One of my extra duties was pulling periodic Aerodrome Officer (AO) duty at Base Operations. For a 24 hour period, you take over management of local administrative and transient air services. I always enjoyed the work, but it was hard on my aching back being on my feet so much. In the midsummer of 1959, I had just finished an extra duty assignment as base project officer for the Iowa Civil Air Patrol organization. It was a most enjoyable experience and we had done a good job of hosting their group. I even had the joy of rewarding their top cadet with a ride in a T-33. It was as much fun for me as it was for him. My Base Training Staff was performing well, so I was able to be involved in other productive base activities, especially Base Operations.

Soon after we had sent the Iowa CAP group on their way, I pulled a tour as AO. By three or four in the morning my back was turning into big knots of muscle. As soon as I could arrange it, I went to the Base Dispensary and found the Base Surgeon, a full Colonel, in his office and I laid my problem before him. Being part of the Base Support Group had taken me out from under the wing of the 98th BW (so-called) flight surgeon. Previously, while carrying my medical records to another hospital, I was poking through the paperwork and discovered a note from this Flight Surgeon that identified me as a fellow who really wanted to get out of the service. At this meeting, I brought this to the attention of the Base Surgeon and he immediately ripped that document out of the file, threw it in the waste basket, and proceeded to see what might be done to help me.

[Note: It is worth pointing out that my problems with this 98th BW assigned doctor were not just my own. A well respected Operations Officer for one of the other bomb squadrons had been having headaches for months and had never been taken seriously by this worker of medical magic. Finally after being asked, repeatedly, if he had hidden fears of flying at high altitudes, discomfort with wearing a helmet and mask, etc., etc., during an especially bad attack where he could hardly walk down the halls of the operations building, his wife lost her temper, grabbed him by the hand and lead him into the office of the local Neurosurgeon, Dr. Louis Gogela. Doctor Gogela checked him over for about 15 minutes and told him “I believe you have a massive brain tumor.” The doctor called the 98th Wing Commander and told him to fire up a KC-97 and immediately airlift this man to the USAF Hospital at Lackland AFB.. They did that and within 24 hours had removed a baseball sized tumor from his skull. He was returned to the base, assigned to duty in the Wing Control Room, and was provided a bed to lay down on whenever he might feel the need to rest. Although it was unspoken, we soon realized the man was dying from cancerous tumor material that they could not remove. Chuck Vollmer died, striving to the end to do his assigned duties.

Briefly, one added example: A B-47 A/C, one of the finest friends and officers I came to know in my Air Force career, had complained to the doctor of upper chest, shoulder and neck problems for months. Going through a similar exercise as did Chuck Vollmer and myself, he was progressively documented as a malingerer. In the meantime, a fellow officer at SAC Headquarters, who knew of Les’s professional qualities, had been trying to get him transferred to SAC Headquarters in the Division of Material. The 98th Bomb Wing had consistently sidetracked these requests because they did not want to break up a trained B-47 combat crew. Soon after, while he and his family were on a two-week vacation, Les was selected to go to B-52 upgrading and be stationed at Ellsworth AFB, SD. When Sam learned of this, he arranged for an orders change so Les would be transferred to SAC Headquarters. After Les had moved his family and was settled into his new assignment, his medical problems began to multiply. Les continued to keep his flight rating currency in twin engine admin aircraft flying SAC Headquarters support missions. This, in spite of his increasing pain and discomfort.

When he finally went to the local base medical resources for help, the Offutt AFB medics reviewed his records and shipped him TDY for psychological evaluation at Sheppard AFB. Further identified as a malingerer, he was sent back to duty with many bottles of medication. His work supervisor well understood the integrity and dedicated spirit of this man. After observing Les’s growing discomfort over a period of time, he became angry and called the hospital commander, advising him he was sending this Maj. Les Brown over for a careful physical, and if they didn’t take care of him properly, this supervisor would soon arrive at the hospital and began the disassembly of the hospital, brick by brick, until there was nothing left but the basement.