The Pretenders: A Novel

By Leland J. Katz

The Pretenders is an autobiographical novel. Told through the adventures of Joel Kramer, it is the story of tens of thousands with degrees in history, English, communications, psychology and other disciplines who worked in high tech and who unintentionally became pretenders. They lived through, contributed to, and helped create the history of the computer industry.

As a personal story, the book chronicles Joels life from the time he met Julie, the love of his life, through grad school, military service, and a 38 year civilian career spent principally in high tech marketing, sales, and business development.

Joels military service was similar to that of hundreds of thousands of men and women who took their turn standing on the wall during dangerous times. In their own way, each contributed to the defeat and ultimate break-up of the Soviet Union and the winning of the cold war.

As a history of the computer industry, The Pretenders chronicles the dramatic changes in computer technology from the days of the mainframe to the forerunner of cloud computing.
As a history of our times, The Pretenders records events from the days of JFK and the Cuban Missile Crisis through the great national nightmare of Vietnam to 9/11, Afghanistan, and Iraq.

The Pretenders is history as seen by an everyday participant in those events. It is the story of all who have struggled, experienced tragedy and joy, and lived through what have been, as the ancient Chinese curse says, interesting times.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532038235

Leland J. Katz

Leland J. Katz is a veteran of USAF officer corps who served from 1961 to 1964. Following military service, he worked as a civilian principally in technology marketing and sales. He holds a BA from the University of Massachusetts, a MS from Boston University, and a MBA from Boston College. Now retired, he lives with his wife, Judith, in Pompton Plains, New Jersey.

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Copyright © 2018 Leland J. Katz.

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: 978-1-5320-3822-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-3823-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018900561

iUniverse rev. date: 06/13/2018

CONTENTS

Dedication and Acknowledgements

Prologue

Book One Beginnings

Chapter One         Joel And Julie

Chapter Two         Learning to be an Officer

Chapter Three      Becoming a Cold Warrior

Chapter Four        Learning to Manage an Operational Organization

Book Two In Search of a Career

Chapter Five        A New Reality

Chapter Six          Texas Instruments

Chapter Seven      An Unexpected Detour

Book Three The Digital Years

Chapter Eight       Business Products

Chapter Nine        Corporate Advertising

Chapter Ten          Media Services

Chapter Eleven     Publishing and Broadcast Industries

Chapter Twelve    Sales Programs

Chapter Thirteen  Back to Marketing Communications

Chapter Fourteen  Reinvention

Chapter Fifteen     The End Game

Book Four Life After Digital

Chapter Sixteen    Becoming an Overaged in Grade Salesman

Chapter Seventeen  The Turnaround That Didn’t Turn Enough

Chapter Eighteen  The Last Hurrah

Chapter Nineteen  The End Game

Epilogue

DEDICATION AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

T his book is dedicated to the pretenders. Born in the late 30’s and early 40’s, they received liberal arts educations and majored in the social sciences, history, literature, and languages. While their contemporaries who majored in mathematics and electrical engineering became computer technologists, the pretenders by the tens of thousands made their careers in high technology marketing and sales. They participated in and helped create the history of the computer revolution. They lived and worked through the transitions from the large-scale mainframes of the 50’s and early 60’s to the mini-computers of the mid to late 60’s and 70’s to the personal computers of today and their software systems. This is their story as seen through the eyes of one of them.

Many of their generation volunteered for military service through the ROTC. Thousands of them took their turn standing on the wall during dangerous times. Over several decades, those thousands – volunteers and draftees, officers and enlisted, professional military and citizen-soldiers alike – provided the necessary commitment to bring down the Soviet Union and win the cold war.

This book is also dedicated to my Judy without whom, neither this book nor the story would exist. She inspired and encouraged me to write this book so that our children might better understand who I am and what I did. She worked with me to edit the final manuscript and make the finished product as good as our combined skills can make it. She has also been my dearest and most true friend, my life’s partner, and my sweetest love. When I left Digital and took out my 401K and pension money, she taught herself to become a money manager and oversaw our funds and investments while I worked 60 to 80 hours a week or more.

I also need to acknowledge my friends and former colleagues who have taken the time to read and comment on sections of this work to ensure that the history is as accurate as I can make it.

PROLOGUE

A lmost Outed by M UMPS

On January 30, 2002, Joel Kramer joined Monique LeCheminent, and Jim Rand, her manager for lunch in the company cafeteria. A golden-haired California boy in his late 30s, Jim had the body of a man who spends a lot of time in the gym. With his square jaw, freckled face, and perpetual day and a half growth of beard, Jim was a type. Monique was a tall, long legged French woman who’s physical appearance was an effective weapon in the corporate political wars.

Joel was a relatively short, bespectacled, balding, and somewhat overweight guy of almost 63 with an indeterminate face, high energy level, and an attitude that did not betray his age to his coworkers.

On that day, the conversation turned to HIPAA. Monique had been to a HIPAA conference the week before and was amazed at how backwards the information technology professionals she met seemed to be.

They kept talking about something called MUMPS, she said. I never heard of it.

Before he could stop himself Joel blurted out, MUMPS. Massachusetts General Hospital Utility Multiprogramming System. It’s been around for decades and is a combination operating system, programming language, and data base.

While Monique giggled and began to call him Mr. MUMPS, Joel said to himself, Where in the hell did that come from? Thinking about it, he remembered MUMPS had characteristics that included a tree-like structure and child/parent relationships among the data elements making it a forerunner of modern object-oriented computing.

Then he said to himself, I have to be more careful. If people think about it too much, I’ll give my age away to them.

It was a fact of life in Silicon Valley in the late 20th and early 21st centuries that anyone over the age of 40 who wasn’t either rich and/or running his or her own company was automatically viewed as a failure. Joel was concerned that if his age became widely known, he would be considered irrelevant and could lose his job before he was ready to retire.

Where had his knowledge of MUMPS come from? His mind swirled back to 1974 when he joined Digital Equipment Corporation where DEC Standard MUMPS was one of the products for which he had marketing responsibility. Twenty-eight years! And his civilian career was ten years older than that. Most of his colleagues had not yet been born.

BOOK ONE

BEGINNINGS

CHAPTER ONE

JOEL AND JULIE

I t was a bright, brisk early autumn day in the foothills of the Berkshire Mountains in Western Massachusetts. The year was 1959 and Joel had just started his senior year at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst. He had joined a group of friends for lunch in one of the round-tabled booths in the cafeteria of the Student Union known as the Hatch. They were discussing the favorite topic of upper classmen in the early fall. The incoming freshman women. He was consuming his lunch when across the room, he spotted a girl who blew him away. Dressed in a blue wool tweed pantsuit with an open vest over a white blouse. She had a ponytail that swung in rhythm with her quick confident stride. She entered the room, walked across, and then disappeared out a side door in a direction that would take her to the music room.

Wow, he exclaimed. Who was that? No one knew. But armed with the freshman mug book, the senior men quickly found her picture including her name, hometown, high school, and major. He decided that Julie Arlington and he would have a date before another two weeks passed by.

The previous summer, Joel’s high school sweetheart had dumped him. He was devastated. But having completed his AFROTC Summer Training, he was in the best physical condition of his life and had developed a self-confidence he had not known before. He had gained seven pounds that summer, taken two inches off his waist, and put two inches on across his chest and shoulders. He was able to do 50 pushups non-stop with strength and energy to spare and was once again ready to face the battle of the sexes.

At first Julie was just another girl. He didn’t know her yet. He hadn’t even spoken to her. All he knew was he liked the way she looked. It seemed obvious to him that she had an outgoing and engaging personality. Her walk, the quick and ready smile for other students, and the other male students who surrounded her in the music room when she went there to study made him determined to meet her and to ask her out. And so he began his campaign. It took him about a week to satisfy himself he could arrange an accidental meeting. Now was the time to put the plan into action. Then the unexpected happened.

It was a Thursday at 10:00 in the morning. He was just heading down to the Student Union cafeteria for a quick break and cup of coffee between classes. Wearing the Class A blue uniform of an Air Force ROTC cadet major, he had just completed two hours of leadership lab training calling out commands on the drill field and he needed the break. Entering the building, he headed for the stairs to the cafeteria and there she was. She was standing at the head of the stairs speaking to another student. Now what? He couldn’t just walk by and ignore her if he wanted to meet her. But neither could he break into a conversation between her and another student whom he did not know. Then, the other student turned his head and he recognized him. It was Al Hammerstein, a math major from eastern Massachusetts and a casual but friendly acquaintance.

Al, he said, How are you?

Hi Joel, Al replied, I’m fine. But I’m running late for math class. This is Julie Arlington, she’s new this year and I’ve been helping her with new math concepts.

Hi Julie, I’m Joel. Nice to meet you. Would you like to join me for some coffee? he asked.

Living up to his assessment of her personality, she smiled and said, I don’t drink coffee, but a Coke would be nice. And with two short sentences, Al was relegated to history. Downstairs in the Hatch, the conversation was predictable.

Where are you from?

What’s your major?

Who else do you know on campus?

Having discovered she loved flowers, he asked his big question, Did you know the annual campus flower show is in the gym this weekend? Would you like to go?

Yes, she said and then, pointing to his uniform, she asked, Are you going into flight training?

No, he replied. I need glasses for distance and Air Force regs won’t allow me to fly.

Oh, that’s too bad, she said.

The date was one of those that occur when two young people from working-class backgrounds meet each other as students. Money is at a premium. Joel was living on an eight dollar a week allowance for lunches, weekend meals and other necessities. Imagination has to fill in the gaps. After the flower show, she mentioned she had not yet been to the campus library and he took her on a tour of the building. The tour over, he looked at his watch and saw it was far too early to take her back to her dorm.

Hey, I have an idea, he said. How would you like to go over and see the campus radio station? We could put some records on in the library and maybe dance a little.

What a nice thought, she responded. So they walked briskly across the now darkened and chilled campus to the engineering building where the radio station was housed.

Once there, Joel, who was program director, waved to the student announcer and engineer on duty and ushered Julie into the record library. A long, narrow room lined with shelves of 33 1/3-rpm disks, a door with a frosted glass window at one end, and a turntable and speakers at the other end for auditioning records, the record library had been used for dates more than once.

Selecting some of his favorite music, he put a Sinatra disk on the turntable and for about an hour or more they listened to the music, danced, talked, and began to know each other. Unknown to Joel, she was beginning to have thoughts about him. By then it was time to return her to the dorm. Freshman woman curfews were still in place and they walked back to her residence hall.

And then they kissed good night. A soft, gentle, romantic kiss that had a profound impact on them both. Walking back to his fraternity house alone, his thoughts were in turmoil. Okay, he had dated the girl. He had even kissed her on the first date and she had made an impression on him. But this was just the third girl he’d dated since Carol kissed him off and even though he was taken with Julie, he didn’t think at age 20 and having just started dating multiple women, he was ready to settle for one girl.

In the meantime, he had to leave campus the next morning for a friend’s wedding and would not be back until Sunday evening. So he put thoughts of Julie out of his head and busied himself with figuring out what clothes to take and wondering whether there would be any interesting bridesmaids present.

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It was an upstate New York wedding. The Temple was opulent, the food and drink abundant, the flowers fresh, and the guests gregarious and talkative. Joel felt out of his league as he was seated at a table with several other groomsmen and bridesmaids none of whom he knew. One of the bridesmaids, Marion, was getting all of the attention. She was a tall, vivacious and striking young woman and before he knew what was happening, he was in a competition. Could he make Marion pay attention to him in light of the attention being paid her by these other men? Asking her to dance, they became engaged in conversation and having often envied the men on campus who brought young women in from out of town to attend the Winter Carnival Ball, he blurted out, Would you be interested coming to Winter Carnival in January?

I’d love to, she responded.

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Back on campus he fell into his routine. Fascinated with science but challenged by the complexities of abstract mathematics and with little language ability, he was fighting a real battle to meet his math and language requirements so he could graduate the following spring. With five three-credit courses, his ROTC obligations, and a two-hour disk jockey gig from 10:00 to midnight every Tuesday night, he had his hands full. That he was also trying out for a part in the winter drama club production of Our Town and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life added to the stress.

Then it happened. After dating two or three other girls on a casual basis, he asked Julie out again and she accepted. It was just a party at the fraternity house but as they danced to slow romantic music, he felt the magic.

He asked her out again.

Before long they were spending every spare moment they could with each other. She was beautiful. She was sparkling. She was bubbly. She was smart. She was sensitive. She was personality plus.

He was enchanted.

Not a sophisticate like the New York-bred Marion at 20, she was, however, at 18, magnetic, and Joel was caught up by her as surely as the moon is caught in earth’s gravitational field.

Two weeks later Joel’s father, Abe, came up for a football game and the three of them went together in the rain. The University of Massachusetts lost to the University of Connecticut 63 to 0. In the Student Union cafeteria after the game they laughed about it over coffee and hot chocolate as they tried to warm up. And Julie captivated Joel’s dad as well.

Later his dad told him, Don’t let this one get away.

A far better student than he had ever been, she began to help him study for his math and German. She didn’t know the subjects but she knew how to study and so Sunday afternoons began to be spent in the visitor’s lounge of her dormitory where, between stolen kisses, he actually began to make progress on his dual nemeses.

Autumn faded into winter and he began to dedicate the last song on his 11:00 PM to midnight show to Julie.

And now for the girl in the corner room of Lewis House it’s Julie London’s Make Love to Me, he would intone in his best radio voice. Before two weeks went by that became the talk of the rest of the dormitory and of all of the women in that year’s freshman class. Joel and Julie were in love.

The next major event on the campus social calendar was the annual Military Ball in early December. He began to plot. He would give Julie his fraternity pin that evening. Tantamount to a proposal of marriage, it took logistics and planning. He didn’t have a car so his roommate offered to drive them in a borrowed car. His roommate also arranged for a bottle of champagne. No easy task for an under 21 year-old in rural Massachusetts in 1959. It worked. Julie was happily surprised and the rest of the evening was a joyous blur.

It was time to start thinking about Winter Carnival. He remembered Marion. He had invited her in October and hadn’t spoken to her since. After discussing his dilemma with Julie, he called Marion and, feeling uncomfortable, explained the situation to her. The problem was solved and life was good again.

For Valentine’s Day, he hiked into the center of town from the campus on Saturday morning while Julie was in class and fingering the two quarters he had left in his pocket, contemplated a card or a single, long stem red rose as the most appropriate choice. He settled on the rose, wrote out a card by hand, and took the box back to her dormitory before she returned.

That evening at the fraternity’s Valentine’s Day party, Julie was radiant and he was proud just to be seen with her. The rose had been an inspiration.

The rest of the school year was a blur. He was accepted to a master’s program in communications at Boston University and received permission from the Air Force to delay his active duty obligation for a year. Julie decided to leave the university at the close of her freshman year and enroll in a one-year dental nursing program near where he would be doing his graduate work. She would live at home with her parents. They decided to marry after Joel completed his master’s program and before he went on active duty.

He completed his course work and passed not only his major courses, but actually got through his math and German. He would get his degree. He would receive his commission as a second lieutenant in the Air Force. He would go to graduate school. He could foresee the day when he and Julie would be married. All of which had become the subject of his doodles in his notebooks.

Graduation day dawned. It was one of those bright June days in the foothills of the Berkshires that are simply perfect. His parents came up for the graduation with his younger sister and his mother’s toy poodle.

In the morning they went to the commissioning ceremony. It was an impressive event as the assembled cadets took their oath to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States. Julie and Joel’s mom pinned his shiny gold bars on either shoulder and he gave Julie his commission to hold.

After the ceremony they went to North Hampton for lunch at a famous local seafood restaurant. Joel’s mother arranged the seating so that Julie’s partner was the toy poodle she seated at the table with them. The actual graduation ceremony was in the early afternoon. The day had become hot and the governor of the state arrived late. But once started, it went off without a hitch. Later, at Joel’s home in Springfield, the party with uncles, aunts, cousins, and friends of the family was predictable. Joel’s favorite uncle, looking at his university diploma and his commission decided the commission was the far more impressive document.

But Julie felt rejected as her future mother-in-law instead of praising her for voluntarily helping get the house ready for the party, exclaimed she was getting a washer woman for a daughter-in-law.

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They felt they were well on their way. The next month he would come to Boston where he would live with an old high school friend still working his way through a Boston University undergraduate program.

That November, having turned 21 the previous spring, he voted for John F. Kennedy for president. He was taken by JFK’s call to … ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country.

With classes every morning, work at Boston’s public television station three evenings a week as part of a scholarship stipend, and weekends at Julie’s parents’ home south of the city, the year went by quickly. Before they knew it, it was time for Julie to graduate.

The next month, Joel completed his studies and, in the break between completing his degree requirements and graduation, they were married.

They honeymooned in Bermuda. And for the first time, they could be truly alone together.

It was a delightful week of mutual discovery. They toured the island. They went to the beach. They shopped together in Hamilton. They met new people. One couple, also from Boston, was a medical student and his new bride and soon the two couples became fast friends.

The week went by quickly, the honeymoon was over, and it was time to begin their life together. Joel was looking forward to putting his graduate school expertise in communications as an Air Force public information officer. But the Air Force had other ideas and he would soon find himself having to do things he had never done, studied, or been trained to do. It would become a major theme of his working life.

CHAPTER TWO

LEARNING TO BE AN OFFICER

O ctober 1961. In Syracuse, New York, October is as gray and bleak as it is bright and sparkling in Western Massachusetts. And October 25 of that year was no different. It was a dark day with a cold drizzle falling from the sky. A day that foreshadowed the winter to come.

In his sparse room, Joel got up to his alarm. Julie was still in Sharon while they waited for the first day of November when their apartment would be ready. He showered, shaved, and carefully began to put on his uniform. He had spent a half hour the previous evening meticulously shining his shoes. First he checked his web belt to make certain it was in line with the appropriate seams, carefully made a tight half Windsor knot in his tie, put on his uniform blouse and brushed off his garrison cap. Then he took his raincoat, went out, and drove to Hancock Field to begin his first day as an active duty officer in the United States Air Force.

The base was headquarters for the 26th Air Division/NORAD Region and the Syracuse Air Defense Sector. It had an airstrip which was immaterial except for the use of flight rated officers to get in their flying time. Hancock Field and the 4624th Support Group existed to support the huge concrete blockhouse that housed the SAGE Center. Divided in two with one-half handling the Region and the other half the Syracuse Sector, the large building was totally self-contained. It had a six-foot thick reinforced concrete roof that was designed to protect against anything but a direct nuclear strike.

Joel was unaware of all that. His orders were to report to the base headquarters building and stated he was to be assigned as a Public Information Officer.

He was looking forward to this opportunity with great anticipation. He walked briskly up the walk to the front door of the headquarters building and began looking for someone to whom he could say, Lieutenant Kramer reporting for duty sir. That was when reality set in.

Joel’s training as an Air Force officer had consisted of four years of ROTC classes and one four-week summer training experience. He had taken any number of classes in various so-called Air Science subjects. During summer training, he had done a lot of PT, attended more classes, and completed a three-day survival course. He had spent a half day qualifying as a marksman on the Smith & Wesson .38 caliber police special revolver. But no one had ever told him what to expect on arrival at his first duty station. For the past year, his only contact with the Air Force had been to report progress on his graduate studies.

After some concentrated searching, he found the office of the deputy base commander. A jowly, balding man in his mid-forties, Lieutenant Colonel Jones had little concern for the obviously green second lieutenant who stood before him, orders in hand.

Jones had his blouse off, shirt sleeves rolled up, and his tie pulled down. He hardly looked the picture of military smartness Joel was expecting of a professional officer. Colonel Jones didn’t notice Joel’s consternation. Okay, Okay, he said. Go over there to that sergeant, sign in, and he’ll tell you where to go. By the way, I’m assigning you to Major Harry Edwards at the support squadron. He needs an administrative officer and you’ll do nicely.

But sir, my orders say I’m supposed to be assigned as a PIO, stammered Joel.

Yeah, well we don’t need one of those. What we need is an admin officer for the support squadron, Jones responded. Just do as you’re told and you’ll be fine.

Yes sir.

That was his first encounter with a world that cared little for individual goals, desires, and ambitions. The world he encountered that day was one that cared about the needs of the organization. That was the moment he first entered a world where he had to do things he had never done. Later he would hone pretending to a high art, but this was the beginning.

After signing in, the sergeant gave him directions to the orderly room for the support squadron and he drove around the corner and down the short street to a small, gray, single-storied, shabby building with a sign at either end. One read, 4624th Support Squadron and the other 4624th Air Police Squadron. Joel found a parking space close to the support squadron door, took a deep swallow, and walked in.

On the other side of the door was a dingy, gray-painted room with high, small windows and several gray steel desks arranged in a seemingly haphazard fashion. Close to the door was a desk facing away from the wall. Seated at the desk was a staff sergeant. Beyond him at two desks facing each other were two enlisted personnel; a short slight, dark-haired young man with the single stripe of an airman third class and a striking, tall, red-haired WAF who wore the double stripes of an airman second class. On the far wall, another desk faced the door and there, with an imperious air, sat a somewhat older man with the five stripes of a technical sergeant. On the door of a private office to the left of the tech sergeant’s desk was a sign that read First Sergeant and looking around, Joel saw that to his left and behind him was a door marked Commander.

Good morning, Joel said to the staff sergeant who was closest to the door. I’m Lieutenant Kramer and Colonel Jones told me to come here to sign in as the administrative officer for Major Edwards.

Welcome Lieutenant, said the staff sergeant with a grin. I’m Charles Vogel. I handle the personnel records. Boy we can sure use you around here.

Within minutes, Joel had been introduced to airmen Frank Smith and Lisa Brown and technical sergeant James Boodle, a New Hampshireman from Hooksett. He was also introduced to master sergeant Curt Williams, a strong jawed, crew cut, white-haired, and steely-eyed man of about 50. Sergeant Williams was the squadron first sergeant who, while his office was in the same building as the orderly room, reigned supreme over the squadron’s barracks and the day-to-day life of the enlisted personnel. The first sergeant reported directly to the commander. Sergeant Williams gave Joel a brief, gruff, but polite greeting and quickly disappeared back into his office. Joel turned to Sergeant Boodle and asked where the commander was.

Oh, Major Edwards doesn’t spend a lot of time here, Sergeant Boodle said with a New Hampshire twang in his voice. I expect he’s probably over at the officer’s club playing piano for the officer’s wives’ show rehearsal. Don’t worry about that Lieutenant, we’ll help you get settled. Frank, Lisa, help the lieutenant get set up in there, he said pointing to an empty private office next to the first sergeant’s lair.

In short order, Joel had an office, a desk and chair, a file cabinet, a coat and hat rack, and two or three old aircraft posters on the wall. A desk lamp and a full complement of office supplies followed shortly.

Next Sergeant Boodle sent Lisa to the Group headquarters building to get a copy of the orders assigning Joel as the squadron’s administrative officer and set Frank to typing a set of special orders that would give him the authority he needed to actually function.

Half an hour later, he was sitting at his desk with a reproducing machine master and a special reproducing pencil ready to sign a special order with a series of individual paragraphs each beginning with the phrase, Joel Kramer, 2nd Lieutenant, USAF is hereby appointed additional duty as …

That made him the squadron payroll officer, the squadron On-the-Job Training officer, and a series of other tasks he had never heard of. He also discovered the magic that allowed him to sign his own orders in the legend that appeared at the bottom of the order. It read:

FOR THE COMMANDER

Joel Kramer

2nd Lt., USAF

Administrative Officer

4624th Support Squadron

Everything he was to sign during his tenure in Syracuse carried that legend and, therefore, everything he did was in the name of the mysterious missing commander and carried his authority. In this way, he learned another lesson in bureaucracy. It doesn’t matter how much personal authority you have. It only matters how much power you can wield.

By then it was time for lunch.

Hey Sarge, where do I go for lunch? Over to the officer’s club? And where is it? he asked Sergeant Boodle.

Naw Lieutenant, you don’t want to go over there. There’s an officers section in the chow hall. It’s real good and real cheap. All the young officers go over there. C’mon, I’ll show you how to get there, Boodle responded.

Thanks Sarge, he replied and they walked out the door of the orderly room together.

On arriving at the mess hall, he discovered the sergeant had been right. There was a sign outside the door to the dining room claiming that the place was Recommended by Duncan Hines. Inside, the line was inhabited by enlisted personnel of every rank and several young officers with the single gold or silver bar of a lieutenant. There were even one or two with the double bars of a captain. There were no oak leaves or eagles in this line.

There was, however, a great variety of food to choose from. It was not the single tub of indistinguishable mystery stew of the cartoons, but sautéed chicken livers, shrimp, steak, roasted chicken breasts, potatoes, rice, and vegetables of various kinds. Deserts consisted of pies, cakes, ice cream, and fruit. Later he would discover that Friday meals included fresh fried trout and broiled lobster tails.

The enlisted personnel didn’t have to pay at all since three meals per day were part of their compensation and the cost to the officers was just 48 cents.

In the back of the room, behind a row of planters was the place where the officers seemed to congregate so he went over, found a table of young lieutenants with an empty seat, asked if he could join them, sat down, and the introductions began. One was a PIO assigned to the 26th Air Division, one of the operational units resident on the base. Another was a computer officer in the SAGE center, and so it went around the table. The talk turned to Laos. Except for Joel who didn’t know anyone yet, everyone at the table knew someone who had been sent to Laos. No one knew anyone who had come back.

To these young officers, most of whom were just serving out their military obligation, that was a scary thought. One commented he knew of another lieutenant who was ready to get out and had an acceptance to law school waiting for him but his tour of duty had been extended and he had been sent to Laos. Universally that was considered unfair.

What these young men did not know was they were witnessing the opening act of what was to become America’s Vietnam nightmare. Almost all of them were, like Joel, ROTC graduates and, unlike their Army counterparts, they had only four weeks of real military training rather than the six weeks given to Army ROTC cadets. And unlike the Army, they did not have specialized combat branch training under their belts but had come to active duty directly from school. And, like Joel, the only weapons training they had received was the same half day on the pistol range with a .38 revolver during their four weeks of summer training. But in late 1961, Laos was in the news headlines. Vietnam had not yet entered mainstream American consciousness. That would come later.

During the conversation it became clear that almost all of these men were single. The one exception was the computer officer from the SAGE center. Unlike the rest, he had originally been an enlisted man, had not graduated college, and had been an electronics technician. Bright and practical, George Berg had been tapped for officer candidate school and had been commissioned a second lieutenant the year before. Perhaps because of their married status, George and he hit it off and an incipient friendship began.

After lunch he wandered over to the PX and bought a few things he felt he needed. A couple of flight caps to go with his uniform since the garrison cap was both heavy and hard to deal with when driving a car, some extra insignia, and some informal class ‘B’ uniform items.

On his return to the orderly room, the mysterious squadron commander had returned.

Major Edwards was a big man in his late forties or early fifties who carried a good-sized paunch and a bald head with as much dignity as his gold oak leaves could muster. Intelligent and a gentleman in every sense of the word, he was, however, rapidly reaching the end of an honorable but undistinguished military career.

For the next hour Harry Edwards explained to Joel just what the support squadron did. The real job was the administrative and disciplinary support or record keeping for the 1200 or so attached officer and enlisted personnel who worked for either the Syracuse Air Defense Sector or the 26th Air Division. The division’s responsibility was the air defense of the entire northeastern United States and parts of Canada from Newfoundland west to Toronto south to Virginia and several hundreds of miles out into the Atlantic. With multiple major cities including New York and Washington DC, it was an awesome responsibility.

Joel’s job was to run the orderly room. He had to see to it that classified materials were properly handled, ensure cutting orders and other administrative tasks were done, and supervise and certify the OJT for the division’s enlisted personnel. In short, his job was to protect the major’s time on the piano with the officer’s wives’ club as much as possible.

Joel acknowledged he understood this and took the charge seriously even as he realized he was embarking on a set of responsibilities for which he had no preparation.

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The next day, he arrived in the orderly room bright and early to find a young airman waiting for someone to show up. Lieutenant, the airman exclaimed, I need to send in an absentee ballot and it needs to be certified by someone. Can you do that?

I don’t know, Joel replied, Let me check it out.

Just then, Sergeant Boodle arrived and Joel asked him if he could certify the ballot. I don’t remember Lieutenant, let me look it up in the regulations. In a few minutes Boodle returned, Well Lieutenant, it says here that a voting officer needs to certify the ballot.

Well who is the squadron voting officer?

We don’t have one, was Boodle’s response.

So let’s fix that, he said.

Come here Frank, the sergeant said to the airman 3rd class. Cut a special order making the lieutenant here the squadron voting officer.

In a few minutes Joel signed a special order making himself the voting officer. He then asked the young airman to come into his office. Asking him to mark the ballot in his presence but in a manner in which he could not see how he was voting, Joel certified the ballot and sent the airman on his way.

This was the first in a series of incidents in which he learned that making a lot of small decisions and taking initiative was the only way to do his job. It was a lesson he would take into his civilian career as well.

But first he had a wife to bring to Syracuse.

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That Friday evening, with the major’s verbal OK, he drove the 360 miles from Syracuse to Julie’s parents’ home. Saturday they packed and planned the move into their new apartment that would be available on Monday. On Sunday they drove back to Syracuse and stayed in a motel that night. The next day, he dropped her off at their new apartment and went to the base while she began to organize their lives. It was a lonely task. But she was well organized and soon had the apartment set up and started looking for a job. Joel’s Air Force take home pay of $78/week would not cover their $110/month rent and $60/month car payments and leave money for food or for anything else.

Having not only completed her training as a dental nurse, but having actually taught in the program after graduation, it did not take Julie long to find work with a downtown Syracuse dentist. Her pay was $64/week which after deductions for taxes became $32 take home pay.

Adding Julie’s $32 to Joel’s take home pay gave them $110/week. For the first time in their lives they had their own source of money. They began saving for a television set and for a sofa bed so they could have guests and began to fall into a routine.

Joel would take the car and drive to the base while Julie took the bus from the nearby shopping mall to downtown. They did the food shopping together at the base commissary and in a local supermarket. Julie prepared meals in advance on Sundays and after cleaning the dental office on Wednesday’s when it was closed. As time went by, they became friends with the other apartment dwellers in their building and even though the Syracuse winter prevented outdoor activity and each couple had their own lives, they did get together from time-to-time.

After a few months, they bought a television set and soon were watching Wide World of Sports. Julie especially enjoyed the figure skating competition and a bright new young woman skater named Peggy Fleming.

Joel was becoming more enmeshed in his duties and learning more and more about what life was like on a small military base. The base commander, a full colonel with a fixation on physical fitness, decided that Wednesday afternoons were the time for PT. Colonel Frank Robinson ordered all his officers join him in the gym at 3:00 PM where he took the lead and set the pace. The colonel was proud that at 50 he could do more sit ups than anyone else. He also used that time to build his strategy to get the best basketball players in the area assigned to his base so Hancock Field could win the inter-base basketball competition.

After PT at about 5:00 PM, the colonel insisted his officers get to know one another by having a drink at the Officer’s Club. Since Joel was the youngest officer, he felt compelled to attend these little get togethers. That meant Julie would be alone in an empty apartment from mid-afternoon when she got home from her early cleaning day at the office and he wouldn’t get home until 8:00 o’ clock or so. This was hardly the stuff of high drama, but it was the reason for their first argument.

The least you could do is call me, she cried.

The only phone is a pay phone. What am I supposed to do, ask the colonel for a dime? he responded angrily.

But as time went by, his perceived need to join the after gym drinking grew less and so did the conflict.

Another issue was Officer of the Day duty. The first time he had OD duty, George Berg and his wife Peggy invited them to their on-base housing so they could be together even though he was on duty. However, from the first time to the next time his name came up, Colonel Robinson decided that if his OD was home with Momma as he put it, he wouldn’t be effective. So a cot was set up in the air police duty shack where the OD would sleep in between patrols of the base. That left an upset Julie home alone.

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As squadron OJT officer, Joel had to go to the SAGE center to review training records of the enlisted personnel and discuss progress with the non-commissioned officers responsible for the actual training. Thinking about this process, he decided OJT was among the most important activities of a peacetime military. How else would these men be prepared for what they had to do if an emergency condition occurred? He also began to learn more about the actual activities of the base.

One day George Berg took him on a tour of the SAGE center which was the first computer installation he had ever seen. There were four computers set up in two pairs. One pair was for the Syracuse Air Defense Sector and the other was for the 26th Air Division. One of each pair was live and the other was a hot backup so if the primary failed, all activity would automatically switch to the second. This was extremely sophisticated for 1961. These computers were also impressive for their physical size. Each covered an area of about 3,000 square feet. Custom built by IBM, they were used to drive the visual displays for the weapons control officers who were responsible for the military reaction to any perceived threat.

In addition to the individual displays, there was a large theater environment where the senior officers could gather and see a huge combined display and make decisions on how to deal with any situation that might occur.

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With 1200 enlisted personnel to deal with, Joel was rapidly learning about the disciplinary aspects of the military.

Take the case of Jimmy Brown. A tough 19-year-old airman from Pittsburgh, Jimmy had graduated from a technical vocational school and was a diesel technician in the SAGE power plant. The power plant was a difficult environment and constantly had leaking oil on the floor that ruined even military boondockers. So Jimmy took to wearing his thick rubber-soled motorcycle boots. But they were non-regulation and the bored air police started to pick him up for being out of uniform at least once a month. Every time Jimmy managed to get one or two stripes and the increase in pay that went with them, he was busted back to airman basic. As a result, he was in danger of being thrown out of the Air Force with a less than honorable discharge.

Less than 20 feet from Joel’s office was the orderly room of the air police squadron and after Joel had been on base for about two months, Captain John Holmes who commanded the air police came over and said, Lieutenant, you have to do something about this guy Brown.

What? Joel replied.

For Christ’s sake, get him to wear uniform shoes outside of the power plant. Otherwise my guys are gonna continue to write him up and every time they do that, I have to report it to your boss and to Colonel Robinson. He’s getting to be a pain. Do something.

So Joel called Airman Brown into his office for a conversation.

What’s the problem? he began, Why can’t you wear uniform boots?

It’s the oil, Lieutenant, Brown responded. It ruins my shoes and I just can’t afford to buy new boots every month. My wife is pregnant again and I can’t do it.

What about just buying a pair to wear outside the power plant? Keep your motorcycle boots in your locker and change them when you leave, he said.

Well, I don’t know.

Look, just try it. If you can’t afford it, I’ll spot you the ten bucks for the boots, Joel said, going against his better judgment. But if you don’t I won’t be able to keep the air police off your back.

Okay Lieutenant, Jimmy responded. I’ll give it a try.

And for three months, the case of Jimmy Brown was quiet. He made airman second class again and was being transferred to a new duty assignment he wanted so he could get a fresh start.

Then one day in his last week he came onto the base wearing his motorcycle boots and he was pounced on by the air police. Busted back to airman basic and with his transfer canceled, Jimmy went home and beat up his pregnant wife. And that was the end of his career. He was hauled in front of a court martial and thrown out of the Air Force with a bad conduct discharge.

Joel spent a lot of hours thinking about how he had handled that situation and whether or not he could have done anything differently. He even spoke to Captain Holmes about it. But the answer always came up as a no. That was another learning experience. Sometimes there is nothing you can do to make a situation better. Human nature and, in this case, military regulations, often get in the way.

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The next time he had an opportunity to think on his feet involved a car full of young airmen. Off duty, they had gotten drunk the afternoon before and driven their car across a back yard in a Syracuse residential neighborhood ripping up the grass, tearing down a fully loaded clothesline, and scaring a local housewife half to death.

A television situation comedy writing team probably could have made a good script from the incident but the Syracuse police were not amused and the airmen spent the night in jail.

The next morning, when Joel walked into the orderly room at 8:00 AM, he was surprised to find Major Edwards already there. He was even more surprised to see the usually jovial major in a bad mood.

Joel, the major began, we have a problem. Later he would learn that whenever anyone says, We have a problem, it means that person has a problem that is about to become yours.

What is that sir? asked Joel.

The major explained. And then he told Joel to go down to the courthouse, intervene with the judge, gain military custody of the airmen, and bring them back to the base. Just how Joel was to accomplish this task, he did not say.

He drove down to the court, parked, went in, and found the courtroom where arraignments for the previous evening’s arrests were taking place.

Finding the airmen who were almost as frightened by their night in jail as the local housewife had been by their exploits the day before, he told them he was there to get them out and bring them back to the base. What he didn’t tell them was that his instructions were to turn them over to the air police.

The courtroom was, at best, chaotic. Public defenders consulted with clients, junior assistant district attorneys consulted with police officers, bail bondsmen hustled business, and over it all, the judge conducted the proceedings with a desultory air.

One of the bail bondsmen, a man in his mid-forties dressed in an ill-fitting suit, rumpled white shirt, and nondescript tie eyed Joel, noted the gold bars of a second lieutenant, decided he was inexperienced enough, and tried to get Joel to have him post bond for the airmen.

Shrugging him off, Joel said with a tone of confidence he did not feel, I’m here to take them into military custody, not get them out on bail.

After about an hour, the case came up. As the judge shuffled papers, Joel pushed his way to the front of the crowd standing before the bench and clearing his throat got the attention of the judge.

Your honor, he said, I’m Lieutenant Joel Kramer, representing Major Harold Edwards, commanding officer of the 4624th Support Squadron to which these men are assigned for administrative and disciplinary purposes.

Yes Lieutenant, said the judge, peering over his glasses, what do you want?

Sir, I’d like to request you release these men to the custody of the military authorities. If you will do so, I will return them to the base and we will deal with their infractions there, he said, acting as if he knew what he was doing.

Done, said the judge with a sigh of relief. Lieutenant, you are saving the taxpayers of Syracuse the cost of a trial. Bailiff, release these men and send them with the lieutenant.

Joel accompanied the four husky young airmen to his car, drove back to the base, and turned them over to the air police at the guard shack. Later he heard that they had all been busted one grade, given one month of roads and grounds duty, and fined ½ their pay for two months.

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The next time he faced the awesome power of military justice, it was more serious. Major Edwards was on leave and for all practical purposes, Joel was acting commander. He was sitting in his office reviewing some routine paperwork when a call came into the orderly room. Airman Smith took the call and his face went white. Lieutenant, he said, You’d better take this call.

What is it Frank? Joel asked.

Sir, Airman Smith replied, the deputy base commander is on the line. It seems some civilian shop keepers are accusing one of the sergeants of passing bad checks.

Okay Frank, I’ll take it, he replied wondering what he was going to be getting into this time.

Lieutenant Kramer.

Lieutenant, this is Colonel Jones, where is Major Edwards?

He’s on leave sir. He won’t be back for two weeks.

Oh shit. Excuse me Lieutenant but this one won’t wait. We have a complaint from a local storeowner that Sergeant Zacharias and his wife have passed some bad checks on him and some other local business people. I want you to call Sergeant Zacharias in, find out what in hell’s going on, and make certain we do what needs to be done.

At this point, Yes sir, was the only appropriate response.

Joel sat in his office to think the situation through. Finally he knew how to start. Walking out to Sergeant Vogel’s desk he asked if he had the right to see the squadron’s personnel records.

Yes sir you do, was the quick response.

Okay then please get me Sergeant Zacharias’ jacket, give me an hour with it, and then get Sergeant Zacharias in here to see me. Oh, and better show him into the commander’s office. I’m going to want to close the door and talk with him in private.

Yes sir.

A half-hour later he was looking through Sergeant Zacharias’ personnel folder. A staff sergeant and electronics technician, Foster Zacharias had been in the Air Force 12 years, was 31 years old and had an exemplary record. Barring unforeseen circumstances, he would probably make technical sergeant during the next promotion cycle and had every chance of rising up through the enlisted ranks to senior or chief master sergeant if he decided on a 30 rather than a 20-year military career. Jesus, Joel thought. What do I say to this guy?

As this thought was crossing his mind, Sergeant Vogel poked his head through the door. Sergeant Zacharias is here, he said. "I’ve put him in the commander’s office in one of the chairs facing the desk.

Thanks Sarge, I’ll take it from here.

He took a deep breath, stood up, and walked slowly into Major Edwards’ office. Closing the door and seating himself behind the major’s desk, he began. Sergeant, I’m Lieutenant Kramer. Major Edwards is on leave and won’t be back for two weeks otherwise he’d be having this conversation with you. Do you know what this is about?

No sir.

Well, according to the call I had from the deputy base commander, you’ve been accused of passing bad checks on the local economy. That’s a mistake isn’t it?

No sir.

No sir you haven’t passed bad checks or no sir it isn’t a mistake? Joel asked scarcely believing what he was being told.

No sir, it isn’t a mistake sir, was the response.

Well then, the bad checks were a mistake and you’re going to make them good aren’t you? he asked keeping the horror he was feeling out of his voice and taking on a more serious, more authoritative air.

No sir.

Sergeant, what do you mean you’re not going to make them good?

I can’t sir. I don’t have the money.

What if we took the money out of your pay over several months and arranged for it to be paid back that way?

I can’t do that sir, if I did there wouldn’t be enough to buy food for my wife and kids.

Sergeant, Joel said, his frustration showing, do you mean to tell me that you either cannot or will not repay these merchants what you owe them?

Yes sir Lieutenant, Zacharias responded with a tone of desperation in his voice, My wife has maxed out our credit cards, spent everything in our checking account, and I can’t hack it anymore.

Joel then witnessed something he had never seen before and hoped never to see again – the breakdown of a grown man.

Sergeant, you’ve been in the Air Force for twelve years. You have an outstanding record. Tell me something that will help me find a way to save your career, Joel pleaded. If you don’t I will have no other option than to recommend a court martial to the commander when he returns from leave.

I’m sorry sir, the sergeant replied, I can’t do that. But I do need to ask you a favor sir.

What is it Sergeant?

Can you tell me what's the most I can get?

Yes, I guess I can do that, he responded picking up the phone and dialing Sergeant Vogel’s extension. Sergeant Vogel, please bring in the Manual for Courts Martial.

With the manual in hand, he proceeded to go through the section on punishment while Foster Zacharias sat still with the look of a defeated man on his face. Finally, he looked up and said, Sergeant, I’m not a member of the Judge Advocate Corps, but it appears that the worst we can do is reduce you to airman basic, confiscate up to 2/3 of your pay, and give you up to six months in the stockade. Once that has been completed, you would be given a bad conduct discharge. But, at the end of that time you would also be subject to the civilian justice system

Yes sir.

Joel picked up the Manual for Courts-Martial and began to read again. Finally, he said, Sergeant Zacharias, I can no longer discuss this issue with you. I need to read you your rights. He then read the appropriate sections from the manual and, once more, called Sergeant Vogel.

Sarge, please seat Sergeant Zacharias in the orderly room. Don’t let him leave the office and please ask Sergeant Williams to come in here to see me.

The first sergeant sir? Vogel responded in surprise. Second lieutenants didn’t usually direct first sergeants to do anything.

Yes Charlie, Sergeant Williams, he said in a despondent tone of voice.

When Sergeant Williams entered the office, he got up, walked out from behind the desk, asked him to sit down in one of the chairs in front of Major Edwards’ desk, and sat down in the other. Sarge, he began, Sergeant Zacharias has been accused of passing bad checks and has admitted to me that the charges are true. I have now read him his rights and I think we need to make certain he doesn’t leave the base. Can you find room for him in one of the barracks?

Sergeant Williams thought for a moment and said, Good idea Lieutenant. Yes, I think I can do that. Let me check it out.

He called the Judge Advocate General’s office on the base and asked to speak to the major who was the senior officer in that unit. Sir, he said, I have a situation here at the support squadron," and he briefly described what had happened.

Major Harrison listened to his description and told him he had done the right thing. He said he would assign both prosecuting and defense attorneys and that they would be in touch with him within a day or two to let him know how to proceed.

Feeling emotionally drained, he called Colonel Jones and gave him a brief summary of what had taken place.

Thank you Lieutenant, was the brief and unsatisfactory response.

That evening he described his day to Julie. She was horrified. You mean he’s just throwing his career away? she asked.

He sees no other choice.

What about his wife and children? If he was so concerned about not having enough money to feed them on reduced pay, how’s he going to feed them if he’s in jail?

I don’t know. Maybe they can go on welfare if he’s under punishment but not if he’s voluntarily giving up part of his pay to pay off a debt.

Joel had learned another lesson about marriage. Having another human being around to talk to about things you cannot talk about with anyone else is not only comforting, it’s psychologically essential.

Over the next two weeks, he became a criminal investigator. Spending hours each day at Sergeant Zacharias’ bank, he constructed a record of what bad checks had been passed where and when, and provided that information to the Judge Advocate’s office.

When Major Edwards returned from leave, he brought him up to date on what had happened, expressing his concern