Prior to the Navy, the closest this Kansas farm boy had ever been to an airplane was when I was plowing and a plane flew overhead at 30,000. Because the Army was threatening, my college roommate, John Chapman, and I found ourselves checking into Pensacola. Within minutes, I was saying, “What the hell did I get myself into?” Ever since I was 12-years-old, I had made my own decisions, now, after being told how to polish shoes and bounce a quarter off a sheet, I was trying to figure out how to get back to the farm. I ended up in class 28-62, only because I had failed a math test and was put into a special week-long school. During that week, we had math class all day long. We wore poopy suits, every day—for class, chow and marching. We were outcasts. When we went to church, we smelled so bad they put us up in the balcony away from the rest of the cadets. At the end of a week, I passed the math test and joined preflight class 28-62. What an experience!
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