My first Adventure in Châteauroux began on the very first night I was there:

First Night

We were restricted to base—until we finished orientation and French language schooling (about 2 weeks). I did not let this stop me. Since we had changed dollars for francs in Paris, my friends and I pooled our resources and went out the front of the base. Several taxis were parked there and we went to each until we found a driver that spoke English. We inquired about the cost of going into town. The cost was 50 francs. Now, we had no idea what a Franc was worth and thought this was a pretty steep cost. However, since we had about 3000 francs between us, we were pleased that the price was within our means.

Just as we drove off, a bus from town drove up and I wondered how much cheaper it was to take the bus.

Addington, Reep & Rivas

NOTE: The cost of things and the worth of things are different in each country—depending on demand and whom they trade with. For example, In France at that time, you could get a large oriental rug that would cost hundreds and hundreds of dollars in the USA for $40-50. However, a small Venetian blind would cost more than a month’s pay.

We arrived downtown—although we could smell Châteauroux a couple of miles before we got to it. Most small cities and villages in France smelled and could be detected from a long ways out. They smelled like olive oil and damp, moldy cloth. This is because they cooked in olive oil and poured their clothes washing water in the street—where it flowed into a gutter. Châteauroux, like most towns in France at that time had few places that had inside drains. Bathrooms were mostly outside, in the back yard, in their own little building and consisted of a hole in the ground. The higher class ones had a hole in the ground with two raised concrete footprints. They did, however, connect to the sewer. Of course, in the hotels—which usually had one bathroom per floor, newer houses, and in the larger cities, they did have toilets. And, of course, France is known for its bidets. Despite what some use them for and what some folks think they are used for, the bidet is actually for the washing of feet.

One odd thing I noticed--in the old hotels, the pillows on the beds were part of the mattress and could not be moved or removed. These were rolled, pretty hard, and not too comfortable. However, they looked very much like the pillows we were taught by older American relatives to roll up when making our beds. It is obvious that this "look" originated in Europe.

Anyway, back to the trip in the Taxi. We arrived in downtown Châteauroux, paid the driver, and wandered up the main street. We heard the rapid tap of high heels behind us and a woman rushed past us. She got a ways ahead, then stopped, and looked back at us. When we caught up with her, she zeroed in on me and said, "Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in months!" I replied, "Maybe that is because I have never been here before!" She looked confused, then said, "Oh well, do you want to spend the night with me in my apartment?" For a moment, I was stunned, then I looked at my friends and said, "My God! The stories they tell about France are true!" We all laughed. I studied the woman’s face in front of me in the poor light of the evening in a French village and came to the conclusion that she was older than my mother and in spite of the huge amount of makeup she had on, she was probably older than my grandmother. She reached up to brush the hair from her face and I noticed that she had only four fingers on that hand.

Murmuring our apologies, we left the lady and went into the nearest bar where we ordered several drinks at about 100 Francs each. We got to talking with some of the other troops in the place and were asked if we had met "Nine-Fingers" yet--the oldest prostitute in Châteauroux. One of the guys said that he thought she was so old, she probably had been here servicing World War 1 troops!

As we found out later, new troops were purposely led to Nine-fingers by old timers--as a joke. In addition, once one had been to bed with her, the other soldiers never let them live it down! My friends and I actually felt sorry for her and would give her small amounts of money, when we had some to spare, just to help her. We used to buy her drinks too—but she kept climbing up on top the tables and bars and doing lewd dances.

The town depended on the base for a major part of its income and there were a very large number of prostitutes there. If one wished to walk down the street, looking at the sights while engaging in conversations with ones’ companions, one had to ignore the many propositions shouted from the sidelines.

Again, back to the original story: We knew there was a curfew so we went back to the taxi stand. The bus we had seen before was waiting there also. Its sign said La Martinerie—which was the French name for the Base. We asked the bus driver what it cost to go to the base, but he didn’t speak English. One of the American airmen already on the bus told us the cost was 50 Francs.

Since it cost as much on the bus as in the taxi, we decided to take the taxi--thereby spending our money on one French national instead of a company. This turned out to be a big mistake!

When we got back to the base, we gave the driver 50 Francs and were met with a hail of enraged French shouting. Thinking this driver charged more than the other did, and because he didn’t speak any English, we finally got him to write down the amount he wanted. The price was 3000 Francs! We didn’t have 3000 Francs left! So, the driver called to one of the Air Policemen guarding the entrance—who promptly arrested us. It seems that the price to go from Châteauroux to the base was 3000 Francs but the return trip was only 50 Francs!

The next day, we had to individually go in front of the Sqdn Commander to see if we would stand court-martial. My luck held up again! I was one of the last to go in and by that time, the commander was tired of this game with its unimportant problems. He told me that the reason for the restriction to base was for us to acquire some basic language skills before going into town and becoming lost. He also told me that he was new to the base also—and that we would have to be punished for disobeying orders—unless we could convince him that we knew what we were doing. I told him that I already knew some French (I had taken one semester of it in HS). He asked me to speak some to him so I strung together every French word and phrase I could think of and rattled it off to him in a confident and rapid manner—hoping that his grasp of French wasn’t too good. He was dumbfounded and let me off without any punishment. The other guys received some light punishment and were restricted to the base for another month.

What did I say to the commander? Well, I don’t totally remember, but some of it translates like this: "Four hundred and sixty six, with mushrooms and cheese".

Sqdn Party Initiation

I arrived at Châteauroux in September of 1955 and was assigned a bunk in an open bay barracks. There was a mixture of airmen there—"newbies", like me--and guys who were due to return to the USA before too long.

 We newbies hung together pretty much, but the "oldies", as we called them weren’t too interested in being friendly. After all, making friends with us would just involve them with people that they soon would be leaving—it was hardly worth the effort. The oldies, experienced as they were, ruled the barracks and when one was rarely in an accommodating mood, they could recommend places to see, bars to visit, and ways to react to customs and practices of the natives and the military. At these rare times, they were vast sources of wisdom. But such times were rare.

In October of 1955, we were issued tickets to the Headquarters Sqdn, 7373 Supply Group’s Sqdn PARTY to be held on the 28th.

It was a nice, organized, friendly party—but there wasn’t much else to do but try to absorb some of the gigantic supply of beer available during a rather short period of party time. It was also forbidden to take any cans of beer outside the building the party was being held in. There was a lot of coming and going, people arriving and people leaving. And it was a typical Châteauroux October night, dark, cold and damp. We were all wearing our bulky overcoats.

I was surprised when one of the oldies, who lived the same barracks bay that I did, but who had never even spoken to me before, came up with a couple of unopened cans of beer and said, "Put these in your pockets and follow me!" I followed him right out of the door, past the guard there. Outside, he went to his VW bug and opening the trunk in the front, he deposited four cans that he had hidden in his clothes inside the car. I placed my two cans with them. Before I could turn around, other oldies arrived and also deposited unopened beer cans in the VW’s trunk. We went back in and repeated, several times, the transfer of beer from the party to the VW.

On one trip back, we encountered some of our companions coming out with a tub full of ice. The guard looked closely to see if any beer was hidden in the ice--yet didn’t seem to find the removal of ice itself as being unusual. (Probably he was just following orders to not let any beer go out the door and ice hadn’t been mentioned—just doing EXACTLY AS HE WAS TOLD! A good soldier).

To make a long story short, within minutes we had the VW trunk totally filled with beer and ice—to the point where we couldn’t get the trunk lid down.

Then I was invited to join the others in the crowded interior of the car, and we carefully and slowly drove off into the night, the poor VW’s springs groaning under the load and the front fenders rubbing and Sqdnueaking against the underside of the fenders. Down the main highway we drove until we came to a place where we could get out of sight. There, many hours after the official party was over, in fact, last the next morning (a Saturday), we finally finished the last beer, and dizzily headed back to the base.

So, for some unknown reason, I had been accepted and initiated into the oldies club!

Merriment

1956-1960

Above - Typical Strip Show at the Airman’s Club
This was a big deal in those days because Americans were relatively innocent and repressed.

In the kitchen of The Cottage Dance Hall in Issodun - 1956
 L-R: Davidson, Ma (wife of owner) Pierson, and Madalene

IChris Mayo with Mady: The owner of Mady’s Bar--just down the main highway in the opposite direction from town. 1958

The most primitive watering hole of all—The Wine Shack.  Within walking distance of the base, you went down this dirt road in the farm fields.  Myself (Ed Conroy) and Thomas Hayes at the outside table.  1956-1957.

The Big Storm (probably early 1956—or late 1955)

While living in the open-bay barracks in Châteauroux, some of my associates and I were working the swing shift in Building 356. At the shift’s end, one of the guys who had had an old Buick would give us a ride across the base to the chow hall—which would fix us a midnight snack.

The Buick was the kind where the hood could be picked up from either side so it rocked back (or forth) from which ever side you had lifted. These types of hoods did not have hinges but instead had fasteners on each side, it. It was not the standard kind of hood the picked up from the front or back.

He would drive us across the base to the chow hall--which would fix the swing shift people a midnight snack. The old Buick wasn’t running too good and many times, it would only get us partway there. Then we would walk the rest of the way. The whole walk was about one mile—nothing to young men like us. The chow hall was two blocks from our barracks.

We got off that night and noticed that it was a little gusty but we paid no attention to the weather, and, as usual, we jumped into the Buick. It took the owner a while to get the balky engine running but it finally started. On the way, there were some surprising gusts of wind that shook the car—in spite of its weight and load. About half way there, the car died, and as usual, the owner got out to look inside the hood and see if there was anything he could shake or rattle that would get it going again. As he opened the hood from one side, a heavy gust of wind came along and ripped the hood right off! The hood sailed right out across the swampy field in the dark. The Owner decided to look for it in the morning. His shaking and rattling got the car running again, and we drove on to the chow hall—sans hood!

By the time we finished eating the wind was howling around the chow hall and rattling the windows. We left for the barracks but once away from the shelter of the chow hall walls, we found that we absolutely could not walk against the wind—unless we turned around backwards and leaned way back. Even then it was hard going. By the time we got to the barracks, empty garbage cans were blowing by, the wind had hit new levels of strength, and noise--and we realized that we were not going to be able to sleep during the howling storm.

The only place kept lit at night in the barracks was the large bathroom down at the end—away from the direction the wind was blowing. There were benches there, so we went and sat down near the window, looking out on parking lot behind the barracks. Surprisingly enough, the wind did not wake up many of the sleeping men and the few that it did joined us in the bathroom—with worried looks on their faces. Now, all the buildings on this part of the base were concrete and had red tile roofs. The floors were covered with granite and the all the windows were "French" double windows, that swung on hinges on each side and had a turning knob in the center with a steel bolt that secured the center’s opening --We knew the building was probably too strong to blow down. Nevertheless, the wind’s velocity kept increasing. We looked out in the parking lot and could see that all of the cars were bouncing and rocking in the gale. A few minutes later, some of the cars, those that did not have good emergency brakes, started moving! One of them rolled about a block away until it ran into a building. Others stopped after running into each other or the curb on one side of the parking lot. Then we started seeing what appeared to be full 55-gallon oil drums rolling by on the ground at high velocity. Then the lights went out and howling of the wind grew even louder. Now we were getting nervous but the building was not rocking in the wind although the windows on the windward side were rattling badly.

Suddenly, our barracks gave a long eerie scream, which ended suddenly when the doors ripped off (or open) and all the windows ripped open, to slam against the outside of the building thereby throwing shattered glass everywhere. IN ADDITION, OUR EARS POPPED! This scared the dickens out us because we didn’t understand what was happening.

Then there was a dead silence with no wind and no noise, except for the voices of the confused soldiers who had all been awakened by this latest development. It was then I realized that we were now in the low-pressure center of the storm. I had read of such things but had never expected to experience them.

I explained to the others what I thought had happened—that the building’s scream had been the air, draining out through every little crack and crevice in the building. And, the sudden release of pressure when the doors and windows ripped open had caused our ears to pop. "If I’m right", I said, "the wind should come back soon from the other direction! Sure enough, a few minutes later, the wind came back—this time blowing in from the other side of the building.

The base was hit hard, but the main structures of the buildings were okay. French contractors began re-hanging doors and fixing the windows, the next day. One thing though—you could not walk on the sidewalks for 3 weeks—there were loose tiles on the roof that kept falling off at irregular intervals—and tile falling from 2 to 4 stories up, is a real hazard!

This was the worst storm I was ever in and was probably as close to a hurricane as I would ever get.

Guard Duty

First of all, the military is a very complex arm of the US Government and is not anymore efficient, organized, or competent than any other part of our political system.

Like others, I was put on guard posts many times--without ammo! Now, this isn't as bad as it seems. It was for practice and what we were guarding was either unimportant or didn't need guarding! However, when the coldest winter in 100 years hit Europe while I was on guard duty, many people got frostbite and lost toes and/or fingers. And, of course, the AF was caught shortsighted and did not have the clothing needed to survive in that kind of weather!

The only reason I didn't get hurt and, in fact was quite comfortable, was because I knew the AF was run by politics and as the weather became chilly, I had asked my mother to send me my special foul-weather civilian hunting clothes--which I wore under my inadequate uniform.

Like a damn fool, I, a gun enthusiast, practiced on the firing range with my own 30-06 and consequently got high scores in our target competitions. The next thing I knew, all the high scorers were put on the base defense team and I got to lug a BAR around the base on "alerts." My scores soon dropped until I was finally taken off the team--I was not as stupid as most!

What was "neat" about being on the defense team was that we had to run two miles to the armory and get in line to checkout our weapons. Typically, it took 45 minutes to get your weapon. Yet we were 20 minutes away from Russian paratroop drop times!

In any case, with my special underclothing and handworkers, I sweltered in the frigid weather while others literally froze—just for practice--since we were out there practicing without ammo!

Our rooms in the second barracks housed two people and I lived in various rooms with different people during the three years I was there. Non-Coms had rooms to themselves. The AF allowed us to fix up the rooms and we were allowed to paint them when we felt the need. The AF furnished us with two shades of paint: a light blue and a dark blue. Some of us painted our rooms both shades. We were also allowed to buy curtains and drapes for the one window in each room and could hang up large pictures or tapestries—if they weren’t offensive. We could also arrange the room’s furnishings—to a point. Official AF furnishings in each room consisted of two bunks, two foot lockers, and two upright lockers. To this we were allowed to add a table or table like piece of furniture. This allowed us a little freedom in attempting to make the place a little homier. We usually had a bucket for mopping the floor—but had to get the mops out of bathroom storage. There were two big bathrooms on each of the four floors of the barracks. Later on, some of us began buying the services of a French maid—who would come in every day, make the beds, mop the floors, and clean the one sink and mirror that were permanent fixtures in each room. A steam radiator with a control knob heated each room. We usually could be as warm as we wanted to be and hot water was no problems either—as it was, normally, in the rest of France.

Train Travel

When I first arrived in France, there were three classes of train tickets, 1^st class, 2^nd class, and 3^rd class. We tried all three classes and found that 1^st class was for the tourists and rich people who did not want to associate with the ordinary people. 2^nd class, like the other classes, consisted of individual compartments seating 8 people each. However, the upholstery wasn’t as fancy. 3^rd class consisted of compartments with wooden, un-upholstered benches. You didn’t want to go too far on third class—unless you brought a pillow.

They did away with 3^rd class while I was in France so the difference between 1^st and 2^nd class were the people and the upholstery. The people in 1^st class were the ones that always went to the dining car when it was time for a meal. In addition, these people did not want to associate with the lower classes. Unfortunately, the American service men usually went 1^st class. I, on the other hand, believing in my theory of being chameleon-like, bought my clothes at the local stores. Then I slept in them so they were slightly winkled—since the real French always looked slightly wrinkled. I also learned to speak French as well as I could so, without too much trouble, I blended in and usually rode in the 2^nd class compartments. In fact, I blended in so well, that usually the French people mistook me for French—that is until one of them got to telling an exciting story and started running off in French faster than I could follow! When I asked them to slow down their conversation, they would look at me in surprise and ask why. When I told them I did not speak French that well, they were amazed. Now they knew I was a foreigner but they were impressed that I had "gone native" and was attempting to learn their language.

On the other hand, regular soldiers wore their uniforms or "very American" civilian clothes—and were uncomfortable around the natives. They also acted superior and these were some of the reasons that the French didn’t like us too well.

At eating time in the 2^nd class compartments, someone would start the meal by opening a bag and showing/offering cheese, salami, bread, fruit, or some other food. I had learned to pull a package of American cigarettes out of my pocket to show the people in the compartment. Soon, knives came out and bread, cheese, and meat would be sliced, and portions would be passed out—with everyone contributing something. Then apples or bananas (a French favorite) would be passed around. Peeling and eating a banana as we do was considered impolite. Bananas were cut open with a knife and eaten with a fork (or the knife)—one bite-sized piece at a time. Fruits and expensive cheeses were a typical French dessert. And, there was nothing like a good smoke after the meal so I would pass around the cigarettes. Even those who did not smoke would take one to later give to a friend.

The French didn’t like the Americans very much but they loved our cigarettes. According to their stories, both the British and their tobacco growing areas had been decimated by WW II. They blamed a lot on WW II—and some of it was true but most of it was just excuses.

Since I was included in the meals, dressed like the locals, and spoke French fairly well, when I passed out the American cigarettes, the people in the compartment just thought I was one of them that had splurged for some good smokes—since American cigarettes were available in local markets—at premiums prices.

In most ways, French trains and train systems were (and still are) superior to those in the USA. Their trains leave EXACTLY on time, and arrive exactly on time. One of the flaws in their system is that their trains have (or had) no drinkable water—the only water available is (was) for washing only! There is usually one standpipe in each small depot that has drinking water. The French (and myself copying them) carried old corked, wine bottles with drinking water in them. On long trips however, when the trains pulled into a depot, people would stream out of the train and line-up to get water.

The other problem was that the trains arrived at a depot at a particular time and departed at the correct time—no matter what the situations was. Many times, people attempting to get water had to run for the train when it started moving! In addition, if there were a crowd at the depot, the train would pull out—even if all the new passengers weren’t on board yet! This caused a display of French panic that was appalling! If you were one of the crowd trying to get aboard, you were in the midst of a milling, frantic crowd of mad men!

They pushed, punched, swore, and shoved you into the train--or out of the way! Once inside, they ran into compartments and threw open the windows—where they would lift women and children up and into the train. It was a display of crudeness and rudeness that far exceeded our impolite way of eating bananas!

Retreat

Retreat is a military word that means "close-down". Every day, just before sundown, the French and American flags were taken down from their poles and folded up. This was a daily ceremony that was accompanied by French troops on one side of the main flag Sqdnuare, and American troops on the other. The French flag would come down accompanied by the French National Anthem, and then the American flag would come down accompanied by our National Anthem. While the flags were coming down, both side saluted.

Now, the French salute much like the English—The palm of the hand is pointed almost fully outward. Americans, however, salute with the palm of the hand not only down but also turned slightly toward the face.

I was part of the Retreat Color Guard Detail while in the first barracks—and with the nice Sqdn commander that our Sqdn had at that time—the one that let me off for going downtown too early. The last time I was subjected to the Retreat Duty, and perhaps the reason I was never again invited to take part, I decided that it would be great fun to correctly salute each flag—so I talked to both the French and the American troops before hand.

The French flag started to come down and as their anthem started, there was a change over on the American side to the palm-out style of salute. Accordingly, when the American anthem was played, the French switched their salute to the down-style.

Now, there were about 60 troops per national side and of course, the chewing out we got, produced the fact that I was the ringleader of the plot. So the next day I had to meet with the Sqdn commander! Not even trying to look angry, the Sqdn Commander told me that was the funniest thing he had seen in years! Then, he cautioned me not to do it again because the next time, he would have to take disciplinary action! "Although", he added, "I don’t know where we are going to put 120 prisoners!"

The two country’s anthems were broadcast over loud speakers that ran throughout the base. If you were outside—no matter what the weather—even if we were having one of our drenching rainstorms or fist-sized hail stone storms, you were required to stop, face the base center, and salute during the Star Spangled Banner. If you were in a car, you were required to stop, get out, stand at attention, and salute. Consequently, very few people were outside at retreat time in bad weather. I thought this was too bad, because it tended to make the saluting of the flag a chore instead of a privilege.

Labor Unions

One thing where the French exceeded our society was in Labor Unions. Compared to theirs, ours are weak and ineffectual. In addition, their Unions cooperate with each other instead of fighting among themselves. In some cases, the French unions allow a certain amount of laziness to exist among the French—but our lack of good unions creates a system of overwork, less vacation time, and a lack of human rights.

De Gaulle became President of France while I was there. The Franc was in trouble, and France had runaway inflation. De Gaulle decided that the first act he would take to control inflation would be to stop the ever-increasing spiral of wage increases. Therefore, he initiated a law where no one would get a raise—until the inflation rate came down.

We were eating in our favorite Italian restaurant in downtown Châteauroux one evening. At around 6 PM, the lights went out. Now, this was not an unusual thing, Châteauroux was small enough, old enough, and primitive enough so that it did not have a reliable electrical system.

The people in the restaurant brought out candles and set them on each table. Since they cooked in wood fired brick ovens, they continued to serve customers with no problem.

When we finished dinner, we went out to the car and looking around, we could see no lights in the city at all—which was a bit unusual. Driving out into the county, back to the base, we noticed that there were no lights anywhere! We had never seen such a wide spread outage before!

We arrived at the base. The base had emergency generators so important buildings were still lit. However, our barracks was not. We got out the candles, oil lamps, and flashlights that we kept for such occasions. The next morning, we noticed that we had no hot water—which confused us because we knew the hot water heaters were fed by gas. We also had no heat!

In the entryway of the barracks was a bulletin board that each soldier had to check every morning. On these the name of people assigned to details were posted—as was any important other information. The bulletin board informed us that at 6 PM the evening before, the French Electrical Workers, all union members, had shut off the electricity in the entire country and gone home. In addition, at 6 PM, the French Gas Workers, all union members, had shut off all the gas mains in the entire country, and gone home. The news got wilder: The Water Workers shut off the water in the entire country, buses stopped in the middle of streets and highways, and the drivers got off, leaving the riders inside. Friends or relatives who had brought cars to pick them up and take them home usually met the drivers. Trains stopped at 6 PM and all the train personnel got off--leaving the passengers, in the dark, to fend for themselves. "What happened to the airplanes?" I asked, "Did the pilots parachute out…?"

We still had water because the base had its own supply but the town’s French had to buy bottled water while out in the countryside, old wells came under heavy use again.

For three days, the entire country had no electricity, gas, or any other energy supplies. There was no water—one of the big consequences! In addition, there was no public transportation. Cars stopped running when they ran out of gas because the gas pumps didn’t work without electricity and/or the station personnel joined the strike.

At the end of three days, De Gaulle gave up and begged the workers to "Turn-on" the country again! He then looked for other methods to control the economy.

The Money Black-market

One of the actions that De Gaulle took was to artificially revaluate the Franc within his borders. This meant that inside the borders of France, the Franc was worth something different it was outside its borders.

De Gaulle took extraordinary care and had French customs at the borders begin special searches of bags and luggage. Tourists and French nationals were limited as to what kind of money and the amounts thereof that they could bring in and take out of France. This was especially true of French people going on vacation since they were limited to about $30 worth of certain monies. Now, I’m not quite sure how all this worked. However, it did help the situation inside France and it kept the people from spending so much of France’s worth outside their borders.

There was only one problem: just across the border in Switzerland, (or any other country with a common border), the international exchange rate was far different from the rate inside France—which is why the border’s customs guards began increasing the searches of travelers.

In any case, by exchanging to the correct money inside the borders of France and then crossing the border and re-exchanging it, you could then re-cross the boarder back into France and make about a 10% profit. Since the amount of money was limited to about $30 worth, you could only make a profit of $3.00 for each crossing—and only if you snuck the money in—because, the limit was $30.00 worth each way!

Again, let me stress that I, to this day, do not quite understand how all this worked. I got involved in the process because of a loan. I had the reputation of the guy that always had a few more bucks than normal, and I was approached by a staff sergeant who explained the monetary situation and asked me to loan him some money—for which, he promised me, he would repay the entire sum, with interest, in just a few days. I loaned him $100.00 and the next evening, he repaid me with $108.00. I thought this was a pretty good deal, so then I loaned him $300.00 the next weekend and got a $24 profit on Monday morning. I let the $324.00 ride and borrowed another $200.00 to give to him.

The next weekend, I made almost $50.00 in profit—without doing anything. I continued to let the money "ride", and my profits, each weekend, continued to rise.

I became very interested in this process and began questioning the sergeant as to how this scam worked. He showed me a list of contributors—which also had my name was on it—and there were names of officers and others who made a lot more money than I did who had larger sums of money invested. Each name of the list had the amount of contribution next to it so the sergeant could tell what each person was owed. He took a small percentage from each profit from each person on the list and reinvested this, with his original money, each time he crossed the border.

He crossed the border into Switzerland each Saturday in an old car he owned. The border guards became suspicious of him although he tried crossing at different places—but all them began to recognize and expect him. He told them that he had a girlfriend in Switzerland that he visited every weekend—which seemed to allay their suspicions.

We became friendly business associates and I kept checking with him every so often. One day I looked at his list and saw that he had $10,000.00 dollars worth of money on it—which did not include his own money! On this amount alone, he was making $1000.00 per weekend—of which he took 2%. In addition, he bought a new, bright red, MG Sports Car—something that few Staff Sergeants could afford.

I did not think this was a good practice since it brought attention to him--and I told him so—but he said he was hiding the money in hubcaps. So, I told him that I had a sudden financial need and wanted to take all my money out of the process. He gave me my original investment and a couple of thousand dollars profit. He crossed my name off the list, but I offered him the use of a marking pen so it was not only crossed off, but also obliterated!

The next weekend, he was caught. We never saw him again. But we heard rumors that he was hustled outside of France before the French authorities could get a permanent hold of him—this was standard operating policy for people in trouble in foreign countries—get them out of there, then try them for crimes in an American court.

In addition, the American authorities arrested all the people on the list. I was not on the list!

Live Ammo

My friend Pierson managed to get himself transferred out of Supply and into Refueling.

One night, when he had a terrible cold, a cargo plane with two propeller engines landed and needed refueling. Pierson jumped into the gasoline truck, took it out to the plane, and pumped the tanks full. Later, the plane taxied out to the runway and started the take-off procedure. Halfway down the runway, the pilot switched to the main tanks (which Pierson had fueled) and the engines sputtered and died. The pilot got on the brakes fast and heavy but the plane’s momentum was so great that it went through the fence at the end of the runway, across a French national highway, and into a farmer’s field—breaking off the undercarriage, bending the props, and ruining the engines. No one was hurt—but the plane was a mess.

Cause? JP-4 Jet Fuel in the Gasoline tanks! Pierson was immediately arrested. But he was soon released. With his cold, he could not smell the difference in the fumes and it was his sergeant, who had earlier gotten drunk, that had then filled the gasoline truck with JP-4!

Since the fence at the end of the runway was now broken open, the guards were given a new post to guard—and were given live ammo—an unusual situation and a big deal!

However, there was this guy that I can only describe as a geek. I knew him, and he was strange! His mother and father had been killed in a car accident when he was young, and his very rich and very old grandmother had taken him in. She had private tutors for him and kept him isolated until he grew up. He had never been involved socially with anyone his own age—or anyone even near it. He had all the mannerisms of a spoiled old lady and was the most socially inept person I had ever seen. On top of that, he had no knowledge of any thing that one would expect of a young man of his age. He had been totally isolated from other humans by his grandmother. We tried to teach him the skills that he needed to survive in the real world, but he was so far behind the rest of us, we would have needed 10 years to bring him up to speed.

Before the "incident", I had seen him on the firing line at the rifle range, firing for effect. He had been lying prone, pulling the slide on the weapon, and ejecting unfired rounds. He never fired even one round! The people monitoring the firing became so frustrated with him, they had given him a big zero for his score and made him leave. This was typical of him, and I felt sorry about this mess and the others he got himself into. He was so inexperienced in life; he seemed to have the IQ of an idiot. But he was intelligent—he just had not enough practice living in the real world.

So what did the AF do? They put him to guarding the broken fence at the end of the runway—with live ammo! They gave him his guard post instructions—which were beyond his capability of totally understanding. And, he really didn’t understand there was a difference between the French National Highway and the borders of the base. So, the next carload of French people that came down the highway, met a determined guard who tried to stop them ON THEIR HIGHWAY! They decided to drive around this madman, and did so. He, in turn, turned his fully loaded automatic weapon toward the back of the retreating automobile and emptied the whole clip into it! No one was injured but the car was badly damaged. Before, the night was over, the AF had him on a plane headed for England.

He was tried by the AF, and found innocent by reason of mental incompetence. He was given a medical discharge.

Priority Section

I held down many menial, boring jobs in several work sections in Bldg 356. Therefore, when I got an opportunity to join the crew in the Priority Section, I jumped at the chance. The Priority Section was a department that was designed to go around the slow, orderly material requisition system—in order to keep fighting aircraft in the air instead of sitting on the ground for lack of a part. Each time a fighting aircraft was grounded in Europe because it needed a part, we, in the Priority Section would get the requisitions, marked AOCP—Aircraft Out of Order, Cause, Parts. We would locate the part at the nearest warehouse, and teletype the order for the part to be pulled, and sent by priority transportation—sometimes other fighting aircraft if the part was small enough—so the plane could be repaired ASAP. We were allowed 2 hours to process an AOCP—but usually beat this limit by a full hour—thereby turning around the requisition in 1 hour.

I loved working in the Priority Section because I knew I was really contributing.

It was customary for us to knock off work at 5 PM every day and go to the chow hall –which was only open from 5 to 6 PM. The swing shift in the Priority Section did not arrive until 6:30 PM—so there was a gap of 1.5 hours when no one was there.

When I first got to the base, the chow hall had good food and good service because the officer in charge was doing a good job! (Rather unusual)! Then this unusually good officer rotated back to the States and a new and incompetent officer took over. Actually, he probably wasn’t incompetent, but he was one of those gung-ho types that was trying to make a name for himself. Soon, the food got cheaper; you could get the GI’s (diarrhea) because he had even cut the amount of soap used in washing the food trays—plus the hot rinse water. He replaced the standard sugar bowls with old jars—because one or two were broken every month. The food became poor and it became customary to search through the trays to find one that was actually clean—or one that didn’t have soap residue on it. He also cut the gas to the grills so the eggs and meat were hardly cooked anymore. We heard that he was praised for his saving so much AF money in the running of the chow hall!

I made a little more money than the average guy did because I got longevity money from my stint in the Air National Guard—plus I didn’t waste my money on excessive drinking or whoring. Therefore, I quit eating at the chow hall! For about 50 cents, I could get a good meal at the Base PX’s restaurant—where everything was discounted. In addition, I bought food that did not need cooking at the markets downtown. I ate well but didn’t wreck my meager budget.

If an AOCP came in after 5 PM, it was 6:30 PM before any work on it was even started. One night, just as I was leaving at 5 PM, I heard the Teletype start up so I went back to see what was going on. I saw an AOCP for one of our latest fighter aircraft. Realizing that this request would have to wait for 1-1/2 hours, I decided to process it—after all, I didn’t have to worry about getting to the chow hall on time!

While I was processing the paperwork, the Base Commander and a civilian showed up—this was the one and only time, I met the Base Commander up close! This was a scary meeting for me! The civilian identified himself as Mr. Amens, the head of CAMAE Supply on the swing shift. I had heard about Mr. Amens, and everything I heard had been bad! Now I was doubly scared. Mr. Amens asked me who I was, since he was familiar with the Priority Section’s swing shift personnel. His and the general’s reaction to my answer was amazing. Mr. Amens said, in an incredulous voice, "You mean you are working overtime?" He wrote something down on a pad he had. The general said, "Good job, Airman". Then, they walked off.

The next day, the colonel in charge of our department received a letter about me that said things like: "…a credit to the Air Force…" I was congratulated for making the department look good and I thought that was the end of it.

However, a few days later, Mr. Amens came to our Section and he took me aside and told me that he was taking over the entire supply system--on dayshift--and wanted me to be his personal assistant! Now I didn’t want to go to work for a guy who had such a bad reputation but I knew that refusing his offer would be bad for me, so I took his offer.

I was given an office next to Mr. Amens and next to a full bird colonel’s office. My office had been a major’s--who had rotated home. Among my many duties was supervising 21 French typists and checking all their work for errors. I also rounded up reports that were due and presented them to the proper authorities for signing.

Mr. Amens liked me and was impressed with my competence. I never had any problems with him. In fact, he would often tell me I was the only military man he ever met that was intelligent. He and I became good friends and he would sometimes take me to his house for dinner. His wife, who was a beautiful blond German, was also a good cook.

Mr. Amens was good to me, I got a permanent pass and access to the entire base, plus I could wear civilian clothes instead of uncomfortable AF issue. I could also take off any time I wanted, so instead of standing in line at the laundry like everyone else after 5 PM, I just went earlier when no one and no lines were there. In addition, if I caught up with my work and told Mr. Amens, I could take a few days vacation off.

     Mr. Amens rescues me from the Military

Working for Mr. Amens got me out of all Alerts, Guard Duty, Parades, and GI Parties (GI parties are barracks scrub-downs and clean ups—mostly designed to harass the troops). On top of that I got taken off the roster to act as Clean Up Man—to clean a floor and the latrine of the barracks for an entire day—a duty that came around every 2-3 months.

Now the Sqdn commander did not like the fact that he could not put me on any duty roster or harass me like the rest of the soldiers. Therefore, he raised hell all the way up the military command, but Mr. Amens outranked everyone but the Base General so he prevailed and I was free from what I termed "stupid duties". The Sqdn commander called me into his office and told me that although he may have not have won the battle, he would not quite trying. It was obvious he didn’t like me—so I told him I was sorry, that I didn’t have anything to do with the decision—and that it was all Mr. Amens’ fault. I don’t think he believed me. Moreover, I had hinted to Mr. Amens that if I had Sqdn duties, I might not be there for important work needs. Therefore, I had it made! That is, until it was time for me to rotate home!