Air Force Years of Larry Potterfield
Larry Potterfield, Hospital Squadron, Ellsworth Air Force Base, Rapid City, South Dakota, May 13, 1977 (Photo courtesy of MidwayUSA)
ending of one adventure often means the start of another; such was certainly the case with my Air Force years. On July 19, 1974, at Blytheville AFB, Arkansas, Brenda removed the sergeant stripes from my dress shirts and pinned on the gold bars of a 2nd lieutenant. Then off I went to medical service school at Shepherd AFB in Wichita Falls, Texas, to study Hospital Administration. This was a three-year commission.
Just a few days earlier on July 15, Brenda delivered our son, Russell. I left the two of them with our good friends, John and Mary Baregi, and family. The following weekend I flew back, hooked our '64 Ford behind our '72 Plymouth and the whole family headed south.
Nearly through the 90-day training program, orders came in directing me to report to the Ellsworth AFB Hospital, near Rapid City, South Dakota, when the training was complete. A letter from Major Tim Bargamin (my boss to be), advised that he would assign me to the Squadron Commander position. That sounds like a “high up” job, but it was just the Air Force’s way of saying “Human Resources Manager.” Later, I served as the Medical Supply Officer, where I learned a little about logistics.
The assignment couldn’t have been better. The Hospital Squadron was made up of about 350 soldiers, and all were top notch. From the doctors, nurses and administrators to the maintenance folks and cooks; everyone worked together as a team. My boss had a motor home and a boat, and liked to hunt. I had decoys and knew how to blow a duck call. There was lots of hunting and fishing, and shooting – including skeet and prairie dogs.
One afternoon in June of 1976, Brenda and I found ourselves in the hospital delivery room, with doctors and nurses that we both knew and socialized with. Sara, our second child, was delivered. With a new baby in our lives, and being near Mt. Rushmore and the Black Hills, we had lots of visitors, and made the long trip back to Missouri only a couple of times each year.
When my three years of commissioned time was up, our family of four loaded into the car, stopped by base headquarters to sign out for the last time and headed home to Missouri.
One adventure ending, while another – the gun shop – was about to begin.