One thing I found pretty unique about my career as an Army officer was every time I was appointed to a command or senior staff position at battalion or brigade level, I was, at least in the beginning, one grade under the authorized rank for that slot. My first company command was as a 1st lieutenant, and my four years as a battalion commander were all as a Major. This had its good and bad points and I learned a lot of things the hard way. There were a few times in the early company days when I escaped the executioner's axe only because I claimed I was just a dumb Lt. and didn't know any better. That usually worked once, maybe twice depending on which headquarters I was under at the time. I always made sure to promise I wouldn't do the same thing again. That usually helped.
These early experiences, however, led to the postulation of Mike's Rules for (Successful) Command:
#1. It is better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.
#2. Never volunteer information.
(2.a. Make them ask the questions.)
(2.b. They might not know the right questions to ask.)
#3. The effective range of an excuse is zero meters.
#4. No whining.
I used these rules throughout my years in service and they came in quite handy -- especially Rule #1; and occasionally Rules #2, 2.a and 2.b.; and even rule #3 (more than once).
As I have said before, one of the jobs of senior officers is to mentor/coach young officers. Oscar Wilde once said “The only thing one can do with good advice is to pass it on. It is never of any use to oneself.” So in that vein, when I was the brigade G-3 and later the Deputy Brigade Commander I used to pass these rules out to officers. I put them in the form or business cards (Rules of Engagement for Briefers) when it was time for unit status reports (I only included rules 1,3 and 4 for them. I reserved #2 for my own use). I knew my boss's hot buttons and what he would usually zero in on at these briefings, so the cards were meant to help them escape the axe. However, Bill Cosby said it better than I could: “A word to the wise ain't necessary — it's the stupid ones that need the advice.” One of my CGs used to enjoy reminding commanders to observe Rules 3 and 4. For some reason, however, they usually failed to see the humor in his comments.
I guess now that all that is over and I am retired (although I understand they can still call me back until 2019, if I'm still alive by then), I can add these two rules to the list:
#5. “If at first you don't succeed, you'll get a lot of free advice from folks who didn't succeed either.” (Author unknown).
#6. “When you give advice, remember that Socrates was a Greek philosopher who went around giving good advice. They poisoned him.” (Author unknown).
Hooah
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
First Solo ... (aka "One small flight for mankind")
I may have mentioned before that one of the neatest Christmas gifts I ever received from my wife was the certificate she gave me in 1997 for an introductory flying lesson . For some reason or other, I didn't begin my lessons until the following summer, but when I did, this ranked as one of the more memorable experiences of my life, right behind getting married, the birth of our son, making it through two wars and heart attacks.
Trent, my instructor, was a pretty good young fellow, who gave lessons enroute to building his hours so he could apply to an airline where he had hopes of making big bucks. He had a good sense of humor and put up with my stiff, heavy-handedness on the controls as I learned to transport two souls into the great blue beyond.
We spent lots of time doing touch-and-gos, pattern work, and numerous
maneuvers designed to demonstrate a proficiency at handling the (Cessna) 172 Skyhawk. Other than when I initially flew with my eyes closed (it's s'posed to be that way -- part of a maneuver to demonstrate recovery from unusual attitudes), I surprised myself and overcame an early tendency to get airsick.
I began my lessons on July 10, 1998 and soloed on December 5 of that same year. It was my goal to solo in November, but Trent must have seen something in my less than stellar preparation that led him to put me through some more drills. So, on December 1st and 3rd, I spent almost an hour each day just doing take-offs and landings that looked acceptable to him. Then the next day, I did almost an hour on go-arounds, and landings (normal and cross-wind).
I came to the airport on the 5th expecting ol' Trent just to say "Take 'er up, Mike -- you're obviously the best pilot it's ever been my privilege to instruct."
Guess what -- he didn't even say anything like that. I think I might have been a bit miffed at that point, but certainly wasn't going to yap at the guy who's signature was my future in aviation. So, I got the plane ready and off we went to another 3/4 hour of steep turns, slow flight, stalls and landings. After four landings, Trent said to pull over to the side of the runway and let him out!! My God -- it wasn't that bad, was it? Nope. He said "Take 'er up and go around the pattern some and give me 3 or 4 landings and let's see how it goes." My first solo.
I've read about how light the plane seems, how it seems to list to the left because the right seat is now empty, and how it seems to jump off the runway and float when it's landing. All of it is true. But boy, what a rush anyhow!!
When I landed and taxied back to the hanger, I figured Trent must have forgotten about me because he wasn't there with the band and the confetti. Once I turned off the engine, however, I did see him coming out
of the office with a pair of scissors -- oh, oh. He told me to pull my T-shirt out and he proceeded to cut out the back of it. That's an old custom when one passes his first solo -- the instructor cuts the back of the shirt out.
In the old days of bi-planes, when the pilot and instructor sat one in front of the other and there was no intercom, the instructor would pull on the student's shirt to indicate where he was to turn, fly or maneuver. Cutting the shirt is a time-honored tradition indicating the student no longer needs the instructor tugging at him. He is now able to fly by himself... well, sort-of. Another custom is to draw some sort of airplane scene on the cut out part and get it signed by the instructor (and any witnesses) and then post it in the weather briefing shack until the next student earned that status.
Mine was up for about 5 or 6 months. Not many solos in the dead of winter.
"When you come to the edge of all the light you have known, and are about to step out into darkness, Faith is knowing one of two things will happen; There will be something to stand on, or you will be taught to fly." (Richard Bach)
Hooah
Trent, my instructor, was a pretty good young fellow, who gave lessons enroute to building his hours so he could apply to an airline where he had hopes of making big bucks. He had a good sense of humor and put up with my stiff, heavy-handedness on the controls as I learned to transport two souls into the great blue beyond.
We spent lots of time doing touch-and-gos, pattern work, and numerous
maneuvers designed to demonstrate a proficiency at handling the (Cessna) 172 Skyhawk. Other than when I initially flew with my eyes closed (it's s'posed to be that way -- part of a maneuver to demonstrate recovery from unusual attitudes), I surprised myself and overcame an early tendency to get airsick.I began my lessons on July 10, 1998 and soloed on December 5 of that same year. It was my goal to solo in November, but Trent must have seen something in my less than stellar preparation that led him to put me through some more drills. So, on December 1st and 3rd, I spent almost an hour each day just doing take-offs and landings that looked acceptable to him. Then the next day, I did almost an hour on go-arounds, and landings (normal and cross-wind).
I came to the airport on the 5th expecting ol' Trent just to say "Take 'er up, Mike -- you're obviously the best pilot it's ever been my privilege to instruct."
Guess what -- he didn't even say anything like that. I think I might have been a bit miffed at that point, but certainly wasn't going to yap at the guy who's signature was my future in aviation. So, I got the plane ready and off we went to another 3/4 hour of steep turns, slow flight, stalls and landings. After four landings, Trent said to pull over to the side of the runway and let him out!! My God -- it wasn't that bad, was it? Nope. He said "Take 'er up and go around the pattern some and give me 3 or 4 landings and let's see how it goes." My first solo.
I've read about how light the plane seems, how it seems to list to the left because the right seat is now empty, and how it seems to jump off the runway and float when it's landing. All of it is true. But boy, what a rush anyhow!!
When I landed and taxied back to the hanger, I figured Trent must have forgotten about me because he wasn't there with the band and the confetti. Once I turned off the engine, however, I did see him coming out
of the office with a pair of scissors -- oh, oh. He told me to pull my T-shirt out and he proceeded to cut out the back of it. That's an old custom when one passes his first solo -- the instructor cuts the back of the shirt out.In the old days of bi-planes, when the pilot and instructor sat one in front of the other and there was no intercom, the instructor would pull on the student's shirt to indicate where he was to turn, fly or maneuver. Cutting the shirt is a time-honored tradition indicating the student no longer needs the instructor tugging at him. He is now able to fly by himself... well, sort-of. Another custom is to draw some sort of airplane scene on the cut out part and get it signed by the instructor (and any witnesses) and then post it in the weather briefing shack until the next student earned that status.
Mine was up for about 5 or 6 months. Not many solos in the dead of winter.
"When you come to the edge of all the light you have known, and are about to step out into darkness, Faith is knowing one of two things will happen; There will be something to stand on, or you will be taught to fly." (Richard Bach)
Hooah
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Always on watch ...
I really enjoy living in the country, always have. There's just something about being able to go out and walk more than 35-40 feet in any direction without having to make a turn because you're now on the neighbor's yard. Two things I have noticed about living here, however -- everything has trade-offs, and there's always something new to see.
Most of you know we have a pond here where I (and all my neighbors and friends) can fish -- which is pretty cool. While not wanting to make that area too developed with electricity, lights and fancy little patio chairs, however, I did build a fire ring next to it. It is so relaxing sitting out there in the evenings, sipping a cold one, watching the stars and listening to the frogs. The trade-off there is I had to spend some time this past year cutting fire wood. But Jared and Dylan (the neighbor boys) and I built a respectable wood pile which has since become a rustic condo of sorts for field mice. Well, better there than in the garage -- that's a good trade-off.
Another spin-off of this is the family of owls that now resides in the trees out back. They have been there for about three years. I have counted as many as nine of them. Having a military background, it is fascinating to watch them "deploy" to hunt. Basically they encircle the cemetery area and the field behind it and post themselves in key positions so they can see everything that moves and then they just wait. I have noticed that they stake out the wood pile pretty well. That probably keeps the mice close to home and out of the garage and the shed.
This usually takes place just before dark. the rest of the time I can usually find them roosting in the trees.
A couple of farmers have said they have seen some eagles in the area. Don't know about that. But I do know that if I just keep my eyes and ears open, there is so much out there God teases us with as He reveals Himself to us.
Like I said, living in the country is fun!!
“Speak to the earth, and it shall teach thee.”
Hooah
Most of you know we have a pond here where I (and all my neighbors and friends) can fish -- which is pretty cool. While not wanting to make that area too developed with electricity, lights and fancy little patio chairs, however, I did build a fire ring next to it. It is so relaxing sitting out there in the evenings, sipping a cold one, watching the stars and listening to the frogs. The trade-off there is I had to spend some time this past year cutting fire wood. But Jared and Dylan (the neighbor boys) and I built a respectable wood pile which has since become a rustic condo of sorts for field mice. Well, better there than in the garage -- that's a good trade-off.
Another spin-off of this is the family of owls that now resides in the trees out back. They have been there for about three years. I have counted as many as nine of them. Having a military background, it is fascinating to watch them "deploy" to hunt. Basically they encircle the cemetery area and the field behind it and post themselves in key positions so they can see everything that moves and then they just wait. I have noticed that they stake out the wood pile pretty well. That probably keeps the mice close to home and out of the garage and the shed.
This usually takes place just before dark. the rest of the time I can usually find them roosting in the trees.
A couple of farmers have said they have seen some eagles in the area. Don't know about that. But I do know that if I just keep my eyes and ears open, there is so much out there God teases us with as He reveals Himself to us.
Like I said, living in the country is fun!!
“Speak to the earth, and it shall teach thee.”
Hooah
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Memories of Desert Storm, Part 1...
If you Google "Desert Storm," you will find 908 entries listed before Google asks if you've seen enough. Most of them deal with the politics and tactics/ strategies of the war. But these entries will look at it from my personal perspective.
In the fall of 1990, units began to gear-up for a war with Iraq. This would be a war that included a call-up of Reserve MP units, units that would be doing everything from front-line fighting to securing the hundreds of thousands of Enemy Prisoners of War, to Combat Support to Combat Service Support duties. Almost every Army Reserve MP unit in the inventory was alerted, mobilized and deployed. That period in the fall of 1990 was very interesting for many Soldiers, male and female, some of whom never thought they would ever hear a shot fired in anger.
At that time, I was quickly transfered from being the Battalion S-3 of an MP battalion to being a company commander of an MP (CS) unit. Some deployments followed doctrine and saw the units assigned to do their regular jobs in war. However, lots of units were just thrown against the wall to serve where the Army needed them. Thus the assignment for the 447th MP Co. This unit had been in the desert before and our leadership
just assumed we would be there shortly. However, that was not to be the case and the unit ended up in Germany, backfilling VII Corps who pulled several of its MP units out of Germany when the Corps deployed. That left a gaping hole in the security posture at the various bases where families still lived. About 2 weeks prior to Christmas, the 447th, along with 2 USARNG units -- from California and Missouri -- arrived in Germany. When I think of Germany at Christmas I usually think of lots of snow. Well, that's exactly what happened. It started snowing the instant our plane touched down and didn't stop for a while. The Germans blamed those crazy Ohioans for bringing all that snow. It was more than they had had for quite some time. One thing that quickly impressed us was learning to drive on mountain roads covered with black ice.
Because the battalion that had command and control for this area lost 5 units when the Corps left and only got 3 units as backfill, our mission was a rather large one. We had law and order and base security responsibilities for two US facilities (Pirmasens and Zweibrucken), we had port security operations in Bremmerhaven, and rail operations security
for ammunition trains which went from Germany to the ports for shipments to the war. The company HQ was stationed in Pirmasens and I got to see all of my troops about once a month. I was on the road quite a bit. Part of my own patrol area took me to the border of Germany and France. When I would drive there on weekends, sometimes in civilian clothes because of where we were, I would often take things like milk and bread to some of the older civilians who lived there and were unable to get out in the snow. Our charge by the commanding CG for that area was to physically see every US dependent every single day to ensure they were OK. Not all of them lived on bases and lots of the retired folks lived out in German villages spread all over the place. We got to know them quite well. Sometimes they would even invite us to stay for a sandwich. A lot of times when I was driving through the mountains I would ask myself things like ... who traveled this road before me ... what US troops might have fought on this ground before ... might Roman legions have traveled this ground long ago.
Especially after the shooting was ended in
Kuwait, we would have some time to get out and look 
at the rest of the country. I particularly enjoyed looking at all the old ruins of the castles in the southwestern part of Germany. I found it fascinating how they used terrain and outposts to establish defenses in layers and supported the security of the main castle. In the spring of '91, I would gather the First Sergeant, my platoon leaders and platoon sergeants and operations cell and we would travel to the castles and look at these buildings from a military strategy position, kind of a leader development session. These sessions really proved useful for equating doctrine from books to reality on the ground, reality that stood the test of
time against numerous enemies.
I developed some strong friendships
with that deployment. I remember the day we left and boarded the bus to go to the airport. As with all commanders, I had spent almost all my time looking after my troops' preparations and making sure their families knew their Soldier was in good hands. So much so, that some of my NCOs thought I might have neglected my own family's needs. I remember one of my platoon sergeants, SFC Mike Roller, telling my wife as we boarded that bus, "Don't worry, M'am. He's spent all his time taking care of us. Now we'll take care of him." I'm not sure I knew then all that I was getting in to, but I guessed this was one of those carpe diem moments in life and I was going to do my best. But as Churchill once said, "Sometimes it is not enough to do our best; we must do what is required."
“Courage is being scared to death—and saddling up anyway.” (John Wayne)
Hooah
In the fall of 1990, units began to gear-up for a war with Iraq. This would be a war that included a call-up of Reserve MP units, units that would be doing everything from front-line fighting to securing the hundreds of thousands of Enemy Prisoners of War, to Combat Support to Combat Service Support duties. Almost every Army Reserve MP unit in the inventory was alerted, mobilized and deployed. That period in the fall of 1990 was very interesting for many Soldiers, male and female, some of whom never thought they would ever hear a shot fired in anger.
At that time, I was quickly transfered from being the Battalion S-3 of an MP battalion to being a company commander of an MP (CS) unit. Some deployments followed doctrine and saw the units assigned to do their regular jobs in war. However, lots of units were just thrown against the wall to serve where the Army needed them. Thus the assignment for the 447th MP Co. This unit had been in the desert before and our leadership
just assumed we would be there shortly. However, that was not to be the case and the unit ended up in Germany, backfilling VII Corps who pulled several of its MP units out of Germany when the Corps deployed. That left a gaping hole in the security posture at the various bases where families still lived. About 2 weeks prior to Christmas, the 447th, along with 2 USARNG units -- from California and Missouri -- arrived in Germany. When I think of Germany at Christmas I usually think of lots of snow. Well, that's exactly what happened. It started snowing the instant our plane touched down and didn't stop for a while. The Germans blamed those crazy Ohioans for bringing all that snow. It was more than they had had for quite some time. One thing that quickly impressed us was learning to drive on mountain roads covered with black ice.Because the battalion that had command and control for this area lost 5 units when the Corps left and only got 3 units as backfill, our mission was a rather large one. We had law and order and base security responsibilities for two US facilities (Pirmasens and Zweibrucken), we had port security operations in Bremmerhaven, and rail operations security
for ammunition trains which went from Germany to the ports for shipments to the war. The company HQ was stationed in Pirmasens and I got to see all of my troops about once a month. I was on the road quite a bit. Part of my own patrol area took me to the border of Germany and France. When I would drive there on weekends, sometimes in civilian clothes because of where we were, I would often take things like milk and bread to some of the older civilians who lived there and were unable to get out in the snow. Our charge by the commanding CG for that area was to physically see every US dependent every single day to ensure they were OK. Not all of them lived on bases and lots of the retired folks lived out in German villages spread all over the place. We got to know them quite well. Sometimes they would even invite us to stay for a sandwich. A lot of times when I was driving through the mountains I would ask myself things like ... who traveled this road before me ... what US troops might have fought on this ground before ... might Roman legions have traveled this ground long ago.Especially after the shooting was ended in
Kuwait, we would have some time to get out and look 
at the rest of the country. I particularly enjoyed looking at all the old ruins of the castles in the southwestern part of Germany. I found it fascinating how they used terrain and outposts to establish defenses in layers and supported the security of the main castle. In the spring of '91, I would gather the First Sergeant, my platoon leaders and platoon sergeants and operations cell and we would travel to the castles and look at these buildings from a military strategy position, kind of a leader development session. These sessions really proved useful for equating doctrine from books to reality on the ground, reality that stood the test of
time against numerous enemies.I developed some strong friendships
with that deployment. I remember the day we left and boarded the bus to go to the airport. As with all commanders, I had spent almost all my time looking after my troops' preparations and making sure their families knew their Soldier was in good hands. So much so, that some of my NCOs thought I might have neglected my own family's needs. I remember one of my platoon sergeants, SFC Mike Roller, telling my wife as we boarded that bus, "Don't worry, M'am. He's spent all his time taking care of us. Now we'll take care of him." I'm not sure I knew then all that I was getting in to, but I guessed this was one of those carpe diem moments in life and I was going to do my best. But as Churchill once said, "Sometimes it is not enough to do our best; we must do what is required."“Courage is being scared to death—and saddling up anyway.” (John Wayne)
Hooah
Monday, March 10, 2008
The furthering of our education ...
I consider myself a somewhat up-to-date guy when it comes to technology. Shoot, just last week I threw out all my big floppy discs.So when Doug and Danika sent pictures of "Baby Bean" I was really amazed how technology just keeps moving along. I probably shouldn't have been so surprised that 3-D pictures can now be taken of babies in the womb, my cardiologist's team does 3-Ds of my heart once a year now when I get my check-ups. It's just -- that's our new grandson and that makes it different, more special.
I'm going to try to keep from
rededicating this space to the Bean,but you'll have to excuse me if I slip into my Grandpa mode from time to time.
I guess his nap was disturbed when they took these pictures. But as Danika's dad (Randy) said, we're glad he doesn't know any specific hand gestures yet!!
I'm sure there will be more updates later. Stay tuned.
“We worry about what a child will be tomorrow, but we must not forget that he is someone today.”
Hooah
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Old Wood-eye ...
One of my favorite stories from my MP company command time involved a trip to California in 1986. Our MPs were assigned to provide HQ security for Third Army as it conducted an exercise called Gallant Eagle.
We finished packing all our gear in a semi-truck which was under government contract to be delivered to the exercise site in three days. I don't know what kind of stuff the driver was on, but he made it a day and a half trip, getting to the base in the evening of the second day. Of course, the base security force guys were not expecting any semis with Army stuff on it yet, so they told the driver to drop the trailer in a secure holding area and they would hold it there until we arrived. So far, so good. I sent my advanced party out to arrive there in three days. This plan will work.
Well, it seems there was an Air Force major who headed up the security detail at the base and he must have been bored. He noticed on the shipping manifest that there were automatic weapons in the trailer (M-60 machine guns). The weapons were secured in racks and steel lockers with high security locks, inside a trailer with high security locks and trucking company seals, inside a secure, fenced-in holding area which had 24-hour guards on it -- it still should have worked.
So much for "should of, could of, would of." The major decided he wanted to verify the contents of the trailer so he took it upon himself to break all the locks and seals and enter the trailer. He only saw the weapons in the racks and brilliantly figured out that that count didn't match the manifest. Oh, oh...
He looked around for the property owners -- my guys on advanced party (who weren't there yet, remember) -- and not finding them, called the Chief of Physical Security, Office of the Provost Marshal General at the Pentagon in Washington, DC "to report the loss or theft of automatic weapons." He didn't first check with his base commander or the 3d Army liaison or anyone else that we could figure.
All the while, I was back in my office in the unit headquarters, reviewing some Army stuff, when I got a call..."Captain, this is FULL COLONEL SO AND SO from the PENTAGON. You have lost some automatic weapons and you are going to jail." That may not have been a quote, and I'm sure he was just messin' with me to get my attention, but at this point in my career all I really heard was "jail."
Well, mustering all the courage of someone who has been a Captain for only a few months, I said: "Well, COLONEL S0-and-so, SIR, I happen to have my shipping receipts right here in front of me and they are signed by my armourer and my supply sergeant (you can see his blog at Poolpatcher's Ramblings ) and if they signed it, it is correct." I assured him that my advanced party was enroute and should be there in the morning and they would straighten this all out. Well, the Colonel bought off on it and told me to call him back the next afternoon with the results. Needless to say, before heading down the hall to the restroom, I made some calls in order to contact the advanced party to get some reassurance that I/we weren't going to jail.
The next day, the supply sergeant met up with this major and showed him all the weapons. He then questioned the major as to why he thought it his duty to break all these seals and locks, who authorized this breaking and entry, who reinventoried all this U.S. Government property, and so-on and so-forth. The major started to get flustered so Dave (my supply sergeant) started to pressure him a bit and the major really got rattled. He finally admitted that he screwed up and asked Dave to not report him to the base commander as he had screwed up a few things recently and he thought the commander would fire him. One strange thing about this major was he had a very pronounced thyroid condition. He was very pasty-skinned and his eyes were somewhat protruding. The more Dave badgered him about the Provost Marshal's office being involved and how his own captain could be disciplined or possibly go to jail, the major became more and more excited and, all of a sudden, his eye popped out of its socket!! Well just as calmly as you please, he simply put his hand up to it and literally pushed it back in place. Said it happens all the time when he gets too excited!!
Dave was so flabbergasted he didn't know what to do. I'm sure he tried not to laugh or wet himself, or spit or something like that. Doubt if I would have shown anywhere as much composure as my professional NCOs had I been there.
This has been one of those oft-repeated stories we Soldiers would retell over a tall, cold one. Experiences like this are things that make strong the bonds of soldiering.
We finished packing all our gear in a semi-truck which was under government contract to be delivered to the exercise site in three days. I don't know what kind of stuff the driver was on, but he made it a day and a half trip, getting to the base in the evening of the second day. Of course, the base security force guys were not expecting any semis with Army stuff on it yet, so they told the driver to drop the trailer in a secure holding area and they would hold it there until we arrived. So far, so good. I sent my advanced party out to arrive there in three days. This plan will work.
Well, it seems there was an Air Force major who headed up the security detail at the base and he must have been bored. He noticed on the shipping manifest that there were automatic weapons in the trailer (M-60 machine guns). The weapons were secured in racks and steel lockers with high security locks, inside a trailer with high security locks and trucking company seals, inside a secure, fenced-in holding area which had 24-hour guards on it -- it still should have worked.
So much for "should of, could of, would of." The major decided he wanted to verify the contents of the trailer so he took it upon himself to break all the locks and seals and enter the trailer. He only saw the weapons in the racks and brilliantly figured out that that count didn't match the manifest. Oh, oh...
He looked around for the property owners -- my guys on advanced party (who weren't there yet, remember) -- and not finding them, called the Chief of Physical Security, Office of the Provost Marshal General at the Pentagon in Washington, DC "to report the loss or theft of automatic weapons." He didn't first check with his base commander or the 3d Army liaison or anyone else that we could figure.
All the while, I was back in my office in the unit headquarters, reviewing some Army stuff, when I got a call..."Captain, this is FULL COLONEL SO AND SO from the PENTAGON. You have lost some automatic weapons and you are going to jail." That may not have been a quote, and I'm sure he was just messin' with me to get my attention, but at this point in my career all I really heard was "jail."
Well, mustering all the courage of someone who has been a Captain for only a few months, I said: "Well, COLONEL S0-and-so, SIR, I happen to have my shipping receipts right here in front of me and they are signed by my armourer and my supply sergeant (you can see his blog at Poolpatcher's Ramblings ) and if they signed it, it is correct." I assured him that my advanced party was enroute and should be there in the morning and they would straighten this all out. Well, the Colonel bought off on it and told me to call him back the next afternoon with the results. Needless to say, before heading down the hall to the restroom, I made some calls in order to contact the advanced party to get some reassurance that I/we weren't going to jail.
The next day, the supply sergeant met up with this major and showed him all the weapons. He then questioned the major as to why he thought it his duty to break all these seals and locks, who authorized this breaking and entry, who reinventoried all this U.S. Government property, and so-on and so-forth. The major started to get flustered so Dave (my supply sergeant) started to pressure him a bit and the major really got rattled. He finally admitted that he screwed up and asked Dave to not report him to the base commander as he had screwed up a few things recently and he thought the commander would fire him. One strange thing about this major was he had a very pronounced thyroid condition. He was very pasty-skinned and his eyes were somewhat protruding. The more Dave badgered him about the Provost Marshal's office being involved and how his own captain could be disciplined or possibly go to jail, the major became more and more excited and, all of a sudden, his eye popped out of its socket!! Well just as calmly as you please, he simply put his hand up to it and literally pushed it back in place. Said it happens all the time when he gets too excited!!
Dave was so flabbergasted he didn't know what to do. I'm sure he tried not to laugh or wet himself, or spit or something like that. Doubt if I would have shown anywhere as much composure as my professional NCOs had I been there.
This has been one of those oft-repeated stories we Soldiers would retell over a tall, cold one. Experiences like this are things that make strong the bonds of soldiering.
"Only mediocrity can be trusted to be always at its best." (Max Beerbohm)
Hooah
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Just when you think you're making progress...
Well, as I said in my last entry, this is Ohio. On Monday I was hitting golf balls at the range, yesterday I was manning the fort and the pumps as we had a doozie of an ice storm and got some snow on top of it all. the ice on the tree limbs measured 1/2 inch. That's a lot of ice and it's really heavy. We lost power for several hours yesterday and it was off and on over night. Thank goodness we have a commercial battery back-up system for the sump pumps, and a generator to run the lights and pumps.
When we built the house, we put in propane and we have two propane fireplaces. We also have a big pond so if things got real bad, we would have had heat, lights, a means to cook and water ... boy just like the pioneers of old.
The winds came from the northeast so all the windows on the back side of the house were covered with so much ice we couldn't see out. Kinda reminded me of some of the scenes in the movie Dr. Zhivago.
It was four years ago when we had an ice storm that was similar to this. I learned some good lessons during that one that I didn't have to relearn this time:
1. Make sure the batteries for the back-up system are fully charged periodically. The trickle charger keeps them up, but cannot be guaranteed to keep up constant pumping beyond 4 hours or so.
2. Make sure you are home and not deployed. This could have been a real disaster. My wife is a good pioneer woman living here, but I think this would have been a real stretch. I probably didn't have a choice before, but it was good to be here this time
3. Make sure you have a full gas can for the generator, and three or four long, heavy duty extension cords.
4. Make sure you know how to relight pilot lights and make sure you have good batteries in the flashlights. I somewhat improved on this when I bought some of those flashlights that you just shake to charge.
5. Make sure you keep some goodies packed away as well as a good book.
Pam got this picture early this morning. All was quiet -- no cars,
no electricity, no driers running in silos, just the sun breaking thru some low clouds and the sound of morning doves taking off in search of seed. While it looked as if nothing much survived that night, the cold, beautiful stillness of the morning seemed to tingle with life.It is a day for making vows, the kind you tell no one, the kind you keep.
Hooah
Monday, March 3, 2008
I'm starting to get the fever...
Well, it's March 3rd, the temperatures are in the low 60s, and I've had just about all the political phone calls from my newest, best buddies -- Mr. Obama and Mrs. Clinton and their proxies I can stand. I made the mistake of answering the phone once and got nailed by one of those callers, but now I just let the answering machine handle it. I haven't seen any smoke yet from the machine, but I'm not sure how the two of them are getting along trapped in there. Maybe they'll work everything out.
Anyhow, as I said, the day started out nicely here today, so I grabbed my clubs and headed to the driving range. Boy was that fun. I just hope this newly acquired skill with a driver and 3-wood will carry over to the course.
Of course, the weather didn't last -- it's Ohio, right! When I got home, I scooped the yard to get rid of the dog poop, and then spent what was left of the morning
looking under the tarps on my boat to see if it has made it through the winter storms. None of the tarps were torn, so I thought it would be OK, and it was. Boy is that a relief -- fishing season is almost here and I can't wait. It was this time last year that I began looking into getting the boat painted. When I bought it, it was in bad need of a paint job, and removal of some big fish decals that were pretty deteriorated. Anyhow, it looked like the person who owned it should be about 290 pounds, fishing with a case of PBR and night crawlers strewn all over the bottom of the boat.
I checked with all the local auto body repair places in the area. Two guys said they wouldn't do it as the cost would be prohibitive, and another one did give me a
figure of $1600. Shoot, the boat, trailer, batteries, trolling motor and fish finder only cost $1300 total. So getting it done by one of them wasn't a viable option. I told myself it was only an old fishing boat, so maybe I could paint it by myself. Well, I sanded, taped it off, primed it and then painted away with the best spray cans Wal-Mart had on the shelf. My neighbor kids thought I was nuts, and my wife would come home from work and just shake her head as she walked passed it. They all obviously failed to see its potential. Or could it be they failed to see any artistic talent in me in the past and weren't hopeful now. Well, I'd show 'em...give me another can of paint!! In fact, I think I'll throw in a decal of my own, just for good measure. When I was finished, I named it "Miss Pam" (smart, huh!).
The pictures you see are the before and after. Actually, I surprised
myself. It turned out quite well. In fact, one day last summer, when I was tied up to a dock at the boat launch, some guy came up and asked me if my boat was for sale. He said he didn't want one of those "pretty boats." I know he was talking about those sparkly-painted, very expensive fiberglass bass boats, but I'm not sure if I was insulted or given a compliment. I'm taking it as a compliment. None of the fish I caught seemed to care.
“There’s a fine line between fishing and just standing on the shore looking like an idiot.” (Steven Wright)
Hooah
Anyhow, as I said, the day started out nicely here today, so I grabbed my clubs and headed to the driving range. Boy was that fun. I just hope this newly acquired skill with a driver and 3-wood will carry over to the course.
Of course, the weather didn't last -- it's Ohio, right! When I got home, I scooped the yard to get rid of the dog poop, and then spent what was left of the morning
looking under the tarps on my boat to see if it has made it through the winter storms. None of the tarps were torn, so I thought it would be OK, and it was. Boy is that a relief -- fishing season is almost here and I can't wait. It was this time last year that I began looking into getting the boat painted. When I bought it, it was in bad need of a paint job, and removal of some big fish decals that were pretty deteriorated. Anyhow, it looked like the person who owned it should be about 290 pounds, fishing with a case of PBR and night crawlers strewn all over the bottom of the boat.I checked with all the local auto body repair places in the area. Two guys said they wouldn't do it as the cost would be prohibitive, and another one did give me a
figure of $1600. Shoot, the boat, trailer, batteries, trolling motor and fish finder only cost $1300 total. So getting it done by one of them wasn't a viable option. I told myself it was only an old fishing boat, so maybe I could paint it by myself. Well, I sanded, taped it off, primed it and then painted away with the best spray cans Wal-Mart had on the shelf. My neighbor kids thought I was nuts, and my wife would come home from work and just shake her head as she walked passed it. They all obviously failed to see its potential. Or could it be they failed to see any artistic talent in me in the past and weren't hopeful now. Well, I'd show 'em...give me another can of paint!! In fact, I think I'll throw in a decal of my own, just for good measure. When I was finished, I named it "Miss Pam" (smart, huh!).The pictures you see are the before and after. Actually, I surprised
myself. It turned out quite well. In fact, one day last summer, when I was tied up to a dock at the boat launch, some guy came up and asked me if my boat was for sale. He said he didn't want one of those "pretty boats." I know he was talking about those sparkly-painted, very expensive fiberglass bass boats, but I'm not sure if I was insulted or given a compliment. I'm taking it as a compliment. None of the fish I caught seemed to care.“There’s a fine line between fishing and just standing on the shore looking like an idiot.” (Steven Wright)
Hooah
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