In the early 60's, I was a brand-new, naive 18-year-,old at my first military assignment, Cannon Air Force Base, New Mexico. I was a public health specialist, a one-striper airman.
HRS was a fresh MD and a Captain. He was assigned to the Flight Surgeon's office. His prime duty was to see to the health care needs of the pilots stationed at Cannon. His secondary duty was to serve as Public Health officer or as we called it at the time; "Military Public Health" and later, "Environmental Medicine."
That made HRS my boss...not directly though. My primary boss was a fine Technical Sergeant named J. A. Clark. JA was not around for any of the interactions between Harvey and I. He was out doing environmental health inspections or goofing off, or both.
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| TSgt J.A. Clark and Yours Truly TAC Mobility Hosp exercise Cannon AFB, NM - 1964 |
HRS was what was known at the time as a "Berry Planner." These were physicians who had been drafted but received a deferment to complete medical training. They were then required to serve two years on active duty. Many of them were a problem as they had bad attitudes about having to serve. Many also believed (correctly) they could carry their bad attitudes openly because physicians were in extremely short supply, thus making their superiors reluctant to take disciplinary action when indicated.
HRS caught on to me being naive and vulnerable right away. I saw his as unpredictable, and maybe unstable plus I was afraid he would get me in trouble based on a whim if he wanted. I was still learning how survive in a military environment.
One day he asked me to wash his car and offered to pay. I thought nothing of it and was actually happy to do it as it was a Corvette and I had never driven one. That worked well. Sometime after that I did something, or failed to do something I don't recall which...but I do recall that I was wrong. HRS was not happy and decided to punish me by ordering me to go to the Base Exchange and buy him a roll of toilet paper. My thought was that it was preferable to other forms of formal punishment so I agreed and did just that.
One day he wrote a prescription for me and told me to fill it, then give the results to him. It was for what were then called "go pills" at the time or what is formally known as Dexedrine.* They had just recently became controlled substances. I did it and then wrestled with what in the hell to do. Finally, I just guessed. Somehow, I had enough presence of mind to figure it wouldn't stop at that. The next day I went to our Squadron Commander and reported the incident.
*Some may recall back then flight surgeons would give pilots tongue depressors with pill bottles taped to them. One end would be colored red and labelled "Go." These would contain dexedrine. The other end would be colored blue and labelled "Stop." I forgot what medication was in there but the meaning was obvious. They were intended to help pilots stay alert and conversely decompress on and after long haul flights.
The solution was to have me work in the Hospital Eye Clinic a few months, out of HRS's chain of command, until my time came to leave for my next assignment to the Azores.
Nothing happened to HRS as a result of the incident. He didn't ask me to "fill" any more prescriptions either.
At first, I was totally intimidated by HRS but he taught me how to deal with it so I owe him for that.
A while back, out of curiosity I tried to track HRS down. I found him or at least I am pretty sure I found him, middle initial and all. A Tulane grad, about 79 years old...it all fit. Turns out in the late 80's he was convicted for filing fraudulent tax returns and in the late 90's the DEA revoked his license because he was not authorized to handle controlled substances in California. I found that out in two formal documents on Google. Google knows everything right?! Poetic justice for that quirky sonofabitch.
The solution was to have me work in the Hospital Eye Clinic a few months, out of HRS's chain of command, until my time came to leave for my next assignment to the Azores.
Nothing happened to HRS as a result of the incident. He didn't ask me to "fill" any more prescriptions either.
At first, I was totally intimidated by HRS but he taught me how to deal with it so I owe him for that.
A while back, out of curiosity I tried to track HRS down. I found him or at least I am pretty sure I found him, middle initial and all. A Tulane grad, about 79 years old...it all fit. Turns out in the late 80's he was convicted for filing fraudulent tax returns and in the late 90's the DEA revoked his license because he was not authorized to handle controlled substances in California. I found that out in two formal documents on Google. Google knows everything right?! Poetic justice for that quirky sonofabitch.
Someone asked me to point out the "see something, say something" lesson here but you probably hear that all the time. Instead, I will add, just as in any experience with an emergency or crisis of conscience, you really don't know how you will react until you actually experience it. You can talk about it all day but you really don't know. When it happens to you, and I am pretty certain it will if it hasn't already, I wish you luck in doing whatever lets you sleep well at night.
Sincerely,
Airman Third Class Thomas R. Campbell
AF19773665
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