by Phil Rowe
Why did I even bother? I knew when I bought the darn thing that it would seldom, if ever, get used. So, why spend all that money, a few hundred dollars, for a formal dress uniform?
The answer was painfully clear. That fancy attire was required by official policy. All officers had to have one. There were several times each year when formality demanded it. There was, for example, the Commander's New Years Reception, with all officers and their ladies expected to appear and be properly dressed. And, annually there were the one or two Dining-In affairs, with the brass and often some VIP's. It wouldn't do to miss those, since they were "command performances". So, like good soldiers, we all went out and spent several hundred dollars for our mess dress uniforms.
They were, without doubt, impressive rags, festooned with embroidered epaulets, adorned with medals and ribbons, plus various ratings badges (wings), miscellaneous braid and other ornaments. We looked like Hollywood creations ready for a royal visit.
Well, not quite all of us. Many attended those formal functions somewhat informally attired. In fact, we went in our rumpled coveralls. It was all perfectly legitimate, for we were aircrewmen, during the Cold War, nearly always on Alert.
For eight years I served on bomber crews in the Air Force's Strategic Air Command (SAC), in B-52's and B-58's, pulling ground alert duty, like men at the firehouse waiting for the call. We lived in special facilities at the end of the runway, just yards away from our armed and ready airplanes. For a week at a time, often every other week throughout the year, we manned our stations, expected to respond to the klaxon's call and be airborne within minutes.
Thus it was that we lived half of our lives in flight togs, those multi-pocketed coveralls that served as our work clothes. We wore high leather combat boots and covered our heads with unit-designating baseball caps. Cap colors and sewn symbols indicated which squadron we belonged to. Some outfits added colored neck scarves, just to dress things up a bit.
Being on alert duty did not excuse us from attending formal social and ceremonial functions, of which the brass was so enamored. No, that would not do, especially with the unit's pride and joy was represented by its combat aircrews. We were expected to attend, even in our coveralls.
Since we were subject to possible hasty departure from the festivities, we got to park right at the front door of the Officers Club, backed into the designated spaces for alert crews.
We sat by apart from the others, usually at the rear of the hall at tables reserved just for alert crews. We got to eat the same fare as those so formally and grandly attired, who actually got to wear their mess dress outfits. What we didn't get to do, however, was join in the toasting with wine or champagne. Alert crews did that with ginger ale, iced tea or other non-alcoholic beverages. It wouldn't do for SAC's finest to go off to war even slightly inebriated.
In the nine or ten years that I owned a mess dress uniform, I probably got to wear it two or three times. Every other formal event saw me and my crew mates in flying suits. Why did I even bother to buy the darn thing?