. Overall, it was an honour to train under them.
No matter what the weather, we went right ahead with scheduled training
in rain or snow. There were no
delays. No problems cropped up. It was a rare period of time in my life
when essentially everything went as
planned and scheduled. That “smoothness” factor was refreshing. You well know the frustration brought on by
delays, cancellations, change of plans and such. TBS was practically void of
all such.
Personally
meeting the Commandant of the Marine Corps was definitely a highlight of this
training at Quantico. That four star general extended a handshake to me and
stood there chatting with me just briefly, probing me for good advice on how to
best operate our nation’s Marine Corps.
“Lieutenant Yerby, aren’t
you exaggerating a little now?”
‘Absolutely not!
With that last phrase I simply switched to writing pure fiction!’ Oh, my
time at Quantico was a rich experience in my life!
Military
training (playing soldier) out in the fields and forests (outdoors in God’s
nature) suited me perfectly. That gave me much pleasure during this time in
TBS. I strove hard to rank high in my class to become a jet pilot because I
wanted to experience the vain thrill of flying a small fast military fighter or
attack jet high up in the sky. And I am glad that I achieved that goal.
But,
confined inside a tiny cockpit, wearing a helmet with an oxygen mask strapped
tightly against my mouth and nose and the discomfort of brief periods of
weightlessness or pulling 4 or 5 positive G’s was most uncomfortable. It looks
so impressive to see a military jet pilot wearing his helmet and oxygen mask,
but it is plenty uncomfortable to experience it. My vanity caused me to
love the glory of flying those small fast jets. I am thankful to have achieved
that experience and its thrills. But the “natural” God-ordained act of walking those lovely hills of
Virginia alone 6 hours or more 1 day with my map and compass, searching for and
finding all my “points” was far more pleasant.
Another
reason this time was so enjoyable was my social life in Fredericksburg with the
girls at the Baptist Student Union and with the Tipton family. A few of my
fellow Marines were plenty decent and upright. But many were base, lewd sinners
whose “unspeakable” sins constantly spewed from their mouths as I was around
them. What a relief it was to head down to Fredericksburg most every Saturday
afternoon to spend the remainder of each weekend with a Christian family and to
be around Christian girls.
The
lovely Virginia scenery also made this time most pleasant to me. My short stay
in Virginia was a most cherished time for me. I thank God for it. I’m thankful
I didn’t go from Auburn to flight training in Pensacola, Florida (as I first
desired). Had I done so, at the start likely I would often have come back to
Auburn on weekends. Getting totally weaned away from Auburn was much
more profitable, no doubt.
“Best All Around”
All
things considered (as explained thus far), in my element in the Marine
officer training at Quantico and in my social life at Fredericksburg, my stay
in Virginia was the most pleasant and fulfilling time of my almost 28 years of
life in the U.S. before I went to Japan.
In 2nd
place to this pleasant first 5 months of active military duty, was the very last 5 months of my
active duty in the Marines. At the end, my workload was the lightest it had
ever been while I was in the Marines. During the last 5 months, I was finishing
up at Iwakuni, Japan, obtaining permission to get discharged in Japan and getting
a Japanese visa to stay here. I had learned enough of the Japanese language to
converse quite well with Japanese friends I had made in Iwakuni and Hiroshima.
Also, I rejoiced in my Lord’s Calling to be a missionary here in Japan and
eagerly looked forward to soon entering that lifetime service. All that made my
last 5 months of active duty as a Marine captain most
pleasant.
On
this day, I left the Tiptons’ house with a heart overflowing with joyful
accomplishment and cruised all the way to Auburn, Alabama, arriving close to 9
PM. I then spent about 7 or 8 days in Auburn, then drove on to Birmingham to
spend about 9 days with Mr. and Mrs. Mars, and then on to Daddy’s house to
spend about 9 days there before driving on to Vance Air Force Base in Enid,
Oklahoma.
Arriving
in Auburn close to bedtime, I drive to the old house behind the Baptist Student
Union. The BSU owned that old house and 2 or 3 Baptist boys (university
students) live in it. They were sort of caretakers of the BSU and lodge there
free for doing that service. I knew all of them and when I arrive there
unannounced and ask if they had a place I could sleep, Randall said, “Sure.
That room is empty. You can sleep in it.” What a relief to “rack out” in the
Auburn BSU after a long day’s drive from Fredericksburg, Virginia.
The
next morning, I drive to the girls’ dining hall (where I had worked) while
breakfast is being served. As I enter the dining area, I spot Wanda sitting at
a table eating breakfast. She sees me about the same time I spot her. Each of
us breaks out into a wide smile. She stands up, comes to me and gives me a nice
hug. We briefly greet each other and leave it at that. I am quite sure she is
going steady at the time, so I leave her alone.
I
serve myself a big breakfast (for free as a guest) and talk with the student
workers whom I know and with the dietitians (the bosses). The bosses let me
work on the serving line while I stay in Auburn and let me eat my meals here
for doing that. What a privilege! I fellowship with Baptist girls and other
girls I know who eat in this dining hall. I take Julie to a concert on campus.
I attend a basketball game. It was an enjoyable week or so of leisure after
going “full steam” for 5 months of Marine officer training at Quantico. I did
not see Beverly. Possibly she had graduated at the end of the fall quarter.
I go
to the Navy ROTC offices and talk with my former instructor, Major Cleveland.
(Likely this is his last year at Auburn before being transferred to a different
duty station.) I tell him things went well for me at Quantico (TBS) and that I
am glad to now be assigned to jet pilot training with the Air Force. I do not
ask the major to let me come to his class in my 2nd lieutenant’s
uniform and speak to the Marine students in his class, as was typical for
someone like me to do. I just wasn’t interested in doing so. Neither did he
mention it.
Major
Cleveland told me that Jim W. had been killed in Viet Nam. Jim was a classmate
to John ②.
They both were my age and were my Navy ROTC classmates before I got set back 1
year because of my injury in the car wreck. Besides me, there were only 4 other
Marines in that class. Sad to hear of another of the 4 getting killed in Viet
Nam. Jim was a most likeable guy. I enjoyed being around him in ROTC.
I ask
the major if he was sure about Jim. “Yes, a man dropped by here who knows Jim’s
family (living in northern Florida). The man had recently asked Jim’s dad how
his son was. Jim’s dad broke down weeping and said that his son had gotten
killed in Viet Nam.”
You
can see that I didn’t assign a number to Jim. That’s because it was Jim’s brother
that got killed in Viet Nam. (So mistaken thinking had stemmed from the
conversation in the above paragraph.) But I believe the news that my Auburn
buddy Jim had been killed and am saddened by it, of course. So you can imagine
my shock more than 14 months later when to my great surprise, I “bump into” Jim
in the officers’ chow hall at Marine Corps Air Station Cherry Point, North
Carolina. I then tell Jim what Major Cleveland had told me. Jim replies that it
was his brother that got killed in Nam.
The
leisurely week or so at Auburn was most enjoyable, seeing old friends
and being on the familiar campus (re-living college days). Most likely I
stopped in on my former landlady, Mrs. Taylor, and greeted her, but I don’t
recall doing so. (This was my last time to be at the Auburn
University that I was familiar with. The next time I will visit this
university campus will be in the spring of 1986, more than 16 years later.
Regrettably Auburn University will change plenty during those 16 years.)
Leaving
Auburn, I head up U.S. Hwy 280 to Birmingham to stay a week or longer with Mr.
and Mrs. Mars. He had “retired” from the roofing business because of age and
declining health. But he now works a “lighter” job. His neighbor friend (Dan)
owns several small gas stations in about a 70-mile radius around Birmingham.
Mr. Mars now delivers boxes of engine oil, brake fluid, transmission fluid and
such to those gas stations. Mr. Mars soon asks me if I want work, hauling those
products to Dan’s gas stations.
‘Sure,
I want a job!’ I thank God for making me into a creature that desires to work
much instead of play much.
So, I
soon find myself driving a pickup truck each day, delivering boxes of engine
oil, other automotive fluids and such to Dan’s gas stations in north Alabama.
It was such easy work, mainly just driving. (The roofing work had been
fatiguing toil that often coated areas of my skin and clothing with the black
coating or aluminum paint.) Now, each night I return to the Mars’ house from
“driving” I am not dirty with such, nor am I very tired. We three enjoy Mrs.
Mars’ delicious home cooking for supper as we talk much about old times,
present times, our families and such. It’s such a joyful time!
I’m
on paid leave from the Marines. Dan is paying me for this hauling work. All
such helps me to make my car payments, Quantico credit union payments and to
get ahead financially in life. Life is rich beyond measure with friends
abounding, steady income and wonderful opportunities, all from the Bountiful
Hand of Our Loving Heavenly Father. Thank Thee, Lord God in
Heaven!
This
is my last time to see Mr. Mars while he is still in reasonably good
health, daily going about “normally”. Just over a year later, when I come visit
them after finishing basic pilot training in Oklahoma, Mr. Mars will be in the
hospital then. I am most thankful for this enjoyable (icing on the cake) final
visit with them while Mr. Mars is still active.
After
this memorial visit with them, hauling oil and such, I bid them Farewell and
drive on to Daddy’s house to stay 9 days or so. I help Daddy a little with his
farm work while visiting many relatives and friends here in
my hometown area. It’s always nice to come home again. My younger brother, Joe,
is now in Viet Nam. Thoughts of him weigh heavily on our minds as we pray for
his safe return.
In
late March 1970, I bid Farewell to family, relatives and hometown friends,
point my T-Bird west and head for Oklahoma. It meant a lot to me to spend this
time in Auburn, Birmingham and Vernon, 3 places
that had been “home” to me.
It’s
only about 26 miles on back roads from Daddy’s house to U.S. Hwy 82 near Columbus,
Mississippi. I get onto 82 going west and soon pass thru Starkville just west
of Columbus. I guess Starkville, Mississippi was the furthest west I had ever
traveled except for the time I flew with the ROTC Rifle Team from Auburn to
Oxford, Mississippi. So this farm boy is now off to new adventures in America’s
heartland (the Mid-west).
Daddy’s
younger sister, Sarah Alice, and family live in the “Delta” area near U.S. Hwy
82 somewhere close to Greenville, Mississippi. I took their address and phone
number with me, call them from a pay phone when I get near there, get
directions to their house and stop by to visit her, Uncle Densil, and their 3
children. Uncle Densil is a preacher, having been called to preach somewhat
late in life.
I
keep my visit brief and soon head west, crossing the large Mississippi River
for the first time in my short life. All that afternoon I drive completely
across southern Arkansas on U.S. 82, thru Texarkana, Arkansas and into Texas,
driving till about bedtime and then checking into a motel in northeast Texas
for a night’s rest. I had never before been in this big state of Texas.
The
next morning I eat eggs, toast and grits for breakfast in the motel’s
restaurant. Till now, I think each time I had eaten a meal in a café or
restaurant; I received 1 or 2 small “pats” of margarine with my meal. This
Texas breakfast comes with a nice size serving of whipped butter in a paper cup
and the cup was not all that small. I had always heard, “Everything is big in
Texas”. But seeing the size of that cup and the round scoop of white butter, I
dumbly assume it was a complimentary cup of ice cream. I didn’t even taste it
to confirm my dumb, mistaken assumption.
I
ate my toast and grits without butter and sort of hurried thru my breakfast before
my free dessert of “ice cream” melted. After I ate everything else, I put a
spoonful of that “ice cream” into my mouth and was plenty shocked to taste
butter. Sure wish I had enjoyed that whipped butter on my toast and in my
grits. That regretful experience was my initiation into “Everything is big in
Texas”.
If
you want to look at U.S. road maps you can see the northern Texas cities and
towns I pass thru on U.S. Hwy 82 as I travel west to U.S Hwy 81. I then turn
north on 81 and follow it all way to Vance AFB just south of Enid, Oklahoma and
close on the west side of Hwy 81. So, I got onto U.S. 82 just 26 miles or so
from Daddy’s house near Vernon, Alabama and then traveled only 2
highways all the long way to Vance AF Base, very far away in Oklahoma. Why, I
usually had to turn onto more different roads just going from Daddy’s house to
visit some friend or relative only 5 or 10 miles away. (I suppose that’s
profound enough to think on briefly.)
As I
travel west thru northern Texas the terrain levels out and the highway becomes
straight, enabling my mind to grasp the vastness of Texas nothingness as I
travel straight on and on. I enjoy this new adventure of viewing new scenery.
Traffic was sparse and I can see far ahead on the straight highway. I had heard
that Texas State Troopers were quite lenient about the speed limit posted on
these open highways passing thru barren open land. Apparently my Thunderbird
had also heard of the kindness of Texas State Troopers because it proceeds thru
northern Texas at a positive rate this day.
“Lieutenant
Richard, just how fast was that?”
‘Can
you keep a secret?’
“Sure
I can! Just whisper it in my ear and this will be just between you and me!”
‘Then
I don’t mind telling you that it was somewhat slower than the speed of those
military jets I will soon start flying thru the vast skies over Oklahoma
and Kansas!’
I
stop for lunch along the way. I find Texans to be friendly. Since this day, I
have visited Texas a good number of times down thru the years and so enjoy
being in that vast state of friendly folks with its laid-back western
atmosphere.
It
always fascinates me to read or hear true stories of people “uprooted” from
their “roots” (home place) by military service or other jobs that move them
often, or by poverty, disaster, refugee status or such. Often interwoven into
such life stories is one (or a very few) special personal possession
that they took with them (family pictures, a child’s toy, doll, etc.) that
reminded them of home and thus came to mean much to the person “on the move”
(becoming a “security blanket”).
My
one such possession was that Thunderbird car. I bought it new just more
than 3 months before graduating from Auburn University. I then drove it to
Quantico, Virginia, then to Enid, Oklahoma, and lastly to Cherry Point, North
Carolina (my 3 Marine Corps duty stations stateside before the Marines sent me
to Japan and I then took up residence in this foreign land). And I took a few
other long trips in it the times I went on leave (vacation) from Cherry Point back
home to Vernon.
‘I
don’t ever want more belongings than I can take with me in my T-Bird.’ I said
that to Mrs. Tipton once when I was in their Virginia home chatting with her.
And I fairly well abided by that rule the following few years I lived in the
U.S. before coming to Japan. I wanted no more possessions than I could pack
into the car’s trunk and backseat. That left room remaining for 2 passengers to
ride in the front seat. And that was the arrangement a few weeks ago when I
packed up to leave Quantico and then gave Mrs. Tipton and Brenda a ride to my
TBS graduation ceremony.
The
Thunderbird was my one unchanging possession during those few years of
several long moves and long trips, and it was a nice possession. I spent
many long hours behind the T-Bird’s steering wheel, cruising long distance
highways. I slept in it a few nights. The car was attractive, comfortable, and
pleasant with a 5-speaker stereo player for my tapes of Gospel singing and
other soft music. The T-Bird had plenty of power and endurance for long trips.
I thank God for graciously providing it for me.
“And
it flew across flat, straight, open Texas highways faster than a military jet;
didn’t you say so Lieutenant Richard?”
‘There
you go, already changing that story and exaggerating it.’
U.S.
82 intersects U.S. 81 at Ringgold, sort of out in the middle of Texas nowhere.
From there, I head just about due north on U.S. 81 into Oklahoma, passing to
the west of Oklahoma City and entering wheat country where man has made the
lovely flat land into a checkerboard fashion of a road each mile with a fence
row each half mile, dividing the land into neat square mile sections of 640
acres each. Those large flat sections of wheat fields were so much larger than
the small 40-acre farm on which I grew up. This land is a beautiful sight for
me to behold. One can see forever. I like gazing on that vastness.
Darkness
falls on me. I arrive safely at Vance Air Force Base after dark, show my orders
to the sentry at the gate and ask him directions to the BOQ office. I drive
there, show my orders to the civilian man at the desk and he assigns a BOQ room
to me. He’s friendly. I’m friendly to him. Thus we chat a little as he looks at
my orders and then at his list of vacant rooms.
He
hesitates in deciding which room to give me as if he is turning something over
in his mind. I have no idea what matter was on his mind to cause him to briefly
delay in deciding which room to assign me. But my Precious, Caring Lord was
working in this man’s heart to do me a great favor that would make this 1
year stay at Vance AFB much more pleasant for me.
Most
of the BOQ rooms here for bachelor officers have 2 guys to each room, just like
I had been put in a room with Lt. Wright at Camp Barrington at Quantico. I
expect the same rooming situation here, sharing a room with a roommate. But
instead, my Lord gives me the desire of my heart, a private room all my own.
In fact, it is a small suite all my own. Thank Thee, Lord Jesus, for
being so gracious.
Likely
this kind man was in his 50’s or possibly early 60’s. Finally he spoke up.
“Most of our rooms are doubles, but some buildings have one single room on the
first floor at the end. I presently have one single room that is unoccupied and
available. Would you prefer it to rooming with another guy?”
‘Yes,
Sir! I would prefer that!’
“Then
you can have the single room.”
I
fill out the necessary form. He gives me the door keys to those quarters and
simple directions to its nearby location. Driving there, I easily locate it, open
up, unload most of my few things, park in the parking lot close behind this BOQ
building, and take up residence in my new quarters in the Wild, Wild West
(Oklahoma). New Adventure!
Unlike
the massive, sprawling BOQ complex at Camp Barrington, the BOQ complex here is
several small 2-story wood frame buildings with about 3 suites each on the 1st
floor and 2nd floor. Yes, suites instead of just 1 one room. I look
my new quarters over in joyful amazement: a living-room/study, a bedroom with
closet, another closet in the hallway and my own bathroom. The Air Force is
known to be more extravagant than the Marines. This is the first time in my
life to have this much space to live in alone. I like the wood floors here.
Concrete floors destroy one’s feet and legs.
At
Camp Barrington, I had roomed with Lt. Wright for only 4 months during which
time we were most busy out in the field and in the classroom. We did little
more in our room than shower and bed down for the night. Both Lt. Wright and I
usually left each weekend (to each go our separate ways, of course). Thus we
didn’t have to endure being together in that small room much time at all. At
that time there were no restrictions against smoking in the BOQ rooms. It was
such a relief to me that Lt. Wright did not smoke.
But
I am to be here at Vance for a whole year and overall will have more free time
than I had at Quantico. I, being a loner by nature, am most glad I did not have
to live in the same suite with another guy this year as the majority of the single
pilot trainees did. If I had to share a suite here, possibly the other guy
would have been a smoker. That smoke would have tormented me terribly.
I
had spent a long, scenic day gliding over long; straight stretches of Texas and
Oklahoma highways. So I soon bed down in my newly acquired suite for the
night’s rest I definitely need. Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
“Good
“Okie” night to you, pilot-to-be Richard, who is already flying your
Thunderbird car low level across wide open flat Texas and Oklahoma.”
‘Well,
good night, to you too, I guess.’