thedaysf

Dec 08 2017

Army-Navy from Georgia 1969

A-Pin USMA Army vs Navy — USMA Class of 1969 A-Pin

Mike and I met in 1962 (I was 15) while I was vacationing in his summer home of Red River, New Mexico, a small mountain village where Mike worked during the summer for his parents and grandparents. Our courtship continued through his years at West Point while I was studying at the University of Kentucky. We were pinned (how proud I was to wear the Army A-pin which was a promise like a fraternity pin, to belong only to each other), engaged and married the day after graduation at the USMA chapel in 1969.

West Point NY Wedding — Taylor wedding party on Trophy Point, West Point, NY

Thus, began our exciting life together in the Army. Short assignments included Ft. Sill twice, Ft. Benning, Duke (1974-1976) for graduate school where daughter, Natalie, was born and serving on the faculty in the USMA English Dept. (1976-1980). Perhaps the most exciting years were 1970 – 1973 in Germany where Mike served as a battery commander for the 2/27th Field Artillery and later aide to Gen. Kraft (commander of the 3rd Armor Division) in Frankfurt. It was there our first child, Rob (USAFA, 1994), was born at 97th General. Those stories and sights could fill a book but for now will just remain in my heart and memories. The army people we met along the way became the fabric of our lives and even continued into the civilian years as we reacquainted with old friends and met new ones on the class reunions, cruises to Alaska and Baltic and our last trip to Ireland shortly before we lost Mike (September, 2013) to a cancer he fought so bravely.

Military Academy Corps of Cadets Army Navy — The United States Military Academy Corps of Cadets on the field before the Army-Navy game.

It was on this class trip to Ireland that Mike perhaps left the greatest impact and memory on his classmates in attendance. Asking to speak at the last minute during the invocation, Mike opened his impromptu remarks with a challenge issued by Ulysses as penned by Tennyson. Mike had a remarkable memory and, when added to his forceful recitation, was sure to stir your soul and his spirit made a lasting impression on all he knew and met. In fact, it was later at the 45th reunion during the Chapel memorial and roll call for fallen classmates that Norm Brown, passing away himself a few years later, singled Mike out during his speech.

“Remembering! – in our past there have been many inspiring classmates that have passed on but one of them that personally impacted me was Mike Taylor. While in his last months of life Mike had the courage to attend a mini-reunion in Ireland where at a meal with all classmates and wives gathered, he provided an invocation. Fitz shared this invocation with me and as those at the mini-reunion who also remember Mike’s words will probably also agree, I felt the need to share it with the entire class. In the invocation, Mike told a story about a friend of his suggesting for a New Year’s resolution to pick only one word to contemplate throughout the year. Mike went on to tell our class that his word was “Joy”. He explained how part of the reason for selecting this word was that he was joyful at being able to be with those whose lives and examples have meant so much to him as well as to so many of us. Mike was on inspiration right up to the moment of his death and that is true Joy.”

Military memories began with my visits to West Point to be with my C-4 cadet, Mike Taylor. Those were like fairy tales to me with all the fanfare and pomp. But oh, the Army-Navy weekends were the best! What fun we had in Philadelphia, though I remember sitting on icy bleachers either cow (Junior) or firstie (Senior) year. Still today I get a lump in my throat as I view the yearly national ritual on TV.

Drop Zone Ft Benning — Landing area for student jumps

The 1969 Army-Navy game, our first post-graduation contest, found us stationed at Ft. Benning, GA for the three week jump school. Mike missed the game totally as he was jumping out of airplanes that day.

Meanwhile, the rather new bride was back in our rented mobile home, watching the game in front of our small rented black and white TV, ironing his starched (until they could stand up straight all by themselves) work uniform called fatigues with my rented ironing board and iron.

Ft. Benning Mike Taylor — Heavily starched fatigue jacket standing up all by itself!

Army vs Navy TV 1969 — Black and White television from the 1960’s

Some new brides felt this is not what they signed up for. Me – I would do it all over again in a second. Being married to Mike and becoming a part of the Long Grey Line and Class of ’69 was the greatest blessing one could ever seek.

Funny, but after all the fantastic experiences we had, especially in Germany, I chose to write about the ironing.

We traveled with Gen Kraft in his general’s train and limo, met great diplomats, skied the alps, saw the Eiffel Tower, Roman ruins and Coliseum, tulips of Holland, fjords of Norway, Anne Frank’s hidden room, castles, cathedrals and on and on. Even saw Crete by motorcycle. Yet it was the everyday life of the wife of an army lieutenant that shows the love and devotion to her man and her country.

Nov 06 2017

Someone to Listen – 2010

Between the time when I lost Kay and the time I began to see Noreen, I served as a patient volunteer with the local non-profit hospice organization that serves some 17 counties in the Appalachia area. Following the six-week training program for volunteers, I asked the hospice organization to allow me to focus totally on military veterans.

I explained to them that for everyone who has ever served in our nation’s armed forces, their military service is a substantial component of their life. It is a time when they were away from home, many for the first time, immersed in a culture built around honor, loyalty to their buddies and dedication to an ideal far bigger than themselves. They have met physical and mental challenges their civilian counterparts will never know. They have known that others’ lives can depend on their performance, and have felt a camaraderie unequalled anytime in their lives, before or after. They have learned to master complex and dangerous machinery and systems. Most have earned personal responsibility for the training, safety and well-being of others.

Those who have further experienced combat have voluntarily exposed themselves to dangers unimaginable to the society they have sworn to defend. They have seen selfless valor, and experienced losses that can haunt them the remainder of their lives. Many bear the scars of secrets and guilt which they have never been able to share with anyone who hasn’t “been there.”

For many veterans their military service, especially in combat, marks the high point of their entire existence, against which every situation or experience for the rest of their lives is measured and found wanting. They have faced and survived a test which their civilian counterparts can never comprehend. Every military veteran has his own story he is dying to share with someone, especially with a comrade who understands things he might never speak. Every vet, regardless of his service, wants to know that someone has heard his story, someone who can truly appreciate and validate the service and sacrifice he has made to his nation.

After much internal red tape, they finally honored my request, and I began my career as a hospice patient volunteer. During my two years as a hospice volunteer, I had a total of 24 patients that I was able to visit and get to know. Some I visited only once, because hospice had been called in too late, but others I knew for extended periods. Many had wartime experience, usually World War II but also Korea, while others had stateside peacetime service, but the common denominator for them all was that they had raised their right hand, sworn to serve their nation, and that their military service deserved to be recognized. And for me, it was an honor to be of some service to each of these military veterans,

Some of their stories are remarkable.

My first patient, call him Mr. Bob, had debilitation and dementia, with impaired speech. My purpose in visiting him was to give his caregiver wife a chance to have some time to herself. Every time I visited, he was always in his recliner in the living room. My first visit, she sat beside him so we could get to know each other a bit. The hospice paperwork had indicated that Bob was a World War II veteran. I asked about his service in the war, and his wife said he had been in the Army Air Corps in India. Trying to include him in the conversation, I turned to him and asked, “How did you like serving in India?” He looked me straight in the eye and gave me a huge raspberry.

His wife, sitting beside him and clearly embarrassed, turned to him and said, “No, dear. He asked you how you liked your time in India.” He turned to her and gave her a second defiant raspberry.

With that question now clearly resolved, I went on to learn, with her assistance, that he survived the war unscathed, earned a degree on the GI Bill at Wake Forest University, had a career as a teacher, and they had four children and nine grandchildren. I told her I would come every week the same day for about two hours, giving her a chance for shopping, getting her hair done, or any other relief from her 24-hour care-giving routine she wished.

As my weekly visits rolled on, I learned that he was a fanatical fan of his alma mater, Wake Forest, and that his favorite activity was his weekly trip to McDonald’s for French fries and chocolate ice cream.

The living room walls were covered with Wake Forest memorabilia and framed diplomas and awards he had earned.

Guy Miller The Days Forward — **Wake Forest Memorabilia**

My efforts to engage him in dialog usually were fruitless, more so because the meds he was under made him drowsy.

Usually when I arrived for a visit, his wife would immediately go back to her bedroom, stretch out on her bed and watch soap operas until it was time for me to leave.

As time wore on, Bob simply slept in his recliner more and more during my visits. I took to bringing a book or magazine while I was with him, and one day his wife gave me a book to read during my visits. It was self-published by one of the men in his unit, describing their wartime experiences in India.

Miller West Point — **China Burma India (CBI) Theater Patch**

As ground support troops for the Army Air Corps, they supported the supply airlift “over the hump” to Chinese troops fighting Japanese occupation.

From that I gained an appreciation of his wartime service, and realized the honor I had in serving him in his final months.

As time went on, Bob slid deeper and deeper into lethargy, until one day hospice called me to say he had passed overnight. The loss and grief I felt in losing my first patient was surprising to me, since I had known all along that it was inevitable. I told them I wanted to attend his funeral, but they strongly recommended against it. Based on their experience, they said I wasn’t part of the family circle and my presence could be disruptive or unwelcome. Instead, I wrote them a long card, highlighting things I had learned or enjoyed about Bob. Thus for me was the

West Point Class of 1969 — **U.S. Army Air Force “Over the Hump”**

completion of the hospice cycle, which was

what I had decided I wanted to do. I found enormous satisfaction from having played a beneficial role for this wartime veteran and his wife.

* * * * * *

One patient prominent in my mind was Mr. Jerry. He had a diagnosis of “debility,” with six months or less projected to live. He was a retired federal civil servant who had risen extremely high in the Defense Department.

Upon receiving his diagnosis, his daughter had moved him into a luxurious apartment in an assisted living compound, which was about half an hour distant from the city where she lived and had her business.

Mr. Jerry was resentful of his diagnosis, and of his daughter’s decision to put him in assisted living, and of his severely reduced mobility, and of the whole lousy hand that life had dealt him. His daughter drove over to check on him every morning before work, and every evening when she dined with him in the facility. She took off work the day I met him, to introduce us and tell me about him. He just glared at us both the entire time I was there.

So I began my weekly visits with him, but they were a complete disappointment to me. I started off by asking him about his military service, about funny things he remembered from his time in, about memorable people he recalled, but he just sat in his leather arm chair in stony silence. So I began to tell him about some of the crazy things I had seen in my military service, but no response whatsoever. For three weeks I came to visit him, and we just sat there in silence the whole time.

On my fourth weekly visit, about ten minutes in, apparently he just couldn’t stand the silence any longer. Suddenly . . .

West Point Field — **WWII Field Kitchen**

“When I was in the Army, I did a lot of KP. In fact, I did so much KP that they gave me a special job, washing pots and pans. That was the only thing I was supposed to do – wash pots and pans. One day the mess sergeant told me to wash out several dozen big glass jars that the mess hall meat came in. I told him that was not my job, that I only washed pots and pans. He said, ‘Those jars are the same as pots and pans.” I said, ‘They are not the same. Let me show you.’”

And with a giant gesture of his arm, Mr. Jerry said, “I swept the jars off the counter and they all smashed on the floor. ‘See,” I said, ‘not pots and pans.’ They never asked me to wash anything besides pots and pans again.”

With that, he began to tell me about his Army days. Mr. Jerry served in World War II on an Army outpost in Greenland, and he said, “For some reason they made me a supply sergeant.” He told me his supply room was absolutely perfect, so beautiful that every time some visiting dignitaries or generals came through the installation, they always brought them by to marvel at the immaculate supply room. Every shelf was labeled with its contents, and everything was perfectly folded and aligned. The counters and floors shined, and the windows all sparkled. It was magnificent.

World War 2 Greenland — **WWII Post in Greenland**

“What they never knew,” he told me with a sly grin, “is that the real supply room was two blocks over.”

From that time on, Mr. Jerry could not stop talking about his life. I really looked forward to our visits, because he told me delightful stories about his time in the service, and about his work later in the Pentagon. Every visit, he was getting stronger and more vigorous.

One day, he paused and gave me a funny look. “Want to see my M-16?” he asked. Surprised, I replied, “of course.” He directed me to a closet down the hall, where I found, in fact, an M-16, or more accurately, half of an M-16. In the early 1960s, Mr. Jerry told me, the manufacturer made six M-16s sliced vertically down the centerline, to show the Pentagon the inner workings of their marvelous weapon. And he had kept one of the six, as his souvenir.

The Days Forward — **M-16 (in one piece)**

A couple of months into my time with Mr. Jerry, his daughter wanted some medical tests run on her father, but the hospice rules would not allow it. So they decided to check him out of the hospice program, and he returned to normal life. I have no reason to believe he is not alive and well to this very day.

* * * * * *

We were losing these World War II heroes at an alarming rate, and I was honored at least to have played a part in serving some of them in their final days

Oct 19 2017

Halloween Surprises – 1983

Getting orders to Germany in 1982 was not what we wanted, but like all dutiful Army families, we did as ordered. We settled in a very small dorf (village) on the Main River in the area called Franken, a district of the State of Bavaria. Schwarzenau was a farming area with one of the crops being white asparagus (Spargel)– a delicacy that appeared in May each year, but sugar beets and grapes growing on the steep hills overlooking the river for Frankenwein (wine from Franken) were the main products of the area.

Halloween The Days Forward — Vineyards near the Main River

Our daughters were not quite three and almost six when we arrived in Germany and our landlady suggested that Lesley (the elder) could attend a German kindergarten in the next town, Dettelbach; it was there that she started her German education.

At that time adult military dependents could attend German language classes along with their military sponsors, so that was the best place to start as a dependent new to Germany. Between the two of us, we learned to get along in our small town where there were no other Americans.

In the Spring of 1983, we got the idea of inviting my sister Stephanie, (sixteen years younger) to come to live with us for a year – to take a break from College for the adventure of a lifetime. She had just earned her Associate of Arts degree at the local junior college, so it was a perfect time for a break. She arrived in August.

Germany West Point — Kindergarten St. Maria in Dettelbach

We spent some time trying to find some young Americans, spouses of young soldiers or dependents of American officers for her to spend time with; there weren’t many of them. She thought of taking a class or two at the University of Maryland on post, but with her Associate Degree already completed, there was nothing that she could take. She did, from time to time, babysit for some small American dependents stationed nearby in Kitzingen. She did find one Army wife near her age, but that was the extent of her social life.

West Point 1969 — With her only American friend

Back in our little town, during the first year in Germany, we had been making a myriad of friends, but most were either the elder citizens or the small children who were fascinated with the strange people in the neighborhood who could not speak to them except for a word or two. We knew no one between the ages of 5 and 40. Stephanie came along with us wherever we went and that was fun and very different from her life in Southern Illinois. We kept looking for someone nearer her age, even as she was being adopted by some of our 60+ year old friends. They invited her to harvest grapes in the vineyards nearby and she found out just how hard that work was – to thank her, she was offered Neuer Wein (new wine) to drink and German goodies to eat and some prizes wine glasses to take back to the U.S.A.

She helped Lesley figure out her German homework when Lesley began first grade in the Local Schule (German elementary school) – not because she could

Grape Harvest — Souvenirs of the grape harvest

speak German, but because she had a German to English dictionary! The community Schule was across the River Main in the next town, Schwarzach, where Lesley was the only American attending. We had fun, but there were still no people around 20 years old for her to meet.
The day before Halloween, Stephanie suggested that we could dress up and go “trick or treating”. (Bill was at the Grafenwohr training area, as usual.) Only problem, Halloween is not celebrated in Bavaria. That didn’t bother her – we could do a reverse trick or treat. We would take them treats! She dressed up as a soldier in Bill’s camouflage uniform and the rest of us put some things together, one of which was a very fat (pillows) clown and started out to see our neighbors. We carried along bags of American candy to hand out which was bought at the Commissary at Harvey Barracks in Kitzingen. These ordinary American candies would have been a rare treat for our neighbors. Since our neighbors didn’t speak English, this would be quite an adventure. How to explain our unusual appearance? We left that up to our seven year old linguist, Lesley!

West Point Germany — At home on Adenauerstrasse

We started at the far end of Adenauerstrasse, knocked at each door and were immediately escorted into each living room while the mistress of the house went scurrying into the kitchen – every time. What was she doing in there? The German families in our little town were always very generous and this time, though we surprised them by coming to their door in the dark of the night, each lady came back with German treats for us to take home. It wasn’t reverse Halloween as we expected; it was treats all around!

That was only the beginning. Our last stop was the family immediately across the street from our house – the home of the Familie Schmidt. Until then, we were aware of Herr and Frau Schmidt, Martina about 10 and Markus, 3. Frau Schmidt, in good humor, invited us in and also went scurrying off. While she was scurrying into the kitchen, she began to hatch a plan, unbeknownst to us. We spent a cordial few minutes in the Schmidt’s living room with Lesley translating and, then, went back home, having had a marvelous and unusual Halloween.

At that time, the two days after Halloween were National Holidays. November 1, All Saints Day, was spent in Church services commemorating the Catholic Holy Day. On November 2, All Souls Day, families would meet, go to the local cemetery to pray for and decorate the graves of loved ones buried there.

The Days Forward West Point — Young translator at kindergarten

They would then gather in homes with family for Tee/Kaffee (afternoon tea and coffee and a few treats to accompany them) and exchange memories of lost loved ones. On the afternoon of All Saints Day, our phone rang and Frau Schmidt’s plan was put in place…Frau Schmidt asked to speak to Lesley which seemed rather odd in itself, since Lesley was seven years old at the time. When the conversation with Frau Schmidt was over, Lesley reported that her Aunt Stephanie had been invited to join the Schmidt family for Kaffee the next day at 4 p.m. The kind invitation made Stephanie very nervous. How could she possibly spend a whole afternoon with people with whom she could not have a conversation? Frau Schmidt had thought of everything: she invited Lesley to come along to translate. That reassured Stephanie a bit, but she was still concerned. Little did she know what that afternoon would mean to her.

The rest of the Rice family spent the afternoon wondering what in the world was going on across the street. How was it going? They came home hours later and both were smiling and happy. Somehow, Frau Schmidt surmised that we had for months been trying to find some friends for Stephanie and she had just the remedy. Besides little Markus and Martina, the Schmidts had three sons, one two years older than Stephanie, one a year older and one a year younger!

Along with their sons, Frau Schmidt had invited some extended family, two young ladies who could speak English well. We had not known it, but there was large group of 20-Somethings in our village and in the other nearby villages for Stephanie to meet. Stephanie’s 20th birthday was only three weeks away and now we could have a celebration!

When there was an event (Christmas and Sylvester, German name for New Years Eve, were coming soon along with all the fests, held almost weekly in the new year before Lent began), Stephanie was invited and became fast friends with these wonderful, young people.

We could never have dreamed that our reverse Halloween trick or treating would open up the most wonderful experiences for Stephanie (and for the rest of us since we continued those friendships for the following three years that we lived in Germany.) What a perceptive and dear friend Frau Schmidt was to recognize just what we had been looking for, without input from any of us!

Follow-up: In 2010, the three Rice ladies returned with Stephanie to our village. What an amazing reunion it was with all of Stephanie’s friends that she had not seen in 25 years. They welcomed her with open arms, as if all those years had not intervened. (The rest of us had visited several times before.) What a tribute to human kindness and friendship – no matter the language!

West Point, The Days Forward — Friends from 1983

Oct 18 2017

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished – 1970

I have learned over the years that connections with West Point classmates have become increasingly important – in good times and bad.

Classmate and fellow Field Artilleryman Dan Horne and I shared a flight to Vietnam … and then back again 1 year later. We met in the Atlanta Airport in early March 1970, as we bid a tearful good-bye to our beautiful new Army brides. We then flew to McGuire Air Force Base, NJ, where we caught a military-contracted commercial flight to Vietnam, landing near Saigon at Bien Hoa Airfield many sleepless hours later. What a surreal experience to walk off a commercial airliner into the middle of a war.

During initial in-processing at the 90th Replacement Battalion in Long Binh Post that first day in country, I was informed by the assignment clerk that I was to report to the Americal (23d Infantry) Division in Chu Lai, in the I Corps sector as soon as possible.

The Days Forward 90th Replacement — **90th Replacement Battalion, Long Binh**

When I protested, showing him my written orders for 2d Battalion/19th Field Artillery in the 1st Cavalry Division (I had been carrying these orders since spring 1969, having since completed West Point, FA Officer Basic School and Ranger School) he told me the Americal had lost several field artillery forward observers (FO) and needed replacements right away. So I was told to get on the next flight north to the Division Headquarters in Chu Lai. Dan had orders for the 1st Cav as well (1st Battalion/77th Field Artillery), but found himself with similar revised orders to the Americal Division and once again we shared a flight, but this one without the commercial perks! We both were reminded of a simple truth about Army life: you go where you are needed at the time … regardless of previous orders.

Combat Center Chu Lai Eric Robyn — **Combat Center on the beach in Chu Lai**

Dan and I were together when we reported to the Division Headquarters and started our week of orientation training, consisting of enemy tactics and techniques, patrolling techniques, security procedures, division policies, current enemy situation briefings, and getting accustomed to the temperature and humidity!

Vietnam War The Days Forward — **Combat Center on the Beach in Chu Lai, South China Sea, Clearly Seen…**

Near week’s end, we were given a couple hours of free time, so Dan and I walked to the beach on the South China Sea, fairly close to our billets, and we were joined by several others from our course. As we admired the beautiful and inviting sea waters, we all decided to cool off by swimming, not appreciating the treacherous riptide and undertow until we were well off the beach in deep water and being strongly pulled further out to sea! We realized then why signs on the beach warned of dangerous swimming conditions and no lifeguard. One guy in our group was even further out than the two of us, going under and yelling for help, so we both started swimming to him. Dan reached him first, got his head above water, calmed him, and started the long swim back as I stayed close to help if needed. Those Plebe swimming classes paid off that day. Although we were both exhausted, we felt we had done the right thing and had made a difference at least in the life of one fellow soldier.

You can imagine our surprise the next morning when we were told to report to our company commander to be severely reprimanded for swimming in dangerous waters without permission, using bad judgment, etc. Among other colorfully worded comments, he said he could end our careers with a written letter in our files if he chose to do so. Perhaps the shortage of FOs saved us, because he decided to let us go to our new units that morning with only the tongue lashing. Another lesson re-learned: no good deed goes unpunished. Dan and I said our farewells as we headed off to our respective assignments, hoping to see each other on the other side of our twelve-month deployment.

Field Artillery Vietnam War — **LT Eric Robyn, XO of A Battery of 6th Battalion/11th Field Artillery, with Battalion S-3, in a Forward Position by a 105mm howitzer (M102),**
**15 February 1971.**

As the year-long combat tour drew to a close, I was amazed that we met again at Cam Ranh Bay, out-processing and waiting for the same “freedom bird” flight back to the States, together again! Dan, however, was more shocked than I when he saw me, saying, “I thought you had been killed!” I assured him I was still alive, not quick enough to remember Mark Twain’s clever line, “The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.” Our last night in country, the specter of death visited again, as we were awakened by a 122mm rocket attack on the airfield, impacting near our barracks. By then, our “gallows humor” allowed us to laugh it off, remember other earlier close calls, and remind each other that somebody didn’t want us to leave alive!

Postscript: Our wives, having connected as we departed for a place half-a-world away, stayed in contact during that year of separation, since they lived within a few miles of each other. I was blessed, and I am very grateful today, to have shared with classmate “LT Dan” these “bookend” experiences of Vietnam.

Vietnam War — **MG James Baldwin, CG 23d Infantry Division (Americal), Awards BSM(V) to 1LT Eric W. Robyn, 21 Feb 71**

Oct 15 2017

Finally a Combat Engineer Platoon – 1970 Part 3 of 3

The work on the hill was basically manual labor. I had a M426 bulldozer for a while, but the demand for engineer stuff was great and the Battalion Commander LTC Rodolph had a rule that you only asked for equipment when you could use it constantly. I used it to clear the hole, dig other trenches, and trash pits. You never knew when LTC Rodolph would pop up from below the hill in his LOH (Light Observation Helicopter) and catch the equipment idle, or your troops in some other indiscretion.

So, to lift the huge beams into place, mix concrete in a makeshift pan, and dig drainage, we borrowed the labor of infantry guys on the hill who were there for a respite from patrolling or as it was called “humping the bush.” I felt like an Egyptian building the pyramids. The first time we asked them to place a huge 12”x12” beam up 8 feet using hastily constructed stairs and brute force, my NCO (Non-Commissioned Officer) gave the “lay hold” and “heave” commands. They laughed. So he said, “OK, you do it your way.” They tried to coordinate the lift but failed. Finally their 1st SGT came over and told them to listen up to the engineer. They “lay hold” of the beam and with a unified lift “heaved” it into place.

Vietnam War Murphy — **LT Murphy in Arsenal Bunker Under Construction**

We designed some modifications and learned about construction drainage as the rains started to come. We used old 155 round canisters as pipe and put in drainage (a real problem as the monsoon season in the division area was tough), we added a slope to the roof by adding 3X12s to the beams in descending number (helped runoff), grease traps near the kitchen bunker, and a covered stairway to the entrance.

At night most of the guys would spread out around the fire base, and you could soon see the orange glow in the fading light of the marijuana cigarettes. There was so much of it – enforcement was a losing battle. My NCOs and I chose to look the other way, as long as they did not do it right in front of us or allow it to impair a specific mission.

FB (Fire Base) Arsenal had a road to it. It was not in bad shape but with a few low water crossings. The road led toward Camp Eagle and was in a fairly safe area. Our sweeps of it never amounted to anything. The only problem was traffic at times as the road was fairly narrow in spots. Once I was riding in a jeep and we met some big trucks moving towards us. My driver swerved to avoid a collision and we slowly rolled off the shoulder. A tree stopped the roll and we scrambled out unhurt. We used a cable and pulled the jeep up and righted it. It worked fine, and all I could think of was how useless to be killed in a traffic

Pipe Canister The Days Forward — **55mm Field Artillery Canister Used as Pipe**

accident. We were lucky.

Breaks in the days of work were few, but some did occur. During the job the FB was visited once by some of the young ladies (actual real Americans) who were in country for the Red Cross. We called them “doughnut dollies.” They stayed mostly in Division base camps.

In base camp their quarters were near the division staff billets supposedly for protection from the sex starved troops. Not sure who protected them from the sex starved staff. Anyway, they came out on the log birds (Huey’s that brought our daily supplies) and played board games and talked with the troops.

The Days Forward Murphy — **Donut Dollies Meeting with Soldiers of the 101th Airborne (Airmobile) Division**

We were working hard to finish before the full monsoon took over so I did not release my guys to play. The head girl came over and stood on top of the bunker’s beams — as we were down working the interior and had not covered the roof. She squatted down wearing a short skirt and showed that she, too, had chosen my solution to jungle crud prevention. My guys got quite a view. She pleaded, “Come on LT, let the guys have a little fun.” I looked at the men and said, “OK for a half an hour.” An NCO and I took a break on the side of the hill.

My real break was reading the almost daily letters from Mary Ellen. When the log bird arrived with the mail pouch the day got easier. Just the envelop with her handwriting was enough to lift my spirits. I tried hard not to think of what I was missing as she went through her fall semester and our baby grew inside her. Her letters were always upbeat. Mine were probably terribly redundant – just how much she meant to me and how I so longed to be with her. I read them in private, usually sitting on the side of the hill looking out at the mountains and valley below — and forgot the war.

I learned two more valuable things on Arsenal.

One was just how much my guys appreciated my working side by side with them and how loyal they were to me. I had been chewed out for not wearing my shirt with rank and helmet by LTC Rodolph, and working as a troop. I explained it was very hot and my guys knew who I was, and we were short-handed so I felt we could all pitch in. It was not what he wanted to hear. But we had a great product, were ahead of schedule, and (most importantly) the infantry battalion commander was very happy.

LT Murphy The Days — **Board Games with the Donut Dollies**

Anyway, we had just finished covering the huge roof of the bunker with tar paper (water proofing sheets that were in very short supply) and were about to start covering it with sandbags. The pathfinder came to me. (These were guys who dropped in ahead of a parachute drop to light the DZ (Drop Zone) in the Airborne, but in the 101st Airmobile mostly directed the supply helo drops.) He asked where I wanted a Chinook sling load of 8X8s. I did not want to have to carry them up from the helo pad so I asked that he drop them near the bunker.

As the hook came in the huge downdraft from the helicopter’s two rotors started to blow the tar paper everywhere. Just then overhead appeared LTC Rodolph in his LOH. He was furious. I met him at the pad with my helmet but no shirt. He demanded to know who was directing the load in so close and destroying the job. I said the pathfinder, but he was following my orders. He glared and told me to come with him. We marched to the bunker area where my entire platoon was scrambling to get the paper redone, and working feverously. He inspected every aspect of the job, every guy’s gear, and anything he could find. My guys were amazing and the Colonel found nothing else wrong. He stood me in front of him, chewed my ass some more about my missing shirt, told me to never make such a boneheaded decision again, and left.

The second lesson was about checking. The mortar guys had several misfired duds to dispose of. These were rounds that did not eject from the

Engineer Combat Murphy — **Helicopter Carrying a M426 Bulldozer**

mortar tubes when dropped in and had to gingerly be removed by tilting the tube after some time to allow for a delayed “cook off”. The rounds had not “armed” by being propelled into the air, but they still were full of explosives and shrapnel. The only safe thing to do was use demolitions like C4 (plastic explosives) to explode them at a safe distance and place. They asked that we blow them in place. I took a newly arrived “demo specialist” with me and we went down the hill to a pit. I told him to set the charge of C4 and come back with the wire. He did and I sat and watched a beautiful sunset. We hooked up the wire, gave the required “fire in the hole” three times, popped red smoke, and set off the charge. Suddenly hurling through the air were several mortar rounds with one embedding itself in the ground two feet from us. They did not go off. When I could, I asked how the hell he had set the charge. He told me he set the charge, PLACED THE DUD ROUNDS ON TOP, and came back. It was my fault, as I should have checked the demo, and I should have known better.

While we were about finished we were given a mission to recon the small river below Arsenal that flowed into the Perfume River to the north and east. I was given a small boat and started along the river. At one crossing we came upon a group of rangers (the company assigned to the 101st as a long range recon outfit) practicing one rope river crossings. Their platoon leader was Paul Sawtelle, a classmate. We greeted each other like we did at school – brother to brother. We talked awhile about his great assignment and said our goodbyes. A few months later he was killed setting up an ambush in the Ashau Valley.

An excerpt from an unpublished work called “Pop’s War”.