Wanda --The New Mom

Morning formations were anything but fun. They were held every single duty day. Every single duty day. Every single duty day. Get the point? I won't get into the PT formations so I'll just stick with our usual reporting for the day.

They were held outside irregardless of the weather. I guess maybe rain, very torrential rain, would have canceled formation but certainly not snow or cold. These were the same formations I once mentioned were held in the motor pool then later moved to behind the company, which was basically, the barracks with offices on the lower level. Sometimes we'd have a division-wide formation and that would be held in the parking lot of division headquarters.

One morning we were gathering for formation and I met a JAG SP4, Wanda. She had just returned to duty after an 8 week maternity leave of absence. I never met her before this day. It was a cold fall morning, cold enough for us to be wearing our field jackets. Field jackets would be equivalent to a civilian winter jacket. So just before the 1SG came out and called us to attention, Wanda pulled me aside and said, "If I tell you something will you promise not to tell anyone?" I promised because being this was the first time ever I met her, I couldn't imagine she was going to tell me anything too personal or earth shattering. So sure, I told her I'd keep her secret. She said to me, "I brought my baby to work. She's in the car. I didn't have a baby sitter and my husband had to work so I had to bring her with me."

Okay --this isn't computing. I mean, ITS COLD OUTSIDE! I asked her if the car was running, anyone was with her, etc. Nope. She had a 2 month old baby in the car alone in the parking lot in winterish cold weather. Aside from her obvious lack of parenting skills, Wanda had a bad sense of timing too because just after she dropped this bomb on me, we were called to attention. ATTENTION! Attention means --no talking, no moving, no looking around and trust me, I learned from some very unfortunate basic training experiences Attention means ATTENTION (even if a bee is buzzing around your face, DON'T MOVE, don't swat it away, pretend its not there).

I'm standing in formation and I'm torn. I promised Wanda I wouldn't tell. I couldn't just walk out of formation. Who would I tell? BUT THERE'S A BABY OUT THERE FREEZING TO DEATH! Formation seemed to take hours. As soon as we were dismissed I bolted over to my NCOIC. I asked him if I could have a private word with him. We walked a few feet away from the crowd and I told him about Wanda's baby. He looked stunned. He said, "Tell SP4 ----- to come here." So I went over to Wanda and I was so scared she was going to be angry I told but seriously, she left her baby alone in a car in the cold . . . . . We both walked back over to our NCOIC and he asked Wanda if what I had told him was true and she said yes. He just sighed and said, "Go get your baby."

I have no idea what happened after that. I for one was shocked because I have never been around anyone that seemed that incompetent of a parent. Wanda was an interesting soldier too --always a mess, always screwing up, always forgetting things, always . . . .

Wanda would come into my life again later down the road and this time, I'd find her baby yet again in a dangerous and neglectful situation and would have to intervene.

To say the very least, I was meeting some very interesting people in this Army. Tom, Wanda . . . possibly a future husband?

Where Was God?

Giving you the cliff notes version of my testimony, I was raised Catholic and age 15 when I became a born-again believer. My spiritual growth was slow at best, due in large part to --I had very few (if any) mature spiritual mentors and I did not have a church to attend. I don't want to linger here long --going this far back in time so for now, I won't explain that any further (no secrets or shame, just lack of time).

During my time in Germany I'd say my spiritual life was stagnant --I lived "one foot in the world", so to speak. There was one small chapel on our kaserne which alternated different religious services each week; one week it would be a Jewish service, one week Catholic, etc. So at best, I could maybe catch a service once a month. I did try a few times to go but --I think I was one of three people in attendance, and that included the Chaplain. I tried a German church once and I don't think I got through the entire service. No one, and I do mean NO ONE attempted to talk to me (in fact they out right went out of their way to ignore me) and there was that tiny little problem of the entire service being in GERMAN (what was I thinking????). For all I knew, they could have been worshipping Satan but I'm pretty sure they weren't however; I'm not totally sure what denomination it was either. There was a church on Katterbach Kaserne which was only a 15 minute drive from us --DRIVE being the operative word, which remember --I did not. I did manage to catch a ride once or twice to Katterbach on a Sunday morning and attend chapel but mostly, soldiers weren't up on Sundays that early nor interested in going to church or taking me to church. I mentioned my predicament to one of the JAG Majors one time and he graciously offered to pick me up each Sunday and take me to church with his family. I did that for several weeks until I got bored out of my flipping mind with it. The church was a small military chapel (different from the one on Katterbach, which was larger and much nicer) interested only in serving families, so it seemed. It was quite odd to them what to do with this single 20-something soldier so they thought it best to simply ignore the fact that I was there. So as far as spiritual food, there was none. I had my Living Bible with me. Read that. And . . that was basically it. Whenever I asked my sister Val to send my Christian music, she would and I'd listen to those 80's greats like Amy Grant, Petra, 2nd Chapter of Acts (whatever happened to them?), Sandi Patti --and the like.

In "worldly terms" I was a goodie-two-shoes, their words, not mine. I was always being called that by someone and in fact, it was a certain Staff Sergeant I would later meet that would call me that ALL of the time. In fact, if you can manage to keep your minds out of the gutter, I will tell you that same certain Staff Sergeant (Newsome) used to always tell me, "You wear too many clothes." In that, he meant I dressed very conservatively. But aside from the unfortunate Madonna 80's fashion, the 80's were kind of conservative with the longer dress/skirt lengths (below knee if not to ankle), and that layered look like a button down shirt, sweater AND jacket. That was kind of my style then. In spiritual terms, I was a mess. My faith waivered often. I was discouraged often. I compromised my biblical beliefs often. It seemed like my whole future and everything I ever wanted, longed for or loved was in Chicago and until I could get back there, I was just marking time in Germany. I think spiritually, I was just marking time as well. So it didn't bother me to hang out in German clubs or taste German beer (which I never did like) and quite honestly those things wouldn't bother me now either though for much different reasons (but I'd probably never be a band groupie again).

So where God was simply is where He is now --with me. I guess the real question is, was I with Him?

Band Groupie

As I said earlier, during the time I was hanging out with Tom I got to be a bit of a band groupie. It wasn't so much due to the fact I loved the band as --I had nothing better to do. Remember --no TV, movies, places to go, etc. When I got back to the barracks each night I would write letters or post cards then --well, that's about it. If I could get my hands on a book, I would read. Occasionally I'd watch a movie with my roommates --some boot-leg copy of a VHS. So when Tom would ask me to walk downtown with him, I was only too happy to get out of the barracks.

The band wasn't really that good nor were they that bad. I'd go to their practice sessions in some YMCA type recreational place in Ansbach. It was a much older building --the room we'd go into was empty but for a few chairs and miscellaneous items that were there for storage as much as anything. The room was Pepto-Pink --and ironically, was a bit nauseating. Equally nauseating was the number of times I sat through "Summer Time Blues", which was one of their favorite songs to play and oddly, not even their style music. Some of the German guys didn't speak English and others spoke very basic English. Tom would listen to them speak in German and speak back to them in English and they all understood one another. It was funny. All of the songs they did were American and I'd be amazed how well they could sing the lyrics and enunciate. I'd sometimes ask them, "Do you know what that songs is saying?" They'd just shrug their shoulders.

I went to a few local gigs which were not highly successful nor a failure either. These were mostly German clubs well --duh, obviously but what I mean is, clubs frequented by Germans and not American soldiers --and they weren't always very welcoming of me. I wasn't there to drink or party --just watch/listen to the band play, which by the way --they were much better in practice than any live performance I had been to.

Despite their only mediocre abilities, they finally got a big gig and they were very excited about it. A bigger more well known band asked them to open for them at a club. The guys were excited. Tom asked me to go. I really didn't want to given --this would be out of walking distance and I really didn't trust Tom to get to to/from any place safely. In hind sight, I have no idea why I agreed to go along but I did.

We had to leave early afternoon one Saturday. First we drove to someones house and picked up a lot of equipment. I think it might have been the home of one of the other band's members. There were several guys there with their girlfriends and they were very upset I was tagging along. I should have taken the hint and ran for the hills. Even some of the guys from Tom's band thought it best I not go as they were siding with their girlfriends. Tom and two other guys stood up for me. I was in the middle of absolute no where! I starting thinking what an absolute bad idea this was. I hadn't a clue where I was, where I was going, how or when I'd get back --and hardly anyone in the group spoke English well enough to tell me.

After a very long drive and making several stops, we finally arrive at the club. It seemed to be in the middle of a field --I expected it to be in a big city or at least in town. We drove down long hilly and curvy roads and arrived at this building. The setting almost reminded me of a scene from Hansel & Gretel. It was actually quite beautiful. The club was much nicer and larger than I had expected especially in comparison to the dives they band had been playing in. It was very rustic looking --lots of wood and dark colors. It had more of a family atmosphere to it than some party or dance club. After the band got set up we all just kind of sat around. Tom and one of the other band members stayed with me and close by, for which I was glad. The three of us sat at a table just talking and laughing --while the others ignored us and stewed that I had come along. Soon patrons began to arrive at first rather slowly but then the place was soon packed. I had no idea the crowd was going to be this big. The German band guy (can't remember his name) said something rather odd to me like bugs were crawling in his stomach or something like that. I kept telling him something was getting lost in translation because he wasn't making any sense to me. I finally figured out he was trying to say he was nervous and had butterflies in his stomach.

By the time the guys got up to play the place was packed. I couldn't even make my way to the front. I tried but I just kept getting pushed back. I finally gave up and decided to stand any place that was available --which was right next to the bathrooms. I wasn't even enjoying myself. I couldn't see or hear the band. It was crowded beyond belief and I've never been a big fan of crowds. I couldn't talk to any one. I had no idea where I was. I had no idea when we'd be leaving. I just stood in the back completely clueless about everything.

Bored and mad at myself for coming, I just stood in the back. A little while later I heard what I thought were sirens but it was difficult to hear over the noise. Then the crowd seemed to get louder, if that was even possible, and I heard screaming. I still thought this was just part of the scene here until --the music stopped. When the music abruptly stopped I knew something was wrong. Short as I was, I couldn't see over the crowd, couldn't understand what everyone was saying in German ---but I could tell there was trouble and that was confirmed when I saw the German police storming the place. I didn't know what to do --they were blocking the door and not letting any one leave. I was so scared. I grabbed a German guy and asked what was going on he just said to me, "Its a raid."

A RAID? Okay, I had no idea what that meant but I KNEW it wasn't good and I KNEW the Army wasn't going to like this. The police were hauling people out of there left and right. I was in a panic. I mean --I really had no reason to be afraid other than- --I was ALWAYS afraid of something. I was not doing nor in possession of drugs, which I assume what this was all about. I ran into the bathroom and decided to hide in a stall --cuz --they'll never find me there! (okay, I was stupid). Once I got into the stall I did realize how stupid the idea was. I was looking around for a ways to escape and noticed the wall behind the toilet didn't quite meet up with the ceiling --there was a big gap. I stood up on the toilet and could see there was a room back there, though it was very dark. I climbed the wall dropped over into the dark room. I fell onto a big pile of boxes and from what I could tell, I was in some type of storage room. Now I really had no idea what to do next. So I did what I most always do --I sat down and cried. I kept thinking I was going to jail and now, how was I going to explain why I was hiding in a storage room? Certainly I was making myself LOOK guilty, like I had something to hide. Even if I didn't get arrested the German police would probably turn me over to the nearest military installation --and that wouldn't be good.

Outside the door I could hear some commotion and voices --and they were getting nearer and louder. I thought it was the police coming to look for people hiding LIKE ME --I finally decided there was only one thing left to do --face the music. I my attempt to free/hide myself I realized I was only making myself look like I had something to hide.

The voices outside the door were getting louder and my heart was pounding. It was so dark I really didn't know where the door was. I was feeling my way around the dark when I suddenly heard a big pound on the door and in the clearest English, albeit with a thick Italian New York accent, I heard, "Melissa? Melissa? Are you in there?" I trampled over boxes making my way to the door. It was locked so could only be opened from inside. I opened it and there stood Tom and his band members. He grabbed my arm and said, "We've been looking all over for you! Come on! We have to get out of here!" The guys each grabbed me by the arms and we headed out a back door. I'm not even sure my feet were touching the ground. We went out the back. Once outside, around the corner I could see a whole slew of German police cars . Easy as it was, we got into our car and just drove away. Just like that. There were other cars leaving too --I think the crowd was much more than the police could handle.

That's the last thing I remember. I might have fallen asleep on the drive back but I don't remember the drive back or getting back on post. We would have had to have been dropped off at the gate and walk back to our barracks --I don't even remember that. The next thing I remember was waking up in my bed safe and sound on Sunday morning. For a split second, soon after waking, I almost thought the night had been a dream or rather, nightmare.

Needless to say, that was the last night I was a German band groupie. I never went back to their practices or any performances. I ran into one of the band members once at a local carnival and we spoke briefly but other than that, I never saw those guys again.

To me --he's just Tom

I just sat there waiting for the, "Just kidding!" because Tom was silly like that and like I said, we were not nor did I want to be dating. I thought that was understood.

What I was learned most from my friendship with Tom was how different people come from different backgrounds and end up in the same place. It was obvious to me Tom's family life was much different from my own. Outside of the Army, its very unlikely he and I would have or could have been friends. I was learning to see people for who they were, the core of them. I didn't see Tom as an alcoholic or drug user or New Yorker --I just saw him as the person he was, a young man with faults and sin. I was a young woman with faults and sin. Though they might have been different, we were basically the same. I had never been able to see people like that before. Not too long out of high school and college, I was still in that mode of seeing people as the jock, burn-out, brain, etc. It was an important life lesson for me and though Tom was a bit of trouble and our friendship did not last, I'll always remember him as the one that helped me grow into learning those things.

I almost laughed when Tom proposed but when I saw he was serious I held back. I asked him, "Why do you want to marry me?" He didn't respond with anything about feelings for me, our relationship or future he just said, "Because I think I can be a better person with you." It made me feel so sorry for him. In the course of knowing him, he was trying to be better. On occasion he'd proudly tell me he hadn't "used" in so many days --usually no more than two. I knew he wanted change in his life but he falsely thought I could be that change for him. I witnessed to him on several occasions but that never seemed to get any where. He had a distant reverence for God and wanted to keep it that way. I explained to him I didn't think wanting to be a better person was a reason to get married. He agreed.

I spent less and less time with Tom until I really rarely saw him --even around the company. He was spending more and more time with his German friends and less time with any soldiers. He eventually was busted by the German police for drug possession and/or selling. I never did find out the details of his case as the Germans didn't release jurisdiction --they wanted to try him in German court. That was HUGE --I mean, we got jurisdiction on almost ALL cases including charges such as rape and murder. I assume Tom's charge was a very serious offense, distribution and/or being in possession of a large quantity. It was several months later I got word he was convicted and got a very long sentence in German prison. Its quite possible he's still in prison even yet today. Which, overseas prison isn't quite as "nice" in comparison to American standards. When I first heard the news I was very sad. My first thought was, "I hope he speaks German well enough to get by." My second thought was about his mother. I wondered if she knew what happened, if she cared, if it broke her heart, if she'd ever see her son again.

You know the funny thing? I don't even remember his last name. To me he's just Tom --that Italian guy from New York that became a good friend, helped me through a tough time ----and for that, I was very thankful for his friendship.

Around the company he became known as "That guy that went to German prison."

Tom

As I mentioned earlier, I first met Tom at my birthday party and after that, it was hard not to get to know him as he was EVERYWHERE I was. I'd turn around, there was Tom. I'd go to lunch, there was Tom. I'd report for formation, there was Tom . . . so Tom and I became friends rather quickly. He worked in the motor pool as a mechanic but we were in the same company.

One of the best things about knowing Tom was he knew everyone! He had been in Germany for a while so he knew his way around and knew most everyone in the company. If I ever needed to know anything, he was the person to ask. One of the worst things about knowing Tom was he was ALWAYS in some sort of trouble. He was kind of one of those very personable likable guys that was a friend to everyone yet just always screwing up. That was Tom.

My first venture out into Ansbach, the town I was stationed in, was with Tom. Like I said, he had a lot of friends --both German and American alike. Unlike me, he was comfortable out on "the economy", which meant off a military installation. We'd go for walks in town and he'd show me the places that were good for shopping or eating. He was the one that first told me to make sure to order American Ketchup with my food --otherwise I'd get that peppery German stuff. He was also the one that told me a few things about German beer --when I told him I wanted to taste German beer, one night he took me to a club, ordered a bunch of beer and we sat there taste testing each one. I knew part of my "German experience" I wanted to taste authentic German beer. He was also the one that would go running with me in the afternoons. I wasn't able to keep up in our morning company formation runs so in the afternoon he'd come to the barracks and come get me and say, "Let's go running!" Then he'd run at the same pace we'd do our formation runs in and talk me through keeping the pace. Somehow I was always able to keep up running like that but in formation --that's another blog post. We'd also have to tackle the dreaded "Hospital Hill" sometimes so whenever Tom knew we'd be running the hill in the morning, he'd come get me the night before and say, "Hey, let's practice the hill." Once I told him I always wanted to see the inside of a tank so one evening he came to my room and asked me to go for a walk with him. He took me to the motor pool, which he had keys to (either legally or illegally --not sure which) showed me a tank and said, "There you go. Climb in and on it. Do whatever you want." He just stood there as this silly Chicago girl explored the tank inside and out.

In many ways, like a big brother (though he was younger than me), Tom was always looking out for me. He was from New York but very rarely talked about his family. When he did, there was always a hint of pain in his voice. Whenever I brought up the subject of family, he'd quickly find a way to talk about something else. It always seemed to me that joining the Army was a means of escape for him. He spoke with a thick New York accent and his grammar wasn't the best. He'd put an "s" at the end of words such as "yous". That used to drive me crazy. He was very street savvy and seemed to have been taking care of himself for a very long time. He was also very very funny and would tell very animated stories with the funniest faces and gestures. At a time in my life when I was most always depressed and homesick, Tom could make me forget about it all and having me rolling in laughter.

One night after work Tom and I went into town. We had forgotten about the 10 curfew and it was just minutes to the gates closing. I reminded Tom of the curfew and we took off running. I was so scared I was going to miss curfew, which I knew would have been very bad news for me! We did make it back in time --barely. That was the last time I hung out with him during the week --unless we stayed on base.

Tom was also a very gifted drummer and he started up a band with some German friends. Sometimes I'd go with him to band practice and sometimes I'd play keyboard for them though make no mistake, I WAS NOT part of the band --just a band groupie. They'd get small local gigs on weekends, which I think were mostly unpaid. I'd go along and just sit right in front watching/listening to them play. The more local exposure they got, the more their name, which I can't remember nor ever will, probably -- got recognized and they finally got a big paying gig. That will be a post in and of itself as well.

The problem with Tom was this --he drank A LOT and got high A LOT. We seemed an unlikely pair because I didn't do those things. I constantly warned him about his drug usage because here I was working in JAG and seeing soldiers going to jail and getting put out of the Army left and right for this type of thing. I kept telling him he'd come up hot on a urinalysis --and eventually he did. Got an Article 15. And that kept happening over and over. He mostly stayed a private as he kept losing rank from the Article 15. I knew it was only a matter of time before he got put out of the Army --or worse. So this was definitely a problem in our friendship. Another problem was when everyone started thinking Tom and I were in a relationship --like he was my boyfriend. There was never anything romantic between us and in fact, we'd often tell each other about the type of person we wanted to date. I was uncomfortable with people thinking we had that type of relationship. I knew I had to spend less time with him. I already was spending much less time with him than I had been --just doing my band groupie thing and going for long quiet walks on Sunday afternoons. The Sunday afternoon thing started because I told Tom I would not spend any time with him if he was drunk or high or in possession of drugs. Sundays seemed the only time he could manage to stay that sober, I guess.

One Sunday afternoon we went for a walk and ended up sitting at the top of a grassy hill. For the first time ever, Tom talked about his family and told me, "I sometimes miss my Mom --but not enough to ever want to go back." He told me about his high school buddies and some of his favorite childhood memories. He told me, "When I first got to Germany I expected everything to be like a Hedi movie." I kind of sensed something was going to happen ---that Tom and I would no longer be friends or spend time together. Things just seemed to be moving in that direction plus I was more and more concerned with his drug usage --for his sake but also my association with him. And then he said something that floored me but also confirmed to me Tom and I wouldn't be friends much longer. There was a lull in our conversation, a very comfortable silence and then Tom said ---

"Will you marry me?"

Break

I am taking an Army blogging break and will resume on May 25th. My girls are home from college now and their college STUFF is scattered all over our home. I need some time to regroup my thoughts, our stuff, our space and our time.

Thanks to my faithful blog followers (both of you) --I promise I'll be back on May 25th. We've so much more to cover like the marriage proposal I turned down, when I became a groupie for a German band, my meeting with the 3-star general, the time a prisoner showed up at the JAG office and the time I had to bring sexual harassment charges against a fellow soldier. See? Lots more ground to cover.

See you on the 25th.

M

The Shoe Shine Boy!

Overseas back in the 80's.

I have no idea what it's like serving overseas now but back in the 80's . . . . .

What We Didn't Have

1. Cell phones - no picking up the phone on a whim to call & no texting!

2. Long Distance calling plans - it was EXTREMELY expensive to make calls to the states so it was a rare occasion when anyone did and even then it was only for a few minutes. German phones had --well, I don't know what they were called but they were like an odometer and when you made a call to the states, the numbers would roll fast and furious. You were charged, "by the mile".

3. Email, IM, chat --and basically no computers. We did have word processing which would do basic documents, mail merge and the like. We'd save everything to a disk, which was larger than an 8 1/2 x 11 sheet of paper.

4. FedEx or UPS or any express type mail. Oh, it was around but it was CRAZY expensive. We did have snail mail, which we didn't call it that back then. Letters could take up to 2 weeks, to get to us, packages even longer.

5. Shopping. Of course no Internet so mail order was by catalog and that was very time consuming. I ordered a sweater from Lands End once and after it finally arrived, it was too warm to wear it. Shopping "on the economy" could be expensive, depending on the exchange rate. in Ansbach, where I was, there weren't many places to go. There was a fairly large BX in Nuernburg but getting there was a challenge. I'd have to find a ride or take the bus --the bus option pretty much too all day long and then I'd have to make sure I didn't miss the last one back.

6. TV -- one military station, the Air Force Network. It played old shows and VERY stupid commercials. Radio was one station as well that would play a different genre of music at certain times a day. Only a few people liked when the country music played.

7. CD's had just made the scene so we were still using vinyl albums and cassettes. My roommate and I liked to go the the record store downtown.

It was a pretty isolated life style. I did get to travel quite a bit. I went to places all over Germany (including the black forest), Switzerland, Lichtenstein, Paris, Holland, Austria, London . . to name a few. I like riding the train. In fact, I LOVE riding the train, which was nothing like we have in the states. I did know enough conversational Germany to get around and a lot of Germans, especially the younger generation, spoke English. If the person wasn't fluent, we both knew enough of each other's language to get to the gist of it. Hotels were interesting because unless you were in a big city, in the hotels you'd share a a bathroom with other guests. There would be one bathroom at the end of a hall. Restaurants were different too. Many of them served "family style" dining so they didn't bring you plated food but bowls of stuff --just like at home. If there were only 2 people in your party and you were at a table for 4, without asking or informing you --2 strangers would be seated at your table. That was a little strange sometimes.

I did love the little town of Ansbach. Germans didn't really have big refrigerators like we had. If any, they'd have something small, much like you'd have in a dorm. The woman shopped market style --like daily fresh goods. There was a bakery, produce store and butcher. I never had a need for these things since I lived in the barracks but I loved to browse and watch the Germans women shop for their dinner. I LOVED the candy store that had an abundance of Gummy Bears and all sorts of European Chocolate. There wasn't a lot in Ansbach in way of clothing.

Germany was a contrast of old world against a modern day setting. Sometimes you could almost see or hear the war as the buildings and surrounding looked like a war-time movie setting. Other times it felt no different than being in the states. German ketchup was peppery so you had to be sure to ask for American Ketchup when ordering out. They usually served drinks room temperature and I hated that. A lot of restaurants didn't even have ice or if they did you had to ask for it. Germans used mayonnaise like we use ketchup --dipping their fries in it and such. Since I lived in the barracks I wasn't around families too often and I missed the sound of children, especially children at play and their laughter. There was a German public school that was right outside of our back gate. I used to like to be around there when school was getting out because I'd watch the kids and listen to them laugh and interact with each other, though I had no clue what they were saying. Of the few Germans I got to know, it was a general consensus they believed Americans were wasteful. Like, if I asked what they thought of Americans they'd comment how we waste or live in over abundance. For some reason, they were infatuated with Texas or New York. If asked where in the US they would like to go, it was often one of those two places. I'd always tell them, "Trust me, if you ever get a chance to go to American, Chicago is where you want to go." Chicago by an large was known as being a gangster city. They'd replied, "and get shot by gangsters?" Al Capone's reputation lives on.

Sometimes you'd run into someone anti-American or anti-military and they'd most always tell you their opinion --in their hateful way. Mostly though, was my experience Germans were very hospitable and accepting of us in their country. They called us "American GI." When I'd be on the economy they'd ask me, "You American GI?" One time during the duty day I was down town and in uniform. We weren't supposed to be off post in uniform, unless it was to/from your home or just couldn't be avoided. So I'm in a store in my BDU's and a guy comes up to me and says, "You American GI, you look like boy. You look like shoe shine boy!" I guess he meant I looked like I was wearing men's clothing, which I was since BDU's were designed to be anything but feminine. I really have no idea what he meant but he definitely was making fun of me. He walked away laughing. I was pretty offended and embarrassed. I didn't want to look like a shoe shine boy!

Criminal Law

I loved the legal field. It was exciting. My job was never boring to me. I always wanted to learn something new and as soon as I'd get that down, I'd want to move onto something new. I especially liked working in Admin law because I was the only enlisted soldier in that department. It wasn't too long after my first promotion that I got another, then another and now I was a PFC (Private First Class). That's why when I was informed I'd be moving I was floored and disappointed. What did I want to do? Why of course, cry.

My NCOIC called me into his office one day and told me a soldier in our division was getting reassigned and would be joining JAG and I'd be moving across the hall to Criminal Law. I felt like I was being punished for something -like I was doing a bad job. Of course, I didn't say anything --mostly in the Army you just do what you're told without questions. I was told in a few weeks I'd be training SGT R to do my job. I was devastated. SGT R was not a 71D, she was a 71L (no time to explain the difference and no time to find a link that does but great idea, Andy). I wasn't told why SGT R was coming and why a 71L would be working in JAG but there again, you don't ask many questions in the Army.

When SGT R first arrived I didn't like her after all, she was taking my job! I guess maaaaaybe I might have had a tiny bit of an attitude about it because the NCOIC called me into his office and asked me if I was having any problems training SGT R. Me? Problems? No (oh, you mean besides the MAJOR problem I have with someone taking my job) problems here. Not convinced, my NCOIC pressed on until I finally admitted to him I felt shunned. He laughed, "Seriously? That's what this is about?" Well duh, I thought. How was I supposed to be glad about losing my favorite job? My NCOIC went on to explain to me because I had done so well I was getting a new job which had more responsibilities. He pointed out to me I was an E3 9 (PFC) being replaced by an E5. Hey, I never did think of it in that manner. I'd be working in pre-trial in Crim Law and would have more hands on experience. He also told me SGT R was getting reassigned under special circumstances. He assured me I'd like Crim Law. He was more than right. I got over my little attitude problem and moved across the hall to Crim Law, leaving Admin Law in SGT R's capable hands.

I LOVED Crim Law. I worked with the prosecutors in getting a case to trial; jury selection (personal fav), pre-trial confinement, witness coordination --just to name a few. Remember, this was pre-computer days s everything was typed out. Word processing was coming onto the scene. We had disks that were the size of vinyl albums. Yes, I do realize I just dated myself on both accounts. Sitting here writing about it brings me back --to those dark black screens with the green type. Gosh, I thought we were so high speed. We had pretty big cases, these were all general court martials. Most of what we had to do had to be signed by the CG so our Colonel had a standing appointment with the big man. We'd set up file folders for each case and the prosecutor would brief the Colonel on the case, then it would go up to the CG for signature. We had a lot of drug related cases but also treason, murder, rape. When the crime was committed off of a military installation or against a German national, we had to get a release of jurisdiction from the Germans to try the case. Most often times they would release jurisdiction. I only know of one drug case that they did not release and one murder case, which was quite brutal, they almost didn't release but finally did.

I tore each case apart in that, I read it from cover to cover. I wanted to know it inside and out. If it was a rather large case or had a lot of evidence, I'd sometimes go to the office late at night or on the weekends and just read through cases. If pre-trial confinement was requested, I'd have to set up the orders for the CG to sign and coordinate with Manheim, the prison facility. Days we had a trial, which were held in Nuremberg, were always exciting. We'd anxiously await a call from the prosecutor to learn the disposition of the case which was almost always -GUILTY! Yeah, the military doesn't quite operate like civilian courts. So the big surprise wasn't so much in the verdict but the sentencing. That was the real tell tale of how well we, the prosecuting team, presented the case.

As I was accustom to doing, I was going over a case one day. It was a rape case. The accused name was SGT R, a male that committed a crime while on CQ duty one night. I was behind all the hype in the prosecutor's office. We were the "good guys" putting away the "bad guys" --making the Army and the world a safer place to be. I was proud to have even the smallest part in making that happen. The accused was nothing more to me than a criminal. A crime was committed --punishment must ensue.

One day while spending some time with my replacement, SGT R, I asked why she had gotten reassigned. She told me because her husband was accused of a crime and --she went on to tell me the story, which was the exact same story I had read about in the case file. THAT SGT R was HER husband? Making matters worse, they had a 5 year old son. I wasn't at liberty to tell her anything I knew and from the way she talked, she had no idea I was familiar with the case. I just remember as she was telling me the story from her perspective, I was changing inside. This was no longer just a scum bag criminal whose face I'd never see --this was a husband, a father, a soldier and up until this point, he had a stellar military career. I wanted her to be quiet and go away. I wanted to forget there were real people behind those case files. Up until now, the only "real people" to me were the victims and the families of the victims. SGT R (the wife) was reassigned because she and her husband were in the same unit and the victim of the crime was also She needed to be away from all of that.

Her husband was found guilty and was placed in confinement at Ft. Leavenworth for a long sentence.

I know this isn't a fun or funny post but it the experience changed me both as a person and as a soldier. It changed the direction I was traveling in and my heart was growing mercy.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? POT? MARIJUANA?

Being the new kid on the block wasn't always easy (ie, the Alert prank) but making new friends wasn't that difficult to do. One Friday evening I was invited up to the second floor to a party of sorts --just hanging out. Since there was absolutely nothing else to do, I decided to go.

Take a step back. Nothing else to do really meant --nothing else to do! TV? Not really --just one station AFN (Air Force Network) that ran reruns and STUPID AFN commercials! Radio? Not really --just one station that played different genre of music, depending on the time of day. Internet? None. Shopping? VERY limited. Gaming systems. Not really. Videos? VHS --and A LOT of bootleg copies (no video rentals). Movie theater? One but you had to take a bus and no new releases --basically your dollar theater. Restaurants? A few downtown but on base just the NCO club *gag* with a limited menu selection. Reading? I tore through what books I had and with no library or bookstore in sight, that wasn't an option. Entertainment wise, not a whole lot of choices.

I went up to the room and there were quite a few people from our company there --I knew some of their names, others I struggled with since they were out of uniform and they didn't have a name tag on! I stood back a little, kind of shy when suddenly my sight and sense of smell both detected --at the same time ---

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? POT? MARIJUANA? IN THE FLIPPING ARMY BARRACKS? THEY PUT SOLDIERS TO JAIL FOR LESS THAN THIS!!!

No sooner than my senses became aware of what was going on, a certain something was passed and offered to me. Uh, no thanks! I couldn't get to the door fast enough in fact, I must have been running. Please don't let the MP's be waiting out here for me. Oh please let me out of here. I don't want to go to jail! I'm innocent. Will they believe me? Get out of here! GET OUT FAST!!!!

As I was making my way down the stairs in a running for my life fashion, a soldier came out from the room and stopped me, "Hey, where are you going? You don't party?" No, I assured him I DID NOT party --then he asked, "Are you going to tell? You gonna get us busted?" ME? GET YOU BUSTED? Uh, I think you're gonna get YOURSELF busted!!! I said to him, "I don't know what I'm going to do but I do know I don't want to be anywhere near you guys. Don't they ever send the dogs in here? Don't you know they run random urinalysis tests in the Army? Don't you know if you come up hot . ." He cut me off, "Man! That ain't nothing. We won't get caught. Come on back . ." Now I cut him off simply by walking away.

I went back to my room and I wasn't sure what I should do. Here I am in a foreign country and basically, I don't know a soul. I need friends to survive here. I had no idea who I could trust. That night I did nothing. I just stayed in the solace of my room however I did decide this was information I wouldn't keep to myself.

Eventually, at least two soldiers that were in that room that night ended up in jail on drug related charges. Others came up hot on a urinalysis (some mulitiple times) and got an Article 15 or other form of military punishment. It didn't matter if I told or not because the Army has its own way of weeding these people out. Random drug testing and barracks searches (drug dogs) always sift out the ranks. I might have always been in trouble for stupid things like walking down range during live fire or being outside in uniform without any headgear on but break the law? I don't think so --not military or civilian law. I lived in a healthy fear of the Army.

After that, I didn't go upstairs very often --maybe 2 or 3 more times (even then only for a specific reason and when I was with another soldier) or whenver it was required of me while pulling CQ duty. I was learning my way around the Army, my company, the barracks -- and I was also learning that unspoken language of the soldier. More on that tomorrow.

Be My Little General

It is often said in the Army to never volunteer for anything --especially any detail duty. Contrary to the advice, I often volunteered for detail and was never really sorry I did. You never knew what you were going to do before you stepped forward so it was always a gamble. One morning while in formation the 1SG said he needed some privates for a detail. I was quick to let the Platoon Sergeant know I'd be glad to go. All I was told was to report to the the headquarters building.

Turns out, this was a detail the CG had requested himself. In the front of the HQ's building was a tank and the CG decided that tank needed to be painted. There were 3 of us on the detail; myself and two male soldiers. I have no idea who they were. We were given a gallon of paint and some brushes and very little instructions. The tank was obviously out of commission --just there for show. I never painted a tank before. I never saw a tank that up close. Painting it was quite a challenge as there were a lot of nooks and crannies. I hoped we could get inside but it was sealed shut.

Where do you start when you paint a tank? Well, seemed obvious to me start at the top and work your way down. I didn't mind the detail at all and in fact, I might have enjoyed it a little bit. What I didn't like was all the stares and condescending looks I got from those from the officers and senior enlisted that were going in and out of the HQ's building as if to say, "Poor lowly privates good for nothing more that painting a tank." That's what it felt like to me. But when I could put that out of my mind, I painted away. Several hours into the job, I saw some soldiers walking towards the tank. I know they looked pretty important --just the manner in which they were walking. I was on the top of the tank, keeping one eye on what I was doing and one eye on who was walking towards us. As usual, I figured I had done something wrong or was doing something wrong and as usual my plan of attack was just to play dumb --which was more than perfectly natural. I don't remember how many people were there certainly no more than 3 put as soon as they got closer my eyes could only fix one that one man. All of my basic and AIT training came flooding back. In an ultra light speed fashion my entire flipped through my head. Think, Melissa! Think! Don't panic. DON'T PANIC! You know this. This is nothing. Come on now. Be My Little General.

No matter how much training I could recall and how much I tried to calm myself, all I could do was freeze. I stood on top of that tank, paint brush in hand, and froze as if I were a bronze statue atop a bronze tank. Soon I heard, "Soldier, come on down here." Oh Melissa -don't blow this. Don't screw up. What do I do with this paint brush? Leave it here? Take it with me? Think, hurry THINK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I set the paint brush down and climbed to the ground and stood the straightest, tightest, tallest, stiffest position of attention I could muster with wobbly knees. He came and stood right in front of me, "At ease, soldier. What's your name?" I wanted to be so you know --hoor-ah! ARMY! I wanted a commanding voice like a thunder of confidence but instead this crackly weak meek little voice said, "Private Dodge, Sir."

"Private Dodge, where are you from? Where's home?" Oh please make Chicago proud. Represent! Do it right --but still in a voice flowing with nerves, "Chicago, Sir." He made a few comments about Chicago, most of which I didn't even hear as I was still shaking in disbelief, "Where do you work, Private Dodge?" I was ever so slightly beginning to gain control of my voice once more, "JAG, Sir."

"Ah yes, there with MSG C. Well, I just wanted to come over and say thank you for working my detail today. You're doing a good job and I'm going to call MSG C and tell him so. Keep up the good work."

"Yes, Sir! Thank you Sir!"

That's right. Standing there talking to ME, Private Dodge was the Commanding General of the 1st Armored Division, a two star General! It wouldn't be my only encounter with a General. Somewhere in my future there was yet another General I'd come in contact with --- a 3 star!

Basic Training helped me to remember:
B (Be) - Brigadier General (one star)
M (My) - Major General (two star)
L (Little) - Lieutenant General (three star)
G (General) - General (four star)

On The Home Front

As I was settling into Germany and the Army things were getting better, or at least more bearable. No matter how much I liked Germany, the Army or how many friends I made, I was simply homesick most of the time --ALL of the time. Many nights I'd cry myself to sleep because my heart ached so much for the home front. I had pictures of my family posted all over my barracks walls and office. I thought of them constantly and missed them beyond measure.

Soon after I arrived at 1st AD I became known as the soldier that got the most mail. My sisters Val and Sam wrote me ALL of the time. They'd send me packages, pictures, cards and letters. My grandmother sent packages --mostly homemade goods. They weren't so good by the time they reached me, often stale or crumbled but regardless, I ate them with such delight. She would also write letters and send me pictures. My cousin Marsha and my Aunt sent packages too. My mother wrote me a lot of letters. She also sent me post cards quite often. They didn't say much but they didn't need to because the "Love, Mom" at the bottom was what meant the most to me. My Dad even sent letters every now and then but also he'd call me once a month. In fact, he was the only one that ever called me. We couldn't talk long because it was so crazy expensive to call overseas back then. What he probably never knew is throughout the entire conversation, I'd have tears just rolling down my face.

Just like the postcard, it wasn't what they sent but the fact that you knew you weren't forgotten. We didn't have cell phones, internet, email, IM --all I had was snail mail and back then, even just a letter could take 2 weeks to reach me. Sometimes at night I'd lay in bed and count the days it had been since I heard someones voice. I'd think, "Now the last time I talked to Mom was . . . . " then I'd try and figure out how many days it had been since I heard her voice. My sister Val was amazing --I'd write to her and tell her things I needed or couldn't get and within no time a package would arrive with exactly what I had asked for. My sister Sam just sent fun and whimsical things.

When I'd get really bad-off homesick I had a little trick. I'd go to a pay phone and put in what would be equivalent to an American quarter. I'd call a family member and as soon as they said "hello" the call would end. 25 cents bought you about 2 seconds of call-time. This was before caller-ID days too so they had no idea what the call was about - -no clue it was me. As I was placing the call I'd get excited because I had no idea who was going to answer the phone! As the phone was ringing I'd try to guess who it would be. After they picked up I'd try to rush in a "hello" back but the call most always ended before I could. I know, it sounds silly now but hearing someones voice always made me feel better. Even if for just a split second, I was connected to my home and family and for the 12 months I was overseas, this helped me through it all.

Mail Call was my favorite time of each day. I LOVED Mail Call! I'd take my mail back to my barracks or office (if it was during the duty day) and I'd rip open each letter or card and read it over and over and over again.

I still have a VHS video my Dad made for me while I was in Germany. It was right after my niece Lindsay was born and my family was at my cousin Marsha's house celebrating my Dad's birthday. Courtney and Morgan were running around in nothing but a diaper (it was a sticky hot July day). My sisters interviewed my family members as if they were on Oprah. At the end of the video my Dad recorded himself talking to me. To this day I can't get through it without balling --I'm crying now just writing about it.

I never missed any place or any people as much as I missed Chicago and my entire family. I LOVED telling people I was from Chicago and in fact, people in the barracks used to call me, "Chicago". Uh so --nick names are really popular with soldiers and often times a nick name is given based on where you are from or something you did --either incredibly good or incredibly stupid.

I'm still not sure why they didn't call me Buffer! I was so bad (as in good) on that machine.

The Making of a Soldier

One day the SJA NCOIC said to me, "Your collar is looking a little light there." It took me a minute to realize what he was saying -- it was the Private E1 no rank on my collar look. He said, "I'll see if we can do something about that." That he did. I soon received my mosquito wings -- the little Private E2 chevron rank. It wasn't much but it certainly was something. I was happy.

The day after my NCOIC gave me my new rank, I couldn't wait to come to work the next day proudly displaying my new status. Yeah, it was just E2 but that was better than E1 and a step before E3. The next morning I was getting to leave for formation --I grabbed my BDU jacket and pushed those little mosquito wing pins right onto my collar. I secured them with the backing, put my jacket on and proudly walked my way to formation.

At this time, our company formation was at the motor pool. It would later move to behind the company barracks, which was literally outside my door. But this day I walked over to the motor pool and as was the norm, the company mingled and stood around before the 1SG arrived. Once 1SG got there, we'd have to get into our squads/platoons and get ready to be called to ATTENTION (I realize this is a lot of military jargon but its not paramount to the story so I won't try to explain it all). An E6 from our company, someone I really didn't know at all, came up to me and said, "Did we loose the war?"

Oh come on! I'm NOT falling for anymore pranks. I know what an Alert is, I know what a GI Party is . . .there wasn't a war and we haven't lost anything. The SSG (Staff Sergeant E6) is grinning and looking at my collar. I look down and I said, "Oh that!" I thought he wanted to congratulate me and admire my new E2 rank! I was so proud I said, "Yeah, I got promoted!" I still didn't understand the reference to losing the war but . . . .SSG looks at me and says, "I see you got promoted. Your rank, it's upside down. You have it wrong on your collar."

I was so embarrassed I wanted to run but here comes 1SG and we had to get into formation. As soon as we were done I couldn't wait to get back to my room to fix my collar. I was so intent on getting it perfectly centered on my collar I really didn't take note if it was upside down or not and honestly, I had no clue one way or the other.

These were the little things I was never told or taught. I mean yeah, I earned an Expert Badge for the M16 rifle and I can launch a grenade and fire an M-60 machine gun and I got to basic training not able to do even 3 push-ups and 8 weeks later was able to knock out 27 -----but I wasn't quite savvy as to little things like --which way is up and which way is down for a chevron.

But I was learning --certainly the school of hard knocks route but learning nonetheless and that is basically, the making of a soldier.

Lessons Learned by Private Dodge

Soon after our bathroom renovation was complete one morning I noticed signs posted all over the hallway and bathroom that said, "GI PARTY TONIGHT! 1800 HOURS!"

A GI party? Man, this place isn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. GI party? For us? Wow, that's nice. I wonder where it will be. Is it like --big? Will there be a DJ? Food? Hmm --I wonder what I should wear --Do you have to wear a uniform to a GI party? I guess it doesn't really matter! I'm just excited --WE'RE HAVING A PARTY TONIGHT! WHOO HOO! The whole day I was quite excited about the GI party and I could tell everyone else was too. Even my NCOIC told me to make sure I wasn't late for the GI party.

That night I walked back to my barracks not knowing what to expect. It was nearly 1800 hours so I was in a bit of a hurry, especially if I needed to change into civilian clothes. When I walked into the barracks I was confused by what I saw. All of the female soldiers were in BDU pants, boots and a brown t-shirt. That combination usually meant WORK! In the hallway there were buckets, mops, all sorts of cleaning supplies and the ever favorite, the buffer! Before I had a chance to process any thoughts a sergeant E5 came up to me, clipboard in hand, "Bathroom or Hallway, 1SG Office, the CO's office . . ." She was rambling on. It was obvious to me we had barracks detail but weren't we going to be late for our party? Annoyed I wasn't snapping to pick something she yells, "Well, what are you going to GI? Pick something or I'll assign something." I was trying to figure out exactly what was going on. We were going to be late for the party and all of the guys were going to eat up all of the food before I got there! "Um, okay", I said softly, "I guess --I guess I'll buff?" She laughs. "You buff? I don't think so. Besides, it's already taken." She then proceeds to assign me the showers and toilets. All the while soldiers are running around everywhere. Mops are flinging, walls are being scrubbed down --it was like spring cleaning GI style --and then it dawns on me . . .

Wait a second! Spring cleaning GI style? IS THIS THE GI PARTY? Boy do I feel stupid! In fact, I feel as stupid as I did that time basic training when going to the range for the first time and drill sergeant kept telling us we were going to get some magazines.

Magazines? Isn't that nice of them! I was tired of the "hurry up and wait" game we had to play --at least now on the waiting part I could flip through a magazine. Being so sheltered from the civilian world during basic I was glad I'd get to get back in touch. Magazines! I thought even if they are out dated at least it's better than sitting there reading my stupid Smart Book! I wondered if they'd all be military related and I secretly hoped for a Glamor magazine.

Lessons Learned by Private Dodge:

1. Magazine - a metal receptacle for a number of cartridges, inserted into certain types of automatic weapons and when empty removed and replaced by a full receptacle in order to continue firing.

2. GI Party - military jargon for a group cleaning effort of a barracks, common area, bathroom, or, any area, room, office, etc. in general. It is not a casual cleaning, but rather an intensive top-down, inside-out, scrubbing, polishing, detailing, etc., typically in preparation for an inspection. Contrary to the name, it is no fun. One is not invited to a GI Party; one is ordered to participate in a GI Party.

3. Alert - does not mean Germany has been invaded.

Will I ever get the hang of this Army business?

OH! MY! -- WAIT ---WHAT???? We're going to WAR?

Being a "newbie" to my unit was much like being a freshman in high school and those upperclassmen would see to it I was fully indoctrinated.

When I first got to the 1st AD there was some political unrest which meant we, the lower enlisted, had to pull guard duty through the night. I had pulled guard duty in basic training. I knew I didn't want to pull guard duty! From what I could gather, this guard duty consisted of walking the inner perimeter of the kaserne while in full gear; helmet, flak vest (bullet proof vest --and it was heavy!), pistol belt, M16 rifle . . . yeah, didn't exactly sound like my cup of tea. I was happy to learn soldiers that were inprocessing would not be put on the duty roster. Whew! I did escape that and turns out, by the time I was ready for full duty, we no longer had to pull this extra guard duty. But from the get-go, I did realize I was in a different place. This wasn't American soil and things would be different. During my tenure in Germany, depending on the political climate at the time, we'd get notice of certain countries being closed off for soldiers. Most of time it was a short temporary ban. Also, the threat may or may have not been real serious (to consider the ban) but the Army wasn't willing to take chances and I'm sure they erred on the side of caution. It did make me feel slightly uneasy. I felt like at any time anything could happen and then one morning, it did.

One very early morning, while nestled snugly in my Army issued bed partially behind a flimsy white plastic shelf, sheltered from the outside world by a thin layer of contact paper, I was awaken very annoyingly by loud knocks on the door while someone was yelling, "ALERT! ALERT!" All of my roommates promptly knew what to do. Though grumbling and still half asleep, they all got up and began to bustle around. Outside of our door, I could hear a lot of commotion --lots of loud talking, people walking, etc. I thought perhaps I should do something but what? I kind of sat on the edge of my bed for a while and then finally asked what was going on. One of my roommates replied, "Girl! We're on alert! You betta get yourself up." Okay, Einstein, I heard the man pounding on our door yelling, "ALERT!" I pretty much gathered we were on Alert. Alert? What exactly was Alert?

Well, if everyone else was getting up and dressed, all we like sheep --I'd get up and do the same. My roommates one by one were dressed and left. Where were they going? What were they doing? After a little while they came back and (crap) in full gear. I asked a different roommate what was going on. She said, "You don't know?" Well duh, why does everyone keep giving me such stupid answers? No, I told her --I certainly did not know what was going on. She said, "Well girl! We're on Alert! We're going to war! Packing up! Moving out! Did you get your weapon yet (I saw she had hers)? You better hurry! The Arms rooms is gonna close and girl! How you going to war with no weapon?" She just walked away. That's it.

OH! MY! -- WAIT ---WHAT???? We're going to WAR? Okay, I'm scared. Maybe I should sit on my bed and cry. What about my family? My Mom isn't going to like this. I don't think she envisioned me going to war. What about Courtney and Morgan? If I get killed in action, they will never remember me. What will my sisters think? War!? Me? I'm a female. We don't go to combat! What's going on? I can't go to war! I just got out of basic training! WAR??????????????? OH DEAR GOD HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Like everyone else had done, I went down to the Arms room and got my weapon. We were to report to our appointed place of duty which in my case, was SJA. It was a rather short walk across the parking lot. When I left the barracks I noticed Army vehicles were beginning to line up in front of division headquarters. Soldiers were scurrying about. There was a lot of fast paced activity. Once again, a plot to go AWOL briefly crossed my mind. Yes, I was scared --I was quite scared. I had no idea what was going on and in some way, the not knowing was the scariest part.

I got to the SJA office and was surprised to find that though it was a very o-dark-thirty in the morning, business at SJA was status quo. Everyone was in full gear but sitting at type writers, desks, etc. Didn't they know we were going to war? Oh man, I hated to be the one to break it to them. I was a little suspicious though so instead of just blurting out the news --like Germany had been invaded or something, I decided to just sit and listen and see how things play out.

My NCOIC asked, "Do you want to go get breakfast? The mess hall is going to be crowded." Good idea, I thought. I mean, I can hardly fight a war on an empty stomach!

Slowly but surely it became clear to me we were NOT going to war. This was in fact just an exercise of readiness. The CG (Commanding General) would determine when we'd have these surprise alerts --much like those fire drills in grade school. The point was to remain ever ready --so we'd all be expected to gear up and line up as if we were pulling out. It was one of many Alerts I'd have to go through but this by far would always be the most memorable one.

Thanks, roomies! Hmmm --- I wonder if I over paid for that elevator pass they sold me. I bet I could have gotten it cheaper!

Just a step above a prison cell --is what I used to think

Things were moving along. I was getting to know the soldiers in my barracks and learning the ropes at SJA (Staff Judge Advocate), which would be like --well, in Army terms my squad, I guess. In civilian terms my office. I still wasn't loving my room and lack of privacy but our new bathrooms were complete so at least there wasn't that whole business to deal with.

The new bathrooms were quite nice with one exception -- we still didn't have private showers. There was just one big shower room. I hated it but as time went along we all sort of just fell into a routine/schedule that afforded some level of privacy.

This was the space I lived in (for a while) that was originally bunked. That's all Uncle Sam gave me; a bed, a small 3-drawer dresser, and a wall-locker!

I added the white shelf then put contact paper behind it so when the door was opened, it gave some element of privacy. The downside to that was the inside of the contact paper was tacky so everything stuck to it, including dust! The balloon in the corner was from my party!

This gives you the perspective of where my space was in relation to the door. As you can see, as soon as it was open, my entire bed/area was exposed! Gasp! What is that Pepsi can doing there? Wow, things in Germany were so much worse than I even remembered! Where's the Coke? One thing I was thankful for that you can barely see here --in the bottom left corner you see the end of the bed of the person that stayed across from me. She had an old metal Army bed --I was glad to have the wooden frame --made things a bit more homey. I mean, a teeny tiny bit more.

Happy Birthday!

Before my bunk mate left for Erlangen she caught wind it was my birthday. She, along with some others in the barracks, threw me a surprise party! I hardly knew any of the people there. Soldiers are special people and it is true they take care of their own. All of us were away from home. Without having to explain it, we knew what each person was going through. I was very touched and appreciative. Unfortunately, I hardly ever saw those people again. I didn't stay at my own party long as it was just a lot of partying and drinking --later everyone moved the party along to the bar scene. But this was the first time I really met some of the people living in the barracks.

The two big 'ol heads you see to the right --no clue who they are. The girl in the black dress was my bunk mate that eventually went to Erlangen. The other female --I think she was assigned to 400 PSC but I'm not certain.

The guy behind me well -- he was an Army brat, son of a Colonel so the Army life was the only life he knew. Sadly, he ended up getting Court Martialed on a drug related charge. He was sent to Ft. Leavenworth prision and that's the last I ever heard about him. If I remember correctly, he got a fairly long sentence. He won't be the only person that ends up with this fate as my story goes along.

The other significance of this party is --this is where I first met Tom. Tom is one of the few people I will actually mention by name.

Be All That You Can Be!

About that POV ---

During my in processing my NCOIC suggested I study for and take the USAEUR driver's license test. Convinced this was not a good move, based on the advice I had been given, I acted very disinterested and kept putting it off. The other male private that got in country shortly after me was all too anxious to get his license! He jumped at the chance.

Turns out, as the sage sergeant knew, privates with a license to drive end up doing just that --driving! It's critical for career advancement that you work in areas that strengthen your MOS (Military Occupation Specialty --ie, your job). The female SP4 who helped me settle in had done nothing in regards to JAG --she basically was the Colonel's driver. Career wise, I don't think that worked out well for her. The male private that was eager to drive well --that's what he got to do --drive. Its a little different overseas than stateside since the brigades & battalions are so spread out. At first the private loved being a driver as he was out and about and got to see a lot of things, go places, etc. In the meantime, I was assigned to Admin Law which among other things I was in charge of the Division Law Library, Letters of Reprimand, Summary and Special Courts Martial (in some cases). For a private, this was a great assignment. In Admin Law we had two captains, a German civilian and myself. I was exposed to a lot of aspects of military law and when things were slow, I read some of the articles and publications in the library. This was in the 80's when the military first started cracking down on DUI's. At that time, the punishment being a Letter of Reprimand which stayed in your OMPF (Official Military Personnel File). The division general, General Leland, insisted he signed every DUI LOR. The higher ranking the LOR came from, the more severe the impact it was on your military career. Since I had to process all of the LOR's for the entire division, I quickly learned all of the units in the division. I came to recognize certain names and their positions. Later, this became very valuable knowledge for me.

Instead of spending my days driving, I was learning more about my MOS, the division and the Army. Having finally put all that training behind me, I began to take the Army seriously. Well, not that I didn't take the Army seriously before because I lived in fear EVERY DAY of being put out of the Army or going to jail. I don't know why --it's not like I was doing illegal things but I did grasp the concept the Army was much different from civilian life and in some ways, they did own me. I wanted to toe the line (with the exception of little things like hooking my rifle to my pistol belt). I didn't want to get sent home as I had seen happen to so many soldiers throughout basic training and AIT; some were put out for medical reasons, some females for being pregnant, some for failing to meet Army standards, some for coming up hot on a urinalysis --so many different reasons. As I began to absorb the Army life and JAG, I simply found that despite the miserable existence I had thus far found the Army to be, I was falling in love with being a soldier --and I wanted to be the very best I could be. Yeah, I wanted to Be All I Could Be!

The Proof is in the Picture

In case there's any doubt whatsoever how much I hated my TA-50, the proof is in the picture. This was a FTX exercise during AIT at Ft. Benjamin Harrison, Indiana (1986).

If a picture paints a thousand words, I can shut up now.

CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!

Coming up to the barbed wire part of the course was a relief as it signaled the end --and a piping hot dinner was waiting for us as soon as we completed the course. That was enough to motivate me to low crawl even in the most undesirable conditions.

Prior to taking on the course, we were given instructions by our drill sergeants such as; do not hook your rifle onto your pistol belt (oops), do not leave anyone in your squad behind, do not forgot to clear your mask, etc. The final and most important instructions were in regards to the end of the course. We were told we'd be crawling through lanes, so to speak, made of barbed wire. At the end of the wire was a bunk where our drill sergeants would be engaging in live fire. We were given STRICT instructions over and over and over that once we got to the end of the barbed wire to wait to receive a signal from the drill sergeant before proceeding. Once we were given the signal to go, we were to get up and run while keeping our head down and jump into the bunker, which was at a below ground level. Got it? Good. Let's go.

The state of mind I was in -- tired (exhausted, really), skin still burning and itching from the tear gas, wet --miserably wet, loaded down with gear (the beloved TA-50 type stuff), hungry (it was way past our dinner time) & cold (this was in late November or early December at Ft. Dix, NJ). It was extremely loud both from the live fire and the recorded sounds. It was a very distracting scene. Some of the live fire were tracer bullets which I actually liked those (yes, she found something she likes). They looked like red fireworks and against the dark night sky, it was quite pretty. Can a soldier use the word "pretty" to describe a firing range? Well, this soldier just did.

The low-crawl is exactly what is sounds like it would be. It's that pre-crawling a baby does before he actually get up on his hands and knees. You use your elbows, knees and feet to push yourself along while on your belly --staying as low to the ground as possible which means, you keep your behind down. In other words, don't stick your butt up in the air. There, I said it --I said butt. Let's move on. Your hands aren't very useful as you have to grip your rifle with those --being ever ready to fire that bad boy in case the enemy approaches. In this instance, we were crawling through rows of barbed wire so you had to be mindful to keep your elbows close to your body and keep very very low to the ground. As you're crawling through, your squad members are behind you --as in a single file manner.

When I got to the end of the barbed wire I waited for drill sergeant to signal. The bunk looked a lot like a baseball dugout --drill sergeant were standing there firing various weapons; some were live bullets, some were blanks, some were tracer rounds. There were several rows of these barbed wire lanes so you'd see 4-6 soldiers all running towards the bunk at one time. My squad was one of the last to come in --as was always the case with me. I was super weak and super slow at most Army things. The lanes to the left and right of me were empty but I had several soldiers directly behind me. I guess they were as hungry and tired as I was because they were anxious to get through.

I'm waiting for drill sergeant to signal me over when suddenly --he just walks away. Now what? Well, surely he will be back so I wait. And I wait. And I wait --no drill sergeant. Now my squad members behind me, who can't see the bunker, are getting ticked off at me, "Go!", they keep yelling. So I've got all this overhead noise, soldier yelling at me and in the state of mental and physical exhaustion. I decided to make a run for it. I get up and run across the range to the bunkers, keeping my head low like a good soldier that follows directions to the T --NOT!

As I was running drill sergeant decided to make his way back and he sees me and yells while waving his arms, " CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!" All the while he dives onto the ground towards me, grabs me by the chest and throws me into the bunker. Once in the bunker, he picks me up off the ground and in a very "shaken baby syndrome" manner, puts his hands on my shoulders and starts shaking me and yelling, "WERE YOU NOT TOLD TO WAIT FOR THE SIGNAL?" Transitioning from anger to concern, he then starts patting me down saying, "Are you okay? Do you feel anything? Are you okay?" He's a bit calmer now, not as panicked as he reaches for my helmet, takes it off and inspects it. In a very fatherly fashion, he put his hands on the side of my face, turning my head from side to side. He looks me straight in the eye, shaking his head and though I'm not a mind reader, I could clearly read his thoughts at that moment, "Stupid, stupid trainee!" By this time 2 other drill sergeants walk over asking, "Is she okay?"

Drill sergeant just looks and says, "Yeah, she's fine."