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Jim & Annie Reed met New Year's Eve, December 31, 1967 in the Turm Cafe on Karlsruhe's Kaiserstrasse. They were married June 3, 1969 and have been together since. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As mention in San Antonio and on the DVD THE REUNION THE MOVIE, Cris Cisco’s grandfather knew and rode with legendary lawman Wyatt Earp! Wyatt Earp, Wyatt Earp. Brave courageous and bold. Long live his fame and long live his glory and long may his story be told. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Yes it’s true. Marty Bauer married Marty Bauer. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A Forstner Kaserne web site ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Al St.Jacques says that when he was stationed with the Third Medical Dispensary from 1954 to 1955 that the medics would bunk in the barrack building that was on the left when you drove through the front gate. (Does anyone remember going down to the basement in that building where the dispensary kept it’s "junk" stuff during the late sixties? The room had a concrete mortuary table!). When speaking with Phil Trinko, X-Ray Tech at the 3rd from 1958 to 1962, he says the medics bunked in the second barrack building on the right after the MP building (the one closest to the Mess Hall). When I was a "Barrack Rat" during the late sixties the medics bunked in the first barrack building on the right after the MP building. So it seems that the medics kept get shuffling around. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The first reunion WAS in Miami during the summer of 1972. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jimmie "Diesel" Tyler mentions he remembers seeing Easy Rider in Amsterdam. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The old MP station on Smiley Barracks is now a Kindergarten. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Speaking of Frank Zappa (we were weren’t we?). Rodney Johnson, Jimmie "Diesel" Tyler, Tom Devincenzi, and myself seen him play drums with Pink Floyd at a festival one night (in a circus tent no less) somewhere in Belgium. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ President Bush was invited to the 2005 Chicago Reunion but could not attend so we had our photos taken with Ike. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jimmie D. Tyler tells of the time he danced with Barbara Mandrell when he was stationed in Heidelberg before being assigned to the 3rd General Dispensary. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Eddie Overstreet remembers when country singer Johnny Paycheck played at the EM Club on Smiley Barracks during the late sixties and also visited with us in the barracks. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Louisa Rose, wife of Dr. Henry Berman, is a writer and wrote the 1973 movie SISTERS that was Brian DePalma’s first horror film. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ken Burrows wife goes by her stage name of Dusty Summers. She is a professional stage magician and they live in Las Vegas, Nevada when not traveling the U.S.A. Maybe she will make a "special guest" appear at our Chicago reunion October 7th & 8th at the Union League Club? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ SMILEY BARRACKS TOUR - OK. Paul’s in the car. Oops. You made a wrong turn Carl. We are now in Paul Revere Village on North Carolina Street. In fact it’s do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-da 1963 and…… wait, what’s happening? Oh no! It’s a double oops! Seems as if this story is turning into STRANGE TALES AND OTHER FACTS……This photo from Dr. Donald Morton shows North Carolina Street in Paul Revere Village. The old looking car in center foreground is Colonel Albertazzi’s car. His daughter Lynette Murphy lived in the building that Dr. Morton lived in. Lynette was married to a Lieutenant. He was a pilot in the Air Force at HQ in Weisbaden and he became the pilot of Air Force One for President Nixon and flew to China. His trademark was to always touch down exactly on time as he probably circled around out of sight until he was ready to make the plane’s appearance. How about that! Another Presidential connection.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bob and Rose Bergrab are not the only ones who have been married for over thirty years. Dennis & Eryn Bradley, Bob & Kathy Burgeson, John & Diane McMahon, Eddie & Sandra Overstreet, Carl & Brigitte Sachjen, Neil & Susan Woodworth, David & Kitty Kentsmith, Parry & Ellen Hughes, Larry & Helen Nagel, and Dennis & Leslie Stepanik celebrate over thirty years of marriage. If your names belong here please let me know. Donald Morton – Ann and I have been married for 43 years! Kenny Grant – You missed Kenny and Doris Grant on your list. We have been married now for 34 years this past February and on March 21st we became great grandparents. Jim & Annie Reed met New Year's Eve, December 31, 1967 in the Turm Cafe on Karlsruhe's Kaiserstrasse. They were married June 3, 1969 and have been together since. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jeffrey Hammond-Hammond who brought his British band to the Smiley EM Club in 1968, and visited with us in the barracks, later played with the rock group Jethro Tull. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ So there are really two guys who are honoring the Karlsruhe Army days on the web that we all experienced back then. Besides Thomas Radke there is Bruce Christman who created the terrific web site for the 79th Engineers ( http://79thengineers.fateback.com ). Now get this. I’m in contact with both of them because of………….Daniel Gerszewski!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ How ironic. I help put one guy in a straight jacket during my 2-½ years at the 3rd and………… he’s from my own unit! Now that really does sound like an episode from M*A*S*H. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Libby Hulsey mentioned that her husband Hub Hulsey, who was the XO at the 3rd from October 1960 to October 1963 and passed away in 2000, served in World War Two on a "Hospital Train" after the D-Day landing. Presidential Connection #2: Libby also told me about the time when she worked at the military hotel in Garmisch from 1949 to 1952. Dwight David Eisenhower stopped in while he was the Supreme Commander of NATO and one person in his entourage introduced Ike as the next President of the United States (and this was six weeks before Eisenhower announced his candidacy). That makes the second President Connection that someone stationed at one of the Karlsruhe dispensaries had. The first being when Daisy Thorne, wife of Sergeant Gilbert Thorne who was at the 761st from 1965 to 1967, was invited to the White House by President Truman to receive the Navy Cross that her then husband Jessie Leroy Brown was awarded posthumously for action during the Korean War. Jessie was the first black naval aviator and complete story about him is in the Smithsonian Institute Aviation Museum. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ from Dr. Donald Morton - The 56th Medical BN (the parent of the 761st Medical Detachment and also of the 595th Clearing Company and the 8th Ambulance Company that were at Smiley Barracks in the early sixties) had an Ambulance Train. Unfortunately I don’t remember the number. As far as I remember it never ran on the German rail system but was kept in storage with a company that trained and maintained it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Did you know this about Dr. John Bryant "Bry" Wyman? He took a European discharge in October 1962 to travel in Europe and then resumed a Fellowship at the Mayo Clinic in January 1963. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Al St.Jacques, who served at the 3rd Medical Dispensary from January 1954 - April 1955, found out about the San Francisco reunion from the notice placed in The American Legion Magazine. He came out to join in the fun not knowing anyone and now he has twenty new friends. Many at the reunion did not know everyone but now they do. Join us at the next reunion as we all have the following in common: We were in the Army, we were in the Medical Corp, and we all were stationed in Karlsruhe, Germany. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As mentioned by Rodney Johnson.......Dave Hewitt, who was a medic at the 3rd from 1968 to 1969, was a graduate electrical engineer before being drafted and had worked on the space program during the sixties. But, due to Army Regulations, he could not work as an electrical engineer for the Army because he was colorblind. Makes (Army!) sense (?) doesn’t it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dennis "Brad" Bradley, who was a Pharmacist at the 3rd from May 1968 to May 1970, now builds custom homes on Cape Cod. I visited with him and Eryn "TWICE" during the seventies while I lived in Philly. The house that Brad built and was living in then was constructed without any nails as all the joints were "doweled" together. He sold that house to Gavin MacLeod who played the Captain on the TV show The Love Boat. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Frank Jones, who was at the 3rd from 1973 to 1975, now works in an Army hospital at Fort Eustis, Virginia. He mentioned that his NCOIC at this hospital, Parnell Gray, was a X-Ray Tech at the 3rd General Dispensary during the eighties. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dale Bowes and Richard Milne both were pharmacists at the 3rd General Dispensary from December 1970 to April 1973 and were known as "Chip and Dale." That is not strange – it’s a fact. What is strange however is that both Dale and Richard went through A.I.T. AND Basic Training together! I’m still searching for Richard. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ September 25, 2003 Bob and Kathy Burgeson arrived in San Francisco for the reunion. September 25, 1971 Bob and Kathy Burgeson were married AND……………………… They spent part of their honeymoon in ------------- San Francisco! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Both Robert "BC" Carroll and Frank Motz were discharged from the army on the same day in September 1968. Frank visited with "BC" in New York before returning home. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Larry Nagel, who was a medic at the 3rd from May 1967 to January 1969, now lives in Veneta, Oregon and is a independent trucker. Jim "JT" Tapee, who worked in the Supply Room at the 3rd from August 1969 to February 1971, now lives in St. Joseph, Missouri and is also a independent trucker. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Robert "BC" Carroll, a medic at the 3rd from January 1967 to September 1968, who now lives in Valley Stream, New York and Tom Devincenzi, a medic at the 761st from 1969 to 1970, and now living in Daly City, California are both in the Import/Export business. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A group of us are currently discussing a Napa Valley tour while we are in California. Dr. John Geisler, Commanding Officer at the 3rd from July 1961 to May 1965, lives in Napa, California. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Michael Dryver, whom worked with the optometrist Dr. Walter Pitts in 1969, is the musical director of St. Andrews Church in Omaha, Nebraska. The daughter of Dr. David and Kitty Kentsmith (whom were in Karlsruhe from August 1966 to August 1969 and now reside in Springfield, Nebraska just a few miles south of Omaha) was married in St. Andrews Church, Omaha, Nebraska. |
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Drinking Wine The story of He tried to drink a bottle of wine for each year (21). He never made it. I think that the count was 17 when he finally passed out. I have no idea if he ever did that trick again. If he did, I wasn't aware of it. The "part B" of that celebration story was as follows. To start off the celebration, George ordered pizza and champagne (at the pizza place). We all were there to help him celebrate. I remember that he had a problem with the cork. It didn't want to unstop itself. When it finally did come out, it shot out, hit the ceiling and then hit a German guy on the head. He was nice enough to retrieve the cork and bring it back to us. He said something like, "I think this is yours". I thought that he was going to punch us to even the score. He didn't. ------------------- LIFE IN THE 60’S: By Jim Reed, 809th Engineers (PB) Spoon Platoon, Smiley Mess Hall, ’68 & ’69The AAFES Snack Bar next to the 502 Engineer Company Mess Hall at Rheinland Kaserne, like all Snack Bars in Germany, was a very popular place one special day each month. Everyone saved or borrowed a dollar so you could eat in the Snack Bar when the Mess Hall had C-Ration Day. In order to keep the United States Army in Europe’s stocks of C-Rations fresh, old or almost outdated C-Rations were issued to Mess Halls to be used one day per month as the day’s meals. Everything we fed the soldiers that day had to come from opening hundreds of little olive drab cans, mixing it with whatever excess could be found on the storeroom shelves, heating it up and spooning it out to the troops. Troops hated C-Ration Day; cooks hated it even more for the verbal abuse that was directed their way and from the sore hands, wrists and arms you got from opening hundreds of little olive drab cans. Certainly there were a few good things in C-Rations (writer pauses to think) – well, the little pound and fruit cakes weren’t bad. C-Rations would keep you alive in the field or combat, but just didn’t make the grade when mixed up and served as Swill de Jour in the Mess Hall, or, as it was aptly nicknamed on C-Ration day, the Mess Hell. Cooks were not exempt from finding other dining fare on C-Ration day. After opening all those cans, heating up a two gallon pot of C-Ration ham and lime beans, adding a few egg noodles to the stew to help disguise the basic ingredient and then pouring 90% of it in the garbage can after the meal was over, it was off to the AAFES Snack Bar for a 45 cent Davy Crocket sandwich and a Coke. C-Ration day had at least one devotee in every company who was glad to see it arrive, the company loan shark. Anyone with a twenty-dollar bill in his pocket could make a small fortune in loaning out, at undisclosed interest rates, ones and fives on C-Ration day. Somewhere around 1970 Mess Hell C-Ration day died a happy death when those in The Food Chain upper echelon elected to rotate C-Ration stocks by forcing everyone to eat at least one C-Ration meal per day while on field training exercises. If you were fortunate, the cooks would provide hot water with which to heat up the little camouflaged tin can entrée of ham and eggs, beans and franks, sliced ham or spaghetti with meat sauce. If you were away from the field base camp, the engine compartment of your military vehicle was a good place to heat up your can of ham and lima beans, but don’t leave it next to the radiator hose and forget it. Eventually the can would overheat and explode; therewith spreading it’s almost inedible contents all over your engine compartment and the underside of the hood. Oh, well, the round can of crackers, spread with the contents of the small tin of peanut butter or envelope of grape jelly washed down with lukewarm instant coffee and dessert of a John Wayne bar filled you up and kept you going until dinner. ……Mr. Marty Bauer had quintuple by-pass surgery in October 2007. He’s doing really great reports Mrs. Marty Bauer………for those of you who were unable to attend the 2007 San Antonio Reunion we did give out another door prize at the Saturday night banquet. No it wasn’t a car this time, it was a FREE hunting trip with Dick Cheney - http://www.joeydevilla.com/2006/12/14/texas-monthlys-january-2007-cover/ ….. …and guess who won? None other than Mr. Conservative himself – Mike Knisley.……. once the final destination for the 2009 reunion is known we will need a few volunteers to serve on the Hotel Committee (to decide what hotel/motel we will stay) and for the Banquet Committee (to decide the Saturday night banquet menu), if you are interested in serving let me know – otherwise I’ll be "drafting" a few good people….. ------------------- ……………..from Scott Bloom I got to Karlsruhe in 1973. The theater center was on Smiley Barracks. Now is when memory has to kick in. If I remember correctly, across from the MP station was an engineers building? I remember Germans and Poles? Then behind that a bit was the dispensary? Well on that side of the Smiley perimeter was the Stagedoor Playhouse, which was the Army theater center, run by a wonderful kook of a man named Frank Chapin. It was a great facility, and we put on plays. When I was there we did You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown, Camelot, The Pajama Game, and Dial M for Murder. I also believe they were the first military base that got the rights for Jesus Christ Superstar. All ranks were involved in the plays and also German nationals. Funny story, during Camelot, the guy playing Lancelot’s squire was a German national and he had the line "He’s a unique man, your Majesty" but during our first dress rehearsal he said "He’s a eunuch man, your Majesty", and all of us laughed for days. Usually the plays were directed by Dave and/or Bonnie Hubert. They were teachers at KAHS, and the reason for Hubert Hall being named Hubert Hall. I had been in touch with their daughter Jan for a while, who lives in Seattle with her husband and is still actively involved with theater. ------------------- Weird Harold From Jack Tolchin, as told in Chicago, who rode many times with Harold Graham on emergency runs. First let me say that the ambulance drivers played an important part at the dispensary since they had to know how to get to any location in Karlsruhe as well as the Heidelberg hospital in a timely manner. And in timely manner was the way Harold drove. Never knew "Weird Harold" NOT to have the ambulance floored with the "Blue Light" rotating even if he was just going to the PX for a candy bar. Can you imagine riding with him on a true emergency? Here’s the story from Jack. Jack and Harold were coming BACK from the hospital in Heidelberg on a winter night with ice on the roads and the ambulance was flying down the road. Crossing the bridge over the autobahn and trying to make his turn Harold had his foot floored while turning the steering wheel. Jack knew his life was over as he yelled out "SLOW DOWN" as the ambulance started to slide. The only thing that kept the ambulance from leaving the road was a concrete retaining barrier that ran down the approach to the autobahn. As the ambulance bounced off this retaining wall a few times it finally left the road at the bottom of the hill when the concrete ended and plowed into the snow to a sudden stop. Jack dove into the back of the ambulance while Harold bounced off the windshield. After a few seconds and realizing that they both survived Jack looked at Harold and seen he was bleeding from hitting his head on the windshield. Jack had to stitch Harold’s head and some how they were able to get the ambulance back on the road. Jack was amazed to see that Harold had not learned his lesson as the ambulance roared off in the night towards Karlsruhe as fast as Harold could make it go on the autobahn. How many of you remember riding with Harold Graham? Ain’t it the truth! --------------- ……………from Merv Norton, My wife and I have made two trips to Karlsruhe since we left in 1953. You heard about Hans and Fritz, bartenders, in the Officers Club in 1964. Our next trip was in 1976 and I was then a civilian. On this trip I had a car and drove into Smiley Barracks, took several pictures and was stopped by the German guard as I tried to leave. He took me to the MP office just inside the gate. The MP Sergeant said that he had only been in the country for three weeks and did not know what to do. He called the MP duty officer who said, "If he is a retired Army Officer, he can take all the pictures he desires." I was then released. (AP: Merv is the Secretary of the 1st Signal Brigade Association www.1stSigBde.org ) ----------------- T’was the night before Christmas and all through the Third, not a creature was stirring not even a Turd. Except for night medics Hyatt & Holt and that means we are in for one hell of a jolt! (AP: This story from Logan Hyatt wasn’t on Christmas Eve but it’s now #1 on our list) As I mentioned Mark Holt and I often worked the 1800-0800 shift. Of course it varied from not sitting down all night to absolute deadness. On one such night Mark and I had drank 20 cups of coffee and smoked a pack of KOOLS by midnight. The windows were open and the silence broken only by the occasional laugh or guffaw from the MP desk across the parking lot as they likewise were trying to pacify their boredom. Earlier that day an intoxicated troop had busted out the front door window to the dispensary, the glass still swept to the side. Also a few weeks earlier an engineer and his wife had come in with a critically ill infant and all had been shipped back stateside abandoning a small 150-200 cc motorbike at the dispensary. Somehow Mark and I started to get our kicks by riding it through the building, around the room, down the hall, up the stairs. This was fun for a while when we got the idea to liven up the night for the MP’s also. We knew them all well, especially desk Sgt’s Plummer and Hay, and we all had pulled a number of gags on each other in addition to being in some serious situations together. WE concocted the idea of faking a traffic accident inside the dispensary and calling the gendarmes. We placed the motor bike in the treatment room as if it had crashed into the IV cabinet and spread supplies and IV fluid on the floor. We took boots and made wet bloody footprints out the back door. Where did we get the blood you ask? We drew several tubes from each other (the pre body fluid fear days) and spread it on the treatment table with hand prints, on the bike seat, and dripping down the hall. The trap was set. We called the MP desk and said that a drunk had rode through our front door, cut himself on the glass, rode down the hall crashing into the treatment room, and had run out the back door injured and bleeding. Soon we heard the familiar gear wind of MP jeeps and saw the blue flashing lights. We were really going to get ole Plummer and Hay on this one. Mark and I fought off laughs and tears as we kept straight faces while one trooper took our story and drew a traffic diagram; meanwhile another MP trailed the footprints and blood like a hound. Finally we heard the MP desk sgts OD green chevelle slide to a halt in the gravel outside. In walked a staff sgt MP who was unfamiliar. His uni was pressed, brass polished, boots glistening and the blue infantry braid and airborne wings jutted out from his buff torso, he looked like he was one tough son of a bitch. I looked at Mark and our eyes met with that OH SHIT! Pupil dilation look! I remember brushing back my non-regulation hair and fretting about how long the term at Leavenworth would be for filing a false MP report. The SGT's name tag said Nason and he methodically oversaw his charges for 5-10 minutes while Mark and I exchanged fretting glances and whispered obscenities. Finally it was Mark who got the courage to clear his throat and say "Sergeant Nason we have to tell you", his voice cracking from suppressed laughter with a component of fear and uncertainty. "We made this all up as a gag to get our MP buddies Plummer and Hay; we sure didn’t expect to see you." Sergeant Nason’s eyes burned holes through both of us for what seemed like an eternity before he barked out "Where did all the blood come from." "We drew it from each other" I managed to reply. His eyes continued to burn when all at once he collapsed on one of the hallway couches his brass tailored coat buttons almost popped off as his whole body spasmed in laughter. "Oh my God, this is the greatest gag I have ever seen in all my years in the Army, I can’t believe you actually drew blood on each other, that really sold it HA HA HA HA HA !!!!!!!!!" Mark and I also collapsed in relief before sharing some good back slapping laughs with the whole crew. (I had even more over the years telling this story) Fortunately all remained quiet that night but Mark and I stayed busy cleaning up the mess. A few nights later Sgt. Nason and his patrols got us back by wrapping up a new recruit in bandages like a mummy, no blood though. This is another story. ---------------- from Merv Norton... Have made two trips to Karlsruhe since we left in 1953. First was in 1964. During this trip I was still in the service and I visited our old quarters area and Officers Club. I arrived at night and went to the Officers Club. It was almost empty and I was alone at the bar. I ordered a drink. As the bartender gave me my drink he said, "Sir, how are you, I have not seen you in years." (Yes it had been 11 years). His name was Fritz and the other bartender was named Hans. They had been bartenders at the Officers Club since 1945. Fritz not only recognized me but placed me in time and unit.--------------- And then there was the time that Ken Keys was promoted one week before an IG Inspection. He didn’t have enough time to get his new grade patch sewn on to his dress greens hanging in his locker so he did the old double stick scotch tape trick and hoped that the inspector wouldn’t notice. OOPS! Nothing gets past the IG Inspector does it Ken! ------------------------- about Randy "KP" (Kill Potatoes) Brumund..Randy tells of the time when he had KP at the Mess Hall on Smiley Barracks. The cook wanted him to "peel" potatoes and Randy thought he would have to actually peel them as many of us had done during basic training. Well it seems that the Mess Hall on Smiley Barracks at that time (1969/1970) had a machine that would peel the potatoes if you just dropped them in and turn on the machine. The potatoes would bounce around back and forth tumbling from one side to another and would be peeled by using an abrasive action. Randy really wanted to do a good job and was concerned about not removing too much of the potato skin at first. After getting most of the potatoes cleaned up Randy asked the cook for a paring knife. Randy told him that he still needed to remove some "eyes". Randy remembers very distinctly that the cook looked him like he was the most stupid person in the whole world. The cook said that the machine would take those "eyes" out if Randy was only smart enough to let the machine work as it was designed to work. The cook then waddled out of the back kitchen area after upbraiding Randy. It was then that Randy decided to do as the cook said. After all, he was the Sergeant and Randy was a PFC. Randy let the machine work as it was intended to work and kept checking the machine’s handiwork. Oops! Guess Sarge thought the machine would shut itself off when the potatoes were all cleaned up. Randy then remembered that he was the most stupid person in the world and guessed that he wasn’t really able to see that the potatoes were getting smaller and smaller. He kept checking until he couldn’t stand it anymore. Those ‘tatoes tumbled and bounced quite a bit until the were half the size of baseballs instead of the original size of seven to eight inches long and three to four inches wide. Randy still remembers the cook’s reaction. He was livid and threatened Randy! His threat was – not allowing Randy to be able to do "pots and pans" anymore. Randy was downcast hearing this pronouncement. What was he going to do? He could no longer look forward to being the "pots and pans man" anymore. Randy would have to go on a "twelve step program" to try and relieve his anxiety. He knew it would probably be very difficult. But wait, maybe it wouldn’t. After Randy remembered that he was the most stupid person in the whole world he was able to decide that it didn’t matter. Believe Randy also said that the next time he had KP the cook asked him what he wanted to do and Randy said the "counter guy". So all Randy did was keep track of how many ate at each meal. ------------------------- from Eddie Overstreet.......Eddie mentioned to me that when his wife Sandra called him in 1969 to let him know that she had a baby boy that it was me who took the call at the dispensary and told Sandra that I knew where to find Eddie. He was in the photo dark room developing some prints in the building next to the dispensary that also housed the Thrift Shop and the University of Maryland night classes. Eddie said he never forgot that I told him that he was now the proud father of a baby boy. That baby boy is now 35 and I hope to meet him soon. -------------------- from Libby Hulsey.....Our family is a military family and Hub, who passed away in 2000, served in Europe during World War Two after the D-Day invasion. He was aboard a "Hospital Train" that traveled along the tracks behind the front line. Our son is now a Colonel in the US Army. (From the PIT: Told Libby that I have never heard of, read of, or seen anything concerning "Hospital Trains" and told her that was a fantastic story. Did a search on the net and found a few items about military hospital trains. Amazing what we find out.) -------------------- from Dr. Henry "Major" Berman...All of the EM’s must have thought they had got to heaven when Lew Wash became Commanding Officer, but it was equally great for the docs – the difference being that it could never get nearly as bad for us as for the EM’s. One memory – I’ve never been one to shine my shoes, for any reason, let alone because the military required it. There was an IG inspection scheduled at Smiley one day, and I happened to choose that day to put on a new pair of shoes, previously unworn. When I walked in, Lew said, "Henry shined his shoes. We won’t have to hide him from the IG when he shows up." -------------------- Barrack visitors: AJ and Raoul. When we traveled around Europe back then, we would come across people who were seeing Europe on their own, either backpacking or traveling by any other means. We would befriend these travelers and invite them to visit us at Smiley Barracks whenever they would be passing through Karlsruhe. I’m sure it was a welcomed event for them since they could clean up, have a shower and roof over their heads, as well as filling up their bellies with any food and drink that we have had available at the time in the barracks. Two that come to my mind, and you may remember others, are – AJ "The Biker" and Raoul "The Aussie". I’ll tell you about them and their stories as I remember in future issues............AJ "the Biker", whose real name was Art Johnson, looked like Abraham Lincoln as he was very tall, at least six foot six, and had a long beard. Not sure which one of us brought him back to Smiley Barracks but "AJ" was traveling around Europe on his 650 Triumph motorcycle. He appeared in a "Spaghetti Western" called The Last Rebel with Joe Namath when he was in Italy. If you check out this film at www.allmovie.com Arte Johnson did receive credit as the "Tall Soldier". This movie was during the Civil War period and "AJ’s" big scene was when he stood up at a river crossing and shot someone. After a longer than expected visit with us (it seemed like he would never leave) "AJ" finally wore out his welcome and eventually took the hint and left us. When I returned home to Philadelphia in 1970, I noticed one day during the seventies a photogragh of "AJ" in the newspaper. He was running for mayor of a small town just north of Philly near Bristol, Pennsylvania. Never did bother to contact him then, as I feared he would visit me once again and never leave this time. -------------------- A Parry Hughes story from Dr. Henry Berman: I was in the American Express Bank (remember that?) when both LTC Lew Wash and Parry were clearing their accounts as part of outprocessing. Lew gave the old short-timer’s sign, holding his thumb and forefinger ¼ inch apart and saying "Four days." Parry held his thumb and forefinger 1/8-inch apart and said "Two days." Lew swiped Parry with his hat, Parry swiped back with his, and everyone but me stood there in disbelief, watching a Lieutenant Colonel and an Enlisted man having a hat fight! (The ARM PIT: Ah yes, you can almost hear the theme from M*A*S*H can’t you) ------------------------- This from Dr. David Kentsmith. I particularly remember a rather obese woman (it was very difficult to tell she was pregnant due to her large size), the wife of one of the chopper pilots, flying her to Heidelberg because she was about 6-8 cm dilated and full term. She was the person who taught Lamaze I guess on her own to anyone who wanted to learn – I don’t think she was a nurse either. She was quite loud as she practiced her Lamaze during the time we were caring for her when she was having contractions. We made it to the hospital but it was quite a circus. First her husband wanted to fly the chopper (in fact he said he called his buddies and they were warming up the chopper). After his piloting was vetoed we put her in the ambulance (it took four people to carry her). She yelled she couldn’t ride head first so we took her out of the ambulance turned her around with a lot of huffing and puffing, some strained backs and slid her into the ambulance feet first for the short ride to the air field in Karlsruhe. When we arrived in Heidelberg, we could not land at the hospital (I think it was foggy or something) so we landed at the airfield waking up the entire barracks on the field which occupied the second floor base operations. With sleepy eyed troops leaning out of their dorm windows in their undershorts trying to figure out what was happening, we carried her out of the chopper through the hall of the base operations/dorm building with her loudly doing her Lamaze exercises (One, two, three, breath etc.). As we rushed her to the front door of the building the ambulance from the hospital arrived but drive directly out to the chopper. We started to pick her up and carry her back down the long hallway towards the chopper when the ambulance drove away from the chopper and to the front door where we carried her in the first place. We remembered to put her in feet first into the Heidelberg hospital cracker box to the confusion of the Heidelberg medics who were trying to help. Fortunately the baby did not deliver during all this activity but waited until it’s mother finally arrived at the hospital. I think they had a healthy girl. Were any of you there for this? ------------------------- The band moves up to the attic. This of course is still before we were a band and living on the first floor of the barracks. You have read here before of when Jim "JT" Tapee, Rodney Johnson, Bob Bergrab, and Paul Strauser had the brilliant idea to paint the inside of the overhead lamp shade blue. We kept doing crazy things to our room. Bob had taped up sheets of paper to the side of his lockers and used a couple of syringes each filled with different colors of paint to "create" art. I covered the wall in my area from ceiling to floor with tin foil and used the left over blue spray paint to "create" an entire wall of art. Now one of us, and I’m not sure who (maybe "JT" or Bob will remember), had scouted out the rest of the barracks area all the way up to the attic. The attic room was huge as compared to our little room that the four of us slept in. The slanting roof also gave it "character". It also had a locking metal door, which we all liked, and an area that we were able to partition off with some curtains and have a table with four chairs, small refrigerator, electric frying pan, and "JT’s" stereo equipment. All four of us moved up to the attic and the "stage" was now set. Believe this was sometime during late 1969.....a story from the "attic". I can not remember if we had to keep a "False" bunk area down on the first floor or not when we slept/lived up in the attic. Do remember that we called the partition off area "The ARM PIT Room". Had many posters on the walls, one was the M.C. Escher print that was in "da book". Also remember that we only had butter most of the time in the fridge. When we ran out of money we would eat rice and butter, spaghetti and butter, and butter sandwiches before eating in the Mess Hall. We would also listen to as many "off the wall" recordings that we could find, such as: Ultimate Spinach, Clear Light, Cat Mother & The All Night News Boys, and Beacon Street Union. Check all of them out at www.allmusic.com and if you remember any bands that I forgot to mention, do not let me know. Once in a lifetime is enough, not "TWICE". The beginning of the band started this way with "JT" and his first drum set. Rodney Johnson is strumming his guitar in "the room" up in the attic while Bob Bergrab, Jim "JT" Tapee, and myself were listening to the pleasant sounds. The next thing we hear is "JT" tapping out a beat for Rodney using two butter knifes on a tub of margarine. Darn if "JT" didn’t sound pretty good "keeping time" for Rodney. Rodney pickin’ and a strummin’ and "JT" beating out a tune formed a fantastic "duo" making music. What next? Do you suppose Bob will start to "hum" along with some words and I might start to "whistle" a tune with Rodney and "JT"? We shall see (or hear). Where were we? Oh yeah. We were talking about the band weren’t we. Have told you of Rodney playing the guitar with Jim "JT" Tapee tapping out a beat with two butter knives on a tub of margarine. Bob Bergrab began to hum along with some words and Paul Strauser started to whistle. Now someone, and I’m not sure who but believe it was someone known as a "instigator" said "Let’s buy some instruments on payday". ------------------------- Glad I could find Bob Burgeson, my best bud while he was stationed in Karlsruhe. Bob and I went in half each on a used Opel station wagon. Were my first travels in Europe. Know we went to Brussels. One time on the way back from Amsterdam we ran out of gas and stopped in this little town off the autobahn. Trying to communicate our need of "petro", we could not locate any station open that late at night. Wound up siphoning from a car. Damn passenger train came along shinning its lights and thought we would get caught for sure. We didn’t. Bob eventually found a new hood ornament in downtown Karlsruhe. It was a U.S. Army deuce and a half. Still don’t know how Bob walked away from that one. Have pictures showing the truck on top of the car with Bob still in the car as well as the engine on top of the hood that someone picked up off the ground and placed there after the truck was removed. Can’t wait to hoist a few with Bob and everyone else that is coming to the reunion next year. ------------------------- ........and the Walter Presnow episode as remembered at the Boston Reunion. Do believe this happened in late 1968, know for a fact that Walt was stationed with us then at the 3rd General Dispensary then (according to the photo’s I have). Walt was a medic and Sgt. Reynolds had him working in the shot clinic for a time. On this day Dr. Henry Berman instructed him to administer some Ipecac to a child and even checked with Walt to make sure that he knew exactly how to do it. Well, guess Old Walt forgot his instructions because he attempted to draw the Ipecac up in a syringe and inject the child. Dave Hewitt walks in and asks Walt "What the hell he was doing" and tells him that is not how to give Ipecac. The mother freaks out and starts screaming "You’re killing my kid". Hewitt finally calms her down, and administers the Ipecac to the child himself. Needless to say, Walt Presnow was transferred to Heidelberg Hospital within days never to be seen again, but the story lives on forever. ------------------------- …… and then there was the time a group of guys were gathered around Paul’s desk in the Orderly Room and talking. Dr. Henry Berman walks in and everyone just stopped talking real quickly. Dr. Berman looks at me and I said, "We’ll spare you." ------------------------- Terry Brenneman has mentioned bowling in the dispensary bowling league at the lanes on Smiley Barracks. Does anyone else remember that? We would take over the entire bowling alley, all four lanes, and had four teams with five guys to a team. I think we actually had three bowling leagues in a row before we stopped. ------------------------- THE YEAR 2005 IN THE REVIEW MIRROR 2005 was another excellent year. Here is why. * Contact was made with Ivory Brown, Maxene Raices, LeRoy Hairston, Dave Phelps, Dr. Stanley Rosenblatt, Bill Lokay, Dawn (High) Gillespie, Logan Hyatt, and Arthur & Mary Anglin. If I can contact that many each year I’ll be happy. * A 3rd General Dispensary web site http://3rdGeneralDispensary.BraveHost.com/ was started. * A 3rd General Dispensary blogspot http://3rdGeneralDispensary.BlogSpot.com/ was started. * We had our third reunion. This time in Chicago on October 7th and 8th. ---------------------------- Oh No - Mr. Bill! (Special): Can you believe it? Did I surprise those of you attending the Chicago reunion when "Wild Bill" Lokay arrived? Wasn’t that super! Here’s how it happened. You All Know: I’ve been searching high and low for Bill Lokay, X-Ray Tech at the 3rd from February 1968 to June 1971, since July 2001 but no leads for him or any of his relatives were out there on the world wide web for me to follow up. The Last Time: The last time Bill had seen any of us was when he showed up on Carl Sachjen’s door step in Jackson, Michigan in 1973 wearing his Medic whites with his fatigue jacket AND THIS WAS two years after Bill was discharged from the Army. What We Thought: We thought maybe Bill re-enlisted. We thought maybe Bill went back to Karlsruhe, Germany since his wife Anneliese was from Karslruhe. We thought maybe Bill was incarcerated for something that he was wrongly accused of since we all know Bill would never ever do anything illegal. No leads appeared on the net until…… Just Before The Chicago Reunion: If you remember I had thought that Bill’s middle name began with the letter "A" and one of the new search sites showed that a William A. Lokay had lived in Oak Lawn, Illinois at one time. I was going to snoop around the neighborhood asking people if they knew who Bill Lokay was and show his picture just like the detectives do on television. But I didn’t need to do that because…………….. On August 25, 2005: Just a few weeks before the Chicago Reunion I type in the name of Bill Lokay on a search site since I continued to search for him from time to time and a new location for a Bill Lokay appeared on the screen. I had contacted all the other Bill Lokay’s in the U.S.A. (about six with that name) and realized right away that I had never called or mailed a Bill Lokay in Scottsdale, Arizona before. Well, I became quite excited and called the phone number that was given right then only to discover that…………… I Receive A Recorded Message: After a couple of rings, a recorded message saying "I’m sorry, but we are unable to complete your call as dialed. Please check the number and call again." Well I hung up disappointed and write a letter to the address that was also given. But then I thought to myself - "Self. The message said - We are unable to complete your call - NOT that the phone had been disconnected." So I thought maybe the area code is incorrect since I’ve run into that situation many times during the search process. I search for the area code of Scottsdale, Arizona and sure enough the wrong one was listed on the search site. I quickly call again, using the correct area code, and after a four year search was able to speak with Bill Lokay for the first time since 1971 when he and Anneliese stopped in to see me in Philadelphia when he was discharged from Fort Dix. WOW! What a thrill. Did In Fact: Bill and Anneliese did in fact return to Karlsruhe. They were divorced in 1977. Bill lived in Germany until 1989. That address in Oak Lawn? That was a relative’s place that he used in 1989 when he obtained his driving license. Told Bill who I have located and he made arrangements to attend the Chicago reunion. Fantastic eh! -------------------- SMILEY SPORTS STORIES Do any of you remember when Richard Beckwith, Steve Warman, Rodney Johnson, and myself would coach a Little League baseball team in Paul Revere Village? -------------------- The "ALL-TIME" Article 15 Leader Board Rodney Johnson…2 Dr. Murry Cohen...1 (Let me know if your name belongs here) -------------------- V NOW HEAR THIS –2004 WAS ANOTHER GOOD YEAR During 2004 contact was made with (years in Karlsruhe in parenthesis): Dr. John Bryant Wyman (10/60-10/62), Phillip Trinko (12/58-5/62), Eddie Noble (77-82), Libby Hulsey (10/60-10/63), Vince Inahara (6/68-5/69), Phyllis "Phyl" Rose (80-82), Charles Miller (68-70), Dr. Floyd Short (8/61-5/63), Kimberly (Conway) Boni (89-91), Travis Easter (91-94), Deborah Hastings-Allison (81-82), Robert Laverick (90-94), Dr. Philip Gassman (5/65-12/66), Rico Hogan (92-94), Kevin Stump (94-95), Carl Lingenfelsher (92-95), Dr. Thomas McKalko (62-65), Dave Hewitt (68-69), and Ken Burrows (6/63-5/65). ------------------------- THIS IS THE THIRD HERD! So what happens when you mix someone who spent time "IN" Fort Leavenworth, with a graduate electrical engineer, a bootlegger, a cowboy or two, a nice kid from the burbs, a radical, a college drop out, a instigator, a well respected man, a trouble maker, a slob, a wise guy, a conscientious objector, some med school graduates, some lifers, a smooth operator, a couple of bikers, a professional musician, a vegetarian, some Vietnam vets, a village idiot, a few married guys, a couple of draftees, a junkie, an alcoholic, a few good gals, some rednecks, and some black panthers? Well you get the one and only Third Herd! (and I’ll leave it to you to figure out who was who!) ------------------------- MYSTERY GUEST #3 Would You Sign In Please (Special): Oh boy. Today we get to play that old game show What’s My Line? Are you ready panel? OK, mystery guest will you sign in please. R-O-D-N-E-Y J-O-H-N-S-O-N. Dorothy Kilgallen, your question please. "Did you serve with your unit during the Vietnam era?" YES! "Is it, is it, George Bush?" No, not really Dorothy. One down and four to go. Bennett Cerf, you are next. "Are you from Texas?" YES! "Are you that Enron CEO guy Kenneth Lay?" Close Bennett, but no. That is two down and three to go. Arlene Francis it is now your turn for a question. "You have a very distinctive Texas accent. Sounds like you could be LBJ?" They may sound a lot a like Arlene but no. That is now three down and two to go. Steve Allen, do you have any questions before I flip them all over? "Yes I do. Were you a top notch medic at the 3rd General Dispensary?" YES! "Did you have run ins with Major Cash?" YES! "Did you receive not one but two Article 15’s?" YES! "Were you the guitar player in that fantastic barracks band TWICE?" YES! "I think I know who you are, are you Billy Solestes?" That is the best guess yet but no. Almost Happened: Spoke with Rodney Johnson August 19, 2003 after searching over two years for him. It was now almost a month before the San Francisco reunion and we nearly pulled it off having a mystery guess but it was just to short of notice for Rodney to make plans for time off from work and to make the necessary travel arrangements. Here is how I was finally able to find my best friend from Karlsruhe. Early Search: knew it would not be easy finding Rodney when I found sixty-four results in the state of Texas with my first search in July 2001. Mailed out search letters to about ten at a time at first and then finally called all of the remaining without any luck. It would have been nearly impossible to search the entire USA for all of those having a name of Rodney Johnson but had given it a thought. This is when I first started to leave bread crumb trails on various internet search boards should I be lucky enough to have anyone searching for us at the 3rd General Dispensary or the 761st Medical Detachment and also for Smiley Barracks and for Gerszewski Barracks. Shoot, I even placed a notice on the web site of the Corpus Christi newspaper and was considering leaving a message on all of the high schools in the Corpus Christi area on classmates.com. Thought maybe he may have moved to Oklahoma and called all the Rodney Johnson’s in that state without any luck of course. Had a stack of search papers printed out about an inch thick with the names and phone numbers of any and all Rodney Johnson’s that I had found. Would pick them up and call a few then set them aside for about a month before I started searching again only to get discouraged not being able to find him. Final Search: Having used the paid searches during the summer of 2003, I learned how to use any of the info that they would provide for free before paying for any information. Finally used all three search sites to my advantage in August 2003 and found Rodney. Here is how it happened. Had found one Rodney Johnson with a listed phone in Corpus Christi previously and called but it was not the Rodney Johnson I was searching for. I had an old address of Rodney’s from about the 1980 in Corpus and had thought about going down (Corpus is an eight hour drive or so from Fort Worth) and searching about playing a private detective or something. Anyway, US Search will give you a free print out of names with middle initials and ages without address or phone numbers. Proceeded to print out all the Rodney A. Johnson’s, Rodney B. Johnson’s, etc., etc. and found ten Rodney Johnson’s in the age bracket that I was searching (two years either side of my age). Also found four Rodney Johnson’s in Corpus Christi, still without address or phone, but of the four one was in the age bracket I was searching and his name was Rodney Lee Johnson. Now I didn’t know if this person might be the Rodney Johnson I called earlier in Corpus who had a listed phone number so I went back to the white page search and found that the Rodney Johnson with a listed phone did not give a middle initial. Thus there was a chance that the Rodney Lee Johnson who lives in Corpus and in the age bracket that I’m searching for just may be the Rodney I’m looking for. Now I went to People Data Search and searched all the Rodney L. Johnson’s and they showed 70 Rodney L. Johnson’s in the state of Texas. Of the 70, one was born August 1948 and another in 1946. Paid $10 to get all of the addresses/phone numbers for the Rodney L. Johnson’s. The one born in August 1948 had a Corpus Christi address (but no phone number, see "da book – da sequel") which was different that the Rodney Johnson in Corpus who had a published phone number. Mailed a search package August 8, 2003 to this Rodney L. Johnson in Corpus. Lots of Luck: Now here is where I start finding a lot of luck searching for Rodney. Rodney called me August 19, 2003 but did not get an answer as Gerri and I were unable to get to the phone in time and Rodney didn’t even get our answering machine. However, we do have caller ID which did show the name of Rodney Johnson and a phone number. I was putting together "da book – da sequel" for the San Francisco reunion. Gerri knew how important and how hard I was trying to find Rodney and she brings in our portable phone saying, "This call is from a Rodney Johnson". Well, I got so darn excited that I forgot how to recall the last phone call on the caller ID that I needed Gerri to do it for me because I didn’t want to press the wrong buttons and delete it. Got the number and I called him back within minutes of his call. At first I wasn’t sure if this was the Rodney we knew and I had to keep asking him questions that only Rodney would know the answers to. Finally settled down and had a really good chat. Now get this. Asked him what his middle initial is and it’s not even "L", his middle initial is "D". I’m still trying to figure out when I can get to visit with Rodney before the reunion next year. ---------------------------------
IT WAS A VERY GOOD YEAR (Special): When I was twenty-one, it was a very good year. A very good year to drink all the beer, that I could find, in Karlsruhe – without any fear, it was a very good year, when I was twenty-one. Do-do-do-do, do-do-do-do-do-do, do-do-do-do-da-da. When I was fifty-five, it was a very good year. A very good year to be with my friends once again, and have a toast and a cheer, it was a very good year, when I was fifty-five. Do-do-do-do, do-do-do-do-do-do, do-do-do-do-da-da. Enough already right! You know where I’m coming from. 2003 WAS A VERY GOOD YEAR since we were able to have another reunion and be together once again. It had been way TOO long since we had seen each other. The reunion in San Francisco was terrific, as was the Boston reunion in 2002. YES, IT WAS A VERY GOOD YEAR
--------------------------------- Finding Dr. Michael Hirsch Finding Dr. Hirsch was a real challenge. Had found three Dr. Michael Hirsch’s in 2001. Mailed the form letter to all three during the summer and received a fax reply (see da book) from one who was at Nellis Air Force Base during 1967 to 1968. Then searched and called four Michael Hirsch’s. Also searched the AMA directory without any success. Moved Dr. Hirsch from the "Attempting to locate list" to the "Need more info list". Dr. Kentsmith provided that info by saying he had lost contact with Dr. Hirsch twenty years ago when Michael Hirsch was on the faculty in Psychiatry at the University of California at Davis. Searched October 22, 2002 for a web site for the University of California at Davis and found faculty bios of the Psychiatry Department. Then searched for those who were there during the early eighties and emailed four asking them if they knew how to contact Dr. Michael A. Hirsch. Received a email from a Penny Knapp, MD on October 26,2002 (see da book – da sequel) saying "He is still on UC Davis clinical faculty. Contact UC Davis training office for his number either call 916-734-2614 or email the AA: Marilyn Clark. Reunions are good." Like a hound dog on a trail, I sent a email to Marilyn Clark and she responded October 28, 2002 (see da book – da sequel) saying "Unfortunately, I do not have recent information on Dr. Hirsch. He is no longer on the faculty at the university. You might try the information operator for a number in Davis, California." Thought I was loosing the trail but searched and found a number for a Michael Hirsch in Davis, California. Called and spoke with Dr. Hirsch who was at the 3rd from July 1968 to May 1970. --------------------------------- MARCH MADNESS Had wondered who would be the final person found before the 2002 reunion and who would be the first person found after the reunion. The story of how the final person was found is certainly a classic one for the ages now. This is how is goes. Double Trouble: Had been searching for a Michael A. Knisley in Lima, Ohio. There is such a person who lives in Lima, Ohio but he is not the person we were looking for. He did however give me our Michael’s sister’s phone number and her name of Judy since this poor guy gets phone calls all the time for our Michael. I would call Judy’s phone number every now and then and leave a message on her answering machine asking her to contact Michael and have him call me. I found out later that she was going through a divorce and was no longer at that phone number and her ex did not forward my messages. Corrected Spelling: Dr. Henry Berman sent a email with the correct spelling of Michael A. Knisely’s name on a Monday March 18th. Did a search with the correct spelling and found a number. Called that night only to find out that the phone has been disconnected. Thought I might not get this close again to finding Mike. Meanwhile: Eryn Bradley is calling just about everyone in Lima, Ohio asking if they know a Michael A. Knisely. I had done a reverse search Tuesday morning, looking for neighbors to call and found another person listed with the same phone number and address. That person was "Snidely Whiplash". Damn, I found him! Who else would list their alter ego in the phone book. So close yet so far. Still had not found him. Had thought of calling the Lima police department or any bars near the address I had. I Get A Call!: That night, Tuesday March 19th, just forty-six days before I leave for the reunion in Boston I get a call. This person wants to know if I have a used TEAC reel to reel tape deck for sell. It’s Michael A. Knisely!!! I nearly cried (well, yeah guess I did), he tells me Eryn had called the library in Lima, Ohio AND IT JUST SO HAPPENS that the person who answered the phone had gone to school with Mike Knisely, AND, that Mike comes into the library every now and then. Mike called Eryn, heard what we were trying to do and called me to let me know that by hook or crook or any devious means that he would be joining us in Boston for the reunion in May. This is the first time that I’ve talked with Mike since January 1970 and we are talking like we just spoke with each other just last week. That’s the real amazing thing I’ve found contacting all of you, we just pick up were we left off without missing a beat. Isn’t that grand! Yes it is. |
A superb story that tells how it was in Karlsruhe for GI’s during the mid seventies A War by Any Other Name (This is a current feature in the PIT and what you see here is intallments 1 through 24 of 28 installments) The boxer crawled from the ring, bloodied, beaten and broken. He went down swinging but the decision was not his to call. The cheering crowds who had supported him were gone now; their shouted words of encouragement to fight on had turned now to anger and disgust; their rejection still ringing bitterly in his ears. Staggering back through dimming arena he entered to the dead quiet of an empty locker room, he shook his head to clear the confusion from too many punches. He had fought the good fight, gave it his all but was defeated because both promoter and manager had thrown in the towel. He gathered the last of his possessions from the locker, dragged his worn coat over his aching shoulders and walked quietly into the night… alone. It was behind him now; he never entered the squared circle again. But that for which he was trained never left him, he continued to fight, now against his friends in dark bars and back alleys. The fighter never quits, he must fight, regardless of his opponent. The United States Army in Germany after the fall of Saigon was like that boxer. The Vietnam War, once thought to be a good war, was no longer that anymore. Far too many had died for nothing they said; things had not gone as planned. The winds of popular opinion back home had shifted to storm and the returning soldiers were met by anger and rejection by those they had served. Those who sat in high places, they who had planned the whole thing around long oaken tables, had not given their all and the wheels had finally fallen off the machine. The lucky ones caught the last helicopter out of town, the enemy brought down the curtain; the lights had dimmed in the arena. April 30th, 1975… yet another Day That Will Live in Infamy. The war was over they said, we lost they said, time to go home and just forget it, like it never happened. Better luck next time. The military never sleeps, there were other enemies to face down; men and their equipment had to be removed off the field of battle, pulled back from the place we abandoned. Some of it was scrapped, guns into plowshares; some of it reassigned back to the old places of previous wars; moved around like pieces on some giant chessboard by unseen hands, by the men who sat in high places. The machines were cold, they had no memories, they felt no pain; but the men would feel it forever. Germany got much of it; old bases that were active during the war – Ivan never sleeps – started to bulge with new life as they absorbed what needed storing until decisions were made. The lucky ones went straight home to start shattered lives, re-entering life with cold places within or wandering streets in the remnants of the uniforms they wore. Then there were those who were held over in the belly of the beast, either in the States or in Germany until the green wheels of justice could grind them up for their crimes. Drug offenses mostly, insubordination, perhaps AWOL, now caught, trying to escape a humid, overgrown hell… bad habits picked up along the way. This massive drawdown meant that there were too many workers, too few tasks and too many taskmasters. Those with shine on their lapels saw the dimming future and had to choose; jump from the listing ship back to civilian careers in the World or hang on hoping. Some stayed on, willing to take a chance in the changing green world, some lying low in the uncut grass, just trying to get by, some thinking they could help steer the whole thing back onto the tracks. And still they came; new blood gathered by the recruiters back home in big cities and small towns, selling the "New Army" to high school graduates and dropouts, "Come on kids, Uncle Sam still needs you." Work then was scare, times were hard so we lined up and bought the pitch. A few who arrived were there as the choice of the lesser of two evils, telling the judge that they’d prefer sentenced dressed in green rather than stripes; their wrong deeds erased. I signed up because I needed the work and with no money for further schooling and my old man, still struggling with the memories of his war, continued to fight his battles on the home front. I needed shelter from the storm. I did my basic training, Ft. Jackson, SC. Piece of cake; got in shape, young and strong, all army all the time. Drill sergeants or hard fathers are alike in many ways. It fit the image I had. Then they trained me more, AIT at Ft. Belvoir, VA, engineering school with all the branches of the service, learning to design bridges and draw buildings. I thought we army boys were wild until I met the marines. On the weekends we partied when we could, with the occasional fistfight to break the tension but still it was all army, all the time. Starched uniformed, spit shined boots, short hair and standing endlessly at attention. Then I got my orders for Germany, they hadn’t lied to me after all; a faraway place lay ahead of me; 30 months, 2 ½ years. In my head images of black and white flickering films of Hitler, Octoberfest and the Alps. While the war was still officially on it was winding down and I was heading to a country where war was a distant bad memory. At first this strange place seemed like a dream but it only took a few days within the hard walls and long halls of the barracks for the reality to sink in. While it looked like a military situation something about all of it seemed worn and frazzled, out of sorts. A minimum of discipline just barely holding the cage door closed on human animals, too many of us in one place, a building that was one of many, surrounded by a stone wall guarded by our own. This was an all-male world then whose ages ranged from kids too young to shave yet to hardened veterans. It was a dangerous place, yet it was fun and exciting and nothing at all like I expected. Loneliness by the numbers, scared kids too far from home, big city slicks; the defenseless and bad boys; predators and prey… eat or be eaten. I slipped into the background, found a crowd to hide in, kept my eyes open and mouth shut. I found comfort in a welcoming pack of juicers who drank themselves into numbness every night to the sad strains of country western music and indoctrinated me in the ritual of the local NCO Club, cheap drinks and thrown punches. Mental illness ran through many of us like a streak of rust in steel; the shapes it took were many, the result of many factors. Some quirks we developed as ways to cope with the insanity around us 24 hours a day, others we brought with us from home, deep seated cracks in our character that we opened further in our new-found freedom. Then there were the ones that developed from subjecting our minds and bodies to the side effects of soaking our brains in alcohol, filling our lungs with smoke, swallowing pills or shoving homemade needles into young veins. When I first saw them I knew them as these ragged guys who roamed the halls, day and night, not allowed to work or go home. They had a far-away look in rheumy yellow eyes, their livers failing from exposure, wrinkled uniforms hanging from shrunken bodies, forever dragging scratching fingers, chasing imaginary bugs… always trying to calm the shattered nerves crawling beneath their skin whenever the urge was upon them. A shambling shuffle of human remains avoiding authority, avoiding work, counting the days and always looking for that next fix. Only shells remaining of men who had traded their souls for a hollow feeling that couldn’t be filled. I was told that several of them had come back from Nam, bad memories in their brains and deep craving in their veins, now just killing time in another foreign place, awaiting trial and sentence or release to go home to a familiar foreign life they barely remembered. Regardless of their next stop, bad discharges awaited them, labeled dishonorable for bad conduct. It was hard to think that these guys were in the same army I had joined, the one in the recruiting posters. One guy stood out immediately, his sagging, white puffy slacked-faced mask atop a collapsing frame in wrinkled green, talked like a Tommy Chong bit… "Oh wow Man" was his favorite declaration, a response to anything ever said to him. He was so bad that our First Sergeant had banned him from the barracks until they could arrange the paperwork to ship his ragged ass home. Allowed into the building only to attend to his hygiene, once done he was immediately chased out of the building. He had to sleep in a pup tent of two shelter halves, his shame on public display across the street from the company on a corner grass against the parking lot. I never knew his history; I only learned to stay clear of him like some bum on the streets back home. There were two wars then, the old one back in Vietnam now grinding to it’s finish and the new one we had right here. An army not in battle will turn on itself. Either way, he was a causality in the mounting struggle of humans at ease. These guys were the last of a dying breed, draftees that eventually were processed away to distant places and lost from memory. Since my arrival they had no clue what to do with me and my MOS so I was soon designated the CO’s jeep driver and transported each under NCO escort, either to Manheim for trial or to Frankfurt for transport to the States. I dropped them off and picked them up; planes, trains and jeeps. Watch ‘em come and watch ‘em go… Then there were the ones who had acquired the monkey since their arrival in Germany; fresh faces, fresh meat from America who’d bought into slow death, sweet-talked into the swamp by hard users who didn’t want to die alone. Misery loves company. There were so many ways to relieve the pain we thought we lived that one truly didn’t need to take such a quick suck down from your life; I guess the nature of that beast was too alluring for those whom lesser illegalities or straight whiskey wasn’t hard enough. The costs of their pleasure and pain was born by the unsuspecting whose possessions mysterious disappeared for discounted resale, pennies on the dollar for another load of scag. On occasional forays downtown to the bars and clubs we’d see them huddled against their seat on the strassenbahn cars, sometimes in pairs, always alone with a destination of some dirty bathroom in the back of a dingy bar. A standing appointment with whomever was selling their next blood meal. We who had not played their games and were unfamiliar with how things worked watched and wondered at this strangeness that had taken them. Anything you wanted to be had downtown. Outside the "normal" toys for boys like beer and broads, there existed a subculture of those that were outside the law. Germans, Turks, and American soldiers danced in dark alleys, doing the deals, bargains made and deals done. Goods in hand they’d set off for dark corners of the Schloss park to inject their dreams, later stumbling in the bars and nodding off in corners. Time passes by… fast or slow all depends on where you are in it. People came and went in the barracks, newly arrived ‘cruits replacing short-timers who never let you forget that they were. Their shouted cries of SHORT echoed off the wall day and night as their response to anything that even remotely resembled military pressure. They did their time and now the edge was in sight. New guys were initiated into the culture, new roommates replaced old and the ever-changing look of things remained the same. I was shuttled around from room to room at the whims of my platoon sergeants, always different people and their personal habits to get used to.One day we got Mike. I won’t use his last name for reasons that will become clearer as this goes along. A youngster really, just 17 years old, from Hawaii and as green as they come. Honest to a fault, naïve and a clean notebook for scribbling in. I took him under my wing and introduced him to the circle of rednecks that had taken me in as a member. Mike was soon drinking too much to his new love of country music, playing endless games of spades late into the night and regaling us with stories of his homeland so distant to all. A good mechanic he was, keeping aged diesel engines in fine form, he seemed to make his way on and off duty without too much trouble. Mike then made the acquaintance of a mechanic we all knew as an odd ball character with a rubber face and shifty beady eyes he hid under the brim of his cap. He wasted little time trying to get Mike on his team. Mike came to me one night not long after he arrived, crying and so upset it took some time before I could get it outta him. This guy had sold him a couple of Mandrax tablets, a barbiturate type sedative drug called, clinical name methaqualone that was known back home as quaaludes or ludes… bad stuff. Take one you are a zombie, take any more than that and you are in big trouble. Mike faked that he’d swallowed them so he wouldn’t look like a ligtweight but spit them into his hands and came to me for help. I "sold" them back to his "new friend" in short order; got Mike’s cash back and I think Mr. Yuck the poison peddler got my meaning loud and clear when I explained to him his likely future if he did it again. Leave the kids alone, ya punk ass creep. Mike was safe for a while but I made yet another new adversary. They were starting to add up. Mike did alright for awhile, he was a solid worker at the pool and he began to make new friends away from our group; moving in different circles than I but as roommates we still remained good friends. Another new face arrived in the barracks and as he was a transplant from an up-country unit, he immediately was suspected as a CID – that mysterious entity known formally as the U.S. Army Criminal Investigation Division. The rumors drifting down the long halls were always news of probably plants amongst us, most had nothing to fear as we stayed on the low side of law-breaking; drinking too much was the norm but the all-too-occasional bowl of hash was frowned on. Since piss tests for THC had yet to come online, if you stayed clear of anything harder you had little to worry about unless you were stupid enough to get caught holding. The new guy ended up in my room and turned out to be very cool and very laid-back and soon was a close friend. The nest was full, Mike, Mr. Jimmy and a guy who lay in his bunk whenever he could, reading comics, dime novels and sleeping. Mr. Excitement he was. The best way to make the time go by was to fall into the groove of the daily grind. Do you job, stay clear of riling up the NCO’s, and get outta of Dodge whenever possible. Money was always tight; the basics – food, water, uniforms and a bunk – was supplied but off-post activities cost big. Concerts were the thing to do back then; major rock groups from America and England were always playing somewhere. All you needed was the price of admission, enough for a round-trip train ticket and some spending money for food and wine. Pack your piece and pipe, grab your army issued sleeping bag and off you’d head on another adventure to places your buddies back home couldn’t begin to dream of. Our cameras capturing our antics as we wandered this magical place, wide-eyed, pie-eyed, laughing…man, those were some good times. Mr. Jimmy and I fell in love with Amsterdam. A four-day weekend was just enough time to grab a train and go see the Dutch. Ahhh… long days wandering the narrow streets, along canals, taking in the sights and sounds of the real Disney World. This was an open place, between the art museums, the storefront whores, the cafes and nightclubs; our heads were filled with the world. At night we threw the sleeping bags wherever we could, retrieved from a rented locker at the train station, too tired to walk any further, the center median of the main highway would do just fine. We liked it so well we later returned for a week-long stay but managed to find $4.00 a day accommodations at the Hotel John DeWitt. This was by far better than roadside camping in the rain. One of the local places in Karlsruhe we frequented was called The Piccadilly Bar or just "the Pic" for short. It was a few blocks south of the No. 2 stassenbahn stop along the Kaiserstrasse, just get off at the Pyramid (part monument – part toilet in the basement – oh that German efficiency), along narrow streets and there it was. The German equivalent to the rock-n-roll clubs back home. The music was hard core rock, Bad Company, the Stones, Pink Floyd, Uriah Heap… on and on and on. The owner served it up fresh and loud, backed by mind-blowing colored strobe lights, all washed down with cold German beers at reasonable prices. He knew the bait that’d bring in the GI’s. Plenty of pretty young local girls floated around the place to give us something to hope for. The bathroom of The Piccadilly Bar was obscene. A nasty room always packed with guy’s unloading rented brew, a dirty toilet behind a painted plywood partition but the real business was done at a simple black painted wall that drained to a trash filled trough along the bottom. Not a place one would hang around very long but there were always those that had too. Business was business regardless of location and this is where the deals were done. I usually slipped out the front door and into a nearby alley rather than go in there; the stench would make a stronger man than I drop to one knee. Some knew, most didn’t, that this place was under constant surveillance. That guy in the booth across the room alone. That car parked just up the street in the shadows or that guy who stared a little too long at you as he passed by on the sidewalk out front, maybe in one of the hundreds of windows that looked down onto the street in front of the bar. I didn’t know nor did I really care because all they could have ever grabbed me for was being dressed like a fool and drunk as a skunk. What went on inside the Pic was other peoples concern; I was there for the atmosphere, nothing else. Many of the crew I knew had advanced beyond just smoking and drinking away their brains; they had graduated to the hard stuff and now needed to visit the Pic for medicinal purposes on a regular basis. I don’t know what swayed them to the dark side, bored probably. Lord knows we often were bored stiff, especially months end when the money ran out and spades started to really suck. These guys would go downtown more often now, weeknights that had them looking sorry and thick-headed at morning formation. That’ll get you noticed and that mean trouble. They were still friends but dropping notches on the closeness scale. You have to watch it when your friends are desperate; no one is off-limits to their needs. People wander in and out of your comfort zone. The times they are a’ changing. I was never a weekday guy; Friday and Saturday nights were enough for my needs. I never even was tempted to try the hard stuff; heroin was this evil thing I’d heard about since my teenage years back home in the safety of my neighborhood. We saw films about it in health class and the brothers would shoot us the evil eye if we even asked questions. That was what junkies used, off my menu and off my radar. Therefore, as one of the few relatively still clear-thinking of the group as those evenings at the Pic wore on, I assumed the responsibility of collecting wallets from those wasted beyond coherence. Getting beers for them as they melted into the corners of their booths and at closing time I would mother-hen them back towards the strassenbahn stop in time to catch the last train home. A mighty long walk on a cold night when all you wanted to do was crawl up in a doorway and sleep. War, any war, is hell and sometimes peacetime ain’t all that good. You just do what needs doing and move forward. This is where it gets bad. One Saturday night Mr. Jimmy and I were downtown early, hanging with the other GI’s and Germans, some we knew and some we didn’t, along the street in front of the Pic. The spring weather was warm and clear, a beautiful night to pass the time playing frisbee while killing the time before the doors opened for the evening. I recognized only a few of the other guys I saw arriving and biding their time. Not friends but familiar faces among many unknowns from other battalions and bases in the area. Jimmy and I were throwing that disk like a couple of pros, back and forth endlessly, trying to see how many times we could catch it without a drop. Simple things occupy simple people. Sipping bottled beer hid in a nearby doorway, the day was fine for being young and alive. Little did we know just how soon we'd learn we could be so wrong. The heavy wooden outside doors swung open and were locked against the walls. The owner looked at the scattered crowd of customers he’d attracted already, some like us off down the street occupied with other things but soon to make our way there, the rest lined up like homeless at a food kitchen. Yeah, they were hungry alright, dinner is served! Jimmy started to move as if he was ready to get along towards the door but we’d hit our highest number yet on the Frisbee scale and I wanted to see how far we could get. The Pic wasn’t going anywhere and the night was barely upon us. The mix that flowed in behind the owner as he led them into the dark gloom were mostly American soldiers, short hair and civilian dress, easy to spot to the trained eye. Long-haired German guys, looking like we wish we could, into the hard rock scene the Pic offered. A scattered few were dark-skinned males, Turks, members of the expanding ranks of foreign guest workers imported to fill the need for an economy that had been stripped bare of their male population during WWII. They did the crap jobs that the Germans didn’t want to do; they were decent people as far as I knew and I knew little. Workers don’t always want to remain at the bottom and soon some of them started businesses to improve their lot in life; businesses both legal and otherwise. Our Turks there at the door were of the latter. They were the suppliers of what the GI’s wanted. They were dealers who arrived nightly to meet with the needy in the alleys and bathrooms, trading cash for slow death by needle. Eventually we broke our streak of throw and catch; there was still plenty of light out but Jim wanted a fresh beer, we could already hear the tunes pounding every time the inner doors opened and I was OK with moving into the place before all the booths were taken. We gathered up our empties and other stuff and started crossing the street to the front when things went bad, real bad. Two guys came out with a third guy dragging toes down, his arms held over their shoulders, his head hung down, looking like he’d been shot or stabbed. The guys dragged him across the street and laid him on his back, none too gently as they were loaded themselves. Jimmy and I ran over to check things out and when I got down close I saw a dead man. His color was light blue faded jeans, the skin on his face pale and waxy and he was not breathing, eyes rolled up like shades. I started CPR, or at least what I could remember of what the Army had taught me, his buddies kept pulling me back off him saying all he needed was air. But what he needed was no longer available on this earth. I got up and his buddies lifted him back to their shoulders and away they went, to the corner and back toward Kaiserstrasse saying they were going to dunk him in Mandrax Fountain. The cute name for a local ornamental statue where GI’s would drink filthy water to get their pills down. I turned to Jimmy and said "That guy is dead"… we both exchanged stunned looks but then we heard shouts behind us and turned to see a horrible reenactment of what just happened. Only this time it was two more guys getting dragged across the street by their friends like casualties pulled from a firefight. The guys carrying them were in a bad way and they dropped them several times before they laid them down on the opposite sidewalk. Same look hung around them as the first guy, dead is easy to spot, especially when the shun-up skin from the face-drops to the street weren’t shedding blood. The pump’s off, no deliveries today boys. I dropped down to them and did the CPR thing, another guy joined me but no amount of thumps to the chest or breathing into these guys was changing their status. I got up and stood beside Jimmy, stunned into silence at the sight of two dead human beings. Man, dead people aren’t like this… they are old and wrinkled and in a fancy box… what the hell…! My mind just could not wrap around this shit. Someone ran and told the bar owner, he came out swearing in German, knocking his way to where they lay. He was worried more about his future business than dead customers. Three bodies traceable to his establishment is just bad for business; the local authorities and the military frown upon these types of things, he was not a happy Herman. Jimmy and I just stood around talking how screwed up this all was. Someone said the dead guys just shot up back in the toilet at the Pic and just went down hard to the floor. They’d collapsed cold with the needles in their arms or managed to get out into the bar before they went down. "Musta been some good shit, man" someone said, "too pure." No one knew shit but everyone talking about it all at once. Panic and being scared shitless does that to people. Soon the strange ooh-aah-ooh-aah sound of German Polizei approaching from the distance could be heard; one after another the green and white souped-up VW’s roared up the street and slammed to a stop. The polizei swarmed the scene, handguns drawn, Uzi’s slung from their shoulders and they were asking fast questions to slow brains, blank faces. We knew how to order beer in German or ask for directions; no one knew how to explain dead bodies in German. Their guns were useless here, all the shooting was over; the bad guys were long gone, slipping out while the getting was good. We heard later that the word on the street was that the junk was laced with arsenic, instant death; the Turk’s were getting even for getting ripped off by some GI’s at an earlier deal. Payback’s hell, they didn’t care who they killed as long as they got even. No honor among the players in this business. The first dead guy returned to join his friends; the two guys still hauling him were all tore up, crying and frantic. The dead guy was toe up too, very badly; he’s been dropped many times and looked it. His face and arms were mangled, all the sharp corners knocked off. The cops grabbed him from his escorts and laid him alongside the other two. Three dead, young men, kids really, soldiers, side by side on a sunny day in a faraway place. This would be hard on somebody back home. An ambulance roared in, two white coated attendants hauled equipment to try and save them but it didn’t take long before they were shaking there heads and folding up shop; these guys needed a priest to ease their way. Jim and I spotted the MP’s as there jeeps careened around the corner down the street. Automatic reactions set off deep in our brains and we slowly slipped into the crowd; best to go unnoticed now. Time to be shuffling along now Mr. Jimmy… move along now, nothing more to see. We hung across the street watching the MP’s questioning the dead guy’s friends, the ones who hadn’t run off that is. Trouble was upon them and no amount of explaining was going to save them; they’d be frying soon. A German meat wagon arrived quietly, no hurry for this task; in typical display of German efficiency they quickly loaded up the nightmare. Not much was ever said about the deaths back on Gerszewski. When something this bad happens you’d expect to hear the after-the-fact rumblings but we heard nothing. We figured the guys who died were from a different kaserne as anything this bad happening to some troops from Gerszewski Barracks would have been big news. I don’t think the Pic’s business was very good after this… I can’t say for certain if it was posted off-limits to military personnel, some parts of this old brain are not what they used to be. I wonder why? Jimmy went home in mid-summer and I fell into the groove of a different crew and started counting the days until I too could start yelling "SHORT" for no good reason. My short-timers calendar was hung by the chimney with care and my last fall in Germany would soon set in with the crisp clear skies giving way to a wet gloomy shroud. I had my own room the most of my last year, a rare occurrence but I guess my nose was clean enough and my profile far enough under the radar to have been deemed "worthy" by my platoon sergeant. It was tight quarters but everything was mine and it was nice not having to clean up someone else’s bad habits. I watched the coming and goings of my former roommate Mike from Hawaii. He had fallen from grace rather quickly these past months with a series of Article 15’s pinned to his permanent record, all for drug related activities, always when he was with the bad boys who were riding the slide down with him. He was playing with heavy stuff these days and that bought him nothing but a foggy head and a bad attitude. Gone was the innocent 17 year old who barely shaved, the kid I had known, replaced now by cold soul with a hard edged craving and hollow eyes. He was less friendly to me these days as he knew I was not too keen on his recent history. Then one day in August Mike showed back up at the barracks in a bad way; under lockdown, confined to barracks with no civilian clothes and awaiting courts martial. Somewhere up north while on duty as TDY support, he’d crashed a contact truck, a heavy-duty mobile vehicle repair vehicle. He’d buried it into a tree at 50 MPH high as a kite on stink and other than a few cuts and bruises, he survived it well. His chances for surviving what now lie ahead of him was not so good. Mike had come to the end of his Army days. Sunday night I had taken a shower and was rearranging my looks in the latrine mirror when Mike walked in to say goodbye. Huh? "What the hell is this?" I said, dressed in forbidden civvies and talking shit. I refused to shake his offered hand and told him if he had AWOL on his mind he’d better rethink that real quick. No use digging that hole any deeper. He stared at me and then walked away without any further words. I didn’t do what I should have done and knocked him on his ass. Monday morning, the usual preparations before formation; take on a load of grease at the mess hall, clearing away up the wreckage of another lost weekend and getting the week jump started. Something bad hung in the air; the NCO’s were in a long meeting with the officers and left us alone with the morning duty roster. Then when they did emerge the solemn looks and quite talk among them was the tell; something had happened and it was real bad. I cornered my platoon sergeant and asked him what happened. He told me to mind my own business and get to work but rode him until he broke. Mike was dead. The offical version was announced at the end of formation. You could have heard a pin drop. Mike had gone downtown with some others from his crew and bought some heroin; and Mike was dead. That much was known for certain when the others with him were put under the lamps at the MP station; what occurred after that remained very hush-hush. I had heard that he’d shot a death-load and sealed his fate, suicide by injection. I had a hard time swallowing this but nothing made sense so I just kept moving through the daily routine, head down and numb. The guy who was with him when he did the deed, whatever it was, resurfaced a few days later, escorted under armed guard to his room and he and his possessions were never seen again. I imagine his fate was not good; the Mannheim Hilton and formal proceedings and who knows what. Mike went home in a box; a flag-draped coffin on a local hero’s hill and the wreckage of his grieving family. I wondered how they broke that news; it had to be tough on them. We had a religious memorial at the base Chapel and nothing was ever said again. As if he had never existed except in the minds of those who knew him. I learned many years later that he had hung himself from the boom of a crane at a construction site downtown. I had a hard time believing this, it seemed so weird that Mike could end his own life in such a violent way but I guess it really doesn’t matter anymore. One way or another, he took himself out. He still lives, right here, in a special place in my heart and mind. Time kept on slippin’ into the future - and after a three week visit by my younger brother and a road trip that will live in infamy, I was soon up against my ETS date – estimated time of separation from military service. Oh boy, oh boy, it couldn’t come any sooner; I’d had my fill and the re-enlistment spiel they gave me was half-hearted. They could see my answer in my eyes. I have made it; 30 months, 2 ½ years, good times and bad times and I was actually walking around with a clipboard in my hand and a smile from ear to ear. Out-processing is a rite of passage from that place. We’d always watched the fortunate depart from morning formation with envious hearts as they went to the various locations on the paperwork, getting the little stamps of A-OK so you couldn’t skip out on an overdue bill at the tailors or with an extra M-16 in your duffel bag. It was usually a smooth process well lubed by frequent stops at the snack bars, Gerszewski and Smiley, nothing to do but ride the duty bus back and forth in a haze. .(to be continued in two weeks) ….....................Captain Is Shafting Us, Majors Complain Field-Grade Army doctors blast admin officer for Mickey Mouse… Reprinted from the Karlsruhe – Officer doctors and enlisted medics at the 3d Gen Dis here in Smiley Barracks have joined together in a loud chorus of complaints about "repressive" conditions that are driving them nuts. In a bitch session with OW last week, fuming brass-hat types gathered round to stick it to one of their own – Capt John Montgomery, the sickbay admin officer. And while they were doing that, a group of medics from the nearby 761st Disp at Gerszewski Barracks wandered over to blow off some steam of their own. Things apparently ain’t too hot at Gerszewski either. But the biggest pain of them all, said the docs, is this guy Montgomery who, under the approving eye of CO Maj Harold Sanders, is acting like he’s got the authority to mess over doctors who outrank him. "I know it sounds incredible that majors are complaining about the actions of a captain," said one of the field-grade docs. "But this Montgomery is just impossible. I think this is the first time he’s ever had any authority and it has gone to his head. He delights in giving the doctors a hard tine. Sanders has given him most of the authority to control our leaves and passes and most of the time he is insufferable." (Montgomery is a member of the Medical Service Corps, the non-MD administrative wing of military medicine.) Doctors and medics unanimously agreed the root of the dispensary’s problem is a leadership vacuum. "Major Sanders is not really a bad guy," said one physician, "and I don’t think anyone has anything against him professionally or personally. But he’s not a leader. He has abdicated his leadership to Montgomery and Montgomery has run wild with it." Among other things that make the docs and their medic underlings mad is that Sanders and Montgomery seem to consider the welfare of EM secondary to the advancement of their careers. "They never think of counseling a guy who steps out of line," fumed a doctor. "Their first reaction always is punitive measures." Over at the 761st, where Maj Clovus Mayhall holds the reigns, things are just as bad, claim the docs. They described Mayhall as "an extremely rigid and unbending person who can’t stand to be opposed. He makes life hell for the EM who must work for him." At one time several doctors walked out and refused to see patients because they resented the fact that Mayhall wasn’t carrying his share of the workload. "Then Mayhall had the gall to threaten them with courts martial," said a major. "He said that they were mutinying against him. Hell, they were all the same rank." "It used to be a joy to work around here," said a major at the 3d. "There was no antagonism, everybody cooperated and many of us put in extra hours just because we wanted to do a good job. Then Montgomery came in and started playing his games and shot it all to hell. Nobody gives a damn anymore. Morale is ruined. The medics don’t hump like before and I don’t blame them." Last week an incident occurred that seemed to medics and docs alike to be the last straw. A popular guy named Sp5 Tommie Parker got into a minor flap with Montgomery and before he knew it, Montgomery had called the cops to haul him away. What was the flap about? Montgomery had heard that Parker was badmouthing Sanders for failing to stick up for the troops. Parker told him to mind his own business. "It was really laughable," said Parker. "The MPs came and got me from the motor pool and took me to the station. When Montgomery got there he was yelling "I want that man arrested for insubordination and disrespect." "The MPs looked at him like he was crazy. They told him it was a company matter and there wasn’t anything to hold me on." At press time no charges had been filed against Parker. Montgomery declined to comment on the incident. "I think in the interests of justice and in fairness to Parker I shouldn’t divulge anything. However, I have two statements from witnesses that I think will stand up in any court." The captain said he didn’t want to talk about the other allegations. OW contacted Major Sanders and asked his reaction to the incident. "Parker would like everyone to believe that he is being mistreated," said the major. "The fact is he was becoming more and more difficult and when someone finally asked him to do his job he reacted in an unacceptable way. This isn’t the first trouble we’ve had with Parker. Sometimes he doesn’t do his job very well." But this is seemingly belied by two letters of commendation written for Parker in the last four months – both signed by Sanders himself. Both note that Parker worked "diligently and enthusiastically" and demonstrated "a keen desire to provide the highest caliber service to the command." One of those letters glowingly recommends Parker for promotion. The Sp5 also holds a Certificate of Achievement for saving the life of a man at a Karlsruhe pool with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. "I’m no angel," Parker admits. "I’ve even spent time in Leavenworth for AWOL. But I think I’ve come back a long way to make Sp5 after that. Montgomery had no reason to arrest me." Did Sanders agree with the general opinion of Montgomery? "No, I think Captain Montgomery is a very fine officer. I think the problems are elsewhere. We are having to transfer one doctor (Maj. Henry Berman) because of poor performance and another of our doctors, who is leaving the service, has his problems, too." "How can anybody be so blind?" wondered one medic. "They’re transferring Doctor Berman because he stood up for the troops. And the problem is Montgomery. He just doesn’t know how to handle people." Maj. Mayhall is currently on leave and unavailable for comment. -------------------------------- |
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DOUBLE FEATURE: Uncle Charlie says....You Can't do that! & I Remember Mama | ||
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(For those of you who do not know who Uncle Charlie is, he's First Sergeant Charles Martin at the 3rd General Dispensary who replaced Sergeant William Gill in 1969. His favorite expression was - "You can't do that!) Uncle Charlie says…"You can’t do that" ….Once upon a time, Dennis "Brad" Bradley had really LONG sideburns and a mustache that extended beyond the corners of his mouth. SGT. Martin said "You can’t do that". After being told at least three times, Brad decided that he had had enough and trimmed his sideburns back at least 1" completely around each ear and cut his mustache into a "Hitler" type mustache. Do you know what SGT. Martin said when he saw Brad? Yes that’s right, he said to Brad "You can’t do that". How many of you remember this? Uncle Charlie says……. "You can’t DO THAT"…Then there was the time,…… that Jim "JT" Tapee and Michael Dryver were returning from Heidelberg on a laundry run. Well the "cracker box" that they were driving broke down on the autobahn, and "JT" and Michael had to hitch-hike back to Smiley Barracks. They finally arrived and went upstairs to see SGT. Martin in the Orderly Room to let him know what had happened and that someone had to get the ambulance towed backed to the barracks. Well, SGT. Martin said to them "You can’t do that". Meaning that they couldn’t leave the ambulance by itself. Michael turned and looked at "JT" and said, "Do you hear that Tapee, we can’t do that". Wasn’t SGT. Martin great to have fun with. Uncle Charlie says "You can’t do that" …………This is one time that SGT. Martin was speechless and couldn’t even say "You can’t do that". We were having some sort of inspection in the barracks. This was when "the band" was still on the first floor and Jim "JT" Tapee, Bob Bergrab, Rodney Johnson, and Paul Strauser were in the same room. Well, the overhead light in the room was entirely to bright for us at night. One of us thought that if we spray painted the inside of the light shade blue we would get just the right amount of light we wanted. It worked really well, so well that hardly any light came out of the shade. Anyway………………..….. back to the inspection. We are standing (at attention?) at the end of our bunks with the light on and shinning a very, very dim blue when in walks 2 LT. Montgomery and right behind him is SGT. Martin. Montgomery tells SGT. Martin to "turn on" the light and when SGT. Martin flips the light switch he really is turning the light off. Both Montgomery and SGT. Martin do a quick double take looking up at the overhead light as we can barely keep from busting out laughing. SGT. Martin keeps flipping the switch trying to get the light to come on. Montgomery says "Get that fixed SGT. Martin". All SGT. Martin could say was "Yes sir". Uncle Charlie says……"YOU CAN’T DO THAT" as told by Darrel Manning. Here is one of my experiences with the illustrious Sgt. Martin who was always adding a little color to the situation. It was an early spring day and I was given the detail of mowing the lawn out in front of the dispensary. This was the picnic grounds between the dispensary and the MPs holdout when several urchins about 8 to 9 years old, friends of mine from the fellowship I attended and as all little kids want to do, they wanted to help. So for pennies on the dollar I hired them to push the mower while I enjoyed laying down on the grass in the sunshine. I was just getting into the enjoyment phase when I heard the window slide open up on the second story Orderly Room and out came the infamous cry "Mannins, you can’t do that." I said "What’s wrong with laying on the grass?" and Sgt. Martin replied, "Not the grass, but you can’t make the little kids push the mower." And I yelled back that I wasn’t making them push the mower that they really wanted to do it. And the good ole sarge yelled back to stop talking and push the mower which I dutifully did. I have greatly enjoyed the refresher course on the 3rd General. I could have by passed the military but I have certainly enjoyed the living and the reliving of the 3rd General experience. As my dad who was a major in the 2nd world war stationed in France and Germany use to ask me: "When are you going to try out the military?" Well, I kind of liked our form of military. When I was still working in the Orderly Room, many times Sgt. Martin would look at me and roll his eyes as he answered questions from 2LT. "Wrongway Peachfuzz" Montgomery saying "You can’t do that." ……….and just how did The ARM PIT get its name? All right already. Some of you may remember that I replaced a Sergeant Rainey in the Orderly Room in March 1968. For some reason he had a letter ink stamp kit which was missing a few letters. Had kept this stamp kit in the middle desk drawer just in case I should ever need it for some reason. When Dr. Lee "Whatever you think is best" Sanders became the Commanding Officer of the 3rd sometime after September 1969 was the reason for using this ink stamp set for the name of the newsletter that was going to be left lying around on certain desks. Playing with the letters, I was trying to make a name, maybe starting with ARMY but was missing the letter "Y". Kept shifting the letters around – RAM TIP, no – no – no. But the conditions really, really stink around here now at the 3rd. AH! ARM PIT, that’s it! The ARM PIT was used for the name of that rag that was left so that those creating all the problems for the EM’s could read it. Poor Sergeant Charles "You can’t do that" Martin, he just wanted to get his thirty years in without any trouble and now he was caught in the middle of this tug of war. Conditions between the EM’s and Dr. Sanders (The man who didn’t want to be the CO), "Mama" Cash (Who really thought she was the CO), and 2LT. "Wrong-Way Peach Fuzz" Montgomery (The Turd) kept deteriorating the more they kept pushing. Knew that I had something when Martin called a meeting one-day (how many of you were there and remember that?) and said, "There is something being left around called The ARM PIT. You can’t do that." Well all of a sudden The ARM PIT became legit since it was a thorn in their sides. Copies were always left on various desks, in the snack bar, sent to Heidelberg, Mannheim, and Frankfurt. The PIT was even mailed to Berlin, state side, and Vietnam. Just think, if they had not said anything about that first issue then, you probably would not be reading this now. "I REMEMBER MAMA" (following is a reprint from the November 26, 1969 issue of The ARM PIT) CASH AND MRS. MAURIZI TANGLE! Mama Takes Care of Everyone! Mama Cash isn’t satisfied with just taking care of her troopy friends, she also wants to take care of YOUR wife. This late report just in to our newsroom states that Mama and Mrs. Maurizi were involved in a bitter dispute yesterday morning. We won’t go into details but our main point is the humiliation that Mrs. Maurizi received from Mama in front of other people. This is Mama’s number one problem right now, she just goes off the handle yelling at you in front of a sell out crowd at Shea Stadium if she thinks you are wrong. When she finds out that you may be right (which is nine out of ten times, but only one out of ten times in Mama’s eyes) she doesn’t shout out to the world that she made a mistake like she broadcasts your mistake. Everyone makes a mistake, to correct them is one thing, but to stomp them into the ground is another. Mrs. Maurizi WILL be seeing Dr. Sanders, but since he is to mild manner to do anything, she will keep going to the IG. ----------------- as printed in The ARM PIT, Vol. I - #9, Nov 26, 1969........ Mama Cash got down on Jimmy Roger yesterday because he wasn’t notified about the alert. It has been the CQs responsibility to notify personnel living off base without a telephone for a few years now, but according to Mama it all has been changed – not in writing however but by her. Poor old Jimmy had to take a pill to settle his nerves.----------------- Major "Mama" Cash did one good thing while she was stationed at the 3rd General Dispensary. No, she didn’t let her hair down. She played Cupid. Listen to this. A civilian nurse from England named Rose started working at the 3rd in April 1970 and her VW bug was not running right for her to get to work at the 3rd. Major Cash "ordered" Bob Bergrab, Lab Tech from July 1969 to February 1971, to go over to her apartment and fix the bug. Well I guess you can say that Bob fixed the love bug for Rose who became Mrs. Bergrab. Rose worked at the 3rd until December 1970. Bob and Rose have been married for over thirty years and reside in Dunnellon, Florida. -------------------- Another tale of the unbelievable happened when Mama Cash jumped all over SP5 James Young one day in November 1969 for not, now listen to this, turning over the page on Dr. Berman’s desk calendar. While Mama was yelling at Jim he couldn’t say a word as Mama kept up her nonstop verbal assault. Finally he had a chance to say something when Mama stopped to breath, Jim blurted out "But Major Cash, it’s a 1968 calendar!" ------------------- Mama Cash really had it in for Major Cohen. One day they got into some kind of argument and she said "No one around here likes you Major Cohen." He said, "No, you’ve got it wrong, YOU are the person no one likes." Mama Cash said, "Name two people who don’t like me." Dr. Cohen answered - "Name two people." ------------------- from Dr. Henry "Major" Berman: At one point, strange things started to happen at Smiley. Personal items I had on my desk would disappear or be broken when I came in to the dispensary in the morning. There was something about what was going on that made me and others believe that Mama Cash was doing it. Then it turned out there was a weird medic who was doing it hoping that I would accuse her, which would cause a lot of excitement, and make him happy. Don’t remember his name – maybe you do. (The ARM PIT – Gee Doc, don’t know who it was. ALL of the medics then were weird!) | ||
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