View From d'Isle
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Forks
by Jean d'Isle

o you ever think back on your life in terms of the numerous forks you took to arrive at where you are today? It can be an interesting and sometimes uplifting exercise.

The first really significant fork I recall in my life didn't occur until I graduated from high school. There were plenty of forks before then, but the direction was usually someone else's call. The summer I graduated from high school I was faced with a serious fork decision: should I spend the summer as a beach bum, working on a most excellent tan and surfing the days away with my friends, or should I do something productive with the brief intermission between high school and college?

In a moment of weakness (and probably more than a little parental nudging) I chose to sign up for a summer camp at Los Alamitos Naval Air Station, 100 miles north of my home in San Diego (and many miles from the beach). I guess I was expecting a boys' camp of some kind, like we used to attend in the 8th grade, when we trooped off to Camp Cuyamaca and slogged through the piney woods for a week. Wrong! What it turned out to be was a boot camp for the Naval Air Reserve: 90 days of military regimen, classroom lectures and evening study halls, overlayed by sleep deprivation, 100+ degree days, and constant harassment from mentally challenged superiors.

What had I done to myself? Visions of the beach and uncomplicated days that began when the sun was well up drifted in and out of my mind, most often as I scoured the inside of a garbage can or marched back and forth at midnight protecting the barracks with my wooden rifle.

I had many opportunities to regret my first major fork decision. Only years later, when some of the grim memories had faded, did I conclude I had made the right choice. First, while I was doing my time at the Los Alamitos boys' camp, my best friend and fellow beach bum, Evil Orville, held up a hotel in La Jolla and was doing his time for armed robbery (not that I could conceive of myself joining him in a life of crime; but he and I were pretty close until I took the fork to Los Alamitos). Second, no matter what hardship I have endured over these many years, including getting shot at, I have always taken much comfort from knowing that at least it wasn't as bad as that miserable summer in Los Alamitos.

I was confronted with a second fork decision while at Los Alamitos, not as critical as Fork One, but with long term implications for my future. As a fledgling member of the Naval Air community, I had to choose between Heavier-than-Air (i.e., airplanes) or Lighter-than-Air (i.e., blimps) as a career path. Although floating around in a balloon sounded intriguing, I chose airplanes and was assigned to a jet squadron (VF-782J). Within a year, the navy did away with Lighter-than-Air (let the air out of all their bags and folded them up). If you ever drive past the old El Toro Marine Corps Air Station (not too far from Disneyland), you can still see the huge hangars that used to house those gigantic inflatable dinosaurs of early Naval Air.

My contemporaries who took the blimp fork that long ago summer were rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic for a year and are probably now only employed full time by Goodyear during football season.

Next Week: More Forks

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Jean d'Isle is a retired naval officer living in Hawaii.During his military career he served in a number of overseas assignments, including Germany, England, Spain, Viet Nam and Puerto Rico. Following his retirement, he was an adjunct faculty member of Hawaii Pacific University and is currently under contract with the U.S. Navy at the submarine base in Pearl Harbor.

Jean's column, View From d'Isle, is a regular feature of VegSource On-Line Magazine.