In December of 1967 four young Navy Airmen, 19-20 years old, “taxied” out of the
Naval Air Station (NAS) Corpus Christi, Texas in a prime cruise-mobile (Ford
Fairlane) headed to the Los Angeles area on leave from the “line crew” at VT-27, a
training squadron where naval aviators honed their multi-engine skills flying the
Grumman TS-2, an antisubmarine warfare aircraft. Heading west by northwest,
there were four of us: 3 white & one black. Our intention was to drive straight
through, swapping drivers as we proceeded home for the holidays. Much of the
west Texas travel was on US 90 through Del Rio, Langtry, Sanderson and many miles
of openness north of Big Bend country.
We hit a snowstorm a little east of Alpine, and by the time we got to that town it
looked like its name – it was covered with a layer of white-stuff and snow was
blowin’. We pressed slowly on, creeping west and by the time we hit the “west Texas
town of El Paso”, near midnight, I-10 was closed down, at least to vehicles that did
not have tire chains.
Most of us, at least 3, were unaware of Texas’ “Jim Crow” laws, and that a little over a
decade before a black physician (Dr. Beck) had been denied rooms in that very city.
Yes, the lingering vestiges of our influences on the Third Reich were still with us.
The car’s owner, we’ll call him Tom, and I went to a motel’s office and scored
shelter- from the storm. The next morning our quartet was able to buy and apply
chains that enabled us to continue our westerly sojourn at a remarkably slow pace
for our foursome from SoCal. Near the Arizona border we were finally able to shed
our chains and motor-on in haste: looking forward to family & festivities.
At the same time: to our east in College Station, TX the Texas A&M football team,
winners of the Southwest Conference, was preparing for their battle against
Alabama (and their former coach Paul “Bear” Bryant), in the ’68 Cotton Bowl. Little
did I know that James T. (JT) Reynolds was a member of that squad, probably
practicing as we drove towards the Pacific Ocean. JT & I would eventually be
National Park Service (NPS) Ranger colleagues, wearing NPS green-n-grey. At
present though he and Sammy Williams, who were “The Integrators” (the first black
players in the Corps history) of Texas A&M football: I’ve also heard they were the 1st
for the SW Conference, and they were busting-their-butts with the teammates
prepping to play The Tide come January 1. The Aggies were very much the
underdogs.
When the young Navy personnel hit L.A. we started going separate ways. Three of us
were taken to my parent’s place in Burbank. Tom went to wash his car before his
Father saw the trip’s road grime, while I took my squadron mates to home
rendezvous pick-up spots in Baldwin Hills (west L.A.) and Porterville, CA (where
fruit groves were freezing and we helped with smudge pot placements).
Driving home, in my parent’s kennel van, that we used to move some of those pots, the
roadsides appeared to be lined with snow. Though I knew they weren’t, in the dark,
due to fatigue and having driven and ridden in the snow during our trip I saw snow.
We were supposed to ride back with Tom to Corpus, but I received an offer from my
Dad that was hard to refuse: if I stayed for the ’68 Rose Bowl (USC vs. IU) he’d get us
tickets, pay for me to fly back to Corpus Christi and give me $100 expenses money.
This was a lot for this “Airedale” (Navy slang for aviation folks). He said it was for
Mom, that she’d like me to stay around a few extra extra days, but I know it was for
both of us too.
At the Rose Bowl on New Year’s Day we watched O.J. Simpson and the USC Trojans
dance & prevail 14-3 over the Hoosiers.
Earlier that day the Texas A&M Aggies upset
heavily favored Alabama 20-16 in the Cotton Bowl, while JT and Sammy watched far
from the sidelines. Though they were credited by their coach (Stallings) for helping
with the victory, JT & Sammy weren’t allowed to be there and play due to
“unacceptable lodging” factors = vile “Jim Crow” laws. So, while a young man from a
working/middle class family that was white got to go to Rose Bowl, two young men
that had sweated and bleed with their team were not permitted to be there because
they were black.
Their young (32-years old) coach undoubtedly had a lot on his plate, but was
apparently MIA in this civil rights effort to fight-for-right. 1968 could have started
with promise and hope, but as a sign-of-the-times, and a year that changed my
worldview, it instead traveled a trail of unrighteous sadness with the assassination
of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Presidential candidate Senator Robert F. Kennedy, and
“The Whole World is Watching” Democratic Party Convention in Chicago.
JT Reynolds has been an honest, intelligent & just man all the time I’ve known him.
He had an extraordinary career with NPS and was part of the heralded “Yosemite
Mafia” that left positive imprints throughout the National Park system during my
days; he was an instructor at the Horace Albright Training Center, a Regional Chief Ranger and on the Oversight Committee for the Interagency ARPA Task Force which I was lucky enough to be part of. In addition, he was a park manager and superintendent at Death Valley National Park before retiring. To this day, for JT & Sammy, I’m humbled to say: “Gig ‘Em” and “Fight On!”
Returning to base, at the baggage area of the Corpus Christi airport I was asked by a
uniformed Coast Guard pilot if I needed a ride out to the NAS. I gratefully accepted.
He was driving a late model mustang convertible, and as it was a “rag top day” and
the top was down, I remember thinking “life is good”. As we approached the east
gate I mentioned it was odd that he had an “Enlisted” sticker on his car. He then told
me he too was an enlisted man, but he had this officer’s uniform he used while
traveling. I immediately thought “this doesn’t sound good… or legal”. He also said
that I’d visibly help sell the situation being an airman. At the gate we were waived
through and when the guard saw the driver wearing an officer’s uniform he saluted.
My trip home went without further incident.
