Mr. B's

Story Credit: Bobo

Story Type: Daily Operations

I don't know if this was ever the "official" name of the Randolph AFB, Texas flightline cafeteria or not—and at this juncture, I really don't much care. It's gone anyway. "Mr. B's" was our name for it. "Our" being the line Instructor Pilots (IPs), students, and crew dogs from other commands in the '60s, '70s, and '80s.

What is important here is that Mr. B's name was Mr. Butler.

Mr. B. was a short, middle-aged Black man who was the cafeteria's cook. No—actually, he was the cafeteria's chef. He was our "noon chef" at that cafeteria for so many years. No matter the weather or the length of the waiting line, Mr. B. always had an infectious, broad smile for us.

"What can I get for ya, Captain?" was his typical greeting as he stood there behind the counter, in front of the hot grill. It didn't matter what rank you were—lieutenant, captain, major, or colonel—it was always, "What can I get for you, Captain?" accompanied by his beaming smile.

I can't remember when I first met Mr. B. Was he there in 1970 when I was going through UPT (Undergraduate Pilot Training)? I suspect so. But I well remember him through the '70s and '80s. He was always such a refreshing break from the daily grind of a flying squadron.

We would stand there in line, and when it was our turn, he would look up and ask, "What can I get for you, Captain?" It might be the "special" one day, a burger the next, or something entirely different. Your order was often followed by a second question from Mr. B., looking up with his signature broad smile: "You want a 'stinger' with that, Captain?" A "stinger" was a few jalapeños on the side.

Day after day, we would eat at Mr. B's without giving it a second thought.

And then one day, it was gone. Not just Mr. B's—the whole damn cafeteria.

In the mid-'80s, I watched a "movement" by AAFES, the Army Air Force Exchange Service, to grab any and all "money-making" enterprises on base. They just swallowed them up. After Mr. B's, it was our squadron (the 560th FTS) snack bar. It was also a "money-maker," and once AAFES discovered how much it made, it was toast.

After we lost Mr. B's and our squadron snack bar, most of us didn't eat on base anymore.

It just wasn't the same.