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 . 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.’

 

 

On to Chapter 22

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