And so begins Brad’s amazing two-year plum assignment at Itami Air Force Base near Osaka, Japan. Yes, he was in what they called the Korean Theater, only 90 miles from the 38th Parallel, but truly a world away from Korea. All the airmen paid $2 from their monthly pay and that covered a Japanese houseboy who took care of their laundry, made their beds, and kept their barracks inspection-ready at all times.
When Brad reached Kamaki Base Headquarters, prepared to get his orders to Korea, he was met by the First Sergeant. “Scott, you sure are one lucky dog, getting to go down to Itami Air Base.
Brad replied, “Oh, I’m not staying in Japan. I’m going to Korea.”
When Brad and his AF buddies marched off the ship in Yokohama, they soon found out that the ship was immediately going further down the Japanese coastline to deliver Navy personnel assigned to other ships and then on to Korea to drop off hundreds of combat-ready Army soldiers. The Air Force guys were being transferred to various AF bases in Japan for their new assignments.
Brad was sent to the Kamaki base, a small AF installation out in the country near the city of Nagoya. Well, he wasn’t in Korea but he was in what was called the Korean Theater, only 90 miles from the 38th Parallel.
Once in California, at an Army post on the outskirts of LA, Brad and his buddy were playing the waiting game, not knowing when the trip to free beer in Korea, for which they had volunteered, would continue. But they were up for any adventure in the meantime.
It was early summer 1950 at Vance Air Force Base. There was a little discussion about increasing action in Korea but more chatter about the free beer for the soldiers there. One of Brad’s buddies threw down the gauntlet, “Hey Scott, I bet you don’t have the guts to go with me to volunteer for duty in Korea.”
Although spending 10-12 hours a day in the San Antonio, Texas summer sun wouldn’t appeal to most people, Brad loved every minute of basic training at Lackland Air Force base: the punishing exercise sessions, the regimented marching everywhere you went, the constant screaming of the tough DI. It was just the challenging life this strong and healthy and enthusiastic 17-year-old had pictured since he had played with toy soldiers in his childhood sandbox.
At noon on January 18, 1949, Brad’s 17th birthday, he walked out of his high school, where he had been impatiently marking time until his “real life” could begin. He boarded a city bus going to downtown Connersville, and then took another bus to Richmond, Indiana where he entered a Marine Recruiting Office.
“I’m ready to see the world!”
Once Brad turned 13, he found better opportunities to increase his discretionary income, and therefore increase his gambling bankroll. First he took on a paper route, and that $5 net profit a week made him “rich” beyond his dreams.
Unfortunately, Brad never did quite recover from his disappointment that school was not going to be all fun and games. To make matters worse, he found reading was a struggle from the get-go, and his lack of reading skills seriously hindered progress all during his school years. It wasn’t until he met me that he found out why he never did well at school. I hadn’t known him a week until I realized he had dyslexia. All those 45 years, Brad had known that he wasn’t “dumb,” as he was labeled by the teachers in an earlier era when they didn’t know how to diagnose or treat someone with a learning disability.
At age 6, Brad had a very traumatic experience connected with gambling.