Telephone Colonel


Making a military phone call in Germany in the late Sixties was maddening.  I was stationed in Goeppingen, which is 30 miles East of Stuttgart and about a hundred miles South of Nuernberg.  I was assigned to the 4th Armored Division and our troops had relocated around Nuernberg and Bamberg.  So every call to the field was a real adventure.

First, I would dial O to get a Goeppingen operator (all were military or German civilians working for the US military).  I would say, “Hello Goeppingen, give me Stuttgart.”  Then, if I were lucky enough to get a Stuttgart operator, I would say, “Stuttgart, give me Nuernberg.”  Each connection seemed to drain the energy out of the line.  If I actually got a Nuernberg operator, the voice would be distant and low.  I would be shouting, “Nuernberg, give me Bamberg (or Erlangen or Ansbach).  The funny thing about Ansbach is that it is only 50 miles up the road, but you had to run through 250 miles of telephone wire to call them.  I can remember telling my wife as I left for work,  I have to call Bamberg this morning.”  It was that big a deal.

Sometimes, everything would click like magic.  I would give the Bamberg operator the number and the next thing I would hear was a busy signal.  Then, I would try to compose myself and start over.  “Hello Goeppingen, give me Stuttgart.”  Whenever anyone in the office was making one of these calls, everyone knew it.  Shouting to be heard on the other end was business as usual.  Screaming when the call went dead was also quite common.

Our Deputy Staff Judge Advocate was Major Joe Donahue.  After I had been in the office for about six months, Joe was promoted to lieutenant colonel.  Both colonels and lieutenant colonels referred to themselves on the phone as colonels.  So, the former Major Donahue was now a telephone colonel.  Pretty heady stuff.

On the particular day in question, one of our legal clerks was talking to a battalion legal clerk in Bamberg.  When a battalion completed a special courts-martial, they had to assemble the record of trial and send it to us for review.  The trial had been completed for over two months and we were still waiting for the record of trial.  Our clerk was very loud, as required, and very annoyed.  Joe Donahue heard the commotion and asked our legal clerk what was wrong.  After he found out about the late record of trial, he took the phone.  He said, “This is Colonel Donahue, let me speak to your Adjutant.”  The battalion adjutant ran all the administrative duties such as processing record of trial.  When the lieutenant got on the phone, Colonel Donahue told him that he wanted the record of trial at Headquarters (Goeppingen) the next day and hung up.  The crowd that had gathered, including me, was really impressed at how Joe had got things done.

Of course, things didn’t get done and it is great when you can learn tough lessons without being the subject of the lesson.  The Adjutant went to his battalion commander to report that he needed to send a vehicle the next day to Headquarters to deliver a record of trial.  The battalion commander was mad and reported to his brigade commander, who was also upset that someone at Headquarters was jerking them around.  The brigade commander called the 4th Armored Division’s Chief of Staff (both full colonels) and asked, “Who the hell is Colonel Donahue?”

Joe had to go explain to the Chief of Staff what he had done.  I suspect Joe spent most of his time listening.  I learned that promotions are great, but you need to be cautious, because there is always someone out there senior to you.  Also, I had been chewed out on the phone any number of times by senior officers.  Sometimes, I deserved it, and sometimes, I didn’t.  But, I could usually tell when the officer on the other end was playing for the crowd in his office.  I resented that and made a decision. Whenever I had to call a subordinate on a difficult subject, I made sure that no one else was in my office.

The good news is that the little blip didn’t keep Joe from having a fine career, and I became a real student of human nature.

9/11 Christmas Poem


I wrote this poem a few months after the 9/11 terrorist’s attacks.  When some outsider attacks the United States, they bring us all together and we become a formidable force.

Also, I represented Firestone during the Ford Explorer tread separation ordeal.  In fact, Firestone was to meet with the Department of Transportation and the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration on September the Eleventh.  By the time we arrived at the DOT Building, the Pentagon had been attacked and no visitors were permitted in the building.  We just had to find a safe way home.  All the pundits said the Firestone name was dead.  They were wrong.

Holiday Greetings 2001

A time for reflection, a time for pause,
The world is now different, and we have a cause.
They don’t understand what they sowed with their hate,
What they stirred up in us makes America great.
The moral of this is under our hat,
“Be careful who you spit on, you may just get spat.”

But we’ll put that aside for this annual report,
It’s a time for the family and things of that sort.
The news is all good, the year was a riser,
All generations seem healthy, not wealthy, but wiser.

We made a decision to spruce up the place,
Rip out this, shut off that and add on some space.
Five months without peace, workers Carole had to dodge,
Doing dishes in the bath tub and cooking in the garage.
But, it’s finally done, and done with precision,
And, believe it or not, as we envisioned.

And travel, we traveled, and traveled some more,
With a Canyonland trip, you see rocks galore.
Reunions with RAJA and a High School class,
And we bopped around Disney till we ran out of gas.

We saw all our kids and our mamas too,
Not often enough, but the best we could do.
But the year’s not over, and we’re not through,
And we’ll crank it up again in 2002.

For Jack it’s been Firestone, every long day,
A struggle for survival, against birds of prey.
It’s the Congress, the Government, oh what a mess,
And each day you could count on the torch of the press.
But, Firestone hung in there and did the right thing,
They fought for their tires and accepted the sting.
Now the clouds are parting and the message inspiring,
Just one simple phrase, “Firestone is hiring.”

So, it’s time to shut down this trite little jingle,
But the thought behind it makes us tingle.
To greet and report to special friends,
To perhaps bring a smile as the verse wends.
To wish good fortune, a smile and good cheer,
Glorious Holidays and a Happy New Year!

Paris, Oh Paris (Hilton)


Paris, oh Paris, what is it with the media,
I think we’ll even find you, listed in Wikipedia.
Your notoriety is well deserved,
You’ve made a career at getting observed.

But if you’re driving drunk, you don’t want attention,
You’ll end up arrested with a license suspension.
You say you drove legal, there was no abuse,
But ignorance of the law is no excuse.

Two trips to the jail, the first was a hoax,
But the sheriff got nailed, no more jokes.
So, back to the jail, please read the sign,
Don’t do the crime, if you can’t do the time.

Time off for good behavior, I really don’t want to know,
She got herself scrubbed up, and appeared on the Larry King Show.
Larry tried to have her search her soul, but there was nothing there to glean,
He avoided touchy subjects, like her time as a video queen.

The appearance was a nonevent, she really left no doubt,
She said she’d like to work for MADD, I don’t think they’ll go that route.
So, it’s quiet till the next time, when she does something outrageous,
Perhaps she has an illness, I hope it’s not contagious.

Random Thoughts on the Stock Market


Here’s one.  Invest your money wisely.  That sounds good, but the trick is knowing how to do it.  I can’t tell you how to do it, but I can tell you some things not to do.  For example, don’t buy shares in a company because one of your friends has a daughter high up in the company and the daughter says the company is doing great.  And, don’t buy on impulse, such as when you have a friend who has a daughter, blah, blah, blah.

I have a close friend that I used to work for.  His name is Del O’Roark and he plays a large role in managing his money.  He recommended a book on the stock market to me and I ran right out and bought it.  It was not easy reading.  It talked about “correlation coefficient,” and “R-squared.”  I was clueless.  I decided it was best to skip over the formulas.  I finally concluded that if you want to make money in the market, you need to be smart and lucky.  But, if you can only be one, be lucky.

Then, after I talked to Del about the book, he goes out and buys me another stock market book.  Since it was a gift, I felt like I had to read it.  I haven’t finished it yet, but I am satisfied that when I do complete it, I will not be twice as smart as I was after reading the first one.  I hit diminishing returns 30 pages into the first book.

I am relating a lot better to the second book, because it sets out a lot of dumb things people have done through the years, like investing in internet companies.  That was me.  I was right there, all excited, listening to things like, “The only thing wrong with the stock is that it is listed on the big board rather than NASDAQ.”  “The price/earnings ratio is obsolete.”  “You can determine a web company’s value by the number of hits it’s getting.”  I bought one internet stock and it proceeded to lose a third of its value.  Thus, I concluded, if it was a good buy earlier, then now, its a great buy.  So I bought some more.  Such a deal.  And I’m a conservative guy.

After the internet debacle, I decided to stick with blue chip stocks.  I put my money in a solid pharmaceutical company that had paid dividend and grown for years.  Merck.  They had this great pain killer called Vioxx.  I am not convinced that Vioxx is as bad as some people say, but it really doesn’t matter what I think.  I had had Merck for some time and it had done really well.  After the Vioxx fiasco, I sold and broke even.  In sports, there are good ties and bad ties.  This was a bad tie.

By now, you have realized that the wisdom you were hoping for is not forthcoming.  But, here is a morsel.  Anytime you can put money away that comes off of your taxable income, like an IRA, 401(k) or some pension plan, please do so.  It will grow.  Also, buy low and sell high.

A Very Late Christmas Poem

I have written a lot of Christmas poems.  They are my annual report to friends and family.  Now that I have RICEQUIPS, I intend to publish them.  They will be out of order and out of date.  Fair warning.

I retired from the Army in 1990 to take a political appointment as Chief Counsel of the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA), during the first Bush administration.  President Clinton was elected in November, 1992, and I had to go find a job.

A few inside things I need to mention.  While working at NHTSA, I forfeited my military retirement pay.  Kerby’s history.  Baby Kristin is now 14 years old.


A Very Late Christmas Poem

I know it’s February,  I know I’m late,
Blame it on Clinton, he gave me the gate.  
Politics stinks – it’s so confusing,
All of a sudden, your side is losing.

As the vagaries of politics spun and twirled,
Carole and I went to Disney World.
I have a new job, coat and tie I will don,
For the firm of Arent Fox Kintner Plotkin & Kahn.

92′ had some high points, but also some sad,
Both Moms came to visit, but we lost my Dad.
Carole had surgery, with all its travail,
Down for the summer, but she’s back in full sail.
Her Christmas party was super, as great as in the past,
And for the fifth straight year, Carole swore it was her last.

The children are all well, and out on their own,
Paul’s in southern Virginia, the girls are far from home.
Paul’s still at New Dominion, setting teens right,
But since his promotion, he gets to go home at night.

Kerby, Becky’s husband, is no longer wearing green,
He works for Embry Riddle,  out on the recruiting scene.
Missy and Terry are parents, this time a little girl,
Kristin’s so new and precious, just like a shining pearl.

That’s it, I’m done, what can I say?
93′ should be great in every way,
And I’ll even see my retirement pay!

Have a Wonderful 1993!

Yes, Five Sides and Very Large

Four years was the longest I ever stayed in one place during my military career.  It was the Pentagon.  The first challenge is to figure out how to get to your office (and back out of the building).  Then, little by little you learn how to get to other places.  Most who have worked there will be glad to explain how to navigate the building.

The Pentagon has ten corridors and five rings.  It is generally agreed that the first thing you do is go to the center most ring (A Ring) and circle around until you find the numbered corridor you want.  The corridors are like spokes on a bicycle wheel.  They connect the A Ring with the B, C, D, and E Ring.  The outer most E Ring actually has windows that look out on the world.

Being a JAG officer, I was assigned to the Office of The Judge Advocate General of the Army (Administrative Law Division).  The Admin Law Division acts as legal adviser to the Army Staff.  My first week on the job, my boss came into my office.  He handed me a single sheet of paper which I was certain was one of our Ad Law interpretations.  He directed me to read it.  This is one of my worst scenarios.  I read ever so slowly and if I hurry, I read poorly.  Having someone wait for me to finish reading puts me in a panic mode!  I read quickly, but didn’t understand.  I had to say something.  So, I said, “This is really something.”  He smiled and said, “We do this kind of exciting work every day.”  After he left my office, I read the interpretation two or three more times.  It still didn’t make any sense to me.

My office had a door.  My room was carved out of a much larger bullpen and was smaller than the cell space required for Federal inmates.  The problem with partitioning  off rooms like mine was that it had no ventilation and the light switch was in another room.  I could be working away and all of a sudden the room would go pitch black.  When, after three years, I turned over my little office to my successor, I presented him with my flashlight.

I was a major for my first year and a half.  The problem with that is that the typical worker bee in the Pentagon is a lieutenant colonel.  So, every day I would be dealing with senior officers who were directing me to review their request next.  Every requester claimed to be handling the most important issue in the Army.  They would tell me, “This has to be on the Chief of Staff’s desk this morning,”  or “They are voting this matter in the Tank this afternoon.”  I didn’t even know where the Tank was.  To be completely honest, I didn’t know we had a Tank.  One Lt. Col. told me that his issue had general officer interest (I assumed that every matter in the Pentagon had general officer interest).

The good news was that I had great support from my bosses.  I would tell the demanding Lt. Col. (very courteously) that if his matter really had to be handled next, he should go back to his office and have his Executive Officer call the JAG Executive Officer about the importance of the matter.  By the time our Exec had notified my boss, we would be grinding away on the project.  In my four years, Colonel Bob Clarke, our Exec, never got a call.

As the Chief of the (Admin Law) General Law Branch, my office was the repository for all the crazy letters that came to the Army.  The Chief of Staff’s Office would send all crazy letters to the JAG.  The JAG would send them to Admin Law.  Admin Law had three branches, Legislation Branch, Personnel Law Branch and General Law Branch.  So, I got them.  Some of these people were getting messages from other planets through the tin foil on their TV rabbit ears.  Sounded like an Air Force issue to me.  We didn’t answer many of these letters.  We had one major general who became unhappy with the Army leadership.  So, he resigned (it would have been less crazy to retire at full pension, but he resigned).  We would hear from him every time his name appeared in print stating that he was a retired major general.  He was convinced that stating that he was retired was part of an Army conspiracy and it would make him crazy (that’s just a figure of speech, he was already crazy).

During my fourth year in the building, I became the Chief of the Administrative Law Division.  I actually had a window looking out at Arlington Cemetery and the heliport.  Many years after I left the Pentagon, this office was destroyed on 9/11. 

The Judge Advocate General was Major General Wilton Persons.  Also, he was the only other officer who had been the Chief of the Admin Law Division as a Lieutenant Colonel (it’s a full colonel’s slot).  He gave me some great advice.  He said, “Jack, 95% of the stuff that comes across your desk is not important.  But, we have to be right on that other 5%.  So, don’t sign anything you don’t understand.”  And, I didn’t.  If I was confused, I had a number of smart attorneys to help me out.

For the first 13 years of my military career, whenever the Army came up with a really dumb policy, I blamed it on the Department of the Army.  After working at the Department of the Army, I came to realize that the really dumb stuff came from DOD.

Tony Soprano Lived Happily Ever After

Tony Soprano’s history, now that’s a fact,
I’m not sure what happened, but he didn’t get whacked.
It’s hard to kill that old amicable thug,
When you thought it might happen, they just pulled the plug.
That’s fine with me, I don’t need to know,
Let’s not forget, it’s a TV show.

Some thought he should die, he’d killed so many,
If you crossed old Tony, you weren’t worth a penny.
Since the show was ending, it wouldn’t be a loss,
But, let’s face it, old Tony’s our favorite crime boss.

But, listing his virtues would not take long,
When he had a choice, he’d do it all wrong.
He loved is family in his own way,
Not faithful, not honest, but hey, what the hey.

I think the shrink was helpful, she worked him by the book,
The stress attacks disappeared, and Tony’s a better crook.
She stuck with Tony through the years, it really wasn’t her druther,
And finally Tony realized, his problem was his mother.

I’m happy with the ending, I’m not one who whined,
I constructed the ending, in my own little mind.
The guy at the bar just had to go,
It’s a natural phenomenon, don’t you know.
With the family assembled, with Journey music and laughter,
For the Soprano family, it’s happily ever after.
               (At least for that night).

Teel Times Forty

I was the V Corps Staff Judge Advocate in 1983 to 85.  Two of our great friends were Ken and Barbara Teel.  We had some wonderful times with them, including a few days right before Christmas in Nuernberg.  When they let us know that they were getting ready to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary, I wrote the following poem.

Oh, the RAFT came from the first letters in our last names (Rice, Arwood, Fitzgerald and Teel).


Teel Times Forty

Ken and Barbie, Barbie and Ken,
Forty years and back again.
Some people are special, some people are kin,
Ken and Barbie, Barbie and Ken.
We’re not talking dolls, no this is for real,
They’re warm, loving people, with the last name of Teel

Just one assignment with the Teels, but memories to cherish.
Sometimes formal with our Deutsche Freunde, and sometimes downright garish.
We formed a social group, with Fitz and Arwood staffed.
Restaurants in Frankfurt were invaded by the RAFT.
We stuffed four trees in the red wagon, the holiday was a treat,
But turning the wagon around proved a very difficult feat.

Memories of Deutschland in l983,
Christmas in Nuernberg was all that it could be.
Could breakfast really last three hours?
I can’t believe it’s true.
But it takes time to laugh that hard,
and we laughed till we were blue.
We visited the Christkindlesmarkt, that capped an incredible year,
We ate bratwurst and sauerkraut, and washed it down with beer.
The restaurant had four stars, but the waiter was a bore,
We ended up with couscous, and then we laughed some more.

So here’s to the Teels in their fortieth year,
To their family, their church, and to all who can hear.
This couple is special, the salt of the earth,
For working together or just making mirth.
We are better and happier because we’ve known them,
So we’ll stop this poem and sit down and phone them.

A-Rod Helps Baseball Discover Etiquette

I was watching Monday Night Baseball on ESPN.  It was the Yankees and the White Sox, and after Johnny Miller and Joe Morgan discussed the A-Rod play from the previous Thursday, Joe posted on the screen the “Baseball Rules of Etiquette.”  I’ll bet they wrote them out that afternoon.  It is the first time in my life that I have heard of the “Baseball Rules of Etiquette.”  Holy Cow!

One rule was kind of obvious, you aren’t supposed to spike the shortstop or the second baseman to break up a double play.  I don’t think you should spike anyone under any circumstances.  But, they put the list together rather quickly and probably didn’t think of that.  Alex Rodriguez, while running from second base to third base, with two outs, hollered at Howie Clark, Toronto’s third baseman.  Clark was camped under a pop fly third out.  When he heard A-Rod, he thought someone was calling him off the ball.  He stepped aside and the ball dropped, leading to more Yankee runs.  A-Rod’s action made Joe’s etiquette list.  Baseball etiquette now demands that a base runner not holler at a fielder.  Maybe it is OK if its a ground ball.  Maybe not.  I think Major League Baseball needs an Etiquette Committee to resolve such issues.

What in the world is going on.  Baseball players have always tried to get away with whatever they could.  We are not talking about the “Gentlemen of the Diamond,” it’s the Boys of Summer playing a game.  If a fielder swipes at a tag and misses the base runner by a good foot and the umpire calls the runner out, should the fielder notify the umpire that he missed the tag?  What is the proper etiquette?  Golfers call  penalties on themselves.  I submit that if the fielder did notify the ump, he would be banished from the clubhouse.  One of the first things you learn in Little League is don’t ever help the umpire.

Another item on Joe Morgan’s list is a batter should never look back at the catcher when he is giving signals or giving a target for the pitcher.  Batters do it all the time, but at their own risk.  If they get caught, they become the target.  That’s called “self-policing.”  Of course, a runner on second base will try to steal the catcher’s signals and also, notify the batter whether the target is inside or outside.  The runner would not point or do anything obvious.  He will make a subtle signal.  Self-policing can come into play here, also.

Everyone seems to agree that in a close play at home plate, there is no etiquette to be found.  If the ball beats the runner, then the runner will try to blast the catcher (who may be distracted catching the ball) hoping to dislodge the ball.  It’s OK to knock the catcher over as long as you don’t holler at him while you are giving him a concussion.  The other scenario is that the ball is late, so the catcher blocks the plate so the sliding base runner can’t touch home plate.  In that case, the runner has a right, even an obligation, to knock the catcher ass over tea kettle.  But, no hollering.

I wonder if all this silliness would have taken place if it had been someone else rather than A-Rod.  He is something of a Lightning-Rod.  I hope the game doesn’t change.  They should bury the etiquette list.  Let’s keep stealing signals, decoying runners and stalling so that the relief pitcher can warm up.  When the other team’s outfielder is running back to catch the ball and is just about to hit the fence, I will be yelling, “plenty of room, plenty of room.”  My only concern is to make sure he hears me.

RAJA Meeting in Phoenix

The reason you haven’t heard from me is I took nine days off and went to Phoenix.  That is where we had our RAJA (pronounced Rahjah) meeting.  It stands for Retired Army Judge Advocates.  Just a bunch of old JAGs getting together to tell wild stories.  The same stories get better each year!

In about 1976, all the senior JAGs who served in the Korean War were invited by their South Korean counterparts back to Korea to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the war.  They had such a great time that they decided to form a group and do it every year.  I think we are celebrating our 32nd reunion in Phoenix (It’s really Scottsdale, if you want to be precise).

We probably have about 250 members and some are more spry than others.  Thus, the grand plan is to hold the reunion on the East Coast, then the Midwest, then the West Coast and back to the East again.  By so doing, those members who don’t travel so well will have something close every three years.  Phoenix was West.  Next year it will be Atlanta (East), then New Orleans (Midwest), then Indianapolis (West?).  Let’s be frank, it is more important to find a willing JAG who will host, than to be in the right part of the country.  Bless those who volunteer to host.  We used to present the hosts with a Jefferson Cup, but a year or so back, it was decided that we are at the age where we don’t need additional “clutter.”  So, now the hosts are rewarded with applause and with us leaving their town.

This year RAJA took a day trip to Sedona – painted rocks and Indian spirits.  Everyone should visit Sedona.  I had been there twice before and the trip conflicted with the golf outing.  So, I passed.  It is a nice place to visit, but I couldn’t afford to live there.  At least, not in the manner to which I have become accustomed.  Then there’s that stuff about mystical vortexes.  Sounds spooky and dangerous.  Give me a good old fashion DC mugging.  “Here’s my wallet, please don’t hurt me.”

My mom and sister live in Phoenix, so we spent some time with them.  Mom will be 92 in July and she is beginning to slow down a little.  I told her I was on to her games and to knock it off.  She’s a sweetheart, but you just have to be firm with her.

Talk about three birds with one stone, my daughter lives in Prescott Valley.  So, we also spent some time with Becky and the two grandsons, Grant and Brandon.  The boys are 20 and 18, bright and fun to be around.  But, Brandon, the youngest, is part of a musical group called Hung Jury.  I googled Hung Jury and there must be ten groups with that name.  I guess there are only so many names out there.  I listened to them on My Space and they will be better off it the jury doesn’t come in with a verdict!  I suspect kids their age like what they are playing.  But, it was rough on my sensitive ears.  I would have graded their song right below white noise.  I hope he proves me wrong.

Anyway, I’m back.

BOO! I saw you smile!