Cars After 1980

Cars turned really boring in about 1980. The economy turned bad. Interest rates were so high, up to 26%, that no one could afford financing. The air pollution had gotten so bad that laws had to be passed about exhaust emissions. The automotive engineers really didn't know how to control emissions and keep gas mileage up. Gas prices were going up, up, up. Car prices were going up, up, up, as well.

Gas prices were skyrocketing. They'd been steady around 35 cents per gallon for several years. Suddenly they were double that. Gas started being rationed. Based on your license plate number, you could only buy gas on odd or even numbered days. The first time I pulled into a gas station and the price was over 75 cents, I pulled right on through, thinking I would never pay that much for gas. How little did I know, that I would never again pay that little for a gallon of gas.

It was a terrible time to be in the car sales business. So I decided to try that. I went to work at Henry Day Ford on Redwood Road in Salt Lake. Mountain West Medical had to be closed. So I thought I might be able to sell cars. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I think I lasted less than six months.

Negotiating a car deal was contrary to my personality. I wanted to give anyone who came in a good deal. The dealership wanted to squeeze every penny possible out of the customer. I found out in a hurry what it meant to be upside down in a financed car. Half the people I sat down with owed more on their trade-in than it was worth. Car prices were so high that few people who came in could pay for them. I'd sit down with a buyer who had been used to trading in a car every couple of years, figure out a deal for them, and the payments would be more than double what they'd been used to. They'd just walk out shaking their heads, and without their new car.

Contractors who needed a lot of power in their trucks were very disappointed. The new emission controls severely reduced the power. I saw more than one buyer come back saying there must be something wrong with the truck, only to be told that was the way it was now. They'd just walk out shaking their heads.

I only vaguely remember most of the cars we had after that. After we moved back from California, I bought a Mazda pickup. It was really good on gas mileage, and didn't look too bad, either. I managed to burn out the clutch on it trying to pull out a tree stump in our front yard. I hooked up the big old Ford station wagon to the stump and it came right out. But I thought a truck was more suited to the job. Wrong.

We also bought a little Mazda hatchback. The guy who owned it before us had mistreated the gears. He'd apparently never used the clutch when he downshifted, so the gears were all worn down, and it wouldn't stay in the gear I put it in.

Styling took a back seat to all the other problems. I can look up the cars we had to see what year they must have been, and I can't tell. The same style may have been used for five or more years. Before 1980 the styling changed every year, and sometimes the companies would add new models in at the half year mark. They never kept the same style for more than two years. After 1980, styling became unimportant. Before that it was so important, that the companies would hide the new styles until a specific date in September. You could drive past a dealer, and all the windows would be blocked with poster paper until the date. The cars coming in on car transporters would all be covered with tarps, and they'd be unloaded late at night to keep the styling a secret.

When we lived in Mesa, Arizona, we finally were able to buy a couple of cars. One of the members of our ward worked at a local Ford dealer. As I talked to him, he said the best day to buy a car was on December 31. We went in and bought a Ford F-150 pickup, and a Suzuki Esteem. The truck was very useful when I started my handyman business in Salt Lake in 1999. We ended up giving the Suzuki to our son, Eric, when my sister and her husband gave us their Plymouth Voyager minivan.

My handyman business hit a low spot and we had to let the truck go back to the bank. A couple of weeks before, the transmission had locked up on it, and it could only be driven in second and third gears, and reverse. We were then given a Toyota four-wheel drive pickup, which sustained us for awhile. It was great on snowy winter streets. I really appreciated the four-wheel drive at that time. The head gasket on the engine blew out, and I replaced it, only to have much difficulty reassembling the exhaust system. We ended up giving that truck to a kidney transplant foundation.

I used the minivan in my work for a few years. As we were travelling from Vancouver, Washington to Salt Lake with Hillory, Serenity, and Cadence, travelling through the Columbia River Gorge, we hit a rock on the road. We were just west of The Dalles, Oregon, on Interstate 84. We were in the left lane, passing a semi-truck when we saw the car in front of us kind of bounce. He had just run over a big rock in the road. I had no way to avoid it and I hit it, too. It stuck under the van and was being dragged along the road. As soon as I could, I pulled over to the right side of the road, right behind the Toyota Celica that had hit it just before we did.

As we pulled over, the rock was dislodged. But as I tried to move forward, the engine just revved, but the minivan would not move. We had broken a hole in the transmission pan, and had lost all the transmission fluid. We were not as badly off as the poor guy in the Celica. His engine was displaced. When he hit the rock, his foot was knocked back, and his knee hit his chest. His car was totaled. A highway patrol car pulled in right after we stopped. He had heard a report that there were rocks in the road and he was on his way to get them. He was having back trouble and was supposed to be off that day. He was not looking forward to getting rid of that rock, while dodging traffic, with his bad back. He thanked us for removing the rock. He also called a tow truck for us. He recommended that we buy a AAA membership for emergency road service.

We were towed to a repair shop in The Dalles. The owner there took pity on us and just did a temporary repair. He found a pan that would fit at a junk yard, and stuck it on. There was some interior damage to the transmission, but nothing that would keep it from running for a few months. He recommended a restaurant and a motel nearby where we could eat and sleep. We were able to leave early the next morning. He also recommended we join AAA for emergency road service, and that we should trade the minivan in as soon as we could after getting back to Salt Lake.

Our credit rating was not very good at that time. I had no idea who would take an old minivan in trade and still finance a car. I called our credit union and they said we did not qualify for a loan there. I prayed and the thought came into my mind that I should go to Larry Miller Dodge. I had no idea if there even was a Larry Miller Dodge, let alone where it might be. In the mean time, the minivan started running badly. It would sputter and surge while driving. So I drove it out to the dealership, parked, and met a salesman named Fred. Fred was a very nice Samoan man. He took me out to look at cars. After asking a few questions, he showed me a Chrysler PT Cruiser and a 2002 Mazda 626. He recommended the Mazda as most likely the better choice and took me back in to fill out the paper work. A little later I drove off with the car. I was surprised and grateful that we were able to get a new car. It was a very nice car.

A couple of weeks later I got a call from someone who had purchased the minivan. He wanted to know if I knew what had been wrong with it. He was surprised that I had driven it to the dealership. He had had to tow it away, as it had not run since. I was truly blessed to even get to the dealership, and even more blessed to drive away with a very nice car. I later did see that minivan on the road, so it was repairable.

We have since sold the Mazda to Eric, and he has put a lot of miles on it, and it still runs well. It has been a great blessing to Eric and his family as well.

When we moved to Palmyra to work on Heidi and Matt's house, we needed a truck. Matt had a 2001 Dodge Dakota pickup that he had used to deliver newspapers in Arizona. He had taken very good care of it, so it has served us well. We left it in Palmyra for Matt and Heidi to use as a backup vehicle, and to tow their trailer when they needed it.

As we were preparing to leave Palmyra, I was planning to make the trip back to Salt Lake in the pickup. One day, while serving in the Palmyra Temple, I got the distinct impression that we were not to take the pickup back to Salt Lake. I started thinking about what we needed. I mentioned to Matt what I felt. He said his associate, Don Gammon, who also worked for the Church was getting ready to sell his Church-owned car. It was a 2009 Toyota Camry Hybrid. I knew that Don had taken very good care of the car, and that it gets very good gas mileage. I called our credit union in Utah and asked about getting a loan. They gave me an amount we qualified for. When Don got the sales figure from the Church, it was enough lower than what we qualified for, that we were able to borrow enough for the taxes, license, and enough for the trip back to Salt Lake. What a great blessing.

It looked like we would have to get the car licensed temporarily in New York before we could drive it back to Utah, where we would have to pay taxes and license again. However, the Church office had misplaced the title, and we could not get the temporary permit to drive it from New York. We eventually received permission to use the old New York license plates so we could drive it to Utah. That saved us the New York fees, and we only had to mail the plates back to Don to complete the transfer. It delayed our departure for four days, but the timing was better for when we did leave.

The car has turned out to be a great blessing. It does get terrific mileage. I think we averaged between 37 and 38 miles per gallon on the trip from Palmyra to Salt Lake, and similarly about 36 miles per gallon since then. It is also the most comfortable car we've ever had, and has several options that make it the best car we've ever had. We love it!

Cars - The 70's

One of the best family cars we had was a Buick station wagon. I had thought that it was a 1970, but in searching for images on the internet, I think it was more likely a '67 or '68. We took a lot of family trips in it, especially the summer of 1975, which we called our "Super Summer". We visited many historic sites around northern Utah. We went to the Golden Spike Memorial National Monument. We also visited ghost towns and other memory making places, just before Seth was born. (Some of you may correct me on the year, but that's what I remember.)

In 1976 we bought the first 'new' car we've ever had, a 1976 GMC Rally Van. It was red and white and looked like a miniature ambulance. I used it both as a business vehicle and as a family car. That was the car Holly used to knock over the mailbox across the street. Her first time driving was when she took Hillory and Seth for a very short ride down the driveway and across the street. That was the car I used when I started Mountain West Medical. I went to work at Henry Day Ford when Mountain West Medical closed down, and sold the Rally Van to someone who came in there looking for a similar van that the dealership didn't have.

A couple of years later I bought another new vehicle, a 1978 Ford Courier pickup. It was brown and got great gas mileage. It was made for Ford by Mazda. I smashed the front end by rear-ending another car in the middle of an intersection on 5600 South at 900 East. The light changed to green and the car in front of me started across the intersection and suddenly stopped when a car in the opposite left turn lane started to move. I had glanced to the left and was not able to stop in time. The other driver was from Taiwan and spoke no English. His daughter was with him and had to translate. We couldn't get any law enforcement to come investigate, because it was at the juncture of 3 different jurisdictions. We finally just exchanged insurance information and went on. When Mountain West Medical went under in 1981, I sold that truck to our Bishop Ron German to use in his construction business. One of his young workers rolled it soon after and totaled it.

We later got a 1978 Ford LTD station wagon, which we got after we moved to Redding, California. That was the car we moved back to Utah with in 1988. On that move, the alternator went out coming across the desert, and it ran on the battery, even with the headlamps on, until Georgia turned onto 1600 North in Orem, where it finally gave out. I had to go back with the moving truck to get everyone to our home on Crest Drive.

Cars - The 1960's

As we went into the Air Force in 1967, we bought a 1964 Chrysler Newport 4-door sedan. It was beige. It was big. The trunk was big enough to fit a large wood playpen (folded) and most of our other luggage. We made up a level area in the back seat so Heidi could roll or crawl around without any restrictions. No car seat. No seat belts. It was a different world. But we survived.

The car was shaped like an airplane fuselage. No wings, but it could fly. Once, while driving alone, I decided to see how fast it could go. On a lonely straight highway, I opened it up and got it up to 110 mph. I then realized that I had no steering. The front end had lifted so high, that the tires were no longer in contact with the ground. Fortunately I was still going straight. I quickly slowed, and never tried that again.

There were a couple of serious blind spots to the rear, and once as I was backing up in a parking lot, I hit a concrete post that I could not see. It buckled a rear fender.

Soon after that we found a 1966 Chrysler station wagon. It made a great family car. We used that car from 1968 until 1973. It was somewhat sensitive to the cold. During the icy Omaha, Nebraska winters we had to keep a large light bulb burning atop the engine at night. Even then, there were a couple of times when I had to take the spark plugs out and clean them, and prime the engine externally to get it running. We used a lot of engine starting fluid, sprayed into the carburetor, to get it going.

One time we got some bad gas. Our Elders Quorum President, Earl Kay Cook, owned some gas stations. One was near our home, so we bought all our gas there. His stations were all self serve, which was a new concept at the time. He sold his gas at the lowest price in town. His competitor across the street broke open his tanks one time and put a water hose in them. We were unaware of the problem and happened to get some of the water in a tank of gas I bought. The timing was particularly bad, as we headed out the next day on a trip to visit Georgia's Aunt Pat and Uncle David Cobia in Fargo, North Dakota. It was Thanksgiving Day. As we neared Sioux Falls, South Dakota, the engine started bucking and coughing. We were soon limited to traveling at around 25 to 30 mph, and the engine completely stopped if we tried to go any faster. The water had gotten into the carburetor and gummed it up. We turned around and barely made it back home. I think it took about 5 hours to get home.

When we got out of the Air Force, I used the '66 Chrysler as a business car while working for J.A.Hippen Company. It was running better than ever, but Dad decided I needed a newer car, and traded it in for a '68 Chrysler station wagon. What a joke! That car never did run right. It got horrible gas mileage. It coughed and sputtered all the time. Dad kept having me take it to one of his church friend's repair shop. They never could find the problem.

Finally Dad bought himself a big Lincoln and passed down his 1972 Oldsmobile 98.

A few years later, when we were moving to California, Georgia's dad gave us their old '64 Ford Galaxy, so Georgia would have a car to drive. I had a company car for my work, but we had sold all our cars while I was out of work before I went to work for Fisher Scientific.

Some of Heidi's friends referred to that car as a "tuna boat". The trend was to much smaller cars, and the old '60s gas guzzlers were in disfavor.

Cars, the 50's

I thought I would comment on the various cars I've been acquainted with since I've been driving.

My first driving experience was in Driver's Ed at Olympus High School. I think it was a 1960 Pontiac. I had a hard time at first with the right side. My depth perception must have been bad, because I kept turning away from the cars on the right, and across the center line. The instructor had to grab the steering wheel to straighten me out, several times. I eventually got it right.

Practicing at home, I used Mom's '52 Buick. Dad insisted that we always back into the parking space in the carport. In practicing that maneuver, I managed to wipe out the front of the storage sheds that I had built the year before. So I got more practice at repairing the carpentry work.

I passed my driving test for my first license in that Buick. I used that car in my first job at the Holladay Neighbor newspaper. I had failed the driving test the first two times I took it. Those times I was driving Dad's '54 Chrysler Imperial. He had the idle set quite high. So when I tried to make a 'soft' stop at the stop signs, it would take off and not make a complete stop. (In Driver's Ed we were taught to ease up on the brake as we came to a stop, so as not to jerk the car. In Dad's car, it would just take off instead of easing to a stop.)

Within a week after I got my license, I helped Mom drive the Buick from Salt Lake to Camarillo, California, to see Oma and Opa at their new house. I was thrilled to actually drive on freeways. I had seen them in drivers training movies, but we didn't have any in Utah.

That Chrysler Imperial was a true luxury car. It had a big "Hemi" engine, all leather seats, power windows and seat. It had a two-speed automatic transmission. It had enough room in the front seat, that I was able to carry eight teen-age kids in it, all the way from Salt Lake to Bear Lake and back and no one felt crowded.

Speaking of the Bear Lake trip; as we were returning to Salt Lake, we went through Evanston, Wyoming. As we came out of the winding canyon between Coalville and Kimball Junction, the engine died. The gas gauge said we had 1/4 of a tank left. But when I turned the ignition off, and then back on, the gauge read below empty. It had been stuck. Within a couple of minutes after we stopped, a Utah Highway Patrol car pulled up behind us. He was nice enough to give me a ride to Kimball Junction to get some gas. He then had to continue on, so he couldn't give me a ride back.

I didn't have a can, and I asked one of the attendants if I could borrow one. He picked up a can they used as a loaner and discovered it was already more than half full of fuel. He told me just to take it, and then I could buy gas when I returned. I asked an elderly couple who looked like they were headed toward where we'd broken down, and they were happy to give me a ride.

I poured the contents of the can into the gas tank and tried to start it. I was pumping the accelerator to get the fuel into the engine, and when it finally started, there was a big cloud of smoke that billowed from the back of the car. And, as soon as I stopped pumping the accelerator, the engine quit. I found that I had to continually pump it to keep the engine running. Even then, it would only go about 30 miles per hour, and there was a lot of smoke. Whenever we would go up a hill, it would shift into low gear, and a big cloud of smoke would come out the back. We almost asphyxiated several people whose cars pulled up behind us.

When we finally got to the gas station, another attendant looked at the can and said we'd been given diesel fuel. To make up for it he filled our tank with gas at no charge. I don't think any other gasoline engine would have run on diesel fuel; only the hemi. We were also being looked after by angels as a result of all the prayers that were offered for us on our journey.

When Dad had purchased that car, he got it at a great price, because there was something wrong with the engine and it wouldn't go over 50 miles per hour. No one had been able to figure out why. He was checking the carburetor function, with me operating the gas pedal, when he discovered that only 2 barrels of the 4 barrel carburetor were working. The jets for the back two barrels had never been drilled out. He ordered a new carburetor from the J.C.Whitney catalog. After installing it, the car would then go over 100 mph easily. That hemi engine was amazing. I once had it up to 90 mph going up hill on 33rd South in first gear. Dad said he had it up to 140 mph on an open road in Nevada, where there were no speed limits. Thinking back, though, the tires were not rated for such speeds. We were fortunate they didn't come apart on us.

The next family cars were a '59 Chrysler Saratoga, and a '59 Chrysler New Yorker station wagon. Both of those cars had big engines. The New Yorker had a 413 cubic inch engine that could accelerate very fast. I once had a friend, Dave Powers, pull up beside me at a light in his dad's brand new Ford Thunderbird. He challenged me to a race. When the light turned green, he was amazed that the station wagon just walked away from the T-Bird; it left him in the dust.

One time Dad asked me to take the Saratoga out for a drive. He had just replaced the generator (this was before alternators) and wanted the battery to get a good charge. I drove with Georgia to Heber City and back. A couple of times I floored the accelerator to see how fast it could go and got up near 120 mph, and the car rode very smoothly at that speed. Georgia even encouraged me to do it. We were both much younger then.

Then I bought my first car, my '57 Chevy, for $500 dollars. Dad's friend Don Cramer was a car dealer. He found an elderly lady who had this car for sale. We went to pick it up at her house. The sides were all dented and scraped. Her garage was very difficult to get into and out of, and she had run into the sides of the garage door opening, and a tree beside the driveway several times. Don got one of his body shop friends to fix it up.  It was blue and white, with the white on the top. It was a Chevrolet 150, with a standard transmission and a good old reliable straight-six engine. That engine had been used in Chevrolet's since back in the 1930's.

The '57 Chevy lasted until I went into the Air Force. I had one crash in it. I was on my way to class at the U, when the traffic backed up suddenly on 5th South. I managed to stop, but a new '65 Mustang following me couldn't. The Mustang forced me into the '58 Chevy which had stopped in front of me. A guy named Clark, whom I had worked with as a caddy at Willow Creek Country Club, was driving the '58 Chevy. The Mustang was totaled. I had a small dent where it hit me in the rear, and the grill was all scrunched from where I hit the car in front. The metal on those '50's cars was much thicker than what was used later, and they held up much better in a crash.

I traded the Chevy in on a 1964 Chrysler, and got $100 for the trade. Four years later, when I got out of the Air Force, and bought our first house on Lenora Circle, a neighborhood teenager had my old Chevy. The '57 Chevy's had become a classic, and they were in high demand. The price for one had gone up to near $2,000 at that time. They're now worth over $5,000.

Offutt Air Force Base

My memories of my 41 months as an aircraft maintenance officer at Offutt AFB, Nebraska.

I first arrived at Offutt in December 1967, and soon found that on-base housing for junior officers was not available. So we had to find something off base. We found a house, then went on leave until January.

I signed back in on January 4, 1968.

I was first assigned to flightline maintenance. Working on the flightline in January was brutal. The weather was very windy, with temperatures frequently in the sub-zero range. I was issued a set of cold weather gear, which made life almost bearable.

Our squadron commander was Lt. Col. Skusa. My immediate supervisor was 1st Lt. Dennison. I met both of them and felt somewhat comfortable working with them. Lt. Dennison had two hobbies which he encouraged me to enjoy, also. One was pheasant hunting. I didn't have a shotgun, so I declined that one. He also liked to make furniture at the woodworking hobby shop on base. He showed me a baby crib he had made for his baby son. It was very well made. I decided on making a kitchen table. It was quite large and sturdy, a double pedestal with a round top, covered in a wood grain Formica. Turning the legs on a lathe took a long time. Our daughter, Holly, is still using that table.

One of my first duties was to meet the Base Commander. As I was waiting outside his office, I was accosted by a captain who was the commander of the Air Police Squadron for the base. He told me I was not fit to meet the commander, since I had not had a haircut recently. He told me the base standard for hair was much shorter than I had, and that I'd better get it cut immediately. He did tell me where to go. I also soon found out that I would be expected to get it cut weekly to maintain that standard. I resolved to get a hair clipper for Georgia to use on me. We were inspected every week by the Chief of Maintenance, Col. Moser. He pronounced my first home haircut unsatisfactory, and said it looked like I got a haircut with a chopping ax. It took a few more efforts for Georgia to get them to meet the colonel's standard.

After a few months, some newer maintenance officers came in and I was transferred to the Field Maintenance Squadron. Then I was in charge of several of the maintenance shops. It was interesting to become acquainted with the general aircraft, electric, sheet metal, machine, propeller, engine, pneudraulics, and avionics (electronics), and auxiliary equipment shops. We also had a woodworking shop, the only one in the air force outside the Pentagon. Some of our aircraft were rather fancy inside, and had nice wood paneling which this shop maintained. We had 14 generals on the base, who felt they needed fancy trappings in their airplanes. Most of the time this shop just made fancy picture frames for officers' offices at SAC headquarters.

When I moved to the Field Maintenance Squadron I was given a some extra duties. I was made Squadron Information Officer, a member of the accident investigation team, head of the crash recovery team, and captain of the golf team. I was the only officer who played golf, so that's why I got that assignment.

As Squadron Information Officer, I was asked to submit an article every month to the base newspaper. I enjoyed that every month. The first article I wrote was about the history of one of our aircraft, the C-97. The editor of the paper was impressed and sent out a photographer to take pictures to accompany the article. The base commander, Col. Crouchly, was also impressed. He had a weekly column in the base paper, which he didn't write. He had several young officers on the base submit monthly articles for his column, and he chose one each week which ran under his by-line. Most of the articles I submitted were published. My squadron commander and the chief of maintenance also had me send the articles through them for approval. One article I wrote was aimed at the tendency of senior officers to bully their subordinates. There was too much use of intimidation instead of leadership. The article never made it to the base commander. My fellow junior officers usually got to the base newspaper earlier than I did, and they had learned to recognize my style. When I got to work one morning, they were laughing at what they saw as irony in the article. It was published under the by-line of the chief of maintenance. He was guilty of using intimidation more than almost anyone we knew. It appeared that he had learned his leadership style from others, and he didn't like it any better than we did.

As a member of the accident investigation team, I was sent out any time a USAF plane crashed in our base area. We covered a large area. The crashes I helped investigate were a B-58, which crashed near Lincoln, Nebraska, the T-39 from our own unit which crashed near McCook, NE, (I shared that story earlier in "Black Lightning".) and a a C-133, which also crashed near McCook.  


The B-58 was a supersonic bomber with delta wings and four engines. It had a crew of two. There was a pilot and a copilot. The copilot also acted as navigator and bombardier. The plane had limited range, so it usually had a detachable belly pod which provided additional fuel for extended range. Other material could be carried in the belly pod, such as bombs or cargo, also. The idea was that the plane would fly to the target, drop the belly pod and bombs, and then outrun any fighters sent up to intercept it. 


This particular B-58 was on a training flight over North Dakota. They were headed south when the front mounting bracket on the belly pod either released or broke. The windshear caused the back of the pod to be jammed up into the rear fuselage of the aircraft, where it severed the controls to the wings and tail. The plane was flying straight and level, but could not turn, nor go up or down. They flew south until the engines ran out of fuel. Then the pilot and copilot ejected. The aircraft continued on for a few miles and then fluttered down like a falling leaf into a farm wheat field. Then it caught on fire. The nearest military facility was the Air National Guard station at the Lincoln, Nebraska airport. They sent out fire trucks, but the people on the trucks were afraid to put out the fire because they thought they needed to get authority from the Air Force to fight the fire. They finally did cover the wreck with flame suppressing foam. 


The accident investigation was simple. The pilots knew what had happened, and the fire destroyed anything that would have explained what happened to the pod mount. After the investigation I headed the team to pick up the wreckage. We loaded everything on flatbed trucks and took it to the wrecking yard at the Nebraska Air National Guard facility at the Lincoln airport. 


A couple of weeks later I got a phone call from the Pentagon. The officer introduced himself as the manager of the inventory of the type of engines used on the B-58. He wanted to know where we had disposed of them. When I told him they were at the Lincoln, Nebraska airport, he told me that because they were still classified material, they needed to be taken to a secure wrecking yard, which meant that they had to come to Offutt. He also said they needed to be buried for security reasons. We then picked up the four engines and took them to the Offutt wrecking yard. I discussed with the manager of that facility the fact that they needed to be buried. He knew about that, but told me that it was going to be difficult, because the water table was only about two feet below the surface. The wrecking yard was on the lowest part of the base, and was only about 200 yards from the Missouri River.


The C-133 was a very large cargo aircraft with four gas turbine engines driving four large propellers. This particular C-133 had five Army helicopters in its cargo bay. The helicopters were of the type you would have seen in the TV show or movie, M*A*S*H. The accident investigation discovered that the propeller on the left wing, closest to the fuselage, had come off, and slashed the side of the body. The whole aircraft was pressurized, and the sudden decompression blew the entire front end off. The cockpit was separated from the rest of the plane, and crashed about thirty yards from the rest. The crew all perished. The aircraft was too large for our capability to pick it up. It was going to require a railroad car to hold all the wreckage. So it was contracted out.


Another aircraft we worked on recovering was an Army National Guard helicopter that crashed on an island in the Platte River, not far from its confluence with the Missouri River. The pilot was on a training flight and decided to check out some fishing spots in the Platte. He landed on the island, then failed to give it enough power on take-off. The wind caught the craft and flipped it over. We considered several ways to get it across the river. Finally, CMSgt Willsey called the Army at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, and asked if they could send a lifting helicopter to pick it up. Their Skycrane picked it up easily, carried it down the Platte to the Missouri River, then up river to the Offutt wrecking yard.

As captain of the golf team, I really got a neat assignment. Our squadron had two young golfers who had been professionals before joining the Air Force. We also had two or three 'scratch' golfers who were civilian employees in our shops. A scratch golfer usually shoots near par. No other team on the base ever even came close to competing with that group. We actually had two teams. One that played 18 holes on the professionally designed course, and another that played 9 holes on a regular community type course. General Curtis Lemay, who had been the chief of SAC (the Strategic Air Command) had a lot of power, and had commissioned a really nice golf course for the base. Congressmen, Senators, and Presidents played on that course regularly. I played on the 9 hole course. We were tied for first place going into the last week of the season. When I drove up and got my clubs out of the trunk, my assistant took my woods out of my bag and told me to play only with my irons. I then shot the best round I had had that season, and we took first place.

While I was at Offutt, the Air Force came out with a new exercise program. This was our introduction to aerobics. The requirement I remember was that we had to run 1 1/2 miles within a certain time. It started in winter, and it way too cold outside to run, so many of us would go to the base gymnasium to run around the basketball courts. We were given 6 months to get in shape, and then had to take a timed test. I ran it in 7 minutes 39 seconds. It turned out I was the 3rd fastest on the base that first testing period. A couple of other officers who were part of the Air Force Cross Country Team invited me to join them. But they were both single and had jobs that allowed them to train seriously. I had a family and a more restrictive job, so I declined.

I did find it fun to play badminton at the base gym. That seemed to be a major activity there, with some very competitive leagues. I found I had good reflexes, which gave me some advantage. But really good players had developed strategies, which I never did.

As an officer, I was expected to join the Officer's Club. I didn't feel like I could afford the monthly dues, and since it was primarily an alcohol drinking club, I really didn't want to contribute to that. There was a lot of pressure to join, but I managed to avoid it. I was given assignments occasionally to inventory the warehouse at the club. I became familiar with the names of all the alcoholic beverages, and was glad I wasn't tempted to sample any.

I left the Air Force in May 1971, a little over 4 years after my entry. I had no intention of continuing in the military, but soon was asked to join the Utah Air National Guard. Accepting that request was one of the best things I every did.

University of Utah

I began my college career at the University of Utah about the first of October, 1962. The U was on a four quarter system at the time, with the standard curriculum going Fall, Winter, and Spring quarters. Summer  usually had courses for make-up work, if you had to drop a class, or failed it during the regular part of the year.

I had really enjoyed my physics classes at Olympus High School, so I decided to major in physics. The Physics Department had a very specific schedule, in order to fit in all required classes within the standard four year program. I did well in some of the first classes, but bogged down when I got into calculus. I just didn't get what calculus was about, and I couldn't get help from the teachers. They were all graduate students in the math department, and didn't have time to help students. Calculus and other advance mathematics is used so much in physics that you cannot progress without a firm understanding. In fact, a couple of terms before you have enough physics credits to graduate in that major, you have enough credits in math to graduate with a math degree.

I went to the counseling center to get help in choosing a new major. Aptitude tests indicated that I should pursue a course to become a doctor. So I switched to pre-med as a course of study. I had avoided biology in high school because of the poor reputation of the teachers who taught it. Now I found myself taking several biology courses, and enjoying them very much.

When it came time in that course to apply to medical school, I hesitated. I was in the Air Force ROTC program, and I didn't think I could delay that for more school. I also had a poor grade point average compared to other candidates, due to my poor grades in math courses. So I didn't think I had a very good chance of getting in. Actually, I was afraid I wouldn't get in, so I was afraid to try. There were also rumors of a possible Air Force program to send people to medical school, for those who were already in the Air Force.

One of the best parts of my freshman year was the carpool. Many of my friends from the neighborhood were also attending the U. Jeff Anderson, Charlie Nielson, Cathryn and Carolyn Call were the regulars. There were several others who joined frequently enough that we usually needed two cars. The friendships were helpful as we discussed which professors were good, and which ones to avoid.

Another activity that was very helpful was Latter Day Saint Institute and the associated social groups. I joined the Alpha Chapter of Lambda Delta Sigma. Dennis Mead, who had gone to Olympus HS, was my mentor with the group. He was a good friend. I also went to the Institute Building most days at noon to eat my lunch. I often got into table tennis matches with friends I met there. Clyde Ford was one who was in pre-med with me. He beat me all the time. He eventually became one of the best oncologists in Salt Lake.

The Alpha Chapter parties were great. They gave me a chance to take girls out on dates that didn't cost too much. The best one, however, was the polygamy party where I had my first date with my future bride. They also had firesides with excellent teachers. S. Dilworth Young, a Church general authority who was the senior president of the Presidency of the Seventy was one who came. He gave us a very pointed lesson on chastity in our dating.


There were always noon hour devotionals once a week at the Institute. They were usually very inspirational. The Institute classes were very good. Georgia and I especially enjoyed the early morning Marriage Relations Class we took from T. Edgar Lyon. Several of the young wives in the class were pregnant for the first time, and frequently had to leave abruptly to go to the restroom with morning sickness. I enjoyed all the other Institute classes I had, and I was surprised when I was given a diploma for graduating from Institute, I had taken enough classes to complete all requirements, without even realizing it. I continued to take classes there after I received the diploma. What I learned there often helped counter some of the anti-religious bias I encountered in other classes.

Many of the University classes I took were taught by top notch professors. My first year chemistry classes were taught by Dr. Lloyd Malm, who had collaborated with Dr. Linus Pauling in writing our textbook. Another was Dr. Stephen D. Durrant, who taught comparative vertebrate anatomy. He was a legend in the Biology Department and throughout the University. He was named teacher of the year at least twice while I was there. All premed students had to take his class, and many doctors came back years later to thank him for what he taught them.

I had a music appreciation class from Ardean Watts. He had to be one of the funniest teachers I've ever had. He really made music fun. I bought season tickets to the Utah Symphony as part of the class. Georgia and I enjoyed those for a couple of years after the class.

I also had several teachers of whom I had little respect after taking their classes. I had fun learning about Greek, Roman, and Norse mythology when I was younger, and thought a class in mythology would be fun. It filled one of my basic requirements. However, the professor for the class considered all religions as myths and especially enjoyed trashing the Mormons in his lectures.

Another class I took was American Economic History. It was to fill a history requirement. I had taken and very much enjoyed two classes in basic economics during my freshman year. So I thought this would be an easy and enjoyable class. However, the teacher lectured on one subject, gave assignments that had no relationship with the lectures, and then gave some standard tests he'd found someplace, that seldom had any relationship with either the lectures or the reading assignments. He also blamed all economic problems on religion, and his lectures were basically "world religious history." I don't think he got to U. S. History until about the last two weeks of class. Then he left on a trip before the final test, which was administered by his graduate assistant. He didn't get back until several days after the beginning of the next term, and didn't get the tests scored nor entered until after he returned. So everyone in the class received an Incomplete for the final grade. A couple of students needed that grade for graduation at the end of the term and had to wait for everything to be straightened out by the administration before they could get their diplomas.

One chemistry class had a really bad reputation. It was required for premed students. Almost all waited until after they were accepted to medical school before they took that class, because the class grade average over the years was a 'D'. It was a bad reflection on the teacher, because many of those 'D' grades were given to students with very high GPA's. He was an excellent researcher, but one of the worst teachers. His lectures almost always started 10 to 15 minutes late. They were always disorganized and disjointed. And half the final grade was from the final exam. On the final exam, all the information was given, and all we had to do was do the math. The math was very long multiplication and division problems; 5 places divided by 5 places, with no calculators. So the test was a contest to see who could do the math the fastest, not who knew the subject matter.

One thing that kept me sane throughout the years I was there were the classes in the Physical Education Department. They usually only earned 1/2 or 1 credit hour, were almost sure 'A's and there were numerous choices. I started out taking Life Saving and then Water Safety Instructors classes. They earned me certificates that I used to make a living for the rest of my time at the U.  I also took basketball, tennis, golf, wrestling, gymnastics, swimming, etc. I took one class each quarter, which gave me the exercise I needed and lots of good therapy.

During my Life Saving class I was paired with Marv Fleming, who was the poorest swimmer in the class. He was also a future NFL star tight end, earning several Super Bowl rings. He had nearly drowned at a swimming party during the summer between his freshman and sophomore years. The teacher who taught all the men's swimming classes was also an assistant football coach. He signed Marv up for every swimming class he taught, because he didn't want to lose their star football player. Marv was big and black and had no fat on his body, so he did not float at all. I was the strongest swimmer in the class, so I had the privilege of towing Marv across the pool in all our practice carries. We did become friends, and he came back to finish his degree after being drafted by the Green Bay Packers. He'd see me on campus and say, "Hi!"

Most of the intramural sports were contested by members of the various fraternities. Most of those of us who had competed in swimming in high school were not in fraternities. One of our number decided to get the former high school swimmers together and form a team to compete. We won the intramural swim meet by a large margin. Then the guy who organized the swimmers went on to organize other groups of former high school athletes to compete against the fraternities, with the same sort of success. The fraternity boys were not happy that they almost always got beat.

My final term was the most difficult. I had to take several classes to complete a degree in Zoology and Entomology. I had taken the premed classes and the easiest degree to complete after that was in the Biology Department. The Air Force was beckoning, and if I took 21 credit hours, I could finish in one more quarter. I did that, but had to quit work so I could have enough time to complete all that work. I completed my requirements about the middle of March and then just had to wait for the Air Force to send me orders.

I missed my graduation ceremonies, because I was already on active duty in the Air Force. They didn't have a ceremony in March, and I entered the military in May. The ceremony for those finishing in March and June were held in June, but I was living in Illinois by then.

Church Callings

I've had a wide variety of callings in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I've served in three bishoprics, in Young Men, in Primary, Sunday School, High Priests Group, and in Stake Athletics. Of course I have been a Home Teacher through all my time in the Church since I turned 14. This blog post will only concern my callings other than Home Teaching.

My first calling was as Young Men Secretary while I was going to the University of Utah. That was in the East Mill Creek 11th Ward. I think Tom Pike was the YM President at the time. Georgia and I also served as Dance Directors in the ward at the same time. As I posted before, we started out as partners with others, and ended up serving as a couple.

Then I was called to teach a Sunday School class in that same ward. I was one of three teachers assigned to the 12 year old classes. They had one all girls class, one mixed boys and girls, and one all boys class. I had the all boys class.

My next calling came after I married Georgia. That was when we lived in Stadium Village married student housing. We were called as a couple to plan and organize an activity each month for all the couples in our building as part of an ongoing MIA (Mutual Improvement Association) program. One activity I remember was a group picnic held on the lawn in front of our building. We brought the corn on the cob. I asked my grandpa, Elmer Gale to get it for us, as he was in the produce business. I thought two ears of corn for each person would be enough. But Grandpa brought us twice that amount. And it was so good that there was no left over corn, everyone eating an average of four ears apiece.

When we moved to Rantoul, Illinois in the Air Force, I was called as Genealogy Chairman for the Rantoul Branch. I knew little about Genealogy and did little to help others at the time, but the calling piqued my interest. The only thing I remember doing in that position, was finding an article about the ancestry of President George Albert Smith, Georgia's great uncle. Their ancestry was traced back to John Alden and Priscilla Mullins of the Mayflower, and also back to the Emperor Charlemagne.

When we moved to Omaha, Nebraska, I was called as Aaronic Priesthood Youth General Secretary. That's a position that no longer exists, but was similar to being Young Men Secretary and Executive Secretary for the youth. I also worked with the Boy Scouts and was subsequently called as the Scoutmaster.

Working with the Scouts, I first went with our troop as a driver on a trip to Yellowstone National Park. The troop rented several cars and we caravan-ed to Yellowstone, around the park, then to Teton National Park, then across Wyoming to Devils Tower, Mount Rushmore and the Badlands of South Dakota. Then home to Omaha. There was an incident in Yellowstone where the Scoutmaster overdosed on some medication which caused him to hallucinate. It scared the boys pretty badly. As a result he asked to be released. I was then called to replace him.

The following two summers I organized trips to the Boundary Waters canoe area out of Ely, Minnesota. The area included lakes along the United States and Canada border. We canoed and portaged along the border for over fifty miles, going and coming. I understand that the troop has continued to take that same trip almost every year since. I also took the boys to the council summer camp each summer.

We also used the Winter Quarters Stake campground, which was at the confluence of the Platte and Elkhorn Rivers. We even bicycled from the ward building out to the campground.

After returning to Salt Lake following my Air Force service, we bought our first house in the Butler 11th Ward. I was first called as Aaronic Priesthood Adult General Secretary, a precursor to the Potential Elder program. I was able to work with one inactive brother who was a couple of years older than me, to reactivate him. He was eventually called to serve in the bishopric.

I was then called as Ward Mission Leader. That scared me because I had not previously served a mission. I did have the privilege of helping to teach a young lady whose parents were inactive members. Her baptism was held in February. When I went to fill the baptismal font, I discovered that the main water heater for the building was not working. The only way to heat the water was with a small auxiliary water heater next to the font. It took over 30 minutes to heat up 5 gallons of water. I went to some of the homes near the church and asked the ladies to heat water and bring it over. I think we got the water temperature near fifty degrees. That's really cold for a baptism. But she was baptized and was not bothered by the cold. Her only regret was that her parents would not come to her baptism.

I was then called with Georgia to work with the Blazer 11-year-old Scouts. It was great to work with Georgia in that calling. It was also very good for our own boys. Lyle and Eric were just younger and they were able to see what was necessary for success in Scouting. They then excelled in their Cub Scout work and eventually both became Eagle Scouts. Georgia was also able to help Seth become successful in Cub and Boy Scouts when we lived in Redding, California, as there was not a good Scout program there.

As I worked with the Scouts, I was called to be the Stake representative to the local Scout District. I was able to help the ward Scout leaders learn the programs and have access to the Council resources.

Then I was called as Stake Athletic Director. I had quit participating in church sports because of the poor sportsmanship exhibited by too many of the men. The Stake President told me I was called to fix the problem. I had no idea how to accomplish that. So I called together all of the Ward Athletic Directors to get ideas. As they came into the meeting, I realized that all but one of them were ones I had seen exhibiting the worst behavior. So I asked for ideas. They came up with a program that I was able to implement that accomplished the goal. Since it was their program, most of the time they were very cooperative, and it turned out great.

We then moved to Redding, California, where Georgia and I were called into the Young Men and Young Women programs, respectively. I also had the privilege for awhile of teaching the Gospel Doctrine Class in Sunday School. While teaching that class, I was challenged almost every week by a man I think of as a reluctant convert. He was a gold miner, who lived at his mine. He was somewhat antisocial, and found that the Church did not fit his desired lifestyle. But he had felt the Spirit while the missionaries were teaching him, so he could not deny that. He studied the assigned scriptures and lesson materials each week, but he was looking for something that would let him off the hook. And he was very honest about his quest for answers, so he came up with very interesting questions. Many times he would ask a question that I was totally unprepared for. I would see looks on the faces of other members of the class that either said, "I've wondered about that, myself!" or "Wow, how can you possibly answer that one?" I would pause, and suddenly the answer to his question would come into my mind. The Spirit would really help me out of the tough spots. Our Father recognized the goodness of this man and his honest quest for truth and taught him what he needed to know. Toward the end of that class, he cleaned up, sold his mine, got engaged to a good Mormon girl, and signed up for classes at Chico State University to become a school teacher.

As Young Men and Young Women leaders, we got to work with our own children. All but Hanna were involved in YM or YW sometime during the 5 years we were there.

I was called to be Second Counselor to Bishop Richard Estes, working also with Jack Reese, who was first counselor. We worked very well together, and I thoroughly enjoyed that opportunity.

We had to move back to Utah because of the loss of my job in California, and then getting work in Utah. We moved to Orem, where I was called as a counselor in the Ward Sunday School Presidency, and then as Sunday School President, and then as Stake Sunday School President. I enjoyed working in the Sunday School. I also served as a Veil Worker in the Provo, Utah Temple.

Family needs led us to move to Mesa, Arizona. I again had the chance to teach Gospel Doctrine, and later to work as Ward Mission Leader again. I think I did a much better job the second time around in each calling. Then I was called to be a counselor to Bishop Dale Foote. Walt McIver was the First Counselor. Walt lived next door to us, and Dale lived across the street from both of us. We had many informal Bishopric meetings in the middle of the street (or on one of our front lawns). It was great to work with these fine men.

Once again family needs led us to move back to Salt Lake. In the East Mill Creek 11th Ward, I again served as the Sunday School President.

We bought a house in the Salt Lake Central Stake, where I served as a counselor in the High Priests Group leadership, and then as High Priests Group Leader. I was then called as a counselor to Bishop Tyler Lamprecht, with Carter Williams as the Second Counselor.

Moving back to the East Mill Creek 11th Ward, I served as a teacher in the High Priests Group.

Moving to Palmyra, New York, I then served as Young Men Secretary, and then as a counselor in the High Priests Group. Georgia and I also served as Ordinance Workers in the Palmyra, New York Temple.

Now back in Salt Lake I am again a teacher in the High Priests Group. Georgia and I also serve together in the Family History program. We go to the Family History Center in the Stake where we are learning to help others. We also help teach Family History classes in the ward.

I have enjoyed all the opportunities I've had to serve in the Church over the years. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is the most wonderful organization on earth, giving all members who are willing, the chance to do good for each other, and for others throughout the world. It also provides for all to learn how to improve their lives as they move toward the ultimate goal, which lies beyond this life, of becoming perfect.

Chanute Air Force Base

After graduation from the University of Utah (The U)., I went into the United States Air Force as a Second Lieutenant. I had been a part of the Air Force ROTC program at the U. I had always loved airplanes and at one time thought I'd like to be a pilot. When I was given my first Air Force physical, it was discovered that I was colorblind. One of the physical requirements for an Air Force pilot is normal color vision. So I could not become a pilot in the Air Force.

I finished my graduation requirements at the end of Winter Term. The U was on a three term per year program, and due to a change in my major course of study, I took two extra terms to finish my major in Zoology and Entomology. I had finished my ROTC program in 1966 and then finished my graduation requirements in early April 1967. Then I waited for my first assignment in the Air Force.

I first received orders to attend Munitions Officer Training School, but discovered that that program also required normal color vision. So I had to wait for a new set of orders. That assignment came  for Aircraft Maintenance Officer training at Chanute Air Force Base at Rantoul, Illinois. Rantoul is about 15 miles north of Champaign/Urbana, where the University of Illinois is located.

The Air Force moved us from Grandma's house to Chanute. After our furniture left we loaded the car, and headed out. I had recently purchased a used '64 Chrysler to replace my worn out '57 Chevy. So we traveled in relative comfort, as it was a big spacious car. Our first stop was at Hill AFB to pick up an advance on my first paycheck to pay for our travel expenses. We got off to a late start waiting for the movers, so we only made it to Little America, Wyoming before our first night's stay. The second night we stopped at a motel in Omaha, Nebraska, not knowing that we'd be moving back there soon. The third night was in Peoria, Illinois.

The next day we drove on to Chanute. Fear of the unknown caused me to drive past the entrance to the base two or three times before I worked up the courage to drive in. I was directed to the housing office. They said there was no on base housing available and assigned us to a motel near the base. We spent the first month in local motels. There was some rule that we could only stay in one motel for six nights, so we were shifted from one to another for four weeks. When we finally got into base housing, we were assigned a three bedroom townhouse apartment at 75 Kiernan Dr.  Our new neighbors said the unit had been available for over three weeks. The sergeant in charge of assigning base housing either liked messing around with new young officers, or he was getting kickbacks from the motels. We later found that he had been severely disciplined for the way he mishandled his duties.

The first day we arrived at the base, May 4, 1967, I reported in to the school and was assigned to a class with ten other brand new Second Lieutenants and one First Lieutenant. Since there were twelve of us in the class, we dubbed ourselves "The Dirty Dozen" after a recent popular war movie of that name. The school lasted eight months.

Most of the classes were taught by recent graduates of the same school. The course was broken into three week blocks. Classes were held for five to six hours in the morning, or five to six hours in the afternoon, with the rest of the day for personal study. I soon discovered that my background in the sciences made most of the sections easy for me. I seldom had to study for more than an hour outside of class. We were encouraged to do physical training during that personal time also.

Several of the other members of the class would go to the base gymnasium for weight lifting. I joined them most days. We would also run around the perimeter of the base as part of that exercise. That was the first time I realized that I enjoyed running. I also discovered that I had pretty good speed, as I could outrun all of the others in my class. Swimming had been a good preparation for running.

I sometimes refer to this time as a paid eight month honeymoon, as I had a lot of time to spend with Georgia and Heidi, with almost no pressure from my courses. Lyle was born half way through the course at the base hospital. He had his own room in the apartment, but the only piece of furniture was a bassinet. When he would wake up he would swing his long arms and hit the sides of the bassinet, and the sound would echo in the room and scare him.

Our neighbors on either side were the Paul Zilic's, who were from Chicago, and John and Peggy Christian, who were from Louisiana. We got to be good friends with both couples.One of the neighbors had a big cat that Heidi loved. It was almost as big as she was, but she would pick it up and walk around with it all the time. Another neighbor was from the South, and they greeted everyone with, "Hidee!" They got a big kick out of saying, "Hidee, Heidi!"

Our apartment was infested with cockroaches. They were German cockroaches, which were brown and about an inch long. They only came out at night, but would crawl all over the kitchen after the lights were out. If we went into the kitchen and turned on the lights, they would fly, and it seemed that they always flew right at whoever came in. Then they would scatter and disappear. We had the housing office try to get rid of them, but nothing helped. As we were cleaning up preparing to move out, we found their nest. A previous tenant had knocked a box of birthday candles off the top of the refrigerator into the coils on the back, where they had partially melted and provided an ideal place for the roaches to breed.

There was a branch of the Church that met in one of the buildings on base. Major Monsen was the Branch President. I was called as the branch genealogy specialist. I started working on my own family history, and found a book about Georgia's family which indicated that she was descended from John Alden and Priscilla Mullins of the Mayflower company. She also descended from European royalty, including The Emperor Charlemagne. My mom sent me what information she had, but I really had little to go on for my family.

Georgia was able to work on craft projects for the branch. The Relief Society had a bazaar every year where they sold hand-made gift and decor items as a fund raiser for the branch. It was held in downtown Rantoul, and provided much of the branch's operating funds for the year.

One time of excitement while we were there was caused when the Air National Guard plane carrying the governor of North Dakota ran into trouble while returning from a governors conference. The nearest base at the time of the problem was Chanute. One engine had caught on fire, and actually fell off the plane. Then one of the landing gear would not come completely down. They circled the base for hours trying to burn off fuel, preparing for a crash landing. We stood out near the runway watching. Just before they were to crash, they cycled the landing gear all the way up again and it came down all the way. They were able to land without crashing.

While we were at Chanute, we received orders for our next assignment. I was assigned to the 3902 Air Base Wing at Offutt AFB, Nebraska. We left Chanute on December 8, scheduled to start at Offutt on January 4, 1968.

We went back to Salt Lake for the holidays. We stopped for a couple of days in Omaha to find a place to live when we came back. We found a cute little house that was for rent, gave them a deposit and headed for home.

An Airplane is Lost
Only a couple of the instructors had actual field experience. One was a captain who had been a pilot. He told us a story of what happens when things go wrong on an aircraft. He had been the copilot on a B-47 bomber. This was a 6 engine jet, with a pilot, copilot, and navigator/bombardier as the standard crew. It was equipped with ejection seats in case of a problem. The navigator sat in the nose of the plane, below the pilot and copilot. His ejection seat was supposed to go out downward, while the pilot and copilot ejected upward. On this flight, a mechanic had gone along for the ride. He sat at the top of the ladder leading from the cockpit into the navigator compartment.

They had been on a night training mission, somewhere over Texas or Oklahoma, refueling from a KC-97 tanker. The biggest problem with this scenario was the fact that the slowest speed a B-47 could fly before it stalled out and fell was faster than the KC-97 could maintain in level flight. So they had to start at a higher altitude and go downhill to keep the airspeed up. In this case the pilot of the KC-97 felt they were getting too low before the B-47 had filled all tanks. He broke off the mission and headed home. The B-47 started to climb back up to a higher altitude, but that moved the fuel in the nearly empty rear fuselage tank away from the in-tank pump, which requires fuel to keep it cool.

The pump overheated and ignited the fumes in the tank. The explosion blew the tail off the plane. The sudden movement also broke the right wing almost off. That wing was still attached at the front edge and swung toward the front of the plane. The pilot and copilot immediately ejected. Our instructor, the copilot, was afraid of ejecting and always told himself he wouldn't do it. But when the time came, he did it. The navigator pulled the handle on his ejection seat, but nothing happened. Just then the right twin engine pod, still under full power, came through the side of the plane and shoved him and his seat out the left side. The mechanic had no way to get out and just rode the craft into the ground where he died instantly.

The navigator was knocked unconscious, still strapped in his seat. As he fell he finally awoke and freed himself from the seat. That was supposed to automatically open his parachute, but the lines were cut, and it did not. He was in freefall for awhile, and finally pulled the handle that opened his chute. It was pitch black and he had no idea how close to the ground he was. He was falling fast, the chute opened, swung up to the side once, and he hit the ground. He dislocated both hips and had lots of other injuries, both from being pushed through the side of the plane, and from hitting the ground.

Our copilot friend had a different experience. His seat separated from him automatically, and his parachute opened just fine. The problem was that he came down in a thundercloud, and got caught in an updraft. The storm carried him along with it for several miles. When he finally came down, he didn't know where the ground was either, and he sprained both ankles. He laid there on the ground for a couple of hours before he finally saw some lights come on in a nearby farmhouse. He couldn't walk, so he crawled until he got to the barn where the farmer was milking his cows. The farmer had no phone, so he had to wait another several hours until the farmer finished his chores before he could get into a town where he could make a phone call. He called his wife, who was very relieved, as she had been told that he was missing and presumed dead.

Our First Home

While we were planning our wedding, Georgia and I decided to apply for married student housing at the University of Utah. The least expensive option was Stadium Village, where Georgia had lived as a toddler. We were accepted and assigned to 1563 Sigma, apt 11. The building was formerly a barracks from a military base. It had been used for officers and their wives. There were 14 units in the building. The building faced a common area across from another identical apartment building. Each apartment consisted of a living/ kitchen area at the front, a small bathroom with a metal shower stall, and a bedroom. Walls were thin and you could hear a lot of what went on in the apartments on either side. There were only 3 electrical outlets in the apartment, 1 in the living room, 1 for the refrigerator, and 1 over the kitchen counter. There was limited availability of power. We were given an electric fry pan for a wedding gift, which we could not use because it took more power than the entire apartment could provide. If you wanted to vacuum, you had to unplug the refrigerator, or it would blow the fuse. There was only one fuse for each apartment, located in the laundry/furnace room at one end of the building. Yes, there was one furnace for the entire building. To have electricity in the bedroom, we had to run extension cords from the kitchen. There was a pull chain light fixture in the bedroom, but no other power. A previous tenant had poked a 4 to 5 inch hole in the wall between the kitchen and bathroom to drain a washing machine into the toilet. So there was only an illusion of privacy.

My folks had given us an old TV, which had to be turned on at least one half hour before anything we wanted to watch. We had a mattress and open spring box from Deseret Industries for a bed. Georgia had purchased a nice bedroom set, which was the only nice furniture we had. Everything else was hand-me-down or cheap bargain furniture. We were very happy, even though we were living in poverty. Everyone else in the area was in the same situation, so we didn't care that we were poor, starving students. Actually, I think we ate pretty well.

One of our favorite meals was frozen pot pies, which we could buy 7 for $1. We also managed to get out to parents houses for Sunday dinners, which helped stretch the budget.

As you might guess from the name, Stadium Village was just east of the University of Utah football stadium. We could hear the games, along with much of the play-by-play from our apartment. We knew whenever the U scored a touchdown, as they always fired off a cannon when they scored.

Georgia was working at ZCMI as a cashier and gift wrapper, and I worked at the Deseret Gym as a lifeguard and swimming instructor. We had my '57 Chevy for transportation. Georgia also used the bus to get to work, and I rode a bike to the Gym when the weather was good. We got to be really good at living on very little.

Our neighbors were all students, as well. I think everyone in our building were members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Our ward was about a half mile away, on Sunnyside Avenue. Bishop Zwick was our Bishop. Georgia and I were called to head up a Married Students Mutual study group. I don't remember our specific duties.

Several of the young couples in the ward would get together on a regular basis to go to the Salt Lake Temple together. It was wonderful to have so much support around us in the Church.

On my first Home Teaching adventure, I got in trouble at home. My companion and I got visiting with one of our families, and lost track of time. I didn't get home until after midnight and found a very upset, scared, and angry wife. I did learn my lesson, and didn't ever do that again.

I do remember some of our neighbors. Scott Gray and his wife, who had lived in the East Mill Creek area when they got married were in our building. Don and Vonda Bahr were also in the building. We ran into them several years later, when our children became friends. Morgan Moon and wife lived downstairs from us. He made his living as a professional rodeo rider. He won enough money each summer so he didn't have to work during the school year.

Heidi, our first child was born while we lived there. That made her the third generation of Georgia's family to live there. Georgia's dad had been instrumental in bringing the old barracks to the campus for married student housing, and she had lived there as a child. Her dad was the first Branch President when a married student branch of the Church had been organized. The complex was 'temporary' housing. It was only supposed to be there for five years. Our last year there was the 20th year of its use. After we moved out, the entire complex was torn down. Georgia's dad worked for the construction company that had the contract for the demolition, and he was the project manager. The University of Utah Fine Arts Building now stands where Stadium Village used to be.

We lived there from July 23, 1965 until December 24, 1966. Then we moved in with Georgia's parents so I didn't have to work during my last term of school, as I had an unusually heavy load.

Those were very happy times!