Weekend Pass

I waited all day to get called out by my instructors about the bathroom incident but they did not.  That sort of made things worse as I just wanted to get it all over with but instead it just loomed over my head.

That night in our room it was worse than ever.  Before the bathroom incident, I had one roommate that wasn't for me but she also wasn't against me.  She tried to remain neutral, all the while the others clearly hated me.  I lost my last ally in my room and I knew that was going to make getting through the course ever harder, if in fact I wasn't soon to be kicked out for my infraction of the rules pertaining the door by the bathroom.

I guess I wasn't cut out to be a soldier and in fact, those words ran across my mind like a digital bank billboard complete with time and weather, "1700 hours, 45 degrees, you were not cut out to be a soldier. . . . 1701 hours, 45 degrees, you were not cut out to be a soldier . . .".  And it wasn't the first time either, during any military training operation I second guessed my soldiering skills on a daily --no actually, minute-by-minute basis.

And other things were going on too.  In the back of my mind just nagging at me was my upcoming Platoon Sergeant duties.  That pretty much ate away at me every second of the day.

We had been so isloated at school, not able to leave or call that the upcoming weekend pass was going to be a much welcomed break.  Before school started, Newsome and I agreed he'd pick me up the first Saturday we were able to get a pass.  I don't remember the details as to what we arranged but I do remember it was set in my mind, that we had firmly made plans for him to pick me up.

Well, come Saturday morning we of course first had to "GI" (clean) the barracks before we were released.  More time consuming than that, the instructors had to come around and inspect your areas before you could leave -- so once we got finished we had to wait to get inspected.  When I was finally released, it was later than I had anticipated but I assumed Newsome would have waited for me.  I got my personal things together and headed out.  I didn't see him anywhere at first but I figured he probably got tired of waiting and he'd be back.

So I just stood outside the school, watching all of my fellow PLDC soldiers leaving and some even offered me a ride, "No," I'd say to them, "I'm just waiting on my ride."

And waiting I did.  In fact, over an hour of it.  I finally determined Newsome wasn't coming and I don't remember how I got back to my barracks but I have some slight recolleciton of taking a bus.  I wasn't agnry as much as disappointed.  I needed to see him.  He was my Army "go to" man that helped me make sense off all that Army stuff.  When I couldn't handle the heat, he seemed to make things all better for me.  I needed that pep talk and advice and besides, I just really wanted to see him.

But I didn't get to.  Instead I spent the rest of the weekend in my barracks with roommates that LIKED me and I regaled them with my PLDC tales and told them I'd be Platoon Sergeant and, "WHAT?? YOU???  Platoon Sergeant?", was their reaction.  And I also gave them a message to relay to SSG Newsome, should they happen to see him, that I had waited over an hour for him and he never showed and I joked, "And he better be in the hospital again because that's the only excuse I'm going to accept."

PLDC -Losing My Last "Friend"

Remember the Woman's restroom at the end of hallway we discovered? Remember the females got in trouble because someone had been sneaking out?
Well . . . .

One day I walk down the hallway to the bathroom and there was another female (not one of my roommates) standing at the door. She looked at me sort-of sad like and nervously asked me to do her a favor. She went on to explain she left an important piece of her uniform in her car, which was parked right outside the door and she desperately needed to get it. She pleaded with me to stand at the door and wait for her to let her back in. Now remember, we had been warned against doing so and that kept resounding in my head but . . . I also thought of my own unfortunate uniform mishap when I wore my roommates nylon stockings (of a very off color for me) and how uncomfortable and stupid I felt then. My heart when out to her --she needed her uniform.

But . . . What if we got caught? Was it my problem she forgot her uniform? I kind of told her as much but she kept begging me on and on, "Pleeeeeease!!! My car is right outside the door. I promise you I'll only be a second. I'll run right out and right back in. I won't tell anyone you let me in and if I get caught outside I won't tell them you agreed to let me back in. Oh please, I'll fail inspection if I don't have my uniform ready."

What's a weak girl like me to do? Deny such request? I mean, she did promise to run out and right back in. I look down the hallway seeing if anyone is in sight then I tell her, "Okay but you have to run out and right back in but if you get caught outside I'm outta here and I'm not waiting around." She thought that was fair enough and quickly exited the building. What seemed like HOURS was probably only minutes, if not seconds as I stood by the door waiting for her knock all the while keeping my eye down the hallway in case someone should come but also positioning myself to make it appear like I'm just going into the bathroom, not standing at the door waiting for someone.

Come on! COME ON! Hurry up.

Next thing I know, another female was walking down the hall towards us. It was one of my roommates but the one that was "sort-of" nice to me so I was hoping she'd be understanding.

She wasn't.

She walked up, pointed to the bathroom door and asked, "Are you waiting to go in?", not so much to inquire but more so to set me up for lying and failure.  I'm pretty sure she knew what I was up to.

Oh dear. What now? If I go into the bathroom and then the other lady comes back knocking, we're busted. If I tell her no she's going to know I'm up to something else. I tried to pretend I was just being nice and polite and I said, "Oh, why don't you go head --no problem." She wasn't buying it. She looked at the door then at me having put 2 and 2 together but before she could say anything there was the faintest knock at the door. I thought about pretending I had no idea what that was about but then I couldn't leave that other girl out there like that --I figured I was already busted anyway so ----- I opened the door. The girl was surprised to see someone else there. We all three stood there kind of frozen in time for a few seconds and then suddenly, my roommate indignantly spun around on her heel and with a mind-set of purpose, quickly marched herself back down the hall.

Oh yeah, she was totally going to go tell on us and as much as I hated to get kicked out of school, I was a bit relieved I'd not have to do that whole Platoon Sergeant thing.

PLDC - Platoon Sergeant

One day while we were in class our instructor told us 1/2 way through the course we'd be changing leadership positions (the ones that were randomly chosen by student number) and they were posted on the wall in the classroom so on our next break we should check it out.

I didn't care.  I mean --what were the chances I'd land a leadership position?

Pretty good.

Platoon Sergeant.

Nothing short of complete and total unadulterated panic ensued.  I mean, the guys didn't panic as much as they just stood there in disbelief wondering how I'd ever pull off such a thing ---but me?  Panic.  Total panic.  Complete panic.  Nothing ---no words to explain the panic in me.  Come on --this is like sending a 1st grader into a high school to teach them how to read.

1.  They already know how to read.
2.  Not only can they read, they are experienced readers and have been doing it for years.
3.  No high schooler is going to take a 1st grader seriously.
4.  A 1st grader can't even stand tall enough or talk loud enough to bee seen/heard.

And that is exactly what me being assigned as Platoon Sergeant over all these CAV soldiers would be like.  They knew it.  I knew it.

And not to even mention the fact that the last half of PLDC was the most difficult --as that's when we did all of our "hands on" stuff --and we'd have a field exercise and ---our big 5 mile run.

What did you say?  A FIVE MILE RUN?  Yeah, as if I wasn't dreading that enough, now I'd be the one to run it, lead it and sing cadence.  I was going to be the Platoon Sergeant.

Oh dear.  Oh Dear.  OH DEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PLDC-- The Females Get In Trouble

During PLDC we were not allowed to leave the building with out a pass or permission but apparently, some had been doing so.

Downstairs at the end of a hallway was a small female bathroom and next to it a door that went out to the parking lot.  A few of the females discovered this small bathroom, which was nice because you know, we didn't have our own to use and though it was just a toilet and sink, it was still just ours.  But in the discovery of this little gem, some females also discovered they could exit the building through that outside door and not get seen/caught.  And so --that's what some females were doing --sneaking out but in order to get back in they were propping the door open with a small rock.  The door and bathroom were down a long hallway that was mostly unused so unless you were going to use the bathroom, there was no reason to venture down to the end of the hall and you couldn't tell the door was propped open until you got right up to it.  All of the females knew what was going on because we were using the bathroom so we could see the door.  I wasn't sneaking out and really --most of us weren't.  But then one day the propped door was discovered by one of our Instructors and so all of us females got called in and talked to.

We were asked who was sneaking out but of course no one admitted they were and no one narked either --that's not the Army way.  I don't remember if I knew who was sneaking out or not but I know I didn't speak up.  We got chewed out and then we were warned if the door was found propped open again the person(s) responsible would get thrown out of the school and we were not to hold the door open for anyone, let anyone in that door, leave through that door, etc. etc.


Things with my roommates were not going well.  One night after taking a shower I put my PT clothes on because, that's all I really had to wear.  I walk back into my room and my roommate, the girl with the long brown hair, was sitting on the floor (the only furniture we had in our rooms was our bunks and we weren't allowed on them until lights-out), polishing her boots and spitting her chew into her cup.  She looks at me and says, "You're out of uniform!!!"  I wasn't even in uniform so I asked what she meant and she said, "Your hair --it's not put up above your collar."  So I told her I was in my PT clothes, NOT a military uniform and so it didn't matter.  She got soooo very angry with me and told me PT clothes WERE a military uniform ---then she went on and on about my lack of military knowledge, I'd never be a good NCO because I don't even know military standards, girls like me give a bad name to the Army, I was more concerned about being cute with my hair down (really?  It was dripping wet and just hanging down) than about my military presence . . . then she went on to say, "You'll never even pass this course, you are just wasting the Army's time and money.  You don't have what it takes to be a real soldier.  I'm not going back to my unit with my head hung in shame --too bad you can't say the same."

I had no idea why she hated me so much but it was quite obvious, especially after the shower incident in which she was annoyed with me and thought I had made more of a big deal about it than need be.  She rallied our other roommates to her corner as well and eventually, they all hated me as much.  There was one blonde female that seemed to remain neutral, so to speak.  She was one of those soldiers that just wanted to mind her own business and accomplish the mission.  She didn’t want friends or enemies –and only needed you to the extent the military mission required it.  So it wasn’t like to was my friend or nice to me, but she wasn’t against me either and in some small way, that made it a little easier to be in my room –but just a little.  Mostly it was cold and uncomfortable.

What I was happy for is the fact that none of my roommates were in my Platoon so during the day I didn’t have to see them at all.  There were a few other females in our course and I was friendly with them however; it was a rare occasion I even saw them.

PLDC - The Commandant's Office

It’s scary, kind of like going to the Principal's office --but worse, having to report to the Commandant.  He's the main person in charge and it just feels like he holds your fate in his hands.  If he says you stay --you stay.  If he says you go --you go.  And I feared higher ranking soldiers as it was --plus I was all the more embarrassed for the why of going to see him.

He was actually quite nice and understanding.  He explained the male soldiers that were involved were as embarrassed about the whole thing as I was and it was not intentional.  He said the soldiers said to him, “. . . we didn't even see anything!"  This was supposed to make me feel better but --it did not.  The Commandant also sheepishly explained that though they had assigned the shared bathroom to the females during a certain hour --they um just simply forgot to tell the male soldiers that little piece of information.  Oops.

So you know, it was all one big misunderstanding.

None of this made me feel any better but at least now we had assigned bathroom time AND the male soldiers would be informed of the times so ---I guess I could just put this all behind me.  I was grateful for the fact that I was so shocked when it all happened I did not see the faces of the male soldiers so in the event I ever saw them again during the course, I'd not know it was them.

I still wanted to leave but I knew going back to my unit having not graduated would be a worse fate than staying –so I decided to buckle down, gain my military bearings and get through it.

PLDC Continues

The building PLDC was located in was an old WWII barracks.  I wish at the time I was mature enough to appreciate all of the historical significance that surrounded me but such as it were, to me at the time it was just an old Army building.

As stated in an earlier post, since there were so few females in our class we had to share a bathroom with the males on our floor.  We were given a certain time frame --like say, between 7pm & 8pm the female soldiers use the bathroom.  We got a shorter time slot since there were fewer of us than the males.

The bathroom was huge.  When you first walked in there was a long row of sinks and across from the sinks, a long row of stalls. To the right was a doorway leading to the the locker area and from there, another doorway and when you walked into that there was a huge cement room with shower heads lined up on two walls facing each other.  The floor was slightly slanted towards the middle were there was a drain.  There were no curtains or partitions of any sorts.  The room was quite large; I'd say maybe 35 feet x 30 feet, roughly.  There were no hooks on the walls or shelves or anything so you couldn't even bring a towel in with you because the only place to put it would be on the floor and it would get soaking wet.  I did have two towels but my hair was so long I needed one to wrap my hair in and one to dry off with so risking getting one soaking wet wasn't an option for me.  The ceiling was quite high, making the room very echo-y and loud and once you started the water, you couldn't hear much else, just water splashing and old rickety pipes.  It smelled like mildew, old paint, cleaning solution, rubber, metal and locker room nastiness.  There's nothing about the bathroom that made you want to be there or linger in there --get a quick shower and get out.  That's it.  Standing in that huge echo-y room made you feel so exposed, literally and figuratively.

The females had all discussed using our bathroom time wisely.  Trying to give each other some measure of privacy, we tried to take turns in the bathroom but since we had such a narrow time slot for the bathroom, sometimes complete privacy just wasn't possible.  We did try to respect each other as much as possible.

One particular night during the first week of class I decided to take my shower early as I discovered you'd have a better chance of being alone going early than late because as it got close to the end of our bathroom time, everyone tried to hurry and rush in.  This night I was in the middle of my shower and I could faintly hear some voices and shuffling around but nothing that was too clear.  I just figured some other females had come in to get an early start too.  I then looked up and standing in the doorway were two males.  They both had a towel wrapped around their waist but other than that, they were both completely naked and I uh well, so was I --but without the benefit of a towel!

I immediately screamed, very loudly, but it wasn't like I had a towel to grab or door to hide behind or anything.  What I'm sure was only a few seconds, seemed like an eternity as the guys stood there frozen.  I think all three of us were in shock.  I kept screaming over and over, "GET OUT!  GET OUT!  GET OUT!"  They hustled out of there and I remember thinking how trapped I was.  I couldn't run to my towel as they were there.   I couldn't hide.  I couldn't do anything but stand there naked and wait (and hope they would) for them to leave.  Well, thankfully they did high-tail it outta there pretty quickly.

When I was certain they were gone, I went back to the locker area and got dressed, I didn't even take time to dry off --I just threw my clothes on.  I was so over taken with complete embarrassment, shock and humiliation.  I walked out into the hallway with no particular plan of what to do next.  As soon as I exited the bathroom there were quite a few people that had gathered to see what all the commotion was about.  They all just stood there staring at me and I was angry because I felt like I was some side-freak show.  I yelled very loudly --and if you know me you know that I have a very loud voice and I can speak very loud but when I say I was yelling loud --I mean it was loud!  I screamed, "I WANT THE TWO SOLDIERS THAT WERE JUST IN THE BATHROOM TO REPORT TO THE COMMANDANT'S OFFICE RIGHT NOW!"  I just remember standing there yelling, as if I had any sort of authority, and really, I was only making matters worse as now an even larger crowd had gathered.  There I stood, wet clothes all clinging to me, long wet hair dripping all over the place and me yelling and demanding things.  I don't think I would have done that had there not been a crowd gathered but when everyone was staring at me I felt like I had to do something.

By now some of the instructors had arrived on the scene and in all the commotion they were trying to figure out what had happened.  They finally called for the two soldiers to come forward, who by now were completely dressed.  They both sheepishly emerged into the crowd with their heads hung down.  I actually felt sorry for them.  The instructors told me to go back to my room and then they escorted the two soldiers away.

When I got back to my room of course my roommates wanted to know what happened, so I told them the story.  They were all in disbelief, as I was, and seemed in support of me --except for the girl with the long brown hair, who sat on the floor shining her boots listening to my every word but not making eye contact with me or any comments.

I could tell she was annoyed with me --and I had no understanding as to why.  This happened to me and I did nothing to make that happen.  So after all the talk had settled down and the room got quiet she said to me, but again not looking at me, "So two guys walked in on you taking a shower --big deal!  You're acting like you got raped or something."

I'll never forget that feeling I had then --it was as if what she said and how she treated me was worse than the incident itself.  I felt like a victim being victimized yet again.  Worse yet, not one other female in that room spoke up.  Everyone just got quiet and pretended they were busy with their things.

After that night I hardly spent any time in my room other than to sleep.  This is when I began going down to the basement hall each night until just before lights-out.

About 20 minutes or so after the incident, a CQ  Runner came and knocked on our door and said I was to report to the Commandant's office.  I had to be in full uniform to do so and I was so mad!  I just wanted the whole thing to be over and forgotten and getting into full uniform was such a pain, especially this late at night; lace my boots up, put my hair up . . . . everything seemed to get worse and worse . . . . .

As I walked down to the Commandant's office, which required me to go through much of the barracks, I could feel the stares and looks I was getting from other soldiers as if to say, "Oh SHE'S the one, she's the one some guys just walked in on . . "  Some guys would look right at me and smirk and others would quickly look away as if to pretend they didn't even see me.  Once again, I was thankful for the no talking in the halls rule because had they been allowed to speak to me, I can't imagine what might have been said.

Either way, it bothered me.  Once again, all the humiliation of what happened was fresh upon me and I had no idea what the Commandant was going to say to me or do.  I just knew I wanted to leave PLDC and never ever return.

PLDC, VII

There's a few things you need to know about PLDC that are pertinent to the story and things to come.

Students are assigned a number, even before they get to school.  Randomly, numbers are assigned certain duties that the students will perform during the course.

The entire class body is the Company.  The Company is then broken down into 4 units, Platoons.  Each Platoon has 4-5 Squads.  Now, not that this is anything unique to the school, these are military units but for training purposes, the school mimics those units and for the duration of the course, you act as if you are in a real military until.  The Company's "boss" is the First Sergeant.  Each Platoon is assigned a Platoon Sergeant.  Each Squad has a Squad Leader.  Those positions of leadership are the duties that are randomly assigned to the student numbers and then half way through the course they change to new randomly selected student numbers. 

My particular class had very few females.  The entire class size was about 180 and we had 10 females.  That had its own challenges.  Normally, in a barracks males and females are separated by floors, all females on one floor, all males on another.  Because our class didn't have enough females to take over one complete floor, it was decided we'd get two rooms at the end of one male floor and it was explained to us under no circumstance were we allowed in each others rooms.  It was also explained to us that we'd be sharing the bathroom that was about midway down the hall.  Remember that.  Its important.  Aside from going to the bathroom, we females were not allowed any further down the hall than where our room was.  That also included for cleaning purposes (GI parties) and whereas that might sound like good news to us females, I was slightly disappointed I'd not be buffering those long halls.

Soldiers are assigned by their student number and it just happened that I was the only female that was in my platoon. 

Having so few females made it all the more difficult to train and we had a large number of males soldiers from a CAV (Calvary) and Infantry units --hardcore front line soldiers.  Part of what we were going to learn these guys did every day as their job.  It was like teaching ABC's to a student that already knew how to read.

I think it also, perhaps even subconsciously, made the females all the more competitive, having something to prove the to guys.  The Army often preached and pushed Equal Opportunity but the bottom line was, male attitudes to the contrary were the norm.  Remember that.  Its important.

Each Platoon was divided into two classrooms, for instructional purposes.  Each class room had two instructors.  In the first half of the course, we spent a majority of our time in the classroom, later we'd get to more hands-on training.  The classroom was set up with individual desks in a U shape with a desk in the front center for the instructor.  Each of the two instructors would take turns teaching a block of instruction.  I was assigned, per my student number, to the first seat in the classroom.  So I was the top left of the U, so to speak.  We'd have an hour of lecture/discussion and then a 5 minute break.  We were able to leave the classroom, go to the bathroom, smoke break, etc.

Once we finished one unit of instruction we had to take a written test.  You had to pass the test before you could go on to the next unit.  You got three chances to take the test and pass, if you failed all three times you were sent back to your company --a failure.

Our days were long and busy.  Each day began with PT -- yes, I had to run in formation with my platoon of big strong Infantry soldiers.  No, it never worked out very well for me.  After PT we had to prepare our rooms and the barracks for daily inspection, get dressed and report for formation again, this time to be marched down the street to the Mess Hall er --I mean, Dining Facility for breakfast.  The rest of the day was spent in the classroom, breaking only for lunch.  After dinner time we'd be "free" but we had GI parties every night and a good deal of studying had to be done.  In  addition to that, you'd have to shine boots, straighten your wall locker, prepare uniforms, etc.  So our "free" time wasn't like were were sitting around shooting the breeze.  There were not any common areas --it was the classroom, hallways, offices and barracks rooms.  That's it.  So it wasn't like we could all go down to a TV room and hang out or anything.  There was one place we could go to hang out -- the basement hallway.  It really wasn't intended to be a hang out place but it was where we were allowed to gather for the purposes of studying together and helping each other get through the course.   At first I didn't go down there but as the situation with my roommates began to quickly deteriorate, I found myself going down to the basement more and more to get away from them.  Granted it was mostly male soldiers that were down there but HELLO --females compromised less than 10% of the entire student body AND there were other females (none of my roommates though) that frequently went downstairs too.  Remember that.  Its important.

"Free time" was also used if you needed to retake a test, meet with the instructors and discipline problems were usually handled during this time --getting called to the Commandant's office, etc.

We were not allowed to have any civilian clothes with us.  We had our uniforms and our PT (physical training).  You may be familar with the grey PT uniform that is quite popular now with the branch of service written across the shirt in large black block letters, ARMY.  But back then, we didn't have a specified PT uniform --we just wore whatever work out clothes we had.

We were not allowed to leave the school unless we had a weekend pass, and those had to be earned by doing extra jobs, which was tough considering the work load we already had.  The first two weeks no passes were allowed and thereafter, passes could be earned.

Sorry to bore you with all these details but as the PLDC story unfolds, you'll see how all of these details play and important part of the story.

PLDC, VI

After our initial formation and meeting the the school Commandant, I made my shameful way back to my room, acutely aware that my pantyhose situation was quite obvious AND I was getting many strange looks.  But such as it was, we were not allowed to talk while walking in the halls and thus I was at the least, spared from any verbal comments.

Until I got back to my room, that is.  I already lost a lot of ground with my roommates when they determined I was either color blind or stupid.  It was like we were in a race and they felt like they had jumped the start gun and got ahead of me.  Also, because there were so few females in the school the competition for us to succeed was immense.  Unfortunately, as is often the sad case with women, instead of rallying together to shore one another up for success, we tore each other apart scratching our individual way to the top.  "We" being, mostly them and not because I'm any sort of higher standard human or woman of great moral character but simply becuase to me, it didn't matter.  As with everything I ever did in the Army, my greatest competitor was myself.  I was my worst critic.  I never wanted to beat "her", as in some other female soldier but I always wanted to beat me. 

As soon as we got back into our room I could sense all of that; it lingered in the air thick as the smoke of a freshly lit cigar.  Even though I wasn't up to prove myself to them, it made me uncomfortable.  No one was particularly friendly or nice, possibly cordial, at best.  Once again the Army had put me in a new place with people I did not know and with no one on my side.  Its more than just lonely feeling --its a complete feeling of desertion and I'd venture a guess that male soldiers, for the most part, don't experience that.

The rest of the night was spent preparing our rooms, putting our things away in our wall lockers and as simple as that sounds, it more precise and military than you think.  Each article of clothing had to be folded a certain way and put into an exact location in your locker.  Beds had to be made a very certain way.  Floors needed cleaning, etc.  For some reason, very odd to me, I always ended up with the top bunk --was true both in Basic Training and AIT and not that I minded climbing to the top bunk but being of the short stature that I am, making my bed with exact military precision as was expected was quite a challenge.  But unlike BT and AIT, none of my roommates were offering any help and in fact, the female on the lower bunk got upset with me because she complained I was messing her bed up while trying to make mine.

I don't recall any of the faces or names of my roommates but I do remember the things that transpired between us.  One female had long brown hair and a thick country accent.  She was obsessed with shining her boots and she "chewed".  She'd sit on that floor with her back up against her bed fervently shining her boots with a big wad of tobacco in her cheek and every so often spitting into a cup.  It was so disgusting to me, so unfeminine.  I remember one night asking her about it and she said, "Don't knock it until you try it."  Then held out her can of chew. I took it and sniffed it and it smelled oh so good --like minty fresh.  I thought, "How bad could that be?"  So I grabbed a pinch of it, put it in my lip and instantly got sick.  I ran to the bathroom and spit it all out, rinsed out my mouth and gagging and heaving.  It was awful --I was sick the rest of the night.

But my first night after getting my things folded the Army way and put in their exact assigned space, I went to bed and as so many other nights in the Army, cried myself to sleep.  I didn't want to be here in school and my roommates had made it abundantly clear they weren't going to make it any less painful for me.

Where I have been . . . . .

User error?  Why is the common denominator always ME?  I can't seem to get my scanner at work or home to cooperate with me!!  I have a stack of pictures I wanted to post of me in Germany and my travels to Austria with Val and John --but alas, I cannot get them scanned in!

That's excuse number one.

I have also been very sad of late for a number of reasons/things changing in my life and family and when I'm sad, I absolutely cannot write.  Being sad zaps the creativity right out of me.  I tried to write a few posts but gave up when it seemed more like a chore than a story telling.

That's excuse number two.

PLDC takes some interesting twists so I've been wrestling with how much I can/will share and how to do so.  Do I just skip the "ugly" parts and pretend they didn't happen?  Well then the story isn't exactly accurate, is it?  Do I tell all and --take the risk?

Not sure how risky I'm feeling.  But the sadness will soon fade and I'll get one of these scanners to cooperate with me and we'll soon be back in business.

Until then . . . . .

Break

Back to PLDC on Monday.

I'm headed out of town this weekend to work for Samantha's Cookies.  I get paid in cookies!  I might share some with Andy and Sheryl when I get back (might).

Have a good weekend!

Arrive Salzburg

What the Red Cross Call "emergency" was -- my sister needed to reach me before she left Czech so we could plan a meeting place/time.  She urgently tried to reach me but as explained earlier, because of the mixed up as to where I was, the Red Cross was not able to find me for a few days.


Upon my arrival in Salzburg I had no idea what to do next.  I tried calling the contact number again but this time I was not able to get through.  I waited in the train station.  I waited and then I waited.  I got hungry so I ate a sausage from a street vendor.  I walked up and down the sidewalk adjacent to the train station.  Every time a train arrived, I'd mingle around hoping to find my sister or brother-in-law waiting there for me.

But they were not.

Hours passed.  Getting back on that train heading to Germany was not an option for me.  I was so desperately homesick and missing my family so if they were any place on the same continent as me, I was determined to find them, despite a lack of any resources to do so.  I decided I'd "live" in the train station until they showed up or it was time to go back to my unit, which ever came first.

I wasn't without worry and fear and at one point even tried to call my Dad, thinking he might have contact information for my sister but again, I could not get the call to go through.  I think there was a different dial process now that I was in a different country but I was not able to get a call through nor any English assistance from an operator and each attempt was still costing me money.

After hours and hours in the train station, I was still trying to "meet" every train arrival but I was becoming hopeless.  As another train arrived I again expected not to find anyone so I leaned up against a big column and stood there watching people until I saw . . . .

my brother-in-law.

There he was, in Salzburg.  There I was, in Salzburg.  And we finally found each other.

He had actually met every train that came in as I did but somehow, we never met up with each other.  Earlier, John grabbed a train schedule, went back to their hotel room and each time a train was to arrive, he'd go to the station to see if I was on it.  All Val could do was stay back at the hotel room with Courtney hoping and praying that I'd be found.  Each time John would come back without me, her worry increased and hope faded a bit more.

But now here we all were  --right there together.

We spent 4 glorious days together.  We toured around Austria.  We went to a Bed and Breakfast in the mountains and it was the most beautiful place on this earth I have ever seen.  I felt like breaking out into a chorus, "The hills are alive, with the sound of music . . . "  And speaking of the Sound of Music, we got to see many of the places in which the film was shot.

We toured Hitler’s Eagles nest, which was one of personal retreats.  It’s at the top of a mountain and there's only one road up, which a bus takes you to the top (or if you were so inclined to do so, you could hike up the side).  As we were driving up it felt like our wheels were literally on the edge of the road.  It was a tricky maneuver.  Once to the top, there are no gates or fences so you can walk right up to the edge and see all the way down.

While on their trip, Val got ill in Czech and had to go to the doctor and it was then Val and John got the news they'd be adding another child to their family!  I was the first in our family to know, which made me feel so special.  So Courtney AND Brittany were in Austria with us!  :)

When it was time for me to leave, Val and John took me back to the train station.  There are no words to describe how difficult it was for me to leave.  Having been so homesick, seeing my family was just what I needed but in a way, it only made things worse as now there was yet another good-bye to say.  I just remember standing in that train station hugging my sister and sobbing and not wanting to let go.  John had to practically pry us apart.

After getting back to my unit I suffered the greatest depression you can imagine.  Looking back now, I'd say I needed medical help but being young and dumb and without any resources or help, I had no clue then what I was going through and I certainly didn't have any Paxil commercials with sad balloons helping to understand there was a medical treatment.  My heart physically hurt.  I cried all of the time.  I wasn't able to function.  Even Connie commented, "Man, Mes (what she called me, like niece with an M), every since you got back you've been a wreck.  You really need to snap out of this."

I desperately tried but I kept playing our emotional good-bye over and over in my head.  I missed home so much.

Red Cross Call, Part II

The Red Cross lady had to repeat the message to me a few times because I just wasn't able to concentrate on what she was saying.  I was too nervous and scared.

At this point the details are sketchy but I'll try to piece this together as best I can.

My sister Val and her husband John were missionaries working with an organization, International Teams.  They were not in a foreign land but worked on staff out of the IT Headquarters in Illinois.  Part of the mission of IT was taking the Bible into countries behind the Iron Curtain.  The summer after I arrived in Germany Val, John and their 2 year old daughter, Courtney, were going on a mission trip to what was then, Czechoslovakia.  They'd be bringing in Bibles and other Christian literature and if caught could possibly be imprisoned.  In Czech they'd have a contact, a Christian family.  After spending some time in Czech, they'd be going to Austria for a visit.

What made this tricky is well --so many things!  My sister couldn't call me directly.  The Red Cross had trouble finding me and thus the message to me got delayed by at least 3 days.  We were both in foreign countries --different ones at that and them being in a communist country and having to hide the reason they were there, made things all the more difficult.  My sister never wrote to me before hand because the nature of their trip, she couldn't.

The message I got was to call my sister Val and a number was given and that she would be in Austria soon.  Now you know, I didn't have a phone and calling long distance was crazy expensive, even more so when using a pay phone.  Since the Red Cross message had been delayed by a few days, by the time I got it my sister had actually already left Czech and they were on their way to Austria, hoping to meet up with me.  I called the number, which was the host family in Czech; the phone call was difficult, at best.  You may have a memory (old enough) to recall long distance calls back then were very  poor connections.   It was difficult to hear, often times there would be a lot of static or that  "talking in a tunnel" type sound.  Add to the mix, the person I called spoke broken English in a very hard to understand accent.  She was helpful as she could be, but all she really could tell me is that my sister had left and I was to meet her in Salzburg.

I immediately put in for a 4-day pass and got ready to go to Salzburg, Austria.  I was going in blind.  I had never ventured out of Germany on my own so I was more than a bit afraid of that too.  Back then, soldiers did not travel abroad with a passport --we just needed our leave papers and military ID with a specific date range of travel.  I was always more than a little freaked out I'd get stranded someplace then be beyond my dates of travel and not able to get back into Germany, thus being AWOL then ending up in jail.  Because you know, despite the fact I didn't break the laws, I was always afraid of going to jail (perhaps becase I had seen so many "almost innocent" soldiers go to jail).  After getting the paperwork/permission I needed, I walked down to the Ansbach train station, purchased a round trip ticket for Salzburg and hopped on the train.

The whole way there I was scared and nervous --and I had very little cash on me too.  My monthly take-home was about $600, most of which was spent on eating out as Mess Hall food could get a bit mundane.  I used the rest to travel and buy European Chocolate.  I also only got paid once a month so $600 didn't last long, even back then.

Had I not been so nervous, I could have enjoyed the train ride to Salzburg much more.  The countryside scenery was simply breathtaking --nothing like you'd see here in the US.   We made several stops along the way but of course me, being the absolute nervous wreck that I always was, I didn’t dare get off the train.  I did have to switch trains in Munich though.  Having not ventured out much in Germany and certainly never alone, I had to put my conversational German into action and I was amazed how much I could say and understand.  In German, I had to ask where my train departed from, what time and general directional/travel questions.  At one point I asked about my train and the Conductor, who was dressed like he just stepped off the Polar Express Train, was able to understand my German but I was not able to understand what he was saying.  I kept asking him to, "Sprechen langsamer, bitte." -- Speak slower, please -- and he would slow down but I was still not able to understand him.  I think he had a different dialect than what I was used to.  I guess it would be like a foreigner learning English then coming to the US and asking someone with a thick southern accent a question -- you just can't hear the words like you expect them to sound.  He finally gave up speaking and motioned for me to follow him.  Munich is a big city, the train station is quite large and busy --a lot of bustling going on.  Walking at a pace I could barely keep up with and luggage in tow, I followed behind the Conductor and he walked me all the way over to my train.  He said something to the Conductor of that train, they motioned for me to get aboard and that was that.  Now I was really on my way to Salzburg.  But I still had no idea where my sister was or how I would find her.

The Dreaded Red Cross Call

We take a break from our regularly scheduled PLDC saga for this flashback to an earlier time in Germany.

Who knows what technology changes are in place for notifying soldiers of family emergencies but such as it were back in my day a soldier would get a Red Cross notification.

As I have explained (probably too much) how it wasn't as easy as hitting "send" on an email or picking up a phone to call  --getting immediate notifications of an emergency were tricky, not to mention we had that whole 8 hour time difference to deal with as well.

No solider ever wanted to get a Red Cross call.  EVER.  As it was, the family members were to contact their local  Red Cross chapter and let them know what the nature of the emergency was and whom to contact.  The Red Cross usually did some verification of the information such as calling the hospital or even --funeral home --then they'd wield their wand of magic and through some process unknown to me (remember, all paper-pushing days --no computers!) find the soldier's unit, call the unit (usually the 1SG) then begin the process to get that soldier home ASAP!  Unfortunately, I was present when some of my fellow soldiers received one of those calls and then one day after returning from lunch I walk back into to my JAG office and its very quiet.

My NCO looks at me and says, "Private Dodge, you received a Red Cross call. Your sister Valerie is trying to reach you and its urgent.  Here's a number for you to call."

I took the piece of paper from him, walked into the bathroom.  I peed, vomited then cried.  I tried to calm myself down, I prayed, I cried . . I washed my face, took a deep breath and walked out.  I went to a smaller office where I'd have some privacy for the call and in fact, I went back to my old Admin Law desk.  With trembling fingers, I dialed the phone, "Hello?  Hi um --my name is (shaky voice) Private Melissa Dodge and I got a message to call . . . "

"Oh yes, Private Dodge, we got a message for you a couple of days ago but we had some difficulty finding you and . . ."

Before I tell you the rest of the story I'll tell you this --remember the very beginning when I first got to Germany and they were going to send me to Erlangen and apparently that went into my file or records the Red Cross uses --or someplace and so it was a bit confusing as to where I actually was.  In fact, a few times I received mail that was misdirected to Erlangen before it actually got to me.  This delayed the Red Cross from getting notification to me right away --they simply could not find me.

At this point in the conversation tears were just rolling down my face.  I tried to be strong but you know, they actually said my sister's name.  There's no doubt she had contacted them and being the oldest in the family, no doubt she had been appointed the one to do so.

And I couldn't stop the trembling both in my voice and my knees.

PLDC V

I get to formation but not without a lot of strange looks --everyone that passed by me would look down around my ankles and give me a very strange glance.

And that made me feel all the more uncomfortable.

So all the while trying to maintain some level of composure and keep walking with some measure of confidence, I'd try to shimmy my pantyhose back up by running my  hand along the side of my skirt --I think in doing so I just made the situation worse.

But thankfully, our class was huge and my formation was smack dab in the middle and so I could at the very least bury myself among soldiers . . . .

And speaking of soldiers, where are all the females?  Outside of the few roommates I had, all I saw was a sea of male soldiers --green Class A jackets are far as the eyes could see --which really wasn't that far considering my stature and fact that I was trying to slump down and not be seen but you know --as far as my eyes could see --there's weren't very many females.

And that made me feel all the more uncomfortable.  These aren't just JAG soldiers --these are the front line go-to-war guys.  These are the defenders of our freedom, the ones that get sent right into action, the soldier of all soldiers.

And me?  I'm just a JAG clerk in a pair of chocolate brown pantyhose that are gathered around my ankles --making me look like I have brown elephant legs.  I'm too short to see what ever else is going on.  I hear snickers behind me.  I'm stupid.  I'm short.  I'm unprepared.  I'm as NON-Army as it gets and here I stand.

The school Commandant begins to welcome us and he starts in . . . . . as every single Army training class seems to begin . . . .the statistics of doom and gloom.  He tell us to look to our left and to our right and then tells us, "One of those people you just looked at won't graduate this class.  It's not because we can't graduate them, its that they cannot graduate themselves."  Did you catch that?  The school doesn't fail to ensure your success rate, the soldier fails to ensure his (or her) own success rate.  And then he goes on to tell us the reasons some of us won't graduate.  Inevitably  --

One or more female soldiers will have a positive pregnancy test (before any training all females have to have a pregnancy test and all soldiers are tested for drugs).

Some will come up hot on a urinalysis.

Unfortunately, some soldiers will get that dreaded Red Cross call and have to go home.

Some soldiers will fail the course.

Some will get sent back to their unit because of discipline problems.

Some will simply give up.

The rest of them --they will graduate.

And all the whille all I could really concentrate on was, "Is there a back way out of this place so I don't have to walk down that hall with my dark brown pantyhose sliding down my legs?"

PLDC IV

Reporting to a new unit or training a Class A uniform is always required.  For males, that's easy as there is only one Class A uniform but for females you have the pant or skirt option and the low-quarters or heels option.  Low-quarters = ugly orthapedic looking black flat shoes.  Sometimes the specific uniform is stated and sometimes its just your personal choice or a matter of convenience/comfort.  Are you going to be standing in a formation at Parade Rest for 2 hours?  Go with the low-quarter foot-gear option.  Are you going to a formal military dinner?  Perhaps the nice shiny heels and skirt would be best.

Its tough being a girl.

So I was all packed up and ready to go to PLDC, dreading it yes but also glad to finally get this thing done and over with.  My shoes and boots were polished, uniforms pressed and ready to go, duffle bag packed, brass shined . . . Class A jacket?  Check!  Class A skirt?  Check!  Class A pants?  Check!  Oh and required "Nude Pantyhose" for skirt uniform?  Uh, NO PANTY HOSE?

Okay so Allison, I realize in today's fashion sense pantyhose are a thing of the past  --right up there with wearing slips under our Baptist high collar, shoulder padded, puffy sleeved dresses but this was a required part of the Army uniform and I didn't have any.  And I didn't have a store to go to . . . .  but I did have a roommate -- and apparently,  I had compeltely forgotten this lesson about Connie's Lipstick so I asked Connie if I could borrow a pair of her pantyhose.  Pointing out the obvious to me, I argued with her it would be better to have a pair the wrong color than none at all.  So she gave me a pair.

And did I mention Connie was several inches taller than me?

I get to PLDC, which for us was really just down the street about 15 mintues.  For the entire Division some units had to travel 2 hours or more.  My JAG NCO took me and my packed duffle bag to PLDC.  For check-in we wore our BDU's but after receiving our room assignments we had a formation to report to -Class A uniform required, skirts and low-quarters for females.  Darn it!  I was so hoping it wasn't specifically stated so I could wear my pants but you know, no biggie --I had my pantyhose.  And really, is anyone going to notice the color?

After getting settled into my room and introducing myself to my roommates, with whom I would not become lifelong friends, I got ready to report to formation.

Hmm well --these pantyhose do look much darker on that I thought they would but maybe no one will notice.

Actually, they look hideously dark.   This is a great way to start off --out of uniform and -- 

My roommate blurts out, "Are you going to formation like that?"


At this point its time to go and I had no other choice than to go as is.  I walk outside my room and started heading towards the gym and . . .

Slip and slide!  My too dark pantyhose are also too long for my short little legs --and down they go until the excess nylon is puddled around my ankles.

Can you picture it with me?  Skirt.  Ugly orthepedic type shoes, too dark pantyhose, nice folds of pantyhose gathering around my ankles.  And I'm marching onward to formation --pretending to be oblivious to it all.

But inside I was dying and wanted to run away and hide and PLDC Sergeant was right, I wasn't cut out for any of this.

PLDC III

Aside from my self-induced PLDC fears and those induced by PLDC Sergeant, I had other worries too.  I knew I'd not be able to see Newsome for a long time and Connie too, for that matter.  Connie had been a part of my daily life since the day I got to 1st AD.  Severing almost all ties with barracks living, she and Newsome had become my only two friends now.  If I wasn't with one, I was with the other.  Also looming on the horizon was the fact that Connie was soon to leave Germany for good and then not too long afterwards, I'd be heading back to the states as well.  As much as I hated being overseas and wanted to go home, I was dreading having to leave.  And I was dreading Connie leaving too.

So with all that Army fear and unsettling feeling about PLDC, attached to that was things were soon coming to and end and the unknown of what was to come next was eating away at me.

But before I actually got to PLDC I'd have my second and last Christmas in Germany.  And this is when Connie and I got a live tree and put it in our apartment.  Though only a slight step above being a Charlie Brown tree, we decorated it with pride and piled gifts for each other underneath it.  I made our Christmas dinner, a feat in itself with the very limited kitchen tools we had --

And one of my Christmas gifts from Connie was a VHS of Lady and the Tramp, one of my favorite Disney movies and childhood memories . . . . and we watched it that day . . .

and we called home after a million tries because all of the overseas lines were busy . . . . .

and we felt sad and depressed after having talked to our families because we were not there and we were in some tiny little above-bar apartment in Germany watching Lady and the Tramp . . . .

and eating a substandard Christmas dinner . . . .

and in just a few weeks we'd be saying good-bye . . .

after nearly two years of friendship and hardship . . . .

and after 4 weeks of enduring PLDC . . .  .

if in fact I'd make it the entire 4 weeks . . . .

PLDC II

So why didn't I just tell my NCO's that I was too afraid to go to PLDC?

Ha, that's a very good (funny) question!  First of all, you don't tell ANYONE in the Army especially anyone that out ranks you, what you don't want to do and you never ever ever tell anyone in the Army you're terrified of something.  That would be Army suicide --just kill your career right then and there.

Not to mention, it was an honor to be able to go and it was a good thing, in that Army sort of way . . . .

Army training hadn't killed me or even nearly killed me --aside from that little walking down range during live fire thing during Basic Training but you know, that was really my fault.

So as I saw it, my only option was going to PLDC.  So I was scheduled to go.

In the meantime, word got out in our very small-town living that Dodge was going to PLDC.  And that word quickly made it to the ears of a one female Staff Sergeant, a former PLDC NCO whom had been relived of duty because of that little court-martial incident thing I previously mentioned.

And she wasn't a nice former PLDC NCO either.  She was like Mess Sergeant, only meaner.  Mess Sergeant was tough and rigid but in her defense, fair and unbiased.  True she seemed to always be picking on the lower ranking but she was also almost always right about what she said and she didn't play favorites.  She didn't care who you were or what you did or whom you worked for.  Now PLDC Sergeant --she was just a nasty person.  Mean.  Uncaring.  Liked to purposely ebmarrass people so you can imagine her and I didn't get along much but I had to see her every day because after her being relieved from duty from PLDC, she was sent to our HQ's company and so the job they gave her --she had to work the check-in table in the Mess Hall.  If you were on a "meal plan", you had to sign in each day with your meal card number.  She kind of sat there making sure everyone signed in. If you were not on a "meal plan", you had to pay to eat so she took the money. A former PLDC training NCO --demoted to a mere cashier.  Maybe that's why she was so mean all of the time.

So when word got to her I'd be going to PLDC, she took every opportunity, like 3 meals a day, 7 days a week -- to terrorize me, make fun of me and as if I wasn't terrified enough just on my own --instill even more fear in me by telling me they were going to eat me alive, I'd not graduate, I didn't have what it takes to graduate . . . . .

AND as if that wasn't enough reason to not like her so much,  she had this special bond with Newsome because they were both ex-Drill Sergeants (they like to stick together) so she'd talk Drill Talk with Newsome while I stood there like --a hungry Private wanting to hurry up and get into line for some SOS.

And the hardest part for me was that she didn't know what I knew about her.  I mean- -she had no clue I knew all the details of her case and so she sat up there trying to act so Army  "Squared Away" and making fun  of me and every day I had to bite my tongue because I just wanted to blurt out, "OH YEAH?  WELL YOU WERE ONLY THIS CLOSE *hold thumb and finger together* FROM BEING PUT OUT OF THE ARMY AND/OR COURT MARTIALED!"  But yeah, I couldn't say that so - - - - -

Every night I went to bed counting the days until I had to go to PLDC . . .  despertately hoping none of the remaining PLDC NCO's were anything like that one.

PLDC

Primary Leadership Development Course.  I was recommended to go.  You have to be an E4 (p) or above to go.  That is, E4, Promotable.  And that means having been to and passed the E5 board.  And guess what --I did and so -- I was on my way to PLDC.

And I didn't wanna go.  Nope, I really didn't.

Because . . .

I wasn't so much career oriented because I just wanted to do my 3 1/2 years and go home and put the whole Army business behind me. 

I was terrified of Army stuff like -- real Army stuff.   You know, that whole business of "Be All That You Can Be" --that was for strong Army soldiers.  I was just a JAG clerk and my greatest accomplishment in the Army was behind a desk. 

I knew I was going to have to run -- A LOT and I wasn't a fast/good runner.

I'd not see Newsome probably the entire time I was gone.  We'd have to stay at school unless we earned weekend passes.

I had Drill Sergeant flashbacks from my previous training days. 

Like the time I was supposed to be standing at the position of Attention and a bee started flying around my head so I swated him away --- and I got yelled at (for a long time and very very loudly) and had to drop and "Give me 20!", which meant, 20 push-ups only I wasn't able to even crank out 3 (at the time).

Or like the time I lost my headgear (Army way of saying "hat") while we were inside a building for training and it being like -a mortal Army sin to be outdoors in uniform without any headgear on, I had no choice so I got into formation like you know, no big deal I'm without head covering and when Drill Sergeant just couldn't believe his eyes and called me out in front of the entire company and yelled at me and humiliated me AND THEN - -all the way back to our barracks while the company was marching in a dressed-right-dressed formation, I had to run around entire said formation with both of my hands on my head while yelling, "I WILL NOT LOOSE MY HEADGEAR, DRILL SERGEANT!" over and over. 

And that flashback of the time I took a bore brush (to this day still have no clue what a bore brush is or what its intended purpose is) and stuffed it down the barrel of my M-16 riffle to you know, clean it like a good soldier should, and got said bore brush stuck into the barrel of my M-16 riffle and had to go into the dreaded Drill Sergeant tent (we were on a field training exercise) and ask the Drill to get the bore brush OUT of my M-16 riffle.  Here's the thing, going into the Drill tent was like being sent to the principal's office --only a lot worse.  My Drill looked at my riffle, handed over to the next Drill, then the next --they just kept passing my M-16 A1 riffle around all the while -- laughing uncontrollably, slapping their knees, tears rolling down their face while they manage to mutter, "That's the dam---- thing I ever saw!  In all my years of drilling . . . . I never saw anyone manage . . . ."  All the while me, stupid Private E-nothing standing there wishing I could disappear . . .   And unknown to me at the time, a whole group of other Private E-nothings had gathered around the tent to try and hear what all that ruckus was about.  And then when the laughter finally subsided, all that was left was me and the wrath of the Drill Sergeant.

Okay so yes --it was those flashbacks that made me just a bit leery to go to another Army training environment.

And the fact that I worked in JAG and so I was privy to some information about some former PLDC NCO's that we had court-martialed (one ended up in prison) and so yeah, I really really wasn't happy about having to go. 

In fact, I was downright terrified!

8 Weeks of Healing Time

Newsome was in the hospital for over a week.  The next weekend I jumped on a bus --what I mean is, a series of buses and got myself to the hospital to visit him.  I hated the bus, Newsome knew that and I all the more hated having to transfer buses.  These weren't civilian buses, mind you but a route that ran from one military installation to the next.  Often times once I got to one place, I'd have to wait an hour or more to get to the next place.  It literally took me all day long to get to the hospital.

Once I finally arrived, again our visiting time was short as it wasn't long before the last bus headed out.  If I missed that, I'd not be able to get back to Ansbach until the next day, which was Sunday and the routes were very limited.  So we had a nice but short visit.  He was very touched I went through all the trouble to see him.

The next several weeks we hardly saw each other.  He couldn't drive, I didn't drive -- a few times SSG D drove me over to Newsome's apartment.  I was sad I wasn't seeing Newsome much but the biggest disappointment was he was no longer able to lead PT.

So I worked and hung out with Connie and worked and well --that's about it.

Stood Up!

After finally coming to the conclusion Newsome wasn't coming over, I just went to bed. I wasn't sure how I felt other than disappointed. I was a little angry and a little concerned too. In one minute I'd be thinking, "How how dare he! Wait until I see him again!" Then the next minute I'd be thinking, "I hope he's okay. What if something really bad happened. . ."

All weekend I heard nothing and there was no answer at Newsome's apartment so I just gave up expecting to hear from him. I played over and over in my mind things I had recently done or said to try and figure out if I had made him angry or upset with me. Nothing really came to mind.

Monday morning I was a bit on edge as I fully expected to see him at some point during the day. I was hoping once I got to my office there would be a big bouquet of flowers on my desk with a note of explanation and apology. Well, that didn't exactly happen. I didn't want to chase him down after all, he stood me up, it wasn't the other way around. So if anyone had any "crawling back" to do, I thought it should be him. As the day progressed, I did find it quite odd I didn't see him anywhere at all. Since our kaserne was rather small we often ran into each other in the course of a day --eventually. This Monday that was not the case.

That night after work I went back to my apartment and cried myself into a tizzy. I pretty much surmised it was over between the two of us and he just wasn't man enough to tell me that in person so he had been avoiding me. I thought better of his character than that but I was glad to know this now instead of much later. I was deep into my pity party, there all alone in my apartment, when I heard a knock at the door.

Is he kidding me with this? Now? Three days later he wants to show up??? Oh I don't think so!!!!

I open the door at it's not Newsome! There before me stands SSG D. He said to me, "You busy?" At first I was floored. I was thinking Newsome had blown me off, told D he blew me off and now D was showing up to hit on me. I guess that sounds a little egotistical but honestly, it was kind of how things went around there -this person dating that person then 2 days after a break up they're dating someone new. And D was kind of that way --made his "rounds". I'm about ready to slam the door in his face when he says, "Newsome is in the hospital and he's been asking for you. He sent me to come get you. You busy? Can you go to Nuremberg now?"

I grabbed my things and off we went. During our 30 or so minute drive, I learned that Friday night while playing basketball Newsome broke his ankle --like one of those really messy really bad breaks in fact, he shattered it. His bone broke through the skin and there was blood everywhere. He was rushed to the hospital and they had to do reconstructive surgery and place a pin in his ankle. He was in surgery/recovery most of Friday and Saturday. The hospital had contacted his Emergency Contact/Next of Kin, which was his mother. That Sunday his Mom called the hospital and wanted to talk to him. But you know, they didn't have phones in the rooms because that's just not the Army way --much too frivolous to be Army standards. So Newsome had to make his way to the front desk to talk to his Mom. As soon as he got to the phone and said, "Hello", Newsome passed out. His poor Mother. I think about her all of the time --what she must have been thinking and going through. So anyway, the nurses get Newsome to come to and back to his bed. He spent most of Sunday in and out of it.

We get to the hospital but its late and visiting hours will soon be over. I was so glad to see him, so relieved I had not been stood up and so thankful he was okay. I could tell he was glad to see me too. I hugged him and it was nice but --I did notice he was a bit funky as he had not showered since --well, I guess Friday morning and having played basketball just before his injury --he was a bit on the ripe side! But of course, I didn't say anything to him about it. D was nice and left the room but like I said, visiting hours would soon be over so we didn't have much time to visit. Newsome thanked me over and over for coming to see him. He said he kept wanting to call me but he didn't have a phone and he kept asking for me but no one knew who/what he was talking about. It wasn't long before D came back in and he sat with us for a little while. A Private came in, some kind of medical aid or something, and had Newsome's chart and was checking some stats, etc. then he just blurts out, "Did you poop today?"

So there was a moment of very awkward silence while D, Newsome and I just sat there kind of looking at one another, the Private so oblivious to his lack of tact and discretion was just looking down at his clip board, poised with his pen ever ready to check off the appropriate box of yes or no. Finally Newsome said, "Uh, yeah -- I did." The Private marks the chart then leaves the room. Still kind of awkward D says, "Stupid Private!" And then we all laughed, finally breaking that uneasy silence.

Soon it was time for us to leave. Newsome was going to be in the hospital for quite a while and since I didn't drive, I'd probably not be seeing much of him while he was. We said our good byes and I left.

And I was very sad as I left because I had no idea when/how I'd see him again and if he was going to be okay and --I was going to be very lonely without him, I could tell. And I was very sad that I wasn't his Emergency Contact or next of kin -- and I wanted to be. I wanted to be the first person they'd call if anything happened to him. I wanted to be the one they consulted for his medical care.

But I was not.

Bonus Post

I'm calling this a bonus post because today's real post is below. This is just a little something extra and its not technically a "Melissa's Military Moments" but sort of related.

So the past several months I have been having a bit of a sleeping issue in that I wake up every morning between 3am and 3:30am -- every single day. I'm always wide awake and sometimes I can get back to sleep and other times I cannot. Last night was one of those other times.

I woke up at 3:06 and just laid in bed. As I often do when I have time to let my mind wander, I started "writing" Melissa's Military Moments in my head -- I was recalling stories and people I wanted to share and things I was uncertain if I'd share or not. So I laid in bed tossing and turning, hoping I'd go back to sleep soon and thinking a lot about my Army days and when Jerry and I first met. When 4:00am arrived, I decided I had enough of the tossing and turning and I'd just get up. As I did, Jerry said to me, "Where are you going?" I knew my tossing and turning and sighing had woken him up.

I went downstairs and did some laundry, hung out on the computer for a little bit, scanned through he TV channels (nothing on that time of day) and did what my grandmother would call, "piddling around the house". I was feeling very sentimental as I had spent nearly an hour reminiscing through mine and Jerry's early days. All those early dating feelings were coming back to me; being excited just to see him, waiting for him to call or come over, secretly hoping I'd run into him during the day. Then I thought about him being upstairs and how I woke him up with my tossing and turning and I thought to myself, "I know he can't sleep well without me next to him so I think I'll go back upstairs and go to bed."

So I'm walking up the stairs in total darkness -- still recalling those Germany days and feeling bad that I had woke Jerry up and hoping at least he'd be able to get back to sleep for the next hour or so. Ever so quietly I go to open the door to our room (I had closed it when I left hoping to not bother him with whatever I was going to do downstairs) and I'm expecting him to ask me where I was, what I had been doing, etc. So I open the door and I hear . . . . . .

SNORE -- ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ SNORE ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ SNORE ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh okay so it turns out my husband can sleep just fine without me next to him.

Duly noted.

Apartment Living & Dating Newsome

Once I got into an apartment things did change a little bit. I saw Newsome a lot more because for one, I had a phone and could actually communicate and coordinate things but also, it was just easier because there was some place to meet and some place to go. Its not like this SSG could come hang out in the barracks all of the time and his apartment was a bit further away.

I also loved that right across the street from my apartment was a small pond that had ducks. I'd often just stand at the edge of the pond and watch them --sometimes bringing bread out to feed them. It was a quiet street, a red brick street as many of the side streets in Germany were. All of it gave a flavor of European living.

Apartment living also meant I had to get up earlier to make formation. Living in the barracks, I could literally roll out of bed, walk down a flight of stairs and there I was. Living off post I'd have to leave myself plenty of time to walk and in every kind of weather too. Most of the time that wasn't much of a problem.

Connie and I still got along very well. I did most of the cooking, when we didn't eat in the Mess Hall. One particular time we were both getting in each other's nerves so I just left and sat at a park for a few hours. It wasn't like I was venting off steam --I just knew we needed to be away from each other for a little while. Other than that, we always got along quite well. Even though we were sharing a rather small space, at least we were down to one roommate as opposed to the 5 we had been sharing the barracks room with. As Christmas approached we were very excited to get our own tree. We went downtown Ansbach and got us a real live tree. I have no recollection of how we got the tree home but if we didn't just drag it through town, which would have been something the pair of us would be very likely to do, then I'm sure Newsome had a hand in helping us.

Getting away from the barracks drama was actually a very good thing. Instead of being a part of everything I could just concentrate on my work and the small circle of friends that I had. By now, I spent most of my free time still writing a lot of letters and longing for home but I'd also go to the gym quite often. I took an Aerobics class, watched Newsome play basketball, attempted racquet ball, ran, lifted weights and generally hung out. It was Ansbach, what else was there to do? On occasion Connie and I would take a bus to Katterbach and catch a movie or get some Tacos from a Mexican place that was on base there. Newsome and I had a lot of dinners out and on Saturdays he'd drive me to Nuremberg and we'd shop, eat, hang out . . . .

One particular Friday night Newsome and I had plans to go out to dinner after work. About 3pm he was heading to the gym to play basketball then after the game was going to head over to my apartment to pick me up. Connie was gone for the night-- I can't remember where she was but she might have been home on leave or just off for the weekend some place. I rushed home after work because I wanted to be ready on time and I was always excited to spend time with Newsome. I got home got ready and waited. And I waited, and I waited and I waited. I checked the phone 100 times to see if it was working. Dial tone. I kept holding out hope Newsome would show up but as night time fell upon me, I realized --

I had been stood up.

Time to Move!

Things in the barracks were getting pretty out of hand. We hardly ever had inspections anymore and GI parties were few and far in between. Laundry turn-in was becoming practically non-existent. We were issued bedding from the Army and every Tuesday was laundry turn-in day. You'd take your sheets, blankets, etc to the supply room and turn them in for a clean fresh set. When I first got to 1st AD when I'd go to turn in my laundry the line was always very long. I eventually turned my stuff in for good and bought my own civilian sheets and bedding to use. The Army only gave us flats sheets so we had to do those annoying hospital corners and the blankets were those green wool blankets that had US Army stamped on them in black. I opted to buy my own stuff. So as time went on I'd notice the laundry line was getting shorter and shorter until there wasn't anyone in line at all. So you think everyone was using their own military sets but no, that wasn't exactly the deal.

Everyone "decorated" their barracks area and instead of looking like an Army barracks it looked more like a college dorm room or worse yet, frat house. The guys were especially messy and out of control. I'm not sure what all they had going on up there but from what I heard, it was pretty bad.

1SG had just about enough of it and decided to get control of his barracks back. So one day in formation we all got scolded, military style. 1SG told us how many sheets sets were signed out --it was hundreds and yet, no one was turning in laundry. Basically, the guys were never ever cleaning or changing their sheets. We were allowed alcohol in the barracks and I guess there was one room that was literally taken over by empty beer cans. 1SG went on and on about the numerous infractions and then announced the barracks were going to be redone. First of all, each of the rooms was going to be repainted and uh, we were the ones that were going to be doing the painting. Secondly, no more "private" areas were allowed. All of the beds were to be bunked and all of the wall lockers were to be lined up against the walls. It was going to all be common area living --and much like the old Army movies where you'd see beds/bunks just lined up in a large room.

Well Connie decided she wasn't having any of that. She said she was going to get an apartment and asked me to room with her. The problem was she was already an E5 so she didn't need permission to go. I was still yet an E4 so I had to get my NCOIC's permission and my 1SG to allow me to live off post. I wasn't too worried they'd say no but with 1SG's new policies, I wasn't sure he was going to allow it.

Soon Connie was out apartment shopping and since neither one of us had a car, we had to be within walking distance of Hindenburg. Both of our NCOIC's had no problem with us moving out of the barracks but they said it was contingent on 1SG's approval. The only requirement was we had to have a phone. We submitted the paperwork for 1SG to sign off on. One day while I was walking into the barracks I happen to run into 1SG. He mentioned the paperwork and was sort-of giving me a hard time about moving out. Then he said because Connie and I were never in any trouble he didn't see a problem with us moving out but one of our NCOIC's would have to see our apartment and approve our living area. Yeah, I don't know why but you know, that's the Army --you don't exactly ask why. So Connie and I decided to ask her NCOIC to look at our apartment because hers was a female and mine was male.

It wasn't long before Connie found us a place to move into only it was a studio apartment --the "bedroom" and living room were all one room. It wasn't too small. There was a kitchen area and though it was not large enough to have a table in it, it was big enough to be a full service kitchen. It also had a window which I loved. I love kitchen windows, for some reason. The bathroom was actually quite large but only had a shower, no tub. The living area was adequate. We had two twin beds that were pushed together and served as a couch. There was a small eating area with a table and two chairs. We also had a huge "Wardrobe" that we shared. Our apartment was on the second or third floor (can't remember which) over a tavern. When you walked in from the outside there was a small entry way. To the right was a door leading to the tavern and directly in front of you a set of stairs going up to the apartments. It was kind of old fashion and European-ish. I loved it.

One day after work I came in and just being curious, I walked into the tavern and sat down to order a drink. As soon as I walked in the place got awfully quiet and when I sat down everyone in the place just stared at me. They were all older German men and it was like this was their "Cheers" place and I was an unwelcome stranger. I had visions of it too being my after work hang out place but I quickly realized they weren't interested in having new patrons --so I ordered a drink, downed it and left -- never to return again.

Connie had all the electronic stuff; TV, stereo, VHS, movies, etc. so I bought all of our kitchen ware. It didn't take much for a small place for just the two of us. I purchased a set of pots and pans, a few dishes, some dish towels and a few utensils. I was mostly excited about getting kitchen curtains for our window. Still have no clue why kitchen windows appeal to me so much.

Guess who helped move us in! Yup --Staff Sergeant Newsome! We loaded all of our things into his blazer and he moved us to our new apartment. SSG Dean even made his way over to see our new place --and commented how tiny it was. After moving us in Newsome left and later come back with a bag full of groceries and said he knew we didn't have any food in the place.

What I loved most about the apartment, other than it not being the barracks, is that our key was one of those old fashioned skeleton keys. It was big and bulky and always in the way but I didn't care --it was so cool looking.

Army Characters

Here's a few people that have no certain story line but they were memorable characters nonetheless.

The Fakin' Jamaican. There was an E7 that came to our division and claimed to be from Jamaica and even spoke with an accent. Everyone thought he was so cool and of course the females would all swoon over him and his accent. I wasn't interested at all. He was also a very decorated soldier --had a TON of badges, including a Drill Sergeant Badge. It wasn't long before things seemed a little off. People started to notice that the Sergeant seemed to come in and out of his accent when you talked to him for a long period of time. Also, the real Drill Sergeants would try to talk Drill Talk to him and he'd be very vague in his answers or avoid the subject all together. Drill Sergeants are their own special breed in the Army and they love to flock together. This particular Sergeant wasn't' like the others. Hmmm --I smell a rat! It wasn't long before everyone started calling this Sergeant the Fakin' Jamaican because it was obvious his accent was fake. It was also soon discovered he wasn't from Jamaica at all but some place in NY, though his mother was from Jamaica, he himself had been born and raised in NY and didn't have a real accent at all. He had a girlfriend and it wasn't until after she got pregnant that she found out he had a wife and kids --like several of them, 6 or so. But here's the biggest newsflash. Not only wasn't he a Drill Sergeant EVER -- but most of his awards and decorations were all fake. He faked his military records. Having previously worked in a unit where he dealt with military records, he took other soldiers awards and certificates and duplicated them only adding his own name. We're talking before scanners and such so he was a pretty good at what he did. What made me so angry though was that he only got a slap on his wrist. He got an Article 15 for falsifying documents but that was all --and they didn't even take any rank from him. In my experience in JAG I have seen Privates go to Federal Prison for much lesser offenses. To this day I can get all caught up in a fit of anger when I think about it --so unjust!!!!

SSG D. Staff Sergeant D was an ex-Drill Sergeant (a real one) and he was SSG Newsome's Army twin. The two of them had very similar military careers and as far as soldiering goes, they were very much alike and even though they didn't particularly look alike, people in our unit often confused the two of them. Everyone loved when Newsome or D ran PT because they could sing cadence and motivate you. When they lead PT it made you want to keep running and running. D liked to sing, "Who's got the yo-yo" and he'd run up and down the formation singing and I'm telling you, even for this slow lowly runner, I'd want to run on and on and on. D called everyone "Soldier" and he often made "on the spot corrections" much like Mess Sergeant did only --she was mean and D was not. Can't explain it because D wasn't nice either --he was just kind of tough yet fair and funny. D will play a part in a story soon.

SP4 F. She was a JAG clerk like me. She worked post-trial, I worked pre-trial. How does one describe SP4? She was very loud -- very loud and always just talking to be talking, not really saying anything. Its not like people disliked her yet, no one liked her either. She would just blurt out inappropriate things. She was always on the borderline of making weight standards and had a very large very round um -- backside and the "backside" was often the subject of many conversations among the male soldiers. She was a single mother with and had a young son, around age 5 or so. She had been in the Army for-ever! and was still only an E4. She wasn't the brightest or best of soldiers in fact, kind of lazy and more than crazy. Her uniforms were so faded they were almost white. Her boots were never shined. Her hair was always in braids with the ends all tattered and loose. She was kind of just a mess most of the time and everyone in the division knew her because no matter where she was and no matter where you were, you could hear her talking and laughing and saying stupid things. Sometimes she and I would have to go places together and it would often embarass me when we did. BUT --she had a heart of gold. She was one of the most genuine people I have ever met in my life. She struggled to raise her son alone and tried to do the best she could for him. I never asked anything of her but I knew if I ever needed anything she'd be more than happy to help. Years after I got out of the Army and was living in Georgia I got a call out of the blue. In her very loud yet raspy crazy voice I heard, "Hey Dodge!!! It's me!!!!" How she ever found me, since my last name was different, I'll never know but I was very touched that she went through the trouble to do so. She was then stationed in Atlanta and remarried and seemed to be happy. I was glad for her.

MAJ H (he later became LTC H and then even later I heard he was COL H). He was such a nice man. He was very handsome man, dressed ever so spiffy and was so smart and sharp all of the time. He was older, and I'm not sure how much but let's just say older, and single. Never having been married, he was quite a "catch" for any woman but he claimed he just had not found the right one. He had that "Officer and a Gentleman" quality about him. He always wore an MIA bracelet. One day I asked him if I could see it so he held his arm out and there engraved was a soldier's name, rank and when/where he was MIA, in this case it was Vietnam. I got chills when I read the name. MAJ H invited me, along with all of the other single soldiers, to his house for dinner for every single holiday. I never did take him up on it because I always had already made plans but it meant a lot to me just to be asked. He finally got married and he said it made Mrs. H, as in his Mother, a very happy woman! Later while stationed at Ft. Benning, GA I ran into his wife at the BX. They had a baby girl and her name was Amanda, just like my baby girl!

CPT M was another JAG officer. He had only been married a few months when he first got to Germany. He used to crack me up because he'd come into the office on Saturdays and remember, I often worked weekends too. I'd ask him what he was doing in on a Saturday and he'd say, "It was this or scrub toilets." and that used to crack me up. Every week it was a different chore he was trying to get out of at home, "It was this or do the windows." He was like a kid in a man's body.

SSG W's wife. She was another character but I think she deserves a post all her own!

The Board, II

So everything going rather smoothly. Yes, I made a few mistakes but I was still thinking they were minor enough. I was nervous, my voice was shaky. That bothered me a little bit because I wanted to be Army Strong --loud and thunderous --not squeaky mousey little girl. But I did the best I could, I think. Well no, I think I could have been stronger and more uh well - Army. But you see, this is what I always struggled with in the Army; that balancing act between being a a soldier and being a girl. When you wear men's clothing (they claim BDU's are unisex but let's face it, its men's clothing) and people call you "Shoeshine Boy" --its pretty hard to be cute. And then when you're feeling cute its pretty hard to be tough. But overall I was pleased how things were going and since I could tell we were wrapping things up, I was even happier it would soon be over.

And then . . . .

I knew Mess Sergeant just couldn't keep her mouth shut. I knew she couldn't and I knew she didn't like my Bears reply.

So I was done with the questioning part and all that was left was for me to stand up, face the board, salute and be on my way. I stood at Attention before the board, getting ready to salute and then Mess Sergeant opened her mouth.

"Specialist Dodge, who is your NCOIC? Is it SSG W?"

"Yes Sergeant, SSG W is my NCOIC."

"Well then, did SSG W inspect your uniform this morning?"

"Yes Sergeant, he did."

"Well then, you might want to tell SSG W to brush up on his 670-1 because you're uniform isn't quite right, your awards aren't straight. He should have corrected that for you!"

FIRST OF ALL (yes, caps do indicate I'm yelling) -- MY UNIFORM WAS PERFECT! Connie helped me get it straight, our training NCOIC and 1SG inspected us --so many people helped me and inspected me before the board AND I myself measured and labored over my uniform for days and days. There's no possible way it was crooked.

SECONDLY, why did she have to say that out loud because now what she's done is draw attention to the matter and now every board member is going to take points off instead of just her. I know by the manner in which she was talking, sassy and uppity like, and the look on her face, she knew exactly what she was doing by saying that out loud. And the other board members, being males, even if they didn't see the imperfection they'd probably assume her being female knew more about it and took her word for it. She knew that, she knew that, she knew that.

After our little chit chat about my uniform, I rendered my salute and exited the room. As soon as you get back into the hallway, all the other soldiers waiting to go in run up to you and ask you how it was, how you did, what questions they asked you, etc. So when I came out and everyone asked me how it went I said, "Mess Sergeant told the entire board my awards were crooked." Well then everyone wanted to see and not one person --NO ONE --was able to see what she was talking about.

So the best possible score is a 200 and I knew I wasn't going to get that but I was still hoping for something 190's. So far, the lowest score we heard was I think --160 or low 170-ish and no one wanted to get a score that low. After a few minutes the Runner, a soldier that was assigned to help the board, comes out with my score. It was 189. I was so disappointed, I really was. Connie kept telling me it was a really good score but you know, I wanted a 190 at the min. To make matters worse, I'm sure I would have reached that had Mess Sergeant not FALSELY accused me of having crooked awards on my uniform.

But I passed the board. I PASSED! You know what that means? I could get promoted any day now -- as long as my overall points hit the minimum for JAG. Getting promoted to E5 is BIG! Its' your first big promotion --and you're no longer lower enlisted but an Non-commissioned Officer (NCO) and with that, rank does have its privileges.

So now its just a waiting game. Yes, its exciting but its also not uncommon for soldiers to be on the E5 list for years and years. I wasn't sure when I'd be promoted or if I'd get promoted before my time was up.