Do I remember basic training–and how!

As I was close to graduating from college, I signed up with an Air Force recruiter for Officer Training School (OTS). It was 1966, and most of my friends were getting called up or were enlisting. After graduating, I still had not heard from the recruiter about my acceptance into or start date for OTS.

Then I got my draft notice.

At that point, I contacted another recruiter Tech. Sgt. Royce Worthington (yes, I remember his name and thank him for getting me in). He got my records from the previous recruiter and said he would submit them, but the time frame would be longer than the month or so I had to report to the draft office. At that point, he advised and I agreed to enlist in the Air Force via the delayed enlistment program (90-day delay) while waiting for my OTS class date.

Push came to shove, and my 90 days ran out. After another 10 to 15 days, the Air Force wanted me either at basic training or in jail. They gave me my choice. I arrived in San Antonio on the evening of Dec. 14, 1966, and was assigned to my flight, 3525th BMTS Flight 2515. The next morning I met my training instructor, Tech. Sgt. Falcon, and my flightmates. I was three to four years older than any of them. Within a day or two, he called me into his office and told me that normally I would be assigned as dorm chief because of my age, but there was a guy who had gotten sick and had been washed back to my flight and that he had three to four weeks experience from his last flight.

Thinking this was very nice of my training instructor to be so communicative I said fine and I understood. Two days later Sgt. Falcon called me back into his office and told me that my OTS class had been approved and that it would start on Jan. 4, 1967. I would then be transferred to OTS and start my training there and then go on to flight training.

A little while later, Sgt. Falcon called a dorm meeting and basically said there was someone in the flight that thought he was better than everyone else and thought he could tell them what to do.

"Isn't that right, Rapier?" he said.

Naturally, everyone turned to look at me and grumbled. That was the start.

Anytime there was a locker check or a shoe inspection, my stuff was not as good as either my bunkmate's or someone's next to me. The guy next to me was having trouble with the folding to size, spit shine and bed making, so I was trying to help him. I must have done a great job because his stuff was always better than mine.

Not being as good as the guy next to me resulted in my locker being tossed, my hanging uniforms being thrown on the floor and by the way the bunk must have gotten bumped because it was out of line. While pulling the sheets off my bunk, my shoes and boots got stepped on and scuffed (time to re-spit shine). This happened almost every day, including Christmas and New Year's. This was all going on along with the normal dorm guard duty, floor polishing, latrine duty marching, drill, ceremonies and kitchen duties. I got to wash pots and pans.

Then Jan. 4th came along and I was sent to OTS. Thanks to Sgt. Falcon's insistence in messing up my locker and the clothes, inside my frowny face socks became smiley face socks for OTS. Polishing shoes and boots was by now a snap, as was making a bed. In OTS I learned about Officer Trainee Wooly, the inept officer trainee who could do little to nothing right and was brought to life in every room by the wool blankets we had on our beds (wonder why he never showed up in basic, at least by name).

But, thanks to Sgt. Falcon, my roommate's and my inspections got better and better. We learned to polish our floor to a great shine and to pledge the threshold. Oops, sorry you slipped and fell when you rushed in during inspection. Things got so good in our room that the officer trainee inspectors had to open the window and rub their white gloves on the outside of the building to find dust, and even the outside of the windows were clean (never say never).

Anyway, after 10 weeks, Vietnam was hot then, and I got my commission. On graduation day, my assistant flight chief from basic was there to give me my first salute and collect the buck. When I asked him if Sgt. Falcon was at the dorm, he said "ugh oh" under this breath. I don't know if he was able to contact him, but by the time I got to the enlisted barracks, he was not there and the flight was outside on a smoke break. As I walked up, I wasn't sure who was more nervous—me or the flight chief.

"There's an officer," he whispered. Anyway, we all saluted and I went into the dorm, where a scared dorm guard told me Sgt. Falcon was not there. I wondered if I should go up to his room and double check, but...

Flight training at Vance turned out to be a weight loss program, as I barfed at least two to four times a flight. The flight training officer was aggravated with the sound and more critically, I flew as if I were on a rollercoaster: up and down, up and down. Anyway, I washed out in the T-37 and went to Maintenance Officer School at Chanute. I loved maintenance and stayed in both as active and Reserve, and retired as a lieutenant colonel.

Thanks, Sgt. Falcon, you made my Air Force career start on great footing.