Okay, I know I wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. And, yes I know the title of this little tale is in very poor English. I’m a bit smarter now, and actually have two college degrees, but they didn’t come easily.

Obviously, one should start at the beginning. It’s hard to believe that we are, for the most part, the oldest generation out there. I was born during the reign of FDR, and I have vague memories of his passing. I remember how upset my parents were when Truman defeated Dewey. I was in fifth grade when Ike won. He really was a good president, unlike his VP some years later.

I think the biggest thing about fifth grade outside the normal academic crap was Christine Jorgensen. I was frequently the first one to read the paper in the morning. There it was on the bottom of the first page of the LA Times, “Man Has Sex Change Operation,” or something like that. For some reason, the article hit me like a ton of bricks. I was maybe ten years old at the time, and hadn’t really thought much about my sexuality; however, there it was, and I was on fire. The seed had been planted.

There was no question I was attracted to girls, and I felt absolutely no attraction to boys or men. I was also a nervous klutz around girls a women. I didn’t date at all during high school, and in fact, didn’t learn to drive until I was a freshman in college. There were many reasons for my hesitancy. It had much to do with my asshole parents. They had their good points; however, I never came up to their expectations. For some reason, I was always being compared to my first cousin who was a year older than I. He got straight ‘A’s, and I didn’t. I finally figured it out. My father was an excellent student, but he was not valedictorian like his brother was. My father was jealous of his brother, and thought he could achieve something through me. That was an assumption he could never get over.

I was not a good student, and I did not know how to study. I didn’t get much help, either. Anyway, after a pretty good start as a freshman with a B+, my grades began to slide. I was seriously depressed. I flunked out at the end of my sophomore year. I was a mess.

Then the troubles in SE Asia began to come to the forefront. It was a war that should never have been. At least, I thought so, and still do for that matter. We got more and more involved, and suddenly the draft became an ominous reality. I was back in school by then, and doing a little better grade wise; not good enough though. My number came up in the last semester of my senior year. Because of my grades I couldn’t get a student deferment. I had to ask the Draft Board to let me finish the semester, and they did. However, I had to be at the induction center two days after graduation. Of course I didn’t want to go to Viet Nam. So, I was going to have to find a way to improve my odds.

I went to the Air Force recruiting office to apply for Officer Training School (OTS). I took their test, and did very well. I heard nothing in return, and I wasn’t sure why. I had to do something, and The only choice I had was to enlist, and I did on a delayed enlistment program. It also required that I go to the induction center for the physical. They swore me in after I passed the physical. That 90 day delay gave me time to try what I thought was my only out. First, I was going to do something I’d thought about in the past. It was a bit crazy of me to think it would work, but I knew I was going to have to do something.

“Hello dear, are you sure you’re in the right place?” an attractive, matronly woman asked.

“I think so. Your sign says you do hair removal. I want to have my beard removed.”

“Why would you want to do something like that? Are you one of those sex change people?”

“I’m not sure; however, I’m going to be going in the Air Force in three months. I don’t want to, but my number came up, and I have no choice. I thought the Air Force was the best choice among a lot of scary choices. I’m going to test them to see how far I can go before they decide to kick me out.”

“Are you gay? They won’t take gay people.”

“I don’t think I am. I’m not sure what I am. I’ve heard from some who’ve come back about how tough Basic Training is, and how wretched Viet Nam is. In Basic they are hung up on everyone having a close shave. So I thought I’d save some aggravation by not having to shave.

“Are you aware we can’t do this in one sitting?” she asked.

“I wasn’t. How long will it take.?”

“Weeks, months. Then you have to come back for touch ups. There are dormant follicles, and they come to life when you don’t want them to. Every six months to a year you will need a touch up. That will continue for a while.”

“How much will this cost?” I asked.

She quoted a price for weekly sessions, and I felt I could afford it. It was rather painful at times, but she was very good. By the time I was to report to the Induction Center I couldn’t find a hair. My face would be inflamed after each session. I just said I had an allergy to something.

Basic was hell, but it really wasn’t that bad. You did what you were supposed to, and if you were wrong, and you usually were if they said so, you did what they said. In the mornings, we had to fall out very early for chow. There wasn’t time to shave. So, everyone shaved just before hitting the rack; everyone but me.

Those were the days of the double edged razors. Everything was subject to inspection, including our razors and razor blades. They would inspect our razors to make sure there was no evidence they had been used. Soap film on the blade or tiny hairs inside the razor were write-ups. The guys were being hit all the time. I never shaved, so my razor always looked like the day it came from the store. Somebody realized I wasn’t shaving, and complained to the TI.

“Bennett, did you shave last night?”

“No, Sir.”

“And why not. Everyone has to shave every day. What makes you think that you are better than anyone else in this flight. Why aren’t you shaving like everyone else?”

“Sir, I don’t have a beard.”

“That makes no difference. You will shave just like everyone else, or your ass is grass and I’m the lawn mower.” That was one of his favorite expressions.”

So I faked it for a while. I’d wash my face, put on a little shaving cream wash it off, and dry my face. I still didn’t shave. Well the guys had had enough, and they gave me what is known as a blanket party. They rolled me up in a blanket and beat the shit out of me. I was badly injured, but I was able to positively identify them at the courts martial. They did time, a long time. I spent quite a while in the hospital, my parents visited, and when they learned what had instigated the event, they basically disowned me. My father called me a queer, among other things. He’d been totally unaware of what I’d done about my facial hair.

Then Dr. Moody took an interest in me. She had just recently entered active duty, and was a psychiatrist at the base hospital. The little incident in the barracks, among other things had emasculated me. Rather, I should say one of the attackers cut my balls off. Fortunately, my penis was relatively undamaged, and my empty scrotum remained. They were able to save it. I’m not sure why, though. I sure am glad they did.

Dr. Moody spent quite a bit of time with me. She was able to elicit responses from me that I don’t think I would have ever admitted before. Remember, this was the middle 1960s, and things were nowhere as liberal as they are now. Dr. Moody had friends in the hospital, many friends. How they got away with what they did is beyond me. Carol, Dr. Moody, said if they told me, they would have to kill me. Of course, I know it all today.

It was amazing what they were able to do right under the nose of the government. I was assigned to a rehabilitation squadron. With my consent, I was put on a regimen of estrogen and progesterone. Needless to say, I didn’t need any blockers. The attackers had also done a number on my face. My nose had been broken and my cheek bone had been shattered. I had several surgeries. It took a while for me to heal, but I couldn’t have been happier with the result. My parents wouldn’t have recognized me, and they didn’t a couple of years later.

Because of “urogenital problems” I was sent to an off base facility. When I returned no one would question that I was a complete woman. I couldn’t have been happier. There were some other amazing things going on. Apparently, I had become a ‘major project’ among some of the female physicians at the hospital, and they had friends in high places. Somehow my records were changed. I became Anne Bennett, and after I had regained my strength, I was released from the hospital. I had a completely new wardrobe with all the accouterments. I was so damn happy.

I was an Airman First Class (E-4) working in admin at the hospital when I received my assignment to OTS. Three months later, I was a 2d Lt. Carol and I had been living and loving together for over two years at that time. For the next 20 years, we were seldom apart. Carol bore four children, two boys and two girls. They have presented us with many grandchildren. Carol retired as a Colonel, and I as a Lt. Col.

Well, there you have it. The Air Force, and the military for that matter, won’t admit it, but the first transgender woman in the Air Force happened more than 50 years ago, and nobody had a clue. Well, it’s getting late. We’re babysitting, and our two great grandchildren need changing. Life is wonderful.