Back in ’57 or ’58, that bus ride was made even more dangerous. Our driver was a small man who spoke only spanish, and there were no adults on the bus other than him. One day when the base was surrounded by rebels, when we got the to gate to board the bus, the marine on guard duty slung his gun over his shoulder and walked us out. Once on, again no adult, and off we went towards Port. Soon there were fighters shooting at each other across the road, and our driver drove us around via a detour over the open terrain. I don’t recall being frightened, but was fascinated by the adventure. Too young and stupid, I guess. We all had to keep a bag packed at Sidi in case we needed to evacuate immediately.

Then there was the incident from Sidi Slimane where one of the SAC bomber planes crashed on take-off and the base was evacuated into tiny Sidi Yahia. Us high schoolers were in school in Port Lyautey, but my younger siblings went to school in Sidi Slimane and were part of the ensuing mess–just before lunch, wouldn’t you know. It was all kept pretty hush hush for a long time. I have been able, finally, to find the incident on line, but it is quite imcomplete and speculative. The nuclear bomb on the plane was aboard, but not armed, but in the fire there was a possibility it could have gone off.

Anyone else remember this? Our letters from relatives came back wondering why our letters to them came back with sections cut out. It was quite a civics lesson.

Judy (Hill) Swanson

I rode the bus from Sidi Slimane Air Base to the navy base. It took 45 minutes to an hour twice a day. Quite a few of us played pinochle the whole ride, so the time whizzed by. We got adept at shuffling the 80-card deck in mid-air.

I was there just the 1962-63 school year, but I really liked it. I see pictures of the buildings and base housing and it looks bleak now, but back then it seemed pretty.

I’m trying to remember where Sidi Yahia was in relation to Kenitra, Port, and Sidi Slimane. When you are a teenager, those things don’t matter.

Linda Newman Cox

My twin brother, Larry, and I attended TMW from September 1964 to June 1967 (8th, 9th and 10th grade). We lived in Kenitra and took a Navy bus to school.

I was fortunate enough to attend the reunion in Rabat in 2000, and on the day we visited the base, the bus took the same route along the river, past the prison on the hill, to enter the base.

That brought back a flood of memories. In fact, the entire trip was an experience I shall never forget. As I’ve described to my wife, the first day was a peak experience and each day after that got better!

Like Colene, I reconnected with my classmates on the web, prior to the 1995 reunion in Greensboro, which I also attended. But unlike most of my classmates, I reconnected with my Moroccan friends a bit earlier.

This is a true story: in 1990, my wife and I moved to New York City so that she could complete per post-doctoral internship in pyschology. One night, we were in Greenwich Village and I spotted a Moroccan restaurant. We went in and had dinner. We were the only customers in the place. After dinner, we lingered and chatted with our waiter. He asked me what I thought of Moroccan food and I explained to him that I was very familiar with it having lived in Kenitra. We talked some more, and as we became more comfortable with each other, I told him, “You know, this is will sound really stupid but I’ll say it anyway. My best friend in Morocco was Amine Hajji and I’ve often wondered what happened to him. Do you know him, by chance?”

The waiter paused, smiled and said, “He’s my cousin!” And I said, “Right, I’m from out of town and you’re from New York and you’re telling me you’re related to a guy I went to school with twenty-five years ago!” He laughed and insisted it was true. Amine had gone to college in the United States and settled here. The waiter said he didn’t have his phone number, but told me the City where he lived and where he worked.

The next day, I called the company and within a minute had Amine on the phone! Of course that led to our two families getting together a year later, and then in 2000, I stayed at Amine’s parents home in Rabat after the reunion!

The internet may be the facilitator, but there’s nothing like taking a risk and talking to someone!

Lee Sichter