1969 - AWOL The Return

1969 – AWOL – Part 2 – The Return

I was AWOL and had caught an evening Trailways bus from Biloxi to Valparaiso. I arrived early the next morning. Donna was surprised but happy to see me. I can still recall the joy and relief I felt when I saw her. She was living in university housing. It was an old building that had just a few residences, but men were not permitted to stay in the women's residences. We spent the whole day together but at night I had to stay with one of my friends. Donna and I did not have much money but we decided to splurge and get a hotel room for the next couple of nights. We spent the next few days together and then did some LSD the afternoon before I planned to return to the base. A lot of emotions I had been holding in came out. I was holding on to more than I realized. It was cathartic, it really was. I'd been heading down an unhealthy path. I think Donna was a little surprised how deeply effected I was by my decision to enlist. She was concerned. I tried to assure her I would be alright, I could handle it. We decided we wanted to be together and planned to get married the first chance we got, meaning on my first legal leave.

The next day I took a plane back – it had 3 stops. The seat next to me was open on one of the hops so I took a nap. I woke up and everyone on the plane was making noise and moving quickly. I thought we were crashing, I was still a little under the effect of the drug from yesterday. Even though I thought we were crashing I felt calm. I looked around to see what the others were doing and contemplated what I should try to do to minimize the impact of the crash. Then we touched down and I realized we were only landing and all the commotion was just everyone putting things away and preparing to land. I don't remember where I flew into but it must have been either New Orleans or Mobile. Heck I don't remember much of anything of the trip back except the part where I thought the plane was crashing and Bob's smile when he saw me sneaking into our room.

The next morning I put on the freshly pressed class A uniform and the spit-shined shoes that I had prepared before I left. I then formally reported to my squadron commander. He seemed a little confused when I told him I had been gone on an unauthorized leave but was now back ready to accept an “Article 15” and any punishment he deemed appropriate. I don't think he expected me to be so prepared and military-like. He asked a few questions which I answered quickly and directly with all the appropriately placed “sirs”. Then, he just looked at me. He was a training squadron commander. This is about the lowest post a Captain would likely be assigned. This meant that he likely washed out of his chosen career field. Not America's best and brightest. I don't think he knew what to do with me. After a short period of just staring at me he sent me out to the waiting room outside his office to wait for further instructions. After awhile he sent word to his assistant to have me report back early the next day and to assign me to an appropriate training class.

I was back attending classes the next day. The reporting each morning at 8:00 AM continued for a few days. I would report to him and then sit in his waiting room until lunch time and then be dismissed. After a few days he finally called me in. He commented on my intelligence, or rather lack thereof, and proceeded to tell me what a disgrace I was to just about everyone. He indicated that he decided to fine me and reduce me in rank. He was also giving me additional work of cleaning all the butt (cigarette) cans in the complex every evening for two weeks. Oh, the reporting to his office every morning was to continue unless I was assigned a detail. Lastly, just for good measure, he was going to freeze me in rank for 6 months, meaning that while I was at the lower rank I could not begin to earn credit towards moving up to the next rank. So, I got some extra work, my pay was lowered, and almost everyone around me now out-ranked me. Fine, it's not like my old rank had any special privileges or authority. Anyway, my big picture goal was separation not promotion.

Cleaning all the butt cans in the complex each night was only a problem the first night. They looked like small metal garbage cans. They were red on the outside and black on the inside and there was one in front of each building. I was supposed to scrub them down and be there for inspection at 5:30 each morning. There were something like 12 to 15 cans to wash out. That night I spent hours doing this. In the morning, sure enough, someone eventually came out to inspect. A few cans were still wet and I noticed he barely looked at those but opened up and peeked in the others. He did not put his hand in the can to confirm they were scrubbed clean, just did the visual check. Well fool me once... The next night I emptied all the cans and then just hosed them down, took less than an hour and then ran the hose over them again early in the morning just before inspection. The Sergeant came out to inspect. He looked at them, opened just one and left. Well for the rest of the two weeks I just emptied them and then hose them down a little in the morning. They passed inspection each time. I should have realized that none of these guys were going to feel around the inside of a butt can with their hand.

The required reporting to the commander each day, which resulted in my sitting outside his office with his assistant, had it's good side. I got to know the commander's assistant pretty well since the only thing to do there was chat with him and he shared a lot of useful information. I got to see that the commander really didn't know what he was doing and pretty much did not do much of anything. I was often joined by others who were in trouble with the commander, as all those on the commander's bad side had to come sit outside the commander's office on a regular basis. I got to know all the other “problem” people and was welcomed into their little clique. I also got to know many of the black guys.  It seemed that black guys, like myself, in general, received extra attention.  I was a target because I was a malcontent.  My actions and attitude warranted it.  It seemed that black guys were often targets, well, because they were black.  Suddenly I had a new set of friends, everyone on the "naughty list", and the black community in general.  I suppose it was kind of a birds of a feather thing.  

Being in the “bad boys club” turned out to be of great benefit. The benefit? Anyone sitting outside the office got to hear all the work details coming in for the day, including the day and time of the detail. Well there was usually one of us in the office at all times of the day. That meant we were informed on the work details coming in. These were largely extra work details requiring additional assignments to available airmen. Available airmen were any airmen in the complex not otherwise engaged in a work detail. When the time for the detail came, one of the sergeants would go out to the barracks looking for "volunteers".  Like in the movie "The Princess Bride" where the Vizzini character keeps using the word "inconceivable" inappropriately, I don't think the word "volunteer" means what the military seems to think it means.  Here's how they use it: We need a volunteer to do such and such.  Backus, you just volunteered.  Or, we need 6 volunteers to work KP today, that's you 6 standing to my left.  Anyway, we all shared this information with each other as soon as any of us heard it, and we spread it quickly.  Hence, we all knew when we needed to be someplace else to avoid being "volunteered" for additional work. 

So once I completed the butt can assignment I rarely had to do any extra work again. I got to see Donna for a few days. We were planning to marry so we could be together soon. I was in good with the commander's assistant and I had a bunch of new friends who liked me. Shoot, I should have gone AWOL the first week!