1968 - Looking Back a Half-Century Later

JOE KIRBY

Before I get into relating what the year 1968 means to me, I feel compelled to provide the reader with just a short background of what I had experienced prior to the beginning of 1968.

I had grown up in a lower middle class family, living in Menlo Park, California. I graduated from high school on my 18th birthday, June 17th, 1966. I had, a couple of years before, decided that I was going to pursue a career in law enforcement. There is nothing quite like riding, handcuffed, in the backseat of a police car, on two occasions, to give oneself a unique career incentive perspective. Yep, I was arrested twice for the same crime, Malicious Mischief (playing softball on a public street), a misdemeanor, in the City of Menlo Park. I had been taken to Hillcrest Juvenile Hall, for detention only, until my parents could come and get me. I was a 16-year-old criminal recidivist, of the highest order. What I was, was someone who did what my parents had told me to do if I ever ran afoul of the law. If a Police Officer yells, “STOP RIGHT THERE!” I stop and thus get myself arrested, because everyone else ran off in nine different directions. Not even I knew that just 10 years later, I would be working Homicide Investigations with one of these arresting officers as my partner.

The one major obstacle in front of me at the time was that you had to be at least 21 years old, just to be able to apply with any law enforcement agency. That meant I had three years to prepare myself the best I could. Those, whose advice I took to heart, told me to either go to college and major in Police Science, Criminology or Sociology. The other alternative would be to join one of the military services and obtain training and experience as a Military Policeman.

My father and grandfather both served in the Navy during WWII and Korea. Without exception, I remembered every war story they told included, to some degree, their being sea sick. I had considered the Marines, but the Marines were too closely associated with the Navy. Marines are stationed aboard Navy vessels and are thus also subject to seasickness. The Navy is their primary mode of transportation from one area of conflict to another. They are deposited in very unhealthy places around the world, not just Vietnam. They are indeed the cream of the crop as a fighting force, but I was not looking for the opportunity to become constantly seasick and then placed in a situation where I would be sleeping in a “muddy foxhole” and being shot at by the local residents. The Army offered the same “muddy foxhole” opportunities.

Then there was the Air Force, which operated more like a large secured airport and definitely had much fewer “muddy foxhole” possibilities. I could enlist with my best friend and we could attend basic training together, to be followed by guaranteed training as an Air Policeman. By enlisting in the Air Force, we were told that we would be dining in buffet-style mess halls, sleeping in three-to-a-room barracks, on a bed with a nice thick mattress, overlooking the flight line and avoiding those long walks, with full packs, into the jungle and not having to sleep in “muddy foxholes”. I was immediately sold! That Air Force Recruiter exploited my naivete and really sold me a bill of goods! So, I chose to enlist for four years of service with the United States Air Force starting in early July of 1966. By enlisting into the Air Force, I would also be avoiding the threat of being drafted.

Up to this point in my life, the farthest I had been away from home was Reno, Nevada, on two vacations with my parents. I received my initial “basic training” at Lackland Air Force Base (AFB), in San Antonio, Texas. I could go on and on about my introduction to military service, my time spent at Lackland AFB and how we were greeted and treated by our training instructors, but that’s another story in itself.

Immediately following my completion of basic training, I went on to Air Police School, also located at Lackland AFB. Immediately following that, I was selected to go on to advance training as an Air Police Dog Handler, also located at Lackland AFB. This training took me into early 1967.

Upon completion of my Air Police Canine Training, I was assigned to Beale AFB, in Northern California, working as an Air Police Dog Handler. This assignment also allowed me to make occasional trips home, to Menlo Park, to see my high school sweetheart, Mary Gutierrez. After a couple of months, I decided to broaden my overall skill sets by submitting a request for special duty training as a “Pararescue Operator”. My request was immediately granted. I had no idea at that time, that this would start a chain of events that would drastically change the direction of my life.

My kennel Sergeant, a Tech Sergeant, who was a 3rd degree black belt in Judo, did not approve of my choice for retaining in Pararescue. His great displeasure would progress to the point that he eventually initiated a physical attack upon me, knocking me to the floor of the main kennel building. He then stood over me and stated, “I am going to rip off your head and shit down the hole”. He made two slight, but serious errors while doing this. One: he did it in front of three witnesses. Two: he forgot I was armed with a .38 Special handgun. I got up slowly, momentarily turning my back to him and carefully drew my revolver. While pointing my revolver at him, I informed him that I was not going to allow him to do that without a fight. Upon seeing my revolver now pointed at him, he immediately became compliant with my directions. I backed him off at gunpoint and locked him into the kennel’s dog food locker. The three witnesses, who were also armed, were Air Police K-9 Squad Leaders and they allowed me a ten-minute head start for the barracks. Upon my arrival back at the barracks, I was arrested and eventually charged with Assault with a Deadly Weapon, Kidnapping and False Imprisonment. I was considered one dangerous individual. I was confined to the barracks and mess hall until my trial started.

I was then brought before a Court Martial Board. My Commander and all my peers were convinced that I was going to be convicted on all counts and would soon be spending the next few years in a stockade somewhere. To everyone’s surprise, but mine, I was “Acquitted” on all charges (Self-defense). Unfortunately, while the court martial had been progressing, my orders to start my Pararescue Training had to be canceled. I was told to reapply, if still interested. If I had been found guilty on any of the charges against me, I would have lost my Top Secret Security Clearance and very unceremoniously removed from my position within the Air Police, not to mention having to possibly serve a few years in the stockade. This could have been an unplanned life-changing event for me. With this type of conviction on my record, I would not have any chance of ever acquiring a position as a police officer.

About one week after my acquittal, I was called into my Squadron Commander’s Office and told that I had been “specifically selected for a Special Duty Assignment, that required an Air Police Dog Handler, who had a Top Secret Security Clearance and would have at least two years of service time left after completion of unknown specialized training”. As it turned out, I actually had to voluntarily extend my enlistment for additional six months, which I did as requested. I was also informed that this was not a voluntary assignment and I could look forward to eventually being assignment to Vietnam. I firmly believe my Commander wanted to put some immediate space between his command and me. Next thing I know, I am on my way to Army Ranger School Training, along with 48 other Airmen/NCO’s. We completed our Ranger Training and then broke out to several different schools. This took me into the beginning of the year 1968.

As the sun rose on January 1st, 1968, I had been on active duty with the Air Force for about 18 months. I was 19 years old and held the rank of Airman First Class and the title of Air Police Canine Handler. I was still continuing my special training for a still unknown assignment in my near future. I was temporarily assigned to Marine Corp Base, Camp Pendleton, in California. I was taken aside by a Marine Master Sergeant and informed that I would not be subject to the normal inner service put-downs, because I was wearing a Ranger tab on my uniform and they would respect that accomplishment. They also felt that if I could earn the Ranger tab, I most likely “might” have made it through Marine Corp Basic Training. I was being trained in Advanced Long Range Marksmanship. Back then, there was no such thing as “Sniper School”. I was already an accomplished National Match competition rifle shooter, out to 600 yards, with iron sights on a National Match M14 rifle. I was also a competition pistol shooter, with both revolvers and automatics, out to 50 yards. The Marine Marksmanship Instructors improved my rifle effectiveness skills out to over 1,000+ yards. I was assigned a Winchester Model 70, bolt action rifle, chambered in .30-06 caliber, with a heavy barrel, and an “Inertial long range scope”. We were eventually required to hit a three pound coffee can seven times out of ten attempts, at 1,000 yards. I hit it 9 out of 10. My only miss was my last round fired and I swore it went clean through the hole made by my previous nine hits. My handgun skills were now set at 100 yards.

My next training assignment was going to take me back to Lackland AFB, Texas, for an Air Police K-9 Combat Preparation Course. This course was designed to provide advanced combat operation skills for our deployment outside the physical perimeter of an air base, located within a war zone.

Prior to my...