My old 400 Squadron Air Force website

I only have a handful of followers at this Blog. But I do know that the occasional visitor drops in to check out what's going on. Perhaps even a few folks aim their browser at this address just to monitor my subversive activities!

In any case, thanks for visiting to all.

As mentioned in an earlier post, my old website Freddy K's Unofficial 400 Squadron Webpages is alive and well in cyberspace even though Yahoo closed all the GeoCities sites in 2009. So for those interested in how it looked in 2002, click the link below.

My memoirs probably pissed off a few back then but I only had one or two negative feedback. Most appreciated the nostalgia.

http://www.reocities.com/squadron400/

Bill Bishop is working on a new site. Standby for an announcement. I've been working with Bill on a multi-media version of my On Guard series of stories which contain photos, songs, videos, etc to enhance the text. Bill has suggested an audiobook version and the completion of my last chapter, but this will have to be a winter project.

Downsview is STILL alive in cyberspace!

Bill Bishop was planning to revive aspects of my old website Freddy K's Unofficial 400 Squadron website when lo & behold he found a gentleman from Holland who has resurrected a number of the old Geocities Websites including mine! Bill told me about these ReoCities sites and posted the fantastic news at Propwash:

http://400sqn.blogspot.com/2011/05/joyful-breaking-news.html



Check out his post and click the link there. I was amazed! While an archive I mentioned in my Fireside Chat of 2010 did have much of the text of my old site, all the pictures & graphics were gone. But here at ReoCities - it's a complete snapshot of my site from late 2002 with ALL the photo galleries (save one at present) intact!

I'm ecstatic! Some of those photos were lost until now! It's like revisiting an old friend. Working on that site during the 911 period and afterwards was my way of getting through that terrible time & it's wonderful to see it preserved!

Thanks Bill for finding this. And a big thanks to those at ReoCities!

Per Ardua Ad Astra,
Freddy K

2 Air Reserve Wing 2010 New Year Chat part 1

Repost of earlier Blog item my 2 ARW 2010 New Year Chat part 1, now on YouTube. Per Ardua Ad Astra!

2 Air Reserve Wing 2010 New Year Chat part 2

Repost of my earlier 2ARW 2010 New Year Chat part 2, now posted on YouTube.

2 RSU Crew

Here's a photo recently received from Rollie Reeves of some of the RSU techs at Downsview in the late 1970s.

I recall everyone in your photo with the exception of the fellow at the left rear, McKenzie - just doesn't ring any bells at all.
Next to him is Barry Millward (who I recall curling with once). (Sean?) Dougherty, IE tech. Mo is next (possibly Morris).
Pete McAllister, who was on our infamous flight to Myrtle Beach. He's been deceased for several years & I do recall he was a good time Charlie kind of guy & even in death women were fighting over him!
At the right rear is Dick Raymond.
Left front is Rollie Reeves. Next is Rick Felker, "Bobsy Twin" of Pete McAllister & the two of them had lots of adventures during my time in the late '70s.
Sgt Dick Bull - classy guy. (Ron?) Adams - Safety Systems, I think.
And at the right front is my mentor - "Shorty" Beaune. Great fellow. Wonder whatever happened to him?

2RSU Alumni Rick Richarz - "Father Goose"

Sometimes one wonders "where are they now"? I recall Rick Richarz from my Air Force days at CFB Toronto, when he was with the 2RSU. He was the builder of the Canteen at the hangars. Also the man behind the VIP Otter 3669, which had the the comfortable cabin. Well today he is President of the Bronte Legion in Oakville, Canada and also Father Goose from this April 2010 news story that I stumbled across.

Bitter Reality - MacLean & MacLean

I recall that Master Corporal "Shorty Bone" use to recite the following toast when I worked with him in the Air Force at CFB Toronto in the late 1970's - early 1980's:
"Here's to the hole that never heals, the more you rub it the better it feels
And all the soap this side of hell, won't wash away that fishy smell. Wine, women, song, and vice, syphilus, blue balls, crabs, & lice, we have had them all by Jesus Christ,
Gentlemen the queen!"

I'd forgotten that until I came across this album.
This cut is titled The Gross Manual.
MacLean & MacLean has this on their Bitter Reality album. They were Maritimers that were popular at the Toronto clubs The Chimney & El Mocambo during the late 1970's & early 1980's, when I was with the Air Reserve at Downsview. Photos are from family day at Downsview, working with the 2RSU at the hangars there, a couple from Terry Hill, and the last ones are from the 400 squadron reunion in 2002 at CFB Borden. "Per Ardu Ad Astra".

The North Atlantic Squadron Maclean & Maclean

This is perhaps the best known old Canadian military tune. There is a "clean" version by Stompin Tom Connors but this is the only version that most closely matches the lyrics we sang when I was in the Air Force. MacLean & MacLean has this on their Toilet Rock album. They were Maritimers that were popular at the Toronto clubs The Chimney & El Mocambo during the late 1970's & early 1980's, when I was with the Air Reserve at Downsview. Photos are courtesy of Paul Lamar & Russ Brown, two other alumni. "Per Ardu Ad Astra".

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

For the lads at DeHavilland Aircraft

A number of my compadres at the Air Reserve in Downsview thirty years ago went on to careers at DeHavilland Aircraft, at the hangars next door. Here's an article from the old RCAF magazine, The Roundel, on one of the companies that made our aircraft.

Click on a page to read it.

For the Sabre Jet Jocks

Here's a couple of pages from the defunct RCAF magazine "The Roundel" dealing with the Sabre jet era.
The 1st may have a few familiar names (Richardson) for the 411 folks, as 411 pilots receive their Mach recognition. "Auxiliary" is what they called the Air Reserve then.
The 2nd piece is a tribute to the Sabre as it left service.

Click on a page to read it.

Freddy K's "On Guard" part 1

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. Here is the first chapter.

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

That Was Now, This Is Then.
To this day, if I hear an aircraft overhead, I still have to look up & see if I can identify it. If it's a military craft, I wonder if anyone I know is aboard...

The monsterous cavern of the hangar at Downsview is empty now, just like it was during ceremonies, such as a Change Of Command Parade, when the aircraft would be out on the flight line. I can almost hear the last strains of "Oh Canada, we stand on guard for thee". The 400 Squadron Pipes & Drums Band is marching off, with the Colour Guard. We in our ranks are marching behind. The 411 Squadron Brass Band begins to play the RCAF March Past. You could feel the history, tradition, pride. Then as the tune ends, the band suddenly breaks into the theme music from the "Friendly Giant" TV show and we all groan & wince. As we use to say: "It's hard to soar with eagles when you fly with turkeys".

There we were, manning the bastions of democracy against the communist hoards. Some of us believed we were standing on guard for thee. Although they didn't give us any weapons. Well, it wasn't exactly a growth industry - the Air Force Reserve was in a steady decline since the late 1950's. Probably because the communist hoards never showed-up in Canada. Today, a good number of the products in your home are likely made in the Peoples Republic of China, by some of those expected communist hoards. As a child in Hamilton during the late 1950's, I remember seeing the occasional transient fighter jet over the city. The 424 Air Reserve Sqn at Mount Hope was flying Mustangs. Air defence was big then. But things changed. The fighters would soon go, as the Air Reserve went from fighters to transport. Expediters & Otters came around 1960. Then in 1964, budget cuts forced the Air Reserve to lose about 2/3 of its numbers. Hamilton Air Reserve operations were shut down, along with those in London, Calgary, & Vancouver. Toronto Reserve units became the last ones flying in Ontario.

Now CFB (Canadaian Forces Base) Toronto is called Downsview Park. Long term plans include parkland, trails, ponds & museums. Many buildings I remember have been demolished & others converted to civilian uses. The hangars are now used for indoor soccer. Visiting it recently, I was astonished to find that the 400 Squadron offices were still there & unlocked. I felt like Dean Jagger's character in the movie "12 O'Clock High", when he visits the abandonned airfield he served at many years earlier.He can hear the lads singing one of their squadron's songs. He finds a keepsake & in the end leaves. I too found some keepsakes & heard the ghosts in the silence. Memories flooded forth. Sights, sounds, smells from 20 years ago. I swear I just hear the clang of someone dropping a drip tray under the belly of an Otter. Is that the sound of a "mule" tow tractor racing off from Aircraft Servicing with a tow bar banging behind it? I can still see & feel it like it was yesterday. The people, events, emotions. For decades, locals around the Base wondered what went on behind the barbed wire. So did I. I was a student at York University in the mid 1970's and lived in the neighbourhood. I had an interest in flying & was a student pilot at Maple with the York U. Flying Club. As a Fine Artsy, I reached a point where I craved some adventure & disciple that the military offers. So, I enlisted & from 1978-82, I did find out went went on behind the barbed wire.

The military thrives on the need for young people to belong in groups. You could also do it elsewhere - 4H Club, CYO, Junior Achievement, or street gangs. But in the Canadian Armed Forces you not only worked & learned together, but they also fed you, clothed you, gave you medical attention, housed you ( in barracks or PMQs), sent you on exotic trips (like a Search And Rescue in Sudbury), and generally exposed you to a myriad of stimuli & realities. As well as cheap booze & smokes! And they paid you for it! All this & money too. The young are also impressionable. Everything seemed fresh, new & is carved in stone. I was exposed to lesbians, alcoholics, air-heads, wife-beaters, dopers, psychotics, submissives, sadists, witches, the depressed & suicidal, as well as some good folks. We had it all. A few made careers of it. Some achieved great things & comfortable lives. Most just came & went - like the transient aircraft that we serviced. At the time, who'd of thought that all this was fleeting. That the aircraft we worked on would go. That the Squadrons would be gone & the Base itself would be history. Hey, like Maple Leaf Gardens, it was a relic from the past. A substantial hunk of real estate that many wanted to get their hands on. But the Base was more that under-used runways and land. For awhile, it was our lives.

It was a setting, a place & time that would not last, nor is unlikely to ever return. A little, isolated island smack dab in the middle of the largest Metropolitan area in Canada. An island of security & sometimes insanity, that you could become afraid to leave or venture off of. Populated with a real cast of characters that at times were surreal. It had all the elements of comedy, conflict, drama, tragedy, surprizes, disappointments, victories, lust, loathing, fear, jubilation - that make a good story. It was the greatest of times but also the shitiest. It was a time before the 403 & 407 hiways but you still could commute easily. When virtually everyone lived in the 416 Area Code, you only "dialed" seven digits, the switchboard still had plugs & cables, and cell phones were non-existant. Beer was in stubby bottles, Disco was king, AIDS wasn't invented but the pill was. Before Kareoke, PCs & the GST. Capital Punishment had only been abolished for 2 years & the Conservatives amongst us believed that we were going to hell in a hand basket, as crime would go through the roof. Journey back with me to the time when Otters flew about Toronto & the float planes landed in Toronto Harbour. Back to the days of mis-spent youth. Some of the names have been changed to conceal the guilty. Any similarity to actual people & events is strictly INTENDED!

Next article: "In The Beginning, There Was GMT"





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

In The Beginning There Was GMT

It was a lot harder getting in than getting out of the organization. First step was to report to the 2 Air Reserve Wing where you would fill out lots of paper. The government loves to kill trees. There was a process of tests, medicals, mug shots, finger printing & criminal record checks, blah, blah. After completion of the stages and after many trips, kindly old Warrant Officer Graham told me that I was accepted. "Repeat After Me", he said as I took the oath to work for the Queen & country. "Congratulations", I would now begin the military indoctrination of General Military Training or GMT.

GMT was conducted in the 2 ARW HQ. In a period of several weeks in a classroom, our small group learned the basics of being a citizen soldier. Military Police (MPs) spoke to us about military law & our obligations as citizen soldiers, or as they called it "citizens plus", because of the extra rules that applied to those in the military in addition to all the laws governing ordinary folk. We were subject to extra provisions, such as obeying lawful orders. There were harsh penalties for desertion, AWOL, leaking secrets to enemies, etc. Rules & regulations, we came to know, were not short in supply. We learned about aircraft nomenclature and the history of the Air Reserve & RCAF.

My favourite lecture was on ABC, also known as NBC (no this had nothing to do with American TV networks). This referred to Nuclear Biological & Chemical warfare (or Atomic Biological & Chemical). The Reserve Officer who was our instructor was a teacher in civilian life & really got into the topic. So did I, as a Strategic Studies student. I was already well versed on the deterrence policies of MAD (Mutually Assured Destruction), which simply meant that if the Soviets nuke North America, the Yanks would nuke them back before we all fried. Anyway, the instructor gleefully enlightened us that the same good people who gave us Bayer aspirin also gave us such goodies as mustard gas or nerve gas. Not the kind of thing that was mentioned in their commercials! Both sides had nerve gas & chemical weapons in WW II but they were considered too horrendous to be used. These weapons were not new, as chemical warfare was used centuries ago. Such as when an enemy's water supply was tainted with dead animals, or a plague victim was flung over the ramparts. So, our ancestors were well versed in the art of war! Later on, our buddies in Baden, Germany would become familiar with working on aircraft while wearing the fully encapsulated NBC suits. But here at home, living under the protection of the U.S. nuclear umbrella, such threats were minimal, so drills were uncommon. Except the one time I remember a surprise alert at the Base. Personnel were running around with Geiger counters & we had to report to areas designated as "safe" and hide under desks.

There were practical drills during GMT. We learned about military rank & positions. It was kind of like poker - a Master Corporal beats a Corporal that sort of thing. There was dress & deportment. We had our dress uniforms & fatigues. There were also ties & RCAF tartan dickeys. Flat hats, berets, wedge caps - and for the ladies, bowler hats (which I thought were cute). All in any colour, as long as it was CAF green. Although I don't believe we were actually issued uniforms until well established in your Squadron. That way, the new kid really stuck out! We learned how to stand at attention, at ease, & to stand easy. Taught how & when to salute. And of course how to march. We'd march all around the Wing under the tutelage of Corporal Dorothy Rice. Dorothy would later be a fixture at 400 Squadron but this was my first encounter with her. Some of the trainees had problems with marching. Some would swing their arms out of sync & march like tin soldiers. As a one-time Sea Cadet, this was old hat for me. But we all passed GMT.

I can't recall if they asked what Squadron that I wanted to be assigned to or not. I seem to remember that I liked the idea of being affiliated with the "the City of Toronto" rather than the "County of York" Squadron. In any case, 400 was a nice round number. 411 reminded me of Directory Assistance with Ma Bell.

So, it was off to the 400. Both squadrons "paraded" (worked) on Thursday nights and on alternate weekends. My very first night is mostly a blur. I'm sure I was introduced to "Mother Marl" the Orderly Room Sergeant, who explained all the little finance details to me. They wasted no time collecting Mess Dues. Everyone was required to join the club corresponding to their rank. The Officer's had their mess. Although I would never step foot in the place, I would hear that this was boring, where they would always stand with one hand in a pocket, the other clutching a drink while retelling war stories. The Sergeants & Warrants also had their mess. This was known as "Menopause Manor". But the Corporals & we privates had the Junior Ranks Mess. This was the largest & the most "happening" of the messes. Marl issued me a Meal Card for lunches on the working weekends. My photo with name would eventually be added to the personnel hierarchy board. I 'd also get a photo ID Card & my dog tags. You'd wear the dog tags in case the airplane you were on crashed so they could then identify your remains! I'm sure I was introduced to some of the key superiors. I was ushered in to the classroom where all the lads were getting some drill from Sergeant Lockett. I was announced & took a seat to a chorus of "Scrote, scrote, scrote" from the assembled masses. I discovered that this was squadron -speak for "scrotum"! An auspicious welcome indeed. I had arrived!

After business had concluded for the night, we adjourned to the Apollo Lounge at the Junior Ranks, as was standard operating procedure. The Apollo was the classy lounge on the 2nd floor. Downstairs was the "snake pit" with pool tables, shuffleboard, darts, etc. I didn't know all of the player's names at the time but I recall that Huey was there. Huey had a pronounced speech impediment that you couldn't miss or forget. I learned to be patient while his eyes rolled & he attempted to get something said. Interestingly, Huey could sing without missing a beat. MCpl Bob Stopp ("with two P's") was also there. The guys were talking shop. Stopp mentions that something is "US". I assume that this means it comes from the States. Sometime later I'd find out that this meant it was "un-serviceable". Strange. When something was serviceable it wasn't called "S". I don't think they were intentionally trying to exclude the new kid, they just forgot that not everyone was on the same page with the lingo. Later I would master the language & add a few words of my own. Someone mentions something about "grunts". I just got to ask, "what's that"? Huey says they're the same as "P - P - P - Pongos", he finally concludes. It's explained that a grunt is an army type. It's suggested that the name comes from the sound that an infantryman makes when shot dead. OK, that works for me. I also discover that we call the Military Police "Meat Heads". No explanation is necessary. They also talk about the trips they have been on. About travel to the base in Germany & the upcoming Summer Camp. Booze is cheap here - 50 cent beers or shots. Cheap smokes, too. There's camaraderie. The unit appears cohesive. Everyone is included & is a member of the team. So I say to Samantha Helyer, one of the Admin Clerks, "I think this is the start of something great". That sentiment wouldn't always be so, but for now I was flying high!

Next Article: Hey, Hey, Hee, It's An Airman's Life For Me.




"ON GUARD"

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

Hey, Hey, Hee…It's An Airmen's Life For Me

(Revised July 28/01)

"Why even the name 'airman' sounds like something from a gol' darn Funny
Book".

(From "No Time For Sergeants", the 1950's movie about the peace-time U.S.
Air Force.)

They say that war is hell. But the peacetime military can be hell, too. Often
they are under-funded, under-strength, and under-employed. In this context,
I began to settle in to Squadron routine. Getting to know the place, the
Otter, the job & people.

When you first arrived, you were just a recruit. You would eventually have
to choose a trade. In the Squadrons, there were only so many to choose from.
The girls often went to the Orderly Room & were Admin Clerks. But a few
became technicians. Examples were Tony Cardoni, Jillian, Yolanda, Joanne
Pilsener, & Donna Lugey. Some of the women techs were useless. Many of
the women became Safety Systems (SS) techs. They'd pack parachutes, service
aircrew helmets & extinguishers. We didn't have ejection seats &
such for them to play with. Packing chutes wasn't considered very manly but
Smitty wanted to do the trade. He was a bit of a dweeb. The other technical
trades were: Aero Engine (AE or "Fitter"), Air Frame (AF or "Rigger"), Instrument
Electrical (IE), Communications or radio (COMM) techs. The #2 Regular Support
Unit (2 RSU), the Regular Force personnel that looked after the planes on
a daily basis, had a few more trades. Such as: Metal Tech (who could fabricate
panels & parts), Refinishing Tech (who stripped & painted planes),
and Photo Tech (who looked after the aerial cameras & developed film).
At "real" bases where they fired ordnance, they also had Weapons Techs. But
not here. In the American USAF, they had many more specialized trades, such
as Tire Techs, that did nothing but know about every kind of tire used on
their planes. Things weren't so specific in the unified Canadian Armed Forces.

So I had to choose one of the Reserve trades. I remember that there was a
sales pitch by some of the techs. Riggers & Fitters were the most plentiful.
Well the AirFrame lads swayed me by saying that the engine guys were always
covered in oil & grease. Besides , 90% or so of the plane was Air Frame
- from brakes & wheels, hydraulics, skin & struts, cables & controls,
right down to windows & seats - were Air Frame. I was eventually sold.
There was another position that you could aspire to, that of Air Crewman.
These were the lads that would accompany the planes, do the paradrops, check
the planes & do repairs while in the field, etc. Many were considered
but few were chosen.

At some point, I was issued my very own aged, metal toolbox. This contained
rudimentary hand tools. Sockets, pliers, a multi-tip hammer (copper or lead
on one side, rubber on the other). If things didn't fit you could always
"get a bigger hammer", as the saying went. There was also side cutters for
the removal of split pins (not "cotter" pins, as I was corrected). The pliers
were handy for twisting lock-wire used on critical nuts & bolts. Common
tools issued for servicing the planes were screwdrivers (to unfasten DZUS
fasteners or panels), a 90 degree flashlight, an inspection mirror, and Ear
Defenders (hearing protection "ear muffs") for use during aircraft starts.

I'd come to know that the Otter was indeed a versatile craft. Primary missions
were light transport, Search and Rescue (SAR), and aerial photography. The
planes could carry about 9 people or a bunch of stretchers for medical evacuation
(Medevac). The U.S. Army bought a bunch of them & they called them the
"Flying One Ton Truck" for their cargo carrying ability. Sometimes we called
them the "Steam Otter", because of their age. They were great for parachute
drops and with their Short Take Off & Landing (STOL) ability, you could
land in many places other planes couldn't. Especially when they were fitted
with floats or skis, you could land on lakes or snow. Yeah, they were crude
but dependable & fun.

Life revolved around our two hangars. There were signs posted to remind everyone
that smoking wasn't allowed on the hangar floor. Signs & posters cautioned
about the danger of sparks, so no clickers on shoes or hobnailed boots were
permitted. There were also reminders about the danger of FOD (Foreign Object
Damage) which is what happens when stray bits of garbage gets thrown around
by jet blast or prop wash, or when items get sucked into engines. The south
hangar was the Servicing Bay where the in-service planes were kept. The north
hangar was the Maintenance Bay, where the sick birds were repaired. It's
also where the Royal Canadian Navy "Banshee" jet fighter sat. This Korean
War vintage McDonnell-Douglas plane probably flew off the deck of HMCS
Magnificent, one of the aircraft carriers Canada use to have. The Air Reserve
was restoring it for the museum in Ottawa. I hope they weren't in a hurry
for it. It would sit there for a total of 13 years. Between the two hangars
were the RSU shops. This comprised: a tool crib, tire bay, metal shop, repair
office, photo shop, engine bay, electric shop & battery room, and they
also had a canteen for food and beverages. Above the shops was a storage
area, reached by a freight elevator. There was a passageway between the hangars
that you could drive a mule through but too narrow to take an Otter! At the
back also were stairs that lead to the 2 Air Reserve Wing & to the AirCrew
Selection Center. The ACSC was where hopeful pilot & navigator candidates
would receive their initial screening. In front of the canteen was the
Meteorological Section, or Weather Office, as well as a Departure Lounge.
Folks waiting to board one of the military passenger flights occasionally
used this. It was possible for those being "shipped out" to grab a flight
to Trenton & from there to any base the CAF flew to, even Germany. Above
this area was the 400 Squadron offices, reached from stairs in the Servicing
hangar. I'd see lots of this place. On the south wall of Servicing were doors
that led to the RSU offices, where their Warrant & Officers hung out.
There was also a door to 411 Squadron's offices. Never went there. The pilot's
area was also on this side. They had a Briefing Room with folding theater-type
seats. We'd have the odd briefing in there. There was also a room there where
charts were stored for any area we had to fly to. Aircraft Servicing was
at the front of the hangar on the south side. This is where we spent a lot
of our time. When I first started, they had a TV set in Servicing. Just about
everyone was huddled around it to watch the exploits of "Black Sheep Squadron",
the WWII program that featured "Pappy Boyington" & his misfit fliers
shooting down the Japs. This only took place on Thursday nights at the time
that we were working. Fans of the show had to wait until summer re-runs,
as the set was removed. Someone decided that we'd get more work done that
way. Playing cards would suddenly become popular.

The military loves acronyms and I was becoming familiar with them. We've
touched on some of the popular ones like FOD, SAR & GMT. But there were
tons more of them just for Officer job titles. SAMEO referred to the Squadron
Aircraft Maintenance Engineering Officer. While BAMEO meant the Base equivalent
of this title (which was a RSU Officer). The Base Administrative Officer
was the BADO. SECURO was the Security Officer. FINO was the Finance Officer.
CO was the Commanding Officer. You get the idea. I learned the word "snag",
which was a problem with an aircraft that needed to be fixed. You could use
it in a verb tense, as in "I'm snagging aircraft 3671", which meant that
you were taking it out of service because of a problem. "Prang" meant to
damage a plane, either by the plane contacting something (like the ground
in a crash) or by something contacting the plane (like driving a mule into
the side of a parked plane). There were stories about those dumb-ass Reservists
with the Montreal Squadrons who pranged another aircraft wing by towing it
into a hangar door. Of course, we never pranged aircraft, except for legitimate
crashes.

A Day In The Life

A typical night or weekend would begin with "signing in". At the bottom of
the stairs to 400 Squadron, hung a clipboard with a sign-in sheet on it.
You'd print & sign your name & indicate whether you were here for
a half day (Thursday night) or a full day (Saturday or Sunday). Sometimes
we'd head upstairs to use the washroom, say "Hi" to the Orderly Room girls,
or check for mail. Up here is where our CO, SAMEO, FINO, etc. were doing
their thing. If we didn't arrive in uniform, we'd have to go change or put
on our white coveralls if we expected to do anything messy. White is a misnomer,
as the coveralls could get quite dark with use. In the summer we'd often
not have a uniform under the coveralls, just jockey shorts. There were a
couple of locker rooms. My locker was in Maintenance, in a bathroom by the
foot of the stairs that led to Wing. In one of the toilet stalls was graffiti
that said "Doug Burley drinks on trains, Doug Burley trains on drinks". It
was from before my time. After changing, you'd report to Servicing. Sergeant
Jim Train was in charge behind the desk. On the wall hung status boards that
had metal tags for each of the aircraft. These were reversible - red on one
side indicated the plane was not in service while white or green meant that
it was ready to go. We had about 10 planes but one (9420) was the "Hangar
Queen" and always sat in Servicing Bay kind of like the Banshee, never to
fly. There was something wrong with it that it never quite flew right.
Measurements & weight and balance checked out but nobody could find out
why she didn't handle right. It was one of those unsolved mysteries. So we'd
just use it for spare parts. Notations on the status board in the various
columns indicated if an A/C (aircraft) was flying & what its mission
was, departure time, pilot in command, etc. At one time we had two crews,
"A" and "B", in Servicing. I was on the "B" Crew, under MCpl Wally Wellington.
Sgt Train would assign aircraft to the senior Cpls & MCpls for the A,
B, AB, DI, & PI checks. The DIs & Bs were the first concern. (B =
Before Flight check, DI = Daily Inspection). There were checklists for each
& under supervision, we'd complete them. This involved things like checking
oil levels, the amount of fuel on the gauges, draining a bit of gas from
each of the three tanks to check for condensation water in the fuel, etc.
In the AF trade, this also involved tire pressures, checking the movement
of controls, ensuring the presence of control locks & covers and then
their removal before flight. Generally, checking the condition of the interior
& exterior of the plane. We had our tool pouches that carried the basic
tools needed: flashlight, screw driver, etc. On a nice day, we might do the
checks outside the hangar. The other checks were done for other instances.
An "A" check (After flight check) was done as the name implies. An "AB"
(After-Before flight check) was done if a plane landed & was doing a
quick turn around back into the air. A "PI" (Periodic Inspection) was a major
operation & was done when the hours dictated. This was a big job that
took time.

Once the checks were done, they had to be signed for in the A/C logbooks.
Only qualified techs had Signing Authority for the various trades. After
the inspections & paper work was completed, it was time to roll them
out. We'd open the hangar doors. This took a bunch of us "mutts" to unchain
each door & push them off to the sides. They never upgraded the doors
to electric power. In winter, you might wait to the last minute to open the
doors. In summer, we often would open them first thing to let air & light
into the hangar. Experienced techs would drive the tow tractor "mules". You
also needed a current Military Driver's License, called a "DND 404". If your
404 had expired it took time to get it renewed. This was a great way to get
out of work, the same with not being currently qualified for a task. I can
remember days when those who showed-up weren't qualified to do much of anything,
so the poor Sarge would end-up having to sign for checks & tow himself!
Somehow the birds were readied on those rare days, even if the Warrants &
SAMEO would have to get their hands dirty, or else the pilots would find
their missions "scrubbed".

Dave McNee is in the cockpit of a plane "riding the brakes". The static electric
grounding wire is removed from the grounding plug on the plane. "Brakes On",
he says. The statement is repeated as we hold up the tow bar, lining it up
with the tow hook on the mule as it backs up. Contact, the hook is locked.
"Chocks Out", someone says as the crew removes the rubber chocks from the
main wheels. "Brakes Off" the mule driver shouts. Dave McNee repeats this
as he removes his feet from the pedals. The Otter slowly lurches ahead, away
from its spot and it turns into the center of the hangar. We walk from our
positions at the wing tips with it, ensuring ample clearance. Constant flashing
of a thumbs-up signals that we're OK. The plane slowly goes over the rails
of the hangar door tracks and on to the tarmac. We stop our "wing walking".
A couple of us jump on to the mule. It then picks up speed until the plane
is brought out to a spot near the grass at the edge of the flight line. The
mule turns a circle and then backs the plane into its spot. If we had to
put one in a tight area, say between two planes, then the A/C would be turned
in front of the others. The A/C brakes applied, tow bar unhooked from the
rear of the mule, the mule turned around, tow bar latched to the front hook
of the mule, and the plane would be pushed forward carefully into its spot.
After parking the plane and before releasing the tow bar, the brakes went
on & metal ramp chocks were placed on the wheels. The process was continued
until all the flying birds were parked.

Each spring, we'd convert a couple planes to float configuration. Towing
the float Otters was a little trickier. They handled differently than the
normal 3 point Otters, being on 4 wheels. They also stood higher and level
- you got use to the Otters in their usual configuration with a nose-up attitude
when on the ground. The floatplanes took more room to manoeuvre. The tow
bar could only move so far. You had to use the technique of placing the plane
in front of its spot, unhooking, and then pushing it in. The small bow or
nose wheels (which retracted by arcing up over the front of the float &
into its top) often wouldn't pivot around to go in the other direction. So
while the mule driver pushed the plane, a tech would kick it repeatedly with
his steel toe boot, until it turned around. To get into the floatplane (amphibian
is more correct, as these planes could land on water or on an airstrip with
the float's retractable wheels) one had to climb onto the float & up
a ladder to one of the rear doors. Since the plane sat so high, a long tool
was used to put on the pitot cover.

Meanwhile, while we were ground-handling the planes, the pilot's would have
their briefing. They'd get the weather forecast from the Met Section. Depending
on flying time & destinations, the planes would need sufficient fuel.
Often, they were filled at the end of the flying day, but sometimes one might
slip through the cracks. Servicing would call for a tanker truck or "Bowser".
Eventually, you'd see the Bowser making its way from the motor pool area,
over by the tower across the runway. Turning the bend in the road, finally
reaching the flight line. The Otters burned aviation gasoline. Which meant
we saw a lot of the old yellow Bowser with "AVGAS" and the NATO numbers on
its side. When a transient jet A/C need fueling, we'd see the modern, green
camouflage Bowser with "TURBO" and the corresponding NATO fuel numbers. So
the truck pulls up. You'd connect a grounding wire from the Bowser to the
plane (for that pesky static electricity). I believe we also connected one
to a ground point on the tarmac. You'd stand by with a fire extinguisher,
just in case. The Otter had three fuel caps on the left side. These were
a simple, round aluminum cap with a thread cut in it. On top were two slots
to aid tightening & loosening with the shank of a screwdriver. They had
a small chain securing them to the plane so we couldn't lose them. Incidentally,
they weren't cheap. I once had to order a replacement for a defective one.
Looking up the part number, I noticed that the cost was several hundred dollars.
A princely sum for something that someone could easily lathe from some round
aluminum stock? I recall the Sarge saying that with a low volume part like
that, unit cost would be high. Personally, I think deHavilland was ripping
the CAF. Tales of those $500 military hammers & toilet seats suddenly
seemed plausible! The pilots liked to have the front tanks filled, rather
than the rear, for better weight & balance. The fuel nozzle wasn't like
those at a self-serve station that kicked-off as you got near the top of
the tank. It kept on pumping. To avoid embarrassment & being coated in
volatile hi-octane gas, you'd have to listen carefully with one ear cocked
next to the filler neck in-order to slow down pumping. Like most things,
you got good at this with practice. New kids would always get their first
gas bath, then walking around in a gas soaked parka or uniform until they
could change clothes. Fueling done, you'd hold onto the nozzle while the
Bowser driver reeled-up the hose. Disconnect the ground wire & it was
down to the next plane or send the Bowser back to the barn.

Sometimes before starting the Otters we'd "walk the prop". This supposedly
made the engine start easier, especially if sitting outside in the cold for
any length of time. Otters have a large, three-blade propeller. After making
sure that the batteries & mags were off, we'd rotate the prop in the
direction that it turned by having a few techs line-up & taking turns
grabbing a blade as it came down and taking it as far as you could. The next
person would grab the next blade as it came down. This pumped a bit of oil
around & loosened the pistons in their bores. If the pilots still weren't
ready to depart, sometimes the crew chiefs would have us do a "FOD Walk"
on the tarmac. We'd line-up spaced several feet apart & slowly walk the
flight line looking down for debris. While a small screw or a stone might
get sucked into a jet engine, it wasn't very likely with an Otter. I think
it was simply one of those traditional "busy work" kind of jobs for us.

Once the pilots were finally ready to go, they'd do a pre-flight circle check
around the plane - grabbing this & jiggling that. Also making sure that
the pitot cover & engine intake cover were removed & that birds hadn't
nested there. Sometimes there was a co-pilot or aircrew. They'd all board.
Depending on the mission, there might be passengers or cargo to load. Sometimes
the cargo doors were removed, if they were doing paradrops. We'd hook-up
an APU (Auxiliary Power Unit) onto the back of a mule & bring it to the
right side of the plane. It was always good to start the APU by servicing
before bringing it to be certain it worked & had gas, again to save
embarrassment. There was an attachment socket on the plane where we'd plug
in the power cord. Starts were noisy. We'd wear our ear defenders. We
communicated with the pilot via hand signals. One hand inserting into the
other was the sign to the pilot that you were plugging in. You'd throttle
up the APU to a certain RPM. Meanwhile, a partner manned a dry chem or CO2
extinguisher off to the left, where he could see the pilot & engine.
The pilot would twirl an index finger in an upward circle, indicating that
he was about to start the engine. The extinguisher man would ditto the signal.

You'd hear the starter whine & build-up speed. Then it was engaged &
the prop would jerkily turn. The engine would sputter & sometimes fail
to start. A re-start would then happen. Once the engine caught, there were
puffs of smoke. The prop would burst into a blur. The engine would race &
produce its own deafening noise. The APU guy would signal "disconnect" by
pulling one hand out from the other. Pilot would acknowledge. Keeping clear
of the dangerous prop, the tech would unplug. Once the engine was stable
& warmed a bit, the pilot could decrease throttle. He'd give the signal
for "chocks out" (2 fists together, thumbs outward, and move the hands apart)
and we'd reply. Chocks were removed & placed in the mule. Since the plane
hadn't burst into flame, the extinguisher was then stowed. If in tight quarters,
we could watch his wings & marshal him out. This wasn't usually necessary.
We'd exchange a thumbs-up or a salute with the pilot and they'd be off to
taxi, do their run-up & take-off.

After they were all in the air, it was a down period for Servicing. We might
be detailed to mop drip trays or sweep the hangar floor. Or maybe to wash
a plane. This was done with very long handled brushes, pails of soap &
water hoses. A large crew made the task enjoyable & everyone managed
to get soaked. If you were on the Maintenance Crew, you might be assigned
a PI in the Maintenance Bay. Not very common on nights, more often the PIs
& repairs were done on weekends, so the Maintenance Crew could slip away
early on a Thursday night! Quite often we'd have some kind of drill until
it was time to put the planes back into the barn. Sometimes it was a practical
drill on some piece of equipment. Sergeant Kevin Lockett would be the instructor.
More often the drill was a lecture in the classroom & Lockett would go
on & on. To break up the boredom, he would occasionally do something
completely different. Like bring in a ghetto blaster & play Frank Zappa's
"Catholic Girls". We'd howl. Then one time someone brought in McLean &
McLean's "Fuck Ya" & that tune became a Squadron theme song for a time.
Today, those "drills" are more memorable than the legitimate technical ones.

There wasn't a radio in Servicing so that you could hear the aircraft &
tower transmissions. I thought this odd. You couldn't tell when they were
landing, so you had to look for them out of the Servicing window. As they
taxied to the flight line, you'd grab the orange paddles, or flashlights
with the extensions that glowed if at night, and a parka if it was cold,
from the hooks by the door. You'd run out to meet the plane & marshal
them in. Visual signals told the pilot where we wanted it. If the flight
line were crowded, sometimes we would have one person direct the pilot to
another way down the line. We'd indicate the spot we wanted the plane in,
then whether to come forward, turn left or right, and when to stop. Pointing
at one wheel while waving towards yourself indicated that you wanted the
brake applied on that wheel & have the plane turn with the other. Two
arms waving towards you told the pilot to keep coming straight, while crossing
your two arms meant for him to stop there. Otters could not go backwards
so it was important to know how they handled. They were "tail draggers" but
that tail wheel could be turned by remote control by the pilot to help make
a tight turn. Once parked, it was a matter of throwing down the chocks,
installing covers & locks, giving them their "A" check, and tow them
in.

And so it would go. It would take several months of OJT (On the Job Training)
to complete "Common Aircraft Servicing CSR 123 Otter". Eventually, you'd
be qualified to sign for A, B, & DIs in your trade. Later, you'd qualify
on the PIs. Then, in my case, it was completion of "AirFrame Technical Basic".
All of these providing reams of forms signed by Supervisors, SAMEO, BAMEO,
CO, & Admin. Clerks; to fill-up your Unit Employment Record (UER). You
fell into your groove & mastered your trade. At times, even a simple
job could be overly complicated due to the bureaucracy. Forinstance, the
Otter had its own on-board engine fire extinguisher. To check or repair this
involved three separate techs. You'd all have to cram into an access panel
in the belly called the "hell hole" (named for appropriate reasons). Safety
Systems was responsible for the actual fire bottle. Air Frame for the mounting
bracket. Aero Engine for the plumbing leading to the engine. All just to
make sure it was charged & in place. I remember doing a repair while
working with the RSU. The Privates & Corporals did all the difficult
work under the supervision of the Sergeant. Then the RSU BAMEO, Captain Enema,
had to come & inspect the work. He glanced at the plane silently. After
which he grunted "OK" and went back to his ivory tower. You never saw him
or the SAMEOs much. I got the distinct impression that while he may have
known the tensile strength of various metals, he had no clue how an airplane
went together or came apart. He'd never physically install a part but he
was like the Pope giving his blessing on our labours.

Flying was the best part. There were ample opportunities to go along for
the ride. A daytime excursion around the CN Tower & downtown was always
a blast! There were frequent take-off & landing practice sessions. Sometimes,
the pilots would do "touch & go's", where they would touch down on the
runway & immediately take-off again, to do another circuit around Downsview.
Night flights were also exciting. The sight of the city & airport lights
out the window was awesome. Looking out the window you could also see the
aircraft's own lights - the flashing strobes & the reflections from the
red rotating beacons. Yep, I never grew tired of going up for a flight (or
a "fright" as we called it).

Andy Gyorffy was a Crewman. In his Flying LogBook, he had the following entry:
"Float Otters are beautiful!" Indeed, they were. Since they spent a lot of
time landing, mooring, and being in water, they carried additional equipment
- rubber dingy, Mae West's, A bilge pump, hip waders, anchor, ropes, etc.
The dinghy & life preservers were needed safety items. The pump was needed
because the floats weren't entirely waterproof. They'd all leak a bit, so
you'd pump them out. We'd place some kind of orange chemical inside the floats
to help spot leaks on the outside for repairs. Thus the bilge water was always
orange coloured & really stank! Hip waders were used by the Crewmen in
tasks such as beaching the plane or getting it out from the sand. Each year,
exercise "Rubber Duck" was conducted, during which float operations were
practised & perfected. I believe this involved a lot of time on a lake
near a pilot's cottage. Which also meant lots of fishing, drinking &
fun! I recall being on a "fright" that landed in Toronto Harbour for some
practice landings. It was marvellous.

All was not serious stuff. There were plenty of jokes. One of the running
jokes was to send a new recruit off to several people for "a bucket of prop
wash" or "a few feet of hangar line". He would then be re-directed elsewhere
in this fruitless search. I didn't fall for this one. Then there was the
time we took Chip Ray's locker from the locker room & suspended it from
one of the rafters in the hangar. Took him the longest time to look-up &
find it, then there was the problem of getting it down. A couple of guys
did a number on Bob Stopp & his new car. They kept adding gas to it.
He would go on about how fantastic the mileage was. Then they would siphon
out gas & he couldn't understand why it was now lousy. Bob was too easy.

There were two "Relief Tubes" on the Otter, better known to us as Piss Tubes.
We'd have some fun with these. There was a compartment at the tail, behind
a bulkhead at the rear doors, which housed the belly camera, radio gear,
power inverter, and other stuff. A curtain gave you privacy from the cabin.
One of the tubes was located here, while the other was in the cockpit. It
was just a funnel on a rubber hose, with a hook to mount it on the wall.
A joke was to tell a new kid that this was the pilot's intercom to the crewman
at the rear. In reality, helmets & headsets plugged into jacks for radio
& intercom. We'd tell the kids to give it a try & speak into the
funnel or hold it to their ear. They'd usually become pissed themselves when
they found out what this was really used for! It wasn't environmentally friendly.
The tubes simply drained out the plane's belly. I hope the urine dissipated
enough at altitude that we never wetted anyone!

I remember being on an extended flight. Major Ken Money was the pilot. I
believe his Co-pilot was Captain Dave Byart. Now Dave was a funny guy, a
joker. Instead of choosing the tube right where he sat, he got up to relieve
himself by employing the privacy one at the back. Ken Money was a pleasant
man, one of the first men picked for Canada's astronaut program. He was efficient
and serious. Well, this time he turns around & says to me "Let's have
some fun", with a huge smile. At just the right moment, he begins pitching
the a/c's nose up & down, doing a series of "Rollercoasters". Dave eventually
comes forward & is laughing. He says, "the piss kept coming back up the
tube!" With each steep dive, gravity was overcome & the liquid would
come back to haunt him. I think it was a bit messy back there but nothing
was shorted-out.

There weren't any provisions for taking a dump. I guess you had to pull the
plane over at the nearest gas station rest room. Except for aircraft 3669.
I always liked "69" (great number). This plane was done-up as a VIP aircraft
(in case we had to fly someone important) by Rick Richarz. Rick was one of
the RSU techs. He may not have been keen at regular jobs but give him a project
& he would really dive into it. He built the RSU Canteen & did a
hell of a job. So it was with 3669. Everything in the cabin was plush. There
was RCAF tartan curtains on the windows. The interior had a nice covering.
The lighting was like that in an airliner, as were the ventilation controls.
The seats were large, comfortable airline types, a vast improvement over
the standard small, Spartan variety. I think there was even carpeting on
the floor. The piece de resistance was a porta-potty in a compartment with
a locking, sliding door. Bloody luxury! It was a thrill for me going up in
this plane, not having been on 707's or other commercial planes at this point
in time. Everyone liked to fly in this baby & hoped to join the "Mile
High Club". What's that, you ask? It's having sex while flying above 5,280
feet. I never personally joined that club. I'd bet the farm that a few did!

You'd come to learn that there were rivalries between the various trades.
Rivalries also existed between the Squadrons. We tended to feel superior
over those idiots in Montreal who were always pranging planes. We also felt
superior to those boobs in our sister 411 Squadron. There were rivalries
between the Reservists & the Regular Force of the RSU. Some of them called
us "donkeys". It was frustrating to have a new, young Reg Force Private,
who you had made an effort to befriend, begin to make disparaging remarks
about "asshole Reserves". There was also friction at times between our people
& the others on base. Like the miserable Private in stores who issued
me a dress uniform tunic that was 3 sizes too big. Air Force & Army always
saw themselves as different from each other. Even while wearing the same
blasted green uniforms.

So you also got to know the personnel, the denizens of the asylum. Some of
the associations would last for decades. The bonds would form & strengthen
at Summer Camp. But before we go to North Bay, lets meet some of the players..

Next Article: It's A Family Affair.

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