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West Point Class of 1969

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Suzanne Rice

Mar 08 2020

Space-A Travel – 2000

Our daughter, Lesley, was a Fulbright Scholar in Mainz, Germany in 2000. Our daughter, Meredith, still a student at the University of Dallas (UD), had just completed her Rome semester at the UD Rome campus. She was spending some time with Lesley in Mainz before returning to the USA. Bill and I and our son, Christopher, aged 11, decided to try a new adventure – fly Space-Available to Germany to visit them. (Retired military could fly on a regularly scheduled military flight if there were extra seats – space available.) We would meet the girls at the Frankfurt Airport, pick up a rental car and stay overnight with friends in nearby Hofheim (The daughters of both families had participated in a high school Exchange Program in 1996 and had kept in touch.) before going to visit friends in Schwarzenau where we had lived during Bill’s second assignment in Germany from 1982-86. Our plan was to drive from there to Austria to meet friends Lesley had made during some of her foreign travels. Great plan if we could get on the plane in Atlanta!

For a Space-A flight, possible passengers must arrive at the airport many hours earlier than usual passengers, sign in and wait while the ticketed military personnel and their families are checked in and processed for the flight (Most of them are not traveling for a pleasure trip like ours, but are heading to a new duty station with all the apprehensions and stresses of moving to a foreign country). For the Space-A travelers, it was a waiting game; it was only after all the active-duty soldiers and families were on the plane, did it become clear if there were any seats left over. After about five hours of waiting, we were told that we had the last three seats! We quickly went to the pay phone to place a call to Germany to say that we would be in Frankfurt the next day. Yeah! The adventure was only beginning as we grabbed our bags and rushed to the plane.

No sooner did we store our carry-on bags under our seats and buckle our seat belts than an announcement came from a stewardess who was walking up and down the aisle, “Colonel Rice, Colonel Rice” repeatedly until Bill responded. The stewardess stopped at our seats and said, “All three of you come with me and bring your bags.”  Were we being removed from the flight? Why would that be? What about Lesley and Meredith in Germany?

As we re-entered the terminal, the stewardess told us quietly that Bill was the highest-ranking officer on the plane and that is why we were escorted off the plane first. It seems everyone would be getting off the plane behind us. The plane’s radio was not working, so the plane could not fly. We were given a voucher for dinner, as was the entire passenger list. They had no idea how long the repairs would take so we were advised to have dinner and listen for announcements about the progress of the repair team. In case of a long delay, we were offered a voucher for an overnight stay at a nearby motel which we declined; we could drive home in 20 minutes, if necessary. We ate dinner and then went back to the gate for a few hours sitting on the floor as we awaited the outcome of the repair work.

Hartsfield Airport
Waiting

About six hours later, we got the word that the radio had been repaired and we could board the plane again. Because of the difference in time and the fact that Lesley lived in a dormitory where the phone was in the hallway, we had been unable to contact them about the delay and when we might arrive (they only discovered our long delay after they arrived at the Frankfurt airport – six hours too early). Later, we learned that part of the long delay was that their usual procedures for replacing the radio were unsuccessful; someone eventually thought to buy a new radio at RadioShack and install it. Only problem with that was that all the Radio Shack stores were already closed for the night. Getting a replacement meant getting a manager to open his store long after business hours.

Radio Shack Closed for The Night

When we finally got into the air, the rest of the trip was wonderful and went off as planned: visiting with old friends and making some new ones. The return Space-A was another story.  

In and Out of Germany at Rhein-Main Air Base

We returned to Rhein-Main Airport following the same instructions: be there hours early and this time even a little earlier since we had to return the rental car beforehand. Luckily, the rental car office was in the same building as the check-in counter, so it didn’t take us long to return the car. It was only then, that we realized our lovely May trip to Germany was ending on Memorial Day weekend. We didn’t think that would affect us in Germany, but it seems that the school year for Department of Defense schools had just ended and many American dependents had decided to use this weekend to take a trip back to the USA. Why not? Summer was just beginning! Who would make the cut for travel – most of us were Space-Available? At the Rhein-Main desk, we were told to sign in and see what would happen. At some point, we were told that we were on the flight list; that would get Bill back to work on the day after Memorial Day as planned. We were on our way – at least until an announcement: this airplane needed some repairs, could not fly and we should come back tomorrow when they hoped repairs would be completed. We got the rental car back and went to find the military transient billets (hotel) on Rhein Main. No luck – no rooms at the inn! That is when Bill decided to drive back to Mainz and spend the rest of the day with Lesley and Meredith – there was no answer when we called the dorm phone, so we drove the hour trip to Mainz to surprise them!

We expected them to help us find a gasthaus (bed and breakfast German-style) for the night and have dinner with them. Turns out that Lesley had a better idea: stay in the dorm with them, Bill and Christopher in her tiny room – on the floor and in the twin bed; the three Rice ladies on the couches in the dormitory common area. She fixed us a lovely German oatmeal breakfast before we headed to Frankfurt again the next morning.

Getting back to Rhein-Main, we found a different problem: the original plane was not in service, yet, but a different plane might be possible transportation if they could get special permission to carry civilian passengers – it was a C-130 cargo plane that could carry 90 passengers and crew above a large open bay below for cargo.

Air Force C-130 with the Rice Family and Dangerous Cargo

If civilians were to travel on this flight, special permission was required because of the hazardous cargo aboard that had priority over Space-A passengers. Eventually, permission was granted, and we were ready to travel. Next problem: the flight was going to Dover, Delaware instead of Atlanta, Georgia.

Back in the USA at Dover AFB, Delaware

No problem. We’d get a rental car in Dover and drive home. That turned out to be easier said than done because it was Memorial Day weekend and there were no rental cars left when we arrived in Dover. We could get an airport shuttle the next morning to Baltimore Airport (two-hour drive) where there would be more cars available. We did that and from Baltimore, we started on the additional 14-hour drive. However, the trip ended up taking a lot longer. As we entered the city of Washington, D.C. on that Sunday morning, we made our first acquaintance with Rolling Thunder. We were met with hundreds of bikers on the streets of D.C. as we tried to pass through.

Rolling Thunder in D.C.

Rolling Thunder had been coming to D.C. on Memorial Day weekend since 1987 to commemorate the lives of their fallen comrades and to keep a light shining on the POW/MIAs of foreign wars. Coming from all over the country, these veterans would spend Memorial Day together, reminiscing and honoring our fallen military heroes. To accommodate all the bikers, the roads around Washington were closed or re-routed.

Patriotic Bikers

We found ourselves going around and around in circles not knowing where we were, where we were going, or how to get out of there. The map that we purchased to get home did not reflect the temporary closings and gave us no clue how to get out of town. (This was long before GPS.) Though we thought we would never find our way out of the big city, it was an unexpected, heartwarming and patriotic end to our Space-A adventure. And Bill did get home in time to go to work on Tuesday morning, though often along the way home we doubted if we would ever get home! It was quite an adventure.

Written by Suzanne Rice · Categorized: By Suzanne Rice

Feb 13 2020

What West Point Means to Me – Jack Gafford

West Point sets a guideline for my life conduct.  West Point is not perfect but points out what can be better.  It has been forgiving when I strayed from the path of doing what is right in the name of expediency.  West Point helped me to understand perfect conduct is an impossible goal and I must sometimes take a step backward to move two steps forward.

West Point taught me to admit when I was wrong.  Admission of wrong is very powerful and allows me to walk the path in a more honorable way.

West Point also taught me the benefits of teamwork and respect for every team member.  I gained the courage to embrace interdependence, not independence.  I owe my company mates for many lessons shown to me.

West Point’s motto “Duty, Honor, Country” has become for me “Duty, Honor, Humankind.” So, today, I may think in global terms, but I try to work and accomplish goals which are local.

Written by Suzanne Rice · Categorized: By Jack Gafford, What West Point Means to Me

Feb 13 2020

What West Point Means to Me – Pat Porter

For me West Point represents an ideal, a special place, a special experience, something that is a source of great pride. We not only were part of it as Cadets for four years, but we remain part of it forever, as members of The Long Gray Line.

Four years at West Point was not a typical college experience. It was extraordinarily rigorous, regimented, and demanding – academically, physically, mentally and emotionally.

There were good times – football weekends, Army-Navy games, athletic events, hops, company intramurals, Buckner summer (even though very physically demanding, I enjoyed it), First Class trip, classmate camaraderie, and many others. I didn’t even mind the parades (I’m in the minority on that), and was very proud to be part of the Color Guard in the fall of First Class year. There were also the tough, grinding experiences – Beast Barracks, Plebe year, gloom period, punishment tours, reveille, inspections, regimented life and other inconvenient obligations of being a cadet. But then, they were meant to be tough – they were part of the experience, part of the character molding, part of the making of a West Pointer. Whether enjoyable or unpleasant, all of those experiences were integral in shaping me and my future in a significant and positive way.

During the earlier years after graduation I did not give much thought or reflection to my years at West Point. My focus was initially on fulfilling the demands of being an Army Officer. After my service obligation, I focused on my civilian career. It was not until my first reunion at the 15 year mark, that I began to reflect on the profound impact West Point had on shaping my life, and the extraordinary influence of that experience. That contemplation and realization has only deepened as the years roll on. The camaraderie, classmate bonds, and the unique, special, and intense experiences we all shared are things I genuinely treasure. Very few young men and women ever have the opportunity for this kind of special experience. I am thankful that I had that opportunity, and am very proud to be a member of The Long Gray Line.

Written by Suzanne Rice · Categorized: By Pat Porter, What West Point Means to Me

Feb 13 2020

What West Point Means to Me – Sallie Wallace

After several intense years of “muddy boot” soldiering, our family needed a break.  West Point needed a Director of Institutional Research.  Perfect match, though we did not know for how long.   We were waiting for the next “list” that would determine Dick’s career course. Our daughter would later reflect that “lists” often weighed heavily on our family culture. Nonetheless, off we went from Colorado to New York.

When I think back on that time, I can only say it was a gift, a revelation  and a reassurance.

The gift:  West Point brought me rest in mind and mission.  As focused and productive as the workings of the academy were, they allowed me time to savor life, sit on my front steps in Lee Area on a spring afternoon and feed nuts to the neighborhood squirrel Stubby (so named because of a tale missing some of its fullness—the story behind that is probably part of squirrel lore somewhere). There were many idyllic moments like that:  walking my son and his friends to soccer practice, their  laughter trailing behind me; seeing a baby deer bedded down while the mother foraged close by; reading the entire history of America on the tombstones in the cemetery.  I would often slip out my kitchen door just before sunset on those lingering summer evenings and walk among the heroes who slept there—such peace. Such a privilege. West Point was a journey to a higher place.

The revelation:  Committing all to the defense of this great country had a day to day “on the ground” result.  The American family.   It was all around me there.  Waving to my neighbors, walking the dog, standing in respect for retreat.

West Point was an incubator building the right leaders.  West Point was also an American small town at its best—we were all safe, thriving and moving into the future.

The reassurance: The “list” came out and we were headed back to “muddy boots” duty, where soldiers are made.  It was one of Dick’s dreams to be on that “list”. I was thrilled for him; I also knew my upcoming role as a commander’s wife would be taxing.  My time at the academy became a pat on the back for me.  West Point was affirmation that all the work would be worth it, my contribution to Duty, Honor, Country.

Written by Suzanne Rice · Categorized: By Sallie Wallace, What West Point Means to Me

Feb 08 2020

Love at the Library – 1976

After I left Army Active Duty in 1974, I worked for the DuPont Company in Rochester, NY for fifteen years, making silver halide-based photographic film.  There came a time when it was apparent to me that the plant was doomed by the advent of digital film.  So, I started looking for other employment.  I knew that the job as Associate Director of Admissions at West Point had been filled as I had reached the fourteen-year mark, so I figured that was out.  I had not applied, because the fifteen-year mark was the threshold for survivor benefits for my wife, who I had met and married in Rochester in 1977.  It was also the yardstick for an opportunity to take an annuity at age 50—which I ultimately didn’t do.  But I asked the Civilian Personnel Office to let me know if the job became vacant again.  So, I looked at jobs in the Rochester area and applied to a Search Firm that looked for jobs nationwide.  I didn’t have any success.

Then, one day in March 1989, everyone was called in and plant management said we were going to downsize from 1100 to 325, and there was an incentive to leave by the end of the month.  I had a fairly decent job at DuPont and didn’t want to leave until I had fifteen years and a definite new job.

That afternoon when I got home, there was a letter from the Civilian Personnel Office at West Point, advising me that the Admissions job was open again.  I applied for the job, went for an interview, and was picked.  So, twenty years from the day I graduated, I went back to West Point.

I was supposed to start on Monday, June 5, when the new crop of Admissions Officers started their training.  The only problem was that I reached the fifteen-year mark on June 17.  I had several weeks leave coming, and I expected that that would be enough to carry me over the threshold.  However, DuPont personnel said I had to be actually at the Plant past fifteen years for me to get the service credit.  My boss in Admissions said they would cancel training on Monday, June 19, so that I could go back to Rochester on the weekend, appear at work there, and close out my career there that day.  So, I did. My wife, who was still in Rochester and supposed to be selling the house, soon thereafter informed me that she wasn’t coming and had filed for divorce.

One reason I was picked for the job was that I had been an Admissions Field Force member for thirteen years, receiving Army Reserve retirement point credit each year for the work I had done, so the bosses in Admissions were familiar with me and my work.  Admissions rewarded me with a Meritorious Service Medal for the work I had done in Rochester.

When I went to West Point in June of 1976 for training as a Military Academy Liaison Officer, the trainees were stationed outside the Library at one point, with each one being photographed individually, to be accompanied by the form “Information for Hometown News Release.”  I remembered seeing two women leave the Library, one very short and one very tall.  It turns out that that was the first time I laid eyes on my future wife—the short one.  I still remember that clearly.

I also worked for the Army Corps of Engineers as an Individual Mobilization Augmentee in New York District, and ended up as the Deputy Commander before moving on to a colonel’s slot at its higher headquarters, the North Atlantic Division.  I also went from one Army School course to another as I worked toward promotion in the Reserves.

More than a year later, in 1990, I was taking a correspondence course that required two term papers.  So, on a Sunday night, I went to the USMA Library to check out some books for research. I had been in the library as a high school student and as a cadet. As I went to the Circulation Desk, books in hand, I guess I was transported back in time to the way it had been before.  There were no Library Cards when I was a cadet.  I just took the card out of the pocket inside the back cover, signed Jannarone H-3, and went on my merry way. When the man in front of me was done, I looked for the card in the first book and was astounded to find that there was no pocket and no card.

Checking Out Library Materials – cadet-style*

The woman at the desk asked what was wrong.  I explained that there was no card for the book.  Then she asked me for my Library Card.  “What card?”  I was non-plussed.  She asked to see an ID.  I showed her my Department of the Army Civilian ID card.  When she said she would have to verify my employment in the morning, I took out my Army Reserve ID card and showed her that.  It was not acceptable.  So, I took off my class ring and held it out to her, saying if she would be good enough to give me the books now, I would be back tomorrow for whatever paperwork was required.

Without a word, she turned on her heels and walked away to a back room.  Soon another woman came out.  My jaw dropped, as this vision of loveliness, my age, my size, with no ring, asked if she could help me.  Regaining my composure, I said I wanted to check out books but didn’t have a Library Card.  She said she would put the books on a shelf at the desk, confirm my employment in the morning, and process my Library Card.  I thanked her and said I would be back at 1255 tomorrow.

The next day I took my usual two mile run at lunchtime, showered at the gym, and went to the Library at 1255.  Two ladies were at the Circulation Desk, and as I approached it, the vision of loveliness approached from the Reference Desk opposite it.

The two asked what I wanted.  I replied that I was Bob Jannarone and was coming to get my Library Card and books.  The two of them asked in unison if I was related to General Jannarone.  I replied that I was his second son.  The two of them introduced themselves and said they had known him in the Physics and Chemistry Department and as the Dean.  Apparently, they liked him.  They should have.  Dad treated the civilian staff well.

BG and Mrs. John Jannarone – Another Love Story

The Library Card was ready, I got my books, and thanked the two.  The vision of loveliness, who had moved to the Circulation Desk, too, tried to go back to her desk.  I cut her off at the entrance to the Circulation Desk and said I hadn’t gotten her name.  She gave it to me—Linda Thompson— and said she was the Circulation Librarian.

I saw her as I was coming out of the Admissions Office a few days later, when she was going for a walk at break time, and I called out to her.  I think she was surprised that I remembered her name.  By that time, I also knew her academic credentials by reading the West Point College Catalog, and I knew her address by looking in the West Point Phone book.

Linda (front right) with the Library staff**

One of my jobs as the Associate Director of Admissions was to manage five three-day visits to West Point.  Three were for high school guidance counselors, one for Congressional Aides, and one for West Point Admissions Participants.  For the counselors and aides, there was a coffee break in the rotunda outside South Auditorium of Thayer Hall, on the Thursday of the visit, before they went to classes with cadets.  There was another one on Friday in the West Point Room on the fourth floor of the Library before the Director of Admissions delved into the actual files of candidates for the next class.

After I met Linda, when the coffee breaks were over, I carried the excess doughnuts to the Library Circulation Desk, hoping that she might be there.

West Point Library Entrance – Circulation Desk (R) – location of doughnuts and Linda**

One Thursday afternoon, when the counselors were meeting cadets who were from their high schools, I walked to the Library, and she was at the desk.  I asked her if she had gotten one of the doughnuts that I left at the desk that morning.  She replied that she was on the night shift on Thursdays and had reported for work only a short time ago, and the doughnuts were probably gone within a few minutes of when I left them that morning.  She was working days on Friday, and opening shift on that Saturday.

Librarians at that time worked one weekday night and one shift every third weekend.  She always picked opening shift on Saturday, so it was a very rare occurrence that she had been on the closing shift on a Sunday when we met.

The next day soon after she got home from her day shift, the local flower shop delivered flowers to her.  She lived with her mother and aunt.  The aunt asked who they were from.  Linda said, “Remember General Jannarone?  These are from his son.”

Linda started work at the library in 1975, a year after my father retired, so she didn’t know him.  But Aunt Ruth had worked at West Point starting in 1942, first in the Law Department, then the Dean’s Office, as a schoolteacher in the West Point school, then a principal at the school.  She knew the name.  My brother Dick and my sister Nancy had been at the school when the aunt was there and were good students.   Aunt Ruth thought Linda meant grandson—a cadet—but Linda affirmed it was a son.  That was a point in my favor.

So, on Saturday morning, I went to the Library, stationed myself at the Card Catalog, and waited until Linda came over.

Card Catalog

She said the flowers were very nice, and then I asked her out to dinner.  She said no.  They were doing an upgrade to the computer system.  She was having to reconnect all the computers in the library, crawling under desks and tables, and she would be exhausted by the end of the day.  “Can I have a rain check?”  “Sure,” I said, “how about tomorrow?”

That was our first date.  We married in 1992, and the rest is history, except for one final point.

Bob and Linda – Happily Ever After

We bought a house in Cornwall-on-Hudson, furnished it, and settled in.  One day, Linda brought out some old pictures.  One was a graduation picture from 1983 and in another I recognized the girl in the picture as a younger version of my wife, with a much different hair style.  In fact, the one I had seen back in 1976 leaving the library.

Linda’s Graduation – 1983

 

The Young Lady Bob Saw in 1976

*Photos with permission of the Jack Engemann Collection at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County

** Photos courtesy of the West Point Library

 

 

Written by Suzanne Rice · Categorized: By Bob Jannarone

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