I had been out of high school about 6 months when Pearl Harbor was attacked. I'm sure most everyone alive at the time remembers where they were and what they were doing when they got the news. I was at a motorcycle race.

I got the urge to go into service after that as lots of other folks did. Only I was kind of young! Always had a preference for the Air Corps. One day I had biked out to the airport after my paper route and a character flew in from Kelly AFB in an Army biplane, got out wearing that pretty uniform with the calvary boots and said, "son, would you help me push this thing into the hangar"? He didn't have to ask me twice! I was hooked.

So after awhile I got to badgering my mother to let me join up since I was too young to do it without her permission. Bless her heart, she was dead set against it. "But, Mother I can be drafted and I don't want to end up in some foxhole. Besides, I want to learn to fly"! This argument went on for some time. Finally, she gave in. Soon, some of the guys I worked with at the NAS had the same idea, so we piled into a Braniff DC-3 and hooked 'em from Corpus Christi to San Antonio. Our tickets cost $10 apiece, and this was the first time any of us had been on an airliner.

We signed up to take the cadet entrance exams. I was a little under the weight limit so, the night before the physical, my buddies made me eat a whole bunch of bananas. I passed the physical. The next day was an all day written test. Then came a psychological test. I passed them all and was sent back home to await orders.

I waited and waited. Finally the orders came through, and I found myself on a train to Santa Ana, California for classification with a bunch of other guys. We got there about dark one day and were marched to the cadet barracks area while the upperclassmen harassed us and yelled insults like "You'll be sooory"! We were assigned to barracks, got bedding, uniforms, and had our heads shaved.

We were given basic training by a tough old master sergeant. The next thing was classification, and this resulted in even more physicals and psychological exams in order to determine who would go to pilot, navigator, or bombardier school. Luckily, I was assigned to pilot training. But first, we had to undergo weeks of ground school, physical conditioning and all that goes with it.

Then the day came to be shipped to Santa Maria, California for primary pilot training. I was assigned to an instructor to learn to solo and fly the PT-17 Stearman biplane. After another 3 months I graduated and was sent to Pecos, Texas for training to fly the BT-13 Vultee basic trainer. We did our thing there and I graduated and was sent for advanced cadet training to Douglas, Arizona to fly multi engine, which was the Cessna Bobcat, otherwise known as "the double breasted cub". At the end of that 3 month period, those who graduated received their wings and commissions. I had asked for fighters and was tickled to get orders for Luke Field, Arizona for P-38 Lockheed Lightning transition. It was a dream to fly, but it couldn't last. Was told that because of the attrition of the bomber forces, I was going to be assigned to a bomber crew. My moral took a nose dive. Oh well, I'm still alive.

My next duty station was Salt Lake city for crew assignment and gunnery instruction. I was assigned to a crew and we were sent to Ardmore, Oklahoma for Combat Crew training in the B-17 Fortress. When that was over, we went to Lincoln, Nebraska for overseas assignment. Then to Camp Kilmer, New Jersey to catch a troop ship in a convoy to England.

We debarked at Liverpool, then to Bovington for orientation and base assignment. Assigned to The 8th Air Force, 1st Division, 40th Combat Wing, 306th Bomb Group Heavy, 368th Bomb Squadron (Eager Beavers), located at Thurleigh, England. Upon arrival there our crew was assigned to B-17 "Begin the Beguine" call sign: Nular N Nan. The rest is history and is narrated in further musings.