Stories from TUSLOG DET. 3-2

Samsun, Turkey

This page will present stories from TUSLOG Det. 3-2, written by myself, George Campbell,  and by other contributors. We all know what our mission was there, but as far as I know, the details are still classified, so some details will not appear in these stories, just general references to things. I welcome contributions to this page, which you can send to the email link below. Please be discreet about classified information, so I won't have to edit too much. I'll correct spelling and grammar errors, but won't alter the flow of your stories. You can use your real names, a nickname, and I'll add email links if you wish to your stories or leave them off if you prefer. Please give an idea of when your story takes place.

Note: All stories below are the words of the teller. I do not necessarily agree with everything posted here, so don't blame me or this website for anything you don't like in these stories, unless I wrote them. --George Campbell, Able Trick, 1967-68

Stories from 1962-63

The following stories come from Lloyd Messner, Jan. 1962 - April, 1963. He worked as the Personnel Record Custodian, was a cashier at the club, and won several bowling trophies during his tour.

Just tried scanning a pic of the overview of downtown Samsun and the harbor shot from the dispensary and mess hallarea but my scanner is screwed up right now. USB ain't kicking in or something. In seeing some of the pics from the late 60s, my pic was quite dated, almost barren looking in black and white. I dabbled with my own 35mm pics while over thereand screwed most of them up in the photo lab trying to enlarge and such and what I have left is pics of me and one of Goulon and I by his cage. Goulon is known by all it appears. 

I also had a few of our one day bus rides to a small community up in the hills, called Amasya, I think. Had too much beer and chicken that day but lot's of memories. 

Supply ship duty: Usually a dozen airmen were posted to the bulletin board and had to be at the pickup point early in the AM. Seems later that evening when the First Sergeant was updating the BB, he spotted A/2c Kemp and yelled " Hey Moon, where was your ass at 6 this morning, you don't read bulletin boards anymore? and the airman walked over to the board and looked at the roster and said "Sarge, my name ain't nowhere on that list" and the 1st Sgt pointed to "A2CMoon" and said, "what the H is that?" and Moon (who was actually bald, shiny bald, his nickname) laughed and pointed a finger at his fatigues and it said Aubrey Keilberg. Sgt Ferriter looked and said "Okay wise guy, I'll let ya off this time but if you ever see Moon or Keilberg, your ass better be there!" 

Oh, another funny: We had a one striper who wasn't all there and he was downtown one day and was dealing with a Turk and when the Turk showed up at the gate and told the guards (both Turk and US) that he was here to pick up that big white building that he bought from a guy named da da da. Well, you can imagine the minds of the guards when they thought, could this be so? Yeah, the Commander called in the airman and said "did you do this?" and he admitted he had but that the guy still owed him some more Lira. He was busted to basic and I left there shortly afterwards so I don't recall the end of it. But, the radar cover never left there. 

This next one you'd almost have to know these guys to get the full brunt but I'll try and explain. Seems there was a couple of civilian men visiting the site and spending most of their time down hill in the operations area and one night after I finished duty (part time work) at the NCO/Airmen hut, my NCOIC, TSgt John Purdham, knocked on my room door and whispered to me that he needs me at the orderly room at 8 in the morning as there's some serious typing needing to be done. I was a little disgusted that it had to be me, on my only free day but I showed up and he gave me a list of 5 airmen, pull their folders and type up undesirable discharges for all five (homosexual behavior, including a civilian from the GE section). WOW! Well, what I am leading up to is that this time of year was also the time when we had the opportunity to visit the Holy Land and we had this very old Joe Palooka built MSgt nicknamed Flash, who passed by the orderly room and saw these 5 airmen standing in front of the place, with baggage, awaiting the bus to take them to Ankara for physicals and the USA and the First Sgt was nearby so Flash yelled at Sgt Ferriter "are these guys going on the Holy Land tour?" and his reply was "You bet your sweet ass they are!" 

We had this ticklish skinny SSgt Joe Apprich from supply who was in bed sound asleep when he felt somebody in the dark trying to get in bed with him. Seemed the guy who was one of the few afro american NCOs there, thought he was entering his room as the latrines are in the center of this H designed building and he made the wrong turn, purely by accident. There was some screaming and shouting and the next day we found out what had happened. All was cool as they were both straight individuals.

I too was there during the Cuban crisis and witnessed the activity on the shoreline and we were packed (backpacks) and about to head by foot, towards Ankara and fortunately for me, a message came in that my mother was having this operation and requested my presence and naturally, I agreed to GO. Within two hours of notification, I had help packing my suitcase, was driven to the airport and as I was heading to the plane, my roomie, a Catholic Chaplain specialist by the name of Cox, presented me with an envelope that contained $135 dollars they had collected in a few short minutes. And, this was two days before payday to boot. I was so overwhelmed and speechless for their support and I will always have fond memories of the kind hearted folks who served there.

Ever hear of a Sucking Sandwich? Well, I didn't either until one evening at the NCO club I had a hunger spell and someone suggested I try one of these. My mind didn't quite want to let me order this as I had no clue, thinking it was porno or something but, I tried one and I was hooked. It was a cheeseburger made with two slices of bread which was done like a grilled cheese sandwich would be and reason was they couldn't get rolls.

Being in personnel, I usually (not always and I'll explain below) received advance copies of transfer orders of incoming personnel and one day I spotted orders on a SSGT Joyce Smith and I thought, this can't be, we're finally getting a woman over here. Geeze, I can't wait to see what she looks like. Well, quite often, arrivals were on Sundays and newbies were brought to the site and usually dropped off at the NCO club to get relaxed and await the first sergeant to assign quarters. Well, no gal showed up and when I got to my office in the morning, I was met by this big tall Texan and he said "I'm Sgt Smith" and you know what, I never heard anyone call him Joyce.

Now for part II: One sunday while I was on duty in the Club (cashier) I spotted a familiar face from years before. A SSgt James Warren, OhioI believe, appeared in my face and said "what are you doing here?, is there an echo here??? Ha. This guy was my roommate in Japan (Itami AB near Osaka) during 55/56 and I had just figured since he had a wife and a bunch of kids, he'd do his tour and quit. Well, we almost became roomates once more but I already had one so he ended up with a co-worker in supply.

Hey, it's been fun reliving this moment of the past....good luck to you and yours and stay in touch.

Memories, 65-66

Your web site was brought to my attention by an old Air Force buddy. I was supervisor of the communication center at TUSLOG Det. 3-2 from May 65 thru Aug 66. We were at the bottom of the hill during that time, however they were building the new site and was not far from completion when I rotated back to states. Along with the bear, we procured a camel, had a contest to give it a name. Bobby J. Rushing came up with the name: Kismet. Not sure what it means.

We also built a miniature golf course on land just south of gym. Guys would stop and play a round on their way back from lunch. SMSgt George Brooks, a Georgia peach, along with a couple other enlisted personnel, started a rod and gun club. They found a place, miles away up in the hill, that had a few cottages next to a lake. We went fishing over a weekend, caught several fish, brought water samples back, had them tested and found the water to be badly contaminated.

In the noncom barracks, we had a small rec area where you could buy a beer or soft drink, great place for playing pinochle. On weekends, games would get started early on Saturday morning. You would leave for lunch and someone was always ready to sit in and take your place. Hours later, you could go back and get in the game again. Games would continue way into the night.

We had an Msgt (we called him "Doc") who met our medical needs, and they had a Turkish doctor, trained in the states, who would come out to the base once a week. A serious accident occurred when a truck with about six airmen was rotating back from the tropo site. The truck rolled over and seriously injured all the occupants. When the accident was discovered, hours later, they brought them back on stretchers, set up an emergency hospital, and the doctor from Samsun and our medical NCO took the necessary medical action that saved all of the airman. Because of bad weather, it took almost a day for them to get medical help from the military hospital in Ankara.

Another exciting time (this information appeared in the Stars And Stripes, so wasn't considered classified) was when a U2 plane was shot down and debris was floating on shore around Samsun. We sent volunteers out to see if they could find the black box.

One other item, for recreation, they purchased a couple boats and built a dock down on the beach at Samsun. You could be trained to operate the boats, receive a license and take the boats out for a spin on the Black Sea for a minimum fee.

There was never a dull day at TUSLOG Det. 3-2, but it sure was a long 15 months. We had visitors all the time. We put a sign up at the entrance to the site, it said: "Never have so few, been inspected by so many, so often.". Needless to say, after the next dignitary visited, we were ordered to take the sign down. Apparently they didn't have a very good sense of humor. As for the personnel who served while I was stationed there, they were a quality group of people who did their best under not the most favorable conditions. 

Yours truly, retired Msgt James W. Thoms 29190

Dog Trick, '66-67

From Steven Shoub, Dog Trick, '66-'67, comes some memories, and a small photo of A TUSLOG Det. 3-2 lighter. I have one of these, too, from my old days at Samsun:

It's strange that though there was nothing about being in Samsun at the TUSLOG that I enjoyed, I do realize that it was a real part of my life and in some small way is a part of who I am today. I never thought after I left that place that I would ever think other than fleetingly of my being there, nor ever think of hunting for and finding those old slides in an old box of photos. Don't know exactly why I never threw them out during the last 40 years....

One of the strongest memories I have was of the mess hall which regularly served "mystery meat" which we could not chew but could manage to suck the protein out of. I seem to remember going over to the "club" to get tuna fish sandwiches so I could survive. I also remember going on a boar hunt once. I stayed with the truck to protect it, someone did shoot a boar and it was cooked and eaten that night. The Turks got really mad when we used toilet paper while on that trip. Once it was "flushed" out of the house it blew all over in the wind. The stuff that was "flushed" simply landed on the ground right outside the cabin wall. Sweet.

Early Days in Samsun

From Jack "Mitch" Mitchell, who was stationed in Samsun between 1956-1958, comes a bit of information about the earliest days of Tuslog Det. 3-2"

Here's a brief overview of those early days. We had a total of 48 men there 7 support guys mechanics etc. Capt Talbot was the commanding officer along with two other officers. We had three Quonset huts on the top of the mountain that we worked in, one was our BX and supply hut. We lived in our own apts. for approx $50.00 a month, which included a maid. We received $9.00 a day per diem plus our base pay. Everyone extended their 1 yr tour because the money and duty was so good. We had a small office bldg downtown which served as the NCO Club, medics office, and officers headquarters. I remember in one of your comments columns someone mentioning the civilian who worked for the tobacco co., his name was Dick Brookings and he hung out with us while we were there. The army guys from Sinop would come down to our facility to buy cigs and whiskey, since they didn't have any there. I see you guys had the bear, we had had a dog named Papa Pez he fathered half the dogs in Samsun He would spend a night here and there at various Apts. Quite a Dog!!. Hope this gives a little insight as to what it was like in those days. Incidentally I was there the night they launched Sputnik

Anyone who knew Mitch can Email Me, and I'll forward your email to him.

Some History of the Tuslog Det. 3-2 Site

Few of the Airman that passed through Tuslog 3-2 realized the history of that little hill. St. Paul himself, may have stood on those very cliffs. Samsun dates back to at least 1200 BC, and probably earlier than 2000 BC. It had come under the rule of Alexander the Great, the Pontus Kings, the Romans, and many more.

We know that various armies established camps right where we lived. During my stay at AFS Samsun, two archaeological finds were made on the base. Both as the result of the Roman occupation of the City around 47 BC.

When we excavated the trenches for the Chapel, three Roman solder graves were found, one that of a Centurion. The grave was complete with Breast Plate, helmet, and the Hilt of a sword (most of the blade had rusted away)

When we started constructing the tennis courts, we discovered a Roman Bath, complete with plumbing. The complete excavation revealed a beautiful tile mosaic. They carefully documented where very tile went at took it all off to a museum..

John Kodak (1961-62)

You Want Your Eggs How?

I was standing in line at the mess hall one morning. They had the 
portable grill out front and a Turk was cooking eggs to order. The 
following exchange took place between the guy in front of me and the 
cook.

"How you want your eggs?"

"How do you say scrambled in Turkish?"

The Turk just shrugs.

More emphatically, "How do you say scrambled in Turkish"?

"I don't know."

"Really! I'm trying to learn Turkish. How do you say scrambled"?

The Turk finally relents, shrugs again, and say, "Kinda moosh em up."

--Philip Ryals, AFCS (Det. 63-2)

The Boar Hunt:

I am from (and still live in) Texas, and, while not a Great White Hunter, had hunted from time to time and on more than once occasion I have hunted peccaries in South/West Texas. The ranches I had hunted on were a combo of scrub brush and hills and we shot these hogs with deer rifles, usually from distances of about a hundred yards.

So, when there was an announcement of a boar hunt (and as I recall, it was a 'serious' kind of hunt, as one or more boars had been ravaging a particular village and they needed to be disposed of), I signed on. That meant signing up at the armory for whatever weapon we wanted the day before, because we were going to pick them up very early the next morning, get on a truck, and head for the hunting area. I opted for a rifle, 'cause that's what we always use here in this type of hunt.

The next morning I picked it up from the armory (this was around 3 a.m.) and climbed into the back of the truck with about three other AFSS guys and probably about ten Turks. Still sleepy, drinking coffee, and just not really aware of anything yet, I begin to notice that everyone -- and I mean EVERYONE -- else had shotguns with double-ought buckshot, and I'm thinking that these guys have no idea about how to do this. Boy was I wrong!

We drive for an hour or two and we are dropped in a marshy area, 'trees' no more than ten feet tall, and we are walking in pig trails filled with water, and this brush just shutting out viewability for less than 20 yards. The guide was walking in front, picking out snakes with a long stick and just tossing them into the brush. (I am NOT making any of this up). Every so often he would assign one of us a trail intersection, leave us by ourselves, and then move on with the rest. Well, I can tell you that this was not like any hunt I had ever been on or WANTED to be on. I hate snakes and, moreover, knew that I was carrying what amounted to a club..... not a rifle. There was no way to get a shot off when you had to hit that sucker between the eyes.

So, quaking in water-logged boots, I was hoping that I did not get any action, and thankfully I didn't, but what I saw later almost gave me a heart attack.

Backing up a bit, the wild boar/hogs in Texas are mean as hell, but they usually weigh about 50 pounds, so while they are fierce, they are not huge.

When the hunt was over, we all gathered around the boar that had been killed (forgot to mention that they had "beaters" flushing this hog). That sucker must have weighed three hundred pounds and had tusks at least six inches long. Scariest thing that I had seen, and thankfully he didn't come roaring down my trail. I'd have had a heart attack.

So much for Texas rifles.

--Jerry ?, 65/66

Samsun in The Early Days

When I was stationed at the site, '58-'59, I remember the ops area, the outdoor four holer, and the snack bar. It was kind of primitive when you had been in civilization and were uprooted and sent there. A bunch of us were shipped out of Berlin to Turkey. We went to Karamursel first and then later up to Samsun.

I lived in town, in a hotel ran by a Turk named Ali Bey, big stomach and black mustache. My "roomies" were Donald R. Aadland, Reeves R. Dixon, Warren C. Faulk, John A. Banter, and Stanley A. Arakawa. Dixon and I shared a room and used to play poker with Ali Bey. The hotel was very near a Mosque, near to a bakery, a restaurant and local market where we bought food to cook over our Aladdin Kerosene space heater in our room. Buying kerosene was a trip, half the time it had gasoline in it and would nearly blow up the heater. You would be cooking some stew or something and "Whoom" a fire ball comes rolling out and everybody splits the area and timidly look back to see if everything is still there.

We were all sitting around a big potbellied stove on the second or third floor one night drinking bourbon and cokes and one of the Turks the used to come by the hotel quite often to visit Ali Bey came up. He was dressed in a nice suit and spoke very good English, obviously educated. Aadland had an extra bottle of booze sitting next to his chair and was getting pretty well oiled up. The Turk gent asked Aadland if he could buy the Bourbon and Aadland feeling his oats mouths off and says something to the effect "Hell NO, I ain't selling none of my good bourbon to no damn Turk!" I told him to cool it and sell him the booze, he became more adamant and cursing the Turk even more. Well, this guy had had enough, he reaches over and grabs Aadland by the shirt and pokes a 380 Automatic pistol right between his eyes and tells him in no uncertain terms he is fed up with his BS. By now Aadland is a basket case, babbling almost sobbing "Take it, take it, I didn't want it anyway!" The guy takes the booze and leaves. I saw him the next day and apologized profusely for Aadlands behavior.

One good thing that I really enjoyed was the Turkish baths, for a couple of bucks you got a good massage and scrubbing, and a great snooze in the hot towels! All of us went to the Compound and Houses of Ill Repute as well as the bars. Dixon and I did convince a couple of the bar girls to come to the hotel and take up residence there, the nooners and afternooners were darned handy for trimming the old horns.

I must confess, Dixon and I were the troops that ordered the case of Exlax and threw it out of the back of the six by six on the way up the hill hollering "Chocolate". Those Turk kids were fighting over the bars of chocolate, we didn't see anybody for about three days, then they started throwing rocks and boulders at us as we went up the hill.

Jerry Adams

A VIRGIN IN THE COMPOUND

I arrived in Samsun in April of 1968, barely nineteen and as inexperienced as anybody could be in the ways of love. I had always liked girls but never had a girlfriend, let alone an "experience" with one. So I made my mind up to ride the shuttle into town on my first break and meet some women. I had almost two weeks to learn Turkish so I was set, "Mir habe, nas iz zinnis?" "Cok iyi!"

I wandered around most of the day and all I saw were old women, or young women fast becoming old women. Shrouded under their kerchiefs and shawls, carrying buckets and bundles of firewood like beasts of burden, girls in that part of the world age fast.

Late that afternoon I found my way back to the city square to wait for the 5:00 PM bus when three attractive teenage girls came shyly up to me and said, "Pleeze, wat-tyme-eez-eet?" I told them it was almost 5:00. They asked again. Again I said five o'clock. When they asked again, I understood that they didn't speak English anymore than I spoke Turkish but were simply flirting with me.

I was okay with that, a walking hormone of nineteen, but after a few minutes of mispronouncements and laughing at our mutual lack of language skills, I began to notice a crowd of older, scowling Turks gathering around us. The girls became frightened and ran off. But I had nowhere to go. As the hostile crowd grew more vocal, I became unsettled. Luckily, the shuttle bus soon rounded the corner and I wasted no time climbing onboard.

Safely back on the base I told my sergeant, who informed me that what I just did was unwise, that he'd show me the proper way to find love in Samsun. The next afternoon we rode the shuttle bus to town and again walked the dusty streets but to a specific location. It was an ancient alley lined with two-story buildings, the exits bricked with high walls. A pair of askeris frisked us as we entered through the military-style gate, joining a throng of Turkish men milling about looking at women, all standing provocatively in the alley's windows. My sergeant told me that it was like a women's prison but they were only allowed to charge $1.00 for each tryst. Such a deal, he felt.

At the end of one alley, a brick wall served as a place for men to stand and urinate. You can imagine the place had an awful stench and the all-male crowd made me uneasy.

Within a few minutes the sergeant had found his favorite house. We went inside where he immediately left me alone in a darkening room with several hardened Turkish prostitutes. I was petrified and it must've showed because they all cackled and taunted me mercilessly until I finally was forced to step outside and wait for the sergeant in the crowded alley.

When he came out, he couldn't believe I hadn't indulge myself when all it would've cost me was a lousy buck! I told him it wasn't the dollar but fear that held me back. That seemed incomprehensible to him, but I'm convinced I couldn't have managed it, even if I had tried.

The only possible way might be to first, imbibe in an unhealthy number of cheap, stiff drinks at the base club, then, after become desensitized to everyone and everything, call a taxi and try to find that damn place again.

At nineteen, 454 days is a long time to remain a virgin!

Doug Morris. Samsun '68-'69

Rebuilding a Church

One of my memories concerns the French missionary church in town-the only Catholic facility in this Muslim land.
In Nov. '59 Baker trick joined in an effort to spruce up this old church in Samsun. Working in the cold in parkas, gloves and warm boots we scrubbed the church from head to toe in preparation for midnight mass on Christmas. At the end of the evening the elderly bearded priest brought us steaming cups of chai(tea) to thank us for our work. He was dressed only in a thin brown robe and sandals to ward off the Nov. chill of the Black Sea.
Came Christmas and our shift was switched for some reason and we missed the mass. Then the White boat failed to appear for 2 weeks, so Christmas was lonely and bleak. Finally a package arrived from home in late Dec.-fresh baked chocolate chip cookies, totally crushed into minute crumbs. My first Christmas away from home; sad but memorable. 

Don D. 

(Posted on 9/10/01. Received in Email)

Getting to Samsun

It was late Summer of 1967 when I traveled to Samsun to join the Detachment. I flew a red-eye out of Los Angeles to catch the flight to Istanbul. If  I remember correctly it was Pan Am Flight 1, the around the world flight. Our orders required travel in uniform, so I was wearing my blue suit, complete with one stripe, all of 21 years old. My dad had been a B-17 pilot in WWII, so I was carrying his old B-4 bag, stenciled with his name, plus a duffel and my banjo case. 

When I arrived at Kennedy, I knew that I had the flu, a fever, a headache, and I was already bone-tired from that red-eye flight. I checked in at the Pan-Am terminal and was trying to nap in the terminal with my luggage when this 1st Lt, all bright and proud kicked my foot. I woke up to this guy saying, "Airman. What do you mean by having Lt. George Campbell stenciled on that B-4 bag?" I jumped up in my wrinkled uniform, snapped off a crappy salute and said, "Lieutenant, my father, who I was named after, flew B-17s in WWII, and I'm carrying his bag in honor of him. Do you have a problem with that, sir?" He backed off quickly.

Well, that was the start of an amazing trip. We boarded the plane, and I found that there were half a dozen of us heading to Turkey, with me being the only one bound for Samsun. Mostly enlisted, but there was that 1st Lt., too, heading for Karamursel. He gave me a dirty look as he passed by my row.

I tried to sleep on the NY to Frankfurt leg of the flight, but the excitement, the flu, and other things kept me awake. I got off in Frankfurt for a few minutes...my first time out of the US. We got back on the plane...next stop was supposed to be Rome, but there was a weather problem, so the plane landed in Belgrade instead. Now...here we were, USAF guys, traveling on orders, with no passports at all, just our military I.D. And we were all USAFSS, to boot. The plane landed in Belgrade, and the announcement that we would be there for 90 minutes came over the intercom, so I did just what you'd expect: I got off the plane and went into the airport. Wow! The military guards in the airport were surprised to see this A1C in dress uniform get off the plane and start wandering the airport. I had two of them following me everywhere I went. So, I bought that day's Pravda at the news counter, and sat in the terminal reading it and waiting for the boarding announcement. More guards staring at me, and I noticed that none of the other AF guys had gotten off the plane, and started to get a little nervous. No need, though. Pretty soon, one of the guards came up and asked, in decent English, "You are in American Air Force?" "Yeah," I said. "In America, do you have automobile?" he asked. "Sure," I said. He responded, "What a wonderful country, where a soldier is rich enough to own an automobile." Then the boarding call came and I rejoined the flight.

Finally, we landed in Istanbul, where the Turkish Customs guy made me play my banjo for him, to prove it was mine. Then a taxi to the Istanbul Hilton, where we had vouchers, and I took my fevered, headachy self to bed, after drinking the best Coke I ever had in the Hotel bar.

The next morning, we got up and flew the Turkish Airlines plane to Samsun, and I had my first experience with that fine airline and the humpback runway at Samsun. The bus to the base, and straight to the medic's office for pills and a week of bed rest. I had arrived at TUSLOG Det. 3-2, my new home for the next 15 months.

George Campbell, Able Trick

Flight Follies

Since we all had way too much time off on the four-day break, some folks tended to do things that were a little off the beaten track. This is one of those stories. Names have been withheld to protect the guilty parties.

One fellow in Able trick was an avid model airplane enthusiast and was missing his hobby. So, he started ordering parts, etc. by mail, then began assembling a model plane, rather secretively, over a period of about four months. We were moderately curious, but didn't pay much attention to what he was doing. As they say, "It don't mean shit."

One Sunday, about 6AM, this guy came to my room and said, "Come with me." We were working the day shift that day, so I was up. He gathered about four other guys from the trick and walked us down the road to the lower ops building to the hobby shop. When we got there, we saw this huge model plane. It had a wingspan of at least 12 feet, and four very large model plane engines. The whole thing was covered in aluminized Mylar film, instead of the usual paper and dope. He had a proportional radio control unit with him.

We carried the plane, which seemed to weigh almost nothing, despite its size, out to the road. Naturally, it was pretty quiet, since most of the admin people were still sleeping off last night's NCO club activities, and the shifts hadn't changed yet.

With a conspiratorial look, our model builder said, "This plane has three gallons of fuel in it. That should be enough." With that, he carefully started each of the four engines, checked all the controls with his transmitter, which included throttle controls for the engines, then, without any delay, did a takeoff run down the road to lower ops. The big model took off easily, and our friend set it climbing in a large circular flight path. When it reached what he said was 1000 feet of altitude, he pointed it due North, then carefully throttled the engines back to hold that altitude. We watched the plane cross over land, then head out over the Black Sea.

He trimmed its flight to make sure it was flying level and due North, watching it with binoculars, until it was no longer visible. By then, it was time to catch the bus to the upper ops center for our shift.

Without going into details, we followed our little TUSLOG plane's path. Apparently the three gallons of fuel was not quite enough, though. The plane dropped out of sight about 15 miles from the other coast, sadly. Still, it must have been quite a puzzle to some people. What was that slow-moving, low altitude aircraft, anyhow? "Chto eto?"

George Campbell -- Able trick.

The Camel

Not too many Air Force bases possess a camel, but TUSLOG Det. 3-2 was an exception. This camel lived in the fenced lower Ops area, and was a great joke on new arrivals. After my week of bed rest from the flu, I reported for duty, and was assigned to the lower Ops area, given my badge, and told to report to Sgt. Somebody. It was between shifts, so I headed down there on the road, and showed up at the security gate. The guard said, "New guy?" "Yup," I replied, and passed through the gate, wondering why the guard had such a silly grin on his face..

About ten feet into the compound I looked around and running toward me at full speed was a camel. Now, I'd seen camels before...in the zoo...but here was one coming straight for me. Since I've always considered that discretion was the far better part of valor, I kicked it into high gear and hot-footed it toward the Ops building, making it by the skin of my teeth. Once I was inside, Sgt. Somebody briefed me, finishing by telling me to look out for the camel when I entered the compound. Then he showed my my R-390.

George Campbell -- Able trick

The Other "Bear"

TUSLOG Det. 3-2 was famous for Goulon, the bear that was the mascot of the base, and I'll have some stories about him a little later, but we had a visit once, in 1968, by a "Bear" of another type. One morning, just about dawn, I was out of the barracks. Not too many folks visible around the base, but there were a few of us who hadn't succumbed to the poisonous NCO bar beverages the night before, and the mess hall was about to open.

I noticed a low droning sound, off in the distance, and sort of naturally looked to the North, toward lower Ops and the Black Sea. I couldn't see anything at first, but pretty soon it was obvious that there was a large plane heading towards the base. As it got closer, it was clear that it was a very large plane, flying very low, maybe 500-1000 feet high.

A little longer, and it was obvious what the plane was. It was a TU-95 "Bear." It got closer and closer to the cliff at the north end of the base, then climbed somewhat as it approached. It overflew the base at about 500 feet, then made a lazy turn over the city of Samsun and resumed its flight, heading North.

Those counter-rotating props were noisy as hell at 500 feet, and the plane itself seemed enormous. I suspect that this was the TU-95RT, or "Bear D," a variant of the plane designed for photo and ELINT work. I can't imagine why they were interested in our little base there.

I reported this overflight to the Base Commander's office when it opened, but nobody believed me until I got a half dozen other guys in there to corroborate.

George Campbell -- Able Trick

Language Problems

Although I made an attempt to learn Turkish while in Samsun, I never got much farther than being polite and counting. Even that helped a lot if you spent much time downtown, and it at least made you seem like you were trying. But Samsun wasn't just a city speaking Turkish. It was an international city.

One day, while in the city, I stopped to visit a shop that sold antiques and other oddities. I had been there before and the shopkeeper called one of the tea boys as soon as I came in. We talked haltingly to each other, since he knew no English, and I wasn't too good in Turkish, but we always got along very well.

After a few minutes, a Russian merchant seaman came into the shop. Russian merchant ships docked in Samsun fairly frequently. He looked around a bit, then noticed one of the old samovars the shop had. He tried to speak to the shopkeeper, but in Russian, which the shopkeeper didn't understand. He was asking where the samovar had come from, but my Turkish was, in no way, adequate to translate for him. So, what to do? I told the Russian guy to wait a minute or two, and we'd see what we could do. For some reason, the sailor didn't show any surprise that this American guy spoke Russian, and we chatted for a while about our families, etc.

Well, by this time, the shopkeeper had managed to find someone who spoke German and Turkish. He thought, apparently, that the sailor was speaking German. That didn't work, though, obviously. By this time, the second tea boy had come in and we were all sitting around trying to figure out what to do. The Russian spoke only Russian. The shopkeeper spoke Turkish only. The other Turkish guy spoke Turkish and German. I spoke Russian and a little Turkish, but also was conversant in French. What to do?

Finally, I got it across that I also spoke French, and the German speaker took off, coming back a few minutes later with another man, a tourist, apparently. Now, this guy spoke French and German. More tea was sent for.

Here's how it went: The Russian sailor asked me a question in Russian. I translated it into French for the French-speaker. He translated the French into German. The German speaker translated into Turkish for the shopkeeper. Then, we reversed the order for the answer.

This went on for about half an hour, with much laughter and more tea. Finally, the Russian sailor bought the samovar from the Turkish shopkeeper and we all took off.

George Campbell -- Able Trick

Paint Detail

The I.G.'s coming! The I.G.'s coming! The word went out and, like most USAF installations, folks were more concerned with how things looked than how they worked, so it was decided by the day ladies that the entire inside of the new OPS building had to have a fresh coat of paint. But were the day ladies going to do it? Of course not! It was assigned to Able trick, to be done on the midnight shifts.

Well, my highest skill was avoiding any work during mids, since that time was reserved for sleeping, driving off-work teams to the base theater, and picking up fresh pastries at 4AM from the mess hall. But...since I was a lowly two-striper...I somehow ended up on the paint detail. Maybe it was also that my position was down from 10 PM to 8AM that did it....I'm not sure.

The paint buckets were delivered, along with rollers and trays and SSgt. Somebody was appointed the leader of the crew. "But Sarge," I said, "I don't know anything about painting." "Yeah, right..." he responded, then proceeded to fill a paint tray and hand me a roller. "You just roll the damn paint on the wall. You must be smart enough to do that. By the way, what do you do around here." "It's classified," I told him. "You don't have the clearance to know."

So, all hope almost gone, I picked up the roller, rolled it into the paint tray, getting lots and lots of paint on it. Then, holding the roller in my left hand, with my hand well away from my body, I approached the wall. Sgt. Somebody took a position to my left, just to check my work. So...I applied the roller to the wall, close to the floor, then swept it up the wall, just as fast as I could. Paint whirled out from the roller, mostly missing me, since I had my arm out well to the side. Poor Sgt. Somebody, though! The front of his khakis were covered with pale green paint.

"Geez, Sarge! I'm really sorry!" I said. "Get out of here!," he replied. I got out of there.

George Campbell -- Able Trick

Goulon -- Samsun's Mascot

See Photos of Goulon

Not many USAF installations can boast a European Brown Bear as a mascot, but TUSLOG Det. 3-2 is a notable exception. Goulon, Turkish for bear, was already there when I arrived. Now, the stories about how he got there varied a little, but the consensus was that he was purchased by one of the folks stationed there from a traveling entertainer when just a cub.

For a long time, Goulon had the run of the base, mooching food and affection from the men stationed there. Trouble is, as bears do, he grew into a several hundred pound fellow. The story I heard was that he broke into the Exchange one day, and was found next to an empty candy bar display. That could be true, or maybe not. In any case, a spacious cage was built for the base mascot, right behind one of the softball field dugouts. It was made of steel bars and had a chamber at the rear for sleeping quarters, and a concrete floor.

There never seemed to be any particular person in charge of Goulon, but lots of us took it upon ourselves to make sure he got plenty of mess hall food. He'd eat just about anything, but liked cake best of all. Goulon was big, but never mean. When you approached his cage, you usually found him pacing back and forth, or messing with a bowling ball like it was a tennis ball, or working on his tire swing. If you were carrying food, he could see you coming and always was gentle in taking it out of your hand.

There was a hose at his cage and, on warm days, Goulon enjoyed being washed with a stream from the hose. He'd try to bite the stream and raise up on his hind legs and bat at the water. He also liked being scratched between the ears and getting thumped on his hindquarters. For awhile, I had the key to the cage, and found that you could even go in the cage with him, but I stopped doing that after he took a friendly swipe at me and bruised several ribs.

The only problem with Goulon was that rats hung out in his cage. He wasn't really fast enough to catch them, so I ordered a Crossman pellet pistol and used to go down and shoot the rats for him. Goulon liked that. As soon as I had dispatched a rat with a pellet, Goulon would gobble it up.

Somewhere...I hope...I have an 8mm film of Goulon and myself. If I can dig it up, I'll convert some of the footage to an .AVI movie file and post it here.

George Campbell -- Able Trick

Goulon Goes to The Game -- A Photo Essay

Photos and Details by Dave Matteson

Back in 1960 or '61, a Black Sea Softball Tournament was held in Samsun at TUSLOG Det. 3-2.
Goulon couldn't be left out, so he was allowed to go to the game on a chain leash. Well, as you'd expect,
it's hard to hold a several hundred pound bear, and he promptly escaped his bonds.

Having escaped, he decided that knocking the ump on his butt was the next step, followed
by a wrestling match with several of the players. Hilarity ensues.

Fast work by TUSLOG personnel finally results in Goulon's 
recapture, but not before a wrestling match with the entire
Samsun All-Star team near the gym. Were there any injuries?
Who could say...no doubt enough beer was consumed to make 
it not matter.

Mess Hall Follies

In some ways, the mess hall at TUSLOG Det. 3-2 was the best mess hall I encountered while in the USAF. Having a civilian in charge, with Turkish workers meant that we had no KP, and that's enough to make it stand out. But it was the breakfast meal that was my favorite memory. Since the base operated on a rotating shift basis, the guys on the Midnight shift were just getting off work at breakfast time, so there was always substantial food available, usually from the night before. Plus we always had an omelet bar, fresh pastries, and more.

All was not perfect, though. Until about halfway through my tour, the mess hall had no fresh milk. Instead we were offered reconstituted powdered milk...totally undrinkable. So, everyone drank the awful cool-aid. Feh! Finally, milk was flown in daily on the daily plane, and we could finally fill our glasses with something drinkable.

Then there was the Saturday (or was it Friday) evening meal. Since the NCO club took that night for it's $1.00 (or was it $2.00>) T-Bone dinner, few guys showed up in the mess hall. Well...some days a guy just didn't have a buck, and what they served in the mess hall was cold cuts. Feh! again.

Since I had a military driver's license, I used to drive down to the mess hall from the GLR at 4AM whenever we were on mids. That was the time when the first pastries came out of the ovens, and a full tray went back with me to the GLR, for the gustatory pleasure of whoever had managed to stay awake that long.

All in all, though, the Samsun mess hall was extraordinary!

The Ops Coffee Pot

Now, I'm a pretty tolerant coffee drinker, but the coffee that was available in the upper Ops building was amazingly bad. I never quite understood it...until I saw it being made. For those of you who remember, the monster pot was in the Maintenance room. What I discovered one midnight shift was that the pot had never, ever been cleaned. In fact, I don't think it had ever been emptied. When it started to run low, someone would dump some more water in, right on top of the what was left in the pot, dump out the grounds and add new coffee. Over time, this black brew got oily enough to lubricate the ops truck, and bitter enough to be used to prevent malaria.

Did I clean it myself after finding this out? Hell no! I just kept drinking the stuff, like everyone else.