There was no other sound quite like it. First I
heard a thunderous deep bass rumble, soon joined by a high-pitched, banshee
howl. The thunder shook me, and the howl had me plugging my ears. It came from
the biggest thing I had ever seen in the air.
I was a ten-year old kid. The first time I heard
and saw what was producing that noise; it scared the hell out of me. After
that, each time it reappeared I stopped, watched and listened—as kids tend to
do.
My father was a career Air Force officer. I was
brought up mostly on a series of Air Force Bases. They were filled with many
wondrous, deadly and unusual sights and sounds.
Fourth of July weekend seems an appropriate time
to drop the shield of adult cynicism and take a quick wallow in the nostalgia
of childhood. Oh, hell, I’m of Irish descent. We Irish would dominate the
Nostalgic Wallow at the Masochist Olympics.
Except for the occasional duck and cover
drill, kids like me were pretty much kept protected from
the-things-that-worried-adults back then. I’ll leave the bad stuff to
historians for now. But for a ten-year-old service brat like me, it was a time
more in tune with Norman Rockwell than the Hard Rock Café.
Just one base visited on this particular wallow,
or we might be here until fall. Let’s go with Eglin AFB, near Fort Walton Beach
in the Florida panhandle, about midway between Pensacola and Panama City.
Currently Ft. Walton Beach and environs are a
bustling tourist destination. Back in my day it wasn’t just sleepy, it was
positively narcoleptic. Watching Spanish Moss and Cape Jasmine were the only
nightlife and endless miles of white silver sand were not yet covered with
cheek-by-jowl condos and hotels.
Dr. Pepper was my drink of choice when I got to
choose. It was only available in six-ounce non-returnable glass containers with
“10-2-4” printed on the side. *
It was in Ft. Walton Beach, at the Seagull
restaurant, where this Brooklyn born kid discovered Hush Puppies—the food not
the shoe. At the base swimming hole I chased Stingrays—the sea creature not the
sports car. When you swam at the place called Ben's Lake, you watched out for
Ol' One Ear, the irritable alligator who (it was rumored) feasted on small dogs
and bad children.
I’d only been there a few days when I saw a
“Peacemaker” take off. There was no irony to the plane’s name back then—its job
was to keep the Cold War from warming up. The Convair B-36 was the biggest
bomber the US ever built. It took six pusher-prop piston engines mounted on the
back of its wings and four whistling jets below them to get a fully loaded one
airborne. Hence the racket. It was nicknamed the “Aluminum Overcast” and could
fly to Russia and back, we were told. It never did. But the sound it made was cooler
and scarier than anything I’ve ever heard this side of a Lamborghini.
I remember the sudden thump-THUMP! of
sonic booms as F-86 Sabre Jets dove thru the sound barrier. Soon, F-100
Super Sabres would do that in level flight. They tested the new stuff at Eglin.
I remember rushing out and putting our rotating
lawn sprinkler on top of the car the moment I saw a low-flying C-47 strafing
neighborhood mosquitoes with DDT. The spray killed bugs, ruined car paint, and
did Lord knows what to the human body. Who knew back then?
Shark Weak
I remember the exciting news that a new
Gulfarium was ready to open in Ft. Walton Beach. This was followed by the bad
news that the opening would be delayed while they drained the main tank of
shark viscera. Someone had the bright idea of putting porpoises in with sharks.
Porpoises kill Sharks. Who knew back then?
There was a Hurricane party. The women and kids
had to fend for themselves since Papa pilots were ordered to fly the valuable
airplanes off the base and out of danger. The Moms gathered together in the
living room lessening the chance of injuries from flying glass by thoughtfully
emptying bottles of gin, one Martini at time.
Meanwhile us kids were conducting experiments to
see how well scraps of paper dipped in melted wax would burn. Not very
well, as it turned out. The Hurricane decided to go elsewhere before we
solved the wax problem.
I remember the smell of my Dad’s leather
binocular case as I sat in the announcer's booth with him, watching the Eglin
Eagles battle Pensacola Navy. Dad volunteered to be stadium announcer and I
helped him identify the players. Military teams were very good then. Former
Bear end and coach Jim Dooley played for Eglin and other NFL talent found
service ball was one way to meet your military obligation.
We swam at the Officer’s Beach Club on the
Gulf. This was well before “Jaws.” If a lifeguard yelled “Shark!, “
folks would amble or mosey out of the water. If he warned of Portuguese
Man of War sightings, people skedaddled at high speed. People used words
like “skedaddle” back then.
Sleep? Don’t Sweat It
There was no air-conditioning. I remember the
rattling of the oscillating fan at night. It rattled better than it moved air.
Some nights you just slept in your sweat.
Most Sundays, after Mass, Mom and Dad stopped by
the base Officer’s Club for a couple of drinks and some socializing. Kids
weren’t allowed in the bar, of course, so I was deposited on the porch reading
room. There I downed a procession of Dr. Peppers and read magazines.
It may be why I became a writer. Writers are allowed in bars.
I remember the absolute authority of the Sisters at
St. Mary's elementary school in Ft. Walton Beach. The nuns had those big, 15 Decade Rosaries
wrapped around them, and used the weighted crucifixes as a Bolo. They could
pick off a feasting fly or sleeping student at 25 yards. They never had to.
Sure, the old Halo effect has set in and all but
wiped out the bad memories, but back then, growing up on an Air Force Base
wasn't such a bad life for a kid at all.
*The
10-2-4 was a not-so-subtle suggestion that you down three Dr. Pepper’s a day—at
ten AM, and again at two and four in the afternoon.