Memorable Moments

I started out going to Fort Bragg, NC (82nd Airborne Division), to take a class in order to meet the requirement or my AIT training. I got into some trouble with a Full Bird Colonel who had the reputation somewhat of a "Hitler Complex", throwing his weight around and hassling troops to satisfy his own nafarious agenda. I had two choices: Either do 45 days in stockade for insubordination or go to jump school. Well, since the Colonel was giving me a break, I had finished the paratrooper training program along with 3 other women. Eventually I came off of training status and mustered into my permanent party unit: 101st Airborne Division at Ft Campbell. Guess what? I went to Air Assault School immediately upon arrival. That was 1983 (82nd Airborne) and 1984 (101st Airborne). I have been out of the Army since 1989 and whenever I wear or display the "team colors" the men still look at me funny. They can't admit of get used to seeing a woman with jump wings!! I scoff quite often. "Look fellas, these wings and $3.00 and I can get a serious buzz at STARBUCKS!"

and skill that these operations needed. Well to make a long story short, the last operation of the day, the basket came down and it was about to go back up when I guess the helo hit an air pocket or something. The basket stated going nuts. Everyone on deck was just trying to get rid of this basket. Well we finally got it off the deck and almost out of our hair when it went whirly (good military term) again but this time it was about face height it whacked me straight in the mouth and put my two front teeth through my front lip. Well the funny part is that I had no idea what had happened. When the operation was over I walked into the cabin to put the gear down below and pretty much scared the coxswain (boat driver) to death. At this point I was covered in blood and it was dripping all over. He started screaming asking me what the hell happened, if I was dying and called the station and had them call EMS. Still not knowing anything was wrong, I just thought I had done the

then that I noticed in a brightly shined boat bell that I looked like some kind of reject from Nightmare on Elm Street. I guess with my adrenaline running and being nervous I never felt anything. Well this act dubbed me the name Xina Warrior Princess still to this day almost three years later.

While in bootcamp 13B Perris Island in the fall of 1967, one of the best parts of training for me was the drill field. Not for the sand fleas or the heat or the intensity! Only because we never got close to a guy during

bootcamp except for our drill instructor, Gunnery Sergeant Green. He had green eyes, was pencil thin about 6 feet tall, stood and walked straight as an arrow, had a Viet Nam combat ribbon on his chest, and best of all, he wore then popular men's after shave called Jade East. I always looked forward to his uniform inspections and I believe that as a platoon in formation, we actually smelled him before we saw him, which probably manifested itself in our platoon leaning in his direction as he approached us each day. After all these years, I can still remember how I enjoy those hours of drill and how, at the end of basic training, I would probably have followed his marching orders through left and right oblique and to the four winds over a cliff if he so ordered me. I was a perfect marching machine and, to this day, still stand straight and tall, as remarked to me by a female Marine Lieutenant Colonel in uniform when I was once riding the metro train into Arlington from

In 1992, I was stationed in Japan. At that time, the Army was downsizing and offering civilian employment seminars to those outprocessing from the Army. I was not being downsized, but was outprocessing anyway. At that time, the seminars were offered in Korea, so I boarded a MAC flight and away I went to Korea.

After a week of seminars and shopping, I went to Osan to fly back to Japan. It was my birthday and I had waited most of the day to see if I would fly back that day or be bumped by someone who outranked me. Well, I was bumped, but not by an officer or senior NCO. I was bumped by a USO group, flying to Japan for a tour. I was truly bummed out and went to the snack bar for a cup of coffee calm me down. When I returned, the soldier from my unit who was there with me had told the USO group it was my birthday, and the entire 25-member USO group sang Happy Birthday to me. That's a birthday I'll never forget.

Rear Admiral Grace Hopper (http://cc.kzoo.edu/~k96kh02/CS/grace.html or http://www.greatwomen.org/hopper.htm) was an inspiring person, to anyone in the military, and to women everywhere. My favorite quote of hers, one I tried to live my life by is,

This was the night before Captain's Inspection (one of the most stringent), so we were really busy cleaning the bay and setting up our lockers and foot lockers (repolishing shoes, dusting, etc.). My friends brought me an M & M with a match stuck in it and sang "Happy Birthday" to me. Boy, did that help. I was one of the older people in my platoon. Most of the girls had just gotten out of high school.

In 1971, while I was the S3 of the WAC Basic Training Battalion, my office was in charge of the weekly Friday graduation parades. My Lieutenant and I routinely marked the parade field, rehearsed the staff, and then during the actual parade, narrated the events. Awards were presented to the outstanding trainees, and the WAC Center Commander would present the certificates as we read a long description of the award and the name of the trainee.

The awards were given right after the playing of the National Anthem. One Friday right before the music was to begin, I asked my Lieutenant for the book where we had our script and the names written in. She said she didn't have it, as she thought I had it.

When the music stopped and the Colonel stepped out to the trainees who had marched forward, I simply went to the microphone and gave a description from memory about the awards. The LT ran out and got the last names from the name tags on the women's uniforms.

When I said their name, I added a "made up" first name to make it look like we had our stuff together. The Colonel turned and looked at me with a look that could kill. There were about 8 trainees receiving awards, all with made up first names.

I am now retired after those WAC days and serving in the USAR. I hope life has treated well all those I knew and served with. I would like to hear from anyone who remembers me. I am now wiser and of course, older! I was a company commander at age 24 and a battalion S3 at age 26!

MAJ Lorri Vaughn, 1086 Tamberwood Ct., Woodbury, MN 55125, E-mail: Lorri.Vaughn@state.mn.us

I would have to say the most memorable moment I had while in the USAF. In basic training. I went in with the attitude that I will succeed and nothing will break me. One week prior to graduation I got extremely ill and was sent to Wilford Hall with 104 fever. I had gotten pneumonia, I was in the hospital for 3 days. Before I was released into my flight's care, my TI got in my face and tried to break me. For what reason I have know idea, he dismissed my flight and my flight wouldn't go with out me. He yelled kicked and screamed threatened to recycle every airmen in my flight. Our dorm chief took one step forward and said.

Sir if your thinking of recycling her with no fault of her own, then know we will not move. Then so be it we will all be recycled. It was then that I broke and fell to my knees. I couldn't believe what my flight was doing. My TI walked away, by this time we were all in tears. I graduated that very week with my flight. My TI gave me and my dorm chief a hug and said that's exactly what we need to do. Stand by each other no matter what when or

why. I'm glad you airmen experienced this in the short period of time you were here. I'm honored to be the one who pushed this flight. Most people go through their years in the air force never experiencing what that's like......Other than the prayers at night, the friendships that developed and the willpower & encouragement you received from your flight like no other.

23 May 1994 was one of the most memorable days of my life. I had just graduated from "A" school and I was on my way to my very first command - as an Airman Recruit. The detailer had told me (I had lost my orders to go over seas, this was the only reason I got to talk to my detailer) that I would be one of the first females in my command, maybe I misunderstood him and he said THE first but I don't remember hearing that part. When I arrived at VS-29 out of NAS North Island, I think all of their eyeballs must have popped out of their heads! The ASDO logged it into the book the exact moment that VS-29's first female had checked in. I had beat the female khaki leadership there. They were not expecting me for two more months!

To me, I had no idea what a big thing this was to them. I had worked in the civilian world after I had graduated from high school, not sure of what I wanted to do with my life before this Navy idea clicked in my brain. I had worked in co-ed jobs before and I didn't get what the problem was. After I was checked in I was shuttled off to the wing because they didn't want me there without female leadership, which I can understand now that I look back on it, this was new and no one wanted things to go wrong.

I was only at the wing for about 2 to 3 weeks before I was sent back and able to do my job. I am not going to lie and say that it was never rocky, because my first few months there were trying at times. They (my male counterparts) were adjusting and so was I. I enjoyed every minute of learning from my first command. I didn't just learn how to do my job but was showed things to make me understand it better (I am in supply), many of the great people I worked with thought nothing of dragging me out to that jet and showing me what an APU was, were it went and how it worked. If any of you remember me and ever read this - THANK YOU. 99.9% of those people I considered family to me for four years, were the most incredible individuals I have ever met and most I hope that I will turn out like as I farther my career. I also I hope that I will serve with some of them again.

As I sit here typing this on the computer on the opposite coast now of where I had started, I don't think there is enough space on this web page for me to describe what an awesome time I had in my first command and how that great experience molded me to be the sailor that I am today. I am at my second duty station now, I have only been here a year, and we will be leaving in October because I was selected for the Blue Angels. I can only hope that my memory retains all of the good things I learned in VS-29.

I was a E4 Senior Airman assigned to Taegu, South Korea in May 1989-Aug 1990. This is the Korean's logistics base. My job as an Airfield Manager there was to be liaison between the U.S.A.F. and the Royal Korean Airforce (ROKAF). I would take the arrival and departure times of the US RF4C aircraft and in turn pass them on to the US Command Post. I would also be the middle person on all inflight emergencies, coordination of all USAF transient aircraft inbound and outbound (believe me the ROKAF hated C5's because of F.O.D.) and anything else that related to the operations of the airfield. For some odd reason the military reactivated this base and sent in 3 squadrons of RF4C's and then inactivated the base within a 12 month period. Maybe that was the reason that they sent me there to work under a male SSgt who had been there since it was a caretaker base (4 years) and then they sent him stateside for another assignment but I stayed on by myself for most of the rest of the assignment until about the last aircraft left to finish the job.

I had the best time in my life working with the ROKAF all of whom were males. They were "third world" and believed that women should not play in these male roles. Many times they would ignore me which I took lightly and would laugh off or they would try to disrespect me because of my gender but for some reason that wouldn't last too long I think that their comrades would set them straight. Most of the time I was hit on. The experiences were great.

Toward the end another female came in. I don't know why they sent her in the last month. She had a very soft voice that the guys called sexy. She could not handle being hit on by the ROKAF and constantly complained. I was secretly standing by the ROKAF because I knew their intentions were harmless. They didn't persue they knew better. All you had to do was put them in their place. I told her that but she was hard headed. I never thought anything else of it.

One day I went over to talk to my supervisor who was a male Major. I will never forget as long as I live what he said that day. He asked how things are going over there I told him great. He addressed the issues with the new female and I told him that I thought that the ROKAF were harmless. They just like to kid around a lot. He then said that he felt that women should not be sent on assignments like these. It floored me. I was only 22 at the time and not mature enough to respond without being disrespectful which was definitely what was on my mind. This had been the best experience of my life. The ROKAF men were like USAF men at any stateside assignment.

I missed an opportunity to put the chauvinist in his place. But what comes around goes around. I found out a year later he forged another persons name on a performance report and was severely reprimanded which probably resulted in the end of his career.

Women have came along way since the early 80's in these career fields which were only open to men. I take great pride in reading about the accomplishments of women who are in these jobs in the military. I hope that I am alive to see a women president, a women wing commander (is there one yet), a women (William Cohen's Job), and any other position that have been sterotyped as men only jobs which women are incapable of doing.

Basic training at Fort McClellan during the summer of 1970 was anything but fun. Among other things, we were denied soft drinks and chocolate (two basic ingredients of life) especially for a teenager. So it should have been no surprise to our Sgt. that the first time we were allowed to go to the PX without supervision we would indulge. I can remember blissfully walking up and down the aisle choosing an assortment that made my teeth quiver and mouth water like never before in my life. Back in the barracks we opened our bags and prepared for the feast to follow. Suddenly, someone noticed the Sgt. coming down the hall. We rushed to hide the contraband and when she entered we all tried to look innocent. The tell tale sound coming from the back of the room gave it all away.....first one, then another and suddenly the whole bag of M&M's hitting the tile floor. When she finally left (after assigning extra details, of course, and chewing us out when we should have been chewing our chocolate) she had two large grocery bags full of candy.

After graduating from Marine boot camp on February 1, 1991, I was wearing my dress blues home on the plane. This is one sharp uniform, dark blue with shiny buttons and red trim, and, as we were waiting for the flight to take off, the little old lady next to me turned to me and said, "Are you a movie star?"

I believe the most memorable moment I had in the USAF was in November of 1987. I was stationed at Shaw AFB, SC, and worked in the Chapel. One Sunday morning I had been working the services, and I hadn't been stationed at Shaw long. After the services I went to the Child development center to pick up my daughter who at the time was 3. We went back to the Chapel to finish some straightening up, and making sure that the Chapel would be locked up for the day. As we were leaving the building, my daughter yells out "Hey mommy look at that Airman with all those stars". About that time the Airman with all his stars turned around, and I could have just died. It was Major General Horner the 9th Air Force Commander. He just smiled at my daughter and said, "she's right you know, we're all Airman, I just have more stars." He then gave her a sweet smile, and said "she's something else." It's probably a good thing that General Horner had such a good sense of humor, or I could have been, well who knows where I could have wound up. I do know that I will never forget the feeling I had that day. If there had been a hole big enough to jump into, I would have. Children say the darndest things.

After graduating from Air Force Basic Training in December 1972, I came home between basic and tech school. I was so proud of my Air Force Blues. My parents took me out to lunch at the nearest city (about an hour from our Kentucky home). We stopped to shop at a department store. I was pushing a shopping cart and heard two little old ladies whispering to each other. "What's she?" "I don't know", said the other, "I think she's Post Office." I guess being the first female to enlist from this area, had something to do with it. Whenever I get down I just remember those two little old ladies, and have to smile.

I will never [forget] the feeling I had when my Master Gunnery Sergeant Butts retired. He wasn't about a bunch of pomp and circumstance. He just left much the same way he came. Although I only worked for him for a short time. He made a major impact on my life and I will never forget the lessons he taught me. That last day after work we, a LCpl friend and I, asked him to accompany us to the NCO club for a farewell drink. He agreed and soon we were talking over his past experiences and our fun times together. I will never forget that moment he gave me one of his two MGSgt chevrons. He had kept them from when they were pinned on him all those years before. I could not believe that he would bestow such an honor on me, but I was truly touched.

We began a discussion about why he had decided to get out. You see he was not "forced" out like a lot of them are today. He made the decision on his own. When I inquired as to why, he said, "When it ceases to be fun, get out!" That was a sad day for me, but I was also happy for him because I knew exactly how he felt. I had only been in for two years and it had already ceased to be fun.

To this day, I still have that chevron in a special box close to me at all times.

Reading the comments from the female UH-60 Blackhawk pilot (see 26 Dec 96 submission) took me back to 1982. I was a lLT stationed at K-16 Airbase in Korea, assigned to the 55th Aviation Company. This was the VIP Aviation Company for Eighth US Army and South Korea. We, my co-pilot and I, were sitting on the tarmac, rotor blades turning, waiting for our passenger, who just happened to be an Air Force 4-star general, the newly appointed commander for Space Command (formerly called NORAD). This general wanted to "see" South Korea. After he was strapped in and we were ready to lift off his voice came across the intercom. "Lieutenant, don't you think your's about due for a haircut?" I looked at my co-pilot, a Warrant Officer, she looked at me and we both started laughing. The General couldn't figure out what was so funny so I keyed my mike and said "Thank you, Sir, I'll keep that in mind". It got very quite for a while then I heard a gruff voice say "Disregard, Lieutenant", at which point my co-pilot is about to bust a gut, and said to him "Don't worry, Sir, she will". My crew chief, who had gone thru basic training with me at Fort McClellan, leaned over and explained to the General that he had the privilege of flying with an all-female crew. I thought he was going to have a heart attack....but then suddenly we heard this roar of laughter... the General finally told us he had always been slightly afraid of helicopters...but by the end of that day he wanted us all to transfer to the Air Force and be his pilots. He said he had never had as much fun on a flight!

Childhood, high school, and college had not prepared me to find the latrine. I didn't even know what the latrine was until I got into the Army. It was almost as if they renamed my own mother. I think it took me several years to make the transition! My copy of Webster says: "latrine: a toilet, privy, etc. for use by a large number of people, as in an army camp".

When I enlisted in the winter of 1975, the inclusion of females in the military was not a new idea. The women were isolated from the men by basic training companies, by living quarters, by uniform design, by insignia, by selection of jobs and even by service branch. We were the Woman's Army Corps (WACs). This created little problem for latrine facilities. The women lived and worked together so the toilet for the large number of people was not a problem. There was a lack of privacy but that was not insurmountable.

About a year later, females were integrated into the regular Army and the branch called the Women's Army Corps was dissolved. There was now a small number of women by proportion, in most companies, jobs and working areas. In the barracks, sections of the buildings were partitioned off and designated as female living quarters and usually the latrines in those areas became female latrines. Though the females were still required to clean and polish the urinals, the arrangement was acceptable and workable to most. Work areas with only one latrine had signs installed to identify the gender of the occupant or locks were placed on the doors. This arrangement was less functional because often the latrines were large and the number of females was small. The females were usually forced to wait until the flow of males in and out of the latrine slowed. Several women would have to persuade the men to wait and the women could then use the latrine as a group.

I never experienced much problem with all this until, finally, I arrived at flight school almost three years after I enlisted. At the time I arrived, females were few and far between in flight school. The first female graduated from flight school in June, 1974 and only 29 females had completed the flight course when I arrived. There were five women enrolled in the program that November in 1977. That number fluctuated as low as three and as high as eight during the time I spent there. When I arrived at the school, the men were divided into flights (classes) of thirty to forty and were all housed in two barracks buildings, each three stories tall. The members of the same flight had rooms in the same hallway. We were required to remain together 17 hours a day, from morning exercise at 5 AM, to lights out at 10 PM. We were not allowed out of bed during the night to complete unfinished work. We ate together, worked together, studied together, and exercised together. As long as we did everything together, we could even violate the rules (within safety bounds) and not be punished. As long as the entire flight did exactly the same thing, told the same story and took the same blame. We wore the same clothes, our wall lockers were exactly the same, and we did it all together. That is, except the female. There were never two females in the same flight the entire time I was there. The females, all assigned to different flights, all lived together, on the top floor of one of the buildings, regardless of where our flights were living. That way we could share one latrine. When our flights cleaned the common areas, the females would clean the female common areas. This arrangement caused some troubles. Though we had a more private latrine, we missed out on a lot of the camaraderie. If the flight had a meeting they would have to send one candidate, fully dressed (a pain) to get the female. Then the female would get fully dressed to come to the meeting. So, the rest of the flight would have to dress and we were all the same again. Eventually, the females were put into the same sleeping area as the men. The female in each flight still had a room to herself and she shared the latrine with 30 - 40 men for the first 12 weeks of the school. This did cause problems. We were on very tight schedules and every activity was reduced to the minimum amount of time. The latrines were large open areas with toilets in stalls, urinals in the open, sinks along one wall and private shower stalls (they had white plastic curtains) with semi-private dressing areas (no curtains). My flight worked it out on an honor system. No one would use the urinals (they were too hard to clean anyway). The stalls were to be used by everyone, including me, at the same time. The first week, I swear, I did not go to the bathroom at all because I was too embarrassed! (I wasn't about to let them know that though!) After the first week it just did not matter because there just wasn't time to worry about it or to peak on anyone anyway! I would shower in the shower area alone and everyone would stay out while I was in there. I would not go into the shower area if anyone else was showering and we all used the sink area without a problem. It all worked out at the time but looking back I don't know how! One of the generals on the base got wind of the arrangement and was appalled. Without much delay, showers were installed in the private latrines on the first floor of each building that had been designated for the officers only. These became the place where females could only take a shower. We were still required to use the regular latrine for any other business.

We were only allowed to eat at the mess hall and were not allowed to use the candy machines installed in our barracks (a stupid place to put machines that no one can use!). No sodas were allowed and no junk food. Sometimes in the evenings, if we knew our training officer would not be back for the night, we would call one of the wives and have her do a "junk run". We would smuggle the food into the barracks and consume it in the latrine. The latrine was the only place we could all come and go with out being suspect. Then, some of the guys would smuggle the trash out to the dumpster. One night we were all in the latrine eating pizza when the training officer showed up. He caught us red handed (so to speak). He took the pizzas and turned them upside down on the latrine floor (which was made of 1 inch ceramic tiles). He put the floor buffer on top of the pizzas and buffed the entire floor with the pizzas. It was a disaster! It took the entire weekend and a toothbrush for everyone to get the red out! When out flying, taking a leak was easy for the men. With no women around, they could just jump out of the helicopter and go anywhere they wanted too. The guys would not even have to unplug their helmets from the intercom system, so they could continue their conversations and go. When females showed up, most were a little more cautious. Some of the older instructor pilots would not change their "style" because a lot of these guys did not want women to fly. Once, I was on a training flight of about 20 helicopters in the area of Eglin AFB, Florida. We stopped at the airport for gas. They intended for us to get "hot gas", which is filling the fuel tanks while the helicopter is still running. Some malfunction occurred in the pumping unit, so they had us relocate to a remote end of the airfield. By doing this, if we came close to empty, we could shut the helicopters down and not block the entire facility. We were probably two miles from the closest building. I elected to get out and walk into a nearby wooded area to find a secure bush. HA! Apparently, the instructor pilots got to talking on the radios and when they discovered I was in the bushes, they rearranged the helicopters on the perimeter of the woods. All of the helicopters were neatly pointed at the area where I had entered the woods. I still had my helmet on and had not realized what was up. When I came out of the trees, the pilots and students that could got out and gave me a standing ovation! My stick buddy (the other student I trained with in the helicopter) told me later, the plan was for all of the helicopters to hover over where I was in the woods, but I finished to fast for them! I was the 45th female to graduate from flight school. About 800 have graduated by now and it has been about 18 years. After flight school, I was assigned to Stuttgart, West Germany. This was my first duty station as an officer and a pilot. The unit I was assigned to was part of a battalion which consisted of four companies. There were approximately 1000 soldiers in the battalion. Of the 1000 soldiers, 175 were officers. All of these officers were pilots, all out ranked me, and all were men. None of these officers had even met a female pilot. The company that I was assigned to, had 150 soldiers and NO other females, officer or enlisted. I first arrived at the Frankfurt International Airport on a commercial flight. I had been traveling for about 20 hours. I was very tired, wrinkled, and just ready to find a quiet hole to crawl into for awhile. The unit had other plans for me. I had arrived on a Saturday afternoon. The battalion had planned an officer dinner in a German restaurant, which they did about once a month. They sent one of the Warrant Officers to fetch me at the airport and he was to rush me back to Stuttgart for the dinner. I was to be the "show and tell" for the evening! Now, this Warrant Officer, in all of his haste, neglected to tell me it was about a three hour drive to Stuttgart and I neglected to ask. After about an hour into the drive, I did ask. I told him I needed to go so he, obligingly, found a road side refueling station with bathrooms. I got out to go to the bathroom and after wandering around for quite sometime, I located the facilities. I spoke no German, so I could not ask for directions and I could not read the signs. When I did find the bathroom, I did not know that "Damen" means woman and "Herren" means man. I sort of lurked in the area until I was sure which was which, just by the traffic going in and out. I went into the "Damen" only to find pay toilets! In Germany, in public restrooms, all women pay to use the facilities and then are expected to tip the latrine lady (she spends her time constantly cleaning the bathroom so that it is always clean). This had all taken some time, and the man with the mission had not even shut off the engine. Now, I return to ask for money to go pee! (I had just gotten off the plane and I had no German money.) This certainly was not in his plans for the night! The first time I went to the field (the Army's version of a camp out) with this unit, was about a month later. At first I was told I would not be allowed to participate. When I asked why, I was told that while in the field "Boys would be boys!" I told my commander that, if he would allow me to go, he could take only the men, leave the boys at home and there would be no problem! I went to the field! This was to be a three day "camp out". It was a joint exercise with our German sister unit, an annual event. Our units took turns providing the logistical support for the exercise. This year it was the German's turn for the provisions. The Germans had been warned in advance that I would be coming and had also decided in advance, that there was just no way I could go for three day without a shower. They arranged with the farmer, whose land we were camped on and with his wife, for me to come to their home to take a shower. I found this entirely unnecessary and told my commander as much. I was then ordered to go for a shower! I was not to refuse their hospitality! A portion of the men in my company thought I was getting special treatment and made their objections known. By the end of it all, the Germans had arranged for buses to take all of the men to a German military installation, about 60 miles one way from our location, so they could also shower! The training exercise, that was only a short trip anyway, came to a halt for one afternoon and all because one girl NEEDED a shower! I told my commander he must have brought along some of the boys!

In such field conditions, during my early years as a pilot, the men's idea of a latrine, was a hole, about ten feet from each tent. These were about three or four deep and about two feet across. AND there was never a tree, a bush or a shrub in sight! The flight suits we wore were one piece jumpsuits. It would require almost completely undressing to pee. I had to remove my flight jacket which I wore almost constantly, my "battle rattle" consisting of a flight survival vest, a shoulder harness with my pistol, my web belt that carried my canteen, and my gas mask in its carrying case. Then I had to unzip the flight suit and bring it through my legs to the front so that I could hold it in such manner as to not soak it. Then I could squat, attempting to hit the hole and trying not to fall into it, miss the flight suit and other assorted equipment and try not to freeze. You see, it was quite often very cold and all I was left with was a t-shirt, bra, boots and socks. NOT a pretty site! If I could, I would wonder off deeper into the woods to find a slightly more private location but this was difficult at times. Many of the wooded areas used by the military had Forest Meisters, who were charged with the care of a section of the forest. The more zealous ones would clear out all of the natural under growth and bushes. It took quite a few tree trunks to cover up my butt! Over the years, the men became more accepting and perceptive of my needs. Occasionally, if there were no female latrines, they would even check the latrines for male occupants so I could use the facilities. On one particular occasion, we were camped in a range training area. This wooded area had a permanent outhouse. This was a large wooden ten "holer" and was considered quite a luxury. A friend (using the term loosely) J.R., who was also the court jester, went in to check the outhouse for other occupants. He came out and declared it all clear. I went in and closed the door. It was quite dark and it took sometime for my eyes to adjust. I was not about to make any movements before I could see because these were very used open holes. Mean while, I could hear J.R. locking the hasp on the outside of the door. I figured this would be alright. I had already discovered there was no lock on the inside. The locked hasp should at least slow down the next user and give me time to pull up my clothing. I slowly began to undress. When my eyes started to adjust to the darkness, I found I was not alone in this locked ten holer. There was another gentleman, sitting on his hole, doing his business and reading the newspaper. I quickly gathered up my belongings and started screaming at J.R. I kicked at the door of the outhouse until the hasp broke and I chased J.R. for about 5 miles. I never did find out who the other occupant of the outhouse was or if he was in on it with J.R. Things slowly got better over the years. I was allowed to smell as bad as the men and the Army started renting port-a-potties. I had, accidentally, found a solution before the Army did. One very rainy day, I had wondered off looking for seclusion. I happened to be wearing a rain poncho. I found that I could undress under the poncho and no one could see anything. I could squat, spread out the poncho around me on the ground and I looked like I was just sitting down. Then I could redress and no one was the wiser. If I needed to, I could even pull my head inside and see just what I was doing! I carried a poncho with me everywhere until I retired from the Army. I had found my own personal, portable, latrine.

While in PLDC, the last week we were in the field, in Graffenwoehr, Germany, in April of 96. Wearing full gear from Kevlar, LCE, full ruck, (I had the radio) and wet weather gear on with a gas mask on and carring the M16-A2. I think the most memorable [moment] is when the cadre exploded a smoke grenade and told us "100 meters, 12 o'clock," and then after 100 meters sliding into a 360 circle through the snow. It wouldn't have been so bad if the cadre wouldn't have continually threatened us with our 1059's as a motivation factor. At that moment, I was not motivated. You know what they say, "If it doesn't kill you, it will just make you stronger."

I am a Warrant Officer (CW2) in the Army and I fly the UH-60 Blackhawk Helicopter. I've wanted to fly as long as I can remember and then one day...here I am. The reason I'm submitting this is because I usually only work alongside males and rarely with females. There is really no reason for this. If you are already enlisted in the military, submit a Warrant Officer Flight packet and the chances of you being selected are very good. I love my job, but I also miss having women friends to work with. One of my favorite memories so far is flying a mission late at night under night vision goggles and picking up a bunch of those "HUUAH" infantrymen in order to drop them deep into the combat zone. After the mission we returned to pick them up and bring them safely back to the rear. We shut down the aircraft and kept the infantry boys inside because we had other Blackhawks on all sides shutting down also. I climbed out of the cockpit and pulled off my helmet to reveal my French braid and the obvious fact that I was a woman. The ceasing of all conversation and neck-breaking stares forced me to have to turn around look up to the sky a suppress the proudest grin I think I've ever had.

During his Inaugural Address in 1961, President John F. Kennedy, asked us to do something for our Country, so a few months later I decided to join the U.S. Army. I was sworn in on 26 July 1961, and was immediately sent to Fort McClellan, Alabama, to enter Women's Army Corps (WAC) Basic Training. Women were trained separate from the men in those days, and all the trainers were female.

They issued us uniforms, that came pretty close to fitting, and we hung "dog tags" around our neck. For 9 weeks we learned about starching and ironing uniforms and something called "spit shining." We learned to catch the dust before it fell and that if you didn't, you got something called a "gig." Our dresser was called a footlocker, and the closet was a wall locker. Every minute of the day was scheduled with training. We were taught to march, and to eat a meal in record time, we pulled K.P., attended classes on military subjects, did more physical training then we had done in 4 years of high school, did company details like cutting weeds, and learned to fire an M-1 Carbine. We went into a gas chamber, and quickly learned why it was important to put that gas mask on properly. Those of us who smoked cigarettes learned the fine art of "field stripping" a butt. You couldn't put anything in your uniform pockets so we put them in our "G.I. Purse". On graduation day, while some of our families watched, we received our certificates of completion and marched in a parade.

The next day I was off to another part of Fort McClellan to attend a school called C.T.C. There I learned to type fast on an old manual, upright typewriter. They also taught us about Army correspondence and forms. We lived in cubicles but still had those lockers. The highlight of this school was the fact we could have a pass on the weekend after our inspection. I think the first thing we did on a pass was go into town and have our hair done. Then we discovered the E.M. Club, and that thousands of Reservists were there, after being called up for the Berlin Wall Crisis. Many of us fell in love within hours, and one woman even got married before we completed school. By the time we graduated, the weather in Alabama had gone from hot and humid, to cold, with snow flakes on one occasion. We were once again given orders. Some women went to another school, and others to a duty station somewhere in the US. My orders were to a base in Oakland, California that I'd never heard of.

I worked in the Transfer Point, Morning Report Section, USA Personnel Center, Oakland, CA. We didn't have personal computers to do our work on in those days. Very few offices in the Army at that time even had electric typewriters. When you made a typing error preparing a 1049, you corrected it with an eraser and a piece of thin cardboard, so you wouldn't make smudges on the carbon copies.

The morning report could not be corrected, but regulations did permit typing a slash over an error, and then continuing typing the information. Our Morning Report tracked all personnel serving in the US Army from Hawaii to the Far East, who were within 90 days of their return to the States for discharge, or transfer to the Reserve. The Transfer Point would receive records of service members in advance, and prepare all the documents for separation in advance of their arrival. The day the service member arrived, either by ship or plane, we all worked until the last person was processed and paid. Sometimes this meant working until almost midnight so we wouldn't have to redo all the paperwork because we kept them in the Army another day.

In my Morning Report Clerk days, a memorable event was the time a soldier came up to the counter and asked if I would help him. He had a cast on his arm and was being put on a medical hold for a few weeks until it could be removed. This meant he wouldn't be going home for a while. He unbuttoned his shirt and showed me his problem. He had a boa constrictor wrapped around his torso that he was bringing home. He had made friends with this snake in Thailand when it was a baby. We couldn't put up a snake in the barracks, so we resolved the problem by calling the zoo and getting them to accept the snake and give it a good home.

By far the most memorable event in my Regular Army career was marching in a parade in 1962 to celebrate the 20th Anniversary of the Women's Army Corps. Every year on May 14th I still celebrate the anniversary of the W.A.C. The W.A.C. was born the same year I was so I always know how old it is.

Joining the Army Reserve in 1974 was an adjustment. My First Sergeant, Supply Sergeant, Company Clerk and HHD Commander were all male. Things had changed since 1963, when there were WAC Detachments, run by women, for the women in the Army. The Vietnam War was winding down, and the Reserve still had a lot of those men who resisted everything military, and only served to avoid being drafted. A few wore wigs to cover their long hair. Some refused to stand formation, and others just sat around and did no work. It was a period of transition into an All-Volunteer Army. It was also a period of acceptance of a lot of women in the Reserve, who had been kept out after their active service because they had dependents. We needed to teach the men, women could do more than type, and that women could also lead.

In 20 years in the Army Reserve, I traveled to thirteen states and made 2 trips to the United Kingdom. We were called "weekend warriors" yet worked many unpaid week nights & weekends to get the job done. From 1985 to 1987 I served on Reserve Active Duty traveling in 6th Army doing pay audits and teaching USAR Pay. In England, I lived with the Royal Air Force in the Sergeant's Mess, ate new food, and climbed Creden Hill when challenged by the Brits. Over the years at my summer training I lived in hooches with dirt floors, tents, barracks with ants & no hot water, as well as a beautiful BEQ at Fort Ord, CA. I attended numerous Army schools, acquired several additional MOSs, and was promoted 3 times.

I completed my military career in the Army Reserve as a Personnel NCO retiring in 1994. I had a personal computer, no carbon paper or erasers, a modern photocopy machine, a fax machine, and a modem that could take me all over the world. We wore the same style Class A uniform as in 1961, but our fatigues had become a Battle Dress Uniform. The old taupe PT uniform was gone, and a new unisex gray PT uniform, with US Army across the shirt & jacket, had replaced it. Women were no longer wearing low-top brown combat boots, and what we used to call "granny" shoes. Those granny shoes are now in fashion for young civilian women. When I wore them in the Army, the only other persons who had shoes like them were the Catholic nuns who gave me my religious education. The "pot" hat had come in and was on it's way out. The beret came and went. The overseas cap survived. The old wool overcoats, probably styled like the one General George Washington had worn, had been replaced by an all-weather coat that a lot of us thought looked like civilian clothing. When I retired both my First Sergeant and my HHC Commander were women and the Berlin Wall had been torn down.

When I began my military training in 1961, I was earning $78.00 a month, before taxes. That was for working a 30 day month. In 1994 when I retired from the Army Reserve, I was earning over 4 times that amount for working only one weekend a month. My Reserve summer training of 2 weeks paid me more than I earned in an entire year in the Regular Army. In the regular Army I had a place to live, food to eat, a rewarding job, medical and dental care, entertainment at the service club or U.S.O. on my days off (they even provided free cigarettes since most of us smoked in those days), good friends from around the country and not a care in the world. Since that time, I've been to college and bought a house on the G.I. Bill, received health care from the Veteran's Administration and when I'm 60 years of age, I'll even get an Army Reserve retirement check. It's been a pretty good career, that I am extremely proud of. I will always be grateful I made that decision to join the Army when I was 19 years old.

One day I hope to be able to find: Annie Crayton, who I was told completed a career in the RA; Linda VanWagoner from Niagara Falls, NY, who married a guy we called "Tiger"; Jim Wentsloff (never could spell his name), who I think was from Michigan; Phil Witters, who was last known to be in San Jose, CA; Bill Cliff whose last address is NYC, NY; Fay & "Tennessee" who helped make clerical school so much fun; John Jordan, from Arizona; the guy we called "preacher"; Dixie & Jerry who I think got married after the Army; Lois Ashton, who I lost touch with when she moved from Oregon, she married a guy named Jack Ackerman, I think; Maxine K. from Hawaii, whose last name we never could pronounce, she used to do a good job riding the buffer when we were getting ready for inspections; SGT Belden, who taught us all so well how to be soldiers & ladies at the same time, and everyone else who graduated from D Company 5th Platoon on September 29, 1961 at Fort McClellan, Alabama.

I enlisted exactly 26 years ago today, I can still remember my first night at Ft. McClelland, with all those "strange" new girls all around me, then the lights went out, and taps began to play outside...suddenly one of the girls began to quietly sing the Lord's Prayer, soon all 40 of us were lying there in the dark quietly singing along, it became a nightly ritual amongst us all. I always get a warm feeling of camaraderie when I remember that night and the others that followed. No matter how hard those 8 weeks were we all were together at night.

This was a sign that appeared all over the lawns at Ft. Dix. I don't know why the General felt this way about his grass, but perhaps it all boiled down to having respect for other peoples property. To this day, I cannot walk on a lawn without thinking about this little slogan: Don't walk on the General's grass.

When the Supply people opened up an ISO container during Desert Storm set-up of Fleet Hospital 15, they were kind of surprised at what they found: snow shovels, snow blowers, sleeping bags to protect you in freezing weather, warm gloves, outdated medicines and a lot of other things. Too bad they didn't include fly swatters, fans and a swimming pool.

I was on a bus ride once, in Saudi Arabia. Before we left, we were given explicit instructions not to take pictures of the Saudi's Oil Refineries. Ok, that sounded easy enough. Well, when the bus stopped for a red light, someone on the bus took a picture of the refinery. The bus was immediately halted by the police, and the police boarded the bus. They asked who took the pictures. No response. Just silence. Again they asked, "Who took the pictures?" Still, no response. Finally, one of the policeman approached an Officer and asked him point blank, "Did you take the picture?" Finally, after a great pause, the Officer admitted he had taken the picture. The policeman took the camera from him and ripped out the entire roll of film. The lesson here: Follow directions to the letter, or you might have to pay the piper.

When I first arrived at Ft. Dix, I was told I had to immediately get into my camis. Now, having never worn one of these uniforms before, this was interesting, to say the least. I had to have a corpsman help me figure out how to tie this, how to blouse this and basically, how to wear the uniform. I owe a debt of gratitude to Helena B., who came to my rescue that day. For without her, I would have been a very sloppily dressed Navy woman.

When I was finally coming home from Desert Storm, there is one moment that I will always treasure in my heart. There were only two of us, the LT and myself, coming into the Portland Jetport. Just two of us, not a lot of us, just two. When we came into the airport lounge we were both hit with soooo many people that had come to welcome us home. It was an awesome sight. The local news media was there, all two stations, and people who neither one of us knew. Just a lot of ordinary people doing an extraordinary thing. It was just wonderful and what a joy to see that people really cared that much to come and welcome two people whom they didn't even know. My heartfelt thanks to all of them.

I'll never forget just how proud I was when I returned home from Boot camp. I was on cloud nine, I was in shape, I looked sharp AND I had a great dress blue uniform that I couldn't wait to wear around town so EVERYONE would know I was in the Navy. Overkill, I realize, but I wore it to church, out to the bar, and everywhere. You know the slogan "Proud to be a Marine"? Well, I was proud to be in the Navy. I also remember that my uncle died during my stay at home and because he was in the Navy during his youth, I wore my dress blues to his funeral, in honor of him. I thought it was the right thing to do.

There are some things that I remember from Desert Storm that don't have quite the impact that this special kind of mail had on me. When the post office finally got our first load of mail in Saudi Arabia, it was full of "To Any Soldier" mail. I grabbed a bunch of it, as getting any kind of mail was gladly appreciated. The bunch I grabbed was from Riverside Middle School in Watertown, WI. They were from the schoolchildren and they were the greatest. I would like to quote Angela D.'s letter if I could, "The whole town is supporting the soldiers. We have our American flags up with the yellow ribbons on them for peace. Everyone at school wears yellow ribbons on their shirts". And one from Mark M. who writes, "I hope you're getting along okay with that food they're giving you. In my class I saw that stuff, I hope it tastes better than it looks. Good luck and I hope you get home safely". My deepest thanks to the teachers, and the whole town for supporting us during Desert Storm and my thanks to all the children who wrote to us. Thanks so much. Also thanks to the Emerson School children who mailed me sooo many letters, Valentines cards and pictures. A special thanks to Miss Kimball, who was so generous with her time for helping my daughter cope while I was away. And to all the tons of children who sent "To Any Soldier" mail, thanks from everyone!