Naval Reserve Officer

By Thomas J. Caulfield

Caulfield was inducted into the US Navy. The next twenty-four years of his life would take this young cadet from flight school in Pensacola, Florida, to a long and honorable career as a pilot and reserve officer. Traversing both the skies and seas between, Captain Caulfields life would also be about navigating and managing the twin and sometimes competing demands of military and civilian life.

In Naval Reserve Officer, author Thomas J. Caulfield provides a compelling window into the life of a naval reserve officer, and he shares what it means to be a reserve officer who needs to juggle two careersand carry them off in a competent fashion! Those interested in becoming military reserve officers should find Naval Reserve Officer enlightening as well as valuable, as Caulfield provides details about not only his military career but also his civilian career as a teacher, counselor, and professor.

Whether it was hunting submarines over the Atlantic in a P2V patrol aircraft, navigating family life and a career in education, or rededicating himself to the US Navy as part of the reserves, Captain Caulfields experiences speak to a life of responsibility, commitment, and service to both country and family. Join him from the beginning and see what it takes to find success as a reservist, educator, and husband.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Jun 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781489711045

Thomas J. Caulfield

Thomas J. Caulfield joined the US Navy in 1955, and he served as a naval aviator at NAS Brunswick, Maine. Following his active duty flying a P2V patrol bomber, he became a Ready Reservist while simultaneously conducting his career in education as a teacher, guidance counselor, and college professor. He is now retired and a professor emeritus at Canisius College, and he lives in both New York and Florida.

Book preview

BEFORE THE NAVY

T his is the story of one naval officer’s career in the United States Naval Reserves. To be a naval reserve officer means you must manage at least two very demanding careers simultaneously. That is, your Navy career and your civilian career. Not an easy task. The tendency is to let one career slip while focusing on the other. Over the years I met a number of very capable people who were simply not able to pull it off. They usually had to discontinue in one career or the other.

Before joining the Navy, I was typical in that I had only a passing acquaintance of what the military lifestyle was all about. My dad had served in the Navy during World War I as a pharmacist’s mate second class (a corpsman in today’s parlance), and he was very active in the American Legion. So, over the years, I heard of many antics pulled off by young military, usually enlisted guys. Invariably there was humor and pride as part of the stories. My overall impression of the military was that it wasn’t all that bad, but I certainly had no firsthand knowledge of its intricacies.

I was a Boy Scout and an Explorer Scout (needing only two more merit badges for Eagle Scout). But before I accomplished that task, I was distracted by sports, girls, and other matters in high school and college. I attended a parochial grade school, a parochial high school, and a Jesuit college by name of Canisius College in Buffalo, NY. I also attended one year of law school before entering the service. I had no flying experience, except once when my dad bought an hour’s sight-seeing flight for my two sisters and me over Buffalo in a single engine Cessna. Other than that, I knew nothing about airplanes, except that I had made numerous model airplanes and dreamed of flying just like most guys my age.

Anyway, I had a good time writing this story, this sharing of my experiences. I hope you derive some pleasure in the reading. And, if you are contemplating joining the reserves, perhaps my experiences will be of some help to you as you decide…

INDUCTION INTO THE NAVY

T he Oblates of Mary Immaculate who taught at Holy Angels Collegiate Institute, my high school, included several who had served in the military during World War II. Father Walsh, our history teacher, let us in on the secret that Father Krump, our third-year Latin teacher, had served in the Army and was decorated for many acts of bravery. Not only did Father Krump have a Purple Heart, he also had numerous bronze stars for bravery. We held Father Krump in very high regard, not that we did not respect the others, but Father Krump had a stature that was most impressive.

By the time I started college, the Korean War was in the offing. The draft was in effect. As a matter of fact the draft had been in effect since before WW II. All men had to register for the draft and all males knew they would be spending some time in the military, unless they were exempted. An exemption meant you were either 4-F (medically unfit for service) or you were married with children. (Some guys actually got married and had children to stave off the military, hard to believe, but true), or you received an administrative discharge (meaning you were unfit for service for a wide variety of reasons, usually because you couldn’t handle taking orders.) Oh yes, there was another category, that of conscientious objector, which meant you didn’t have to serve because of religious reasons, usually a complex belief system. In my case, in order to stay in college, we all had to take the Selective Service examination and receive a student deferment.

When I was a senior, about to graduate from high school, I was finally accepted by Canisius College. My dad asked that I investigate the military as an option to going to college. His point was that if I went into the Army, for instance, and served two or more years, then the GI Bill would pay for my education. So I did as he suggested and went down to the Navy recruiter and inquired about enlisting. The recruiter told me that if I was in college I should stay there. That the military would draft me soon enough after I completed college, but then I would qualify for a commission as an officer and that I would be much more valuable to the Navy in that capacity. So, after receiving a passing score on the college qualification tests, I accepted my student deferment and proceeded with my college education. Though there was some tension between dad and me about my not serving first and using the GI Bill, dad bit the bullet and paid my tuition.

Another reason that weighed heavily on my decision to not go the GI Bill route for college was my fear of what might transgress should I go into the Army first. That is, my fear of meeting some fair damsel, getting married, having children and never being able to fulfill the dream of being a college graduate. I believe I shared this with my dad and that’s also why he backed away somewhat from insisting on his option being followed.

A rather unpleasant incident occurred during my college years which weighed on my later decisions. A grade school friend named Bill had entered the Marines right out of high school, fought in Korea, and was wounded. One night while I was doing the college social thing, I was at the Scottish Society, a private social club and bar, with some college friends. We were there for a short while when Bill showed up surprisingly. I hadn’t seen him in years but had heard from friends about his injury in Korea. Bill limped over to the bar and moved in right next to me. He had been drinking and was somewhat under the influence of alcohol. He was not pleasant and let me know that he was upset. His words were something like, Well, how’s the college boy, you freaking draft dodger!

I was stunned, more so because Bill and I had been pretty good friends in grade school. But he was one angry person who looked like a bulldog ready to attack. He had the look of a killer, so help me God! And, with his Marine training there was little doubt in my mind that he would have wiped the floor with me. At that moment, I could feel my adrenalin begin to course through my body. I was getting ready for fight or flight; I didn’t know which would prevail. I looked Bill in the eye and said something; I have no recollection of what it was. But if faced with that same situation today, I would have said something like, Bill, I know you’ve been through a lot, and I want you to know I respect very much all you’ve done for our country. I’m really sorry you got hurt over there in Korea. I will be going into the service, eventually. You know we all have to serve; it’s just not my time yet. I’ll be going in and I wonder if you would advise me of which service I should go into when it’s time. Should I join the Marines?

I’m sure I didn’t say that, but I did say something. What I do recall is that Bill just looked at me, growled something under his breath, shrugged his shoulders, and walked away. That incident stayed with me for years and weighed on my mind. Actually, it still weighs. Bill did eventually go to college, paid for by the veteran’s option. He had a nice career as a Veterans Administration career counselor. I did go to his funeral service years later. I guess I was still trying to purge myself of guilt. feelings over not serving during wartime.

Well, after graduating from college, I qualified for entrance to the University of Buffalo School of Law. I also became employed as a firefighter with the Buffalo Fire Department. This arrangement extended my student exemption. I worked nights as a firefighter and attended law school during the day. However, this arrangement did not work out as well as I would have liked, and by the end of the first year, I realized my heart was not in studying law any further. I decided to not continue with law school, which meant my student deferment would come to an end. This was all right by me. Many of my friends had already been drafted and were serving honorably in the military in one capacity or other.

I continued working as a firefighter until one day my draft notice arrived. It was September 1955. The Korean War had ended nine months prior, in January. This becomes important later, as you will find out. My notice ordered me to report to the Army within three days for induction. I knew this was coming, but it was still a shock to me. I had been talking to the Navy about becoming a naval aviator. The local Buffalo Navy officer in charge of officer procurement was a Lt. Squires USN. The Navy recruiting office was located in downtown Buffalo in the old post office building, a beautiful structure with ornate decorations on the outside and an impressive, huge atrium on the inside.

With the Induction into the Army notice in my hand, I called Lt. Squires in a panic. Lieutenant, I’ve just received my draft notice and have to report in three days for induction into the Army. What’ll I do?

Squires said, Come on down right now and we will swear you in to the Navy. I’ll take care of the Army draft notice. Within an hour I was downtown in the old post office building with my hand raised and accepting induction into the United States Navy as an Aviation Officer Candidate (AOC). I was going to go to Naval Air Station, Pensacola, to attempt becoming a naval aviator.

Now it should be made clear that it wasn’t as easy as it seems to become an AOC. As mentioned before, I had been talking with Squires. He had given me some officer selection tests, including aeronautical adaptation tests and a flight physical, which of course included the dreaded color blindness and 20/20 vision tests. Apparently, I did OK. In addition, Squires made an appointment with me to go flying with him to see how I handled being in the air in a military airplane. I met him and another fellow, Richard C. Auerbach, at the Niagara Falls Naval Air Reserve Station. There, Squires took me up for an hour’s flight in a Navy SNJ. He did a few turns and wing-overs to see if I panicked or got airsick, which I didn’t. We landed, then he took Dick Auerbach up for the same thing. (I should mention a few words about Dick Auerbach, because that day a friendship started which lasted for years. Dick and I followed one another’s careers over the years, including our promotions, marriages, civilian careers, birth of children and grandchildren, and so many other events. It was a good and lasting friendship. Dick, who retired from the Naval Reserves as a Navy Captain, passed away in the year 2011, which was the same year my wife, Camille, passed away. At Dick’s memorial service, his wife, Rita, asked if I would say a few words about our relationship, which I did just before the Navy honors flag service was given by Captain Lance Mauro, USNR)

That same day, I had a chance to talk with a few enlisted men who were standing in a group near the hangar. While I spoke with the men, Dick Auerbach was up flying with Lt. Squires and I was just hanging around the hangar, waiting. One of the airmen said I should forget about the Navy and join the Air Force. I can still see him. He was older than me. We were both smoking a cigarette outside the hangar, away from all aircraft and gasoline. He impressed me as being experienced, but a little burnt out, which was a bit of a worry for me.

Then he said, The Navy’s got all old stuff; it’s been around forever. If you go into the Air Force, everything’s new, new hangars, new social clubs, new living accommodations. The Air Force was created after World War II, and Congress has been plowing money into it, but not so with the Navy. The man continued, Life is sweet with the Air Force. With the Navy, you have old buildings most of which have layer on layer of paint, trying to make them look good. With the Air Force, everything’s new.

I hadn’t thought about all that. I was pretty committed to joining the Navy if I qualified. Besides I knew my time was growing short for Induction into some branch of the military and it would have been too much of a hassle to start all over with the Air Force. What he said made sense. However, I thought to myself, He might be right, but the Air Force doesn’t have the traditions of the Navy, and there must be reasons why the Navy is still around, I’ll stick with tradition; what do I know?

By then Lt. Squires and Dick had returned from their flight. Dick and I compared notes on what Squires showed each of us while airborne, which was about the same. That is he simply took off, climbed to an altitude of about 3,000 feet, did a few turns to see if we freaked out, and then returned. Then Squires asked, Fellows, have you ever flown in a helicopter? Would you like to?

We said, Sure! Within a half hour, we were in a helicopter flying over Niagara Falls. Now, Squires had never flown in one either. However, out of courtesy from one pilot to another, the helicopter pilot let Squires sit in the right front seat. While we were airborne, Squires kept asking the helicopter pilot different questions. At one point, the helicopter pilot said, Here, watch this. This is what we do when we lose an engine in a helicopter.

He pulled back all the power on the helicopter. At the same time, he pulled up on a big handle between the two seats that he called the collective, and we began to descend quite rapidly. Dick Auerbach and I weren’t ready for this, so I looked at him to see his eyes big as saucers as we suddenly dropped and began falling. It felt like we were just released at the top of the giant parachute lift at Coney Island. You go up and up and up, and you are enjoying the beautiful scenery at Coney Island. Then you get to the top of the lift, and you are still going up, when the parachute is released, so you immediately feel the bottom drop out from under you as you begin the rapid descent. The ride is designed to really give you a scare, like one where your stomach jumps up into your brain.

The helicopter pilot let the plane fall for perhaps five hundred feet, then pushed the collective back in, which reengaged the rotor with the engine. While falling, he said, the rotors were picking up speed, and when he reengaged the rotors, it felt like an abrupt stop to the descent. That’s how we handle an engine out, he said. We let the rotors pick up speed as we fall and as we approach the ground, we reengage them and it cushions our touchdown safely. Now that was an experience!

Lt. Squires was a neat guy. He was lean, pleasant, and looked smart in his Navy aviation greens. I always thought he would have been a great lead man in a World War II movie depicting Navy heroism. He really looked the part of a handsome Navy pilot. I guess that’s why he was assigned to procurement duties.

Anyway, both Dick Auerbach and I were inducted into the Navy on October 10, 1955, as AOCs. We were sworn in by Squires in his office and given our first Navy orders. That is, he gave us printed orders to report to our home addresses until further notice. He said we’d have about a month at home, at which time we’d receive airline tickets to report to Pensacola, FL. Sure enough, after about two weeks we received those orders. On November 25, 1955, the day after Thanksgiving, I met Dick and a new fellow by name of Ray Kennedy at the Buffalo Airport. Camille, the love of my life, was with me. She and I became engaged that Fall. Dick’s wife, Rita, was with him. I believe Ray was alone. We kissed our sweethearts goodbye and boarded the plane. It was really tough waving goodbye to Camille…

I recall the flight down to Pensacola as a sad, yet exciting time. I was pensive, and apprehensive about leaving home and venturing into this new world of the military. But I was so excited that my imagination was in total overdrive. As our airplane flew south, I followed our progress by looking out the plane window. The further south we flew, I noticed the ground was turning color. In the North, the ground is black. As you fly south, the ground becomes bright red. Fascinating…

OUR LAST HOURS OF FREEDOM

W e transferred airplanes somewhere, probably Washington or Atlanta, and arrived at Pensacola Airport around 4:00 PM. Dick, Ray and I discussed what we should do next. Our orders told us to report no later than 2400 hours (midnight) on November 25, 1955, to the Indoctrination Battalion at NAS Pensacola. We realized we really had about eight more hours of freedom as civilians before we had to report in. We decided to take a taxi to downtown Pensacola, have a nice dinner and to laze about until about 2300 or 2350 hours and then report in. This way we could savor our last few hours as civilians before coming under the regimentation of the military. We did just that. We went downtown, had a nice dinner, and walked around enjoying the warmth of Florida, which contrasted greatly from the chill of Buffalo. I recall being actually too warm. I was wearing my best dark gray suit, which was made of wool. It was truly too hot for Pensacola and I had to take off my jacket. At about 2200 hours, I recall the three of us sitting on a park bench under a set of palm trees, near a fountain. There was a spotlight on the palm trees and the water fountain. It was a warm, technicolor, beautiful scene. We three just sort of mumbled about how we felt and discussed if it was possible we were making a mistake by going into this program. There were long silences as we sat there on that park bench. However, we finally decided it was time to report in to the Navy. We hailed a cab and told the driver to take us to NAS Pensacola. It was a short trip to the base.

At the gate there was a guard. We showed the guard our orders and asked where we should go from there. He pointed us in the right direction and by 2345, we had found the Indoctrination Battalion and reported in. We were given bedding and assigned a bed. The lights were out and the three of us had to make our own beds. It struck me how lonely I was already feeling. Everything was so strange, yet it all made sense. This is how the military operated, very utilitarian to get the job done. It’s up to the individual to adjust to the necessity of the moment. We were told too many AOCs had shown up that week and that we were going to be in an overflow class. Great! Had we reported in earlier, we wouldn’t be in the overflow group. That didn’t sound good. It wouldn’t surprise me if I went to sleep that night with eyes that were a bit moist.

THE INDOCTRINATION BATTALION

T heir names were Sgt. Riffle and Sgt. Jones. They were Marine drill instructors, and they were truly lean, mean, proud Marines. Well, at least Riffle was lean and mean. Sgt. Jones did have a bit of a pot belly, but he certainly knew how to be mean. They both had severe crew cut haircuts and immaculate Marine green uniforms. They really looked sharp. At 0630 they woke up our entire battalion on the bullhorn with the announcement All hands on deck! All hands report to the quarterdeck by 0700 hours! That gave us a full half hour to get dressed, pick up our rooms and get downstairs. I just followed the crowd at 0655, hoping it knew where and what a quarterdeck is. There were probably 100 or so guys all dressed in civilian clothes. (Correction, there were a couple of guys in Navy uniforms also lined up with all of us. Interesting.)

We were ordered by Sgts. Riffle and Jones, in their commanding voices, to line up in four rows of 25 each. We were in the main foyer of the Indoctrination Battalion. It was rather close quarters, but we did fit everyone in there. We all stiffened as Sgt. Jones bellowed, ATTENTION! It was then we heard the bad news. There were 105 of you who reported in for AOC training yesterday. The maximum class size allowed is 70 students. Therefore, the first seventy who reported in will be in this week’s class; the last 35 will be held over in this Indoctrination Battalion for two weeks where they will join 35 NAVCADs to form a full class. Are there any questions?

At this a groan went up, from all those like ourselves who knew they were going to be held up for the next class. I thought, For the sake of a few extra hours of freedom, it will cost us two weeks of delay in this Indoctrination Battalion. That can’t be good. Also, we’re going to be mixed up with NAVCADS? (Sgt. Riffle bellowed, Did I hear a sound of discontent? Well, gentlemen, welcome to the Navy. NOW form up outside in front of this building in four columns. DISMISSED! We formed up outside the Indoctrination Battalion and were marched over to the dining hall, otherwise known as the chow hall or mess hall, the place to eat. Upon arrival, we were permitted to fall out and form a line to enter the building.

Once inside, there was a sight to behold. I had always heard the food in the Navy was great, especially compared to the Army. Well, that tale of joy was certainly correct. The food available for just breakfast was truly abundant and had a delightful variety. I believe I had some pancakes, my first egg omelet, ever, some fruit salad, a little cereal, toast, and some coffee. Could anything be better? I realize now I was compensating with the food for the sense of forlornness I was feeling. At least the food was something familiar, but even that was different.

By 0800, we were formed up again outside the chow hall and marched over to the barbershop, where we all received our one-minute de-hairing, otherwise known as a crew cut. It was a severe crew cut. Any lice in anyone’s hair would be immediately discovered. What I learned is that the Indoctrination Battalion is designed to turn you from a happy civilian into miserable military as proclaimed by one of the Indoctrination Battalion officers. A number of challenges were thrown our way and we were observed to see if we would break.

It was common for the Marine DI’s to intimidate us with threats and punishments. Give me 50 push-ups was a common punishment for an infraction such as not polishing a bathroom faucet well enough. (We were given a sponge and a can of Old Dutch Cleanser and told to polish all the brass in the men’s room. Well, not all 100 of us were polishing the brass in the men’s room; others were sweeping and polishing the floors, etc.).

I did see one fellow, a red haired, freckle-faced guy, who seemed ultra frenzied. He was clearly intimidated by the Marine DI’s to the point of overreacting. I could see the Marine Dls were focusing on him and giving him challenges which he would screw up. There was no one who hit the bulkhead as stiffly and wide-eyed as this fellow. I believe he had had some military school training. He seemed absolutely terrified at what the Marine DIs could do to us. Within one week, he was no longer with us. He had been shipped out of the AOC program. Dick, Ray, and I had a total of four weeks in the Indoctrination Battalion. We really learned how to make brass faucets shine and how to do push-ups. After two weeks, we 35 AOCs were joined by 35 NAVCADs to form class number 43-55, that is the 43rd class of 1955. The last class in that year. The NAVCADs seemed to be a highly motivated group of guys, perhaps even more motivated than we AOC’s.

Although the curriculum is a bit hazy, our days in the Indoctrination Battalion were very full. Sgts Jones and Riffle had us out on the Grinder (the marching field) learning how to march as a unit for hours on end. I recall attending classes where some Navy history was covered, the rank structure of the Navy for enlisted as well as officers, lots of movies pinpointed at giving us necessary information for survival in the Navy, i.e., the dangers of taking drugs while flying, even cough medicine; the dangers of liaisons with prostitutes and sexually transmitted diseases, etc. After that month, we were really ready to move on.

BATT THREE

A fter that month in the Indoctrination Battalion (which should have been only two weeks) our class 43-55, was assigned to Battalion Three, otherwise known as Batt 3. Shortly after moving our belongings over to the new building—a two-story WW II temporary wooden building—we were formed up and marched over to the uniform supply building. There we were fitted with a set of two pair of cotton khaki pants and long sleeve shirts, socks, brown shoes and a black tie. Oh, yes, we were also issued a rifle, a khaki jacket and an overseas cap (affectionately referred to as a piss cutter, a nickname I never quite figured out). We were then marched back to Batt 3.

On the way back, I became the target for Sgt. Riffle and got my first real, personal lesson in Navy/Marine discipline. As we marched, sort of in step and dressed in our new uniforms, we carried our old civilian clothes under our left arms and our rifles were rested on our right shoulders. It was quite a sight and our Marine DIs were a little unhappy at how motley we appeared as we struggled to keep in line and in step while wrestling with our loads of clothing and rifles. Anyway, Ray Kennedy was directly behind me in column as we marched. He started to hiss something at me, which I couldn’t quite figure out. Eventually I realized that I must have been holding my rifle a bit too high and that the barrel of it was pointing right at him, aimed right between his eyes and he found this a bit disconcerting. I finally realized he was hissing Caulfield, point that rifle up into the air, not at me. Was he trying to be funny, or was he genuinely afraid that my rifle was pointing right between his eyes? The image of that got to me. I began to chuckle and was realizing there can be humor in all this seriousness. It felt good to laugh quietly.

Suddenly, Sgt. Riffle bellowed, Detail, HALT.! We halted. Riffle then walked rapidly over to me, my God! He was shorter than me, but he managed to put his nose right up to mine as he bellowed, Mister, why are you laughing? ...is there something funny? Riffle was a full head shorter than me, but his apparent anger made me feel like a midget.

I realized I was in trouble, real trouble, as this smaller man, with an angry look stared me directly in the eyes. I managed to squeak out, Uh, no, no sir, there’s nothing funny. (I really wanted to let him know how funny the image was of my rifle pointing right at Kennedy’s head and that it was him who put me up to laughing, but that was obviously not the way to go with this very intimidating and angry Marine DI. I didn’t want to dig a deeper hole for myself by trying to explain away why I was finding ANYTHING funny about what we were doing.) Riffle clearly hissed at me, Well in that case, since you are prone to laughing at nothing, perhaps you’ll find the 15 demerits I’m assigning to you funny as you march them off on the grinder tonight after dinner! I had no idea what a demerit was, how many we were allowed, nor did I know what the grinder was, But I said as loudly as I could, Yes sir! Thank you sir! (I have no idea where the Thank you sir came from. Would he accept my response?) Riffle’s eyes darted away from me and back again. His jaw was set firmly and he gave me a piercing stare as he bellowed, Squadron, Aaa-tten—shun! And after a slight pause, he backed away from me, smartly turned to face forward and bellowed, Detail, Forward MARCH! Yeeeup, two, thaareep, fowur! I had received my first lesson in the seriousness of this training. This was no joke, these guys were all business. There’s no time for college collegiality. It was time to grow up. I think a number of the other guys watching my crisis in that squad also got a lesson in seriousness.

CLASS 43-55

I realized that this Navy business was definitely not as relaxed as college. Everything and everybody was