55 Years on Campus

55 Years on Campus

by Detra Enman


Publisher Page Publishing, Inc.

Published in Biographies & Memoirs/Memoirs, Biographies & Memoirs, Nonfiction

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Book Description

55 Years on Campus” is an enthralling, life exposed - career memoir of the authors life lessons and things that she has come to understand during her journey on the campus, she calls life. The author shares her humble beginnings as a poor, skinny, shy, bucktoothed, c student, underprivileged white girl, who evolved into an outgoing 6 figure career woman.

She has served over 20 years in the Air Force, and currently is a private flight attendant for the rich and famous - for close to 20 years as well.

Sample Chapter

This part of my campus life I will call “the Bitch is Decent.”

I was a twenty-four-year-old administrative Air Force specialist looking for adventure and a different job. I applied for a special duty assignment and got selected to cross train into a special duty assignment. Combat land/water survival school—POW camp training was mandatory for my special duty assignment as a flight attendant in the Air Force to fly presidents, ambassadors, generals, congressman, world leaders, and politicians. Your tax dollars came in handy flying these folks around the world—and when I needed a beer in Africa! Thank you all! There I was, Criminal 74, (my new name) in a prison box being managed by Air Force personnel pretending to be East German soldiers. I am only allowed to give name, rank, and serial number when I am a captured prisoner. In my prison box, three feet by three feet and five feet tall with cold cement floors, no light except the ray coming through the crack of the door, I had what no five-star hotel would have, and that was a designer coffee can by Folgers to try to aim into when I had to relieve myself of liquid and solid treats. In Layman’s terms, peepee and poopoo. You don’t want to miss the can, as it will go all over your little box home. Come to think of it, I have acquired some good skills living in this prison box—if things don’t work out for me. Whenever a soldier would come to my box to interrogate me, he asked, “Is the bitch decent?” And I would have to respond, “The bitch is decent.” This was a way of letting them know that I wasn’t going potty into my designer coffee can toilet.

The next thing I encounter was a visit from three soldiers. “Is the bitch decent?” “The bitch is decent.” They swung open the door to this box and started to ask me about the mission I was on. I can only give rank, name, and serial number. They were yelling at me in my face and made me turn around to face the wall. I kept telling myself this is training, and these guys are Air Force personnel. If I just play along, learn from the experience, it will end soon. Then I noticed they were checking out my ass. After all, I was a hot young thing back then. I started laughing (something I realize I do in uncomfortable situations), which broke the training mode.

The next thing they did was throw water all over me and left. Well, this was December, in the mountains of Washington State, somewhere— to this day, I don’t know where. They transported us with bags on our heads from the Air Force base to the training area and my box home. I was so cold that my nipples tore holes in my uniform—not to mention I’m now wet. Freezing cold and now exhausted from all the drama of my first day in my box. I want to lie down in a ball on the floor to use my own body heat to warm up and catch some sleep before my next encounter from the prison guards. I hear them torturing and abusing the other prisoners. I dread my turn. However, my floor was wet, and my options are to stand or lay in the water on the cement floor, which would freeze my body like an old piece of steak in a refrigerator that decayed because the package was left open causing freezer burns. My academic portion of my training taught us to take care of ourselves to survive in a real-life POW prison experience. Ask for things and be smart about it. So I yell out to the guard/soldier, “Hey Houyta!” (That was his name.) “I need a towel”. He said, “What for?” I said, “I need to wipe up the floor because it is wet, and by doing this I won’t slip, fall, or break anything. This way I still can be useful to you by not getting hurt.” Well, I thought this was a pretty good statement, but the guard yelled back at me and said, “That way you won’t run from me, bitch, when you have my children, after I have raped you many times.” You could hear all the other criminals in their boxes laugh because they knew this was training, and I would not be raped. In a real world situation, I would be. Never got a towel, but they did play music for me to try to fall asleep to—standing up. “Napalm Sticks to Kids” was one of the songs, followed by crying children all night. I mean, seriously—loud crying children nonstop. Over and over, this could play havoc on your brain, especially when you are cold, wet, and exhausted. I left out hungry, but that took the back seat of my needs. I didn’t think it was possible, but I fell asleep. My guess is because anyone who has children has had practice tuning them out to get your peace time!

This part of my campus life I will call WTFO!

I must share a portion of my land survival training. There were nine of us in our group and one instructor. All were pilots except me, a flight attendant. The pilots would ask me what aircraft I flew on; I didn’t know. They decided a broom! Guess I went from the Bitch is Decent to the Witch is Decent! LOL It was winter in Washington State, and there was plenty of snow, and now after we had classroom academics, they wanted us to get some hands-on. Hands-on meant surviving in the freaking wonderland, escaping and evading from the enemy. This training included making fires using the tools of the wilderness for warmth, creating a shelter and backpack made from my parachute, heating water from the frozen streams and using iodine to kill the bacteria for drinking water, killing a rabbit, skinning it and making jerky for food, and I brought makeup. Yes, I did. Being young and vain, I could not believe I packed makeup and put it in my flight suit front left leg pocket. After the first night, I was already building my shelter (parachute tent). I didn’t learn to make a fire until the third day; it was freaking freezing in my sleeping bag and was wondering WTFO (why the freeze over).

Gosh, I could use some body heat. I took all my clothes off—to create this body heat—balled up in my sleeping bag, and then it was dark outside. Hearing creatures move, I was thinking I didn’t want to be something’s meal. WTFO (why the fear over) The only light, which gave me comfort and a sign of civilization, was my pilot watch. My commander gave it to me before I left for training. Being a previous aviator, knew what I was getting ready to go through—and though it would be a nice jester. Little did he know what a huge impact it had on my experience and the comfort it provided. I remember just staring at it, as it glowed in the dark. It was enormous in size. I finally fell asleep and awoke to head to the fire that the instructor created for us—to start our day to learn to navigate using a topographical map. What? No road maps to get out of here. I have to learn how to use mountains, hills, streams, and other land protrusions. I stood so close to the fire that my flight suit got really hot but didn’t burn. However, the makeup melted. Lesson learned: Nobody gives a shit what you look like when you are in a survival mode. I remember our last day, escaping and evading. I was teamed up with two pilots. We were trained not to go through open fields to reach our pick-up point, as the enemy could see you. Really. Here I am in an all-green flight suit with this big ass green parachute backpack I made and after three days, it keeps getting bigger because I’m too tired to tie it properly. I looked like a turtle in the snow.

We heard others getting captured and one of the guys said – lets go through that open field and head into those woods to get away from the enemy. We all agreed, knowingly they are watching us and we were told not to. Soo, off we go – the first pilot made it, me next and then the other pilot got caught. The captures knew he was partnered with us, but we hid. I was afraid to hide in the bushes because if I lay down, I wouldn’t be able to get up. My backpack was heavy, and I seriously would look like a turtle on its back with its legs flopping. I decide to crouch down a little to keep my back pack balanced, not in a bush, but by one. The enemy found me and said, “What the hell do you think you are.?” I said, “I’m a bush.” He said, “Give me your papers.” WTFO, we the fools over. The papers meant that we failed this portion of the training. Two papers and you’re out. You’re out meant retraining, or you won’t be able to do your new job. Luckily that was the only papers we got pulled and we made it to our pick-up point. The buses were waiting for us. Ah, a warm bus. They had medics on the bus to check us out. I can’t even imagine that job. Six days in the woods—we all were so smelly and dirty. They had to physically check everything. Many got frostbite, and one person lost their toes to it. Another got medevaced out to the hospital for a reaction to the iodine tablet we put into our water.


Excerpted from "55 Years on Campus" by Detra Enman. Copyright © 2016 by Detra Enman. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Author Profile

Detra Enman

Detra Enman

And there she was—eighteen, all grown up and with no place to go! Never realized that her life would lead her to go to many places, experience souls with many faces and races, wearing combat boots with panties of laces, operating bulldozers to riding in limos with flower vases, skinny-dipping in the Persian Gulf to wishing 1920s swimwear was back in the department store cases, going to survival school learning how to be a Prisoner of War—to flying a famous POW to Vietnam/Hannoh Hilton. She had access, from serving our country to serving the wellto-do graces, from being a child with messy britches to hoping they come up with designer depends for her future messes. 55 Years on Campus is a career memoir of a poor, skinny, bucktoothed, shy, loner, C-student and underprivileged white girl, who shares her nonpolitically correct journey and evolved into an outgoing six-figured career woman. Based on a true story of her many careers on the campus she calls life! From servicing in the Air Force—experiencing the world, having diverse jobs—to serving on private jets as a flight attendant and lessons she learned along the way. This journey will inspire, educate, and entertain you. She has come to believe that there isn’t anything you can’t do. You are the only thing in your way!

View full Profile of Detra Enman

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