Cop

After arduous training for a month we are promoted from Airman Basic to Airman 3rd class. There’s nothing like that first stripe to send a chill down you spine. We were quite spiffy as we all had our baggy fatigues “tailored” to form fit our manly shapes and were now experts on “spit-shining” our footwear. The last order of business was the assignments for further training in the field selected for you. Mine (Air Police) was pre-assigned, but groans could be heard from my comrades, with an occasional “yes!” from ones getting cushy jobs like clerk.
Air Police school happens to be at the same location as basic training, Lackland AFB, San Antonio, so I only need to move across campus. The barracks are about the same but we do get an extra hours sleep in the morning. The voice of reveille is a tad milder and the nit-picking about bedding is reduced. One of the finer arts we learned in Basic training was how to “short-sheet” someone’s bed. This involves refolding the top sheet so that when the victim gets in his feet are stopped at the end of the folded sheet about half way down the bed. To us, this was a laugh riot.
Marching remained as a steady diet with a side dish of “close order drill.” As we marched along streets where there was automobile traffic, one of our troop would carry a flag and be the designated “road guard.” When we approached a cross street the command was given “road guard out!” whereupon the flag bearer would leave ranks and go to the intersection to stop traffic so we could pass safely. To relieve the boredom of marching we learned dirty ditties to chant as we went. This being a family publication I will not repeat any of them.
My disdain for authority reaches an apex when one of the new AP trainees who is there because he failed at his last effort, is put “in charge” of our floor in the barracks due to his having the ever powerful more TIG (time in grade). There are none who enjoy the abuse of power more than those who have achieved it through ill-gotten means. His main objective was to be sure everyone kept their personal area ready for inspections but unfortunately he was also allowed to select (punish) individuals to clean the common areas, such as the latrine. My poker face was still in the development stage so the idiot detected my low opinion of him as a leader and therefore I was “selected” more often than my fair share for extra duties.
We were trained in Jujitsu or judo, where supposedly a hundred and seventy pound weakling could overpower a three hundred pound thug thru the proper use of angles and leverage. My size, larger than most, worked to my disadvantage in this class as I was used as the “big guy” who could be thrown to the floor with little effort. I was mat meat.
As future officers of the law we had to become intimately acquainted with our designated handgun, the 45 caliber automatic pistol. Take it apart, clean it and put it back together. That was easy compared to trying to hit a stationary target so close I could have thrown a rock and hit it. I was reminded of the old cowboy movies I enjoyed as a kid where there was a running gunfight on horseback with the riders bouncing around like bull riders. In real life, that would have been the biggest waste of ammunition imaginable.
In three months we are ready to conquer the world. We have all the police paraphernalia, big black belt with shoulder strap, holster, night stick, whistle and white hats with a forty mission crush. For the first time in my life I will have some authority. Look out miscreants !
Once again, the list of assignments is read and this time I don’t know where I’m headed, but it’s only for the last two months of my six month tour of duty. About half the class is assigned overseas (groans) and half stateside (sighs of relief). I am sent to Manhattan Beach Air Force Station. Yes, New York City, and yes, it is so small it doesn’t rate the name “Base.” Off I go into the wild blue yonder!