Coming to Colorado: A Young Immigrantâ??s Journey to Become an American Flyer

CHAPTER 16. Flight 698

Flight 698 CHAPTER 16 { 187 } FLIGHT 698 The intense pressure let up a bit. Here and there we got a few minutes to ourselves, time to write a letter or sit on our beds and bullshit, something all of us loved doing. We wanted to learn about each other—where we came from, why we joined the air force— and, of course, we talked about topic number one, girls. We came from as far as Oregon and Iowa, from as near as Texas, Colorado, Oklahoma, and Arizona. There was a smattering of southern boys amongst us from South Carolina, Alabama, and Mississippi, white and black. Their deep southern drawls were always good for a laugh, as was a Texas twang. No one took offense.AllbutsixofusinFlight698ofthe3724thTrainingSquadronwere classified by the air force as Caucasian—a designation which appeared to include Germans, like me, as well as people of Mexican heritage. For the first time I became conscious of the largely unspoken discriminators of ethnicity, race, and skin color. The air force made certain to reflect race on my orders, but in our flight we were all the same—just airmen. Two of our “colored” flight members, as they referred to themselves, chose to befriend me. Rucker was a tall, lean young man from Mississippi, with a slow, deliberate, gangly gait, as close to dancing as a man could come by just walking. Marching wasn’t something Rucker ever became comfortable with. Our flight always lined up according to height whenever we marched anywhere, that put Rucker out front, to the consternation of Airman Schwanke. Nothing Schwanke shouted, whispered, threatened, or promised had any effect on the way Rucker marched. I believe ours was a snappy-looking flight, but whenever we marched past any group of people, Rucker’s gliding marching steps elicited smiles. At first Rucker and I just made small talk. Slowly he got around to the topic he really wanted to talk about, driving a big truck, “with lots of wheels on it,” as he put it. Rucker was worried that when the time came and our assignments were handed out, he would be sent to “cook school,” instead of a school where he could learn to drive a big rig. “Because I am colored,” he said. “Can you put in a good word for me with Airman Schwanke? Because, when I get out,” Rucker said emphatically, his eyes shining brightly, his long finger shaking in my face, “I want to buy my own truck and drive all over this here United States of America.” { 188 } FLIGHT 698 I felt flattered that Rucker would confide in me, trusted me, and asked a favor of me which I had no power to grant. On the other hand, I was surprised that he thought people would deny him an assignment because of his skin color. I was naive. I still had a lot to learn. Rucker’s simple request and his mention of “color” gnawed on me. Was I right back to the injustice I fled from in December 1946? Under the Communists suspicious things happened to people, not because of their skin color, but because of what they believed, or what someone thought they believed. People vanished at night never to be seen again, like my grandfather Grapentin, who was beaten to death in his prison cell. Rucker didn’t know when he brought up the subject of discrimination that it was like a knife twisting in my gut; he didn’t know the fear he released within me. It just couldn’t be that way in my new country. It just couldn’t. While I told Rucker I would speak up for him, I also tried to persuade him that no one would do what he feared because of the color of his skin. He smiled at my ignorance. “Samuel, I sure hope you are right,” he said laughing loudly, “because driving trucks is all I want to do with my life.” He paused thoughtfully, then said, “If my dream comes true, you can ride with me anytime, anywhere I go.” We laughed, slapped each other on the back, and laughed some more. I liked Rucker a lot. He was honest, generous, and kind. He reminded me a lot of Leo, and I told him so. He really got excited when I told him I drove a ten-wheel army truck through the sand and...