Suzanne Rice

Jul 11 2018

Caring for Army Families – 2001

When I arrived in the Pentagon in June 2001, one of our biggest challenges was dealing with the Army’s old, deteriorating and insufficient number of on-post family housing units. One of the ugliest secrets in the Army was that married junior enlisted soldiers could not get housing on post. The neediest were moved to the back of the line. They were forced to live in trailer parks long distances from post often in unsavory neighborhoods–with drive-by shootings and lousy schools. This big quality of life issue was magnified when we began deploying our Soldiers to Iraq and Afghanistan every other year—leaving their families in jeopardy.

The sad history of poor, scarce enlisted Army on-post housing was punctuated with the suicide of 13-year-old Danny Holley in Marina, CA outside the gates of Fort Ord in 1984. Danny’s father was serving an unaccompanied tour of duty in Korea following a transfer from Germany. He left his wife and four children at Fort Ord. They could not get housing on post and were forced to live off-post in a tiny home at an exorbitant rent. The danger signals came when Danny was found collecting bottles for tiny refunds and visiting the Army Community Services Food Pantry seeking to obtain food for himself, his sister and two brothers. When he hung himself, his suicide note read: “If there is one less to feed, maybe things can be better”.
When the Army considered the situation further, it was learned that there were 37 Army families living in tents on camp grounds at Fort Ord. This tragic incident was one spark that motivated Congress ultimately to pass legislation authorizing the Department of Defense (DOD) to privatize military housing via the Military Housing Privatization Initiative (MHPI) as part of the National Defense Authorization Act of 1996. The leadership of former Congressman Leon Panetta (Ft. Ord was in his CA District) was critical to getting this legislation passed. (Note: Secretary of Defense from 2011-2013, Leon Panetta was the 2015 Association of the U.S. Army Marshall Award Winner.)

Leon Panetta caring for army — **Congressman Leon Panetta (D, CA**)

Each uniformed service created a new or augmented an existing organization to implement the MHPI legislation. The Army’s approach was to create the Residential Communities Initiative (RCI) to manage this process. When I arrived at the Pentagon, the RCI program was just beginning to take root.
RCI champions came from both sides of the aisle — but most notable was former Congressman Chet Edwards (D, TX), with the Army’s RCI Pilot Project at Ft. Hood in his district. Because it was a new program that did not quite fit the mold of established real estate projects, there was uncertainty on Wall Street and the banks were skeptical of providing debt funding to the Ft. Hood RCI Project. Chet Edwards weighed in, and lent his support both inside and outside government. As a former real estate executive, Congressmen Edwards had a unique perspective and understanding of both the governmental and the private sector requirements associated with this program. In essence, he became an important “Rosetta Stone” for governmental and commercial entities.

Chet Edwards CEO — **Congressman Chet Edwards (D, TX)**

The beauty of RCI funding is that the income stream comes from the Soldiers’ Basic Allowance for Housing. In this sense the revenue that would be available to the various projects was an entitlement as opposed to annual discretionary funding such as military construction budgets. The Army was able to select world class industry housing development partners and hired Jones Lang LaSalle (led by Dr/COL retired Barry Scribner USMA 1974) to augment the Army RCI team. We created a privatized housing acquisition center of excellence at the Baltimore District of the Corps of Engineers with outstanding attorneys and financial analysts.

A key ingredient to our success was the financial genius of my USMA 1969 classmate Tom Fagan. After over 20 years active duty and a very successful career in finance, Tom, following 9/11, agreed to lend his expertise to the Army as a civilian consultant for the program under Jones Lang LaSalle. Tom’s financial and development acumen were key to the success of the RCI program. In fact, one of the projects that he led for the Army in Hawaii was named Wall Street magazine, Project Finance’s – “Deal of the Year” in 2005.

RCI enabled the total recapitalization and expansion of the Army’s family housing inventory via a collaborative process called the Community Development Management Plan (CDMP). The CDMP took a holistic view of the residential portion of a military installation and added quality of life improvements such as neighborhood community centers, jogging trails, and new/improved schools. This could never have been accomplished under the old Corps of Engineers military construction (MILCON) method.

The next time you are on an Army post, check out the Family Housing neighborhoods…I believe you will find quality homes, in friendly neighborhoods, where you would be proud to have your children and grandchildren live.

Privatizing the Army’s family housing inventory was my proudest accomplishment as a President George W. Bush appointee in the Pentagon leading the Army’s Installations and Environment team.
Examples of Residential Communities Initiative Military Housing

Ft. Drum, NY

Ft. Stewart, GA

Ft. Lewis, WA

Ft. Rucker, AL

Jul 08 2018

From Crossed Rifles to the Cross – 1975

I was rummaging through a box of stuff recently and came across a photograph of myself dating back to my high school days. Looking at my young self-50+ years later got me to thinking … how did I go from that 17-year-old kid to a 71-year-old retired pastor with 30+ years of ministry experience? Or, how did I go from “Cross Rifles” on my lapels to “The Cross”?

That probably seems like a relatively easy question to answer since like my other stories it simply calls for a recitation of the historical events that led from one thing to another. But truth be told it is not nearly as simple as that. For how does one explain in any meaningful way how one gets changed from the inside out … and where do you begin telling the story?

I think that from a very young age God and I had always been playing a game of hide and seek. When I was hiding from Him He would be seeking me … and when I was seeking Him He was nowhere to be found. Not because He wasn’t there, but because I was looking in all the wrong places. But as I said in one of my other stories, God has been truly good to me right from the start.

I point to two people as being the most influential in pointing me to a lasting faith in Christ. The first was my roommate during our Firstie year, and the second was my wife. From my roommate I got to watch someone live out his faith in real everyday human terms for nine full months. He gave me reason to believe that there might be something real to this idea of being “born again”. And from my girlfriend and eventual wife I had a reason to continue playing hide and seek until I finally ended up looking in the right place. Once I met Avril I knew I did not want to lose her and I knew I wanted what she had so that we two could truly become one.

The most poignant thing that I remember about things relating to God growing up was the gnawing question, “What’s going to happen to me when I die?” That and the fact that I did not think I was going to fare very well when the time came to find out. I grew up attending church very routinely, but even that did not do anything lasting to help alleviate my uncertainty. So, as I grew up, I measured everything I learned about God and religion to how close it came to giving me a final answer to the big question. My roommate was one of the first people I ever remember meeting who could sincerely answer that question for himself … and Avril was another. I watched him closely…and I became more and more convinced that Avril was a keeper.

So, just as my interest in all things Russia were systematically imprinted on my life as time went by, so too were things about God and the big chill imprinted on me as well. After West Point and marriage to Avril, the next place that imprinting happened was in Berlin. Soon after Avril arrived she met another Army wife who asked her if we would like to attend a home Bible study at their apartment. It was taught by an older American missionary couple and after dipping our toes in the water Avril and I made it a regular habit during our time in Berlin. Nothing permanent happened with regards to an answer to the question, but it was certainly something that the Lord used to keep nudging me forward.

My time in Vietnam was another period of significant imprinting. I would imagine that the question, “What’s going to happen to me when I die?” is one that a lot of people ask in such circumstances. It certainly was in mine. That and the fact that I simply ran into an unending stream of people who all seemed to have the same kind of sincere answer to the question for themselves that I had originally found with my roommate and Avril. It’s the one that Jesus so succinctly makes in the Gospel of John, chapter 3, verse 7, “You must be born again.” Even so, as with Berlin, nothing permanent happened with regards to an answer to the question during my time in Vietnam.

Finding the answer for myself didn’t happen until after I got back to the United States and into my assignment with the 5th Special Forces Group at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Soon after arriving there I was sent as a liaison officer to work in the Tactical Operations Center of a Joint Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines Task Force. I will never forget what happened. I was in the middle of a late-night shift in the TOC, and a big, impressive African-American Army chaplain came walking through with a pile of books in his arms up to his chin. He asked me if I would like something to read and I said sure. With that he handed me a book from his pile and kept on walking.

The book he gave me was “The Cross and the Switchblade” by Rev. David Wilkerson. I read the book off and on as I had time until my shift was over and then I went back to my tent to finish it. As soon as I closed the book I realized that I could no longer avoid the obvious … I must be born again. So, I began to pray. For the first time in my life I prayed as if God were real and I really wanted to talk to Him and I really wanted to hear from Him. I prayed all kinds of stuff. I remember saying something like knowing I had messed up my life and I was a sinner and wanted to know I was forgiven. At one point I even prayed through the Apostle’s Creed confessing that I believed all those things it says. All I know is that somehow, somewhere in the middle of my prayer, I sensed the great burden of my burning question that had been weighing me down for years was lifted. I felt clean and new and different … and I knew what was going to happen to me when I died. I was going to be with God forever. The day was Thursday, May 18, 1972.

All of this was part of the necessary process if God was eventually going to take me from “Crossed Rifles” to “The Cross”. 2 Corinthians, chapter 5, verse 17, which has been a favorite of mine for a long time now, says, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation, the old things have passed away and all things have become new.” That’s the way I felt going forward. From the time I was 10 years old I had thought I was supposed to go to West Point and become a career officer in the Army. But now I thought differently. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, but I felt deep inside it was something else. In due course I resigned my commission and Avril and I moved to White River Junction, Vermont, where we found teaching positions in the schools there. Avril taught high school choir and I taught 5th grade math. And, while we were searching for a home to buy, we also found a little Bible church which we started to attend.

In that Bible church we started to grow in our faith and in due course I found out what I was supposed to do with the rest of my life. God pointed me in the direction of seminary with the goal of eventually becoming a pastor. The brand-new pastor of Valley Bible Church (his first Sunday at the church was the first Sunday we walked in the door) had gone to Dallas Theological Seminary, so that’s where I ended up going. We arrived in Dallas in August of 1975, and four years later I left with a Master’s in Theology with a major in Bible Exposition.

West Point The Days — **Dallas Theological Seminary**

I didn’t end up going straight into the ministry as I had originally imagined. We moved back to White River, Vermont, and I worked in business for six years. In due course, the Lord did lead us into ministry, though, when in 1985 I became pastor of Church of the Open Door in Hampden, Maine. A year later, when I heard that a Maine Army National Guard Engineer Battalion a couple of miles down the road needed a Chaplain, I interviewed for the position and was accepted.

A couple of years earlier while living in Vermont I had had my commission reinstated and had served there as an Infantry officer, so it was a relatively simple process to get a branch transfer from the “Crossed Rifles” of the Infantry to “The Cross” of the Chaplains Corps.

**Maine Army National Guard Engineer Battalion Crest**

Jul 08 2018

Welcome to the Draft Army – 1970

As a cadet my vision of the Army was based primarily upon interaction with the officers and soldiers at the Academy and those few trainers whom we met during summer training. Needless to say, it was not a representative cross section but how was I to know. I thought that all officers owned lined capes to wear with their mess dress blues!

Glenn Harrow — **U.S. Army Officers Dress Mess Uniform**

Ranger, Airborne and Engineer Basic provided a little better perspective but not much and so after completing Engineer Officer Basic Course, I was turned loose on U.S. Army Europe’s (USAEUR) 12th Engineer Battalion located in the tiny hamlet of Dexheim, West Germany.

I arrived after my sponsor decided that I really didn’t need to spend the night at the Rhein Main Visiting Officer Quarters, so he pounded on the door and told me we were going to the unit so that I could be at morning formation. A bleary eyed Second Lieutenant Drower finally arrived at his new home about 1:30 in the morning.

The next morning was my introduction to the Vietnam-era Army in Europe and it was a doozy. My suspicions were raised when I attended the morning parade formation. Most platoons in the battalion contained all of 8-10 soldiers vs. the normal complement of 28-30; there were only three Captains in sight. Two of these Captains were company commanders while the other four companies were all commanded by First Lieutenants. Since officers usually came down on orders to Vietnam after 12 months, most of the officers had me by only a couple of months in seniority and experience – it was going to be a case of the blind leading the blind.

I was assigned as Heavy Equipment Platoon Leader but due to low staffing created by the turbulence of Vietnam transfers and enlistment completions, many duties were shared. I found myself in a dusty, windblown Motor Pool reading off the daily preventative maintenance (PM) checks to a line of 5-ton trucks – none of which were assigned to me.

West Point Army Truck — **5-ton Army truck**

The only problem was that there were drivers for only about 10% of the vehicles and so most of the trucks just sat there accumulating dust. After completing the PM’s, I decided to wander along the lines of trucks and personnel carriers spread around the Motor Pool. I came across 4 troopers in various vehicles, all of whom were well into a marijuana induced nap! I rousted them out and when I reported the incident; I learned that this was a routine occurrence.

My first week came to a fitting conclusion on Saturday afternoon. Instead of turning everyone free, the Battalion Commander decided that the motor pool needed cleaning and everyone turned out with a broom. Unfortunately, the post was surrounded by fields and vineyards. In early March the clouds of dust rolled across the entire post and our cleanup efforts reminded me of King Canute trying to hold back the sea with his raised hand. I couldn’t have invented a better symbol for the frustration of US Army in Europe.

No training at West Point or anywhere else had prepared me for the futility and the frustration of USAREUR in 1970/71. I soon found out that the drug problem was severe and evening barracks checks frequently led to an entrance into a room illuminated by a black light and smoking pipes and other articles piled in the center so that nobody could be linked to them. I was thankful that I was low on the totem pole because I really felt for the poor Battalion Commanders whose careers depended on the efficiency and effectiveness of their units – they didn’t have a chance.

As time went on, staffing levels improved, the Vietnam drawdown meant that experienced officers and non-commissioned officers could stay in the unit for more than 12 months, and tough drug policies began to have a positive effect. I never ceased to get a special feeling when I led my company out the gate on an early morning alert and we would roar thru the local towns. The untiring efforts of officers, NCO’s and many ordinary soldiers turned the 12th Engineers into a very good unit fully capable of carrying out all of our combat engineer missions including bridging the Rhein in conjunction with other engineer battalions. Nevertheless, I will not forget my introduction into the “hollow army” and it is a warning about what can happen when the hierarchy refuses to recognize the reality of budgetary and personnel limitations on real life units.

Jul 08 2018

Bridge Over the River Kwai – 1997

This is a story about when we were in Thailand. It was in 1997 and I was the Westinghouse Country Manager in Bangkok. My wife, Susan, convinced me it would be a lark to visit the Bridge that Spring, (Rainy Season), especially as her mother and cousin Cyndi were visiting us from Florida. The Bridge, long famous to those of us, who either descending from or identifying with Aussie, British, and American forebears, had relatives or known others to have been the unfortunate guests of the Japanese Imperial Army stationed near the Thai village of Kanchanaburi, or Tha Ma Kham in the local dialect. The primary purpose the Japanese sent so many of the Allied prisoners there, and held them, was to construct a major railway bridge over the Mae Khong River, (Khwae Yai), dividing Thailand and Burma, using forced POW labor. It was a project of considerable strategic importance to their war plans to connect Bangkok and Rangoon. The history is quite well known and is described in the 1954 book named after the bridge and made famous by the movie in 1960.

After a drive from Bangkok of some 3 hours or more, we arrived at the famous site, mother- in-law and cousin in tow. Because it was the rainy season, the tourist activity was considerably scarcer than normal. The Thai official posted there and tasked to escort us through and around the site was less than enthusiastic, especially after we woke him from his traditional nap, each afternoon. After trudging through the prison barracks and tiring from our attempts to translate the bits of information the official offered, my mother-in-law asked if we could get a better look at the auspiciously famous steel trestle bridge. After all, it was our raison d’etre.

The Bridge was designed for rail traffic only, and the small gauge track was supported by two towers with steel railings spanning the approximate sixty-meter width of the river and which elevated to crossing about twelve meters above the water at the center. Well, my Susan’s mother is quite a gal, having grown up on a farm in lower Covington County, Ala. and no stranger to railroads, bridges, and…adventure. She asked, ‘“Can people walk across?” Although not designed primarily for foot traffic, such a bridge can accommodate foot traffic as long as the walkers stay in single file and step carefully along the metal road bed railings which parallel the tracks. Our official mumbled the equivalent of “Be my guest” or similar. Having the distinction of being “her favorite son-in-law”, I had no choice but to say “follow me, but remain close and do only as I do”. Apparently, Susan’s mom had observed that the track surfaces were still “shiney”, something I either didn’t note or chose to ignore much to my later regrets. Consequently, I still hear this point repeated over and over in the retelling of this story all these years later.

As luck would have it, we reached center span and were taking in the famous perspective, when

West Point Thailand — **Precarious Crossing Without a Train**

we ominously heard the distinct sound of a steam whistle blowing, followed by the sight of a steam engine passenger train about to cross in our direction. Well, Susan, Mother, and I, (Cousin Cyndi had wisely declined that part of the venture!), had some quick thinking to do. Susan proceeded to ask, “Joe, what are you going to do?” For those familiar with the children’s song “Bill Grogan’s Goat”, you might suggest that we flag down the train, but, I had no red shirt and well, this was Thailand and I knew better than to even try. Jumping was out of the question, for Sue and Mom certainly, although alone, I just might have. I instructed them to stand behind me and hold on tight, motorcycle fashion, to the outside on the widest part of the rail border, no more than two feet wide. As the train went by us at nominal speed with the windows to the passenger section lowered so that dumbfounded passengers were able to gawk at me and my charges, our noses less than a few inches apart from each other. Sides of the passenger car bumped my arms now and then but miraculously the entire event transpired without calamity. Upon regaining our composure, we backtracked our steps to where we started. Susan, far more fluent in Thai than me, launched into a demand for an explanation from our still disinterested but slightly bemused Official. After a few characteristic gestures he responded with what is familiarly recognized and often accompanied by a shrug, “Mai pen rai!” (Never Mind!)

The Days Forward | West Point — **Gelineau Family Having Survived Their Harrowing Experience**

Jun 02 2018

The Vacuum Cleaner – 1974

My expensive, modern vacuum cleaner quit working a short time before guests were arriving to celebrate Christmas, 2016. What to do now – no time for repairs; it was just about time to leave for the airport. There is another, old vacuum cleaner in the back of the closet. I should just get it out to see if it still worked. Instead, I ran to the airport without vacuuming at all! This incident reminded me how we got the old vacuum cleaner.
In 1973, Bill (now an Army Captain) and I had just returned to the United States from Camp Stanley, South Korea, arriving at Ft. Sill, Oklahoma so that Bill could attend the Field Artillery Advanced Course. Along with many of his West Point classmates and their families, we were assigned to live on Snow Road in Artillery Village and surrounded by old friends from earlier assignments. It was a great place to be. Until that move, I was a skeptical, new Army wife. In our two years of married life, we have already moved three times. I asked how it was possible to survive when we would just make friends and then must leave them. Would that be our fate forever? It was at Ft. Sill that I learned that the Army is just a large family – we could keep up with those we had left behind but could also make new friends. It was at Ft. Sill that some old friends from earlier assignments started to re-appear again and it was wonderful to see them and renew our friendships. This reminded me of the old Girl Scout adage: “Make new friends but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold.” All precious.
Most married students attending the Field Artillery Advanced Course lived in Artillery Village. The single officers lived in many different off-post apartment complexes. At the time, it was easy to get onto Ft. Sill – there was no ID check or manned guard post. Just slow down and then sail through to Snow Road which was close to one of the Main Gates.

It may have been necessary for salesmen to register at the Post Headquarters, but it was very easy for them to contact those living on post. Artillery Village was a convenient place to live during the nine-month course; the men could carpool (refer to George Coan’s Diary of a Carpool – https://thedaysforward.com/the-diary-of-a-car-pool/) to class and the wives only had to walk next door or down the street to find an old friend or make a new one. Perhaps, like officers attending other branch Advanced Courses (Infantry, Engineer, Armor, etc.), we received many invitations to events from financial planners and other vendors. As 20-somethings, many with young children or newly married, we were the perfect demographic for many of these companies and salesmen. Many of the students had been either in Vietnam, Germany or Korea and were glad to be back in the U.S. and needed furniture, home goods and advice! Some of these presentations included a nice dinner to attract us and some even wanted entrepreneurs/investors to work alongside the salesmen – maybe, they were trying to recruit some of the officers who could leave the Army in a year or two. Bill and I attended several of these presentations, but didn’t make any purchases, though we did listen to the financial planners and retirement experts and met with them personally at our home after the group presentations. Once, we received an invitation to go to a local hotel to meet with vendors that offered us great deals (!) on furniture, pots and pans, fine china and other household goods. They tempted us with claims of unbreakable china (such ugly patterns) and guarantees for lifetime use for some the goods. We often wondered if others went to that spectacle and if anyone purchased. We were a bit proud of ourselves for not falling prey to the high-powered sales pitches – after all, we needed a lot of the items offered for sale!
One day, a knock came on our duplex door. It was a man who wanted to show us his wares – he was a vacuum cleaner salesman. We didn’t have a good vacuum cleaner yet, since we had spent the first years of our marriage out of the country – first in Germany (with different electric current and electric plugs those appliances were left in Germany) and then, in Korea where we lived in a Korean home that came with a maid to take care of all the necessary cleaning. “Sure, why don’t you come in?” The salesman gave his most compelling pitch (“It is a wet and dry vacuum, has a floor polishing attachment, very powerful engine, large capacity cannister, double filtration system” and on and on.) and we were impressed.

It would be a large purchase, but it was one that we thought we might be able to afford – after all, he said it would last a lifetime. What a good investment! But, we needed to think about it.
In a day or two, when the salesman came back for a follow-up visit, he chatted with us. It seems the company headquarters was in St. Louis, Missouri, Bill’s hometown. That made us more comfortable with the idea of that large purchase – still, so expensive…Then, the salesman mentioned that his training was done in St. Louis where he met the President of the company. Bill couldn’t believe his ears. The owner of the company was the father of one of his high school classmates at Southwest High School. In fact, he and a friend spent one summer doing yard work at that very man’s St. Louis County mansion. When he was the lawn-boy that summer, Bill knew that the man was well-to-do – he paid two of them to work there all summer, but he had no idea he had worked for the man behind the FAIRFAX vacuum cleaner we were thinking of buying (who cared about vacuum cleaners at fifteen years old??). Well, that settled the deal – SOLD; we were buying this expensive vacuum from a friend! I am not sure if we were the only gullible couple that fell for the sales pitch, but the salesman was right – it has lasted a lifetime. The FAIRFAX still works after 43 years, lasting about 25 years longer than the other modern, and, also very expensive and, now useless, vacuum cleaner – even if it has been stuck in the back of the closet for many years!
Time to sweep the carpet.
(Follow-up: The ancient vacuum cleaner, pulled from the back of the closet, still worked perfectly more than 40 years later. In fact, it cleaned better than the expensive, modern vacuum. Why had I stopped using it? It is heavy, awkward and unwieldy to pull all around the house and up the stairs. Our children called it the “spaceship”. No matter its appearance, it worked beautifully and continues to work so many years later. Maybe, it wasn’t such a bad purchase after all!)

Caring for Army Families – 2001

From Crossed Rifles to the Cross – 1975

Welcome to the Draft Army – 1970

Bridge Over the River Kwai – 1997

The Vacuum Cleaner – 1974

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Suzanne Rice

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