A Series of Fortunate Events

Event #1:  1963 - 17-year old brand spanking new high school graduate - straight "A" student in Naivete' 101 (Actual GPA was 2.0 - I didn't deserve it).  Parents signed for me to join Air Force.  While in basic training, was tested and selected for Defense Language School in Monterey.  Filled out forms for security clearance and omitted arrest and conviction at 15 for "driving car without owner's consent."  Shortly after, was sent to technical training to become public health technician instead.  While processing into the school, was handed my records folder to take to another check-in point.  Peeked in folder and noticed they had discovered my omission about getting busted. Yet, they waived a "discharge for fraudulent enlistment." Went on to serve four-year commitment and left service at age 21.  Great adventures and great way to grow up...some.

Event #2:  1967 - Back home after first hitch, Seattle seemed too small.  Not happy with work opportunities. After a few months, re-signed with Air Force.  They wanted me to go to Intelligence school so I filled out another security clearance questionnaire and this time, listed my arrest at 15.  It worked. I got a Top Secret SCI clearance and went through Photo Interpreter and Combat Intelligence training at Lowry Air Force base, Denver Colorado.

Event #3:  1969 - Met and married Julieann Marie Thomas to begin 53-year plus relationship.  Be still my heart. Also assigned to Utapao Royal Thai Air Force Base, Thailand where I built strike charts for B-52 bombers.

Event #4:  Promotions were slow (it was probably me) and, after being selected for second tour in Southeast Asia within one year of return to States I was allowed to decline the assignment.  This meant I was ineligible for promotion and was due to be discharged from the service.  Air Force promptly promoted me by accident.  I was set up for nice potential bonus so I asked to withdraw my declination statement and volunteered to return to Southeast Asia.  It worked, I reenlisted and I promptly went back to Thailand (Udorn Royal Thai Air Force Base) where I worked as a photo interpreter picking out targets for air crews. 

Event #5: Passed College Level Entrance Program tests and was almost a sophomore before I took actual college classes (probably learned something from my love of reading...in spite of myself).  Began night classes in Thailand, continued them in next assignment and when I got close enough, I requested full time college under the Air Force's "Bootstrap" program.  Was selected, and we moved from Phoenix to San Bernardino where I completed Chapman College in ten months of night school then back again to Phoenix.  Yes it was fast... three and a half years start to finish. 

Event #6: 1973 - While back in Phoenix after graduation, I found out the Air Force Education folks had failed to have me acknowledge 3:1 payback time for Bootstrap education so I could leave quickly if I wanted. My third (gulp!) hitch, more than half way through a career, was almost up. It would have totaled 12 years; first four goofing around, second four settling down and third four finally getting serious about education. Then I was free to pursue any direction.  

Event #7: I had enjoyed my time in the Air Force so I applied for a commission in the Medical Service Corps. I had decided if that didn't work I would leave and perhaps pursue an MBA.

Event #8: 1975 - While home on leave, an Air force pal tending our Phoenix home called and said I had received a letter from the Medical Service Corps. He asked if I wanted him to open and read it to me. I said "yes" and in front of Julieann, my folks and brother he read the letter notifying me I had been selected. To receive that terrific news in their presence was pretty amazing.

Event #9: While at first assignment, I heard of opportunities to pursue Air Force sponsored Master's Degree in Healthcare Administration.  I asked around and a more senior officer told me; "I applied three times and got selected the third time."  I figured I had better start my three attempts then and applied right away.  My timing was good, I got lucky and was selected...first try.

Event #10: 1979 - Finished Master's program (fortunately) at Medical College of Virginia then assigned to Strategic Air Command's Fairchild hospital in Spokane, Washington.  Son Tyler Thomas was born there... in that same hospital. Julieann followed me to work to have our baby.

Event #11: 1980 - Boss at Fairchild, venerable Colonel Paul McNally had to leave for several months of Air War College and picked me to serve as temporary hospital administrator in his place.  Following visit by Strategic Air Command senior staff, Colonel Gottlieb and company, I was invited to assume Administrator job at northern Michigan hospital.  We had been at Fairchild less than a year.  I asked Julieann what she thought and didn't need a verbal response as I noticed tears in her eyes...not of happiness. I regretfully turned it down.  A few months later, right at our first year anniversary there, I was again offered the Administrator position, this time at the Air Force hospital in Great Falls, Montana. Julieann then held back the tears as I am pretty sure she knew how much I wanted that job. Son Tyler was right at a year old when we left Spokane. Julieann loved Spokane and the home we bought there. It was but one of many hardships she successfully faced during our career of moving really fast from place to place.   

Event #12: 1984 - As I approached the average 3-4 year tenure at Great Falls, Father's health was failing and I applied for a humanitarian assignment to be closer to family in Seattle area.  Found out conditions didn't qualify but MSC assignments officer (thank you Colonel Rutledge) relented and let us go anyway.

Event #13: After a few months in Seattle area and while visiting at parents home, I got a call from my former commander in Great Falls.  He asked if I "was sitting down."  I said "Yes" and he proceeded to tell me I had been promoted to Major three years below the primary zone, an event that occurred for Air Force officers approximately one percent of the time. I was actually nearing 20-year eligibility to leave the Air Force then but could not resist the promotion.  Pretty astonishing event and I would soon find out how huge a part luck had in it.

Event #14: As we approached one year in the Seattle area, I was interviewed for a job assisting with Medical Service Corps assignments and career development.  We moved to San Antonio, moved into a beautiful Spanish-style home on the base and over the next three years I loved working for and with the great Lieutenant Colonel Paul Murrell on career development and assignments for the 1,200 active duty Medical Service Corps officers stationed all over the world.

Event #15: While there I also gained real time experience concerning officer promotion boards. I learned in any single board, there might be a handful of officer records that senior selection committee officers would focus on for potential one, two, or three year early promotion. The few, the small percentage selected would be from that group and the decision was made on all factors available with the exception being the persons being considered were not actually present.  Performance reports (typically "fire walled" and pretty much perfect); education (military and civilian); and increasing job responsibility were key. Also, a current 8x10 photo. I figured officers could position themselves near the very top by focussing on those factors and from that point, it was a coin toss. I knew full well the good fortune involved and soon incorporated that information into career development briefings for fellow Medical Service Corps officers world-wide. Working title; "Aim high and get lucky." 

Event #16: 1987 - Nearing the three year point of that assignment, I started considering next steps. I applied to again be a Hospital Administrator as I loved the work. I was accepted for the position at the Ellsworth Air Force base hospital near Julieann's home town in South Dakota.  I was grateful for that and was once again left with a decision to take that job or retire from the Air Force and explore health care administration positions in the civil sector.  To help us with that, Julieann and I separately listed what we felt were the top ten good things we anticipated from leaving or staying.  Surprisingly, the results were very much the same.  Not long after, I considered that I had spent more than half my life to that point in the Air Force and it was time to find out what civilian life was like. I know I was pushing my luck but "aim high" right? Julieann agreed and we left.

Event #17: 1988 - Daughter Samantha Marie was born about a year after we left the Air Force.  I enjoyed telling folks I misinterpreted the meaning of leaving the Air Force to "start a new life."

Events #18-22:  1988-2023 - I watched my son and daughter grow and prosper for more than 40 and 30 years respectively and they continue to this day. I had another satisfying career as a consultant, most with my own corporation. With Julie's encouragement I bought a Harley Davidson and went through four of them in a 20-year span. I got to love, and learned to play hundreds of Texas Hold'em poker tournaments. I was able to write a couple of books focussing on memoirs of family, motorcycles and life's good fortune. The two are soon to be condensed and edited into one memoir, "Hayseed." 

So there you have it.  I have a wonderful family and I have all these events loaded in my bucket. Of course a lot went on before and hopefully a lot will go on after but this series of fortunate events continues to dazzle me.  As Julieann has often said; I have had a "charmed life" and the most fortunate event of all is that she has been with me, she has encouraged me at every step and she has motivated me to live it.

Dear United States Air Force Medical Service Corps,

This morning, I read this fine article written by Bill Murphy from the New Yorker magazine about Sam Watterson, creator of the "Calvin and Hobbs" comic strip.  It was Watterson's letter written to "Dear Reader" in 1995. In it, he announced his resignation to take on other projects...to pursue other dreams.

Reading it stirred my tendency for gushing sentimentality concerning my tenure with the Medical Service Corps.  You see, I left the Corps also..."to pursue other dreams." This, in turn, prompted me to write a similar letter in what may well be an awkward but nevertheless sincere imitation...

Dear Medical Service Corps Officer,

This is to announce my departure from the Air Force and the Medical Service Corps after serving equally as airman and officer for 24 years.

When and if you read this, I will have been retired from the Corps for more than 30 years. So yes, I am really late here. Yet, in that time, I have remained in touch with many, though regrettably not all, fellow officers who I served with and admired. I know I should have written this then and I apologize.  Even though you do not expect it, I want you know how much you meant to me and what a large part of my heart still belongs to you.

Julieann Marie Campbell
Spring, 1987, Air Force Spouse
of the Very First Order.

I am keeping this letter painfully short although it could easily be book length. In fact, elements of my Air Force life comprise  large part of the memoirs in my book "The Hayseed," a tribute to an amazing and most fortunate life. 

I just want you to know I miss the camaraderie and common causes you have. For you and most of your fellow officers, I hope and believe it is something you will cherish until the end of your days.

I left simply because, after joining our Air Force at the tender age of 17, I was curious about what a life would be like if I was free from the cycle of geographical and work assignments. Yet, I loved what I was doing in supporting patient care for the military and their families. The fact is, I still miss it to this day.

Things have gone very well since. No complaints here but I want to say I loved serving with you and would have been honored and happy to serve with you well beyond my 24 years.

I wish you the very best Ma'am, and Sir as you serve, or have served with such fine people. I sincerely hope you eventually find your heart filled with the love and memories you will experience with the Corps.  And when you choose to end your time, maybe you will remember...maybe you will write a letter to those you served with. 

Until then, as our first soldier, George Washington wrote in abbreviated fashion; I remain "...Your Most Obedt and Affectionate Hble Servt."

Golf - The Damn Game Has Nuances...Who Knew?!

When it began, I was still a kid. I mean I was 19 but I was a shining tribute to the word 'naive.' At that point I was in the Air Force, a public health technician stationed on Terciera island in the Azores.

Terciera Golf Course Clubhouse

I had been there about a year and was enjoying life on the island but I was a little bored. One day, some of my fellow hospital folks invited me to try the game of golf. I was involved in other sports and I had little interest in golf. Until then I had always thought it was something a person should take up when too old to participate in other sports. But I went. And I had a fine time trying to whack that little gutta percha ball.  

That first day I rented a set of clubs and had a caddy!  Yes, caddies were readily available there. As I recall there were two types.  A "Class A" caddie knew a lot about the game and could even coach a neophyte like me pretty well.  A "Class B" caddie may have had a few playing tips but mainly carried your clubs.  They were all kids although some may have been in their early teens. An "A" caddie cost a buck and a "B" caddie cost $.50 so the price was right even for a junior enlisted airman like me.

#1 Tee (I think)
We used to try to cut the hole short by
driving over the trees on the right.

It wasn't long before I made my most expensive purchase of my life up to that point. It was a set of Ben Hogan irons and woods and a Ben Hogan "Rail" putter. With new shoes and a new bag I was in Fat City and loving it!  I was soon playing every weekend most of the year although we had to contend with some fairly serious rain in the Fall and Winter. Sometimes, during a hard rain with wind it came down horizontal. To cope, we would open our large golf umbrellas, sit them on the ground and crouch behind rather than position them over our heads. The rain would generally stop pretty quick though and we could get on with the game. 

Many Saturdays, we would play two rounds, 36 holes with lunch at the club house in between. Another bonus included our sturdy caddies. That allowed us to occasionally ask one to go back to the clubhouse and get us some beer while one of the others carried two bags. Tough life I know!

It wasn't long before I was filling in a handicap card after every round and, with my caddie's (several of them) guidance I was learning the fundamentals. A year or so later, toward the end of my time there I was shooting in the mid to low 80s and carrying a 11-13 handicap. Pretty average for someone who played as much as me but good enough to keep me happy.

Circa 1966 - I'm sitting in one of the course rain shelters.
"I'm ready! Are we up yet?!"
The position?  Ball and tee in one hand
and Miller High Life in the other.
Perfect.

One early morning, we were just getting ready and were one short of a foursome when a man asked to join us. We learned he was a Major and carried a pretty low single digit handicap.  He wanted to make a Nassau bet on the round and we began horse trading over how many strokes he would give me. I was the only one who would negotiate with him for some reason and I was pretty fresh at it so he ended up giving me only one stroke a side.  I recall by my reckoning it should have been three strokes a side but I foolishly agreed. So we had a one dollar Nassau going and that meant I was probably destined to lose a buck on the front nine, another buck on the back and another for the entire 18 holes.

Then we began play.  There is no way to explain it other than I was on fire that day.  I could hardly miss and shot a one over par 37 on the front nine.  The Major had pretty much stopped speaking by the fifth or sixth hole and grudgingly paid me my dollar before excusing himself from our group as soon as we finished the front nine. I was pretty sure he thought I was hustling him. That was definitely not the case. I was just in the zone and in fact, have not played like that since. I later quit the game for a few years here and there. I needed time for things like a couple of Southeast Asia tours, undergraduate (mostly night) school and graduate school.  I returned to the game periodically but did not play nearly as often and never got the same handicap back...shooting more like the mid to low 90's instead of the 80's. Closest I have come in fact was a couple of 41's and those were spread out over the next 50 years!

Still, learning in the Azores could not have been a better environment.  A beauty of a course, expert caddies and a lot of weekend rounds made it damn near perfect. I just wish that Major would have come around and motivated me more often!

You never know what's going to happen out there folks...lots of nuances and on top of that, someone just might shoot far above their normal score.  

       

Spuds and Big Willy - It's the Little Things

One Thanksgiving morning I was assigned "KP" duties by the "boss of me." Among other tasks, one was to peel a dozen potatoes.  Given several options for getting the job done, I selected a plain old paring knife and had at it.

I was soon preoccupied with trying to carve the longest peel possible and my feeble mind began wandering to KP days past...mainly the first.

In the fall of '63, I was seventeen years old and in Air Force basic training at Lackland Air Force Base, Texas.  As part of our "training" we would also get picked for various odd jobs on the base. One night I caught  KP duty at the Air Force's largest hospital, Wilford Hall Medical Center, affectionately known as "Big Willy."  My main job was, you guessed it...peeling potatoes and I learned how that night.  It was a pretty good job, just sitting there letting my mind wander as it did again this morning. I also caught delivery duties to the inpatient wards.  We would load up giant carts with hot meals and get to ride elevators to the heights of the grand old center.

We were at it pretty late on those jobs...well past midnight. At the end of our shift, the full-time kitchen staff had pity on us raw recruits and let us each have an ice cream cup.  We worked so hard for that ice cream it still stands out in my mind as the best I have ever had.

Twenty years later, I was an Air Force Medical Service Corps officer stationed in the same area, San Antonio, Texas. I was working for Paul Murrell.  He and I were assisting some 1,200 MSCs with their development and follow-on assignments. One day, at a casual meeting there, a senior Colonel named Keith Curtis looked at me and asked a question in a collegial way;  "Tom, what do you want to do, be Administrator of Wilford Hall (his job) one day?" Considering my previous assignment was as administrator of Malmstom Hospital, I got pretty fired up and my answer was an immediate; "Yes!"  But then after 24 short years; 6 as a medic, 5 as an intelligence specialist and 13 amazing years as a member of the Medical Service Corps, I was sidetracked with curiosity about health care administration in the civil sector and end up serving another career there. Still, to this very day I would like to be Administrator of Wilford Hall (thank you Keith) and still, I would like to peel another potato there.

Twenty-seven years after that meeting (this morning) I pulled the KP assignment once again. I am grateful now, as I was then for those seemingly menial tasks and for all that has transpired in between.

(November '17 update:  The demolition of "Big Willy" is now up for bid.)

(September '23 update:  The demolition of Wilford Hall is near complete.)

For some, life goes on.  For others...it ends.  But the journey...oh, the journey!

An Air Force Story

I'm an old Air Force vet
Twenty-four damn fine years
Half as Airman medic and intelligence analyst
Half as Medical Service Corps officer

McLellan Park VA Clinic
(Not too busy but hey, its Saturday Morning)

All full of great adventures

I had great bosses along the way
And while a medic, the best mission in the world...
Helping keep our airmen healthy
While they served our country

So this morning I went to McClellan Park,
Sacramento California
To have my worn out ears examined
(No Don P., not my "head" as I am sure you would have hoped)

Main Hall from second floor

At the VA Clinic...formerly McClellan USAF Clinic

I hardly ever  (as in once every couple of years or less) go there
So it was a reunion of sorts with the surroundings

First impression...Air Force bases don't die and go to seed when closed
As I once thought
They are revitalized into well-planned business communities
Because the foundation or "infrastructure" that was there is so strong
(The same is true for what was once Mather Air Force Base)

The VA Clinic is impeccably maintained
A tribute to those who took over from us airmen
Back in Two Double Aught One

It was Saturday but I was on time for my appointment
And quickly greeted by a smiling audiologist
Everything went fine
Until I explained to the audiologist how I went through great pains
To put a loud aftermarket exhaust system on my Harley
Then purchased some mighty fine "Hearo" earplugs to protect my pitiful hearing

Fortunately the Psych folks don't work on Saturdays so she couldn't give me an immediate referral

Overall I was impressed by the surroundings and treatment for our area Veterans
My new, replacement AIDS (hearing that is) will be here in "4-6" weeks

I was at this clinic shortly after it first opened as a new Air Force facility

MSC Colonel Hugh Smith, his wonderful wife,
retired California School Teacher and published author Judy,
His son Shea and daughter Brandy
(The first enrolled CRI/TRICARE family)

In the Fall of 1988 when a DOD test program launched,
The "CHAMPUS Reform Initiative" now known as TRICARE

That day Air Force MSC Colonel Hugh Smith was Commander of that Clinic
McClellan was Hugh's second DBMS assignment
He was one of the first MSC's to successfully tackle a medical facility commander job

I was COO of Foundation Health Federal Services
Having retired from the Air Force a year or so earlier
I was there to congratulate the Colonel and his family as the very first ever to enroll in the program
It was a fine day, it is a great program and almost 26 years later we all have many reasons to celebrate it

The Colonel and yours truly

After my VA visit, I moseyed over to the BX to hang out a bit as I had't been in one in years
I couldn't help but notice all the crusty old varmints wandering around there
Some in suspenders, wheelchairs, walkers and so on
They made me feel younger than my years but then I know my day is coming
(Pretty sure Don P already has suspenders) 

Inside I noticed some products with the 'new' 10-year old Air Force logo on it
I reckon it is a sure sign of aging that I don't care for it
I am all for new but would have preferred something with a little more classic look
Instead of the stealth fighter similarities
Or are those wings folded more like a paper airplane?
But if you check it out on Wikipedia you will find out it was
A popular choice so there you have it


Lunch beckoned so I grabbed a fast food sandwich and sat outside
On a beautiful day taking in my surroundings
The commissary next door, barracks nearby, theater
And Clinic of course
All seemed comfortable...
Like home to me

26 years after leaving I can say
It was good
I am glad I spent all that time
With the Air Force
And with you who served with me

3/17/2018 update:  Here it is four years later and time seems to heal...or warp depending.  I now have grown accustomed to the new Air Force logo and in fact kind of like it...Whodathunk?!

Robbie

Sometimes... one thing leads to another.

Lajes Field on Terciera Island,
The Azores Portugal, Circa 1966

They were Air Force medics at the Lajes Hospital
They were also room mates in the enlisted dorm
Located on the hospital grounds

Robbie was a dental technician
His room mate was a public health technician
Robbie was Dr. William "Hands" Malde's assistant
All the medics called him "Hands" in tribute to his dentistry skills

In those days docs supplied pilots
With "go, no-go" pills clearly marked
Red for "Go" - Blue for "No-go"
Two small bottles taped to
Either end of a tongue depressor

When on long missions, if needed, pilots would take stimulants
Most often dexedrine to stay awake
And some form of sleeping pills to rest between missions
It was common practice then
And likely still is today

Robbie liked "go" pills
He took them fairly frequently, perhaps from "Hands"
As they were little controlled and abundantly available
Never the less, he was known as a terrific technician
...Quiet yet quick to smile and good at his craft

Robbie also had a taste for scotch and cigarettes
Of course, the majority of medics smoked back then
Ignorant of any potential consequences
And somehow Robbie knew how to make his small paycheck
Last much longer than his room mate's.

His room mate didn't have the same taste for go pills
But did acquire a taste for scotch
As often just before payday
Scotch was the only booze
Available in the  room to drink

Robbie and his room mate got along well for a couple of years
Then Robbie's tour ended and he was honorably
Discharged from the Air Force
He returned to his home area of Tacoma,  Washington

Robbie's friend and room mate
Was also discharged
A few months later
And returned to his home area of Seattle, Washington

After a couple of months
Robbie's old pal
Looked him up
And they decided to get together

Robbie picked him up in his Corvair
And they headed to downtown Seattle
The Queen Anne District
Where one of Robbie's friends lived

When they entered the house
There were perhaps a dozen young people
All seemed to be nodding,  eyes glazed over or closed
As if on drugs (heroin?)

Robbie didn't seem startled at all by the scene
He talked to a friend for a few minutes
Then he and his old Azores room mate left
It was the last time they would meet

Shortly thereafter, Robbie's friend
Rejoined the Air Force
To get back in action
Seattle somehow had become boring

A few years later
His friend was home again in Seattle
And decided to try to track down Robbie in Tacoma
He found Robbie's parents phone number and called

Robbie's Dad informed him that Robbie had passed away
A few years earlier
He did not offer any details
Robbie would have been in his mid-twenties then

To this day, his old friend and room mate
Believes Robbie succumbed to drugs
He misses his brother Robbie
And thinks of him on occasion, when he tips a drink of scotch

So easy in this life... to take a step in the wrong direction

Someone To Watch Over Me

He sensed adventure...but somehow overlooked danger

Air Force Intelligence Badge

It was the mid-60's
He was attending Air Force Intelligence School
Lowry Air Force Base, Colorado
Sandwiched between Denver and Aurora

Lowry would later be noteworthy (at least in his mind)
For its close proximity to the bars of Colfax Ave
And the famous( ?) "Zanzabar" nightclub
Of Clint Eastwood's 1978 movie,
"Every Which Way But Loose" fame

Note: But Colfax Avenue and the Zanzabar... is another story with a little more detail (click here) Ben and Jack
Another note: the old Zbar location is now a Walgreen's
The "Starbucks" of drugstores... wouldn't you know?!

At Lowry, he was studying two separate but related Intelligence technician skills.

The first; air (current) intelligence was somewhat like gathering tidbits of news from different government spy agencies and passing relevant parts to air crews... keeping them up on the latest. Analysts were also responsible for tasks like building strike charts (maps) for aircrews to use on bombing missions, drawing radar predictions and teaching them fighter aircraft recognition... "This here's a photo of a Russian MIG. You either want to shoot them down, observe them or stay away from them...depending."

The second skill was photo interpretation. This involved using the techniques of photogrammetry to analyze (mostly) aerial photography and identify bombing targets. When finished, he could be assigned to jobs in either skill. Either way, it was all interesting so he was enjoying school - a rare experience for him in his young life.

One day, in class there was an announcement. "We are looking for volunteers for training as Air Intelligence Airman Parachutists." Since he was 21 at the time and feeling the same sense of immortality that infects most folks of that age he quickly volunteered.

First, there was physical conditioning testing at the base gymnasium. He was asked to do rope climbs to the rafters, push-ups, sit-ups and other tests of strength. He handily passed all. Next step was a physical exam and that is where he had trouble. His eyesight was 20/200 correctable to 20/20 and that was "outside the acceptable limits" for parachute training. He wasn't too happy about that, particularly since he played wide receiver in a lot of sandlot tackle football and had majored in billiards in high school... all without glasses (he was pretty content, and successful at playing the blurs).

Anyway that was that.

Shortly thereafter, he learned most of those accepted for training ended up in Viet Nam and South America, participating in and teaching counterinsurgency... at that time a job with an extremely high fatality rate.

Right there and then someone was watching over him. You know who.

(For more detail on Intelligence activities following this adventure click here: Randal C - You've Been Found!)

Ben and Jack

1967, Lowry Air Force Base in Aurora, Colorado (a Denver suburb).  I was there to attend Air Force Intelligence training. One of my roommates was there to train as a Precision Measurement Equipment Laboratory Technician.

He was Bernard Buecker, a hayseed of German ancestry from a farm in Northwest Texas, near Umbarger... Buddy Holly country. He could play an expert guitar but he couldn't dance. I was something of a naive youngster myself (North Dakota hayseed origins) and we both had a humor streak that was slightly left of center so we became fast friends.

There was a famous country and western club in Aurora called the Zanzibar (Which was later made famous in the Clint Eastwood movie, "Any Which Way But Loose").  It was also fairly popular as a spot where a whitewall haircut Airman might have a few dances and a date with a local babe.  Ben, six-four or thereabouts, didn't know how to dance so I taught him a few steps of the Foxtrot which we later learned could be easily adapted to the "Cowboy Shuffle."  This presented a fairly comical picture for the rest of the Airmen in the dorm and likely for patrons of the Zanzibar as we later tried to hoof it with others.

One evening we had hit the Zanzibar with no success but weren't ready to call it a night so we stopped at a small bar further down East Colfax street.  The bartender was pretty friendly and there weren't many people in the place so we raised hell and joked with her until closing.  As we walked toward Ben's car in the parking lot, we noticed a Jaguar convertible blinking it's lights at us.  We approached; I got there first and noticed it was the bartender.  I asked, "What's up?" and she said, "Not you.  Him."  They took off and I drove Ben's car home that night.

It turned out she bought the Jag off an insurance settlement after her husband died. She also had a young son.  Not long thereafter they got married and Ben was assigned to Wheelus Air Force Base in Tripoli, Libya.  We lost touch for a while but a couple (few?) years later I heard from Ben.  He had come home one day to catch the bartender in an affair with a senior NCO.  While he was arguing with the NCO, the bartender went at him from behind and Ben kicked back. Later that day they both filed assault charges against him.

The next day he found himself in front of the Judge Advocate General, a Colonel B - they too argued and Ben told him to "kiss (his) ass" whereupon the judge smashed his cigar down in his ashtray and said, "Sergeant, I could have every stripe on your shoulder!"  Ben asked if that meant he could go back to Texas and start "farmin" again and the Judge said, "Yes." Ben responded, "Then no problem!"  The Judge said he wouldn't do that because of Ben's "great service record."

As a result, Ben left with an honorable discharge after a four year stint.  He returned to the Amarillo, Texas area and became a helicopter electronics technician at a plant there.  He also spent a fair amount of time working out his anger on the streets by engaging in many fighting adventures.  

He got pretty bored with that life so he went to college at Texas State University, San Marcos where he majored in German.  It was noteworthy that he also served as an orderly at a mental institution. He worked there with a Japanese pal and fellow student named Yoshio.  Among other things, they learned to pretend to be martial arts experts so they could scare the patients into thinking they would be in big trouble if they didn't behave.  Ben and Yoshio were so poor they lived in a tent on the San Marcos river for six months of that time - no problem though as that lifestyle was thought of as fairly fashionable during the late 60's and early 70's.

Ben graduated Phi Beta Kappa and was accepted into the Law program at the University of Texas, Austin.  After graduating,  he received a Fullbright fellowship and spent a year completing comparative studies in German and American Law in Heidelberg, Germany.  Next, Ben took up private practice in San Antonio, Texas where he remains actively engaged today.  It is noteworthy that over the years he has hosted and trained several hundred law interns from Germany... much about law and much about how to survive margaritas on San Antonio's famous Riverwalk.

Shortly after arriving in San Antonio Ben met a Biology major and former Peace Corps volunteer, Cindy and they were later married.  Cindy is one of the very few people on the planet who can accommodate Ben's self-styled adventures in law, music, frequent business travels to Germany and his love for dogs.

Fifteen years ago, almost to the day, he noticed a Jack Russell terrier on the street in front of the old San Antonio courthouse.  He saw the dog wanting to get back into a car and as it drove away someone in the back waved goodbye.  Ben drove up and noticed the dog sitting there in a blue and white bandanna looking pretty distressed so he opened his door and said, "Jack, let's go home."

Ben had to get out to pick Jack up who at that point had just laid on his back with his feet up in the air. After about a week of walking with him in the morning and evening and coming home to eat lunch with him Ben had to go to Amarillo as his Mom was deathly ill. He returned a few days later and Jack acted like it was Christmas morning. For the remainder of his life, Jack followed Ben around from room to room in their home every day, even in his last months when he would fall down and sometimes drag his back feet.

Ben and his dog Jack
April, 2010

As he got older Jack would sit with Ben for a while, then go sit with Cindy. Often, they would see him playing with a tennis ball by himself, throwing it in the air, catching it and throwing it again. When they walked, Ben would just follow Jack where he wanted to go, and often there was a little female dog as his destination. One day after about 4 blocks they encountered a cute little dog. He sat about 15 feet from her, and slowly... a foot or two at a time, moved closer to her. Finally when he got right next to her she growled at him - he ran back to Ben in fright and disappointment and they went on.

Jack quickly became a full blown family member.  Over the years Ben and Cindy bred him, keeping some of Jack's children and grandchildren, ultimately accumulating a half-dozen or so terriers in their sprawling Olmos Park home.

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Every November, the San Antonio Beethoven Choir sings, some trombonists play and some prayers are said for the 135 German, 4 Italian and 2 Japanese soldiers buried at Fort Sam Houston.  They all died in Texas POW camps in 1944 and 1945.   Ben gives the accompanying speech in tribute to those soldiers. To honor Ben and thank him for his service, the chiefs at Fort Sam have offered to bury him in that same old section.

Last Saturday, on the fifteenth anniversary of his Mother's passing and of his discovery of Jack, Ben called to tell me that he finally had to have the good old dog put to sleep. He figured Jack had made it to eighteen years of age.  He said he was going to have Jack cremated and they were going to be buried together at Fort Sam Houston one day.  Knowing his capacity for love and loyalty as I do, I believe him.

I am proud to call this old Hayseed from Umbarger, Texas my friend and I will be swilling a glass of wine or two in Jack's memory.