It was my twenty-first birthday, and I was enjoying a milkshake at Frosty Freddy's located at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas. While this wasn't the typical way most twenty-one-year-olds celebrate their birthdays, I was a new recruit in the U.S. Air Force.

There were several reasons behind my enlistment. Firstly, I was unemployed. I had left my position at the Cincinnati Library for better pay at Alber's Supermarket, only to be laid off shortly after.

The draft was looming, and I was eager to pursue a career as an electronic engineer. The Air Force was promoting an Enlist and Train With Your Buddy Program. I enlisted with two friends but I never saw them again after arriving at Lackland AFB.

The pay for enlisted personnel was $60 a month, and Boot Camp was just as intense as you might have heard or seen in films. It involved marching, a loud and abrasive drill instructor, more marching, the loud sounds of gunfire at the firing range, navigating through water obstacles, climbing ropes, rappelling down cliffs, more marching, crawling through mud and under barbed wire, cleaning the barracks, and, of course, more marching.

Despite that, I was enjoying my birthday. We had received a squadron pass that allowed us to roam anywhere within our squadron area. While this was somewhat limited, it was a welcome break after two weeks of strict training and regimen.

After completing six weeks of basic training, I was sent to Biloxi, Mississippi, to receive training in Electronic Countermeasures (ECM). I was eager to begin my formal education in electronics, but it would take a couple of months before my classes commenced. Most of my squadron spent their time raking sand, picking up cigarette butts, mowing grass, painting rocks, or peeling potatoes. Luckily, they needed a volunteer to assist in the Base Library, and my experience at the Cincinnati Public Library helped me secure the job. The library was a pleasant duty, clean and air-conditioned.

As is typical in libraries, all the books were organized by Dewey Decimal number. However, I noticed that many foreign students training in Biloxi struggled to find books on specific topics. I suggested to the librarian that it might be easier for them if the library were organized by departments, similar to the Cincinnati library where I had worked. I explained the system to her, and she agreed it could be a good idea.

The librarian and her husband were going on vacation, and she allowed me to implement the changes while she was away. I felt honored by her trust and reorganized the library into departments such as History, Business, Science, Arts, etc. When she returned, she was so impressed that she invited several Base officials to see the new library. Her husband, a colonel, liked it so much that he encouraged me to abandon my dream of electronics school, promising a great career in the military. Perhaps I should have taken his advice; one never knows.

When classes finally began, I was learning basic electronics, but it was not significantly more advanced than what I had learned to obtain my Ham Radio license. The equipment involved powerful transmitters that created "white noise" in the radar frequencies. These "S" and "X" band transmitters were utilized to protect aircraft from radar detection and guided missiles. Both bands utilized similar antennas (possibly resembling the "shark-fin" antennas found on modern cars). The ultra-high frequency "X" band signal (8-12 GHz) traveled from the transmitter to the antenna through a waveguide instead of a cable.

There was a rumor that the Air Force sometimes selected a top graduate from one of the classes to teach in Biloxi. I enjoyed Biloxi with its sunny beaches and nightclubs, so I studied diligently and achieved a grade of 98 out of 100, hoping to be assigned as a teacher in Biloxi. However, no one from my class remained in Biloxi, and I was assigned to Plattsburgh AFB in northern New York, about 60 miles south of the Canadian border.

Plattsburgh was a Strategic Air Command (SAC) base and home to the 380th Bomb Wing. The base housed B-47 bombers and a squadron of KC-97 refueling tankers. The B-47 was the world's first swept-wing bomber, requiring outrigger landing gear due to its thin wings. When loaded with bombs and two 1,700-gallon wing fuel pods, a JATO rack (Jet Assisted Takeoff) located behind the rear landing gear provided the extra boost needed for takeoff.

I was responsible for ECM maintenance on the B-47s. Each aircraft had five ECM transmitters controlled by the co-pilot, as well as two chaff dispensers, one on each side of the plane. Chaff consists of tiny metal strips and small reels of metal "tape" that can be released in large quantities, creating a "metallic cloud" to confuse enemy radar and missiles. The metal tape could also fall across power lines on the ground, causing short circuits and power outages.

Winters in Plattsburgh were harsh, and I worked outside on the flight line, where I learned all about snow measured in feet rather than inches and wind-chill factors. A chill factor of 5 equated to about 70° below zero! Exposed skin could freeze within a minute at that temperature. During my time in Plattsburgh, we were called off the flight line twice due to a chill factor of 5. If you owned a car, you brought your battery inside at night. If you left a six-pack of beer in your car overnight, you would find broken bottles in the morning. You would also be grateful for the ropes installed along the sidewalks to help pull yourself along against the wind and blinding snow.

There were eight B-47s on our base that were "always on alert." These alert planes were loaded with nuclear bombs, tail gun turrets, ammunition, and wartime countermeasures. The pilot, co-pilot, and navigator of each B-47 remained stationed in an underground bunker. On October 16, 1962, the Cuban Missile Crisis unfolded. A U-2 flight confirmed that Soviet premier Nikita Khrushchev had placed medium-range nuclear missiles in Cuba. Our alert planes were immediately deployed. We scrambled to load nuclear weapons, install tail guns, ammunition, and wartime ECM on every flyable B-47 at our base.

We remained on alert through Thanksgiving that year while communications between the White House and the Kremlin kept the world on the brink of potential nuclear war. With no planes to fly or work on, we spent our 12-hour shifts watching black and white WWII films narrated by Walter Cronkite. By November 20, 1962, Khrushchev announced that Soviet missiles would be dismantled and removed from Cuba, along with the Soviet IL–28 bombers.

The United States lifted its naval blockade, and our bombers began returning to base. Two significant outcomes emerged from this crisis: a direct telephone link between the White House and the Kremlin was established, known as the Red Phone, and the two superpowers, Russia and the U.S., began to reconsider the nuclear arms race, taking initial steps toward agreeing to a nuclear Test Ban Treaty.

During the alert, I missed the enjoyable nights spent dancing at Brodie's Bar, the girl I had just started dating, and the invitation for a home-cooked Thanksgiving dinner with her parents. I never imagined that by the following November, that girl would become my wife, and by the November after that, I would be a "Dad."

Despite inventing a device that halved our job time on the flight line, I never achieved the rank of Sergeant. There was a Take-off Priority (TOP) situation when a countermeasures transmitter malfunctioned. I needed a new transmitter, and while I was installing it, the B-47 began taxiing toward the runway. I extended my foot out of the back of the B-47, hoping the tower would notice and prevent the plane from taking off. I was securing the last safety wire clamp when the plane's engines revved up for takeoff. I dropped down from the well, closed and locked the access door, and ran off the runway through the jet blast as the plane sped down the runway.

The plane made its takeoff time for its training mission but ended up with poor countermeasures scores. In my rush to exit the aircraft, I had forgotten to turn the new transmitter ON! The base CO wanted to demote me to Airman 2nd Class. However, just two weeks earlier, a plane had received poor countermeasures scores because the co-pilot had "forgotten to turn his jammers on." (The crews referred to our equipment as "jammers.") My commander saved me from demotion, stating he would not bust me unless they also demoted that co-pilot. I was not demoted, but I also did not achieve the rank of Sergeant.

  When I enlisted in the Air Force, I received training in ECM (Electronic Counter Measures). After completing my training in Biloxi, I was assigned to Plattsburgh AFB in upstate NY, where I became proficient in B-47 ECM transmitters and systems.

While stationed in Plattsburgh, I got married and welcomed our first son. My wife insisted that we would return to civilian life when my enlistment ended. I sent out resumes to electronic companies in NY and PA.

American Electronics Labs (AEL) in Lansdale, PA, was one of the companies that responded to my resume. AEL specializes in designing and manufacturing ECM transmitters and radar-warning receiver systems, as well as providing engineering and modification services for military and commercial aircraft, alongside advanced antenna and integrated circuit components. My interview with them felt like a great opportunity.

The company had an Army contract to install ALT-7 S-band (2-4 GHz) transmitters into M-113 armored Personnel Carriers (APCs) for use in Vietnam. I was an expert on ALT-7 transmitters in the Air Force and could even rebuild the magnetrons of these transmitters. No one at AEL knew how to operate the transmitters.

I was brought on board in the Systems Department, and after getting the transmitters operational, my role was to test and troubleshoot the entire system once all the equipment was installed and interconnected in the tanks. Initially, the project only involved tanks. However, before the military contract concluded, the Army realized that jamming radar signals was not as crucial as the need to jam communications against guerrilla and Liberation Army units in Vietnam.

Within a year, a new contract was established with the Army. AEL had created a compact, cutting-edge ECM system that could be mounted on Jeeps for mobility. The system comprised receivers, transmitters, spectrum analyzers, and a random Morse Code generator (which I helped design). The equipment was connected through a complex network of cables and installed in a "pod" that sat above the rear seats of the Jeep. A telescoping antenna could be mounted on the front bumper and raised into position in just a few minutes.

Once everything was installed in the pod and mounted on the Jeep, it looked very impressive, especially when the trailer with a "jet engine" generator that powered the system was attached. The Army took great pride in their new system. When several NATO nations organized a conference in Anzio, Italy, to showcase their best electronic warfare equipment, the US Army chose to demonstrate its new ECM system designed and manufactured by AEL.

As a leading systems technician, I was selected to support the demonstration in Anzio. The system was complex, and I needed to bring enough test equipment to address any potential failures. I flew directly to Rome, Italy, while the Jeep with its electronics, trailer, and generator were shipped to Florence, Italy. However, it took weeks for the equipment to finally arrive in Florence and be transported to Anzio.

When the Jeep and trailer with the jet engine generator finally reached the Anzio Base, an immediate issue was identified. The jet generator required "jet fuel," and the only source was the Rome airport, an hour away. A group of soldiers was tasked with going to Rome for the fuel. On the day of the demonstration, everything functioned flawlessly, impressing the audience.

However, the U.S. Army Lieutenant in charge of our demonstration was disappointed. He thought it would be amusing to grill a hot dog or roast a marshmallow in the jet blast of our generator, but his idea fell flat when I couldn't find hot dogs and realized it's impossible to describe a marshmallow.

The following year, AEL secured another Army contract. This time, it was to install ten of the "Jeep systems" in two airplanes, with five systems in each aircraft. The installation, testing, and training occurred near Phoenix, Arizona. Numerous issues arose, ranging from operators experiencing motion sickness to units shutting down when the airplanes banked to the left.

My investigation into that problem revealed that the transmitters were overheating, causing the overheat sensors to shut them down. However, the Boeing engineers contended that the overheat sensors were faulty and shutting the transmitters down due to the plane banking.

The five transmitters generated significant heat, and Boeing had designed an exhaust channel with a powerful fan to expel the heat from the aircraft. After a week of testing, they discovered that when the planes banked, atmospheric pressure outside the airplane would block the exhaust. I was correct; the transmitters were overheating, and the sensors were functioning as intended. Boeing was not pleased and had to redesign their exhaust system. They also had to consider acquiring new tubes for all the transmitters.

The Army had hoped to send me to Vietnam for a year to continue support and training. They offered to triple my salary, tax-free. Although I would have held a civilian rank equivalent to a Colonel, my wife warned me that if I accepted this position, she and the boys would not be there when I returned home.

As a devoted father, I prioritized my family and declined their offer. Meanwhile, I had spent the past six years studying physics and electronic engineering at LaSalle College. Unfortunately, President Richard Nixon had imposed a national wage freeze and suspended all government contracts, dimming my dreams, sacrifices, and hard work for a career in electronic engineering.

  Seifert X-Ray specialized in selling and repairing industrial x-ray equipment and was a well-known name in the Non-Destructive Testing (NDT) sector. After loosing my career with S&S Associates, I embarked on a new, interim position as service manager for Seifert X-Ray.

Seifert X-ray and S&S Associates were located next to each other in a small industrial park in King of Prussia, PA. The only other business in that park was a company related to "bar codes," though no one seemed to understand what bar codes were.

I held the position of CEO at Service in Electronics, a subsidiary of S&S Associates. We boasted the latest office equipment, including a Xerox copier and a FAX machine. Seifert was a small firm with only two employees, so they frequently visited our office to utilize our machines. Over time, Seifert and S&S Associates built a strong relationship. Even Deiter Market's secretary, Gina, had previously worked at S&S.

Deiter Market was the CEO of Seifert X-ray. Although he couldn't match my salary at S&S, he recognized my success and offered me a role as service manager. I was unfamiliar with the x-ray industry. Nevertheless, he believed he could boost his sales by broadening the repairs and maintenance of x-ray equipment beyond just Seifert's products.

The job covered my expenses, but I was accustomed to wearing a suit and tie and working in an office environment. In contrast, servicing industrial x-ray tubes was quite messy, requiring overalls and warehouse work. The x-ray tube was contained in a large tank of dielectric oil. It operated using a high voltage generator that propelled electrons from a cathode to an anode, thereby generating x-rays.

Not only was the equipment messy, but it also posed dangers. An operational x-ray machine is silent, lacking even a faint hum. If you've undergone dental or medical x-rays, you understand the necessary precautions. However, there's a significant difference in the power required to penetrate soft human tissue compared to six inches of solid steel.

The primary beam from an industrial x-ray tube can inflict severe radiation burns, and scatter radiation can lead to health issues, including cancer. During testing, we always lowered an x-ray unit into an underground pit to ensure the primary beam was absorbed by the earth. We had lead shields to protect ourselves from any potential scatter radiation, though we rarely took cover behind them.

One day, while Deiter was out on business, an associate from the medical x-ray field visited. Medical professionals tended to be more cautious about x-rays than we were. I was preparing to test one of our industrial units, so I lowered it into the pit and rolled out the lead shields for him. He brought his Geiger counter, and when I activated the unit, his Geiger counter went wild. I immediately shut the system down.

Upon Deiter's return, we began investigating why x-rays were bouncing around the building off the steel rafters. We eventually discovered that our "pit" was flooded; the water table had risen, and water surrounded our test pit. The x-rays were being reflected by the water instead of being absorbed by the earth. I was unsure how long this had been happening, but I never experienced any side effects.

I have no idea whether Deiter's industrial x-ray repair business was profitable, but I was consistently busy replacing and testing x-ray tubes. Soon, I became quite skilled at my job. I appreciated that all the tools were metric. For instance, if you pick a 3/16" wrench and it's too small, you need a 4/16", which is actually a 1/4" wrench. In metric, if you select a #10 wrench and it’s too small, you simply need a #11. It’s straightforward. I can't understand why this system never gained traction in the US.

While I was at Siefert, the construction of the Alaska Pipeline was underway, leading to a high demand for NDT (Nondestructive Testing) engineers. Each joint and weld of the pipeline needed to be x-rayed. The compensation was outstanding, and Deiter urged me to accompany him for work in Alaska. Nevertheless, the notion never gained traction. I think it was our wives who ultimately put a stop to any intentions for either of us to take jobs in Alaska.

In hindsight, it was likely for the best, as within a year, I received a call from JCPenney in response to a resume I had submitted when SIE closed. They wanted to interview me for the position of Product Service Manager. This was a fantastic opportunity to apply the skills I had honed at SEI. Additionally, it offered a chance for a career with an international company.

During the interview, the JCPenney Regional manager was impressed by my knowledge of the service industry. To be honest, I was surprised by how similar their operations were to the procedures I had established at Service in Electronics. The only new aspect for me was their in-home service, but I knew I could revolutionize their dispatching methods over time.