by Phil Rowe
Being the Adjutant for the 43rd Field Maintenance Squadron at Carswell AFB in the early 60's was quite an education.
The unit was responsible for supporting the flight operations of the brand new B-58. Our unit included the jet engine, sheet metal, electrical, hydraulic and ground power equipment shops, with either an officer or a senior NCO in charge of each. It was a big job.
The Ground Power shop was responsible for maintaining various pieces of flight line equipment like air carts, electrical power and hydraulic carts, tire repair facilities and maintenance jack stands.
The Senior Master Sergeant who ran that part of Field Maintenance operations, was an able and hard working fellow. He had the most difficult and diverse shop of all to manage. And, he had some of the most difficult troops to handle, performing the dirtiest, messiest and most undesirable tasks.
The Sergeant, let's call him Sergeant Jones, was not always the easiest fellow to get along with. He was a tough character at times, but did a credible job when he was sober. And it was because he worked so hard, got so much from his troops and was loyal to the organization that the Squadron Commander thought highly of him and forgave much of his drinking problems.
One Friday evening, around eleven, I got a call from the Military Police saying that Sgt. Jones was in trouble. It also happened that I was acting as Squadron Commander in the temporary absence of my boss. The MP's suggested that I come down to the stockade and take charge of Sgt. Jones. So I got dressed, called the First Sergeant to join me, and proceeded to the MP office.
It turned out that Sgt. Jones had been drinking heavily and was stopped at the Main Gate by the MP's. In the ensuing argument between Sgt. Jones and the MP's, Sgt. Jones smashed his car into the Guard Post intentionally, whereupon he was arrested and hauled off to the Stockade.
In the stockade he was quite a problem. They put him into a cell with a heavy wooden door, lined with sheet metal, and locked with a sturdy slide bolt from the outside. Well, Sgt. Jones was a pretty big and husky fellow. He literally kicked down the door and said that he was going home. It took several police to control him. So finally they had to handcuff and put leg restraints on him.
My First Sergeant and I got to the stockade shortly after the door kicking part. And by now Sgt. Jones was much calmer and apparently sleepier. We convinced the police that we would be responsible for Sgt. Jones and would get him home to sleep it off. I think the police were relieved to be rid of him.
We had no trouble taking Sgt. Jones home and getting him to bed. But his troubles, self-inflicted to be sure, were far from over. The MP's had filed their reports to the Base Commander.
By Monday morning, when my boss returned, the word about Sgt. Jones' escapade was all over the base. If was too late to keep it low profile and quietly handle.
The punishment meted out to Sgt. Jones included loss of base driving privileges for six months. He did not lose any stripes, however largely due to the intervention of the Squadron Commander and his own solid work record. But he could not driveany motor vehicle on base for six months period!
None of us expected Sgt. Jones to be quite as resourceful about solving his transportation problems as he soon demonstrated. While driving along the flight line, past the Ground Power shop, we noticed a horse, a large brown live horse, complete with saddle tied to one of the B-58 air start carts. That was Sgt. Jones' transportation.
Well, after the initial amusement of the Squadron Commander and several of Sgt. Jones' fellow sergeants, the shine quickly wore off. Horse droppings on the flight line were not regarded as very sensible and when the Base Commander found out about it, the horse was summarily discharged.
Anyone else other than Sgt. Jones would have been in greater trouble, and certainly would have lost a stripe or two. That horse incident will go down in the annals of both the 43rd Bomb Wing and Carswell AFB.
Having livestock on the base was not without precedent. The fenced area around the jet fuel storage tanks was kept trimmed and weed-free by goats and sheep much safer for grass-trimming than powered mowers around volatile fuels.