I went for basic training for the Air Force in upstate New York. Immediately, I learned that they were doing a theatrical production, Conquest of the Air, that had been written by a young Frenchman who had joined the United States Air Force. When I learned that the Air Force was gathering talent to produce a musical extravaganza, I volunteered my services.
Instead of digging and guarding latrines, I was dating dancers from NYC and having a grand time. My NCOs from basic training were not amused and wanted to punish me for not going through basic training like every other airman. As long as I was with special services they were unable to touch me. When my stint was over and I had to await the boat that would take me to Okinawa, they tried to find me. I enjoyed making myself scarce and effectively thwarted their efforts. I never slept in the same place and, when the ship left the dock, there I was, waving at them from the highest deck. Needless to say, they were furious.
I never did what I was supposed to do, which meant I was happy. I was doing something more interesting, more challenging, and something where I was learning skills. I couldn’t get a promotion because I wasn’t working in the field for which I was supposed to be training. At least I enjoyed doing something more interesting!
They sent me to a mechanics school in Austin, Texas for six months once I was out of basic, and I found it absolutely fascinating. Hydraulics, mechanics, electronics; they were pretty bloody sophisticated machines. The blades moved, reversed, danced. Some were electronic, some were hydraulic and some were mechanical. To understand how they work and how to repair them was fascinating until I got out on the “hot stand.”
There I was, straddling the nose cone of a B-29 bomber with my arms stuck underneath the cowling over the top of the engine, which was hot. And everything was safety wired. Every nut that goes on a bolt has a hole in it. And it has to correspond with a hole in a bolt so you can pass a wire through, so when the plane vibrates, the nut doesn’t come off the bolt. When you cut a piece of wire you make a nice blade out of the end. It comes down to a nice, sharp point. When you reach underneath there you feel a tickle. And when you pull your arm out, the tickling you felt was the wire cutting the hell out of your arms and you are dripping with blood. And the blood is co-mingled with engine oil. Sitting up there in the hot Texas sun, I decided this wasn’t much fun.
