Biographical Notes reCharles A. (Chuck) StonePage 2 of 2 Pages, of Chapter 3REALITY SETS IN |
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| Being on the winning side of a war seemed to be a blessing that was hard to fully comprehend. As the joy subsided, the waiting game began — not just for me, but for everyone. The mustering out process had already begun for some of the troops in all of the services. For the career types, it was a matter of settling in and waiting for things to settle out to see what came next. For some, it was pondering whether there was a possible military career to look forward to, or just a dead end. For yet others, probably the largest group, it was waiting your turn to get out. While I was beginning to sort out which group I was in, I began the process of trying to discern what a military future would hold for me — a rated pilot with very little experience, installed in a crew position I felt unqualified for, and there wasn’t a sign as to when, if ever, these airplanes would again take to the air. As I can best recall it, I was placed in a group of potential crewmembers that would be held in a pool. Our group was sent off to Clovis Army Air Base, New Mexico for starters. There I reconnected with my old Aviation Cadet buddy, Bill Wagner, now a Radio Specialist. Some weeks later, in the Fall of the year, we were sent on to Pueblo Army Air Base, Colorado. Our duties were to stay alive and sign in twice a day. We neither saw nor heard any signs of military aircraft. There was never any military formation or information exchange. There was no evidence that we were part of an organized numbered Squadron, Group, etc. When I could have made the choice to spend my time at a public library, or doing physical fitness training or some other constructive pursuit, I followed the herd in checking out the local bars and goofed around in a rather aimless way. This was not good for my morale nor a constructive practice on my part. We were learning through the news media that the world was overrun with pilots. Aircraft were being dumped into the ocean off of aircraft carriers, bulldozed into canyons on many Pacific Islands, and many of the rest were destined to become aluminum pots and pans. It became increasingly clear to me that I should consider returning to Park Rapids and look into buying into my parents hotel resort business. With my relatively poor High School academic record of performance, the thought of going to college was a rather frightening option. With my polio history, I felt sure the airlines would have no interest in me. |
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By early winter our group had been transferred to Grand Island Army Air Base, Nebraska. While we stood around waiting for some sort of direction, I talked my Squadron Commander into letting me go home to Minnesota for deer hunting season. People had been begging for leave time because of sick wives, children, mothers and fathers with little success. He was so shocked at my honesty, he said “yes” to my request.
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| When I said “thanks,” I told him that if I had any luck, I would bring him some venison. I had a pleasant visit home and was successful in shooting a deer. I had it butchered and, when I packed to head back for Grand Island, I placed in my bag two carefully cold-packed frozen venison roasts. Arriving back at the base, I found my Squadron Commander in the Officer’s club and handed him his share of the loot. He was quite surprised. While home, I discussed buying the business from my Mom and Dad. They were wondering what to do as they looked down the road and I was the only child in their family that had showed any interest in that kind of work. They said they would make plans in that direction. Back at the base, Christmas came and went. Suddenly, we were advised that we could choose to go to Lowery Air Base for processing out of the service, or we could volunteer to be part of a B-29 reconnaissance group that would be traveling to Alaska to fly weather missions over the North Pole. Being totally disenchanted with my career potential on active duty, and having a reasonable option for a long term career in civil life, I opted to go to Lowery, process out, and return to civil life. In recent years I have learned that the Army Air Corps began a serious classified reconnaissance program with the B-29, flying out of Alaska. I presume that it was the outfit that was formed from our group at Grand Island that became that recon organization. If I had stuck it out, and not killed off whatever crew I might have been assigned to as a Flight Engineer, who knows how much sooner I would have become an Air Reconnaissance crew member. Processing out at Lowery was another hurry up and wait experience. Moving through the final transition stages I was asked if I wanted to stay in the Army Air Corps Reserves. I said “yes” and signed on the dotted line. A good move that would gradually bud and flower a few years later. Riding an airliner from Denver to Minneapolis, I sat next to a rather smug fellow that had a sly, victorious smile on his face. I finally asked him what he was so happy about. He was pleased to tell me that he had just bought a number of warehouses full of military surplus goods for almost nothing and that he was just sure to get rich in the process. He jokingly told me about his friend that had purchased a large number of B-17s, drained the gas out of them, sold the gas on the open market for a price that almost equaled his successful bid price for all of the aircraft. Thus began some of the madness that was bound to accompany such rapid demobilization and destruction of such a remarkable armada. As I rode the airliner and then the bus back to Park Rapids, my thoughts were focused on laying aside my dream to be a military pilot and replace it with a new vision for the continuing development and modernization of a small town Hotel Resort facility to fit in with this new and unknown era they were calling a peacetime economy. |
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Page 2 of 2 Pages, Chapter 3 — Go to Chapter 4 Click below to select a destination Go to Page 1 — 2, this Chapter Chapters 1 — 2 — 3 — 4 — 5 — 6 — 7 — 8 — 9 — 10 |
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