My Personal Independence Day

♫ Sometimes I think it's a shame … When I get feelin' better when I'm feelin' no pain. ♫ Gordon Lightfoot’s “Sundown,” The Billboard number one song on July 3, 1974, crackled from my cheap bedside clock radio. I slowly buttoned up my Air Force 1505 (khaki service uniform) shirt for the final time … checked my gig line (the straight vertical alignment of my shirt button placket edge, the outside edge of my belt buckle, and my trouser fly) … and gently centered my blue garrison cap (although we called it something else, that if mentioned, would put me directly in Facebook jail) on my head. Out the door I stepped on the way to my final Air Force duty … the Security Clearance Debriefing.

It was a warm summer day at McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey. My mind wandered as I strolled down the sidewalk. “What is the first thing I should do as a civilian? Perhaps go to the number one movie on the big screen … “The Exorcist?”  (I did a few weeks later and it forever ruined my appetite for Pea Soup.) Or should I go straight home, plop myself down on the couch, pop open a Bud, and watch Archie Bunker bark at Edith, “Stifle yourself, dingbat!” Then again, since I spent the last 18 months on the island of Crete, Greece (where a McDonald’s was nowhere to be found), maybe I will make a beeline to the nearest Golden Arches for a Big Mac.” Decisions … decisions.

As I held a Top Secret clearance, a mandatory formal security debriefing had to be completed before the door to civilian life opened. I stepped into a small office and immediately began signing papers as if I had just purchased a new home. I honestly don’t remember much about my exit interview except the part where the officer in charge said, “If anyone wants to know what you did while in the Air Force, tell them you were a clerk-typist.” I sarcastically thought to myself as I turned away to leave, “Clerk-typist? That’s going to look good on my resume.”

A couple of hours later, I slung a duffle bag crammed full with my Air Force uniforms over my shoulder and exited McGuire Air Force Base. You couldn’t miss me. A Harley-Davidson T-shirt, short pants, black and White Converse high tops, and a Pabst Blue Ribbon trucker cap. Thankfully, the women in my future would set me straight when it came to fashion … for the most part.

This all happened 52 years ago today. July 3, 1974. Yes, I would gladly do it again except for maybe the Converse high-tops. They were uncomfortable.