Cash strap teen

Louis A. Arana-Brradas

To these airmen, the brand is a badge of honor and proud service.

If the Air Force published a lexicon of "airmanisms," the word "lifer" would surely be in it. Next to it, possibly, would be a picture of Col. James Marker. And he'd be smiling.

With good reason. Last month, he started his 42nd year in the Air Force. That puts him at the top of the list of airmen with the most active duty time. The undisputed king of the lifers.

But during his first four years of service, the name lifer was the last thing he wanted. It was June 1959. Dwight Eisenhower was in the White House. Alaska and Hawaii had just joined the union. And the Air Force was much different.

"Lifer wasn't a nice thing to be called," he said. "It was offensive."

To some, it meant stupid. What airmen called "ate up," those who "sold out," went to "the other side," or joined "the establishment." And it was the name given those who, because of an ineffective promotion system, retired as airmen or sergeants, he said.

The Air Force has done a lot of growing up since then.

Being called a lifer no longer offends him. On the contrary. He sees it as a badge of honor, a proud testimony of his long, devoted service.

However, his career almost didn't get off the ground. Marker had three relatives who fought in World War II and inspired the 18-year-old to join the Air Force. But the teen from Steubenville, Ohio, wasn't thinking of a lifelong commitment when he signed up in Pittsburgh.

He wanted to be a photographer. But the Air Force needed cops, air policemen back then. Once in, he thought more of the jitterbug and the Everly Brothers than an Air Force career.

All he wanted was to serve his stint and get out. No way he was going to be a lifer, said Marker, now the inspector general for the 3 75th Airlift Wing at Scott Air Force Base, Ill.

But at some point during that first term, his desire to get out blurred. His priorities changed. Married and starting a family, he yearned to give them a good life. He wanted to finish college. Most of all, he found that he liked Air Force life.

However, his wife, Bev, wanted him to get Out and finish school. They weighed their options before making a decision. Their choice: that the young cop sign up for another hitch.

"It was a decision we made together," he said. The couple raised five children and lived in too many places to count -- three tours were in Alaska. The thought of getting out did cross their minds over the years, but something always kept them in.

"I've never regretted staying in this long," he said. "Perhaps it was God's plan for me."

After 14 years, Marker, then a technical sergeant, decided to become an officer. "Maverick" was the term given enlisted troops who made the switch. He stayed a cop when he received his commission in 1973. But he served in other jobs -- even as a missile control officer.

Marker stays because he loves the people, his job and the service he's given his country. That he's a true patriot is apparent when he talks about that service.

"It feels great to help people," he said. It's why Marker has made no retirement plans except to return to Alaska when his time is up.

Why stay?

Maybe Marker's story is atypical. Because not many of the more than 348,000 airmen in service today will make the choice he has. Air Force personnel officials say today's enlisted troops have served, on average, less than nine years. Officers less than 11. But while the Air Force has struggled to recruit the people it needs in recent years, more than 46 percent of those who have stayed have three or more enlistments.

People stay -- or get out -- for different reasons. Some do it for the pay. Others for job security and benefits. Still others to finish college. The lifestyle keeps some in. While others say it's the job they like. And some just want to serve their country.

What drives people to stick it out for 20 years? The answer might include a bit of all those reasons. But some airmen who stay 30 or 40 years have other reasons for staying.

"I've stayed because of the challenges," said Lt. Col. Ten Netter. The Air Force's longest serving woman, she's 144 on the lifer list. In September she starts her 33rd year in the service.

Otherwise, she said, "I'd have gotten out a long time ago."

Netter joined in September 1968, right out of high school in St. Cloud, Minn. She was making $80 a month as a housekeeper and babysitter. An airman was making $101 -- a 25 percent pay hike. But she didn't join just for the extra cash. With many of her male friends drafted right out of high school, Netter volunteered to serve in Vietnam.

"I thought if they could do it, so could I," she said. "I wanted to do my part in something I believed in -- supporting our government."

She never got to Vietnam. And since women had few job options then, the Air Force put her in data automation. She liked it. Soon she was going to school part time on tuition assistance.

When it was time to re-up or move on, she stayed. To commemorate her decision, she bought a ceramic chimp with an Air Force uniform. She named it "Lifer."

"I still have him," she said. "I never thought one day I'd be a lifer, too,"

After 13 years, she wanted more and felt she owed the Air Force for her education. So in 1979 -- as a technical sergeant -- she applied for the Airman's Education and Commissioning Program. Two years later, she earned her degree in computer science and a commission.

"That was my payback to the Air Force," she said. "And the fact I could contribute in a different way."

Today Netter is chief of the command and control systems branch in the mission systems directorate at the Pentagon.

"I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up," she quips. "But, I'm ready for more new challenges." She's scheduled to retire February 2002.

At Langley Air Force Base, Va., Col. James Hass starts his 39th year of service in October. He's 18th on the lifer list. A maintainer at heart, he's deputy chief of Air Combat Command's aircraft division. He'll gladly explain why he's still in uniform. He's traveled the world, raised three boys with his wife, Cathy, and done what he loves -- work with Air Force people.

"Plus, how many of your neighbors can say they've helped provide combat capability to the fighting forces of the United States," Hass said.

Hass is a true throwback to the old Air Force. He wears an old field jacket -- not the new Gore-Tex variant -- and unit baseball cap. How much longer will he put on his uniform?

"For as long as I'm making a difference and having a good time," he said.

Hass, of Mesquite, Texas, yearned to go in the military because his father and uncle were soldiers during World War II. But he started college first. Then he went to Dallas and enlisted in October 1963. The Air Force promptly made him an aircraft instrument repairman.

He always knew the Air Force would be his life. So, as a staff sergeant, Hass landed a slot in the Boot Strap program to finish college. After earning his degree in 1973, he went back to his old job. In 1975, he turned maverick when he received a direct Officer Training School slot.

With his gold bars, he returned to the flight line -- where he still feels at home -- as a maintenance officer. After 12 years on the line, he had a jump on new maintenance officers.

"I knew the difference between a wheel well and a flap," he said.

He loves it when he's on the line and the troops call him "the maintenance colonel." Those troops, Hass said, keep him motivated. They're smart, dedicated and patriotic.

"They want to get the job done and have a great sense of service before self," he said.

Though they might not admit it, all three colonels are the epitome of that trait.

That's also true of Chief Master Sgt. Rachael Avery. Though she'll argue -- maybe while dressed in her clogging shoes and frilly petticoat -- that she's too young to be a lifer. She's "only" served 29 years. That ranks her 14th among women on the lifer list.

"I told myself I'd stay four years. That's all," she said. But the next thing she knew, 20 years had gone by. During that time, she married another airman, and they raised four children.

She's come a long way from Titusville, Fla. In 1971 Avery was still in high school there. But her future didn't look promising. She had no job skills or cash, and no hope of going to college. So when a friend went to the Air Force recruiter to find out about nursing school, Avery tagged along. The recruiter didn't waste any time making a pitch to her, too.

"It didn't sound like a bad deal," said Avery, chief of the Air Force Personnel Center's communications support branch at Randolph Air Force Base, Texas. So before graduating, she joined the Air Force through the delayed enlistment program.

"My mom encouraged me to join the Air Force," Avery said. "She knew I'd at least have a roof over my head and three square meals a day." The Air Force gave her that, and more.