My friend and fellow Thule alumni Jim Musser, has been encouraging me to write about my experiences there for a year or more. So here goes.

I was at Thule from January 1962 'til January 1963. But, my story begins prior to going to Thule. I was stationed at McGuire AFB with my wife. We barely scraped by on an A/2c's salary. And often didn't have the money for a decent bill of groceries. So we weren't able to have a healthy diet. When she became pregnant with our first son, I decided to take her back home to Texas. There she could live with her mother and have decent meals while being near family doctors. I moved into the barracks for the duration. After all it would only be for a few months right?

Wrong! About a month before her due date I got my orders to go to Thule. Boy was I disappointed. I took leave and was at home when Mike was born. Shortly afterward, my wife joined me at McGuire and we spent about a week in the base hotel just before I left for Thule. While there my wife met a woman who was married to an air force psychiatrist. It just so happened that he was on his way to Thule to pick up a guy that had gone off of the deep end. She told my wife that it happened all of the time. That sure did a lot to put my wife's mind at ease.!!!

My travel day was filled with anxiety and uncertainty. First of all, I did not get any travel pay. With McGuire being the port of embarkation for Europe and points north, my only travel was to be by military aircraft. They wouldn't even give me cab fare from my squadron to the MATS terminal. I still chuckle about that. My flight to Thule was aboard a C-135 with a flight time of around 3 1/2 hours, as I remember. The pilot was concerned about something. So we landed at Goose Bay so he could have it checked. We were on the ground long enough to eat at the chow hall and were airborne again.

Stepping off of the plane in Thule was an experience I will never forget. I don't think I have ever felt so isolated and alone. It was dark, cold and desolate. A couple of guys that I was to be stationed with met me at the MATS terminal. They told me that I was being assigned to the North Mountain Transmitter Site, part of the 1983 Communication Squadron. That sounded even more desolate. They drove me over to the squadron orderly room, where I signed in, before heading up the mountain. The road up the mountain was rough with the Metro truck was straining and constantly changing gears as we ascended.

I don't remember my first impressions of the guys I met or of the barracks. But soon I was settled in. I was to share a room with another guy. And I was briefed on all of the weird things about Thule: the phases, the dark season, the sporadic mail, how to use the commode with the hand pump etc. etc. My mind was spinning as I wondered just what had I gotten into. But I was soon to learn that if I had to be at Thule, North Mountain was not a bad place to be.

Being the new kid on the block, I was the butt of everyone's jokes and pranks. And, of course, I drew the choice assignments. One of my first was K.P. I remember bending over a sink after every meal washing dishes by hand for a week. On the final day came the really choice aspect of it all. Cleaning out the grease trap. That was the most smelly, slimy job I have ever done.

After I finished that choice assignment, the site commander told me that I had been promoted. I thought, "yeah sure". Like they are going to promote the new kid…just another prank. So I waited for the punch line. It didn't come. The next day he asked when I was going to sew on my new strips. I said when I saw my stripe orders.

That evening he told me to go to the base with the mail run the next morning. The First Sergeant wanted to see me. The First Sergeant told that my last base had promoted me. And that he would send orders when they came in from McGuire. In the mean time, get new stripes on my sleeve. Hot Dog! That meant no more K.P., and I would have my own room.

In the power plant, I was the crew chief on the midnight to eight shifts. There were two other guys beside myself. Guys came and went as their tour at Thule began or ended. But, one guy stands out in my memory. Roger Millett from somewhere in Maine. That guy had more nerve than you could imagine. One day as he and I were going down the mountain in a Ford ton and a half, I asked him to slow down. I thought he was going too fast. He asked, "Why? Are you scared? Then he just laughed and pushed the accelerator down further.

I would've killed him if I could have pried my fingers off of the dashboard. Another time, he wanted to go down to the base while we were on duty. I said ok but to be back before shift change. After a short me he came into the office with some new desk chairs that he had stolen from an officer's barracks. The next night he wanted to go again. This time he came back with a couch. I really enjoyed working with that guy and was sorry to see him rotate back to the states.

Like everybody stationed at Thule, we would do most anything to pass time. We did have a few things on the site that helped. There was the bar; a dark room, movies, and a pool/ping pong table…hmmm, Now that I think about it, that's not a lot is it? We had movies every night. During the week, we saw the movie that had been shown at the base theater the night before. We had an arrangement with the guys at the base TV station to cover the weekends.

Someone would put together a "care package" consisting of sandwiches or whatever we could put together from the kitchen. That we would trade for the use of shows that they broadcast on the base them we couldn't receive, for the weekend. Then there was the bar. It was operated on the honor system and I don't remember anyone ever cheating it. It had the usual fare: beer, soft drinks, candy bars, cigars etc.

That brings to mind a story about the bar. S/Sgt McDonald was an older guy, quiet and soft-spoken. But he loved his beer. You would find him in the bar most evenings. Usually someone would sit down and have a couple with him. But in the end, he would be there by himself. He often just laid his head over on the bar and slept here. The cook would wake him up the next morning. When some of the guys kidded him about it, he had a response. There was a Playboy Centerfold painting her fingernails taped to the mirror. He said that after everyone else left she came down and talked to him. One night one of the guys caught him there and painted his fingernails with red model airplane paint. I don't think that Mack spent another night in the bar.

Our site commander, SM/Sgt Barnett, was a neat guy. And he would try to cover for us if we got into mischief down on the base. That was especially important to one of our cooks. Duncan was a good cook and a decent guy. That is, until he started drinking. He would never pull any crap at the site. I think Sgt Barnett must have had a sit down talk with him. But he would sure blow off some steam on the base. None of us would go there with him. We knew better. Two new guys came in straight out of tech school. Right off of the bat, Duncan took them to the base to show them the airman's club. The account of what happened was from the two newbies. So I'm sure it was pretty accurate. Duncan put some money into the jukebox and it wouldn't play his music. He got mad and kicked the front in. After realizing what he had done he decided to slip it out and up to the site, fix it, and return it before anybody noticed. And he almost did it. He and the new guys carried that thing out of the building to the Metro. As they were trying to figure out how to get it in two Air Policemen came up. Of course they wanted know what was going on. Duncan told them that they were taking it to the shop for repairs. And he asked them to help load it. They lifted it and sat one edge just inside of the truck. Duncan and the new guys went around to come inside to pull while the A.P.s held up the back and pushed. But instead…you guessed it. They drove off leaving the A.P.s holding the bag as it were. The jukebox fell to the ground. The next week there was a write up in the base paper about the vandals why destroyed the jukebox at the airman's club".

We were lucky on North Mountain. We had three trucks: a duce and a half, a ton and a half and the Metro. You could pretty much use one anytime you wanted to. That gave us the opportunity to get out and about that the guys on the base didn't have. We explored the fjords; the cave in the ice cap that the army had dug for research and sometimes just went for a drive.

The phone system there sure left a lot to be desired. Remember, this was before satellites and such. You could call home. But was a hassle. First you had to call the base operator to get on the waiting list. It usually took about twelve hours from that point before you got to make your call. When you did, you called some place in Canada by microwave radio. Then you had to reverse the charges from that point to home. During the dark season we could have fun with it though. If it was dark in the states the South Mountain Receiver Site could pick up WLS radio in Chicago. They would pipe it over to us. It was great to hear state side music. We often called them collect to play requests for each other. They always accepted the charges.

We had parties from time to time. The most memorable one for me was when Jim Musser and two other guys were about to rotate back to the states. It was the party to top all North Mountain parties. The cooks worked their butts of cooking a meal fit for a king. And there was enough to feed an army. We called on a captain who enjoyed coming up to the site for a favor. We needed booze. With our money, he bought every kind of booze that you can imagine from the officer's club. On party night the squadron commander and several others were invited up for the festivities. Wisely, the squadron commander decided to leave when the drinking started. A fun time we had by all…I think. Things did get a little fuzzy for me. And there were sure a bunch of hangovers the next day.

Connections made at times like that were helpful. The best example of that, for me, was the day that I was to leave Thule for good. There had been a phase blowing for three days. There was a low spot between the site and the crest of the mountain on the road to the base. Anytime there was a phase a snowdrift would build up there. Sometimes you could bust through it with the duce and a half. Sometimes you couldn't. This was one of times that you couldn't. I was sweating nails. So I called the captain who bought the booze and asked him to send someone up to get me. He did and I was on my way back to the real world.

Like most who have spent time at Thule, it is an experience that I wouldn't take for. With all of its hardships, the isolation, and remoteness, it ranks right up there with all of the very best experiences in my life.