UP, UP AND AWAY
.....from chapter #3
When I left Richmond on my way into the United States air force, I thought my musical endeavors were over for good. Not quite. Some how my thirst for music was still there. When I went into the service, I was in great physical shape. Jackie Wilson, the Isley Brothers and James brown, were my idols, and I did everything I could to imitate their moves, including elaborate splits and slides and flips. I had just ended a short bout with some local yokels who were posing as a singing group trying to imitate other local yokels, eking their way into minimum fame, groups like, Bill Dogett, Little Walter and the Rhytmettes, and George Green and the Satellites. I lived right next door to one of the guys from the “Jarmels”(‘A little bit of soap’). His name is Mike. He had a great bass voice. I think this guy had one of the original offers to try out for the N.Y. Mets. He was a great ball player too. He could play the whole out-field all alone and would often throw me out at first base, from center field. Hell, I wasn’t that slow. He was just fast. Unfortunately his opportunities were too little, too late, the newspaper told everyone how difficult it would be for him to play ball with handcuffs on. I was happy to know that he couldn’t throw my ass out any more. It was embarrassing.
.....from chapter # 4
“ CHOW RUNNER… MAKE IT ”
My first day in Texas was a memorable one. Our training instructor was as sweet as could be when he met us at the airport. I later changed my mind about him, after he lined us up on the tarmac and informed us that from now on we would be known as “Blue Birds”, a name routinely given to new recruits in the air force. He allowed us to be amused by that statement, and that was the only humor we heard from him for some time. It was at least a hundred and ten degrees as we all stood at attention for the first time as an official military troop. We looked like rejects from “f” troop, standing there in our amazing variety of civilian clothes.
I had been holding my bladder from the time we were picked up at the airport and delivered to the base, and was feeling very uncomfortable, standing in the blazing sun and felling weary from the plane flight from Richmond to Texas. The t. I. (training instructor) started to walk along the four lines of men, ten men in each line. He paused slightly to ask each man to state his name and where he was from. Sometimes he made comments about the recruits’ home place, accents, and appearance. Finally he reached the guy standing to my left. I was still holding it, and feeling a little giddy after listening to some of the humorous comments he was making about the other guys. By that time the sun had burned a black patch onto my forehead and I had lost all sense of being. Then he started commenting on the airman’s corduroy pants, plaid wool shirt, and cowboy boots that rose well up to the calf of the leg with the pants stuffed inside the boots. Keep in mind, were in San Antonio Texas and its a hundred and ten degrees.
The T. I., reminded me of
“Snoopy”, as he looked up and down the troop in total discuss, and said with a
deep southern drawl,” boy, what is this shit that you have on?” “Where did you
git that shit from, boy?”…”Huh?”…”What shit dump did you git that shit from
boy?” He was yelling at the kid with all his might, right next to my ear. At
that time I was bursting at the seams, trying with all my might not to laugh,
but given all the circumstances I was in, it became impossible to hold back
any longer. All of a sudden, I burst out with laughter, which immediately
deteriorated into hysterics as the TI continued to harass the new troop. Of
course my actions caused the hold military atmosphere to collapse. This caused
the rest of the group to literally fall out of ranks with laughter, and all of
my emotions came to fruition. I no longer had to go to bathroom, and I was on
my hands and knees, crippled with pain from laughing .it was too late now, I
couldn’t hold back any longer. I didn’t care. I was out of control of my self.
I had a chronic case of the ‘sillies’.
Yes, that's me, bottom row, second from the left.
After the TI regained control of the group, it was now my turn. The whole incident was so outrageous; the instructor was totally flustered as he tried to retain military composure. I could see him dying inside from the pain of withholding laughter. I could see his face cracking from the stress that I had inadvertently placed upon him. I couldn’t take him seriously at all, because he reminded me of snoopy with that stupid looking fatigue cap, pulled down over his eyes and his deep drawl. He was not a happy camper. He turned to me and said, “boy, since you think it’s so funny, you’re gonna be the chow runner, boy.” Then he made me get out of line and stand in front of all the troops, leaving behind a big wet spot on the ground where I was standing. I would have been embarrassed, but I was still feeling too silly to care. I wasn’t sure what a chow runner was, so the suspense gave me an opportunity to cool down and compose myself. Finally I started to feel better, now that I had relieved myself, and the sun that was frying my forehead was now cooking the back of my head but it was a bit more tolerable. The sun was so hot, my black hair turned red and my skin turned purple. I was starting to look like a buddy I had in Richmond. His nickname was “Blue”. He was so black; he had to wear lights on his head, when he went out at night. That’s how much the sun was cooking my ass, plus it didn’t take long for me to dry up.
The instructor knew in his heart that he had met a good one, when he met me, because I had already placed him in an awkward position before he had actually met me. He was surprised by my behavior under those circumstances. After all, we were in the military now, and I’m sure that one was expected to behave better than that. I’m sure he thought he had seen it all until I showed up. Then he began to explain what a chow runner was. A chow runner is the troop that is allowed to leave the rest of his flight upon a signal or command given by his training instructor. His job is to make a mad dash to the chow hall and obtain a place in line with the other chow runners from the other flights of men in training. Each flight of men contains forty men, and there must have been a few thousand men that had to be fed in the hall simultaneously. The idea was first come, first served. The first runner that arrived at the hall would be the ticket for his flight to eat first, thereby, allowing his group to get the freshest, hottest, food, and sometimes the best choices of food. Being first, also allowed your group to take more time eating and relaxing, because everyone had to be served within a certain time slot, and there were no exceptions. If the runner was slow or for some reason got a late start, he would eat late. There may have been thirty chow runners forming the initial line. The second group, represented by the second runner ate second and so on.
After the trainer explained the task to me, I felt better, and took the task to heart. I later realized that the TI. Was perplexed about what to do with me, because everything happened so fast that he simply wasn’t sure what to do with me. He probably saw leadership qualities in me, because I was so bold and crazy with my actions. The runner’s position was a pleasure when you were one of the first few runners in line, but if you were tenth or twenty-fifth, then the position became a punishment. Not only would the guys hound you in your flight, but also you would get it from your TI as well. Also, if you were persistent at being last in line, you would have to do extra running on your own time in an effort to become faster. Underneath it all, the job was pure punishment for me, because I had asthma at the time, but I never said anything about it because I had too much pride and didn’t want to be seen as a wimp. But they still managed to run my asthma off; “Chow runner, make it.”