After that drinking episode I continued to go out with my friends, but I never got that messed up ever again.
Not to long after that came the only racial incident we had. We had on black member of the battery that tended to stir things up, but of course I can’t say the radical white guys let anyone have any slack either. I sat in my room one evening at my makeshift desk writing a letter to Julie and I kept hearing voices outside my door. It was the black guy and his little horde of imps talking about rumbling with someone else and I got up and peeked out my door. They were gathered by the door to the office area, so going and calling for help was out of the question. I was whitey, and they looked at me like I was their next meal, but as I turned to go into my room I saw a group of white guys at the other end of the hallway from me and they looked as threatening, so I shut my door. I wasn’t into causing trouble. I was looking to make it through this man’s Army and going back home without big red marks in my 201 folder. So I sat at my desk and the words got louder and more profane. Name calling and sabre rattling went on for about fifteen to twenty minutes and then the Charge of Quarters came to the door and gave a warning that the MP’s were on the way and they were to disperse. Well, they didn’t until the MP’s came to the front entrance, which was right next to my room and they handled the situation.
The next morning I came in to the office and the First Sergeant called me to his office and instructed me to go to the compound and get a three quarter ton truck and bring it back up to the office. I did and by the time I got back I found this particular black soldier was in the office with two armed escorts. I was given orders to drive this soldier to another unit about fifty miles away where he would be their problem. So my escorts got into the back with this soldier and I had a ride along up front with me just in case and we drove him out, dropped him off and came back.
It’s surprising out much trouble one person can stir up. After he was transferred we never had another incident of any kind. I’m not taking up for the white guys. They were just as much at contributing to the incident, but it wasn’t my decision to make. The First Sergeant called it and I followed orders.
There’s one thing about my First Sergeant that I need to mention here. In the time I was under this man, he was an old school First Sergeant, but he went out of his way to teach me. I would suppose that would be a part of being who he was. He told me that being a legal clerk required I know the Army Regulations or AR’s from front to back. He would come to my office where they were kept and would take time to go through them and show me where certain categories of reg are where. My specialty fell in the legal regs and I got a chance to learn them well. I could do Article 15’s without thinking. All I needed to know was the punishment. Article 15’s were non-judicial and were handed out quite frequently for guys not being where they were supposed to be when assigned, or starting a fight or some other minor infraction.
As things would have it. The day came when our Commanding Officer, who I hardly ever saw transferred out. It was very unceremonious. I thought we’d have some passing of the flag from one to another in front of a formation or something, but it didn’t happen.
Our new Captain came in one morning and introduced himself. His name was Jerry Jones. I remember it well, because we spend many a day talking about him being a helicopter pilot. He would tell me stories about going out in squadrons and coming back as the only one or two of that squadron left from enemy fire in Viet Nam. He was really a great guy to be around and was always available.
About this time we also lost our First Sergeant. I was sad to see him go. We got his replacement in pretty quick, but he wasn’t nearly the soldier. It turns out he had a record of drinking pretty heavily and had been flagged to never get a security clearance above Confidential. About most anyone can get that level. It was a pity. This guy was a card, too. Listening to him tell stories led you to believe that half of what he said wasn’t good enough to hold water. He once told me a story about how they would kill so many gooks that had to have a front end load to put them in dump trucks to haul them off. Well, that’s possible. . .maybe. But when he got to the story about being able to fast draw a .45 from a flap holster faster than a guy could draw a western side arm from a western holster I knew I was in trouble if I believed that.
At this same time we gained a butter bar. That’s fresh faced Lieutenant from Officer’s Candidate School. He fit the bill of a modern day computer geek. He walked with that slightly bent forward posture. He was a bit buck toothed, which lent to a goofy sort of facial expression. But we could depend on him taking care of numbers and stuff like that. He was smart. I had to give him that. But so far as being someone I’d depend on to be on my side in a fox hole, I’d give up and surrender.
We had a Sergeant First Class (SFC) who roomed alone down the hallway from me who was a drunk. He was a soldier first, but when he was off duty, he was plastered more than sober. We had another older Sergeant First Class who would fill in during the absence of the First Sergeant.
Actually there’s a story that occurred during the time between First Sergeants when the SFC was in charge. The battalion commander came through one day and Ed and I had moved our office over one so we were next to the front door and the entrance to the office area from the hallway entrance. As you would come in the front door you come into the main hallway to the left and to the right was a half-door to our office area. Entering here back to the right or front of the building was Ed’s and my office. To the left was the First Sergeant’s office. The only way to the Battery Commander’s office was through a door in the First Sergeant’s office. The office next to Ed’s and mine was the XO’s and the new butter bar. Then there was a door to the downstairs to the doc’s sick call and pill room. Next to his room was the mail room and the Training NCO’s office. Well, I took a rabbit trail, but that said, when the battalion commander, the Lt Colonel who promoted me to Spec 4, came into our office we stood according to military protocol and we spoke briefly. He then turned to go to the First Sergeant’s office and at the door to our area stood a Private. He was a young overweight black cook. He kind of reminded me of Rerun from the old TV program “What’s Happening”. Well, there he stood and the LtCol turned to him and saw him there and asked him how long had he been in the Army. The young man said something like two years. The LtCol looked a bit wide-eyed upon the answer and seeing his rank as a Private. About this time the SFC came out of the office and heard the conversation. Then the LtCol turned to the SFC and said this man needed to be promoted from E-2 to E-3 or Private First Class. The SFC looked at me and said to type up the promotion orders. So, I did and the young man went out and got his new insignia with the rocker on the bottom of that crow’s foot.
Fast forward a couple of weeks this young man thought to try his wings, so he comes to the half door and called me. See, no one was allowed behind the door to the office area without permission. Well, I answered him and he demanded to see the SFC. I knew the SFC was in his office, but I also knew he was busy. So, I told him to come back in ten or fifteen minutes. He looked at me indignantly and repeated he wanted to see the SFC and now. I told him to stand down and back away from the door. He refused and got angry. I told him then my orders were to step back and he again refused. About that time the SFC had had enough and simply stuck his head out of his office door and said “Write him up for an Article 15 for disobeying a direct order and demote him to Private”. So goes the life of a soldier who doesn’t obey orders. Our young man humbly remained a Private the rest of his stay.
Our office area could be a place of adventure at times. This little incident didn’t compare to another one. Let me preface this incident with a little history.
We had two very young men only eighteen or nineteen years old. Both had been signed up with their parent’s permission at seventeen. Both had already been to Viet Nam. You see, Hawk units were deployable to Viet Nam. These missiles were anti-aircraft missiles, unlike the one I was trained for. Well, these young men were true dope heads. Uppers, downers, hashish, you name it, they had it. They were like Laurel and Hardy. One was heavy set and the other was a skinny little guy.
We had a Sergeant (E-5) that was a Panamanian. He was a great guy. The thing I couldn’t understand is this guy had been stationed in this battery for about ten years and wasn’t interested in going anywhere. This introduction is to set up this one thing. I was visiting these two guys one evening and the Hardy side of the duo was shaving down a block of hash on a comic book while I talked to him so he could smoke it. I think I was looking for an album he had I wanted to record or something. I stayed away from drugs and you’ll see why here as you read. The Sergeant came to the door, knocked and came in without a word from anyone in the room. He was Charge of Quarters, so he could do pretty much what he wanted. Anyway there was a scurrying to cover the drugs. My heart beat hard and fast for a few minutes. I was in a position of being an accessory at the very least.
Okay, I know you must be saying something like when am I going to tell about this incident for crying out loud. Well, I had to tell this to set up the incident.
Laurel and Hardy had been off one day and they’d been in their room most of the day hitting downers and smoking dope. At the end of the day the Sergeant was Charge of Quarters this particular day and was reporting on for the night. I was in my office and the First Sergeant was about to leave and the Captain was about out the door, too. As all this winding down was going on Hardy boy comes to the half door and asked to see the First Sergeant. He was told by the Sergeant he had relieved the First Sergeant and he could talk to him. But ole Hardy boy wouldn’t accept that as an answer and said something nasty. That was not good. I could tell Hardy boy was high or better said “down”. The Sergeant had one of those quick Latin tempers and told him to step back. Well, Hardy boy did a bad thing. He pulled a knife out and told the Sergeant he was going to cut him. He should have known better. His judgment being what it was and his slow response netted him a face full of hallway wall, because the Sergeant opened the door stepped through and slammed him to “the position”. Hardy boy was smart enough, or is this something dumb, to reach in his pocket and take something out and put it in his mouth. As he did a piece of cellophane fell to the floor beside him. The sergeant frisked him and found nothing, but retrieved the cellophane. Oh, the knife had been long gone. The sergeant took it from his as he spun Hardy boy against the wall. I stepped up to the door with the First Sergeant and witnessed the incident. I was given the cellophane as evidence, being I was the legal clerk and told to call the MP’s, which I did.
During the waiting period I watched Hardy boy as he sat on the First Sergeant’s couch under guard. In those twenty minutes this young man turned to putty. He went weak and almost infantile. He was crying and almost limp. When the MP’s left they took him to a dispensary in Wurzburg for testing and then on to the brig.
After things calmed down and I left duty I changed into my civvies to go eat, but first I went to Hardy boy’s room and asked Laurel boy what he was taking. I was told he had been smoking hash all day and had been taking downers along with it and the contents of the cellophane was about an ounce of hash and about a half dozen downers. Hardy boy should have been about dead. I didn’t get the details but I imagine they pumped his stomach at the dispensary.
When this incident happened I ended up doing less than honorable discharges on both of these young men. Both their careers were gone. The rest of their lives were marked and neither of them was even twenty years old. Sad as it was.
