Suzanne Rice

Jun 04 2022

R-Day – 1978

Each summer at West Point, new cadets arrive on Reception Day (R-Day) starting their West Point experience. Perhaps a month or so before, a call goes out to the wider West Point community (spouses of faculty and staff, older teens – I was the wife of a professor in the Math Department) saying that they could help when the Firsties (Seniors) and some Cows (Juniors) had a practice run-thru for R-Day. Those who would like to participate in that project would be given instructions about when to come, what to wear and what they might expect as pretend New Cadets. Those of us who wanted to help would be treated just like the new class of cadets. The cadet cadre would be able to practice how the day might go with real people to lead.

**The Beginning of R-Day for New Cadets** (flickr.com)

I was fascinated with the idea, especially since my (much) younger sister would be visiting and we could both have a unique experience. Wouldn’t she be able to write a wonderful essay when she got back to school in the Fall – “What Did You Do on Your Summer Vacation?” At the time, she was a high school track star (400m, 200m hurdles, and mile relay) so I was confident that she would fit right in and master all the requirements. As a mother of a toddler, I wasn’t so sure of my own ability to do any pull-ups or many push-ups, but I was willing to try. And my sister was excited about the possibility of testing her grit.

We reported at the designated time and place after dropping my two-year-old daughter off at the babysitter. We didn’t know what to expect, though I had heard about the three responses and a few other tiny details having been around West Point graduates for many years by that time. Three responses? New Cadets quickly learned that during that first day, they could only speak when spoken to with these three responses: “Yes, Sir”, “No, Sir.” “No excuse, Sir.” By the time of my New Cadet experience, there were five responses; two had been added since 1969, “Sir, may I ask a question?” “Sir, I do not know.” I was prepared for the three responses, but it was such a scary day, that it was hard to remember the exact words of each of the new responses – I wished there were only three responses; I could remember those! Did not want to get in trouble.

After a greeting from the Superintendent (since it was the practice day, it was some other authority in his place), new cadets were then sent on a sort of obstacle course going from one station to another to get whatever a new cadet would need to get through the next few weeks. In small groups (squad size), we would learn to march in a single file wherever we were led and never speak until spoken to.

My sister and I were separated as soon as we arrived. We were on our own like the real new cadets who wouldn’t know anyone nor what was happening. I went along following the cadet before me one station after the next. Towards noon, we headed towards the gym for a physical test. Oh, no! Just as my squad entered the gym, I heard my name called, “New Cadet Rice, report to your squad leader.” What? (I didn’t say it – not a response.) I did as I was told, “Yes, Sir.” I was handed a slip of paper saying that New Cadet Smith (my sister) had broken her ankle and I should take her home. I was directed to where I could find her. What happened? Nothing! She had been handed a similar note that said she have broken her ankle and she must leave – this was an exercise to see how the cadre would handle such an occurrence on the real R-Day. I was happy that I didn’t have to display my pathetic physical skills, but I was sad that my sister had somehow been chosen to “break her ankle”. She would have loved to try to complete the course.

Years later, our own son would be a new cadet. It was twenty-five years since my own experience, but I clearly remembered the concern I felt when I was a “New Cadet” on the practice day so many years before (I could go home; he could not!). It is hard for any parent to say the last goodbye (a new cadet has ninety seconds to make his goodbyes on that fateful day). Most parents had no idea what lay ahead for their New Cadet; maybe, that is better. Bill and I each knew the pressures that were coming after our family goodbye.

Bill had warned our son to keep his eyes straight ahead, follow the guy before him, don’t call attention to yourself – blend in. On the R-Day of 2006, families were allowed to roam around West Point after their goodbyes. We were to avoid the cadet area but were encouraged to stay for the Oath Ceremony later that afternoon where the New Cadets would make the following promise: I, (name), do solemnly swear that I will support the Constitution of the United States, and bear true allegiance to the National Government; that I will maintain and defend the sovereignty of the United States, paramount to any and all allegiance, sovereignty, or fealty I may owe to any State or Country whatsoever; and that I will at all times obey the legal orders of my superior officers, and the Uniform Code of Military Justice.

**Transformed to New Cadets – Leaving the Oath Ceremony**

At some point in the day, Bill decided to take us to the Cadet Store, which, though we had to walk through the cadet area, was allowed for parents and families on that day. We walked past a squad of New Cadets that was waiting outside the barber shop. Since we all heard the same directions to keep our eyes straight ahead, we intentionally walked as quickly as possible past the squad of newly-shorn new cadets – don’t distract them; don’t look at them. Don’t get close. Don’t smile at them.

About a week later when we had returned to GA, our son was able to make his first phone call home. First words out of his mouth were, “Did you see me?” Of course, we eventually found him at the Oath Ceremony; it had been hard to find him. “No, not then.” When? “You walked right past me! I could have reached out and touched you!” When? How was that possible? Turns out he was one of the newly-shorn cadets outside the barber shop. Even if we had looked closely, we may not have recognized him – no hair and with newly-acquired Army glasses on his nose; contacts were gone. He was transformed into a cadet in only a few hours.

One thing, I was happy about was that we pretend cadets didn’t have to make a trip to the barber shop; not sure how I would have looked with no hair!

May 29 2022

The Good Old Defense Finance and Accounting Office – 1974

For lack of any better ideas, when I resigned my commission a year after coming back from Vietnam, my wife and I decided to try out life in the Green Mountain State of Vermont. When we first started to work on implementing our plan Avril imagined herself as a high school choir director and I a high school math or science teacher. Half of our plan worked out perfectly when she became the choir director at Hartford High School in White River Junction, Vermont. The other half of the vision had me standing in front of five classes a day in our middle school teaching fifth grade math. Life doesn’t always work out quite as you might imagine.

**Ray’s School – Hartford Memorial Middle School** (hmms – facebook)

Even though the 125 or so 11-year-old kids were not highly stimulating, I still enjoyed working with them none-the-less. I especially enjoyed working with the kids in my one class of over-achievers. We ended up working through the required textbook by the end of February, so I had to ad-lib for the remainder of the year. It was actually quite fun to try all kinds of new ideas out on them, all of which they excelled at and enjoyed. Interestingly, years later I found out that one of my absolute brightest students, a young Hispanic girl, graduated from West Point with the Class of 1985.

Though I enjoyed working with my students, the kids I ended up spending the most time with were the students in my wife’s various choirs and ensembles. After my teaching day was done, I would wander over to the high school and hang out with them as my wife finished up the day working with different kids on songs or duets or whatever might be happening at the time. Being a young couple in our late twenties with no kids of our own, quite a few of the teens enjoyed spending time with us … and we with them.

While all of this was happening, we were also getting more and more involved with a little Baptist church that we had discovered while driving around with our realtor looking for a house. And as part of that increasing involvement, we became quite avid helpers with the church youth group. Almost all the kids in the youth group went to the high school my wife taught at, and several were even in her choir. So, our first year of teaching was spent learning our jobs, and growing in our faith, and doing typical high school teacher and youth group leader type stuff.

Towards the end of our first year, we began to become quite strong in our desire to want to live our lives as fully-devoted followers of Jesus Christ. To that end we became quite burdened with a desire to share our faith with the teens that we were routinely interacting with on a daily basis. So, during the summer between our first and second year we began to plan for a special event that we would hold at our house the first week of school in September.

When the designated Saturday arrived, we ended up with about 25 teens over at our house where we plied them with hot dogs and hamburgers and everything a teen could want to eat. The mealtime was then followed by a time of sharing and singing of songs. Avril and I and some of our youth group kids shared about how we had become Christians and about how important our faith in God was to us and the way we lived our lives. We closed out the evening by inviting them to come back the next Saturday night for a Bible study for any who were interested. The following Saturday about 15 of the original 25 showed up.

After that first Bible study session I realized that the kids who had decided to come back needed to have Bibles of their own. So, I went to a nearby Christian bookstore and ordered a dozen Bibles. I wanted to make sure that each one of them who didn’t already have a Bible had one of their very own. In due course the Bibles arrived, and we passed them out to all the kids. We really enjoyed seeing them diligently use them over the next year as we met almost every Saturday night for our group studies.

**New Bibles For Bible Study** (pelahatchienews.com)

The twelve brand new Bibles ended up costing me $142 and change, which was a good hunk of money in those days. But I really felt that it was something that God wanted me to do. Not long after giving the Bibles out I received a very official looking piece of mail from the Defense Finance and Accounting Office at Fort Benjamin Harrison, Ohio. In it was a check for some back pay that I was owed. There was a note explaining that a random audit of my pay records had been performed and that I had been underpaid at one point during my time in Vietnam. The check in the envelope represented the amount that I was owed plus any accrued interest. The check was for $142 and change. To this day I remember the amount because God taught me a great lesson through this experience. When you step out in faith and do what you believe God is calling you to do, He will be with you every step of the way.

The following year Avril and I left White River Junction, Vermont, and I headed off to Dallas Theological Seminary to study for full-time ministry.

**Dallas Theological Seminary – a Long Way from Vermont**

But when we left, we left behind quite a few young teens who had come to faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and who went on to live their lives for Him. One young girl from our group ended up becoming a medical missionary, and one of the young men ended up going to seminary himself and becoming a minister of the Gospel. As I’ve said before, God has truly given us a blessed life indeed.

Apr 28 2022

Honor: When Honor is Absent – 2006

The call from Governor Jeb Bush’s Chief of Staff came at 9 o’clock at night. “Can you take over the Florida Correction’s Department at 6 am in the morning?”

“What?” I said. “Let me think about that.”

“No time. Give me an answer. The Governor wants to know. Yes or no.”

A few more words, than this from me. “Well, at least let me talk with my wife, Pat, about it. She’s right here. I’ll call you back in five minutes.”

“You can’t talk about it. Not with her, not with anybody. Yes or no. What is it?”

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

When I showed up at my new office in the morning, I couldn’t go in. It was blocked with “Crime Scene” tape. Later, I got the explanation for the cryptic phone call. The former-Secretary of Corrections at the time of the call to me was talking to his corrupt deputy, who had flipped under duress from the FBI. Wearing a wire under his shirt, he was trying to get the Secretary to say the words that would reduce his own later sentence (he got 3 years). But the FBI was getting anxious that the Secretary was onto the treachery (but not the wire) and was about to whack him (he had invited him to go out on a rowboat with him on a remote prison-grounds lake). They then gave the Governor the courtesy of a quick call (before they moved in) to line up a replacement – under the condition he would not share what was going on. The Secretary didn’t whack anybody that night, but he did get eight years.

So began my introduction to a large organization (28,000 cadre, 95,000 inmates, 155,000 probationers and parolees, 60+ prisons, and another 70 or so work camps, road camps, half-way houses, etc., and a budget of $3.5 billion.) that was corrupted from the head down. Up until that morning I had been Florida’s top drug official (colorfully labeled ‘Drug Czar”) but had recently informed the governor of my intention to retire. Apparently, that didn’t faze him in offering me this new ‘opportunity’.

He did give me the courtesy of holding my initial meeting with senior staff in his conference room (it was a Saturday morning, so no one was there). The meeting with the top 12 department officials that morning was tense; before it ended a phone call came in to the number three honcho in the department hierarchy announcing there had been a prison break in the Panhandle. “How often does that happen?”, I asked. “First time since I’ve been in the department” she answered. It hadn’t taken long for the gauntlet to be thrown down. (It was a fake, a message to the ‘new guy’ – me — that he couldn’t handle the department; we found the two ‘escapees’ four days later hiding in the attic of a warehouse inside the prison, where they had been secreted.) A ‘resistance movement’ had already begun.

The department had been corrupted, but by my estimate at the end of my time there was that only 10 percent or so were so involved. Yet that was enough to make the climate toxic for everyone, not just inmates and offenders, but also for the cadre who were bullied, cajoled, or otherwise threatened to ‘play ball’ (violence by rogue cadre against rival cadre was common, as was inmate abuse). Also corrupted (or dysfunctional) as a result were the many systems that make a corrections system run properly (medical care was poor, food service was abysmal, contracts were chaotic, maintenance was broken, and so on). With this recognition early on, prioritizing became easy. Figure out who the corrupt are and get rid of them, replace them with good people (and there were lots of good people in the department) and fix the operating systems.

Week two began with a meeting called by me of the 400 ranking members of the department (all with nametags) at a central Florida town. At 40 tables of ten apiece (which I scrambled every hour), all were introduced to me as I queried the regional leaders about their agendas and priorities, after which I talked to them from the front of the room about ethics, discipline, and behavior, liberally sprinkled with quotes right out of Bugle Notes (‘an officer on duty knows no one’; ‘…discipline is not to be gained by harsh or tyrannical treatment…’). Some were entertained by such ideas (so much so they failed to recognize that among them were strangers who were noting their defiant under-the-breath comments at the tables — and their nametags) which helped me isolate on where to go first. By the end of week five, the first tranche of leader departures (wardens, IG, general counsel, others for a total of 12) ensued, usually on the heels of an early morning visit by me to their presumed fiefdoms.

Some of this was not easy, as rural counties in Florida are bastions of Corrections Department employment, are heavily intermarried or otherwise connected with local law enforcement (Sheriff and Warden brothers-in-law is not uncommon), and not shy about contacting their political benefactors in the Florida legislature. One of the chief goons (think of the movie “On the Waterfront”) was related to a top Florida law enforcement official and the strongest union in Florida represented the prison guards. But bit by bit progress was made, although it took a while to uncover all the rot.

And the rot was extensive if zany at times. For example, inter-prison softball competition (by rival guard teams) had become an obsession. Professional ball players were recruited as ‘officers’ but never pulled a shift. Steroids were smuggled into the prison system. It produced better long-ball hitters and made the dealers some money as well. Monies for the lavish weekend ‘tournaments’ were raised by compelling guards to sell T-shirts with the team logo for $20 apiece (the guards, whose average salary was $32,000 a year, were made to pay for the shirts up front to the supplier – often the warden or another ranking official; he or she then, hopefully, could find family and neighbors to buy them in turn). Thereby, well-funded post-game celebrations, usually at pricey hotels, became wild events, not uncommonly erupting into drunken brawls between teams.

**Logo of Florida Corrections for T-shirts** (News4jax)

A convicted murderer and inmate, a former doctor who killed for the ‘mob’ and who retained substantial wealth in his outside accounts, was caught (by a tapped phone line) paying a former head of the department to ‘engineer’ a prison transfer to be with his lover. The former Secretary in this case saw no problem with that. He was merely working for a client, in his opinion. The transfer didn’t go through. And it became more difficult for him to consult with inmates after I played the tape for him in my office.

It also was dangerous from time to time. On one occasion, we penetrated and broke a drug-smuggling enterprise in a prison in the Florida Panhandle. Prison staff, up to highest level, in cahoots with inmates were trafficking drugs into the prison. We caught on and broke it and on the morning after doing so, I showed up with a new warden I had selected to take over. Although I generally was armed, guns could not be brought into the prison, where I had to go to restore order. The SOP called for me to wear a signal alarm that with the push of a button would bring a response squad of guards on the run and the armed tower guard (with M16) to take a ready-to-fire stance and await my command. As I moved with the new warden through the grounds, a group of about 12 inmates came out of a weight-lifting cage in the exercise yard and came toward us with seeming hostile intent. I hit the button and the new warden hit his. No response. The reaction squad did not appear; a glance at the tower showed me the guard there had abandoned his post. We were on our own. Thanks in large part to the experienced warden who immediately began to berate and threaten with severe sanctions the dozen now face-to-face with us, they hesitated. So, I reinforced the threats and the warden one-upped me. It was enough to give the inmates pause and they backed away. The upshot was we had to fire a bunch more of the staff, something I had planned to do anyway, I removed all heavy weights from the prisons, replacing them with pull up bars and parallel bars and had guards lead what you would recognize as the ‘daily dozen’.

Eighteen months into the effort of reform and de-corruption, a final confrontation was a prison riot in the Everglades, where the rioters were the guards who had gotten drunk, started a bonfire, and moved with weapons to threaten the life of an uncorrupted guard who was about to come off duty; he had reported to me a horrific act by cadre. They failed as we countered with strength, protecting the guard and vectoring about 20 trusted and capable leaders to the prison, even as I called local law enforcement in on the problem. When I reached the threatened guard (with whom I had placed two armed IG agents during the night) I asked what he needed. He asked that I let him go off prison grounds as he had elderly parents that he stopped by to look in every day after shift. And then he wanted to go home, as he was sure it was past time to let his dog out. Both requests were granted, and he was promoted as well.

**Entrance to a Florida State Prison** (Fl Times Union)

So, what had happened to cause this particular department to become so dysfunctional? Honor had been abandoned. Employment and especially leadership in the department had come to be seen as opportunity, not duty. Certainly not by all, but by the more ruthless who for a while had their way. Once countered, it was not hard to find the good people, very much in the majority. Many of them had in fact stood up to the oppression during the worst of it. By and by, I reminded all of the guards (who prefer to be called ‘officers’) of their oath of office and had each and every one of them recite it again; I also wrote and printed a wallet-sized card that echoed the tone and commitment to duty of in a manner similar to a soldier’s ‘Code of Conduct’. It was to be memorized and held on the officer’s person at all times.

It is my observation that there are always good people that only want to do their duty and to do it well. All they need is a chance to do so, along with the reinforcing signals and support that it is proper to do. Once able to do that within the Florida Corrections Department, decency and functional systems returned. Whether or not such things last rests in the hands of continued honorable leadership. But the key is honor. Leaders and institutions need to hold honor high and never let it erode.

As for me, I retired (my original plan before the Governor’s call), although two years later than expected. But the good news is that somewhere during that time, Pat forgave me for taking the job without talking to her first. I might add, she could write her own story on this, as we did have to make adjustments in our daily routines.

Apr 22 2022

Adventure With Clickaroo – 2014

To commemorate the 200th story published by thedaysforward.com, we present the story of how it all began.

It was in December 2013 that the idea of thedaysforward was born on Skidaway Island, GA at the home of Eric and Sally Robyn. I was visiting my son Christopher who was stationed at Ft. Stewart only a few miles from Savannah. The Robyns had invited us to spend the day with them. After spending the

afternoon in conversation, reminiscing about Army life, Christopher (USMA 2010) said, “If all the graduates of the Class of 1969 have as many great stories as I have heard today, they need to be recorded somewhere.” How to do that? Could it be a website? How in the world would we do that? Where to start?

On a sleepless night several months later, our opportunity presented itself. Having fallen asleep with the television on, when I woke up about 3 a.m., I heard a commercial:

“Do you need help with your website? (What?) We can help. (Grab my glasses.) We are Clickaroo in Peachtree City. (Peachtree City? – Where’s paper and pencil?) Give us a call at 404-xxx-xxxx. That’s Clickaroo in Peachtree City.” I was now wide awake.

Since Clickaroo turned out to be only a couple of miles away, we decided to look into it, and they were open to our thoughts; we didn’t really know what we wanted but they were willing to work with us. By this time, Christopher had left Ft. Stewart, GA and was at the Field Artillery Captains Career Course at Ft. Sill, Oklahoma. Clickaroo arranged for a conference call, and we all agreed that we should start the project even with so many questions still to answer. Clickaroo assigned one of their web experts to us and away we went. Now, where do we get stories for a prototype?

How about Sally and Eric? (https://thedaysforward.com/colonel-eric-robyn/ ; https://thedaysforward.com/sally-robyn/) Our shared stories were the basis for the idea in the first place. And I will have to write some stories. I wrote a few but kept getting calls from our Clickaroo expert – “Keep writing; we can’t make a website out of nothing!” Our goal was to get something ready to show the Class of 1969 at their 45^th reunion at West Point in October 2014 (barely six months ahead). Meanwhile, I contacted the Copyright Officer at West Point to see if there were any rules that we had to observe. She asked what we were trying to do. “Not sure exactly, but here is the concept: collecting stories from the Class of 1969 to share.” She asked a few questions and immediately responded that she was very excited about the project since most stories of West Point grads are never shared with anyone outside the West Point community. Her thoughts were a great encouragement. As things progressed, Christopher decided that he would go to the reunion to show the prototype and to personally invite the Class members to write their stories. He would soon be finished with the Advanced Course and would be getting orders for his next assignment. Wherever he was assigned, he would take leave for the reunion weekend and fly to West Point.

We would need a name for our website. What could it be? It needs to be something catchy and somehow connected with West Point, but short and easy to remember. Brainstorm! How about “The Days”?* Ah, perfect. Clickaroo had to check if that domain name was already taken. It was. Now, what? Can we keep “the days” and add something else to it before or after? Like what? “After The Days”? Is that taken? No, but that didn’t seem right. We pondered this a while. What are we trying to say with our name? We are trying to remember “The Days” – their common experiences at West Point, but after their graduation. Having started at the same place – West Point – they went their separate ways all over the world doing amazing things. How to capture that in a word or two? Finally, we decided upon thedaysforward. Not taken! Yeah!

Best laid plans…Christopher’s orders for his next assignment were for Korea. He would have to report there just before the reunion. “I’ll just fly to Korea, ask my new commander for leave for a week and fly to West Point to present the prototype”. Sure! We tried to think of some way he could be at West Point in October. Failure! **

While we were sitting on the porch together the weekend before he was to fly to Korea, the phone rang. I ran into the house to pick up the phone.

“Mrs. Rice? I’m calling about your website.”

“Our website? Really? it isn’t up on the internet until Monday.”

“I found it.”

“Hmmm.” I was very wary. Who is this person? Is this a scam?

“I was a soldier in your husband’s battery in Augsburg in 1972. I’ve been looking for Captain Rice for a few years. I read some of your stories. I hope you will help me.”

“Sure. (Still skeptical.) Go ahead.”

“I was hoping you could help me convince the VA that I had an injury in August 1972. Maybe, you can help me remember some of the soldiers that were in the battery with me.”

The conversation continued, but I was still skeptical until he told me about an incident that had happened while the battery was in training at Grafenwohr in July 1972. Only someone who had been there would have known. At that, I could talk to him freely. I did my best to recall things that I hoped would help him, though Bill and I were in the USA for our wedding and then our honeymoon at the time of the incident. This was just the first amazing incident that came from the publication of thedaysforward.

Soon, we had a few more stories. We received a comment from a man who had found the website and noticed a name that he recognized. Could we put them in touch? We are very careful of privacy, so we contacted the author asking if he would like to be in touch with the reader of his stories. “Yes”, was the quick response. It seems that the reader of the stories had for years been grateful to the author crediting him for saving his military career by a successful surgery when the man was a young officer. The reader was now ready to retire from the Marines and wanted to invite our author to his retirement ceremony. Both were delighted to be in touch after many years.

Recently, three men contacted me through the website. Each of them had discovered the website by chance and had hoped to be in touch with Bill. Even though it was clear from one of my stories that it was not possible, they individually (they didn’t know each other) wrote to us through the website. Though their stories were different, there was a key thread. Each had been an enlisted soldier in Bill’s battery in 1-15 FA in 1973-74 and each of them wanted to let us, Bill’s family, know how Bill had affected their lives. One of the gentlemen had been a medic who was attached to Bill’s battery when they trained near the DMZ – which was often – every six weeks or so. Another soldier had been called back to the US on emergency leave; his exit interview with Bill under those difficult circumstances were life changing. They had hoped to thank him for giving them positive goals and said they had thought of his leadership and his influence throughout their lives. We were blown away with their stories. One of them since he had even been a student in my government class during the education program there. (https://thedaysforward.com/second-infantry-division-education-program-1973/) I even heard from Bill’s driver through thedaysforward. I am pretty sure Bill had no idea that he had shaped their lives in that one year in Korea so long ago.

**A Battery Soldiers with Best Battery Trophy**

One day I received a call from a man at the Eagle Scout Association; they were looking for information about current Eagle Scouts. I gave him Christopher’s info and then mentioned that Bill had been an Eagle Scout, too. I told the gentleman if he wanted to know more about Bill, he could read the website. He asked me to explain and when I did, he asked if his wife could use the stories in her 8^th grade classroom. Of course! First person stories are the best.

We recently published a story that received a comment from a man who had known the author when he was a student in our author’s ROTC class. It was a heartwarming story of how a few words from our author inspired his actions for the rest of his life. Amazing.

Another of our authors has been reunited with several old friends through his stories – one had served with him in Italy, and one was a priest friend that had lost touch with the family. All were delighted to be in touch again after many years. For the latest heartwarming reunion, look here at the bottom of the comment section: https://thedaysforward.com/in-gratitude-for-chaplains-2001/

Thedaysforward has provided a platform for recording the wonderful stories of the class of 1969, a chance to share these stories with anyone who wants to read them and a way for old friends to connect. The members of the Class of 1969 are even learning wonderful new things about each other after over 55 years of friendships. For thedaysforward team, it has been a unique experience to get to know more members of the “Best of the Line” and their lovely wives and widows and to showcase their amazing lives. We thank you for sharing your stories! Aren’t they great!

From its inception, the mission of The Days Forward has been to collect at least one story from every member of the West Point Class of 1969 and their wives and widows. Please send in your stories. We look forward to working with you all!

*A West Point plebe’s (freshman) life is filled with learning plebe “poop”, a plebe term for information to be learned. Some of the required pieces of “poop” is learning “The Days”. At any time, an upperclassman can demand that a plebe “give me the days.” At that time, a plebe would need to sound off with, “Sir, the Days, there are xx days until Army beats (some football opponent) in Michie Stadium, xx days until Plebe Parent Weekend, xx days until 500^th Night, xx days until Army beats Navy, xx days (to other important events in the cadet calendar) etc., etc. It can be difficult for a plebe to keep up with the correct number since the number of days changes – every day! (Definition with the assistance of Bob St. Onge, USMA ’69)

** Five years later, Christopher again planned to be at the class reunion – 50 years since their graduation. Life got in the way. At that time, he was living in Vancouver, WA, the whole continent away from West Point and his first child was due the very weekend of the reunion. News of the baby’s arrival came in a text while we were touring Washington Irving’s home near the reunion hotel. We toasted the newest Class Grandson on the first day of the reunion; the new Dad missed the reunion again!

Apr 16 2022

An Engineer’s Dream Trip – 1978

In the fall during the late 70s, I was assigned to the Corps of Engineers Pacific Ocean Division headquartered at Ft Shafter in Hawaii. It was a great job as I was Assistant Chief of Engineering in a Division that had both military construction/maintenance and civil works (waterway, flood, and infrastructure) jurisdictions. Our military scope included the Hawaiian Islands, Guam, Kwajalein, Japan and Korea for both the Army and Air Force. Our civil works covered the Hawaiian Islands, Guam, Commonwealth of Marianas, American Samoa, Marshalls, and all related US entities in the Pacific.

That fall the two presented a rather unique opportunity. In Korea, the river through Seoul actually became the disputed border between North and South. Incheon was a port just to the west. The Korean government toyed with the idea of linking Seoul and Incheon by water. A really tough project as the area in between was not exactly conducive to a canal.

**Republic of Korea – Disputed mouth of Seoul’s River**

In any case, my boss (a Korean-American) wanted to show the government what the US was capable of doing in canals and water projects. There was a trip arranged to the US for the Korean Minister of Construction and two aides to view some of our efforts. It would be two weeks touring the US and my boss nominated me to go along as their guide, chauffer, security, “gopher,” and host. He really wanted to know everything that happened.

And what a trip it was. We started in DC meeting with the Chief of Engineers and some of my guided sightseeing (they really wanted to see Kennedy’s grave). Then we went to NY Harbor on the Chief of Engineer’s plane to see harbor maintenance and ride the harbor patrol boats, back to DC for further briefings and on to Mississippi through Memphis to see the Tennessee -Tombigbee waterway (canal) under construction. After which we went to Vicksburg and the Corps’ Waterways Experimentation Station (and its six labs), a flight over the lower Mississippi and its locks and dams, the New Orleans District and levee protection, the Columbia River dams (both Corps and Interior Department) from Spokane to Portland, a flight to Alaska District in Anchorage (included probably for fur shopping for their wives rather than real projects), and finally back to Oahu and meetings with my boss and the Division Engineer.

Many adventures and stories were had on the journey but our trip to the Tennessee – Tombigbee project stands out for cultural reasons and really the most applicable for their interest. This project was to cut 800 miles off for barge traffic connecting the Tennessee and Tombigbee rivers allowing access to the Gulf without going down the Mississippi. It had quite the cut effort and had impressive lock construction.

**Tennessee – Tombigbee Project (Water Access to Gulf from Tennessee cutting off 800 miles of travel)**

We flew from Memphis by small twin-engine plane run by Southeast Airlines. When we rushed through the terminal late for our connection because of delays out of DC, only the pilot was there and I saw no plane at the gate. It was there – a small twin-engine prop and we were the only passengers. We went down some stairs and the Minister actually got to sit in the co-pilot seat. He really liked that.

The main Corps field headquarters was in Iuka, MS, the county seat it turns out. The project was spectacular: moving more earth and making a cut larger than anything at the Panama Canal. The project manager was something of a celebrity among the locals as the work provided quite the economic benefit and he played a great host.

One evening he took the group out for their famous fried catfish at a restaurant built in an abandoned car dealership. The problem right away – the catfish fryer was down. He recommended we try the frog’s legs. My Korean compatriots were appalled. In Korea, the frogs were quite small, and they had not encountered our bullfrogs. The idea of a meal from some tiny morsels was not what they wanted. We explained using a statue near the entrance of a real bullfrog what he was recommending – more like chicken legs. They enjoyed them.

I should mention the Minister spoke good English, but only one of his aides spoke limited English. I had built a decent relationship catering to their needs, and the non-English speaker had a good sense of humor. Whenever he did not like, or understand something, during the rest of the trip he would lean over to me and say “rivet” – a reminder of our frog’s leg confusion.

The next incident I could not explain to them no matter how hard I tried. It was election day. We had some time to sightsee, so we got the local sheriff to open up the old courthouse. But he would help only after we assured the sheriff these men were our allied Koreans and not Chinese communists. The building and the courtroom on the second floor reminded me of Spencer Tracy’s courtroom in “Inherit the Wind.” They sat at the judge’s bench, banged the gavel and had a good time.

**Iuka Courthouse** (courthousehistory.org)

Outside, we saw a polling place in something of a general store. The local election folks were most welcoming, and they even allowed our Korean guests to see inside a voting booth.

I might explain that the government of South Korea at this time still had General Park at its head after a coup some years before. Elections had a bit of a foregone conclusion aspect. I was proud to show a free election in Iuka.

Outside, the Minister called me aside. He said, “Now, I see truth in even your elections, only ONE candidate each office.” He was right as this was the old Democrat south and there was only a single Democrat running for all the local offices. I explained that this was not our national norm and that there were multiple candidates even in Iuka – in a primary at least.

He did not buy it.

End of Story