By Phil Rowe
Our wooden WWII-vintage barracks at Keesler Air Force Base on Mississippi's Gulf Coast was miserably hot. The air was still and muggy. for air conditioning was years in the future. It was a Saturday afternoon in 1952, fit only for lounging on our bunks and listening to the radio. We had the weekend off, but it was too hot even to go into town.
Suddenly, a fellow classmate burst into the barracks, letting the screen door slam behind him, declaring, "Hey, guys. Any of you see the notice on the bulletin board?"
"What notice?" replied another airman across the open bay, the tone of his voice reflecting only the barest interest.
"It says they want us to sign up for the aviation cadet program. They need pilots and navigators."
"Sure. They routinely post notices like that," suggested another fellow. " They just want replacements for guys shot down over Korea. None of us would qualify anyway. You gotta have a college degree. Ignore it."
"Nope. It says all you need is two years of college. Hey, Phil, why don't you go sign up? You've got some college under your belt, haven't you?"
"Yeah, I managed to complete two years before joining up," I replied. "But, I already looked into that back in basic training, out at Parks AFB in California. I flunked the eye tests and that's how I wound up here at Keesler with you guys."
"Makes sense," commented one wise guy. "You flunk the eye test to be a pilot, and they say it's okay for you to be watchful of traffic around an airfield. Perfectly logical."
For the rest of the afternoon we just took it easy, waiting for the time when we could head for the mess hall and supper. Conversation was mostly inconsequential, though one of my friends kept on asking me why I didn't go over to the orderly room and check out that notice. He suggested that I might try again and maybe pass the tests this time around. "What have you got to lose?"
Monday afternoon, after classes, I chanced by the orderly room to check the duty roster. I wanted to see if I was on Charge of Quarters (CQ) duty or KP duty that week. Fortunately, I was on neither roster. But I did pause long enough to read the notice about the cadet program. The chance to go to flying school and earn a commission was appealing, to be sure. I stopped by the duty sergeant's desk and asked for an application form. "What could it hurt?"
About two-thirds of the way through my schooling to become an air traffic controller, I learned that my application for the cadet program was under consideration. I was soon scheduled for a flight physical and then an interview with a rated officer, a pilot. My first hurdle was that eye test, the one I'd already flunked back in basic.
Yet, to my total surprise and delight, I passed the eye test this time around. The medics said that I was medically qualified to go to pilot training. I couldn't believe my good fortune, though I knew quite well that these eye tests at Keesler were not the same I'd had before. But who was I to argue?
A few days later I was scheduled for an interview with a captain, who proudly wore the wings of a senior pilot on his chest. He sat me across from his desk in the headquarters building and proceeded to ask a number of questions, designed to determine my maturity and reasoning abilities. It wasn't very difficult. A few questions dealt with my attitudes about bombing enemy troops and facilities, even if non-combatants might be nearby. Would I do my job, if called upon? I must have given the right answers, because a few weeks later I received notice that I'd been selected to attend a future class in the aviation cadet program. They didn't say when.
My air traffic control course ended on schedule. I was now an entry-level control tower operator and soon to be transferred out into the real world. I had no idea where I would go. Nearby Brookley AFB, at Mobile, Alabama was rumored, but when my transfer orders actually came I was to go to Wright-Patterson AFB in Ohio. Further, those orders said I would be assigned to the Air Force Flight Service Station there, not to work as a tower operator. A notice stapled to my personnel folder, my 201 file, said I was now a candidate for aviation cadets. Nothing was said about when. In the meantime, I was expected to perform my assigned duties at the Flight Service Center.
From January through April of 1953 I served as a technician in the Center, primarily working to process flight plans of military pilots in a 14-state region. It was great training for my eventual move to flight school. I actually got some private flying lessons from a few pilots in the organization, intended to give me a head start on my career move.
Yet becoming an Air Force pilot was not to be. On my arrival at Lackland AFB for the Pre-Flight Phase of training, I was given another eye test. I flunked. But all was not lost, for they asked me if I would be interested in going to navigator school. I of course accepted and the rest is history.