At McConnell AFB, Kansas, on a sunny afternoon in April 1964, I left the barracks and headed for the base post office about three blocks away. I was expecting a letter from home as well as some weekly news magazine. With just another block to go, I met my barracks roommate Fig (Julian Figueroa) and a few other Airmen headed toward the barracks.
Fig, said, "I got our mail, and you got a news magazine. It's Time.
"Great," I said, thanks, "Who's on the cover?"
Fig stopped, everyone else stopped, and Fig looked at the cover and said, "Hoover (my Air Force nickname), I'll give you a million dollars if you can guess who's on the cover. Three guesses." He held the magazine up so that I could see the back, but he and his buddies, who were straining to look around and over his shoulders, could see the front. I could see that each Airman was furrowing his brow and mumbling, "Who is that?"
Well, here we go again. Two years ago, at age 18, I spent a week with my brother, read one of his weekly news magazines, and decided then and there that, until I get out of the U.S. Air Force and start to some university, I'll educate myself by reading one or more news magazine (like Newsweek, US News and World Report, Time, Forbes, the Economist, etc.) cover to cover every week. Now, after two years of doing just that, I knew a lot--every U.S. governor, senator, cabinet member, and senior government official; key people in politics, business, military, sports, entertainment, and arts in countries, companies and organizations around the world, and tons of other useless tidbits (that, I found out later, would haunt me into old age). And, now, after two years of spending every spare minute sucking up massive amounts national and world news, every time something outside the box came up, I was the go to guy. Now, I was being tested. Again. Fig had tried this many times before and I always came out the winner. Who would win today?
"Okay," I said to the little crowed gathered on the sidewalk a block from the base post office. "I'll play. Is it male?"
"Yes, it's male," said Fig and throwing his head back and laughing one of those that's-all-you're-gonna-get laughs.
"Is he in business or the military?" I asked.
Fig raised his eyebrows, threw his shoulders and head back and said, "How the f**k should I know? I have no idea who he is or what he does!"
Hmm, I thought, he doesn't know the face and, with that exaggerated response, and with the obvious agreement of the group, they've never even heard the name. No one knows the face or name. A total stranger.
"Lee Iacocca?" I said.
Total silence. Fig's group stood wide eyed, mouths open, as they glance back and forth from the cover to each other.
"Icky who?" asked Fig. "Who's icky kaka?"
"Eye-uh-coke-uh," I said. "Lee Iacocca."
As our little group worked its way back to the barracks, I conducted an in-motion question and answer session that touched on such topics as Lee Iacocca, the advent of the Ford Mustang, Henry Ford II, and probably a few useless tidbits as well.
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I spoke with Fig last month. In the 1960s we worked with some of the Air Force's earliest computers. Today, we're 78 years old and enjoying retirement. Fig still owes me that million.
