Proud of What I Was — a Soldier

By Richard Dan Hill

Anyone who ever served in the military can tell a similar story. The circumstances change and the names are different, but when you deal with young soldiers anything is probable. Hill tells the reader about many of these young men and women in some very funny situations. He also details what it is like to be the commander of a unit with 200 or more of these soldiers, in peacetime and in war. In telling the story of his long and varied career, he offers some real leadership gems that carry over to industry. As one observer quipped, every Lieutenant should read this book before spending a day with troops; he will either resign his commission or stay in the military until they kick him out.
The author refers to the family members of military members as the real heroes in the military. You will gain a whole new appreciation of what it is like to be an Army spouse. Hill and his wife, Carla, moved 16 times during his 24 year career. Once children came along, it meant new adventures, along with new schools and new friends. The term
Army Brat is worn with pride, but it is a title that is hard earned. One knows that military families are nomads, but the author explains how assignments happen and the consequences of decisions on careers and promotion. He tells the reader about dealing with the ubiquitous assignment offi cer. The citizen who has never been around the military will learn a great deal about the inner workings of the career Army Officer and those who support them. You will laugh out loud at some of these tales and cry when you learn about the sacrifices these soldiers and the families make. You will swell with pride when you hear how some of these men respond from unspeakable adversity. Hill is unabashedly proud of all veterans and as the title states, he is proud of his many years of serviceHe is Proud of What he wasA soldier.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465395566

Richard Dan Hill

Richard Dan Hill was born and reared in Big Stone Gap, Virginia, a small town in the mountains of Southwestern Virginia. He was the youngest of nine children. His father died when he was just six weeks old and his mother died when he was thirteen. After graduating High School, he moved to Kentucky to attend Georgetown College a small liberal arts school where he majored in History and Political Science. His Army career began in June 1967 shortly after graduation. From Private he rose in rank to retire in 1991 as a Lieutenant Colonel. He has been married to his college sweetheart since 1968. Carla took on the role of Army wife and companion for a career that took them around the world over the next quarter century. Dan and Carla have two children and four grandchildren. LTC Hill retired to Gwynn’s Island, Virginia in the Chesapeake Bay in 2007 after retiring from industry. He now spends his time working with the local Rescue Squad and fishing and hunting.

Book preview

Proud of What

I was… A Soldier

The story of one soldier’s career in the

United States Army And the people

he met along the way

By

Richard Dan Hill

Lieutenant Colonel (Retired) U.S. Army

Copyright © 2011 by Richard Dan Hill.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011960442

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4653-9555-9

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4653-9554-2

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4653-9556-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

In The Beginning

Into the Crucible

The Next Chapter Begins

On to Germany

My First Command

Viet Nam, the First Half

Vietnam—The Next Stage

The Education Phase

Into a Whole ’Nother World

Back to Fort Eustis… Again

River Rats Again

On to California and the Corps

The Land of the Morning Calm

On to Georgia

Back to Fort Belvoir

Back To Germany

Defense Depot Richmond

One Last Job

Retirement

The Toughest Job in the Army

Searching for a New Career

Final Thoughts

George L. Skypeck

Glossary Of Terms

This is dedicated to the following:

To those soldiers with whom I was privileged to serve

Especially First Sergeant Callaso, First Sergeant Balicky,

and First Sergeant Uster

and all other non-commissioned officers.

You made me better than I ever believed possible.

To SGT Mark Shannon, USA

25th Division and 82nd Airborne Division

Combat Engineer

Veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan

One of the New Breed of Soldiers still serving

To Carla Tabor Hill

the perfect Army Wife

your constant support made this possible

And

To Heather and Mike

Army brats extraordinaire

The kids that never had a hometown

I was that which others did not want to be. I went

where others feared to go and did what others failed to do. I asked nothing from those who gave nothing, and reluctantly accepted the thought of eternal loneliness should I fail. I have seen the face of terror, felt the stinging cold of fear, and enjoyed the sweet taste of a moment’s love. I have cried, pained, and hoped, but most of all, I have lived times others would say were best forgotten. At least someday, I will be able to say that I was proud of what I was… A Soldier.

Copyright,George L. Skypeck, ®™, allRights reserved

I was given this on a plaque by a World War II veteran when I was assigned to the Defense Logistics Agency, Marietta, Georgia in 1983. He brought it to me one day and told me that he wanted me to have it, he said, Even though you are an officer, you are a real soldier. He and I had talked at some length about his experiences during his time of service and the officers he had served with. Based on his comments, I think I understand his thoughts behind the presentation. He was proud of his years in the Army and his service in General Patton’s Third Army in their race across Europe in 1944 and 1945. I certainly understand the words in this little document as does anyone who served in the military during the 1960’s. Those times were difficult for those of us in uniform. Those of us who were in the military in the 1960s know well the turbulence of the time and the hatred of all things military that was prevalent. I have often read it and thought back of those years when the military was my life. Some forty years later, I can still hold my head high and say, I was proud that I was a soldier.

Military service is a noble profession, regardless of rank. It is clearly not for all; it requires sacrifice and dedication of the soldier and the family who loves him. Separations for extended periods are common. Danger even in peacetime is ever present. But service to one’s country and to one’s fellow man is priceless. The bonds established with other veterans are beyond measure and never die.

My father served in the 30th Infantry Division in France in World War I. I was also fortunate to be the youngest of seven male siblings of which six were in the military at some point of their lives. Of the six, one spent over thirty years in the Marine Corps, another was a twenty year veteran of the Navy, and another spent four years in the Navy during World War II and then another 24 in the Army reserves. My closest brother was in the Air Force for eight years. My two sisters both married veterans, and my brother Charles during his Navy career while serving with the Fleet Marines, met and married a young lady who happened to be a Marine Corps Sergeant. So all of my life, I was surrounded by people who proudly served their country and set the kind of example that made it easy for me to gladly join when my time came. I also listened to numerous stories about their experiences during their service. Not war stories as such, but humorous stories about the people they met and the experiences they had. I experienced many similar situations just like them and loved to recall some of the events and people who made the military so very special.

In the almost twenty five years that I wore the uniform of the United States Army, I was privileged to serve with thousands of my fellow citizens and it is with fond memories that I remember so many so clearly. Unfortunately, some are remembered clearly because of things that they did and those events are not remembered quite so fondly. For a young soldier to make a mistake is not uncommon, but some make mistakes that are criminal and sadly they remain more clearly in one’s mind than the guys who did their job without fanfare. The military reflects society, which means that soldiers bring all aspects of that society with them. They are good, bad, brilliant, stupid, black, white, brown, male, female, Southern, Northern, racist, compassionate, and every other aspect that one would find in any small town or large city in America. Yet for the most part, this vastly diverse group comes together as part of a team that is depended upon to guard this country from the many perils around the world and those within our borders. The threat has changed since I first took the oath in June 1967, and certainly changed more since I retired and hung up my uniform in 1991, but the soldiers who serve today are still reflective of what is best in our society.

Anyone who dedicates his life to military service is often asked Why do you serve or why does one stay in for so many years? It is my intention in this book to explain why I made that career choice. You will understand better when I discuss the people that I was fortunate to serve with, the opportunities that came my way, the experiences I had, and the challenges that had to be overcome to achieve success in a highly competitive environment. The most important aspect of serving in the military is the people one meets along the way. Much of this story is about those folks, the good and the bad. Some leave you shaking your head or bent over in laughter or fighting tears, but one can honestly say, I was never bored. Any veteran could write this history. The names and the places might be different, but the type of stories would be basically the same. Those same veterans should also say they are proud of their service. This is their story as well as mine. When it is all tied together, I can think of no other profession that offers so much. Come with me to go back in time and remember those times some say are best forgotten.

In The Beginning

The beginning of my Army career actually began prior to my graduation from Georgetown College, Kentucky in the spring of 1967. The Viet Nam war was growing as were the draft notices. I had enjoyed a student deferment for the past four years but earlier in the year, I had received notice to report for a preinduction physical from my local draft board. It was clear that as soon as I graduated in May, I would receive the official notice to report for duty. The draft is now history, but in those days, just about every young man eighteen years old was subject to the draft, served two years of active service and then got on with life. Those drafted were trained in the Military Occupation Specialty (MOS) which the military needed most at the time. Of course, with just a two year obligation, and the Army heavily involved with fighting a war, the infantry soldier was most in demand. I went to visit the local recruiter and while there were hundreds of MOSs to qualify for, almost all required a four year commitment. There was also a matter of taking a series of tests to see what one qualified for, as certain skills required more training than others.

I took the tests and was generally qualified for most, but by then the Sergeant was discussing Officer Candidate School as being the preferred option for one about to graduate from college. Enlist, go to basic training for eight weeks, and advanced infantry training for another eight weeks, then six months of Officer Candidate School, get commissioned as a Second Lieutenant, serve two years as an officer and out. This was basically three years of service rather than four and to serve two thirds of the obligation as an officer with higher pay and the additional prestige of being a commissioned officer-why, this was a no-brainer!

To make it even sweeter, I could select the Officer Candidate School to attend that most appealed to me. I had been working in the transportation field since graduating from high school, so when I saw Transportation Corps OCS, I knew this was for me and was ready to seal the deal. I had planned on going to Law School upon graduation from Georgetown College, but I knew that could wait and besides the folks at the Draft Board had made it pretty clear that they felt I had had a student deferment long enough. So I signed all of the paperwork and would take the oath of enlistment shortly after graduation. To make it an even sweeter deal, the friendly recruiting sergeant told me that if I took the oath of enlistment in June, I would not have to report for basic training until August.

On June 7, 1967, I raised my right hand in Lexington, Kentucky and became Private Hill, RA 11740699, U. S. Army. I had graduated from college on May 26th and now I had the summer to work, save some money, and enjoy time with my fiancée, Carla, before going off on this great adventure.

August came quickly and it was time to report for induction. I was to report to the induction center in Louisville, Kentucky. It was there that I realized that the draft was not for me. During the course of the day, we were examined, prodded, and stripped of our dignity and everything except our underwear. Following the exams, we were left in a large room, awaiting the next indignity when a soldier came into the room and issued little colored tags on a string, which went around the necks of those being inducted via the draft. The Sergeant passed out about ten red tags, ten green ones, and about twenty white ones and gave them in no order to the guys who were being inducted as draftees. This all took place about eleven in the morning and then about noon, a Marine Sergeant came into the room and said, All of you with a red tag, follow me. Someone asked, What is the significance of the red tag? The Sergeant said, You have been drafted into my Marine Corps. Total chaos ensued as some of the ones with the red tags, tried to trade them with the ones wearing green or white, or anything but the Marine Corps. There was to be no changes, and off they marched. As soon as the marine had taken his draftees, a Navy Chief came in and told the guys with the green tags to follow him. All the rest, with the white tags were going to the Army. One brave soul asked about the Air Force, and was told that the Air Force had enough enlistments as they did not have to draft personnel. We were told to get dressed and were taken into a larger room, where we again took the oath of enlistment, the same one that I had taken in June in Lexington, Kentucky at the recruiter’s office. We were officially soldiers at this time.

The next question was where I would be going to basic training. I was in Louisville, Kentucky, only about fifteen miles from Fort Knox and about three hours from Fort Campbell, both Basic Training centers for the Army. Carla was finishing up her degree at Georgetown College, an hour away from Fort Knox and upon her graduation would be teaching in Princeton, Kentucky very close to Fort Campbell. This was going to be great either way. Late in the afternoon, my name was called along with about forty others and we were issued our orders. We were going to the airport to fly to Newark, New Jersey. Basic training for me was to be at Fort Dix, New Jersey! What a shock and right about then, it dawned on me that logic or my personal planning was not going to be part of the process.

We arrived at Fort Dix around midnight and got off the bus from the airport. A very young soldier with stripes on a cloth arm band was giving orders to line up and telling us that we would be put to bed in a nearby barracks, how we would be awakened at 5:00 AM and how tough the next few days were going to be. He acted like he had been in the Army for some time, so there were a lot of questions from the arriving group. Finally, from the back came the question: How long have you been here? He replied Three days. Finally, we were allowed to go to bed and thus ended our first official day in the Army. This was a holding company where groups like ours were coming from all over the country to begin their Army careers. All through the night, guys would show up, find a bed, and try to catch a little sleep before wake-up call. I am not sure that anyone slept too soundly, lying awake and thinking about what lay ahead.

The next day, we had the correct number of personnel and we were marched to get haircuts, initial issue of uniforms, immunizations, and more testing. We were now Company E, Fourth Basic Training Battalion, Third Basic Training Brigade, or E-4-3 our home for the next eight weeks. One of the trainees in our company was the young soldier who greeted us the night we got off the bus from the Newark airport.

The first week of basic was truly learning the very basics of being a soldier—from learning how to make a bed, to physical conditioning, to learning to march in step to acquiring a new vocabulary, all the necessary steps to change from civilian to soldier were being ingrained in each individual. The army has been doing this for decades and there were few wasted steps in the process. A key to success in basic training was to observe, learn, and adapt. We were up each morning at six, shaved, showered, performed our morning rituals, like cleaning the rooms, and making the beds, and got ready to march to breakfast at 7:00 AM. One morning, I overheard one of the Drill Sergeants gripping about how lousy the coffee was in the little office they had in our area. I happened to be standing there ready to go outside, when one of the sergeants asked. Hill, you know how to make coffee? I told him that I did and was drafted to make the coffee. The coffee pot was beyond description; it had not been cleaned in months, if ever it had. I scrubbed it out and made fresh coffee. From that point on, I had a daily job. While others were outside picking up cigarette butts and trash, I was in making coffee and of course, I had to have a cup to ensure that it was brewed properly. What a deal!

Everything was not quite as good as this coffee duty. One Saturday afternoon, we were doing some task and I happened to see an ice cream truck going by. I shouted at the guy to stop and bought two ice cream bars for a friend and me. I was walking back to the barracks with the two bars, when one of the Drill Sergeants came out of the building, and asked what I had. I told him ice cream bars. He said, Hill, have you ever heard of a dying cockroach? No, Drill Sergeant, I have not. He had me lie down on my back in the parking lot, with my arms and legs in the air. Of course, I am still holding the ice cream bars in each hand. Remember, this is August and the ice cream quickly began to melt, run down my arms, and finally falls to the pavement. By this time, almost the entire company was watching the ordeal. The Drill Sergeant then told us that we were not allowed to purchase anything from the many Pogeybait trucks which were all over Fort Dix, that we were trainees and we had to eat the good healthy food that was provided in the dining facility, and that to make matters worse, I had dropped ice cream in his parking lot and it had to be cleaned up by the entire company. What a way to learn a lesson!

We soon began the introduction to our basic weapon, the M-14 semi-automatic rifle, which fired a 7.62 mm standard NATO round. It was to be our friend, our constant companion, and we were to take absolute care of it, which meant that it had to be cleaned meticulously every time we touched it. I had always liked to shoot, even a .22-caliber single-shot rifle as a kid, so this was going to be great. Learning to shoot by the Army method is much more complicated than I remember learning from my brothers. Learning to properly hold the weapon, to sight the weapon, to adjust for distance and windage—all of the things, that before I had never even considered before. We spent days learning this, eagerly awaiting the chance to actually shoot at targets. Before we could go to the ranges and actually shoot something, we were issued BB guns! This was a new program called Quick Kill and we were to learn reflex shooting with BB guns, just like I had when I was ten years old! Once again, the army surprised me, for after a day of training, the instructor would throw up a can lid and we could hit it with the BBs. Only then was it time to march out to the ranges and put into practice all that we had learned.

One of the duties that we each had in basic training was guard duty. About twenty soldiers would be selected and during the night, each soldier would be tasked to protect some valuable asset. Of course, our area of responsibility was in the very heart of a giant army base, with military police, and well trained units, so our protection effort was a little redundant. But guard it, we did and I can assure you that nothing went missing from the motor pool that I was guarding. For two hours, I walked around the motor pool fence, waiting for some Communist bastard to try to steal a jeep or maybe the general’ s staff car. When the officer of the guard finally showed up with my replacement and proper challenge and passwords were exchanged, off we marched to the guard house to rest for two hours before once more going out to relieve another soldier of his duties to protect a drill field or some equally important asset.

There were ways to get out of walking guard. When first reporting for guard duty, each soldier was inspected and questioned about his military knowledge, such as who the Secretary of the Army was or what the first General Order was? After the inspection and inquiry, one soldier who looked the best and was most knowledgeable was selected to be Super Numerary and did not have to do anything but sit around or go with the Officer of the Guard. Making Super Numerary was not as big a deal in September but by October, the nights were getting cold and walking a fence line was just not as attractive.

I never made the cut for Super Numerary, but I did get picked as the Officer of the Guard’s Jeep Driver near the end of basic. It was a Sunday afternoon. One of the duties was to drive out to the various ranges and the Officer would check out whatever he was supposed to check. It was easy duty. The Officer of the Guard was a young Second Lieutenant, basically my age, recent college graduate, only he had taken ROTC while in college. Once away from the rest of the guard detail, we had some pretty straightforward conversations. During the tour we approached one of the ranges and there was a car parked in an area that was not supposed to have civilian vehicles. The Lieutenant told me to pull over and wait. I had visions of all kinds of bad things happening, but soon we saw two heads raise above the seats, one female and the other obviously a young soldier. The Lieutenant waited another few minutes to allow them to finish whatever they were doing and finally got out of the jeep and told them they would have to move along. The Lieutenant turned to me and said the guys who are from New York and New Jersey have an advantage over you; their girlfriends can drive down for the weekend. The couple was obviously involved in the same thing I would have been if I had been sent to Fort Knox or Fort Campbell, Kentucky.

One could see the extensive ranges of Fort Dix while traveling on the many back roads of the base. There were ranges for every type of weapon from pistol to rifle to machine guns, mortars and even some larger weapons and some ranges that were set up to practice camouflage or learning to estimate distances. The ranges for the most part, were huge, stretching for miles in the pine barrens of New Jersey. During the day, one could see hundreds of soldiers marching off to the ranges or returning late in the day. One could hear the crack of rifle fire or the deep thump of mortars or grenades exploding. It was definitely a place to get the adrenaline flowing!

Finally the big day came and our company marched out to the ranges and set up a bivouac where we would live for two weeks of firing on the ranges. At long last, we were actually going to get to shoot real bullets. All of us were excited and sure that we would be the next sniper, hitting targets hundreds of meters out to our front. Then reality hit! The first range we went to was the 1000-inch range. It was about 25 yards! Here we fired our first live rounds at a target. Soldiers were making comments about hoping they did not get this close to the enemy and we could just shoot from the hip from this distance. The truth was this was to learn to adjust the weapon sights. It is embarrassing to miss a target at this distance, but again this was part of the process of learning the basics. This sounds like a ridiculous way of learning something, but when one realizes that many of these guys had never been in the presence of a weapon in their lives, it as best to learn one step at a time. Once the weapon was zeroed, then we moved to the Known Distance(KD) Range, where there were targets at one hundred yards, two hundred yards, and and so on. Having the weapons properly adjusted on that small range now became vital if one was going to hit a target five hundred yards away. Holding the weapon steady as we had practiced day after day before going to the range was now essential if one wanted to hit the target. By taking this step-by-step process, we were becoming more proficient each day. Holding an M-14 for hours just to learn to properly sight and hold it steady is boring and more than once, the wisdom of the Army was in doubt. Firing one round at a time on the KD range at stationary targets is not very exciting. We wanted to learn to shoot bad guys like John Wayne, from the hip and on the run. It finally became clear that this Army method worked and they really didn’t care what we wanted. So it was time to adapt to the Army ways. Sorry, John Wayne.

From the KD range with the stationary targets we moved to another range that was finally the answer to our wishes. It was the pop-up range, where the targets were not bull’s-eyes, but silhouettes of enemy soldiers that would pop up unexpectedly from twenty feet away to 350 yards away, remain for a few seconds and if not knocked down by a hit, would go back down slowly. This was starting to feel real and suddenly all of the training was starting to come together-now with full clip and shooting at moving targets and while not firing from the hip, but while slowly walking down a berm with the targets popping up at varying distances. Finally, at the end of the fifth week, we each shot for score. Nobody wanted to fail to qualify or to even get the lowest qualified rating. I will never know if anyone failed to qualify, but I certainly took great pride in being authorized to wear that expert marksman badge.

In the remaining weeks, it was a mad rush to learn hand-to-hand combat training, camouflage techniques, grenade throwing, first aid, night training, more and more physical training, and finally graduation. The eight weeks had gone by quickly, but the changes that had taken place were remarkable. A change in appearance was evident as excess weight turned into lean muscle, but more importantly, a certain cockiness that developed from feeling that we had developed into something far different from than we had been just eight weeks previous. We were soldiers at last.

We had learned a lot in a short time. More importantly, we had developed friendships that were stronger than what others developed over years in high school or with four years of college. It was a far different environment and at the back of our minds, was the understanding that we were training for something very serious. The country was at war and we would soon be there. How well we learned these tasks could very well determine if we survived. That is the kind of thing that focuses one on the tasks at hand.

The noncommissioned officers that had the responsibility to conduct the training were a mixed bag to say the least. Some were experienced senior soldiers who had served in Viet Nam, and others were young Sergeants who had themselves, barely completed their initial training. Some really stuck out as inspiring the trainees such as Staff Sergeant Marchesello. He was a large bear of a man and at first appearance looked as not to be in a very good shape but we soon learned that he could out march any soldier in the unit and could perform physical training without stopping. Also, we soon learned that he was a true combat veteran, seriously wounded in a previous tour in Viet Nam. This was brought to our attention one day during morning Physical Training. There was a trainee, whose name is lost to memory, except he was nick named, Goofy Grape because he so much looked like a character on a Kool-aide package. Goofy Grape just could not do the PT exercises, especially sit-ups. Staff Sergeant Marchesello got him up on the elevated stand where he was leading the exercises, and tried to teach him to do a sit-up. Goofy Grape was really trying but had almost no abdominal muscles. He made some comment to the sergeant that he had no stomach muscles; Goofy Grape made this clear by saying, Sarge, I ain’t got no stomach for this. With a roar, SSG Marchesello raised his own shirt, to show us the most God-awful mass of scars any of us had ever seen. Hell, Goofy Grape, I don’t have any stomach muscles, either, but I can do sit ups." There was the initial gasp from two hundred trainees, but from that point on, no one dared give less than their best at least in physical conditioning exercises. The fact that this sergeant was up there leading us in PT every day, having survived whatever it was that had happened to him, we sure could do our part.

It was also the time that one realized that there were some fellow soldiers that were not suited for the military. Some didn’t apply themselves; they didn’t want to be there, and would do anything to fail. The Army had ways to change minds in such folks. However, some were just plain dumb! Some could not follow instructions or perform even the most menial tasks. Other than getting rid of those who could not perform, the Army didn’t really have a way to change that. The fact you had to deal with some of these characters and that your life could well be in the hands of such people was a sobering thought. Furthermore, if all went as planned, I would be a Second Lieutenant in a few months and some of these soldiers might be working for me and I would have to figure out a way for them to perform successfully!

At the end of October 1967, we were in company formation to receive our orders. The First Sergeant would call out a name, inform the soldier named that he was going to Fort Sill for Artillery training, Fort Lee for Supply school, Fort Eustis for Transportation training, Fort Sam Houston for medical training and so on. Those whose names were not called were all going to advanced infantry training there at Fort Dix. All of us who were going to Officer Candidate School, most of the draftees, and some few who had enlisted for infantry would soon march a mile or so over to the 1st AIT Brigade where we would become infantrymen, the leading edge of combat. It was a thought that focused your attention to the seriousness of what we were doing.

We graduated from basic training on October 27 in the morning and in the afternoon, marched to Company A, 1st Battalion, 1st Advanced Infantry Training Brigade. For the next eight weeks, we would learn about weapons other than the M-14 such as the M-60 Machine Gun, the .50 Caliber Machine Gun, the 3.5 inch Rocket launcher, and the .45 caliber pistol. We would learn how to fire and maneuver, patrolling, radio operations, and a thousand other tasks that would hopefully make us the finest fighting force in the world.

Of course, this was just for those other guys, I was going to go to Transportation Officer Candidate School and not be involved with such things as fighting on the front lines of any war. A lesson that would burn itself into my brain was about to take place: The Army has a way of changing things and while I am sure that they would love to accommodate every personal desire of each individual soldier, it just doesn’t always work out. Shortly after arriving at AIT, those of us slated for Officer Candidate School were called in and told that all of the OCS schools were being closed except for Artillery, Engineer, and Infantry and that we had the option of picking one of these schools. Of course we had another option, which was staying in infantry as an enlisted soldier! It was clear that our options were really to be enlisted or officers, but in the infantry. Since we were well on our way to becoming fully qualified infantry soldiers, it was pretty clear that we were all going to end up at Fort Benning, the home of the infantry, but I thought, okay, I’ll show them, I’ll select Engineer OCS, then Artillery, and finally Infantry—in that order. Some of the guys basically said, that there is nothing they could do, so they selected Infantry only. As soon as we made the selection, wrote it down, gave it to the officer in charge, they informed us that we would get our first choice; I would be going to Fort Belvoir, Virginia for Engineer Officer Candidate School.

Advanced infantry training was more interesting than basic, not only for the greater variety of weapons to which we were exposed, but by now the weather in New Jersey had changed. When I began basic, it was August and extremely hot. We began AIT at the end of October. November in New Jersey meant snow and bitterly cold weather. There was a small lake near our barracks and slowly we watched the surface turn to ice. By graduation, we could safely walk across the ice.

The cold weather brought a funny experience. In our battalion, we had a platoon of Puerto Rican National Guardsmen. They really were not used to the cold weather. Part of our training cycle meant going to the various ranges and living in tents for a couple of weeks. Instead of the two man pup tents we had used in basic, we were living in what the Army calls Tents, General Purpose, Medium, which were large enough for twenty men on cots and had a small coal fired stove in the middle. The amount of coal was very limited and the small stove really did not provide much heat, although it was snowing hard just about every day. The soldiers from the Caribbean were obviously in need of more heat, so they found some boards, and really had a good fire going. Walking back from our latrine one evening, I looked up and saw about three feet of flame coming from the chimney of their tent. I thought, I hope that doesn’t get them in trouble and walked into our tent. About thirty seconds later, I heard a commotion and heard someone yelling Fire! Their tent had exploded in flames and was consumed in seconds. No one was hurt, but the tent was a total loss and the little stoves were removed from all the tents, and the snow kept falling.

Soldiers can do some of the dumbest things possible and later on in discussing my experiences with soldiers; I will go into this in much more depth. Any person who has ever served in any service has his own stories of guys who defy logic and pull some memorable stunt. One of the best occurred during AIT when we were on the M-60 Machine Gun range. A deer comes running across the impact area, or the area where the bullets hit when firing on the range. A couple of the guys immediately forgot about hitting the targets down range and focused on the running deer. We had been taught all day to squeeze the trigger and fire a six round burst, but not these guys. It was full automatic with tracer rounds. It sounded and looked like a major battle and the NCOs in charge of the range were going crazy trying to stop the shooting. When the shooting ended, the deer was still running and had not a scratch. The range instructors gave us all a lecture on fire discipline while we did push-ups and then gave the two machine gunners hell for being such lousy shots.

I was not immune to dumb-ass actions, either. About half way through the eight-week training cycle, we were given weekend passes, from Saturday morning to Sunday night. I went directly to the Philadelphia airport and bought a ticket for Louisville, Kentucky, called Carla and told her that I would see her in a few hours. Sunday, I got on a flight back to Philadelphia, but I had to fly standby because funds were short and all I could afford was a standby ticket. We did an intermediate stop in Pittsburgh and they were going to bump everyone who was flying standby as they had sold all the seats. I whispered to the flight attendant that I was going to be in big trouble if I did not get back to Fort Dix on time. She told me to stay seated and act like I was a regular, fully paid passenger. They counted heads four or five times, she told the head attendant that everybody left was fully paid, and finally, off we went to Philadelphia. I was the last one off the plane and could not thank her enough. When I got back to Fort Dix, the First Sergeant was holding formation and calling names! I don’t remember her name, but I will always have a place in my heart for flight attendants. It was stupid on my part, but I had not been able to see Carla since August. Had I not gotten back to Fort Dix on time, I would have been disqualified for going to Officer Candidate School and the infantry skill I was learning would have been applied in short order. It was a experience that I kept in mind when I was leading soldiers later in my career. Sometimes, poor judgment just needs to be overlooked. By the way, my pay as a Private, E-1, was about seventy-eight dollars per month!

Not all of the soldiers in training were like these characters or totally in love, like I was. Most were very serious about the training because we all knew what was coming soon. Ft. Dix is next door to McGuire Air Force Base, and one day, several of us were doing some extra duties that required us to go to McGuire. Just as we passed the flight line, we saw a group of ambulances lined up behind an Air Force cargo plane and they were unloading flag draped coffins from the plane and putting them in the ambulances, The bodies obviously had just arrived from Vietnam. That is a sight that will focus any soldier on what the real world was like. Our training was coming to an end and for most of these soldiers, Vietnam was coming soon.

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One of those who had selected Infantry OCS was Richard Patterson. He was in my platoon in basic and we had bunked together in AIT and got to be best of friends. He was from Harriman, Tennessee and was one of the best soldiers I had yet met. He was a natural in every aspect of military life. He was a great shot, was tireless in road marches, had the bearing and look of a leader, and combined this with a great sense of humor. Like me, he was engaged to be married as soon as he had finished his OCS class at Fort Benning. We all graduated from advanced infantry training shortly before Christmas 1967 and in my hand were orders for Engineer Officer Candidate School. Dick Patterson and I shook hands, wished each other the best, promised that we would get together again soon, and left Fort Dix. We never saw each other again. In 1969, I was sitting in a barber shop in Heidelberg, Germany and picked up a Life Magazine that showed photos of all of the men killed in Vietnam in one week in May 1969, and there was a picture of my friend, 1LT Richard Patterson. He arrived in Vietnam on April 7 and died May 29, 1969. He was twenty-five years old. I think of him some forty years later and know that I was privileged to serve with such a man.

Into the Crucible

I left Fort Dix with a new MOS, 11B10, which is Basic Combat Infantryman just in time to get to Kentucky for Christmas. I had orders to report to the U.S. Army Engineer Officer Candidate Regiment at Fort Belvoir, Virginia on January 2, 1968. For the first time since August, I was able to drive my car and relax a little. I was a changed man for having completed sixteen weeks of training. I was even feeling good about the upcoming twenty-four weeks of training required to be commissioned as a Second Lieutenant. I had no clue what was coming, but I knew I could handle any challenge placed before me. Piece of Cake, right?

Carla and I drove to Washington from Kentucky and spent some time there with my family before my reporting to Fort Belvoir. She flew back on New Years Day and the next day, I reported in. Again, the holding company was where we would be organized into a unit before beginning the actual training course. It was a few days for organizing our personal affairs, getting haircuts, squaring away uniforms, getting to know the guys who would start the course with you in a few days, many whom I knew from Fort Dix, and mostly wondering what was going to happen next. During our few days in holding company, we had several visitors who came by and gave some helpful suggestions.

One afternoon, a Lieutenant came by wearing a black baseball hat and walked into the area where several of us were shinning boots. I saw him enter the bay where we were seated and called the group to attention. He asked who was in charge and since no one volunteered, I said, I guess I am. I still don’t have any idea why I made that statement, but since no one else spoke up, I guess that I felt that I should. He took me aside and told me that tomorrow we would officially start the program and that we needed to have all of our gear loaded in duffle bags and ready to go to the old hospital area right after breakfast. The Lieutenant explained where the assembly area was and what the proper uniform would be for the next day as well as some other useful information. He did mention the fact that we would be pretty busy for the first few days and we probably should get haircuts, make sure our uniforms were looking good, write letters to loved ones, and get ready for the class. If I recall, I think he said something about getting some extra sleep. In a matter of minutes, he was gone. Nice guy and very helpful.

The next morning, after breakfast, we were marched from our holding area to the old hospital area, where we were taken into a classroom. On the table before each of us were two pieces of brass, that looked like they had not been cleaned in several years, and a helmet liner that was really beaten up, but you could see that it had an OCS decal on the front, but it too was in pretty sad shape. A full colonel came into the room and we all came to attention. He introduced himself as the Regimental Commander, welcomed us to Engineer OCS, told us that we were Class 508 assigned to Alpha Company and to be forever known as 508A. He told us that the next few weeks would be full and taxing to us, but to just remember to Cooperate and Graduate and by the way, no one was allowed to quit the program for the first eight weeks. Nice guy! And why in the world would one want to quit because he also reminded us that if we did quit the program, we were all infantry qualified soldiers and we would be sent to an infantry unit to complete our obligation to the Army. He made it clear that academics were important and we would be in classrooms almost every day. He also stated that if we had any problems, we should be sure to discuss them with our Tactical Officers and that his door was always open. Nice guy! He then told us to put on the brass and helmet liner on the desk before us and step outside and we would start the program. He then left the podium and some other officers told us to hurry up and put the brass on. No one took the time to explain exactly how the brass OCS pin was to be placed on the collar, and we certainly didn’t have time to clean it up. I am sure we would be given time to do that soon enough. Just a note: Many years later, I was told that the collar brass had been soaked in vinegar to give the tarnish that we found so difficult to clean and shine. I think we all realized that our climb from this level to the sharp officer candidates that we had seen in our short time in the regiment would be a longer climb than first imagined.

We left the classroom and fell out into the street where there were dozens of guys in black baseball hats, screaming at us, talking about how lousy the brass looked, that we were an embarrassment to the Army and their OCS Regiment, giving us orders for pushups; telling us to get down; get up, asking What are you looking at, Smack Head? We also learned new terminology along with learning to suck in our chins. The Tactical Officers would yell, Lay Hold-Heaveee! At which point one was to pull his chin as far back as possible into the neck and hold it as long as possible. This was also where we first heard the phrase, Bean, you will do push ups until I get tired." The speaker who told us to do pushups until he was tired, in this case was the nice guy in the black hat who had visited us in the barracks a few days before, only now he was not being real nice and