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I arrived at Geiger Field, a F-106 Fighter base at Spokane Airport and reported to Lt. Col. Walter P. Barney, the Director of Materiel. Barney was about 55 years old and had worked his way up the ranks as an enlisted man. He had been passed over for promotion three times because he only had an 8th grade education. Normally, this would have forced retirement, but three prominent Generals respected him and got him a permanent reprieve. "Barney", as everyone knew him, sized me up and said, "Son, I'm sending you down to flightline supply where you'll work for Sgt. L." I was confused because I didn't think officers were subordinate to NCO's. Barney noticed and said, "You heard me right. And when you learn that it's the NCO's that really run things, then you'll become a good officer."
   It was at Geiger that I met Barb, my first wife. She was Catholic and I was not. We were married in the Base chapel by a Protestant Chaplain. The religious difference leaked out and the Catholic Chaplain forbade any of my Catholic friends to attend the wedding. They were as hurt by that bigot as I was.
   It was about this time that two sets of transfer orders came in for me and another 2nd Lt. named Gatlin (obvious alphabetical selection). We were both obligated to three years active duty. One set of orders was for Greenland and the other for Hawaii. Hawaii would require a two year extension in active duty. So Gatlin took Greenland and I took Hawaii.
   At Hickam AFB, Ha., I was responsible for several operations: Individual Clothing and Equipment Supply; PACAF Tool Issue Center; Base Laundry; and, Base Warehouses. The job was easy because each operation was supervised by a very, very competent Sergeant. One was Japanese-American, another was German-American, and the third was of Italian-American descent....I called them the "Axis". Because of these great guys, I was able to pursue night school at the University of Hawaii. I'd have got my MBA but, like a dummy, I never completed my thesis, even though I passed the oral exam.
Six weeks before I was due to get out, I was promoted to "permanent" Captain and offered a "regular" commission. I pained over the decision about the commission for the full alloted time. Whether it was right or not, I turned it down (I would have retired in 30 years, 1990, as a senior officer). The other "reserve" officers thought I was nuts.
   The final irony was that upon discharge the Flight Surgeon told me, "You know what? You've got "flat feet". You should have been inelgible for service in the first place!"