by Phil Rowe
Graduation ceremonies were just completed. Sweethearts and families gathered around their proud new second lieutenants. Hugging, kissing and tears of joy abounded. The ordeal of a year of the Aviation Cadet training program was finally over. We'd made it.
I walked out of the auditorium with my commissioning certificate in hand, shiny new gold bars on my shoulders and a proud smile across my face. Several sergeants lined the sidewalk, waiting to salute the emerging new officers.
That "first salute" tradition typically called for a payment of $5.00 or $10.00 to the first person to offer a salute to each brand new lieutenant. And back in those mid-50's days it was a meaningful token. Each graduating cadet class could mean quite a bit of money and the sergeants knew it.
Also waiting, at the bottom of the auditorium steps, was the captain who had made our lives miserable during the last months of cadet training. We'd soon be rid of him as we transferred to new assignments.
"Lieutenant. My office .. NOW!," the captain bellowed at me.
I saluted and stammered, "Yes sir, Right Away, sir." Then I followed him across the street to the headquarters building of our student training squadron. I wondered what in the world was going on.
We entered the captain's office. He sat down at his desk and I stood before it, rigidly at attention as I had done before during training.
"You've been a second lieutenant just ten minutes, Mister," he began, while shuffling papers to find one that especially concerned him. "And that may be the shortest career on record."
"I don't understand, captain. What's the problem?" I knew I was in trouble, again, but this was weird.
"The problem is this," he answered, pointing to a letter he finally pulled out of the stack of papers. "You've bounced a check. Here is a letter from a Houston bank stating that you wrote a check for $65.00. Only you didn't have $65.00 in your account to cover it. In fact, the bank says you don't have any money at all in that account. What in the hell are you doing?"
This was bad news indeed, a wholly inauspicious beginning for my military career. In fact, it could mean the end of it and it was just 10 minutes old. The military services are very strict about financial responsibility. Both officer and enlisted personnel are frequently told that they must never run up bad debts, pass bad checks or otherwise discredit the service. Not a few careers have been ruined by people who failed to act responsibly. And now it appeared that I was one of those.
"What is the date on that check, sir?, I beseeched. "I closed that account six months ago, before transferring up here from Houston. I know of no outstanding checks at all." It turned out that was wholly at fault. Somebody in Houston neglected to properly check on the status of my account, for when I moved I had indeed made provisions and left adequate cash in the account to cover the few checks still outstanding. Only after those last checks were cleared was the bank to fully close the account.
Someone in the bank assumed that the check for $65.00 was a bad one and had immediately written to the Air Force seeking restitution. Mistakes like that were hard to track down and getting things cleared up meant a lot of work and frustration for individuals like me.
Fortunately for me, I was able to convince the captain that this had been a bank error and not mine. I proved to him that my Houston account was indeed taken care of before I came to this air base. But it was not until I finally got a letter of explanation and apology from the bank that I could clear the blemish from my file and get all references to it removed.
My career got off to a shaky start that day, but all's well that ends well. Twenty-three years later I finally hung up my uniform.