RAJA and The World of Coke


Last week, we were down in Atlanta for our RAJA meeting.  As I have mentioned before, RAJA is the Retired Army Judge Advocate’s Association.  We get together each year and tell each other how we saved the free world.  The stories continue to get more outrageous.

Also, Major General Scott Black, The Judge Advocate General, came down and gave us a sobering view of the challenges facing the Army and the JAG Corps.  After listening to Scott, it became apparent that he won’t be able to explain how he saved the free world until he has been retired and a member of RAJA for at least ten years.

One of the hosting couples was Rob and Bridgette Minor.  He worked for me at Fort Riley when he was a captain.  It would be a better story had he been a major.  Then, he would have been Major Minor (as distinguished from Major Major in Catch 22).  Anyway, we hadn’t seen the Minors in over twenty years.  That’s what RAJA is all about.  We expect to see them next year in New Orleans.

On my free afternoon, I decided to visit the World of Coke.  I was advised that there were other things that were more culturally rewarding.  I never wavered.  I am a confirmed Coke drinker (but I would never drink one before Noon – that would be sick).  I thrive on sugary syrup and carbonated water.

When Coach Frank Broyles came to the University of Missouri to coach football (he had previously been the backfield coach at Georgia Tech), he gathered the team together on the first day.  He said, “Boys, I am a firm believer in Coke Cola and after every practice there will be an ice cold Coke Cola waiting for you.”  Talk about a pep talk.  He had me!

When Coke announced back in 85′ that they were changing the formula, I went into a 79 day funk.  Then, when Coke announced they were keeping the old Coke and calling it Coke Classic, I felt reborn.  This little historic vignette is tastefully presented at the World of Coke (that was culturally rewarding).

There was a long line to get in.  I felt I was back at Disney World.  When I got up to the front of the line, I saw the metal detectors.  What has this world come to?  Are they afraid terrorists will try to hijack the World of Coke?  I thought Coke’s definition of a terrorist was some one who worked for Pepsi.  They gave me a claims number for the small pocket knife I had in my pocket.

To sum the event up, I decided not to have my picture taken with the Coke polar bear; I enjoyed the 3-D movie; and, I made myself sick sampling all the different Coke drinks from around the world.  Inca Cola should only be drunk in Peru if you are about to die of thirst.  Beverly is something everyone should sample so they can appreciate whatever else they are drinking.  My biggest fear was that I would be stuck to the sticky floor in the tasting room and never get out.

I did get out with my free eight-ounce Coke in the glass bottle.  I brought it home, chilled it, and drank it the other night.  It brought back fond memories of the nickel Cokes we had in college.

Now that I have visited the World of Coke, I don’t feel the need to go back.  I will have my own little tribute to Coke each night when I pop the top.  RAJA, however, requires a trip every year to ensure that the free world is still safe.

The Clock from Hell


In looking back, it seems that many of the important decisions we made were made while we were traveling across the country.  When traveling long distances, there are few distractions and time to give serious discussion to the issue at hand.  There used to be portions of our country where you couldn’t even find a decent radio station.  I’m afraid XM Radio may have ruined our decision-making process.

In the Spring of 1965, Carole and I took a vacation down into Mexico.  We were stationed at Fort Hood, Texas and Carole’s dad lived in Rosenberg, Texas, just south of Houston.  We dropped Becky (age 3) and Missy (three months) off at her dad’s and headed South.  It was during that trip that we decided that I would become a career Army JAG.

With that decision behind us, we enjoyed a beautiful little resort, south of Monterey.  I think it was our third and last day there when we figured out that this quaint little resort had a bit of a flea problem.  Adios Mexico!  We left Mexico, but Mexico refused to leave me.  Three months later, I was twenty pounds lighter and wondering if I would ever be free from the curse.  Then, as suddenly as it came, it went away.

Shortly after I returned from Mexico, I received a phone call from the JAG Career Management Office in the Pentagon.  “Paul?”  Paul is my first name, but only telemarketers call me Paul.  I responded with “Yes?”  He was a JAG major whom I don’t remember, but he told me that The Judge Advocate General had asked him to call and let me know that he was aware of the good work I was doing at Fort Hood.  There were some many funny responses I thought about saying, but I played it straight. 

He asked me if I had given any thought to a career in the Army.  I told him I had.  I mentioned that a friend of mine was able to attend the language school to study German and then be assigned to Germany.  I told him that I thought that sounded exciting.  He told me that he thought that could be arranged.  I told him to put the offer in writing and I would accept it.  He then said something strange.  He said he could make it happen, but he couldn’t put it in writing.  I figured he must have been speaking Pentagonese, because I had never heard anything like that before.  But, I wanted what he said he was going to “make happen.”  I said, “OK,” and, in fact, it all worked out as promised.

The last thing I needed to do was pass a simple language aptitude test.  They sent me over to the Fort Hood test center.  I sat down with an NCO and he explained the test.  I would be dealing with a made-up language and I was to answer a number of multiple choice questions.  I needed a score of 18 to pass.  In order to discourage people from guessing, each wrong answer subtracted one-half point.

I was the only one taking the test and we were alone in the room.  He took out a large test clock and wound it.  He said I had twenty minutes, set the clock down right in front of me and left the room.  I started in on the test and the first few questions seemed easy.  Then, I looked at the clock.  It was like an oversize old-time alarm clock, but I couldn’t read it.  It looked like it ran backwards, but I just couldn’t figure out how it worked, what it meant or how much time I had left.  I began to panic.  I had a wristwatch on, but I hadn’t bothered to look at it when I started the test.  I went out into the hall and looked for the NCO.  The building seemed empty.  I went back to my desk and tried to answer more questions, but the ticking seemed to be getting louder.  It was maddening.  I spent more time trying to compose myself than answering questions.  Somehow, I needed to answer 18 questions and get them all right.  Tick, tick, tick.

I had just finished my 21st question when the alarm went off and the NCO reappeared.  I tried to explain to him about the clock, but “concern” was not in his job description.  He just said, “Let’s see how you did.”  It turned out I missed only one, which gave me a score of 19 and one half.  I was embarrassed, but I had passed and I just wanted to escape from the clock and the building.  I determined that my aptitude for languages was a lot better than for time keeping.

Those Terrible Traffic Enforcement Cameras


I don’t know if you are familiar with the Beltway (I-495) that encircles Washington, DC, but it is the fastest way to get around DC.  It is at least four lanes in each direction and the speed limit is 55 miles per hour.  Except during rush hour, when it resembles a parking lot, the average speed in somewhere between 65 and 70 mph.  The dangerous speeders are going over 80 mph.  If you drove at 55 mph in one of the center lanes, you would probably cause an accident.

There are certain drivers who treat the beltway like a racetrack (it is an oval).  If you see these nuts racing up behind you, you become very cautious and hope that their accident doesn’t include you (or delay you).  I prefer they run off the road rather than have their accident in the lanes of traffic.  That can really slow things down.

The law enforcement authorities have come up with traffic enforcement cameras that take pictures of these speeders, show the vehicle, the license plate and how fast the vehicle was traveling.  A big old fine arrives in the mail to the speeder.  Now, I am told that this is bad.  It violates our hot shot’s rights.  I get lost just about here.  What rights?  The right to privacy?  Driving a vehicle on an interstate highway seems fairly public to me.  What about the right to see the police car which will give the speeder an opportunity to slow down?  This is not a game.  If there is any due process involved, it is covered by posting the speed limit.

Those who object say it is just a way for the police to make money.  Well, it cost money to operate a police force and the cameras and personally, I would rather it would come from traffic violators than from my taxes.

In downtown areas, the city has posted red light cameras, which catch drivers who run the red lights.  Now who could object to that?  You would be surprised.  Again, you have the arguments about the city making money, privacy, and no opportunity for a violator to confront the accuser.  The inability of the red light runner to confront a police officer may keep him or her from going to jail.  No one will know about the drunk driving and the driver will not have an opportunity to resist arrest.  Can’t beat that.

Running red lights has caused a large number of accidents and injuries.  Statistics show that the red light cameras have reduced the number of accidents.  That’s good news.  However, it is argued that when someone who was going to run a red light sees the camera, he may slam on his brakes and this will cause the car behind him to rear end him.  If that is the case, I guess the car behind him was also going to run the red light.  Now, please remind me, who is it that I am supposed to feel sorry for?

People complain that a red-light-camera ticket can be issued without any police supervision.  I guess that is right and I think there should be police involvement in the process.  But as long as the cameras are calibrated and someone is overseeing the fairness of the system, I think that’s about all we can hope for.  No system is perfect.  Look at the O.J. trial