Chapter One: How I got there...

(Source)

At some point in my formative years, I decided that I would some day be a soldier. Probably because my father, grandfather, two uncles, and a grand-uncle had all been in the Army. The Vietnam War had not dissuaded my desire to serve, though the war was ever present in the headlines and on television. In addition, again at some point, I thought that being an officer would be just the thing. Hey, why not be in charge?

As my last year of high school began, college was suggested. No one in my family had ever been to college. As I wasn't in danger of being drafted, just yet, I would be first. While I had a number of older cousins (four to be precise) none of them seemed to have any desire to go to college. Why I went down that track has more to do with elementary school back in my youth.

Back then there were three kinds of students, the college bound, the not college bound (most likely to get a job straight out of high school), and the mentally challenged. I know what they were called back then, no longer a nice thing to do, wasn't really back then either, but truth be told, there were the kids who would be lucky to learn how to read and do simple arithmetic. At least back then (unlike some earlier times) not all were immediately institutionalized. They had a chance. A slim one, yes, but better than some of their predecessors.

But I digress.

So yes, college bound, or as my dad put it, "Who the Hell is going to pay for this?" Someone suggested the Reserve Officer Training Corps, the ROTC. Also, as Vermont had the nation's oldest private military college, Norwich University, founded in 1819, and as they had an ROTC program, that seemed just the thing.

So I applied.

The interview for the Army ROTC scholarship seemed to go pretty well. But I wasn't offered one. The scholarship went to a retired colonel's son who was active in Montpelier politics. Wow, what a surprise. But I figured, hey, what the Hell, a military brat, he does hae a leg up on us civilian kids. (Later one of my academic advisors told me that I was far more qualified than the colonel's kid. Sigh. Again, what a surprise.)

I did get accepted to Norwich, which pleased my mom, I nay have made known my intention of enlisting if I didn't get into Norwich, which was one of the only three schools I applied to, I didn't really want to go somewhere else, which, looking back on it, was PFS. Pretty Fire-trucking Stupid. Sigh, live and learn.

Long story short, I was a disaster as a college student. As a wise man once said...

Which I proved during my freshman year in college. In spades. I did have fun, but that wasn't really the point now was it?

So in the spring of 1972 I got a job. It was intended, at first, as a summer job but when I decided not to go back to college it became a "you need to support yourself" kind of thing. While the job was good as a summer hire, doing what I did full time was a non-starter. So I found a factory job, joined a union and everything.

I just could not see myself doing that for the next 40 years. No, no thank you.

I have blathered on, sometimes at length, of my early years in the Air Force, which you can read all about here, here, here, and here. (If you've a mind to and don't mind wasting a bit of your life which you'll never get back again. No, no, chase those links, good stuff, trust me!)

At some point in time I mentioned my desire to perhaps get a commission in the Air Force. Someone, probably my chief, told me about the Airman Education and Commissioning Program, or AECP. (Everything in the military boils down to an acronym.) Essentially, if you already had a year of college, and were selected, the Air Force would send you off to college to finish a degree on Uncle Sam's dime. You had to get a degree in something the Air Force really needed, which would make it something rather technical. No problemo, thought I. So it was off to the Consolidated Base Personnel Office (CBPO, I told ya) to, ahem, inquire within about the AECP.

"Nah, we don't do that anymore." sayeth the slimy looking buck sergeant behind the counter.

"But my chief said..."

"Does your chief work at See-Bow?" (Which is how that CBPO acronym was pronounced.)

"Uh, no, he doesn't but he's a chief and..."

"Beat it airman. We're busy here."

So beat it I did. I didn't relate any of this to my chief (stupid move) as I didn't want to embarass him, thinking perhaps he just didn't know the latest policies and all.

Actually he did know. It seems that the three-striper sergeant had actually lied to me. I learned in later years that some support agencies would actually "just say no" to potential customers so they could do less work. In my later years I would go to CBPO just to terrorize those types. Yes, I would wave my stripes in their faces, if I outranked them, or I would ask to see the requisite regulation if they outranked me.

I think my winning percentage in bouts with personnel pukes from the time I made Staff Sergeant until I retired as a Master Sergeant was probably close to 90 percent.

So AECP was forgotten, I fell in love, and transferred to Korea. (Which was covered in one of those links above. What? You didn't read those? Oh. You did? Cool.) Where the personnel wienies were way better at their jobs than the folks at Kadena. I was assured that AECP still did exist and that I should set course to the Education Office and inquire within.

Which I did.

Yes, Beans, you're going to have to wait for Chapter Two for the continuation.

Sorry.

Now everyone point at Beans and say, "Shame! It is thy fault that we have to wait. Thine and thine alone!" Wait, what's that sound?

Crap! Beans wasn't joking about that dragon ship!

Bloody Vikings!

And as John might say, "Toby Kahntin Yewd."