The thing I remember most about my basic training was that I didn’t have much! My story begins in December 1950 in Erie, Penn. – a long time ago that seems like yesterday.
The Korean “conflict” had begun, and draft notices were being received by many Selective Service 1A classified teens. A few buddies and I decided to enlist in the Air Force instead.
There was a small gathering to meet our troop train which was headed for Lackland Air Force Base (AFB) in San Antonio, Texas. I recall a three-day trip with many stops, but after many hands of Black Jack cards, we arrived in Texas with considerably more funds than when we had left Erie!
Our new “home” was the last permanent structure available – a tarpaper, one-story, windowless storage building. We received a partial allotment of clothing, bedding, foot locker and barracks assignment.
Our training consisted of hours of close-order drill made longer by a few who had difficulty knowing their left from their right. That training was soon halted when a medical examiner determined that marching in civilian dress shoes was causing blisters! We did get to the rifle range on a cold, windy day when it actually snowed – in Texas! I was colder that day than I had ever been growing up on the shores of Lake Erie. We did get our shots, but then I spent New Year’s Eve and Day in my bunk with the flu. We were read “The Article of War” many times, even at night, to fill the time.
After several weeks, we were led to a two-story barracks with several other flights. I watched the huge cockroaches travel up and down the barrack post. Names were being called, duty assignments issued, and orders given. The three of us who had left Erie together were surprisingly on the same orders to report to Sampson AFB in Geneva, N.Y., just 200 miles from home.
This was a much shorter train trip. About 10 of us answered to a corporal. He was a supply man in regular duty and also in the Training Command. Sampson was an old WWII Naval Base and was to be reactivated to alleviate the overcrowding at Lackland to train the recruits from the Northeast. Civilian contractors were already at work, rehabbing the buildings, mess halls, and physical facilities. It was a mass of confusion. Entering Sampson grounds was like entering a Russian Gulag – overgrown areas, snow banks, empty, forlorn barracks, broken windows and desolation. We processed and reported in.
“Airman, what would you like to do?” barked an enlisted man with our files.
My mind went blank.
“You’ll be OJT.” (On-the-job training)
Base supply was my assignment, and I was told to report to Warehouse N14 at 0800 hours. My Erie buddy was nearby and chose the same assignment.
Just like that we were now Permanent Party, no longer recruits, and never having had Kitchen Patrol duty.