It was a Thursday morning in mid June of 1966 when I first saw the SAC flight line at Griffiss Air Force Base, New York. I had arrived at this base in Rome, New York, on the Mohawk River near Utica about 400 kilometers north of New York City, the previous night by Greyhound from Philadelphia. I was an eighteen-year-old "boot" Airman Third Class, right out of Chanute, just reporting to my first duty assignment in the real US Air Force. I had heard that life in the Strategic Air Command was grueling and demanding, and was a bit apprehensive as well as excited at being so close to the huge aircraft, B-52Gs and KC-135As all glistening silver and white in the bright sunlight, dwarfing the antlike figures of men and the vehicles milling about them. I had met Technical Sergeant (later to be Master Sergeant) Bobby McCoy in the 416th Bombardment Wing Headquarters Squadron Orderly Room when I signed in from leave. He was from southern Ohio, a stocky crewcut career NCO who greeted me with a strong handshake and sincere, fatherly smile as I remember. Later I was to be awed by his technical skill and leadership qualities. Along with three other fresh "Fuel Cell" troops, Albert K Crookes( Rhode Island), Ronald J Enderle (Ohio), and Dennis DiAngelo (NYC) we rode in McCoy's old "woody" Ford station wagon down to Hangar 101 tp process into the Field Maintenance Squadron Orderly Room and thence to the SAC operations area beyond "SAC Hill" at the north end of the runway.
We had not arrived a day too soon, as the fuel systems repair shop was swamped with leaking wing and body tanks and malfunctioning pumps and valves while being frightfully undermanned. Southeast Asia had taken a lot of trained personel from SAC and this unit was no exception; there were only three young men taking care of thirty heavy aircraft, fifteen each bombers and tankers. A tanker, number 519, was in Maintenance Dock Five as we arrived for introductions. A slim fellow named Wilson, just finishing his 4 year enlistment and returning home to nearby Watertown, NY, and another two younger men, Len Henk and Wilbur Craig were there to greet us, sleepily. They had been on the job nonstop for quite awhile, taking turns sleeping on a fuel cell folding bench up in the office. Yellow purging ducts ran along the hangar floor and up into the access holes in the bottom of the right wing, draped over a bright red maintenace stand on which Henk was crouched in white coveralls. Another man was in the wing, Airman First Class Carpenter, who poked out his head from the JP4 fume-filled tank in greeting to us. They were changing a fuel level control valve as I remember. Three more aircraft were waiting for repair when that one was done. Although Boeing aircraft were then as now famed for ease of maintenance and high reliability, there was no getting over the problem of "child labor"...a shortage of experienced technical and supervisory personnel. Boeing eventually sent a team of experts to assist with the backlog and help train us.
Our quarters were modern brick dormitories surrounded by green grass and pines, with ample parking, not unlike University dorms except for the Eighth Air Force, 416th Bomb Wing and SAC PRIDE billboards out in front. Enlisted and Officer families lived in the Skyline housing area that looked like any American suburb. For the unmarried airmen in the dorms it was three to a room; cool at night on the edge of the Adirondacks so natural air-conditioning was provided. Large northern mosquitos hovered in front of the mirrors above the latrine washbasins. Linoleum tiled floors were buffed daily and nightly for the routine walk-through room inspections while we were at work (or asleep after the night shift.) That first summer at the "Grif" I roomed with an Aero Repair mechanic from Sharon Hill, Pa surnamed Yeager, and Ron Enderle. In spare moments I listed to my phonograph records (early Beatles, Bob Dylan "Highway 61 Revisited", Astrud Gilberto (The Shadow of Your Smile), even Chopin Ballads as I remember, as a girlfriend in Philly used to play Chopin for me in her living room a short year before and the Ballads were all they had in the BX. Refined. I also took a correspondence course in English Literature from the Air Force. An Airman 3rd class only earned US $125 per month at the time, and 25 bucks of that went for a savings allotment so I never had much money. But a beer or a gallon of gas for my bike cost only a quarter. Drinking age was 18 in New York state so we all hung out in the many pubs and could make purchases in the liquor stores (off-licence shops for British readers). Most of the young single airmen went to drink and fraternize with nurses from nearby hospitals and college girls at Lindy's Bar in Rome. A USAF "Blue Goose" Bluebird schoolbus made regular trips from in front of the Silver Wings Service Club, located in a cool grove near the BX and base cinema. The Service Club had a nice cafeteria and weekly dances. Girls came over from Utica College and other schools and some were nurses from the nearby Marcy Hospital. There was a base hobby shop as well and one especially for working on private vehicles. I remember the beautiful radio controlled model planes built by our squadron maintenance officer, Major Alvin Alman. Our squadron commander was a quick- witted and humorous lover of British sports cars, Captain, then Major, White. Captain Jones was another of our maintenance officers who cruised the flight lines in blue station wagons for the DCM.
The region was covered with small farms and rolling hills and dotted with historic towns like Oriskany, Fort Stanwyx (where the Stars and Stripes first flew in battle) and Oneida. And come late summer there would be the Field Days, as local harvest fairs are called in upstate New York. Beer trucks, rides, lots of country fair fun. Those of us who hailed from nearby towns and cities signed out for weekend passes whenever possible, often violating mileage limits. Officials tried to look the other way, but somebody would get wiped out in a car wreck while speeding back and they would tighten up for awhile. Mohawk Airlines charged us only EIGHT DOLLARS to fly standby in uniform to New York, ELEVEN to Philly, out of Oneida County Airport on their Convairs, F-27s and even BAC 111s. When we couldn't go home we went to Delta Dam for swimming along with the locals or tried skiing at Old Forge and elsewhere. I brought my Montesa up from Philly over the first July 4th weekend, and later got hold of a used Yamaha YDS-3 for "wheels". I remember bike touring all over the place, especially trips to Lakes Oneida and Skaneatlas. As for work, these were the days of the "Young Tiger" at Griffiss, our official contact with the ongoing war in Southeast Asia. There were ORI surprise inspections, like a wartime launch and recovery exercise, and our tankers flew in support of B-58A operations (Planned Party Foxtrot) as well as SEA. And the support of the "Giant Wheel" airborne alert, which continued in 1967 after a year's stand-down following Palomares. (To be Continued)