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  • Not military. Wife-oriented. Weird sixties stuff. Naw... Well, yeaaaah....

    !967. Just matriculated freshman at B'ham Southern College, the only place that my old man would pay for (semi-alumnus - WWII intervened), despite some really solid credentials & a major-league desire to go somewhere else (as in UNC Chapel Hill or U. of Chicago - Anthro schools). I didn't like that a bit.

    However, I was there. I didn't really have a serious girlfriend prior to this & the gal I had most frequently dated before had abandoned me for Vanderbilt. That's the way I was thinking at the time.

    I had been a known white civil rights "activist" from my early teens, so my pro-military opinions, although B'ham weirdo eye-brow-lifters, didn't get any traction. Civil Rights standing in mid-sixties Alabama went a long way. Wasn't hard to get a rep for being weird. Hell. Wear metal-frame glasses. Play Bridge.

    As a result, I was a "freaque" in good standing. Got to hang around with the most exclusive club in the world. That is, cute, smart & good-lookin' lady weirdos in Alabama.

    I had been told by a theatre guy In T-town (Tuscaloosa) that B'ham Southern Drama Department Hallowe'en parties were the ultimate in lady availability because (previously published here):

    a) The guys were mostly gay &
    b) The girls were mostly unconventional

    Sounded OK. Went to the parties. The guy was right. Sort of.

    I had been already attracted to some women who were attached to this group.

    One was a cute little butter-haired gal. She turned out to be irretrievably attached to this giant, utterly monumental guy who would have slain me without need to prevent me from shooting him. Too much trouble.

    Another was a very attractive intelluctual raven haired lady whose attraction unfortunately dimmed as the party went on & she spoke, & spoke, & spoke...

    The third was probably the best-looking red-head I've ever seen. I knew her before. Very attractive she was, without any sort of alteration. She attended as "Cat-Woman." Unbelievable. Unfortunately, she had gotten herself stuck on Jesus (in this case a blind guy dressed as Jesus) & they had retired to the only bathroom in the house to f*ck, simultaneously preventing normal party micturation, etc. & my nefarious plans for the evening. They did the funny thing for hours. Uhrrr.

    The night after that I went to another Hallowe'en party.

    Same people there. Except for this one gal. She was wearing a blood-stained wedding dress sitting in an armchair in the middle of the room. I recognized her. She was this really odd person wearing catseye glasses who had attended the lunch table I frequented as a senior in High School. She had brought me a giant limeade while I was mowing my grandparents' lawn & refused payment for it after I had gratefully gulped it down. She was also the person I had seen doing some sort of free-style, very sexy dance during the "Freshman Talent Show."

    She was a bunch nicer that the others, so, since it was an Hallowe'en party I began wandering around her chair reciting the cauldron scene from McBeth. Worked. We sucked heads & became as one. That was 10/29/67. Got married 6/13/70. Not bad.

    Prof

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    • Had a 2nd day warrior with his silver bar all exposed walk up behind me and start yelling about how he could tell if an F4Ds wing tank racks had ejector carts in the pylon. I was a bit confused at what this wonder of the Navy was yelling at me about (On my Air Force Base) so I politely says WHAT!!!. He continued on with his yelling which I suppose was going to impress his comrades when I stopped him with a quick motion and said "Excuse me Sir but if you want to know if that plane has carts in the wing tank pylon you will have to walk you happy ass down there and look because I am busy loading live bombs, guns and missiles.

      The next day I had to report to the DCM, again, for balling out a 2nd Lewy, again. I was sitting out side of the DCMs office enjoying a cup of coffee and conversing with his busty red headed clerk about some dumb ass 2nd Lewy who was getting his ass reamed by the DCM at that very moment. About 15 minutes later the second day warrior from the previous days run in came through the door with a face as white as paste and he was hauling it out of there like his ass was on fire and his head was catching. The door was still open when the DCM called to his clerk "Is Peacock out there". She says go on in and so I did expecting a good reaming just like the sailor when he says to me "Can't you leave those junior grade assholes alone???" "Why can't a week go by with out you busting their asses???" It was a bad habit, I know, but I figured I'd never see them again. That was about the time the DCM busted out laughing and I realized I had said that out loud. Another bad habit, I know. It was then I realized there were 4 VERY SHINY STARS SITTING OFF TO THE SIDE. It was the soon to be General of the Air Force himself. I damn near shit myself right then and there as I stood at attention facing the DCM and he was laughing even harder than before. He told me to get my ass out of his office and leave those damn Navy fliers alone. I said yes sir and away I went. I stopped long enough to make the red head laugh when I said "Damn....you could have warned me."

      Needless to say I was in to see the DCM many times more. So much so that he called me by my first name...and that 4 Star ??? He had me driving him around as his aid/driver when ever there was a high classed shindig on base.
      I did look good in the Mess Dress Uniform. ;)
      Last edited by Capsoda; 05 Dec 09,, 07:55.
      Si Uis Pacem Para Bellum
      Pax Per Potens

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      • Comment


        • Originally posted by Prof View Post
          When I "matriculated" to (in? into?) Navy boot camp in (I think) July '69 I was assigned to a boot camp company with a new boss, a CPO Wells.

          One of the things that got done quickly, along with the then bizarre but now normal (sorry, guys, but...) haircut, was assignation into something like "fat & in need of remediation" & "non-fat." If one was F&INoR one was assigned to the position of "chow runner." The Chow Runner was a person who had the task of running across the great plains of asphalt on USNTC Orlando to deliver a list of the number of mouths expecting to partake of the largess provided by the Navy for each recruit meal. Come on, guys. Running was unusual. It was NAVY boot camp. We should have been painting.

          I'm not sure why, exactly, but those persons who assigned clothing to the recruits gave me a bunch of dungarees that were grossly oversized. I guess looked fat. I wasn't, goddammit. I was short, but I'd been a jock of sorts all through Indian Springs School & Shades Valley High School. Track, soccer, baseball.

          Whatever, alledgedly fat, I became a chow runner. I ran, but that was OK. I couldn't figure out why I'd been slandered in this horrible way, but f*ck'em. That sometimes works as a reaction to injustice. Not often, but...

          Shortly after that, a recruit commited suicide by hopping off the roof of one of the 5-storey barracks; landed on his face. Teeth & blood everywhere & much talk.

          The recruits with 4 weeks & less seniority were called "squirrels." I overheard one of the senior petty officers saying to another, "Did you hear about the flying squirrel?" I was impressed by the guy's nonchalance. Gloomy.

          One day Chief Wells popped into the barracks & warned us that barracks inspections were going to concentrate on locker security. Too many people were leaving their locks unlocked for convenience. The lockers must be locked at all times.

          About an hour later we all got called out of the barracks for something or other. When we returned we found that many, many of our locker locks were missing. Mine was one.

          Chief Wells came back in carrying a basketball-sized clump of combination locks, all locked together. He explained that the last five people to get their locks off this incredible bundle would do push-ups. "Many, many of them."

          It was my chance. I watched as our company leaped on the ball of locks & savaged the people competing with them. Laid back. When the carnage was over I claimed my lock.

          Started doing pushups. Counting aloud. Not counting right. Start over. Counting. Not counting right. Etc. Finally wound up with "One (etc)! You dirty Lock! Sir!"

          Did, by independent count, 135 pushups (more than I had ever done or thought that I ever could do). Wells left me alone completely after that. Even seemed to like me.

          Prof

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          • Remember how this justifiably nearly endless thread started?

            [I] I love stories. I live for stories. The best stories are, as I would say when I was a kid, "Army" stories. I want to hear some stories! Good stories, bad stories, stories that restore faith in man, stupid stories, funny stories, scarry stories, any true "Army" stories!!!! [/I]

            Things are picking up...

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            • That was over 3 years ago, posted by Confed999, & immediately responded to by (The Colonel) OoE.

              I also love stories. Tell some. Then I won't.

              prof

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              • Ok,

                When I was a Captain, I took a sigs course and one hell of a tough course in trying to determine the encrytion/decryption schemas. Very little sleep, a lot of bookwork, and field work up the ying-yang. My roommate and I were getting lost by the second. In the meantime, we noticed a lot of non-chalent, very laid back attitudes of the Non-Commissioned Members who almost did the field work blind folded.

                Well, years later, charges were laid that the course was a big orgy. Stories were going around that at night time, men and women were walking around without any pants on. Of course, I've never saw any of it.

                Well, I was waiting to be questioned but the MPs never came to me. After the hoopla died down and I saw the Major of the MPs at the mess. I asked him why was I not questioned.

                His answer, "You had perfect scores on your test. We knew you were studying."

                Comment


                • Originally posted by Officer of Engineers View Post
                  Ok,

                  When I was a Captain, I took a sigs course and one hell of a tough course in trying to determine the encrytion/decryption schemas. Very little sleep, a lot of bookwork, and field work up the ying-yang. My roommate and I were getting lost by the second. In the meantime, we noticed a lot of non-chalent, very laid back attitudes of the Non-Commissioned Members who almost did the field work blind folded.

                  Well, years later, charges were laid that the course was a big orgy. Stories were going around that at night time, men and women were walking around without any pants on. Of course, I've never saw any of it.

                  Well, I was waiting to be questioned but the MPs never came to me. After the hoopla died down and I saw the Major of the MPs at the mess. I asked him why was I not questioned.

                  His answer, "You had perfect scores on your test. We knew you were studying."
                  :)) :)) ohhhhhhhhhhhh really :))

                  Comment


                  • Originally posted by Officer of Engineers View Post
                    Ok,

                    When I was a Captain, I took a sigs course and one hell of a tough course in trying to determine the encrytion/decryption schemas. Very little sleep, a lot of bookwork, and field work up the ying-yang. My roommate and I were getting lost by the second. In the meantime, we noticed a lot of non-chalent, very laid back attitudes of the Non-Commissioned Members who almost did the field work blind folded.

                    Well, years later, charges were laid that the course was a big orgy. Stories were going around that at night time, men and women were walking around without any pants on. Of course, I've never saw any of it.

                    Well, I was waiting to be questioned but the MPs never came to me. After the hoopla died down and I saw the Major of the MPs at the mess. I asked him why was I not questioned.

                    His answer, "You had perfect scores on your test. We knew you were studying."
                    Now you know why us noncoms are always a happy bunch.....

                    While playing Sgt Carter (TI) I used to love freaking out the stars and bars crowd as much as the green weenies.

                    When ever I saw a green weenie spit on the ground I would bark " AIRMAN!!!! PICK THAT UP!!!!" You've never seen such scrambling confusion in your life.
                    Last edited by Capsoda; 07 Dec 09,, 22:58.
                    Si Uis Pacem Para Bellum
                    Pax Per Potens

                    Comment


                    • Another one at RMC. I've gone back to Kingston to do my Masters and I was doing my PT at RMC. Wasn't looking when I smashed right into a Cadet Wing Commander. Nice looking lass and obviously very dedicated. I have no idea why she assumed that I was a Cadet and then proceed to give me the third degree.

                      She told me her name and then told me to report to her with an essay why I should look where I'm running by 06:00 the next day.

                      I went back to my office and issued a summons to the Cadet to show up at my office at 18:00 that day. She showed up. Recoginized me. Saw that I was a RegForce Captain. And stiffened.

                      I let her stand there for 30 minutes while I went about my work. After which, I said, "I trust that I don't have to see you in the morning?"

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                      • I was in the army for approximately one and a half years (out of three) already. This is the perfect amount of time for a soldier to be in: "Old" enough to know how to do things and get things done, but still "young" enough to do interesting things, and not shoulder some of the responsibilities the older soldiers have. My tank crew and another got sent for 4 days to join an infantry exercise. The exercise itself was only one night's maneuvering, and a simulated attack. Since the whole thing was a "dry" exercise, the loader and I went to sleep, and the driver and Tank Commander had to stay up all night.

                        Fast forward to the next morning: At some point in the middle of the night we managed to get lost, try and shoot at our own base (blame the officer for those two, he was the one navigating), nearly overturned our tank, and almost ran over a jeep. Suffice it to say, the TC was not enjoying himself. After the whole thing was over, the TC is guiding the driver back to base, and being quite tired, is acting a little weird. Suddenly I wake up (I was awake the whole time, I promise!) to hear the TC yelling in German: "Linke!", "Recht!", "Ja, das is gut!", and the occasional "Schnell, Juden, Schnell!"

                        Deciding to have a little fun with this, while the TC's head is up top getting some fresh air, I reach my hand back and press the little button on his doodad that changes his broadcasts from Intercom to the whole Battalion radio network. Suddenly everyone hears him yelling at the good little Jews to go faster! I do this for a minutes and "fall back asleep". After another minute or so where he didn't notice anything wrong, I did it again for another minute. At that point one of the officers pipes up and says "2A, check your radio, I think it's broadcasting by mistake". He promptly shut up and told the driver: the base is that way, get us there, I don't care how. He closed the hatch and refused to come out until we were back on base and he had to dismount to guide the tank back in. By that point everyone in the unit back on our regular base had somehow already heard of the little debacle, and were ragging him mercilessly for the next week and a half. Only much later did he realize I was the culprit and not the radio, but since I was getting out of the army and he still had 4 months to go, there was nothing that he could do about it, anyway...

                        Tell you the truth, he was the best TC I ever had...
                        Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup.

                        Abusing Yellow is meant to be a labor of love, not something you sell to the highest bidder.

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                        • col yu,

                          guess you didn't ask her number afterwards
                          There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there has always been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that "My ignorance is just as good as your knowledge."- Isaac Asimov

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                          • AwRAHT!

                            Prof

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                            • Here's one that well predates my miltary service. It's not funny, just weird. Never have been able to figure this out.

                              It's sometime in May '66. Junior in high school. Last semester's about out. Some of my friends at Shades Valley High School decide to go out & just shoot some guns. They invited me. Hadn't done that in awhile; always had some sort of useful purpose for shooting for years. This was just to be play.

                              We (6 or 7 of us) gathered together all the armament we could. Mostly individual shotguns of various gauges & .22s, although I brought my .30/30 & my old man's 03/A3 (now mine, ) & this huge guy named Rick LaBorde "borrowed" his father's old Army .45.

                              We went up "old" Hwy 78 to a sideroad on the right marked "Hamilton Mines Portal #5." We had to drive around the gate with a "No Trespassing" sign, but this was a long-abandoned site. Nobody hired people to patrol these places. "No Trespassing" under the circumstances actually meant "We Disclaim Any Liability For Injury If You Do Trespass."

                              Hamilton Mines Portal #5 was a standard abandoned crater-style strip mine with a rail spur & an old railroad boxcar sitting on the tracks in the middle of the floor of the "crater".

                              OK. Picture. As you drive in, once you get into the strip pit you have the boxcar at 12 o'clock. Past the boxcar is about 100-150yd of flat, scraped red clay & chert gravel. At the end of that is a rather large wooded hill that extends both to the left & the right. Nothing else is there except for the occasional can & barrel, all red with rust.

                              We set up targets of various sorts & commenced firing, using the boxcar as a backstop. Having (actually, I thought it was kinda boring) fun.

                              While we were shooting we started hearing a "clunk" from the far side of the boxcar. More often than not it wasn't timed appropriately to our shooting. I finally got a little concerned, & shushed everyone. We sat around & listened. "Clunk." "Clunk" "Clunk"

                              Finally we heard a "Clunk..Kcheowwr" & realized that someone was shooting at the boxcar from the hillside beyond.

                              We all started yelling & shooting into the air like a bunch of Arabs to let the idiot who was shooting in our direction know that we were there. That didn't help much. Whoever it was kept shooting, & it finally became obvious that whoever it was was shooting at us. He just wasn't getting any info from the fall of shot because he was hitting the boxcar.

                              I went over to the right side of the boxcar & crouched behind the coupling there so I could see better & still be protected. He saw me, evidently, because his rounds started hitting the extreme right of the boxcar (left, to him) & beyond, & I was also getting hits in the dirt just to my right. I didn't know exactly what to do, until I suddenly got absolutely furious.

                              My Winchester was empty, but instead of reloading it I grabbed the Springfield with its poorly understood peep sight & a bunch of stripper clips & started trying to find him. Couldn't see him at all, but I had a hint of where he was shooting from so I started shooting trees in his presumed vicinity. Must have gotten close, because he popped out of hiding & ran to another tree. When he got there he started shooting again. He was very far away but I had the impression of dark pants, white shirt &, probably, a tie.

                              This didn't last long. He stopped shooting & by this point I was seriously trying to kill the guy. He ran from tree to tree & finally vanished.

                              While all this was going on, although I hadn't realised it at the time, LaBorde was trying to do the same thing but using his .45 as a howitzer, & a guy named Hill McCarty had reloaded my 94 & had been blazing away as well.

                              We stuck around long enough to satisfy our teenage hormones that we weren't chickenshit & left.

                              As in the infomercials, "But wait! There's more!"

                              Some years later Mary & I went up to the same place to engage in that delightful old beast with two backs. I told her about the spooky incident. We parked by the boxcar.

                              "Clunk" Clunk" "Clunk"

                              Got her down on the floorboards & scooted. Didn't see anybody this time. Made it out alive.

                              OK. All. Whaaaat!?

                              Prof

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                              • Originally posted by bigross86 View Post
                                Suddenly I wake up (I was awake the whole time, I promise!) to hear the TC yelling in German: "Linke!", "Recht!", "Ja, das is gut!", and the occasional "Schnell, Juden, Schnell!"

                                Deciding to have a little fun with this, while the TC's head is up top getting some fresh air, I reach my hand back and press the little button on his doodad that changes his broadcasts from Intercom to the whole Battalion radio network. Suddenly everyone hears him yelling at the good little Jews to go faster!
                                I'm dying. I am literally hurting from laughter, not to mention horrified in a humorous sort of way. Gotta read that one to my dad.
                                Supporting or defending Donald Trump is such an unforgivable moral failing that it calls every bit of your judgement and character into question. Nothing about you should be trusted if you can look at this man and find redeemable value

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