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I’m sure this is my second biography for our group, but a search of my files did not reveal the first one! Now, the persistent OCS 57C reunion secretary has convinced (read: threatened) me to do it again. So. . . well, you asked for it.
I was born in Concord, California on November 20, 1930. My parents were hard-working people, trying to survive during the depression, and they did a pretty good job of it, too. We never missed a meal or went without the basics – and we enjoyed a great family life with friends and relatives. For me, growing up was fun and school was never a problem, although I never worked very hard at it. Pearl Harbor changed my life, and the lives of those others who were old enough to understand why. At that time, I was eleven years old, and we moved to Washington state so that my father could work in the shipyards. His skills were needed to build all of those liberty ships. Fortunately, Dad purchased forty acres of timber and undeveloped land that was in need of much work! The property had neither running water nor indoor plumbing, and the dirt road was a challenge to drive. I loved it! We did have electricity, and my mom’s parents joined us a couple of months later. My grandfather taught me to play checkers and together, we dug a ditch to the artesian spring (approximately five hundred yards) and we had the best-tasting water anyone could find in the world! Dad was working twelve-hour days at the shipyard, which left all of the farming chores to my grandparents and me. Granddad stocked our little ranch with milking cows, pigs, chickens, goats, geese, and an old mule. He taught me what I needed to know and then he returned to his own place in Nebraska with Grandma. I didn’t think there was anything strange about rising at 5:00 a.m., milking the cows, feeding the stock, and catching the bus to school at 7:00 a.m. Seemed to be just a normal day. My high school progression was effortless, with interests in both sports and music. My favorite sports were football and track. I wasn’t very big, but I was quick, fast, and tough! I played the trombone in the school band, and even went to a summer music camp at Washington State one year, on a music scholarship. That really impressed my father, because he had played the trombone during his college days. World War II was over with when I was fourteen, but it was still very much on everyone’s mind, and of course, young men of the time were eager to “join up.” I enlisted in the National Guard as soon as I turned seventeen. I was still in high school, but was to graduate within the next year. The idea was to do my duty and be ready to go to war if that became necessary, while continuing my education in our local junior college. Although I intended to join the Army, the recruiter said he needed to fill his vacancies in the Air Force, and asked if it would be OK with me. “Sure, why not?” So, in March, 1949, I boarded a train for Lackland Air Force Base, Texas. Thirteen weeks of basic training was indeed a challenge, but I enjoyed it. I wanted to attend air conditioning / refrigeration school, and had been assigned to that field, but the squadron commander called me to his office and convinced me to stay on as a flight chief, training more basics. I was also offered a chance to join the Air Force Band, but I would have had to sign up for five more years. “No, thank you! I’m in for only eighteen months.” Shortly thereafter, the Korean “police action” prompted President Truman to extend our tour of duty until that little problem was resolved. I was again called into the commander’s office, and offered the opportunity to go to West Point! That was very flattering, but I was still planning to finish college at home. I knew that my GI insurance policy would be sufficient to bury me, so I didn’t need the small insurance policy that Dad had taken out on me. I cashed it in, and bought a motorcycle. I broke my leg while riding it, and was home on a convalescent leave, when I met and married a high school sweetheart. Unfortunately, the marriage lasted only three months, but it produced my first son, who was to be separated from me for over thirty years. However, my son and I have become well-acquainted. Of course, the Korean thing lasted a little longer than expected, and the need for more manpower was desperate. I had been placed as a cadre member to open another training base in New York (Sampson Air Force Base), then to Wichita Falls, Texas (Sheppard Air Force Base), and then to Pleasanton, California (Parks Air Force Base). The broken leg prevented my trip to New York, but I did go to Texas and then to California to train more basic trainees. While at Sheppard, I was once more called into the commander’s office and given the opportunity to go to Army OCS, with a following assignment to Korea. Again, I let that great opportunity slide by. By 1953, I was getting pretty tired of the basic training routine, and was trying to change career fields. However, the only way to do that, so I was told, was to transfer into the Air Police field. “OK with me!” In a few days, I had orders to go to Korea as an AP – but more “news” . . . The Air Force was in the process of moving the Air Police training program to Parks Air Force Base, and I was assigned to train new air policemen! Still in the training system! But, the chief clerk of our unit was a drinking buddy of mine, and when a mandatory assignment came in for radio operator, I jumped at the chance. I headed for Keesler Air Force Base, Mississippi. As I was an NCO (staff sergeant) at the time, I had a pass to go off-base anytime I desired to do so. Well, to make a long story short, I met this cute little chick at a country-western dance, and ended up asking her to marry me! And, she said, “Yes!” My proposal wasn’t on the first night, but only about three months later. I soon graduated from the school, as an honor student, and was presented with the opportunity to choose my next assignment, of those that were available. So, we went to Germany for three years! Our son, Terry, was born at Wiesbaden Air Base, and we were expecting another son, Wally, as we returned to the States. (By the way, I was now the first sergeant of the Second AACS Mobile Squadron, at Hahn Air Base, Germany.) It was now possible for me to get out of the service. But, I wondered, “How am I going to be able to go back to college and support my growing family on that little GI Bill?” As it happened, I was stationed at Hahn Air Base where the F-86 fighter was assigned. I loved to watch that plane fly! So, I thought to myself, “I can fly that airplane! I’ll stay in the Air Force!” Then, the testing began. . . The college GED, the aviation cadet pilot training program tests, the physical examinations, and so forth. Surprise! I passed everything! But, they said I couldn’t go to pilot training because I was married! I could if I was commissioned, though, so then came more testing! This time, it was for Officer Candidate School, with pilot training in-grade to follow, as an officer. Again, I passed everything. But, just before rotating back to the States, I was informed that everyone had to take the new and improved OCS exam. The problem was, I wouldn’t know if I had passed it, before we climbed on the plane for the USA. “Check-in with Lackland,” I was told. My stateside duty assignment was at a radar station near Havre, Montana. We planned to drive our new ’57 Ford, which we had purchased in Germany for delivery in New York, from the East Coast to our new base. (I think we saved some taxes, or something, by doing it that way.) Our planned route was to take us through Mississippi to visit with Cathy’s relatives, and then through Texas to check on my OCS application, and then on to California to see my side of the family. Then, finally, we would go on to our new duty station in Montana. Lackland had the test results all right! Not only had I passed the OCS exam, but I had been selected for class 57C! “OK,” I said, “now I won’t have to go to Montana!” Wrong! I was informed that the commander in Havre had to interview me for the selection, even though he had never met me and I had never served under him! Oh, well! It was then on to California where my parents fell in love with Cathy and with their grandson, Terry. I departed for Montana, and suffered a broken axle in an Idaho snowstorm, but managed to reach Havre on time. It was thirty degrees below zero when I arrived. I located a basement apartment, and my pregnant wife with our two-year old son, flew up to join me. A couple months later, we all climbed into our new Ford, and departed the frozen territory for San Antonio, Texas and OCS. I had no apprehensions about OCS, since I had experienced a few years of training basics, and had recently completed the USAFE NCO Academy. It was, for me, a time to endure and graduate so that I could go on to pilot training. I began to actually enjoy OCS, when the chance to play the trumpet presented itself. We raised a lot of flags during the early hours throughout those six months at Lackland! And, as the captain of the Drum and Bugle Corps, we had a prime place in all of the parades!
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One more outstanding event occurred during OCS, and that was when our son, Wallace, was born on April 27, 1957.
Yet another highlight of the times, was when I was notified of my assignment to attend pilot training at Moore Air Force Base, in Texas, upon graduation from OCS. So, it was OCS completion in September, then to begin pilot training in October, and turn twenty-seven years old in November. (At that time, one must have already entered pilot training before the twenty-seventh birthday. It doesn’t get much closer than that!) The next two years were kept busy with moving a young family every six months, and trying to learn all that I could about flying aircraft. (It later became evident that we weren’t flying “airplanes,” we were flying “weapons platforms”!) The assignments after Moore Air Force Base in Texas (September 1957 to April 1958) were: Laredo AFB, TX (May 1958 – October 1958); Williams AFB, AZ (November 1958 – April 1959); McConnell AFB, KS (April 1959 – November 1959); and then assignment to Schilling Air Force Base, Kansas as a combat crew member for the B-47 from January 1960 to February 1961. I was thrilled to fly the F86 while attending gunnery training at Williams Air Force Base. I had hopes of flying fighter aircraft for the rest of my career. That was “wishful thinking,” though, since only a select few went on to fighters, and the majority were picked to check out in the B-47. Quite an airplane, with the capability to perform acrobatics for the delivery of nuclear weapons, but not much fun. Weeks and weeks of alert, both at home and abroad, with an occasional training flight. I still wanted to fly fighters! I was eventually assigned to an Emergency War Order Operations unit, and later to Base Operations. I was close to getting my fighter assignment, when I was honorably separated as a captain, with severance pay. Under the terms of the separation, I could re-enlist at any base in the Continental United States, with the rank of technical sergeant. One more tour of duty would allow me to retire with twenty years of active service. I figured that those last four years would amount to over $100,000 a year, if I could live as long as the average guy and receive that retirement. All that, as well as a medical plan for my family, too. After a summer of touring the forty-eight states, our family settled in Phoenix, Arizona, and I re-enlisted at Luke Air Force Base. I also obtained my civilian commercial pilot license, and an instructor license. While at Luke, I was in charge of the Base Publications and Distribution Office, until orders for Vietnam arrived. However, during processing, my orders were changed to read Saudi Arabia. That was OK with me, even if they did have a six-day war while I was there. Upon reassignment from Saudi Arabia, I had my choice of base, due to my pending retirement. I chose Luke Air Force Base, of course. My last USAF assignment was with the 4511th Combat Training Squadron. The unit’s job was to check out pilots for further assignment to Vietnam. I was the chief clerk and ranking NCO there. I acted as the adjutant/first sergeant for the commander, and his personal secretary did all the dirty work. That was not a bad situation for my last assignment. I retired from active duty as an E-6 (technical sergeant) in 1969, and was subsequently promoted to first lieutenant on the retired rolls in 1979. I still don’t understand why I didn’t get my captain rank. Oh, well. Some of you may remember those OCS Friday night OC Club activities. This was the chance for us to visit our “better half” and have a drink or two. I remember the pounding head the next morning, too. Drinking alcoholic beverages in those days was expected. The military services didn’t seem to recognize the problems that alcohol could cause, and had no system in place to deal with it. I gave no thought to the amount of booze that I consumed. After all, I went to work and did my job! Well, it did catch up with me. I began to get into situations which I didn’t think a good guy like I should be experiencing. So, I called for help. Retirement was too close for me to screw it all up now! The commander and the entire squadron gave me a great send-off on my retirement day. It was a time that I will always remember. Then, I went out and got smashed! I had thought that the problem was over, and that I could now handle the drinking. That was the worst period of my life. I tried everything to be able to drink like a normal person again. Nothing worked. This was hard on my family, too, and I just couldn’t figure it out. Months of suffering followed, until one day it dawned on me that I was one of those people that AA talked about. There was NO WAY that I could ever drink like a “normal person” again. I had to abstain for the rest of my life . . . one day at a time. My last drink was February 22, 1975. Know what? I don’t miss it at all! Cathy enjoys my abstinence, too. We will have forty-eight years of married bliss come December 4, 2001. I got my first real estate license in Arizona during 1968. We moved to California in 1970, and I obtained the California real estate license. I later obtained a contractor license and upgraded my real estate sales credentials to a broker license. Things were looking pretty good, when the local Alano Club (a non-profit facility for recovering alkies) asked me to manage it, and get it straightened out. I agreed to help out for a couple of months, until they found another manager. They never did, and I ended-up working there with Cathy, until retiring in 1992. I didn’t make a bunch of money working there, but I know a lot of sober, happy families that benefited from that club. So, what now? Well, around 1983 my old injuries were preventing me from jogging or exercising properly, and I began to put on a lot of weight. Of course, that just made things worse, so I got the idea of bicycling. And, I never looked back after that! I lost a bunch of weight and I enjoy the camaraderie of the other cyclists. Cathy and I sometimes get on our tandem bike and go out for dinner! We belong to the Almaden Cycle Touring Club, with over a thousand members, and we’re always cycling somewhere. In fact, Dave Harvey caught me cycling through his hometown of Winters, California, and suggested that I get my bio to him “toot sweet”! Well, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!
Dave Ogilvie
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