Shenanigans at Chanute

After basic training in the Air Force, I was assigned to aircraft maintenance school at Chanute Air Force Base in Rantoul, Illinois. The base was located a few miles south of Chicago.

It was a dreary place, indeed. In fact, Rantoul was the antithesis of my hometown in West Virginia. I was use to rolling hills and a blanket of trees everywhere. Rantoul was set on the flat Midwestern plains and trees were few and far between.

And the wind. Boy, the wind. We had wind in West Virginia, but nothing like the wind in Rantoul. Since the topology was flat and the trees were scarce, the wind seemed to howl all of the time.

And the cold. Boy, the cold. It was cold in West Virginia, but nothing like Rantoul. The “real feel” temperature had to be several degrees below the actual temperature reading because of the wind chill. When I was stationed there, the actual temperature always seemed to hover around zero, and the “real feel” temperature seemed several degrees below zero.

However, there were plenty of similarities between my hometown and Rantoul. The buildings on the base reminded me of the military barracks which I lived by in West Virginia. Most of my childhood was spent socializing and interfacing with the people who lived in a barracks complex similar to what was found in Rantoul. In my hometown, as in Rantoul, the buildings were thrown together using inexpensive material and inexperienced labor. The result was an eclectic mix of tar paper and plywood built to form havens for roaches and unfulfilled lives.

The one problem was that I only visited the barracks in West Virginia. I had to live in them in Rantoul.

But, as in all cases, it was the people who created the environment, not the other way around. My best friends in my childhood years lived in the barracks. In addition, I picked up a friend, by the name of Mark Aschenbrenner, out of the chaos of my Rantoul sojourn. Mark and I became good friends during our stay at Rantoul and remain so today.

And, boy, what times we had in Rantoul.

I should say that, first off, it was a joke that I was going to aircraft maintenance school. I didn’t even know how to change the spark plugs in the family car. My dad was a mechanic, but he wanted me to go to college and to “make something out of myself.” So, I went to college, joined the Air Force, and then ended up going to school to become an aircraft mechanic. Because of my nearsightedness, I was unable to perform navigator or pilot functions which were desperately needed by the Air Force at that time. My dad wasn’t too happy about the situation, but I figured it was better than being shot at in Nam.

But, I soon discovered that one didn’t need to be much of a mechanic to be classified as one. As in most jobs, one could exist on the periphery of the job and perform credibly without actually doing any work. It was actually a dream job when one spun the situation correctly. Mark and I were the co-valedictorians in this area of expertise.

The most significant segment of the training was actually quite enjoyable. The Air Force had hauled a dilapidated B-52 bomber onto Rantoul and allowed us to crawl around the interior of the plane. I mean literally crawl. The B-52 had dozens of little walkways and pathways which crewmen could meander through. I have never seen so much wiring in such a small space in my life. I can honestly say that I must have learned something about aircraft maintenance while at Rantoul, but all I remember is gleefully crawling around the bowels of that B52 eagerly anticipating what I would find around the next alleyway.

So, how cold was it? Let me tell you a few stories.

Since we were supposedly in the military, we needed to have a nice crease in our pants. None of us really knew how to do this, but we, of course, had written instructions, which we neglected to read. It was recommended that we spray liquid starch on the pant legs and then form a crease with a hot iron. We followed those instructions but left out one vital part of the process. Because we were always challenged for time to accomplish these duties, but, more importantly, too lazy, we neglected to wash the pants between ironings. As a result, after a few days, the pants became as hard as boards. We eventually were unable to bend the pants at the knee beyond a few degrees. In extreme cases, during the bitter cold of morning maneuvers, the pants would literally break at the knees and then it became impossible to walk, let alone march, to class. I have to admit that I was one of the chosen ones dispatched back to the barracks to acquire working trousers.

I also had another big problem with the cold. We would march to class every morning, no matter how cold it was. We wore heavy parkas with insulated hoods attached. We tied the hoods tightly around our faces with drawstrings. The hoods completely covered the head with the exception of a small area around the eyes, nose and mouth and also extended out from the face for several inches. After a few hundred yards of marching, my glasses would start to fog up from my breath being diverted by the parka. I always marched on the outside right in anticipation of this problem. After a while, my vision would become so impaired that I would start to drift further and further out of formation until I was marching alone at an obtuse angle to the formation’s direction. At this point, the squad leader would have to halt the march, order me to clean my glasses and get back in line. One would think that such an experience would be embarrassing, but, to me, it was just another entertaining example of my military ineptitude.

When we needed or wanted to venture out around the base during off duty hours, we could walk through a series of enclosed, heated hallways which connected several of the major buildings on the base. In order to get to the hallways from the barracks, one had to walk several hundred yards through the elements to get to an opening. But, after reaching a hallway, one could traverse much of the base without being exposed to the elements again. These hallways were unique to me because of the sheer length of some of them and also because of their design. The hallways were built out of the same material as most of the buildings so they blended in to the environment nicely. They also had windows every twenty feet or so to provide natural lighting, I would guess, even though most of the heat probably escaped through the windows. But, they were also unique to me because they were not built specifically to get from point A to point B. They kind of meandered along, cutting at ninety degree angles for no apparent reason and then cutting back on themselves. I envision a scenario where the hallways were built in a sporadic fashion over a period of several years under the supervision of many different commanders. The result was certainly utilitarian but also emblematic of the military way.

I should say that even though I saw the dark side of the military, I still marvel at the courage and accomplishments of the men and women who voluntarily serve, and am still proud to have served in my own way.