Chapter 2 (pages 20-23) - Officer Training School - November 1966 to February 1967

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Mike came into the barracks room with an excited look on his face, almost as if he discovered where they kept the crown jewels at OTS.

"Boy, oh boy, have I discovered a time saver," he confided in me.

Of course, we were all interested in anything that saved time.  Time is what we never had enough of.  From 5:30 in the morning until we dropped dead in our tracks sometime between 11:00 and 12:00 at night, we had something to do.

"What's your great discovery?" I queried.  "Did you get copies of the exams for the rest of the program?"

"Of course not," he answered.  "That would be a violation of the honor code."

How silly of me I thought, not the almighty Honor Code. Since about 30 seconds after arriving, we had the honor code tattooed on our brain.

"We will not lie, cheat, or steal, nor tolerate among us those who do!"

With this code firmly fixed in our psyche, we were always carrying guilt around with us for those little shortcuts that all students take under extreme pressure.  I could certainly get absolute about stealing, but what's a "little white lie" among friends?

"I heard about a great way to spit shine shoes in about half the time with about twice the shine," he said as he lowered his voice trying to prevent his discovery from being heard.

I looked at him with my eyebrows turned up as I always do when confronting someone I think has decided to communicate directly with Rod Serling.

At this point I realized that he was absolutely serious.  The man is going to cream in his jeans over spit shinning his shoes.

He then proceeded to tell me the details of his great discovery.

"You take your shoes and put a thick layer of Kiwi polish all over them, but you don't buff them.  Next, you take some lighter fluid and lightly spread the fluid on top of the polish.  Then you light the fluid for a few seconds, blow it out, and the polish melts into the pores of the leather.  All you have to do is buff the shoes with an old pair of pantyhose, and they glisten in the light.  This whole process can be done in about 15 minutes.  Great idea, huh?"  He asks.

"Are you serious?" I ask.  "I mean are you REALLY serious?"

"Absolutely," he answers.  "As a matter of fact, I am going to try this right now."

"Do you think you should notify the fire warden, or something?" I asked somewhat sarcastically.

"Nah, this is going to be a piece of cake!"

Spit shining shoes was almost an art form among some Officer Candidates.  There are always new and exciting discoveries being field tested to see if we could cut down the time required to execute this daily task, or to put a luster on the shoes, the likes of which have never been seen before.

Two of the more tried and true methods involved "Five Day Deodorant Pads" and nylon stockings or panty hose.  Some enterprising soldier, now in the Military Hall of Fame, no doubt, discovered that if you apply a light coating of 5-Day Deodorant Pads to your shoes, it is like waxing a floor and the shoes really shine.  Unfortunately, like a lot of medicines, there are significant side-effects to this prescription.  The deodorant causes the stitching on the shoes to disintegrate, and the shoes fall apart in about 4 to 6 weeks.  I often wondered if the deodorant did that to your shoes, what it is doing to your armpits.  I had this vision of a society of Venus De Milo’s running around without arms from years of using 5-Day Deodorant Pads.  Most officer candidates, however, were willing to live with the side-effect, because they just "chucked" the shoes once they fell apart and bought another pair.  After all, shoes bought under government contract were really cheap, and OTS only lasted 11 weeks.

The second method, which I have to say was clearly my preferred technique, involved polishing the shoes with a pair of panty hose after you spit shined them using the conventional method.  The conventional method involved dabbing a small amount of polish on a cotton ball which was moistened ever so slightly, spat upon if you were crude, and rubbed over the shoes, a small area at a time.  Rubbing the panty hose over the shoes brought out the shine and eliminated any rubbing marks that may have resulted in doing a rush job.  Since most of my jobs were rush at best, the pantyhose was a real God send.  In a pinch, if you didn't encounter too many low flying obstacles, you could squeeze two days out of a shine by buffing your shoes with pantyhose.

By this time, Mike had set up his "laboratory" on the floor. Several layers of newspaper were carefully laid out.  An open can of Kiwi polish and a can of Ronson Lighter Fluid were close by, in addition to his favorite pair of panty hose.  By now, word of his "discovery" had somehow spread among the spit shining aficionados, and a small band had gathered around to watch the experiment.  I sensed now how the Wright Brothers must have felt on that cool morning in Kitty Hawk when they made their maiden flight.

Mike quickly spread the shoe polish all over the right shoe until it looked suitably dull and coated.  Next he squirted several shots of lighter fluid over the shoe, spread it around with his fingers, and then proceeded to ignite the shoe with his trusty Zippo lighter.

It was magnificent.  The shoe immediately burst into flames gobbling up the mixture of lighter fluid and raw shoe wax like a hungry dog going for a Gaines Burger.  Unfortunately, no amount of blowing by Mike could extinguish the flames. The shoe just kept burning.  In his haste, Mike had also not prepared a contingency plan for putting out the fire, like maybe a wet rag.  All he had near-by were his panty hose.  He grabbed them and tried to put out the shoe.

Panty hose has many wonderful characteristics, many of which I can only imagine, given that my exposure to them was rather limited.  I can say that fire retardation is not one of their strengths.  When exposed to flame, they immediately melt, in addition to smelling really bad.  Besides his burning shoe, Mike also had a pair of melted panty hose on his hands or more appropriately, on his shoe.

Finally, the shoe burned its course, and we had a size 10 1/2D, shoe-shaped replica of a charred marshmallow on our hands.

At this point, the assembled spectators burst in spontaneous applause accompanied by riotous laughter.  Mike was just sitting there with his mouth wide open.

"I think I used too much fluid," he moaned.  "That was the part of the recipe that I wasn't quite sure of."

I tried to console him without laughing. "Hell, it was worth a try.  If it worked you could go along side the 5-Day Deodorant pad inventor in the Military Hall of Fame.  Maybe you can find someone who has a right shoe to go with your good left shoe."

Unfortunately, this did not seem to cheer him up as he cleaned up the mess.

"Damn, damn, damn," he muttered.  "I really thought I was onto something."

Chapter 8 - pages 180-181 - Learning the ropes in Air Weather Service at Andrews AFB, Washington, D.C. - Jan 1970 - March 1971                                                                                                       ##

I learned a lot about Air Weather Service during my frequent visits to our units.  One of Gary's biggest headaches was how to keep bird droppings off of the weather equipment. Since we had a lot of weather units in remote locations, as well as near the ocean, the equipment was continually assaulted by bird droppings - the true Air Weather Service aficionado would say bird shit.  It seemed that bird shit was very corrosive to the metal towers on which the equipment is affixed.  The other interesting thing I learned in my ever increasing personal database of bird shit memorabilia was that a person could tell the diet of a bird by the texture and color of the bird shit.  In California, around Vandenberg Air Force Base, the birds ate of lot of berries so the bird dropping were pastel colored, usually blue or deep red, influenced by the berries the birds consume.  Also, the berry pits passed through the birds and congealed on the equipment.

Air Weather Service in its unending drive for continuous improvement, contracted for the acquisition of the ever famous "Air Weather Service Owls."  These owls were genuine, simulated fiberglass, life-like predators of the purveyors of the bird shit. Unfortunately, I knew the birds were winning when during my first visit to one of our weather detachments, I encountered an owl that I could not recognize because it was so covered with bird shit.  I thought that this commentary on Air Force bureaucracy was so well stated that I could not possibly say more.  It was elegant in its simplicity, yet the message was direct and to the point concerning the effectiveness of AWS owls.