the United States, responding to Cold War tensions (the Berlin crisis, the Cuban missile crisis), foreign brushfires (Laos, Vietnam), and international commitments (NATO, South Korea, japan), desperately needed conscripts. Halyburton preempted his draft notice and volunteered, hoping to receive a better assignment as an officer.
He had never thought about being an aviator until his senior year in college, when a former fraternity brother told him about his experience flying a McDonnell F-4 Phantom, an extremely fast (Mach 2), maneuverable aircraft with sophisticated electronics that enhanced its radar intercept and bombing capabilities. That sounded exciting to someone who grew up in a town that didn't even have an elevator. In the Navy, Halyburton could travel around the world on great ships, learn how to pilot high-tech aircraft, and avoid sleeping in a pup tent.
Halyburton was also a product of the South, where Confederate generals were revered, the martial spirit was celebrated, and young men were taught that serving their country in combat was noble. As a boy, he watched the Davidson College ROTC band, color guard, and honor drill march through town. His mother told him about a cousin, a World War II Navy corpsman, who was killed during the invasion of Okinawa while caring for a wounded Marine and was rewarded with a Congressional Medal of Honor. That impressed young Porter.
His naval flight training did not go exactly as planned. He wanted to be a pilot, but he failed an eye exam because his eyes were tired from his college finals. He passed the test on a second try, but by the time the paperwork cleared, he had begun training as a flight officer and saw no reason to retrain as a pilot. An RIO used geometric guidelines to map out where his pilot dropped bombs and fired missiles, a kind of mathematics puzzle that Halyburton enjoyed. He also assumed his military career would be short. In February 1964 he was commissioned as an officer, receiving his shoulder boards with one gold stripe. When he left Norfolk in May 1965, he was obligated to serve twenty-six more monthsâample time to return and take a Mediterranean cruise. He knew that many seamen back home feared the Vietnam War would be over before they had an opportunity to fight. For now, he was grateful to get at least one chance at combat.
Halyburton was awestruck by the
Independence,
where he was part of the VF 84 Squadron (the V stood for "fixed wing"; the
F
for "fighter"). The ship hauled more people than the population of Davidson and seemed to offer more diversions, sponsoring boxing matches, basketball games, skeet shooting, and variety shows. While Davidson's movie theater had burned down in the 1950s, the
Independence
showed a different film almost every night. Halyburton, who as the designated "popcorn officer" ensured that munchies were available, wrote to Marty about
The Sound of Music
and
West Side Story,
neglecting to mention the more popular pornographic flicks.
At twenty-four, Halyburton was one of the youngest officers onboard, and while he was proud to be part of a complex, powerful enterprise, he had quibbles with life at sea. The odor of jet fuel seemed always to permeate his clothes and hair, the omnipresent steam created an acrid smell, and the food was lousy. As he told Marty on tape, "The kitchen ran out of eggs, so breakfast doesn't hold much appeal to me. Lunches have been pretty bad, and dinners have been edible but nothing tremendous." Alcohol was forbidden, but Halyburton, like most officers, kept a fifth of gin and a fifth of Scotch in his footlocker.
He found refuge, if not exactly quiet, in his relatively spacious stateroom, where he lived with a lieutenant. (Most junior officers were quartered in crowded, six-person bunkrooms, but for some reason he was given better accommodations.) He kept a diary ("Feel the urge & need to write again. Imagine a poet-artist-RIO"), worked on some of his poetry, and read Ayn Rand and
Wind from
He had never thought about being an aviator until his senior year in college, when a former fraternity brother told him about his experience flying a McDonnell F-4 Phantom, an extremely fast (Mach 2), maneuverable aircraft with sophisticated electronics that enhanced its radar intercept and bombing capabilities. That sounded exciting to someone who grew up in a town that didn't even have an elevator. In the Navy, Halyburton could travel around the world on great ships, learn how to pilot high-tech aircraft, and avoid sleeping in a pup tent.
Halyburton was also a product of the South, where Confederate generals were revered, the martial spirit was celebrated, and young men were taught that serving their country in combat was noble. As a boy, he watched the Davidson College ROTC band, color guard, and honor drill march through town. His mother told him about a cousin, a World War II Navy corpsman, who was killed during the invasion of Okinawa while caring for a wounded Marine and was rewarded with a Congressional Medal of Honor. That impressed young Porter.
His naval flight training did not go exactly as planned. He wanted to be a pilot, but he failed an eye exam because his eyes were tired from his college finals. He passed the test on a second try, but by the time the paperwork cleared, he had begun training as a flight officer and saw no reason to retrain as a pilot. An RIO used geometric guidelines to map out where his pilot dropped bombs and fired missiles, a kind of mathematics puzzle that Halyburton enjoyed. He also assumed his military career would be short. In February 1964 he was commissioned as an officer, receiving his shoulder boards with one gold stripe. When he left Norfolk in May 1965, he was obligated to serve twenty-six more monthsâample time to return and take a Mediterranean cruise. He knew that many seamen back home feared the Vietnam War would be over before they had an opportunity to fight. For now, he was grateful to get at least one chance at combat.
Halyburton was awestruck by the
Independence,
where he was part of the VF 84 Squadron (the V stood for "fixed wing"; the
F
for "fighter"). The ship hauled more people than the population of Davidson and seemed to offer more diversions, sponsoring boxing matches, basketball games, skeet shooting, and variety shows. While Davidson's movie theater had burned down in the 1950s, the
Independence
showed a different film almost every night. Halyburton, who as the designated "popcorn officer" ensured that munchies were available, wrote to Marty about
The Sound of Music
and
West Side Story,
neglecting to mention the more popular pornographic flicks.
At twenty-four, Halyburton was one of the youngest officers onboard, and while he was proud to be part of a complex, powerful enterprise, he had quibbles with life at sea. The odor of jet fuel seemed always to permeate his clothes and hair, the omnipresent steam created an acrid smell, and the food was lousy. As he told Marty on tape, "The kitchen ran out of eggs, so breakfast doesn't hold much appeal to me. Lunches have been pretty bad, and dinners have been edible but nothing tremendous." Alcohol was forbidden, but Halyburton, like most officers, kept a fifth of gin and a fifth of Scotch in his footlocker.
He found refuge, if not exactly quiet, in his relatively spacious stateroom, where he lived with a lieutenant. (Most junior officers were quartered in crowded, six-person bunkrooms, but for some reason he was given better accommodations.) He kept a diary ("Feel the urge & need to write again. Imagine a poet-artist-RIO"), worked on some of his poetry, and read Ayn Rand and
Wind from
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