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 The Early Days, 1957-58 -- Jim Williams

I was there from 1957 to 1958. My name is Jim Williams and I was in radio repair, the place was well under 200 airmen and a few tech reps. There was none of the installation shown there yet, they were starting a radome just before I left, a Scottish construction company was building it. We drew per diem and lived all over the city. 5 of us rented a home on the East side, nothing much was past it. I had several interesting experiences:

A Turkish F-84 was chasing a Russian (probably Yugoslavian) MIG over the Transmitter site West of town while I was there. The Turkish fighter was low, flew between 2 towers and removed the transmission line, last time I saw it it was trailing off the fighter.

About daylight one morning, what looked like the entire Russian fleet was literally just off the coast-well into Turkish waters, all the radars on the boats went into fire control mode. One salvo and the hill top would have disappeared.

I was assigned a job to help our our Department of State. The department of Agriculture had given the Turkish equivalent of the Department of Agriculture a huge egg incubator. The hadn't a clue what to do with it nor was any one there technically out of the dark ages. I had to figure out what it did and correct all the mistakes. I was able to get young fryers and had access to the only fried chicken around.

We had a low power transmitter set up at a Turkish Army post, a cable went down the hill to provide a morse code keying link. Our ability to key the transmitter failed, quick troubleshooting indicated the link was open. Walking it out we found a section had been cut out. I told the Turkish Sergeant over the guard detail about it and he left with about 2-3 soldiers. About an hour later he returned with the wire in a wheel barrow and several dead Turks on it.

At the hill top site, the generator died and none of the back up units started as they were supposed to. As the only tech around I had to walk in a very black night to the generator building, scary as we used Turkish guards, yelling in Turkish that I was an American. Before I got another generator up and running and the perimeter lights back on the Turkish guards yelled "Dur!", halt or stop if I remember my Turkish. A bunch of gunfire occurred. When the lights came on a cow must have had 40 bullet holes in it.

A new building to replace the trailer at the transmitter was being built, a Turkish Laborer digging the foundation uncovered some really old coins. You couldn't tell what they were and I was not sure what to do with them after buying them. When going to Oklahma State on the GI bill I gave them to a Professor in Archeology for use in the Museum. He told me, after cleaning them, they were Greek coins going back to Hannibal's time. After telling him where they came from he told me that there had been a city there (where the transmitter site was) and Hannibal had destroyed it totally, I gather Samsun did not exist then.

Samsun Stories from 1957 -- Frank Wilson

Samsun in 1957 -- Coming and Going

I remember we staged out of Manhattan Beach AFS in March 1957 and flew out of McGuire on a DC-6 if I recall. We stopped at Goose Bay for a few hours. When we took off, we started to skid sideways on the ice so the pilot aborted, taxied back and gave it another try. We had a stopover in Prestwick, Scotland, then landed at Rhine Main. We had to stay in Frankfort and drink that great beer for about ten days. I recall the house was on Holhausenstrasse. The train station was still a bombed out shambles.

We flew from Frankfort to Rome and laid over there a day or two. I remember going down into the catacombs and visiting the Coliseum. Then on to Istanbul and over to Karamursel which was still being built. They were operating out of tents as I recall, although we were in casual status. We weren't there long. We had to go by bus to Ankara where we stayed for two or three months. I remember being in the underground or basement of the ops building in Ankara.

We got orders to go to Samsun and how we got there was up to us. I remember flying up there on a Turkish Airlines DC-3 with a lot of turbulence over the mountains, then landing on a grass strip in Samsun.

We stayed at the local hotel and met a civilian who had been renting the downstairs of the house at 77A Osmaniyw Caddesi, on the corner opposite the Yeni Karakol - the "new" police station. (We bought Zippos for all the cops the first week we were there and never had any problems with them.) He got us in touch with the landlord who lived upstairs with his family. You, myself, Bill Kime and Chuck Salter shared the costs.

We hired a housekeeper named Yashar whose husband had been a butcher before he died. Her daughter and granddaughter occasionally came over to help her. She was getting on in years, but did a good job for us. Remember that some of the Americans who lived in Elle Alte (the "56") hired screwing maids and after a week were washing their own clothes and cooking their own meals. We purposely hired Yashar because she was strictly a housekeeper who went home after supper.

We had an icebox that was left by the civilian engineer. It was literally an ice box - made of wood with double wall construction and sawdust in between the walls for insulation. If the cover came down to fast we got sawdust on the blocks of ice. We would have the iceman deliver big blocks of ice every so often.

Yashar would go to the market every morning and buy fresh fish or lamb and that's what we ate most of the time. We'd occasionally be able to get a can of Danish bacon from the small BX store on the hill. She wouldn't cook it for us. Choke finar! Against her religion.

In the winter, we heated with a wood stove on one end of the dining/living room with a stove pipe that ran the entire length of the ceiling to the chimney so we could get as much heat out of it as possible. The bathroom had a wood fired copper hot water heater that we occasionally would start up for a hot bath.

I remember going to the Catholic church there on a few Sundays. I also remember coming off an evening shift and staying up until about 0400 so we could go to the little bakery and get fresh bread, hot out of the oven.

The four of us invested in a Grundig phonograph/shortwave radio unit. It had great sound for it's time. We'd listen to the Top 40 on radio Lux and drink that 151 proof Demerara rum sometimes mixed with kool aid, when we couldn't get Coke. We had certain phonograph records that we divied up when we left.

Someone in the Yahoo Mail mentioned a Capt George A Genereau. I think I remember him as a Lt and he was a nice guy. He'd stop in for a drink with another Lt whose name escapes me. When we first got there, Capt Talbot was the Detachment Commander. Our orientation was conducted on the grass outside the operations building where he told us that he wasn't Jesus Christ, but that's what he was going to be to us. He was a hard ass, but wasn't there for too long.

I recall going to work on 6 by's and for a short time when you went in on the day shirt, one of the young kids along the route would stand out on his balcony and try to piss on us as we went by. In the afternoon, the kids in that neighborhood would chase the truck and ask for chocolate. One day we obliged the little pisser with some ExLax.

I remember we had an outhouse at the ops site and on the night shift, you had to be careful you didn't trip over the guy wires.

So many things come to mind, I'd be here all night writing.

Finally we got orders to leave and I went by the Black Sea steamer down to Istanbul. Remember there was a white and a black Black Sea Steamer. I can't recall which one I took. I do remember another guy and I downed a fifth of Old Grandad one afternoon and that's the only time I recall ever feeling queasy on a ship.

They kept us at Karamursel way past our April DEROS. The DEROS was supposed to be a "sacred" date and we weren't happy about being kept there way past the DEROS date. (Of course the E in DEROS was stood for "estimated" return from overseas but that didn't matter to us.) One Friday morning, about 20 of us went to see the First Sergeant. We'd drafted a letter that we said we'd were planning to send to our Senators/Representatives. Our group represented about 15 different states.

He explained the problem was that air transport was all screwed up due to the Lebanon situation occurring at that time in 58. He said he appreciated us giving him an opportunity to see what he could do to get us home and to come back to see him Monday morning. When we went back, he said he'd arranged for us to be on a troop ship back to New York, leaving Istanbul on Wednesday.

The USS Gen Maurice Rose was dubbed a "reenlistment" cruise by the navy guys aboard because they feed us extremely well in hopes of getting the navy guys to reenlist.

We made stops in Izmir, Livorno (Leghorn), Naples and Gibraltar before heading out across the Atlantic. I still have the Samsonite suitcase I bought in the Navy Exchange in Naples. I took the tour to Pompeii and we had plenty of wine to drink. That night we left port and it was a really rough night on the Med. Our bunks were stacked four or five high and guys were throwing up. It really stunk, but they wouldn't let us up on deck at night because it was so rough.

Finally someone's radio picked up WNEW out of New York and we knew we would be home again soon.

More Samsun Memories from 1957

The pictures on George Campbell's website are interesting. I am amazed at how much the facility on the hill grew in a relatively short time. All that I remember being there in the 1957 and early 1958 time period was a wooden ops building with a fence around it, and outhouse, a DF van further out on the hill, a motor pool that wasn't much more than a lean-to, and a small BX that carried cigarettes, toiletries and the like. No quarters, no dining hall, no running water that I can recall.

Before I left, they were bringing in bags of cement to build a new ops building. The cement came from over the border in Russia. The writing on the bags was Russian. I thought that ironic. The reasons given were that it was cheaper and readily available. Good reasons, I guess.

Speaking of gallows, you recall that at the Turkish army training camp, they had about 4 dummies hanging from a structure that were used for bayonet practice. From a distance, they looked like bodies hanging on a gallows. We'd tell new guys that the Turks were so damned strict, they'd hang their new recruits for just about any infraction of rules.

And about the copper hot water heater, you also had to watch that it didn't get too hot because it could conceivably blow up. What do you suppose the troops today would do if they had to live like that. I guess some of them do in the hills of Afghanistan. Poor bastards.

As for the Akdeniz and the Karadeniz, there is a picture of them both on George's website: I'm not sure the black one was called Karadeniz. That actually means Black Sea in Turkish as I recall. The picture on the website shows it named Trabzon.

Notes from The Early Days -- John Furgiuele

I got a nice email from John the other day, chronicling the earliest days at Samsun, with some notes from Skytop, too:

I was at Sky Top in Jim Brown's senior year & got to meet him through a friend. Actually scrimmaged basketball against at the gym. My claim to fame. 

First shipped to Ankara with stops in Frankfort & Rome. The flight from Rome to Ankara was in a DC-3 & one of the scariest parts of the tour. Got sent to Samsun after about 3 months. In those days there were no bases in either Ankara or Samson. Had to take a taxi through the mountains with the driver making a 1 hour stop in a village straight out of 1,000 BC. Mud huts, no electricity. The cab was attacked by wild dogs chasing, and bouncing off the side of the cab & the temperature was around 100. 

We were getting $10/day per diem & 13 lira for $1.00. Pay for A/2C was $240/mo Samson worked this way. There were houses rented by AF personnel with 3-5 guys living in each. New guys had to wait for an opening & buy in when somebody checked out. Usually $150-$200 once you were accepted by the guys in the house. Typical rent was 400 lira/mo (around $37 split 4 ways) and a maid for about 250 lira/mo. Local food made me sick, so depended on the PX & packages from home. 

We worked 4 days on, 2 off, 4 swing on, 2off, 4 nights, 4 off. A truck would stop by each house to drive us up to the hill for our shifts. I was on duty the night Sputnik was launched. After each transmission picked up & DF bearing, I would go back over the tape & get everything typed up. Then, imitating either James Cagney, Jimmy Stewart, Edward G Robinson or whomever, I would do my  "This is the end of cut number 3. Time up 22:15 Zulu, time down 22:26 Zulu. Call signs heard, Marta and Milligram. DF bearing 185, operator 07." The guys who did the Morse code crap always amazed me as it seemed so much more difficult than what we were doing. 

Just wanted to reminisce a bit

Joe Roginski's Samsun Letter

Here's part of an email I got from Joe Roginski. He's promised more stories to come:

What a fantastic site! I found it when I Googled my name just to see who had what on me.

My name’s Joseph Roginski, but everyone calls me Joe. I was a Russian language 203 and arrived in Samsun in July 66 after finishing language school at Indiana, and AZK at Goodbuddy. It was my first enlistment and first overseas tour. On my dream sheet I put in for Japan so naturally I got Samsun. However, unlike most of the guys who absolutely hated the place, I had a great time. One of my pastimes was photography so I have a plethora of photos and lots of ‘war stories’.

Reading the commentary on your site was like riding a time machine-Names, faces, places and events long stashed away, came out and got dusted off.

A Joke on A Marine

I , along with about eight other Marines, were on elite duty as Marine Security Guards (State Department Duty) at the American Embassy in Ankara, Turkey, during 1963 (20 years old)-1966. In fact, our Marine wall was strafed by a Greek jet during the "war" over Cyprus. We were saturated with all levels of classified information to include it's origins. Thus, I knew about most of my Air Force and other comrades-in-arms, their locations, missions, and other "entities'. Additionally, I ran a once very popular physical fitness program, to include self-defense arts. This program was later officially recognized by President Johnson, the Secretary of Defense, and Stan Musial. I, along with another Marine, also played on Air Force Football Teams. So I thought I was a pretty bad "bad-ass". 

Fast forward....an Air Force or Army pilot acquaintance, who frequented our Marine house, asked me if I wanted to accompany him on a "long courier run". I, a L/Cpl (E-3), with my NCOIC's approval, readily accepted. The next day we boarded this small plane and began to land at different isolated installations around Turkey, especially near or on the Black Sea. I distinctly remember visiting your site and wondering how it would be to be stationed there. I had a respect for anyone who worked at these remote sites, especially during the Cold War. As we took off I heard a constant loud sound in the cockpit. I believe my pilot friend was telling me the truth when he stated the Russian's were jamming his "signals" (radar?), so he had to fly by sight by looking for familiar terrain features. One was Mount Ararat and several large features from the Roman era-e.g. large stone bridges with no water for miles. 

As we reached the Russian/Turkish border, I heard the distinct sputtering of the engine(s). The pilot told me we were running out of fuel but not to sweat it because he had enough "reserve" fuel to make it to his next destination. I waited for the sound of engines to begin again. Sputtering engines prevailed as the pilot flew the plane in circles, each time lowering in altitude. As a young, hard-charging Marine, I did not want to show any sign of anxiety. I forced myself to glance at the pilot. His face showed much concern. Then this bad-ass Marine's knees began to shake uncontrollably. I knew we were going to crash-land and/or have to face the Russians. If the pilot had a weapon I didn't see it. I was unarmed. I was also sweating. 

Just about the time I knew we had to try to land, the engine(s) started. As we started to gain altitude all I could hear was the loud laughing and knee-slapping of my so-called friend. I wasn't in the mood to laugh. I was a "grunt" and being stalled in the air was unfamiliar to me. I always reminded him that "a Marine's payback was hell." However, I never had the opportunity to reward him. Later, in all my combat days in Vietnam and Grenada, I often wished I could have had him along on one "search and destroy" mission. I know who would have gotten the last laugh. Semper Fi to all that served our country.

Tom Rutherford (Prescott, AZ), Captain "mustang" USMC (Ret)

[Note from George] -- Although this isn't entirely a Sam story, I thought you'd all enjoy it.

Stories from Stan (Chet) Hood (1960-61)

The following stories and photos come to us from Stan (Chet) Hood, a 20331 Russian linguist. 

From day one at Lackland AFB until I got out of the service I was known as 'Chester' or 'Chet' supposedly due to my accent and resemblance to that Gunsmoke guy. I usually had a guitar with me although I really couldn't play it that well.

I went through the Russian Language course at Syracuse from March '59 thru November '59 then took a 3 month training course at NSA before going to Samsun. I'm not really sure what months I was there 60-61, but it was about 3 months longer than the normal tour. I had decided to re-up for two more years and do a three year tour at Chicksands, England. and got my third stripe for doing so.

Here are a few things that I remember (sorta) during my stay at Samsun: (Please understand that I was young, naive and generally out of it psychologically so my life at that time was not registering in my brain to have any importance.)

The Tunnels

Does anyone remember the tunnels? We had heard that the tunnels we found were all honeycombed into the hill we were based upon and exited by the sea. We found an entrance to the tunnels just about a quarter mile down the road from the entrance to the base on the left side of the road. I only went in a couple of times - and not alone! The first time we followed a branch that led to a hole that looked like it went straight down and didn't go any farther. Some of the guys went back several times and one guy found a human skull.

Crazy Allen 

Rick Allen - I think that was his name - was weird but I liked him a lot. He played Bach on the NCO club piano and broadcast a jazz program on the base radio. He also wrote stream-of-thought pieces that greatly influenced my philosophy. Anyway, we were in his room playing chess and drinking wine one day when a surprise inspection group dropped in. I thought we'd had it, but none of the officers said anything. I gained a bit of respect for Officers then. (Aside) One great thing about that time period, the wine they sold at the PX (I wasn't old enough to buy the hard stuff) was '57, one of the greatest years ever for French wine, and they had some wonderful brands. I acquired a palate that could distinguish the different wines and enjoyed greatly testing them out. Those same wines are selling now for hundreds of dollars a bottle.

One story goes about him that he was with a group of guys just hiking and exploring around off-base and accidentally fell off a cliff. One of the guys (there's a photo of him - can't remember his name, but he's the one who was going to be a highway patrolman when he got out), who was always calm - nothing fazed him - called out to the others that Allen had fallen. "There he goes again" he states calmly as Allen continues down the cliff after a brief hiatus. He wasn't hurt too bad, but they say he told the doctor that he was trying to commit suicide. Trying to get out on a mental discharge. Didn't work.

The Civilian's Club

I believe that's what it was called anyway. I'd take the shuttle truck into town to go there and have a great meal of real shish-ka-bob. Tender meat and bread with real goat's butter. Once I tried 'drinking the menu' when I was particularly depressed. I didn't get past the sixth one...

Somewhere in the same area I found a pachinko. I played a while with a few coins and remember hitting some kind of jackpot. There were several kids around and I gave all the winnings to them. Seems there was a crowd of them while I was tossing the coins to them and when I was through they had all disappeared.

Turkish Robes

One day about 4 of us guys went into town and bought Turkish robes. They were garishly colored, thick, heavy and warm. I still have the two I bought - nearly 50 years old now and still beautiful. We stopped at one shop and had chai with the proprietor and checked out his merchandise. For some reason everyone just got up and left. I must have missed something as the proprietor and a couple of other Turks seemed very offended. I let the other guys go and stayed to look over some more robes and bought two.

[Note from George: I bought one of those robes, too. Kept it for years, but the moths finally ate holes in it.]

A Trove of Treasure

Many shops had gold and silver trinkets of all kinds. In one I noticed a basket full of odds and ends and I bought a - musta been - pure silver chain that was two feet long doubled. The links were fashioned so I can't even explain how it looked. Also bought a heavy, thick silver medallion, about 2 1/4 inches across that I translated later as a medal of honor from the King of some obscure European country and several old Roman coins - all for a mere pittance. They're all lost or stolen now. Who knows how much they would be worth now. And why didn't I invest all my money into buying gold and silver then?

Dropped in one jewelers shop and greeted the proprietor and other clientele with a "Salaam Alaikum" They seemed surprised and returned a "Alaikum Salaam" back to me. The mood of the place changed to a very friendly atmosphere. I bought a 24 karat tiger's-eye ring for $20 bucks there. Fantastic.

Trip to Amasya

About ten of us chartered a truck to take us to Amasya. For some reason we first went to see the Mayor in his office and he arranged a guided tour of the town, part of which was their museum. We later trundled up the path to the top of the mountainous cliff where there were ruins of a Roman fort. We were out of breath before we got halfway up and we were told a really old guy walked up there every morning to raise the flag. There were also kids running around us, up and down, laughing at our slowness and having all kinds of fun at our expense. Fantastic view when we got to the top! I took a few photos, but didn't know how to work my camera and they were all severely over-exposed. We had to tell a couple of 'Ugly American' guys to quit throwing rocks off the side of the mountain that could hit houses and people down below. On the way back a Turk bummed a ride back but our driver made him hang on to the back of the truck instead of letting him ride inside with us.

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.