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By Bonnie Bartel Latino

Columnist

When Tom returned to Guam from his TDY (temporary duty) to Taiwan, I gave him the upsetting medical news I had learned during his absence. He was disappointed, but ever my source of strength, he opted not to dwell on the possibility we might be childless. We were in no position to have a baby now anyway. We didn’t speak of it often, but it was never far from our minds. Tom Latino would have been a stupendous daddy.
One of the first things we did together at Andersen Air Force Base after I arrived was attend a 1958 Communications Squadron softball game. Tom’s commander – Major X – seated at the end of the top row of bleachers in our section, suddenly just toppled off the side of the bleachers. Tom had mentioned that Major X was known to enjoy beer in his off-duty time. Everyone who saw it happened laughed after being assured only his pride had been injured. He quickly left the ball field afterwards.
My intent is not to cast shade on Air Force leaders, but to show that all kinds of people make up the patriotic community known globally as the U.S. military. Some are just more imperfect than most.
From all I heard, Major X was personable and well-liked by everyone. His family was from Mobile. The couple had two adorable little girls. Soon after his memorable fall, Major X and his wife invited us to join him them, Capt. Duane Leach and Capt. Bill Belote and their wives at dinner in the Officers Club soon after his “fall.” We enjoyed their company, the food and drinks, and the fabulous house band, The Dropouts, from the Philippines, who made the O’Club the most happening place on the island. As the night progressed, Major X dozed off several times during dinner. We all pretended not to notice … until he began to snore, and his wife poked his elbow, which fell off the table. He snapped awake as if at attention, grabbed his knife and fork and began cutting into his empty lobster shell. Awkward. We soon said good night, paid our checks, and walked to our cars with the Leaches and Belotes.
However, before dawn the following morning, Tom received a call from Capt. Leach. I heard Tom exclaim “Wow! What happened?” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and listened intently. The second he hung up, I screeched, “What?”
With sad eyes, Tom shook his head as if to say he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. About 2 a.m. Major X had received a call at home from the 1958th night duty officer, who said a piece of comm maintenance equipment had some technical difficulty on the runway. Instead of calling his chief of maintenance, Capt. Belote, and sending him to the flightline, Major X went himself. I winced, guessing he was in no shape to go.
Tom further explained that soon after that, an air traffic controller had cleared a B-52 for takeoff. The pilot replied, “I’m not going anywhere until the POV (privately owned vehicle) moves from beneath my wing.” The tower called security police. They arrived within minutes and removed Major X and his vehicle from the runway. Apparently his Air Force career ended before America’s day even began on Guam. We never saw him or his family again.
Until the new commander arrived, Capt. Leach was made interim commander. He was smart and athletic, yet serious-minded. He was an all-around good guy. The 1958th’s four junior officers and the entire squadron were determined to make the 1958th and Capt. Leach look good. They achieved both.
Soon after that, Tom came home from work with a letter for me from the Officers Wives Club (OWC) president, a woman I hadn’t yet met. We sat at our breakfast table within our small kitchen as I scanned the letter. Tom asked what it said. “Something that feels downright other-worldly.” Tom rolled his hands as if to say, go-on.
“She said, ‘Gen. C’s wife at March AFB had given her my name as a ‘young woman, who is a tireless volunteer, a hard-worker, and a strong sense of fair play, who would be an excellent addition to Andersen’s OWC Executive Board’.”
“You know it is, Twit. This is absurd!” Being active in the OWC now was the last thing I wanted to do. That situation had left me thinking Guam might be a good place for me to get a real job. I placed the letter back inside the envelope and left it atop the table.
“She gave me her number and asked me to call to discuss what position on the board I might be interested in.” Tom’s big brown eyes smiled warmly at me. As always he had my back. He knew I was soon to start an entry-level clerk-typist job at the base library. It was only part-time, but I hoped soon to find either a second part-time job or a full-time Civil Service position.
Either way those jobs would allow me to spend far less time alone in our jungle bungalow, as we had nicknamed our rental house. It would also provide me with a good reason to be inactive in OWC. Of course, I would be actively involved with the1958th when needed.
Tom and I should have suspected Mrs. C’s epistle of high praise probably came with an ulterior motive. We would not have long to wait before her plan materialized, and I had a daunting task. Several, in fact.
Women! They never ceased to amaze me.