> October 11th marks the 2nd anniversary of my daughter Kendi's death. A nurse's mistake took her life at the age of 20. The job of this father was to protect her [she was severely handicapped] and I failed. Oh, how I miss her.
 

I WAS A HURRICANE HUNTER! (WELL, SORT OF)

[April 30th] -- The fall of 1977 was a very difficult time for me. I lived in Washington, D.C., and still suffered from post-Watergate trauma. I was going to college to become something I didn't want to be, and felt depressed about the general direction the country was headed. One day, out of the blue, I walked into an Air Force recruiting office near 7-corners and joined up.

Just like that.

Two months later, I was standing in the January cold of San Antonio, Texas, at Lackland Air Force Base. Well, me and fifty other guys. We waited for our drill instructor to arrive. For an hour. He made us wait in the dark, in the cold, hungry and shivering. We knew he was boss from the first moment we saw him. He had a bulldog face and the growled when he talked. That said, Air Force basic training wasn't all that bad. We ran a mile. Once. We fired an M-16. Once. The rest of the time was spent in the classrooms under the dorms where we learned how to be members of the U.S. Air Force. I have nothing but good memories during my time at the 3703 BTMS.

Back then, the Air Force began a new policy that allowed you to lock in a career before leaving for basic training. However, I wanted to be a broadcaster for the Armed Forces Radio & Television Network, which required a test during basic. That forced me to join in the "open" category, which meant the Air Force could turn me into anything they wanted if I didn't pass my test.

I was nervous when I got the word to report to such-and-such a building for my test. It was an open office 20 X 30 feet, with small cubicles around the outer walls. A bank of windows along the far wall kept the room bright and cheery (at least using Air Force standards). There was a microphone in each of the booths, which were lined with those old asbestos tiles caused cancer. A nice-enough tech sergeant gave me a fake newscast to read. He put me in front of the mic, and said 'go.' I went. "This is Air Force Airman Basic Farid Rushdi with today's AFRTS news!" I began. When I finished, I asked the sarge how I did. Good he said. Want to try one more time? I did. Remember, this is 1978. We're not talking "high tech" here. He took the tooth pick out of his mouth and placed it in one of the rings of the reel-to-reel tape recorder and backed the tape up to that point. That's the best he could do -- no "record over" capability. Off I went again. I eventually did a third take. "That's good enough to get you in" he said with a smile. A couple of weeks later, the drill instructor brought us our first "orders." I was so excited, I couldn't stand still. Until I got my orders. I was being sent to guard a missile silo in North Dakota. Later that day, I met with a sympathetic personnel officer who told me what happened. "You got beat out by a black woman" he said. "That's five extra points for being a woman, and five extra points for being black. She beat you by four points."

Crap.

He asked me what I'd like to do in the Air Force, and, angrily, I said "The job that requires the least amount of work." "Fine!" he said. "Your'e now a 70230" "Huh?" I asked? "You know, like Radar O'Reilly!" An administrative assistant. Cool. That worked for me.

After basic ended, they boarded 80 or so of us unto a Greyhound bus for the long ride to Biloxi, Mississippi, home of Keesler Air Force Base. It was there that I learned how to be a "house mouse," a real demon on the typewriter. I really enjoyed it. Towards the end of training, orders began appearing for all of us in the training facility. Everyone except me. Figures. After I was the only one left without orders for my first tour of duty, I rode the base bus over to the CBPO [I can't remember what it means any more, but it was the personnel office] and asked the guy behind the computer if he could tell me anything. He punched a few buttons and said, "Okinawa!" "Where's that?" I asked. "Hell if I know" was his reply. Of course, I found out that Okinawa was a small island at the very end of Ryuku chain, the southern most part of Japan. I was to be part of the 6077th Security Squadron, whatever that was.

Well, what that was was turned out to be a bunch of Russian-speaking guys who flew to the Soviet border and "eaves-dropped." Spying, basically. I was told to go see "this other guy" and get my security paperwork started. Turns out to work in that organization, you had to have an "SCI" clearance, which was above "top secret." He pulled out a bunch of papers and began asking questions. "Place of birth?" "Beirut Lebanon." Where was your father born?" "Palestine." Where were your brothers born?" They were all born in the Middle East. He kind of furled his brow. "What about your sister?" "She lives in Jordan." On and on it went. He finally asked me if someone had put me up to "all this," because there was "no way" a guy with my background could get an SCI clearance. He finally filled out the paperwork and told me to return to my unit until I heard from him. He couldn't promise when that might be. "Gotta ask the boss what to do with you" he said.

Several days later, all the guys in my flight took off for their first billets. I was transferred to an old WWII barracks where guys who were in the middle of "coming and going" stayed. Finally, someone came by and said, "report to the "'Hunters." Until they could figure out what to do with me, they decided to put me to work.

The "'Hunters" turned out to be the famed "Hurricane Hunters," known world-wide for flying into the eyes of hurricanes to research their ways, and then hopefully develop a system of prediction and warning. I was surprised at their offices. They occupied part of a very long cinder-block building that was just twenty or so feet from their planes that silently waited on the tarmac. Their was a long, plain hallway with several offices that opened on either side. All the walls were a pale yellow and the entire area was windowless, giving the work environment that floresecent green feel. If you look at the picture above, you can see the door along that yellow building that leads to the airplanes. My office was about twenty feet inside that door and to the left.

After a few days, one of the pilots invited me onto the tarmac and into one of the planes. He took an hour of his valuable time and explained the various equipment, why they use that particular plane, and even said he'd take me up the next time he flew. This was soooo cool for a kid of 22.

I had been with the 'Hunters for about a month, and we were beginning to get into hurricane season. I was ready for that flight. Then, I got a call. It was "that guy" at the personnel office. "I'm tired of them telling me not to send you, so before they tell me again, you're on a plane tomorrow for Okinawa. Be ready."

That was that. I never flew into a hurricane. I took a bus to New Mexico to visit a friend, then flew in a small plane to Los Angeles. From their, I flew in an old Ford Tri-Motor (Yes, from the 1930's!) to San Bernadino, where I would board Flying Tigers Airways to Okinawa via Anchorage and Yokota, Japan. When I arrived on the small island, I reported to my new squadron. "Why did they send you?" they asked, "we can't get you a clearance."

I ended up being Major Meyer's Radar O'Reilly, doing all the typing and filing and "stuff" that he wanted done. My office was just down the hall from my room. I didn't go to the "secret" building and didn't need the clearance. Don't get me wrong, spying on the Russians during the Cold War was pretty exciting stuff, but I really wanted to fly, just once, with the Hurricane Hunters.

I'm probably too old for that flight today.

(Sigh...)


Comments:
The Lackland area is not the most beautiful and training can be a pain, but it was worth it for me in my start in the Air Force.
 
Dad! You're my hero! I love your blog!!!
 
Why doesnt daddy ever comment on my blog! :(
 
oh.. old model cars are look so goodTruck Chrome stacks

 
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