Freddy K's "On Guard" part 2

A re-issue of my series of articles "On Guard" (as in "We stand on guard for thee") about my recollections of life with the 2 Air Reserve Wing. First published at my defunct Freddy K's Unofficial 2ARW Website. The stories are based on my remembrances & the characters are based on people I knew.
Names are changed to protect the guilty.
Here is the second chapter.




"ON GUARD"
By Fred Kuzyk. Copyright 2001, Freddy The K Communications. No reproduction without permission.


It's A Family Affair

"I close my eyes, only for a moment & the moment's gone. It slips away, and all your money won't another minute buy.
Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind."
(From the song "Dust In The Wind" by the group "Kansas", off of the "Point of Know Return" album, 1977.)


Unlike the Navy, beards weren't common. But looking at the old photos, it seemed that just about every one of us airmen had a mustache, at one time or another. It was the "in" thing. It was dashing & harked back to the age of silk scarves, leather flying helmets & goggles. Even some of the girls had a mustache. It wasn't their fault. Blame their parents genes.


The Air Reserve was a kind of microcosm of Metro Toronto. We had representatives of all the ethnic, racial, religious, and regional persuasions. Blacks, Orientals, Slavs, Jews, Hindus, Muslims, French Canadians, Maritimers and even a few of what my ethnic buddies & I referred to as "The Anglos". It was a United Nations in green. On the surface, it was a family. Figuratively, we even called each other brother, as in "Brudda Mo". Every guy was a brother & every girl a sister. But it literally was a family affair, as there were many blood brothers & sisters, husbands & wives, sons & daughters, working together in the units.


There were quite a few husband & wife teams. Dave & Samantha Helyer, Nathan & Donna Lugey, Ron & Diane Smyley, and Ken & Dyan Mills, to name a few. Some of the couples met & wed as a result of the Reserve. Such as Debbie Giroux, who married pilot Mike Carpenter. That union, like most all the others, wasn't meant to last. Maybe it was the times, maybe the people. You couldn't blame the Reserve for all the relationships that went sour but the place did offer its share of temptations & stress for each marital partner.


There were the father & son teams. Chip Ray, forinstance, was the son of the RSU CO & pilot, Major Chuck Ray. The Major was a class guy, a former jet jock over in Europe during the 1960's. Chip was a good kid & a fine addition to our squadron. He joined when he was 15 years old, so his nickname was "Puppy Tags". He was far too young for dog tags! Another pilot was Captain Beaudoin. His son, Pierre, joined for a bit. This kid could eat! If you didn't finish something on your plate at the Mess, he'd wolf it down. He'd get in line for seconds, then thirds. He didn't get fat. I figure he was feeding a monster tapeworm. I also recall a father & daughter pair. Dan Leech was a RSU technician that came along one day. He was a greasy guy, a joker that reminded me of a pervert. His claim to fame was bringing half a dozen cokes to A/C Servicing to get him through the day. Great teeth, as a result. I couldn't see him as much of a father. But he was a dad and his daughter, Darlene Leech, joined our squadron. She was a young cutey that some of us came to know well, but not well enough. Some of the members of the Reserve were also "Base Brats" (children of military parents living on the Base), like Darlene. Thankfully, these parents worked in different units, so they didn't have to see how slutty their kids were behaving! Wally Wellington also had a son, Fred, who was in the unit. He was gone before I joined. Besides being a fuck-up, he was also a thief. The story went that he stole someone's wallet at one of the Summer Camps in North Bay. He got caught & was sent home. I believe he was also discharged but not honourably. His example would serve as an object lesson for us new recruits. "Don't be like that fuckin' Fred"!


Then there were the brother & sister acts. The most famous siblings were the "Cooper Clan". They were "Anglos", but we won't hold that against them. Dave was the eldest. He wore glasses, and was mellow with a deep voice. Dave was Air Frame, so I worked closely with him over the years. He & his brother Al were in the squadron when I joined. Al was a Crewman & an Aero Engine tech. He had a higher rank than his brother did, as he probably was the first of the clan to join. Al was a smiling happy go lucky type. An engineering graduate, he was also handsome, like a leading man in the movies. Their brother Rob came later. Rob went into our trade Air Frame. Rob was quiet & also wore glasses like his brother Dave. I recall supervising Rob on various tasks & serving with him during B Class at the RSU. GiGi also came later. Tall, blonde, striking, young, fresh, and she also possessed a head full of air. She'd break some hearts & balls. They'd all have their squadron romances. They were a nice, popular family. Their mother was a class lady. We got to know her from the large number of pool & other squadron parties the family hosted. Many were the times that everyone was invited to the beautiful home at 41 Lower Links. They did a lot towards morale & cohesiveness during those years. Didn't know their dad. He died during my first Summer Camp in North Bay. Apparently, he had been sick for some time. I can still see Dave sitting in the hangar, looking silently at the floor. They were going to fly him home to Toronto. All I could do was offer a hand on the shoulder. Didn't know the right thing to say. At that time, I didn't know what it was like to lose a parent.


Joe Grinch was an Engine tech & Crewman, who did have a beard. He was short and of Maltese descent. We got to know Joe & his wife Marg very well, as they were hosts of many Christmas gatherings at their home in Willowdale. Joe was mature & his wife was working on post-graduate degrees. It's too bad that they eventually split after many years. Joe encouraged his brother Dave to join. Dave was quieter than his brother was. I don't know what happened to Dave but Joe went on to work at deHavilland aircraft with many of the other lads.


Debbie Giroux, the lady who later marries a pilot, also had a brother in the squadron. Trevor Giroux was a cool guy. I called him "Clever Trevor". He didn't stay in the military for the long term, like his sister. Too bad because I liked him. He looked me up once in 1993 when he had returned from the West Coast. It was good to see him & reminisce about old times.


Then there were the Horvath brothers, Cam & Chas. Chas was one of our pilots. A handsome older guy, blonde haired & confident. He looked a little like a young Joseph Stalin with his mustache & Slavic features. He was a ladies man & a partyer. Cam was similar except for being dark haired & having a darker complexion, and he was an AF Tech. Cam was also a Crewman - one of "Lockett's Boys". Cam had many nicknames: Camel, Koboss (after an ethnic sausage that he was fond of), Gypsy, C.J. (his initials, which Lockett use to say stood for "Cock Jaw"). The brothers were part of the Hungarian Connection at the squadron. Together with Andy Gyorffy, they could carry on conversations in Hungarian and thus exclude the "Anglos" from what was being said. Over time, I would manage to pick up a few words. They were proud of all things Hungarian, even a terribly rank wine that was poured down your throat from a wine skin. It had a name that sounded like "Sex on Saturday", which was what we called it. I'm sure it was employed towards obtaining sex on that day & others. Both brothers were musical. Chas would play his violin & Cam & I were into guitar. When Cam & I played together for the group, we sometimes called ourselves "The Slavs". Hey, it's what they called us anyway. Cam loved spicy food & putting Tobacco sauce on everything - eggs, coffee, you name it. He'd gobble down the hottest chili peppers imaginable & complain that he couldn't find any hot enough. He'd get the braver souls to give it a try. We'd say that it burned twice, on the way in & on the way out. We'd also say that he must have a "Ring of Fire" for an asshole. On one occasion he must have overdid it, as he couldn't sit without the aid of a special cushion! To this day, some of us still use a little hot sauce, on occasion.


I aspired to be like Chas. He was once a technician & was selected for pilot training. On rare occasions, candidates were chosen to fill pilot vacancies & were sent on the "Short-Short" program (it could have been called simply the "Short Program". Why the need for repetition, I don't know.). Chas spent 16 months with the Regular Force flying everything. They then sent him back to the squadron. He built up flying hours & got a job as an airline pilot. His timing was perfect & did well for himself.


At times, you felt like an oddity if you were a single dude without a family connection. Indeed, the connection at times could be like nepotism & ensure that you were taken care of. A few rare individuals were accepted into the extended families. Dougy Wilkins, forinstance, as a buddy to members of the Cooper Clan became part of the family and almost the fifth sibling. A close association that exists even to this day. At times, the squadron was also like a Peyton Place in uniform. "As The Prop Turns" someone called it. The romantic liaisons were numerous & short-lived. You almost needed a guidebook to keep track of who was doing who, and who was presently not talking to so-and-so.


Cam & I were becoming buddies. I was on the way to being part of the Horvath family. We'd share some bizarre adventures and some bizarre women. Some of the first ones would take place at CFB North Bay.


Next Article: North, To North Bay.


North, to North Bay

"Summer lovin' had me a blast, Summer lovin' happened so fast."
- From the John Travolta & Olivia Newton-John movie "Grease".



Gateway to the North

Those were great days. We packed a lot of living into two weeks. There was a lot of good-natured high-jinx. Well, at least nobody landed in jail. Every day seems like it was sunny & warm in hindsight. I know each couldn't have possibly been, but it does seem like they were. The Summer Camps of 1978 & 1979 were held at the historic base at North Bay, Ontario. The two summers now tend to blend together. The differences were that in 1978, it was my first time, and the next year I was a veteran. The first year I was only there for the two weeks of 400 Sqn's camp. For the sequel, I was there for the entire month, working full-time with the 2 RSU on "B Class" pay.


The Otters were flown up & the equipment went up by truck. I could have gone by either but I had to have my wheels, my 1966 Mustang convertible (in various shades of primer & exhibiting battle damage). A bunch of us convoyed with our cars. I remember Eugene "The Jeep" Pietro's car stalling on Highway 11. I diagnosed the problem to a clogged fuel filter, which we blew out at the roadside. It's curious but although we worked on planes as mechanics, a lot of the guys didn't work on their cars & were clueless about them. It was also peculiar but the junior ranks often had the nice new cars, while the pilot's drove shit boxes like mine. Except for Chas Horvath, who drove a great Corvette. Somehow, our convoy arrived.


CFB North Bay had a long & exciting history. It was home to the Semi-Automatic Ground Environment (SAGE) or command centre for the Canadian region of NORAD. In the 1970's, it was the HQ for Fighter Group. In the 1950's, it was the home for a squadron of RCAF Air Defence Command's CF-100 fighter jets. Those were the days when Canada had squadrons of front-line fighters throughout the country and thousands of aircraft. We set up shop in the old Alert Hangars, which were once used by jets. During earlier times, these hangars housed pairs of North American Air Defence (NORAD) interceptors which stood ready, 24 hours a day, to intercept Russian bombers before they could get close to the populated south. At a moment's notice, aircrew and ground crew would fire them up right in the hangar. They'd roll out and being by the end of the runway, they'd practically takeoff right out the door.



Clunks & Frights

Standing at the end of the runway, I remember the sight of the last remaining CF-l00 Canucks (nicknamed "Clunks", "Lead Sleds" or "Double Nothings") passing overhead on takeoff. These craft were over 25 years old. Although obsolete and dated, they were still air-worthy and looked great. At one time, there were almost 700 of these birds. Some were even purchased by the Belgian Air Force. Built by A.V. Roe (AVRO) Aircraft of Toronto, this was the first and last all-Canadian operational jet fighter. It was a twin-engine, all weather subsonic interceptor. When I was there, 414 "Black Knight" squadron was the last "Clunk" squadron. No longer in a combat role, they were being used for electronic warfare, which was playing the part of bad guys in exercises and trying to jam our radar. I tried my hand one-day on the CF-100 simulator. What an experience! One moment you're at several thousand feet, the next, on the deck. Trying to land it, I crashed and burned three miles short of the runway. My thirty-five hours as a pilot in a Cessna didn't prepare me to be a jet-jock! Anyway, the Clunks were retired in 1981, on their 30th anniversary of operational service. Their airframe life span had exceeded all expectations; it's just that they couldn't get the engines for them from Orenda any longer.



CFB North Bay shared the runways with the civil airport. This led to some interesting sights. Like an Air Canada airliner waiting while one of our Otters landed. Or waiting while one of the Clunks or transient jet fighters took off. I'm sure the airline passengers always had an interesting show to watch - I know I did. You'd see Voodoos, Tutors, and Starfighters. Sometimes these planes would get permission from the tower to do a low-level high- speed pass. One day, while working on an Otter at our area, I was startled to see a USAF B-52 bomber drop from the clouds to do a pass very low to the runway. Marvellous! On another day, 411 pilot Wally Sweetman was flying an Otter with passengers. Wally was a sweet guy. He also gained a reputation for pushing the envelope with the Otter. His plane was quickly approaching the Alert Hangar when he pulls the plane up into a vertical climb right above the hangar! I didn't think an Otter was capable of that kind of rate-of-climb. I trust that Wally had permission for this stunt. I'm certain some of the passengers needed an underwear change.


A request was received to provide a flyby down to Orillia or Barrie, as part of some celebration they were having. Two Otters were dispatched for the task. I believe that Wally Sweetman was the pilot on one of them and that was the plane I was on for the ride. The two aircraft did a couple of passes over the town, performing steep formation turns, etc. Nice view of Lake Simcoe & the flight there & back was most enjoyable.


Not just the pilots did the flying. Some of us techs had private pilot licences or student pilot permits. Tom Binns & I went up in a Cessna 180 he rented. Tom was a slow talking AE tech. He use to drive the RSU nuts with his meticulous manner. There were some kind of inductor coils or something that were part of the engine checklist. None had worked since Columbus was a boy. I mean some of our planes were 25 years old. Whatever these things did was inconsequential. The RSU guys would tell him this & he'd still snag the planes for it. Anyway, Tom was interested in aerobatics. He really wanted to rent a CITABOREA (which is aerobatic spelled backwards. Clever, eh?) but the rent-a-plane people didn't have one. Probably just as well, as that plane could fly upside down. So we end up going for a few hours worth of taking turns doing take-offs & landings in the 180. Tom ends up doing some moves that pushed the envelope as well. He also had a little running joke that he'd frequently tell. "There I was at 40,000 feet. Nothing on the clock but the maker's name - RPM". I never flew with Tom again. I think he had a death wish, like the judge in the movie "And Justice for All". The one who keeps testing & extending his fuel range until he runs out. It was neat watching fighters take off below us while we were doing circuits. North Bay was that kind of place where you had commercial airliners, high performance military jets, and small private planes - all using the same airport at that time.


Where's The Nukes?

Although I never went looking, I was told you could still find the remains of the Bomarc missile bunkers up in the hills. The Bomarcs were large anti-bomber missiles (Surface to Air Missiles or SAMs) equipped with nuclear warheads. In the early '60s there was a big debate about these weapons, which helped bring down the Diefenbaker government. Bomarcs weren't accurate enough without the nuke warheads, so they were eventually fitted. Although we had the missiles, I'm told American personnel held the keys to arm the warheads, as they owned these sensitive weapons! Dief-the-Chief bought into the theory that planes were obsolete due to ICBM & SAM missiles. There's even the belief that our government was forced to deploy Bomarcs by the Americans. If we didn't, the theory goes; Dief was told the Yanks would then deploy them on their side of the Great Lakes. Any nuclear detonation would then be over places like Toronto, instead of up north. The Bomarcs were a boondoggle, and shortly after their inception it was announced that further implementation was cancelled. It could never replace a manned fighter. As a result, 446 Missile Squadron at North Bay was one of only two batteries that came into being. By 1972, these were finally scrapped and air defence was solely the realm of fighters once more.


Welcome to "The Hole"

One day, a tour was arranged to see the SAGE, better known as "the hole". The nerve centre here receives signals from the radar stations of the DEW (Distant Early Warning) line, and co-ordinates the fighter defences in our region. Over six hundred feet below ground through the solid rock of the Canadian Shield, a three-story building sits within a cavern. Access is via two tunnels, the main one over a mile long. Propane buses take you down past the thick blast doors. The complex can be totally self-contained, when "buttoned-up". Having its own power plant, water supply, sanitation, hospital and food stores - it was meant to survive a direct nuclear attack. The building even sits on rubber insulators, to minimise shock. The place was awesome to visit! It housed the two largest computers in the world with 50,000 vacuum tubes. Occupying whole rooms, they were state of the art in 1959 but bulky and antiquated in the late 1970's. Our tour guide shows us a memory cell, a large cube filled with wires. Today, he said it was the equivalent of a pocket calculator. IBM staff did constant maintenance, mostly replacing tubes according to schedules. Controllers monitored radar screens. They'd touch a light pen onto an unknown on the screen. The computer identified planes by referring to flight plans. The war room was shades of "Dr. Strangelove" with its maps, displays, and boards showing the current threat to North America and our stage of alert readiness. I decided if I had to be somewhere during atomic attack, this was the place!


The SAS

In '78 we got to know members of Britain's Special Air Service (SAS). These modern day Commandos were an elite unit, right up there with the Green Berets, US Navy Seals, or our own Airbourne Regiment. It was said that these people trained the Israelis for the raid on Entebbe. How it came to be that these fellows found themselves training here on there own without air transport & support…I don't know. Apparently, they tried to get what they needed through regular channels to no avail. After speaking about their dilemma to our CO, Ron Pierce, our aircraft & resources were placed at their disposal. Anything for our brothers-in-arms from the "old country". We'd take them up for parachute drops or night landings at primitive strips where they could practice counter-insurgency. This added a great deal of prestige to our Summer Camp and new vitality for our old Otters. Imagine we were stealth transports for trained killers! I remember sitting in the mess with some of them one evening. They didn't look like military types. Their hair was quite long & they dressed in civvies when they weren't jumping out of perfectly good aircraft. I suppose they tried to blend in at all times inorder to infiltrate & fight terrorists. I don't believe they wore dog tags or carried military ID, as a rule. All very clandestine. Their dialects & manner was like that of most Brits, but they were tough. On some, the muscles were evident. One of them told me about his buddy, James. You didn't come behind him & touch him. His own child had done that & he instinctively reacted, hurting his son. I guess many of them had hair-triggers. Much later I learned that it isn't easy to condition people to be such killing machines. It's harder still to turn them off. It was an exciting episode, though. I made sure not to sneak up on James. There were no nasty incidents during the two weeks with them. Afterall, we weren't fighters. We saw ourselves as lovers & partyers.


SAR

While there in '78, I went on my first long trip and SAR (Search And Rescue) in an Otter. We flew out of Sudbury. They put us over night in the Holiday Inn for the weekend. We spent daylight for 8 or 9 hours flying back & forth along search grids. My task was the same as the others in the cabin - a "spotter" looking out of the window at the bush for any sign of the missing. What with the heat, monotony, vibrations, and being hung over; I began to feel quite poor & used the barf bag. For trips away like this, they'd provide us with box lunches. They were better than K-rations but not much. The box would contain a sandwich, maybe a can of pop & an apple. Mess food was great in comparison. I don't know if the box lunch contributed to my illness, but it sure didn't help. I kept trying to adjust the air vent above me to get some fresh air. Bob Stopp gave me some "helpful" advice that was useless. RSU Crewman Chuck Concubine gave me some real pity as well as some gravol, which helped. We didn't have the honour of finding the missing party. I don't know if this was the same search but I recall that a couple of clowns were found in their missing floatplane. They never filed a flight plan, miscalculated their fuel, and had to put down on a small uninhabited lake. They had no food or supplies, other than beer for their fishing trip. When found, they were very pissed & were waving empty beer cans. A massive search had been staged. There was then a rumour that these idiots were to be billed for the cost. If true, they'd probably still be making instalment payments today!


Back at the hangars, training & servicing continued. Pilots did aerial photo challenges, para drops, & such. We did maintenance & repairs. I remember assisting Doug Wilkins on a repair to a cable that was a classic "field repair". Without parts, the item was rigged in a clever manner so that the plane could get back to Toronto. Sometimes you had to improvise & sometimes you were recognised for going above & beyond. As long as nobody loses an eye, it's all fun.


Pay Parade

Since our unit was away from home, a pay parade was conducted to receive your earnings. This was conducted by the Finance Officer, Captain Pool, who later would become a chopper pilot. We lined up in the Alert Hangar & approached his desk. Your SIN (Social Insurance Number) was always required for matters dealing with your pay, so I memorised mine & it's another piece of trivia that I carry around in my head today. It was great that they brought the money to you. Recently, Chip Ray was telling me that the Forces paid you in the currency of the country you were in, while you were overseas. This was good for you. Not so good for any family back home if you pissed it all away & your wife or dependants didn't receive any of it. Many an airman would return home & find their family gone. Small wonder!


Distractions

All wasn't just military & airplanes. Our workday ran from 7AM to 3PM, which gave us lots of free time afterwards. I had brought my books & papers from college, with the idea of being productive but not much work was done. There was always lots going on, especially parties! There were no strip clubs that I recall (were there we'd be there every night) but there were plenty of bars. Such as the lounge at the Ramada Inn. I recall one night there drinking zombies with the group. Gary LePere, who normally was in a miserable mood & hated his subordinates, was my buddy after enough zombies kicked in. There was also Ladies Night at the Elk's Club. This was a "grab a granny" type of evening with plenty of older women. I didn't get lucky there but we had a few laughs. One night, someone suggested we go for a ride to Temiscaming. This was a town in Quebec that wasn't very far up Highway 63. It was like driving to Trout Creek. The attraction was that it was in La Belle Province & the bars were open later than ours were. It gave me an opportunity to use my broken high school French. We didn't cause any scenes or inflame the provincial rivalry. The anglais airmen picked up no French nymphs that night. Even if you didn't go off base, there was always the mess and plenty of parties in the barracks rooms.


I brought my .22 calibre rifle with me one year. Bill Khyber also brought his gun. Bill was with 411 Squadron & some called him the "Mad Iranian". Sometimes aka "Wild Bill". Obviously, he was of Iranian descent. His father was a former army officer under the Shaw. Bill was very excitable & animated. Anyway, we took our guns to the dump & plinked cans one afternoon. Bill would probably have enjoyed killing something.


One day while the "kids" of the squadrons were doing their thing, we old guys spent a day on the links playing golf. Beside myself, there was Capt. Townley-Smythe, Ron Smyley, Capt. Irwin Terrifico, Chuck Concubine, and perhaps a few more. At the time, I played quite often. My cousin was a golf pro. I'd even get my dad out for a round or two back home. The North Bay course wasn't of Myrtle Beach calibre but better than some. Who can remember how the play went that day, but all had a good time?


Going to the movies was popular. Since I was one of the guys who had a car there, we'd load up the available cars & hit the flicks. Now these were the days before the "Cineplexes" became popular, so you went to grand, old movie theatres that played only one film at a time. I recall seeing a number of shows - Omen II, one of the Jaws series, one of the Rocky flicks. Others remember seeing ET there. But the best for me was Grease. I saw the stage version in 1974 at Hamilton Place when I was in the chorus of a local musical there. Saw some of the rehearsals & liked it so much that my high-school sweetheart & I bought tickets. Anyway, so I knew the story & some of the songs. The bunch of us in North Bay just thought it was excellent. We were on a high leaving the theatre. We piled into the Mustang, put the top down, and belted out the songs while cruising the main drag. "Go greased lightning you're burning up the quarter mile". Yep, we were lovin' summer & having a blast!


I had a CB in my car with a PA speaker under the hood. A couple of our characters had some fun with this. They just couldn't help playing with it & making comments to the natives. I remember one incident where Huey keyed the mike as we were coming up to a girl on a bike. He shouted, "Hey your wheels are turning!" It nearly scared her right off the bike. Not exactly the way to pick up girls, but when I wasn't totally embarrassed by someone's actions, it did cause me to chuckle.


The one downside to being in North Bay in the summer was the shadflies. For a period of a few days, these pesky insects would inundate the city in enormous numbers. They were everywhere. They didn't bite; you just couldn't escape them. I recall going for pizza. The girls in our party were completely grossed out, as the shadflies swarmed the pizzeria & were crawling all over the pizza. Driving down the road, my tires would make a strange sound as they crunched the ones on the pavement. The windshield became caked with their carcasses as they struck it. I put the wipers & washers on. Error! The guts just smeared into opaque goo. Thankfully, they died, as their life span was blessedly short. The remains would linger for awhile until dispersed or eaten by other bugs. A reprieve until next summer when they would fly in from Lake Nippissing to occupy the city once more.


We never saw some of our buddies the whole time there. They were having closed-door sessions in their rooms with girlfriends. Having private parties instead of socialising with the group. Andy Gergek was one of them. He didn't drink nor do any drugs. He did spend all his free time with Cheryl Setter the one year. When that relationship ended, the next summer he was under the covers with Joanne Pilsener. Clever Trevor also spent time with a beauty named Jackie McGuiness. She could have been a model and looked mighty fine in uniform but I'd bet even better out of uniform! About twenty years of age, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Jackie was a new clerk up in the Wing. She took a fancy to Trevor. Somehow, something went wrong & he blew it. Towards the end of the camp, you'd see Jackie in the company of Joe Tinker, the comical middle-aged Newfie in the RSU. He said that Trevor blew it. I met with Trevor in 1993. Even years later, he said, "I blew it". I don't what it was that he actually blew, but it seems he could have had her on a silver platter. I think she wanted marriage. She was far too good looking to be in the military. After that summer camp, she was gone. I'd have a couple closed-doors, too. Mine didn't last the whole camp. More like one day.


Stopp's Doll

During 1978's camp, someone tried to set-up Bob Stopp with a lady at the base. Bob was a social misfit. He never had a girlfriend or any encounters that we knew of. Rumour had it that he was a "twenty something" virgin & still lived at home with mom. It's not difficult to see why. He acted nerdy & had an irritating laugh. He also had a fur fetish. He was forever pissing the girls off by stroking their hair. They'd be sitting somewhere & he'd come from behind & begin fondling their hair. They'd yell, "Stop, Stopp". Sometimes, you'd catch him stroking with glee the fur on our winter parkas. We hated winter. He was destined to be a Master Corporal forever.

So, they found this lady who was hot to trot and who also shared some interest with Bob, like SCUBA (he'd bring his tanks to camp). Anyway, Bob did get her in his room and all that happens is he shows her his rock collection! I guess geology was another interest. He just didn't get it that the lady wanted to get his "rocks off", but not the quartz variety. Now in addition to North Bay's bars, booze & beer stores, Canadian Tire, & supermarkets, which we'd frequent for supplies, the town also had a sex shop. A couple of us found this one-day. I recall being on the mission that purchased an inflatable female love doll with three (count 'em) orifices. She was a gift for Stopp, which we presented in front of the entire group at the wind-up party. It was meant as a put down for his failure with his previous date. Bob spoiled our fun by being ecstatic. You'd think he'd be embarrassed but instead he brought "air girl" to next year's camp! It's said she accompanied him on EVERY trip. I think he liked dressing her up in new outfits. Recently I learned that Stopp was still in the Reserve, until they finally forced him to leave a short time ago. Some people had no life outside of the squadrons, and no life inside it.


Dammit Janet

Major Chas Horvath had a squeeze, Monica, in North Bay. Like the stereotypical sailor, he probably had one in every port. Monica was a real party girl. To some of us younger guys, she seemed very suggestive & unshockable. She appeared to be in her late thirties and had a bit of a pot. Tons of fun she was & could drink & joke with the best of us. Met her for the first time at the Ramada Inn lounge during one of our zombie sessions. She brought along her friend, Janet. Janet had a similar personality & was perhaps a little younger. She just oozed sensuality. It turns out that my buddy Cam had an evening with Janet shortly after this meeting. I recall Cam telling me about the episode. She was TOO hot to handle. She was a savage fuck & he found it too uncomfortable to repeat. She'd scream at him "Fuck me harder, you bastard. Come on you pig." That sort of thing. Thus began the pattern of Freddy Deadly being thrown some of Cam's dregs. The beginning of my association as Cam's sidekick. He suggests that I have her. I was game for most things & her brand of lovemaking was different. My faux pas was deciding to take her to the base for one of our shack parties.


I pick her up & we arrive. She looked hot. But as the drinks flowed, she acted positively slutty. Not with me, with everyone. She teased verbally & physically, grinding her loins into men's groins while dancing or sitting on a lap with her ass gyrating someone into a hard-on. I remember one of the pilots, McKay, sitting there drunk, staring at her with drool coming from the side of his mouth! Some began to think that she would fuck us all right there on the floor. She was my "date" and it was getting embarrassing & infuriating. I suggested that we go home, but she wasn't buying. About this time Chas approaches me & asks about my feelings towards her. I tell him that I'm not impressed by her "interest" in me. I'm quickly realising that she's not the kind to give your heart to. Well, his approach was novel: he believed we could have a threesome with this one. This took me aback. This was beyond my experience at the time. It must have been the ultimate fantasy for the Horvath brothers, as the thought would rear its head on a few occasions. Somehow, I don't think this was a first for Chas. It presented some interesting facets. Considering that Chas would then be having the same broad that Cam had the day earlier. Monica wasn't present this evening. Chas no doubt had Monica yesterday. Tonight we would then be having a piece of her girlfriend, too. I can understand his motivations. Chas was persuasive. He was "an Officer & a gentleman". I'd like to be in his good books. It sounded pretty exciting. "What the hell", says I. With my "green light", "Operation Let's Both Fuck Her Till She Feints" was now a go.


Now it was SOP that if your roommate brought in a date, you would vacate the premises & find another room to bunk. The details are a bit hazy but I believe we take her to my room. Poor Brian Mulberry. He was an older Brit, an IE Tech, and also a born-again Christian. He must have been mortified by all the sin that was going on. I doubt if he was my roommate. More likely he was displaced from his room. All he wanted was some sleep & now he had to find another refuge. We're having some laughs but Chas realises things would be better in his room. He's got booze & his violin there. So off we stagger. Mulberry must have ended up with Chas's partner, a pilot name of McLennon. I'll always remember Mulberry painfully exclaiming "Oh no, not again!" But he gets up again to leave, followed by McLennon, who is in his jockey shorts & grinning like the Cheshire Cat. There we are, Chas making his moves while the liquor flows. He begins by doing some tunes on the Stradivarius. Then it was a little sweet-talking. He pulls down her top & we remove the bra. While I work that region, he begins on her skirt area. She'd half-heartedly protest & pull on one garment while we'd remove another. "Chas, stop it." "Fred, I thought you were nice." "Not that nice", I reply while licking a breast. Chas then pulls off his shorts. This liquor-induced ballet went on for hours. I offered her an out several times, but she wasn't ready for a ride home. She wasn't going to satisfy the two of us, either. It was a classic Mexican standoff. Finally he realises this, as I had, and gives up on her. He says, "Take her home" and rolls over to sleep. As the Mustang pulls up beside the townhouse, a guy appears at the door, waiting & watching. It's almost daylight. It appears that she left her kids with her common-law or boyfriend, while she was out all night. "Oh shit" was what came out as she left the car. She goes in. Heated yelling & slamming door. I figure that chivalry had been served in getting her back. I wasn't going to intervene in a domestic fight. Besides, this was Chas's idea and he's asleep while I'm doing the proper thing.


Cam was eager for the details the next day. We hear from Monica that Janet is sporting a black eye & won't be coming around the base no more. It's an example of the pain & pleasure that happens when 400 comes to town! We came up short in this escapade. Besides the eye, Janet did get serviced by Cam and he got his rocks off. We got teased. Chas would remember our "almost 2 on 1" for a number of years. As a result, I was an "OK guy".


I've never hit a woman. A few have tempted me, though. I pitied Janet's sorry existence & the game she was playing at home. Perhaps if it were I waiting at her home, I would have belted her, too. It's a funny story but also pathetic. Chas & I weren't exactly honourable either. Before knowing the score with Janet, I would have given her all my pent-up desire & youthful stamina. After knowing what she was about, I'm glad I didn't screw with her. She was no longer sensuous or attractive. Later, I discovered that one didn't need wretched creatures, barroom bimbos, pissed to the point of passing out, to have a threesome. All you needed was a classified ad & an intelligent, willing participant. More than one's curiosity would be satisfied. That's another story.


McGuiness & the Banzai Bonnets

Mike McGuiness was a character. He had the same last name as Jackie but they weren't related. Which was good because she looked a hell of a lot better than he did (were they related she might not have been so beautiful). Met Mike for the first time at that 1979 Camp. He was a new 411 Squadron tech. In his real life, I believe he worked at a Bi-Way or department store. He was an adequate technician, not a fuck-up by any means, but his forte was comedy. He loved to yuck-it-up in a good-natured way. He must have been a fan of Weird Al Yankovic, for when he heard the song "Another One Bites The Dust" he'd always swap the lyrics with those of Weird Al's "Another One Rides he Bus", which I hadn't heard before. I seem to recall that he was once in the army cadets and thus knew a lot of our "squadron" songs. Not only did he know our verses for "The North Atlantic Squadron" but he also had a whole bunch more. Physically, he was a tad chunky, but not obese, clean-shaven, & light haired. He had a rubber face that he could mould into myriad expressions. Not a handsome face but a kind one. As a former acting student in the theatre department at York University, I appreciated Mac's quick wit & his penchant for improvisation. He had a knack for sight gags & was constantly mugging to get a laugh.


One night at the mess, he introduced us to "flaming assholes". He bought a round of Drambuie, which we then set alight. We had to down them. This was novel! A few moustaches were singed in this macho exhibition. It was memorable & Mac had begun to cement his place in or collective memory. Many years later, we'd remember the antics he inspired. I've even wondered if he was a real person. He could have been an angel or a muse sent down to inspire us. To teach us to enjoy the day & not take any of this too seriously. I can't recall him doing anything that was for himself - he didn't hustle broads or scammed to get something he wanted. His whole purpose seemed to be the entertainment of others. To motivate myself & the group to have fun.


During the 411 Camp, Mac got hold of a roll of some heavy-duty paper. Stronger than paper towels and minus the perforations. He took red & black markers & made a rising sun & mock Japanese letters. This became a headband like the type worn by Japanese Kamikaze pilots in WW II. Mac began a routine of speaking faux Japanese combined with gestures that were hilarious. "Banzai", he'd shout with his arms thrusting into the air. He'd bow & play the character to the hilt. He made more headbands for us, which we dubbed "Banzai Bonnets". Driving around town in my Mustang, we'd stop at a light. He'd stand up in the car wearing the headgear & we'd launch into the Banzai routine. Some people were utterly speechless but most laughed. The Air Reserve was making its presence felt on the inhabitants of North Bay! In today's politically correct times, such behaviour might be considered grossly inappropriate & racist. But in this time & place it was magic. This shtick took on a life of its own. Wearing caps into the Mess was a major no-no (it would cost you a round of drinks). I can't remember any rules against headbands & I think they began appearing there during drinking sessions with the accompanying & expanding routines.


I remember being at the Alert Hangar flight line. Mac is sitting outside in a chair. He turns his wedge cap sideways, thrusts a hand into his shirt, and in that moment becomes Napoleon, spouting a monologue about Josephine. The next moment, he changes into a Nazi Gestapo Major, shouting orders to his subordinates. "We have ways of making you talk", he says, switching from a French dialect to German. He finds a chalkboard pointer & employs it under his arm like a British Sergeant Major's swagger stick. His dialogue now switches to a British accent. "Put some discipline into those men, will you Sergeant-Major". "Very Good, Sir", he replies as he stiffens to attention. "All right now you rabble, let's look alive", he says as he reviews us & struts around. Then suddenly he'd begin speaking "Japanese" and point with the pointer at some imaginary enemy aircraft (like the Fire Control Officers aboard a Japanese WW II warship did) in the blue, North Bay sky. On come the Banzai Bonnets & we'd exchange mock orders & cries. I'd pretend to operate an Ack-Ack gun. Officers or Crew Chiefs watching this show would shake their heads, laugh & walk away.


The routine lasted throughout the 411 Camp & carried over and grew during the 400 Camp. One day, the Officers challenged the Other Ranks to a baseball game. Our whole team got into the Banzai spirit & wore the headgear. The antics were more fun than the game. We lost the match but we certainly entertained our more serious minded competitors. The Banzai goings on even continued on our boat trip to Keystone Island. Some of the lads used foliage with their Banzai Bonnets, using a branch as a rifle, and took POW's while on the island. Thus playing the part of straggler soldiers on this "Pacific" island. "Long live the Emperor", I say!


I don't know what happened to Mac, but would really like to see him again. He wasn't at any of the activities the next summer. I believe he quit the Reserve sometime after North Bay & no one in 411 seemed to know where he went. I had no idea what his goals, plans, or directions might have been. But honest to God, I can still distinctly hear him says we were sitting there in North Bay: "Fred, listen to Mac. Trust Mac, he knows". Not "listen to me". He spoke in the third person on more than one occasion, like some disembodied voice of another being. Maybe he was psychotic? I did have a friend once who became schizophrenic. I now know that people can suffer misfortunes & untimely demises. I hope that none befell Mac & that he's still alive & well. I can picture him as a motivational leader of some sort. He would have made a great politician, selling people on an idea, subtlety, so as to believe it there own. I'd like to think that to every group he went on to touch, he brought a little positive mirth to everyone. Indeed, in only a short time, he influenced our large group, left only pleasant memories, and moved on. Who could ask for a better legacy? See the humour in every day and take nothing too seriously.


Not 100% of the group liked Mac. "Wild Bill" wanted to shoot him for his constant badgering of his Iranian descent. Bill had his rifle & called Mac outside. Fortunately Mac didn't accept the challenge. To make it more sporting, I could have offered Mac my rifle & thus a duel might have taken place. We'll never know if Bill was really serious. At any rate, Bill's life today is better for not having shot him. Besides, the bullets may not have done any harm. I don't think you can kill an angel.


Next Article: North Bay Part Deux


North Bay Part Deux
"Thundering Hearts" by John Cougar from the "American Fool" album, 1982.

"In these long hot summer days
Need a way to cool ourselves down
Pop off the top of that Chevrolet
Drive through the car wash, laughin' fall around…
…Like that Harley-Davidson in the hot summer heat
Lord knows that I just love to ride…
Oh yeah, those were different days

Chorus: In the valley of the thundering hearts,
Thundering hearts (repeat)

It's greasy hair girl lying on my face
This old red neck's on fire for you
Give us a kiss, baby make it on the same place
You really about to drive me all crazy wild
But pretty soon the sun will be going down
And this little town will be cooling off
Forget about heaven, let me save you forever

Chorus…"

When I hear that song, I hear what reminds me of the whine of turbines & the whoosh of jets screaming by. The beat is reminiscent of a funky march. The thundering hearts were our own. But summers do end.


The Cottage

Not everyone wanted to stay on base during our time at North Bay. Some of the RSU folk brought camper trailers to a local trailer park & made their stay a family holiday. Rick Folker even brought his boat up to Lake Nipissing. He and his RSU buddy, Pete Banister, were both Good Time Charlies with quick quips. They'd have fun on the water with no shortage of female crew. Cam Horvath was an item with Dorothy Rice at this time, our drill instructor from GMT days. Cam had an interesting philosophy on girlfriends & fidelity. You had to have your steady girlfriend, but you also needed your frequent "strange piece", like Janet. He couldn't help himself. He said, "it was in the blood", handed down from his father & their ancestors. Anyway, Cam & Dot were a couple & rented a lakefront cottage on the edge of town. Colin Stearman was also one of the renters. This was an excellent venue that became a party place. It offered a break from base food, uniforms, and the usual surroundings. They even had a TV set. I recall a bunch of us glued to a popular sitcom of the time called "Soap". With its own bit of private beach, the lake was very inviting. Ah, the feel of the sand between your toes! I've been to many beaches over the years (Bermuda, Bahamas, Cuba, Dominican Republic, Virgin Islands, Florida, Myrtle, The Maritimes, Grand Bend, Wasaga, Sandbanks, Long Point, etc.), but each one is special & you feel like you are a kid again. I didn't want to over stay my welcome but the cottage was such a welcome change.


Staying at the barracks did have its moments. One dark night, Chip Ray and I decide, in our drunken stupour, that an old time panty raid at the Women's Barracks is the thing to do. Chip was quite young. He joined the Reserve at 15 & we called him Puppy Tags, as he was too young for dog tags. We did find some of the girls of our company. They merely laughed at our demands, then our pleas for their sacred garments. With no spoils, our Commando Raid was becoming a bust. Obviously, we hadn't been trained by the British SAS! Some record of our attempt had to be left, so we did a couple of pranks, like putting saran wrap on the top of the toilet bowls. I believe a fire extinguisher was discharged under the doors of a couple of the wenches, before we ran back to our barracks. We came back empty handed. Panties would have made wonderful souvenirs to brag about.


Sergeant Dick Balls & the other RSU people at the trailer park invited the whole crew for a party. Lots of summertime BBQ food & libations. Of course we sang our bawdy squadron songs & partied like there was no tomorrow. One specific incident occurred. Gary LePere from 400 Sqn threw our "groupie" into the lake. He never said a word. Gary was normally quiet anyway. He just came over to where a group of us were horsing around with her, picked up the girl, walked over to the water, and tossed her in. She was shocked. Later he married her. Not on this day.


The Groupie & The Ukies

Joanne Ringer was her name. She was a Base Brat of maybe 16 years of age. You have to realize that it can be boring for the teens on a base. Then suddenly there arrives a large group of people like us, who are there for a good time. She began hanging around at our functions. I guess her folks didn't mind. A number of us adopted her as "Big Brothers" and looked out for her. We made sure she didn't get too pissed, which was something new for her, that she was keen on doing. One of our crew, Myron Jerkski, tried to put the blocks to her by forcing himself on her. He was ostracized, as a result. This was a rare event, where one of your own was sacrificed for a stranger. But Myron should have known better and she was a naïve little lady that was well liked. Myron was a short, skinny man in his twenties. I was embarrassed that he was one of our "Ukrainian Connection" in the squadron. Some of us became even more protective of her. I remember going roller-skating with her & some of our group. It was my first time & I didn't stay on my feet very long. But you'd do this stuff for your little sister, or at least I would if I had one. She even had her own Banzai Bonnet, so she was made to feel like one of the boys. Huey & other lads gave her squadron paraphernalia. I gave her a 400 Squadron T-shirt.


The lads brought her along on our boat trip in Lake Nipissing. She had a great time and got lots of attention. Old Wally Wellington, in his "lounge lizard" polyester suit, was being a dirty old man by flirting with her. She was rescued. Myron would have been banned from the trip but by this point, she had forgiven him. He behaved himself. She was just an innocent kid that was having a ball. I'm sure Joanne didn't want it to end. But within a few days, we had packed up & gone. She sent me photos of herself modeling the 400 T-shirt. Letters continued for awhile. Gary LePere left the squadron. Somehow, the two of them hooked up. I guess that dip he gave her that day at the trailer park had made an impression. Heard that they wed & moved to Oshawa. I recently heard that he works for the Toronto Transit Commission & I believe that they're still together. Something lasting did happen as a result of the Reserve! I'm happy for them. Myron quit the Reserve shortly after this summer. Nobody missed him.


Ollie Slobelski was another Ukrainian brother. One day he turned me on to a song called "Wine Stoned Plowboy" by a Nester Pistor. This was a comedy take-off of Glen Campbell's "Rhinestone Cowboy". Nester was a Ukrainian Canadian comedian who played on ethnic humour with accents. I liked the album. Ollie later went on to serve with Canada's United Nations contingent in the Middle East for several months. He got a decoration as a PeaceKeeper for it. He said that his peacekeeping was done behind the cash register at the Canadian Exchange Store! They also serve who ring in purchases. Unlike the Hungarians, we did use the odd Ukrainian expression amongst ourselves but we didn't carry on conversations in the language. Some of us really weren't fluent & besides, the Ukrainians had been around longer in Canada & were far more assimilated into Canadian culture.


Jim Homaluke was the final member of our Ukrainian Connection. Sometimes his nickname was "Homely Uke". It had nothing to do with his appearance - it just rhymed. Jim was one of our Crew Chiefs at North Bay.

He was one of those "Master Corporals for life". A nice enough guy. He was mature, stable, married & dependable. Well, except for one night at a barracks party. I look outside the window & I see Jim draped over the hood of a car. His torso is, as he's still standing. I go out to see if he's OK. He's somewhat coherent but he's barfed a few times. I shake him & he lifts his head. With a huge grin he says, "I'm going to lie down for awhile". His head drops down & he passes out. Back up in the room, I later hear him snoring, so at least he's still breathing. If the MPs didn't get him, he stayed like that all night. After this, he had a new handle - "Homely Puke". They say he's still in the Air Reserve. Maybe he's made Sergeant by now. Jim still lives at the same address that he did twenty years ago. He & I are probably the only ones from the squadron that do. Freud might be able to understand what this means.


Her First Salute

Unlike in the movies, in the CAF you only saluted outdoors when you were wearing a hat. Indoors, without your head gear, you simply came to attention. Around our home base at Downsview, we were informal about saluting around the parking lot, which was one of the places where you might come across an Officer. One day at the North Bay barracks, this Officer is coming towards the door, as we were going out. I say, "Good morning, Sir". He stops & says, "One moment, Airman. Don't you salute Officers"? Oops, "Sorry Sir" and I give him his recognition, which he returns. He continued to ream us out. I then became paranoid about looking for Officers coming in my direction! Another day, I saw the same guy chewing out some other young folk. What a prick! Anyway, I was thus suitably prepared when newly promoted Lieutenant Diane Smyley was entering the barracks under similar circumstances. I snapped a salute; she returned it then said, "Excuse me, Private". I thought, "What now"? She tells me that I was her first salute as an Officer & tradition demands that she give me a silver dollar. She needed my name & unit. She was pleased that I was part of the 2 ARW, her own group. True to her word, she delivered a shiny new coin. I kept that dollar for many years. I guess I it was eventually given to a coin dealer, along with others we had in the family. There are many such traditions in military culture. This is one I wouldn't have known about had it not been for that sequence of events.


Party To The Max

I can't remember how it came about. Kevin Cocker & I worked together. He supervised me while we worked the flight line, but we weren't that close. He was very serious about the work & tried to excel all the time. Hence, they called him "Super Tech". He was a red head & short. He looked a bit like Howdy Doody. Kevin was hanging around with a young lady that was new to 411 Squadron, Joanne Gillies. She had a girlfriend that was also new to 411, Maxine O'Brien. I guess Max had a crush on me because Kevin & Joanne got us together. Both the girls were just kids barely 17 and I was 23. Seeing that this happened about 23 years ago, you could say it was a lifetime ago.


Kev had a 1968 Mustang fastback that was fast, much faster than my 'stang. We did have our choice of cars in common. The four of us bombed around in his car, picking up beer & liquor. We end up at Kev's room for some drinks & laughs. Alcohol is a panty remover, as we all know. Kev had bunk beds & I can't remember which of us had the top bunk. I think it was the top one but I do know that Maxy was on top of me. We dry humped for hours. It was afternoon with bright sunlight, but the drawn curtains created silhouettes in gentle darkness.

Max had on a skirt & pantyhose. I groped her firm, small ass while she sucked my tongue deep into her mouth. She pulled my tongue so hard it became painful! Afternoon became evening. She was an attractive package. A pretty face like that of a cherub. Curly strawberry blonde hair, slim, with small breasts but great legs. She was giddy, bubbly & vivacious. I was aroused. So much so that I was suffering the pain from what we use to call "lover's nuts", from being constantly aroused with no release. My fingers probed. She had her limits that day & was probably a virgin. But she'd stroke & tease me. Grind her womanhood against my groin like a wild animal. Cuddle & whisper sweet things. Eventually, she got around to what was on her mind. She said that she would like me to take her on the upcoming boat trip to Keystone Island. I was evasive about it. She wanted to be boyfriend & girlfriend but I couldn't take that seriously. After all, I was six years older, a university senior, and I was still carrying a torch for my old high-school sweetheart who I had gone out with for almost three years. At this point in time, I still hoped for a reconciliation - something that didn't happen. Besides, how would it be perceived at our group function, with me "robbing the cradle", having this girl on my arm? I had my nice guy image that I strove to maintain. It didn't seem right to lead her on. I called her "Mop Top" instead of "Max", to infer that she was like a child's doll. I told her that I'd be there on the boat trip but I'd be with my buddies. She gave up on the notion. I could tell she was disappointed by her silence save for sighing. Sleep took hold of us.


I don't know how Kevin & Joanne made out but there had been lustful sounds from the other bunk. At the boat trip, "Mop Top" did keep her distance. I didn't have to worry about her hanging all over me. I think she might have flirted with some of the guys closer to her age. At any rate, she certainly wasn't as friendly to me again. I don't remember seeing her around much after North Bay. She left the Reserves a short time later.


In retrospect, I was silly. I mean, what harm would it have done to be her date that day? Who cares what the group thinks? I've learned that any group is seldom unanimous in its perceptions. Members of the group are often busy trying to make their own "scores" by any means & seldom have the time to judge you. And what does it matter 5, 10, or 20 years later? You can be the worst lecher on earth & buddies will still be loyal. Few of the others, I'm sure, worried about consequences. Perhaps I should have popped her cherry. Perhaps someone else there did. She just wanted someone to call her own. I was capable of it & she appeared keen but I let reason get in the way. Maybe we would have explored avenues together that neither of us had traveled. But like Bob Stopp & the base woman that took a liking to him, I blew it. Something that I wouldn't let happen again. I wouldn't turn a lady away again - sometimes with scary results! Where ever she is now, I hope she's well. I remember you. You were hot!


The Hospital

Those days at North Bay also marked the first time I visited a base hospital.

Every base had a well-equipped facility & we were entitled to the finest care. This may not have been as big a benefit as it was during the days before Medicare. The military expected its full-time folks to use their own emergency clinic rather than going to a hospital off base. As a matter of fact, my own family physician was a RCAF doctor at Downsview at one time. I don't know if that was a good thing, but I've always liked him.

My symptoms included fatigue, sore eyes with styes, etc. I was given sodium sulamide solution or something like that. I was told that my condition was not a reaction due to swimming in polluted water, but was the result of infections from being run down. Not eating properly, lack of sleep, excess drinking, staying up late & partying were taking a toll. I used the eye drops. I think I added more fruit to my diet. Did I change the partying lifestyle? No way!


Brian Mulberry could see I was hurting myself. He did his best to give me religion & to change my disastrous ways before it was too late. I didn't really bite. Although I picked up a copy of "The Late Great Planet Earth" & began reading it around the hangar. I did begin to believe that the world was on the verge of the apocalypse. Seeing "Omen II" also confirmed this thought. But rather than turning to prayer & virtuous living, I felt that if the end is nigh, I gotta cram as much debauchery into my young life, before we all are cut off!


Where's Arnstein?

I heard that my high school musician buddies were doing a gig outside of North Bay while I was there. Dave & Rick were an acoustic guitar duo at the time called "Fulcrum". Later, Dave Rave would head a rock band with Rick named "The Shakers", and after that Dave would front for "Teenage Head" for a spell. Dave & I were tight. We did a trip to New Brunswick a couple of years earlier, staying with his relatives. We saw the Olympics in Montreal. Had tons of fun in my Mustang together.


But now they were doing gigs six nights a week, traveling to some god forsaken places in Ontario. Arnstein was one of these. I doubted that any of my squadron buddies would like to catch their brand of "rockabilly" music, so I headed solo south of Lake Nipissing, on the road to Port Loring. Arnstein was in the middle of nowhere, on the only road to it. The town had little, other than the tavern they were playing. It wasn't a rough place. Just a handful of locals. My buddies were glad to have a friend in the audience. They did their repertoire of "Poison Ivy", "Lend Me Your Comb", Buddy Holly, Beatles, and other '50's & '60's tunes. It turns out there was a couple of ladies present who ran a camp for what today would be called the "mentally challenged". They brought out a few of their charges on this Saturday night. They clapped at all the right places & in some of the wrong ones, too. I was drinking with the lads after they finished their sets. Can't remember if they were driving back home that night. If so, I would have had them crash at my barracks room.


As it turns out, these two ladies introduce themselves & join us. I guess the band was the only excitement in these parts. They obviously took a liking to Dave & Rick. So, they invited us to come over to their cottages on the water. We partied with some of their people until it was time to tuck them in. One of them was a middle-aged guy who was really out of it. He kept pointing out of the window & repeating "river". We named him "Arnie Arnstein" and would remember him for years afterwards. Anyway, I think the girls had some romantic intentions but Rick was married & devoted. They weren't interested in me, as I was only a friend & not one of the stars on stage. Dave had a girlfriend but never wished to offend a fan, so he entertained the one! I don't think much happened but we did have a nearby place to crash. Next day, we headed our own way. A couple of years later, we'd venture back to Arnstein. "The Shakers" had a gig there & a bunch of us made a weekend of it, staying in rooms upstairs at the tavern. Didn't see those girls again. We looked for Arnie Arnstein, whom we named mayor of the metropolis, but didn't see him either. We figured he might have drowned in that river.


Northern Lights

"Welcome to North Bay. Gateway to the North". This was written on a stone monument at the edge of town. I saw the Northern Lights here for the first time. Cam Horvath had Dorothy trained well. He loved to party with some grass & Dorothy scored a couple of joints for him somewhere. I toked socially in high school. At university, my roommate & I once bought some. For awhile, I toked somewhat regularly when I gave up cigarettes for six months during 1976. Once I got back on the Craven Menthols, I found I didn't need grass to get by. But I made the odd exception. I'd come to see lots of pot in the CAF.


Cam didn't have a car up here, having flown up. So we ended up going for a ride in my Mustang. Clever Trevor was known to have a toke or two, and joined us. Dot decides to drive as we gentlemen are pissed. Doing a joint on base wasn't wise. It was the first time I was in the back seat of that car, at least while it was moving. Dorothy takes us off base (top down) and we drive into the blackness of the countryside, the cool night breeze in our faces. Cam is passing around the lit joint & saying "isn't this great", as embers fly everywhere. Meanwhile, Dot is struggling with something on my car. With the seat pulled forward, it keeps unlocking when we hit a bump. We pull over. Away from the city lights, the Northern Lights are very pronounced. It's beautiful & we're awestruck as we take turns at the cannabis. Cam & I start on our Exorcist routines, where we mimic lines from the movie. "The power of Christ doesn't compel anyone". "Fuck me Jesus, fuck me". "Your mother's in here", "Domi why for you do this to me", and other lines in our best Linda Blair voice. Trevor laughs uncontrollably & begins to snort. With the joints consumed, Dot takes us home to the base. We were totally wasted. Another operation successfully completed. Why didn't we just go to the cottage? Was the rental over? If we had, I would have missed the light show.


Keystone Island

The morning of our group trip aboard the Chief Commanda arrives. Naturally, Cam & I are hung over from the previous night's festivities. We're feeling a bit queasy on the initial portion of the sail. The boat is rocking. One of the guys, an older black reservist, is standing on deck smoking a pipe. He's oblivious to the motion, having great sea legs. He tells me that he once was in the merchant marine, so this is old hat for him. Eventually, the ride smoothens out as we reach more sheltered waters. The mood aboard is one of excitement. We have a large contingent present & the beer has begun to flow. Roly Revel, Base Photographer Wendy Gates & myself, take a lot of photos.


The boat pulls up to a dock at Keystone Island. We pour out. There's nothing really special about the island. It's rather small & the only thing there beside the dock is a cottage that we have use of for our stay. We've brought coolers with beer & food. Time to party.


Rick Folker & buddy Pete have brought the powerboat over to provide water skiing for the more adventurous. Chip Ray strips down to his jockey shorts & gives it a whirl. We get word that Debbie Giroux has been promoted to an Officer. Colin Stearman & I decide that she should be baptized. We pick her up & take her to the edge of the rocks to pitch her into the drink. As we fling her, I lose my footing (alcohol surely wasn't a factor) and both Debbie & I go for a swim. Many people went swimming, but not in their street clothes. It will take some time for us to dry out.


There was no shortage of entertainment. Besides bringing Monika, Chas Horvath brought his violin. Rick Kurtzer & Captain Honig took turns playing a guitar. Rick was a nice guy. He was once in the Junior Ranks, but became our squadron Engineering Officer. He had to maintain a certain distance, but this was one of those times where he loosened up & became one of the boys again. Rick played me a version of Mason William's "Classical Gas". They played various songs but when they got into some of our dirty squadron tunes, we joined in. Chas also brought along a unique red Molson apron. It had a bottle opener attached to an appendage that looked like a dong. Kevin Lockett took a fancy to this apron. The appendage was stroked vigorously during a rendition of the squadron's interactive song "Swing Low Sweet Chariot". Right on cue during the "cuming for to carry me home" part.


Once the intoxication factor was sufficient, it was decided that a group photo was in order. Not just your standard type of photo but a "Squadron Moon". Those that were game assembled, turned, and whipped down their clothing, while the shutters snapped. The Base Photographer was most amused. As one of our songs stated, "400 Squadron's a hell of a place". The Banzai Bonnets continued to make an appearance. Joanne "The Groupie" was kept occupied by all the Big Brothers. We ate, continued to drink & the day passed. Later, I strummed the guitar quietly in the cottage. Someone took a snap of me & that photo became one of my favourite portraits. I honestly cannot remember the boat ride back. They say getting there is half the fun. Sometimes, it's all the fun.


Not everyone made the boat trip. My buddy Andy for one. He must have had alternate plans with Cheryl. Gary LePere & Trevor Giroux were also absent. Wild Bill Khyber & Wally Sweetman missed the boat. They had official business with the militia. Apparently, they were flying grunts to some exercise area that day. The militia were camped near a hilly field. Wally was always up for a challenge. Somebody didn't think he could put the plane down in that area. Well, that settled it. According to Bill, they flew low & slow over the tree tops, Sweetman stalling the plane so it came down between two small hills in a gully. Practically no ground roll. No damage to the aircraft but one grunt Sergeant complained of a sore back after the hard landing. They said it couldn't be done.


Wally was a colouful guy. He later was certified on helicopters and then joined the Regular Force. Years later, I was reading the newspaper & was shocked to read that he died in a Sea King crash. There was controversy surrounding the story, as his mom was quoted as saying that Wally complained about the safety of those helicopters on a number of occasions. They were supposed to have been replaced by the Mulrooney government but Chretien's Liberals got in & canceled the new choppers. They're still flying them to this day. Sometimes you pay the ultimate price if you're a CAF pilot. Not from combat but from accidents. They didn't call the Starfighter "The Widowmaker" for nothing. I've often thought that if I went for pilot training, I could be dead now.


End Game

With the camp over, almost everyone had gone. I recall Jillian (a girl that Al Cooper had a fling with, better known as "Gilligan") & myself packing up gear. Neither of us were happy about it. I'd be continuing my full-time work with the RSU back in Toronto. But there was an empty feeling with the camp being over. The previous year I was sad that the camp was done. This time, I really didn't want to go back to Toronto. Of course, it was impossible to stay & it wouldn't be the same if I did.


Still, we assumed that we'd be back to North Bay the following year. We didn't know that this would be the last Summer Camp for a bit & the last one at an air force base. We were on the verge of major changes. I know there was disappointment in the late 1950's when our squadrons switched from being part of Air Defence Command of the RCAF to transport duties. We went from being supersonic with armed Sabres to the more mundane & slower flying of the Otters. Another blow to the Air Reserve occurred in 1964, when the Reserve lost a number of squadrons & most of its personnel. The next year, the Air Force lost its monthly magazine "The Roundel" after 17 years of publication. The Army & Navy also lost their magazines & a new unified publication; "The Sentinel" was born. Perhaps this was a precursor to unification. When unification happened a couple of years later, the RCAF lost its blue uniforms and its identity. This was a pity as around 1958, the RCAF was the largest of the three services, with some 51,000 people in uniform, and having about 4000 aircraft of all types, with numerous squadrons of modern fighters. It was a world air power. The Army & Navy retained their head quarters under unification. The former proud RCAF didn't even have a HQ until the formation of Air Command in the mid 1970's! The green uniforms had been around for a decade, so my generation didn't know any different. But old-timers still lamented the loss of their blues & rank structure.


The last CF-100's at North Bay would be retired a couple of years after that camp, as would our long serving Otters. No longer would the sound of those powerful Orenda jet engines be heard over the city. The only reminders of the Clunks are those on static display, like 18626 which is mounted in Lee Park. I drove past it many times during my adventures there in North Bay. No squadrons fly in North Bay these days. Much of the base is now gone. According to Al Cooper, who lives there, much of the SAGE function has been moved to the surface. Bombardier uses the hangars for building water bombers to fight forest fires. Canada wasn't the only one down-sizing. The British RAF retired their Vulcan bombers in the early 1980's. The Royal Navy also phased out its large aircraft carriers. It seems that military aviation in the entire British Commonwealth was a dying priority & expensive proposition.


I'm happy for my time there, when Clunks & Otters flew. The evolution towards "army" away from "air force" would continue with time. But there would still be more adventures to come. The ride home was lonely. On Monday morning I'd start a new chapter at the Downsview hangars.


Next Article: Doing The RSU Shuffle