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One of the defining characteristics of every Air Force base is the presence of transient flight crews.

It is, after all, an Air Force base. Every day, huge numbers of aircraft are criss-crossing the world, engaged in all manner of business. At the end of the day, the majority of them land somewhere so the crews can get food, fuel, and rest.

Arriving pilots are housed at the Visiting Officers Quarters. They also have access to the Officer’s Club, dining halls, theater, and other base facilities, time permitting.

I know this because I was raised as an Air Force brat, and I also served four years in the Air Force myself. That was long ago, but some things don’t change.

In 1966, my second year as a lieutenant at Cannon Air Force Base, New Mexico, our base commander had an inspiration. As boss types and wont to do, he came up with an idea that created work for others while making him look good to his peers.

The idea: an extra duty assignment in which his junior officers would become lackeys for the transient pilots. He dubbed the role Transient Services Officer.

Specifically, all lieutenants at Cannon Air Force Base were required to serve as TSO on a rotating basis. The duty began at 6:00 PM and ended at 6:00 AM. During those hours, you were required to stay at Base Operations on the flightline, greet arriving aircrews, and tend to their needs, if any.

We had a few other minor duties, but our main assignment was to be available to serve the transient pilots.

The thing is, every military airfield already has plenty of staff to handle both routine and emergency occurrences. They even have a Duty Officer to take care of stuff nobody anticipates. The idea of a TSO was strictly political.

In practice, most of the visiting pilots were either puzzled or amused by the presence of the TSO. Pilots are almost always seasoned senior officers. They know what to do. They don’t need lackeys underfoot. Usually, they thanked the TSO and shooed him away.

Naturally, every lieutenant at the base hated TSO duty with the intense, burning hatred of the trapped and frustrated; it was a pointless, demeaning, shitty assignment that we could not avoid. Every lieutenant at Cannon probably felt he or she detested the duty more passionately than anyone else. I know I did.

We junior officers pulled TSO duty about once a month. Between the day TSO was invented and the day I was promoted to captain, I performed TSO duty about 15 times. Every one of those times was 12 forgettable hours of boredom and fatigue… except one.

It was April 9, 1967. We seemed to have quite a lot of air traffic for a weekend. The long runway was closed for repairs, so the secondary runway was extra busy. But at least that gave me something to do.

Just after dark, a sergeant from Civil Engineering came to get me for the nightly check of the runway lights. I hopped behind the wheel of the TSO Jeep, and we headed out.

A few minutes later, we had checked all of the lights on the runways and taxiways except for one last stretch beyond the last hangars.

“Sarge,” I said, “The lights on the other side of those fighters — do we have to drive over there? I don’t want to clip a wing in the dark.”

He agreed that we could verify the lights from our position. So, instead of driving around the F-100s, I just drifted closer to them. It turned out to be too close.

“Halt!” shouted a voice from the darkness. I halted the Jeep.

“Who goes there?” the voice demanded.

“TSO and the CE light man!” the CE light man replied.

“What are you doing in a restricted area?”

“Checking the runway lights. Didn’t know we were in a restricted area.”

“Turn off the engine! Set the emergency brake! Put the lights on bright! Dismount from the passenger side!” We did.

“Stand in the headlights with your hands over your head! You on the right!” — meaning me — “Stand with your legs spread apart!” I did.

“Ranking man! About face!” I turned around, hands still on my head. In the glare of the headlights, I could make out the shape of a helmeted Air Policeman, firearm at the ready.

“Where is your 1199?” the AP demanded.

Air Force Form 1199 is a restricted area badge. My 1199 was affixed to my TSO badge, which I was required to wear at all times, but which I inconveniently did not have on my person.

“I, uh, left it at Base Ops,” I told him. The dog ate my homework, Mister AP.

“Prisoners! Double-time out of the RA! Move!”

So the CE man, the AP, and I double-timed out of the restricted area — which isn’t easy with your hands on top of your head.

“Halt!” the AP commanded when we got beyond the RA boundary. “Lie down with your hands out in front of you!”

The AP took out his radio and reported to his superiors that he had apprehended two people in a restricted area.

Within 60 seconds, 10 or 12 more APs arrived, bristling with flashlights and weapons. The NCO in charge stepped forward.

“At ease,” he told our AP. “The tower confirms this is the TSO and the CE light man. Let ’em up.”

The NCO gently chastised me for not wearing my TSO badge, but otherwise was friendly and understanding. The AP who apprehended us, not so much.

After it was clear I wouldn’t be shot, all I wanted to do was get to a phone and call my roommate John. He, of all people, would appreciate the Kafkaesque scene that had played out on the runway that night.

John was one of the base legal officers, a captain. He was irritatingly exempt from TSO duty.

When I contacted John, he was way ahead of me. He had been playing pool that night at Base Ops with Captain Henryson, the Duty Officer.

They heard the entire incident on the radio.

An F-100 Super Sabre in its restricted area.

Those crucial runway lights.