Guest blogging, the prelude

By lex, on August 4th, 2006

I know it’s out of sequence. Sue me.

F-4 Phantoms. It was 1983 and these were the last years of the Phantom. F-4S, low visibility paint, updated avionics, and slats on the wing that supposedly gave a 50% improvement in turning. We didn’t fly. We were maintenance. We fixed. Most of us took real pride in fixing. Most of us loved those big, ugly, dangerous birds. Cubi Point, Philippines in the summer. The flight line was several acres of concrete and the sun burned straight down. Most of the maintenance was done at night, the birds were buttoned up and ready to fly every day. But there were launches, refueling, and the occasional bird that came back with a downing gripe, so the Marines that were on day shift had to work out on the line. We wore our sleeves rolled down and soft covers. It was the only place I ever went where we were allowed to wear covers on the flight line. Everyone tucked rags under their cover to protect their ears, and we made lots of stupid French Foreign Legion jokes.

We drank water by the gallon, and when we were on the line we took turns walking to the corner of the hanger where the emergency shower was. One by one, we would stand under it, pull the cord, and get completely soaked, then squish our way back to work. If you did it every 20 minutes, you would be dry when you walked back over. Whenever possible you took to the shade. Sitting in a cockpit to troubleshoot was like climbing into an oven. Sitting in the overhang of the maintenance shack, dozing and watching the launches and recoveries was a much preferred activity.

All of this might be our jobs, and all of us were Marines. But we were in the Philippines, and we were living for liberty. Just as the sun started moving for the horizon, the night shift started showing up. The squadron pickup shuttled us up the mountain, as many as could climb in at a time. Marines that had looked half dead an hour ago sprinted to the showers, shaved, threw on their civvies, headed to the taxi stand. The ville awaited. Skipping evening chow, you could be walking out the gate at 1800. You flashed your ID card to the MP at the main gate, crossed the Olongapo River, and entered Oz.

Olongapo in 1983 was not politically correct. It was not civilized. It remains one of the most difficult experiences of my life to describe to anyone that was not there. So I am trying to write this for all the Sailors and Marines that ever hit a liberty port. That seized the night with pay in their pocket, and made memories that bring a wry smile and the shake of a head no matter how long ago. All of you have your stories. These are mine. I made 3 West-Pac tours with a Marine F-4 Squadron. I carried a camera, took thousands of pictures. On my last tour I kept a journal. I observed. I participated. I have those pictures, and the journals and letters are in a seabag in the attic. I’ll  be getting it down one night soon. I always thought there was novel in my stories; maybe this will tell if I have the skills to write it.

Lex has invited me to contribute. I am giving him full power as an editor and censor. If he decides at any point that it is not what he wants on his site, I will disappear back to being an appreciative reader. I am here as a voice of the enlisted. In the Navy, my rate would have been “AT”. * I worked on the radar and missile control systems on F-4 Phantoms. I did my last tour overseas in QA. It was the most challenging and demanding job I ever had.

I have 4 sons, worked several different jobs, have been a Scoutmaster and Assistant Scoutmaster for many years, and have been married for 28 years. All of that will be future where we are going. Join me as we push back the years. When we were all young and invincible, and our adventures were before us. This is prologue, next time we cross the river.

I think the man’s got potential. I know I’m enthralled.

And I’m remembering. You see: I was there too.

 

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*07-17-2018 This apparently came out in the translation to a .pdf file. I have no idea what his rate was so am leaving in the garbage. No idea who it is, either. But it is interesting. Ed. 

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11-25-20 The Guest blogger was a retired Marine Gunnery Sgt – and here is a compilation of the posts that we have of his time in the PI. Unfortunately we couldn’t get them all, but it is what the Wayback Machine did save – Ed.