Shadows from the Past

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I live a charmed life. I grew up in a small Iowa town. But despite that fact, I often find myself running into people I know all over the world, literally. I don’t know why, it’s just a fact.

That’s why when our son, Sean, left home to join the Air Force I cautioned him that I was just young enough that he might run into people in the Air Force who either knew me or knew of me. And I couldn’t guarantee that would necessarily be a positive thing.

As a broadcaster at the American Forces Network-Europe headquarters in Frankfurt, West Germany I was well known. Whether I liked it or not, my voice and face were broadcast all over northern Europe, every day. And as the only English-language radio and TV network in continental Europe at the time, we were the only game in town.

Growing up, Sean had heard all my stories. When he asked me if they were true my response was always the same. “I just can’t make this stuff up.”

And so it begins

Sean’s first run-in with my past came while he was in basic training. His flight was pulling K-P duty. Toward the end of the shift the senior master sergeant in charge of the dining hall called him over.

In a thundering voice he boomed, “Trainee O’Connor. Front and center, now!

As Sean hustled across the busy dining hall he asked himself what in the world he could have done wrong. When he arrived in front of the very imposing figure with more stripes on his arm than Sean had time to count, he came to attention and addressed the senior NCO.

“Sir, Trainee O’Connor reports as ordered!”

The very tall, sergeant looked him up and down before barking, “Was your father ever in the military?”

“Yes, sir!” Sean said.

“Was he in the Air Force?

“Yes, sir.”

“Was he a broadcaster for AFN?”

“Yes, sir,” Sean said again.

“Son, I watched your father on TV all the time. I was a sports nut. I always tuned in to see the scores. He did a great job.”

Sean thanked him and walked back to his station. My premonition had come true and it left him a little unsettled.

“Oh my God,” he thought. “He really didn’t make this stuff up.”

Déjà vu No. 2

Four months later, newly minted Airman First Class Sean O’Connor was in the final weeks of Air Force Security Forces Technical School. He and his comrades were demonstrating their ability to assemble and disassemble a variety of handguns. It was a high-stakes test. If they failed, they’d be released from that tech school and the Air Force would reassign them to another specialty. That’s a fancy way of saying if you failed, instead of asking people for their license and registration at a traffic stop, you’d be working as a cook and asking people how they’d like their eggs prepared.

Throughout the test Sean could sense someone staring at him. Just as he finished he looked up and saw their lead instructor, Senior Master Sergeant Robertson, looking straight at him.

As they made eye contact, Robertson signaled for him to come to the front of the room. Sean began to sweat. His mind raced. He thought for sure he’d failed the test. Months of hard work were now out the window. What school would they send him to next? Would they really make him a cook?

When he got to the front of the room he came to attention and addressed the senior NCO.

“Sir, Airman O’Connor reports as ordered!”

The sergeant looked him up and down before barking, “Was your father ever in the military?”

Sean had a strange feeling this was going to be deja vu all over again.

“Yes, sir!” Sean said.

“Was he in the Air Force?

“Yes, sir.”

“Was he a broadcaster for AFN?”

“Yes, sir,” Sean said again.

“Son, I knew your daddy!”

He explained to Sean that we were stationed together at AFN for about four months. At the time, he as a young radio and TV engineer. Years later he cross-trained into security forces.

He then queried Sean, “Did your daddy ever tell you about the time he stood up to the AFN commander in front of a general?”

Sean’s head was swimming. How in the world was this happening? Not only did his senior instructor know of his dad, but he was actually stationed with him.

Sean regained his composure just in time to reply that yes he’d heard the story, but he didn’t think it could have possibly been true. The sergeant laughed and replied that yes, indeed it was true. And it was a day he’d never forget. Here’s the story.

The unwitting hero

It was a Thursday in late winter, 1986. I was working the evening TV shift in the AFN Sports Office.

Word had come down on Tuesday that the commanding general of all U.S. Army troops in Europe was coming to Frankfurt and he wanted to tour AFN. Much like the teenager who starts jamming stuff in the closet and under the bed when he knows his room is about to be inspected, the network headquarters had been in a tizzy for two days. Walls had been painted, floors had been buffed and the commander’s rules about staffing had been issued.

At that time, the AFN commander was an Army Lt. Colonel, who was the embodiment of every stereotypical-jerk commander you’ve ever seen in the movies. He was a micromanager with no regard for the chain of command. He thought nothing of dressing down a young enlisted person in front of a crowd. In short, he was insecure and power-hungry.

On top of that, he hated having a mixed command of Army, Air Force and Navy personnel. In his mind, the only uniform he should see when he stepped out of his corner office was the Army-issue woodland camouflage, battle-dress uniform. It’s fair to say he was universally despised by everyone under his command. We’ll call him “the Colonel.”

True to form, the Colonel put out the word that all non-Army personnel were to be assigned to “other duties” on Thursday. If a non-Army person simply had to be on duty, then they were to keep their mouth shut and maintain a low profile. Thursday would be the Army’s day to shine!

On Thursday afternoon I was busily working away editing videotape for the six o’clock news. The Sports Office was located in a corner in the back of the building. There were two entrances to the office. One led to the recording studios, while the other led to the main hallway.

The plan was for the general and his entourage to enter from the recording studios, spend less than a minute in the office and then exit into the main hallway. Why? Because the Colonel hated the Sports Office. We were the most popular part of the evening news and he thought the news should be the shining star. On top of that, our boss, Milt, was an extremely talented civilian who wasn’t afraid of him. You can imagine how that went over with a power junky like the Colonel.

Just after 3 p.m. an Army sergeant arrived to let me know the general was about two minutes out. As fate would have it, I was the only person in the office. Milt and the rest of the sports team had conveniently found somewhere else to be. They didn’t want to be part of the Colonel’s propaganda parade. Because of my impending deadline, I didn’t have that luxury.

Moments later I heard someone announce “Uh-tennn-shun!” as the Colonel led the general and his group into the room. I stood ramrod straight and listened as the Colonel gave a 20-second explanation of what we did in the Sports Office.

With that, he opened the main door to usher out the general and his staff. The general was a short, grandfatherly looking fella with a kind face. He stepped forward to shake my and said, “Aren’t you Airman Jim O’Connor?”

“Yes, sir.” I replied.

He continued to enthusiastically shake my hand.

“Airman, my wife thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread! We watch you every night. You do great job. You’re a credit to the network and to your service. Thanks for all you do!”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Colonel. If steam really could come out of your ears, it would have come out of his. I’m sure in his mind, I had disobeyed his orders, which brought undue attention to the Air Force, and the Sports Office! His face was beet-red.

“Thank you, sir!” I said.

With that, the general finally released my hand and said goodbye. The group shuffled out the door. The last person out was an Army sergeant friend of mine. He just smiled and whispered, “That was awesome! The Colonel’s going to go nuts!”

For the next week people would stop and shake my hand. The Colonel had been taken down a peg and they loved it! I was an unwitting hero of sorts. The truth is, I didn’t do anything. I was just in the wrong place at the right time. And I just can’t make this stuff up.

And this makes three

A few months later, Sean was stationed on a remote base in England. Along with being a Security Forces specialist, AKA base cop, Sean was part of a special unit whose operations and duties were highly classified. They were so classified, he couldn’t tell me the real names of the people on his team. It was a small team of just eight, and each was a character right out of the movies.  

Perhaps the best example was the team’s pilot. He was the real-life personification of Mad Dag Murdock from TV’s “The A-Team.” If it had wings or a rotor, he could fly it. And he was just as crazy as his TV counterpart. We’ll call him "Eagle."

One day the team was working in their secure facility when the subject of travel came up. Eagle casually described a summer trip he took to Berlin when he was a cadet in the Air Force Academy.

Sean thought some of what he heard sounded familiar. He Skyped me the next day and mentioned it because he thought he remembered me talking about a similar trip to Berlin.

I told him I was in Berlin in summer 1986 and while I was there I went on a city tour. One of the people on the bus was an Air Force Cadet. I remembered he had a French last name and was from someplace in southern Minnesota. He was a nice kid.

I could see the excitement on Sean’s face. He said, “Dad, I can’t tell you his name, but I think you just described Eagle!”

The next day, Sean was back in the team office. He’d previously told them about me and how I had this uncanny way of knowing people and running into them in odd places.

“Hey, Eagle,” he said. “When you went to Berlin, do you remember hanging out with a senior airman from Iowa?

“Yeah,” said Eagle. “We were on a bus tour.”

“You wore your dress uniform with your glider medallion.”

“Right,” said Eagle, with a quizzical look on his face.

“And you took a bunch of pictures at the Luftbrucke Memorial.”

“Right.”

And you ate dinner at a Balkan Restaurant by the airport.”

“Yeah, we ate so much the owner gave us free shots of amaretto. How in the world did you know that?” Eagle asked.

“That airman was my dad!” said Sean.

“No way!” Eagle yelled.

“Yep,” said Sean. “That’s my dad. I just can’t make this stuff up.”

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