I was in the U.S. Army post-Korea and pre-Vietnam. This “peacetime” army was mostly made up of draftees who timed it right; or rather, I guess our parents did. I somehow kept my nose clean and was honorably discharged with a couple of minor medals and not much else. For years I told people that the only thing I got out of being in the military was the dental care until, that is, stuff started falling out over the next few years. After that I didn’t have much positive to say.
During my years in the army and being the sassy type I had a couple of contretemps with the chain of command since I was unable to disguise my disrespect for at least 75% of anybody that had a higher rank than I did. I had one encounter with a General although only of the One-Star ilk. I mean he was a One-Star General, not that our encounter garnered any stars at all. I’ll explain:
I was bailiwicked in Germany for two years and we were stationed on a hilltop overlooking the “real” army base in Baumholder. We were a secretive “elite” unit and it all made no sense to me because everybody stationed within a hundred miles, if not all of Europe, were clued in to what we were and, of course, our location. Anyway, one of the extra-curricular things in which I was involved (besides the basketball team) was as a member of the “Honor Guard.” Which meant that on special occasions we would dress-up, line-up and look pretty for passing royalty, that is, anybody who outranked anybody stationed in Baumholder. Although we were pretty much left alone by the powers-that-be, each year we were supposed to be “inspected” by the one-star general who presided over the battalions that made up the mass of army personnel that occupied that particular area.
Did you happen to catch General McChrystal when he was followed around by fawning reporters on 60 Minutes (prior, of course, to his dismissal on June 24, 2010)? Our general was of that same ethic, that is, a fitness nut who ate one meal a day and slept on a bed of nails and expected the same from his subordinates. This was well known throughout his command, of course, so preparing for his inspection was pre-ordained and planned on for months ahead.
I didn’t volunteer to be on the Honor Guard. Nor did anybody else, even though we had enough gung-ho soldiers who could, and would have gladly, filled the ranks. There were 20 of us and we were all exactly six feet tall. For the two years I was there, as people came and went, that was the criterion for qualifying to be in the elite unit within this elite unit. Race, religion, ethnic persuasion, or sexual preference had no bearing. Height did. But there was another glitch. You couldn’t be overweight because his subordinate officers perceived that the general might not like that, even though I’m sure he never put it into words or probably even had a whisper of a thought about it.
When I was in the army a large number of the older men in our unit were career soldiers who had actually served in World War II and, consequently, were long in the tooth and were simply working the system to obtain the maximum amount of retirement largesse possible. These men were no ones idea of physical human specimens. They were probably really good soldiers and totally loyal to the military but, hey, they weren’t going to be throwing themselves over barbed wire any time soon. Okay, I’ll say it…a lot of them were fat. They were probably the best platoon sergeants ever and they had been around many corners in their lives (not only WWII but Korea) and I mostly agreed they should be allowed to serve out their terms successfully. Some even became friends and some were assholes who thought their shit didn’t stink and were to be avoided at all costs. However, what tickled me then and still pretty much does to this day because it really shows how the military thinks, when it came time for this big-shot inspection these guys were are all rounded up and hidden away in the basketball gym of a military-run high school about a mile away. There were about 40-50 of them, all ranks, and I have zero idea what they did all day; probably sat around and played cards, I’m pretty sure they didn’t play basketball.
Anyway, all of us in the Honor Guard were physically perfect height-wise and, to top it off, we were nonetheless touted as the best possible soldiers in the company. This was not done by any individual effort on our part, I mean as far as military training or shooting guns or hand-to-hand bayonet combat or anything meaningful. Although everybody on the post had their cots, their lockers and lived in barracks, none of the general-issue stuff we had of our own was used during this annual General Inspection. All of our rifles; all of our brass and all of our uniforms, including either boots or dress shoes (depending on the occasion), were kept separately in the armory…and kept spic and span by a small cadre of lesser soldiers, mostly of shorter stature. Although we all marched to the same drummer, the Honor Guard marched in a much more spiffy fashion. We even had spats and white gloves and strategic decorative highlights to our dress-up. It was totally cheating and ridiculous because it’s not like any of this was secret! But we did it anyway. About once a month the 20 of us would practice and march around the compound, much to the entertainment of our brothers in arms, who ridiculed our look, our marching and, of course, our equi-stature.
My arrival in Baumholder was such that I just missed a current yearly inspection so I didn’t have to participate for a year. So here’s what happened when I finally did participate:
The General was scheduled to arrive by helicopter at 1500 hours (3:00 p.m.) so our unit commander told his lieutenant to muster the Honor Guard at 1400 hours (2:00) and we would form a welcoming line (and salute the motorcade) along the road leading up to our gate. The lieutenant told the sergeant at arms 1300 hours (1:00) and the sergeant told us 1200 hours (noon). If you were in the Army (and maybe other branches of the armed forces) you already know this constant adding of another hour was, and maybe still is, common practice as each rank took over the planning and the execution of any scheduled event. So, at 1100 hours (11:00) we, the honor-ers, gathered at the armory and checked out, and donned, our pristine gear which sparkled like new, as it probably was. The lackey’s at the armory checked us over, the sergeant checked us over and marched us over to headquarters where the sergeant-at-arms checked us over and put us in formation so that the lieutenant and the captain could put us through the drill expected to be performed by the general. The captain, the major and the colonel (our commander) then got into cars to go pick up the general at the heliport on the main base, perhaps a half hour drive away. Remember now, the G was scheduled to land at 1500 hours (3:00) and it was now hovering around 1230 hours (12:30). At 1300 hours (1:00) the sergeant and lieutenant positioned us along the road about ten yards apart so, with the 20 of us, we were two football fields worth of honor guard strung out along the road with instructions not to get dirty or let our uniforms get wrinkled or even get dust on our shoes. So for an hour and a half we stood like statues, trying not to sweat or spit or do anything human. I must say, however, we looked really impressive with our reflective helmets miniature suns unto themselves.
One more thing that helps make this story a good one: Evidently the general had decided he should land his helicopter on the football field we shared with the high school but he was denied permission because the field was too close to the civilian housing and therefore dangerous for the kith and kin of our cadre. Oh, by the way, all the fat guys got sent to the gym at the high school at 1000 hours (10:00 a.m.); five hours before the general’s scheduled arrival…god forbid anybody should catch a glimpse of any overweight soldiers! Anyway, there we were, the 20 of us goons strung out along the road and at about 1500 hours (3:00, as scheduled) here came a helicopter that passed pretty low over our heads, kicking up dirt and debris that you wouldn’t believe and proceeded to land on the football field. The only officer with us was the lieutenant who sprinted off to meet the general (and his entourage) and the sergeant screamed at us to get our butts into formation in the parking lot in front of headquarters. We ran to do so and after we got in perfect line (and perfect heights) the guys from the armory started brushing us down, yes indeed, including buffing our shoes and cleaning our (highly polished, but now dust-coated) mirror-like steel helmets. We were all issued new gloves and they removed the spats (since we had no replacements) that had gotten dirty because of the helicopter. In the meantime all our hotshots that were at the heliport had to make it back to the cars and race back to our compound.
Unfortunately for them they arrived almost simultaneously to the general walking along the first rank of the honor guard so there was no way for them to interrupt the ceremony. I was in the second row so I could hear what the general was saying (“where are you from, soldier?” etc.) as he worked the line, so I had my answers ready. He checked out the cleanliness of a couple of the rifles but by the time he got to my row he was bored and only said stuff to us that did not require an answer, although he did actually stop directly in front of each one of us and looked us in the eye as he spoke. Two minutes later he went over to our officers, exchanged salutes with them and they all strolled into headquarters. We were put at ease but five minutes later had to snap back to attention as the general reappeared. Saluting, he strode purposely by us and headed for the football field where his helicopter was already whipping up dirt, crap and general debris, and two minutes later it zoomed back over our still at-attention heads and up over the hill behind us headed, I guess, for the next display of army ritual.
Our officers were furious and we were dismissed unceremoniously. We scrambled willy-nilly back to the armory and stripped off all our finery which, I’m sure, got nicely cleaned, polished and relabeled for future use. The general did not inspect the barracks or the motor pool or anything else although everything had been scrubbed within an inch of its life. We heard later the only reason he even went into headquarters was to take a leak. 20 minutes later all the fat guys returned to the post and the mood was mostly one of hilarity. All that trouble for what? We got some scuttlebutt from headquarters a couple of weeks later that the general got into a bit of trouble for landing his helicopter on our football field against orders but I doubt if he got fired for insubordination or for bad-mouthing the President.
Actually I only remember one thing about him: He was exactly six feet tall.
Although Christmas dinner at cousin Paula’s was, as usual, sumptuous and gourmand driven (and, of course, with an overdose of coma-inducing satiation) there was a moment of ecstasy after dessert while coffee was being served. Paula’s daughter passed around a box of chocolates that she had found and ordered on-line from some exotic source. They are French, from an outfit named Mademoiselle de Margaux. They are luscious dark-chocolate covered seedless grapes (seemingly fresh) with a soupcon of delicious rum enclosed within the chocolate. They have a faux plastic stem as a finger-hold and they are a one-bite sensation. They were a table-wide oooo and mmmm sensation. When I got home I Googled for info and found several distributors. They ain’t cheap (I would judge about $1.50 a bite) but, goodness gracious, they embody both the goodness and graciousness of a superb holiday treat. Godiva should probably eat its little gold-covered heart out.
