My basic training experience had a very distinct element, in that I was born in Walter Reed Hospital in 1938 and had a dad who spent 35 years in the Army, Army Air Forces and eventually the Air Force. You can clearly see I was a "military brat" for 18 years before I actually spent 12 years active in the Air Force myself from 1956 to 1968. As a dependent, I had a normal life—comparable to my civilian counterparts.

Entering basic training at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas, I started out with a drill instructor screaming in my face "how to stand at attention," "forget mommy and your girlfriend," "get in the line and tell the attendants your sizes for GI-issued clothes because you won't see those civvies for a long time," "get in the barber line and don't give him directions because he already knows how to cut your hair,""you belong to me now so listen for my orders—you are no longer an independent citizen" and on and on.

All of this was entertaining to me because I knew this was not how it was in real military life, but I pretended and followed every order to a T while other guys wondered, "What the hell am I getting into?" Marching everywhere and not having a minute to myself did not surprise me. When the drill instructor ordered the whole flight into the showers with our footlockers because we had too many gigs during inspection, some of the guys said, "What? Is he crazy?"

I told all near me, "Just follow orders and do it if you want a happy life." I told my closest buddies all the emphasis was on following orders and unity of the flight. I had a very nice four weeks, except for kitchen police. Then I shipped out to Heavy Ground Radio Maintenance Tech School at Scott Air Force Base in Illinois for six months of electronics training.