I underwent basic training in the summer of 1947 at SAAAC Field, Texas (now Lackland Air Force Base).

I'd have to say my fondest memory was getting to see a big city on our first pass into town. My hometown back then had a whopping 1,800 people, so San Antonio was a marvel to behold. I had the pleasure of seeing the inside of the then-majestic Aztec Theatre, walked the grounds and the inside of the Alamo and boated down the River Walk before commercialism made it less enjoyable. I tasted my first Mexican food at the Riverside Cafe on the River Walk, as well as my first beer.

If I had to cite my worst memory, it would probably be failing to qualify with the .45-caliber pistol on the firing range. After firing off all the ammo my instructor had given me, and failing utterly to even hit the target frame—let alone the target, the instructor took the pistol away from me, handed it back to me barrel-first and suggested I could probably be more effective if I used it as a club.

That take-down didn't do much for my self-esteem.