The college year (yes, that’s right, year):

(Posted by Ron)

Throughout high school I was sure I wanted to go on to college and study medicine. I couldn’t imagine anything more fun or lucrative than being a doctor. I was the first in my family to enter college and that was a fact of some pride to my parents. I received a shock to my system when I entered Marshall University as a freshman intending to follow a pre-med path. College was definitely not high school.  Not having to study in high school meant I never really learned how to study. Subjects that came easily to me before were suddenly challenging and I was not prepared for that challenge. In my first semester as a “college man” I earned a staggering 0.9 average on a 4.0 scale. Something had to change.

In my senior year of high school I began dating my first wife. We graduated together and both entered Marshall at the same time. I was much more interested in her than studying and that didn’t help my first semester grade. She and I both decided to put more into our studies in the second semester. This was also highly encouraged by my parents, who were not at all happy with my lack of success. What I didn’t know then was that this 0.9 average was the first of many defining moments to come throughout life.  Yes, my poor performance in college was about to present an opportunity for my life to take a totally new direction, even if it didn’t feel very positive at the time.  Things did get better, though, and by the end of the second semester I had improved my average all the way up to 1.9. Still, no one was impressed and the University suggested (or was that requested) that I sit out a semester or so until I was more interested in school.  I was going to have to be more mature before I could return.

I become a Navy man:

I began searching for work to get me through the next year but found nothing interesting.  I wandered into the office of the US Navy recruiter one day and by the time I left had been convinced to enlist with a guarantee that I would become a jet mechanic. That sounded interesting and on June 25, 1960 I boarded a train bound for the US Navy Enlisted Training Center at Great Lakes Naval base in Illinois. It was a very big day for a very scared boy from West Virginia.  (Little did I know I would passing through the hometown of my then almost 3 years old future wife.  Probably a good thing I didn’t meet her, but perhaps I picked up her scent.)

During my three months in boot camp I learned a lot. I learned to march. I learned how to properly stand at attention. I learned how to keep from passing out when standing at attention for a long time (which we did a lot.) I fought fires. I learned to work off demerits by exercising with my useless World War One rifle. I did not learn anything about jet mechanics’ school except that I wasn’t going there. It seems that jet engine wiring is color-coded.  That presented a problem since I did learn I was red and green colorblind. (My very own Little Miss Sunshine moment.)

So much for the Navy’s guarantee. The next of my life’s defining moments was about to happen and it was the way my Navy career developed.  The Navy “career counselor” told me I had to select another school that would fit my interests and abilities. As a child I had read every book I could find about submarines so I decided to volunteer for submariner school. “Sorry,” he said, “you can’t be color-blind.” I don’t recall how many choices I tried but they all required perfect vision (oh, I was very near-sighted, too) and/or the ability to see all colors. Finally the choices came down to what schools were starting soon that would take someone with my limitations. There was only one. I was going to teletype school in Pensacola, Florida. After all, I had all ten of my fingers, could type fairly well and only had to see black and white.

When I left boot camp I had an assignment to report to school in Florida with a six-month stopover in Norfolk, Virginia to wait until my class began. It would also take that long for my security clearance to come through. About the only exciting thing about the job was that I was being assigned to the Naval Security Group and would have a very high security clearance. That seemed pretty sinister to a country boy. After all, I couldn’t see colors and without my glasses I couldn’t see more than two or three feet in front of me.  Perfect description of a Navy spy, huh?

Read Part 1 of My Story

Read Part 1 of Gayle’s Story

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