At 17 years old, I had already been away from home for 2 years. I had no real high school education since I'd dropped out sometime during the 10th grade. I was living with my boyfriend, a Navy man who had done a stint in Vietnam. Chuck was 12 years older than me. I learned things from him that a 15-year-old shouldn't know; and that included how to make a quick buck in order to survive. He didn't just shoot cannons in Vietnam...
Chuck and I had been through hell in an on-again, off-again relationship. I'd somehow managed to briefly marry another guy, Steve, in one of the off-again spaces. I had faced my sexuality by then. Both Chuck and Steve knew about it but they didn't care, including how it might have affected me. I had to live in their world and deal with this oddity on my own.
One day, a few months shy of 18, I was alone, crying and thinking about what a mess my life was when something my mother had said to me years before came to mind. She said, "No matter what, don't ever go into the military, because that's where 'those' kinds of women are..." Those-kinds-of-women... Remembering this, I sat straight up. "That's it! That's what I'll do. I can meet people like me!" Until that moment I was feeling so lost and without hope. I didn't know how I was going to live in a world that didn't work for me. But maybe the military could give me a chance to be someone, to feel normal around others like me.
I was excited when I talked to Chuck about it. He was very supportive when it came to getting a quality education and a solid job. Chuck came from an affluent upper-middle-class family, the kind that lived in a fancy home in Connecticut, flew their own plane, and spent summers yachting with martini-soaked friends at the country club.
He suggested that I try the Air Force. It was the toughest branch to get into other than the Coast Guard. I was briefly disappointed to learn that I'd need a high school diploma in order to join. I was desperate to move on. Chuck and I were basically over but I needed a place to stay. Even though he was a terrible boyfriend, he always took pity on me.
In Florida, you have to be 18 years old before you're allowed to take the GED. Unwilling to wait, I contacted the school board and explained that I wanted to join the military but needed to take the GED. They told me to write a letter asking for an exception, explaining that I had a hardship case. I wrote and sent a letter right away and was surprised and happy to hear back so soon. They said I'd have to take a pre-test to prove my aptitude, and that if I passed, I'd be granted access to the full test. It was one of my better moments in life. I not only passed the pre-test and the regular GED test, but my scores came back unusually high. I was proud and thrilled. The day I boarded the plane to Texas for basic training, I already knew I'd never see Chuck again.
I was like Gomer Pyle in basic training. Not that I was a bumbling idiot or made a lot of mistakes. I was just so damn happy to be there that nothing fazed me, though I did cry the first night there like everyone else. The next morning we all woke to a jarring ruckus that shot us off our beds. Training instructors and other basic trainees that were nearing graduation came charging through the door as if they were going into battle. They were banging on things, yelling, stripping blankets off people, and threatening us with our lives. It was terrifyingly wonderful. Yep, I was the one that got yelled at for grinning. It wasn't a goofy grin, more like a wise grin that said, "I get it, I'm into it." After a nose-to-nose scolding, I was ordered to become a squad leader.
I loved getting up before the sun and doing calisthenics. I loved marching, saluting, and making a perfect bed you could bounce a quarter on. I loved swinging a giant buffer, polishing the floors to an impressive mirror-like sheen. I hated, however, rolling pantyhose into a tight little cylinder that looked like a turd.
Basic training, the precursor to training school, lasted 6 weeks. I made some friends and made out with at least one of them. One friend helped me write a Dear John letter to Chuck. I'd been right that I'd never see him again. Thirty years later I found him online. I was in therapy at the time and needed closure on some unresolved issues that still haunted me about our relationship. To my surprise, he gave me that closure, fully and genuinely. I was finally able to shut the door on a time I wish had never happened.
I feel obligated to reveal the sexual abuse that took place while I was in basic training. We had two male instructors. Neither had ever trained women before being assigned to our flight. They coerced several of us to do favors, or make out with them in exchange for easier treatment as we were getting close to graduation. Three of us committed to reporting them once we got to our training school in Colorado. And we did exactly that. We documented and submitted our experiences. We were called in for questioning but nothing ever became of it. We never heard from anyone after the interviews. Sadly, this is textbook material about the military, but I do hear now that it has finally started to get better—40 years too late.
Training school turned out to be an insanely crazy time. I did not expect things to go so far off the mark but they did. I loved everything about being in the Air Force, but with this new freedom I found, I also found the people my mother warned me about. I found the lesbians. We weren't actually that hard to find. Drugs were also rampant. Cocaine and pot were readily available in 1979, even on the base. I had my own stash of pot but since it was too risky to keep it in my room, I had the wise idea to keep it nearby, outside—stuffed in the engine of one of the old jets that were permanently parked on the lawn in front of the barracks.
I soon learned there were gay bars in Denver. I'd never seen one so when I was invited I jumped at the chance. I'm not sure exactly what happened but it wasn't long before I went AWOL for two or three weeks. I was having way too much fun in town. One night I snuck back on base to get some clothes and my pot from the jet engine. Someone had taken it, damn them!
I was hanging around with some local girls, including an Air Force Reserve named Liz. She really liked me. When she wasn't around I liked another girl, a civilian. I think her name was Roxanne but what I mostly remember was how pretty she was. She was a hefty girl with long brown hair, imperfect teeth, and giant brown eyes. Still AWOL, one day a bunch of us went to the gay pride parade and then to a large park near the state capitol to celebrate. Tits to the wind, we played frisbee all day long. There was no law against going topless in Denver at the time and we took full advantage. It was comical, the number of guys who played frisbee with us that day.
My AWOL adventure needed to end. Liz talked me into going back to base before I got into serious trouble. "Well here comes Onstad," someone shouted as I walked through the glass doors of the barracks. I was immediately put on base restriction. To me, it wasn't so bad. I had roller skates, and when I wasn't on duty I had a blast skating all over the base in shorts and a tank top. Plus, I had friends on base who had cocaine and were happy to share. We'd hide in the stairwells snorting lines chopped out on our military I.D.s.
Eventually my restriction was lifted and I was within a day or so of departing for Spain, my first station assignment. I couldn't believe that I didn't get in more trouble for going AWOL, but as it turned out, I wasn't in the clear. I was all packed and headed for the bus outside when I heard someone say, "You're not going anywhere, Onstad!" I froze and spun around. The next thing I knew I was carted off to a room and ordered inside. Two sergeants and my roommate were there. They started interrogating me, asking me all sorts of questions, then accusing me of stealing from my roommate. She was lying. I hadn't stolen anything from her. Confused and furious, I started to protest in defense. My roommate was then taken out of the room and the two men started coming down on me really hard, even threatening me with a court-martial. I flew into a rage. There was a behemoth metal military desk and chairs in the room. With all my might I shoved that desk across the floor attempting to trap my accusers against the wall so I could run. One of them managed to get out of the way while the other one was trying to squeeze himself loose, yelling that he was going to break me. "No you won't!" I fumed back. I went off the deep end and started throwing chairs at them. "Onstad, Onstad! Stop, stop!" They waved their arms to block the assailing furniture. "We were lying!" Duck. "STOP!" Duck. "We-were-lying!" I stopped, breathless and red with fury, ready to tear someone's head off. "We were testing you, okay," one of them said, heaving his chest. "We needed to see how far we could push you." Then they told me the whole truth...
There was a different assignment, not in Spain, one that required a test of my tolerance and carried a lot of risk. My roommate, as it turned out, was not who she claimed to be. All this time she had been watching me, even when I was AWOL. She was a plant. Now they had my attention. They informed me that I had two options: I could work undercover in plain clothes, or get out. Discharged from the Air Force!
I don't think they gave me but a day or so to think about it, but at 18 years old, I weighed the odds of survival and decided it wasn't worth it. I agreed to be released and received a General under Honorable Conditions discharge. I received two benefits for my service: the ability to apply for a home loan with military discount, and a flag at my burial.
The day I left base for good, one of the two sergeants that had interrogated me stopped me in the foyer. He cruelly dressed me down, and told me that I was good for nothing and would never amount to anything in life. I stared at him for a long time, not saying a word back. I didn't want to believe him, but I feared he might be right.
I left Colorado with my new girlfriend, with plans to move to San Antonio, Texas. Susan was stationed at Lackland Air Force base, the same base where we’d both gone to basic training. We were both from Florida, so we travelled home together to see our parents before heading for Texas. My father was sorely disappointed that I left the Air Force. My mother wasn't as bothered as he was. She'd been worried about me going overseas. Besides, to her, Jesus was coming any day now so it didn't matter.
This might sound odd, especially to those that know me well, but leaving the Air Force is one of my biggest regrets. I took to the military discipline and liked the structure; I was happy, safe and on my own. Several years later Susan arranged to have a recruiter she was friends with come to our place to personally give me a fair hearing. I wanted to know if there was any chance at all that I could re-enlist. I explained all that had happened. I could see that he was thoughtful and sympathetic, and I appreciated his candid response. "I'd have to pull a lot of strings. But more importantly, I want to be honest with you. If you were to get back in, it would not go well for you. You would be treated terribly for a long time and I'm not sure it would be worth it." It hurt like hell, hearing that. I really wanted to try, but from the look on his face, I decided it was probably best just to let it go.
I do my best not to carry regrets anymore but this one has stayed with me. I was only in the Air Force for a total of 6 months. Even now, with my politics being what they are, and even though I hate that we are the bullies of the world, I cannot say that I am anti-military. It still tugs at my heart.
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