Bingbang pauses, and they see his eye blinking in concentration.'Aha,' he says, 'I hear them.'
They listen. A hum fills the air. It gets louder and louder and the cavern walls shake from the deep vibrations.
Without warning, there is a sudden whoosh, and the roof of the cavern above the huge black rock lifts away. Above is a waffle-shaped spaceship with thousands of flashing lights all across its underside and along its edges. It is much larger than the space liner on which Suzanne and Roger were traveling.
A wide opening appears in the spaceship's underside and a long cable with many nets and hooks lower from it through the opening above the black rock. The hooks and nets wrap around the rock in which the treasure is stored. The cables tighten. Slowly, the rock breaks away from the surface and rises.
Bingbang Babbaloo, standing on the rock, rises with it. Bizz Bazz floats beside him. Bingbang's round, spikey eye blinks.
'Good-bye, good-bye,' he says. I wish you well. Perhaps we will meet again some day.'
'Good-bye, Bingbang Babbaloo,' Stobey cups her hands near her mouth so that her voice carries. 'I hope we do meet again some day.'
Stobey sees Bingbang Babbaloo's eye blink at her. She knows he heard.
The black rock disappears into the spaceship. With a deep roar, thespaceship blasts away, heading for planet Boomboom near the sunBlooper with the treasure for King Boogie-woogie Boomer.***Our friends leave the Stranger's House and head for the parking block.Arriving, they see that the space liner is signaling Suzanne and Roger toreturn. The two Earthlings hug Stobey and Slutter, and Chug-a-lug andSir Lumpalot. They rub Kick-pow's nose and board the flitter.
The flitter rises in a long curve toward the space liner and disappears through an open panel. The panel closes and the huge ship's powerful motors glow and hum. The spacer rises up and away.
Stobey and Slutter hug Chug-a-lug and Sir Lumpalot and also rub Kick- pow's nose. It is time for them to return home. They board Coconut and Banana and blast into space. Chug-a-lug, Sir Lumpalot and Kick- Pow watch the two tiny spaceships until they disappear into the background of stars.
'Hope they come back soon,' says Chug-a-lug, the Hooten-Nanny, as he, Sir Lumpalot the Knight and Kick-Pow the Unicorn head back through the gate into Super-Rock Playground.
(Grandpa's get away with a lot when it comes to imaginative stories.)
Lore adapts to altered circumstances and lifestyles, and to cultures and environments other than the times and places where it had its roots. The familiar may be comfortable, but youngsters also listen eagerly to new twists in a myth, another version of a familiar legend, the results of experiments, and of trials as well as the joys in the human experience.
In storytelling, a culture's traditions, mythology and values offer opportunities to insert a sense of history into the tale, and add context to interactions among the family's constituents and the continuity to its generations. Excessively repeated, they might appear as frayed and corny platitudes. Yet, within the majority of families, a culture's mythology, traditions and values retain their relevancy and often, their majesty.
Tradition passes history to a new generation on what happened to the family over the years, and, to the extent possible, the reasons. Grandparents' stories and lore convey facts and interpretations about customs, events and personalities and how they became part of the family's structure. Tradition supports the family's sense of generational continuity.
Social and cultural awareness can provide sanctuary for education, law enforcement, science, sports, health care, religion, and more. They encourage the evolution of concepts, principles and systems that civilizations need to make life livable and enjoyable. Awareness includes what is wrong with the way things are, as well as what is right.
Values are what it's about: the bottom line. Values, however, are a mixed bag, and passing them along through stories, lore and memoirs is a matter of memory, selection, circumstances, and emphasis. Values might include: stimulating a sense of self-esteem in others; consideration for another's sensitivities; respect for life; repairing Planet Earth; knowing the differences between pity, sympathy, compassion, and empathy; striving to be honest and fair; and respect for institutions and laws but being willing to act within the law to change those no longer suitable for the common good. Grandparents (and parents) often prefer to stress personal proclivities and biases in passing along family values. Values add substance to awareness and tradition.
If, at first, you have qualms about striking out with your own memoir or family history, try giving your version of a well-known myth, legend or folk story. They already have a well-defined plot, characters, and settings. You can replace and rephrase parts with how you would like the story to appear. Use the stories and essays in this book or the public library as models or points of departure for your storytelling letters and experiments.
Stories to the World
One way to get into storytelling is by giving your own version of a well- known folk tale, a popular myth, or even one of Aesop's fables. The plots, characters, and structures of these stories have been handed along from one generation to the next for centuries, and have already passed the test of time. As soon as you start your story you join a historical procession and launch yourself into the new and wondrous world of imagination.
Storytellers are occasionally asked how the story just told to them, came to be. Here are a few paragraphs from my version of an old West African folk tale about the source of all stories and how they came to be. The folk tale relates one of the adventures of Anansi, the Spider-man, a mythical trickster among the Ashanti, the Wolofs, and other peoples of Ghana and West Africa.
Anansi's fame has spread throughout the world, and generally depicts him as a conniver and full of deviltry. In the well-known story Spider and the Box of Stories, Nyami, the Lord of the Sky, keeps a box beside him in which are all the world's stories. Spider asks Nyami for the box so that he can release the stories. Nyami agrees to give him the box if he will first bring a python, a leopard, a hornet, and a creature that none can see. Spider does so by first misleading his victims with falsehoods and then capturing them with trickery and pain.
Nyami, nevertheless true to his word, gives Spider the box of stories and Spider releases them to the world. The myth, told in this fashion, depicts how a noble gift from the Lord of the Sky enters the world through dishonesty and the abuse of creatures who are also under Nyami's care. In Stories To The World I tried to replace deception and entrapment with respect for life. *** Alamander, whose name was arbitrarily shortened from Salamander by my grandson during a story conference, has a parrot Aringabella; my grandson merely added an 'a' to each end of 'ring a bell.' The problem is the same as in the Spider story: long, long ago the people of the world had no stories.
After successfully testing Alamander, the Lord of the Sky turns the box of stories over to him. Alamander, with the box on his back climbs down to the Earth's surface along a rope ladder. He drags the box to the middle of a meadow, and removes the heavy padlock that holds the lid in place. Alamander, with Aringabella gripping his shoulder firmly and helpfully flapping his wings, lifts the lid and steps back to watch all of the world's stories gain their freedom to roam the world forever. This is what happened:
There was moment of deep silence. Suddenly, the heavy lid flew up and over, and crashed to the ground. From out of the box's darkness gusted a powerful wind that whirled about and away in a cloud of dust.
In an instant there rose from out of the box swarms and tangles of flapping wings, waving arms, running legs, grasping claws, writhing tentacles, and a horde of strange wriggling shapes Their number was beyond counting. And from this twisting mass came sounds of laughing and crying, whining and humming, rustling and chattering, shouting and whispering, and snarling and hissing and howling, and even sounds for which, even now, there are no ways to describe.
Up and away, flying and running, strutting and crawling, staggering and marching and plodding and toddling, they cascaded over the sides of the box. Some took to the air, others moved toward the forest where they disappeared into trees, shrubs and flowers, and into the burrows of tiny animals and the caves of larger beasts. They dove into the river and the sea, and dug themselves into the ground or slithered under rocks. A few raced each other across the meadow and slipped into the homes and shops of the nearby village. They took to the air and the sea for distant places. Soon they were everywhere.
What did they look like? They looked like everything and anything: trolls and elves, trees and clouds, birds and people, horses and barns, airplanes and boats and spaceships and stars in the sky, and all the things that are or ever were, and also things that are not and never could be. Stories look like anything that ever happened and which might yet happen in years and centuries to come. And stories are whatever people might wish for, and things of which they are afraid.
Soon the stories were all gone from the box in which they had been kept locked until someone came along who really wanted them freed. Now the stories could go wherever they wished, and to be for all time among the peoples of the world.
When people saw the stories, they took them in and gave them the food and shelter that stories need to be strong. In return the stories gave pleasure and knowledge and, at times, sadness, to the peoples of the world. Stories try to give those who listen carefully an understanding of how the Lord of the Sky means for the world to be.
Sometimes, the stories from Nyami's box did not change, and at other times, they were changed about by storytellers to give them other meanings. Sometimes this was good; at other times, it was not good, but it's how stories are meant to be. However they are changed, all stories are gifts from the Lord of the Sky, who has many names.
What happened to Alamander and Aringabella?
Alamander grew from boy to man, and, in time, he married and had a family. With the wise advice of his friend, Aringabella, he became a respected elder among the people of his village.
Often, in the evening, when the day's work was done and with his parrot perched securely on his shoulder, Alamander would lead his family to a quiet clearing along the riverbank where they would sit facing the river. They studied the world around them: flowers and trees, grass and rocks, and fallen leaves pushed along the ground by soft breezes. They looked out at the river and saw fish breaking the surface, and they listened to the hum of insects, the songs of birds, and the squeaking of bats. Raising their eyes, they gazed at the stars in the black velvet dome above, and they spoke their thoughts of how all these things came to be.
And as they marveled, Alamander would tell again how he and Aringabella had helped to bring stories to the world, and of the wonder of the place from which the box of stories had come.
''The people of Planet Earth,' he would say at the end, 'must deserve this great gift from the Lord of the Sky.''
Memoir: C'mon, Man, It's Only a Safety Pin!
How might teenagers of the 21st century and beyond relate to and communicate with grandparents and the elderly? Based on a real encounter, this story tells what happened during my chance meeting with a young adult. The give-and-take had to be cleaned up a bit for this telling, and the dialogue rounded out and organized for continuity and cohesiveness. Somewhat allegorical, the story demonstrates the cross- generation communications that can develop when even widely separated age groups are willing to listen to each other. Many of us have had comparable experiences; they deserve being entered into our lore. *** The rain sheets swirled in from the south, bent, and lurched aimless as drunken ghosts across the college campus. Winds lashed the high crowns of the eucalyptus, and dipped to whine along the corridors and passageways that cut through the patchwork of modernistic academic structures.
Back and legs lashed by fierce gusts, disoriented to the direction of my destination, I took refuge under the dome of a kiosk. Backing around to the side opposite the driving rain, I doffed my cap to let the water drip; waiting was no problem. I scanned the dozens of leaflets clinging to the kiosk's curved wall, overlapping each other like fish scales: notices of student events long past and yet to be, and places and things from urgently needed to available for the taking.
'Hey, ol' man.'
'Yo.' I glanced back. He was in the borderland between the rain and the shelter, leaning against a patch of soggy leaflets. About seventeen in years, six in height, and as skinny as a drenched cat. Tangled blond hair, defeated by the rain, plastered his scalp.
His black T-shirt was wet, as were his frayed and torn jeans and once- white running shoes. At his feet lay a deflated haversack caked with whatever it had been dragged through, probably since elementary school.
'Whatcha doin' out on a day like this.'
His flat voice matched the bored, couldn't care less put-on that went with his years. Squatting, he drew a soil-brown cloth from the haversack and toweled his head and neck.
'Library,' I said. 'Where's it at?'
He motioned with the cloth. 'Behind that one with the big windows. I'm headin' that way, too.' He looked up at the sky. 'Gonna let up in a coupla minutes. What're you gonna do in the library?'
'Check the latest Writer's Market and LMP.' I looked closer at him and repeated, 'LMP. Literary Market Place.'
'What'll they do for you?'
'Point me in the right direction.'
'What for?'
'Peddle an article I wrote.'
'Oh. Writer?'
'Off'n on. Job. Retired now, but keep my hand in.'
'Hey, man, I like writin'.' He looked at me with interest. What's it take?'
'Writin'? Takes writin', and rewritin'.'
'C,mon, man. You're tryin' to sell one. Right?'
'Yeah.'
'So you've been there. Writin' for the real world; doin' somthin' you want to. What's it all about; like what are ya tryin' t' sell?'
'Industrial stuff,' I said, dismissing it all with a shrug and a wave-off. 'How to organize industrial tools to do a job, and then how to bring 'em all together with materials, parts, and nuts and bolts to come up with the finished product.'
'That's technical writin', huh?'
'Yep. Well, sort of.'
'Is technical writin' hard to learn?'
'People like you and me been doin' it since cave-dwellers first scratched pictures of rock-throwers on their walls. Finest kind training aid for their kids.'
I pointed to the printed and hand-scribed notes and graffiti in the patches of still exposed concrete.
'Content may have changed, but the idea is still to get a message across.What about you? Ever tried that kind of writing?'
'Technical stuff?' His shoulders rose and fell. 'Not much. Student, y'know. I'm still gettin' assignments to write about my last trip to Disneyland. I do use trade manuals to tune the motor on my bike, and the book has lists and drawings of tools and step-by-step instructions on how to do the job. Use 'em all the time, but never thought about where they came from. You put that stuff together?'
'Made my livin' at it for a while before I retired. But, like I said, I'm a firehouse horse who keeps chasin' fires even after being put out to pasture. In my blood, I guess.'
He laughed.
'Tools in a repair manual,' he said, 'and all the different parts and instructions. How d'ya do it? Like, how'd you describe, for example, a tool?'
He scanned the sky as he spoke. The heavy overcast was lightening, and the wandering rain-ghosts had retreated to make way for drizzle. Rivulets snaked across the concrete quad from one puddle to another, eventually over-brimming into a furrow that widened and deepened into a trench entering a conduit to a ditch or storm sewer somewhere off the campus.
'Name a few tools,' I said.
He grinned. 'Pliers. Wrench. Screwdriver. OK?'
'OK,' I answered. 'More.'
His eyes contemplated the drizzle, came back to stare at the wet walls of the kiosk, settled on his haversack, and stayed. I followed his glance. A 4-inch long, candy-striped, enamel coated safety pin fastened down the flap of its side pocket.
'Safety pin,' he chuckled. 'Tool, right?'
'Could be. How would you get ready to describe it?'
He stared at me, his face gone blank. 'How 'to get ready' to describe a safety pin? What's this 'get ready' bit? It's just a safety pin. You're kiddin'.'
'The heck I am,' I said. 'You just called it a 'tool'. If you're going to describe it, know enough about it to find the words for the job. Words are also tools, whether they describe other tools, or tornadoes, toys, teeth, trees, or tractors.
'Start with thinking about the readers; will they be in an outfit that makes specialized equipment to fabricate safety pins; will it be a safety pin huckster contacting customers by phone, personal contact, or letter, or how about some kid's mom up-country in an underdeveloped country who never even heard about Velcro flaps on diapers, if she ever heard of diapers at all. Just assume the woman lives in a village where no one ever heard of safety pins until a K-Mart opened up alongside the town rice paddy. What I'm gettin' at is: who's the information for? How much do they really need to know in order to do what they want with the thing?'
The idea grabbed him and I let him lead. Backs against the kiosk wall, staring out at the drizzle but not seeing it, we analyzed a safety pin and how to lay the groundwork to describe it. He unfastened the pin from his haversack, and using it as an exhibit, we did a parts breakdown, recalled what we could about the range of popular sizes; we estimated raw materials requirements per thousand units; debated how to cut the pin retainer clip from flat stock and form it around the wire firmly so that a child couldn't separate one from the other; touched on features for machine tools to fabricate safety pins; then jumped to the economics of designing robotic machine tools to mass produce and corner the safety pin market.
We delved into designing a pin with enough stiffness in the wire so that the pointed end would not bend out of the clip head and keep the tip from accidentally disengaging; we laughed over deburring the parts so that Mom's fingers and the baby's fanny wouldn't get scratched, and quickly agreed on the need to coat the pin with a rust inhibitor to protect it from the corrosive effects of dank cloths in warm places. We explored packaging, marketing and replacement factors.
By now his hair was almost dry and he finger-combed it spikey.
'Hey, ol' man,' he said, 'this is a good rap, but it's only a safety pin.'
'Don't knock it,' I replied. 'Safety pins, in one form or another, have been industrial and household tools for centuries and will be for many more. Anyhow, we're using it as an example, the same principles apply whether it's a safety pin, a computer, TV, or space ship. Getting back to your part of the job, when you've got it all together, and understand it and the customer's needs, then you're close to starting the writin' job.
'Based on who wants to know, you might need to spell out what the parts are made from, their dimensions, the diameter of the spring loop, and the wire's bending limits. You might need to describe the integrated clip head and the pin shaft and how they were attached.'
He stared at me, and his eyes widened in wonder at the boundless vistasI had just opened. He was far beyond safety pins.
'If you're interested in technical writing,' I continued, 'keep in mind that collecting data and understanding it precedes the mechanics of writing.' I paused. 'And when you do write, whatever you're writing about-a safety pin or a space rocket, do it with such precision that what you come up with can form the image you want in the mind of someone who has been both blind since birth and incapable of feeling anything with his or her hands. That's the test.'
The look of discovery was replaced by skepticism. 'Aw, c'mon, man, that can't be the real world for technical writers,' he said. 'People who use tools learn by doing, or they follow a book. They see what they're working' on and feel things with their hands.'
'Let's think about that,' I said. 'Millions of people who see poorly, or not at all, or who have other sensory problems, use precision tools all the time. Many of them use tech data recorded on audio systems or in Braille. The entire field of communications to bypass sensory limitations is just beginning to open up; it'll be part of your world. Data in dozens of arrangements, for design, training aids, or operating instructions are needed by folks who, very often, haven't used the equipment before or who, for some other reason, need specs right there, alongside, all the time. In this world of thousands of languages and dialects, and physical and mental limitations beyond counting, even basic tools, like a safety pin, need to be understood all along the line from designer to user. Understanding means communications; think about it.'
We shared silence for a while.
'Hey, man, I like that,' he said softly.
We glanced at the sky. The clouds were breaking up. As we abandoned our shelter under the dome, he shook his head. 'All this from a safety pin,' he said. The look of wonder was back.
'A diaper pin?'
Raising my arm, I pumped my fist at the sky. 'Today, the diaper pin, tomorrow the world.'
We laughed. At the entrance to the library we shook hands and went our ways. I never saw him again, but I sometimes wonder what he chose for his life's work.
Memoirs: Hot War-Cold War: Back of the LineLogistics
The 1988 Edition of the Encyclopedia Americana defines 'logistics' as: "… the movement and maintenance of military forces. Along with tactics, strategy, and intelligence, logistics is one of the four main elements of military science. Logistics encompasses all of the planning and operational functions associated with military supply, movement, and services. These include the design, procurement, and maintenance of materiel; the movement, evacuation, and hospitalization of military personnel; the transportation and storage of military supplies and equipment; and the design and construction, maintenance, and operation of military facilities and installations."
A copy of these memoirs has been furnished to the Air ForceHistorical Research Agency, Maxwell Air Force Base, Alabama,and to the Office of History, Air Force Materiel Command,Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Ohio.
Parachute Rigger, World War Two, Hawaiian Air Depot,Hickam Field, Hawaii 1941-1948
Introduction
In early 1995, the students at a middle school in a Northeastern city studied United States involvement in WW2. They initiated an e-mail project to invite memoirs from older Americans who had experienced that era in the Armed Forces and on the home front. The students wanted to learn about WW2 directly from the people who had served in the nation's wartime military and Merchant Marine, and from civilians who had produced, serviced and transported weapons, equipment, foodstuffs and other things for the war effort from where they were made to where they were used. They wanted to hear from those who had cared for the wounded and had helped in other ways.
Many older adults in the Internet community who read the students' invitation contributed their recollections of the war years. Their stories, in turn, brought questions from the students to which the elders responded. The Q&As, at times, became lively exchanges of ideas. At the conclusion, the students' teacher reported to the electronic community that the project was a success: the students learned history from those who had lived it. The storytellers, many long retired, fascinated their audiences with facts and personal reminiscences which might not otherwise have surfaced. Together with the students, the elders had constructed a bridge from the 1940s to the 1990s and, in doing so, had contributed to the historical records of an important era in American history. Further, the process had strengthened lines and clarity of communications and understanding across generations.
Memoir
I wrote about my WW2 work as a parachute rigger. To set the stage, I described the parachute's purpose, e.g., to lower a weight, be it a human being or an object (cargo) at a safe rate of descent from altitude to the ground. In time of war, the controlled descent might be that of an aircrew member who had to abandon an aircraft because it could no longer remain safely airborne.
In another context, during WW2, more than one hundred thousand airborne troops parachuted from transport aircraft with their weapons and gear as part of military operations. At least equal in numbers, cargo parachutes lowered food, equipment, ammunition and other essential supplies to the fighting forces and to isolated civilian communities. Parachutes also have a wide range of uses in peacetime, as examples, sports parachuting, 'fire jumpers' fighting forest fires, and rescue operations in terrain or other circumstances that preclude less hazardous access.
Parachutes must work the first time; there are no second chances.***In September 1941, I was a civilian parachute rigger for the Air ServiceCommand at Patterson Field, near Dayton, Ohio. My job was to repairand pack-for-service personnel and cargo parachutes for United StatesArmy Air Corps aircrews, Army parachute troops in training, and forU.S. and friendly foreign nations' special operations in which the U. S.was involved around the world.
The months from September through November of 1941 were busy times for our shop. An intense conflict raged across Europe and on many fronts in Asia and Africa. The United States Armed Forces accelerated their training programs, and Americans were also active in the war zones of other nations. The parachute shop, as in most other industrial shops at Patterson Field and many other air bases throughout the United States, worked a round-the-clock seven-day week.
Damaged man-carrying and cargo parachutes were brought to our shop in large quantities from United States training bases and overseas theaters of operations. Often, the parachute harnesses, which are designed to wrap around the jumpers to lower them safely, were shredded, canopies and shroud lines torn or severely abraded, and canopy containers (packs) and emergency survival accessories scorched or missing. I was part of a crew that repaired and packed all types of parachutes, and drop-tested a representative selection that had received major repair and packed for operational use.
The drop test consisted of attaching a service-packed parachute to a 120- pound weight or canvas-covered dummy, and loading the weights or dummies into a C-47 (Dakota) airplane. A 30-foot lanyard, with snap- hooks at both ends connected the parachute's ripcord grip to the airplane inside the door. The door was lashed open before takeoff. Each of the two men on the test crew wore a parachute and was also secured to the airplane frame by heavy belts as a precaution against falling out.
The pilot took off and circled the field at an altitude under one thousand feet. Approaching the drop zone, the co-pilot flashed a warning light above the door where the parachute handlers were stationed. At the next signal, the handlers, one on each side, heaved the dummy out. The lanyard, reaching full extension, pulled free the rip cord's pack closing pins, the pack flaps were instantly drawn back by strong bungee cords, and a small spring-loaded pilot chute ejected, opened, and caught the air stream, drawing the main canopy out to the full length of its shroud lines. The canopy skirt caught air, opened, inflated the canopy fully, and the parachute and its 'weight' descended. The ground crew tracked the parachute visually to estimate where it would land.
Ground crew work was not dull. I remember how we spread out along an aircraft's line of flight as it neared the drop zone, observed the chute ejection and canopy opening, and the dummy swinging in an arc underneath. There were times during low altitude drops when ground crew had to move fast to get out of the way. As soon as we thought that we knew where the parachute would land, we'd run toward it and, as soon as we got to where the parachute landed, jump on and pin down the dummy, haul in one (preferably two) of the webbing straps (risers), spill air from the canopy, and get it all together with the least possible damage to the parachute-and ourselves.
There were times, even on a relatively calm day, when a gust would pass across the field and re-inflate the canopy before we got to it. A partially inflated canopy in a gentle breeze can drag a 120-pound dummy along the ground faster than ground handlers can run. Also, a canopy (made of natural silk in those days) that drags the ground usually collects snags.
I'll always remember chasing a descending parachute that touched down in a sudden gust that dragged, rolled, twisted, and bounced the dummy along a grassy field we were using for the drop zone. I was closest and gave chase. Finally, with a lunge, I landed on the dummy, wrapped both legs around it, and grasped and hauled back one of the risers. I managed to spill enough air to deflate the canopy. Controlling a dummy that is being tossed around by a sudden gust is akin to riding a lively pony.
Back at the shop after the tests, we inspected every part of a repaired parachute closely to see how well it had withstood the test. Some years previously, apprentice parachute riggers were not certified until they had jump-tested a parachute that they, themselves, had inspected, repaired and packed. The requirement for certification of riggers by 'jumping their chutes' was suspended in 1941 because of enormously increased shop workloads shortly before the U.S. formally joined its allies in the war. *** On Sunday, December 7, 1941, I was working the night shift in the Parachute Shop. The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor had occurred that morning and was being reported on the radio in continuous news flashes. About an hour after my work shift began, the shop supervisor instructed all parachute riggers to go immediately to the aircraft maintenance main hangar nearby. Several hundred men from aircraft repair, sheet metal, and instrument repair shops, and other shops on the base were already there when I arrived. They were milling about; I joined the crowd and wondered why we had been assembled.
A military officer climbed to the work platform at the top of an aircraft maintenance stand. Drawing everyone's attention, he announced that the Army Air Corps needed skilled technicians and supervisors immediately at Hickam Field in Hawaii. Whoever wanted to go, he said, should raise his arm and his name and badge number would be entered on a list.
I happened to be single, footloose and fancy-free at the time, and my arm got caught in the updraft. We were directed to stand by, and the others instructed to return to their shops. Those of us who stayed formed a line, our identities were verified against our badge numbers and photographs, and our job titles entered on a list. Each was given an instruction sheet and ordered to comply.
The next morning, following instructions, I reported to the dispensary for vaccinations and immunization shots and on to the Personnel Office to sign papers that came at me from all directions. I was informed that I had one week to get my affairs in order; after that I would be on standby for departure.
A week later, along with several hundred other volunteer workers, I boarded a train on a siding adjacent a base supply warehouse. The train, with all windows covered by blackout curtains, departed Patterson Field, Ohio in the dead of night, and arrived three days later at Moffett Field near Mountain View, California. Disembarked, we lined up for bedrolls, and were pointed toward rows of tents in a muddy field adjacent a dirigible hangar. An instruction sheet, tacked to the tent's center pole, told us where the mess halls were located, and the meals' schedule by tent number.
Additional trains arrived in the days that followed. Hundreds of civilian workers joined us in the tents waiting for the next leg of our journey. We soon became acquainted; we were from all across the country: New York and Pennsylvania, Ohio and Georgia, Alabama and Texas, Utah and California. The Army Air Corps bases where we signed up were Griffis and Olmstead, Patterson and Robbins, Brookley and Kelly and Hill and McClellan. We were part of a vanguard moving out with little or no advance notice. Except for a carry-on bag with a change of clothing and a few personal items, our luggage had gone directly into the ship's hold.
Days passed. The 'alert' came one night about 2 AM, shouted along the tent lines, 'This is it, you guys. Movin' out. One hour.'
In a torrential downpour, we slogged through ankle-deep mud and climbed into the backs of canvas covered trucks. Flaps down, escorted by an armed military escort in Jeeps, all the trucks were blacked out except for dim lights gleaming through slits in the headlights. We formed up as a miles-long convoy rolling north along US101 from Moffett Field, and arrived shortly before dawn at Fort Mason, adjacent Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco. The trucks filled the wharf in double and triple lines from end to end. A gangway led up to the deck of a ship alongside. We learned later that the vessel was the U.S. Grant, a World War I troop transport.
Herded below deck, we jammed into compartments where the narrow bunks were five high along aisles barely wide enough for passing. A 'Now, here this….' over the loudspeaker restricted all passengers to their compartments, and to passageways only when necessary until we were out of the harbor. We were to have our life preservers with us at all times.
Hours later, the ship's vibration, a rolling about sensation in my center of gravity, and creaking along the bulkheads, told me we were under way. Scuttlebutt was that we were in a convoy escorted by destroyers. Enemy submarines were suspected off the coast. Rumors abounded.
We took turns going on deck by compartment number. The convoy of ten ships zigzagged frequently to minimize the success of an enemy air or submarine attack. Finally, on the fifth or so day out from San Francisco, land appeared on the horizon and, shortly afterward, we saw Diamond Head. Our ship left the convoy and entered Honolulu harbor.
We disembarked under heavy military guard at the Aloha Tower pier and boarded the Toonerville Trolley, as we got to know the train on Oahu's narrow gauge railway. An hour later, we were at Hickam.
The devastation was appalling. Burned-out hulks of bombed aircraft were scattered about on parking aprons and in hangars, and piles of debris lay along roadways. The roofs of military barracks hung down along the outside of the structures; they had exploded up and outward over the walls.
As a senior technician, I was assigned to the recovery and repair of damaged parachutes, life rafts, inflatable life preservers, oxygen masks, and the escape-and-evasion kits that air crews relied on when they bailed out over enemy territory. All of the equipment that came to our shop was closely inspected and repaired if possible. As soon as parachutes and survival gear were fixed and ready for service, they were returned to the airplane from which they came, shipped to air bases in the forward areas, or into backup supply.
Many of us joined Hickam Field's armed civilians, officially titled the Hawaiian Air Depot Volunteer Corps. We were a group of employees who, during non-duty hours, trained to handle and fire a rifle, pistol, and aircraft machine gun. We patrolled base storage areas at night where high security was needed, armed with '03 Enfield rifles, also aircraft maintenance hangers, warehouses, bombsight repair shops, and an engine repair line underground at Wheeler Field, near Wahiawa in the Oahu highlands.
As armed civilians, we were each given an identification card to carry in our wallets. The card stated, in fine print, that if captured by the enemy while carrying a weapon, we were entitled to treatment as 'prisoners of war.' The Army Air Corps military officer who commanded our unit said that, since we did not wear military uniforms, nor carry formal military identification tags, the card would certify us as 'combatants.' The statement on the card was supposed to keep us from being shot as spies in the event Hawaii was invaded by the enemy.
During the war years, I repaired and packed thousands of personnel and cargo parachutes, and serviced many other types of emergency survival gear.
After the war, my job was changed. I investigated mistakes that had been made during manufacture or repair in all types of equipment. My job was to examine what was wrong, acquire exhibits, and interview technicians and administrators who had knowledge on how and why an item of equipment had failed or was otherwise deficient. After compiling the information, I wrote reports that described the problem and its possible causes so that specialists and engineers who were located thousands of miles distant might better understand the problem and how to correct it.
I worked at Hickam Field until April, 1948, and then returned to the air base where I had signed up when the war began. By then, the installation had expanded enormously, and was named Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. *** Any questions?
The students e-mailed their questions to me, and I replied, also by e-mail.An example:
Do riggers jump the 'chutes they pack?
A. Before WW2, the answer would be 'yes,' however, during the war the requirement was suspended because of the time involved. It is not unusual for a jumped parachute to incur minor damage in descent or upon landing, which then required time and materials to repair. The expense could not be justified under the new priorities.
Q. How did you get from fixing parachutes to writing reports about mistakes and defects?
A. My change in jobs came about because of an incident when I worked on parachutes and other emergency survival equipment. In 1942, large numbers of damaged and deteriorated parachutes were shipped from mainland U.S. bases to Hickam Field and other Air Corps bases in the Pacific. For example, we received parachutes that were ripped or had severely mildewed canopies; their were badly frayed suspension lines, rusted metal connectors, and the cotton webbing straps that secured the aircrew member were so rotten that they came apart when handled. Other types of survival gear that came to us from the mainland also had defects which made them useless in an emergency: life rafts and life preservers did not inflate as they should, and escape-and-evasion kits had missing components that would have been vital to a downed aircrew member. In such circumstances, the assembly was unsafe and, at times, beyond repair.
I complained to my supervisor about the quality of the parachutes and survival gear that we were getting from the mainland, and he passed my observations along to his supervisor. He told me to put my complaints in writing, which I did, describing the defects or damage in detail, often including photographs or other exhibits. The poor quality of life-saving gear that had been sent to us, I wrote, added to the risk of an emergency bailout from a disabled airplane and escape-and-evasion in hostile territories.
At work one day, I was called to my supervisor's office.
'Just got a phone call from the front office,' he said. 'You're to report immediately to Headquarters, Seventh Air Force. The soldier in the Jeep outside is waiting for you. He'll drive you there. Move.'
Sitting alongside the driver, I wondered what it was all about. The thought that I had made an error in my work made me nervous. Was I being called on the carpet because of an injury, or worse, that had resulted from an improperly packed parachute?
At Seventh Air Force headquarters, I was met at the door by a Colonel, who cleared me past the security guards. I followed him into an office that had a sign on the door that read 'Major General White, Commander, Seventh Air Force'. Several men in uniform were standing near a desk at the far side of the room. A uniformed officer was seated behind the desk. In the middle of the room lay several packed parachutes were in a heap on the floor.
When the officer behind the desk noticed me he stood, came round, and walked to and crouched next to the parachutes. He motioned me down beside him. On each of his shoulder tabs he wore a Major General's two stars.
'OK, son,' he said, 'show me the problem.'
My reports had received attention.
I stared at the parachutes. Did any among them include the damage I had reported? I checked an inspection log in a pocket attached to one of the parachutes. Directives required that the date of last inspection and packing be entered by the technician who had done the work. The log showed that the parachute had been recently inspected and packed at a stateside Air Corps base.
I stood, bent forward over the parachute, and grasped one of its 'risers.' The life of the jumper would depend on the strength of the webbing. I jerked the riser straight up as hard as I could I shook it repeatedly against the twenty-five pound weight of the packed parachute. The yanks and shakes I gave the parachute were merely a fraction of the shocks that it would need to absorb during emergency use in supporting the weight of a human being.
Several cords, from which the webbing was woven, separated. The parachute was at the very beginning of its service life in the Pacific Area, wherein mildew, dampness, rot and other hazards to the strength of natural fibers was highly prevalent. Here was another dangerously weakened emergency parachute, packed and tagged 'serviceable'.
The General stared at the shredded webbing, then at me, nodding, 'thanks.' The Colonel, who had escorted me in, motioned to me and pointed at the door.
As I left, I heard the General say, 'I want a personal on this to HapArnold.' General Arnold was the Commander of the Army Air Corpsworldwide during WW2, and reported to the President of the UnitedStates.
I returned to my job. The quality of parachutes and other survival gear arriving at Hickam from mainland bases improved.
Serious manufacturing and servicing mistakes were also found in other types of equipment used by the Army Air Corps. When the fighting part of the war was over the Armed Forces, in general, looked back on the 'how' and 'why' of its methods including what could be done to improve the quality of equipment. I was one of many technicians assigned to collect as much physical evidence and other forms of information as possible about what was wrong with military equipment and procedures and to prepare reports that would help engineers, administrators and contractors to correct the problems. Several years after I retired I wrote a pamphlet for the Small Business Administration titled 'Fixing Production Mistakes' of which about 300,000 copies were distributed.
Preventing and fixing mistakes is an ongoing and time-consuming task in both government and industry.
Memoir: Parachute Logistics, Korean War, Wright-Patterson Air ForceBase, Ohio, 1949-1950
Preface
This memoir concerns a decision I made at the outbreak of the Korean War for procurement of aircrew emergency bailout parachutes for the United States Air Force (USAF). Context, chronology, and USAF aircraft types operating in the Korean Theater at the time are to the best of my recollections and references available from public libraries and the Internet. 'AFMC' (Air Force Materiel Command), as used in this memoir, identifies the USAF command responsible for acquisition and logistics management of USAF materiel and supplies and applies to the same organization under its prior designations. Opinions expressed herein are those of the writer and not necessarily those of military or civilian personnel of the United States Air Force or the Department of Defense.
Note: The technical design and operation of military man-carrying parachutes has advanced enormously since WW2 and the Korean War, as have parachute servicing, packing and maintenance methodologies. The Korean War in general began with the weapons and equipment of WW2. Where significant shortages of vital equipment existed or were otherwise considered certain to occur, procurements were initiated, taking into account acquisition 'lead time' and the pipeline to the ultimate user.
Decision
Rather than procure 50,000 man-carrying (emergency bailout) parachutes as complete assemblies, e.g., in which the canopy's suspension lines are permanently connected at time of manufacture to the harness and through the harness to the canopy container (pack), as in the past, the AFMC procurement initiated in 1950 was by major components (canopy, harness, and canopy container (pack)). The components were subsequently assembled into one of three 'standard' types of complete parachutes, as needed, by certified technicians in- house at AFMC supply and maintenance depots to meet priority needs in Korea and for related support activities.
Context
In 1949, the Secretary of Defense Louis Johnson cut back radically the Armed Forces' programs for weapons and support systems. The Korean War, in which the Soviet Union and Communist China openly supported and militarily joined North Korea against the United Nations, was launched the following year.
In the early '50s, Hqs AFMC had Command jurisdiction of 8 major industrial depots and at least an equal number of sub-depots and special activities throughout the continental U S and in foreign countries (Europe, Philippines, Japan, Middle East, North Africa, etc.)
For several years following the end of WW2 and creation of the autonomous Air Force the logistical missions, organizations, and personnel policies for active duty military and civil service personnel experienced important changes in their management, location, and performance of functions. The changes were reflected in chain of command, consolidation and/or wholesale reassignment of materiel property classes, Hqs components and field organizations, transferring or eliminating low priority workloads and assuming new missions and industrial workloads. Concurrently, the worldwide Cold War and its effects steadily increased in scope and intensity throughout Europe, Africa, and the Far East. Extensive and ongoing reductions-in-force among military and civil service personnel accompanied a nationwide conversion from war to civilian economies.
In 1950, shortly before US military action in Korea (see June 30, 1950 in Time Line), I was assigned to supervise several supply technicians. The primary function of my group was to determine USAF worldwide requirements and distribution for emergency survival equipment which included parachutes, aircrew emergency life preservers, emergency survival kits and their components, and other aircrew personal emergency gear for USAF-worldwide.
Parachutes then in the possession of USAF field commands and in back-up supply warehouses throughout the world had been procured for WW2, which had ended 5 years previously. An unknown quantity of parachutes in warehouse storage at USAF installations had been declared excess to requirements or were close to their maximum authorized 'years in service since dates of manufacture' (the date of manufacture was stamped on the canopy). At the 'maximum' age of 7 years, personnel parachutes were, by USAF regulation, to be removed from further service for aircrew emergency bailout, although they could be used for cargo drops.
Computing quantities of serviceable parachutes and spare parts to be on hand Computing quantities of serviceable parachutes and spare parts to be on hand for the USAF active and programmed aircraft inventory was made by type of parachute, e.g., seat, back or chest, as applicable to aircraft type. Parachute type depended on crewmember or passenger stations; space available in cockpit and cabin; access to and through emergency exits; and the aircrew member's weight, e.g., aircrew or passengers above a certain total weight (body weight plus flight clothing, emergency kit, flotation gear plus the parachute) were entitled to a parachute having a larger diameter canopy.) Based on aircraft type and aircrew stations (or special circumstances) the harness of a 'quick attachable chest' chute (QAC) might also be worn in flight and the pack hooked to it before bailout.
Requirements computations for parachutes took into account quantities in service by type (back, seat, chest), in the pipeline, and in back-up warehouse storage (serviceable and repairable). Information on quantity and condition of parachutes in storage was not reliable in the years immediately following the end of WW2.
Translating a requirement into acquisition called for justifying funds, ensuring that procurement and manufacturing specifications and tech data were current, and initiating and monitoring acquisition documents. New production parachutes from a commercial source received an acceptance inspection before being shipped to a USAF regional or property class depot or directly to the base supply activity where the requirement existed. There, the parachutes was scheduled to the base parachute shop (part of the Maintenance function) where it received an Air Force directed technical inspection, aired, pre-pack re-inspection, packed for service, post-pack inspection a supervisor or certified inspector and returned to 'Supply' for further processing to complete the requisitioning transaction.
USAF parachutes procured from a commercial contractor (manufacturer) are normally shipped unpacked (that is, with the canopy rolled up loosely in the canopy container (pack) and the 4 webbing harness risers permanently connected to the canopy suspension lines by 4 stainless steel links; six suspension (shroud) lines tied and permanently stitched to each link. When suspension lines and harness webbing are so stitched, undoing the stitches weakens reliability at vital points; damaged suspension lines and harnesses must be replaced.
The servicing and packing log, which is marked with the same USAF serial number as the parachute pack and canopy, is signed by the rigger and inserted in a pocket on the pack assembly During WW2 and on into the '50s USAF certified military and civil service parachute riggers prepared parachutes for service.
Time Line Actions
The following events on the Korean War time line had logistics implications.
— 1948 April 8 - US troops ordered withdrawn from Korea on orders from President Harry S. Truman. — 1949 June 29 - Last US troops withdrawn from South Korea. — 1950 June 30 - President Truman orders US ground forces into Korea and authorizes the bombing of North Korea by the US Air Force. US troops are notified of their deployment to South Korea.
I recall that the morning following President Truman's order to the Armed Forces to initiate military action in Korea the military chief of the Hqs AFMC Equipment Division, Directorate of Supply, strode along the 'supervisors' row in the office where I worked. He was accompanied by my Branch Chief who was responsible for specified categories of military equipment and supplies, including those assigned to me. Pointing to each supervisor (or desk if it was unattended at the moment) the Division Chief briefly consulted with the Branch Chief, then read off a dollar amount from a spreadsheet he held in his hand. The dollar amount for my area of responsibility was $25 million, as a starter.
Immediately upon the Division Chief's departure, the Branch Chief assembled his subordinate supervisors and directed that the $-amounts cited were mandatory totals for Purchase Requests (PRs) from each to be his office at the start of business the following day. He would review them and, upon his approval, have them hand-carried to the Division office. The PRs were to be for most urgently needed equipment and supplies to support current and 'programmed' USAF operations in Korea.
Priorities
My highest priorities for USAF in Korea were aircrew parachutes, aircraft emergency life preservers, aircrew emergency bailout survival kits (attached to parachute harnesses), oxygen masks, and components ('components,' for instance, took into account that inflatable life preservers are not much help to an aircrew member floating in the sea if the CO2 inflation cartridges had not been checked and installed or had been discharged for an unauthorized purpose. Life vest checklists directed that inflatable life vests would be examined by the wearer or a technician before donning to ensure that the neoprene inner bladders, mouth inflation tube connections, and inflation CO2 cartridges and levers were intact. It was not unusual to find that the CO2 cartridges were missing or the cartridge seals pierced and the cartridge empty.
Insofar as parachutes were concerned, 'components' included replacements for damaged ripcords (pins bent, cable kinked), pilot chutes, harnesses, canopy containers (packs), attached emergency kits, etc.
As US-UNCommnd forces in Korea intensified combat operations, the urgent need for parachutes, aircraft life preservers and other survival and escape-and-evasion gear increased. The United Nations Command included the United Kingdom, Australia, South Africa, Belgium, Greece, Canada and Thailand and other nations.
USAF aircraft in the Korean Theater included the P-51, F-80, F-86, B- 29, KC-50, C-46, C-47, C-54, C-82, C-118, C-119 and C-121.
The F-51 (Mustang) role in Korea was ground attack. The F-80 (Shooting Star) was the first operational American jet fighter and a major weapon system of the Korean War. The F-80 recorded the first USAF aerial victories in June 1950. The F-80's high accident rate in the early years of the war was attributed to pilots familiar with propeller-driven aircraft transitioning to the faster and more powerful jets. The F-80 was used for ground support after it was replaced by the F-86 in air superiority tactics. In effect, the USAF was experiencing a major transition from relatively slow propeller-driven to much higher speed jet aircraft - in the middle of an intense air war. The transformation involved upgrade training for jet aircraft air and ground crews, line and support shops technicians were in practically OJT (on the job training), revamping test and maintenance facilities, acquiring and shipping maintenance new tools and equipment, skills, procedures, tech data, etc. Among these drastic and far-reaching changes, parachute compatibility with aircraft was one among thousands.
The F-86 jet had entered service in 1949, about one year before the start of the Korean War. Hundreds of F-86s and other aircraft, as well as aircraft support and personal equipment were provided to allied nations under the Mutual Defense Assistance Program (MDAP).
The total additional quantity required for USAF's immediate needs in Korea and for other developing or programmed USAF operations worldwide was 50,000 parachutes and maintenance spares. The U S was well along in its conversion and retooling to a civilian economy that would concentrate on meeting the pent up needs of the populace. A one- shot relatively short-duration production program for a distant 'police action' did not represent a sound investment to industry.
Considering the time required by prime contractors to reactivate (actually to recreate) product lines, install manufacturing equipment plus acquisition of materials, parachute hardware, manufacturing tools and skills; acquire components through outsource or in-house-manufacture, and lead time to integrate production and assembly, and ship complete parachutes, etc., was much too long. It got down to how many of each type parachute (seat, back or chest) was most urgently needed, and how could we get the right types and number of parachutes to where they had to be. What was the mix of parachute types to be procured commercially, checked through the USAF internal quality assurance process, and shipped (packed or unpacked based on circumstances) to meet Korean Theater needs in a combat environment and rapid changes in the Theater's types of aircraft?
A 'complete' parachute, as procured during WW2 consisted of all of its components assembled and permanently connected to each other, except for the pilot parachute, ripcord, and 6 bungee/hook assemblies, all of which were installed by the rigger during the pack-for-service process. When the shroud lines, canopy and pilot 'chute are folded into the 'pack' (container) and the flaps brought up from the sides and over to enclose the canopy, the ripcord pins inserted through holes in the cones are brought up through grommets in the opposing flaps.
The bungee (elastic) cords are hooked to eyes along the packs frame so that they snap the flaps back when the ripcord is pulled to clear the way for the pilot 'chute to eject and draw the main canopy out to full extension. The ripcord cable is run through a sleeve of which one end ferrule is fastened to the harness webbing and the other end to the pack side flap in line with the canopy release cones. When the ripcord is pulled, the direction of its withdrawal is from the canopy pack across the wearer's chest.
Based on my experience in parachute maintenance in the Pacific during WW2 and consultations on this procurement action with Hqs AFMC maintenance professionals, Wright Air Development Center parachute engineers and AeroMedical Laboratory survival specialists, I concluded the best approach would be for several contractors to provide USAF with canopies, harnesses and packs, separately. Small items such as ripcords, pilot chutes, bungees, etc., could be procured independently from qualified sources. The AFMC depot and/or operating wing's Supply function and Maintenance certified parachute riggers would take it from there and connect the canopies to the right harnesses and packs for the job, pack for service, and get the parachutes to where they were needed.
I initiated the Purchase Requests, got coordination on technical accuracy of procurement data from the parachute engineers and Maintenance technical services. To my knowledge contracts were awarded.
Not long afterward, I learned that several major contractors were unhappy with acquisition by major components. I was was criticized by supervision for what I did and notified (informally) that an 'action' might be taken. As it turned out, I was 'transferred' to the Hq AFMC Directorate of Maintenance to analyze deficiencies reported from the field on aircrew (personal) emergency equipment, and to write maintenance and inspections manuals and technical orders for that type of equipment.
About a year or so after my transfer from Supply the individual who took my job in the Supply Directorate told me, in the presence of my former unit's employees, that my decision had been 'right.' I didn't ask for details.
Memoir: Logistics Planning, The Cold War, Nouasseur Air Base,Morocco 1953-1956
Preface: The 'Cold War' between the U S and the former USSR began in the mid-1940s and extended over the following half-century until the Soviet Union dissolved in the early 1990s. The Cold War's cost to the United States exceeded $8 trillion. More than 110,000 American military lives were lost on foreign soil in the major military conflicts of that era: Korea in the early 1950s and Viet Nam from the mid-1960s to the mid-1970s. Military personnel and civilians of all nations involved that were killed or wounded on both sides in those two wars and in other clashes between the US/NATO countries and the USSR have been estimated to be in the hundreds of thousands.
Introduction: >From 1953 to 1956 I was a U S Air Force civilian employee at Nouasseur Air Base, about 20 miles southwest of Casablanca in what was then French Morocco. My job was in the Logistics Plans Office of the Nouasseur Air Depot.
The Nouasseur Air Depot was being constructed and staffed to support one of three major USAF/NATO logistics centers (Air Materiel Forces European Areas North, Central, and South) in the European-Med-North African-Middle Eastern Theater in the event of a war with the USSR. Each AMF and its 'depot' would serve a primary geographic area. Generally, when AMFEA was fully implemented its mission would range from acquisition to distribution of materiel and supplies, repair and maintenance of aircraft and equipment, and support to its constituents by way of U S Military Assistance Programs and other arrangements.
In addition to the Nouasseur Air Depot (AMFEA South), the Burtonwood Air Depot (AMFEA North), near Manchester UK, would support air forces in the UK and European Northern Tier countries. The Chatereaux Air Depot (AMFEA Central) in Chatereaux, France, about half way between Paris and Marseilles, would support the Central Tier, which extended beyond the Northern Tier to the Mediterranean coast (overlapping somewhat with those of the Nouasseur Air Depot in Spain, Portugal, Greece, and Turkey). Nouasseur (Casablanca) had the Southern Tier, which included North Africa on into the Middle East, countries along and in the Med and areas that were not within the Northern and Central Tiers.
As a Logistics Planner at Nouasseur, one of my projects was to prepare an element of U S Air Force Europe (USAFE) logistics plans to support the U S Strategic Air Command (SAC). The plan would organize, staff, equip, transport, test and evaluate, and (in the event of war) activate and deploy Mobile Maintenance Teams consisting of U S civil service volunteers. The teams would provide on-site emergency repairs sufficient to continue flights of US/NATO combat-damaged or otherwise disabled aircraft compelled to land in the Middle East, on Med islands, or in North Africa on return flights from battle zones.
Strategic Air Command bombers and their direct support aircraft in the active and — at that time — programmed inventory during the early-1950s included the B-47 Stratojet, a six-engine 4,000 mile range medium bomber which entered service in 1950; the B-52 Stratofortress, an eight- engine 8,000+ mile range heavy bomber scheduled to enter operations about 1955, and the C-97 Stratofreighter cargo and tanker versions with four piston-driven engines which had been in SAC fleet operations since about 1950, also late models B-50 and earlier B-29s from WW2.
Context
During the period covered by this memoir, the probability of a worldwide nuclear conflagration, sparked by a Cold War incident between US/NATO and the USSR, was considered to be high. The memories of WW2 were fresh in the minds of everyone. The U S confrontation with the USSR that brought on the Berlin Airlift, and its threat to world peace were of the gravest portent. The Korean 'police action,' another product of confrontations between USSR/Communist China and U S/NATO, was winding down. 'Viet Nam' was on the horizon.
During much of the half-century post-WW2 Cold War era the US depended mainly on its own economic, military, industrial and human resources to defend its own far-flung interests. The international competition for country and regional security resources to rebuild a devastated Europe, and administer the lands of the former central powers, created a massive arms race that affected the lives and destinies of people everywhere.
In the late-40s/early-50s the US-USSR conflict of interests was at a critical stage. Intercontinental nuclear-armed ballistic missiles were far beyond drawing boards; their operational reach, capabilities, and effects against civilian as well as military targets had been carefully estimated and understood.
The US doubled the number of its Air Force groups to ninety-five, and placed great importance on the Strategic Air Command (SAC). The number of SAC wings increased from 21 in 1950 to 37 in 1952. The growth of SAC air power arrayed US military capabilities and strategies for massive retaliation and Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD) by NATO should the USSR launch a pre-emptive attack in Europe.
At least for the next several years, NATO and US planners admitted, however, that neither massive retaliation nor MAD, by themselves, would stop a Soviet first strike and an invasion into Eastern and Central Europe and the Middle East. The USSR could count on huge reserves of its still young, combat-seasoned men under arms, pre-positioned war materiel still in good condition for combat, and relatively short lines of transport and communications.
Operational ICBMs were still several years in the future. The B-52 bomber was still in the early stages of production and deployment. Strategic warfare against construction and operation of Soviet oil drilling, refining, storage, and pipeline facilities in the southwest USSR (Caspian Sea area) were expected to slow Soviet military momentum. For this and other reasons, the US expanded and modernized its existing facilities to conduct air operations over the USSR's Eastern and Southwestern regions.
NATO and the US built or otherwise secured ground, seaport, and air bases and/or implemented joint-use agreements with governments in the Mediterranean area in the event of a US/NATO-USSR conflict and, specifically relevant to this memoir, in Morocco, Libya, Turkey, and the Central and Eastern Mediterranean generally.
Morocco
In the early 1950s, SAC was the major tenant on military airfields in Morocco: Ben Guerir and Sidi Slimane Air Bases in central Morocco, and Nouasseur Air Base in the desert about 25 kilometers south of the Morocco's dominant port Casablanca. Morocco had been a French protectorate since 1912, and thousands of French citizens and other Europeans had migrated to French and Spanish Morocco over the years and taken up residency. Large numbers of Moroccan, French and other European nationals were employed by the USAF at its bases and the US Navy's tenancy in Port Lyauty, and at other military installations where the U S and/or NATO had been granted French/Moroccan permission to do so.
Throughout the French occupation of Morocco a number of Moroccan nationalist groups formed in opposition to French domination, and engaged increasingly in nationalist political and armed resistance, including occasional bombings and other acts of violence. Sultan Mohammed V sided with the nationalists and was deposed in 1953. This further angered the Moroccan populace. In-country violence increased.
The Sultan returned from exile in 1955 and Morocco gained its independence some years later. Many French and Spanish citizens returned to their countries of origin. French military forces, business enterprises, and employment for the indigenous population in Morocco became uncertain, and so did American military presence on Moroccan territory.
In the years that followed, the Libyan government also changed rulers, with the results that American use of Wheelus Field, for any purpose, was revoked. Nevertheless, context and circumstances in North Africa aside, USAF planning for support to SAC operations under general war conditions, and for a variety of military contingencies, continued; in its way, North Africa all along the Med, would likely experience a deja vu of its WW2 occupations and their consequences. Caught up in a nuclear exchange, probably worse.
In WW2, oil refineries, and storage and transport nets, such as those in the Romanian Ploesti complex, were important but extremely costly targets. For instance, in one WW2 mission, of 178 B-24s dispatched to bomb Ploesti, 52 were lost, and all but 35 aircraft suffered damage, one limping home after 14 hours and holed in 365 places. Most of these Allied bombing missions originated in and returned to airfields in North Africa; many of the old landing strips, fuel storage, and maintenance shops previously used by German and Italian military occupiers and then by the Allies, were in poor condition, but they were there.
Caspian Oil Refineries
In the early 1950s, a US/NATO war with the Soviet Union would likely include strategic air attacks against Soviet oil wells, refineries and other industrial plants, storage facilities, and transport nets. If so, USSR facilities in the southwest USSR (the Caspian Sea area) would have been among high priority targets.