In my life I've had my fair share of "what was I thinking?" moments. Sometimes those times of epiphany come in the midst of situations, and sometimes they come much later, even years later. My time spent in the military has provoked some of those times of head-scratching times of introspection. I have worn the uniforms of three of our five different American services. The Army, Navy and Air Force. I never was a Marine, and I was never in the Coast Guard.
After seven years in the Army, I decided to go in the Air National Guard. I was able to go in as an E-5 and do my monthly time working in the lab at an Air Force hospital in San Antonio.
Later, for reasons absolutely unclear to me many years and a memory loss later - I opted to go in the Navy. (WHAT was I thinking??) The Navy was more than happy to have me, Navy recruiters were quite willing to take veterans from other services. (Not all services took that view. The Air Force, at least in those days, would not take a veteran of another service into it's ranks.)
Not too long into the Navy I realized I should have gone back into the Army again. My seven years of Army time had not prepared me for Navy traditions and a seafaring life. I enlisted in the Navy as an E-3, to be advanced to E-5 upon completion of my "A School" training. The Navy, after a few days of orientation at Great Lakes, and a short, self-paced admin school in Mississippi, made good their contract and moved me from a Seaman (E-3) to PN2 (E-5) Personnelman. So, with only a few weeks in the Navy I found myself a Petty Officer Second Class. And with that new and quickly achieved status, off to submarine school in Grotin Conn. I went.
At sub school I made class leader to my chargin... as the highest ranking man in my class. That put me in charge of a class of about a half E-4 Third Class Petty Officers "Nukes"- bright, Navy nuclear engineering grads who had been in the Navy far, far longer than I had. It was strange and uncomfortable to have these young men (and I just past 30 was older than all of them if I recall correctly) solicit my advice about Navy matters since I at that point had less than a month worth of time in a Navy uniform and NONE OF THAT at a real duty assignment. My time in leadership at the sub school created a vast number of "what was I thinking" and "what am I doing here?" moments.
However, now that all of that is over twenty-five years behind me, my real "what was I thinking" feelings tend to be more of "why did I not just go back in the Army, complete my 20 and retire?" Had I have done that, I would have been drawing military retirement for nearly 15 years now.
*Pictured above (top) is me in my Army Basic Training photo in 1975. Also, a picture of me (below, and on the left as you look at the picture) with my submarine class. I have described my time in submarine school in greater detail in an earlier post.
Unknown till me until 5 minutes ago - Linda met Mick Jagger once, in about 1964, or 1965 she is not sure which. She met him at KTSA (then a local top 40 station, now all talk) in some sort of record promotion thing. She was with a group of "baton twirlers" that KTSA used for special events. He (Jagger) needed something to write with and asked the girls for a pen or pencil, which he got from one of the girls (not Linda). And that's about it. She was not especially impressed.
Pictured is a young Mick, long before he turned into Barney Fife. Frankly, I've never cared for Mick or his group, and nor does Linda - but it is odd we have been married almost 40 years and I just found this out today!
Too uncoordinated for baseball, not big enough or good enough for football, I took to track in high school. Track and cross country. I excelled at neither, but was at least good enough to generally be in the middle of the pack in most runs. In high school track meets I ran the mile, the 880 (half mile) and on infrequent occasion ran a two-mile relay and 220 (quarter mile). The 220 was not my race, I was never fast enough to compete with the really fast kids in a serious fashion.
I would have rather played football. I loved playing "street football," near the house I lived in during my high school time. Sometimes we actually played in the street, sometimes in a neighbors large yard. Playing tackle, not touch (in the yard, not the street) - without helmets or pads its a wonder none of us were ever seriously hurt. Anyway, all my love of football was not enough to compensate for a lack of size, girth and ability...so no high school football for me.
My first car was a 1964 Ford Mustang. Well, almost and maybe. Almost, because I actually owned another car first, given to me by my parents in the summer of 1971, I believe. That car was envisioned to be a starter car to be passed on to my brother and sister, and since I did not buy it I really don't count it my first. The first was a 1964 red Ford Mustang. Maybe.
Maybe? Well I say "maybe" because Linda tells me it was a 1965 model. I remember it as a 1964. Either way, I bought it for a modest $200.00. (Cars were a tad cheaper then, ehh?) Best car I ever owned, wish I had never traded it in. I think I snagged Linda because I had that car. She might have been better off keeping the car and dumping me! Pictured is a '64 Mustang. Not mine, ofcourse, but just like it.
One of the earliest jobs I had was working as a house painter. I could be wrong but it seems to me that I went into house painting not too terrible long after Linda and I married. One of my friends had gone to work for an Italian house painter by the name of Archie A. Before too long this friend was encouraging me to come to work with Archie as well. So, I did. I actually enjoyed the work. We painted mostly upper end houses of relatively wealthy folk, and on occasion did work for realtors painting rentals. I found painting to be sort of mindless - which is to say that one could paint and think of other things, or be involved in some profound conversation with a co-worker at the same time. On the down side, I did not much care for the clean-up routine, and I was not then and am not now particularly comfortable with heights. Yet there was something profoundly satisfying with seeing a finished job - to put your effort to a task that you could actually SEE the completion of in a very clear, pleasing, and obvious way. That part, I liked. One thing I eventually came to dislike about the job was the boss. Archie was a sort of sneering, slick wise guy. Clever in a devious way, and not really to be trusted. He had a sort of boyish charm about him, but he definitely had the heart of a rogue. About 10 years older than us (probably a little over 30) he was actually a very good painter, much better than his help I'm afraid, but I had no trust or confidence in him. That feeling was fortified in that sometimes he did not pay us on time, and made excuses about it rather than be honest. Linda is not here as I type this, so I cannot ask her how long I held this job, she would remember, I have forgotten. Maybe six months, maybe less. In some ways, oddly, it was the most satisfying job I ever did. Working for the biggest jerk I ever worked for. Eventually, one of my friends and I tried to start our own business. His name was Ronnie and we called our little company D & R painting. Well, actually we did not have a "company," we had some business cards and no contacts, no connections, and ultimately no work. I confess, I look back at my time painting as about as pleasantly as any period of my life.
I am certaily reconciled to the notion that my Army service was long long ago, and that curiously enough it is virtually certain no one is still even is in the Army from the days that I first served. Well, perhaps there was some lowly 2nd Lt. fresh out of college or the Academy in 1975 who is still on active duty as a general with over 36 years in, but there cannot be too many. What is infinitely stranger to me is that men have come in the Navy (which I entered some 10 years after I went in the Army) and retired since my initial service. Or perhaps even stranger, men who were not even yet born the year I was discharged from the Navy could today have 6 or 7 years in service. It is tough - and odd - getting old.
My Navy experience was completely atypical. Since I went into the Navy with 7 years Army service I was not an average recruit. (To say nothing, by the way, of some Air National Guard Time - I wore 3 uniforms for this country: Army, Navy and Air Force) Within less than 6 weeks in the Navy, after completion of my "A" school in Meredian Mississippi, per my enlistment contract, I was advanced to PN2 (E5). And off I went to Groton, CT for submarine school - a Petty Officer 2nd Class, a seasoned Navy salt with about the same amount of active duty days in the Navy as those a little over half done with basic training. So I show up to Submarine school in Groton, wearing PN2 stripes which to all outward appearances made it seem as though I had been in the Navy for 5, 6 or more years. Since I was the highest ranking person in my class, I was made class leader. I out ranked even the "Nukes" who had already been in the Navy for about 2 years, all who had been in lengthy, intensive training to run a nuclear reactor and all of whom were very bright fellows indeed. But the Nukes were all 3rd Class Petty Officers, one pay grade below me. To be in a position of leadership over these bright young men who had literally been in the Navy about 20 times longer than me was beyond odd, but they accepted me readily and we got along quite well. I suppose my being in charge was made a bit more natural because at 32 years of age, I was also the oldest in my class.
However, even though I was accepted by these young smart fellows as their class leader, the whole experience was so odd. I had not yet really learned Navy jargon, much of which, if not most of which - is completely different than it's counterpart in the Army. I knew nothing of Navy tradition, and traditions in the Navy abound. Neophyte or no, by virtue of my rank, I had to at least pretend to lead. And I had to lead while trying to figure out the basics of the Navy, and try to do well enough in my submarine classes amongst mostly very sharp men, so that I did not suffer the indignity of coming out in the bottom of my class. With more bluff than brains, somehow I survived.
It's hard to imagine those fresh faced young men, eager to get to their first assigment as pushing fifty years old today, long dischared or even retired from naval service..
Picture taken of me in my barracks at sub school.
