The First Frankly Speaking

Frankly Speaking

Okay, I was a bit bored this morning and decided to write a regular communiqué that highlights some of the interesting events, encounters and people I have had the pleasure of crossing paths with. First you have got to accept the fact that I am not a writer. Some of the events will be humorous and some will be serious. I hope to make light of life in general. I do have an opinion on everything. Forty percent of the readers will agree with me, forty percent will disagree with me and the other twenty percent have not yet decided (and I doubt my influence will sway them).
Enjoy…….

I begin with a little biography of Frank Austin. I grew up in Oklahoma and Kansas in the 1950s and 60s. I would like to say that I knew what I wanted to do with my life at a young age, but the only thing I can truly say is that I knew what I didn’t want to do. Existing on the plains of Kansas simply did not appeal to me. I heard the wheat fields and oil fields calling and they were screaming, “Run like hell!” So I pondered my options (at least as much as I was capable of pondering at the age of 17) and managed to convince my mother that military service was the way to proceed. Now remember the Vietnam War was the news at the time, we still had a draft and the concept of people shooting at me wasn’t at all appealing. Dad was a WWII Navy veteran so he escorted me to the Navy recruiting office. The recruiter tested my aptitude and said that I was qualified to go into any field the Navy had (Dad did not even attempt to set me straight on the fact that once enlisted my butt was theirs nor did he remind me that I was not in the top 10, 20, 30 or 40% of my high school graduating class). Being an electronics technician with nuclear power specialty was MY chosen field of endeavor and the Navy was at the time selecting 60 men (kids) to go through boot camp as an all Kansas recruit company. Sounded good to me and the members of that company were being honored at a celebration that was held in my home town. The hook was set.

On Sunday May 12 I boarded a bus bound for Kansas City, Missouri. The following day I found myself on the pitcher’s mound of the Kansas City Municipal Stadium prior to a Kansas City Royals home game. At that time the rookie congressman from Kansas’s first congressional district (Bob Dole) administered the oath to all 60 of us.

The following day we traveled back to my home town to ride the float during the parade and then we went via bus to the Denver airport. Even though the flight from Denver to San Diego was my first, I don’t remember a thing about it. My first recollection of that trip was that of the Navy recruits hanging their wash behind the barracks; on seeing our bus go by they motioned us to go back. Funny, I had just taken my first trip in an aircraft and all I remember are the signals being sent by those sailors. At that point we were publicly humiliated by having to eat dinner in our civilian clothes; all the while being taunted by the old salts that had 5 or 6 weeks of boot camp experience.

At 4 o’clock the following morning the drill instructor, MMC Juan Cube (I will always remember him) turned a 55 gallon trash can into a drum and roused us to begin the morning. As we were marching along the waters edge to the chow hall the adjutant that was sheparding us along either saw, imagined he saw or thought it would be fun to say he saw a large fish jump in the inlet. He immediately halted our progress, advised us what he had seen and told us we were going to stand there until it jumped again. There stood 60 young men from Kansas dressed in short sleeves on a typically foggy and cold May morning in San Diego. With that the journey begins.