Another Memory Lane stroll

My very first memory of being in the Army was "GET UP OFF MY GAWDDAMNED GROUND, TROOP!"

I was drafted and inducted on 30 January 1969 at Fort Knox, Ky. The Vietnam war was still in full swing. I had debated about joining the Navy (4 years) figuring I wouldn't end up in the jungles of 'Nam at least. But at the last minute I decided the two year stint in the Army was worth the chance of being sent to Nam. My father was pretty taciturn, but loving, and I shall never forget when he took me to Winchester to catch the bus for Ft. Knox. That was the biggest and longest hug that we ever shared. I had been employed by GM in Dayton for four years.

Basic training is pretty much how you see it in the movies. Strict regimen, bullying, physically and mentally demanding, and lonely, but slowly it builds your self-confidence, your reliance upon others, your devotion to a cause, and finally a certain amount of pride in your ability to be a valuable member of a team. Our drill instructor (D.I.) seemed to be about five feet tall but I'm sure he was probably 5'5" or so. An onery little P____! He loved to get in the face of the big guys. The day after we arrived, we were running laps around the company and I ran until I COULD NOT run any more. I fell out and down and that's when I heard the above encouragement! And I was immediately up and off again -- son of a gun, I COULD still run some more! But we quickly learned to hate that little SOB! After a couple of weeks, whenever we went to the mess hall or to an "event" we had to carry someone our size piggy-back. And there WAS a guy my size! We came to be pretty close friends! He and I were appointed squad leaders (big) and were supposed to set examples so it put even more pressure on us. There was LOTS of running (Heartbreak Hill -- singing cadence while running is a real thrill -- makes you run a little straighter, hold your head a little higher, makes the blisters not hurt so bad, and makes you not want to quit after a while! Everyone should know that feeling), Lots of obstacle courses (some at night crawling through the mud under barbed wire with machine guns constantly chattering out their tracer rounds right above your head), rifle marksmanship, live grenade throwing, hand-to-hand combat (the pugil sticks were just MADE for the big guys!), how to use the bayonet and the garotte, climbing those rope nettings and towers, and others I don't remember. By the end of that eight weeks we felt like we were really soldiers (little did we know). And you know what? We LOVED that SOB drill instructor! I doubt there wasn't one person in our company who wouldn't do ANYTHING for that man. It was truly an amazing process. And he knew it and we suspected he felt the same way about us. That camaraderie was never to be duplicated again in my life. There is nothing like being in a military parade with bands blaring and family and friends watching to stir that patriotic fervor!

Unlike so many thousands of young men who were then sent to Vietnam to face death every day in the jungle, I was temporarily assigned to the brigade mail room. After three months of easy duty delivering mail on the post, the inevitable orders came sending me to Vietnam. I came home to Lexington on leave. I rode the bus and when I got to the depot in Lexington, I didn't have a DIME to call my parents to come and get me, so I had to walk from downtown about seven miles to home. I guess I was a pretty sad sight because of all the weight I had lost and the limp from a sprained ankle, and my uniform hanging loosely, because my mother cried and held me. I was twenty-three years old. We faced the inevitably of my going to Nam. But by some miracle, while I was home I received orders changing my assignment to Korea! One of the happiest days of my life. I have always suspected that my sergeant in the mail room, Hal Waldron, got the orders changed and perhaps some day I will find out.

The flight to Korea was filled with G.I.s and we had layovers in Anchorage and overnight in Tokyo before arriving in Seoul. There we boarded buses for 2nd Infantry Division HQ, Camp Howze on the DMZ. The bus ride was a shock. The entire countryside smelled like an outhouse. You tried to hold your breath but it didn't work. The stench was due to their practice of fertilizing their fields with human waste. It made you gag. Again, luck was with me because I was assigned to division HQ in personnel -- 2nd Admin Company. I think I made Sergeant (SP5) in the minimum 19 months. Life settled into a routine and there were no big complaints. I handled personnel records for a dozen or so companies, including promotions, and got along well. One of "my" companies was the MPs and I developed a relationship with the sergeants there that allowed me some liberties I would otherwise not have enjoyed.... We lived in quonset huts with fuel oil stoves and about 12 GIs to each. There was no running water so we had to trudge to the nearest latrine for necessities and showering and shaving. The coldest I remember it getting was 50 degrees below zero and there usually wasn't hot water. But we were all "in the same boat" and friendships were made easily. After a few weeks, we got used to the smell and didn't notice it. Our weekends were free and we visited Seoul often. There was a certain amount of rowdiness and Mary Jane was popular but there was no drug problem at all.

As with most things in Korea, the hundreds of buses were rather small. Whenever my buddy and I went to Seoul we rode the buses and they had ceiling vents with those little square crank-open covers. We would stand in the aisle and stick our heads up through those vents so they would be outside the bus! The Koreans thought that was uproariously funny - always provoked laughs and good will.

Mail from home was cherished. Cousin Phyllis Ann wrote often and I hope she knows how I enjoyed and appreciated her letters. Cameras were fairly cheap and everyone took tons of pictures. We bought fancy stereo equipment and I bought a 12 place setting of Noritake china that we still use today (but that is another story!). Mid-tour, I came home on leave and experienced the coldness of strangers toward GIs. I always suspected that people were ashamed of our involvement in Vietnam and GIs just reminded them of their antipathy toward the war. It hurt and angered GIs and we developed a kind of contempt for those who ignored us, or worse. But in the long run, I suspect it put a chip on our shoulders, or worse. We became very defensive about our time in the service. And that can still today border, with some, upon being belligerent or rebellious. Through no fault of our own, we weren't treated as "returning heroes" like all the other GIs in every other conflict. But enough....

Although we were on the DMZ, there was very little "excitement". Frequently, we were on alert because North Korean infiltrators had sneaked across, but there was no real threat where I was stationed. If you have an interest, see the Picasa link at the bottom of this blog for pics from Korea. Relationships were close and arguments very rare.

I extended my duty tour by two months in order to get an "early out" upon returning to the States. So I spent a total of twenty-one months in the Army. I was discharged on October 10, 1970. I had it easy. Not like the GIs in Vietnam.

The most shocking and memorable thing that happened to me in Korea happened one night when I was preparing to pull guard duty and stopped in the little Korean snack bar. Long story, but.... There stood Anne with her husband whom I saw every day with no idea who his wife was. She was pregnant and had been working and living on base in Seoul and was returning home the next day to Michigan! I hadn't seen an American girl in 6 months! And there she was halfway around the world on the DMZ married to a fellow GI! We exchanged a brief conversation and she was gone. And thus began my years of discontent. They lasted twenty-eight years.