There She Is Again
by Scott B. Laughlin / n7net
Copyright 2008
I
didn't know an electron from a pipe wrench when the Air Force enrolled
me in airborne electronic school at Keesler AFB, Mississippi. Nor, did
I expect the instructors to be so near my age with personalities and
emotions to match.
This surprise-filled era
occurred so many years ago that the names of most individuals have
faded from my memory, except for one-Airman Andover. Andover was
a lanky individual with features that females found attractive.
Our
classes were divided into three-week phases, each focusing on a
particular aspect of electronics. Andover taught third
phase-tubes. His creative instruction enabled me to grasp many
important principles of signal amplification, especially how distortion
would result if two mismatched tubes were used in a push-pull
circuit.
"If both tubes conduct at the same
rate we call them a "matched pair," he explained. "This is a
classic example...," his voice trailing off as he pointed to a
receiver/transmitter, a component of the APS-42 Search Radar
System. "I should already have gotten a matched pair for that
unit."
Andover hesitated, and then turned to study the young faces of his pupils, seventeen of us in all.
"You," he said at last, pointing an index finger toward the back of the classroom.
Turning,
I spotted the individual to whom he pointed. He was a studious
young airman, a North Carolinian with an overly prominent nose and
deep-set eyes.
"Nelson. That's your name, isn't it?"
"Yes Sir."
"Good. Do you know where the office is?"
"Yes Sir."
"Good.
There's an attractive blonde behind a desk on the right as you pass
through the door. She's in charge of procurement. Do you
know what procurement means?"
"No sir."
"It means she can provide stuff I need. Go down there and tell her to bring me a pair of matched fallopian tubes."
Perhaps
the glint in Andover's eyes meant something to others, but I was the
second most naive person of the lot. It came as no surprise to me
when Nelson bolted from his desk and was gone in a flash.
Andover
resumed his lecture for another ten minutes, but stopped in mid
sentence when the door burst open. Nelson was back. Instead
of tubes, he'd brought with him a burly, middle-aged woman in civilian
clothes. She was a person of authority. At least
Airman Andover considered her as such, because his complexion turned
ashen.
The glare she cast toward him was so rigid that I
could have hung my wash on it. However she made no mention of the
tubes Airman Nelson had sought. Instead, she went into a detailed
lecture describing how to make vacuum tubes from sand, should we find
ourselves stranded on a deserted island and in need of producing an
emergency radio signal. All the while Andover shifted his weight
and stayed clear of her peripheral vision. When she was finished
she identified herself as an electrical engineer and Vice
Superintendent of the Air Force Electronic School. She left the
room in the same manner in which she'd entered, sudden and without
warning.
Fifty years have passed since that surprising incident
occurred. I had totally forgotten about the woman who fabricated
radio tubes from island sand. And I might not be thinking of her
now, were it not that I'm certain she turned up as attorney general
during the last decade of the Twentieth Century.