“The One Drinking Whiskey…”

My apologies for the temporal chasm between postings, but the holidays got in the way, and excuses. I’m back now though, so I’ll get started.

This New Years Eve, I went to the Randolf Air Force Base Officer’s club ball. As a brand new O1, I was the second youngest there by a good number of years and experiences. The ball was a blast. The band was good, my girl was beautiful, and the food was phenomenal as well. Those things come secondary, however, as what truly made this night special for me was a graduate of West Point named Frank who joined the Air Force after his graduation in 1957.

Frank was there with his lovely Sicilian wife, Daughter, and Son-in-law. When he first introduced himself, he called himself “Nails,” which I will assume was his call-sign back in his fighter pilot days. He introduced himself as Frank the second time he introduced himself, and that’s the name he stuck with for the rest of the night. As I first started talking to Frank, I noticed a few things about him and his family. Quick moments of panic flashing in his eyes when anyone mentioned what year it was. His wife tugging at his shoulder after he asked to compare Academy rings for the second time. Frank told me his favorite stories about being an Air Force Academy Air Officer Commanding (AOC), then he told me about the oldest living graduate of USAFA. Then Frank told me those stories again. As Maria, his wife, tugged on his shoulder to get Frank to go dance with her, it dawned on me: Frank is losing his memory.

I got up and danced with Sofia a little bit, and revealed to her my revelation about Frank. After only a little talking, and a bit more dancing, we both sat down, and listened to Frank’s stories. Frank treated us like the captive audience we had made ourselves, mesmerizing us with his stories about his past in between pulls on a never ending glass of scotch. It became clear what stories Frank was the most proud of by the number of times he would tell the stories, and by the gusto he would tell them.

Often Frank’s wife, Maria, would start to tug at his elbow and smile at me nervously when he launched into yet another rendition of a story, but after a while, I would just smile and wave her off. After all, Frank was potentially the most entertaining person in the room. Every once in awhile, Frank would meander on over to the bar and buy another glass of scotch, often leaving a half-full, or even full glass behind. When Frank would return to the surplus scotch, he would look at it, like he realized he was showing his memory loss, but then he would shrug, pour the extra into the new glass, and begin telling me about Arthur K. Schumaker, the oldest living graduate of USAFA, who happened to be a Plebe with Frank at West Point, but got kicked out during their plebe year.

In one instance, Frank returned from the bar to an entire glass of scotch at his spot. He looked at it, looked at me, looked at the glass, then looked at me again and whispered “Would you like my extra scotch?” To which I replied, “I would love to have it, thank you!” Frank picked up the scotch, and instead of handing it to me gleefully yelled “Too bad, youngster!” and drained to glass with one long pull while cackling maniacally.

Frank was an Air Force Officer, with a long and storied career flying fighter jets in Vietnam, and all over the world. He could have told me any of his stories, and I would have been rightly impressed. While Frank did tell me a little about his flying, often asking me why I wasn’t able to fly and then telling me about how the sunrise looked over Southeast Asian Jungles, it was clear he was proud of one story above all others. He told this story the most, and with each telling and glass of scotch it became more animate, vulgar, and exciting.

When Frank was an AOC at the United States Air Force Academy, he graduated the first nine semester cadet. Excuse me, Frank fought to graduate the first nine semester cadet. To hear Frank tell it, it was a cadet who was struggling to financially support a sick mother at home, while struggling to accomplish his academic, military, and physical training. The cadet worked hard, and made a plea to Frank, as his AOC of Cadet Squadron 17 (or maybe 18, Frank couldn’t decide). Frank’s cadet had come up with a cumulative GPA of 1.98, just .02 points away from a passing GPA of 2.00.

This is where it gets interesting. Frank heard his Cadet’s plea, and decided that given the circumstances, the young man deserved a shot at graduation. Frank believed his Cadet could prove himself if given just one more semester to graduate. This was between the years of 1967 and 1971. At this time, the term “Late-Grad” had never been even thought of at USAFA, much less thrown around as a threat and eventual punishment as it is today on “The Hill.” Frank was going to need a “lot of gawdammed firepower” if he wanted to give his cadet a final shot at graduation. So Frank went to the Commandant of Cadets, Brigadier General Robin Olds.

If you haven’t heard of Robin Olds, go type his name into Google, read his Wikipedia page, plus whatever else you can find. The title of this post is actually a lyric from a song written about General Olds by the band Dos Gringos called “Last of the Breed.” Listen to it while you research. I’ll wait. Done? Good. So General Olds was already a sort of legend at the time he was Commandant at USAFA. When he heard Frank’s plea for the cadet’s extra semester, Frank reports that General Olds said “You got a lotta general’s to convince, buddy.”

At this point in the story, after enough scotch, Frank would get this mischievous grin on his face, and exclaim “By-golly, I convinced every last one of them sonsabitches!” Frank would then tell the proudest part of the story: “And guess what, with that extra semester, he not only graduated, but he made the Dean’s List!” The Dean’s list being the distinction of having a semester GPA above 3.0, or maybe in the top 10% of your class. I never knew because I never made that list. Its a distinction that very few obtain, and this particular cadet had the double distinction of being the first cadet to graduate after a ninth semester.

Frank’s stories, and especially his favorite story, resonated with me. It was men like him who inspired me to pursue a commission as an Officer in the United States Air Force. Throughout all his stories, Frank’s proudest leadership moment was one where he fought for one of his people. He joined the Air Force when the service was less than 10 years old, he flew in one of the most controversial and brutal of America’s wars. I enjoyed listening to each of his stories, multiple times over.

In the end, we parted ways with a handshake and a final academy ring comparison.  Was this a mind blowing, life altering moment for me? No. But this experience resonated with me. There are many men and women out there like Frank. Veterans of wars that have come and gone have stories to tell, stories that are rapidly being forgotten. So when you see that older Veteran, listen, actually listen to them, without asking stupid questions. Just let them talk, you might learn something.