I’m doing this thing even if it’s illegal …
This is a draft chapter from my upcoming book; working title “Air Force Medic.”
My road to becoming an air force medic started back in New Hampshire when I visited an armed forces recruiting office one day after finishing work. I got the idea to go there from a co-worker. Only a few years older than me, I looked up to him for two reasons. First, he had specialized machinist skills. And, second, when we stood talking, if I wanted to speak to his head instead of his shoulders, I had to look up.
Before I could become an air force medic, I had to join the air force. I think it’s appropriate to tell the story of how and why I joined.
My life situation had some issues. I dropped out of the University of New Hampshire and now worked at an electronics firm as a ‘no-skills’ laborer. I lived at home with my parents and yet had a hard time making ends meet financially.
You see, my Dad didn’t believe in freeloaders. So, I could live at home but I had to pay rent. Then Dad let me borrow $1,200 bucks to buy a rust-bucket, junk-pile, dirty-green Chevy Nova to get back and forth to work. My no-skills job paid a little over a hundred bucks a week. Magically, it turns out my rent and car loan repayments came out to nearly the same amount – amazing. So, after paying Dad each week I had virtually no money left over.
My rust bucket Nova didn’t run by itself. It needed gas. Gas costs money, about ten bucks a week. Then there’s registration, insurance and maintenance for my beloved Nova. My finances looked bleak, always more month than money.
I looked to Dad for relief. But, he wasn’t having any of it. “How much do you pay for food? (Nothing) How much do I charge you for electricity? (Nothing) Who does your laundry? (Not me) I notice you put your clothes in the laundry and your mother takes care of it. Where you gonna find a deal like that? Tell you what, you find a better deal somewhere, you better take it. You don’t like it here, feel free to leave and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
Dad’s not into charity. I couldn’t argue with his good deal. He had me. My rent included food, utilities and Mom doing my laundry. Plus his good deal featured a particular ‘add-on.’ Here’s how he worded it, “Because you dropped out of school, you’re going to start paying rent and you’ll pay me back for the car loan,” then he hit me with add-on, “And, you’re going to do chores around the house. The first one on the list is mowing the lawn, that’s your job from now on.”
My heart sunk. Mowing the lawn is the worst. Why? Our lawn is extremely ‘non-standard.’ It’s a two or three hour job and involves lawnmower acrobatics. The back yard is sloped and you mow it using a rope attached to the lawnmower. You hold the rope and let the mower go down the bank and then pull on the rope to bring it back up the hill. It’s a pain in the butt. And, it’s a job we usually share. My two brothers, Dad and I would tackle it together making it much more manageable. But now, I got the task all to myself; mine and mine alone. I thought, ‘Aint it great, my living at home deal just kept getting better …’
Dad wasn’t interested in my protests, “Your brothers are going to college. They don’t have to mow the lawn. That’s your job now. You want to drop out of college; then you mow the lawn. You go back to college and you’ll get the same deal your brothers get. You go back to college and you don’t have to mow the lawn, your choice.”
I hated the idea of taking on solo lawn mowing duties, but I had no intention of going back to college. So, I mowed the lawn. It never occurred to me not to. It didn’t even enter my mind to skip this duty. That’s not how things worked with Dad. He said it’s my job … then it’s my job. I’ll do it.
You see, Dad’s not the kind of guy you argue with. Six foot two inches tall, flat top hair cut – when everyone else is sporting the Jesus look – mean as a black bear just woken up from hibernation, and not into discussing anyone’s ‘feelings’ about anything.
My prospects weren’t good. I looked desperately for answers. I even resorted to asking my twenty four year old machinist co-worker who I hardly knew, “What would you do if you were twenty-one like me and just getting started?” I had no clue, no answers; a lost soul. It showed.
The machinist stopped, lifted up his safety glasses, tilted his head down so he could look me in the eye and said, “If I had to do it all over again, I’d join the military and learn a trade.”
I’m not proud of my reaction. I had all I could do to keep my eyes from watering … ‘Oh my God, the military? Has my life gotten so bad that the military is my best option?’ I didn’t want to hear that. Out of all the possible answers, I never would have guessed he’d recommend the military. ‘Am I that much of a wreck? Is my life that much of a disaster?’
Then I remembered a guy who came to our electronics plant a week ago delivering goods. We used to play youth hockey together. I liked him, good guy. We talked and he told me, “I’m joining the army. They got great programs, I got a guaranteed job. The pay and benefits are pretty good. I leave in two weeks.”
He sounded excited about going into the army. I discounted it at the time but now, as I relived his words, I wondered, ‘Maybe I should look into this military thing. Can’t hurt, I got nothing to lose.’
The seed had been planted. I began to come around to the possibility of checking out the military, see what’s on offer.
So, after work that day, instead of driving home to Pelham, I drove to Nashua. I somehow managed to find the armed forces recruiting center on the south side of town. I got out of my dirty green Nova, walked up to the glass door, pulled the handle and entered the building.
Once inside, I stood in a long hallway with four doors, two on each side. Above each door a long slender sign projected out. I walked up to the first sign and read it, “Navy.” I thought, ‘Navy. That sounds good. I like the navy. Dad likes the navy. I like ships. Yeah, let’s check out the navy.’
And, with that, I made a right turn into the navy office.
I observed the man in military uniform behind the desk. He didn’t look up. He kept writing. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to interrupt him, but I wanted to somehow make him aware of my presence. I looked at the empty chair in front of his desk. For some reason I made the decision to sit in the empty chair.
I sat and the navy man continued with his paperwork. I felt awkward, ‘Maybe I should get back up and knock on the door? Should I clear my throat, make a noise to get him to acknowledge me?”
I continued sitting quietly and became more and more embarrassed. ‘This man is ignoring me. I’m invisible.’
Finally, the man in uniform behind the desk looked up and said, “Whaddaya want?”
I didn’t expect that question. I figured it’s self-explanatory … recruiter’s office, young confused looking lad … I scrambled for an answer. The real answer, ‘I have no idea’ didn’t seem appropriate. The truth – yes, but the truth didn’t seem to be the way to go. I wasn’t sitting in the Nashua New Hampshire navy recruiting office because … I knew what I was doing. No sir, I didn’t come because I had answers. Instead, I came looking for answers.
I stammered, “I’m wondering about the Navy. Just came in to get some info.” I felt like Oliver Twist when he asked, “Please sir, may I have some more?” … begging … desperate.
My navy guy sized me up and quickly made a decision in the best interest of the United States Navy, “I’m all full up. We don’t need anyone right now, we’re good. Maybe the other services are looking. Go see the army, I think they’re recruiting.” Then he went back to his paperwork and continued writing.
I sat in the chair for a few seconds wondering what just happened. ‘Let me get this straight, even the navy doesn’t want me? Oh boy, my life is further down the tubes than I realized.’ I collected my shattered ego, lifted myself off the chair and walked through the door back out into the long hallway.
I wanted to turn left and leave the building but some unknown force caused me to turn right and look up at the next closest door with the “Army” sign. I crossed the hallway, looked inside the “Army” door and beheld an incredible scene. A man in military uniform sat at a big wooden desk busily working on paperwork. In front of the big wooden desk sat a tripod machine gun with a magazine belt wrapped around and draped onto the floor. A wall of sandbags surrounded the machine gun. I tried to make sense of this office décor.
I made a split second decision with logic as follows, ‘OK, I’m desperate, but maybe I should check out these other two doors and then if they don’t work out, see this army guy as my last option.’ For some reason, I didn’t see the machine gun nest as a plus. It intimidated me. It seemed too radical; too over the top. I wondered what kind of guy would work in an office with a machine gun nest display. I didn’t have a military bone in my body, and therefore the scene took me by surprise. I wanted to join the military and learn a trade. What trade? I had no idea. But ‘machine gun specialist’ is not what I had in mind. I should have looked at the Army guy’s set up as brilliant and adventurous. After all, it’s what the army does. But, I wasn’t ready for that kind of adventure yet.
I checked out door number one and door number two, now I headed for doors three and four. Door three on the left caught my eye first because it was closer than door four. The sign over door three read “Marines.” I headed for it. I didn’t know anything about the marines. I figured, ‘Can’t hurt to look. Can’t hurt to ask, see what they got.’ But, before I could make the left turn into the “Marines” door, a man in a fancy blue uniform darted out into the hallway. He looked way overdressed – formal blue jacket, light blue shirt, dark blue tie, polyester blue pants, and black shoes shinier than the midday sun.
My formal dressed military man came out of door number four, way at the end of the hallway on the right side. He landed in the middle of the hallway with his feet planted as if a shortstop ready to catch a line drive. His huge open mouth smile reminded me of my last visit to the dentist. That’s how I smiled when the dentist said, ‘open wide.’ He extended his right hand and without altering his massive dental office smile, blurted out, “Hi, I’m Tony!”
My right hand reached up and Tony shook it as if I told him he won a million bucks in the lottery. He acted as if glad to meet me. I didn’t understand. ‘Why would this successful looking person be glad to meet me? Makes no sense.’ I responded to Tony’s greeting like a real pro, only one word, “Hi.” When I say ‘pro’ I’m mean a clueless professional. Nobody could do ‘clueless’ better than me.
Tony put his left arm around my back and guided me into a new world, the world of door number four, the door with the sign that read “Air Force.”
“What’s your name young man?” Tony asked.
I mentally tumbled. He called me ‘young man.’ And, he asked me in a respectful manner. I wasn’t used to being talked to in a respectful way, especially by someone in a position of authority. Tony looked like ‘authority’ to me.
“Sean,” I mumbled.
Then Tony took over. He launched into a monologue, “What job do you want Sean? We got any job you can think of? Let me tell you about the benefits. Pay, five hundred a month. But, that’s only to start. If you got some college you’ll get one stripe right after basic training. Hey, that’s more pay. And, you get to keep the money cause, you get free room and board, you get a meal ticket, free food, all included in the deal. And, check this out, you get free medical, free dental and this is my favorite, thirty days paid vacation every year. And, what you don’t use carries over to the next year. Heck I’ve got over sixty days saved already. How many employers give you those kind of benefits? OK, what job do you want?”
I wanted to jump up and hug this blue suit guy named Tony because he handed me the answer, the answer to my problem. He gave me the way out of my dead end job and my ‘good deal’ living at home. Yes, I felt like he just told me I won the lottery. He had me at five hundred bucks a month. That’s more than I was making working full time.
I began my own silent monologue, ‘Five hundred a month? Free room and board? Free medical and dental? Thirty days paid vacation a year? How come I never heard about this before? This is too good to be true. How come this is the first time I heard about this? How do you keep something this good a secret? This is my answer. It gets me out of the house, out of my dead end job. It’s what I’ve been looking for. I’m in. Even if this thing is illegal, I don’t care, I’m doing it.’
Tony waved a pamphlet with rows and rows of job titles and repeated his question, “OK Sean, what job you want?” He continued, “Look here, munitions maintenance specialist, or weather specialist, here’s one you might like, crew chief, those are the guys that keep the planes flying.”
I gave another pro response, “Did you say five hundred a month?”
“Yes I did. Do you have any college?”
“I attended UNH for two semesters, business major.” Yes, I attended the University of New Hampshire in the fall of 1978 and spring 1979. I hated it. Good school, bad student.
“Great, just show your transcripts and you’ll get one stripe right after basic training. That’s more money in your pocket after only six weeks in.
“OK, what job do you want? You can pick three and we’ll see if you qualify. You’ll have to do well on the ASVAB test, but I can tell you’ll do well, so let’s pick out the job you want and get the process started.”
The ASVAB (armed services vocational aptitude battery) is a test you take when you enlist in the military.
I looked at the pamphlet and the list of jobs. I didn’t see any that looked better than any other. I kept thinking back to, ‘five hundred dollars a month.’ After a few moments of silence I looked up at Tony and gave another professional response, ‘I’m not fussy, I’ll take any job.’
Tony didn’t like that answer, “No, you got to pick a job. You don’t have to do it right now. Here, take the pamphlet, go home, talk it over with your parents, and then decide what job you want. In the meantime, I’ll schedule you to take the ASVAB, I know you’ll ace it. Then we’ll get the paperwork started to get you the job you want, guaranteed.”
I left Tony’s office. I left the building. I never did meet up with “Marines” in door number three.
I liked Tony. He treated me like an important person. I liked this ‘air force’ thing. I made my decision, if they’ll have me, I’m going in; I’m joining the air force.
I didn’t talk to my parents about my visit to the recruiter. I figured it might backfire. They might try to talk me out of it. I couldn’t risk it.
I reviewed the air force job list. Nothing stood out. I simply didn’t care what job I had. I wanted to join and go wherever they needed me. I figured ‘no matter what job I get, it still pays that crazy five hundred a month.’
I met Tony the next day.
“When do you want to go in Sean?” Tony asked.
I gave another top flight answer, “Right now.”
“Oh, you can’t go right now. The quickest I can get you in is three months and that’s if you go in open general. You don’t want that. You want a guaranteed job. What job did you pick?”
“If I get a guaranteed job, how long will it take to go in?” I asked.
“Could be up to one year, depends on the needs of the air force. But, most guaranteed jobs will take at least six months. You’ll have to wait at least six months for most jobs. For the really good jobs, could be up to one year.”
I didn’t want to wait six months. I didn’t want to wait at all. I was ready to go now.
“I’d rather go in as soon as I can. I’m not worried about the job. I’ll take whatever you got.”
“Well, like I said, I can get you in in three months. But, you’ll have to go in ‘open general’ which means no guaranteed job. You’ll find out your job at the end of basic training. It’ll be based on the needs of the air force. They could give you anything. You could get lucky, but I’d recommend you get a guaranteed job so you know what you’ll be doing, no surprises. But, you’ll have to wait at least six months. Are you sure you want to go in open general?
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Three months later, mom woke me up saying, “Sean, get your ass out of bed, you’re supposed to be at the recruiting station at eight – too bad if you’re hung over from your going away party with the boys last night.”
Yes, my head pounded. I shouldn’t have gone out the night before, but I couldn’t turn down a last night out with the boys before going in the service. I enjoyed hanging out and getting ribbed about joining the air force. But I over did it. I overachieved in the drinking department, I ‘danced’ and now I had to pay the fiddler.
Yes, in the three months before joining the air force, I eventually told mom and dad. I told my mom first. I hardly talked to my dad so it was easier not to tell him. But, one day Dad and I were out in the front yard shoveling dirt and generally getting along. He and I had a ‘good mood’ thing going. Finally I blurted out, “Hey dad, did you hear, I joined the air force?”
Dad didn’t miss a beat. He kept right on shoveling. I thought he’d be surprised. I thought he’d stop and give me his best ‘deer in the headlights’ look. Instead he continued throwing dirt across the driveway and calmly said, “Yeah, I heard.” That’s it, no emotion, no elevated response, no nothing.
I wondered how he knew, ‘Mom must have told him. Course, that’s it, but I told mom not to say anything. Why did she tell him?’
I stood with my shovel in rest positon watching dad work. ‘I just told this guy I’m joining the air force and he doesn’t give a damn.’
I wanted to know what my dad thought about my decision to join. I figured the best way to find out is ask him, so I fired off a second question, “So, whadda’ya think?”
That did it. Dad stopped working. He held his shovel by his side, looked me straight in the eye, and growled, “I think it’s the best damn thing you ever done in your whole life!”
I liked that. I liked what dad said. It made me happy. My dad approved. Yes, he’s OK with my crazy decision to join the air force.
He followed up his approval with an add-on, “I would have liked it better if you were going to Parris Island, but the air force will do.”
Marine Corps boot camp is located on Parris Island, South Carolina.
I leapt out of bed, through on pants, shirt and shoes and flopped into the car front passenger seat. Mom sped down the driveway and headed for Nashua.
When Mom pulled the car into the recruiting station parking lot, Tony, dressed immaculately in his air force uniform, smiled and waved. I poured myself out of the front seat. He cheerfully and patiently waited for me showing no concern for my lateness.
Mom can be a hoot. That morning, she let her ‘inner hoot’ come out. She let it be known she wasn’t too proud of her oldest son. As I made my wobbly exit from the car, Mom looked through the open passenger door smiling and waving at Tony. Tony waived back. They seemed to enter into a waiving and smiling contest, whoever ‘out-smiles’ and ‘out waves’ the other … wins. Mom sported the most conniving smile. It’s the smile you make when you’re apologizing. It’s the smile you make when you accidently cut someone off on the highway. It’s the smile you make when you want to die of embarrassment. Mom followed up her conniving smile by yelling out to Tony across the parking lot, “Do something with him, will you?”
