1967

The hangers and terminal, VR-30 was in the one next to the terminal, 2nd building from the right.

  When I reported for duty the squadron was known as Fleet Tactical Support Squadron 21, Detachment Alameda.  Shortly after it was de-commissioned and re-commissioned as Fleet Tactical Supply Squadron 30.  Fleet Tactical Support is a military term meaning Transport.  It was a busy place taking people and gear from one place to another.
  They needed Flight Crew members, since I had an adequate security clearance they asked if I would participate, and I did.  While I waited for a higher clearance I trained as a Flight Attendant (yes, that's what it is).  Going through the pressure chamber and being elevated to 20,000 feet without oxygen is interesting, but I stayed awake.  One week in the Anza-Berrigo desert for Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape School was not nice.  We had some Periwinkles the first night before being trucked to the "camp".  We each had a water bottle, one-half of a parachute (warm at night), and the clothes on our backs, there were about 20 of us.  We wandered around in the desert, but there was no manna from heaven (or any other place), it was hungry time.  On the fourth day we were told to hide in the scrub brush and rocks, "enemy troops" (really Aviation Boatswains Mates on shore duty) would comb through and capture us one by one, I was about fifth.  In the POW camp conditions went from dire to drastic (the is very real training).  We each were given a number, they scribbled it on our hand, took away my glasses, and were each called up, one by one, for Interrogation.  They called "Number 12", no one answered (it was my number, I couldn't read it), they came and got me and announced to everyone there that I was the stupid one, and they called me that the rest of the time as a prisoner.
During the interrogation I did very well, I didn't divulge and information they wanted, so I was put in a box.  Imagine this: stand in the box, it's about 24 by 36 inches, and 30 inches high, cross your legs then kneel down; they close the lid and lock it!  I found two holes in the box, one higher than the other, when I blew air through the top hole, cool air came from the bottom.  The box was in a cave.  I was in that box for three hours, ouch, ouch!  The last night in camp we were told that there would be food in the morning, and that "the stupid one" will cook it, and further, if the food didn't come out right they would pour it one the fire - which was intended to convey to the rest "if he spoils the food, you won't eat", a bad message to guys who haven't eaten for six days.
  Morning came and the guards brought in a wash tub, a grocery bag full of oatmeal, and a bucket of water.  I just emptied the complete contents of oats and water in the tub, and stirred until it was done.  I guess it had all been pre-measured, I felt relief.  Oatmeal and one pint of milk, do you know how good that tasted?  It was just wonderful.  On the way back to Alameda I waited at the North Island Air Station in San Diego, I bought a sandwich and milk, I could only eat half a sandwich, I was stuffed.
  Now I would get my wings, oh happy day, I made it through those experiences, training flights (with real passengers) and it was done.  My security clearance came and I went to flying freight.  We carried a lot of sensitive equipment, thus the clearance.
  Oh yes! The guns!  I was to carry a .45 M1911 pistol on my flights, so off to the firing range (once a year).  I plowed up the ground in front of the target, and both sides - they passed me.
  I flew about 40 hours a month, meaning with pre-flights, post-flight and time on the ground at other places about 65 hours, and I still had my day job, very busy.

U S Navy Enlisted Flight Crew wings.



On approach to Alameda



Alameda as it looks now, warehouses 117 and 118 (Glen will remember) and the fuel farm are gone.
That's San Francisco at the top, and Oakland (part of) to the right.