aving read somewhere that one of the mission supes at Misawa hated baseball and hated the players for playing it, I was reminded of my old buddy, Larry Benkovich.

Benk played on Goodfellow's baseball team. This is the story of how he came to be on the team and the friction it caused between him and one of our 202 Course instructors.

Wayne Babb and Larry Benkovich in front of their dorm at Goodfellow AFB in October of 1961, about a month before graduation from 202 School and deployment to Misawa, Japan.

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"Where's Airman Benkovich?" TSgt. Davenport, one of my instructors in 202 school, wanted to know. It was 1310, and my best bud and former cube mate still hadn't showed up for study hall.

"He's at the Orderly Room, Sergeant Davenport," I answered. "When we got back to the barracks after lunch, there was a note on his bed saying report ASAP."

"Any idea what it's all about. Is he in trouble?"

"Don't know, unless it's that brown rope he's been wearing on his uniform."

"I noticed that thing. I thought it was just another doo-dad the Orderly Room had authorized for wear. What's that all about?"

"Well, when I got appointed Bay Chief and started wearing my blue rope, he said he wasn't about to be outdone. So he appointed himself Latrine Queen. Went down town to the Army Surplus Store that afternoon and bought himself a brown rope. Been wearing it ever since. Said he'd wear it 'till someone called his hand on it. I guess someone's calling his hand."

Davenport chuckled and shook his head. "Balls — real balls. But I don't like students missing study hall the day before a final exam. Oh well, lets get started with the review. Airman Novotne, what is a frequency rota?"

I was undressing in my room after study hall when the door flew open. It was Benk. He had a wad of clothing under his arm and a big smile all over his face. He tossed the clothes at me.

"Know what that is, Slick?"

I looked down at the clothing at my feet. "Nope."

"That is the uniform of the Goodfellow Air Force Base Chargers. I'm their new starting pitcher!"

"You made the base team? Shit hot, Bubba. Congratulations!"

He sat on my bed and told me the whole story. He had gone to a base team practice over a week ago. When the coach saw his kick-ass fast ball, he was impressed and wanted him on the team badly. But, he explained, it was the middle of the season, the roster was set, and if he brought Benk on, he would have to kick someone else off. He didn't want to do that.

Another big problem was the fact that Benk was a student. The school schedule and the baseball schedule almost never meshed. The home games usually weren't a problem, but the away games sometimes required a three or four day road trip and he couldn't be pulled out of class. The coach said he would love to have him on the team (that fastball was a killer), but it just wouldn't work.

Benk put the whole thing out of his mind and went about his business. Then today, he got the summons from the Orderly Room. He thought it was about the brown rope and debated whether or not to wear it. Then he decided - what the hell, let's see how far I can push this thing.

When he got to the Orderly Room, he found the baseball coach, SMSgt. Hollifield (202 School Superintendent), Major Harding (the School Commandant), the squadron commander, the first sergeant, and a major Benk didn't recognize. The coach spoke first.

He explained that a member of his pitching staff had been transferred to Germany, opening up a slot on the roster. But there was still the problem of Benk being in

Larry Benkovich, 1961

student status and not being able to make the long trips for away games. So he contacted Major Summers (the unidentified one) who was the lead pilot for Goodfellow's two aircraft Cessna 310 fleet. He asked if the Cessnas could be made available to fly Benk to away games and bring him back after the game was over. That way, he could play in away games and not have to miss any school. Major Summers agreed to do it.

The coach took the plan to school officials (Hollifield and Harding) who agreed with the provision that, if his grades began to slip, they would pull him off the team in a heartbeat. Then it was on to the Orderly Room to make sure Benk could be excused from any military obligations (detail rosters) that might conflict. The squadron commander and first sergeant were hesitant, but since the school had already agreed, they agreed. The only thing left to do was to see if Benk agreed.

Hell yes, he agreed! Who wouldn't? They thought that would be his response, Major Harding said. But he and SMSgt. Hollifield would be monitoring his progress in school and talking often with his instructors. The minute they reported a problem, he would be yanked from the team.

The first sergeant said he'd better keep his nose clean outside the classroom, too. If he got out of line, not only would there be the normal discipline to deal with, but he would be pulled off the team, too.

Major Summers told Benk that on days he was to be flown to a ball game, the Cessna would be on the parking apron by the school, ready to go with engines running, at 1205—five minutes after classes dismissed. If he showed up at 1206, the mission would be scrubbed. One scrubbed mission and the deal was off.

Benk agreed to all the conditions and got up to leave. He was almost out the door when the first sergeant said, "What's that thing on your shoulder."

Benk conjured up all the innocence he could muster. "This?" he said, pointing to the brown rope.

"Yes, that," the first sergeant answered.

"Well, this is my Latrine Queen rope, Shirt." It was all he could do to keep from cracking up. "I've been appointed to ensure that the latrine in Barracks 53 is in tip-top condition at all times. I wear this rope as a symbol of my authority as Latrine Queen."

Everybody looked at each other in disbelief. Then the first sergeant said, "Get that goddamn thing off your shoulder or you'll never get on that frickin' air plane the first time!"

Larry Benkovich, 1962

"Gotcha, Shirt," Benk said as he ripped the brown rope from his uniform and scurried out of the Orderly Room.

A couple of weeks after Benkovich became the newest member of Goodfellow's baseball team, the class moved on to our next instructor. "Which one of you is that asshole Benkovich?" SSgt. Arthur I. Wood wanted to know when he walked through the classroom door.

Say what?

"That would be me, Sergeant." Benk stood up. "And just exactly what gives you the right to call me an asshole?"

"Because I don't like you, Benkovich," Sergeant Wood said. "I don't like you because you're that spoiled prima donna the Air Force has been flying all over hell and half of Texas to play in stupid baseball games."

"What do you care?" Benk wanted to know.

"I care because it's a waste of the taxpayer's money. You have any idea what one of those flights cost?"

"Don't know — don't care."

"That sounds about right. You jock types don't give a rats ass about anything or anybody but yourself. I'm a Staff Sergeant with 17 years in the service and they don't give me private plane rides. You're an Airman Third Class with less than six months and they haul your ass all over the place just because you throw a baseball hard. It ain't right."

"Didn't say it was right, Sarge. It's just the way it is."

"Well it shouldn't be 'just the way it is'," Wood shot back. "I can't count the number of double shifts I've had to work to cover for some asshole like you who's off somewhere playing a ball game or rolling a bowling ball. Just because I'm not a jock, I get shat upon."

Larry Benkovich, 1983

"I don't think 'shat' is a good word, Sergeant Wood," Benk said.

"It is too. It's the pluperfect usage for the word 'shit'."

"I don't think so."

Wood fumbled for the dictionary under his lectern. When he had a good grip on it, he heaved the half-pound book over everyone's heads toward Benk standing in the back of the room. "Look it up!"

Benk never flinched. He caught the book like a tight end catching a football in the end zone, straightened the pages, and opened it to the "S" section. He scanned it for a moment, then snapped it shut with a "pop".

"You're right, Sarge," he said as he fired the dictionary back in the direction from whence it came. Wood tried to catch it, but the book was so heavy, it bent his middle finger back at a grotesque angle, then fell to the floor.

Wood grabbed the finger with his other hand and began to do a funny little dance in the middle of the podium. "You broke my finger! You broke my finger!"

The snicker started way down deep in my gut. I tried to hold it back. I couldn't. It worked its way up until it turned into a huge laugh and I had to let it go. The rest of the class was having the same problem and soon we were all cracking up. Sergeant Wood joined in.

Finally, he held up his good hand and motioned for us to quiet down a bit. He was still laughing a little. "All right, all right. That's enough."

When everything calmed down, he looked toward the back of the classroom. "Do you always rebel against authority that way, Benkovich?"

"Only when I'm in the right, Sarge."

"Well right or wrong, if you keep that kind of attitude, someone with a whole bunch of stripes or wearing metal on his shoulders is gonna put your ass in a sling one of these days.

"In any case, we're not here to argue the merits of jocks versus non-jocks, we're here to talk about net diagramming," he said as he moved behind the lectern and opened up his lesson plan.

A3C Larry Benkovich's baseball career at Goodfellow was a success. He went 9-1 and was named to the Southwest Military Region All-Star Team. He got a lot of satisfaction out of that, but not nearly as much as those rides in the Cessna 310 and the reaction they got out of SSgt. Arthur I. Wood.

On days he was scheduled for a flight, he would bring a bag with his baseball uniform, spikes, glove, and bat to class. The minute we were dismissed from class, he would run out to the parking apron and jump into the aircraft. SSgt. Wood always stood by the apron yelling curses at Benk, and Benk would shoot him a bird just as the aircraft began to taxi.

The first time it happened, the pilot asked Benk what the hell was going on. During the taxi to the end of the runway, Benk told him the whole story. When the aircraft took off, it banked into a wide turn, then came back toward the apron at low altitude. While Wood shook his fist at it and cursed, it waggled its wings in acknowledgement, then soared out of sight.

The aerial maneuver was repeated every time Benk made a road trip.