A Spanish Saga

Moron Air Base in Spain had a rather inauspicious beginning but those who were there will long remember it.

SOME OF US ARE OLD ENOUGH TO remember when colonialism began to decline and nationalism raised political stridency among the re-born nations. Political activism was rampant after WWII and in particular on the African continent, and North Africa was a hotbed of “Yankee, go home.”

As the cold war began to heat up and various ’isms surfaced, we suddenly found ourselves looking for other places to park our airplanes. In our far-flung attempt to encircle the Soviet Union and to secure the Mediterranean Sea, we had installations in Libya, Morocco, Tunisia, and other locales, but we had to look elsewhere as the locals wanted to control their own destinies and they wanted us out.

We moved across the Mediterranean Sea to Spain and brought them kicking and screaming into the 20th Century. We built bases, seaports, roads, pipelines, housing areas, and much other construction to help them. We also introduced them to the afterburners of F-100s from which they still haven’t recovered. Conversely, they introduced us to an old culture of good wines, beautiful women, bloody bullfighting, fly-infested butcher shops, and “drive at your own risk.”

Most of us were not Spanish speakers; we were supposed to be Catholic, non-black, and holders of a valid passport at entry. Well, you can scratch all the above. We didn’t fit the mold despite the terms of the agreement negotiated by Henry Cabot Lodge and Generalissimo Franco. I would imagine that General Franco knew we wouldn’t comply with all the agreement but he and his country needed us and Spain prospered in the deal.

Those of us who arrived before base construction had to live on the economy, which was really a blessing, because we were promptly immersed in the Spanish culture. It didn’t take long to learn how to order food and drink and acquire sufficient vocabulary to get along with the natives.

We did have a 60-hour Spanish course, which really helped. We were required to wear coats and ties and urged not to act like rednecks, but that was hard.

At Seville, a colonel led the initial cadre of approximately 65 people. The largest component of the group was the air police of about 14 souls.

Talk about a bird’s nest on the ground. We had no duties for the first six months; our only responsibility was to call in once a day. We had no weapons, no batons, no cuffs, no cars, nothing but an office with orange crates and a telephone. Talk about a heavy-duty operation!

Our supervisors were somewhat chagrined that we were allowed to virtually run free, but letting us run was easier than trying to make busy work. Besides, not all the supervisors were married and the boss was single.

Our quarters were diverse in that some lived in boarding houses (pénsiones) some in hotels, some in rented houses or apartments, and just about anyplace you could find. Prices were cheap and we lived well on our pay and station allowance.

Since we had no bases or hardware, we had no duties until they finally built a small BX where we did check ID cards.

At first, our commissary was out of the back of an 18-wheeler that would bring our previously ordered items from Madrid, 300 miles north.

We did operate a small town patrol, and as the troop buildup began to staff Moron air base we established an infrequent highway patrol as the base was 35 miles from Seville and accidents were beginning to occur.

But, one of the more interesting aspects of our assignment was the building in which our offices were located.

It was a high rise with a basement and nine upper floors. The basement eventually housed civil service workers, finance, and others while the second floor had civilian personnel and others. The air police, medics, and others occupied the ninth floor, which wasn’t too bad except when the power was off which it generally was from 0900–1600 hours in order to save fuel.

Climbing the stairs however was not the problem.

The problem was the residents between the second and ninth floors. You history buffs will recall that Hitler provided some troops and materiel support to Franco during the Spanish Civil War in 1936. Many of the German military chose to remain in Spain after that war and WWII.

Some of them lived in the spaces between our floors…and…there were only two elevators. We had some heated confrontations between the Germans and our troops, especially the black troops, and it was quite obvious that we couldn’t share elevators with the residents.

So, we took one and they took the other. Besides, one of our guys had spent 18 months in a German Stalag and he wasn’t exactly enamored with the Germans.

The American presence in Spain was a bitter pill for the Germans to swallow, and many felt betrayed by Franco’s agreement with the US. Tension remained high for some time until we gradually learned to ignore each other.

Moron Air Base, which was named after the small town of Moron was originally a Spanish air base and it was located about 35 miles south- east of Seville in the heart of Andalusia.

We built a substantial runway/taxi- way complex along with a sizeable cantonment area. We also built a weapons storage area. Much of the construction and engineering was done based on their surveying, and the use of poorly prepared maps which seriously lacked essential reference to items such as flood plain data. We also built a base housing area, which was located on the outskirts of Seville and a long way from the base.

“The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain.” Those words are so true. In one 24-hour period, I saw a colossal amount of water come down from the mountains onto the flood plain. The water moved with such velocity that airplanes were pushed off their parking spots into muddy fields along with vehicles and anything else not secured. The weapons storage area was under water, and every available man was sandbagging in an effort to divert the water. Some of the more notable sandbaggers (no pun intended) were James O. Calvert, Hugh Shannon, John C Foley, Jim Rice, Larry Larios, Tom Foster, Clifford Riggs, along with many others. We survived but we lost a zillion dollars in high-priced hardware not to mention the walls of the housing area were dissolving from poorly mixed stucco and concrete. We paid dearly for our bases and presence in Spain.

As always, taking the good with the bad is just how it has got to be done. Those stationed in Seville had a great time.

AMERICAN EXPOSURE TO THE OLD culture and traditions of Spain did not always come easy … for the Spaniards or for us.

We soon realized we were rich compared to them, and our womenfolk soon learned that maids, gardeners, and chauffeurs were within their heretofore-austere budgets.

Those with small children quickly appreciated the live-in maid who not only looked after the kids but made daily trips to the market.

That was important because we had no commissary and food purchasing was a daily activity for maids.

But the acquisition of domestic help brought other problems related to the safe handling of food and other issues of in-home sanitation. Unfortunately, we had several families suffer the ravages of hepatitis, and infection was a constant threat to those with babies.

Boiling water to drink and to wash fruits and vegetables was a must. No doubt some health issues were the result of poor sanitation and hygiene, but others were caused by too much idle time.

Some families suffered the debilitating effects of alcohol and nightlife that invariably led to one crisis after another and the inevitable contact with the Spanish police.

I can’t tell you how many times others and I rescued one of our own, and, in most cases, the Spanish police would release the culprit without charges if there were no property damage or injuries.

Some of those same people would face heavy fines and jail time in our country for activities the Spaniards chose to overlook. Many of us were lucky.

Some who caused death and injury were not. And there were those who worked the black market.

But, we had unexpected success All in all, it was a great assignment with excitement and education in the forefront with our kids who quickly learned Spanish. Perhaps some of you will agree that foreign language training should be taught in the early grades. Why. We had kids eight years old who learned Spanish well enough to translate for their parents in daily activities.

It was amazing to see how fast a child could learn simply by playing in the streets of Seville, and those children who were encouraged by their parents were nearly bilingual by the time they left Spain. By far, they could outtalk their parents.

Many families took advantage of Seville’s proximity to great sightseeing and travel opportunities not only within Spain but also to Gibraltar, Portugal, France, and other European countries. Public transportation was good and the trains ran on time.

Only two things in Spain started on time: trains and bullfights.

Springtime in Seville was a sight to behold. A great Feria would be held whereby families and companies would set up small tent like structures called Casitas.

Folks would gather to visit, sip wine with bread and cheese, and generally have a good time. It was the biggest social event of the year and many of the locals, and some Americans, would dress in the old style and promenade through the park.

You would see dashing young men and women astride Arabian stallions prancing through he park pursued by dozens of children starry-eyed as they moved about.

One particularly beautiful woman, dressed in the old style, was walking through the throng and as she passed me she said “Good evening” in Spanish.

Well, I certainly knew enough Spanish to understand her but I was momentarily tongued-tied. It was Ava Gardner.

But Ava wasn’t the only movie star in town. A production company made a movie called “Over the Bridge.” It starred Rod Steiger, and many of our troops were used as extras.

No one got an Oscar—including Steiger. It was fun to hear the reactions of those not chosen to be in the film. Those of us not selected felt the producers did not see talent before their eyes.

Flamenco dancing is now known around the world and you pay dearly to see a show. In Seville during the fifties, most venues that had entertainment always had a group of Flamenco dancers…and there was no charge. They were beautiful and, in fact, two of our guys became engaged. I don’t know what happened as the guys were transferred to Madrid.

There was no doubt about it. A single man in Seville was in paradise, and some of the married men thought they were too.

As spectacular as the professional Flamenco dancers were, the impromptu dancing in neighborhood cantinas was a joy to see. Families would bring their young children to dance and to get a feel for dancing before a live audience.

Bull fighting was a popular event in Spain and Seville was the center for professional corridas. Though it was a Spanish favorite, it didn’t catch on with Americans because the bull was always killed. The bull, though, was butchered and the meat given to charity.

Most of our socializing was limited to private parties or to one theater that showed English language movies once a week. We did have a small special services cadre that did a bang-up job organizing intramural sports competitions that included each military unit as well as the contractors and the civil service personnel. The fast pitch softball league was by far the most popular and drew the most spectators.

Wives and girlfriends would attend the late afternoon games, and we often had food and drink afterward. Sports served as an important rallying activity for the Americans. We came to know and to appreciate each other—and that was important.

Spain was the right place at the right time for some of us. For others, it was difficult to live on the economy and not have all your wants and needs at your fingertips. We arrived when prices were very low and the natives were friendly although they were baffled by our lifestyles. For example, Spaniards eat late at night and seldom get to bed before midnight. We required them to be at work at 0800 and work all day without a siesta; it really cramped their style. Many years later, I asked a friend of mine what impressed him about us. Much to my surprise, he said he was more impressed with the ballpoint pen and our ability to con- dense pages of words to specific points. Can you believe it.

Spain was a new ballgame for us because it wasn’t a country we had defeated. It did require an attitude adjustment but for the most part we did as we have always done; we made it work. The Spaniards were very poor but proud. They had every right to be proud as they discovered and founded most of the New World. Columbus wouldn’t recognize Seville today; neither would you.

Viva El Toro!