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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Survival / Success
- Subject: Life Experience
- Published: 06/09/2024
Firsts, Alaskan Style
Born 1947, M, from Oceanside, United StatesFirsts, Alaskan Style
It was the first time I had ever seen real snow-capped mountains in person (I’m talking about the mountains surrounding Anchorage. The area around my base was flat). It was the first time I really listened to country western music a lot (Armed Forces Radio played at lot of country western music, not to mention the fact that a number of country western songs were on the juke box in our NCO club). And it was the first time I had ever heard a radio station broadcast from inside a department store. And I don’t mean just one time. The station in Anchorage I’m talking about did this every night. But what really blew me away was something else they did.
Nearly everyone that was assigned to a remote air base in Alaska had to process through Elmendorf first. This could take anywhere from a day or two to several weeks,depending on what extra training they might need, or any health problems that had to be
taken care of before they got to their base. The bigwigs in charge wanted to make sure you were physically okay before they stranded you on one of their remote air bases for a year. Of course, they forgot about our mental states. I wound up staying a week before I went on to my site.
A good part of that time, I spent listening to one of the local Anchorage radio stations, which, as I said, broadcast at least one hour every night from inside one of the local department stores. I think it was a J C Penny’s, but I’m not sure; it’s been so long.
For a second hour, they broadcast from inside a hamburger joint, while outside, cars with teenager drivers cruised the block.
Both these situations were novelties for me. I had never heard a radio station broadcast from outside its studio, except during Saturday morning, high school football games (at least I don’t remember ever hearing any radio stations back home in Connecticut do that).
But then one evening, the DJ at this Anchorage radio station started talking about missing the hot summer weather. It was only early November, but already the temperature at night was dipping close to 10 above zero.
He said what he really missed about summer were the girls in their bikinis. I agreed with him; so, did I. But then he said he’d give a free $25 gift certificate to any girl who’d come down to the store wearing a bikini.
Now, at this point, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Back in 1967, DJ’s (at least the ones where I came from) didn’t do these kinds of things—asking girls in bikinis to come waltzing through department stores, especially when it’s almost winter. Since then,
crazy stuff like this has become commonplace.
So, with my ears tuned in like cable satellite dishes, I listened to my little portable radio, waiting to see if anyone would show up.
Sure enough, about a half hour later, a girl showed up wearing a fur coat over a bikini. It took the DJ about another twenty minutes to convince her to take off the coat, but once she did, she got her prize and I got a set of memories to last a lifetime. But they weren’t the only set of memories.
Just like I’ll never forget my first experience with an earthquake. It happened while I was sitting at a table in the chow hall with three other guys eating. Suddenly, I felt a strange back and forth motion, almost as if someone had snuck up behind me and was shaking one of the legs of my chair.
I’m thinking, “Okay, who’s fooling around?”
I looked down to my right, but no one was there. So, I looked down to my left. No one was there either. Now I’m wondering, “What the Hell is going on here?” When I looked across the table at the guy sitting opposite me, he had a strange expression on his face.
Meanwhile, at another table, all four guys, who just happen to be air policemen, simultaneously jumped up. I heard one of them say, “Let’s get the hell out of here!” Then all four of them ran out of the chow hall as if they were being chased. I don’t know whether or not they had felt the same thing, but they sure made it out of there in a hurry.
I asked the guy sitting opposite me if he had felt anything strange. He said yes. But the two guys sitting on either side of us didn’t feel a thing. In fact, they thought the two of us were crazy.
It wasn’t until later, I found out Fairbanks, which was 150 miles away, had experienced an earthquake. Obviously, what I and the other guy had felt were some of the remnants of the shock waves. But at the time, it was so strange for me to think that only some of us had felt it while others didn’t. I guess it depended on how everyone was sitting compared to the direction the waves were traveling.
Another first was the fight I saw which was like something right out of a cowboy movie. It started with two guys, I guess arguing over something. Then, two of their friends jumped in to help, and two of their friends, and two of their friends. Before long, there was this mass of battling figures that was all swinging arms and legs. It sort of grew like a snowball rolling down a hill, sweeping up more and more guys into its mass until it got so big, it couldn’t stay inside the NCO club any longer. Like a quivering lump of “Jello”, it just sort of spilled out the door and onto the snow.
As soon as the fight had started, I took refuge over by the bar—just me, the pastry I was eating, and my cup of coffee. But after everyone fell outside, I went over to the door to take a peek. That’s when I saw what looked like a scene out of a western movie. There
were guys everywhere trading punches. It didn’t take long for the air police to show up, but even they had trouble trying to break up this one. It was almost too much for them to handle.
The next day, I saw at least one guy walking around minus a stripe. I heard that during the fight, our base commander, the one I mentioned who used to get drunk all the time had walked up to this kid and told him to stop fighting. Instead, the kid, who was probably no older than me, turned around and kicked the commander in the shins. When the big guy dared our young brawler to kick him again, the kid did. That’s why they say he lost his stripe.
I don’t know how true this was, but I do know one thing—when it came to reasons for us to party or raise hell, we would use any excuse: the mail plane finally arrived; the ice in the river broke up; one of the guys received a care package from home. But the biggest reason for any one of us to celebrate was because he was about ready to ship out. But even here, I had to deal with a problem—were they ever going to allow me to leave?
Unlike my first boss, who left on the day he was supposed to, or my roommate, who left a month early to get some dental work done, I was told I wouldn’t be able to leave until my replacement showed up.
My new boss, a young African-American sergeant, was hoping I’d never leave. He’d only been there a short time and liked the fact that I often took the initiative to prepare the cargo to go out.
But even though I liked working with him, I was anxious to get out of there. I had already reached my “DEROS” date--one year from the date I had arrived. But now, instead of counting the days down to zero, I was counting back up: minus one, minus two, minus three. By the time I got to minus ten, I was beginning to worry they were never going to let me leave? Finally, at minus twelve, my replacement arrived.
You know, I don’t remember a single thing about him—what he looked like, or whether he was young or old. I guess the shock of realizing that I was finally going to leave just sort of washed out all memories of him. I do remember that I spent one day briefing him on what to do. Then on day minus fourteen, I was out of there!
I said my goodbyes to all my friends. Then I and another guy, who was leaving at the same time climbed aboard a civilian plane and watched in shocked numbness as the runway, the buildings, the village, and even the Yukon River disappeared below and behind us.
All the way back to Anchorage, we sat in stunned silence, splitting our attention between looking out the window at the lush Alaskan landscape, which had already begun to turn its fall colors, and the stewardess. You have to remember, I hadn’t been around
any females, at least the kind that came from the lower forty-eight, for over a year. But the fact that we were actually going home didn’t really hit us with its full impact until we got to Anchorage. Then something happened on the way from the airport as we were heading over to Elmendorf that really brought it home.
We were seated together on a bus with only the first realizations that we were free and heading home seeping into our subconscious’. Suddenly, we were jolted hard by the bus driver hitting the breaks and jerking the wheel to the left. As the bus began to accelerate again, I heard the bus driver swear, “Damned women drivers!”
At that point, I looked at my companion. He looked at me; I smiled, nodded, and said, “Yep, we’re back in civilization, alright.”
Dear readers, hope you enjoyed some of my remembrances of my time in Alaska.
Take care,
Tom Di Roma
Firsts, Alaskan Style(Tom Di Roma)
Firsts, Alaskan Style
It was the first time I had ever seen real snow-capped mountains in person (I’m talking about the mountains surrounding Anchorage. The area around my base was flat). It was the first time I really listened to country western music a lot (Armed Forces Radio played at lot of country western music, not to mention the fact that a number of country western songs were on the juke box in our NCO club). And it was the first time I had ever heard a radio station broadcast from inside a department store. And I don’t mean just one time. The station in Anchorage I’m talking about did this every night. But what really blew me away was something else they did.
Nearly everyone that was assigned to a remote air base in Alaska had to process through Elmendorf first. This could take anywhere from a day or two to several weeks,depending on what extra training they might need, or any health problems that had to be
taken care of before they got to their base. The bigwigs in charge wanted to make sure you were physically okay before they stranded you on one of their remote air bases for a year. Of course, they forgot about our mental states. I wound up staying a week before I went on to my site.
A good part of that time, I spent listening to one of the local Anchorage radio stations, which, as I said, broadcast at least one hour every night from inside one of the local department stores. I think it was a J C Penny’s, but I’m not sure; it’s been so long.
For a second hour, they broadcast from inside a hamburger joint, while outside, cars with teenager drivers cruised the block.
Both these situations were novelties for me. I had never heard a radio station broadcast from outside its studio, except during Saturday morning, high school football games (at least I don’t remember ever hearing any radio stations back home in Connecticut do that).
But then one evening, the DJ at this Anchorage radio station started talking about missing the hot summer weather. It was only early November, but already the temperature at night was dipping close to 10 above zero.
He said what he really missed about summer were the girls in their bikinis. I agreed with him; so, did I. But then he said he’d give a free $25 gift certificate to any girl who’d come down to the store wearing a bikini.
Now, at this point, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Back in 1967, DJ’s (at least the ones where I came from) didn’t do these kinds of things—asking girls in bikinis to come waltzing through department stores, especially when it’s almost winter. Since then,
crazy stuff like this has become commonplace.
So, with my ears tuned in like cable satellite dishes, I listened to my little portable radio, waiting to see if anyone would show up.
Sure enough, about a half hour later, a girl showed up wearing a fur coat over a bikini. It took the DJ about another twenty minutes to convince her to take off the coat, but once she did, she got her prize and I got a set of memories to last a lifetime. But they weren’t the only set of memories.
Just like I’ll never forget my first experience with an earthquake. It happened while I was sitting at a table in the chow hall with three other guys eating. Suddenly, I felt a strange back and forth motion, almost as if someone had snuck up behind me and was shaking one of the legs of my chair.
I’m thinking, “Okay, who’s fooling around?”
I looked down to my right, but no one was there. So, I looked down to my left. No one was there either. Now I’m wondering, “What the Hell is going on here?” When I looked across the table at the guy sitting opposite me, he had a strange expression on his face.
Meanwhile, at another table, all four guys, who just happen to be air policemen, simultaneously jumped up. I heard one of them say, “Let’s get the hell out of here!” Then all four of them ran out of the chow hall as if they were being chased. I don’t know whether or not they had felt the same thing, but they sure made it out of there in a hurry.
I asked the guy sitting opposite me if he had felt anything strange. He said yes. But the two guys sitting on either side of us didn’t feel a thing. In fact, they thought the two of us were crazy.
It wasn’t until later, I found out Fairbanks, which was 150 miles away, had experienced an earthquake. Obviously, what I and the other guy had felt were some of the remnants of the shock waves. But at the time, it was so strange for me to think that only some of us had felt it while others didn’t. I guess it depended on how everyone was sitting compared to the direction the waves were traveling.
Another first was the fight I saw which was like something right out of a cowboy movie. It started with two guys, I guess arguing over something. Then, two of their friends jumped in to help, and two of their friends, and two of their friends. Before long, there was this mass of battling figures that was all swinging arms and legs. It sort of grew like a snowball rolling down a hill, sweeping up more and more guys into its mass until it got so big, it couldn’t stay inside the NCO club any longer. Like a quivering lump of “Jello”, it just sort of spilled out the door and onto the snow.
As soon as the fight had started, I took refuge over by the bar—just me, the pastry I was eating, and my cup of coffee. But after everyone fell outside, I went over to the door to take a peek. That’s when I saw what looked like a scene out of a western movie. There
were guys everywhere trading punches. It didn’t take long for the air police to show up, but even they had trouble trying to break up this one. It was almost too much for them to handle.
The next day, I saw at least one guy walking around minus a stripe. I heard that during the fight, our base commander, the one I mentioned who used to get drunk all the time had walked up to this kid and told him to stop fighting. Instead, the kid, who was probably no older than me, turned around and kicked the commander in the shins. When the big guy dared our young brawler to kick him again, the kid did. That’s why they say he lost his stripe.
I don’t know how true this was, but I do know one thing—when it came to reasons for us to party or raise hell, we would use any excuse: the mail plane finally arrived; the ice in the river broke up; one of the guys received a care package from home. But the biggest reason for any one of us to celebrate was because he was about ready to ship out. But even here, I had to deal with a problem—were they ever going to allow me to leave?
Unlike my first boss, who left on the day he was supposed to, or my roommate, who left a month early to get some dental work done, I was told I wouldn’t be able to leave until my replacement showed up.
My new boss, a young African-American sergeant, was hoping I’d never leave. He’d only been there a short time and liked the fact that I often took the initiative to prepare the cargo to go out.
But even though I liked working with him, I was anxious to get out of there. I had already reached my “DEROS” date--one year from the date I had arrived. But now, instead of counting the days down to zero, I was counting back up: minus one, minus two, minus three. By the time I got to minus ten, I was beginning to worry they were never going to let me leave? Finally, at minus twelve, my replacement arrived.
You know, I don’t remember a single thing about him—what he looked like, or whether he was young or old. I guess the shock of realizing that I was finally going to leave just sort of washed out all memories of him. I do remember that I spent one day briefing him on what to do. Then on day minus fourteen, I was out of there!
I said my goodbyes to all my friends. Then I and another guy, who was leaving at the same time climbed aboard a civilian plane and watched in shocked numbness as the runway, the buildings, the village, and even the Yukon River disappeared below and behind us.
All the way back to Anchorage, we sat in stunned silence, splitting our attention between looking out the window at the lush Alaskan landscape, which had already begun to turn its fall colors, and the stewardess. You have to remember, I hadn’t been around
any females, at least the kind that came from the lower forty-eight, for over a year. But the fact that we were actually going home didn’t really hit us with its full impact until we got to Anchorage. Then something happened on the way from the airport as we were heading over to Elmendorf that really brought it home.
We were seated together on a bus with only the first realizations that we were free and heading home seeping into our subconscious’. Suddenly, we were jolted hard by the bus driver hitting the breaks and jerking the wheel to the left. As the bus began to accelerate again, I heard the bus driver swear, “Damned women drivers!”
At that point, I looked at my companion. He looked at me; I smiled, nodded, and said, “Yep, we’re back in civilization, alright.”
Dear readers, hope you enjoyed some of my remembrances of my time in Alaska.
Take care,
Tom Di Roma
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