AN UNFORGETTABLE CHARACTER

John T, a smiling little Irishman, was my first active duty Air Force crew chief. No, wait; he was my second crew chief. I remember my first crew chief now, but I can't recall his name, although I can see his face. He reminded me somewhat of the actor Guy Madison. I guess old John T made more of an impression on me.

John T was a much-decorated WW II Army combat vet, and a really gentle little guy. He had a puckish sense of humor and an encyclopedic knowledge of electronics. He also suffered from the effects of PTSD, although the term was unknown in those days. I just thought that he liked to drink, and never wondered what caused his attraction to booze, or need for it.

Matter of fact, I don't believe I ever really saw John T sober from the day I met him until the day he was unceremoniously ushered from Uncle Sam's Air Force. By then, I was the crew chief, because John T had been relieved of duty and was no longer allowed to enter the Operations or Maintenance facilities.

John T, even in his mellowest state, still knew his radar. After I took over as crew chief, I called him one day with a problem I couldn't solve. This 'drunk' had me get out a schematic, and he walked me through it to the problem's source. He was in the barracks without benefit of a schematic, supposedly unfit for duty. Yet, he could 'see' the schematic in his mind's eye.

I'm not excusing his drinking, although he never drank on duty as far as I know. He just never completely sobered up before he got to work. Sometimes, he didn't get there at all. Still, he took great pride in his crew, and he taught us to have that same pride in how we did our jobs.

He brooked no laxness from us. To him, keeping the radar in top operating condition was our only reason for being there, and he made sure that we lived up to that obligation. He may have been a drunk, but he certainly had character. Too bad the term 'Shell Shock' was regarded as an insult back in those days, and PTSD had never been heard of. John T might have gotten the help he needed.

He was still smiling the last time I saw him as he finally departed the Air Force, busted from five stripes to two, his uniformed chest covered with ribbons. His mental demons were probably also smiling.

Years later, when I was stationed in Spain, I met a survivor of the Bataan Death March. One thing that I noticed almost at once: he and John T had the same smile. Big, wide, lots of teeth - never quite making it to their eyes.