When I got ready to leave Japan I had a year left to go on my enlistment, so the Air Force sent me to a SAC base in Albany, Georgia.

At least I got to see Dr. Strangelove at the Base Theater when it came out, with the alert crews in their flying suits, the Peace Is Our Profession billboard just outside the gate.

Sometimes I was the only one laughing.

What did they think it was, if not funny? Serious?

I left the base one time the year I was there, to go to a restaurant on the Flint River that sold frog legs.

What did I want to go to town for?

During the civil rights turmoil, the Chief of Police either turned the dogs loose on the Freedom Marchers or had the Fire Department turn the water hoses on them.

Albany, Georgia, was no better than Selma, Alabama.

I used to watch Flatt & Scruggs every night before chow, in a friend's room.

A southern boy in the outfit noticed that. He asked me if I was going to go to the Base Theater and see a movie about Hank Williams, starring George Hamilton. Your Cheatin' Heart.

I said no.

He asked why not. Didn't I like Hank Williams?

I said, "Everybody likes Hank Williams. Ray Charles likes Hank Williams. Thelonious Monk likes Hank Williams. I like Hank Williams."

Why wasn't I going, then?

"I don't like Hollywood," I said. "I don't like George Hamilton. I like Hank Williams too much to see the movie."

"They should have called it Audrey and Hank, Jr.'s ticket to ride," I said.

After the NCO Club voted to allow an A/1C with over-four-years service to join, I went to the Stag Bar in my fatigues after work, and drank.

Then I'd go to the barracks, listen to a record on my hi-fi set, in a headset, and read, or write letters to Jack Neff, drinking beer until I passed out, drunk.

My life was a Merles Haggard song.

I worked, I got off work, I drank, I passed out.

In the morning, I got up, hungover, and went to work. I didn't drink until quitting time. Then I drank.

This was also Charles Bukowski's life, until he wrote Post Office, and no longer had to go to work.

I don't guess this was heavy social drinking, but at the time I thought it was.

I went to work. I didn't drink at work. After work, I drank.

I drank to stand society.

Jack Neff and Karol visited me at Albany.

They were moving to New York City, where Jack would attend the Art Students League.

They were towing a small U-Haul trailer behind a VW bug.

Before they left, they had a yard sale.

Name the cat and win a painting.

Name the painting and win a cat.

Jack gave me a painting of his I admired.

He had painted it at a siding at Butts Farms, where Town Center Mall and Destroying Angel Patio Homes now stand.

I once had a job throwing bean hampers into a refrigerator car.

You'd catch them by the wire handle as they were coming towards you and flip them up to the guy in the door of the car, and if you did it right, the wire handle didn't cut your hand, although it, and work like it, probably contributed to the arthritis I'm getting in my hands now.