The equipment we maintained at the Naval Communications Station on Guam was the latest and most sophisticated available in one sense and not so complex in another. But it was what the Navy had at the time, and they were using it to spy on the world: secret encrypted messages, Russian missile launches, radar communications sites, and a host of others, including simple, almost archaic Chinese digital communications. Then there were our own people: the media, telephone and shortwave communications, and others.

The reason why me, Juan Trujillo, John Proza, Orion Larson and others were there is that the equipment sometimes failed and the operators would call the Electronics Store in the basement and ask one of us to go to the third floor. to look for it. going.

The first step would be to discuss the problem with the operator present and many times while explaining the problem, the operator would notice something that had been overlooked and fix the problem on the spot. But there were times when the problem was real and had to be fixed.

The typical procedure would be to plant your body directly in front of a seven foot by three foot piece of electronic equipment, then reach into the lowest drawer and turn the power switch off and then back on again, kind of like a system reboot. these days with computers. If that didn’t work, we’d open the power supply drawer and close it, and we might slam it shut if the first step didn’t work.

There were a number of first checks and if none of them worked, we’d finally get out the scope and start troubleshooting the beast. But that was always the last resort. We could go as far as removing one or more vacuum tubes, bending the little pins on each base, and then replacing the tube or tubes before going back to such drastic measures as a technical manual and the O-Scope.

When it was time to leave Guam, Juan turned to me as we all stood outside waiting for the bus that would take us to the airport. We had our dark green duffel bags next to us, some lying on the floor, others standing upright with one hand grabbing a handhold as if the person was afraid the bag would come off with all their stuff.

John was one of those individuals. He seemed nervous, a little restless, and he said, “My, I’m terrified of going back to the States!”

He had ulcers in his mouth: on each side, top and bottom. I couldn’t sleep at night and was daydreaming every second about the options that might be available to me once I was out of the Navy. I couldn’t wait to put my foot back on some good solid North American soil and even turned down a pretty big reinstatement bonus to get that chance.

I told Juan I said, “Juan, you’re crazy. I can’t wait to go home! Besides, I have a woman back there and I haven’t seen her in a year.”

Juan spoke slowly, with traces of an old-time Spanish accent, but he didn’t hesitate. Shaking his head, he said, “Well, I want to go home too. But it’s the return flight that scares me.”

My face took on a puzzled expression. “Wh…what do you mean the flight home?” I asked him, as the two of us exchanged glances. “How else are you going to get back there? Hell, it’s six thousand miles to San Francisco, Juan.”

“I know,” replied the Mexican American, “but aren’t we going to fly in a C141?

“Yes, but…”

“And that’s an Air Force plane, right?” Juan continued, not allowing me to finish.

“Yeah, but… what does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, you know how we maintain this electronic equipment. You know Air Force men do the same thing!”