Offutt AFB, Nebraska 1962 – 1966

Omaha turned out to not be “Awful Airplane Patch” after all. It was a fun city with lots to do. I got involved in bowling pretty heavy and bowled in several leagues every week. Got to be pretty good at it. Also got addicted to golf and played usually on the weekend at the base courses. Especially enjoyed playing at Elmwood in Omaha; short course but fun.

I bought my first car, a used 1954 green Ford, in the summer of 1962 which was a piece of junk. I got rid of it and bought a used 1960 red Ford Falcon. Roamed all over Omaha in it and got to know the city really well. It developed a bad muffler and sounded like a sports car whenever you shifted. Had to be careful going off and on the base to make sure I didn’t get any tickets. It wasn’t a “chick magnet” but I managed to get my share of dates with the local young ladies.

On one of those dates, I really don’t remember her name, she wanted me to go bowling with her to a league she was in in the basement of Sokol Auditorium in South Omaha. It’s important because it’s the night I met my future wife Beverly. I remember the first time I saw her. She was making her approach throwing the ball down the alley. She was wearing red pedal pushers and my first thought was “nice butt” and, when she was walking back, “damn she’s pretty”. I don’t remember how but I managed to get an introduction and her phone number. This was in the fall of 1962 and we got married June 1st, 1963. I guess you could say it was a whirlwind romance. I always believed that I was the one who pursued and won her over. Fast forward 55 years. Bev was in the hospital for some tests. I was visiting her and we were talking with one of the nurses. Bev told her we met and got married in Omaha, etc. Out of the clear blue, she kind of shocked me when she told the nurse that she knew she would marry me the first time she saw me. Bev had never told me that so I guess it was love at first sight for both of us.

After I proposed, we set a date for September but she mentioned one day the she always wanted to be a June bride so we moved it up. Bev had a ton of relatives in Omaha. We always said that we were sure that her mother, aunts, and cousins were counting the days after we got married because they were sure we moved it up because she was pregnant. Fooled ’em! I wonder if the ones who are still alive are still counting. Bev had so many relatives that there seemed to be one wherever we went. One time, I was on a flight back to Omaha after some Air Force training. I was talking to my seat mate and remarked that I married a girl from Omaha and told him her name. He then told me that he knew Bev and her family and the rest of the clan and described where they lived, etc. That’s when I knew I could never screw around during my marriage. I was convinced that, if I did, no matter where I was someone from her family would know.

Bev and her family were Catholic so we had to attend the church’s premarital counseling. It was conducted by Monsignor Barta who was a very old school Catholic priest. At our first meeting, he asked me what religion I was. I told him that I didn’t have a particular religion but that I had been cradle rolled in a Baptist church. He then said “well, as far as the church is concerned, you’re a pagan.” I almost lost it. I wanted to give him a middle finger salute and tell him where he could stick his church. I managed to hold it in and got through it because I didn’t want to embarrass Bev. After we had been married a couple of years, I decided to convert and be baptized as a Catholic. I was not prepared for the reaction of Bev’s mother and her aunts (who were very staunch Catholics). They treated me like I had discovered a cure for cancer. They thought it was a big deal so I went with the flow. Really, the only difference for me personally was that I had to genuflect and cross myself when we went to church.

Bev and I were born in 1940, her in October me in December. So for two months every year I would joke with her about being older and me being seduced my an older woman. When she turned 40, I was of course still 39, I told her that I was going to trade her in for two 20s. Her response, “honey you’re not wired for 220”. It remains one of the best put downs I’ve ever heard.