The Night I Became A Stooge
Anyone who has ever served in the military probably carries at least one basic training story around with them for the rest of their life. It might be something that happened to them personally, something they witnessed, or one of those tales that grows slightly with each retelling until it becomes part of military folklore. Whatever the case, basic training seems to produce memories that refuse to fade. I am no exception. My story begins on my very first night at Air Force basic training at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas, on June 9, 1976. Looking back, I was practically begging for trouble before I ever set foot in Texas. A week before leaving Illinois, I had reluctantly cut off most of my long red hair. In the mid-1970s, long hair was practically a badge of honor for many young men, but I figured there was no point arriving at basic training looking like a roadie for Lynyrd Skynyrd. I wanted to blend in. I didn’t want to attract a...
