Tag: Air Force

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When Things Don’t Work, by Ricky

I suppose I should begin with When I Don’t
Work.  As a boy and teen, I was in a
perpetual state of work avoidance.  It
didn’t matter if it was chores at home or homework for school, I did not want
to do it.  When Mom asked me to do the
vacuuming and dishes, I would do the vacuuming but would delay doing the dishes
until it was very late and I had to go to bed before school the next day.  As for the homework, I did do that, but
procrastinated as long as possible.
The skill of procrastination did not serve me
well when I attended Sacramento State College right out of high school in
1966.  My English 101 class introduced me
to adult fantasy novels.  The professor
told us that his professional colleagues thought he was crazy to teach his
selected book of ‟trash” as English Literature. 
Our professor told us that we would be reading and discussing the story because
it was the up-and-coming genre of literature. 
He was so very correct as the book we studied is Tolkien’s Lord of
the Rings.  I got so involved in the
story that I neglected most of my studies for two weeks and got so far behind I
was demoralized and so went on academic probation at the end of the
semester.  I then did not even try the
next semester so I flunked out of my first year of college.  I was still very immature.
After losing my academic deferment, I managed to
join the Air Force to avoid being drafted into the Army or Marine Corps.  I worried about the draft for nothing.  While I was attending Air Force basic
training, I received my draft notice—for the Navy.
The Air Force was good for me.  It gave me a safe place to finish growing up
and also taught me team work, skill with administrative work, a bit of
self-discipline, kept me out of Vietnam, and even paid me to learn.  Who could have asked for more?  After three years with my assigned unit, I
was selected to set up a newly organized squadron’s administrative section for
the squadron commander and first sergeant. 
It turned out that I really must have been a good worker as I was given
two medals for the work I did throughout my enlisted time.
I continued to work until a couple of years
following my wife’s passing.  Then my
depression was so bad I reverted back to my youth and avoided work whenever
possible.  Then after ten-years of
self-pity, I began to come alive again and sought out things to do that were
not work but mostly recreation.  I do
have modest financial stability through the VA, Civil Service retirement, and
Social Security but I needed to supplement my income a little bit, so after a
two-year search, I finally landed a position as a cashier in an adult video
store where I worked from 1 August 2012 through June 2016.
Now when things other than me don’t work, I react
totally different.  My behavior divides
according to specific scenarios.  The
first is, if the not-working thing is my property and can be fixed.  If I can fix it, I will try and do so.  If I cannot fix it, I send it to or call in a
repairman.  If that is not possible, I
will replace it or do without.
Second scenario is where the not-working thing is
a large project, if it is to be fixed, such as replacing the floor and wall
tile in a bathroom.  When I was in my
20’s, Deborah and I did just that.  I
know exactly how much work it was.  At my
age now, I am totally against do-it-yourself projects.  If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it.  If it is broken, call in an expert repair
person and pay the price.
The third scenario consists of not-working things
that I have no direct control over.  The
prime example of this is Republican obstructionism in Congress for the past
six-plus years, known to me as the Bonner Do Nothing Republican Congress.  The only thing I can do about that is vote
and write letters.  Another example is
potholes in city or county roads.  I can
notify the authorities where the potholes are but nothing is done.  Then there are the roads which are repaved
and repainted and 3 to 6-months later, dug up to replace water or sewer
lines.  The powers that be don’t
coordinate getting the underground work done before the repaving, so streets
are often disrupted longer than necessary.
My number one pet peeve I believe falls into the
category of things that don’t work. The movie and theater industry repeatedly
miscast actors in their productions. 
Specifically, beginning with Maude Adams, productions of Peter Pan
have featured women in the title role. 
Barrie’s manuscripts clearly indicate that Peter was small and still had
all his baby teeth.  He was not an adult
woman or a teen-age boy.  At least Walt
Disney used a 12-year old Bobby Driscoe as the model for the Disney animators;
he just used the wrong aged model.  This
past week there was another made for TV broadcast production, Peter Pan
Live, staring yet another adult female as Peter.  I am sure it was a good performance, although
I did not watch it.  Not to take anything
away from the actress and other cast members, the performance was still a
travesty.  The casting system is broken
and does not work with regards to Peter Pan and I am powerless to do
anything but complain.  Very frustrating
for me as Peter Pan is my all-time
favorite prepubescent story from childhood.
Anyone who has seen the musical Oliver,
knows there are many talented youngsters who can sing and dance.  If you search YouTube, you can find videos of
the search for and training of the actors who ended up playing Billy Elliott in
the American version stage play.  It is
nearly unbelievable the amount of talent children have.  There is absolutely no reason to keep casting
adult women as Peter.
Fortunately, someone has finally come along to
end my frustration.  While in a movie
theater this past week, I saw a preview of a new Peter Pan movie to be released
in the summer of 2015 titled, Pan. 
The role of Pan finally has been assigned to a young boy, one more
closely age appropriate and accurate to the original story.  The story itself is another prequel, but I
don’t care about that.  I just want to
see a more realistic Peter Pan.  So for
me, I can see that someone in the movie industry is actually trying to make
literary accurate movies whose cast actually resembles the characters in the
novels.
Just because some things don’t work, doesn’t mean
that someone cannot begin to fix them. 
Maybe there is hope for Congress too.
© 7 December 2014 / revised 3 Feb 2017
About the Author 
I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale
and then in Redondo Beach.  Just prior to
turning 8 years old in 1956, I was sent to live with my grandparents on their
farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents
divorced.
When united with my mother and stepfather two years later
in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California,
graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.  After three tours of duty with the Air Force,
I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until
her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11-2001
terrorist attack.
I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.   I find writing these memories to be
therapeutic.
My story blog is: TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com
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Carl’s Eulogy, by Cecil Bethea

MOM’S TRIP TO SEE HER BABY BOY
Two to three months after I joined
the Air Force, Mom came to visit me at Lowry, in Denver.  Not only was this my first time away, it was
the first time her favorite son had left her. 
Gary was still Lend-Lease. 
I took her to breakfast at the
recreation center (a bowling alley).  As
we were proceeding through the line, choosing from the offerings, Mom saw a
dismaying sight, a kid, much like her own kid, had chosen glazed doughnuts and
was carrying them around the neck of real cold bottle of beer.
I told her, that I was to be in a
parade and where it was to be.  She went
to the parade grounds, seeing an empty seat in a small bleacher section, she
decided it had a nice view and sat down. 
Just before the parade started, the section started to fill, she started
to scoot over, but they insisted she remain.
So the seating order was squadron
commander, adjutant, base commander (a Major General), Mom, another squadron
commander and his aide.  When the troops
passed in review, they stood.  Mom did
too.

THE TRIP TO ELITCH’S
Soon after the first trip to Denver,
Mom and Dad took their first family vacation. 
They came to visit me at Lowry, in Denver.  Mom, Dad, Carol, Mary Jo, and Sandra stayed
in a motel.
CONSPICUOUS CONSUMPTION
I took them to Elitch Gardens a
Denver landmark (and amusement park). 
Admission was minimal, $.10 or such, but the rides tickets were $.05
each and a ride required 2 – 9 tickets.
There dozens of rides.  Carol, a jaded 14, didn’t think much of it.
Mary Jo and Sandra were prime targets for an amusement park 8 and 10-years
old. 
The 5 cent tickets were going fast,
and we were rationing them pretty severely. 
Each ride required reconnoitering as to its ticket worthiness.  Then we came to a loop-o-plane that had
riders in the upper cars but no one in line. 
The ride operator recognized me as a fellow instructor at Lowry and saw
my family – he beckoned us forth and installed everyone in the empty
seats.  It was the usual gruesome ride (I
don’t like amusement parks) but it was free.
A little while later Mary Jo came
running with a several foot long strip of tickets.  When asked, she said, “Carl’s friend gave them
to me!”  Mom, in an uncharacteristic
gesture said, “In a town this big, someone knows you?”  She hugged me and rest of the evening was
spent in spending free tickets.

OUR TRIP OVER THE PASS
Mom, Cecil, and I set out to see the
wonders of Butte in 1975.  We went to the
mining museum at the top of the hill (not the present museum).  There were some things of interest but not
enough justify a trip all the way to Butte. 
We walked through the parking lot to the east side and a took a gander
at Butte, laid out in all of its splendor beneath us, the head frames and
trucks were all going with great busyness. 
I looked about discovered Mom had found something much more interesting,
this was the site of the Butte landfill. 
The trash and treasures of Butte were totally occupying her attention.
When I pried her away from the trash,
I asked where else she would like to go. 
She said, “over Shakalo Pass,” (between Butte and the Bitterroot
Valley).  I asked, “If she hadn’t already
been there, done that?”  She replied that
this time she wanted to ride and see it. I asked what she had done on previous
visits.  She replied, ”Carried a rock”.
It seems that was a narrow, steep
road that the family was traveling to the Bitterroot to pick beans.  Mom’s and her sister Virginia’s job was to
walk behind the wagon and each carry a rock to place behind the wheel when the
horses needed a rest.
  
NOT “GOING TO THE SUN HIGHWAY”
Mom grew up in Montana but was not
well traveled there.  Cecil and I offered
to take her to and over the “Going to the Sun” highway.  She most strenuously declined, “That thing is
dangerous, there are always cars falling off and killing people.”  I told her, that if that were the case, it
would be full of cars by now and no great threat.  She was adamant and “would have no truck with
such.
We had no more than returned to
Denver than a letter arrived with the front page of the GREAT FALLS TRIBUNE
featuring a lurid aerial shot of the Going to the Sun and the path to
destruction of its latest two victims.
Mom never did see Glacier Park, but
she did see Yellowstone on her honeymoon. 
She, and her new husband, were accompanied by her mother – his new
mother-in-law.
© 6 Mar 2006 
About the Author 
Although
I have done other things, my fame now rests upon the durability of my
partnership with Carl Shepherd; we have been together for forty-two years and
nine months as of today, August 18th, 2012.
Although
I was born in Macon, Georgia in 1928, I was raised in Birmingham during the
Great Depression.  No doubt I still carry
invisible scars caused by that era.  No
matter we survived.  I am talking about
my sister, brother, and I.  There are two
things that set me apart from people. 
From about the third grade I was a voracious reader of books on almost
any subject.  Had I concentrated, I would
have been an authority by now; but I didn’t with no regrets.
After
the University of Alabama and the Air Force, I came to Denver.  Here I met Carl, who picked me up in Mary’s
Bar.  Through our early life, we traveled
extensively in the mountain West.  Carl
is from Helena, Montana, and is a Blackfoot Indian.  Our being from nearly opposite ends of the
country made “going to see the folks” a broadening experience.  We went so many times that we finally had
“must see” places on each route like the Quilt Museum in Paducah, Kentucky and
the polo games in Sheridan, Wyoming.  Now
those happy travels are only memories.
I was
amongst the first members of the memory writing class.  While it doesn’t offer criticism, it does
offer feedback.  Also, just trying to
improve your writing helps no end.
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Cooking, by Will Stanton

James was a fantastically good cook, and I believe I have figured out
why.  There are several reasons that led
to his preoccupation with having enough food to eat and enjoying it.
To begin with, James knew hunger. 
He had very little to eat as a boy in Georgia and probably went hungry
quite often.  Although his father was
undoubtedly very intelligent (he could quote passages from the Bible merely
from having heard them at church), he was illiterate and could find only menial
work, which brought in very little money. 
They lived in a pre-Civil-War-era house without electricity and
sometimes had only collard greens for supper. 
As a growing boy, this lack of food frequently must have preyed upon
James’ mind.
James left home at age fifteen to make his own way.  During this time, he had very little money
and ate very little.  Probably the first
time he had a square meal was when he joined the Air Force.  Although he, at last, did not go hungry,
military chow doesn’t have a great reputation. 
It wasn’t until after he left the service and used the G.I. bill to
begin college that serendipity set him upon a path to learning about good
quality food, prepared well.
One rainy day in San Antonio, James took refuge inside the lobby of an
elegant hotel and sat down to study his French. 
In walked a well-dressed, older gentleman who immediately took notice of
James.  Did I mention that young James
was stunningly handsome, enough to turn heads? 
Well, he certainly did with Monsieur Charles Bois de Chêne, millionaire
from Lausanne, Switzerland.  Charles spoke to James in French, who also
replied in excellent French, James having inherited somehow an innately
brilliant mind and could learn rapidly. 
A strong friendship rapidly progressed to the point that Charles decided
to take James with him to Switzerland and France so James could gain greater
experience speaking French.
While traveling through France and Switzerland, James accompanied
Charles to operas and ballets, afterwards being taken to meet the casts.  They attended the exclusive Cannes Film
Festival.  And central to this story, he
certainly learned a lot about proper preparation and presentation of food.  This understanding and interest in food
stayed with him throughout the rest of his life.
Charles introduced James to elegant and varied meals among the
five-star resorts along Lake Como. 
Whenever they came across one of the famous French pâtisseries with
their all-too-tempting pastries, they indulged themselves so much that James
became concerned that those pastries easily could turn him into a cochon de
lait, or ”suckling pig,” the French idiom for someone who has become
rather chunky.   And, when they were in
Paris, they dined at the world-famous Hotel Ritz, where James came to truly understand
haute cuisine.
By the time I met James in Denver, he already had developed an interest
in cooking fine meals.  I know that I
have a natural instinct for knowing how to cook, and I have done so on
occasion; however, I never cared much for taking the time.  Before I had met James, I generally prepared
simple meals for myself.  Then after
James and I moved in together, James’ preference was to do the cooking, so I
generally assisted only as a sous chef, except when I was inspired to
create a favorite dish of mine.
James had many varied interests and excelled in them all, yet I am sure
that there remained a residual emotional scar from childhood when there was
virtually no food in his family’s house. 
As a consequence, he always made sure we had a full larder, including a
large pantry, extra storage on basement shelves, and in a large freezer in the
basement.
Because James enjoyed cooking so much, I bought him cookery gifts over
the years, such as a Cuisinart food processor, enameled, heavy-iron Le Crueset cook-pots, the best quality
mixer, Chinese woks, bread-maker, pasta-maker, crystal wine glasses, and a
large set of stoneware dinnerware.  While
we were together, we enjoyed hosting dinner-parties.  For a while, after he died of lung cancer, I
tried occasionally to continue that practice, but I finally lost heart and
suspended the practice.
I set the professional mixer on top of the refrigerator and covered it
with a plastic cover. I also covered the two dozen cook books.  The plastic covers have remained there now
going on twenty years.  An acquaintance
coveted my expensive Cuisinart and asked to buy it for only $20.  Because she supposedly is a friend, I agreed
and let it go for that.  Most of the
professional Le Crueset pots went in
a garage-sale.  Other pots and pans
remain, dust-covered, in the bottom drawer of my stove.  I have little interest in drinking wine, and
few people come to my house, so the crystal wine-glasses remain in the buffet,
unused.
Now my meals are what I call “utility eating.”  I prepare salads, heat a can of soup, make a
sandwich, or occasionally cook something simple on the stove-top.  The oven hasn’t been on in years.  I just don’t have the interest in preparing
varied and interesting meals just for myself. 
Perhaps the most used appliance in my kitchen is the old microwave.  Sometimes I think that, if I didn’t have a
microwave, I’d starve.
The one prevention for repetitive and boring meals for me, however, is
that I often have modest meals with friends out in various restaurants, nothing
fancy, just basic food.  And, that’s not
so much because of being able to order varied food which I don’t wish to bother
making for myself.  It is because of the
good company with my friends, which is especially important in my life right
now.
©
19 May 2016 
About the
Author 
I have had a life-long fascination with
people and their life stories.  I also
realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or
fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual
ones.  Since I joined this Story Time
group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group.  I do put some thought and effort into my
stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.
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Solitude Began Long Ago and Far Away by Ricky

          In my opinion, there are three types of solitude: of the
body, of the mind, and of both the mind and body simultaneously.  There are two sub categories of solitude:
self-imposed and externally imposed.  Each
of these categories and sub categories have degrees of effect and affectation
upon a person.
          The
following are examples:
TYPES
SELF-IMPOSED
EXTERNALLY
IMPOSED
Solitude
of the Body
Shutting oneself away from
contact with others; a hermit like existence.
Imprisoned; trapped by a
natural disaster; shipwrecked on a deserted island.
Solitude
of the Mind
Tuning out distractions while
reading or watching a movie; being in a crowd but feeling alone.
Being alone (not by choice)
with no TV, radio, telephone, or other common objects to occupy one’s
thoughts; being deaf and blind; being in a coma; Alzheimer’s Disease.
Solitude
of Both the Mind & Body
Becoming a hermit and
eschewing all means of communication with the “outside” world.
Being stranded somewhere without
resources or companionship.
          On a personal note, I have experienced self-imposed
solitude several times in my life beginning long ago and far away in 1953 at
the Hawthorne Christian School in Hawthorne, California.  My withdrawal from personal contact with
other peers occurred as the result of being punched in the stomach by someone I
thought was a friend.  I learned that my
peers were not safe.  Since my father was
the disciplinarian in our family, I already knew that I was not safe around
adults either.
          In December 1957, I was living on my grandparent’s farm
when my father informed me of his divorce from my mother.  In spite of two loving grandparents and a
sympathetic uncle, I realized that I was alone in a world where nothing is
safe, secure, or permanent.
          By June of 1958, my self-imposed solitude of the mind and
moderate solitude of the body became complete until I left home for military
service.  From the time my mother and
step-father came to Minnesota and returned me to Lake Tahoe, California, I have
been what most people would classify as a “loner”.  Living for my first summer at the Emerald Bay
Resort, I had no peer interaction except for the occasional young passengers on
my step-father’s tour boat.
          Having unintentionally proved to my mother that at 10-years
old I could properly care for my infant twin brother and sister, I became the
live-in babysitter for the next 9-years, which severely limited my after school
social life.  Still, I was not lonely but
I did learn to entertain myself with books and games with my siblings.  If I was not reading or playing, I
entertained myself in other ways.  If
anyone else had been around, they would have said of me that I was the “poster
child” for the saying, “Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop.”  I engaged in many risky behaviors.  The only reason I did not eventually end up
in reform school, was that I joined the Boy Scouts.
          Even in the scouts I was still alone.  As the oldest boy in the troop and the Senior
Patrol Leader, I had to set an example and thus did not have any close scout
friends.  I was closer to the scoutmaster
than any of the boys.  He was my “father
figure” in the absence of my real father and step-father.
          In college and the Air Force I had few to no close friends
and continued to remain aloof from others (still being in the closet didn’t
help).  My philosophy on friendship (due
to all the situations previously mentioned), was “I will be a friend but the
other person had to make the first move”. 
Apparently, nearly everyone I liked was doing the same so friendships
failed to materialize.
Eventually, I met Deborah
and we became good friends before we married. 
I had a good life with her, but I still was not thriving and was playing
a lone hand.  After she passed away, I
lost my joy of life and withdrew from everything I loved to do for 10-years
before I finally came out of depression.
My solitude did begin long
ago and far away, but it has followed me even to this day.  One other thing I’ve learned about solitude —
I don’t like it one little bit.  I crave
companionship for everything I like to do by way of entertainment.  I have only minimal fun doing things alone.  I am beginning to thrive but still have a
long way to go.  Perhaps if I live long
enough, I will be able to state, “I left my solitude long ago and far away.”

© 23 September 2013 

About the Author 

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in
Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach.  Just
prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on
their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my
parents divorced.
When united with my mother and stepfather two years later
in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California,
graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.  After three tours of duty with the Air Force,
I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until
her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11
terrorist attack.
I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.   I find writing these memories to be
therapeutic.
My story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.
Posted on

Point of View by Ricky

If one were to confine this topic to politics and politicians, there really is no such thing as “point of view” but only points of contention or disagreement. One only has to look at our present Congress to see the truth of this statement, which just happens to be my point of view on the subject of politics.

But leaving politics behind and moving to religion, a similar situation arises. Ephesians 4:5 states, “One Lord, one faith, one baptism …” but different Christian denominations baptize members using non-standardized methods and (in the case of children) at different ages. Some even claim that baptism is not even necessary. Wars have started over such points of contention.

So, leaving both politics and religion out of any further consideration I can limit my thoughts to points of view between common citizens. Obviously, disagreements between people can also escalate into confrontations which may or may not become violent. After all, points of view are dangerous in the wrong minds attached to uncontrollable mouths or a word processor. Therefore, I will continue to shrink the viewing of my points to the times I served in the U.S. Air Force.

I first served from December 1967 to September 1971 when I was released early to attend college as the Vietnam non-war was ending. I enjoyed my time in the service mostly because I was stationed in Florida after basic training and my Commander and First Sergeant were good and decent people who treated all the enlisted personnel under their authority very well. This I can contrast with my next period of service which began in May of 1978 when I graduated college.

The only thing I did not like about my enlisted time was being told where and when I could live somewhere. Between the end of my enlistment and my graduation, I had married and now where ever I lived my family would be with me so that particular peeve no longer applied. I returned to the Air Force as an officer in the Security Police career field. I spent the next 12-years supervising the enlisted force guarding nuclear missiles, nuclear armed bombers, and nuclear weapons in storage and the base law enforcement personnel, and also as a nuclear weapons convoy commander.

I was assigned to units of the Strategic Air Command (SAC). The military officer culture of SAC is tightly structured and controlled because SAC was always one-step closer to going to war than all other units of the Air Force. SAC’s official motto was “Peace is Our Profession.” The unofficial version was, “Peace is Our Profession—War is Our Hobby.” This is probably the last point where our points of view coincided.

POINT OF VIEW #1—Training – My View: Training activities are to be used to teach and improve performance of personnel. Their View: Any mistake in training is to be severely criticized and appropriate punishment inflicted. There are too many examples in my military life to even try to pick one, so I won’t.

POINT OF VIEW #2—Suggestions – My View: When a senior officer asks for comments, suggestions, or opinions, the person asking wants an answer, so respond. Their View: “I did not mean it. If you choose to answer, give me the answer I want to hear. Be a ‘Yes-man’.” (It took me way too long to realize this truth.)

I once reminded my colonel (the Security Police Group Commander) of a commitment he made to the personnel in my squadron. (I did this at the morning briefing with all the intermediate commanders in attendance. I was still a lieutenant.) He had told our personnel that he was going to visit each flight on the midnight-shift. I reminded him that he had done this for the other three flights but not my flight and the men had asked me about it. As a result, he came out and visited that very night. I took the opportunity to suggest that he ride with me and I gave him a tour of the nuclear weapons storage area and demonstrated a “starlight scope.”

The men had been complaining about the bag lunches delivered to them. The colonel just happened to be there when the lunches arrived and got to see them first hand. The men wanted to know why they could not have hot lunches delivered like the aircraft maintenance personnel who were brought hot lunches in specially insulated cabinets. Back-office personnel had known about this issue for over a year but had done nothing to make it happen. As a result of that visit and my suggestions, within a week hot meals were delivered and the starlight scopes were posted with the security patrols and not just kept locked up in the armory

Also, as a result, my commander and the back-office personnel took a strong dislike to me. My commander because in his point of view, I had jumped the chain-of-command and made him look bad or ineffective. The back-office personnel because in their point of view, I made them look lazy and uncaring. In my point of view, I had taken care of my men and enhanced the security of the base.

POINT OF VIEW #3—Disposition of Personnel – My View: The right person in the right position. Their View: Reward the “team-players” with positions on the day-shift.

In peace-time how do you evaluate the readiness and effectiveness of military personnel? There are perhaps several different methods, but the one I saw most often would be called dramaturgical behaviors—how well do personnel march; are their uniforms clean, starched, and shoes and metal parts shiny; is their military “bearing” above reproach; is all paperwork perfect in every way; and are their equipment or weapons clean and in good repair? In other words, does everything and everyone look good?

One variation of this concept I saw consistently throughout my career. The most knowledgeable and experienced officers and enlisted personnel were assigned to the day-shift where they could impress all commanders on base, who almost to the man, only worked day-shift hours. All the less knowledgeable officers and enlisted personnel worked the rotating swing and mid-shifts out of sight, while those who are responsible for training and observing performance sleep. My view point is that you should put the most experienced and knowledgeable personnel on shifts where they need little or no supervision while everyone else sleeps at night.

These are a few of the reasons why the Air Force decided we need to part company. Our points of view were never really compatible.

© 25 November 2013

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los
Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to
turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm
in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents
divorced.
When united with my mother and
stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at
South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.
After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where
I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from
complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the
summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

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Self Labeling by Ricky

Interestingly enough this topic is so two sided in the sense of positive and negative labeling (three or four sided if you consider the options of secret labels or deceptive labels). Perhaps a better way to describe labeling would be: uplifting, destructive, or even empowering. I leave it to each of you individuals to discover or categorize labels into whatever groups you desire.

When I was serving as an officer in the military in the position of a Flight Security Officer in charge of 40 enlisted nuclear missile security guards, at one point I was assigned to lead a flight of personnel who were not pulling together to get the job done smoothly without interpersonal problems. I was not the typical air force officer so, I did not impose “severe punishment” for trouble makers right off the bat when I took over. Instead, I did the following to defuse the problems by emphasizing the similarities between everyone.

At my first “guard mount” I had the men repeatedly organize themselves into different groups as I called out the categories (i.e., one group over here, another stand over there, etc.). The categories (labels) were: Republicans here, Democrats there, others by me; blacks to the right, whites to the left, American Indians across from me, others next to me; Catholics to the left, Protestants to the right, Jewish across from me, others next to me (and so fourth through…); enlisted vs officers; NCO’s vs non-NCO enlisted; rural vs urban origins; Western vs Central vs Northern vs Confederate states; high school vs junior college vs college graduates; 4 year vs 6 year enlistees vs lifers; 18-20 vs 21-25 vs 26-30 vs 31+; married w/no children vs married w/children vs single vs widowed/divorced; action films vs chick flicks; and so on for about 15 minutes. At the end I reminded them that regardless of rank or position or psychological temperament, we all belong to different groups with different people we work with at one time or another; we all have something in common with others that perhaps we didn’t get along with prior to today. So, lighten up and see if you can’t become friends rather than enemies because we are all “stuck” together in the Air Force on this flight.

I am happy to report that as far as I could tell, all the interpersonal problems became non-issues and the flight became the best performing flight in the missile security squadron. Naturally, it was not all my doing, I happened to have an extremely well qualified Flight Security Sergeant as my second in command and most of the credit goes to him.

So moving on to a more personal level, I was quite naïve about many things dealing with sexuality growing up. I engaged in what has been labeled as “age appropriate” sex play/experimentation with both boys and girls as I hit puberty but the only label applied was “this is fun, but don’t let mom, dad, older brother, or anyone else know what we do.” There was one member of my Boy Scout troop who was my main sex play partner but we never did anything while on scout campouts or events. After he moved and I was in high school, my naivety continued to confuse me and I began to wonder why I was not attracted to any girls. Mentally, I was fantasizing about sex with boys (and rarely girls) but noticed that I was not attracted to any particular girls but I was to a few school mates. I just never thought of or realized the implication.

It wasn’t until I was in the Air Force as an officer that the possibility of being gay crept into my mind on a few occasions, but since I was married with kids, I put that thought out and eventually accepted that I might be bi-sexual. Ultimately, after my wife died and through the years of depression and self-evaluation I realized that I am (or at least have a large percentage of gay orientation). With the acceptance of this dual labeling, the stress in my life (and the confusion that went with it) disappeared and I feel much more relaxed and comfortable in my skin and around other men regardless of their orientation. In other words, I now know who/what I am.

So, some labeling can be damaging if it is “true” but denied and acceptance can be liberating but under many circumstances can still be damaging if one is not living in an environment where “truth” is tolerated. I’m pretty sure many of you have had experiences that demonstrate the accuracy of my last statement. Even if you have not, you must know of others who have had those negative experiences of revealing the “truth” to those who don’t tolerate or can’t accept it.

© 11 September 2011

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com