Suzanne Rice

Dec 01 2020

Christmas in Korea – 1973

How to celebrate Christmas in a non-Christian country? Because I had showed up in South Korea unauthorized with only a suitcase of clothes https://thedaysforward.com/second-infantry-division-education-program-1973/, there were few options for decorations or familiar Christmas trimmings. It was hard to get to the big PX in Seoul, so it wasn’t possible to depend on that as a source of Christmas decorations for our home in a Korean house in downtown Ui Jong Bu. A soldier in 1-15 FA , who had also been in Bill’s battery in his last assignment in Augsburg, Germany, was a native of South Korea; he told us that there was a Christmas tree market in Seoul where we could find a Christmas tree. Wow! Great! When can we go? Not that easy, of course, for a battery commander to take time off to go get a Christmas tree.

When the time came, we had to catch a kimchi-cab (a tiny three-wheeled car common in Korea at that time) at the gate of Camp Stanley that was willing to take us to Seoul. That was the only way to get there in a timely manner and to have a way to get the Christmas tree back to Ui Jong Bu – can you imagine trying to take a Christmas tree on an hour long ride on a bus? A small kimchi-cab would have to do. That became the plan.

We never found the Christmas tree market. Disappointed, we had the cab driver turn around and head back to Ui Jong Bu. As we were driving through the busy streets of Seoul, I noticed a flower shop. “STOP! BACK UP.” Why? Outside, on either side of the flower shop door were two small potted pine trees. We rushed into the flower shop. Finding the owner, we tried to ask him if we could buy one of the trees. We had a language problem having to use a lot of hand signals – no English for him and little useful Korean for us. (I had taken a course in the Korean language, but I only learned practical words like how to direct a taxi cab driver to get me from Camp Stanley to our place in Ui Jong Bu: “right”, “left”, “straight ahead”.) The owner was surprised and dumbfounded by the two crazy Americans who came running into his shop at dusk waving their hands pointing to the trees outside. Eventually, he understood what we wanted. It was a hard decision for him, but he soon agreed, and we were heaving one heavy potted tree to the kimchi cab. The flower shop owner was not the first one that day who would be dumfounded by our actions.

The kimchi cab driver, already wondering what was going on, was stunned when we came towards his cab carrying the potted tree. It wasn’t so small when we tried to get it into his cab. I barely fit in the back seat with the tree, but with me and the tree filling the back seat, there was no room for Bill. He had to fit himself into the tiny front passenger seat, knees to his chin throughout the hour-long drive. Luckily, the cab driver accommodated our weird requests.

Getting back to Ui Jong Bu, we piled out of the cab, opened the gate to our Korean home and found our Korean landlords and their four children watching the spectacle. What in the world were we doing dragging a live tree into their home? (We had done other odd things that they remembered. https://thedaysforward.com/a-refrigerator-in-korea-1973/ ) Luckily, the husband worked at Camp Red Cloud only a few blocks away and knew about American Christmas customs, so that he could explain to his wife and family what we were doing.

For me, the next step was how to make the pine tree into a Christmas tree. I eventually conceived a plan (no internet purchases were possible back then). I made a trip the few blocks to Camp Red Cloud to see what they might have in their Shoppette and eventually found in the Camp Stanley PX Shoppette some candy canes, a little ribbon and got out some paper and scissors; with them I made a lot of paper snowflakes to place on the boughs of the tree.

adorns the Rice Christmas tree each year

When I was finished, the little pine tree looked festive in our Korean home. On Christmas Day we were able to go to Christmas Mass at the chapel and to the Mess Hall for dinner with the soldiers of Bill’s battery at Camp Stanley.

To extend our holiday festivities, we decided to invite the ladies that worked with me at St. Louis High School and their husbands over for New Year’s Eve. Bill had given me a beautiful Korean brass punchbowl, matching cups and ladle for Christmas along with a sewing machine. We would have punch for our New Year’s Eve party!

**Korean Brass Punchbowl, Cups and Ladle**

We decided upon having eggnog for our guests. It was homemade: lots of eggs and cream and some bourbon from the Class VI store. Our American guests liked our eggnog. We invited our Korean landlords in for some snacks and eggnog. They didn’t like it one little bit! They are not used to milk products, so it was overwhelming for them – oh, well, we had tried to be hospitable! They liked the hot buttered rum that we served, too, but the brass cups weren’t too good for the hot liquid – oh, way too hot to even hold the metal cup, let alone drink it until it cooled!

It was a most unusual Christmas season, but a memorable one! And the punchbowl, besides being a wonderful memory of an unusual Christmas, was used for many celebrations during Bill’s 27-year Army career. Even so, I don’t think we ever made homemade eggnog or hot buttered rum, again!

**This photo gives you an idea of what a “kimchi”cab looked like. We were unable to find a photo the kimchi-cab prevalent in South Korea in the 1970’s. This truck would have been better than the car to transport our tree, but then there would have been no room for Bill and me! If anyone has a photo of a kimchi-cab from the early 1970’s, please leave a comment on the story. We would love to have a copy.

Nov 21 2020

Let’s Go Skiing – 1986

I love skiing and look forward to a ski trip every winter. But, that wasn’t always the case. For many years, I had an intense dislike of skiing.

It started in the winter of 1968 – Cow Year at West Point. One lackluster gloom period Saturday, looking for something fun to do, several company classmates said, “Let’s go skiing”! I hedged on that, protesting that I didn’t know how (they had skied before). Growing up in Florida, skiing to me meant the waterborne type – I had done that. Finally, they persuaded me to go, with assurances such as, “It’s easy”; “We’ll show you how”. So, we headed off to the West Point ski slope.

Those not familiar with West Point might be surprised to learn it has its own ski slope. Called the Victor Constant Ski Area, it was named in 1946 in memory of Captain S. Victor Constant, who was the coach of the West Point Ski team from 1943-46 and an instructor in the Civil and Military Engineering Department. In 1945, he supervised the construction of the ski slope with the help of WWII prisoners of war.

**S. Victor Constant Ski Slope at West Point**

During my time, Constant Ski Slope had a single chairlift and a beginner’s rope tow.

**Skiier Using Rope Tow Similar to Pat’s Experience**

We first checked out our equipment. Skiers will remember that ski equipment was still fairly primitive at that time. Skis were all wood, not the blend of various high-tech materials in today’s skis. They were straight and not shaped. Boots were hardened leather, and bindings were metal cables that strapped the boots to the skis. I’m not even sure what appropriate ski wear consisted of then, I just know I didn’t have any.

**Wooden Skis and equipment from Cadet Days**

After getting out on the slopes, my friends spent about 5 minutes showing me how to make a “pizza slice” shape with my skis and to place weight on one ski at a time to turn. Then, they headed to the chair lift, leaving me on the bunny hill at the rope tow and said something like “practice that and we’ll check back later”. First, I had to use the rope tow to get to the top of the bunny hill. They had mentioned that you just grab it, hang on and let it pull you to the top. However, it was not that easy. Riding a rope tow is a little like learning to drive a clutch transmission automobile – you have to apply pressure, just the right amount until it catches smoothly, but doesn’t slip or jerk. Also, you have to keep your skis positioned in the ruts in the snow that have already developed from previous skiers. The first try, I grabbed too quickly went a few feet and then tumbled to a face plant. Two or 3 tries later, I grabbed successfully and rode to the top. Of course, they had not mentioned anything about how to exit. Exiting the tow smoothly requires some good timing, balance and finesse. I timed, balanced and finessed it right into another face plant.

Now at the top of the bunny hill, I was ready to ski down. I tried to remember how to do the pizza slice thing my friends had told me about and headed down. Or perhaps I should clarify – that’s literally “down”, as in travel a few yards, fall down. Get up, repeat. Once I got to the bottom, I repeated the whole scenario, without much improvement.

My friends were back to check up on me every 10-15 minutes. I knew they meant well, and were trying to coach me, but they didn’t have the ski instructor skills necessary to get me properly trained. After about hour or so of this, I realized that my fashionable ski wear (thermal underwear, jeans, and Cadet Parka), was somewhat less than waterproof. I was soaking wet, freezing, and miserable. At the next rendezvous, I informed them that this was not fun, wasn’t working for me and I was done. They offered to take turns staying with me, but at that point I was no longer interested. I headed back to a hot shower and swore off skiing… for a while, anyway.

There were two more outings. I went, against my better judgement, with a small group over spring break to a resort in Vermont. I did a little better, but still fell a lot. I even attempted the chairlift once and entertained nearby skiers with an acrobatic exit routine. The end of the day still resulted in being wet, freezing and miserable. At least, there was a big lodge to hang out in. I, and another in the group with comparable skills, ended up leaving early after one day. Then, in 1971, while stationed at Ft Carson, Co., I was once again coaxed onto the slopes by roommate skiers, who said they would show me what to do. In the 3 years that had elapsed since my last ski adventure, I had lost most of what little skill I had previously acquired, but not the results.

After that, I really swore it off, and that lasted 15 years.

Now fast forward to 1986. My skiing adventures were a distant unpleasant memory. However, at that time, my wife and I had some friends in our social circle that were skiers. I always remained quiet or just professed to being a non-skier in any discussion at gatherings, where the subject turned to skiing. But, in the winter of 1986, after listening many times to friends describing how much fun it was, I made a decision: I’m going to learn to ski – the right way.

Shortly thereafter, that same winter, my wife and I headed off on a long weekend to a small North Carolina ski resort, Sapphire Valley.

I took 2 days of lessons with a personal instructor – someone that stayed with and “trained” me full time for those 2 days. The training kicked in and I “got it”. What a difference actual lessons and training made. This was indeed fun! I turned at that point from complete dislike to, “we need to start going out west to the big resorts”.

That triggered annual ski trips out west for the next 34 years, missing going only a few times. Of course, there were more lessons to further improve skills in those first few trips. This year’s trip (2020) was just completed in early February. We covered a lot of ground over those 34 years, skiing at a variety of resorts in Colorado, Utah, Wyoming, Montana, New Mexico, Nevada and California. When the kids were younger, they went too – when we could fit the trip in as part of spring break.

And it all started with that decision in 1986. I guess it reinforces those 5 P’s we all learned (Proper Planning Prevents Poor Performance). On those first few outings, I had not done any planning – I knew nothing about proper ski wear, didn’t plan for proper training, didn’t plan for ongoing proficiency assessment and development.

I hope to continue to ski as long as possible. Most friends that ski started dropping out a few years ago: too old, too expensive, too cold, too much hassle, too tiring, too hard on the legs, too hard on the knees, and similar reasons. Aging does take its toll. On the most recent trip, a friend and I reminisced while riding the lifts about how the ski experience has changed for us. In our younger days, a ski trip was 6 days of skiing. Now, it’s 3. We would be at the lifts when they opened at 8:30 and catch a last ride up for one more run when they closed at 4:30. Now, we’re on the slopes at about 10:30 and done about 2:30-3:00. It’s still a lot of fun, just tempered a little for age and physical stamina.

In regard to aging, I read about an interview a few years ago with Clint Eastwood. He was asked about advice for successful aging. He referred to advice he himself was given by an older friend, which was: “Don’t let the old man in”. So, I was both surprised and inspired to see a very recent article in USA Today with a picture of Eastwood on a ski slope – he is now 89 – and skiing! I guess he took his friend’s advice.

**Clint Eastwood on the slopes with Arnold Schwarzenegger**

That makes me wonder – will I still be able to ski at 89? Will I even want to, even if I’m able? Sounds crazy and that’s a good many years away yet, but maybe it could be possible if I can stay in shape and can stay healthy. Oh, and maybe I also need to ensure that I “Don’t let the old man in”!

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

First Digital Military Radios 2004-2007

One software project in my software career that may be of interest was that I worked on the team at Harris RF Communications, which developed the first digital military radios that were used in Iraq and Afghanistan. I was a lead developer for several services as part of the radio’s infrastructure and helped develop a data transmission waveform*, which is the radio’s controller defining the capabilities of the radio.

During the radio’s development, it was common for the company to bring in the Special Forces members to give motivational talks on how they were using the early radio prototypes and how useful they were. Those stories were fascinating and left me wondering why I had chosen my work path; I missed the travel and adventures provided by the military experience. One West Point roomie told me that he wondered if I had been trying to withdraw from the human race. After reflecting on that observation, I realize there was an element of truth to it – humans can be complicated creatures.

One three-man Special Forces team described being placed at a main traffic intersection leading into Baghdad during the three weeks preceding the invasion of Baghdad. The soldiers dug a hole in the ground and lived in that hole with a camouflage cover over them. As Iraqi traffic passed through the intersection, the soldiers took digital pictures of the traffic, connected the digital camera to the radio that contained a data transmission waveform, and sent the pictures to Headquarters – no voice transmissions were used. During the final week prior to invasion, some kids were playing soccer nearby, and a soccer ball was kicked next to the hole. A girl approximately 3 years old ran to retrieve the ball and noticed the camouflage cover, so she lifted the cover and found the US soldiers. At this point, the soldiers had to make a critical and rapid decision: what to do about the girl? Should they kill the girl and continue with the mission or terminate their mission and depart before the kids could report their existence? Truth is that in war, difficult decisions abound.

Another Special Forces Sergeant First Class (SFC) was embedded with an Afghan tribe and utilized as Forward Observer to identify targets for air strikes; the digital radio was his communication device for coordinating targets with his air support. He lived with the tribe and rode everywhere on horseback. During the build-up for an upcoming battle with a rival Taliban tribe, the SFCs horse stepped into a hole, throwing the SFC to the ground and then landing on top of him; the SFC could not move after the horse was shot. A Special Forces medic was brought in to assist the SFC; his air support abilities were essential to the success of the battle. The solution was to give the SFC extensive drugs. During the course of the battle, the SFC was unflappable throughout the chaos and noise around him. The Afghans gave the SFC great praise because he was so calm and collected during the battle; he became known as a great warrior. Little did the Afghans realize that the SFC was so high on drugs that the battle had little effect on his emotional state and awareness of the battle occurring around him.

**Manpack-sized Digital Radio in Actio**n

The digital radio was used to create smart bombs. A GPS module was placed inside the radio, which was placed inside the bombs. A radio transmitter was sent to the radio inside the bomb’s guidance system, thus giving the bomb its pinpoint accuracy.

*The software which controls the internal hardware devices is called a waveform – some are for transmitting voice, some only transmit data (no need for a handset), some transmit both – there are a large number of waveforms.