According to badge reports, the administrator told the deranged man to stop chewing on the arch of his victim. If he refused, the policeman attempt the aggressor. Despite the gunshot wound, the Zombie wannabe connected to chaw the face of the man.

Apparently, the administrator afresh accepted he stop, the derangedman banned to end the assault, and the administrator wasaffected to blaze several added circuit afore he was assuredly able to accompany him down. The victim, sources are saying, may accept been a abandoned man.

However, his face was allegedly eaten so to date they accept been clumsy to admit him.He is animate an in hospital care. Authorities are actual mum aboutthe advancing incident. Because the policeman technicallyshot an caught man, there maybe acknowledged altercation accompanying to hiskilling the assailant. However, due to the alarming attributes of the abomination — one that may accept been aggressive by a allure with Hollywood horrormovie abstract that chronicle to Zombies (such a”Zombieland” starring Woody Harrelson or BradPitt in “World War Z”) — it is likelythat while he will be traumatized afterwards witnessing the incident, he will be able to accumulate his job and will not be prosecuted for shootingto save the activity of the man attacked. For added advice about how to adapt for the Zombie Apocalypse (an burghal fable about Zombies advancing afterwards theworld aswe apperceive it comes to an endin 2012 based on Mayan agenda predictions) and the latest account about Zombies.

Prior to his Memorial Day speech at Arlington National Cemetery, the president continued the annual tradition by laying a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. President Obama’s Memorial Day 2012 Quotes President Obama’s Memorial Day quotes were inspiring and meaningful. “This weekend, folks across the country are opening up the pool, firing up the grill, and taking a well-earned momentto relax. But Memorial Day is more than a three-day weekend. In town squares and national cemeteries, in public services and moments of quiet reflection, we will honor those who loved their country enough to sacrifice their own lives for it.”

Earlier Memorial Day morning, President Obama encouraged Americans by honoring our fallenveterans at Arlington National Cemetery. “No words can ever bring back a loved one who has been lost.” Obama said in his weekend radio address. “No ceremony can do justice to their memory. No honor will ever fill their absence.” “But on Memorial Day,” Obama added, “we come together as Americans to let these families and veterans know that they are not alone. We give thanks for those who sacrificed everything sothat we could be free. And we commit ourselves to upholding the ideals for which so many patriots have fought and died.” Obama received a round of heartfelt applause when he exclaimed, “For the first terms in nine years, Americans are not fighting or dying in Iraq. We are winding down the war in Afghanistan and our troops will continue to come home. After a decade under the dark cloud of war, we can see the light of a new day on the horizon.” “From the jungles of Vietnam to the mountains of Afghanistan, they stepped forward and answered the call,” Obama said. “They fought for a home they may never return to, they fought for buddies they would never forget. While their stories may be separated by hundreds of years and thousands of miles, they rest here together side-by-side, row-by-row, because each of them love this country and everything it stands for more thanlife itself.” Memorial Day 2012 Quotes Mitt Romney had this to say about the 2012 holiday,”Memorial Day is a day to give thanks to them, and to remember all of America’s soldiers who have laid down theirlives to defend our country,” Romney said in a statement Memorial Day. “As we enjoy our barbecues with friends and families and loved ones, let’s keep them in our thoughts and inour prayers.” “In the truest sense, freedom cannot be bestowed; it must be achieved.” – Franklin D. Roosevelt “Courage is contagious. When a brave man takes a stand, the spines of others are often stiffened.” – Billy Graham “Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and thesuccess of liberty.” – John F. Kennedy

• Chris Hayes and the need to ‘marshal’ facts
  Instead, MSNBC’s Chris Hayes deployed the term “rhetorically proximate.” Now for some context. The Sunday edition of “Up with Chris Hayes” included a great deal of discussion the meaning of Memorial Day. The host used this foothold to pronounce …
  Washington Post (blog), Tue, 29 May 2012 08:52:05 -0700
• Chris Hayess Honesty Mistake: Troops Need Citizens Questioning Policy
  Poor Chris Hayes, he forgot the script. The script says that if you’re hosting a television show on Memorial Day, you talk about whatever you’d normally talk about and then tack on a photo montage at the end, accompanied by somber music.
  Daily Beast, Tue, 29 May 2012 01:32:55 -0700
• Chris Hayes sorry for insinuating dead soldiers not heroes
  May 29, 2012 (NEW YORK) — MSNBC host Chris Hayes says he’s sorry for his comments about his discomfort with the use of the word “heroes” to describe fallen soldiers. Hayes made the comments during his show on Sunday, the day before Memorial Day.
  ABC7Chicago.com, Tue, 29 May 2012 05:26:15 -0700
• Chris Hayes follows Bill Maher with ‘hero’ slip up By Paula Duffy on 2012-05-29 Chris Hayes of MSNBC used the word “heroes” in a way that displeased many on both sides of the political spectrum and has apologized for his remarks today. Chris Hayes tried to explain his discomfort with calling our fallen … HULIQ, Tue, 29 May 2012 08:48:34 -0700

Sacrificing time away from your family to protect them and my family

Defending your home turf, whether you agree with all the politics behind the decisions made or not

Putting your life in harm’s way so that millions of people you do not know and will never meet can sleep at night knowing they can wake up in a freedom filled country worshipping who they please, working where they wish and having the power to do and say what they would like every day

Serving in spite of those who bath mouth our military for fighting in a war they do not agree with.

Proudly wearing the red, white and blue regardless of the consequences.

Paying the ultimate sacrifices so those who agree and disagree with your service have the freedom to enjoy doing what they do can continue to do so

All you do that most Americans will NEVER hear about

I salute each and every one of you and if I could meet you personally, I would salute you with the highest amount of honor and respect you deserve!

God Bless you and your family for the sacrifices you make every day!!

peers.

Ft Ord–Aug 27. Basic training there followed by Personnel Specialist training at C-1-4, about 3-5 miles from basic. Got sick that winter and was cured in Feb 65, and was then sent on my First assignment, Vicenza, Italy, SETAF.

[It is now Africa Corps.]. Was assigned to the 560th Signal Battalion, Company A, as a personnel specialist, which was located about 3/4 of a mile north of our barracks. I now realized that the kidding around in AIT Personnel Specialist School was a liability because the Warrant Officer (boss) was expecting me (and all those who worked there) to know our DD 214 (personnel files for all members of all branches of the military) and the corresponding DA form for Army troops.

I was in charge, as you will remember, of all 560th Signal Battalion troop personnel files/paperwork. This included anyone’s marriage requests if single and wanting to marry a European girl, family insurance forms, educational forms, military training, discipline received and more. We used manual typewriters. We had to remember so much from our training! I didn’t mind the work, but this was my first exposure to my three-year vocation as a military paperwork handler, rather than as a killer with my rifle. The adjustment was much harder than I possibly thought, for I had not developed any sense of quality, worth or esteem or whatever and my quality and accuracy left a lot to be desired. I was not a bad guy, just a very sloppy one! I got reprimanded so many times (part of the reason was the quirky way the Army did stuff that made no sense to me or that I couldn’t memorize–one can only have so many notes to refresh one’s memory) that my boss after a few months, finally transferred me back to my originating outfit (where I slept) for reassignment to work there. What an insult!

I wasn’t this [European Theater’s] Army’s answer to a great paper pusher!

My next assignment about six months later, was re-assignment to “generator repair.” Having had no schooling in this and showing some interest, I was offered the opportunity to attend Temporary Duty School in Murnau, Germany, for 4 weeks. I would travel in civilian clothes exclusively (Austria has no desire to see military uniforms of any nation on its soil–it is very neutral now!) and by bus and my trips always included a day or two of pleasure if I chose! [From Vicenza, back then anyway, one had to go to Switzerland and then to Austria before heading north to Murnau, Germany,

just above Bavaria and Garmish, in Germany.

(One's leave date and the schools' date don't necessarily match--so the time in-between is literally mine to do whatever pleases me--I could even travel elsewhere, anywhere, during my spare time before and after the conclusion of the school, until I was required to be back in Vicenza!)

On my first trip to Murnau, Germany, I traveled to Milano and West around to Zurich, back Westward to Innsbruck and finally, North to Murnau.

In Zurich, I "crashed" in a hotel's hallway chair. I did not feel good enough to just rent a room for the 6 hours I would stay in Zurich, so a hotel guest came by and offered me an alarm clock, so I could be back at the train station in time to catch my Innsbruck route train.

On the way to Innsbruck, my train passed through and over mountains that looked exactly like picture-books depict. It was the most picturesque scene that I had ever experienced in my life! The most quaint part of the trip is a "you'd never believe it" story.

While the train was going over one of these beautiful mountains, the conductor slowed us to a stop. I inquired what the train was stopping for and a passenger indicated that the train station couldn't sell tickets for this part of the world and I would have to pay separately for this 100 yard stretch of mountain land. I felt for a moment that the biggest rip off was about to happen. When I inquired of the price, it was about 15 cents. After everyone paid their .15, the train started up again and we were in Innsbruck, Austria in about an hour or two.

Innsbruck too, was the exact depiction of a story book's or post card's view of a quaint Austrian town. Here, I walked around for a while and then caught a train heading for Munich, a major town just 100 miles north of Innsbruck. This train stops in Murnau so I was at my school in no time. I never did inquire why our higher level Army command even had a military school here in the middle of southern Germany (We did have 500,000 people in USAREUR: United States Army, Europe. SETAF was one of the many commands under the guidance of USAREUR. Our forts in Spain and France (we were closing the French ones in 1965) and England are all part of USAREUR.

In 1965, we used wire-type field telephones, like in WW I & II. Everything we did at the 560th was subordinate to or facilitating for this field wiring and setting up what were known as "patch stations," where all these field wires were joined. It was even fun when my platoon sergeant "allowed" this bumbler to handle the phones during an 8 hour shift one day, saying stuff like "Spaghetti, Sir" when answering a phone call. When making a call (patching something through, we would say "Snowstorm, this is Spaghetti calling, give me [and the recipient's code name].”

Since I was, for all practical purposes, a clerk out of position, this phone answering and KP [dish washing, aka kitchen police] and all the rest were just things the applicable responsible sergeants could think of to keep me occupied till I applied for a transfer or my active duty time expired and I was sent back home. One of the activities offered me, and therefore, needing formalized training school, was generator repair. [One needed generators to power the patch panels...basically a switch board on wheels]

Generator repair school was very interesting and informative. I had never had any mechanical or electrical training and with this very “macho” field, I was attuned to both the technical arenas and the attitudes and ambiance within which mechanics work. I unhesitantly admit that I was not a quick learner. I did not fathom some ideas at all, but I was not embarrassed. I knew, subconsciously, that people adapt to some types of knowledge and learning techniques more easily than others. I didn’t fathom some concepts, but I did graduate at the “bottom” and for an “ex-high school dummy”, I didn’t consider this a sore or horrible position.

During the short 4 week course weekends, I traveled to Garmisch and Partenkirchen. The Garmisch part is where the American soldiers and their families vacation and the other end is where the service employees and other natives lived.

I enjoyed each visit and on one trip, met Hannalore. She enjoyed my company, was about 23 (I was 18) and took me to the Zugspitze (the highest mountain in the area) where we had lunch together.

Upon completion of generator repair school, I returned to my unit in Italy and was assigned to a platoon that, logically, repaired generators. The guys there were, I suppose, nice but they knew generators and mechanics backwards and forwards and had no room for an 18 years old “jr. geek”. Since the guys in this (the only one) generator repair squad didn’t seem to need a geek, they “suggested” I apply for another Temporary Duty to learn how to repair jeeps and other small vehicles. I said “fine.”

On the day before I was to go, I experienced a most interesting and startling situation; a Green Beret [if you failed to see John Wayne's movie The Green Beret's, let me assure you that these are fighting men, not like the Navy's Sea Bee's. The Army's finest (and the most difficult unit to quality for)--are all jump (parachute) qualified!] stood in our company’s formation. This guy was an Sp 4 or 5, and was the neatest, most elegant soldier I had ever seen. He was assigned to repair generators and I was so awed, I don’t remember ever speaking to him. A bloody postcard! Anyway, the battalion commander called out to him “Soldier, you are out of uniform [he was not wearing our standard baseball cap but instead, a green beret.] The soldier responded, professionally, “Sir, according to army regulations [blah, blah], I am authorized to wear this beret.” “Soldier, according to army regulations, I am the battalion commander and you will conform to our standard head gear [or he said something like that].” The soldier was wearing the standard baseball cap for a few weeks until he was transferred out and onwards, presumably, to Vietnam. What a loss.

I went on several of field exercises and they were interesting. On most of them, I was with the 1st platoon, Company B, 560th Signal Battalion. We strung wire, operated the “board,” (switch board) and pulled both KP and guard duty.

On one summer field exercise trip, I was asked to visit “Louie” (which is GI slang, in Italy, for any Italian male) and “swap for some wine.”

I walked to the nearest farm house (½ mile away or closer), and was invited inside a farmer’s house. This man (65?) was sitting at an old table, preparing birds (similar to Robins), for his dinner! I spoke some Italian (I had learned some from friends and from Ferrucio–a local pastry shop owner) and the farmer understood most of what I said and wanted. Soon, I was providing our K rations (similar to what is now called ready to eat rations that were used in the Persian Gulf war) to “Louie” in exchange for one or two bottles of wine.

It seemed that “Louie” mashed his own grapes and bottled his own wine. It wasn’t similar in appearance to any California Napa Valley wine in either appearance or taste (we all developed a taste and I tried to find a similar taste in imported Italian wine when I discharged from the Army 3 years later) but we all enjoyed Louie’s wine! (We always camping on “Louie’s” land–for which our command either paid a small fee or bartered or NATO commandeered.)

During one exercise, to prove our “platoon machoness”, each of us “motor pool” troops were required to drink “Louie’s wine” if we were to sleep in a tent. Sometimes it was like holding a gun to somebody’s head and making him have fun, then exchanging the gun and doing a “round Robin.”

During one exercise, the ground was covered with snow and it was, I guess you could call it, challenging, to pitch a 5 or 6 man tent in the snow and then lay a sleeping bag with liner on the snow! I hadn’t thought of seeking, before this exercise, a cot to lay the bag and liner upon. I can assure you, unless one abhors the heat, sleeping on the snow offers no benefit to humans that I can imagine!

On another field exercise, while I was assigned to KP, I wound up having to wash the dishes and pots fast enough, in the falling snow, (no canopy available to me) to keep the dishes clean and water hot!

Part way though another exercise, a second lieutenant was relieving himself at the bi-pod toilet (a metal tube sunk into the ground 6 or so inches, with a little basin at the top with a screen). I can’t imagine how such things were designed. Anyway–I was on guard duty and things were quiet and this figure appeared in my area. I shined my light at it and it simply stopped walking. I called out “Who is there?” The figure was too far away to comfortably respond. I shined my light on the figure and turned it away and returned again a few times.

I ignored the figure and walked further along my “post.” A few minutes later, the same figure (when it was still, it was not in my territory, but a few feet closer and it would be, thus my light) he came closer and I realized he had not closed over any perimeter lines so he needn’t be “challenged.” It was one of our lieutenants and he asked me why I was continuously shining my flash light on him. He said he had simply stopped at the piss toilet and was annoyed that I kept bringing his silhouette to attention via my light. I told him I naturally didn’t know who he was or what he was doing, but checking things out was both his business as an officer and mine as a guard. It was funny and embarrassing.

McCue

I can’t remember why, but one of my “friends” with whom I think I spent too little time, was Kevin McCue, assigned to Head Quarters Company (where I was assigned while a personnel specialist). Kevin was the guy that every company has that has a high education but wasn’t very discriminating on how he used it. Kevin had visited England before I had arrived in Vicenza and had, along with his buddy SP 4 Ray Erwin, lived with two “fine” English girls during their 1 month (vacation) leave.

Kevin also had this attitude that “Don’t get in my face or you will see me hit you and stamp on you.” (If you stay out of my face, you’ll see only a “poet”.) Kevin also refused any type of promotion and stayed a private all his service time. Rank, to Kevin, meant responsibility and he wanted none in this insane society.

On one of “our” exercises, Kevin and I and our few friends were walking along, doing area clean up (any time troops take over a territory for a day or longer), the troops line up in a chain formation and begin walking the entire length of the area where previously encamped and pick up anything that was dropped or left on the ground–usually debris. On one of our numerous clean-up walks on one of our numerous exercises, Kevin started braying “Moo, Moo” Then, he called out facetiously, “But sergeant, somebody’s peed in the trench.” This made me, as nonsensical as it truly was, cry out laughing for a half minute! I always thought what McCue said, day in and day out, was either very poetic or hilarious.

One day, while visiting his room, I had teased him very innocently (as he had me dozens of times) and he offered to punch my lights out. I was shocked and he said that if I did my tease a third time, he was going to punch me–I stopped, he seemed serious! [Ray someone or other and Kevin McCue were best buddies. One thing that I had to joke about several times was, when I met Ray, he was a Sp4. I was a PFC. Once, he got busted for drinking or being late for something–am not sure. He was reduced to E2. While I was still E3 [PFC], he re-climbed back to Sp-4.

After few opportunities arose to repair generators and wanting to do something besides flunky work, our first sergeant asked if I still wanted to go to jeep repair school. I said sure, because it meant, at the minimum, getting off the post and having some days for a free vacation. I was, therefore, sent back to Murnau, Germany, for vehicle mechanics’ school.

I did fairly well there and never gave up. All the other guys had between a few months and a dozen years background repairing their family sedan, so I was the “lone man out” again.

Weekend passes were normal for all students at this school in Murnau. On one trip back to the school barracks, after enjoying a Saturday in Garmisch, a German male offered me a ride and, near the drop-off point, asked me about whether I was interested in “being with him longer.” The car was going about 8 miles an hour, but I needed no further prompting. I opened the car door and jumped out and trotted off! That was scary!

The whores of Europe are no different from the whores of any other land, but I met with and talked to three and these meetings and mini-talks are worth sharing, for reason other than you might imagine.

Let’s take Rosie to start with. Rosie was, believe it or not, the grandmother confessor of whores in Vicenza. Rosie was the talk of the inebriated bane: Rosie, it was said, “would gladly fuck 1, 2 or 10 guys in a room, with no problem.” She had the appearance of a war sex veteran–someone who had experienced everything and likely even was loved by some guys! She was said to be about 50 years old. After hearing this diatribe from guy after guy, never when they were sober, I thought I could picture Rosie in my mind. Frankly, the picture I conjured up was worse than what I leave in the toilet when I get sick, but it was my picture! Once, when returning from visiting downtown Vicenza, I was glancing at those riders getting off the to-town bus. I noticed a women get off that just had to match the image I had of Rosie. In seconds, with no GI on her right or left and no other obvious walking or traveling companion, I chanced to walk beside her and casually ask her if her name was Rosie and she knew right off what she thought I wanted. I told her that I was just interested in finding out if she was my friends’ Rosie–though I was not personally interested in hiring her advertised–phenomenal as they may be–services. She seemed slightly disappointed and I told her frankly, that I mostly rejoiced when thinking of and respected, my grandmother, and that she, Rosie, reminded me of my grandmother! I then said, politely, there was no force I could image that would induce me to want to have sex with my grandmother! She still seemed honestly disappointed but was not rude and wished me a pleasant day and I did the same for her. So went my first mini-visit (and last) with Rosie (not Rosie the Riveter, but no less famous in this part of the world!)

Another gal was a “regular” about whom I had heard but whose name I did not know.

I was walking around the train station one evening and saw this gal, about 22 years old, with breasts that seemed to slide down to her navel. I suggested that we walk to her hotel. She agreed immediately with no further discussion. We walked for a mile or so and came to a well lit doorway of a closed major department store. I then asked her, in Italian, mater of faculty, AS I GRABBED HER CROTCH RATHER FIRMLY, what this had cost her. She looked at me quite quizzically and said, in Italian, “Nothing!” I then, casually stepping back, asked why it should cost me anything?! She grew very upset and I simply walked away.

Lastly, for lady number three: Was she or wasn’t she? I met this 23 year old lady that was dressed pleasingly and carried herself well. I don’t remember where we met, but we watched some movies together and she wanted to have me chew gum and kiss her passionately whenever we were together. For unknown reasons, I never discovered if she was one or not. She never charged me for our time together–which did not come to the norm–I did not yet want that.

I wasn’t ready for much of this type of life, but I “tried it” psychologically. One day, she suggested we get a hotel room and it was inferred that she was going because she liked me, not because she was a whore. She might have been just a growing girl who liked American males to French kiss and sleep with. She never asked me for gifts or money. I rented a room but instead of doing what she wanted, I demurred–mostly because I was “scared!” (and a closet Puritan). I believed she was several steps ahead of me, but I “tired” of her program. It was pleasing for a while.

During my two years at Camp Ederle, I was offered more TDY. One was a trip to Livorno to see an Army doctor about my deviated septum, the other time was when I was assigned to take a casual friend of mine to PRISON. He had played with a neighbor girl in the theater and was caught.

Rae

I remember his name was Rae and he had no teeth of his own, having lost them, according to his story, in various gang fights as a youth, when an enemy swung a bottle at his face and caught his front teeth. (He claims he “solved” this other fellow’s problem the next week when he saw the guy on a motorcycle and raised up his 44 magnum–one enemy down, a few hundred to go!

Of my two trips to Leghorn as a guard for Rae, I was taught how to carry and fire a .20 gauge shotgun, which I was expected to fire at Rae or the other prisoners if the need arose.

All prison guards must: 1) wear a holstered loaded .45 caliber pistol when commuting (train, bus, etc) when escorting a prisoner, 2) Become qualified with a 20 gage shotgun, and 3) Beware at all times for escapes and know and be prepared to “shoot to maim, not to miss” and kill if maiming doesn’t do the trick on an escape.

Upon my “firing qualification” with the shotgun, the shotgun’s kick shock broke the crystal on my watch and the Army didn’t wish to repair it so I was out $25.00; 2 weeks pay!

Walking around with Rae and two other prisoners, I felt powerful and dignified that I was trusted to do a rather important job. My prisoners cleaned, built and carried things according to my “site” sergeant.

On one of the chore assignment task trips with my prisoners, [Rae and two others] Rae sat with me and mentioned that he convinced the other two guys not to jump me. On the day before, Rae claimed the other prisoners were going to, while swinging a sledge hammer as part of their duties, release it in my direction and then jump me and run like hell with my loaded pistol!

I thanked him for convincing them not to try for a break out. I might have been caught off-guard, but if I was threatened, I would have aimed my shotgun and solved any prisoner’s problem–the shotgun was designed to stop anyone within a radius of 10 yards. If any prisoner kept challenging me, I was to shoot him in his legs. I would have!

I felt “strike” (slang for “very” military) and shooting was something all soldiers are ready to do–internally at our own people if they are prisoners or externally at the Communists.

I guess I came close to shooting a man and possibly killing him and he didn’t know how lucky he was for not (the bad dude, not Rae) jumping me or flinging the sledge hammer in my direction. A sledge hammer does not fly quickly, especially when swung, and I would have shot him in the leg immediately (as I was told to do–so many times–I was conditioned to shoot at the least provocation! Any escaping or threatening prisoner would have lost a leg or worse–while just trying to get the better of me! How foolish!

Beach Blanket Bingo?

On another trip to Livorno, I was sent to the Army doctor to see about having them do surgery on my nostrils so that my nostrils would be more open, as I have a congenital deviated septum. When the weather is one way or another, my nostril’s membrane bends to close off one side or the other. I have spent my life breathing from my mouth while 99% of the populace breathes from their nostrils.

After my trip to the Army hospital office at Leghorn (the trip to the doctor’s office on a Friday gave me three days of complete freedom), I relaxed on the Italian Riviera and had my own mini pleasant experience.

I bought a very brief “hugging” bathing suit at a store on the Riviera–such suit’s clinging and briefness was anathema to me as a youth where a man’s genitals were supposed to be sheltered or covered subtlety, rather than outlined to show them off–something this bathing suit did. When I wore it a few years later, it was smaller than I had become and wouldn’t even cover me when I became aroused. On one beach were mini-canvas tents that beach goers use to change their clothes. This beach was part of the Italian Riviera. A new buddy (with a Carmen Ghia car) and I found a vacant space on the beach and laid out a large beach towel from which we could monitor the “Beach Bunny” scene. (If memory serves me right, there were also metal enclosures with rest room capability.)

After a bit, we spotted a yacht a couple of hundred yards off the beach that was slowly advancing to the beach. I took no further time to analyze and jumped into the water and began swimming toward the yacht. In a minute or two, I was within 50 yards of the yacht and a beautiful girl, about 17 years old, was slipping into the water. She gave me the impression that swimming (in the ocean) was not one of her greatest skills! Swimming in the ocean wasn’t overly pleasing to me either, but today, I was going to make it seem pleasing! I asked, in my best Italian, what she wanted or where she wanted to go and she motioned she could use help getting safely to shore. I took hold of her, under her arms from behind her head, like my dad taught me, when saving a drowning person, and swam slowly towards the beach. It was a slight struggle, but her smile and figure kept me happy!

When she and I arrived, she thanked me and walked off, politely and gratefully.

Each stay in Leghorn (Livorno) was also an introduction to almost complete freedom! I could check into a hotel or have use of the base barracks for free–often a good choice, for I was financially poor. However, compared to the average nice hotel and, considering how I spent my money-I erred in not “staying at different hotels each night–I did have the money and the experience would have been very valuable!

The layout of the fort at (Livorno) Leghorn, compared to Verona and Vicenza, was inconsequential, so I have no memory of it.

On December 31, 1966, my friend and I were in his Carmen Ghia’s [designed] Fiat and were zipping along about 60 mph at about 11:30 p.m. and were pulled over by the military police. We were amazed that they would bother with us this late in the year and evening as we were not possibly disturbing anyone! However, this was the military police and they have as much compassion as a terrorist! My friend got a ticket costing him $20.00!

Vicenza

Vicenza was/is a quaint town of perhaps 35,000. It consists of beautiful hills and gorgeous homes on top of these hills. It also consisted of the Villagio Della Pace, the controlled housing area for the Camp’s NCOIC’s and officers.

The town hosted a train station, a watch tower (I wanted to get pictures of Vicenza during the aftermath of a snow storm and obtained permission from the mayor to photograph the city from the top of the city’s tower–I was the only American to climb to its top in 45 years) and the normal cobble stone streets that are native to Italian towns. [Those pictures were stolen from me in the mid 1980's.]

Vicenza, as a host of American soldiers, had/has its Communists that felt all American soldiers were the scourge of their nation–even though we contributed immensely to the town’s operating budget. SETAF’s rules were rather simple regarding our safety: to keep our image on “low profile”, we were kept restricted to base during those days and evenings when the local Communist party was having a celebration or meeting. This was interesting.

Most all soldiers made weekly trips to town, either to get laid, drink cheap, but processed wine, or to simply sightsee. I did the third. On one trip to downtown, I met a Ferrucio Alliana, who, with his wife (both in their later 50’s or mid-60’s), owned and operated a Pasticceria; a pastry shop. Here I would buy the finest tasting pastry I have ever encountered. It was very inexpensive and I bought all I could afford. (On a monthly salary of $48). Mr. Alliana also sold Ice cream here too and I bought lots of it also. With my credibility and meager salary, I often ran out of Lira before the end of the month and the Allianas offered me credit whenever I asked for it. I also bought English produced mini cheesecake magazines (showing scantily clad women).

Ferrucio also took me, on the back of his Vespa (motor enclosed cycle) to the original castle of Romeo and Juliet.

I once met, in a store, a lady with a polio-stricken leg. We treated each other with compassion and respect. I could have been intimate with her but we didn’t think, with her having a son, that it would be too good of an idea to be intimate. This lady, whose name I have long forgotten, advised me one evening during one of my frequent visits, not to talk to her father. Her father was supposed to be one of the leading Mafia or Communist leaders and if he knew who I was, could cause much trouble for me and others. I considered this a challenge for my varied, funny, make-up voices. I thought I remembered, from a previous conversation with her, that he was building a house a mile or so from where she lived. I went by there introducing myself as a local tourist and chatted with him; and it was funny because he very well could have been the most dangerous man in the county or city but he thought I was a lost, most non-dangerous tourist who simply stopped to chat with a home builder. I told his daughter the next weekend [she was mad at me--nothing more-having met her dad]. I thought my act was a kick and I enjoyed my one day shtick when given the opportunity and this was the opportunity of the decade!

Venice (Venezia)

Muffy (Mary Mackey), from Covina High, Covina, California, wrote me and told me she would visit me at the Plaza in Venice. We met and it was the nicest afternoon I have had in many decades. She admitted the night before that the mosquitoes had bit her face and so she was puffy and therefore, she wanted to wear my hat [I had bought a green Bavarian hat when in Germany earlier] with her sun-glasses. I said “Fine.” Soon, as we walked along, a gull decorated me and we had a laugh, at my expensive! I never saw or heard from her again, after that day! As Venice (Venezia) is known for its gondolas, I would have taken a ride on one, but it would have been ½ a week’s wages or more and I was not up to that. I wanted Muffy in the worst way, but it was not to be on this trip. I have visited Venice many times and always enjoyed meeting the glass blowers, gondoliers and the other merchants.

Once, when visiting Venice (known as Venezia) and met a few native guys my age who spoke one or two words of English [while I spoke just a few words of Italian]. I was invited to sit with them, on a bridge a quarter mile from the main plaza and, as the three played their guitars, I began signing. Since I didn’t know the words to any song all the way through, I just improvised and, as these wonderful but presumably poor people they basically spoke no English, I was not criticized but provided 2-3 hours of fun and pleasure for them and myself and at least, sang in tune!

When I was completing my “songfest”, I looked up and noticed about 8 windows open with the house’s mothers leaning out, admiring both the guitar music and my singing! How wonderful!

Shoshanna

I visited Venice (Venezia) many times and stayed one time at a rather nice hotel. There, I met Shoshanna Nadashi.

Shoshanna was a journalist from Haifa, Israel, was VERY attractive and about 23 years old. She was literate (logically, considering her vocation) and she invited me to visit her and her family in Haifa, Israel. I said I would be happy to visit her. Then, a few months later, in the summer, I wrote my dad for my travel money (my savings bonds). I cashed them in and went to the “four corners” of the earth to be with Shoshanna.

My trip to Israel

I only needed to go to the orderly room and ask for a LEAVE. A pass is for a weekend at most and a LEAVE is a synonym for a vacation–longer time away from the post. I don’t remember ever telling her specifically that I was coming–I was just going to arrive at her doorstep.

I sought 2-3 weeks and this request was granted instantly; the sergeant who gave it to me suggested that it was not necessary for me to return. He preferred that I go AWOL-Absent With OUT Leave after my LEAVE time expired. Oh well, the feeling was basically mutual but the penalty was horrendous; weeks or months in the stockade.

A few days later, I packed my suitcase and headed to the bus, then to the train station and headed south to Roma, for my visas. I was going to be in Greece, Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Kuwait and Israel plus Cyprus on the way back on a ship. I was in Roma for a few days, visiting the Trevi Fountain where one tosses a coin; I put in 10 Lira. [five cents] On one ride to one embassy, my taxi clipped a pedestrian who was in a cross-walk. Ouch. She swore and he apologized. Damn! Of course, I also visited the Colosseum. Rome/Roma was enjoyable but not any more so than other Italian cities. From there, needing to get to Bari for my flight to Greece, I needed to get to Naples. Did that two evenings later. From there I was going to take another train to Bari. From there, I took a flight to Athens, Greece.

I visited the Acropolis and a few other tourist places and then, to save some money and get along faster, I returned to the airport and visited the US Army “section.” I asked about “space available” flights going to Turkey. Luckily enough, one was leaving the next morning. I was also advised not stay away from Athens that evening as the government was in upheaval in an overthrow. Wow.

I also had to shave again and just have my ID ready. I was on an US Air Force cargo plane and it landed, a few hours later, in Adana, Turkey. Nothing about Adana’s airport was “foreign looking” but when I took a taxi into town–just a few miles, I did get an education. I found a decent hotel. I chose to get educated about the town while concurrently keeping a low profile. And for my youth education–just as if visiting a circus–I was asked if I wanted to visit the “whore row.” I said “Yes.” There is a gate with a guard and all were frisked. That did not bother me. And I realize I was lucky that my money was not stolen from my suitcase in my room as I carried “excessive cash” just in case. I had not made use of American Express checks. Past the gate, with a local “guide [also no cost]” I walked down their version of Hollywood Bldg. Wow. Displayed in windows just like any high fashion store in the US, were –in bedroom garb, the ladies of each house. Their prices were well within my budget but I was not there to partake, only to view from a distance. I think they were one half-dollar to be given to the house mother. I never entered any of the houses [stores?]. I met an American lady, aged early 30’s and we had nice chats the next day on the train. Since Israel was basically due south a few hundred miles but beyond Syria and Lebanon, I was in for a nice long ride. It was fun chatting with this mature American lady. After about 1 hour into our ride, the train headed south and into pure Arizona like desert country. After ½ hour or an hour in the desert of northern Syria, the train came to a stop. This was the outer edge of Allepo according to others. There was no town. No nothing –except, as God is my witness–a shack with a Coka-Cola machine! And a guard/employee. I think I bought 2 sodas. In 15 minutes the train was on its way again, and it stopped in Beirut, my current destination. I quickly found a nice hotel in Beirut adjacent to the ocean and swam for a few hours. I also needed to visit the US embassy for something. That afternoon, I did an irrevocable stupid thing. I wanted to visit Kuwait and I budgeted for a train ride over there. I thought I needed to buy currency in each nation, and gave a guy I met, most of my US cash. I was sure I could find him if he messed with me. He came back with Lebanese Currency but with a chunk take out for his labors–which included buying a Laurence of Arabia head piece and gown with super tourist knife that was cracked. That exchange cost me 25% of my entire funds. HOW stupid can a traveler be! That eliminate my trip to Kuwait. The next day, while I was on my next mode of transport, it was bombed as was the hotel I was staying in. Damn. I next took either a train or taxi to Damascus, Syria. I did nothing special there. The next morning, I obtained a taxi for Amman, Jordan. Half-way there, we were stopped on the highway by 3 camel laden soldiers. My suitcase was inspected and they did not find my 560th Signal Core tourist jacket I had to show to Shoshanna. Wow. In Amman, I went to a recommended hotel and was signing in and prepared to pre-pay for my room and discovered I did not have my wallet. [Where did I have my ID??] I immediately took another taxi back to my Damascus hotel and luckily, my wallet was still there with my remaining cash in it! Wow again! Climbed aboard another taxi and back to Amman I went! I got applause from residents as I chose to put my suitcase on my head as I walked to my hotel! I like that.

That night, I got a bit thirsty and did not have any soda with me so I had a teaspoon of water from the tap. Within 30 minutes, I had diarrhea. Their toilet facilities were unique to me; a fairly clean tiled room but no commode. They had a hole in the center of the tile –5-8 inches in diameter and a pitcher of water. I had a battle balancing and jockeying between squatting and puking–for 15 minutes. Wow again.

The next morning, I felt a “bit better” and walked towards the [now gone] Mandelbaum Gate. It had a zig zag corridor with machine guns above on both sides, with some ID required spot. The buses were located just a few feet away and I caught one to Haifa, several miles to the north.

I anxiously walked the mile or so to Shoshanna’s house. I think only her mom was there but she knew who I was and warmly accepted me. That night, I discovered 2 things; her brother was in the army “somewhere” and that their normal fare for liquid with dinner was soda water. Guess what–in 2 hours, I was up and down the stairs for 2 hours, needing to expunge myself of that water. Damn.

I stayed perhaps a week in Haifa with Shoshana. She offered me a life in Israel. I both thanked her and immediately said “No way!” I gladly will make a life for you in the US but realistically, there are 35 million Arabs that want to kill you. Very poor odds!

She lent me money to get a ship back to Venice and train fare back to Vicenza. I paid her back on my next pay day.

Ironically, she called me a few years later in Sacramento, and asked my permission to marry a Bulgarian Jew. I reluctantly gave her permission. Twelve years later, she was in Canada, living with her new family. Damn. She would not do that with me!

Upon my return from Israel, life was as “normal” as it had ever been for an army base. Guys had received their normal allocation of Article 15’s, reveille had occurred each weekday morning, other guys had gotten drunk and I presume Rosie had her hands full of her customers.

I usually ignored most military life around me, but one day, when marching with a Specialist 5th class who didn’t know his marching protocol, I had fun, every few minutes, yelling “as you were” which is what one is obligate to say when an “incorrect” marching order was given. It really was a “trip” guiding a senior ranking military specialist in the science of marching (and I did it politely!)

This same (I think) “non-com” (non-commissioned officer) was “NCOIC” (non-commissioned officer in charge) of the company one weekend morning. He and I were talking as I sat (inappropriate to sit on any desk) on the NCOIC’s desk while he was doing chores.

I was a PFC [private first class] with 2.5 years time in grade (a division record–not a good thing!). A second lieutenant entered whom I recognized immediately from our company. The NCOIC advised (not ordered) me to get off the desk or the second lieutenant could cause me trouble. I suggested, punkishly, that the lieutenant couldn’t do anything serious except to ask me to get off, since, with my seniority in grade, it took a major or higher to cause me trouble. I continued sitting on the desk and the lieutenant left, not visibly angered or frustrated. (There are few benefits of having such a long time in grade and this was one of the petty ones).

Another day, I heard that, prior to my arriving at Ederle, one solider had gotten so pissed off at his first sergeant and company commander that, as he completed a guard shift, he took his loaded M-14 rifle, walked into the first sergeant’s office. There, this disgruntled soldier used the butt of his rifle and hit the sergeant, knocking him out. Then, to complete his self-appointed mission, went into the captain’s office and shot him several times, instantly killing him!

One evening, while pulling guard duty, two others and myself were assigned to adjoining guard areas. We decided to be creative and each of us found ourselves a truck and climbed in and angled the mirrors so that we wouldn’t have to walk. I thought this was the smartest thing we had accomplished since being at the post. This does not imply that we felt there was no value to guard duty, only that we didn’t feel the need to walk if the same security could be provided from a hidden position.

Misc things from memory about my service time:

While I was not a bad boy/man, I did earn 5 article 15’s. The military has two ways that it reprimands its soldiers–court’s martial if someone does BAD stuff, and 15’s if one does small stuff that the company commander feels needs to be punished; my 5 emanated from; being off base one day after 5 pm without having a tie on. Another included not keeping my helmet on when I had a headache. Another was from not stopping at a stop sign after having my breaks fixed on base on a Sunday afternoon and the only car on the road for 6 miles in any direction was an MP car. The reasons for the two others have disappeared from my memory.

The day before Italy had its greatest flood in 50 years, I was assigned to go with a Sp-5 on a water run and wire repair run near the Army’s most important radio relay site, “Yankee relay” in the hills perhaps 200 miles away from our base. Not sure how it worked out but the army had arranged for a farmer [?] to be a back-up radio site for Yankee Relay. Its wire for the radio was cut. I was taught how to repair this cut. I was directed to aim to the back of the farm and start there. Seek a broken wire. When found, repair it and connect up a portable, wire oriented radio I was carrying. I found a broken wire within 30 minutes and repaired it. I was able to talk to my sp-5. He advised me that there was another break–that they still could not talk to the relay station hundreds of yards up the hill. So, I needed to walk down and up the surrounding hills in the rain to find where the wire was. After 2-3 hours, I found another break. I fixed it quickly and all was well with both Yankee Relay and the back up house down below where I started this wire repair assignment. The next morning, the rain [and its very thick, helicopter stopping clouds] stopped and the clouds parted. Shortly, a helicopter landed not far from the house and I was assigned to unload the truck [2 & ½ ton] and load it onto the helo. I was offered the option of flying up to Yankee Relay or returning to base in the truck. NO brainer. I took the helo. In 3 minutes, we were at the top of the tallest hill. I wanted to see the inside of the shack that was 30 yards away but, as I had only a confidential clearance, I was prohibited from doing so. Thus, I handed, two at a time, all the water cans that I had loaded onto the helo to two soldiers that came from the shack up to the chopper and in 15 minutes, all the cans were unloaded and we took off–back to Vicenza. As the chopper flew over Florence [aka Firenze], we saw floods in many places and at the time, we did not know the calamity that rain had brought; a record of floods throughout the country. Wow. [I had already visited Florence a few months previous while on the way to

Leghorn.

A few weeks later, I was directed to be a major’s jeep driver, taking him to a missile base the Army had inside of Yugoslavia. I only goofed once when I forgot to convert miles and hour to kilometers per hour and I entered one city too quickly and almost got a ticket. I was excited to be at a missile base but, not needing to, I was not permitted to see the missiles.

I was returned to Ft Ord earlier than expected. I had expected to be returned there a few days before my service obligation was over–but I was returned four months early. I was assigned to CDC of CDCEC, Combat Developments Command of the Experimentation Command--a new and unique branch at Ft. Ord and the 6th Army that either invented or improved weapons for field service--small arms like M-16's [rifles] and M-79 grenade launchers and LAWs–light anti tank weapons-(you see LAWS in lots of movies–they are the green tube that can be extended, has a mini sight and out shoots a rocket that explodes when it hits something and is especially good for knocking out tanks (LAW= Light Anti-tank Weapon). It replaced the bazooka

Within CDCEC, I was assigned to work at Personnel with very stodgy people. I soon said this is for the birds and tried to hustle a civilian secretary–a captain’s wife–so that I could be sent to a place where I wouldn’t be hassled–Hunter Liggett Military Reservation.

When I arrived at Hunter Liggett, I was a still a Private First Class, and worked directly for three people; a master sergeant named Captain, a captain named Johnston and a major named Foster. I had good chow, a decent, non-harassing barracks and a place to demonstrate my typing skills and knowledge I had picked up about weapons. I often impressed master sergeant Captain but he wouldn’t give me any benefits or additional rank when earned, even though I had the requisite skills.

On one walk to my work area, [at Hunter Liggett] I was so pissed off at this one specialist, I offered to shoot his fucking ass off if he kept fucking with me, and for the first time in my life, I meant it. He realized I did and left me alone.

I was still a Private First Class–longer than anyone else in the 6th Army (285,000 soldiers?) and, before I was honorably discharged, I wanted a promotion for two reasons; to validate that I wasn’t the punky kid others thought I was and for the $45 or so extra dollars per month that Sp 4 rank would provide. The inspector general is the top “problem solver” throughout the U.S. Army and he has subordinates on every base to see if everyone is following U.S. Army law and to see that everyone is treated equally. I knew I was one meeting away from my Sp 4 rank because sergeants hold such promotions over the head of those they want to feel powerful over, and, unfortunately, Master Sergeant Captain wanted this power. Once I mentioned I wanted to see the IG. I was home free because he was prohibited from stopping me and I had already satisfied the requirements of SP-4; time in grade and a typing test with sufficient speed. Unfortunately, I wanted to “pull rank” over one guy that I had wanted to shoot, but he had also qualified and we were at the IG’s together and when each of us told our mini stories about being qualified and not being granted our respective Sp-4s, the IG promoted us both on the spot!

I once offered to take a demotion when KP was being changed and now, even SP-4’s had to do KP. I said bust me to PFC, but I won’t do KP. Major Foster said that it would be my last time in the service to pull KP, why give up my hard earned rank for one day’s slop? I succumbed and did my KP!

Other tidbits of data re Hunter Liggett that might interest you:

I am a tracker of small communities–there was a slight mystery in these townships (or whatever legal status they have), and I constantly wonder why anyone would open a bar or snack shop that looks like its in the middle of nothing. Perhaps the proprietor met different people in the same area over a period of time that were constantly needing small amounts of supplies and this person thought that the area was a nice place to live (small merchants rarely live far their shops) so he/she opened up a place and it grew depending on hours of availability, prices and service.

Jolon was one of these small communities, perhaps holding a population of 35 with a snack shack.

Hunter Liggett was likely a reserved chunk of land like a farm that the military needed for testing arms, etc. King City, on the east side of the hills, provided the non-commissioned and officers a place for “regular shopping or housing”, if these military people didn’t want to take the mountain road or the long way around to Monterey and community where Ft. Ord was located.

The mountain route from Hunter Liggett, unless changed today, is something to behold–and not for the nonadverturess–it is twisty, winds high into the hills and, while offering splendid views, is not where you want to be if speed or hurry is importance! I doubt I would drive it again!

When my discharge date neared, (Aug 25 was my “out date,” since soldiers are not separated on the weekend), I was ordered to return to Ft. Ord on Aug 24. I was what is called SHORT–meaning no body messed with me and I ignored anybody that did not have a direct relationship with my discharge.

I was given no duties to perform and just kept my “nose” clean. I went to the various offices that were part of the “separation process” on base and turned in GI war gear, had any applicable physical and shots, and heard the obligatory RE-UP speech (why this Kemper jerk ought to stay in the U. S. Army 3 or more years)!

I went and ate chow and just relaxed. I did not plan anything about my discharge day, I just left my inconsequential mind blank, most of the time.

On August 24th returned to assignment at CDC HQ at Fort Ord for preparation for military separation/discharge. Got out 1 day early cause of their not wanting to work on a Saturday. I took someone’s mattress and loaded the car, got my pay and left.

Finally, the 25th! I went to the PAYMASTER and got paid–and found I had stayed at Camp Ederle so long, that the Army owed me over 35 days paid leave! (Almost a record!) When I had everything, I then went to the first sergeant’s clerk and got my discharge papers that indicated as of 1700 hours, or 5 p.m., I was a civilian. I had my pay, my civilian clothes bought both at Ord and in Sacramento on one of my many visits, grabbed up another guys bed roll and blankets (in case I needed a place to sleep that night–I couldn’t take my own because that was traceable!) and placed them in my car, and drove casually off the base. I was gone by 10:00 a.m. and on my way to Sacramento!

I desired to get some additional “easy pay” and joined the California National Guard, circa 1975.

So, I checked out my phone book and found a local armory that had an opening for a veteran. I went to the Watt Avenue guard administration office. After filling out “x” papers, I was in again. I was offered and I accepted, Sp-5 rank, the next step up from Sp-4 and an equivalent of a non-commissioned officer. At the local armory, I introduced myself to the local company commander that had an opening and he “mechanically” said “Welcome.”

My studies took so much time it was near impossible to find an employer who was willing to have me part time as I gained more formal schooling. I had not thought of it previously, but I figured, why not? I can gain more rank! No more KP, less BS, etc. I was assigned to Ft Ord’s Instructor Training Course. Unfortunately, I never was asked to teach a class for this armory!

I was not assigned to any specific activity yet. Since I chose to work and supervise rather than sit down till I was recognized, I went to the motor pool as vehicle always need maintenance. I saw a private doing some work on a M-141 [that I had been taught how to repair when I was in Murnau a decade earlier]. I guided the private to do a few simple things and we were a happy pair. Within 15 minutes, a buck sergeant [same pay grade as myself] E5 asked me what I was doing. I told him. I did not want to answer but as this was my first hour in my new rank and job, I tried to get along with all people. I said something like “I am an unassigned new non-com and this private was un-supervised. We are getting along great.” I did not expect the retort. “You have no rights to give anyone orders. You are not his immediate supervisor”, or something like that. I said, I am your same pay grade and the US Army gives me that right. Either he asked me to accompany him or I demanded a hearing with the company commander that we both knew was at his desk upstairs, 100 feet away. Within minutes, I was facing this captain. The captain said something like “This sergeant said you have no right to direct anyone to do anything and I will back him up.” I said basically, that the captain was wrong and the sergeant was wrong. What I did was not only acceptable but important-because when a private is un-supervised and a Sp-5 is non-task assigned, the Specialist has every right to take control. I was then told to wait outside his office, if memory serves me correct. Shortly thereafter, I was directed to go to the battalion executive officer [XO] and I relished this directive. An XO is always smarter than a bloody company commander. I was in the XO’s office in 2 minutes and was warmly invited in. “Specialist Kemper, would you like to be my driver?” “Yes sir!” Case and problem solved.

I have no memory what I did during the rest of that day or the next few months but when “summer training” came, I went with the battalion as the XO’s driver, to some hills and valley a few hundred miles south of Sacramento.

The advantage of driving a field grade officer [Majors, Lt Colonels and Colones are field grade officers and they have power.] NO one gets in-between the XO or CO’s driver and the officer himself!! Hurray!

After getting my XO to the area, I was assigned a place to put my sleeping bag [no tent and the weather was fine, as it was summer]. About 4 a.m., I was woken by an orderly [clerk.] I was directed to go see the XO. I did immediately. He advised me to get ready to go, in 5 minutes.

5 minutes, at 4 in the morning!!! Help!!!

I did get as ready as one can be with 6 hours sleep. [or it could have been earlier.] My jeep was the command leading vehicle. And we were on black out status–which meant, for the 2nd time only, I was to drive a vehicle with only the mini “pen lights” that sit adjacent to the normal headlights. It was not enough to see dirt roads but it was all I had. I ran off the road a foot or so several times and the XO did get peeved. I chose not to comment [Hell, I barely got any sleep and I can’t see a damn thing.] He already knew that. But he had his orders from the Battalion CO.

After 1-2 hours of driving through a valley and up into a hilly area, we were advised to watch out for an enemy. Watch out? What were we supposed to do if we found the enemy? I am driving! Anyway, 10 minutes after being directed to Watch Out, we were attacked and we were “wiped out.” It was handled so oddly I did not get any learning from this activity. I was not upset but I was very

puzzled.

Later that day, my XO directed me to stop at specific places in the valley or mountain/hill and pick up two more officers-both would have been S 2 or S 3 or S 4 officers. The S means either Intelligence, Supply, Staffing or other. The XO [my boss] was an major, pay grade 04. The CO is a 05. These other offices were also majors. This was the first time in my life, that this grouping of events was occurring; I was a battalion XO’s driver, I was the driver also for two other battalion field grade officers, I was a non-com and I was treated by all 4 officers either as an equal or at least with the maximum respect I had ever had in my life. It was fantastic–for the 2-3 hours that we 5 were together. I had the knowledge also of being very careful how I traversed areas on this mountain/hill area–so as not to let the suspension tip the jeep over! Also, most field grade officers carry side arms only so when my boss needed to sight in on a prospective enemy down the hill, he asked for my M-14. Never had an officer ever borrow anything from me. That also made me feel good.

That is all I remember from my year enlistment with the guard as a Sp 5.

A year later, I wanted to taste being a buck sergeant, so I returned to Watt Ave and sought to be changed [I was not in the guard at this time, as my 1 yr had expired] from a Sp 5 to a Sgt E 5. That was granted immediately, as I re-enlisted for another year in the guard–at

a different armory! Hooray! I was finally a sergeant.

I showed up at a my new armory where I was assigned and I was in khaki class As, instead of fatigues. I felt like I was 10 feet tall.

I was assigned to work for this new battalion’s E7 supply sergeant. I was humming along, as happy as a clam. After 1-2 hours, a big olive truck of very special design slowly drove into the armory center. I had not seen this type of vehicle in ages. I knew in an instant it was a photo lab vehicle. I got immediate permission to go chat with the sergeant or warrant officer in charge. [I sought permission from my sergeant out of respect and I was working for him and E5s are subordinate to E7's]

Quickly, I met the commander–I do not remember if it was an E7 sergeant or a warrant officer but I asked about any openings and by coincidence, there was one and I was immediately accepted–and I was, with a smile on his face, released from duty in supply.

I think that our next month’s duty station was at a distant valley. I was so excited.

That next month, not sure I how got there, but I arrived at the summer, week long training site. I “signed in.” I used my own camera–a Minolta SRT101. Their film. And I did my own processing or they did, I don’t remember; I certainly knew how to do it.

I was informed that I could cover any area of the training– that covered 12+ square miles and there were 4 or 5 other photographers in this summer training assignment. I would take pictures of tanks [one from lying down just feet from it as it moved], and my best shots were of a firing range with jeep mounted recoilless rifles [mini cannons] that used rocket propelled ammo–about 2 feet long. These jeeps were lined up, facing a target ½ mile away, with one jeep next to another jeep, with about 10 firing in sequence. I slipped when climbing up a dirt embankment and the firing was halted for me briefly. No one gave me any hassle; and there was a monitoring one star [brigadier] general in an office at the top of the row of jeeps. Within 15 minutes, with each jeep’s rockets creating a back flame of 6+ feet, weeds and dry brush caught fire. Instead of it expanding one or two feet per minute, the fire expanded about 10 feet per second. I “instantly” positioned myself to shoot 5 pictures of the fire and of low rank officers reacting to the fire. Very exciting–especially with an ammo dump about 100 ft away and with the fire very close to it! I never felt fear during this

“put out the fire mini-emergency.”

Normally, each photographer had one picture in the summer’s single edition newspaper. I had 4 of mine printed. That was a record that was never seen before or since!!

ROTC–Reserve Officer Training Corps.

In 1976, after graduating from college with my BS degree, I felt I wanted more opportunities. ROTC was the only thing I had not tried that I was immediately qualified for. It was headquartered, from my memory, in Davis, California. I was immediately accepted for it.

During PT [physical training] I was usually told to slow down and my response to the student NCOs and student officers, was “Charlie’s bullets do not go slow.” Charlie is the nickname for the non uniformed, armed people in Vietnam that fought the U.S. military in addition to the uniformed Communist officers of the North Vietnam army.

I could out ANYTHING during PT–out perform any candidate in any exercise–at age 34?

During inside training, I was introduced to the AR-15. IT seemed wimpy but it was responsible for many “kills” in Nam.

During my much sought after summer training, we spent 2 whole days in the field, instead of the

1-2 weeks that the guard had spent. My single summer with them deserves to be told as it was both exhilarating, fun and dumb as rocks, rolled into one ball.

The single officer assigned to this duty as ROTC instructor is a major. I was the oldest candidate by at least a decade. I was the only prior service person.

We drove to a parking lot adjacent to a huge flat field east of Rancho Cordova. We had our gear and were ready for instructions. The first dumbfounded everyone. DROP your gear, except for your canteen and your rifle. [Sleeping bag, jacket, etc, thus stayed in one’s duffle bag]. “It will be picked up by someone and brought to our bivouac area this evening.”

We were a battalion. [normal--the smallest ‘independent’ body of soldiers.] I was initially assigned

as fire team leader……[the US army’s soldiers are made up of, rank or group wise, fire team, squad, platoon, company battalion, brigade, regiment, division, corps, and an Army. So, I led 5 guys, making 6 in our fire team. A fire team is simply smaller and makes a smaller target anywhere. It was exciting because it was handled as if it was "In country." [The nick name for in enemy territory–Nam.] I would crouch, and take the team through here and there, with a map, getting us closer to a specific objective. I would act like a tiger, slow, methodical, twisting and stopping and going. After 1 hour or so, I was replaced and told to be either a tail for the team or something else. That was fine too.

Then, after 2-4 hours, the battalion was stopped and I was sought and ordered to leave the fire team or squad and meet the student battalion officer. I met him in 5 minutes and he said “you are now the battalion commander. “YOUR task to get the battalion to this [on a map] location. Blah blah. GO!” I was trainee battalion commander for an hour. It was both odd and great. When I said “ten hut,” I was stopped and told the command is “attention”.. we no longer abbreviate it. Ok.

I had the troops spread out over 500 yards front to back and 200 yards side to side. That is took keep them from becoming a perfect target for a howitzer or mortar or cannon round. I gave 2 or 3 commands per ½ hour and we safely and completely got to our objective. I would like to have watched the student company commanders perform.

By mid evening, we were at our end objective. We were in a treed area. With fox holes. GOOD! Now, we were told something we did not believe. Our jackets and other uniform materials and supplies were still back at the parking lot and we also had NO ammo [blanks that sound as loud as

read rounds.]

We were ordered to yell BANG. I laughed so loud for ½ minute but I did not call anyone a name or swear. [That was a first!]

About 3 in the morning, an enemy came up the hill. On command, “fire!!!” I yelled aggressively and without doubt, the loudest and fastest string of BANG BANGs you ever heard. Fifteen minutes later, the battle was considered over.

I was singled out as the finest fighter with the loudest bang in the battalion! Hahahah!

I did enjoy our field exercise, regardless.

A few weeks later, I was asked to visit the ROTC instructor. He said I had not filled out some parts of the application form. I said that the US has been prohibited from asking that or those questions for 6 yrs, and I quoted the law.

The major said ‘that could very well be true. BUT for now I have to give you two choices; fill it in anyway, or accept an immediate discharge. I am sure today that I again, took the wrong direction. I accepted a discharge. I would have positively been a LT. in 1 yr and likely a captain in 3. Oh well.

[I also sought a direct commission in the navy the next month. At a navy armory/base in South Sacramento. It was an 03, lieutenant, in the public information office. If I had a master’s in journalism. I went to the same center I had been to in Oakland [on their dime] in 64 and was the oldest candidate by x years! When it was time for the interview, I was asked if I had a MA in journalism. I had not been told that such was a requirement and I still do not have one in that field so, instead of having a swearing in ceremony which was what I went there for, I was released on the spot–politely. I also went to the air force and took their mechanical test. Had no idea what the tools did or puzzles represented but I was told I got a very high score but they did not use drivers or photographers and as I was not a pilot, they had no current openings

for me. No loss.

When I tried to re-enter the guard in Arizona, I had become too old.

The US military has excellent food, training, motivation, and equipment but many of its

objectives–fighting bad Muslims, NOT trying to free restricted Chinese and more, too often make

me less proud of the US military and its fuzzy objectives. Hope I live long enough for

it to make sense like it did in WW 1 and 11.

      That sounds good, but how can we bring it about?  Waking up each day with the attitude to take whatever comes during the day and make the best of it is a start.  There is a teaching of Jesus in Matthew where he says, “Do not worry about the things of tomorrow, today has worries enough of its own.”  Understanding what is meant goes a long way in helping us to live well.  If we can begin to live each moment as it comes and deal with it, anxiety is less likely to plague us.  When we engage in worry, the things we worry about are generally in the future and that is something we can do nothing about. 

      Living well and happily is the best way to prove that the sacrifice of lives that allow us to live this way is not in vain.

Although I did not serve in the armed forces, I have much respect for those who died for me.  Thank you very much.  I am considering myself a very lucky individual to live in this country, without fear or torture from those who would have taken freedom away from us all.

If you have lost a loved one in your family or friends, stay strong and supporting.  Most of all remain proud of them.  Those who were near death or lost limbs and are lucky to be alive today, thank you. We shall remain still a strong and powerful nation.  Happy Memorial Day!

Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney is promising to maintain an American military “with no comparable power anywhere in the world.”

The presumptive Republican presidential nominee faced a San Diego crowd estimated at 5,000 on Monday in what was billed as a Memorial Day service, not a campaign rally. But he drew clear contrasts with President Barack Obama.

Romney is warning against shrinking America’s military in Europe’s image. He says America must have the world’s strongest military to win wars and to prevent them.

Romney was joined by Arizona Sen. John McCain, a Vietnam veteran who says Romney is “fully qualified” to be the nation’s commander in chief.

Obama paid tribute to veterans in the Washington area Monday.

A new Gallup poll shows veterans prefer Romney over the president.

In dedication to all the soldiers who died for our freedom.  They are incredible.

And for those who resist their lives}  Law enforcement, firefighters and etc..

for our safety and etc…

They are awesome as well.  They deserve our recognition.  

Please be sacred on this day.  If possible hang your Countries flag out on

your front and back yard to demo your love for your Country, please.

Suggestion:  show your family a lot of love and pride knowing you can

do this.  Our troops made this day possible.  

Please add a photo of a soldier.. on the comment section at the bottom

so we can honor them..  

If you have a Memorial Wall in your community.. suggestion:  pay tribute

to it..