Nighthawk: A Young Airman’S Tour at Clark Air Base

By Bill Bowers and Sandee Hart

During his senior year in high school, author Bill Bowers needed to make some tough decisions about his life path. At seventeen, he made a commitment to join the Air Force. On October 5, 1984, he began his military career.

In Nighthawk A Young Airmans Tour at Clark Air Base, he recounts his coming of age in the 1980s while stationed at Clark Air Base in the Philippines. Through a series of vignettes centered on the antics and comedic misadventures of a young airmans first tour of duty, this memoir offers a mirror of who we are as individuals. It shares real-life stories that explore the ups and downs of service in the military, the culture and economy of the Philippines, and the actions of a bunch of kids tossed onto an island paradise.

Nighthawk A Young Airmans Tour at Clark Air Base focuses on a self-proclaimed screw-up with a moral compass that often causes conflict. It tells how an eighteen-year-old kid fresh out of high school became a man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: May 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781480844605

Bill Bowers

Bill Bowers is an American Air Force veteran of Operation Desert Shield/Storm and co-founder of the 3rd SPG Veterans Foundation. When he is not writing, he can be found on the baseball field or spending time with his children and grandchildren.

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Copyright © 2017 Bill Bowers and Sandee Hart.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-4461-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-4544-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-4460-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017905680

Archway Publishing rev. date: 04/24/2017

Contents

Foreword

Preface

Introduction

Chapter 1   All - American Kid

Chapter 2   Boy to Airmen

Chapter 3   Security Police Training and ABGD

Chapter 4   Welcome to Clark Air Base

Chapter 5   First Night in Paradise

Chapter 6   Already in Trouble

Chapter 7   Orientation

Chapter 8   Learning the Ropes

Chapter 9   Not A Good Idea Mr. Flight Chief

Chapter 10   Kicking Smurf’s Ass

Chapter 11   Shape Up and Fly Right

Chapter 12   A Ghostly Encounter

Chapter 13   Super Typhoon Dot

Chapter 14   Surviving Year One

Chapter 15   The People’s Power Revolution

Chapter 16   Olongapo

Chapter 17   Ripping Off American GI’s

Chapter 18   Surf’s Up

Chapter 19   Nipa Hut: The Legend, The Lure, The Experience

Chapter 20   The Valley

Chapter 21   Midnight Shift at Security 12

Chapter 22   Goodbye Nanette

Chapter 23   The Misadventures of the K-9 Kid

Chapter 24   Just Another Full Moon

Chapter 25   Leaving Clark

Chapter 26   Looking Back

Afterward

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my parents, Jim and Flo Bowers. Without your love, support and dedication to our family, none of this would have been possible. Thank you for conceiving me, and having the patience to share the burden God placed on you, when I was placed into your arms. He knew you were the only ones who could survive me. If I can be a fraction of the person that each of you has been, my life will have been a success.

Acknowledgements

My parents for your love, encouragement and guidance throughout my life and your patience and determination in making me the man I am today.

Sandee Hart for your unwavering faith and dedication in seeing me through this from beginning to end. My debt of gratitude to you can never be fully repaid. Thank you for never giving up and your relentless commitment to seeing this through.

My brothers and sister Jimmy, Carolyn and Sean for your love and support and reluctantly admitting that we are related.

My children Christine and Billy for teaching me that being a parent is the most rewarding experience a father can be a part of.

My Nighthawk brothers and sisters who showed a young airman that blood is not the defining factor to make someone family.

Michael Pollot, Robert Kirkman, Jerome Fowler, Kevin Fiske, Kevin Kamp, Robert (Smoke) Holland, Buddy Harmon, Sam (Boogie D) Davison and Keith Green - you airmen made this book possible. I am honored to call you all brother.

Officer Robert Scott Gray, who was stabbed in the chest on January 6, 1978. Gray was stabbed as he attempted to apprehend trespassers at the Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines. Officer Gray had been assigned to the 3rd Security Police Squadron.

Airman First Class Steven M. Faust, who was on his way to work as a Security Policeman at Clark Air Base, on October 28th, 1987. He was targeted and gunned down by Philippine Terrorists. A1C Faust had been assigned to Clark Air Base since February 20th, 1986 and worked as a Law Enforcement Specialist and K-9 handler. A1C Faust is from Pasadena, Texas.

All military veterans past, present and future. Thank you for keeping America free.

Foreword

Writing this book with Bill to help him recreate the moments of his life has been something that has changed my life. The admiration and respect I have for him as a man, a father, a son and a friend is immeasurable. His comedic demeanor and off -the- cuff remarks kept me on my toes, while also bringing about infectious laughter. He never missed an opportunity to use humor and his charm to shift my mood on days when nothing went right. Bill truly can turn the worst day of your life into the best.

Closely working with someone offers a unique opportunity to see the raw truths usually hidden from the rest of the world. You develop a bond from the trust and intimacy that grows from empathy, understanding, and compassion. You realize that as you bring the past to the present - your journeys are similar. It was not a profound revelation; however, it was an important connection. The fear of putting all our cards on the table seemed to be something we were both afraid of. But instead of letting that fear paralyze us, we used it as motivation to see the project through.

For me, I had spent years suffocating in the shame and guilt of my mistakes. I had built a wall around myself with the stones of betrayal, anger and hurt. There was a wounded heart no one would ever see, especially not Bill. But, somewhere along the way, writing with Bill became very therapeutic for me. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by my emotional obstacles, I began to feel strength and empowerment. I began to feel in control of my own life- something I had never experienced before. Suddenly, I stopped judging myself and began to believe in my abilities. I began to see the value in me. It was a long overdue welcomed surprise.

For Bill, he wasn’t really afraid of much, but he carefully guarded his emotions in his writing. His heart remained under lock and key, and there were times when it felt as though he was sending mixed signals by being mysteriously distant. This is not to say that he was evasive, made excuses, or was inept when talking about feelings – he was just indifferent. Ordinarily, I would just let it go, and I did at first- until I needed to find that key to help him tell his story.

Once we got focused, the story began to unfold seamlessly. To my surprise, I saw a little boy who knew no limits. He had big dreams, but his strong exterior shell was afraid to embrace the potential. Then, I saw that little boy made mistakes, but rather than let the mistakes control his life, he used them as a resource. Bill is proof that making mistakes do not mean you have totally failed, or that you have little or no idea about what you are doing. Mistakes never discouraged Bill, but rather taught him how to reflect and regroup to achieve nothing short of his best.

Next, I got to see the little boy hit his teen years, which is when I first met Bill. His unwavering charm won over the ladies and his willingness to accept any challenge impressed the guys. He had this way of looking at something reckless or dangerous and he immediately summoned either a tremendous amount of confidence, or sheer stupidity, that motivated him to give it a shot. As you read the story, you will see that these things stay with Bill. And if I am being honest, they are still there.

The biggest challenge came when we got to a place in the story where Bill’s heart was going to be exposed for the whole world to see, or not. Shit, the time had come to locate that key. I knew we had built a trust; but trust wasn’t enough to get through that wall. What Bill didn’t know, was that I had a similar wall. Hell, mine was made of concrete. But, since I had already learned that Bill rose to the occasion when challenged, I made the commitment to swing hard to make contact. Surprisingly, it worked and luckily for me, I hit a homerun.

With the wall crumbling, I saw inside the heart of man that was genuine. His love runs deep for his family, his friends and his country. In seeing his heart, you see why he is driven, passionate and committed. I often joke that Bill draws people in like a magnet. You meet him and just want to sit down and have a beer and talk about life. It is in those conversations that you learn that Bill has this amazing ability to impart his passion and confidence onto the people around him, including complete strangers

As you read this book, you will feel like you have known Bill your whole life. You will also find yourself learning some of life’s most valuable lessons. Bill taught me how to believe in myself, as much as I believe in him and this book. His always expecting the best, reigned in my the worst is inevitable. However, the best lesson I received from Bill was, Shit happens, but you have the freedom to decide what comes next. This story is a testament to doing what you love, never backing down, always taking a chance and realizing that in doing so- you have the potential to inspire others.

Sandee Hart

Preface

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said You don’t write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say.

For most of my adult life, I shared the stories and memories of my time at Clark Air Base with anyone who would listen. I’ve had friends and colleagues along the way ask: how come you haven’t written a book about your adventures? My standard response: I am not a writer

The more people that asked me about writing a book - the more I considered it. But, I kept telling myself that no one would read it. Sure, every time I would reflect on my past, I’d realize how unbelievably funny some of the things I did were; but, maybe they were just funny to me. Maybe, the people I told the stories to were just being nice.

Then, out of the blue, I had the ah ha moment of inspiration at one of our 3rd SPG reunions as I listened to everyone reminisce. I realized our stories connected us to one another. By sharing our memories, it became clear that those memories were part of who we were as individuals, and part of how we were part of something more. By sharing pieces of ourselves, a glimpse into our thoughts, experiences and feelings- we formed a bond. That bond is often hard to put into words to those who have not served. This book became my way to show that bond.

Being a bit of a procrastinator, it took another ten months for me to convince myself that I could put the pen to paper and write something people would want to read. But, with each passing day, the desire to write intensified. Then, it happened, the story started pouring out and eighteen months later, a book was produced.

There were about a thousand rough drafts, multiple consultations with Sandee, my writing partner and coach, and the realization that writing a book is harder than it seems. I realized as I wrote the book that just as we are constantly changing, so was the way I looked at the memories. I found that each story has life lessons that I could share.

This story doesn’t just say what happened, it says why it was important, what it meant to me and how it shaped my future. These are the stories that kept me on track when life crept up and threw a curve ball.

On a higher scale, I wrote this book because in today’s world, the American military is exotic territory to most of the American public. Many don’t see the point of voluntarily signing up to serve our country. But what the average person misses is that if you sign up for the military, your life takes on new meaning and purpose.

I wanted to show people that along the way we face strange trials and tribulations that are necessary to grow into an adult. Becoming an adult doesn’t always follow a straight path, or necessarily finish by any given age. Becoming an adult is a lifelong process that leaves all of us with an ongoing effort to become ourselves.

The fast-paced, conversational style I used to write captures the reality of each situation that occurred. It’s easily accessible to those who don’t know much about the military or Clark Air Base. The chapters are real-life stories that explore the ups and downs of service in the military, the culture and economy of the Philippines and the antics of a bunch of kids tossed onto an island paradise.

My appreciation of the Filipino people, and my respect for their resiliency continues today. I have never met people that show such a level of genuine hospitality. The heartwarming generosity and friendliness exhibited to foreigners and locals alike, was uplifting. The Filipino people went out of their way to make me feel comfortable. I learned that living in a third world country, even for a short period, I grew grateful for everything America has to offer to her citizens.

I will warn you in advance that mixed in with the humor and our misguided choices there are a few stories that may scare or appall you. I just want you to keep in mind the events occurred over thirty years ago, and most of us were fresh out of high school.

While I do want to return to the islands that played a major role in my life, I must remind myself that although it was home, a lot has changed in thirty years. However, I remain convinced the Filipino people are still some of the best in the world.

The process of writing a book — of looking back, and looking forward — has been challenging, but also rewarding. It’s been fun work. It’s been exciting work. But it was work, and it took time and energy. Writing this book meant I had to become more disciplined about sticking to a daily routine- it was a lot like being back in the Air Force.

Writing this book taught me that we have dreams for one reason—to provide us a way to become more. When our dreams come true, more is required of us, not less. This is how we become better people—people who are in a better position to share our gifts with the world, and to help others do the same.

Introduction

The warmth of the sun crept through my window alerting my ass to get the hell out of bed. I rubbed the residual fog from my eyes, stretched out my arms and headed to the bathroom. I was immediately greeted by a grinning earlier version of myself staring at me from the mirror. I saw a clean-shaven, vulnerable kid ready to become a man. I stared at the image for a few moments as a strange sensation moved through my body. It seemed that the dawn had broken the chains holding distant memories hostage.

I splashed some water on my face, blinked a few times, and I was back to the present complete with every wrinkle and line that had accumulated over time. I stared at that image for a few seconds before realizing something had changed; something mentally, not physically. I had felt stagnant, stale and almost paralyzed for the past few years. I worked hard, raised my family, and owned my home; but part of me felt empty. Most of the time, I rolled it off to overthinking things, but this self-examination was different. It was weird, and those of you who have been there can understand. Something was missing or didn’t quite fit right.

At that moment, my life began to flash before my eyes. I was five and jumping in puddles after the rain. I was ten and on the baseball field. I was fifteen and kissing a girl. I was eighteen and leaving home for the first time. Oh shit, am I about to die? What the hell was in that drink last night? Wait a second, I didn’t drink last night. I jumped in the shower to try to decipher the puzzle forming in my mind.

The water pounded on my head as I tried to make some sense of the feelings of uncertainty. A few minutes passed and I was out of the shower, threw on my clothes and hurried downstairs. I opened my laptop and I began typing words into a document. Those words quickly became sentences and those sentences became paragraphs. Before I knew what was happening, I was staring at the first chapter of my life.

Out of nowhere, I realized that what had been missing in my life wasn’t missing at all. I had just been suppressing the calling to my soul to tell my story. My mind had been filled with words that had no meaning until I sat down and let them flow naturally from my heart. My life, although far from exciting, has been a journey to collect stories. From as far back as I can remember, I would do anything for a good story or experience. As a matter of fact, my life has been unconventional, and as you will learn, I had a knack for not always choosing the best path. But, all my choices have always led to a deeper understanding of what it means to be human. And, funny enough, that is exactly what you’re about to find out.

1

All - American Kid

I grew up in a red-brick row home with wrought- iron railings enclosing the steps leading to the front door. We lived in an all-American neighborhood in Upper Darby, Pennsylvania. Our neighbors were like family; everyone looked out for one another. The neighborhood parents were not only committed to keeping the kids out of real trouble; but also, had a strong resolve to keep the neighborhood safe. If one kid messed up, the parents who witnessed the mishap took it upon themselves to chew you out and then deliver you to your parents. I remember thinking there was some sort of secret pact between the parents. The second unacceptable behavior happened like a fist fight or disrespect to an adult, there were immediate consequences. Then, the second you barreled into your own house, there was no concept of double jeopardy; punishment number two was dished out.

Back then, most neighborhoods didn’t rely on the police to prevent kids from getting into trouble; that was the job of your parents and your neighbors. It was a simpler time when respect was taught at home and parents never tolerated excuses. You took responsibility for your actions and you knew nothing would be simply handed to you on a silver platter. Money had been tight, but that was never a discussion with kids. We never expected things unless they were a necessity.

Big holidays like Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Memorial Day, and the Fourth of July were family gatherings, complete with grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. As a child, I was expected to be on my best behavior and instructed to play nice. Things were much different than today, parents spanked their children. It was an accepted form of discipline, and to be honest, it worked. Our parents were not our best friends, they were individuals who deserved our respect. We were not coddled; we were taught independence. There was nothing wrong with walking to the park alone. There was nothing wrong with sending a child to bed without dinner as punishment. Discipline started at home so when we entered the world of school, we knew the difference between right and wrong. Discipline taught us about clear boundaries and the consequences for breaking rules.

I didn’t grow up in the Norman Rockwell ideal portrait of a family, instead, I grew up in the Bowers portrait of a family. There were mistakes and lots of boundaries pushed, but that is part of every family. Hell, that is part of growing up. Respect was the Holy Grail of our family. There was respect at all times for my parents and my siblings. We all tried to be considerate of each other’s opinions and feeling. The key word being tried. Like I said, we weren’t the ideal vision of a family, but we were always embraced by an unconditional love for one another.

I was one of four children born to my parents, James and Florence. Third in line behind my brother James, sister Carolyn and four years ahead of the youngest of the family, Sean. My father was a reliable, hardworking man repairing old-school mimeograph machines for A.B. Dick. Those machines required typing or drawing on special 3-layered sheets that were then put in a machine on a rotating drum that pressed ink through it. Back in the day, kids would immediately bring fresh copies to their nose for a sniff. Not for a buzz; simply for the smell. Working with those machines daily cost my dad his sense of smell.

My mother was the quintessential American mom of the seventies and eighties. She stayed at home to make sure the house was clean and that our bellies were full. However, when I think back, I can see that she had a daunting task – keeping me out of trouble. Whenever she reminisces about me growing up, her memories are often about how all the kids in the neighborhood would knock on our door