Suzanne Rice

Apr 06 2019

My “Combat” Jump – 1972

To this day I cannot remember why or how I got involved in skydiving. I only remember that it happened right after jump school at Fort Benning, Georgia. As a young single Second Lieutenant, I had some time on my hands during the Infantry Basic Course, so skydiving was one of the ways I filled up my Saturdays and Sundays. Since I had just completed jump school, my instructor did not take a lot of time teaching me the finer points of the sport. He briefly explained how to get out on the step of the small plane and then push off and form a spread-eagle position while I waited for the static line to open the parachute. I’m pretty sure I completed my static line jumps and my first five free falls in one weekend … and once I did, I was hooked.

sky dive West Point — **HE WAS HOOKED!**

I say he did not take a lot of time to teach me the finer points of sports jumping, but to be fair, I’m not sure that’s totally accurate. I only know that on my third free fall jump I ended up on my back as I was falling to earth, and no amount of kicking and jerking of my arms and legs was any help in getting my body to roll over into the proper face-down position. So, sensing that time was ticking away, I pulled my ripcord and soon enough I was jerked into the appropriate feet-to-earth orientation. I then looked up and discovered that my parachute was simply one big jumbled-up mess otherwise known as a malfunction. And that is when I discovered that the routine boring repetitious training that we had at jump school actually worked. I reached down and put my left hand over my reserve parachute and pulled the cord. I then took the spare chute in my hand fluffed it out until the wind caught it and it billowed up and it was time to start preparing to land. Upon landing my instructor explained that the way to right oneself was to simply arch your back and form a spread-eagle position again … and with that he sent me right back up for my final two free fall jumps.

From there I bought my own sports parachute gear and for the next four years I brought my gear with me wherever I went hoping to find a jump club where I could systematically start filling up my log book with a record of all my various and sundry jumps. While stationed with the Berlin Brigade in Berlin, Germany, I had occasion to jump in a number of different venues. Jumping in West Berlin was never going to happen for obvious reasons, but I did find a German jump club in Braunschweig, West Germany, which was about a two and a half hour drive away. It meant that I had drive through East Germany to get there, and I had to apply for a weekend pass whenever I wanted to go, but as long as I was judicious in how often I asked, my battalion commander was willing to accommodate my new-found passion.

Bapteme de l'air — **French Parachuting (Five Years Later)**

The other person I had to be careful with was my wife, Avril, of course. Looking back on it now, I realize that she was a lot more accommodating of my jumping habits than I realized at the time. Not only did she let me go away on those occasional weekends to Braunschweig, but she also allowed me to crisscross Europe on our vacations looking for jump opportunities. The result was that by the time my Berlin tour was over, I had logged-in jumps not only in Germany, but also in Spa, Belgium, and at a jump club near Salisbury, England, and even at an obscure drop-zone somewhere in Northern France. We had been to England for a couple of weeks, and as we were driving back to Berlin across France we passed by an open field that had a sign that read “Baptime de l’Aire”. Even though I had taken French at West Point I did not immediately recognize the phrase as relating to skydiving; but it did not take me too long to imagine that it might.

So, with Avril’s permission I turned the car around and went back to check it out, and sure enough it was a jump club. The French jumpers were more than happy to let me make a couple of jumps with them that day before we continued on our way.

All of the above explains how I ended up with my jump gear in Vietnam. When it was my turn to go to Vietnam in the Fall of 1971, I was due to fly out of McChord Air Force Base in Washington State. As it turned out, my roommate from our Firstie year was in medical school in Seattle. Also, there was at the time a huge skydiving center in nearby Snohomish, Washington, so I took all my jump gear with me. I stayed with John a few days and did some jumping and Space Needle sightseeing, and then headed off to Vietnam with my jump gear in tow.

Gear sack Vietnam — **Transportation for Ray’s Gear**

I was in Vietnam towards the end of American involvement there, so I ended up with several different assignments. I started out with the 101st Airborne Division up in Phu Bai, and from there I went to Long Binh before finally ending up in Cam Rahn Bay. Wherever I went I had my jump gear in tow, with the one exception being when I was at Firebase Jack – for obvious reasons. I never intended nor expected to get the opportunity to jump, of course, but having brought my gear with me to jump near Seattle, I had to take it with me the rest of the way. Oh, I just remembered, I did not take it with me on R&R in Hawaii, either. I’m pretty sure that was one occasion when Avril would not have been so understanding; and to be honest I really didn’t have jumping on my mind then, in any case.

Fast forward to my last week in Vietnam. I was sitting at a table in the Cam Rahn Bay Officer’s Club with several other guys drinking whatever; and somehow the subject turned to skydiving. As it happened, a number of the other guys either had been or still were skydivers. I’m pretty sure I’m the one who then confessed to the absurdity of the fact that I happened to have my jump gear with me in Vietnam. Imagine the shock when two other guys at the table confessed that they too had their jump gear with them! And as if that wasn’t shock enough, two of the remaining guys were Huey pilots and as a matter-of-fact asked the three of us if we would like to make a jump! What? How could that be possible? They simply said that if we wanting to make a jump, we should meet them at 0700 the next morning at a designated hanger, and they would take us up.

Parachuting Vietnam — **Parachuting From A Huey at Cam Ranh Bay**

We didn’t need to be told twice. At 0700, there we were right where they told us to be, dressed in our jump gear with our chutes on our back, ready to board their chopper. They told us that they would take us out into the boonies and up to about 12,000 feet and let us jump. They also told us that since there was no telling who or what might be out there we should immediately prepare to be picked up once we landed. The other two jumpers were more experienced than me, so they told me to jump first and then they would follow and hook up with me. It all went like clockwork. When the pilots gave us the go signal, I jumped out and did the best spread-eagle position I knew how; and the other two guys came and hooked up with me. We probably held the three-pointed star for about 20-30 seconds and then pulled our ripcords and landed and scooped up our chutes and waited for the chopper. The pilots came down and whisked us away back to the Cam Rahn airfield thus ending my one and only “combat” parachute jump … far and away the most memorable one in my log book!

Mar 08 2019

Y2K – 1999

We probably all remember where we were on December 31, 1999. When the clock struck midnight, the world was supposed to go dark and anarchy was going to spread across the globe.

The Days Forward in Sydney — **ANA HARBOUR GRAND HOTEL, SYDNEY**

For me, the Y2K fiasco started long before that dreaded night, when I was the general manager of the ANA Harbour Grand Hotel in Sydney, Australia. In 1996, the hotel’s tech department and every conceivable expert informed me that our entire system was vulnerable to complete failure unless we updated every piece of computer equipment. So, the race began, and we spent several hundred thousand dollars on doing just that.

This was not our only concern, however. Also at stake were the over 1,400 people in the hotel, celebrating what would be the biggest party that Sydney would ever see. The fireworks were forecasted to be the most spectacular ever witnessed. The hotel commands sweeping views of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House, so in addition to our other restaurants, the rooftop restaurant and bar was going to be packed. The $1,500 per seat packages along the windows sold out before the $1,000 per seat packages. Everyone wanted to celebrate the “turn of the century.”

**READY FOR CELEBRATING THE “TURN OF THE CENTURY”**

The problem was that the hotel was hermetically sealed, and no windows could be opened. The windows had over a dozen different thicknesses, depending on which direction the rooms faced and how high up the 36 stories they were located. If the power went out for an extended period, the hotel would have to be evacuated immediately, and our emergency generators were only powerful enough to run a few elevators and emergency lighting. Compounding the capacity issue, when marble floors—which were everywhere in the hotel—heat up from a cooled state, they sweat, and the floors become skating rinks. Being summertime in Australia, the hotel would eventually become very hot.

Of course, once evacuated, what then? Locals could get home, somehow. However, non-Sydney residents had nowhere to go. This is where Saint Patrick’s church, about a quarter mile down the street came into play. Luckily, the pastor granted me permission to use the church as a refuge until the hotel became suitable again for occupation.

The only thing left to do was wait.

On that much-anticipated night, every member of management was on duty with specific responsibilities in case the Y2K dire predictions became a reality. Our command center was in the telephone switchboard room, and we all had two-way radios to communicate with each other.

As expected, the hotel was booming, with 100 percent occupancy in the rooms and restaurants.

We were all extremely tense, but then something happened that made us breathe a little easier. New Zealand did not go dark and descend into chaos! Two hours ahead of us, the country was a good test. If they didn’t succumb to madness, then Australia certainly wouldn’t. Of course, we had 2 more hours before the theory could be proved.

The minutes ticked away, and we were finally at that moment when years of efforts either paid off or were all for naught. Then it happened. The clock ticked to midnight.

The lights go out!

My heart jumped into my throat, and I let out a sound of anguish. But to my surprise, the lights came on 5 seconds later! As it turned out, my front office manager had flicked the light switches off. I nearly throttled him, but he was a lot younger and bigger than me, so it would not have been wise. In the end, we had a huge laugh and enjoyed the rest of the night into early morning with our guests.

When I think of all the time and money that went into Y2K efforts worldwide, it seems like the greatest hoax ever perpetrated. Yet it resulted in memories that will never be forgotten.

Feb 16 2019

The Castle Award – 2017

Having attended West Point Founders Day dinners for almost 50 years, many at the Washington D.C. West Point Society Chapter, I have watched throughout the years as the Castle Award was given to people that I have known and admired. That is why when the call came that I was to be so honored, I was surprised, very humbled. My part of the ceremony was to accept the award and address those assembled at the dinner. Here is a copy of my thoughts upon receiving this honor.

Thank you for the faith and trust you have placed in me as this year’s recipient of the Castle Memorial Award. It is an honor that I will never forget, and I will strive to maintain the legacy of those who came before me.

In preparation of my remarks, our Society President General Guy Swan gave me guidance: “Prosch, be brief, be bright, and be gone”.

So, I am going to share a few West Point vignettes, provide some observations on our older grads and younger grads, and strive to meet those instructions.

West Point Cadet Parade — **Cadet Parade**

Baseball game at West Point 1969 — **Baseball at West Point**

My first visit to West Point was in the 1950’s as a Cub Scout. My dad, the pack master, took us up for a field trip. We climbed over old cannons at Trophy Point, saw a parade, and watched an Army baseball game.

On the trip back home, my dad informed me that his Army Air Corps B-17 squadron commander was a West Pointer and a very good leader. He cited how in the early stages of WWII, the U.S. Army 8th Air Force was assigned the daylight bombing missions over Germany—and was taking heavy unit casualties – and that the unit living and working conditions in rural England were very poor. Shortly after the new West Point squadron commander arrived, however, positive changes occurred. Field sanitation and rations improved. They moved from tents to Quonset huts.

The new squadron commander bore into morale issues such as late pay and mail. But more importantly, he trained them relentlessly, around the clock in gunnery proficiency—to be deadly accurate. The B-17 bomber with six turrets and dual 50 caliber Browning machine guns was called the “Flying Fortress”.

B-17 in flight — **Flying Fortress, B-17**

The squadron conducted drills, rehearsals, and practice bombing raids on the base runway. The commander made them fly in tight formations to put out a 50-caliber wall of steel. Squadron casualties dropped dramatically.

**WWII Military Personnel in England in Front of Quonset Ht**

My dad told this story to an enraptured 9-year-old boy while driving back to the suburbs of New York City. He never mentioned West Point again to me …… But he did keep his Eisenhower Jacket with Major oak leaves and combat decorations hanging in his closet …eight years after my Cub Scout trip, I entered West Point.

1943 Britain — **Geoff’s father, John, center, in Wartime Britain, 1943**

On 4 June 1969, I witnessed what I then thought was the greatest sight in my life — West Point in the rearview mirror of my car. But I have learned that it was not West Point I was speeding away from on graduation day, rather my TAC (Tactical Officer – the Officer in charge of each cadet company), Central Area (where cadets walked off demerits),

and Final Exams. I discovered that I enjoyed the Army—reinforced by heavy leadership responsibilities and close relationships with soldiers. In fact, over the years, West Point has drawn me home. Each visit still invigorates my spirit and soul. When I eventually reboot from the private workforce to the full-time volunteer ranks, West Point will remain the center of gravity of my volunteer efforts and passion.

I am a child of the WWII generation: American men and women who grew up in the Great Depression, served in WWII, defeated the world’s tyrants, and then devoted their adult years to the building of modern America. This spectacular generation shaped our lives. They included our parents, teachers, ministers, and hometown merchants—who showed us the way through their own standards of hard work, sacrifice, and personal responsibility. These were lessons that have impacted my generation and which we have strived to pass onto our children. Our WWII veterans are with us in spirit, they are older, they are moving on, and they are all commemorated by the magnificent WWII memorial on the national mall—with great leader quotes carved in the stunning white marble columns, including GEN George Marshall’s quote (ROTC Virginia Military Institute, who gets my vote for greatest Soldier/Statesman of the 20th Century).
“We are determined that before the sun sets on this terrible struggle, our flag will be recognized throughout the world as a symbol of freedom on the one hand and of overwhelming force on the other”.

We greatly admire our WWII era grads, but we also are in awe of our younger grads. They watched the twin towers fall in New York City. They reacted, as we all did, with disbelief and with anger. And then this generation reacted with fierce determination. They made a promise to their country that they would lead in the battle for civilization in the global war on terror. They volunteered for Army duty and have served annual combat tours back—to—back—to back since 9/11. They are in for what they can give—not what they can get. You young military veterans, will be recognized as the greatest generation of this century — you represent America’s values and greatness at its core.

We appreciate the great work done by the West Point Class of 1958 who established and manages today the Walter Reed “Wounded Warriors Mentor Program” which has touched so many West Point Warriors including Dan Berschinski, Class of 2007, and Larkin O’Hern, Class of 2008. Dan, who lost both legs above the knee and his left arm from an IED in Iraq, advises, “I can still kick ass. I just need you old grads to tell me which ass to kick”. Larkin, who similarly, lost both legs above the knee and an arm in Iraq from an IED says his favorite quote comes from Winston Churchill: “Never, never, never give up.”
Today we see in our young grads the face of courage. We are inspired by their tenacity and strength. These American Soldiers are the future of our great Army. The Army and the American Soldier who have kept the wolf out of the barn since 1775 . . . And who will never … never … never give up. Army Strong. Thank You.

Feb 09 2019

Love At First Sight? Really? 1970

It was the fall of 1968. The Corps had returned from summer activities – leave & cadet duty (mine was Army Orientation Training [AOT] with the

101st Airborne at Fort Campbell}, and academics & extracurricular activities were in full swing. I was privileged enough to be selected by my peers at KDET, our school radio station, to be the Station Manager. Shortly thereafter, I went over to Building 600, which housed administrative functions, including the Post Signal Office, to conduct the customary meeting between the Station Manager and the faculty advisor, whose assigned position was Post Signal Officer. As I entered the office, my attention was immediately riveted on the receptionist, who was one of the most beautiful young women I had ever seen in my brief adult life. I distinctly remember thinking, “I want her to be the mother of my children!” That may sound corny, but it was absolutely my reaction. Her name was JoAnne, the spelling of which I found intriguing, and subsequent to that first meeting, I asked her out. I learned that she recently had graduated from the State University of New York, at Oneonta, with a degree in education, and was working as a secretary until she could find a teaching position in the local area. We began dating regularly and I learned the attraction was mutual.

We continued seeing each other the rest of Firstie year, with one of the highlights being the Ring Hop (a formal dance held to celebrate receiving new Class Rings).

Another highlight occurred during a powerful winter storm that descended just prior to St. Patrick’s Day in early 1969. The weather encompassed a significant area in the northeast and closed down much activity for a few days; it hit particularly hard at our location in upstate New York. On somewhat of a whim, I thought it would be a great

surprise to visit Jo at her home, which was about 2 ½ miles away in Highland Falls. So, I slogged through a couple of feet of snow to appear at her front door. Needless to say, she was quite surprised, as were her parents, who were unable to get to work because of the snow (always good to make points with potential in-laws). The relationship grew; we got pinned (the USMA version of “going steady”) and I gave her a miniature of my class ring.

We spent nearly all our free time together, limited more by my schedule than hers. Graduation came and went, and we maintained our relationship on a long-distance basis while I was assigned to Fort Benning for Airborne, Ranger and Basic Infantry Officer training. When I returned home prior to the Basic Course for Christmas leave and was visiting Jo and her family, I concocted a scheme to lure her into Newburgh and while she was shopping, snuck into a jewelry store and bought an engagement ring. On our way back to her house, I sprung the question while stopped at a traffic light (I did not, however, get down on one knee for obvious reasons). Momentarily taken aback, she recovered her composure and said yes! We set a temporary date and I returned to Benning.

While there I discovered that the US Air Force had a regular shuttle flight along the east coast, which stopped at Warner Robbins Airbase in Georgia and McGuire Airbase in New Jersey. I researched the logistics and determined that even though we trained Saturday mornings (six-day workweeks were standard in the Army at that time), it was theoretically possible to make the 90+ mile automobile trip from Benning to Robbins Saturday after class in time to catch the flight to McGuire. Jo would make the 120-mile trip from her home to meet me there, where we could be together for about 24 hours. One time, I even arranged the necessary removal of some wisdom teeth to occur on a Friday afternoon, so I would not have to go to class the next day while recovering from the procedure. That allowed me to leave with enough time to drive leisurely, rather than frenetically, though my Corvette was up to the latter task.

After Benning, I reported along with several classmates, to Fort Carson for my first assignment with 2d Battalion, 10th Infantry, and we finalized the date of our wedding. We set it for August 29, 1970, which would give enough time to plan. We made arrangements to have the ceremony at the Air Force Academy Chapel in Colorado Springs.

Jo joined me a little over two months prior, getting a temporary job at a fabric store, since she was quite adept at sewing, while I ran around in the nearby woods, doing Army things. Two of those Army things

turned out to have an impact on our wedding plans. First, subsequent to us setting the date and making arrangements, the luck of the draw caused my Battalion to be scheduled for a one-month readiness assignment involving potential riot response duty for anywhere west of the Mississippi, which overlapped our wedding date. Since ours was what is now called a “‘destination wedding”, our parents, and Jo’s brother and sister, who were part of the wedding party, would join us in Colorado Springs. The only downside was the fact that our “honeymoon” would have to take place in nearby Denver, instead of a romantic getaway site.

**Standing Throughout the Whole Ceremony**

Second, a little less than two months before the actual wedding date, my battalion was conducting an exercise in Pike National Forest. I had completed my company time and was elevated to Battalion staff as the assistant operations officer (assistant S-3). After we completed the exercise, the unit moved back to main post and I was designated the officer in charge of the Detachment Left in Contact (DLIC), which in a non-combat environment was the cleanup detail. After the cleanup, as we were ready to begin our return to Carson, I and my driver, who was primarily an armored personnel carrier (APC) driver, were motoring quickly along a gravel road in an M151A1 Jeep, when we came to a sharp turn in the road. He started to make the left turn, when the wheels broke loose on the gravel and we skidded sideways. The tires hit the adjoining grass surface, and the Jeep, having a documented notoriously high center of gravity, started to roll over in my direction. My driver was able to jump out as the Jeep rolled, but I wasn’t so lucky. I almost made it, but the side of the Jeep caught my left leg just below the knee breaking the fibula, though I was able to avoid being crushed by the vehicle. When the dust settled, my driver kept apologizing as he helped me limp to the nearest aid station, which was just a quarter of a mile down the road. The medics temporarily patched me up and we finished the move back to post, with me stopping at the emergency room of the hospital. They put my entire left leg in a walking cast and told me it would take approximately two months to heal enough to walk without it. They immediately scheduled me for a one-month follow-up.

During the four weeks’ time, I managed to become mobile enough to be able to go to the field without crutches. At my one-month appointment, the doctor removed the cast, did an examination and told me he would give me a different cast which could be taken off in a month, assuming my leg was healing properly. Since that would occur approximately a week after our wedding, I respectfully told him that the cast had to be off before then, since I wasn’t about to walk down the aisle on my wedding day limping along in a cast. Although it was personal, it became my self-appointed mission, not unlike many at USMA, especially during Beast Barracks. Being compassionate, he modified his prognosis, had me report in two weeks, reexamined me then and gave me some mobility tests. I did well enough to not need the cast, so he wished me good luck and sent me on my way. Although the muscles in the leg atrophied to some extent from lack of normal use, I was able to carefully ambulate for the ceremony, much to Jo’s delight.

Throughout this whole process, she stepped up to the role of wife somewhat prematurely, in a stellar way, doing all she could to make my life easier. I knew I had made the right choice for a lifelong partner.

Jan 09 2019

Keeping In Touch With A Soldier 1970-2015

It all started with a blind date in 1970 arranged by Bill’s childhood friend who had just graduated from the USAF Academy – well, not exactly. It was really initiated by his new wife who was teaching next to me at Sperreng Middle School in Crestwood, Missouri. Previously having introduced Bill to lots of girls, they had once even fixed him up on a cadet trip to Colorado Springs with a young lady whose name they claimed to be Cherry Tart or was it really Sherry Tarte? (Never knew if they were pulling my leg or if it was true!) Bill and I had several dates that first Christmas, and then, Bill, by now a First Lieutenant, was on his way back to his assignment in Dachau, West Germany.

USA Stamp from 1971 — **1971 Airmail Stamp**

This would be my first experience with how it was possible to communicate with an American Army soldier stationed far away.

We wrote a lot of letters for 18 months.

At that time, if I sent an Air Mail letter on a Monday written on very thin airmail paper and placed in special airmail envelopes (it would be weighed to be certain that it was not too heavy), it would arrive in Germany on Wednesday and, if Bill had time to answer immediately, I would get a response by Saturday. Pretty quick turn-around. One week, I received a letter, a cassette, a card and some photos! Over the months, we began to expect quick responses. We even arranged a visit to Germany the next Christmas – all by Air Mail. Not sure how that could have possibly worked but it did. Weeks before my trip, Bill sent me a phone number for the staff duty office in case he didn’t meet me on time at Frankfurt Airport. How could he have possibly known that his car would break down on Christmas Eve, the day of my arrival, that he would have to find a rental car in Augsburg to pick me up from the airport (a trip of about three hours) and that he would be two hours late; I thought I had forgotten what he looked like since we hadn’t seen each other for a year. As I waited in the airport, it took me a while to figure out how to get German money without knowing a word of German and to make the telephone call. After more than an hour of waiting, I decided to call the staff-duty officer who immediately said, “I’m so glad you called. Captain Rice left a message for you.”

Because of this ease of communication, you can imagine the discomfort Bill felt when I didn’t answer the proposal of marriage letter he wrote the next February and sent from Grafenwohr where he was on a field problem.

West Point Grafenwohr Training Area — **Grafenwohr Training Area**

The letter took more two weeks to arrive in St. Louis. If I had been he, I would have assumed that my answer to his proposal was “NO” and that would have been the end of that! Instead, when he returned from his field duty in Grafenwohr, he worked up his courage to make an international call. To do that, he had to go to an American bank on post, purchase a whole lot of Deutschmark and pfennig coins – about a bucketful – and drive to the middle of town to the Deutsche Bundespost (Post Office).

Deutschmark Coins — **Deutschmark and Pfennig Coins**

He then had to get the post office attendant to connect him to a telephone operator in the USA and then proceed to keep the coins continually going into the telephone to keep the connection to me active. Happily, his proposal letter arrived earlier on the same day that he was sitting in the Post Office with his pile of coins and I was able to give him an immediate answer when he asked, “Did my letter arrive?”

We always have had a soft spot in our hearts for the U.S. Postal Service, as you might surmise. There was more to come. I received my engagement ring from the postman on a Saturday in March 1972. Friends of Bills’ from his first unit in Dachau, who were PCS-ing (Permanent Change of Station) back to the U.S. offered to send the ring from Ohio upon their return to the U.S. so that it would be a shorter and safer mode of travel to me in St. Louis

West Point Engagement — **Well-traveled Engagement Ring**

For Bill’s birthday in 1972, I decided to make a phone call to him from my parents’ home in Southern Illinois. He had just been in a serious accident in Grafenwohr in which he had been thrown through the front glass window of his jeep and glass shards had been embedded into his face and eyes. At the time, an international phone call was very expensive, and his mother told me not to call – it would be more than I would spend on a different gift, she said. I did it, anyway, but the bill didn’t come until after our marriage and our return to Germany for the rest of his assignment. When the phone bill did arrive, I discovered his mother had been right – that one phone call cost $180!

Military families face many times of separation, so communication becomes very important to the soldier and his family. In 1973, when Bill went off to Korea for a year unaccompanied assignment soon after our marriage, we experienced a new way of communicating – the MARS station, that could relay phone conversations. The MARS system was begun in 1926 and has been very helpful for soldiers and families since then (and still today).

Military Auxiliary Radio System — **MARS Insignia**

A network of volunteers, licensed amateur radio operators, connect the soldier with his family. This is a free service that uses no satellite connections but is a network of high frequency radios bouncing their signals off the ionosphere providing long-distance communications. It worked like this: a soldier went to a MARS station where he could initiate a call and a connection was established to a network of radio operators. As the conversation began, the soldier would say a sentence or two and then say “Over”. It was then that a response could start which also ended with “Over”. (It was hard to remember!) The “conversation” could only be a few minutes but was better than a letter because we could hear each other’s voices. When the time was up, the soldier ended it with “Out” and it was over. I didn’t realize it at the time that the radio operators were listening to the conversations. (They had to be listening so that they knew when to flip the switch from one side of the conversation to the other.) A friend told me about a conversation with her husband from Vietnam: there was some interference on the line, so she didn’t know how to answer. She was surprised to hear a new and unexpected additional voice – the radio operator – who told her, “Ma’am, he said he loves you!” These “phone patches” still remain an active project and a back-up to our more sophisticated communication should we ever need it.

Military Radio Equipment — **MARS Amateur Radio Equipment**

Military Radio Operators — **Volunteer MARS Radio Operators**

In 1992, when Bill, now a Colonel, was in Kuwait setting up Kuwait Forward after Operation Desert Storm; he had a room of his own with a phone that could make calls to Army posts in the US. He could then have his calls patched through to our home in GA. What a treat it was to get a call as often as he could find the time. And no “Over” and “Out”. Progress in twenty years!

One of our favorite communications whenever Bill was traveling was for each family member to write some little sticky-notes (crayon drawings from our little son, and short messages from the rest of us) and tuck them into the toes of socks, into the pockets of BDU’s (Battle Dress Uniform), into the ”Dopp-kit” (toiletries case) with the toothpaste and shaving cream, in the toes of boots, etc., etc. Wherever we could hide them. How simple is that?!?

Bill liked these notes so much that when he was no longer the traveler, he would hide notes in our children’s luggage. Being able to relate to the pressures of a New Cadet, he put notes into our son’s bags whenever he would head back to West Point from leave at home.

By 2015, when our son was deployed to Afghanistan, we could email, text, and talk face-to-face and even use cell phones from his room on a forward operating base. Amazing. How will soldiers and their families communicate in the future? Who knows!

I suggest letters, anyway. As nice as all the new-fangled communications are, an old-fashioned letter has some still important features. It can be tucked into a pocket for reading whenever the soldier misses his family and as many times as he likes – no wires, no batteries, no power needed.