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7 My actual date of enlistment was November 24, 1968. I had enlisted in the delayed entry program so I could attend my brother’s December wedding in Newport News, Virginia. On January 7, 1969, I reported to the Armed Forces Examining and Entrance Station in Los Angeles. My parents took the day off to drive me down and spend what time they could with me. The day was spent filling out forms, getting identification cards, and various and sundry other things that only the military could come up with. At 4:00 P.M. we were ushered into a room where we were handed tickets and briefed on the arrangements that had been made for our travel to Fort Polk, Louisiana. All Warrant Officer Candidates completed basic training at Polk, probably because it was the closest basic training center to Fort Wolters in Mineral Wells, Texas, the Army’s primary helicopter center and school. Transport to Los Angeles International (LAX) would be by military transport , which turned out to be a chartered Los Angeles Rapid Transit Authority bus. I asked whether I could ride with my folks and was told, “Son, you’re in the Army now. You go when the Army tells you, where the Army tells you, and how the Army tells you. You got that?” Our itinerary included an ordinary scheduled flight to Houston’s Hobby Airport on a Continental Airlines red-eye special, connecting to a Trans Texas Airways (TTA) vintage Douglas DC3 to Lake Charles, Louisiana, where we would once again be met by military transport for the trip to Fort Polk. My folks followed the bus down the Santa Monica Freeway to the San Diego Freeway, and ultimately to LAX. At ten o’clock, they decided that they should start the hour-plus drive home. My father looked very proud as I hugged and kissed my mother. He knew what I was about to encounter, and he respected my decision to enlist. Dad shook my hand and pulled me toward him. He hugged me very tight, kissed me, and, choking back the tears, whispered, “I love you, babe. Don’t volunteer for anything.” “I love you too, Dad,” I told him and smiled at his last bit of fatherly advice. After Mom and Dad departed, I rejoined the other ten WOCs and we made our way to the gate. The flight was scheduled to depart at 12:40 A.M. The gate Chapter 2 “Welcome to the Army” area was dark and void of human life. We sat and talked, trying to get to know one another, while we waited for someone to show up to check us in. About midnight an agent came along. We were all pretty tired by now. We had reported in at 7:00 A.M. that morning and it was now approaching midnight. Most of us had been up since before five o’clock; it had made for a very long day. The airline agent told us at check-in that it would be free seating. We could choose any seat we wanted once we got on the airplane. Once on the airplane, we all chose window seats in different rows, so we could either stretch out or look out the windows. Besides the eleven of us, there were only a few other passengers on the airplane. After landing in Houston we entered the second deserted terminal that we had been in that day, made our way to the TTA counter, and learned that our flight didn’t depart until 7:30 A.M. Two hours to kill. We parked ourselves on the closest benches we could find and promptly fell asleep. Awakened by the arrival of hundreds of travelers, we realized we had slept through the first and second calls for our flight. Still half-asleep, we made our way to an old DC3 just as the number two engine belched itself to life. The smoke from the burning oil drifted over the top of the airplane and meshed with the same as the pilot started number one. I had barely sat down as we began to taxi toward the runway, and was asleep again before we reached it. Dean Scanlon, our travel group leader, awoke me as the aircraft came to a halt on the ramp at Lake Charles. A big sign greeted us as we entered the terminal, “All military personnel proceeding to Fort Polk, check in at the Military Affairs Desk...

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