The Summer of '69

Tibet's Version of Caltrans - photo by JoAnn Sturman

by Michael Schimmer

It’s been over 40 years since this happened, so I suppose the statute of limitations has long passed.  Let’s hope so.

The summer of 1969 was eventful.  Bryan Adams wrote a song about it, so it must be true.  Apollo 11 put footprints on the Moon, our contemporaries were making love in the mud at Woodstock, and some of us gave up summer leave to jump out of airplanes at Ft. Benning.  But enough of that and on to the important stuff

It was a glorious Third Class Summer with snow in June during SERE training and the vaunted Zone of the Interior (ZI) field trip.  During the latter, we got to see the Real Air Force in action.  As I recall, we went to Cannon, Tyndall, Little Rock, Wright-Patterson, and March AFBs.  I was lucky to get an orientation ride in an F-105 at Cannon and an F-106 at Tyndall.  I say “lucky” now, because back then my stomach and I had a continuing argument where airplanes were involved.  Going up in a fighter jet with fatigues, a harness, and an oxygen mask without a G-suit made for an interesting experience.

Toward the end of the ZI trip, while visiting March AFB, we stayed in the otherwise empty dorms at UC Riverside.  Despite not being able to get a hair cut in the past three weeks, the powers in charge thought this the perfect time for an inspection.  One of our classmates dressed a UCR student in a cadet uniform and snuck him into the ranks.  Lt Col Ron Fogleman (perhaps you’ve heard of him?) walked up and down the line, trying not to look too hard.  However, it was hard to overlook a guy in Service Echo with shoulder length hair.  Fogelman laughed, shook the guy’s hand, and someone took a picture. 

We had the opportunity to visit Disneyland on Sunday, but one could also opt for a weekend pass if there was family in the local area.  My aunt lived in El Cajon (close enough?), so off I went with my thumb out looking for a ride to San Diego.  God takes care of fools and cadets, and I qualified on both counts.  Somehow, I made it to El Cajon and discovered that my aunt and uncle had relocated to La Mesa.  So much for that idea.

I was out on the street, pondering my next move, when a police cruiser pulled up.  The police officer braced me against the car, assuming I was an AWOL Marine from Camp Pendleton.  I proudly told him I was an Air Force Academy cadet.  He asked for identification.  I had lost my wallet during the trip, but who needed ID when traveling as a group?  Thinking quickly, I offered my AF Academy gym bag as proof.  It wasn’t exactly a silver bullet, but I was making good progress until I referred to it as my “AWOL bag.”  Bad move. 

Things were looking dismal, until a Z-28 Camaro rolled up next to the cruiser.  Evidently the driver and the cop knew each other, and they had a long conversation.  The cop said to me, “All right.  You are going to go with this guy and get out of my sight.  If I see you again in this town, I’ll arrest you.”  I took the offer.

My rescuer asked me what I wanted to do.  I told him I had no definite plans other than getting off the street.  He offered to let me crash at a friend’s house, but first he had some business to conduct.  He opened up the glove box and asked,  “Do you know what this is?  50 caps of white acid, and 25 caps of blue acid!  I’m supposed to meet a guy at Salton Sea and sell it to him.  Want to come along?” 

Oh, great!  Now I’m really cooking with gas.  I’m lost somewhere in southern California, riding around with a drug dealer, and the cops don’t like my face.  The dealer dropped me off at his friend’s house then left for the Salton Sea.  He returned with a few friends, and the next thing I knew, they’re lighting up a few joints and getting high.  In the room was a bar with gallon jugs of rum, vodka, and tequila from Tijuana.  “Help yourself to a drink, Mike,” my new friend offered.  I realized this was a once in a lifetime opportunity for someone in my position–no rules, no witnesses.  I mixed myself a huge Mexican screwdriver and for the rest of the night hugged the corners until things quieted down and everyone crashed. 

At dawn I eased out of the house, headed to the nearest street, and hitch hiked to Los Angeles, where I planned to link up with the tour group at Disneyland and ride the bus back to Riverside.  I made it to Disneyland, had a great afternoon, and climbed on the bus.  We returned to UC Riverside at 6:30, where I promptly got written up for being 30 minutes late to sign in for weekend curfew. 

When I returned to the Academy later that summer, I spend the first weekend serving confinements for the late sign-in at Riverside.  Justice must be served, but considering what could have happened to me, the weekend restriction seemed a small price to pay.