Mike Simms and I enlisted in the Air Force in 1970. We met on a Greyhound bus on the way to the Army induction facility in Nashville. We were put on a red-eye flight to San Antonio and subsequently were put on a military bus to Lackland Air Force Base. While the scripted yelling, pushing, forms to be filled out, bed assignment and so on was somewhat expected, Mike perfectly described the confusion and uncertainty. We had survived and graduated the eight weeks of basic training, and were staged for departure. Duffel bags neatly laid on their sides lined up bottom to top, separated by destination, and with their owners, new one-stripe airmen in their dress blues straddling their bags. Mike and I by chance were side by side discussing our fate, and he said something I've always remembered: "Jimmy, you remember that flight we got on in Nashville? For the first few days we were here I thought that airplane crashed and we all went to hell." This is my fondest memory of basic training and marked a change in an 18 year old that every young man should have an obligation to attend. A true weaning.