Scott AFB is totally surrounded by cornfields with many small, very Americana, midwestern towns. Belleville was the biggest, with O’Fallon, Mascoutah, Collinsville, Lebanon, Breeze, New Baden and Shiloh nearby. All of these southern Illinois towns had good schools, homecoming queens, parades, and many weekend picnic excuses. Farming was big. Corn, the big crop. Lotsa cows and pigs as well. Americana ala Norman Rockwell.
For this city boy, the saving grace was St Louis, only 20 miles away. Major league sports, great restaurants, many entertainment venues, ranging from large theaters to amusement parks like Busch Gardens and Grant’s Farm, only 40 minutes away.

Scott was the home for Headquarters Military Airlift Command (MAC).
I was assigned to the Plans and Programs Division at HQ MAC. My airlift background as a navigator with over 4000 hours of in flight airlift experience, was probably why I was assigned to this planning function (along with my superior intellect, of course). My family was growing up. Christine, 8 Jim, 7 and Jeffrey, 3, on arrival.
Marjorie’s initial perception of our new home location was not outstanding. In fact, as we approached Scott AFB by car eastward from St Louis, we needed to go through or close to East St Louis, a poverty stricken city. We then drove though many, many cornfields. Marjorie began to well up a bit. Her body language screamed out, “Where the hell are you taking us?” Certainly not Charleston, Denver, or even Columbus, Ohio. What cornfield town near Scott will be our home? The norm for an assignment to a Command Headquarters was about 3 years. So we will be among these cornfields for a good while (in USAF terms).
Turns out we were fortunate to be assigned an on-base home for those 3 years. That was also a new experience for all of us. 
Air Force housing was very much like renting a house in a suburban area off base. The type of house you were eligible for was based on your family size, military rank and sometimes, your position on base. For example, housing for a colonel, base commander was different from that for a major at MAC headquarters, like myself. Availability of housing within your eligibility was on a first come, first served basis.
Checking with the housing office on my arrival, I learned we were eligible for an available house in a nice area of the base almost immediately. We applied and were assigned a 3 bedroom home on Ivywood Terrace. That was to be our home for the next three years.
Living on base was not free. If you lived off base you received a quarters allowance based on your rank. You rightly forfeited that allowance, if you lived in base housing. Like any suburban neighborhood, the base had shopping; Commissary, Base Exchange (sorta like Walmart), barber, dry cleaner, laundromat, Class VI (booze.. don’t ask), bank, post office, etc. There were also entertainment venues for both kids and parents (playground, pool, movie theater, picnic area, etc). Of course, there were also two on-base chapels. At any rate, this was gonna be our home for the next three years.
I, initially, worried about close neighbors invading our privacy.
Never happened.
I also worried about too many rules and edicts from the base command.
Never happened.
The rules were essentially common sense. Care for your lawn and the property, in general. If something breaks, leaks, or just quits working, call the help desk at Civil Engineering. They were like an apartment superintendent. Normal wear and tear were your problems to look after. We found our days in base housing very pleasant with great neighbors, with whom we had much in common.
There were excellent public elementary schools on base. Our kids attended there. We were very pleased.
We took advantage of whatever entertainment venues were available. St Louis offered a bunch. The kids had good friends on base and all seemed ok from a family perspective.

Midwest weather sucks. Too cold in winter. Too hot in summer, with no ocean nearby. Carlisle Lake and Base swimming pool provided some relief.
The main attribute of family life in southern Illinois was that it was a great place to raise kids. Great schools, great Americana psyche and norms. If a teen athlete was caught smoking pot, he was off the team. No questions. Marjorie and I loved that about southern Illinois.

As for my Air Force job, work was challenging and politically important. I was primarily involved in tracking and reporting on funding for major airlift systems improvements—C-141 Stretch project, C-5 Modernization, and the incipient development of a new airlift aircraft that became the C-17 about 15 years later. Tracking funding for programs through the complex Pentagon system is a major task. Then you get to follow it through the Congressional Committees which is even more convoluted.
What made my job essential to our Command was that any of our coveted airlift improvement programs could be literally killed by any senior official or Congress person at any time. Time was of the essence if they had a question or problem with any program. Most of which were at least multi-million dollar efforts. Much of my job was alerting top management of potential snags on these vital programs. Also to provide draft responses to questions. These responses needed management approval. Ergo, I was seen frequently by top Air Force and civilian managers.
As you may know, promotion and success in a military bureaucracy requires visibility by top managers. If the bosses don’t see what you’re doing, you’re not on their mind for promotion recommendations. I was getting a bunch of exposure due to the major programs on which I was tracking and reporting. That was mostly a good thing, unless I screwed up.

By 1977, I was ready for a change. I got an appointment with one of the general officers in my division, and mentioned that, due to Air Force requirements, I needed to go to a position requiring my flying experience. The dilemma was that I also wanted to stay at the major command level to remain competitive. An assignment back to an aircrew would spell an end to any upward mobility for this young major. Enter the USAF Airlift Center at Pope AFB, North Carolina. That operational test center offered a flying position that was at major command level. The general I talked to recommended me to the folks at the Airlift Center and therefore that became the next chapter in our life story. Hello Fayetteville, North Carolina, home of the giant Fort Bragg and the tiny Pope AFB. 1977-1980. Enuf.