MILITARY AIR TRANSPORT SERVICE
MATS
The Military Air Transport Service is an inactive Department of Defense Unified Command. Activated on 1 June 1948, MATS was a consolidation of the United States Navy’s Naval Air Transport Service and the United States Air Force’s Air Transport Command into a single joint command. Wikipedia
If I had to use one word to describe my MATS flights to Turkey – S L O W. Slow isn’t slow enough to to describe just how slowly MATS eventually delivered me to Turkey. It took about ten days. Not all ten days were we inflight, of course. Bahamas, Azores, Benghazi, Tripoli, Libya: Terrojon Air Force base Madrid, Spain. Laid over three days in Tripoli. Then, Ankara, Turkey.
Idris (Arabic: إدريس الأول; El Sayyid Prince Muhammad Idris bin Muhammad al-Mahdi as-Senussi; 13 March 1890 – 25 May 1983)[1] was a Libyan political and religious leader who served as the Emir of Cyrenaica and then as the King of the United Kingdom of Libya (renamed as the Kingdom of Libya in 1963) from 1951 to 1969.[2] He was the chief of the Senussi Muslim order.
On the ride from the airport to the marine house I scratched my head in wonderment as to why anyone would want to occupy or rule Libya.
The marine house was small and common, nothing interesting architecturally in anyway. The weather was hot and little to do other than drink cold beer.
Late evening on a hot summer’s night, my second of three during my short stay in Tripoli. An invitation by a fellow Marine to go to the nearby Mediterranean beach quickly became a disgusting first (only) encounter with a gay Jarhead. Actually had to fight off the s.o.b., we were on the beach under the watchful eye of a brilliant full moon drinking beer and he could not control himself being so close to Adonis. Unable exercise influence over his amorous inclinations towards me, I was forced to break a beer bottle on his head, returned to the Marines House, then spent a considerable amount of time debating with myself on whether to out him to superiors. I did not.
Likely his military service would have ended in courts-martial and expulsion from the Corps. Next day boarded MATS to reach the next stop on my journey: Madrid, Spain. But not before our take off was delayed by my failure to bring my passport with me and another off duty Marine delivered it to the aircraft as we waited on the tarmac. Yep, I’m a fuck up.
Terrejon Air Base is located 15 miles from Downtown Madrid. Upon arrival informed no flight to Turkey for 24 hours. Recipe for exploration. Kinship with the likes of Cortez, Pizzaro, Coronado, Hernando de Soto, Ponce de Leon, new worlds, & new adventures await me.
I was bored. Stuck on base for 24 hours.
Hailed a taxi and off we headed to the big, international city of Madrid without a plan of any kind nor a single thought about costs for an impromptu journey in search of adventure. A 20 year old kid, from a hick town in SW Missouri, alone, in a world that eats alive young, eager inexperienced boys from small towns. Especially, those who do not know one word of Spanish. None of these facts deter me. The euphoria of ignorance.
“When I have neither pleasure nor pain and have been breathing for a while the lukewarm insipid air of these so called good and tolerable days, I feel so bad in my childish soul that I smash my moldering lyre of thanksgiving in the face of the slumbering god of contentment and would rather feel the very devil burn in me than this warmth of a well-heated room. A wild longing for strong emotions and sensations seethes in me, a rage against this toneless, flat, normal and sterile life. I have a mad impulse to smash something, a warehouse, perhaps, or a cathedral, or myself, to commit outrages, to pull off the wigs of a few revered idols…”
― Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Midday, heavy traffic. No matter, enjoying the beautiful tree lined boulevards in the land of Don Quixote, El Sid, Picasso, Dali, Cervantes, on and on we go. We stopped. Abruptly. We are here.
Where?
I had asked the driver to deliver me to and deposit my ass in the city’s bar, club area. Not familiar with the local currency, or anything else for that matter, I hold out a wad of of money and permit him to take his due, I assumed he was honest. I will never know. Now, my adventure begins.
How lucky can one guy be? When I exited the cab I found myself standing directly at the entrance of a club nocturno. Serendipity. It’s one p.m. not a cloud in the sky, sunny, warm, a perfect day for sitting in a dark, smoke filled bar in Madrid and drinking until I am knee walkin’ drunk.
And, it came to pass.
The amount of money I had when I started my day is a guess, regardless, it was dwindling rapidly as was the light of day. Rays of late afternoon sunlight were slowly being replaced with shadows portending the onset of night. A few women were beginning to speak to me and offer companionship for the evening – for a price – in broken English. And, I was lonely, drunk, desirous of sex, and accepted an offer from a young woman without knowing her price, where we were or where we were going; stepping outside, she hails a cab and we are whisked away into the darkness of the Spanish night as Bolero grows ever stronger as increased sexual thoughts of rhythm and tension increase to a cascading crescendo and explode in my soaked mind.
We arrive.
She steadies me as we negotiate the stairs of a multi floor apartment building. She enters her abode with me holding onto her for stability. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.
Dinner time.
Not for her. Not for me. But for her mother, her father, and her young daughter, all seated at the dinner table eating a nice hot meal and enjoying themselves. When I enter with hot blood, a raging hard on, and fucking on my incapacitated mind. Introductions all around. Pleased to meet you. Yes, fine, thank you. I am dumbfounded, embarrassed, and praying for deliverance . Surprisingly, to me, no one other than myself seemed the least bit embarrassed, annoyed, ashamed, or displeased at this evenings turn. Business as usual?
So off to my acquaintances bedroom where I suddenly develop a profound case of loose bowels. Damn local brews, my new best friend directed me to the toilet where I encounter my first hole in the floor that accommodates human excrement. Assuming you are capable of placing each foot in it’s appointed position. Finished my business in the bathroom and in the bedroom.
My paramour led me to street level where I paid for her services and she politely called for a taxi to return me to the air base. Cab arrived. Price negotiated by my companion and cabbie. I show her the amount of money I have left. Not much. In fact, not enough to pay for the ride back to the base. Shit. Again?
My angel of the night rescued me. She returned to me from her night’s earnings enough money to get me back to base safely. I’ll never forget this kindness by a Spanish prostitute.
Arrived in Ankara the next day. May, 1962.