My Sorrowful Army Introduction - Nez

 

On June 30, 1964, I boarded a plane for the very first time. It was a Western Airlines Boeing 707. We flew from Seattle to San Francisco. That was the day I joined the U.S. Army. I was headed to Fort Ord, California for Basic Training. They put a bunch of west coast recruits on busses to Fort Ord, which was between the Salinas Valley and Monterrey. (Fort Ord no longer exists.)

The hour long bus ride quickly took us to Fort Ord. On arrival we were ordered off the bus and into formation. After roll-call we were assigned to our units and barracks and locker numbers and given five minutes to go there and put our stuff in the locker and report back to the formation. The last “recruit” back was given a very loud reprimand. (Thank goodness it wasn’t me.)

We were issued our “flying twenty” dollars which was used for our buzzcuts, boot polish, and padlocks for our locker and footlocker. We were then issued uniforms (two sets of fatigues, two pair of socks and shiny black combat boots, and bedding. We took everything to our barracks and stowed them temporarily in our footlockers and again reported back to the formation either shirtless or in a t-shirt. We did almost everything in formation.

We were “marched” to the infirmary for our inoculations. If you were allergic to eggs, you were taken out of line and into the infirmary separately. Those of us not allergic to eggs stayed in line and through four army medics (two on each side) with what looked like “space” pistols. We were told to “Stop and Do Not Move” and the first two medics immediately ‘shot’ us on each upper arm, and again “Stop and Do Not Move” as the next pair of medics repeated the action. We were given four shots for what we never knew (maybe even experimental medications?). And were never given shot records.

We were “marched” around for thirty minutes to “let the shots take effect.” And to familiarize us with the company area, our home for the next ten weeks. Next we were “marched” to the mess hall, where we stood in formation while our company commander, made a welcoming speech and introduced our training cadre, our “drill sergeants”. Finally, then we had our first mess hall meal and the first “sit down” since getting off the bus. It wasn’t “mama’s home cooking.”

We were awaken at five a.m. the next morning, by a large metal spoon pounding the bottom of a pan by Sgt. Flores, our drill sergeant. He called us to attention in our skivvies in front of our footlockers. Then before we did anything else we had to make our beds as we were shown and repeatedly practiced the previous night, the military way and very tight. All beds had to  look uniform and then we could shower, shave, brush our teeth and get dressed in combat fatigues and be out in formation in thirty minutes.

Our barracks was 2^nd Platoon, Company C and we barely made formation in thirty minutes. We were at attention while our company commander reviewed our platoon. He was not impressed.  We had been at Fort Ord for fewer than twenty-four hours, with fewer than five hours of sleep and we were already being “dressed down” by the ‘man’. Our 1st  fifteen minute breakfast was scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and milk, water or black coffee. That was our most decent breakfast. SOS became the norm.

I had to memorize my Army serial number. I had to memorize my M1 rifle’s serial number and how to dis-assemble and re-assemble it blindfolded. Our drill instructor, Sgt. Flores, taught us the ‘Army’ way of doing everything especially marching. He marched us until we were a precision drill team, and at double-time (running) then he taught us rifle drills until we did them in our sleep. He did everything we did while he sang marching ditties for cadence and did it all running backwards and didn’t break a sweat. We spent a lot of time with Sgt. Flores. He worked us hard, but was really good-natured and fair, always smiling, laughing and telling us stories.

I remember he told us in that WWII he was a teen in the Philippines which was under occupation by the Japanese. He was one of many Phlipino guerillas who killed hundreds of Japanese soldiers with knives and machetes while they slept in their barracks. He loved General McArthur and at seventeen he joined the American army and later became an American citizen. And we would be his last assignment before he retired.

Some three weeks into our training Fort Ord had a Spinal Meningitis outbreak and the whole fort was locked down and quarantined. We kept training, except there was no more double-timing and ten minute breaks every hour. We spent more time at the rifle range for more separation. No one could leave post, and civilians weren’t allowed on post. Worst of all our ‘free’ weekends were spent “on post”.

Our barracks windows were open at all times. Our beds had to be stripped every morning and mattresses turned every day. Trainees were dying from the disease. Men that we had become used to seeing daily disappeared. We slept in bunkbeds and one night my upper bunkmate was removed by medics at about two a.m. and we never saw him again. Others slept with a blanket over their heads to filter the air they breathed. It was pretty scary.

Finally, during week seven the quarantine was lifted and most activities returned to ‘normal’. Except the sick trainees never came back. We were told that our basic training was being cut short, to eight weeks instead of ten. We would wrap things up with a night crawl under concertina wire and live ammo shots above the wire, and run our PT tests the next week. We would have graduation exercises and leave that Friday.

The remainder of that week we prepared for our PT test which included just four events plus the mile run. We ran our final PT test in full combat gear with rifle and backpack in our shiny black combat boots. I ran the mile in less than seven and a half minutes. I was an athlete and I scored well in everything.

I was really glad that no more than six is our barracks had gotten meningitis. We didn’t know if any died. The Army arranged for each of us to fly back home for two weeks and gave us tickets and orders for our next assignment. I went to Fort Devens, Mass. for cryptographer school in September 1964.

 

The Saga of Gloria and Her 1958 Impala - Nez

The family and six of their seven grown kids were neighborly, friendly and charitable Christians. They helped out wherever and whoever they could. Just two years following his family’s membership into the First Baptist Church of Lyman Mr. Aiken was elected Deacon. Immediately everyone in town heard the news and congratulated him. But, his daughter, Gloria, a college student who regularly partied and danced, wasn’t too keen on her Dad becoming a Deacon, knowing that certain additional church expectations would (and did) permeate the household.

Unexpectedly, in March 1958 Gloria dropped college, took a southbound Greyhound to Oregon and moved in with her sister, Mary Ruth and her family. Soon, with a new job, Gloria was partying and dancing as she pleased, without her Dad’s critical oversight.

Jimmy, the middle son, drank and didn’t care much about church.  Anyway, he was given a “pass” on his drinking due of his Korean War injuries. He often drove the family car to the Lyman Tavern, where he spent many of his days and nights. Tolerance was at a pretty high level for most people in Lyman. But of course, a couple of Baptist busybodies thought that having the Aiken’s vehicle usually parked at the tavern was unacceptable for the image of the church. So, the pastor discretely suggested to his newest deacon that Jimmy drive to the tavern in Hamilton instead. It was only four miles from Lyman but would be out of sight of those image conscious Baptists. Mr. Aiken soberly agreed.

So, Jimmy drove the family car to the Hamilton Tavern. He was usually there until closing and drove home drunk many nights. Only four miles, but one night he missed a turn, wound up in a creek, injured and the family car was totaled. Insurance paid Jimmy’s hospital expenses but offered only enough money for a down payment on another car. But Mr. Aiken decided not to go into debt for a new car so he didn’t buy anything.

Gloria, upon hearing that Jimmy had wrecked the family car and was himself hospitalized with injuries, came back from Oregon driving a brand-new 1958 Chevrolet Impala, two-door hardtop. A really nice car, which she had actually won in a dance competition the same night that Jimmy had his wreck. As a token of reconciliation, she offered the Impala to her Dad as the new family car but he wouldn’t accept a “sinful” car. However, after serious and heartfelt discussion with Mrs. Aiken he proposed to Gloria that if she wanted to return home and get a job he “would allow her to chauffeur” her mother and him whenever they needed transportation. Astounded but understanding that her parents needed transportation Gloria accepted her Dad’s terms and returned home. For a while.

A couple of months later, Mike, the oldest son and a Seattle realtor, needed additional agents and decided to hire Gloria. Before she left for Seattle Gloria again offered the car to her Dad and once again he declined. So, with her parents blessing Gloria and her 1958 Impala moved to Seattle.

Meanwhile, Freddy, the youngest son and a Navy veteran, seeing that his parents were again without a vehicle, traded his old pickup as a down-payment and financed a four-door, a 1959 Pontiac Bonneville sedan and offered it to his parents, but with the stipulation that Jimmy was banned from driving it. They graciously accepted.

Jimmy, without a family vehicle went back to the Lyman Tavern and continued drinking.

A few days later Freddy went back to the dealer and re-acquired his old pickup.

Very quickly Gloria, with her 1958 Impala, became a successful real estate agent while still partying and dancing. In fact, Gloria partied and danced her way to realtor of the year repeatedly.

Ways to Start a Story - Steve

 Ways to Start a Story

Oh, Fair New Mexico - Steve

 “Oh, Fair New Mexico…”

By the end of my four-year stint at Eastern New Mexico University, I learned more about the skeletal structure of the town of Portales and its surrounding terrain than ever expected. It can be a shock to reflect on how much your surroundings can come to play a part in your daily life despite them being totally secondary to any reason for being there. If it’s New Mexico, the impact of the Land of Enchantment is greater than most other locales due to the harsh environment that we call home. It has the capacity to seep into your conscious, subconscious, and unconscious being.

My reaction to Goober Gulch (the town’s unofficial nickname as a peanut-producing center) didn’t even register on my “first impressions” attraction scale. No “that’s an interesting building” or “wow, look at all the stuff in that store window!” I focused fully on getting to know the campus layout and what the buildings served: eat here, register and pay fees here, classes are here and here and here, study here, and shower and sleep here. Welcome home!

I loved Dorm life and class life and the Student Union Building (the SUB). Being on my own fit me like a glove – ah freedom!!!

But, eventually my toothpaste and deodorant ceased to exist! This circumstance brought on ta forced migration that began the accumulation of my intimate knowledge of Goober Gulch’s two shopping areas – ‘downtown” and THE STRIP (really the strip mall, such as it was). A second factor motivating my outreach campaign stemmed from the endless, singular diet of free (and old) movies shown on Saturday evenings in the SUB (the Student Union Building). The only cure? A trip to the downtown theater to see “Lawerance of Arabia” alongside a girl willing to let you buy her ticket and popcorn.

The experience of the journey downtown packed quite a punch – certainly more than expected. One trip morphed into a sweat-fest. Another, a full-body workout from walking the mile and a half back to campus face-forward into a 60-mile-per-hour wind laced with occasional blasts of sand (or as natives like to call it, “Enchantment”). The cumulative benefits of this exposure deposited a knowledge base of the locations of the awnings that would protect you from the rare occurrence of a brief but intense rainstorm.

It was only in subsequent years that the addition of a car to my personal asset inventory brought relief from the pain of ambulatory exposure. It also, however, simultaneously materially expanded the scope of my geographic intelligence. Translation: On occasion, I was able to transport me and a few of my newfound buddies for a social gathering at the nearby sand dunes (peanuts love sand). A full keg of beer and all manner of competitive and engaging activities always complemented these groupings.

Keg parties gave major stress relief from the relentless study load and were especially welcomed after finals. The challenges of some physical always added to the excitement. Inevitably, these exercises became progressively more challenging as the evening wore on. (No comment on the challenges involved in the return trip to campus.)

One special outing to the dunes marked the onset of Lent – otherwise known as Carnival. Late into that special night, our party was honored with some special entertainment. Everyone was questioning the need for such a steep cover charge – $15 per person, but any dispute regarding the exorbitant cost was immediately dismissed once the talent was revealed. Here, on site and in person was a National Treasure. Present was none other than Charene Promise, the renowned drag queen, most recently hailing from New Orleans, Louisiana. Let me assure anyone listening to this story that there was no person left unsatisfied that the performance was worth it. Charlene’s signature red dress, shoes, and painted toenails accompanied her magnificent voice. Indeed, her incomparable stage presence made each dollar spent feel like an Amazon Black Friday special. 

“I’ll be back!” was her departing signature “Promise.”

New Year, New Dreams - Steve

 New Year, New dreams – lessons learned and future plans.

(Do you know what you’re doing and why?)

Resolutions for the new year can come from a variety of perspectives. They can express a need to rid yourself of damaging habits that affect your physical and mental wellbeing. They can resurrect your longing for bygone feelings generated by lost energy and a lack of purpose. They can take form through conversations with yourself. They result from examining your position in the cycle of life and your proximity to its end. Resolutions can bring new dimensions to your life and your pursuits.

Normally, for me, the process of coming up with a few resolutions is one where I take a sheet of paper, sit for a considerable amount of time, and list the actions that I want to make as commitments for the new year and beyond. This year, I’ve decided on a different approach. Motivated in large part by the imminent arrival of my 80th birthday, I have decided it’s more critical to change my focus from looking for what’s wrong and shift to seeking what is most important and how to balance my commitments and time relative to those choices.

What are some of those decisions? First to pop up on the list is my commitment to my wife and family. The motive is reciprocal and connective. I don’t have feelings that I’m neglectful of this, but I believe I could be more purposeful in the use of this time allocation. So, my resolution is that I will strive to listen more closely, be responsive rather than lecturing, and reach out more frequently to raise my awareness of my family’s status and communicate mine.

Second is my attitude and commitment to my art. The primary impetus is self-satisfaction and, most of the time, independent of any feedback. I’ve allocated a lot of time in the form of direct work on art projects and contributions to the sculpture garden as well as other public art projects. This has happened somewhat to the detriment of other objectives. My resolution is to dial back on the time a bit while focusing on the current set of obligations (i.e., saying no to and delegating work on new projects). I’m only committing to projects that satisfy me personally – a selfish choice but one I can afford to make at this point in life.

The third one relates to the connective nature of this community. I have a great amount of respect and appreciation for the people of this community we call Elements. I know that virtually all people have their idiosyncrasies and occasionally reveal traits that aren’t aligned with my values. But at the same time, if I can limit my need to express and hold to my principles without forcing them on others (or even verbalizing them, for that matter), those bonds that provide the connections will make this a unique place to live and bring happiness and content. So, that will be one of my resolutions. 

Fourth and finally, I resolve to be less “preachy” and formal in my writing and so far, I’m not off to a very good start. This may be harder than I thought… but a little on the “necessary” side.

10 Minute Exercise - Onomatopoeia - Steve

 10 Minute Exercise – Onomatopoeia

Late at night when nothing is disturbing the house – no TV, no music, no conversation, no random traffic out front - the mind can be a snare for random sounds magnifying as they arrive. The surprise of a clap of thunder raises the hair on your neck and prickles the backs of your ears. The soft, subtle drops of rain falling on the window draw your eyes toward the drips of water slipping down to the bottom of the sill. The clacking of the keys of your PC forcing you to first lose touch with the whisp of thoughts that were guiding fingers busily hammering out words. Then, conversely giving you the rhythm needed to drive toward the final letters of a satisfying sentence. At the end of it, all this commotion yields a quiet, peaceful finish to another day. Time for bed!

10 Minute Exercise - pistrophe - Steve

 10 Minute Exercise – Epistrophe

I just felt the stab of a recurring bad memory - weighing on me like a wet blanket. It was from a time when I struggled to free myself from the depths of depression resulting from being let go from a job for the first time and the only time of my life and weighing on me like a wet blanket. I couldn’t function properly; every move was labored – weighing on me like a wet blanket. I had no energy, wanted to lie down and give in to the heavy load – weighing on me like a wet blanket…

Connecting Three Pieces - Steve

 Connecting Three Phrases: Gun runner, By the zoo keeper’s office, Over the frozen pond

It was during a particularly severe cold snap in February that the call came in. It was from a reliable informant. A gang called the Northern Alliance was looking for 4 clean-wiped AR-15’s. Normally, this was the calm time of the year because the weather kept most everyone off the streets, including the bad guys. Sargent Green entered the news into the call log database so everyone on his team would be informed of the activity about to take place. 

The sources for this type of weapon were limited to the few known gun runners that frequented East Albany, so Green wasn’t too concerned about something happening without him being aware of it. Still, being this close to the border invited the risk of a new bad actor coming on the scene. Better to be safe than sorry, he thought, so he alerted the feds as well via BSAM (the Bulletin System for Arms Movement). They have a BS for everything, Green thought.

Greens’ next step was to inform his chief of the call, so he left his desk and dropped by the zoo keeper’s office, the moniker affectionately given to the chief by his staff. After all, they were a bunch of animals that collectively couldn’t be more diverse, natively wild, and in constant need of being watched over.

Chief Baker wasn’t in.  Maybe he’s in the john, Green thought. I’ll give him a minute.  

Checking his phone, Green saw a red-text flash that alerted him of a call for backup at the new shirt factory located on the north side of town. It had just been verified this morning that the owner was a mob boss with connections to the big city, so it wasn’t a stretch to assume that this was a cover for money laundering and who knew what else – maybe gun runners. Two officers had a warrant and were getting ready to breach the entry at the shipping dock but needed support to cover the front entrance of the building. Without hesitation, Green grabbed his coat, called for Adams to join him, and left the HQ in a silent run heading to the factory location. 

The 8-minute ride was uneventful, and he checked in with the lead officer saying he and Adams were on site at the entrance and ready. Green got the word that the team was moving and to cover the front. Within a few seconds, three men burst out of the front door. Fortunately, none of them were armed. Each of the perps headed a different direction, one left, one right and one, the dumbest one, straight toward the officers. Green took down the man that had made the mistake of going straight at them and Adams took chase of the one that went right, leaving the other suspect no choice but to try his escape over the frozen pond - his only pathway. Adams caught up with the perp that went right and took him down without much effort. Anyone in a suit and tie was at a disadvantage and in seconds, Adams had him cuffed and shivering on the ground.  

By this point in time, Green had taken up pursuit of the pond perp just as the two breaching officers came out the front door to join in the action. Evidently, no other bad guys were found in the single story building and they were eager to join in the hunt. Because the frozen pond had slowed the escape significantly, and the final perp was handicapped three to one, he was easily caught and detained.

A search of the “factory” yielded 10 AR-15’s and enough ammo for a small army – evidence that would convict the three stooges and send them away for several years. 

Sargent Green intended to mark this as the shortest successful crime cycle in the history of zoo keeper’s tenure in East Albany and apply for a promotion that he knew he wouldn’t get. At least it would be worth an extra donut at the morning call session.

Bradley Wilson - Steve

 Bradley Wilson

A New Beginning - Steve

 

A new beginning? Why? Is my life so bleak or broken that I am required to start over? Maybe, but before starting out with that directive, let’s step back and look at where I am relative to where I want to be.

Here are few basic realities: 

Am I perfect? Far from it.

What is taking up most of my consciousness and is this “worth” the allocation of time and effort?

Am I fulfilling the justified demands of my life – to my wife, my family, my friends?  (feeding the connections that in turn, sustain my happiness; being sufficiently responsible for my health and wellbeing; awarding them the time and attention needed; 

After considering these allocations and necessities, what is it that I really want out of life; what goals are appropriate?