A Valentine’s Tale: An Autobiography by Jeffrey Harold Valentine

By Jeff Valentine

Few people have the opportunity to pass on to those that follow what really happened in their lifetime. This is mine. Growing up in post-World War II times, I was raised to go to college, play all kinds of sports well, and become an all-around good citizen. In telling my story, I discovered that most, if not all, of my air force assignments and units no longer exist, meaning my children and grandchildren will have no idea what I went through in my lifetime except for what I have written here.

I feel that this is not only my story, it's a history, as I lived it, from 1943 through 2016.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664195509

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Copyright © 2021 by Jeff Valentine.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/20/2021

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CONTENTS

Preface

Part 1    GROWING UP

Dumont Years (1943–1952)

Haworth Years (1953–1957)

Religion Break

Back to the Haworth Years

Travel Break

Caddy Shack—1957

High School Years (1957–1961)

Part 2    COLLEGE US AIR FORCE ACADEMY

Background

Doolie Summer

Fourth Class Year

Third Class Summer

Third Class Year

Second Class Summer

Second Class Year

First Class Summer

First Class Year

June Week–1965

Part 3    CAREER NUMBER ONE

Pilot Training–1965

Valentine Family Status Update

Minuteman Missile Years—1966–1968

Navigator Training Years—1968–1969

Personal Update

Navigator Training—Continued

Navigator-Bombardier Training 1968–1969

Personal Update

Transition Months—May–September, 1969

34th Bombardment Squadron (1969–1974)

Historical Background—Vietnam

Back to the 34th Bombardment Squadron

319th Bomb Wing/ 46th Bomb Squadron—1974–1976

321st Strategic Missile Wing 1976–1980

7th Bomb Wing and 20th Bomb Squadron—1980–1983

Personal Update

Back to Business

3rd Air Division (Sac)/ 314th Air Division (Pacaf)—1983–1985

Detachment 11, 1st Combat Evaluation Group (Sac) 1985–1987

Part 4    THE TRANSITION YEARS

USPA & IRA

IDS Financial Services

Part 5    CAREER NUMBER TWO

Skidmore-Tynan High School (1992 – 1996)

Ball High School—Galveston, Texas (1996–2006)

Part 6    RETIREMENT YEARS (2006–????)

PREFACE

Jeff Valentine here! My wife, Kathy, started delving into my family’s history, and hers, some years ago, and discovered a lot of stuff that was incredibly interesting. I don’t know much about where I came from on both sides of a complex family background, but Kathy has done extremely well connecting me with my past as she has with her own. Hopefully, this tome will fill the gaps in my life as I remember it. These memories are my own, folks, so forgive me if some of the details don’t exactly jibe with historical events although I’ve tried hard to make them accurate.

I have, in the meantime, discovered that a lot of my life’s history (assignments, units, etc.) have disappeared into the past. I have tried my best here to resurrect a lot of this because my life and that of my parents, wife, and her parents are intertwined completely with the history of not only the United States but with the world in general. So pardon my departures here and there when I delve into some interesting side stories.

I dedicate all of this to my family, past, present, future Valentines, wherever you may be.

PART ONE

GROWING UP

(1943–1961)

DUMONT YEARS

(1943–1952)

Life begins! I was born on June 4, 1943, at Holy Name Hospital in Teaneck, New Jersey. For the record—Mom (Nina Frances Hahn), Dad (Charles Brinkerhof Valentine). Note: Guess I was destined to be Catholic since I was born in a Catholic hospital (I do not know what time I was born—ask my mom!).

Apparently, I was born with club feet which required casts for six months and foot massages by Mom for some time after that. I recovered nicely. Thanks, Mom!

We lived at 5 Gordon Avenue, Dumont, New Jersey in a small two-story house with a tiny backyard. Dad was pretty much unknown to me for a while as he was spending way too much time in Europe fighting Hitler (World War II). He survived, returned home, mustered out, and was hired on as a clerk for Standard Oil of New Jersey (ESSO). As such, he ended up working in New York City, and was again, spending way too much time away from home.

Our next-door neighbors at the time were the Bougeres who became my godparents. They were my aunt Shirley and uncle Bo for years. They were my parent’s first real friends, I think. They ended up moving a few blocks away into a bigger house because of my new cousins Lynn and Jimmy. They were good chums, but I have long since lost track of them.

My brother, Bruce Lee Valentine, arrived by stork in January 1947—a late Christmas gift, I guess, and I started school in 1948. I do remember walking to school up a long road (for me). It was Grant Elementary located at the top of a hill where three roads connected and all went downhill. I don’t remember much about my first four grades except that I was a smarty pants and spent some time in the cloakroom (time out in those days, very dark and very scary). My report cards show that I was a pretty smart kid—just a headstrong first child. It could also be that my parents were dealing with kid number two and a few other distractions. Okay—onward and upward.

Life on Gordon Avenue was pretty simple in those days. Groceries were bought in a small store across a fairly busy street (Washington Avenue) and friends were available up the avenue (a hill) to a dead end. There was a cliff there which dropped to train tracks below. There was also a sand pit to the right of the cliff where we played a lot.

I had three friends, Dean and Gale Anderson, and Ronald Schutz (a Merchant Marine Academy future cadet). Ron’s mom was a close card playing friend of my mother with an extremely bad back problem.

There’s some crazy stuff here—like Gale hitting me on the head with a rake (a scar I still have), my first pet (Rex—a cocker spaniel who had to be put down because he bit a neighbor), sliding down a small hill in a vacant lot next door in my snowsuit (slicing it, my jeans, and my knee), and sledding down our icy hill challenging the traffic on Washington Avenue scaring Mom a lot. I also remember falling out of a tree across from the Anderson’s house, landing on the concrete, breaking my arm, and suffering my first concussion. Not sure why I fell out of the tree (my excuse—I fell asleep, must have been nap time).

About this time, maybe after I learned to ride a two-wheeler and rode all over several neighborhoods, I met Carol Beck who lived behind us and through a small thicket. You might call her my first girlfriend, but we were way too interested in playing cards. We would play canasta, but mostly war on the carpet in her living room. I don’t remember her parents, but I do remember seeing her years later when my high school basketball team competed against hers. (She was a cheerleader. We talked for a bit, but I never saw her again.)

Moving on, I don’t remember traveling much. Just running between relatives as kids do. There were visits to Tenafly where I got to know my grandparents (Mom’s adopted parents, Grammy and Grandpa Hahn). I also got to know my aunts and uncles on my mom’s side (Ann/Ed, Jane/John). I did not meet my cousins until a few years later (I was the oldest). There were more visits to Maywood to see my dad’s mother, cousins Jimmy and William, plus a lawyer friend next door to my grandmother. A visit to them was always on the agenda. I believe his name was Tony (?) and they had a BIG house. Nice people.

Back home, it’s the summer of 1953, and I remember hitting my brother in the eye while trying to hit a ball tossed by my dad. Not much trauma to Bruce’s eye, but it’s my first memory of actually trying to play baseball.

Remember: Small backyard, little Dad time, little brother needing help, and a grandmother with a brain tumor living alone. Dad’s her only relative, so he sells the house and we move to Haworth about five miles away. This move seems strange, but it makes sense when the fact that my parents were married in a church in Haworth just across the street from my mom’s adopted parent’s rather large house (call it a mansion, okay?) is considered. Shortly after our move, they moved to Tenafly, buying a pretty nice home while they built a very nice home to their specifications about a block away. Note: As I recall my adopted grandfather, Harold Hahn, was involved in the Alaska statehood proceedings. How and where, I’m not sure, but there it is.

HAWORTH YEARS

(1953–1957)

Dad now owned a new house in a new subdivision in Haworth. The address, 33 Jackson Avenue, on the east part of town, close to a bus stop so Dad could get to work. Haworth was a small community like Dumont, growing steadily because of the families whose breadwinner worked in New York City, but for tax and personal reasons, preferred a home life on the Jersey side of the George Washington Bridge (they called these areas of Northern New Jersey, Bedroom Communities for this reason).

Having moved there, my new problem? Getting to school! My new school was in the middle of town with a large hill (called Tank Hill) between our house and school, so——bike I go, up and down every day (heart healthy!).

Our new house was a split-level home where you enter the house, go left into the living area or go straight up the stairs, go right to two bedrooms and a bath (above the garage), or go straight again upstairs to the master suite (and the attic). There was also a basement. For the era (’50s) it was a great family home design now that I think about it. I say that because the kitchen was small, and detached from the living area, and the dining room was a little confined. The idea of an open concept was unknown at the time. Even the living room was two rooms!

Dad now has his dream: a big yard (try half a block), basement, and outdoor cooking. First, he quickly discovered that a push mower, a big lawn on an incline, and no help didn’t mix (but he kept at it). Although I readily shoveled snow and mowed neighbor’s lawns, I hated mowing and weeding ours, roaming around on hands and knees, pulling crabgrass was never my favorite, especially considering the size of the yard. (I don’t remember Mom doing much either—but she had way too much going on in the house). Second, Dad loved the basement. I believe he built a foosball table first because I remember playing endlessly flipping wooden paddles with a Ping -Pong ball. Don’t know who won—who cares. Then he put a Ping-Pong table top on it and off we go. Next, he was into model trains. Off comes the Ping-Pong net and on goes an elaborate model train set. We had tunnels, mountain scenery, and the whole Lionel train bit! He even downsized to HO scale until he finally lost interest, or maybe got overloaded. Third, since the other dads on the block were outdoor cooks, there went Dad. Only comment here, he tried, and was famous for cooking chicken black on the outside pink on the inside. (Me too Dad!)

Around this time, my dad’s mom passed away, and I inherited her room. I think I asked for it—to get away from my brother, but he got a much bigger room, don’t remember why to this day.

I was now into baseball big time, into football, and into tennis (confused? I’ll explain later). Meanwhile, doing well in school, I was helping my science teacher care for his white rats and rabbits over the summer months at home. Note: Mom never liked it, but all was well.

It was also music time for me. I always sang well (I think), tried a clarinet for a while (no good), and tried out for and played parts in several school plays which included singing and acting. (Mom made my costumes, always remember the Dutch shoes, swords, and other stuff—she was great!). I will always remember a tryout when someone yelled out, Who’s the lead? and I yelled out, I am. The teacher in charge said, Oh no, you’re not! and that was it. I still had a prominent part, and all went well.

RELIGION BREAK

1955 has come, and I need to interject religion into my story, if you don’t mind. This seems to be a good place because we’re living in Haworth now, and well—I think you’ll see where it goes.

I had been baptized in the First Congregational Church in Haworth on the 25 July 1943, the same church my parents had been married in three years prior. Before we actually moved to Haworth from Dumont, I celebrated my confirmation at the Old North Reformed Church in Dumont in 1952. After we moved, Mom and I went to church weekly, and I was a Sunday school zealot. Don’t remember Dad coming to church—not sure why (probably lots of travel time, work time, gardening time, etc.). Around this time, our Sunday school teacher took us to a New York City radio station for a quiz program about the Bible. I won received a book that I still have. Remember, I’m a generic Protestant, now. More later.

BACK TO THE HAWORTH YEARS

Summer months came along, and I picked up tennis for some reason (remember, I’m a Gemini!). There were courts close to school, and I took lessons and did pretty well (the mystery of dealing with a lefty).

I was also, as I said before, big into baseball. As I recall, there was no real baseball movement when we moved into the subdivision, but the local fathers (mine included) organized little league teams, built a field, and started the real deal. My dad was a coach and my brother was on his team. I, however, was too old and was left to play in something called the Knickerbocker League. Lousy fields, lousy equipment, but pretty good coaches who loved the game and helped us succeed at it. I pitched, played first, and outfield for this bunch. I did pretty well, no homers, no errors, .300 batting average, and lots of strikeouts (as a pitcher that is).

Wait! I forgot football! Flag football, that is. In seventh grade, I was a guard on our team. Since I was pretty fast, I was a lead blocker for a neighbor kid. We won a lot. All this continued into eighth grade. (A side note: In seventh grade, I decided that I wanted two things, fly airplanes and go to the Air Force Academy. My uncles had both graduated from West Point and this may have had an impact on my lofty desire, but I always remember lying on the grass, looking up at the sky, and saying to myself, I want to go there.)

Meanwhile (remember, we’re still talking fifth through eighth grade), I joined Cub Scouts, skipped to Boy Scouts, and camped out camporee and jamboree. I hated living in tents, starting fires, etc. (wait for two survival tours coming). One good thing: I learned to shoot a rifle. and never lost the talent. My troop actually camped out at Gettysburg one summer—awesome.

Around this time, since my dad was a 33rd Degree Mason, he decided to enroll me in DeMolay. This was an organization launched in the 1920s for males aged twelve through twenty-one, sponsored by the masons and named after the last grand master of the knights templar, Jacques DeMolay. The short story was that DeMolay