thedaysf

Sep 05 2017

In the Right Place – Part 1 – 1991

I’ve always assumed that my interest in Russia came from growing up in the Army back in the 50’s and early 60’s. I remember hiding under our school desks in Panama for nuclear attack drills; and my father being on alert with the 82nd Airborne Division at Fort Bragg during the Cuban Missile Crisis. I distinctly remember both of those things as being the fault of the Soviet Union, so Russia was imprinted on my mind from a fairly early age. I don’t remember having an active interest in Russia though, but the imprint must have been there. Why else would I have chosen to take Russian during my freshman year at the University of North Carolina?

I don’t know how many other classmates of ours already had some college before arriving at West Point, but I did. I guess I wasn’t good enough the first time around straight out of high school, so I simply tried again. From about the age of ten I had decided I wanted to be an Army officer. My dad, who had been drafted in WWII and stayed in after the war, and then gotten a direct commission during Korea, had told me that if I was serious about wanting to be an officer, then West Point was the only way to go. So it never occurred to me to do anything other than try again; and the second time around I was accepted. By way of full disclosure, I should mention that I flunked Russian at UNC!

**Ray and Avril Dupere**
**June 13, 1970**

That’s probably why I didn’t get my first choice for language study at USMA. If I remember right we had to submit a first and second choice. I remember wanting to take Russian, but ending up in French, which I had taken in high school. With a name like Emile Dupere, I suppose it made sense to someone. Anyway, I did get some exposure to the Soviet Union though, when it came to the choice of electives. Because of going to UNC for a year, I got credit for some courses at West Point, and ended up with extra elective choices. So among other things, I think I took a course in Soviet history, and in Communist revolutionary theory … or some such thing. Anyway, Russia continued to be imprinted on my mind through our time at West Point.

The imprinting process continued with my first assignment as a young Infantry officer with the Berlin Brigade in Germany. How I ended up in Berlin is a whole ‘nother story as they say. Back at West Point I had volunteered for the 82nd in Vietnam, but then I met Avril Elizabeth Smith, the love of my life, at a Valentine’s mixer in Cullum Hall. Then during Infantry basic I made friends with a ROTC grad who had orders for Germany, but wanted to go to Vietnam. I had orders for Vietnam but wanted to get married and go to Germany. One thing led to another and we ended up swapping our orders and I ended up in Berlin arriving just before Christmas of 1969.

While in Berlin I served as an Infantry platoon leader, a company XO (executive officer), and even as a computer programmer in the Berlin Brigade headquarters. Together with the British and French, the Berlin Brigade was there to counter the Soviet presence in East Berlin. So there was no way to avoid further Russia imprinting with an assignment like that.

Berlin West Point — **Patch for the Berlin Brigade**

The imprinting sort of stopped though, once I left Germany. After eventually making it to Vietnam in 1971-1972, I ended up resigning my commission in 1973. The Army of the Vietnam era was not the same as the Army I grew up in. There were also some religious/spiritual reasons for wanting to resign as well, so I took the opportunity of the post-Vietnam drawdown to ask to be released from my obligation. My request was accepted, and in July of 1973 my wife and I moved to Vermont to take up positions as teachers in White River Junction, Vermont. While in Vermont I felt the Lord calling me into full-time ministry, which led us in 1975 to spend four years at Dallas Theological Seminary in Dallas, Texas.

Fast forward 15 years to 1990. By then I was five years into my tenure at Church of the Open Door, a small Bible church near Bangor, Maine.

By then we also had two children, Jeremy, 13, and Lindsay, 8. In addition, I had asked for and had my commission reinstated and become a Chaplain in the Maine Army National Guard, and was assigned to an Engineer Battalion headquartered in Bangor. Lastly, through a series of circumstances, God had introduced me and my church to the opportunity of sending bibles and other Christian materials to believers in the Soviet Union. So after a 15 year hibernation, the Russia imprinting had started again.

In February of 1990, I felt a strong sense from the Lord to consider making a trip to the Soviet Union. Through my urging, my church had been sending dozens of packets of Bibles, New Testaments, and other Christian literature to believers in Russia; and we had been getting responses from people thanking us for the gifts. But the letters had all been in Russian, which forced me to have to get them translated. I found an old Russian lady who was the mother of a professor at the University of Maine to translate them. As I got to know her better, I asked her to give me Russian lessons, which she did.

West Point Church — **Church of the Open Door in Hampden, Maine**

At the same time I began to try to find a way to get myself to Russia. I wrote dozens of letters to various mission organizations in the U.S.

asking if they had any activities going on in the Soviet Union. Because of Glasnost (“openness”) and Perestroika (“restructuring”) – dual programs initiated under Gorbachev in 1985 – I imagined that something must be happening. However, a year went by and I couldn’t find any connection which looked like it would lead to a trip for me to Russia; but a breakthough finally came in the Spring of 1991.

I was given the name of someone who worked with a Christian mission agency in California. He had already made several trips to Russia, so I began to correspond with him about the idea of me tagging along. One thing led to another and it was agreed that he would take me on his next trip. He helped me navigate the visa process, and the time finally came for my first trip to the Soviet Union. My contact flew in from California, I flew down from Maine, and we met at JFK Airport for a Saturday night flight to Moscow.

I have always said that that trip was nothing more and nothing less than a gracious gift from God. For as it happened, we arrived in Moscow on Sunday, August 18, 1991, the day of “the Coup”. God gave me a front-row seat for the dissolution of the Soviet Union.

To Be Continued…

Aug 11 2017

Birth of the Night Stalkers – 1980

Birth of the Night Stalkers

Back in January 1980, Ol’ Weird was newly arrived for his third tour at Fort Bragg, fresh from Foreign Area Officer work in 17 Latin American countries. His Spanish was near-native and his Portuguese fluent, but his Russian from school was rusty. He was destined for chief of the Latin America desk in 1st Psychological Operations Battalion.

Fort Bragg North Carolina — **Gate at the Entrance of Ft. Bragg, NC**

In November 1979, Iranian terrorists had overrun the US embassy in Tehran and seized our diplomats taking them hostage. Like many in the Special Operations world, Ol’ Weird was brainstorming how to get them out. His concept was all Army aviation, as simple as possible, using CH-47Ds (Chinook helicopter) with inboard extended fuel tanks, range 800 nautical miles. The Chinooks would fly low-level from the mountains of Turkey into the embassy compound in Tehran, kick out the on-board fuel bladders, and have full fuel tanks to get back out to safety in Turkey. Ol’ Weird had calculated six birds were needed to complete the mission, so using the airborne planning rule-of-thumb of 1/3 combat losses, send nine.

He knew Special Forces Operational Detachment Delta was the direct action force for the mission. This was the nation’s first dedicated counter-terrorism military unit, patterned after the British Special Air Service, but focused on the hostage rescue mission. Following a proliferation of international terrorist hostage incidents in the mid-1970s, the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) had charged COL Charlie Beckwith with forming up the unit. Beckwith named the unit after his old Operational Detachment Delta in Vietnam. They called themselves “OD Delta” or simply “Delta,” but never, ever, the Hollywood “Delta Force.”

Delta Patch West Point — **1st Special Forces Operational Detachment Delta Patch**

Ol’ Weird’s old buddy from Fort Hood and Leavenworth ‘76 had been the original S-2 (Intelligence Officer) when Delta was formed early in 1977. He had kept Ol’ Weird apprised on their training, missions and capabilities as much as he could, so Ol’ Weird knew what their charter was. By the end of 1979 all the original officers in Delta were coming up on rotation time (Change of duty station or job). In February 1980, Ol’ Weird was nominated by his friend to be his replacement as S-2, vouching for his Ranger, Airborne, G-2 and foreign military intelligence creds. He never told them Ol’ Weird was also an aviator – unbeknownst to Ol’ Weird, the kiss of death.

In those days, Delta was still located in the old Post stockade on Fort Bragg main post. Ol’ Weird was received very cordially by the unit Executive Officer (XO), since COL Beckwith was in DC that week. The XO gave him a comprehensive tour of the facility, and their organization and equipment. For a unit of a couple hundred shooters, their arms room had over 3,000 weapons, from virtually every manufacturer and country on the planet.

Eventually, they sat down in the XO’s office, and he asked Ol’ Weird whether he had any questions. One thing had struck him as odd: He had seen no indication at all of aviation capability or expertise on staff. Since that would obviously be crucial to any extraction mission in Iran, Ol’ Weird asked where their aviation people were. For the first time all day, the XO glanced down and realized those were aviator wings on Ol’ Weird’s uniform, and his countenance turned to ice. He said, “We don’t have any aviators here. Charlie thinks they are all a bunch of cowards. He won’t have one anywhere around. If we need anything, we have JCS task the Air Force.” With that, his interview abruptly ended.

As Ol’ Weird was escorted out of the stockade, he was shaking his head, saying “These guys are collision-bound for a disaster.” They were obviously going to be sent into Tehran, but no one in the command group had the slightest clue about the capabilities of Army aviation and the complexities of long-range night clandestine missions.

Sure enough, a few weeks later the entire world got the news that our hostage rescue mission to Iran turned out to be a catastrophic nightmare. Helicopters and C-130s (fixed wing cargo aircraft) collided on the ground inside Iran, precious air crew members and Delta shooters were incinerated, and the entire mission was aborted as a disastrous failure. But even Ol’ Weird never imagined how fouled up the operation had become. From open sources at the time, this is what he learned about what happened.

For the biggest military action of his time in office, President Jimmy Carter had apparently decided that every service had to get their piece of the rescue operation. The Navy would provide the helicopters (helos), so the Joint Chiefs of Staff tasked the Commander-in-Chief, Pacific Command, to provide eight RH-53D’s (special naval mission cargo helicopters)[since six was recognized to be the absolute minimum to perform the mission]. Commander, Pacific Fleet Aviation Assets) was told, “Don’t ask questions; you will never see your birds again, but they will be replace with new aircraft.” So, imagine which eight aircraft he decided to get rid of!

The Marine Corps was told, send us eight qualified CH-53 (Marine version of giant cargo helicopters) crews for a special mission, and as always, the Marines sent the very best people they could pick. But their crews had never even seen the Navy models they were being asked to fly. They were strangers to the aircraft they were going to have to fly into combat!

The Air Force had to get their starring role, so somehow the JCS cobbled together this insane plan to fly everybody into an airfield inside Iran, in complete blackout. There, the Marine-crewed Navy helos (sometimes called Jolly Green Giants) would hot-refuel from Air Force C-130s, taxiing around blindly in the sand and dark. What could possibly go wrong??

Army’s Delta operators, meanwhile, were to be sitting on board, trusting all the other services’ aviation assets to perform flawlessly. Once refueled, the helos would fly low-level into Tehran and air assault Delta into the embassy compound. There they would recover our hostages and re-board for the return flight to the Iranian airbase, where the refueling circus would play again. Then everyone would fly home. Happy ending.

West Point 1969 Rescue — Planned Route for Hostage Rescue

So much for the plan. But, of course….

After initial launch, one of the helos made a precautionary return to base. Down to seven. Once all the services had landed at the Iranian airfield, in a vicious sandstorm [surprise, surprise!!], confusion reigned supreme. Tragically, the aircraft had milled around so long on the ground in the heat and fumes that the crews were overheating to delirium, not to mention the Delta guys. One Marine crew member pulled off his flight jacket and tossed it aside in the blackout, where it landed on the air intake to the Auxiliary Power Unit, setting the helo on fire. Now down to six mission-essential helos, with the margin for error now zero.

But still, drive on. Then, almost predictably, one assault helo and a refueler C-130 executed a mid-air collision on the ground. The resulting inferno incinerated air crew members and Delta operators, as well as the two aircraft involved. Third bird, plus some superb warriors, was now lost — mission abort!!

West Point C-130 — **On Ground Crashed C-130**

The remaining aircraft, with the surviving Delta shooters aboard, limped back out, the mission a complete failure. There was nothing to show for the gargantuan endeavor, but some really fine men dead, all survivors totally demoralized, and the US military completely humiliated. The JCS had demonstrated themselves to be abysmally incompetent to plan hostage rescue missions, and the specialized nature of aviation support for high-risk night special operations missions was driven home.

Thus was born Joint Task Force 160, later designated the Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. The Night Stalkers, as they call themselves, is the most astounding assemblage of helicopter aviation skill and incredible courage ever seen in the history of the planet. Drawing the finest rotary wing aviators from all the services, but primarily Army, under Army command, these guys now provide all the helicopter aviation support for special

Night Stalkers West Point — **Scenes of Devastation in the Iranian Desert**

operations forces of all the services, under the unified Joint Special Operations Command. Merely their unclassified exploits will be the source of myth and legend for generations to come.

While Ol’ Weird had no direct role in the creation of the Night Stalkers, he always felt a sense of paternity for those guys. They were born out of fanatical arrogance, utter naïveté, and reprehensible careerism. Lot of fine men died to teach that lesson.

Jun 29 2017

The Swearing-In Ceremony – 1993

After I completed the five year Active Duty obligation, I joined the Army Reserve. I soon found out about the Military Academy Liaison Officer Program, run by the Admissions Office at West Point, a largely unpaid program but very fulfilling. I also found a home with the Army Corps of Engineers, New York District as an Individual Mobilization Augmentee, training in Syracuse, West Point, and New York City. I worked in Rochester, NY for the DuPont Company, Photo Products Division. I realized fifteen years later that digital photography was eventually going to supplant silver halide film, and I was going to have to find another job. Twenty years to the day that I graduated from West Point, I started working as a Department of the Army Civilian as the Associate Director of Admissions for Plans and Programs.

Halfway through the 1992-93 Admissions Cycle, the Superintendent of West Point told the Admissions Office that he wanted to have no more than a certain number of cadets admitted that year. He undoubtedly got his marching orders from higher up. That was way too late, the Early Action Admission Cycle had already been completed, and by Law, vacancy fills had to be selected. Admissions did what it could, but that day, eight more young men and women reported than the Superintendent wanted. My bosses were very upset, not wanting to report that they had failed in this impossible mission.

The first thing to do at In-Processing on Reception Day 1993 was to sign the Oath of Office, making the new cadets members of the Armed Forces. That had been the last thing to do on my Reception Day in 1965. Then there was the drill of reporting to the Man in the Red Sash, who told people where to go next.

**New Cadet Reporting to the Man in the Red Sash**

Eventually, on that day in 1993, three New Cadets were determined to be unable to complete the training because of physical problems encountered prior to arrival or during that day. They were sent to the Admissions Office to await further instructions.

I witnessed a heated discussion between the Staff Judge Advocate (the Legal people), a Major and a Captain; the Medical Department Commander; the Director and Deputy Director of Admissions; and the Master of the Sword (who ran the Department of Physical Education). Those four were full colonels. The legal people said that once they signed their names on that document, they were cadets. The Medical Department Commander didn’t take sides, but said he could treat them. The other three maintained that since they couldn’t do the training, they shouldn’t be allowed to go to the Swearing-In Ceremony, and since they wouldn’t be raising their right hands to take the Oath, they weren’t cadets. I was the only non-uniformed person there, a Lieutenant Colonel in the Reserves at the time, but a Department of the Army Civilian as far as they were concerned.

The colonels decided to give Letters of Assurance to the three, stating that if they received new nominations for the next class, admission was assured. I had to deliver that message to them and their parents. I very much wanted to confront the colonels with the fact that I didn’t go to my own Class of 1969 Swearing-In Ceremony. I couldn’t get in a word, but I knew better.

When I was first measured at the start of senior year in high school as a candidate for West Point, I was under 5 foot 4 inches tall. The height requirement at the time was 5 foot 6 inches to 6 foot 6 inches; that could receive a waiver to 5 foot 4 inches on the small side and 6 foot 8 inches on the tall side. Since I was too small, I was disqualified medically, but there was a provision that I could be re-measured closer to the time of admission for the class of 1969—July 1 of 1965.

Therefore, I embarked on a program of stretching exercises proposed and aided by several members of the Department of Physical Education at West Point. I hung, I stretched my back, I stretched my Achilles tendon and calf muscles. I did everything I could to get more distance between the parts of my backbone. I found out that the best time to be measured was first thing in the morning. When the big day came, June 15, the Army Doctor pronounced that I came in at 5 foot 4 and 1/8 inches. So with the waiver, I was qualified. A week later, at a Testimonial Dinner for my father, who had just been promoted to Brigadier General, my Representative in Congress, Peter W. Rodino, made the announcement that I had been offered admission to West Point.

My first day as a cadet started out fine, as Newman Kopald, my best friend in Highland Falls High School, just south of West Point, drove me from the Lusk housing area on post down the hill to the Central Post Area where the cadet barracks are. I kind of knew what to expect—it was going to be a tough day with a lot of harassment. We were New Cadets, not yet Cadets until the end of Beast Barracks and the Acceptance Parade. We were assigned to a New Cadet Company and a room, given haircuts, a Physical Aptitude Exam, shots, a meal, instruction in marching, and a whole lot of uniforms, bedding, and a trunk. The man in the Red Sash directed everything. He would look at the tag attached to our gym shorts, once we had them, and direct us to the next Station.

Reporting to the Man in the Red Sash with correct response displayed — **Reporting to the Man in the Red Sash with Correct Response Displayed**

In early afternoon I was directed to go the Cadet Store to be fitted for a pair of tropical worsted gray trousers—the summer version worn with a white short-sleeved shirt. We were issued the winter version in the fall. A tailor held up a pair of trousers by my side, measured the length and said to come back at 1630 (4:30PM) to pick them up. When I came back, someone found my shortened pair, held them up by my side, and pronounced them a good fit.

I tried to put on my uniform for the Swearing-In Ceremony about an hour later, and found that the trousers were about 26” waist size, and I had a 30” waist. I somehow got into them, but I could hardly breathe. I went to the formation, where the upperclassmen were inspecting us to make sure that we were ready to go. The New Cadets with the upperclassman who were detailed to lead them during the next month were to march onto the Plain and be administered the Oath of Office, which was supposed to officially enter them into the Army.

The temperature this day had been close to 100 degrees, and the humidity had been almost 100 per cent. Now with my waist cinched up too tightly, I was about to pass out when the upperclassman came to inspect me. He immediately saw that instead of going to the Plain with the rest of my class, he should take me to the hospital. I was given some pill, and—I kid you not—a prescription that said those trousers should be left loose around me, with the fly unzipped.

So 1136 New Cadets raised their right hands and took the Oath of Office out on the Plain. I did not.

**Swearing In Ceremony for the Class of 1969 on July 1, 1965 Without New Cadet Jannarone**

But, I did have supper with my Company. Then after supper, we went to the North Auditorium of Thayer Hall where we actually signed Oaths making us members of the Army.

I had been at West Point since fifth grade, and my parents as well as many other observers expected to pick me and my five classmates from Highland Falls High out of the eight formations of New Cadets. Two and a half weeks later, after Sunday Mass, the Pastor said to me that he saw me at the Swearing-In Ceremony. I had to tell him that he had mistaken someone else for me.

I was possibly the shortest cadet in the Corps, although there were some others who also had been waivered, and people noticed me right away. One upperclassman stood me up against a pillar in the Cadet Mess Hall, and stated that I was three and a butt blocks tall on the center pillar of the mess hall. (A butt means a part of something.) He told me that whenever anyone asked me how tall I was, I was to recite that fact.

USMA Cadet Mess Hall – note State Flags around the exterior walls — **USMA Cadet Mess Hall – Note State Flags Around the Exterior Walls**

The flags of the fifty states hung in various sections of the Mess Hall. Below each flag, at about the height of an average person, was a little plaque with the name of the state. Above the center pillar hung the flag of Maine with its corresponding plaque. The plaque was about four inches above me.

**Under the Maine State Flag in the Cadet Mess Hal**l

He then told me that if someone questioned my height and wasn’t satisfied with the first answer, then I was to say that I was four inches shorter that Maine. As you can imagine, no one was satisfied with my responses, and I endured a lot of grief because of that.

The next time we wore those tropical worsted gray trousers was at the very end of July. I had lost 19 pounds. Wonder of wonders, they fit perfectly. That was also the day I was measured for a Full Dress Coat, the one with all the buttons down the front. Despite my protestations to the contrary, saying that I would gain a lot of weight back, the tailors said

that they knew what they were doing. The next day, I was put on a weight-gain table for all meals. Sure enough, neither the trousers nor the coat fit when I tried them on again, and both had to be altered. Even though alternations were needed then, I never again needed medical instructions for wearing my gray trousers.

I knew better in 1993!

May 05 2017

Meeting on the Supe’s Porch – 1969

After reading Bobby Jannarone’s family-oriented Bob Hope story, I thought it might be a good opportunity to reminisce about my fortunate timing the evening before our graduation, 3 June 1969.

Bob Hope was truly a National Treasure, who set the example for Hollywood on the meaning of service by sacrificing his holidays to spend time with the troops, that he cared so much about. I happened to meet him and the memory of that event remains strong even though it was over 47 years ago.

**Professors Row, Thayer Road, West Point, NY**

Invited by our Class leaders, Bob Hope was to give the address during our Graduation Dinner the night before our Graduation and Commissioning. On that evening, I was walking to meet my family and date at Colonel Cutler’s home on Professor’s Row (third large duplex before the Catholic Chapel) overlooking the beautiful Hudson River Valley. My family was staying there since my father was a classmate and close friend of Colonel Cutler who was the head of the Electricity Department.

The Cutlers had invited my family and our dates to stay with them for all of the June Week festivities (Graduation Parade on the Plain, Glee Club concert, cadet award ceremonies, the Graduation Ball). Our plan for the evening was to meet there and walk to the Cadet Mess Hall for Graduation Dinner and the award presentation.

As I passed in front of the Superintendent’s (Supe) quarters, Major General Koster, who was another Classmate of my father’s, came out to the front porch with Bob Hope. The previous morning, all of us graduating sons of USMA 1942 met at the Supe’s office with our fathers and received a gift from that Class.

MG Samuel Koster (USMA 1942), Superintendent, Presenting Gifts on Behalf of the Class of 1942 to All Their Sons Graduating in the Class of 1969. Left to right: MG Koster, CDT James Newman, CDT Karl Ivey (receiving USMA bookends) CDT William Foster, CDT Edward Rehkopf.

Afterwards, the Supe spent a few minutes with each of us asking about our first assignments after training, etc. Because of that award ceremony the day before, General Koster recognized me as I was approaching the short walkway up to the his porch. I saluted him and gave him a greeting. He called me by name and invited me to come up onto the porch to meet Bob Hope.

**Superintendent’s House, West Point, NY**

I quickly walked onto the porch and was introduced to Bob Hope with some kind words from the Supe about me, Glen and my father. Bob Hope was most gracious and pleased to meet me, wishing me the best in my continued military service. I welcomed Bob Hope to the Military Academy and thanked him for his service to the military over the years. He, of course, said he got so much out of being with our servicemen and lightening their burdens, if only for a moment. I bade them farewell, saluted the Supe and walked to COL Cutler’s house where I related this to my parents, the Cutlers, and my paternal grandmother (who was a tremendous fan of Bob Hope and had also attended my father’s wartime graduation in 1942).
That night, after the award presentation, my Father went up to the Supe and then beckoned all of our family group and dates to come up to the head table. All of us were introduced to Bob Hope. I thought my grandmother was going to faint; she was so overwhelmed to meet him. Again, the Supe made nice comments about Glen and me in front of our family and dates. Bob Hope said that he was impressed about sons following their fathers through West Point into the Army and how that had to be a strength for our military. He remarked how unusual it must be for twins to graduate and wished us both well in our future military service. All of this took about four minutes before the Supe indicated that he and his wife and the Hopes had to go for some formal photos. We excused ourselves and returned to Col Cutler’s home.

**Karl (I) and Glen Ivey as They Graduate on 4 June 1969**

It was a memorable start to my eventful graduation with those who are the Best of The Line (Motto of the Class of 1969, chosen when they were New Cadets in the summer of 1965)

Apr 19 2017

The Diary of a Car Pool – 1974

It was in the hot summer of 1974 at Fort Sill, Oklahoma when our story begins. For the first time since graduation five years earlier from the United States Military Academy (USMA), my family and I were all together in the United States. We lived on the installation in a very small but adequate set of quarters. Unfortunately, we had only one automobile and bicycles on military installations were not as prevalent as they are today. That said, what at first appeared as an interesting challenge became a unique opportunity to develop lasting friendships with USMA classmates and graduates.

**One of Several Gates at Ft. Sill, OK**

During the four years at USMA, you knew most if not all of your classmates in your cadet company and possibly others from the academic classes you shared. However, many of the 800 graduating classmates were known by name only. It was difficult to realistically develop lasting relationships with all. That’s why the afore-mentioned challenge actually presented an opportunity.

The only viable option to the transportation challenge was to car pool. And we did. Four classmates and one graduate from the class of 1970 rode to and from our duties in a car five days a week for nine months. “Carpooling” became the nucleus of enduring relationships and friendships. What a privilege it was for me to be with:

-Eric Robyn (Second Regiment, A-2)—the “straight arrow”;

-John Marcello (USMA 1970)—the “hard charger”;

-Steve White (Second Regiment, G-2) —the “subtle sense of humor”-analyst; and last but certainly not least,

-Bill Rice (Third Regiment, G-3)—the “deep thinker”

Oops; almost forgot; yours truly—George Coan (Fourth Regiment, B-4)—“the talker”.

**The Coans’ 1974 Dodge Crestwood Station Wagon**

Each of us had just returned from overseas assignments: Eric, Steve and John (Germany) and Bill and George (Korea). For nine months, we shared: “war” stories; vignettes about our families; challenges we faced; and yes, how the Field Artillery Officer Advanced Course could be so much better if only . . . Our wives became good friends through gatherings during the day and on weekends. Abiding relationships were formed. We just didn’t realize the impact it was having at the time.

And, yes, five “big guys” in one car can be taxing. Remember as kids when your folks took the entire family with luggage on summer vacation; or as adults when the Army moved you and your family (with luggage and the dog) across the country! Eric’s station wagon had some room; imagine, however, five guys climbing in and out of John’s 1970 two-door Camaro or Bill’s 1969 two-door Pontiac LeMans. (Truth be told, I regrettably had just sold my 1969 two-door Pontiac LeMans for the 1974 Dodge Crestwood station wagon. How I missed the bucket seats, console and vinyl top of my cool graduation car!)

I digress. The “Car Pool of 1974-1975” is really not about a car—it is about people. These good folks will forever hold a special place in my heart. That’s really what the military/USMA promotes: relationships and trust. The bonds forged among classmates and graduates will never be broken, only strengthened over time. Your set of circumstances today may hold a special blessing for you in the future. It did for our family and can for you and yours!