|
|
||
|
DAY 1: Tuesday, September 24, 2002
I woke up at 5 a.m. I didn't want to wake up at 5 a.m., but I was so excited, my eyes just
wouldn't stay shut any longer. Well, since I'm up, I thought, I might as well shower, dress,
and get on the road (I had naturally packed the night before).
At six o'clock in the morning, Chattanooga was asleep, so crossing town to I-24 was a snap.
My drive on 24 was a short one. After only 15 minutes, I picked up I-59 at Wildwood, Georgia
and headed south. The drive through Georgia and Alabama was smooth except for several construction
sites between Birmingham and Tuscaloosa, which was a pain in the buns.
Just after crossing into Mississippi, I had a decision to make. I had planned to continue on
down 59 to I-10 and take that across to San Antonio. But I got to thinking Hurricane Isador,
which was wandering around the Gulf of Mexico, might cause some problems, so I changed my mind
and took the "northern route" (I-20) at Meridian.
After zipping across Mississippi and Louisiana, I had to leave the interstate system at Shreveport
and take U.S. 79, heading southwest toward Austin. I usually stop for the day between 5 and 6 p.m.
on a long trip, so I began looking for a motel at Carthage, TX. There wasn't one. Things looked
fairly bleak, so I decided I would stop in the first town that had a place to stay. That town
happened to be Henderson, Texas (how apropos). The trip odometer read 700 miles.
DAY 2: Wednesday, September 25, 2002
With a thermos full of coffee and a cinnamon roll in hand, I continued my journey down U.S. 79 at
7:00 a.m. For those of you who have never been there, I'll tell you that Texas roads are
EXCELLENT - almost as good as the interstate - and the 70 mph speed limit reflects that.
And to the Texas highway patrol, that speed limit is just a suggestion. While I was blasting
along at 80 mph, a trooper passed me and gave me a friendly wave.
The only time I slowed down was for the towns that littered the highway.
They were quaint little places with names like New Summerfield, Palestine, Buffalo, Jewett, and
Marquez. They had lots of muddy pick-up trucks, manly men wearing cowboy hats, silos pregnant
with grain sitting next to railroad tracks, water towers proudly proclaiming the town's name,
and big signs in front of the high school telling the world their team was the Tigers, Raiders,
Apaches, or Rattlers. I stopped for a coke in Oakwood, left my truck unlocked while I went inside,
and didn't even think about it being stolen or my luggage getting ripped off.
Finally got back on the interstate system when I hooked up with I-35 at Round Rock, just north of
Austin. Arrived in San Antonio around 12:30 or one o'clock and checked into the Lackland La Quinta
Inn. The trip odometer read 1053.
This was one of those times a handshake just wouldn't do, so I put Russ in a bear hug. He helped me
get my bags inside and I unpacked while we talked a mile a minute.
We did a lot of catching up over the space of a couple of hours, but being the mature men we are, realized
if we didn't get a nap before the Misawa Reunion at the Windjammer, we'd never make it through
the festivities. So we broke up and agreed to meet back up at five o'clock to get some chow before
going to the Windjammer. My head had no sooner hit the pillow when the phone rang.
It was Ben Whitten.
Before catching my nap, I decided to call the Windjammer to find out exactly where they were. The
directions Helen gave on the site were excellent, but I figured I'd call and get a landmark to make
it easier to find. "Look for the purple house with the yellow trim," I was told. "The Windjammer is
right next door," they said. Secure in the knowledge I knew exactly where the joint was, my head hit
the pillow for a second time, and I was out.
Russ and Terry came down to my room at 4:55. Ben showed up at five. By 5:05, it was obvious that Ben
fit right in with our little group. It was like he had been an old bud from day one.
We all agreed that Terry's Mustang wouldn't be too comfortable for a party of four and my pick-up was
out of the question unless two guys rode in the bed. So we decided to take both vehicles to eat then
on to the Windjammer with me in the lead. After all, I was the guy who knew San Antonio like the backs
of my eyelids - right?
Ben and I mounted up in the truck while Russ and McGoo followed in the Mustang. Minutes later, we
were sitting in the San Antonio Rose Mexican Restaurant on Military Drive with more food in front of
us than we could ever eat.
After supper, it was back on the road to the Windjammer. I was concentrating so hard on spotting the
purple house, I zipped right past the 'Jammer! Since we were on a one-way street, there was no turning
back. Instead, we had to go all the way back to the motel and "start over" because of the street patterns.
I don't know what Terry and Russ were saying in that Mustang behind me, but I'm sure it wasn't
very complimentary.
When we finally made the Windjammer, the joint was jumping. My first impression was, you could pick
that sucker up and plop it down in the middle of the 1962 A.P. Alley, and it wouldn't be out of place.
Of course, the first order of business was filling out Helen's sign-in log. I saw her out the corner
of my eye, making sure everyone signed in, but I pretended not to see her. When I was finished with
the log, I walked right up, introduced myself, and hugged her. I didn't know if she would cold-cock
me or not, but she was, as usual, very gracious.
As I looked around the room, there were familiar faces all over the place. Some of them were Misawa
Site members, some were not. Some were stationed with me at Misawa, some were stationed with me at
other bases.
And everywhere I looked, there were people taking pictures. I could have been in a roomful of
Japanese tourists! I took quite a few myself, and will post them a few at a time on the Misawa
Site. Don't want to "flood the market".
About ten minutes after I arrived, a tall woman came into the bar looking a little lost.
"That's Margaret," I told McGoo.
"How do you know?" he wanted to know.
"I'd know her anywhere. I'll bet you a paycheck it's her." McGoo didn't take the bet, but if
he had, I would have won. Within minutes, she was mixed right in with the group and it was the
same Margaret we all know and love on the site.
In addition to the Misawa Reunion, the Windjammer was liberally sprinkled with regular customers
who frequent the place all the time. I think most of them were members of a biker gang and their
babes, but they mixed and mingled with us and had just as much fun as we did.
By eleven o'clock, the party at the Windjammer was pretty much winding down, so Ben, Russ, McGoo
and I headed on back to the LaQuinta Inn. We settled into my room where I furnished the ice/styrofoam
cups and Ben broke out a bottle of Maker's Mark. The fine whiskey and better war stories flowed freely
and there were enough laughs to make your gut hurt.
The time flew by and, before anyone knew what happened, it was 2:10 a.m. Why do I remember the time so
well? That's when the security guard stuck his head through the door and told us there had been
complaints about the rowdies in Room 103. Hold it down, he told us. HOT DAMN! Four sixty-somethings
were having enough fun to have security siced on them. We sure were proud of ourselves, but by 3:00
a.m., good sense and the "Z Monster" intervened and we knocked off for the night.
What a day!
DAY 3: Thursday, September 26, 2002
The morning did not come early. After the previous evening, we did well to meet up in my room at
10 o'clock. We decided to grab a little breakfast and then do a driving tour of Lackland, the old
Kelly AFB (now part of Lackland) and the local area. Ben suggested that, instead of taking two
vehicles, we use his car. He assured us it would hold four people comfortably. Well I guess so!
Turns out the boy was driving a big four-door Cadillac that had "power" everything but a nose wiper.
Nice! Since I was the guy who knows San Antonio like the backs of my eyelids, Ben tossed me the
keys and anointed me driver.
We had been told that there would be festivities at the Golf Course after the FTVA Tournament at 4:00
o'clock, so we drove over there to check it out. As it turned out, all that happened was a bunch of
sweaty old men drove golf carts much too fast up to the Club House and dived into a plateful of
bar-b-q. Although it was a "non-event", we had lots of fun just sitting around on the patio sipping
on a brew and talking old time Rock 'n Roll.
After the Golf Course Club House Non-Event, we went back to the La Quinta to freshen up and headed out
to the Arcadiana Restaurant for one hellava fine meal. After supper, we went back to my room for a repeat
of the previous evening, but this time we closed the door to prevent a visit from security. Ben broke
off early because he had to leave early the next morning to visit his sister in (I think) Victoria,
Texas. But not McGoo, Russ, and me. Nooooo! We were up until 2:00 a.m. again trying hard to catch
up on the last 39 years of not seeing each other.
DAY 4: Friday, September 27, 2002
The phone rang at 6:30. It was Helen. Say what??? It was Helen.
She said the 6924th Security Squadron was having a breakfast at the VFW and wanted to know if I was
up for some good old SOS. She and Margaret would be over to pick up McGoo, Russ, and me at eight o'clock.
No way! Out of the question! My eyeballs hurt and my teeth itched. And besides, I couldn't make that
kind of decision for Russ and McGoo. No prob, she said. Margaret was on the phone with Russ even as
we spoke. Well maybe, I said, but not a minute before nine o'clock. She bought it and I hung up and
went back to sleep.
After breakfast, Helen, Margaret, Russ, McGoo, and I eased on over to Stapleton Park (where the picnic
would be held) and staked out one of the pavilions for the "Misawa gang". Although the picnic didn't
start until noon, people began showing up around 10:30 and placing thick photo albums around the tables.
I wiled away the time flipping through the albums until about eleven o'clock when we strolled over to
the Headquarters building for the 11:30 remembrance ceremony.
Now, I've been around the world three times, two Texas state fairs, and a goat roping, so I'm not
easily impressed. That remembrance ceremony impressed me. It was conducted in front of a C-47/GOONY
BIRD (the aircraft most Security Service members flew on during Viet Nam) and there was a really spiffy
color guard to bear the flag and a bagpipe band to play "Wild Blue Yonder". A nice lady sung the
national anthem about as well as I've ever heard it done, the AIA commander said some nice words, and
then a memorial plaque in honor of SSgt Shane Kimmett was unveiled. Sergeant Kimmett is the latest
Silent Warrior to die in the line of duty. His wife was there to participate in the ceremony.
As emotional as the whole thing was, I held up pretty good until those damn bagpipes began playing
"Amazing Grace". I was just about to recover when four F-16s flew over at low altitude and one of them
broke off and shot straight up into the heavens to create the "Missing Man" formation. Well, that did
it - I lost it.
By the time the ceremony began to wind down, I was just getting my emotions back under control. And
then I read the back of the program. Big mistake.
IT IS THE SOLDIER
IT IS THE SOLDIER, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press.
WOW! I lost it again. I still can't repeat that last stanza out loud without losing it. Well, enough
of that emotional stuff - it was time to go back to Stapleton Park and drink some beer.
The picnic went OK even though it was 90+ degrees and the beer flowed very, very slowly. At one point
there was a 25-30 minute wait to get a brew. There were only two kegs (one manned by our man B.J.) and
they had to be primed with hand pumps. Security would not allow compressed air tanks for the kegs -
they might be used as explosive weapons. Give me a break! And there was a cadre of Second Lieutenants
in cammo fatigues loitering around the beer serving area to ensure none of the revelers over imbibed.
There had been too many DWIs after the last picnic, and they didn't want that to happen again. Give
me another break!
On the plus side, I ran into a lot of old codgers who had crossed my path earlier in life. There
was ...
The beer ran out around four o'clock, and when the beer ran out, the picnic was over. So it was back
to the La Quinta for a few Zs before going out for dinner. We decided on Chinese grub, so we ended up
When we were planning this trip, neither Russ nor I had planned on attending the FTVA banquet on
Saturday night. But nooooo! McGoo wanted to go. It was part of the festivities and he didn't want to
miss any of the festivities. And besides, he had already bought his $30.00 ticket. So Russ and I caved
in, bought tickets, hauled suits and ties all the way to San Antonio, and were prepared to attend the
banquet. But McGoo hit the "eject" button and left Russ and me at the alter.
After dinner we went back to my room where we did some more catching up, liberally sprinkled with grief
and heartache heaped upon McGoo for leaving the next day. The high point of the evening was when I told
a war story that caused Russ to laugh so hard it made his jaws, and then the back of his head, hurt.
That alone was worth the price of the trip. We broke up around midnight - after all, McGoo had to leave
the next morning. Boooooo! Hissssssss!
DAY 5: Saturday, September 27, 2002
McGoo pointed his Mustang toward Temple, Texas and was gone like a cool breeze, so now the Four
Musketeers were down to two. Russ and I decided to take in some of the sights San Antonio was famous
for, so we mounted my noble steed and headed for downtown.
Lunch and some pretty fair Bloody Marys in the rotating restaurant were nice and, when we finished, we
decided to go to the Alamo. I left the pick-up in a parking garage and asked the attendant for
directions. The directions were totally bogus, which taught us a valuable lesson -- never ask for
directions in San Antonio.
We arrived at the Lackland Officer's Club dressed in our Sunday best, ordered up a drinkey-poo,
and discovered we had made bad mistake. The attendees were almost exclusively officers. Now for you
officer readers out there, I want you to understand I don't have anything against officers. It's just
that they don't party the way I do and, given my druthers, I'd rather be somewhere else.
The only person I spoke with was retired Lt. Col. Jerry McKinna. Jerry was a personnel officer working on
The Hill when I was stationed at Misawa in the late 60s. But before that, he was my wife's biology
lab partner as a 16-year-old at Bradley County High School in Cleveland, Tennessee. Small world, eh?
It looked like it was going to be a long night indeed when we ran into the Herbsts again. Bless their
hearts - they had saved two seats across from them at their table. At least we had someone to talk to
who had something in common with us. We spent a pleasant evening with the Herbsts, but when the steaks
were gone and the speechifying was over, Russ and I were out of there.
When I got back to my room, I had a voice mail from Helen. The 6924th troops were having a social at the
Red Roof Inn and she invited me over. I wasn't going to go, but Russ had to turn in early to get up early
for an oh-dark-thirty flight out of San Antonio the next morning. So we said our good byes, promising not
to wait another 39 years to get together again (after all, we would be 101 years old). Russ went back to
his room and I went to the Red Roof Inn.
I found the 24th troops crammed into a tiny room showing 35MM slides of the time they were on Monkey
Mountain in Da Nang. I joined them, but didn't stay long. It was about 100 degrees in that room - the
AC had been turned off so the guy showing the slides could be heard doing his narrative. Very
uncomfortable. Besides, I didn't feel totally at home. Everyone there was with the 24th when it was in
Viet Nam. I was with the 24th when it was in Thailand. Not the same. So I found Helen, bid her a
fond adieu, and went on back to the La Quinta.
DAY 6: Sunday, September 28, 2002
I was on the road by seven o'clock. I had decided to take the southern route back to Chattanooga - change
of scenery, don't you know. The trip started badly. The San Antonio cops had set up a DWI roadblock on
I-10 east and it took me almost 30 minutes to get through it. DWI roadblock at seven in the morning -
go figure.
All signs of Hurricane Isador were gone, so I had no problems making my way across south Texas and
Louisiana. When I got to Slydell, Louisiana, I hung a left on I-59 and headed north toward home. I made
it as far as Laurel, Mississippi. About the only thing I can say about Laurel, Mississippi is the
Shoney's there isn't very good.
DAY 7: Monday, September 28, 2002
When I rolled out of Laurel, I was so close to home I could smell it. I stopped at the first Cracker
Barrel Restaurant I saw and had some biscuits and gravy for breakfast. I thought of Ben.
When I saw the sign that said, "Fort Payne, Exit 222" I decided to get off I-59 and drive up the main
street of the little town where I was born and lived until I was 12 years old.
But "Alabama" still resides in Fort Payne.
I pulled into my driveway a little after noon. The mileage odometer read 1040. I was at the end of a
2,000 mile trip, but it was a trip that had allowed me to have one of the best times of my life. As
Ronnie Millsap said in one of his best songs,
"I Wouldn't Have Missed it for the World".
|
||
Wayne Babb (62-63, 66-69)
By six a.m., I was in the red Dodge Dakota, trip mileage odometer set on zero, and backing out of my
driveway onto Harbor Hills Road. I was on my way to San Antonio.
I was backing my truck into the parking slot outside Room 103
when I caught a glimpse of an old gray haired gentleman coming across the parking lot.
The old buzzard
turned out to be Russ Butcher, my number one "dotch" from Misawa and 202 Tech School. It was the first
time we had laid eyes on each other since November of 1963 - almost 39 years!
I had left the door to my room open,
so I saw the Mustang convertible with the top down when it stopped in front of my truck in the parking
lot.
I wouldn't have recognized the driver had he not been wearing a "West Virginia" b-ball cap. It
was Terry "McGoo" McGee! I hadn't seen him in 39 years, either.
From our postings on the Misawa Site, Ben and I had decided that, if we ever met in person, we would
fit together like "biscuits and gravy". Ben was ready to meet. I told him about our dinner plans and
invited him to join Russ, McGoo, and me, but first, a little shut-eye was in order. He said he'd be at
my room at five o'clock.
The only bad thing about the Windjammer was it didn't appear to have a working air conditioner.
That, coupled with all the body heat and 90 degree Texas temp, made the place unbearably hot, so
I spent a lot of time in the parking lot. Had lots of company too - Bill Dolittle, Don Maddux,
Jim Willis, Ed Benningfield, Russ, McGoo, Ben, and a few members of the biker gang.
After breakfast at Denny's (the poor waitress never had a chance), we drove around Lackland and I pointed
out landmarks. Since none of the guys had been on Lackland since they graduated Basic Training over 40
years ago, they really enjoyed the tour. Next, we went over to the other side of the base where we
checked out some of the old aircraft on static display and took some flicks at the parade ground. Then
it was on to the Commissary where I picked up some cigarettes (and a carton for Russ) and the Class Six
where Ben replenished his supply of Maker's Mark. (His bottle from the night before had been
seriously wounded.)
When we were finished with Lackland, I asked the guys if they minded if we drove out to my old house
where I lived when I was stationed at Kelly. They very graciously acquiesced, and we took a little
ride to Ridge Rise. The place was looking good, and that made me feel good.
Helen and Margaret rolled into the La Quinta parking lot right on schedule. Russ piled in with them,
McGoo and I took the Dakota, and we drove the few blocks to the VFW. Helen was right - they had some
killer SOS and when I put some over easy eggs and Tabasco Sauce on top, it was like being beck in Misawa
after a mid again. In addition to the fine food, the conversation was also good. Spent time swapping
lies with Fred Teschner, Dick DeBosh, Earl Sublett, and Jer from Texas.
at the Ding How Restaurant just off I-410. During dinner, McGoo announced he was leaving to go back to
his son's place at Ft. Hood first thing the next morning. Now that don't sound too bad unless you
know The Rest of the Story.
The first stop was The Tower of the Americas for lunch. Had a little trouble finding the parking
lot although I was the guy who knew San Antonio like the backs of my eyelids. I stopped and Russ
asked a security guard for directions. The directions were totally bogus, but I stumbled upon the
parking lot by accident.
While we stood on a street corner trying to decide which way to go, Russ suggested that, since we
were standing right beside some steps leading down to the River Walk, why didn't we do that first?
Fine by me. We went down the steps, turned left, and ran slap into "Pete" Herbst and his lovely wife
having lunch at one of the sidewalk cafes. They graciously invited us to join them and we did. Hell,
they even bought us a beer. Nice folks.
After lunch, we boarded one of the river barges that haul tourists up and down the San Antonio River to
gawk at the beautiful landscaping and the other tourists gawking back. After the barge ride, we bid
farewell to the Herbsts and found the Alamo.
By the time we saw all it had to offer, we just had time
to get back to the La Quinta and get dressed (in our coats and ties) to attend the FTVA banquet.
The first thing I noticed
was the sign bragging that I was entering the home town of the country & western group "Alabama" was
gone. It was replaced by another sign saying I was
entering the sock capital of the world. It's probably true. The chances are 3 out of 4 the socks you're wearing right now were made in Fort
Payne, Alabama.
I stopped by their fan club and snapped off a couple of flicks. Then I drove up Gault Avenue,
Fort Payne's main drag. It was almost 11:00 a.m., but almost no traffic was moving. Sleepy little town.
Shortly after I got back on I-59, I saw something else that made me realize I was getting closer to home -
a "See Rock City" sign. But the kicker was when I saw Lookout Mountain. I knew my house was just on
the other side of it.