Suzanne Rice

Nov 08 2020

A Night On Greasy Mountain – 1969

Guys who wear the RANGER tab frequently make a distinction between “Summer Rangers” and “Winter Rangers,” especially if they claim to be the latter. There are several reasons why winter Rangers feel superior to their summertime brethren, besides the obvious difference of the temperatures which they endured. For one thing, there are more hours of darkness during the winter months. As Ol’ Weird recalls, there were occasionally things that were mildly enjoyable or fun during Ranger School, but nothing good ever happened at night. Ever.

The absolute coldest Ol’ Weird ever was, happened during the Florida phase, one night when the temperature went to 17 F. That may not sound so bad, except that just after dark, his patrol had made a crossing of the Yellow River. That meant fording 150 yards of flowing swamp, neck deep in icy waters, roped together in the dark so as not to lose the non-swimmer “rocks,” with their weapons hoisted over their heads. Before they had even gotten up to dry land, their sopping fatigues were already freezing solid, so sixty pounds of gear in rucksacks, soaking wet became ninety pounds of ice. That was one night Ol’ Weird was actually grateful that they never stopped moving, because he surely would have been a frozen cadaver.

Early in Ranger School, Ol’ Weird figured out that the best deal in the world was to volunteer to carry the machine gun. Two odious patrol tasks which everyone avoided were carrying the machine gun and carrying the radio.

Both were huge dead weight, and neither one usually worked, so it was always an exercise in pointless work. But the M-60 machine gun had its advantages. For one thing, since it was guaranteed to jam after only a couple of rounds, Ol’ Weird learned he could ditch all but about a 20-round belt of ammo and carry an empty ammo box the whole patrol. He earned lots of martyr points by saying, “Hey, man, I’ve been carrying the damned machine gun from the start – gimme a break!” The duty got spread around, so whenever he needed some relief, he just whined to the patrol leader, and got to unload the monster for a bit.

Same thing worked for the hapless Ranger carrying the radio, with one big difference. When the eight to twelve-day patrols began, the machine gunner left his M-14 rifle locked in the rack back at base camp, while the radio man carried the radio plus his rifle. So, while everyone else was dragging their weapon through the mud with parts falling off all through the patrol, the machine gunner’s rifle was clean and dry back in the base camp riflerack.

The really bad part came when it was time to jump. Ol’ Weird jumped with the M-60 in a kit bag hanging across his thighs below the reserve parachute. [Every Ranger school jump is a night jump.] He never understood why, but two things were different about jumping at night. First, the ground came up way faster at night. And no matter what you did, at night you always hit the ground backwards.

His worst jump ever was one night in Florida phase. Army regulations forbid training jumps if the winds on the drop zone exceed 13 knots, steady. On the night in question, winds were 18 knots, gusting to 25, but the Rangers were going to jump. So, the DZ (drop zone) Safety Officer cupped his hand in front of the wind gauge and reported “13 knots, steady.” Blasting out of the antique C-123, Ol’ Weird felt gusts oscillating him beneath his parachute like a gigantic pendulum, and sure enough, heading ass-backwards to the DZ, straight for the trees.

He hit the ground on the backswing in the classic three points of contact, Feet-Ass-Head, and the M-60 smashed into his face. Being dragged violently, he thought, “This is the end, for sure,” but just momentarily. Landing just inside the DZ, he was only dragged a few yards before his parachute hung up in the tree line. He lay there forever [probably less than a minute] feeling blood trickling off his chin. Finally, he gathered enough strength to pop his quick-release and climb to his feet. Medics gave him three sutures and two Darvon, and it was back on patrol. Ol’ Weird has that scar to this day.

Another difference between summer and winter Rangers is that, during the mountain phase, winter Rangers were issued far more gear, including Mickey Mouse boots, heavy duty clothing and heavy mummy sleeping bags, all of which had to be carried in every patrol. Trouble was, whether it was cold or not, that was a lot of extraneous gear, and in a soaking rain it really got heavy.

“Mummy” Sleeping Bag, Radio, and “Mickey Mouse” Boots

The absolute worst thing a Ranger could ever do was to break contact during a patrol. That earned an automatic 25-point bad spot report, which would almost guarantee he would not get the RANGER tab upon completion. [Ranger School is the only Army school where just finishing the course does not earn you the award. Only some Ranger graduates get the tab.] Seems the “Black Hat” cadre (distinguished by their black baseball caps adorned with their jump wings and Ranger tab) did not want to be out looking for lost Rangers in the wilderness at night. To ensure that no one ever breaks contact, the procedure is to “send up the count.” This means the last man in the patrol slaps the man in front of him, saying “One.” He slaps the man to his front with “Two,” and so on, until the patrol leader at the front gets the right number, or if not, halts and scrambles to find the missing Ranger. At least once every hour, and more often when he thinks of it, the patrol leader must pass back the word to “send up the count.”

So, there they were, a patrol of fifteen exhausted, starving, delirious Rangers, at night in a cold pouring rain, slogging single file up a North Georgia crag affectionately known as Greasy Mountain.

The terrain was so steep and the night so dark and wet that the only way to maintain contact was for each Ranger to keep a firm grip on the rucksack frame of the Ranger in front of him. Ol’ Weird was Number Seven from the rear of the patrol, as they slipped and crashed up the freezing mountain mud.

Rucksack on Ruckframe – *Hold on at All Times*

… Ol’ Weird was jerked awake by the man behind him, saying “Oh, shit. We’ve broken contact.”

“No, we haven’t,” Ol’ Weird insisted. “I’m holding onto the guy in front, and they aren’t moving.” Just to prove it, he pulled off his sopping glove and felt the rucksack he was clinging to. Only it wasn’t a ruck frame – it was a tree branch. “Oh, man, we’re in trouble now!”

Ol’ Weird huddled with his six Rangers. They had broken contact, and he knew his ass was on the line. During the patrol operations order that afternoon, they had been shown the map and briefed that they would move up to the peak of Greasy Mountain and then follow a ridgeline several kilometers to the objective. No one in his group had a map, or a radio, or even a flashlight with working batteries. Just the useless machine gun Ol’ Weird was lugging.

Since the main patrol was heading for the top of the mountain, if they just kept going up they might sooner or later find the rest of the patrol. So, he told his lost sheep, “Stay tight. Send up the count every five minutes. Don’t worry – we’ll catch up with them. It will be OK.” He took off, leading six worried Rangers up the mountain, always up, as fast as they could and stay together.

An hour passed in the freezing rain, blind except when an occasional flash of lightning lit the mountain side. Up and up they went, desperate to rejoin the main patrol. Another hour, and up they went. A third hour passed, and the terrain began to flatten out. Somebody said, “I hear something.” Off to their left, down the slope, they could hear crashing around.

In a couple of minutes, they made out somebody coming up the mountain. Ol’ Weird’s group had passed the main patrol on their way to the top! As the main patrol passed right by, completely unaware, Ol’ Weird counted until the eighth man passed, then slapped him on his ruck and said, “Seven.” The count, apparently the first one in hours, was passed up, and no one ever knew anyone had broken contact.

Every man in that group of seven lost sheep wound up getting the RANGER tab, Ol’ Weird included.

Oct 17 2020

The Greatest American I Have Met – 2010

A few years ago – 2010, I think – my son called and said, ‘Hey, dad – we would like to take you and mom to Maui this spring – on us! ‘

Well, you know when your son makes that offer, you have arrived!

So, of course, we went. And Maui was beautiful! But the lasting memory comes from the ubiquitous Hawaii luau dinner evening and I am haunted by it still.

We arrived a little early to the dinner site to pick a good table—a round table with seats for eight perhaps

Shortly, a young couple asks to join our table – we had a great view of the stage. They sat next to me and we exchanged pleasantries. I could tell right away that the young husband had a little speech delay or impairment, so I did not try to force a conversation.

But, somewhere in the mealtime, the young man turned to me and asked, “Is that an Academy ring?” to which I replied, “Yes!”

“I thought I recognized it,” he said.

“So, are you serving now?” I asked him.

“‘No, but I did for a short while. I was in NROTC at LSU and I was commissioned as an electronic warfare specialist.’

“Wow.” – says I!

“Yes, and I was stationed in Rota, Spain but while there my team received orders to deploy to Iraq. It seemed the Army needed our expertise with dealing with the IEDs. So, we found ourselves assigned to the 82^nd Airborne – one of their infantry battalions (one of the 504^th battalions, I think, but memory fails me, now).”

And he went on. “They were losing dozens of men a month to the IEDs. So, we began deploying our electronic warfare gizmos (my word), and shortly we were able to detect most of the IEDs. Their casualties from IEDs dropped to almost zero in a short period.”

“Wow,” I said. But, suspected there was more…dreading…

And, then he said. “I got careless myself and, boom, I triggered an IED. I received serious head and brain injuries…almost died. I spent months – (a year, maybe more?) in recovery at Walter Reed.

Walter Reed Military Medical Center

Walter Reed National Military Medical Center

Speech recovery was difficult. Was medically retired, of course. Met my bride recently and I have a good job now! Slowly getting better.”

What do you say to that story?

And then, if that was not enough to make you be humbled in his presence, he said, spontaneously:

“But, you know, even with me knowing what I know now, I would do it all over again tomorrow. I know I saved a lot of lives in that battalion. My time with the 82^nd— those were the best days of my life. I’d do it all over again.”

I do not know what happened to this young man. I pray he has recovered completely. In the past when I have told this story I am overcome with emotion and have to stop gain composure. But even today as I relate the story, tears swell up. The term Great American is batted around often in the media and elsewhere, but I know in that dinner conversation, I was in the company of a true Great American. I often wonder if America will have enough of the warrior Band of Brothers to weather another generation’s coming Storm (https://thedaysforward.com/until-the-storm-is-over-2018/) and this story in my retelling resonates to me – “yes, we will – maybe not an over-abundance, but we will have enough.”

Oct 04 2020

On the Importance of Maintenance – 1970

Late in February 1970 I made my first trans-Atlantic trip, reporting to the 3^rd Armored Division in what was then West Germany. For most of the next 18 months I was assigned as a Platoon Leader to 1^st Bn/36 Infantry at a remote Brigade-size base called Ayers Kaserne, located in Kirchgöns, about 30 miles from Frankfurt. Our late classmate Dick Luecke, and classmate Bob King (C1) were among classmates assigned to the same battalion.

As part of the 3^rd Armored Division, we utilized the M113 Armored Personnel Carrier (called “APC’s” or “tracks”). Maintenance consumed much of the daily training schedule. It became pretty boring. Supposedly, we were at the end of the supply chain: priority for almost everything was Vietnam, South Korea, CONUS (Continental U.S.) …and, eventually, Ayers Kaserne. So, keeping equipment in running order was a challenge.

But even at the end of the supply line, there were “haves” and “have nots”. When M16’s finally reached us, we turned in our M14’s and began M16 familiarization. A rifle maintenance issue quickly reared its ugly head. We were an Infantry battalion with no M16 rifle cleaning patches.

Note: For those unfamiliar with firearm maintenance, patches are critical for applying solvent and oil to keep the weapon clean and operational. Fortunately, I located a classmate in a Field Artillery battery who had M16 patches and was willing to share with his friendly neighborhood grunts.

All this is to provide some supply and maintenance background for the main event:

Later in 1970 I was assigned as Weapons Platoon Leader. On company field exercises, the Weapons Platoon typically acted as Aggressors. Since we were “The Bad Guys”, we could take liberties with uniforms. While the Rifle Companies wore helmets during exercises, we could wear the always-fashionable baseball-style cap, similar to the headgear we wore with fatigues as cadets.

On one such exercise the Company Commander ordered me to take a few of my guys and set up an ambush. We piled into a nearby Jeep, threw our weapons and gear in the trailer it hauled, and took off to complete our mission.

We were making good time driving on a 2-lane back country road. The only other vehicle on the road was a Volkswagen Bus being driven by a German man. Apparently, he was in a hurry because he followed us rather closely.

We reached our turn-off on the left, an open dirt area where we could pick up the trail into the woods. Our driver made a left turn. I never found out if he signaled or not, but it would not have mattered: the taillight was inoperative. Seeing no signal, the tailgating VW bus did not react quickly enough to avoid a collision. He struck the trailer while we were mid-turn, initiating a series of events:

The Jeep and trailer spun and turned 180 degrees;
Continuing into a complete 360-degree roll, landing right side up in the dirt area;
During the roll, the aluminum supports which normally hold up the soft top crumpled and;
The windshield collapsed and the glass shattered.

Recovering from the roll, I think I had two nearly simultaneous concerns:

Are my soldiers okay?
Why can’t I see?

Addressing the second question, I did exactly the wrong thing: I rubbed my eyes. Since Jeeps at the time did not feature safety glass, I had fine glass particles in my eyes. Fortunately, my vision cleared with no apparent damage. Apparently, the windshield only shattered on the passenger side because my driver did not experience any harm from glass.

As for my soldiers, thanks to World War II technology, all were okay. Allow me to explain: All but one of the guys were wearing baseball caps. The exception happened to be the tallest man in the Jeep. He was wearing his WW II-style helmet, usually referred to as a steel pot. He proudly showed me the black streak on his helmet where his head had scraped blacktop during the roll. He and the others were unhurt.

When we eventually made it back to Ayers Kaserne, I checked in at the clinic. The doctor examined my eyes and determined that there were still glass particles present. He put something colored into each eye. Under light, the glass was visible against the color. Using what appeared to be a thin glass rod, he probed each eyeball and removed the remaining glass particles. A half century later, I can report that there was no lasting damage. I can also report that I never again thought maintenance was boring.

Unfortunately, that was not my only Jeep-related incident. In 1971 I made my first trans-Pacific trip. By 1972 I was with my second unit in Vietnam, a battalion of the 525^th Military Intelligence Group, stationed at a small camp on the perimeter of the Tan Son Nhut Airport. The unit had a maintenance stand down, taking all vehicles out of service for required maintenance. The Motor Pool was at a separate location. I drove my jeep over and got a ride back to camp. A few hours later the jeep was ready. I got a ride back to the motor pool, picked up the jeep, and started driving.

Most of the road around Tan Son Nhut was paved. Since our camp was at a remote location, the paved road eventually ended, and a dirt road began.

The road was empty in the direction I was heading, so the jeep was moving at a pretty good pace. I slowed down to transition to the dirt road. Just as the jeep went from paved to dirt, the front wheel on the driver’s side parted company with the jeep; it went left while the rest of the jeep swerved right. Since my speed was reduced, I was able to brake the jeep without any further damage to it (or me).

I walked the rest of the way to the camp and called the motor pool. They came out, towed the jeep away, and made repairs. Later, I was informed that a cotter pin had been omitted from the wheel assembly, and that was supposedly the cause of this mishap. Once again, a small part made a big difference.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Since leaving the Army I have owned two Jeeps. Both had Roll Bars and Safety Glass and were meticulously maintained, including tire rotation. No shortages of turning lights or cotter pins have been noted.

Jul 30 2020

A-Man, 9/11 and George Marshall – 2001

It was my honor to serve on President George W. Bush’s team 2001-2009 as Principal Deputy and Acting Assistant Secretary of the Army (Installations and Environment). The first two years were special because A-Man (BG ret Tom White ’67, creator of the A-Man Rabble Rouser*) was Secretary of the Army.

Good leaders have a certain aura about them that is infectious and exciting. People like to be around them. Tom White is one of those great leaders. During his watch, when we walked into the Pentagon every morning, we had a “bounce in our step” knowing we were working for A-Man. This is the same A-Man who wrestled with the Penn State’s mascot Nittany Lion under the Poop Deck** during a Football Game Mess Hall dinner rally, kicked the lion’s ass, and dragged him off stage by the tail.

Tom White “tangled” with SECDEF Rumsfeld frequently because he always told the “Emperor when he was not wearing any clothes”. Tom White ultimately was fired by the SECDEF for challenging Rumsfeld’s failure to plan for post-invasion law and order in Iraq. White backed Chief of Staff of the Army Ric Shinseki (USMA ’65), when Shinseki accurately predicted that limiting the size of the US Iraq invasion force would be a strategic failure. History proved White and Shinseki right and SECDEF Rumsfeld flat wrong.

My office was on the 2d Floor E-Ring of the Pentagon overlooking Arlington National Cemetery. When the first plane hit the Twin Tower, I turned on my office TV. I watched as the second plane hit the other Twin Tower. We all then knew it was a terrorist attack on the homeland.

When the plane hit the Pentagon one corridor down the hall, I was jolted in my chair. A fireball came down the E-Ring that sounded like a locomotive going by. It was followed by thick smoke which eventually forced us to vacate the building. I walked out the River Entrance across the South Parking Lot to the Doubletree Hotel—up to the top floor revolving restaurant—and watched the Pentagon burn. People were crying watching the TV as they saw fathers and mothers leap off the building to avoid burning to death. They opened the bar. I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach.

About an hour later, I was hit by a guilt attack. It became clear that I did not belong at the Doubletree Hotel. I talked my way through the Arlington Police and Building Security and re-entered the burning Pentagon at the Mall Entrance heading for the Army Operations Center—through smoke and dust-filled corridors.

The Mall Entrance is located approximately in the middle of the Pentagon’s Marshall Corridor on the E-Ring 2d Floor. George Marshall in my opinion was our greatest Soldier/Statesman of the 20^th century. Just across from the Secretary of the Army’s office is a small alcove dedicated to Marshall’s half-century of service. Sitting prominently in the middle of the alcove is a life size bust of Marshall, sculpted by Nison A. Tregor*** in 1943.

GEN George C. Marshall Bust with Its Sculptor

As I passed by, I caught a glimpse of the bust, shrouded in smoke, Marshall’s face gazed back at me resolutely as if to say, “Stay Strong, this too shall pass”. Strengthened, I moved on.

When I entered the Army Ops Center, Tom White was conducting a headcount and addressing the troops. We determined that the Army G1, LTG Tim Maude, had been killed in his office situated directly above the impact of the plane. Tom White’s remarks were forceful and calming. He gave us confidence that we would attack this threat and win. Everyone broke into a spontaneous rousing chorus of “God Bless America”.

The Pentagon Building Operations Center (BOCC) was critical to the success of containing the fire. The BOCC was able to report to SECDEF the status of the fire and cause the Pentagon to not be fully evacuated. Most of the other Federal buildings in DC and the White House were fully evacuated after the Pentagon was hit. The Pentagon remained operational. The BOCC was able to identify the location of severed water lines and provide “work-around” solutions to the Arlington Fire Department. The BOCC was able to adjust atmospheric pressure at the site of the attack to purge smoke from the building. This particular building operations center was installed by Johnson Controls, Inc. a year prior to the attack to save energy. It ultimately saved lives.

I’ve never forgotten these very inspiring moments on that very dark day in American history. The Pentagon roof burned for 3 more days. The Pentagon civilian workforce all reported for duty the next morning after the attack….no way could you call this Pentagon government work force “Rear Echelon”.

The day after the attack, the Army Corps of Engineers began the renovation planning. The renovation work crew had 3 shifts and worked 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. When you drove by the Pentagon late at night during the renovation, the roof was lit up and workers looked like ants crawling around. President Bush cut the ribbon on the renovated Pentagon wedge one year after the attack—September 11^th, 2002.

* West Point cheerleaders (called “rabble rousers”) added the character A-Man to their team with a cadet dressed in a cape patterned after Batman.

** According to Bugle Notes (the cadet Bible for important information), the poop-deck is the balcony in the dining hall from which orders are published to the Corp of Cadets. On rare occasions, the poop-deck is used in a different way. For example, at the time of the famous Duty, Honor Country speech by General Douglas MacArthur, Mrs. MacArthur, Mrs. Westmoreland and other ladies in their party were served their lunch on and listened to the speech from the poop deck. In cadet parlance, “poop” is defined as information to be memorized.

*** Sculptor Nison Tregor, a naturalized citizen from Lithuania, enlisted in the U.S. Army Medical Corps in 1943, working first at Walter Reed Hospital in Washington, D.C. where he helped plastic surgeons by reconstructing in clay the faces of soldiers shattered in the war. Later, because of his fluency in German, Russian, Polish, Serbian and Czech as well as experience with sculpture, Tregor was moved to the MFAA (Monuments, Fine Arts and Archives) of the U.S. 12^th Army Group in Europe. He was one of the “Monuments Men”, helping to catalog and preserve the great art of Europe.

Jul 30 2020

Terror Times Two – 2001

Mary Ann Albanese: Stationed with the 141st Signal Battalion in Göppingen, near Nuremberg, Germany in 1972 Ernie and I had the opportunity to make the trip to Munich to attend the XX Olympiad. It was several hours away but we enjoyed the ride on the Autobahn in our 1969 Chevy Camaro.

It was a crisp September day, but we were comfortable. Ernie was in a tan suede sports jacket while I wore the latest “midi” coat, covering a still in fashion “mini” skirt.

Mary Ann and Ernie at the Munich Olympics

We attended a soccer match. I remember large, colorful flags blowing in the wind. We drank beer and ate bratwurst; probably too much. For us it was a fun day. We thought it a once in a lifetime opportunity to attend the Olympics. It turned out to be much more.

We left for Goppingen that night, September 4th, 1972 and the Black September Terrorist Group struck a few hours later. We learned about it on Armed Forces Radio. Terrorism became real to us that day.

This was not our last or our closest encounter with terrorism. We were living and working in New York City on September 11, 2001. Ernie was home that morning and I had just arrived at work. I knew immediately something was up because two senior attorneys were looking out the corner office window on the 30th floor. Although almost two miles away, given our high vantage point, we could clearly see one of the massive World Trade Center towers with smoke billowing out of it.

As the rest of the events unfolded, watching the second plane hit, the Towers falling, the Pentagon hit, we all knew life would never be the same again. The Managing Partner gathered everyone into the conference room, and we prayed. People made arrangements to stay in the “City” because transportation was at a standstill. I walked the 40 blocks home to our apartment, almost two miles. It was a walk I often made, but having no contact with Ernie, it seemed to take forever. When I got home you could smell the smoke from the WTC blaze.

In the ensuing weeks and months, I would see posters with pictures marked “Missing 9-11-01” on poles in the downtown area as a ghostly reminder of how many had not been recovered.

During the days to come, there were endless funeral marches with bagpipes along Fifth Avenue to St. Patrick’s Cathedral for lost firefighters and policemen. Ernie and I didn’t lose any friends that day, but it felt like we did. I will never forget the picture of five men carrying from the rubble the lifeless body of Father Mychal Fallon Judge, Roman Catholic priest and legendary Chaplain for the New York City Fire Department. Refusing to leave “ground zero”, he had been killed by flying debris as he prayed over and administered last rights to fallen first responders.

Chaplain Judge Carried by New York Firefighters on 9-11

Ernie Albanese: It was about 9AM and I was home, in our second-floor condo on 14th Street and 9th Avenue.

The NYC Neighborhood Where Mary Ann and Ernie Lived on 9-11

Mary Ann called me from work and told me to turn on the TV because a small commuter plane had hit one of the towers of the World Trade Center. My first thoughts were “Now that’s one dumb SOB”. I continued to watch on television until I saw the second plane and knew immediately, unbelievably, what it was. I went down to the street and looked down 9th Avenue where I could see the WTC.

When I saw the North Tower fall I decided to move south to see if I could help in any way. Some others did the same thing including a couple of men with shovels. By their dress I knew they were everyday citizens just like me; people knowing that something terrible was happening and just wanting to “march to the sound of the guns”, as Field Marshall Grouchy failed to do at Waterloo. The further south we went the thicker and blacker the smoke. At this point, most people were walking and running north. Some seemed panicked, some seemed dazed and some were covered in soot. Blocks from the WTC police had already established temporary barricades and we were turned back.

At this point, unable to contact Mary Ann by phone, I headed back uptown to St. Vincent’s Hospital to give blood. The lines were stretched around the block. It was blood which would not be needed. I remember many of us that day kept looking at the skies for more planes. Munich flashed in my mind and I remembered an awards dinner I had attended years earlier at “Windows on the World”, on the 107th floor of the North Tower.

I received a glass trophy that night. I later dropped and shattered it, an omen of the future, perhaps. A future in which there would be no more memories created at that iconic restaurant; instead, a lasting realization that New York City and our nation had been changed forever.