By Suzanne Rice

Each summer at West Point, new cadets arrive on Reception Day (R-Day) starting their West Point experience. Perhaps a month or so before, a call goes out to the wider West Point community (spouses of faculty and staff, older teens – I was the wife of a professor in the Math Department) saying that they could help when the Firsties (Seniors) and some Cows (Juniors) had a practice run-thru for R-Day. Those who would like to participate in that project would be given instructions about when to come, what to wear and what they might expect as pretend New Cadets. Those of us who wanted to help would be treated just like the new class of cadets. The cadet cadre would be able to practice how the day might go with real people to lead.

     I was fascinated with the idea, especially since my (much) younger sister would be visiting and we could both have a unique experience. Wouldn’t she be able to write a wonderful essay when she got back to school in the Fall – “What Did You Do on Your Summer Vacation?” At the time, she was a high school track star (400m, 200m hurdles, and mile relay) so I was confident that she would fit right in and master all the requirements. As a mother of a toddler, I wasn’t so sure of my own ability to do any pull-ups or many push-ups, but I was willing to try. And my sister was excited about the possibility of testing her grit.

     We reported at the designated time and place after dropping my two-year-old daughter off at the babysitter. We didn’t know what to expect, though I had heard about the three responses and a few other tiny details having been around West Point graduates for many years by that time. Three responses? New Cadets quickly learned that during that first day, they could only speak when spoken to with these three responses: “Yes, Sir”, “No, Sir.” “No excuse, Sir.” By the time of my New Cadet experience, there were five responses; two had been added since 1969, “Sir, may I ask a question?” “Sir, I do not know.” I was prepared for the three responses, but it was such a scary day, that it was hard to remember the exact words of each of the new responses – I wished there were only three responses; I could remember those! Did not want to get in trouble.

     After a greeting from the Superintendent (since it was the practice day, it was some other authority in his place), new cadets were then sent on a sort of obstacle course going from one station to another to get whatever a new cadet would need to get through the next few weeks. In small groups (squad size), we would learn to march in a single file wherever we were led and never speak until spoken to.

     My sister and I were separated as soon as we arrived. We were on our own like the real new cadets who wouldn’t know anyone nor what was happening. I went along following the cadet before me one station after the next. Towards noon, we headed towards the gym for a physical test. Oh, no! Just as my squad entered the gym, I heard my name called, “New Cadet Rice, report to your squad leader.” What? (I didn’t say it – not a response.) I did as I was told, “Yes, Sir.” I was handed a slip of paper saying that New Cadet Smith (my sister) had broken her ankle and I should take her home. I was directed to where I could find her. What happened? Nothing! She had been handed a similar note that said she have broken her ankle and she must leave – this was an exercise to see how the cadre would handle such an occurrence on the real R-Day. I was happy that I didn’t have to display my pathetic physical skills, but I was sad that my sister had somehow been chosen to “break her ankle”. She would have loved to try to complete the course.

     Years later, our own son would be a new cadet. It was twenty-five years since my own experience, but I clearly remembered the concern I felt when I was a “New Cadet” on the practice day so many years before (I could go home; he could not!). It is hard for any parent to say the last goodbye (a new cadet has ninety seconds to make his goodbyes on that fateful day). Most parents had no idea what lay ahead for their New Cadet; maybe, that is better. Bill and I each knew the pressures that were coming after our family goodbye.  

      Bill had warned our son to keep his eyes straight ahead, follow the guy before him, don’t call attention to yourself – blend in. On the R-Day of 2006, families were allowed to roam around West Point after their goodbyes. We were to avoid the cadet area but were encouraged to stay for the Oath Ceremony later that afternoon where the New Cadets would make the following promise: I, (name), do solemnly swear that I will support the Constitution of the United States, and bear true allegiance to the National Government; that I will maintain and defend the sovereignty of the United States, paramount to any and all allegiance, sovereignty, or fealty I may owe to any State or Country whatsoever; and that I will at all times obey the legal orders of my superior officers, and the Uniform Code of Military Justice.

     At some point in the day, Bill decided to take us to the Cadet Store, which, though we had to walk through the cadet area, was allowed for parents and families on that day. We walked past a squad of New Cadets that was waiting outside the barber shop. Since we all heard the same directions to keep our eyes straight ahead, we intentionally walked as quickly as possible past the squad of newly-shorn new cadets – don’t distract them; don’t look at them. Don’t get close. Don’t smile at them.

       About a week later when we had returned to GA, our son was able to make his first phone call home. First words out of his mouth were, “Did you see me?” Of course, we eventually found him at the Oath Ceremony; it had been hard to find him. “No, not then.” When? “You walked right past me! I could have reached out and touched you!” When? How was that possible? Turns out he was one of the newly-shorn cadets outside the barber shop. Even if we had looked closely, we may not have recognized him – no hair and with newly-acquired Army glasses on his nose; contacts were gone. He was transformed into a cadet in only a few hours.

      One thing, I was happy about was that we pretend cadets didn’t have to make a trip to the barber shop; not sure how I would have looked with no hair!

To commemorate the 200th story published by thedaysforward.com, we present the story of how it all began.

It was in December 2013 that the idea of thedaysforward was born on Skidaway Island, GA at the home of Eric and Sally Robyn. I was visiting my son Christopher who was stationed at Ft. Stewart only a few miles from Savannah. The Robyns had invited us to spend the day with them. After spending the

afternoon in conversation, reminiscing about Army life, Christopher (USMA 2010) said, “If all the graduates of the Class of 1969 have as many great stories as I have heard today, they need to be recorded somewhere.”  How to do that? Could it be a website? How in the world would we do that? Where to start?

     On a sleepless night several months later, our opportunity presented itself. Having fallen asleep with the television on, when I woke up about 3 a.m., I heard a commercial:

       “Do you need help with your website? (What?) We can help. (Grab my glasses.) We are Clickaroo in Peachtree City. (Peachtree City? – Where’s paper and pencil?) Give us a call at 404-xxx-xxxx. That’s Clickaroo in Peachtree City.” I was now wide awake.    

      Since Clickaroo turned out to be only a couple of miles away, we decided to look into it, and they were open to our thoughts; we didn’t really know what we wanted but they were willing to work with us. By this time, Christopher had left Ft. Stewart, GA and was at the Field Artillery Captains Career Course at Ft. Sill, Oklahoma. Clickaroo arranged for a conference call, and we all agreed that we should start the project even with so many questions still to answer. Clickaroo assigned one of their web experts to us and away we went. Now, where do we get stories for a prototype?

     How about Sally and Eric? (https://thedaysforward.com/colonel-eric-robyn/ ; https://thedaysforward.com/sally-robyn/) Our shared stories were the basis for the idea in the first place. And I will have to write some stories. I wrote a few but kept getting calls from our Clickaroo expert – “Keep writing; we can’t make a website out of nothing!” Our goal was to get something ready to show the Class of 1969 at their 45^th reunion at West Point in October 2014 (barely six months ahead). Meanwhile, I contacted the Copyright Officer at West Point to see if there were any rules that we had to observe. She asked what we were trying to do. “Not sure exactly, but here is the concept: collecting stories from the Class of 1969 to share.” She asked a few questions and immediately responded that she was very excited about the project since most stories of West Point grads are never shared with anyone outside the West Point community. Her thoughts were a great encouragement. As things progressed, Christopher decided that he would go to the reunion to show the prototype and to personally invite the Class members to write their stories. He would soon be finished with the Advanced Course and would be getting orders for his next assignment. Wherever he was assigned, he would take leave for the reunion weekend and fly to West Point.

           We would need a name for our website. What could it be? It needs to be something catchy and somehow connected with West Point, but short and easy to remember. Brainstorm! How about “The Days”?* Ah, perfect. Clickaroo had to check if that domain name was already taken. It was. Now, what? Can we keep “the days” and add something else to it before or after? Like what? “After The Days”? Is that taken? No, but that didn’t seem right. We pondered this a while. What are we trying to say with our name? We are trying to remember “The Days” – their common experiences at West Point, but after their graduation. Having started at the same place – West Point – they went their separate ways all over the world doing amazing things. How to capture that in a word or two? Finally, we decided upon thedaysforward. Not taken! Yeah!

     Best laid plans…Christopher’s orders for his next assignment were for Korea. He would have to report there just before the reunion. “I’ll just fly to Korea, ask my new commander for leave for a week and fly to West Point to present the prototype”. Sure! We tried to think of some way he could be at West Point in October. Failure! **

     While we were sitting on the porch together the weekend before he was to fly to Korea, the phone rang. I ran into the house to pick up the phone.

     “Mrs. Rice? I’m calling about your website.”

     “Our website? Really? it isn’t up on the internet until Monday.”

     “I found it.”

     “Hmmm.” I was very wary. Who is this person? Is this a scam?

     “I was a soldier in your husband’s battery in Augsburg in 1972. I’ve been looking for Captain Rice for a few years. I read some of your stories. I hope you will help me.”

     “Sure. (Still skeptical.) Go ahead.”

     “I was hoping you could help me convince the VA that I had an injury in August 1972. Maybe, you can help me remember some of the soldiers that were in the battery with me.”

          The conversation continued, but I was still skeptical until he told me about an incident that had happened while the battery was in training at Grafenwohr in July 1972. Only someone who had been there would have known. At that, I could talk to him freely. I did my best to recall things that I hoped would help him, though Bill and I were in the USA for our wedding and then our honeymoon at the time of the incident. This was just the first amazing incident that came from the publication of thedaysforward.

     Soon, we had a few more stories. We received a comment from a man who had found the website and noticed a name that he recognized. Could we put them in touch? We are very careful of privacy, so we contacted the author asking if he would like to be in touch with the reader of his stories. “Yes”, was the quick response. It seems that the reader of the stories had for years been grateful to the author crediting him for saving his military career by a successful surgery when the man was a young officer. The reader was now ready to retire from the Marines and wanted to invite our author to his retirement ceremony. Both were delighted to be in touch after many years.

     Recently, three men contacted me through the website. Each of them had discovered the website by chance and had hoped to be in touch with Bill. Even though it was clear from one of my stories that it was not possible, they individually (they didn’t know each other) wrote to us through the website. Though their stories were different, there was a key thread. Each had been an enlisted soldier in Bill’s battery in 1-15 FA in 1973-74 and each of them wanted to let us, Bill’s family, know how Bill had affected their lives. One of the gentlemen had been a medic who was attached to Bill’s battery when they trained near the DMZ – which was often – every six weeks or so. Another soldier had been called back to the US on emergency leave; his exit interview with Bill under those difficult circumstances were life changing. They had hoped to thank him for giving them positive goals and said they had thought of his leadership and his influence throughout their lives. We were blown away with their stories. One of them since he had even been a student in my government class during the education program there. (https://thedaysforward.com/second-infantry-division-education-program-1973/) I even heard from Bill’s driver through thedaysforward. I am pretty sure Bill had no idea that he had shaped their lives in that one year in Korea so long ago.

One day I received a call from a man at the Eagle Scout Association; they were looking for information about current Eagle Scouts. I gave him Christopher’s info and then mentioned that Bill had been an Eagle Scout, too. I told the gentleman if he wanted to know more about Bill, he could read the website. He asked me to explain and when I did, he asked if his wife could use the stories in her 8^th grade classroom. Of course! First person stories are the best.

     We recently published a story that received a comment from a man who had known the author when he was a student in our author’s ROTC class. It was a heartwarming story of how a few words from our author inspired his actions for the rest of his life. Amazing.

     Another of our authors has been reunited with several old friends through his stories – one had served with him in Italy, and one was a priest friend that had lost touch with the family. All were delighted to be in touch again after many years. For the latest heartwarming reunion, look here at the bottom of the comment section: https://thedaysforward.com/in-gratitude-for-chaplains-2001/

     Thedaysforward has provided a platform for recording the wonderful stories of the class of 1969, a chance to share these stories with anyone who wants to read them and a way for old friends to connect. The members of the Class of 1969 are even learning wonderful new things about each other after over 55 years of friendships. For thedaysforward team, it has been a unique experience to get to know more members of the “Best of the Line” and their lovely wives and widows and to showcase their amazing lives. We thank you for sharing your stories! Aren’t they great!

     From its inception, the mission of The Days Forward has been to collect at least one story from every member of the West Point Class of 1969 and their wives and widows. Please send in your stories. We look forward to working with you all!

*A West Point plebe’s (freshman) life is filled with learning plebe “poop”, a plebe term for information to be learned. Some of the required pieces of “poop” is learning “The Days”. At any time, an upperclassman can demand that a plebe “give me the days.” At that time, a plebe would need to sound off with, “Sir, the Days, there are xx days until Army beats (some football opponent) in Michie Stadium, xx days until Plebe Parent Weekend, xx days until 500^th Night, xx days until Army beats Navy, xx days (to other important events in the cadet calendar) etc., etc. It can be difficult for a plebe to keep up with the correct number since the number of days changes – every day! (Definition with the assistance of Bob St. Onge, USMA ’69)

** Five years later, Christopher again planned to be at the class reunion – 50 years since their graduation.  Life got in the way. At that time, he was living in Vancouver, WA, the whole continent away from West Point and his first child was due the very weekend of the reunion. News of the baby’s arrival came in a text while we were touring Washington Irving’s home near the reunion hotel. We toasted the newest Class Grandson on the first day of the reunion; the new Dad missed the reunion again!

     Many American military posts might be considered remote to some who live in the large metropolitan areas of the U.S. Those who have been assigned to foreign countries often can feel isolated from familiar scenes, foods and language. Military families learn to take advantage of the special opportunities in remote areas to make their own fun. Though I would not consider Ft. Sill, Oklahoma a remote area, it is about an hour away from the next larger city (Oklahoma City) and two hours away from Dallas, TX. In 1974, there were some, but not many fast-food restaurants, department stores or specialty shops. For anything very exotic, the big cities were the place to go. For many of us at the time, those excursions were few and far between because most families had only one car and that one car was in use for work each weekday.

       To entertain ourselves and to enjoy the company of old and new friends, we started a monthly Supper Club. Initially, it was six couples also attending the Field Artillery Advanced Course – all of whom happened to have been classmates at West Point in the Class of 1969. As we began the club, we decided to make it an international dinner club. Each month, the couple hosting the dinner at their home would tell those attending what the theme would be and each couple would bring a complimentary dish to add to the meal. It could be quite a puzzle finding the ingredients to some of the international dishes, since there were few options for ingredients besides the commissary on post or a couple of small grocery stores – there were no internet purchases available or international groceries in which to shop. Substitutions were often required.
     We had an Oriental dinner one month for which we chose a recipe called “Spring Soup”. It was odd to read the recipe and maybe, even odder to eat – made of peas and lettuce! Never made that recipe again. We had to find a special butcher to prepare the meat needed for the entrée, but we had a fun evening tasting the delicacies.
     When dinner was over, we played some games. We made up a game we called the “Dictionary Game” that we loved and made us laugh ourselves silly. One couple once had a scavenger hunt around their house, clues and all, and we spent a lot of time looking under the furniture and behind the curtains for our prizes. Weren’t they brave to let us look everywhere – didn’t find any dust or anything out of place. They must have spent a busy week cleaning the house besides preparing our dinner.
     The dinner parties were so successful that several years later, after most of the men had gone to graduate school, we arrived at West Point to teach in various departments and the Supper Club was resumed. It was a slightly different set of six couples, but most of the same old crowd. For most of the dinners, the wives and husbands worked together to determine the menu and to prepare and serve the food at their home each month. At one dinner, the men decided that at the next get-together, they would do the preparations without help from their wives. Sounds great!!

     By this time, the dinners had lost their international flair. Surrounded by the mountains of the Hudson Highlands, West Point was more isolated than Ft. Sill.

The “guys” dinner was to take place at the Rice home, so Bill took the lead with the entrée. He asked for my cookbooks and proceeded to look through them to find just the recipe he wanted to make – with no help from me. He, eventually, found just what he was looking for. He liked the photo of the entrée and picked…Beef Wellington. I read the recipe and innocently asked if he was sure he would like to make that recipe. “Of course.” was the immediate response. I did the shopping, but he was in charge of the rest of the preparations.

      On the day of the dinner, I was to spruce up the house while Bill spent his time in the kitchen. Our 18th-month-old daughter was, for the first time in her life, propped up on the couch to watch Sesame Street and whatever else followed on the public television station. It worked well; she loved it! It was soon clear that Bill needed some help in the kitchen. It was a small kitchen, more like a short hallway with no room for even a table, so trying to roll out the crust for the large beef tenderloin turned out to be quite a task; the rolled-out crust was so large that there was no room in the refrigerator to keep the crust cool until it was needed. Since it was November and a cold day, we finally hit upon a great idea – cover the crust and place it on the picnic table in the fenced-in backyard until it was needed. First, the beef and the duxelles had to be cooked and then those small stuffed tomatoes in the photo in the cookbook. There was no recipe for the tomatoes, but they were pretty so Bill made up a recipe. By the time of the dinner, we had both been in the kitchen for eight hours and could barely keep awake to serve and eat dinner. Our guests said it was delicious.

     I don’t remember what all the other men brought to complement the Beef Wellington. Dessert did stand out – all these years later. It was Bananas Foster – flaming bananas. Fancy!

          

It was tasty but had just a little glitch… when it flamed up, the fire went so high that it scorched our dining room ceiling. We lived in the Gray Ghost quarters on West Point and were quite concerned that we would be fined when we left for our next assignment. Luckily, the inspector didn’t notice!

Remembering Marianne 1945-2021

It Was July 21!  –  1969

America’s amazing feat of landing on the moon has been celebrated for over 50 years. For most of those years, I was a busy Army wife and mother moving all over the world every few years. Though I noted the fantastic American accomplishment and have always been proud of my country, most years July 21 was just another day. Military families most often move in the summertime, so for many years my main focus was which packing box to open and where to put what was inside. Or see what the children were doing – where are the kids about their age with whom they could become friends? Or meeting the new people at my husband’s new assignment and the new neighbors near our new home. Or registering at the Church nearby – is there vacation Bible School? Sometimes, we would put the boxes aside for a little while and venture out of the house to go to the neighborhood pool. Besides moving, for the Rice family, July was a month of celebrations: Bill’s birthday on the third, the birthday of his uncle who had died at Normandy and for whom Bill was named on the Fourth – and the big celebration, the birthday of our Country! That’s not all – we had welcomed our son to the family on the sixth of July. Cousins and other aunts and uncles’ birthdays cluster all around those celebrations. By July 21^st each year, I was partied-out. Still had more boxes to open…

     It was only recently that I noticed something that seemed strange to me. Everyone in the U.S.A. thinks that the lunar landing happened on July 20. Why did I always think it was July 21?

     Here is the story. My father served in the U.S. Army Air Corps during WWII. He trained to be a radio operator in Madison, Wisconsin. Near the end of his training, there came a memo asking for anyone that could type to identify himself. In those days, women were more likely to have taken a typing class in high school than men. I’m not sure why my father learned to type, but it may have saved his life. He stepped forward and was whisked out of radio school and into a different job in the 389^th Bomb Group (“Sky Scorpions”) ***

He spent most of his service at Hethel Air Field, Norwich, England, at a desk rather than as a radioman on one of the B-24 Liberators. He did hop aboard one of the planes flying over D-Day, without orders, because he “wanted to be a part of the mission.”

The plane on which he hid away made 5 sweeps over the armada on June 6, 1944. (As a child, I used to play with the air medals that he was awarded. Guess he thought he didn’t deserve them. He had served in the North Africa Campaign with the 389^th in 1943. We haven’t been able to figure out exactly what his job was, though we have researched it at the 8^th Air Force Museum in Savannah – maybe, a cryptographer. He never said.)

     What does this have to do with the moon landing? When I was a little girl, my father, having survived the War, would often put me to sleep with stories of his Army Air Corps adventures while in England. I loved the stories and became a real fan of things English. Most of his stories were from his off-duty time. Since he was stationed in England for three years, they were allowed some furlough time when possible. When I was old enough to babysit, I saved that money for a trip to England planning it for after I graduated from college. In my child’s mind, I would go there, see where my dad had been and one of my friends would surely like to accompany me. Wouldn’t that be fun! My aunt in Chicago even arranged for me to become a pen pal with the niece of one of her neighbors who was from England. We sustained that email friendship from eighth grade to adulthood. I could visit her? A plan is coming into place – oops, after graduation, no one could go with me (weddings, new jobs, no money, etc.), so I headed off for the adventure of a lifetime by myself.

     My first step after arriving in London was to get a cab to take me to Paddington Station where I would hop the train for Liverpool. My pen pal was graduating from college that very day and I would get there just in time for the formal ball that evening. (I carried a formal gown to wear as well as an iron to make it presentable after being crushed in the suitcase for so many hours of travel. Little did I know that the plug of my American iron wouldn’t fit into the British electric outlet.  I carried that iron and gown all over England for the rest of the six-week trip!) Caught up in the excitement, I barely remembered that I was supposed to send a telegram (How do I do that?) to my parents telling them that I had arrived. Good thing I didn’t forget that detail!

     The next day, we went to her family’s home in Cinderford in the Royal Forest of Dean for a few days where I recovered from jetlag. Then, I was off to the places that my father described. In Norwich, I found a phone booth and a phone book and attempted to get in contact with some of the folks that had been so nice to my father – 25 years earlier. In one case, I called the wrong person, but when I described what I wanted, she said, “Oh, you must be looking for my husband’s parents. Where are you? Stay right there; they will come pick you up – don’t move.” The rest of the story is that my father almost married her husband’s older sister while in Norwich; her husband had been a small boy during the war and remembered my dad like an older brother. I had a wonderful visit with the parents, but the “almost” fiancée had moved away. I wasn’t there long enough to meet her.

    Many of my father’s stories were centered around a resort in Scotland where American soldiers went on furlough. Being there for three years, he and his buddies went there several times for rest and recuperation. I decided to go there, too, taking the train to Edinburgh from Norwich. It was in Edinburgh that I realized that the monumental effort to reach the moon was on schedule. I learned that the landing was expected to take place in the middle of the night, about 3 a.m. Edinburgh time. Wow, I needed to find a television. Would it be televised in Scotland? I looked around the hotel to see if there was a television somewhere – at that time, there were no televisions in hotel rooms. I found one in a sitting room and checked to see how to turn it on. Then, I went to sleep, setting my alarm for 2:45 a.m.  When the alarm went off, I crept down to the sitting room in my pajamas, turned on the television and waited for the rest of the crowd to arrive. No one ever came, but the television worked and the first steps on the moon were televised.

It was such an amazing experience to know that so many Americans had been a part of this unbelievable event. It was an exhilarating event to witness especially so far from home – even if it was by myself. What a thrill!

     I went to church the next morning at the closest church I could find. I was delighted when the priest spent his entire sermon relating the landing on the moon as a gift from God, the ingenuity of the American Space Program and getting to know more about God’s wonderful creations. It was wonderful – I wanted to raise my hand and I shout, “I am an American. You are talking about my country. Thank you for your inspiring message.” (I didn’t do it!)

     It continued to be an exciting day when after church I went to the bus station to go to Blairgowrie, Scotland, the location of the resort. Everyone was buzzing about the moon landing. I didn’t realize at the time that on Sundays, stores are closed, so my only way to get to the resort – some miles out of town – was to ask at the bus stop. How can I get there? When I identified myself as the daughter of an American soldier who visited 25 years before, they called the hotel, and the owner came for me. The lady who had owned the resort at the time of my father’s visits had moved to a cottage on the grounds when her son took over the administration of the resort. He took me to her home; when I was introduced, she exclaimed, “You are my first American grandchild! Come in so we can get to know each other.” She related the same stories to me that my father had told me as a child – I thought it was amazing: with a name like Smith, I was really surprised anyone would remember him. It was quite a memorable day – it was July 21 in Scotland, but July 20 in the U.S.A.!

*** Called “The Sky Scorpions”, the 389^th Bomb Group flew B-24 Liberators from Hethel, near Norwich, England. In 1943, 389^th detachments were sent to North Africa at Benghazi, Libya and at Massicault, Tunisia. The 398^th also participated in bombing raids over Austria, Italy, Sicily, Crete and Romania, particularly the oil fields at Ploesti.                                

     It was a pitch-black night – early morning, really, long before sunrise. 15,000 of the most patriotic, courageous soldiers in the US Army had marched to the parade ground at Ft. Lewis, WA and were at parade-rest waiting for an encouraging address from the Commanding General of the Ninth Infantry Division. As the wife of the Commander of 1-84 Field Artillery, I wanted to be a part of this special event. We lived only a few blocks away – how to get there in the dark and as quickly as possible? I really didn’t want to be out in the dark by myself. No one was stirring in the family housing area where we lived; Bill had gone to the Battalion Headquarters long before to march with his soldiers across post to the field.

     I decided to ride my bike – that would be quicker than walking and the light on the bike would guide me there safely. So, I left our daughters asleep and sneaked out of the house, jumped on my bike and found my way to the field. I stayed near the street-side of the parade field but could see the stage and podium that had been erected for the Commanding General and his staff who were waiting there. Stretched out over the whole field before the General were all of his soldiers and the 9^th ID band and chorus.

     Are you wondering why all those soldiers were there on the field at that hour? It was Independence Day 1987 and the entire Division standing on the field was preparing for the traditional Division “Independence Day Fun Run”. Later in the day, it would be too warm for them all to start the run, even though it was Ft. Lewis, not Ft. Polk! There would be other festivities later in the day so before dawn was the time to start the race.

     MG John Shalikashvili*, Commander of the 9^th Infantry Division, took to the podium on that dark, warm morning and gave a rousing Fourth of July address to the soldiers of the Division.

He reminded them why they serve and the greatness of the USA because of people like them. Towards the end of the ceremony, he related that he had recently been in Los Angeles for an event, where the attendees were inspired by a patriotic program headlined by Lee Greenwood. Though it had been released several years before, the song that Lee Greenwood sang at the event in CA especially touched MG Shali. He asked Lee if he could have permission to bring the song to his soldiers. It must have taken some time for the copyright arrangements to be made and for the 9^th ID band and singers to learn to play and sing the music, but they were ready for this early morning presentation. For me and for most of the assembled soldiers, it was the first time we heard God Bless the U.S.A. No one there knew the words at that time; we could only listen and be inspired by the soldier that has been selected to sing this new song.  Like MG Shalikashvili, we were touched, and the soldiers ran a little faster that day being motivated by Lee Greenwood’s song.

     What were the other events the soldiers would enjoy throughout the day?  There would be Battalion picnics/BBQs planned for the soldiers and their families along with games to play and watch. At the end of the day, the 9^th ID band would set up at the Ft. Lewis football stadium and play a wonderful concert of patriotic music for the soldiers and their guests. The culmination of the long, wonderful day would be the playing of the 1812 Overture by Tchaikovsky. This inspiring music tells the story of Russia’s defeat of Napoleon’s invading army. It opens quietly with a Russian Orthodox hymn – a prayer for peace. Following this, there is a bit of the French national anthem, the Marseillaise, indicating the invasion by Napoleon. In musical tones, the Battle of Borodino erupts with the cannons firing as the French are driven from the field of battle.

(You can hear the cannons firing at 12:06 and again at 14:10.)

    Have you ever wondered about those cannon volleys in the middle of a beautiful piece of music? As the Commander of the Battalion that included the salute battery for the 9^th ID, Bill and his cannoneers were tasked to be a part of the classic performance. Many days before July 4, the Battery soldiers with their 105mm howitzers had been out on the football field practicing with the Army band to “play” their cannons in the 1812 Overture. Our daughters and I would get to the stadium early, but not as early as Bill and the salute battery.

     When we arrived in the stands, we would see the Battalion howitzers arrayed across the field away from the band and Bill walking around checking his walkie talkie and talking with his “musicians” and the band. He would direct his soldiers to “play” their instruments just at the right time in the Overture. When they actually began to fire, the cannon would sound every four seconds – check your watch – just as in a salute (count the seconds the next time you hear the 1812 Overture or attend a salute – it’s more complicated than you might guess.). They had practiced so often that their enormous sound would vibrate the whole stadium at just the precise moment. I always wondered how Bill knew the exact moment to give the “Go”! He would have answered, “We practiced.” To our delight, it went off without a hitch. The inspiring performance was followed by the rousing Armed Forces Medley. Fireworks would end the salute to America’s 211^th birthday. What a great way to end the day that had started so early. I was so glad that I made the bike ride before dawn that day – as for other Americans, Lee Greenwood’s God Bless the U.S.A. has become very special to me and every time I hear it, I think of that assembled group of soldiers and all who have served our country in uniform who love their country more than self! God Bless the U.S.A.! 

     Follow-up: The next year, the girls and I rode our bikes to the stadium to avoid the difficulty of parking the car. What was I thinking? I was pregnant with our new baby due in three weeks. Having ridden a bike for much of my life, from elementary school years, I didn’t think a thing of it, though navigating after dark was a little tricky. Oddly enough, the baby didn’t wait for three weeks. Was it the startling booms of his Dad’s cannons or the late-night bike ride that caused the baby to come just two days later? Actually, I tripped and fell as I was packing the car with items I needed to lead a Battalion Wives Coffee that evening. I didn’t know it at the time, but this Coffee was to be a baby shower; instead, I was in the hospital in labor – beside me was one of our battalion wives who just happened to be a nurse on duty. She was the one who broke it to the waiting ladies – enjoy the party without the honoree – the baby is on the way!

*Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff – 1993-1997