Suzanne Rice

Jul 30 2020

9-11 – Executive Office of the President – 2001

by Al Leister

Where were you when…? September 11, 2001 started as a beautiful fall day in Washington, DC. I was the Program Manager for the IT support contract for the Executive Office of the President of the United States. All of my one hundred and twenty fellow workers were going about the daily business of maintaining the White House technology systems. With the aroma of coffee still in the air, most of the White House personnel were gathered near television monitors watching the unbelievable events unfold in New York City. Their focused concern unraveled when Secret Service Agents came running through the halls with Uzis; “Evacuate!” Evacuate! A plane is heading in this direction and intends to hit the White House.” A hurried meeting with my managers confirmed that all systems were I good shape, so we compiled with the evacuation order.

Outside the campus, it was clear Washington was in a siege of chaos; gridlocked traffic in every direction; car bombing rumors; low level streaking F-15s overhead; an overloaded and useless cell phone network. I put a standby crew into a hotel outside the immediate area, giving us the ability to return to the campus as soon as it was allowed. After a headcount, we sent everyone home, both the government and contract employees, not knowing when we would return. We literally walked away and would not reconvene for over twelve hours. I walked to the Pentagon amidst the chaos and confusion, hoping the Metro was operating on the other side of the river. After I viewed the location of the plane’s impact, I knew I had lost some friends. After being chased off by an FBI agent, “Sir, you are standing in a crime scene,” I headed to my apartment. Arriving there, I began to organize our next actions in concert with my government counterparts. The entire White House campus, except for some critical portions, was silent.

Around midnight after the ALL CLEAR signal, my response team found all our systems (a network of some 3000 PCs, almost 200 servers, minicomputers and mainframes) were operating flawlessly – no security breaches, White House.gov up and running! As I drove past the still smoldering Pentagon en route to the White House campus to join my staff and some government counterparts, I reflected on my faith in the American worker, coming from the same stock as the American soldier. It was validated once again. Their daily work was outstanding; given a crisis, they would do what it took to accomplish the mission.

In the next few days, my team, even civilians, “marched to the sound of the guns.” “All hands-on deck.” “Sir, we understand your Commander’s intent.” The 24/7 days that followed were filled with an obscure sense of the unknown – as we tried to adjust to the post 9-11 life in our nation’s capital.

This story of 9-11-01 experiences were prepared for the Class of 1969 Legacy Book and is published here with permission of his family in memory of Albert F. Leister, 1946-2015.

Jul 09 2020

GDP Redux – 1990

The Cold War was a period in U.S. history that defines our generation, our Army experience and much of the collective experience of our military careers for the Class of 1969. We were indoctrinated during our cadet experience in the notion of the Warsaw Pact military as our recognized enemy. Although we were preparing for combat in Southeast Asia, the concept that we would someday have to fight against Soviet Armies in Central Europe was a key facet of our cadet education.

Many of us spent one or more tours serving in the U.S. Army in Europe in units with assigned missions along the borders with Warsaw Pact nations (Soviet Union, Albania, Poland, Romania, Hungary, East Germany, Czechoslovakia and Bulgaria) and defending in depth within then West Germany.

West and East Germany during the Cold War – Berlin is deep inside E. Germany

We war-gamed scenarios while in our officer education programs; the Fulda Gap was the canonical terrain box in which we conducted those scenarios.

U.S. Army soldiers near the East German Border Terrain Box

When assigned to the United States Army Europe (USAREUR), we rehearsed those or similar war plans during REFORGER.

REFORGER exercise in a West German Village

REFORGER meant Return of Forces to Germany, an annual, large scale war games on the ground, usually involving US-based units who were designated to reinforce Europe if a major conflict occurred.

We frequently conducted other unit exercises as well as no-notice deployments to our unit’s sector according to the established General Defense Plans (GDP). It was a sobering experience to consider how we would stand up against the Soviet Armies we were briefed would attack our defenses in mass. And the further thought of potential use of nuclear and chemical weapons, by either side, was never outside the planning consideration in these scenarios.

Personally, I served two tours (both 4 years) under the regime of being ready to respond to a Warsaw Pact incursion into West Germany. One with a Direct Support Field Artillery Battalion whose defense position was basically up against the border to reinforce the Armored Calvary Covering Force as it sought to slow or repel the initial advance of the enemy. On a second tour, I was a Division Artillery Operations Officer responsible for the plans and exercises to deploy our battalions into the border sector when notified. The border near the Fulda Gap in our sectors during both tours were essentially closed to residents of either East or West Germany who could not cross except at designated checkpoints and then only for documented business or personal reasons. U.S. personnel stationed in Germany were not allowed to cross the inter-German border except under a special provision that allowed them to transit East Germany to visit Berlin with orders. Many of us with special clearances due to the weapons we controlled were very restricted from such travel. To ensure these travel restrictions were observed, the border on the East German side was heavily patrolled, not only near potential roadways but in forested and mountainous areas.

Warning Sign at the East German Border – “Stop! Border Here”

It was then with collective relief that we watched the demise of the Warsaw Pact and the stand down of the massive troop formations and units of the Soviet Union that we viewed as our key adversaries in the 1980’s and early 1990’s. I am sure most of the Army, U.S. citizenry and our Class did not have insight into the implications of the enemy’s retrograde from the previous adversaries’ border regions along the eastern border of West Germany. I gained some small insight while on a temporary duty assignment (TDY) to Frankfurt, Germany in March 1991.

It was a memorable experience because it was during that period after the Berlin Wall had come down, but while East and West Germany were wrestling with reunification and executing plans using former West German investment to repair the infrastructure in the former East. During a weekend break, I was able to drive in my rental car directly across the border in the area near where my units had previously been assigned defensive positions, not that far from Fulda itself.

East German border with guard tower and guard house

I could freely hike onto the terrain and look westward. I had the same view which the East German Border guards would have had when they observed us during our deployment rehearsals or terrain walks, we used to familiarize ourselves with the location. I was able to view the perspective Soviet and East German forces might have had if an order to invade the West came. This was not so long after the borders had opened; the border patrol roads made of Pierced Steel Plank (PSP) and guard towers were still in place, so I drove through forest roads to visit them and the guard towers along the border. It was a poignant emotional experience for me (I’m not sure if I was even permitted to be there, but no one else was around and I decided this was a case of taking the risk now and begging forgiveness later- if stopped.)

As I traveled further East, I saw Soviet unit “Kasernes” or Barracks still identifiable by their unit signs and crests which were now vacant. During my visit to the East, there occurred a poignant personal experience when I stopped for a coffee and lunch in one of the towns which was in the former East Germany. It was Sunday and, as in the West, the locals were out in force walking, as is the German habit, on what I remember was a mild Spring day. However, unlike taking such walks in the West Germany where fellow hikers would not let you pass without a friendly greeting such as Guten Tag or Gruss Gott (Good Day and God’s Greetings) , the citizens in East Germany would not look at me (I don’t think I was recognizable as an American) or even at each other directly; it was an eerie experience. My perception at the time, and nothing has changed that over the years, is that this provided clear evidence of what suppression does collectively to a culture. In some ways it did make me feel like a victor (or a member of the victors) in the Cold War because these people deserved to be released from the oppressive yoke of a Communist government. Today, I am sure one would not recognize behavioral differences between German citizens anywhere in the country. The Cold War was, and still is, a seminal event in our collective generational psyche. We should never forget that our generations served nobly to help win that war without a major confrontation of forces due to our service, commitment and professional execution of our duties in the West German theater.

Jul 09 2020

The Hanging Man – 1992

Remember Nancy Drew? The Hardy Boys? These were series of books about amateur teen-aged detectives and their remarkable ability to help the locals solve crimes. Those stories filled many rainy winter nights for me with myself (in my imagination) in the title role. Later, I graduated to Sherlock Holmes. (He never said, “Elementary, my dear Watson”, by the way). Then, I progressed to Agatha Christie, famous for too many red herrings and not enough pertinent information. The appeal for me was to figure out “who did it” before the book revealed it.

Life seldom afforded me opportunities to “amateur sleuth”, but I did get some practice sessions over the years. The scene: the suspect/witness is seated on a chair facing me. I pace a few times back and forth. “Now, let’s return to the events of last night in the order that they happened. When was the last time you remember seeing the missing—shoe?” The suspect stares at me, swinging a naked foot in a strange rhythm. You get the picture!

We were living in Erlangen, Germany at Ferris Barracks.

Memorial to Ferris Barracks Returned to German Use in 1993

Our quarters were one side of a small duplex in the post housing area. It was not one of the stand-alone grander houses that most brigade commanders have but we didn’t mind. Though the kaserne had been in U.S. hands for 50 years, the commander had always lived in a rental house somewhere else. The time frame for our being there was after Desert Storm and the U.S. Army Europe was in a flux, a period of realignment and revision. When we arrived, we were happy to live more humbly in exchange for being closer to the excellent battalion commanders and brigade staff with whom we were privileged to serve. Having the battalion commanders’ wives so close by afforded us a chance to spend more time together and we were in the habit of taking an early walk together as a traveling staff meeting. That day, the morning dawned with promise of sun and warmth. We set off. This particular day was not a day when I was looking for a crime to solve. No matter: the crime was looking for me.

Behind our duplex was a small fenced yard. Beyond our yard was a large open field, about the size of 2 football fields. It belonged to the American post but was seldom used for anything, because the training area just north of it was 8800 acres. Since it was an armor post, most of the action took place in the larger area where the tanks could maneuver and fire, away from the city and housing area. Strangely, this smaller field behind our yard seemed to be our version of Area 51.

To the left of our German Area 51 field, there was a wide gravel path that constituted our route.

After a 10-minute walk on it, the path took a 90 degree turn to the left. This wider path was frequented by the local Germans. It was a short cut for them from one of the main thoroughfares to the university and businesses on that side of the city. Many rode bikes but there were also walkers who had disembarked from the closest bus stop. This practice was technically trespassing but was generally tolerated as a “steam control” factor. The relationship between the American Army and the local liberal politicians and university was rather frosty, as the mayor had been lobbying for some time to get rid of us. In fact, sometimes soldiers training close to the path had been subjected to spitting and verbal abuse as the bicyclists went whizzing by. There was always plenty of people traffic there and this morning was no exception.

As our walking group turned that corner, we began to hear a plaintive, repetitive cry. We paused and listened as the sound became louder. Clearly, it was a human call. “Helfen Mir! Helfen Mir!” You probably figured out that the English translation is, “Help Me!” We rushed to find the source. There was a break in the foliage around the field and we turned into the break in the greenery. Now, in that area, the army had built a modified obstacle course with chin up bars, wooden balance beams and the adult equivalent of a jungle gym.

There before us was a young man, stripped to his underwear, hanging by his outstretched arms from the climbing apparatus. Clearly weak and possibly in shock, his head and body were limp. Two of us took off running (pre cell phones, remember) to summon the medics and MPs. The two remaining (I was one) decided to try to get him down. He was very slight, and we thought we could manage to get him to the ground if we could get him loose.

Since I was too short to be able to reach his core to lift him down safely, I was the one who climbed up the back of the jungle gym to see if I could free his hands. The other wife with me was much taller and stronger and thought she could manage to hold him, if I got him free, until I could climb back down and help her carry him to the grass. When I made it to the top, I thought if I could get a little slack in the rope binding his arms, I could slip his hands through and free him. My larger walking friend was able to lift him enough for me to get one hand out. Then, we repeated the “lift” for the other hand. We were then able to gently place him on the grass next to the jungle gym. We covered him with our jackets. By then, we could hear the medics and MPs coming. He was conscious and responsive. The medics and MPs took over, questioned us about the sequence of events, and asked us to stay.

While we were waiting, I surveyed all the area. What was this about? Were there others? As often happens in times of adrenaline rush, the mind photographs everything in hyper detail. I still remember the scene clearly. As the young man was being loaded on the stretcher, one of the MPs said, “He does not want to go to the hospital”, but they took him, anyway. Since we had no hospital on the post, he was taken to the closest German hospital and a report was filed with the local police because he was clearly not an American.

We were allowed to leave and walked back to our homes. A couple of hours later, my doorbell rang. When I opened the door, there stood a German police detective. He flashed his badge, just like in the movies and asked me to accompany him along with the other wives to the scene of the Hanging Man. Of course, I did. He spoke excellent English, so communication was easy. We were there quite some time. He asked me many questions about what I had seen. He then told me the young man had said he was attacked and robbed by a group of American soldiers. I said, “That’s curious! If he was robbed, it was by the neatest, most considerate ‘thief’ I can imagine.” He lifted his brows. In my “photographing” of the scene, which was still pretty much intact minus the ‘victim‘, I remembered seeing by the bushes that formed the edge of the perimeter a very neat stack comprised of carefully folded clothing, paired shoes, a backpack and glasses folded on top. It was still there. I pointed to it, and said, “What thief, especially one who would assault him like that, would have done that?”

The detective gave me a wry smile and then asked me to recall in detail the configuration of the rope that bound the young man to the apparatus. I reenacted my climb and answered him as I remembered what I had to do to loosen the rope. The other wives were likewise interviewed.

That afternoon, I had to be in Wurzburg at Division Headquarters for a ceremony and dinner.

Third ID Headquarters, Wurzburg, Germany

Dick had flown up early that morning and I was to join him later in the day. In Germany, the brigades are scattered across the region and being at the Division Headquarters always involved travel. I got in the car after lunch and headed to Wurzburg, replaying the morning’s events over and over in my mind.

After all the formalities, the brigade wives would usually gather and chat. It was the only time we really saw each other. As I was “catching up” with their news, the Division Provost Marshal came up to me. I knew him from other social times. I smiled and said, “What’s up?” He replied, “I was reviewing the police reports from this morning and you were on it. Sounds like you had an exciting morning! And, by the way, the German detective there was very impressed with your observation skills.” I laughed and asked him if he knew anything about the condition of the young man and the circumstances that had placed him on the brigade’s obstacle course. He said that it was in the hands of the German police now and he did not have the report yet. That night, on my drive back home, I was concerned about the Hanging Man’s accusation. Would this constitute another anti-American headline in the local paper, a very public investigation and lots of time-consuming trouble for my husband?

Two days passed before I received yet another visit from the German detective. As he stood in my doorway, I looked at him curiously. He smiled and said, “I wanted you to know the result of our investigation. You were right that the scene of the crime revealed some contradictions in the young man’s statement. He is a Russian exchange student at the local university. As we continued to press him about the evidence at the scene, he confessed to what really happened: he had become involved with another student – a German girl – who had decided to end their relationship. He then plotted a way to try to regain her “love”. If he became a victim, especially of the Americans, he thought she would be so sympathetic, she would rush to his side.

He scouted a location close by the path, figuring he would not hang there long since it was so well-frequented by the German locals. Shortly before dawn, he crept into the area. He stripped down to his underwear (it resembled a lavender speedo, I might add. I told you I remember details), folded his clothes, paired his shoes, stacked them neatly with his backpack and glasses, climbed to the top of the “jungle gym” and looped the tied rope around his wrists. Once he heard people passing, he would begin his cries and let his legs fall to “lock” the rope in place. When he was discovered, he would blame American soldiers and be whisked off by the locals to a sympathetic political climate, quick to blame.

But no Germans stopped, though his cries were clear and easily heard. Considering his condition, his cries had been going on for some time. Many locals had passed within a few yards of him. The irony of the whole plan was that the Americans were to be blamed and villainized when the truth was the Americans had proved to be the rescuers and saviors. Remember, this was Europe in 1992.

Jul 09 2020

Where Were You When…? 1972

I am sure you, like me, have been asked that question. Perhaps the first thing that comes to mind is where you were on the morning of 9/11. That was a date that marked us all, the memory of that day’s activities indelibly imprinted as news of the terror attacks flashed across TV screens. But for those of us fortunate enough to have lived at various places around the world and at key points of history (thanks to frequent Army moves) there are other intersections of place and events that stay crystal clear in the memory. Here is one of my “where were you when” moments.

Eric and I were living in Germany in 1972, an exciting time as Munich prepared to host the Summer Olympics. Thirty-six years after Hitler’s showcase summer games in Berlin, Germany was set to show off its vibrant and prosperous new post-war image.

Deutschemark Coins Commemorating the 1972 Olympics

Welcoming more than 7,000 athletes representing 121 countries, Munich opened the Games on 26 August.

American swimmer Mark Spitz’s seven gold medals and Soviet teen sensation Olga Korbut’s two Gymnastic gold medals became memorable highlights of the Games. Unfortunately, these accomplishments would be eclipsed by other news. Early on the morning of 5 September, the peaceful international atmosphere of the Olympic Village was horribly shattered. Palestinian terrorists known as Black September broke into the rooms of the Israeli Wrestling Team, killing 2 and taking 9 hostages. By early morning 6 September, all 9 hostages and 1 German police officer had been murdered.

American Newspaper Announcing the Tragedy in Munich

Eric was assigned at Herzo Base, a former Luftwaffe base outside the small Bavarian village of Herzogenaurach (115 miles north of Munich). Serving with him was a dear friend, fellow field artilleryman and classmate, Bill Rice, (https://thedaysforward.com/bill-rice/ and another look at the Olympics 1972 https://thedaysforward.com/life-in-germany-1972/) and also Joel Pigott, USMA ‘68 grad and friend from Cadet Company A-2.

Joel’s wife was German and had access to much coveted Olympic tickets as the Executive Secretary to Rudolph Dassler, owner of Puma, an international sporting goods company headquartered in this small village.

Film about Family Ties in Herzogenaurach

Also headquartered in the town was its highly competitive rival Adidas, owned by Rudolph’s estranged brother Adolf (Adi). Family animosity often created friction and division within the town; however, these two billion-dollar giants today maintain a much friendlier rivalry. In fact, a film of this famous rivalry, Adidas vs Puma, was released in 2016. Herzo Base has long since disappeared, its location now upscale housing for Herzogenaurach’s international industries.

Back to our “where were you when” story. Months before the Olympics opened, with tickets all but impossible to get, Joel offered us the ultimate jackpot prize, two tickets for the morning of 7 September, compliments of Puma. We were now among the fortunate few! However, I could never have imagined how marked by tragedy that date would be, following the terrorist attack and a memorial service for the 11 murdered Israelis.

Eric and I had looked forward to the upcoming track and field events, but now a dark shroud hung over Munich and the Olympics. Arriving that morning, we found the Olympic Village and venues somber, only light traffic, and sparse attendance in the stadium. We watched several qualifying races, and various field events but not the one runner we were hoping to see, Jim Ryun, the world record holder in the 1,500-meter (3 minutes, 33.1 seconds). We were to miss him by a day.

Jim Ryun During the Olympics and Afterwards

Jim Ryun’s now ill-fated run occurred on 8 September, when he tripped, fell, and was knocked unconscious for several seconds in the qualifying heat of the 1,500-meter race and failed to qualify. Although he was obviously fouled, Olympic officials verbally shrugged, “It’s unfortunate what happened to you. Why don’t you come back in four years and try again?” ** By his own admission, he was angry and bitter, but years later wrote, “I can say that Munich really was the beginning of our lives. We had become Christians that spring, and the challenge of Munich forced us to grow up very fast. We developed a whole new understanding of forgiveness.” ** I might add from a vantage point of hindsight; his best run was yet to be. In 1996 he ran successfully for the US Congress and served five terms as a Representative from Kansas. Jim Ryun was awarded the Medal of Freedom on July 24, 2020 by President Trump.

The events of that Olympics not only altered Jim Ryun but they altered in part how Munich and Israel would come to view terrorism and security. Fast forward 14 years to 1986. Eric and I, along with sons Paul and Jed, once again were living in Germany, in the beautiful Bavarian town of Augsburg. We arrived in 1985 during their 2,000^th year anniversary celebration! Talk about encountering history!

1985 Stamp Commemorating the 2000th Anniversary of the Founding of Augsburg

During that assignment we took a week-long trip to Israel in November 1986. Preparing to board the El Al flight from Munich to Tel Aviv, we experienced the most comprehensive and thorough security checks we have ever witnessed, long before the all-too-familiar protocols instituted following 9/11. We, along with all the other passengers in our tour group, were individually interrogated, luggage was randomly searched, then we were bussed out to our plane located on an isolated section of runway. As we at last began to taxi for take-off Eric looked out the windows on either side of the plane. Two German Polizei armored vehicles with mounted machine guns tracked close by the wingtips and accompanied us all the way down the runway. All access roads to the runway were simultaneously blocked by armored vehicles; the airport virtually shut down to see the flight become airborne! I felt a moment of panic at all the security precautions but my calm husband assured me that it was because of the security measures that I should sit back and relax. Fourteen years after the Munich massacre, it was very obvious Munich had not forgotten the summer of 1972, nor had we. I doubt that the exact same security measures for El Al flights are practiced today but “where we were when” in 1972 dictated our departure experience in 1986. We had slipped in and out of Munich’s tumultuous and tragic summer Olympic games of 1972 and “where we were when” in 1986 brought back a deja vu moment and a reminder how events change people and even nations.

** Quotations from an article in Vox as told to Eleanor Barkhorn

Jul 09 2020

My Friend Fritz – 1971

From the summer of 1970 through the summer of 1971, I served as the aide de camp for the Assistant Division Commander (Maneuver) of the 3^rd Infantry Division. My boss’ job put us in constant contact with various units of the German military, one of which was the 1^st German Airborne Brigade. My boss wore Belgian parachute wings so I paid attention to the jump wings of the other European countries. On one occasion I found myself in brief conversation with my boss’ counterpart, the commanding general of the German airborne unit. When I admired his jump wings, I was immediately invited to jump with his brigade during an upcoming training exercise in the Black Forest.

I was instructed to report at dawn to a checkpoint in the woods in the middle of nowhere in southern Germany. I didn’t speak German, but I found the first checkpoint and kept getting waived from one checkpoint to another. I finally got to a clearing with a runway and several French Nord Atlases all buttoned up and idling, ready to take off.

Even though I had on a class A uniform, it was clear through signals that they were waiting for me, and I was about to jump in a matter of minutes.

I parked my VW, stripped and put on fatigues and boots as fast as I’d ever done it in my life.

The door to one of the aircraft opened and I got on. When I looked around inside the dark aircraft, all I could see was a bunch of guys who looked like 6’5” Dolph Lundgren.

I figured out that particular look must have been a unit requirement! Only one guy spoke English, a red-headed Command Sergeant Major named Fritz Janke. He was barking orders in clipped German, but when he opened his mouth to speak to me, he spoke English like a backwoods chicken farmer from Alabama. I spent the next four days camping with the Germans and made five jumps with them. These guys were the hardest-drinking bunch I’d ever seen in my life. I had previously thought that distinction belonged to my cadet company, E-3. Each night we had a roast pig which we cut off pieces and ate with bread. Both during and after dinner, there were endless rounds of toasts, each one ending with German for “Luck going up.” I was more interested in “Luck coming down,” but that wasn’t the toast. Each toast included one shot of schnapps and a glass of pilsner. At the conclusion of the toasts, there were guys who were sufficiently unconscious that open heart surgery could have been performed on them and they wouldn’t have known it was happening! In spite of their condition, they were ready to jump at 5 AM!

It turned out that Fritz had been a 17-year-old private in the Waffen SS in WWII and had been captured at Bastogne. After he was captured, he told me that all members of the SS were separated and shipped back to Alabama as POWs. According to him, he escaped 25 times but there was no place for him to go. He said that he spent the remainder of the war picking cotton and collecting eggs in southern Alabama and that was how he acquired his accent. Being raised as a Florida Gator in SEC country, I immediately said, “Sergeant Major, that was your punishment. All those Alabama chicken farmers were stuck just like you and couldn’t get out, either. If they’d been able to, they’d all have been in Florida!” He didn’t get the joke, and I never had time to explain it.

Over the five days I was there, I became friends with a German 1st Lieutenant named Martin Roessler. On the last day, he needed one more jump to earn a bronze wreath around his wings, and I needed one more to qualify. Unfortunately, on the last day a 20-knot wind blew up and the jump was cancelled. An American general officer had showed up in his helicopter, and I pleaded with his aide to let us both jump from his aircraft. We only needed one jump, and if it went badly, we’d have time to recover in the hospital. Fortunately, we were appealing to a general who would have done the same thing himself, so Fritz took us up for our last jump out of a Huey. The last jump for both Martin and me was like jumping from the back of a deuce and a half – going 25 mph through an open field.

The field was soft, we both survived, and it made for good stories being told to this day.

9-11 – Executive Office of the President – 2001

GDP Redux – 1990

The Hanging Man – 1992

Where Were You When…? 1972

My Friend Fritz – 1971

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Suzanne Rice

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