Because twenty-seven was more than abnormally old for a second
lieutenant, and because I was a child bride, my kids were both born by
the time I was twenty-one and a half.
By the time we arrived in Alaska for my second post-initiation and career school assignment, coming into the environment of the big family of a tactical fighter wing, my kids were the same ages of a lot of the kids of the majors, the lieutenant colonels and even some of the colonels I worked for and with in the gorgeous, sometimes very icy place.
Because of all that there were some interesting professional protocols versus personal protocols that had to be worked out to keep everything in proper order and above board.
So if my daughter was going to spend the night at her friend's house . . . or go to the movies or go bowling or go skiing . . . or go salmon fishing or go camping or go and do whatever with one or more of her buddies, it was possible that the man who showed up to ferry them wherever they were going . . . or that the guy who answered the door to a big house on base or at a beautiful house along the Eagle River was someone I called "Colonel," or "Major," or "sir" during our sometimes very long work weeks in various places in the world, but especially in the Great Land.
But he (or they) when in plain clothes . . . about to be the chauffer of pre-teens or teens . . . (same thing for my son going to soccer practices or sledding or skiing or fishing and all those other manly frontier kinds of things) . . . well , those majors and colonels and lieutenant colonels might be Pete, George or Joe, Henry, Chuck.
And I was allowed to call most of them that, though it had to be worked out and they had to give permission.
You get the idea.
It wasn't confusing because the obvious parameters of environment, uniforms and the presence of co-workers, all in the very rigid chains of command that were made obvious when and where whoever needed to be called what.
With respect.
One confusing point, though, was that I got divorced and took back my maiden name the same summer I became an air force captain. So I would answer my phone in the official way, "Good morning, Intelligence, Captain Harris speaking."
And the person on the other end of the line would query, "I wanted to talk to Lieutenant Brown."
"You are talking to her."
Big grins and snickers for the first five or six times from our senior master sergeant, our tech sergeant, and our young airman from Guam, but not from our admin sergeant from an island in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay. She was a bit more no-nonsense than the rest of us, but as sweet as possible.
And it was always fun to call Navy friends to catch up or check on an exercise and say that Captain Harris was waiting to talk with them. Snappier and more rapid replies than when I was Lieutenant Brown.
(In case you are not up on the rank system of the US armed forces, an air force captain is and O-3--the third level of the officer ranks. But in the US Navy, a Captain is an O-6--a MUCH bigger deal.)
Also, just to round it out, a navy 0-1 is an ensign while an air force O-1 is a 2nd lieutenant. A navy O-2 is a lieutenant, junior grade or j.g. while an air force O-2 is a 1st Lieutenant. And a navy O-3 is a lieutenant while as you have seen above, the air force O-3 is a captain.
Okay. If I lost you, sorry about that.
Never mind.
Back to the frozen north -- in the dark of the Alaskan winter it was more difficult than ever to wake up first thing in the morning. I always say that I don't really get my self together until at least 10 am no matter when I get out of bed. Find my self doing a whole bunch of activities in my sleep.
And if six years on active duty in the military couldn't change that, not much else could.
(For instance, unit tests at intelligence school were given right when we arrived at 0630. Good thing they were multiple guess, mostly.)
So the downside was always that I really have not very many polite social skills until I am all the way awake.
Really.
Our wonderful sharp, clever, West Virginian tech sergeant had been an instructor at intelligence school (enlisted portion) when I was there in Denver before either of us came to be stationed in Alaska. So she not only knew much more about tactical intelligence and fighter pilots than I did before coming up to Elmendorf AFB . . . she also thought she knew about me and my intel school classmates -- grist for the rumor mill.
(Again, in case you are unfamiliar with the way the military services work, at first I been involved in nuclear treaty monitoring which takes a whole different set of skills and training compared to working with jet fighter pilots.)
My desk was in the farthest corner from the door into our office. Our tech sergeant sat across from me and the other desks were around the room, though our boss had a small office under the eaves just so he was sure to have a door of his own to close.
Often one or more of the pilots from one of the squadrons would have some early morning business with us before he needed to brief, before going out to fly. The office door would be flung open and he or they would stride purposefully into the room, aiming for my desk.
Before he or they would get a third of the way across the room, our tech sergeant would say something like, "You're really sure you want to talk to HER so early in the morning?"
Other than a sly look that might have been interpreted "I'll get you for that later," I think I was as normal and courteous and professional as possible.
(You decide.)
That became more difficult, however, as the winter stretched into its fourth and fifth months.
(I may have mentioned before this that during the thirty six months I was stationed in Alaska, twenty-seven months or so were winter.)
Most of the time we could be fairly cheery until Christmas, but as the beginning of January oppressed us we found that cabin fever is not just one person holed up in a place to protect him or herself from the cold and iciness . . . becoming depressed,etc. The grumpiness and hopelessness, etc., was compounded because almost everyone felt that way, the time and snow and bleakness laying out before us until mid-May . . . or longer. We never knew how long.
And the only hope we had was if there was a deployment to any place south.
We got lucky.
Most of us went to Vegas. Some of us went to Korea and Japan. A few of us went to the top of the Gulf of Mexico.
And the luckiest, who lorded it over the rest of us, went to Hawaii.
Living with almost forty jet fighter pilots can be very strenuous.
(That's one of the biggest understatements you will ever read.)
The most difficult part of the whole problem right at first was that the wing had transitioned to a new aircraft and the first readiness inspection, which happened a few months before I arrived, did not go well. The solution was that we had to exercise, exercise, exercise.
We got called in at 2 am.
We got called back as we were about to leave the base.
We got called in at 10 pm.
We were working 20 to 22 hours a day for three days . . . for ten days . . . for four days with five days off and then another three weeks.
We had a telephone tree re-call system. The F-15 pilot who called me so I could pass on the need to get back to base was not one of my favorite friends -- his call sign was Rowdy.
(It's a long story . . . forgiven and reconciled as far as I know.)
For some reason when we moved off base to Eagle River, my landlord wouldn't allow me to put a phone in the bedroom.
(Remember those good olden days when a phone had to be plugged into a wall? Sure you do.)
So Rowdy called me all right, but the phone was in the kitchen and I didn't hear it ring at 0220. Strolling into the office at around 0720 caused quite a stir and we were afraid we were going to have to peal our boss off the ceiling.
But I said, "Well . . . when the balloon really does go up and we are in big trouble, there also may be some who don't get the message."
(Had a sneaking suspicion that something might be up long before I got to the base anyway . . . very little traffic.)
One of those "ULP!" moments, even though as I relate it now it sounds like I am being flippant.
And then also we had two three star changes of command where we had to practice marching again to say good-bye and hello to some Alaskan Air Command generals. Even the guys who had marched around for four or more years at the Air Force Academy needed to get with it again.
The powers that were in charge were concerned about the light summer mountain rains that could end up to be big thunder storms and for each big ceremony we mostly stood around in formation at attention and at ease any way.
(They didn't really trust us not to mess up, maybe.)
(It was almost as much fun to see all the television news anchors as it was to see President and Mrs Reagan.)
And was fun to get a tour of the inside of Air Force One.
Was amazing to fly on the AWACS.
Was very very awesome to be the first woman to ride and fly (but not land) an F-15 at operational parameters going faster than the speed of sound several times while involved in an air combat training mission with eight planes over the Alaska Air spaces not far from Mt McKinley.
(This was due to kind commanders and the fact that i was qualified to use oxygen, and to eject out of the aircraft because I had been a non-rated air crew member during my first assignment. I know I have mentioned it before this, right?)
Thinking about it a lot now probably because the winter is drawing nigh, triggering memories. Thanks for taking the time to allow me to tell you all about them.
And it's so fun to see more and more friends from those days on Facebook.
And also to see in person and on Facebook the pages of friends of my kids, too.
I was the soccer coach for my son's indoor soccer team (as I had been for the outdoor team, too). This was related to the fact that my kids' dad was on a mountain top in Turkey for a year without us serving a remote assignment . . . he had been the coach of soccer teams for our son and of softball teams for our daughter, so I was trying to keep up the tradition.
The ops officer of one of the squadrons had two sons on the opposing team one dark winter school night during an indoor soccer game. I happened to be standing next to the ops officer during halftime when his boys ran up and commented about what they felt they needed to do to keep Tom from scoring.
(He was very fast and always instinctively knew what any kind of ball was going to do.)
It wasn't very nice . . . though of course they were just ten and eleven and were being brought up to be competitive. Their dad looked down at them and said,"Ah . . . that's Tom's mom," pointing to me.
They apologized of course.
I was happy we won the game after that.
(Competitiveness can extend over the gender line.)
Now I am wondering if the aurora borealis is visible tonight. I miss seeing that amazing beauty.
Don't YOU miss going to Alaska when you have a chance, please.
As is so much of this wonderful earth, the beauty there is beyond belief and description.
By the time we arrived in Alaska for my second post-initiation and career school assignment, coming into the environment of the big family of a tactical fighter wing, my kids were the same ages of a lot of the kids of the majors, the lieutenant colonels and even some of the colonels I worked for and with in the gorgeous, sometimes very icy place.
Because of all that there were some interesting professional protocols versus personal protocols that had to be worked out to keep everything in proper order and above board.
So if my daughter was going to spend the night at her friend's house . . . or go to the movies or go bowling or go skiing . . . or go salmon fishing or go camping or go and do whatever with one or more of her buddies, it was possible that the man who showed up to ferry them wherever they were going . . . or that the guy who answered the door to a big house on base or at a beautiful house along the Eagle River was someone I called "Colonel," or "Major," or "sir" during our sometimes very long work weeks in various places in the world, but especially in the Great Land.
But he (or they) when in plain clothes . . . about to be the chauffer of pre-teens or teens . . . (same thing for my son going to soccer practices or sledding or skiing or fishing and all those other manly frontier kinds of things) . . . well , those majors and colonels and lieutenant colonels might be Pete, George or Joe, Henry, Chuck.
And I was allowed to call most of them that, though it had to be worked out and they had to give permission.
You get the idea.
It wasn't confusing because the obvious parameters of environment, uniforms and the presence of co-workers, all in the very rigid chains of command that were made obvious when and where whoever needed to be called what.
With respect.
One confusing point, though, was that I got divorced and took back my maiden name the same summer I became an air force captain. So I would answer my phone in the official way, "Good morning, Intelligence, Captain Harris speaking."
And the person on the other end of the line would query, "I wanted to talk to Lieutenant Brown."
"You are talking to her."
Big grins and snickers for the first five or six times from our senior master sergeant, our tech sergeant, and our young airman from Guam, but not from our admin sergeant from an island in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay. She was a bit more no-nonsense than the rest of us, but as sweet as possible.
And it was always fun to call Navy friends to catch up or check on an exercise and say that Captain Harris was waiting to talk with them. Snappier and more rapid replies than when I was Lieutenant Brown.
(In case you are not up on the rank system of the US armed forces, an air force captain is and O-3--the third level of the officer ranks. But in the US Navy, a Captain is an O-6--a MUCH bigger deal.)
Also, just to round it out, a navy 0-1 is an ensign while an air force O-1 is a 2nd lieutenant. A navy O-2 is a lieutenant, junior grade or j.g. while an air force O-2 is a 1st Lieutenant. And a navy O-3 is a lieutenant while as you have seen above, the air force O-3 is a captain.
Okay. If I lost you, sorry about that.
Never mind.
Back to the frozen north -- in the dark of the Alaskan winter it was more difficult than ever to wake up first thing in the morning. I always say that I don't really get my self together until at least 10 am no matter when I get out of bed. Find my self doing a whole bunch of activities in my sleep.
And if six years on active duty in the military couldn't change that, not much else could.
(For instance, unit tests at intelligence school were given right when we arrived at 0630. Good thing they were multiple guess, mostly.)
So the downside was always that I really have not very many polite social skills until I am all the way awake.
Really.
Our wonderful sharp, clever, West Virginian tech sergeant had been an instructor at intelligence school (enlisted portion) when I was there in Denver before either of us came to be stationed in Alaska. So she not only knew much more about tactical intelligence and fighter pilots than I did before coming up to Elmendorf AFB . . . she also thought she knew about me and my intel school classmates -- grist for the rumor mill.
(Again, in case you are unfamiliar with the way the military services work, at first I been involved in nuclear treaty monitoring which takes a whole different set of skills and training compared to working with jet fighter pilots.)
My desk was in the farthest corner from the door into our office. Our tech sergeant sat across from me and the other desks were around the room, though our boss had a small office under the eaves just so he was sure to have a door of his own to close.
Often one or more of the pilots from one of the squadrons would have some early morning business with us before he needed to brief, before going out to fly. The office door would be flung open and he or they would stride purposefully into the room, aiming for my desk.
Before he or they would get a third of the way across the room, our tech sergeant would say something like, "You're really sure you want to talk to HER so early in the morning?"
Other than a sly look that might have been interpreted "I'll get you for that later," I think I was as normal and courteous and professional as possible.
(You decide.)
That became more difficult, however, as the winter stretched into its fourth and fifth months.
(I may have mentioned before this that during the thirty six months I was stationed in Alaska, twenty-seven months or so were winter.)
Most of the time we could be fairly cheery until Christmas, but as the beginning of January oppressed us we found that cabin fever is not just one person holed up in a place to protect him or herself from the cold and iciness . . . becoming depressed,etc. The grumpiness and hopelessness, etc., was compounded because almost everyone felt that way, the time and snow and bleakness laying out before us until mid-May . . . or longer. We never knew how long.
And the only hope we had was if there was a deployment to any place south.
We got lucky.
Most of us went to Vegas. Some of us went to Korea and Japan. A few of us went to the top of the Gulf of Mexico.
And the luckiest, who lorded it over the rest of us, went to Hawaii.
Living with almost forty jet fighter pilots can be very strenuous.
(That's one of the biggest understatements you will ever read.)
The most difficult part of the whole problem right at first was that the wing had transitioned to a new aircraft and the first readiness inspection, which happened a few months before I arrived, did not go well. The solution was that we had to exercise, exercise, exercise.
We got called in at 2 am.
We got called back as we were about to leave the base.
We got called in at 10 pm.
We were working 20 to 22 hours a day for three days . . . for ten days . . . for four days with five days off and then another three weeks.
We had a telephone tree re-call system. The F-15 pilot who called me so I could pass on the need to get back to base was not one of my favorite friends -- his call sign was Rowdy.
(It's a long story . . . forgiven and reconciled as far as I know.)
For some reason when we moved off base to Eagle River, my landlord wouldn't allow me to put a phone in the bedroom.
(Remember those good olden days when a phone had to be plugged into a wall? Sure you do.)
So Rowdy called me all right, but the phone was in the kitchen and I didn't hear it ring at 0220. Strolling into the office at around 0720 caused quite a stir and we were afraid we were going to have to peal our boss off the ceiling.
But I said, "Well . . . when the balloon really does go up and we are in big trouble, there also may be some who don't get the message."
(Had a sneaking suspicion that something might be up long before I got to the base anyway . . . very little traffic.)
One of those "ULP!" moments, even though as I relate it now it sounds like I am being flippant.
And then also we had two three star changes of command where we had to practice marching again to say good-bye and hello to some Alaskan Air Command generals. Even the guys who had marched around for four or more years at the Air Force Academy needed to get with it again.
The powers that were in charge were concerned about the light summer mountain rains that could end up to be big thunder storms and for each big ceremony we mostly stood around in formation at attention and at ease any way.
(They didn't really trust us not to mess up, maybe.)
(It was almost as much fun to see all the television news anchors as it was to see President and Mrs Reagan.)
And was fun to get a tour of the inside of Air Force One.
Was amazing to fly on the AWACS.
Was very very awesome to be the first woman to ride and fly (but not land) an F-15 at operational parameters going faster than the speed of sound several times while involved in an air combat training mission with eight planes over the Alaska Air spaces not far from Mt McKinley.
(This was due to kind commanders and the fact that i was qualified to use oxygen, and to eject out of the aircraft because I had been a non-rated air crew member during my first assignment. I know I have mentioned it before this, right?)
Thinking about it a lot now probably because the winter is drawing nigh, triggering memories. Thanks for taking the time to allow me to tell you all about them.
And it's so fun to see more and more friends from those days on Facebook.
And also to see in person and on Facebook the pages of friends of my kids, too.
I was the soccer coach for my son's indoor soccer team (as I had been for the outdoor team, too). This was related to the fact that my kids' dad was on a mountain top in Turkey for a year without us serving a remote assignment . . . he had been the coach of soccer teams for our son and of softball teams for our daughter, so I was trying to keep up the tradition.
The ops officer of one of the squadrons had two sons on the opposing team one dark winter school night during an indoor soccer game. I happened to be standing next to the ops officer during halftime when his boys ran up and commented about what they felt they needed to do to keep Tom from scoring.
(He was very fast and always instinctively knew what any kind of ball was going to do.)
It wasn't very nice . . . though of course they were just ten and eleven and were being brought up to be competitive. Their dad looked down at them and said,"Ah . . . that's Tom's mom," pointing to me.
They apologized of course.
I was happy we won the game after that.
(Competitiveness can extend over the gender line.)
Now I am wondering if the aurora borealis is visible tonight. I miss seeing that amazing beauty.
Don't YOU miss going to Alaska when you have a chance, please.
As is so much of this wonderful earth, the beauty there is beyond belief and description.
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