Thirty Years

A number of years ago, nearly thirty by my count, I was the First Sergeant of a small USAF combat radar unit home based in Arizona. The unit mission was to provide radar service wherever the need should arise. We trained in the desert of Arizona and the mountains of Nevada. During my time in the early 1980's, we deployed to Saudi Arabia twice during the Iraq-Iran war, maintaining and operating tactical radar on top of a small hill overlooking the Arabian Gulf.

It was a neat little unit, one in which the members felt confidence in each other, whether or not they were equal in rank. As one of the senior NCO's, I had many opportunities to talk with the people in the unit on a person-to-person basis. Part of my job was to identify rising problems before they became issues and to do that, I tried to know the folks in the unit, from the Commander on down to the lowliest Airman straight out of technical school. The door to my office was open to all at any time, unless of course, there was someone else in there. I've counseled young officers, older sergeants, and airmen on all sorts of difficulties they might have or I perceived them as having.

At times, folks would just drop in to BS, tell a story or a joke, or ask for some help. One day, out of the blue, an airman said that he had some books about the Air Force if I was interested. I was and told him so, and the next day he dropped two books on my desk. That night, I began going through them, sitting in a recliner in front of a bookcase in my home office. Over the next few weeks, when I had a spare moment, I'd pull one of those books out of the bookcase for some pleasurable reading.

Many of the men are but featureless faces now with the exception of those with whom I worked most closely. Of particular clarity are the faces of the Commanders I worked for, Majors Bowen and Bakonyi, a senior NCO named Bill Baker, three NCO's in the radar shop, Cliff Sucher, Al Ashford and Dennis Wuebker, and the fellow who took over as First Sergeant when I left, MSgt Tom (Slick) Seidel.

Now, there are people with whom I have come into contact on the Internet who have identified themselves as having been in my unit. Just this past week, two fellows who were in the unit caught up to me on Facebook. In the past year, I've swapped notes with two others and for well over a year, I've been reading messages (responding now and again) of one Jeff Turkel who identified himself to me, but I honestly could not place him. I remember he came to us from the fire department, but I could not have picked him out of a crowd of two.

The other morning, about 5 AM, I awoke with a start. Jeff Turkel. Those books. After getting the coffee going and my newspaper, I went into my office and started going through my bookcases. I found what I thought I would. One book, The United States Air Force in Southeast Asia, and the other, The US War Machine, both with the name Jeff Turkel inside the cover.

For 30 years I've been harboring borrowed books, perhaps referring to them from time to time in my research, and even occasionally noting that there was a name there, but not remembering who he was.

I'll send Jeff a link to this and promise to return his books as soon as I've finished reading them.