Wendover was probably the most desolate place I ever saw in my life. It was on the edge of the Bonneville salt flats and everything was either rocks, salt or cement. What little soil there was was mixed with the salt and was hard except when it rained, then it turned to gumbo. The place was one hundred twenty miles from Salt Lake City and most of it was across the salt flats. These salt flats were just that, salt and flat and the edges joined the grey rocks of the mountains.

The town itself was just a cluster of small houses clinging to flattened off spaces in the rocky ground and one large casino on the Nevada side of the road. Wendover was on the Utah-Nevada border and the casino and hotel was built with the dividing line of the two states cutting it in half. You could eat in the Utah side, but could only gamble in the Nevada side. This was a very popular spot, especially around pay day when the base personnel would visit it to eat, drink and gamble. The farther it got from the last pay day, the smaller the crowds became.

With Salt Lake City one hundred twenty miles in one direction and the only thing on the road in the other direction was Elko, Nevada, which was not a thriving metropolis, one could say our social life then became the officers or enlisted men's club or the post theatre. There was the post exchange, tailor shop, laundry, post office, commissary, and things like that, but really nothing to do. Whenever possible we would get a pass and go to Salt Lake City.

The runways were built on the salt and, as salt collects moisture when you took off at night it was very dangerous because the stars reflected off the water on the salt and you could never tell which side was up. Consequently, every night takeoff was an instrument takeoff unless the moon was shining. This salt laden air was cold even in the daytime and, with not even one visible tree, no grass, grey buildings and cement, it was a very depressing place.