Sometimes You Can Have Your Cake and Eat it Too

Not being a “yes sir, yes sir, three bags full” kind of guy, I often ruffled the feathers of both fellow workers and managers.  Following regulations was a lesson learned early on.  Knowing them and following them saved my bacon many times.  And sometimes, doing so just turned out to be the icing on the cake.

Some of the managers and supervisors at Anderson Air Base (AB) had no use for me.  They would ride me, and I would stir the pot.  Being lower on the “totem pole”, I found myself on the receiving end of considerable harassment.  After figuring out that changing my shift and changing my work location didn’t faze me at all, they opted to interfere with my rest and recuperation (R&R) opportunities.  In short, I was denied R&R even after all other members of the shop had been on at least one, many of them on two.  These short breathers were to other parts of the orient; Japan, Saipan, Thailand, and the Philippines.  I brought out my big spoon and commenced to stir.

Being a survival instructor, and being authorized to attend the different survival schools offered by the Air Force; Basic, Cold Weather, Jungle, Water, and Desert, I pulled a few strings and got myself orders to go to the Jungle Survival School at Clark AB, Philippines.  The shop chief and many of the supervisors were not happy about it, but my ace-in-the-hole carried more weight than all of them put together. There was nothing they could do to cancel the orders.

The shop chief gave me a briefing prior to my departure.  His displeasure at my finagling this class was clearly evident; he had authorized no R&R time in conjunction with the school, and was talking to me as if I was a child, covering every possible contingency, finishing with the “ I would be in deep crap if I screwed anything up on the trip”.  My having asked earlier if I could fly in civilian clothes drew the expected reaction… I would have to fly in “fatigues”, the work uniform, on both the departure and return flights even though it was a civilian aircraft.  He had made sure those instructions were on my orders.  I had him!  His arrogance and dislike for me overruled his professional judgment.  What I knew, that he obviously did not, was that you are not allowed to fly out of Clark AB in fatigues, you must wear the khaki (a tan color) uniform.  You can probably see the hand-writing on the wall.

I left Anderson AB in my fatigues, arrived at Clark AB in the afternoon and signed in to the school; classes starting the next day.  We had a day of classroom, followed by a few days in the field.  Field time consisting of instruction and demonstration of survival techniques, hands on experience in edible plants and water sources, building shelters, fire craft and cooking with bamboo, and several other survival techniques.  My return flight was to be the next day.  With bags packed, I showed up at the base terminal in fatigues, and was promptly informed I would be refused boarding per a regulation forbidding departure from Clark AB on a civilian aircraft while wearing fatigues.  Showing my orders with the instructions to fly in fatigues made no difference… something I already knew.  I called back to my shop on Anderson AB to explain to the shop chief that I was going to be delayed four or five days as I did not have the proper uniform to fly out of Clark AB, I was going to have to buy a uniform, take it to a seamstress to have it altered, then laundered and pressed before I could leave.  He was furious, showering me with threats to my career; Article 15 action (reduction in rank and pay, poor performance reports) if I was not back that afternoon, as well as other actions he would take in the shop… idle threats.  I did my paperwork, retrieving a copy of the regulation refusing the wearing of the fatigue uniform.

Upon returning to Anderson AB, I went to see the shop chief.  After listening to him blow hot air for several minutes, I handed him a copy of my orders requiring me to wear fatigues, and a copy of the regulation denying boarding on civilian aircraft when wearing fatigues.  The best he could do at that point was to put me back on the midnight to 8:00 a.m. shift.

When my six month tour of duty was up, after being relieved of duty, I went to the shop chief thanking him for putting me on my favorite shift, leading me to think there were no hard feelings about the trip to Clark AB and the mix-up on the uniform.  That “dig” was not sufficient… I had to go for the gold!  I told him that after boarding the aircraft to leave Anderson AB for the Jungle Survival School I had recalled the uniform restriction, but had no time to get back to the barracks to repack.

That was a mighty fine piece of cake!

Inspect This

While stationed at Anderson Air Base, Guam, I often worked the “mid shift”, midnight to 8:00 a.m.  The bulk of work took place on the flight line, the area where the cargo, bombers, and other type aircraft were parked and worked on.  Most of the work consisted of inspecting, uploading and downloading the aircrew’s survival gear.  This gear included survival kits packed with personal survival equipment, life preservers, life rafts, mini-oxygen bottles, and the like.  Taking in the work, heat and humidity, at the end of a shift your uniform was trashed!

It was routine to have a fairly high personnel turnover rate.  The bulk of the shop’s people were there for six months on temporary duty assignment, coming in from bases all over the United States.  Every month or two there would be a change in personnel.  This was equally true for supervisors  “grunts”.  One of the replacement supervisors who showed up had spent the last 10 years at Chanute Air Force Base as an instructor.  Life for a permanent party instructor in a school environment is completely different from life in the “real world”.  At technical schools, thousands of students are marched to and from classes; there are barracks inspections, as well as many formal inspections checking uniforms and personal grooming.  Personal inspections would be performed while airmen were in formation; a bunch of airmen lined up in rows and columns.  In the field, everyone is expected to keep their living areas and personal grooming standards up.

Back to this new supervisor… having been in that school environment for so long he had adopted that way of life… marching, formal inspections all the time, writing airmen up for minor grooming infractions; he was a wrench thrown into the works.  He had forgotten the realities of work in the field.

Shortly after his arrival, he informed my shift that he would be conducting a formal personal inspection of our persons and uniforms at 8:00 a.m. the following morning.  I was not a happy camper!  First, having to deal with this kind of nonsense in our environment was unacceptable.  Secondly, that he would hold us accountable for dirty bodies and uniforms after an eight-hour shift in a hot and humid work environment?  We had to set this idiot straight!

Being the non-conformist, I convinced the entire shift to pull a prank on this guy.  Part of the inspection would include doing an about-face movement; from attention, heels together and feet open at a 45 degree angle, standing straight, hands at your side and thumbs along the seam of your pant legs, fingers cupped, head high, chest out, you move your right toe about 6 inches behind and to the left of your left heel, and pivoting on the ball of your right foot and heel of the left foot turn smartly to your right.  You end up standing in the same spot, but facing the opposite direction.  The entire shift agreed to turn to the left instead, which would cause all of us to fall down.

The end of the shift came.  We all gathered in the back of the shop for the inspection.  He was clearly upset with our appearance as he ordered us to “fall-in”.  He had a disgusted look on his face, and had a few choice words for the shift in its entirety as he walked in front of us inspecting our front side.  We were all sporting dirty and wrinkled uniforms, scuffed and dirty boots, uncombed hair, dirty faces and hands.  He continued with the inspection…  After a minute or two of continued disgust, he gave the order… “about face”!  In unison, we all put our right toe behind our left heel, and, turning to the left, we fell like a row of dominoes.  Damn I wish I could have made a video of that!

Anyways, we never had another inspection the rest of the time I was there!

Bagging the Skunk

Phoenix, Arizona and points south are very dry parts of the state; averaging under nine inches of precipitation per year.  To provide irrigation water, Lake Pleasant, which is northwest of Phoenix, is used as a collection point and holding tank for water mostly for irrigation.  Between being filled to capacity, and pumped down, its water level fluctuates 100 vertical feet each cycle.

When water levels are high, the original boat launching ramps are under water.  As the water level fluctuates, fisherman leave behind a pretty fair amount of fishing gear caught in the rocks that make up much of shore line.  When water levels drop, boaters are able to use the once again exposed boat ramps, and animals get to re-acquaint themselves with their old stomping rounds.  Occasionally, a critter will get caught up in some of the old left-behind fishing line.

While on patrol one weekend; a very busy time, I received a call to go to one of the boat ramps to deal with a skunk.  The dispatcher wasn’t sure what the problem was, only that a skunk was interfering with use of the ramp.  When I arrived, there were people waiting to launch boats at the top of the ramp, people waiting to trailer boats out of the lake at the bottom of the ramp, and a really pissed-off skunk caught in fishing line and a brittle bush on the side of the ramp, about half-way down.  No one was willing to chance getting nailed with “odoriferous de skunk”, so the ramp was out of commission.

After sizing things up, I told everyone I would be back in fifteen minutes, and headed for the park headquarters, where I armed myself with what I hoped was going to be the necessary equipment deal with the problem.  When I returned, I was facing an even more upset skunk, and people armed with cameras to capture the moment.

After ripping three holes in a 55 gallon plastic trash bag; one for my head, and one for each arm, I put it on, grabbed a second bag and a shovel, and went to battle.  I was able to open the second bag enough to keep it in front of me for the added protection, slip it over the bush and skunk, dig the roots out of the ground, flipping the entire mess into the bag, tie it off, and put it in the back of the truck.  Not a drop of spray on me!  😀

It didn’t go quite as smooth when I went to release it.  The skunk had sprayed all over the inside of the bag, and had ripped a few small holes in it, so… there was no doubt a passer-by would know exactly what was going on.  I flipped the bag out on the ground, waited for the skunk to get loose and leave, put the “soiled” bag plus the one I had worn in a third plastic bag, headed back to headquarters, put the bags in the trash, parked the truck, and called it a day.

You know the next day when I went back to work; I got an earful from everyone who had to drive the truck that day.  No matter… me one; skunk zero!

Verde Valley Vigilante

I was a certified police officer and Emergency Medical Technician (EMT), working as a park ranger in a county park system.  There had been a competitive shooting match in a place called Willard Springs, a wilderness area between Phoenix and Flagstaff, Arizona, just off Interstate 17, which I attended.  The match had ended late that afternoon, and I was headed back to Phoenix.  I had just entered Verde Valley, a small, rural town half-way back, nestled at the base of a valley.

At the base of the valley floor, a two-door sedan skidded off the road onto the dirt shoulder, spinning slightly before coming to a stop.  Approaching from behind, there was no driver visible in the driver’s seat, so I stopped to see if there was a medical emergency or some other problem I could help with.  I was not on-duty, so I had no radio.  As I approached the driver’s door, there was a man, leaning over to the passenger seat, holding a woman down, beating on her with his fist.  I opened the door, identified myself as an off-duty police officer, and ordered the man to stop.  Within a minute, the two were separated, outside the vehicle, and I was trying to calm them down, and get them back on the road.  The woman suddenly took off running towards the woods; when I started after her, as she was in bare feet, running through very rough ground, the man got back in the car and left.

When I caught up with her, she had crawled into a culvert to hide.  It took me about 20 minutes to talk her into coming back to the highway, as it was going to be dark soon, and she could get hurt walking around in the scrub, cactus, and broken glass at night.  When we got back to the highway, she ran out into the middle of the lanes, and started walking up the middle of the road.  I got into my truck, and drove behind her with my 4-way flashers on.  I couldn’t call for help without a radio, and couldn’t let her walk up the middle of the highway to get killed.  A catch 22!

Luckily, traffic was light, but… there was some.  Sure enough, a pick-up came along; she jumped out in front of it, causing him to swerve across two lanes, almost causing an accident.  He slammed on his brakes, pulled over, and came back to see what the hell was going on.  I had already grabbed the woman, picked her up, put her in the bed of my pick-up, and held her there.  I told the driver I was an off-duty police officer, and asked him to drive up to the top of the valley wall, flag down a commercial truck driver, and have him radio in that I was holding a mentally ill woman who was attempting suicide on the highway, which he did.

Now for the good part… three state troopers showed up.  One went over to talk to the woman, then immediately came over and asked if I had touched the woman.  I said yes, than started to explain that I pulled her off the road for attempting suicide by jumping in front of moving vehicles.  Before I could even finish my statement, he told me I was under arrest for assault.  He never asked me any questions, just placed me under arrest.  I identified myself as an off-duty police officer, and that he was not placing me under arrest!  One of the other troopers grabbed my left arm; I looked him right in the eye and asked if he really wanted to be part of this?  He let go.  The “arresting” trooper told me to sit on the curbing, which I declined to do.  I called over the third trooper, explained exactly what had happened, and expressed my condolences to her for having to work with such a complete idiot.  Evidently, my assessment wasn’t too far off; she chuckled.

Eventually, the man who had left the original scene came back.  It turns out they were married.  They got back into the car and headed for Phoenix, and the “idiot” commenced to tell me I was free to go.  I commenced to tell him I was always free to go, but stayed to make sure at least one of you got the right story.  He was not amused; I was.  And off I went.

The Lie Detector

 

While in the military, I was asked to take a lie detector test.  When I got out of the Air Traffic Control career field, I was required to be “assessed”; many controllers have difficulty adjusting to the fact they are not controllers any longer when they leave the field.  Seeing how my pre-enlistment test scores qualified me to do any job offered to enlisted airmen, with the exception of an interpreter, I wasn’t worried.

After I retired from the Air Force, I was surprised to find some businesses in the civilian world had taken up administering lie detector tests as a requirement for being hired.  I had many questions about what type of questions would be asked, who would have access to the information, how and where the results would be used, and how the managers and businesses reputations would hold up under such scrutiny.

I found myself applying for a job, and being asked to take a lie detector test.  Having a good sense of humor, I decided to turn the tables on the interviewer.  After explaining that I was very concerned about ensuring the company I chose to work for was “above board”, and the people I would be working with and for were all on the up-and-up, I asked the interviewer to take one also.

Shortest job interview I ever had!

You Get What You Pay For… LOL

I spent many years teaching outdoor survival both as a government employee and a civilian.  Regardless of the age of the attendees, it was always a lot of fun.  Classes included pre-travel planning, what to pack in survival kits and how to use the items, fire craft, water procurement, map and compass, camouflage, escape and evasion, signaling devices, poisonous critters, and first aid.  Classes were tailored for each group’s needs.   I taught in the Air Force; for the Maricopa County Parks Department in Arizona; for the Arizona Department of Emergency Services, and as a civilian.  Groups included Air Force pilots, civilian pilots, United States Department of Energy employees, Civil Air Patrol members, outdoor enthusiasts, elementary schools, park visitors, boy scouts, girl scouts, Reserve Officer’s Training Corps (ROTC) Cadets, Army Reserve personnel, and more.  I had also assisted in teaching at the community college and university levels, but wanted to become a certified and paid instructor.

 

One of the requirements for being a paid instructor at the university level is a four-year degree in the area you would teach in.  I had years of experience teaching survival, and many college credits, but no degree.  Arizona State University (ASU) had a degree program, so I had my experience and existing credits computed, and identified the last couple of classes I would need to become a certified instructor.  (I would like to clarify at this point… I wanted to be certified, but was already certifiable!)

 

One of those classes I needed to take was with Arizona State University West.  It was being taught by a fellow instructor from the Maricopa County Parks Department.  He and I had taught many classes together all over the state of Arizona.  On the first day of class, he got sick, and could not talk, so… I ended up teaching the class which I was taking.  I had to pay tuition; never got paid for teaching the class; but… I did get a really good final grade for the class!

Desert Darts

Baja California Desert in the Cataviña region, south of Ensenada, Mexico. Saguaro cactus. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I recently moved from the Arizona desert after having lived there for 25 years.  Like everyone, I had my favorite things to do… and some things  that were reserved for those “special times”… you know… when you’re out in the desert with a few buddies, you’ve been drinking a little hootch, and you’re bored.  Our game was “desert darts”.  The equipment necessary to play  desert darts consisted of two sticks, a whole slew of “darts”, a piece of cloth with a target drawn on it, and a dart removal tool.  It is played with a minimum of two people… slightly to heavily intoxicated.

Teddy-bear cholla (Cylindropuntia bigelovii) at the Cholla Cactus Garden, Joshua Tree National Park (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The name being a little misleading; desert darts was
one person tossing “teddy bear cholla balls” towards
you, while you would try to catch them on the piece
of cloth.  The object was to catch as many cholla balls
on the target as possible, while keeping as many of
them off yourself as possible.  Sounds easy, however,
when the hootch kicked in, it was a little tricky… but
always entertaining to watch.

A little about cholla balls… they are also called “jumping cholla”.  That’s because the ends of the needles are difficult to see, so it appears that if you get too close, they actually move towards you, and stick into you.  Once in, without the proper tool, you end up rolling the ball all over your body, leaving the tell-tale signs of your encounter… hundreds of little prick holes identifiable by the tiny spots of blood marking each one.
Other than the obvious, the main drawback was you needed to have several pieces of cloth with targets.  With each successful
catch, the cloth would shrink, as the cholla balls would pull the material into an ever smaller size… kind of like trying to pick up
six or seven pieces of chewed bubble gum with a single facial tissue.  No extra points for using “really” small pieces of cloth to catch with… only more needle pricks.

I never claimed to be real smart…  😀

Woodsman’s and a Fine Cigar

My brother and I grew up hiking in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.  I remember when my brother was between 12 to 14, and I was 11 to 13 respectively, our parents would drive us up into the White Mountains, often along the Kancamagus Highway, which goes from Conway to Lincoln, and drop us off.  We would hike the mountain ranges, sometimes being picked up 3 or 4 days later.  We knew how to read a compass and topographical map;  and we knew fire craft and safety.  We usually would camp in a small 2-man tent… and we always brought Woodsman’s Fly Dope and cigars.

We had great fun hiking along, catching up to older hikers, squirting on a little Woodsman’s, lighting up a cigar, and blowing right passed them while puffing on those Wolf Brother’s Rum Soaked Crooks.  After we had achieved a little distance between them and us, we’d put the cigars out, and wait for the next encounter.

On one hike, we climbed Mount Washington.  There were two other alternatives to be able to enjoy the view from the highest peak in New Hampshire for those unable to make the climb… there was a road on which you could drive to the summit, as well as a cog railroad you could take.  As for my brother and I, when we arrived at the summit, we were beat, hungry, and thirsty… very thirsty.  There was a small store on the top of Mount Washington, where you could buy fast food items.  Much to our dismay, the cog had just arrived, and the store was packed, and the line for food and drinks was to the door.  What an opportunity though!  Holding true to our “tradition”, we doused ourselves with Woodsman’s, lit up cigars, opened the door, and slid in.  It should be noted that Woodsman’s Fly Dope can kill a moose at 100 yards simply by opening the container.  That stuff would make a skunk envious!  It was about 30 seconds before a very well dressed, older gentleman stopped the conversation he was having with another man, looked around, then down, saw my brother and I standing behind him, Woodsman’s and cigars doing their best to announce our presence.  The nice man, with the wrinkled nose, motioned for us to go to the head of the line… a rather long line, commenting how “these two young boys who had climbed the mountain needed food and water more than everyone else.  Much to our surprise, everyone else in line saw the wisdom in that, ushering us to the front of the line.

It wasn’t until several years later that I realized what had actually transpired.  In retrospect, I guess my brother and I should be happy we weren’t thrown off the top of the mountain, or tied to the railroad tracks like they used to do in the old-time western movies.

As a side note…I believe the United Nations has banned the use of Woodsman’s Fly Dope during International conflicts.   😀

Tuckerman’s Ravine credit:  http://www.hikethewhites.com/photos/tuckr5.jpg
Mount Washington Cog Railway credit:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/jps246/2240914462/

See The Sound?

A Philips EL351 reel-to-reel tape recorder. 1958. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My older brother was a whiz at electronics.  He had inherited that from my Dad.  I, on the other hand, had no interest in electronics.  As far as I was concerned, as long as the lights came on, and there was ice cream in the freezer, all was good.  In high school, my brother landed the job of doing all the sound effects for all the school productions.  He reworked the speaker system, rewired everything, and had the control center up on a catwalk off to the side of the stage area.  There was an old reel-to-reel tape deck for laying out the sound effects for each production, and a bird’s-eye view of the stage, which made it much easier to pick up on the cues for the effects.

Not too many students were interested in taking on this responsibility, as , if you made a single mistake, it would stick out like a sore thumb.  Anyways, having no interest in electronics, I was curious about what my brother was doing, so I started to hang around when he was putting sound effects together, and when the productions were running.  I did learn a little, but didn’t understand how everything was put together, how to fix the electrical equipment when it broke, how to use meters, and on and on.  What I failed to notice was that no one else had any interest.  I was not a part of the stage crew, I was merely a “groupie”.  That came to a sudden end when my brother graduated, I was the only student who had any familiarity with the system, and was drafted… under duress.

The King and I (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The first production I did sound effects for was “The King and I”.  Surprisingly, it was fun going over the script, working with the director on what he needed in the way of sound effects, tracking them down, coordinating the effects with the cues, laying the tape down.  There was however, one effect that I could not find, that met my expectations… the sound of the fireworks display.  I looked for weeks, listened to dozens of effects, but could not find what I wanted.  The day of the production, I still had not found the effect I wanted.  Time was short.  I had to come up with a plan.  Plan “B”… my saving grace.  I acquired what I needed, went to the catwalk to run through everything in my mind, so the timing would be correct… I was ready.

The production started.  All the effects leading up to “Plan B” went perfectly.  My cue for the fireworks effect was approaching.  It went of exactly as I had planned… well, almost.  I had failed to take into consideration, one very large factor, which did make itself known in the coming minutes.  As the production continued, a rather thick cloud of smoke started drifting down from the catwalk, and across the stage.  I had not taken into consideration the smoke that would be created when I lit off a bunch of firecrackers.

Needless to say, I made myself scarce for the next few days.  I did receive an “ass-chewing”, but was kept on as the sound effects man.  That was over 42 years ago.  I can still “see the sound” effect in my mind’s eye today.

A Harmless Ruse

I remember in junior high school, having an over active sense of humor.  It was fine-tuned,  and was always seeking new opportunities to express itself.

Weeks Junior High School was an old brick, three-story, multi-winged building.  Each wing had classrooms on both sides of the hallway.  The floors were tiled, the stairway steps were cement, and there were metal handrails.  Although the janitors did there best to keep the building up, it was an old building, and showed its age proudly.  Classrooms were set up for about 30 students; the school desks were the individual seat and desk top style, set up in multiple rows and columns. The air conditioning intake vents in each classroom were located in one of the corners adjacent to the hallway, at floor level.  They had rather large openings, maybe 30 inches wide by 30 inches tall, with, if I remember correctly, about a two foot diameter ducting going up through the ceiling.   Each classroom was layed out with the intake vents always located behind the teacher’s
desk.

I had thought about this plan for some time… it was harmless, would be fun for all my classmates, and I would certainly move me up in the trouble-maker ratings.  It was a go!

My target was a teacher with little sense of humor… thus the draw, a challenge.  I made sure I was in class early, English I think.  I made a beeline for the vent, and with flashlight in hand, I crawled up inside the vent, jammed my feet against the lower rim of the ducting, and settled
in for a 45 minute cramp session.  The vent actually caught the teacher’s voice, amplifying it, making note taking easy.

After class, I slipped out of the vent, and wanting to ensure the teacher saw me, walked up behind her to ask a question about something she had said during class.  She immediately informed me I had been marked absent, and that the principal would be notified.  I countered,
explaining that I had all the notes from class, and showed her my scribblings.  She looked confused, and insisted I had not been in my seat.  I countered again with the notes I had taken… after all, how could I come up with notes covering the entire class if I hadn’t been there?

The teacher looked quite puzzled and annoyed.  I deduced that it would probably be in my best interest not to push my luck.  After all, I had scored big in the trouble-maker department, I hadn’t missed class, and had entertained 30 classmates. It was a complete success!