Fall 1986 continued…
They called me a “Sunior” after that. I was officially disenrolled as a junior and re-enrolled as a senior. There was a bit of animosity and flat-out jealousy from some of my new classmates, and from some of my former classmates. Plenty of sneers and snide comments. It had no impact on me. I made the jump from the class of ’88 into the class of ’87 and never looked back. My focus was on where I was going, and I had a lot to do to get there.
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Just as the school year kicked off, I got a stressed-out phone call from my dad. At 3:30 AM the night before, he got a call from the airline telling him to come in and close down the Sacramento station. He was told that Frontier Airlines was shutting down operations immediately, with corporate bankruptcy to follow.
My father was devastated. That company had been his life for over 22 years, and he had absolutely loved his job as a ground station supervisor. He was extremely pissed that the only offer of employment from the parent company, Continental, was doing the same job at one-third the pay, with no carry-over of seniority. It was just another way of being told “fuck off and pound sand.” Even worse, the bankruptcy would lock up his retirement funds indefinitely, so he had no access to them at all (and never did). Those funds just disappeared on him, destroying his retirement plans. It hurt profoundly. My dad was an average middle-class guy with not much in savings and with all the regular family bills to pay on top of his mortgage. He was scrambling.
It had been a middle-class job with good pay and benefits, but those had been slowly eroded over the years since Ronald Reagan’s firing of the striking air traffic controllers in 1981, which broke the power of their union, PATCO. My father had seen that, correctly, as the green light for deregulation of the airlines and straight-up union busting by the corporations. Over the following years, Frontier employees endured several rounds of pay cuts following corporate gamesmanship with the sale and re-selling of the company to various entities. It was said amongst the employees for years that some of the corporate board members thought the airline was worth more if liquidated and sold off than it was to them being operational.
My dad was a person who tried hard to execute a bit of foresight in his life. He tried his best to prepare for what he saw as the coming union crackdown by trying to put himself in the best economic environment should the airline fail. He had tried Illinois, outside of Rockford, but that hadn’t been very favorable to his wife’s job prospects. It was short-lived. This was after about five years in Eugene, Oregon, which had been suffering economic malaise for many years. After Rockford, my dad went to Salt Lake City, which was even worse for my stepmother’s job prospects. The reason was simple and revolting – non-Mormons were actively disfavored in the community and by potential employers. If you were not part of the Church (LDS), you were unworthy. Margaret had been rejected for every job she applied for, even waitress jobs, experience be damned.
Finally, my father set his sights on northern California. Sacramento was the station, and he found a home in a smaller city that he was more comfortable with than Sacramento itself, in nearby Woodland. The economy was diverse and stronger than most other regions at the time he chose it, and more importantly, housing had yet to start the massive explosion in California prices. Still, my father was in a tough spot in terms of his job search outside of the airline industry. He had been with Frontier his entire adult life and had no other experience to offer. Gary was 42 years old, only a high school graduate, and he had one job on his resume. His stress level was in the stratosphere.
For me, his job loss had implications, too. Most obvious was the loss of free travel privileges - if Frontier had stayed in business, I could have been flying free until I turned 23 years old. That also meant it would be more difficult to see my dad in the future, since it now would be an out-of-pocket expense. It further meant my father was not going to be a resource I could tap into financially, if need be, at least in the near term. He and I were both fortunate that I was pursuing a route through college that did not cost us any money, but rather, would be paying me to be there (you draw a small salary as a member of the military at the Academy). If that were to fall through…?
I was very concerned for him. The loss of his career was like a death in the family to him, that’s how hard of an impact it had. But he wasn’t a crybaby about it – he picked up the pieces and moved on. A few weeks later, he started as a manager at a used car dealership, which wasn’t a good fit. That was followed by a more tenable position, albeit at less pay than he needed, working as a teller-manager at a local credit union. I did my best to be there for him throughout this whole ordeal, and we bonded over long distance in the months to come more than ever before. While he was struggling, I was achieving my dreams, and I think that helped keep him going through some of his darker days (he had a few more to come).
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As my Sunior year got under way, I was as busy as I have ever been in my entire life. I had added taking the Russian language via a correspondence course in addition to taking all of the remaining top-level classes available in the senior year. Student congress kicked off early in the year, we had a championship to defend again, and I was one of the two top speakers, a “Senator,” so it was a primary focus of my extracurricular time. Each competition was a long weekend trip to another city, usually requiring two missed school days per contest. And I was constantly being summoned to events of all sorts as one of two school photographers for the school newspaper and yearbook. All of this meant that I missed a lot of classes that I would then have to make up for the work or tests, which meant more homework, frequently into the early morning hours. Sleeping only four to five hours a night became common for me - I called it “murdering sleep.”
With Tami in the far corner of the State at the University of North Dakota in Grand Forks, we worked out a plan to see each other every other weekend (which was worked opposite of other school-related trips I had). I would go to Grand Forks for a long weekend (missing school to add a day or two to the visit), then two weeks later, she would come back to Dickinson for a long weekend. It was a 350-mile trip, a solid five-and-a-half-hour drive for those folks driving the speed limit. School and the extracurricular activities kept me running and made time very precious. I had to stay organized and on top of things while taking care of Tami’s needs from afar when we were apart and then giving her my full attention when we were together.
My primary concern with Tami was, of course, other guys trying to scam on her. I trusted her completely, but I still knew the fact that she had a boyfriend “back home” would do all of jack-diddly-shit to stop any guys from pursuing her. She was far too attractive to not be sought after by every being with a dick, and some without! And I wouldn’t be there to occupy her time and/or fend them off. Tami would always downplay any attention she received from other guys, and always reassure me that I was her one and only, forever. Still, my radar for potential interlopers was on and strong, always.
To allay my fears, we both made sure we talked to each other every night, very openly and honestly about everything. Both of us were too busy to write letters anymore. Since this was back when long-distance phone charges were a thing and a potentially huge extra expense, our phone time had to be limited. We both pushed it too far and got ourselves into trouble with our respective parents more than once for racking up expensive phone bills. The only other thing we could do was to make the most of the time we had when we were together. And did we ever…
My first trip to Grand Forks was over the long Labor Day weekend. My parents, especially my mom, were a little nervous about letting me travel across the State on my own. I tried to put them at ease by arranging to stay with a female older cousin (I’ll call her Sally) who was in a master’s program at UND. At least, that was the story. It also helped that both my mom and stepfather really liked Tami and were very welcoming of her into our family. She developed a particularly strong bond with my mother, as they were both fanatics of the pathetic soap opera “Days of Our Lives.”
That stupid daytime TV show was a big deal back then to women in North Dakota. I have no idea why – the program is a complete fucking shitshow with no logic, reason, consistency, or rational sense whatsoever. Nonetheless, growing up I witnessed my mom and virtually all of my mother’s sisters watching that video bile every fucking day. Worse, they would frequently call each other and end up spending a ridiculous amount of long-distance phone time talking about the dumb-ass character that’s just back from the dead, or this guy’s cheating with this evil bitch again, or whatever the fucking stupid repetitive plot was. And as luck would have it, Tami turned out to be just as big a fan of that drivel as my mom. Tami was such a fan she would rush home at lunchtime just to catch a half-hour of “Days” every school day while she was in high school. Once my mom and Tami got synced through their love of that show, they became friends as if Tami were already related.
The rest of my family loved Tami as well. She was easy to like, always fun and innocently playful. The first time I brought Tami over as my girlfriend, my sister, Tia, who was ten years old at the time, came running downstairs to Tami and me and just blurts out, “Wes, what does ‘masturbation mean?’” Tami busted out laughing while my cheeks flushed.
“This is my sister, Tia,” I said, laughing it off. “Tia likes to mess with me and now she has new ways to do it.”
Tami saw that Tia was totally fucking with me and she got a kick out of it. The two of them also bonded quickly.
The same thing happened with my extended family of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Everybody loved her immediately, accepted her immediately, and went on the assumption that she would be my wife and part of the family.
All that love and acceptance of our relationship helped when on that first trip to Grand Forks, the transmission went out on the TC3 about thirty-five miles southwest of Grand Forks. The car still moved - slowly, 15 MPH tops - all while grinding metal. I was already nervous about my first time calling out of school on a Friday to go see her, and I was traveling with only enough money to get through the weekend, so this was the last thing I needed to happen. When I finally limped it into the first transmission shop in Grand Forks and they took a look, the underpan was filled with metal shavings. The old Plymouth Horizon TC3 was toast, and I was stranded in Grand Forks. But I was stranded with Tami!
She picked me up and we drove to my cousin’s apartment. Sally was in her early twenties and had two female roommates, both of whom were not home at the time. Sally was already cool with using her phone as my point of contact while I actually stayed with Tami in Tami’s dorm room, but now we had a big wrinkle with the car situation. I had to call my folks and work out the details, and I didn’t know if I was in fact going to have to stay at Sally’s place. Sally had to go to work, and I needed to get my head together before calling my parents, so I told her to go to work, I’d call them collect and we’d figure it out. If we weren’t spending the night, I’d leave a note.
“Okay, cool,” Sally said. “My roommates both know you are coming to visit so just introduce yourselves when they get home."
"Okay. Thanks for letting us stay here," I said.
"No problem," Sally replied. Then with a big smirk, she said, "And no sex on my bed, either!"
Tami blushed and I said, “Oh, what, us? Come on, we wouldn’t do that,” I smiled back.
“I’m serious, no sex on my bed, you two!” She grabbed her keys and went to the door. “I’ll see you later, I guess.”
“Thanks again,” I said. Then Tami and I both said, “Bye.”
Sally had a nice king-size bed, and five minutes later, we were on it. We were buck naked, with Tami on all fours and me face-down in her Magnificence…when I caught a glimmer out of the corner of my right eye. Then I heard keys hit the floor. I spun my head to the right, and there stood, mouth agape, a blond-haired twenty-something young lady. After making eye contact with me and then Tami, all in an instant, we all scrambled – her for her keys, and Tami and me for our clothes. The young woman quickly took the keys and bolted down the hallway as I reached the door to close it.
This was the first time we’d actually been caught in the act. Undeniably inflagrante delicto!!
Even before she was dressed, Tami was laying the blame on me and acting pissed off, like it was my fault. That didn’t last long – after we got ourselves composed and she gave me one of her friendly gut slugs, she looked me in the eye with fire and delight. “Now we have to wait for my place and hope my roommate’s already gone,” she said with a sexy smile and nudge.
Meeting Sally’s roommate was the most awkward first meeting I had ever had. The woman had seen ALL of me, turgid and ready, and all of Tami - doing some nasty - before we even said “Hello” to each other! But we did say “Hello” – after a few moments of gathering ourselves and taking deep breaths, Tami and I walked out to find her at the kitchen table. We greeted her as if nothing happened, and she responded the same. Like it was a normal first-time introduction, just with a lot of natural blushes going on around the table. (To this day, I have no idea whether the roommate ever told Sally about it as Sally has never mentioned a thing.)
After I explained the situation with my car, I decided to call my folks to figure out what to do. They were not pleased but they knew it wasn’t my fault the car died. As it was a holiday weekend, the transmission shop was closed until Tuesday. My stepfather, Mel, wanted to bring the car back to Dickinson to either fix or trade it. The plan became for them to drive our other car (a pickup) to Grand Forks on Monday, rent a tow unit from U-haul on Tuesday, and drive the TC3 back with me on Tuesday. FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC! That gave me three nights alone with Tami. In her dorm. With her roommate gone for the holiday weekend…
It was the start of a pattern of what seemed like mini honeymoons when I came to Grand Forks. When Tami came home to Dickinson, we had to share our spaces with our families. That meant going back to the sneak-in routine at night and sneaking in “quickies” at every opportunity. If we had ten minutes of relative assured privacy, we were gettin’ it done one way or another depending on the handy availability of latex! We were both constantly groping each other on the sly when around other people when they weren’t looking, keeping the heat between us simmering. For example, when we would be going upstairs and no one was looking, I would carry her up by following below her with my right hand raised and cupped by my shoulder to perfectly push her Magnificence up the stairs. Her feet would barely touch the floor on the way up. I was like her secret escalator. For her part, she would grab my crouch or butt every bit as often as I did to her. Car sex? We became masters of the steamed-up car parked in a quiet spot. But without question, long weekends with her alone in her dorm were better – they were magical marathons of intimacy and uninhibited teenage sex!
My next visit in October really set the model we were game to try to repeat on all my visits to follow.
I left after school on Thursday planning to miss school Friday – my mom was cool enough to call in for me. The excuse was that I was going to go see Ronald Reagan make his first and only speech in North Dakota, which was to take place at UND that Sunday. I still used the cover story of staying at Sally’s but that was a thin canard, giving into a kind of “don’t ask, don’t tell” situation with my parents. We didn’t have cell phones back then, and my mom generally didn’t try to call me when I was away unless it was an emergency. There weren’t any.
It was a girls-only dormitory and male guests weren’t allowed to spend the night, so I first had to be brought up to her room after calling up to her from the security door. Her roommate, who was a party-girl slut on the prowl, had already moved out to wherever the hell would have her. That gave Tami and me a double room to ourselves. “I missed you” sex followed – a few times before going to sleep. Then “wake-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-horny sex! Then morning sex! Followed of course by a shower…and shower sex! We were pretty hungry by then and went out for brunch, then came back, and had afternoon sex! That was followed later on by dinner and a movie, then we went for a drive somewhere quiet and had car sex! Finally, we went back to her dorm, freshened up and got ready for bed, and then had more sex! Each day followed the other following a similar pattern. We skipped Reagan’s speech because we were busy…having sex! We did manage to see his motorcade drive by as he left for the airport. Then we went back to Tami’s dorm and had sex!
Some of you dear readers may be doubting my veracity, and if that is you, I feel sorry that you’ve never had that kind of experience in life. But I tell it true, dear reader. I was sixteen and just working on my way to my prime – hell, I was so naturally horny back that I would get excited just thinking about her on the drive and have to rub one out before I even got there! Both of us were head over heals in mad-passionate love with each other, we were both young and in perfect shape, and our bodies TALKED to each other. Our mutual deep feelings for each other were magnified in our sexual relationship, making it incredibly intense and always satisfying for both of us. It became necessary because we needed each other.
When it finally came time to leave, Tami was almost shaking with dread that I’d be gone. She felt tremendous loneliness when we were apart, especially since leaving for college, and she was desperate to get me to stay another day. So much so, she started doing an impromptu striptease for me, enticing me to stay. I couldn’t, not this time…but those eyes… As she did her sexy dis-robing, she first teased by exposing her flat stomach with the beautiful natural vertical line of abdominal definition…then as she turned and slowly lowered her top and dropped it, the amazing arch of her back focused my attention and I could see that with the slightest tilt forward, I could balance a shot glass on her tailbone…and then my eyes moved further south to her Magnificence…damn...but I had a student congress trip the following weekend and a mountain of work to do as a result! I just couldn’t stay…but I couldn’t just yet leave, either. Although we were both sore from all the fun we’d already had, she had to settle for one last round of sex! Then I finally drove back to Dickinson, arriving late that night.
When I got to school on Monday and saw one of my other high school friends, I’ll call him Rob, he asked me how my trip went. He had his own serious girlfriend who he was also shagging rotten. We often joked with each other about it as young male sex-pigs tend to do. “Dude, on the last round, it was like trying to shove a marshmallow into a keyhole,” I quipped.
“You’re full of shit,” he laughed.
“Serious. She almost fucked me out,” I retorted. “I got tired of buying those small packs of rubbers, right? So, I bought the big 36-pack on Thursday on my way to Grand Forks. I only got 15 left!”
“You dirty bastard,” Rob said with a friendly backhand to my shoulder.
Indeed, I was living the Great All-American High School Fuck Fantasy…and life away from Tami was great, too. The schoolwork was easy – it just required the time to be put in. I walked the school halls between classes in a partial daze that week, as I did most weeks after coming home from Grand Forks, listening to corny ‘80’s rock ballads over the intercom while floating on a love-high and feeling absolutely confident in my future in every way. I was friendly with everyone and admired by many, no longer looked down upon as “just Wes.” The girls were noticing, too, and my options opened widely. Being a former “lard-ass” nobody, I relished the attention. I noticed the ladies, too, of course, but I had zero desire to date or fuck any of them at that point in time. I was committed heart and soul to Tami, meaning none of them stood a chance.
Life continued along that pattern throughout the fall and into Christmas break. By mid-November, I led our student congress to our fourth State Championship. I can say that because they voted me “Most Valuable Member” after we won. I also beat out my top competition in the State for the Senate top speaker award. That top competitor happened to be my teammate and the superstar student of the class I had jumped into, Vachel Miller (real name and no relation). My victory was close, and he was visibly disappointed in his personal loss even. Nonetheless, we celebrated our mutual victory together looking over the State Senate Chambers as if we belonged there. You see, the State Championship was hosted in the actual North Dakota Capitol Building, where they allowed us to use the actual House and Senate Chambers of the State Legislature during the competition. Many politicians, including the Governor and other top State officials, came through to wish us well during the event. Altogether, it was another experience that gave me faith in honest government while fueling my desire to serve in high office.
My unshakeable confidence in myself grew to the point of being almost arrogant at times. The sin of hubris awaited, and I started to find it after the turn of the year.
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Hubris first came to find me in the form of a U.S. Marine Corps recruiter, I’ll call him Sergeant Bates. Out of the blue one night in late November 1986, I received a surprise call from him. I had previously taken the military aptitude test called the ASVAB as it was offered for free to all seniors that fall. I raced through that thing like it was nothing, acing every section of it. I scored in the 99th percentile on everything. That’s what sparked his phone call, and damn it if he didn’t manage to get me personally answering the phone when it rang. Had it been anyone else answering, I would have just dodged the call. “Hello?” I answered.
“Am I speaking to Mr. Wesley Miller?” he asked.
“Yes, this is him,” I replied.
“This is Sergeant Bates of the United States Marine Corps. I understand you want to become one of the Best,” Bates started. “I’m reaching out to you to make that happen. I’m sure you’ve heard that we’re looking for a few good men and I think you might be one of them.”
“Thank you, sir, I appreciate your call, but I’ve already made other plans to serve my country by going to the Air Force Academy,” I said as a matter of fact.
“Young man, I thought you wanted to be one of the best, not just one of the rest,” he said with absolute confidence. “The Air Force is fine for those who just want some time in a branch of the service, but if you truly want to maximize your potential and be the best you can possibly be, there is nothing to match the elite training and discipline of the Unites States Marine Corps. Ooh-rah.”
His talk about being the best got my attention. I had previously given zero thought to serving in any other branch of the armed forces. It would have been wise for me to just hang up on him, but I kept listening. Then I agreed to go meet with him in person the next evening.
Sergeant Bates stood about 6’4” with a strong, fit build but not out of proportion in any way. Never-the-less, that man had the fiercest handshake I have ever experienced, and I’m a guy who values a firm handshake. This was different - he damn near broke my hand when he shook it. Every time.
“So, what’s this Air Force Academy business all about then?” he asked right away after our greeting and pointing me to a chair. I briefly explained my grand plan for getting the best education possible while also serving my country, and maybe going into politics after that, without being too specific about any further ambitions.
“For a young man with such big goals, why aren’t you looking to go into the best branch of the military?” Bates inquired.
“Well, for one, the Marines don’t have an academy to apply to,” I stated.
“Oh, yes, we do. The Marine Corp is actually the little brother to the U.S. Navy, and there are plenty of Navy Academy graduates who choose to be commissioned as officers in the Marines Corps when they graduate,” he informed me. “Did you know that you can choose which branch of the military to be commissioned in when you graduate from any of the military academies? Even the Air Force Academy.”
“Are you sure? I’ve never heard that before,” I said.
“Absolutely. You could go through the Air Force Academy, graduate, and be commissioned as a First Lieutenant in the Marines. No problem what-so-ever,” Bates said with the confidence of God. It presented a new appeal I hadn’t considered – as a person with horrible natural eyesight, I couldn’t be a pilot, meaning my Air Force career might consist of manning a missile silo for years on end, or some other less-than-glamorous duty. The idea of leading Marines in combat brought on thoughts a glory hound would have about achieving great victories in future battles…and the honor and fame to follow... He then proceeded to give me the full blast pitch on the wonders of becoming one of the few and the proud. Sgt. Bates went through a litany of the famous and powerful who had once been Marines to further his success arguments. My patriotic side was fully receptive, even sold, but I had no plans to sidetrack my Academy plans and I told him as much. I loved the campus and really wanted to go to college there. That’s when he threw out two points of bait that hooked me all the way.
“Do you realize that having prior enlisted experience will actually help you get the nomination you’re after?” Bates quizzed.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, being already enlisted in the military – doesn’t matter what branch – shows that you have a prior commitment to serving your country. If two applicants are equally qualified, who do you think they’ll pick? The civilian? Or the guy who has already demonstrated his commitment to serving his country?”
Damn, he was convincing. “Okay, I see your point,” I said. “What if I am already serving as a Marine and then get the appointment – won’t I be stuck as an enlisted man and lose out on the Academy?”
“No way, if that happens, they’ll pluck you right out of whatever unit you’re in and send you to the Academy. It’s a higher service commitment, so they’ll cut your orders without a doubt.”
My resistance was fading. He kept overcoming all of my objections.
“There’s something else you should consider, too, and that’s the effect being a ‘mustang’ will have on your career,” Sgt. Bates went on. “A ‘mustang’ is an officer with prior enlisted experience. They generally make better officers since they know what it’s like on the working side of things. They’re usually better liked and respected by the men they lead, and they tend to have better career advancement.”
He had me thinking hard about my entire big plan for my life. A bit more daydreaming crept into my head as he continued.
“You say you want to get into politics someday, right? Well, what better preparation to serve your country in politics would there be after serving your country as both an enlisted man and an Academy-grad officer? Hell, son, you might even be able to run for President some day!”
From his lips to God’s ear, right? He didn’t know that was exactly my plan. But he knew he had me sold on becoming a Marine. We kept talking and worked out what I would have to do. Since I was still only 16, we would have to wait until the new year for me to sign up under the deferred enlistment program, which in turn would require the permission of my mother. I still wanted to get some undergraduate college credits under my belt to be able to go for a double major and I wanted to spend as much time as possible with Tami before leaving to make my future. We resolved those concerns by planning for the delayed enlistment to last until the end of the following calendar year, which would give me a full semester at UND, then Marine Corps boot camp, followed by my appointment and matriculation to the Academy at the end of June 1988.
I thought I had it all figured out again, even better this time. Everybody else was skeptical of my decision. I took it upon myself to convince them, and myself, that it was the right decision. Tami laughed at first at my taking on of Marine Corps ego-puffs, like referring to myself as being “a piece of twisted steel and sex appeal,” and other similar self-aggrandizing bullshit. (It didn’t take long to become a bit tiresome for her.) I further justified it to everyone I could as an opportunity to get the best, toughest training (13 weeks of boot camp and beyond) prior to going into the Air Force Academy, which should make the Academy’s eight-week boot camp a joke by comparison.
My friend’s father, I’ll call him Big Jim, was a Vietnam veteran Marine. He had been severely wounded at Da Nang during the Tet offensive in 1968. Big Jim was very blunt: “Don’t do it. You’re just a piece of meat to them. They don’t give a fuck about your future; they just want killers and cannon fodder.”
I tried to laugh it off and say that the Corps had changed since his day. My recruiter assured me that the abuses of the past had been addressed and fixed. The drill instructors were no longer allowed to even touch a recruit, he claimed. The modern Marines were no longer filled with racists idiots, it was an organization of the best and most professional elite soldiers on the planet. I was a true believer with reinforced self-righteousness, an unstoppable force with destiny awaiting.
The two very important things I didn’t know or understand yet were: 1) how completely and totally full of shit military recruiters are in their relentless pursuit of enlistment numbers; and 2) the depth of my own naivety.