An Medical Service Corps Legacy...Unfulfilled?

Almost 35 years ago...lightening struck twice. A young MSC Captain and Air Force Hospital Administrator (SGA/Malmstrom) was promoted three years below the primary zone.

Shortly thereafter, he received a touching letter and package from his old boss and mentor. The letter thoughtfully recounted their previous shared experiences and the package contained a pair of Major mess dress shoulder boards. The letter mentioned previous owners and passed ownership of the boards to the new Major.

Not long after, the Major, with his combined enlisted years was nearing 24 years of service. Although they both were happy with their service life, he and his wife compared notes and decided to start a new career. He applied for retirement and along with that, elected to pass the shoulder boards on to a new Major, next in a long line of succession. Rather than present them for wear, he encased them in a commemorative shadow box along with a request to continue the legacy when the time seemed right.

Now, some 35 years later and likely some 55 years since first acquired by Corps Chief Colonel James. Polkinghorn (RIP), the trail of the shoulder boards has gone cold. But perhaps, an MSC who reads this will pick up the trail and the boards will live once again...

Here is some provenance on the trail:

Byron wrote this thoughtful history and passed them on to Krzys...

...who sent this beautifully penned letter stating that he,
in turn passed them on to Brian Riggs.

Brian then passed them on to Mike O'Gorman and that is last we know of. I have not been able to locate Mike. I did track down someone with the same name at the CDC in Atlanta but have been unable to contact him to see if he is indeed the same "Mike."

The World's Greatest Drag Racer (nah)

Terciera is a Portuguese island within a group known as the Azores.  Its area covers almost 400 square kilometers, roughly one and a half times the size of Sacramento, California.  Because of its relatively small size, the island's speed limits max out at 60 miles an hour and even that doesn't show up very often.  This attribute is what 'drives my story.

A red and white '55 chevy sedan...
like mine although I didn't have those
mighty fine chrome wheels.

There is a US Air Force base there, Lajes Field. I was assigned there as a young Air Force airman and public health technician in early 1965. Toward the end of my 2+ years there, I was able to purchase a 1955 Chevrolet - not because I needed it on that small island but because I was in love with idea of independence and that decent looking ride represented it.  It was red and white and had a 265 cubic-inch "small block" V8 in it with an automatic transmission.

Because of the slow speeds our cars were typically driven on the island, many "experts" claimed the engine's cylinders would load up on carbon and run badly as a result.  The Lajes base commander humored these folks and allowed periodic "carbon blow-outs," another name for drag races, on a relatively unused portion of the base runway.  Not long after I got that Chevy, I decided I was going to participate. I had never done it before so it sounded pretty exciting to me.

On the day of my big race, I was observing the methods of other participants as they lined up at the starting line.  I noticed virtually all of them with automatic transmissions would put their car in gear with one foot on the accelerator and the other foot on the brake.  Then they would increase rpm's as much as possible yet keep the car from moving forward. You could clearly hear the rpm's run up as they did this. Using this technique, when the "go" signal hit they could get a jump off the line.

Then, my turn came.  I pulled up to the line and carefully stopped exactly where the starter told me.  The adrenaline was running pretty pure at that moment...the car wasn't running bad either.  I put it in gear while holding my left foot on the brake and began running up the engine with the accelerator.  Something felt a little funny with the resulting torque there but I didn't dwell on it as I was still a little unfamiliar with the car and the fast start technique.  Then...it was "GO!"

I released the brake just as I floored the little V8 and came out of the gate...backward.  I had put the car in reverse instead of drive.  The car was white and red and that is what I became...white to red in a burst of embarrassment.  The starter was in good humor though and he let me proceed after changing gears then completing my (very slow) run.

That folks, was my first and last drag race.  Shortly thereafter, I sold the Chevy as I was due to separate from the Air Force and head back home to Seattle. (Hmmmm...I wonder if I won a trophy that day and simply forgot to pick it up?)