The Making of a Missileer

  by

Les Hayles

©1998

I became a missileer through an unplanned and, at times, humorous chain of events. My goal had been college after graduating from high school in 1961. I worked that summer and saved enough money for one quarter that fall. After that quarter, unable to land any part time work to finance my schooling, I wound up back to my Dad's farm and the same situation I had grown up with: My Dad's work ethic. It was very simple; I had to earn my keep if I lived there. Like a lot of others my age in those days, with no other job prospects, I started considering the military.

It became a question of what branch. My decision making was a process of elimination more than anything else. I had this idea I wanted to fly airplanes and that would be a big factor in my decision. I was interested in electronics, so that would be another factor. The Marines? They flew planes but their basic training? Forget it. The Army? I wanted to fly fighters, not helicopters. The Navy? They had lots of airplanes but I was never much of a swimmer. That left the Air Force. Lots of airplanes. Land based landing sites. An attractive list of schools in electronics. And, I loved the color of their dress blue uniforms. So, with the wisdom and objectivity of a nineteen year old Alabama country boy, I chose the Air Force.

With recruiting brochures in hand, I located the Air Force recruiter, Technical Sergeant Carlo G. Spiteleri. Sergeant Spiteleri quickly became my newest and best friend that March of 1962. Answering my questions with his crisp Massachusetts accent, he confirmed that a college degree was not yet required to get into the Aviation Cadet Program; and, yes, I surely would qualify. But, "It will be better to wait until you get in to apply," he told me. If Sergeant Spiteleri didn't pursue a second career as a used car salesman after the Air Force, he missed his true calling. Anyway, I believed him and signed up, naively ignoring the caveat in fine print about the Air Force's needs possibly coming before my stated preference of schooling in electronics.

I signed up on a Thursday and Sergeant Spiteleri asked when I wanted to go. I said as soon as possible. "How about tomorrow?" he asked. Whoa! I was ready, but not that ready - that was a little too soon. We settled on the following Monday. One more weekend at home, anyway.

On to basic training. We were subjected to the procedure of 'dismantling the individual and restructuring him as part of a unit.' What a colossal collective pain in the butt!

During that time we were giving aptitude tests of sorts and one of the other troops and I were offered language school for training as interpreters. We would be schooled on a college campus and would receive college credit. The other troop accepted it but I turned it down because I wanted to fly. Ah, such naiveté.

Toward the end we received our assignments for school. I was going to electrician school. I signed up for electronics and I was going to electrician school? I had ideas of working on radios or radars, not wiring buildings or whatever electricians did! As I found out, a couple of other troops that signed up for electronics were to be trained as diesel mechanics to maintain diesel engines that drove electrical generators. I remembered the caveat about the Air Force's needs and felt fortunate compared to them. It seems the electronic field was a broad one.

Actually, the school turned out to be interesting and fun as we went through very good hands-on training in everything from wiring building mockups, to motor controls, to climbing power poles and mounting transformers and other hardware. The most exciting part of being at Sheppard Air Force base was not the school; though, it was being there in tornado alley through tornado season. That was downright exhilarating at times.

Shortly after I arrived there I went to base personnel and inquired about applying for the Aviation Cadet Program. I was informed I could not apply while I was on 'pipeline status,' meaning while I was going to school. I would have to wait until I reached my permanent station. Hmm . . ., Sergeant Spiteleri had not told me that.

While there I heard there were some electricians being trained for the Atlas and Titan ICBM systems that were being built. It entailed another thirteen weeks of school and a promotion to E-3 and two stripes. I inquired about it and was informed that those people were picked by some unknown process nobody knew anything about. Oh well, I was going to fly so it didn't matter.

As my class graduation drew near we got our assignments to our permanent stations. Out of assignments to Texas, California, Oregon, Washington State, and New Mexico, I got the latter. At the time, all I knew about New Mexico was that it was one of those brown states on the map out west. With visions of deserts and desolation, I asked each of the others to trade assignments but got no takers. I even resorted to begging before I accepted my fate: I was bound for New Mexico.

So after graduation and a two week leave, I reported to Walker AFB, New Mexico on September 12, 1962 expecting to be assigned to the Civil Engineering Squadron. My 'processing in' began at the Base Personnel Office. Hunting and pecking at his typewriter, an obviously inexperienced clerk eventually finished his lob and directed me to report to a certain building number. I did so and, after more paper shuffling, was assigned an escort because I had to go onto the flight line to finish the process.

Walking inside the flight line fence, I was impressed with the gaggle of B-52s and KC-135s, and even more impressed when we entered a closed hangar and walked beside what I recognized as a shiny Atlas ICBM on a transport trailer. I didn't know it at the time, but I was in the Missile Assembly and Maintenance (MAMS) building of the 579th Strategic Missile Squadron.

It didn't occur to me that I might be in the wrong place until my escort turned me with my paperwork over to a burly Chief Master Sergeant whose stature belied his friendly nature. He immediately made me feel at ease inviting me to sit as he looked at my paperwork. After a bit he paused, looked up at me and asked, "Have you been to missile school?" As I answered negatively it dawned on me that the inept clerk must have sent me to the wrong place. He rose saying, "I'll be right back." I was left with the thought I would shortly be on my way back to Base Personnel to start over. At least I had the thrill of seeing an Atlas up close.

He was gone less than ten minutes. As he sat down he said, "The commander is wiring Sheppard to change your AFSC suffix from 'Z' to 'D.'" He explained the 'D' designated Atlas F Facilities Electrician. And, a Chief Master Sergeant, a Colonel and a telegram, had just made me one. I was amazed that they could do such a thing. I wouldn't be just a Civil Engineering Electrician after all.

My situation was unique in two more ways. The first was all the other troops in my shop had completed missile school and had been awarded a second stripe while I had only one. The other was they also had been investigated for and given 'Secret' security clearances and I had not.

My shop NCOIC, Tech Sergeant Clifton J. Garrett, who would prove to be a true mentor to me, promised that I would get my second stripe as soon as possible. I filled out the paperwork for a security clearance and was issued a temporary badge with the understanding I was to always be with an escort who had a clearance until mine came through. Since I had not had missile school Sergeant Garrett took me under his wing, initially keeping me in the shop and assigning a cram course of tech orders covering the systems on which I would be working. After a couple of weeks he started sending me out on simple jobs for indoctrination on actual systems. Things seemed to be working out well.

I wasted no time getting to base personnel to inquire about the Aviation Cadet Program. It was immediately obvious they weren't asked about that very often, if ever. The question went right up the chain of command until I was talking to the Captain in charge of the section. He admitted he was unfamiliar with such a request and said he needed to do some research. He asked me to come back the next day. As promised, he did the research and found the applicable regulation stipulating a list of forms that had to be filled out and submitted. The only problem: None of the forms could be found on base. They would have to be ordered from the Government Printing Office and that would take a few weeks. He apologized and said he would notify me when they came in. Not nearly as naive as I once was, I had begun to categorize Recruiter Spiteleri with used car salesmen.

Memories of my Air Force experience until this point are of interesting, almost fun times. Basic Training had been a drag, but school had been interesting and challenging. The missile squadron assignment had been unexpected but welcomed in that it was much more than what I had expected. I didn't know it but times were about to change.

During this time we all had heard the rumblings of a possible invasion of Cuba but we discounted them. President Kennedy and his brother Robert had bungled the Bay of Pigs Invasion so why would they do any different now? We would find out. I had been at Walker roughly six weeks when we suddenly went on DEFCON2 Alert. President Kennedy went on television and informed the nation the Soviets were placing nuclear missiles in Cuba. He showed U-2 photos as undeniable proof. He went on to declare a 'quarantine' of the island and threatened nuclear retaliation if it was violated. Thus began the Cuban Missile Crisis.  Kennedy and Khrushchev threatened and counter-threatened. It only lasted a week, but it was a grim week indeed. As threats and counter threats of nuclear attacks flew, it was very clear the world was on the brink of nuclear war and it was truly a scary time.

Our squadron was declared fully operational even though only nine of our twelve sites were considered so before. Hindsight shows it was all part of a bluff. The Soviets would have the perception of us being operational and that was what mattered. Hindsight also shows how part of the agreement that helped ease the crisis affected us. For the Soviets to agree to remove their missiles from Cuba, we had to remove our IRBMs from Turkey. With that reduction in our threat, the onus fell on the new Titan Is and our Atlases to make up the difference. So the pressure to get our system up to alert status and keep it there continued after the crisis.

Not only did the pressure continue, it got increasingly worse. The Atlas and Titan I systems were new designs, hurried into place to meet the demands of the escalating arms race. They went from blueprint to construction without any studies or testing of the myriad support systems. Weaknesses and even hazards of those systems would have to be dealt with during actual operation as they surfaced. And surface they did. Problems proved so pervasive that two years after the Cuban Crisis, we were deactivated.

Those were two years of almost unbearable pressure to accomplish the impossible task of keeping the sites 'on alert.' Fourteen and sixteen hour days were the norm. Standby was rotated through the shop roster and each of us could expect to catch it at least once a week and that meant twenty-four hour work periods and included weekends. A social life was almost non-existent.  Naturally, morale suffered as no relief appeared in sight. I even volunteered for Viet Nam twice out of frustration but my paperwork never got out of the squadron. Even the most dedicated troops began to feel there was no hope that we would ever reach any degree of success in keeping the sites on alert.

There was an enclave in the MAMS building called Job Control that required a Top Secret clearance for entry. From there emanated work schedules and work orders. Sergeant Garrett was the only one in our shop who had a top secret clearance and allowed in there. Surprisingly, my clearance came back as Top Secret and I could enter there also. It was a large room, one wall lined with backlit Plexiglas divided into twelve panels, one for each site. The status of the sites and their systems were depicted in different color grease pencil. I exercised my privilege often and I never saw all the sites on alert at the same time. I saw the number as low as four at times. It was easy to see that information could be very valuable to our enemies and warranted keeping the room top secret.

It didn't take long for problems that were to prove truly hazardous to crop up. The main one was the use of liquid oxygen (LOX) as an oxidizer and the requirement that it be on loaded and offloaded the missile before and after Propellant Loading Exercise (PLXs) - practice launches to us peons. Roughly six months after the Cuban Crisis, there was a fire in one of the loading systems during the offload and the missile and silo were lost in the ensuing explosion. Nine months later we lost another site because of a LOX leak followed by fire and an explosion. Then, less than a month later another hazard involving the Launch Platform (L/P) elevator along with the LOX system caused the explosion and loss of a third missile and silo. We were shocked, bewildered and left justifiably wondering which site would go next. After each explosion when I visited Job Control, I would be struck by the sight of another panel gone eerily blank.

We were down to nine sites but the workload didn't decrease at all. I had gotten my paperwork to apply for the Cadet program and filled it out. I got my commander's signature on the main part of the application and turned in the stack of completed forms to base personnel just before the first site blew and my commander was fired. My paperwork came back. I had to redo it with my new commander's signature. It came back a second time because the required six month flight physical exam had expired. By the time I had it almost ready again, we lost our commander again because of the second explosion. Again, back to square one. The last time I turned it in I had just gone 'over two,' meaning my enlistment was over half over. It came back. The clerk I had type it for me had used carbons on the five copy main form which was allowed. But, when he turned it over, he had made the back of the fifth page the original and the back of the first page the fifth copy. I was beside myself. I said to hell with it and trashed the whole thing. I was going to fly; I would just have to do it without help from the Air Force.

The months went by and the expectation of another accident waned somewhat but the workload remained as heavy as ever.  October 1964 came and some powers that be decided to send some Civil Engineering electricians to Sheppard for an abbreviated school on Atlas systems so they could give us some direly needed help. Someone noticed I had not gone to missile school and asked me if I wanted to go. Six weeks in school would be like a vacation and I jumped at the chance. That nameless clerk that had mistakenly assigned me to the 579th had set in motion a small comedy of errors which included my AFSC being changed with a telegram, my being awarded a top secret clearance which, along with allowing me access to Job Control, also allowed me to remain on level two of the sites' Launch Control Centers (LCCs) during practice launches, and now a chance to go to missile school.

School started the first week in November. My classmates were all CE troops; the instructors had spent all of two days of familiarization with the Atlas F systems at Altus AFB, Oklahoma. For me the course was a breeze and I made a real effort not to come across as a smart-aleck know-it-all. To add to the humor of this, half way through school Secretary of Defense McNamara made the surprising announcement that the Atlas and Titan I systems would be phased out on December 31st, two weeks after my return to Walker if I finished the course. The immediate question: Would we finish the course? The answer: Yes. Why did I bother asking?

School ended and I went back to Walker and two weeks later we shut down. Five days before we stood down, I took my first flying lesson at the local civilian airport.

To say the next year was different would be a gross understatement. All the Atlases were removed and shipped to California for storage. We put in eight hour days five days a week. Troops who had enough time left or who planned to reenlist were quickly reassigned and shipped out. Others like myself remained and were assigned to 'Site Surveillance Teams' with nothing to do except idle away eight hours a day at the sites playing cards or sun bathing. In February I was promoted to E-4 and in March the 579^th was officially decommissioned and we were assigned to the CE squadron. We had to move into their barracks and remove our 579th patches and wear their orange caps with CE emblazoned on the front instead of our hard hats with the 579th's decal. I resented being stripped of our identity.

I took and passed my flight test for my private pilot's license in July of that year and requested a three month 'early out' which I got in January of the next year. By then I had built up seventy-five hours of flying time, no thanks to the Air Force and Sergeant Spiteleri.

I pursued a flying career as a crop duster, instructor and presently as a corporate pilot with over 14,000 hours of flying time.

My Air Force experience was good for me: It taught me the discipline to handle adverse situations; and, I learned a very good trade that I have fallen back on a couple of times. As far as not getting to fly fighters, my wife's rather blunt observation is, "You would probably have gotten your butt shot off over Viet Nam." Also, thanks to Sergeant Spitaleri, I learned to be wary of used car salesmen.

It's a sad fact we were always far short of our goal of staying eighty per cent launch ready, but we tried hard. I say we helped keep the Soviets at bay until better systems came along and that is our measure of success. I salute my fellow missileers, especially those who served with me during that trying period.

THE END

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