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West Point Class of 1969

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By Eric Robyn

Oct 24 2022

Pay Day Around the World 1970-1983

    Eric Robyn – Pay Day in Vietnam 1970 

In Vietnam, when I was a first lieutenant field artillery battery executive officer, I was periodically assigned the duty of paymaster for my field artillery battery.  As such, I flew about 30 minutes by chopper from my firebase to the finance officer, armed with my 45caliber M1911 pistol and an enlisted armed guard, to pick up the US payroll cash and MPC (Military Payment Certificates or “funny money” as we called it).

Huey helicopter, the workhorse of the US Army in Vietnam  (Smithsonianmagazine.com)

Then, I divvied up the US cash and sealed it into envelopes by the name of each soldier.  The 1SG ceremoniously lined the troops up in order and had them report to me for their pay.  Troops would then request to exchange a portion of their US currency for MPC, which was used in the local economy, in order to discourage black marketeering.  One benefit of this whole process was that I looked every troop in the face, some in scattered posts, at least once that month and reinforced the chain of command.

Five cent Military Payment Certificate (MPC) from Vietnam
Twenty Dollar Military Payment Certificate (MPC) from Vietnam  (art-hanoi.com)

   

Bill Rice  – The Continually Moving Bachelor Officer  1970-73

As an unmarried Lieutenant, Bill was the “moveable” officer during his first assignment after graduating from West Point (1970-1973). As a young bachelor, it was easy for him to throw his gear into his graduation LeMans and drive to his new assignment; much harder for the Army to move a family. His first assignment was at Eastman Barracks in 3/37 Field Artillery in Dachau, West Germany. The bachelor officers of the 3/37 FA were housed in the barracks that had been occupied by the SS troops in charge of the World War II concentration camp. (What a creepy first assignment.)

Rice “Moving Van” at the Dachau BOQ

Bill was there for less than a year when he was sent to Ansbach, West Germany where he was assigned to the 210th Field Artillery Group S-3 Shop.   It wasn’t long before 210th Group moved its headquarters to Herzogenaurach, so Bill moved again. He was promoted to Captain alongside his old friend, Eric Robyn, at Herzobase before he was sent to Augsburg to the 1/36 FA. In this case, the two previous battery commanders had been relieved from their duty for inadequate command. This was his fourth move in 2 years. It was easy for the Army to send him to a new assignment, but the difficulty for Bill was that his pay didn’t keep up with him – the Army Pay and Accounting system could not find him to pay him. (There was no direct deposit then.) At that time, Bill wrote a letter to his dad back home in St. Louis requesting his dad transfer some money into his account so that he could survive until his pay caught up with him. His dad was a teller at the bank so it would be easy for him to add the funds Bill needed to live. Do you wonder how much money he asked for to tide him over? Can you believe it – he asked his dad to transfer $20.  (Not a misprint – it wasn’t $200. He really asked for $20!) He promised to pay it back as soon as he received his pay! 

Bill Rice – Pay Day in Korea 1973

     While Bill and I were in Korea, he often was away from Camp Stanley at 4P1 (American training area) right at the DMZ for six weeks at a time. Of course, payday came sometime in those weeks. During one of those winter field exercises (the battery was a US presence at the Demilitarized Zone; a field artillery battery was there at all times), one night I heard a knock on our Ui Jong Bu door. There was a big wall around the house to protect us from the “slicky boys” (thieves), so I’m not sure how he got in – I don’t remember a key.

Stone Wall Surrounding the House (with gate open in the daylight hours)

It was a big surprise for me because there were no phones at that time except tactical phones in the Army units. There Bill was standing at the door, almost frozen.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m the paymaster; I’ve come back to Camp Stanley for the soldiers’ pay for this month.”

“What are you doing HERE?”

“To see you, of course!”

    The rest of the story is that it was one of the coldest days of the year, below zero that night. Bill was almost frozen having ridden in an open jeep for an hour from 4P1 – with the wind chill factor, much colder.

Open Jeep used in Korea (Wikipedia.com)

     Looking back, there would have been another reason besides seeing me for only a few minutes. Our Korean home had a heated floor (no central heating or any other source of heat) that would warm him up for a few seconds before completing the rest of the trip even though the window in our home had to be open to let out the possible carbon monoxide fumes coming from the charcoal that heated the floor – the only heat in the house. I’m not sure that the warm floor could even seep through all his battle gear, but he came in, anyway; it was too cold to even remove one layer of his cold-weather clothing. I guess the heated floor with a slight breeze was better than the frigid wind blowing through the jeep – if only for a few minutes. I must have given him a cup of hot tea or hot chocolate to prepare him to complete the one hour return trip to the Demilitarized Zone. Our soldiers do amazing things. This is just one tiny example. Thank a soldier when you see one!

Eric Robyn Pay Day in Germany 1972

     In Germany in the early 1970s, the Army encouraged paying everyone by direct deposit to bank accounts, but there were still many soldiers who chose to be paid in cash.  Not much had changed.  As an artillery battery commander, I would spend the better part of 2 days handling all the payroll duties:  picking the payroll up from the finance office at Monteith Barracks in Nurnberg (about a 30-minute drive), allocating the cash into envelops for each soldier, distributing the payroll, accounting for any discrepancies, and returning the completed payroll vouchers to the finance office.  Personally armed, and with an enlisted armed guard by my side, I paid my soldiers one at the time as each one reported to me with my 1SG standing by to issue a brief synopsis of that soldier’s performance for that month.  For the good soldiers, it was an opportunity to hear an “atta-boy” from the “Old Man,” as we unit commanders were known; for the others, it was a chance for me to give the “buck up” talk face-to-face … and hope for improvement the next month.

Location of Finance Office  (Armybarracks.Army)

     One perverse practice during this turbulent period (drug trafficking and racial unrest were rampant in the Army in Europe) was “payday stakes,” a shake-down operation.  In order to collect on debts owed, soldiers known as “enforcers” would gather in the hallway on payday outside the 1SG’s office and, with outstretched hands, greet those who owed.  Soldiers in debt knew the “enforcers” meant business, although the 1SG sternly broke up many strong-arm activities.  Yes, we had thugs, drug dealers and even some gangsters in the Army at that time, but the UCMJ (Uniform Code of Military Justice) and Army policies did not allow for expeditious courts martial or administrative discharges.  That is a story for another time, however.

Suzanne Rice Pay Day in Germany in 1983

     In 1983, we were living in West Germany in a small town near Kitzingen in Franken, Bavaria. Like all Army wives, I would need to convert American dollars into Deutschmarks in order to purchase anything “on the economy” (in a German shop or restaurant).To do that, I drove to the U.S. Army post nearby and walked over to the American Express Bank located on post. I would be in line with many soldiers who had been paid on payday. It was often a long line. Most of the time, the soldiers would stand in their paymaster’s line first thing in the morning. Pay Day “activities” was a day off to pick up their pay and go to the bank. For me, it was a good day to avoid the bank, if possible. Sometimes it was unavoidable since I would have to pay our rent in Deutschmarks (DM) each month when our landlords would come in person to collect it. We never knew what the rate of exchange from dollars to Deutschmarks would be. In 1971 when I visited Bill on his first assignment in Germany, the exchange rate was 5 DM for 1 US dollar. By 1983, it was reduced to 4 DM and later 3 DM. We never quite knew what something would cost. That wouldn’t be a problem for notional items that could be rejected if too expensive, but rent was a constant monthly cost that might be reasonable one month and quite different another month.

American Express Bank Next to Burger King, Harvey Barracks, Kitzingen (pinterest)

      Many soldiers are young and inexperienced. Many had no experience with personal finances. Pay day was a big day to shop “on the economy” or have a wonderful German meal and a German bier. It was hard not to be tempted to spend more than necessary. It was said that some soldiers were so inexperienced that they thought that if they had checks in their checkbook that meant that there was money in their bank account. Needless to say, that understanding of personal finance caused a lot of problems for the soldier and for his immediate supervisor who had to teach the lesson that checks didn’t equal money.  Only a few pay days were needed to understand this high finance.

Written by Suzanne Rice · Categorized: By Eric Robyn, By Suzanne RIce for Bill

Jul 22 2022

Honor On the Line – The Seventh Flimsy, 1971

1971 … a period of extreme turbulence in the Army and American society.

     I had just returned home from Vietnam.  Reunited with my wife Sally and 8-month-old son, Paul, I quickly packed them up and flew to my next unit in West Germany.  Assigned to the 210th Field Artillery Brigade, we arrived in April 1971 in the town of Ansbach, about 35 miles west of Nuremberg. *  

     Although our sponsor was a no-show, when we finally arrived at the BOQ (bachelor officer guest quarters) in Ansbach, we were warmly greeted by my dear friend and West Point classmate Bill Rice, https://thedaysforward.com/bill-rice/ who was assigned in the Brigade headquarters as Assistant S-3 (Operations).  Bill and I had known each other since grammar school days in St. Louis and later graduated together as members of the US Military Academy Class of 1969.  Unmarried at the time, Bill generously helped us get settled in Ansbach, even loaning us his car while we waited 2 months for ours to be shipped from the States.  Incidentally, Bill and I shared the same promotion orders to captain and pinned on captain’s bars standing side-by-side on 4 June 1971, 2 years to the day from our graduation at West Point.  We laughed about the simple fact that every first lieutenant who survived to his 2d commissioning anniversary was automatically promoted to captain, so it was no big deal … a handshake, a beer with friends in the club, and a wife who never let me forget I failed to invite her to the ceremony!  We soon learned that promotions thereafter were increasingly competitive and slow to come, but much to be celebrated with wives, family, and friends!

     I was assigned as the Brigade S-2 (Intelligence Officer) on arrival and would be responsible for safeguarding and maintaining all classified documents and material in the brigade headquarters.  With nuclear weapons capability in all our subordinate battalions, we managed literally thousands of pages of documents (all on paper, no computers!) ranging in classification from the lowest “For Official Use Only” to “Confidential”, “Secret”, to the highest “Top Secret.”

To assist me in this daunting mission of guarding, organizing, inventorying, and insuring accessibility to authorized users, I was assigned an Intelligence NCO, Sergeant First Class (SFC) Gonzales.  He was an experienced and wise NCO who had done this type of work for several years.  Anyone with proper clearance and “need to know” could sign out and return whatever document he needed at any time, noting name, date, and time in our register.  SFC Gonzales meticulously maintained records of daily inventories and accountability checks in our logbook. At that time, all nuclear capable artillery units operated under a “zero defects” atmosphere when it came to any nuclear operation:  assembly, transport, guarding, deployment, communications, surety procedures, etc.  In the S-2 shop, we were not directly handling actual nukes like Bill, so we weren’t under the same gun as Bill, so to speak.  Nonetheless, we all felt we were always under the intense scrutiny of higher headquarters.  Lots of young Field Artillery officers lost their careers by messing up a nuclear inspection!

     I was on a fast track of learning the intricacies of classified information, when, as part of many USAREUR unit and headquarters relocations that year, we moved the brigade headquarters to “Herzo Base” in the summer of 1971.**  This move required the construction and certification of a secure, reinforced bank-like vault with a dozen high security, fireproof filing cabinets to maintain classified documents to include Top Secret materials, as well providing work space for our desks.

Entrance to HerzoBase, Herzogenaurach, West Germany

     A few weeks after we had safely moved and accounted for all the classified documents and material in our newly certified vault, SFC Gonzales informed me that he could not find a classified document and considered it might be lost.  That got my attention quickly!  He explained that during his regular inventory, he could not find the 7th copy of a 3-paragraph, 1-page Confidential document.  He showed me the original document, with its paper-clipped 6 carbon-copies (“onion-skin” or “flimsies,” as we called them).  Sure enough, the original Confidential document clearly stated, “Original plus 7 copies.”  When I read the document, I realized it should never have been classified Confidential by the VII Corps G-4 (Logistics).  It referred to a very minor administrative instruction for a military exercise applicable to another unit outside our brigade.  But it was classified, in our vault despite its irrelevance, and I was responsible for it.  Our records showed the original and copies had been checked out by our brigade S-3 and S-4 sections, so SFC Gonzales and I spoke with everyone who had access, and searched through our vault and all our files, but could not find that single flimsy copy.

Blank Flimsies (onionskin paper)

     I realized that if that flimsy could not be found, I would have to report a missing classified document within 24 hours to VII Corps, which in my mind spelled the end of my career.  I let Bill Rice know the situation and he sprang into action quickly, helping to search the entire headquarters, working with me late into the night.  But, alas, no 7th flimsy could be found.  The next morning, I reported the situation to the brigade executive officer and brigade commander, woefully aware that this incident would reflect negatively on them and our unit when I sent in the report of a missing classified document.  The entire brigade staff was now fully engaged to locate that flimsy.  The next three days were stressful, not only in continuing the search, but also in hearing other ideas on how to “fix” the problem.

     One simple suggestion was to contact the originator who initially classified the document and have him declassify it and thus, instantly, resolve the problem.  I contacted the originating officer at VII Corps headquarters, but he showed no interest in reviewing the document or its classification.  Door shut!

Cover Sheet for a Secret Document

     Pressure built from other sources simply to destroy the original document and its 6 flimsies and then complete a destruction certificate attesting that the original and 7 flimsies were destroyed by shredding and burning.  Of course, I would have to be the attesting officer, swearing that I had witnessed the destruction.  Here is where my 4 years of living within West Point’s Honor Code (“A Cadet will not lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do”) caused me to stop and consider. 

     Bill had heard this idea as well.  We discussed the implications.  We both knew what the harder right demanded, and I knew I had only one course of action to follow for a clear conscience.  My decision was simple:  report the document as missing, insignificant as it seemed to be, and let the chips fall where they may.  I did so and resigned myself to await the investigation from VII Corps. 

     After 3 agonizing days, the 7th flimsy mysteriously showed up on SFC Gonzales’ desk.  We never learned who returned it, who had it or where it had been, but we gratefully announced its recovery.  The investigation was canceled by Corps to everyone’s relief.  I continued to serve as S-2 for a few more months before taking command of an artillery battery, but for the remainder of my career my gratitude deepened for the foundation of Honor laid at West Point, and the loyalty and encouragement of friends such as Bill Rice.

     There would be many other times in the years ahead when I would be tempted to cut corners or shade things to avoid problems, but the deeply ingrained sense of “choosing the harder right instead of the easier wrong” (as we recited in the Cadet Prayer), would always be a guiding light.  As the Scriptures put it in Luke 16:10: “He who is faithful in a very little thing is faithful also in much.”  It is often the little “flimsy” things that trip us up … or challenge us to overcome. 

CADET PRAYER

O God, our Father, Thou Searcher of human hearts, help us to draw near to Thee in sincerity and truth. May our religion be filled with gladness and may our worship of Thee be natural.

Strengthen and increase our admiration for honest dealing and clean thinking, and suffer not our hatred of hypocrisy and pretense ever to diminish. Encourage us in our endeavor to live above the common level of life.

Make us to choose the harder right instead of the easier wrong and never to be content with a half-truth when the whole can be won.

Endow us with courage that is born of loyalty to all that is noble and worthy, that scorns to compromise with vice and injustice and knows no fear when truth and right are in jeopardy.

Guard us against flippancy and irreverence in the sacred things of life. Grant us new ties of friendship and new opportunities of service. Kindle our hearts in fellowship with those of a cheerful countenance and soften our hearts with sympathy for those who sorrow and suffer.

Help us to maintain the honor of the Corps untarnished and unsullied and to show forth in our lives the ideals of West Point in doing our duty to Thee and to our Country.

All of which we ask in the name of the Great Friend and Master of All. Amen.

* The 210th Field Artillery Brigade (at that time designated as a “Group”), was part of the VII Corps of the US Army, Europe (USAREUR), then comprising the bulk of NATO’s (North Atlantic Treaty Organization) defense against the -Soviet Union and Warsaw Pact forces threatening Europe.  Incidentally, one-third of the US Army’s combat divisions and one-fifth of its total manpower was assigned to USAREUR … the deterrent “trip wire” of the Cold War.

** In the West German town of Herzogenaurach, called Herzo Base, because it was a former Luftwaffe Messerschmidt fighter base in WWII.  This quaint German village was about 20 miles from Nurnberg and 15 miles from Erlangen.

Written by Suzanne Rice · Categorized: By Eric Robyn

Feb 23 2021

First Day as a Forward Observer – 1970

     March 1970 was a turbulent time of unrest and deep cultural division over the Vietnam War.  Despite the emotional and strident voices of opposition, this Field Artillery Second Lieutenant (2LT) arrived in country, 9 months after commissioning and fresh from 30 days leave following Ranger School. 

     I was assigned to 6th Battalion, 11th Field Artillery on LZ (landing zone) Bronco as a Forward Observer (FO) to an infantry rifle company (B Company, 4th Battalion, 3d Infantry (Old Guard)) operating from LZ San Juan Hill

Landing Zone (LZ) San Juan Hill

in the mountainous terrain south of Chu Lai and west of Duc Pho (see note below). We all knew the life expectancy of a “butter bar”* FO was short and that a trial by fire would come.  I just didn’t know how soon.

     My first day was memorable.  After packing up my basic issue (M-16, ammo, all-important compass,

Army Compass – a FO’s vital tool

map of my area of operations (AO) and grease pencil, C-rations, etc), I linked up with my Liaison Sergeant and met my Radio Telephone Operator (RTO), the man who would carry our PRC 25 radio which provided essential communications between me and our vital artillery fire support. 

A RTO “Rucked-up” with a PRC 25 for a Mission

Following a brief situation report of enemy activity and terrain in the area of operations from my infantry battalion Fire Support Officer (FSO), I finally met my company commander (CO).  The company then headed off on my first search and destroy mission in the mountains and triple-canopy jungles.

     Not many miles off the LZ, we uncovered a large cache of enemy weapons including AK47s, old Russian Kalishnikov rifles, WWII vintage US rifles (M-1s, BARs, carbines, etc), and various mines, grenades, etc.  The CO called for a chopper to salvage the cache; mission accomplished, we moved on.

     We crossed a mountainous jungle ridgeline in the late afternoon and moved onto a plateau of dense jungle with some open terrain.  The CO decided to call it a day, so we all set up our defensive position and dug in.  As I would many times in the months ahead, I jumped into my role as FO, plotting defensive fires around the company perimeter, and coordinating with the Fire Direction Center of my firing battery.  Because we were several miles away from my firing battery on the LZ and on the opposite side of a steep ridge line from my howitzers, all fire support would have to be delivered “high angle.”  Although we had the newest and most accurate model of the 105mm howitzer (the M102), with an effective range of 11.5 kilometers (7.1 miles), I knew high angle fire for “reverse slope targets” was problematic:  longer flight time, greater probable dispersion error, etc, but there was no alternative.

105mm Howitzer M102, Ready for High Angle Fire

     Just as I was wrapping up my coordination, we came under fire.  Everyone quickly hunkered down and the platoon closest to the enemy returned fire.  The CO asked me if I could bring in artillery, so I replied, “Yes, Sir!” with more certainty in my voice than I felt, and immediately called for a fire mission.  The response time was quicker than I expected.  We all listened expectantly as the first 105mm “Willie Pete” (White Phosphorous) round descended from its high trajectory with a scream, expoding about 300 meters in the air and about 400 meters away from our perimeter.  The platoon leader closest to the action told the CO he needed rounds closer; the sniper was less than 100 meters away from him.  I told the CO that dropping the next round 200 meters closer to us would require “Danger Close” procedures, meaning all calculations and firing operations would be handled even more meticulously – and that the possibility of friendly fire casualties greatly increased.  He instantly replied to bring it in!  The next round was HE (high explosive) about 100 meters outside the perimeter and right where we needed it, so I called for a battery “fire-for-effect” and 6 rounds of 105mm rained down on the target, producing a deafening roar with steel fragmentation shards sailing over our heads.  Suddenly, all became still.  Then, the company radio came to life with a crackle with the platoon leader’s voice, “enemy neutralized.”

     Within a few moments, a young infantryman searched me out and presented a jagged steel shard** still hot to the touch, saying how much he appreciated the artillery: “Thanks, L.T., this whistled by my ear…it’s exactly where I wanted it!”  This was music to a young field artilleryman’s ears…and all on my first day!

     Many fire missions and memorable events ensued during my months at the “pointy end of the spear” as an FO, but, by the grace of the Lord, I survived and was carried by chopper out of the bush to my next assignement as a battery fire direction officer.  The day before I said my fond farewells to the Old Guard infantrymen I had lived and fought beside during those months, I received a radio message from the Red Cross that my wife Sally had given birth to our first son and that both mother and baby were well.  That son, Paul***, celebrated his 50th birthday on July 12th, 2020!

Note:  Although I arrived in VietNam with orders for the 2d Battalion, 19th Field Artillery (2/19FA) of the 1st Cavalry Division Artillery, the assignment clerk at the 90th Replacement Battalion in Long Binh Post told me to get on the next flight north to I Corps and the 23d Infantry Division (Americal) because they had lost several forward observers recently.  I was assigned to B (Bravo) Battery of 6th Battalion, 11th Field Artillery (B/6/11 FA, 105mm howitzer) on LZ San Juan Hill in the mountainous region of the 11th Light Infantry Brigade AO west of Duc Pho and the southern-most brigade of Americal Division.  As expected, my duty position was to be Forward Observer (FO) for a rifle company of 4th Battalion, 3d Infanty Regiment (B/4/3 INF, Old Guard).  I was quite surprised to learn a battalion of the famed Old Guard (best known for ceremonial service at Arlington Cemetery and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier) was in VietNam, but proud to be assigned as an FO to her!

* A “butter bar” is an Army Second Lieutenant (2LT), so called because the single gold bar of rank resembles a bar of butter … easily distinguished from the silver bar of the more experienced First Lieutenant (1LT).

** That 5-inch long fragmentation shard was a prized keepsake for many years, but sadly disappeared during one of our many moves, a casualty of my wife’s clearing out what she thought was a piece of junk left on my desk. 

*** Paul graduated from West Point in 1992 (and as one of the first Class Sons of my Class of 1969), was commissioned a Field Artilleryman and retired from active duty in 2012.

Written by Suzanne Rice · Categorized: By Eric Robyn

Jun 14 2020

A Tribute to Army Docs – 1995

“You have the right knee of a 60-year-old man!”

The year was 1995 and I was 48 years old.

The Army doctor conducting my retirement physical was surprised when I replied: “Thank God, that is great news … my knee has gotten younger in the last 18 years!”  I then told her sincerely how much I appreciated Army doctors over 26-plus years of active duty service.  And I meant every word!

When I was a cadet in 1967, Dr. (then-Major) John Feagin (USMA Class of 1955) operated on my right knee, injured during intramurals. **

**Note:  Intramurals (or company athletics) was heavily emphasized by Douglas MacArthur’s arrival as West Point Superintendent in 1919, in order to provide competitive athletic experiences for every cadet in a wide variety of sports.  The most gifted cadet athletes competed on Corps Squad (intercollegiate) teams, but the rest of us were assigned to a new sports team every quarter with our company-mates.  “Every cadet an athlete” is more than just a cliché!

That day in January as I lay flat on my back under local anesthesia, he cheerfully explained the new procedure being used.  He was drilling numerous small holes on the back side of my kneecap to encourage cartilage growth.  His continuous “step-by-step” description was informative and obviously meant to distract me from the nerve-wracking sound of the electric drill at work.  Success was in his results.  He got me up and running (literally) in relatively short order.

Whirlpool Treatment for Cadets

Cadet Patients Endure Physical Therapy – Aka: Physical Torture

When I graduated in 1969, I left West Point fully qualified medically for Airborne, Ranger and all the other physically demanding activities required of young officers, including combat duty in Vietnam, and more than 2 years of battery-level command of troops.

In 1976 I returned to West Point as a Tactical Officer and re-injured the same knee playing squash.  Once again, I went under the knife, this time by the hand of Dr. (Major) Gordon Kimball.  During surgery on that cold January day in 1977, I heard a familiar voice from 10 years earlier.  Colonel Feagin, then the USMA Hospital Commander, took time to stop by and check up on me and my knee.  Ever the caring physician, he told me he wanted to see how his work had held up after 10 years of ground-pounding abuse!

Although this second surgery was successful, my knee obviously was not up to what it once was able to do.  An Army medical board reviewed my case and placed a permanent “profile” in my file, exempting me from running and other activities stressful to my knee.  I was told at the age of 30 that I was walking on the knee of an 80-year old man!  In spite of this pronouncement, I remained on active duty for another 18 years.

Fast forward to 2004.  I had one more encounter with Dr. Feagin.  He had just been named the worthy recipient of the USMA Distinguished Graduate Award, so I decided to drop him a congratulatory note.  Considering the intervening years, I referred to having been one of his “old patients he had probably long forgotten.”  After all, how many knees had he seen over a career?  Amazingly, he wrote me back.   He not only remembered me but said he had recently been reviewing my case file!  Who would have guessed that old medical files provided reading material in retirement?  Or that mine held any residual interest?  But I appreciated his love for his profession and his thoughtfulness to reply to an old patient.

Now 25 years into the golden years of retirement, I am much older than my 60-year old knee.  It is my left knee that now causes more pain!  I guess at age 73 the arthritis is to be expected.  Could be worse!  To borrow (with a twist) the response Plebes were taught to recite about their first squad leaders: “Everything my right knee is – or ever hopes to be – I owe to John Feagin!”

One final shout out to Army docs involves the ever-recurring story of cadets and their knee injuries.

Our son Paul (USMA Class of 1992) while a yearling (sophomore), was engaged in barracks horseplay, twisting his knee.  Fellow classmate and former fellow field artilleryman, Bruce Wheeler (https://thedaysforward.com/colonel-bruce-wheeler/) called very early one morning to my quarters at Ft. Sill where I was assigned as a battalion commander.  As all commanders know, early morning calls seldom bring good news.  Bruce, now the orthopedic surgeon assigned at Keller Army Hospital, anticipating my anxiety, greeted me, “Hey, Eric, don’t worry, Paul is OK!”  He then went on to explain the relevant details of this cadet mishap.  Paul was in good hands.  Thank you, Bruce, for following in the line of great docs who keep cadets and soldiers on their feet and running!

PS:  Although I was not a Corps-Squad athlete, I learned over the years that many West Point athletes and graduates knew and loved Dr. Feagin.  So, in memory of Colonel John Feagin, USA Retired (USMA 1955), here is an excerpt from his obituary of September 2019:

Dr. John Autry Feagin Jr. died peacefully at the age of 85 on September 1, 2019 at his home in Jackson Hole, WY, amid friends and family.  Born on May 9, 1934, he was the son of the late COL John A. Feagin, Sr. and Katherine Terrell Feagin.

Dr. Feagin was a 1955 graduate of the United States Military Academy at West Point.  Following two years as an Army artillery officer, he was offered admission to the Duke University School of Medicine and was the first West Point graduate to attend medical school while on active duty.

… He served as an orthopedic surgeon in Vietnam 1966-67 with the 85th Evacuation Hospital in Qui Nhon … returned to West Point and served as an orthopedic surgeon at Keller Army Hospital and team physician for the Army athletic teams from 1967-72

Orthopedic Doctor at Keller Army Hospital

… He retired from the Army as a Colonel in 1979 after a final assignment at West Point as the Commander of Keller Army Hospital

Keller Army Hospital in Which Dr. Feagin Worked

… practiced orthopedic surgery in Jackson, WY from 1979 to 1989.  During this time he also served as team physician for U.S. Olympic teams and the U.S. Ski Team … he returned to Duke in 1989 as Associate Professor of Surgery and team physician for Duke Athletics, where he reunited with Head Men’s Basketball Coach Mike Krzyzewski, who had been a basketball player at West Point when Dr. Feagin was team physician.

In 2009, the Feagin Leadership Program was established at Duke University to honor and build on Dr. Feagin’s legacy of leadership in medicine, … mentoring the Feagin Scholars throughout the last ten years of his life.

Dr. Feagin was … president of the American Orthopedic Society for Sports Medicine (AOSSM) … His contributions were recognized through numerous awards including the United States Military Academy’s Distinguished Graduate Award, and induction in to the Army Sports Hall of Fame and the AOSSM Hall of Fame.

Dr. Feagin humbly influenced an entire generation of orthopedic surgeons worldwide in ways that transformed the understanding and treatment of knee injuries. He was a founding member of both the Anterior Cruciate Ligament Study Group and the International Knee Documentation Committee. His book, The Crucial Ligaments, remains the standard text on ligamentous injuries of the knee.  He was an exemplar of patient-centered, selfless leadership and his legacy lives on through the thousands of people he influenced for the better throughout his life.

He always tried to live the West Point Cadet Prayer: “Encourage us in our endeavor to live above the common level of life.  Make us to choose the harder right instead of the easier wrong. … And grant us new ties of friendship and new opportunities of service.”

In the words of the West Point Alma Mater, “May it be said, ‘Well done; Be thou at peace.’”

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

Written by Suzanne Rice · Categorized: By Eric Robyn

Oct 24 2019

Two Tales of a City, 2015 – Part 2

Fast forward to 2015.  Not only were Sally and I looking forward to a nostalgic trip back to Germany and a visit with friends in Augsburg and Ansbach, but we also had the pleasure of sharing this journey with our sixteen-year-old grandson Gavin.  Forty-two years from our first visit, we landed in Berlin on December 7, excited to see how the city had changed.  We could never have imagined how great that change would be.

Our new Marriott hotel was located near Potsdamer Platz, a section of the city that was once behind the Wall in the former East Berlin.  As we walked about the area we were stuck by the vibrancy, prosperity, new development, and excitement of locals and visitors.  Busy stores, restaurants, and businesses abounded.  As we crisscrossed the city the brick trace of the Wall, laid out in brass, could be seen meandering along the pavements and streets.  Except for chunks here and there the Wall was gone but its history not forgotten. 

Brick “trace” of the Wall Dec 2015

Checkpoint Charlie now existed only as a tourist stop, the guard house remaining but actors in quasi military dress now playing the crossing guards.  Museums to recall the Nazi era, the Holocaust, Cold War, East German gadgets and lifestyle were all available to the public to visit and to remember, with sobering clarity and sometimes with humor.  We’ll never forget walking past Trabi World Tours. 

Sally by a Trabant tourist rental Dec 2015

The old Trabant had made a comeback!  An enterprising and apparently successful Berliner provided rentals for tourists.  Who could resist travelling the city and experiencing a ride in this unforgettable “classic”!?  It was another great example of entrepreneurial capitalism popping up in unexpected places.

Perhaps our most enduring memory came at the start of our trip.  When we landed in Berlin it was late afternoon, and as our taxi sped into the city the early December night had fallen.  The lights along the streets showed a city alive with activity and the Christmas season beginning.  Straight ahead we could see in the distance the Brandenburg Gate brightly lit.  Through its arches were clearly visible an enormous Christmas tree, a large Menorah and Star of David.  All three were brightly shining and spoke in such a powerful way of reconciliation in a city once torn by hatred and oppression.  We will always be grateful for the blessing of this gracious memory, a beautiful benediction to our Berlin experiences.  Indeed, “… it was the best of times.” 

At the Brandenburg Gate 2015

Inside the Brandenburg Gate in former East Berlin

 

P.S. From co-authors, Eric and Sally: for excellent reference, we recommend the book

The Collapse, The Accidental Opening of the Berlin Wall, by Mary Elise Sarotte.

Written by Suzanne Rice · Categorized: By Eric Robyn, By Sally Robyn

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