Think Big -Work Hard -and Follow Your Dreams
Should I quit College for Navy
Off to Pensacola-Flight Training
I would like to direct my following comments towards young people -those who are currently formulating dreams of what the future might hold for their lives. I, and perhaps millions of people like me, are living proof that you absolutely CAN achieve your dreams. It is a simple matter of making up your mind what it is you wish to accomplish and then working VERY hard towards your goals. One of the key elements, in my mind, is getting the most out of your education. Go as far as you can go -and value it. Your ability to get an education is what differentiates you from people in many other countries of the world! Please, take full advantage of what the taxpayer is providing you!
My mother's family was Irish/English, from the Savin Hill district of Dorchester, in Boston. Although her mother came from a family of poor, relatively recent Irish immigrants, the lineage on my paternal grandfather's side goes back to practically the first settling of the country.
The family roots, on her father's side, trace back to Pre-American Revolution days, with one of her forebears, the first Governor of the state of New Hampshire, [Josiah Bartlett], being a Framer of The Declaration of Independence.
His signature, at the top of the far right column of signatures, is third from the right of that of John Hancock. Members of that side of the family served in the Revolution, The War of 1812, the Mexican War and the Civil War.
My maternal grandfather was an established, well-off dentist in Boston who worked very hard, prospered and fathered five children, which provided us with a large assortment of zany aunts and uncles as we were growing up. The siblings were; Martha, Hollis (Uncle Al), Josiah (Uncle Dinny), June (my mom) and Carol.
While the pedigree and family tree of my mother's family might appear impressive, unfortunately, her mother passed away at a young age and not long after that her father also died, leaving the family in poverty. As a destitute orphan at age 13, she was shipped off to live in the country, 40 miles west of Boston.
Life was not easy in the Great Depression of the 1930's, with no parents, living as a guest on the farm of a distant relative. She and her siblings did more than their share of hard work to pay their way.
The small town to which she was exiled was Westminster, where, a few years later, she met my father, whose parents were Finnish / Swedish immigrants and spoke English with a heavy, broken accent, as did many families in the area where I grew up. My paternal grandparents worked very hard after arriving in this country and in 1927 purchased several hundred acres on the outskirts of town to establish a family farm, focusing on raising chickens for table eggs. The Johnson & Sons Egg Farm was well known in a wide area around our town and people would drive for miles to get the freshly gathered eggs that would not be available in the stores until weeks later. When my father and uncle each married, my grandfather split off about 5 acres from the original farm for them, so they could build their own homes in which to raise their families.
The Great Depression was still on when my parents met. Both my dad and uncle were forced to quit school early [my dad in the 8th grade] to help provide for his family. He volunteered to serve in the WPA, working on many fine Public Works projects in the local area. At the opening of WWII he volunteered for the Army, but was rejected, due to having suffered rheumatic fever as a child. In lieu of going to war, he found a job in a defense plant in the County Seat, Worcester, and that is how I happened to be born in 1943, before the Baby Boom, in the middle of WWII, while most of the men were off to war in Europe or the Pacific.
The Town of Westminster, Massachusetts was an idyllic place to be raised. There were summer band concerts on the green every Wednesday evening and lots of other healthy year-round activities to keep kids out of trouble.
It was only a 45 minute ride into Boston, passing by historic places such as Walden Pond and Concord [The Old North Bridge (left) & The Minute Man Statue (right)] and Lexington along the way.
The town is bisected by the old [Rt. 2A] the main East/West route from Boston to Albany, NY when I was growing up. A new, limited access road was built when I was in high school and now people driving from Boston to Albany can pass right by without knowing there is a town there. A few miles to the West, Rt. 2A crosses the Connecticut River and then wends its way through the beautiful Berkshire Mountains. Growing up in this locale we were steeped in and had a deep appreciation and sense for history and the multitude of sacrifices Patriots made to establish this as free country.
We also had many lakes for swimming, skating and fishing and a mountain, [ Mt. Wachusett ] for hiking, camping and when I was older, it was developed into a ski destination. There were [and still are] hundreds of square miles of forests, in which to hunt pheasant, partridge and deer and not a single, anti-gun nut to mess with you in the 1950's and '60's.
It is truly sad and unfortunate that over the years the state has been overtaken by a prepondurance of whackko, far-left radical Liberals, who would strike the Second Amendment from the Bill of Rights!
Just a few miles to the north were many other attractions in both New Hampshire and Vermont. Skiing at Mt. Snow and Killington was an hour away and the beaches of Cape Cod were also just a short drive away.
My earliest recollections -at around 4-5 years old, are of being fascinated with the concept of flying. Birds, airplanes and anything else to do with flight had my full attention. Living on a farm means built-in employment, without the necessity of getting a Worker's Permit from the Government. My Grampa gave me my first job, for pay, at age 8. I had guaranteed, full employment every summer and most weekends during the school year from that early age. As you might expect, work on a chicken farm is not clean, or easy and I won't go into the ugly details of all the dirty jobs, but, suffice it to say I always worked hard for the minimum wage my Grampa paid.
I saved much of the hard-earned money, buying books about flying and model airplanes, which, when I finished building were hung, with thread, from the ceiling of my bedroom. The walls were also covered with vintage WWII and Korean War photos and posters of airplanes. The dawning of the jet age in the late 1940's and early 1950's kindled my enthusiasm and excitement. Jets were SO exhilarating! Just the concept made me want to fly!
All of this interest was bolstered by the fact that our farm was conveniently located 3 miles due East of the Gardner VOR, which happens to be an electronic navigation station on the major airway that serves as an approach to Boston's Logan International Airport. I spent many an idle hour laying out in a hay field, watching the DC-6's, DC-7's, Super Constellations, and other commercial airliners beginning their glide into the Boston airport.
I also got glimpses of the latest military hardware, like the P-80, F-80, or the F-89 fighter and the occasional B-29, B-36, or B-47, since the area had many Air Force bases: [Hanscom AFB-MA, Pease AFB-NH, Westover AFB-MA, Otis AFB-MA, Loring AFB-ME] -and Navy bases: [ NAS Quonset Point-RI, NAS So. Weymouth-MA, NAS Brunswick-ME]. The intensity of the Cold War insured that our forces were constantly training in the air around New England.
During the entire time I was a kid, I actually thought that all of these airplanes were putting on a show just for my benefit, by descending right over our farm. It was not until many years later, when learning to fly, that I found out about the charted National Airways system. Aircraft fly these Airways on instrument flight plans and I realized then that it was just a geographical stroke of luck that I got to see all those airplanes when I was growing up.
When we got our first TV set in 1953 it brought a new dimension to my budding interest in flying. There were many patriotic flying adventure movies, featuring dashing stars like Errol Flynn and David Niven in "Dawn Patrol" that acted as a catalyst to encourage a young man's interest further. The avid interest I was developing was not all positive though.
I can recall at least one occasion of being royally chewed out by my Little League coach for daydreaming in the outfield, when actually I was intently watching the airplanes on their descent into Boston.
On the 4th of October, 1957, when I was 14 and in the 8th Grade, the USSR shocked the world by launching
the first orbiting satellite, Sputnik. This amazing event surprised and shook up American society. I am sure it changed a LOT of people's lives; it was so electrifying! It also invigorated and drove the education system into playing "catch-up" and inspired me into action on my plan to be a pilot. As an 8th grader, I was the basic teenager, interested in girls and Elvis, Buddy Holly, the Everly Brothers and watched American Bandstand with Dick Clark, every afternoon after school. The "Russian Threat" and all of the attendant hoopla made me think more about my school studies and what I wanted to do with my life. From that point on, my grades became an important aspect of my quest in following my dreams.
Shortly after Sputnik was launched, I took matters into my own hands and rode my bicycle the 11 miles to the local airport, looking for opportunities. I looked up the owner of the Fixed Base Operator [FBO] and asked him if there was anything I could do around his place, so that I might be close to and learn more about airplanes. He was a wonderful man who had an obvious affinity for young people interested in his main love. When he found out I was too young for a Worker's Permit he said he could put me to work, but not on the payroll. "Would you consider doing some light work around here for a chance to go up flying with me occasionally?"
He might as well have asked me if I would accept a million dollars cash -or would a check be OK! So, at the age of 14, I began my flying career -one Saturday a month, washing airplanes, pumping gas and performing general "gopher" work. An arrangement was made, whereby I received flight instruction instead of money. Over the next two years I was able to accumulate many hours of "dual" flight time in the Piper J-3 Cub (like the one -above right) and the Cessna 140 (like the one -below left).
With this wonderful "head-start", I was able to solo on my 16th birthday and became a Private Pilot at age 17. It might be pointed out here that, while I was working my butt off at 3 different jobs, all of this was accomplished with a very little outlay of actual money. It was necessary to buy some instructional books for FAA exams and some maps, but the flying was all "free". I also continued to work at the farm until I could get a Worker's Permit at age 16, at which time I got a "real" after-school job as a stock boy at Johnny's Market, the tiny local town market. After that, I seldom worked on the farm again, opting instead to work a better-paying job for the Town Highway Department, the next two summers of High School.
The year 1959 was a momentous year in many respects. Not only did Buddy Holly die in a terrible plane crash [which also claimed the lives of Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper], but, it was also the year I got a driver's license, a Private Pilot's certificate and became a Born Again Christian. It has never occurred to me, but I don't believe the Holly accident or my flying were the cause of my conversion . .ha. . ha, but my burgeoning interest in Church and Youth Group activities did likely change the course of my life's events.
Despite what cynics have recently written about life in the 1950's [i.e.: the lifestyle's of June & Ward Cleaver and Ozzie & Harriet were not typical], I must say that the '50's and '60's were absolutely GREATEST decades to have been a young person! The world has not been as good since then. My experiences and those of the people I grew up with were a LOT more like June & Ward's family life than what often passes for family life in today's world. In June of 1961, my 61 classmates (from the towns of Ashburnham and Westminster) and I had the distinction of being the first graduating class of the new Oakmont Regional HS. We graduated into an uncertain world of Cold War and possible mutual nuclear annihilation with the Soviet Union and escalating tensions between President Kennedy, Premier Kruschev and Cuban Communist Premier, Fidel Castro.
Due to a relatively new-found faith and the commitment to church activities, when it came time to go to college, although accepted at UMASS, UCONN, UNH, and several others, I elected to attend a college with a predominantly Christian perspective. It was also no small matter that my local church was prepared to provide a significant portion of my expenses, in the form of a scholarship, should I follow this course.
Since I was paying for college myself and could not afford to go without some form of aid, I elected to attend Barrington College, in Barrington, Rhode Island, a suburb of Providence.
This was a wonderful choice, as there was ample opportunity for a farm kid [with few social graces] from a small town to flourish and grow, in a warm, nurturing academic environment. Class sizes were small and our professors got to know everyone by first name.
I was treated as almost one of the family by Dr. Larry Doyle, the head of my Department, who arranged that I might take classes at nearby Brown University, to fill out my Ed/Psych major. In this small college environment I was able to play varsity soccer, was president of the weight lifting club, sang with the college's exceptional travelling A Capella Choir all four years and was president of my Junior Class, learning many leadership skills, which came in handy in later life. At varying times, like most kids in college, I changed my mind about what I wanted to do with my life. I started out college thinking I would become a minister, then a teacher, then an Epicopal Priest and even seriously considered becoming a flying missionary, because flying remained a strong focus in my life. I had continued to become a Commercial, Instrument Rated pilot through college and wanted to follow this love for aviation which I had picked up at such an early age.
The flying and building of experience continued -but- at a much slower pace through college, due to the heavy financial constraints of paying my own way through school, with some help from scholarships. Along with all of the studies and extra-curricular activities, we were expected to perform community service and I also worked at places like Hertz Rental Cars in Providence to earn a little extra cash.
After two years, the grind was getting a little hard and I took a weekend recruiting trip to NAS So. Weymouth, after speaking with Navy Recruiters, who were looking for applicants to the Naval Aviation Cadet [NavCad] program.
This is a now-defunct program, whereby the Navy would accept qualified applicants from the Active Duty Enlisted force or those individuals having completed two years of college. I, and a couple of hundred other young men like me, from around New England, spent the weekend on base, taking the batteries of tests and stringent physical exam required for the AOC and NAVCAD programs. The AOC program [which I ultimately went into] was for those with a college degree. At the end of the weekend, a senior from Dartmouth and I were called into the Lieutenant Commander's office and told we were the only two -of all the applicants that weekend who qualified to enter the Navy's Flight program.
Having been accepted into Navy flight training as a sophomore, I was faced with some tough choices. After discussions with family, clergy and a family friend who was a senior Army officer, I elected to continue my education and get a degree. The Navy told me I would not have to retake the exams, just the physical, if I wanted to go to flight school after I graduated, which played a role in the decision to finish my education. Part of the decision was based upon the fact that, with a degree, an Aviation Officer Candidate would spend his flight training as an Officer, as opposed to the NavCad, who was ostensibly an enlisted person for the entire duration. Also, the pay and benefits were significantly better for the officer. So, in January of 1963, I raised my right hand and took the Oath of Office as an enlisted man in the Naval Reserves. Knowing I was qualifed to be an officer and a pilot and needing the money to be able to finish the last two years of school, I thought; "what better way to make some tuition money, get some experience and longevity and just learn the ropes of military life than to just jump in both feet?" Life between Sophomore and Senior year did not become any less difficult. I kept wavering between career choices.
Sophomore year (1963) was a VERY pivotal year! For me -and for the nation. Not only was I making life altering decisions, but on November 22nd, our President was assassinated. I felt even more loss than the average American, I believe, because John F. Kennedy had been in my parlor, drinking tea and vote-getting on several occasions over the previous several years.
My Irish/Democrat mother, from South Boston, was a personal family friend of Congressman John McCormick, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, very active on the Democratic Town Committee -and DEEPLY into Democratic state politics. He told her that if she wanted, he would see that I got a nomination to the U.S. Naval Academy, but like a dummy, I wanted to go to "college", "with girls" (Military academies did NOT accept women -until years after) and I scoffed at the notion!
I was only about 9 or 10 the first time all the ladies in town were thrown into a tizzy by the handsome, personable young JFK, when he had decided to run for Congress. He was back to sip more tea a few years later, running for Senate -and again, later on his quest for President.
I know it is a cliche to state that anyone who was alive at that moment remembers exactly where he was and what he was doing. But it is true -and the campus was simply stunned. Many of us felt we needed to "do" something -and 3 of us soccer players, Brian, Phil and I decided we must be there for the funeral. We hopped in Brian's rickety P-1880 Volvo and drove all night to Washington DC, seeing and experiencing many of the sights that are now part of history, for the next 3 days. We stood on the side of the street and watched the historic procession go by . . stood in line for a long time to be able to file through the Rotunda and view the casket. Went to Arlington National Cemetary for the burial ceremony.
By the spring of 1965 I had begun having a mental change of plans and thinking I would like to go on to Divinity School after graduation. It certainly was an option, since, as a Naval Reservist, I was only obligated for one weeked a month for 'drills'. The defining moment was the day the Naval Recruiters showed up enexpectedly on campus for their annual recruitment day. One of them was asking around for me by name and I tracked them down.
I had never met this LCDR, but after introducing myself as the guy he was asking after, he put the question right to me that I had not given much thought to recently; "Have you decided how soon after your graduation in a couple of months you want to go to Pensacola to start Officer's School." That put me on the spot and was likely just what was needed to make a serious life's decision. I told him I would like a few weeks off to just relax and he said he would call me the next day with available dates after July. Having made that serious decision, it was a great weight off my shoulders, as most of my friends began getting their Draft Notices shortly after graduation, having lost their Student Deferment. That was never an issue for me.
In September of 1965, shortly after college graduation, I reported to The Chief of Naval Air Basic Training at NAS Pensacola,
Florida for Aviation Officer Candidate School and Navy flight training. My original Class was 40-65, but upon encountering a minor medical problem that
required exercising the eye muscles for two weeks, I was reassigned to Class 42-65 [below]. This is the class with which I went through the entire AOCS program. These were a great group of guys, from all over the country. From the second week of October 1965 [with a short leave for Christmas], until we were commissioned on 11 March, 1966, we were put through the wringer -physically, psychologically and academically. God bless and keep you Gunnery Sergant Oren! OO-RAH!
I was advised prior to departing home to keep a healthy sense of humor in approaching every aspect of this training. Armed with this excellent advice and facing the challenge, I really enjoyed the rigorous routine. In addition to the heavy load that was placed upon us, I elected to join the prestigious Chief of Naval Air Basic Training Command Choir as soon as the first two weeks of basic INDOC were complete -and stayed with it throughout my entire 22 month flight training syllabus.
The Navy Choir was a GREAT stress reliever and we had a chance to fly all over the country in our own R5D (C-54), performing live on TV with Johnny Carson and meeting the likes of Walt Disney, Ed Sullivan, Milton Berle -and many other celebrities. We were hosted by the local Navy League chapter everywhere we went -and generally had a wonderful time every time we got together. In the photo at left, I am the guy in the front row, far left.
With a lot of hard work and concentration, I managed to graduate from AOCS as the #1 Naval Officer in my class, or #3 overall (2 Marines beat me out), out of a class of 52. As a result, I was awarded and was privileged to serve as Battalion I Commander.
Listen to some of the Choir's music!
Choir practice for 1966 NATO Christmas recording
Full NATO Christmas recording - came out on a 78 LP record
Practice for 1967 Johnny Carson Show in New York
Those of us who were AOC's were commissioned Ensigns in the Naval Reserve and the NavCads and MarCads [Marine Cadets] were awarded an insignia, commemorating the fact that they had completed the first phase of their training. Commencing the next week, after Leave, those of us [Navy, Marines & Coasties] who would be pilots, reported to VT-1, the basic flight training squadron at NAS Saufley Field, to begin flying the Beechcraft T-34 Mentor. The non-pilot, Naval Flight Officers [NFO] headed for their respective training pipelines at NAS Glynco, GA, NAS Corpus Christi and other localities.
Ensign's Bars & Officer Insignia
Link to more Choir Pictures
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