Manhattan Beach

My orders to report to Manhattan Beach AFS allowed for a few days leave that I could spend in Baltimore before going to New York. My family and friends were amazed that I had survived, let alone become a fully functional policeman. The Air Force didn’t care how I got to my next assignment so I drove my ’52 Chevy to New York, a little over 200 miles. I was not allowed to bring my car on base since I was temporary, but I could park on the street nearby. This allowed me to drive back to Baltimore for visits every few weeks.

The “Station” was small but there was an actual beach. Although, it was not in Manhattan, but Brooklyn. The primary function of the Station was processing transient personnel coming from and going overseas. This worked to the advantage of the permanent people since the transients got to pull all the “shit” details, like KP.

Living quarters improved. I shared a second floor room divided in half to make two bedrooms behind a locked door with a motor pool mechanic. Real beds, a closet, and chest of drawers. The toilet facilities were still common to the barracks and on the first floor. There was a “day room” on the first floor with a TV and ping pong table for our off duty pleasure. Also some comfy chairs and assorted magazines.

I was assigned to one of the three shifts of about six or seven APs, checked out my 45 and was ready to go to work. My sergeant was a black man who, lucky for me, was as “laid back” an individual as I have ever met. No chicken-shit from him. He rotated the jobs fairly among the men, gate duty, patrol, or desk sergeant. The main (only) gate used two APs, one for incoming traffic and one for outgoing. This was pretty boring, so we would amuse ourselves occasionally by harassing some passing pedestrian about their passes and uniform infractions. Only one of the two patrol cars roamed the station, the other stayed at HQ in case a call came in and was needed to attend to an emergency. The desk sergeant answered the phone and kept a log of police activities during the shift. Answering the phone gave us “airmen” a chance to add fake importance to ourselves by pausing at the right moment when answering the phone “Air Police headquarters desk…sergeant Snodgrass here."

The most fun I ever had in my AP career was when one night Sarg said “Come on Snodgrass, lets go on town patrol.” I drove and he directed as we went to one (black) bar after another, looking for Air Force personnel who might be misbehaving. He had done this many times before, I’m sure, since we were greeted like long lost brothers returning from the war. We were offered drinks and smokes and some stuff I can’t recall, but of course being on duty, we had to turn them down. (All believers raise your hands) We did not see a single airman, what a waste of time.

On the other hand, the worst time of my career was going to the “Airman’s Club,” a place on base where you could sit and relax, watch TV and buy cheap beer. After a few beers, I got hungry and they sold “Stewart’s ‘infra-red’ hot dogs.” Each one tasted better than the last. I lost count. Later that same night….Let us say that I had never been so sick in my short life – but I did learn a lesson. I could not stand the smell of beer for over a week, but, not to worry, I got over it.

Two months at MBAFS flew by and I was honorably released to another seven and a half years of monthly weekend meetings and two weeks of active duty every summer. Back to Baltimore to continue my businessman career with the telephone company. One ringy dingy.