We were soldiers once, and young

Well somehow the young went away. Grannie and I just returned from a reunion of the air refueling tanker squadron that I served in from 1966 to 1969. Four years of duty flying the KC-135 -- same airplane that the Nebraska Air Guard operates yet today.

The duty base was Clinton Sherman AFB and just outside the gate the town of Burns Flat, Oklahoma. Hard-bitten and rural, Burns Flat boasted one grocery store, a couple of bars, and several dozen homes. Snuggled adjacent to the base fence stood the village's large modern elementary and high school courtesy of government money helping educate base kids and the few surrounding locals. It was a great place to live in the large base housing community.

Clinton Sherman was the place where Grannie Annie became brave and independent in raising our three children. She had little choice as this proud dad was gone a lot, 420 days doing "temporary" duty in the Vietnam area, pulling alert for weeks at a time and even getting to spend three weeks in Alaska one Christmas. No complaint; it was the life we chose for a career in the Air Force and our young people in service today are making an even greater sacrifice in separating from family during multiple deployments in Iraq, Afghanistan and the other hot spots of world conflict.

Unit deployments make for strong bonds between members and so it was great to gather again and catch up on long time friendships. Something happened, though, and somehow all the other guys seemed to get old. Of the couple of dozen of us that came to Dallas, Texas, plus our wives, a few were in poor health and many more suffering the ravages of age were unable to make it. How did that happen?

Oh the stories of our lives since leaving that unit, the 902nd AREFS, as each of us gave a brief summary of the intervening years. Tom went to the unit that specialized in refueling the SR-71 and flew the mission supporting the SR that flew from New York to London in just under two hours. He then went on to help crews in Europe learn to operate the E-3, the Boeing with the huge radar dish on top.

Mike went to another tanker unit gained a lot of pilot experience then went to Alaska and helped heal a Reconnaissance outfit flying the RC-135 that had a crash and needed new leadership flying missions out of Shemya a remote island way out on the Aleutian Chain with the worst flying weather in the world. From there after a trip back to be unit commander at Shemya he retired and went to Western Airlines in the role of training instructor.

George, the sole black pilot in our old unit, flew tankers for awhile in different units. Upon retirement from the Air Force he flew feeder airlines until he aged out. He and his delightful Jessie now live in Kittery, Maine, far from their childhood homes in the South.

Joe, our sole Hispanic navigator came just in time to do our last trip to Vietnam. When the unit disbanded, he went to the giant C-5. Then he finished his career riding backseat in an F-4. Joe retired back to Fresno, California, finished college and today teaches troubled kids in an alternative education high school program. Tough kids he is helping make straight.

Each has a story and all have led successful lives post-Vietnam. It was good to be back in the brotherhood once again.

Grannie and I drove to Dallas, interstate and toll roads most of the way. On return, we swung west and retraced the secondary roads we traversed so many times forty plus years ago between Oklahoma and our homes near McCook. Very little change. Milo, they call it maize, and wheat predominate but on south there are fields of cotton with the white bolls peeking out.

Native pastures predominate and the grass looks good this year populated with herds of sleek cattle. Much of the corn is harvested this date with the colorful fields of milo just experiencing the combine. The small towns along the way seem to be little changed neither growing nor failing. To this old farmer it is all good country.

New to us were the great many wind turbines generating electricity a ways north of Dodge City. They seemingly stretch beyond the horizons both east and west. Must be windy country.

Now again Grannie is on a mission to gather the goodies to send the troops for her Adopt A Chaplain project. This community is so good to support our deployed troops with a large number of "care" packages to arrive just before Christmas.

She currently is communicating with three chaplains with promises of packages to be sent. With the daily news showing ever more turmoil in the Mid-East our troops must know that they are remembered. Your donations and volunteer help make the difference as expressed by Army Chaplain Derrick Riggs who recently came to express his thanks to the community after his fifth tour in Afghanistan. He spoke of the look of gratitude on the faces of "his" soldiers when he would hand them a box and they commented with obvious relief, "I haven't been forgotten."

That is the way I saw it.

Dick Trail