The Colonel was a big man with broad shoulders and a smile almost as wide. He might phone my office just about any afternoon. Most of the time he would call me directly, not through his adjutant, a stiff necked major who I was sure hated my guts.
“Hey Nate, what are you doing?” opens the Colonel, (not that it would have made a difference). “Let’s go out and hit a few…can you get away?”
Can I get away? When the base commander asks me if I can get away …I can get away. “Yes sir,” I replied.
“Good” said the top guy “I’ll pick you up in 20 minutes.”
Colonel Anderson was some kind of a World War II hero who loved to play golf, a game at which he was, at best, a work in progress. I was an ordinary Buck Sergeant who just happened to be the base golf champion.
Laredo Country Club was conveniently located next to the Laredo Air Force Base on the outskirts of Laredo, Texas where I was safely posted during the Korean War. Nice duty for a young guy whose draft board back in Minnesota wanted to send him to the front lines, but that’s another story.
For an enlisted man who spent most of his tour of duty in Texas I don’t have a lot of war stories. Laredo Air Force Base was an old World War II Army Air Corp facility that was deactivated in 1946. The Colonel and about 800 others, including then Private First Class, Geoffrey Nathanson had been sent there to reactivate the base in early 1952 as a jet fighter pilot training center.
As a graduate (three months earlier) of The University of Minnesota School of Journalism, the Air Force decided that I was just the man to start a base newspaper which I named the ‘Jet Stream’. Because there was no Public Information Officer (“PIO”) or Information and Education Officer (“I & E”), I was assigned those duties as well. So in addition to the paper, a weekly eight page tabloid, my job as base PIO required that I assume responsibility for maintaining a cordial liaison between the base and the cities of Laredo and its sister city, Nuevo Laredo across the Rio Grande in Mexico. All I was expected to do as base I&E was to deliver a Washington prepared lecture to the troops every Thursday morning. This was a lot of responsibility for a Private First Class so I was quickly promoted to Corporal and to Sergeant a few months later.
Back to golf: My “pal”, the Colonel had his own B-25 bomber reserved for his disposal at all times. So our golf games were not necessarily limited to Laredo Country Club. We could play just about anywhere assuming there was an air force base within range. The B-25 was an old fashioned propeller driven bomber which used a lot of fuel, so most of our golf junkets where limited to courses in Texas, Oklahoma, and Louisiana where there was usually a car and driver at the Colonel’s disposal.
My first meeting with my Colonel’s buddy, Brigadier General Warren West, was at the James Connelly Country Club in Waco, Texas. In addition to being the senior officer of FLYTAF, (Flying Training Air Force). General West was also a golfer who, like my Colonel, loved to play the game for money. On this occasion he brought along as his partner a young lieutenant fresh off the University of Texas golf team named Billy “Something”. Golfing partners like myself and Billy “Something” are usually referred to in golfing parlance as “ringers”. Well Billy “Something” was a scratch handicapper, which means he was a par shooter, the closest thing to a pro. As it turned out General West was no duffer himself. After the first few holes it became obvious that we were grossly overmatched and in serious trouble. Without going into the details it was a slaughter.
“Winners buy the drinks” said our victorious hosts, as we concluded our round and headed towards the “19th hole” (the bar) to add up the damages. The damage was no big deal for my Colonel, who was a great sport, but my share of the losses was a month’s pay for a lowly Sergeant.
“Don’t worry about it Nate” said my Colonel over his Jack Daniels, “We will clean their clocks next time. I’ve invited them down to Laredo for payback.”
As mentioned before, golf wasn’t the reason the Air Force sent me to Laredo. In addition to the newspaper my other real jobs offered some interesting challenges. One Monday about three months after our Waco shellacking I was working in my office and got a call from the Colonel’s adjutant which had nothing to do with golf. “Sergeant Nathanson we have a problem, a public relations problem. You better meet me at the AP office, and I mean now.” AP is the Air Force’s version of MP (Military Police), and right away I knew we had troubles.
According to the adjutant, some GIs from another Air Force base had gotten loaded across the border. There was a fight in one of Nuevo Laredo’s upscale cantinas over some hostesses. It involved several local pachuco types, one of whom happened to be the town mayor’s nephew. Nobody was killed, but I guess they pretty well wrecked the place.
The adjutant went on to say, “I told the Nuevo Laredo Police Chief we would send our PIO guy right over, and that’s you. Take a couple of APs along. You won’t need your golf clubs this time.” Still an S.O.B.” I thought to myself as I lit out of there with two very tough looking Air Force policemen.
If you have never seen the inside of a Mexican jail in an old western movie just use your imagination. Our lock-ups here in the US are Ritz Carltons by comparison. The errant GIs were in one dark cell where they had spent the last two days and nights. They were in their civilian clothes which were definitely worse for the wear especially considering that they had their asses whipped by the locals and maybe even the Nuevo Laredo cops. Needless to say they were pissed.
“Where have you guys been? What took you so long?” was their greeting.
“Don’t worry”, I assured the GIs “We will get you out of this place.” I looked at my APs who were rolling their eyes. Obviously they had been through this before.
Then one of the GIs walked up to the bars and stared at me, “Hey Nate, remember me?” I started to shake my head when I realized that behind that busted lip was the face of Billy “Something” the Waco General’s golf partner, the ‘ringer’ that General West had brought along to clean our clocks.
“Jesus!” I thought, “I better not screw this up.” Well it took another day and night, an apology from my Colonel to the Nuevo Laredo Mayor, plenty of bail money and pesos for Cantina repairs, and with the help of a couple of my influential golf buddies from that side of the river we were able to get those two very grateful GIs back across the Rio Grande. After they had showered we loaned them some khakis, fed them and flew them back to their base in the Colonel’s B-25. I have no idea if they ever recovered the car they had driven down from Waco. For me it was an education. I learned that the brass take care of each other. Maybe it’s a throwback to their days in combat. Like they say, “What comes around goes around.”