My Military Daze

General Colin Powell and Me


I am a little over half way through reading Colin Powell’s book, “My American Journey.”  I am loving it.  I’m embarrassed to say that I bought the book when it first came out.  It’s been on my shelf for over ten years and I just got around to it.  It’s nice to finally be retired.

Even though he had a meteoric career and I just sort of chunked along, we still had a lot in common.  I guess that is natural when we both spent a large portion of our lives wearing the green uniform.  Each time something popped up in the book, I would think, “Yeah, that happened to me too.”  Like buying a home in the Springfield/Burke area while working in the Pentagon.  Isn’t it a small world.

As his going away gift from Fort Carson, they gave him a Michael Garman statue.  When I left Fort Riley, I got the same.  I think his was a cowboy and mine was the old trooper, but let’s not quibble.  He didn’t mention whether he paid for his.  I paid for mine.  Our command decided that it wasn’t fair to have subordinates pay for a senior officer’s going away gift.  So, I selected my “gift” from a large number of options and paid for it.  Then, at the going away party, the general would present the “gift.”  It was hard to be surprised since everyone in the room knew I had purchased it.  I still display it proudly on my shelf.


Both Colin Powell and I received killer OERs (Officer Efficiency Reports) and survived them!  That is not easy to do and I am sure we realize how lucky we were.  His bad OER came when he was a brigadier general and an assistant division commander at Fort Carson.  He ran into a situation where the division was run by intimidation and both the general and his wife had a hand in it (Carole and I ran into one of those situation, but we survived).  Major General Hudachek, the division commander, rated Powell to be “promoted with contemporaries,” and was totally silent about his future potential.  For my military friends, I don’t need to explain, but promoting with contemporaries was the kiss of death.  One time, I checked with the Department of the Army and found that 80% of majors were rated “promote ahead of contemporaries.”  That means that if you are rated to promote with contemporaries, you are in the bottom 20% (math was always one of my strengths).

Lieutenant General Ross, the deputy commander of Forces Command, was Powell’s senior rater and he just repeated what General Hudachek had said and placed him in the third block, where blocks one and two were reserved for officers on the move.  My one experience with General Ross wasn’t any better, but he wasn’t rating me.

I always wondered if I could make it in the military, because trying to be funny can sometimes be inappropriate in the Army and I couldn’t seem to pass up an opportunity.  I am also short in height and on one occasion at the Fort Riley Officers Club, I mentioned to the chief of staff and other officers present that putting the tall soldiers in the front of the formation wasn’t fair to the short soldiers in the rear.  First, they couldn’t see over the tall soldiers and second, when marching the guys in the back had to really stretch out.  The chief mentioned the need for uniformity and I said put the short soldiers up front.  It will make the formation look more aerodynamic.  Everyone thought it was funny. 

About two weeks later at a social event, here comes the chief and Lieutenant General Ross (who is about 6′ 5″).  the chief introduced us and told Ross that I was the guy that wanted to put the short soldiers in the front.  Ross got right on top of me, leaned over and asked what I had against tall people.  It was an amusing scene.  He then lectured me on uniformity and appearance and that it was important.  I then mentioned that out in front of the formation we had the division G1, G2, G3 and G4 and that the G3 was really tall and that the G2 was short.  I suggested we needed a taller G2 or a shorter G3.  We were all having a good time and my comments were meant (almost) in jest.  However, at the next parade, the division staff lined up G1, G3, G4 and then the G2.  I guess I am glad no one got reassigned.

Getting back to General Powell’s OER, it appears that along with the formal rating system, general officers have an informal system.  In Powell’s case, General Cavazos, the FORSCOM Commander, was looking out for him and recognized that things were not as they appeared in the formal rating system.  General Powell ended up assigned to a two-star billet.

In my case, I was a brand new major working for a more senior major who couldn’t understand why I had been promoted so quickly.  The reason was we were in the middle of the Vietnam War ramp up and people were getting promoted more quickly.  He was forever competing with me.  You really don’t want to compete with your rater.  What made matters worse was that after he would insist on competing, he would lose.  It was my worst experience in the Army  He came into my office one day to talk about ratings.  He said he would never give anyone lower than a 92, because he wouldn’t want to kill them.  At that particular time, ratings were so inflated that anything but a 99 or 100 would be devastating.  He gave me a 92.  I am convinced that our earlier conversation was so that I would know that he was giving me his lowest rating.

At that time, the system consisted of a rater and an endorser.  What saved me was the staff judge advocate was my endorser and he gave me 100 and noted that I was the best major in his office.  Fortunately, I was not to be considered for lieutenant colonel for seven years.  The Vietnam War was winding down and few were getting promoted.  I had plenty of time to build up my file.

General Powell and I were both assigned to V Corps in Frankfurt, Germany and both lived in a senior housing area in the town of Bad Vilbel.  Not at the same time.  And, we both had our tours cut short.  I was selected to be the Commandant at The Army Judge Advocate General’s School and he was asked by President Reagan to be his Deputy Assistant to the President for National Security Affairs.  If I hadn’t come back early, I would have been his SJA.  As it turned out, he came down to The JAG School for legal orientation before he went to V Corps.  Along with the instructors bringing him up to date, I had a chance to brief him on what to expect when he arrived at V Corps.

I’m going to get back to the book.  I can’t wait to see how it ends.  I hope he gets his fourth star.

Random Thoughts

Rush-Hour Driving – It’s Not a Job, It’s an Adventure

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“Just get in a lane and stay there.  It may take you a couple of extra minutes, but you will arrive more relaxed.”  Whoever said that has no concept of what it is like to be a Type A personality.  A Type A person who “just gets in a lane and stays there,” will probably not be able to compose a sentence when he climbs out of the car.

I don’t recall choosing to be a Type A nut.  Maybe it was because I was a middle child and had to fight for attention.  Anyway, be on notice, we are not going to stay in one lane.

Driving in rush hour to DC and back everyday was a real challenge.  In the morning I picked up my carpool at 7:00 AM.  The carpool  permitted me to use the HOV (high occupancy vehicle) lanes.  We could zip right into the city.  Then, some well-meaning individual decided that if you drove a hybrid vehicle, you could use the HOV lanes.  So, then we had all those hybrid vehicles (one person in each) jamming up the HOV lanes.  Sometimes, we would look over and the regular lanes would be moving faster.  Because it was early, we still navigated through the city fairly well.  Arent Fox is located on the corner of Connecticut and L Street.

The real problem was trying to get home.  Our parking garage was on 18th Street, which is one-way heading North.  That meant I had to drive North for a couple of blocks before I could make it over to 19th Street and head South toward Virginia.  19th Street was a battleground and not for the faint of heart.  Nobody stayed in one lane.

I picked up a few tips from other Type A rush-hour warriors that proved very helpful.  First, never leave any space between you and the car in front of you.  If you do, someone will cut you off.  Second, never use your turn signals until you are already in the lane you are entering.  If you turn on your blinker too soon, there will be no space to move into.  Better yet, never use them.

Never drop your guard.  You must remain alert every moment.  If you try to change the radio station, you may not make it home.  I became rather stoic about having an accident.  I used to say, “Everyday, I am fighting the odds.”  Now that I am retired, I am surprised that I stepped away without hitting anything or being hit.

I do not return gestures (other than smiling at them).  That usually causes wild infuriation.  When someone blasts their horn, I assume its at me.  If I haven’t done anything, I become confused.  I quickly run over the last 30 seconds to see if there isn’t something I can take credit for.

If you are going to navigate downtown rush-hour traffic, you need a particular type of car.  You don’t want a boat, like the Town Car.  You have to be powerfully quick, but without unnecessary bulk.  I drive a Lincoln LS (a V-8 on a Jaguar chassis).

I just couldn’t own a small car.  When I was at the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) certain members of Congress were trying to pass a law requiring cars to get 40 miles per gallon (MPG).  Can manufacturers do that?  Sure.  I think the Geo Metro got 50 MPG.  You just have to take steel out of the car and it will get better gas mileage.  Of course, the cars won’t be as safe.  Any number of advocacy groups (mostly controlled be Nader) insisted that small cars were just as safe as large cars. 

We, at NHTSA, conducted some tests to disprove that.  We took a 4,000 pound 1991 Ford Fairlane and crashed it into a 2,000 pound Suzuki Swift.  Both vehicles were traveling at 36 mph and they crashed with a 60% frontal offset.  That means that 60% of each cars front end made contact with the other car.  We sent the resulting video to members of Congress and that was the end of the proposed legislation.  Why?  Well, the big car literally ate the little car.  It was so devastating that no one would ever again say small cars are just as safe as large cars (I still have the video).  Put some steel around you.  You will feel better in the morning.

Congress, in order to save fuel, recently raised the Corporate Average Fuel Economy mileage standard to 35 MPG by the year 2020.  We’ll see what those cars look like at that time.  I’ll tell you for sure, they won’t want to run into a Ford Fairlane.

Poems

A John Grisham Disappointment

 
     A John Grisham Disappointment

His new book is out, it’s called “The Appeal,”
He’s such a great writer, let the bells peal.
The book’s full of emotion, intrigue and power,
Why did the ending have to be so sour?

The book was well written, the villain’s a devil,
He buys elections and judges, nothing is level.
The book spins a great tale, of corruption and sins,
But, when the smoke settles, it’s the bad guy that wins.

There’s a widow who suffered, child and husband dead,
He makes her sympathetic, that’s what I read.
So we pull for the widow, let the villain be smashed,
But, after reading to the end, our hopes are all dashed.

I’d expect it from McMurtry, his books never end,
The main character just wanders around the next bend.
He also writes well, he’s ever so sly,
But, he’ll never be forgiven, letting Gus McCrea die.

Grisham may be critically acclaimed for his hard hitting story,
But for leaving readers disappointed, there is no glory.
He wanted more reality in this little caper,
But, if I wanted more reality, I’ll just read the paper.

My Military Daze

Military and Moving Both Start with “M” (So does Maddening)


If you spend your life in the military, you will do more than your share of moving.  In 28 years, we had 17 PCS’s (permanent change of station).  That means you load up everything you own and ship it to your next assignment.

In my last three years in the Army, I made three major moves.  In 1988, we moved from Charlottesville, Virginia to Washington, DC.  Then, in 1989, we sold our house in Springfield, Virginia (never to return) and moved from DC to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.  Then, nine months later, I retired from the Army and returned to DC (and bought another house in Springfield).

Making a lot of moves at the end of your career is maddening.  I can prove this point with a graph.  On the left hand side of the graph, you put down the amount of energy you have.  Across the bottom of the chart, put in the amount of household goods (HHG) you own.  When you are a young officer, you have lots of energy and very few household goods.  As you graph the energy and HHG lines, they will cross somewhere around major – energy is dropping and HHG is rising.  Of course, the children are at an age where they are a big help.  But, our last three moves were at the point where we had very little energy and had accumulated lots of stuff from all over the world.  Energy low, HHG high, and the kids are married or off at college.  You spend a lot of time looking at boxes.

Three moves is a significant number, because in the household goods claim’s business, they joke that three PCS’s equals one fire! 

However, we generally had good moves.  We worked at it.  First, we explained to our children how exciting it was to move and meet new friends and see a new part of the country or the world.  That worked until they were teenagers.  Then, they would say, “Knock it off, Dad.”

We tried to be friendly with the packers.  They were wrapping some of our cherished possessions and they were, in fact, impacting (no pun intended) on how they arrived on the other end.  “Would you like a Coke?”  “We are running out for hamburgers.  Can we get you something?”  Then, there’s the driver of the van.  We treated him like a long lost brother.  He had some control over what day he would arrive at our new “home.”  If we were there to meet him, all our possessions marched right in.  If he arrived before us, everything went into storage (which is also know as “lost and found”).

One time we were walking around the house with the driver showing him what was to go.  He started ranting about the dirty, filthy things that people ship.  When we got to the back yard, he pointed at my old, but quite serviceable grill.  He said, “You’re not shipping that, are you?”  Both Carole and I said, “No.”  One more little expense we hadn’t planned on.

I mentioned our last three moves.  The first was planned.  The second surprised us and the third almost wiped us out.  The first was a routine reassignment.  I had been the Commandant at the JAG School for three years and I was assigned to the faculty at the Industrial College of the Armed Forces at Fort McNair in the District.   After being there for a year, I contacted my good friend, Bill Suter, and told him that when Fort Leavenworth, Kansas opened up for a new staff judge advocate (SJA) in the Summer of 1990, I would like to be considered.  We agreed it would be a good fit, particularly since I would only have two years to retirement and I wanted to retire in the Kansas City area.

I hardly had time to bring my wife up to date on my discussion with Bill, when Bob Murray, the Executive Officer in the Office of The Judge Advocate General called.  He told me that the SJA at Fort Leavenworth had just announced his retirement and if I wanted to go to Fort Leavenworth, I had to go now.  Well, Carole and I decided to go.  We sold our house and arrived at Fort Leavenworth  in September, 1989.

During our discussions about leaving, Carole said, “At least I will never have to drive through the Mixing Bowl again.”  The Mixing Bowl is the junction where I-95, I-395 and I-495 all meet.  To get off on the Springfield exit, you have to fight your way across three lanes of I-495 traffic fighting to get onto I-95 South.  In 1999, the State and Federal government started fixing the Mixing Bowl.  It took eight years and $676 million.  Now that the project is complete, there are no traffic jams at the Mixing Bowl.  By expediting traffic through the Mixing Bowl, they have successfully moved the traffic jam three miles South on I-95.  Now, they are about to widen I-95 at the cost of many millions.  Your tax dollars at work.

About three weeks ago, we had really bad weather, including freezing rain which materialized right at evening rush hour.  There were all types of problems, including lots of accidents, on the ramps and flyovers at the Mixing Bowl.  The media was all over the State for not anticipating the weather problem.  Quite frankly, freezing rain and good old boys in their four-wheel drive pickups are not a good fit.  I think you just have to expect a bad day when the sky surprises you with freezing rain.

Four months after we moved to Fort Leavenworth, I received a call from one of my former bosses, Major General Jerry Curry.  President Bush had selected him as Administrator for the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) and he was calling me to see if I wanted to retire and become his chief counsel.  He thought I was still in DC.  After I explained that I had just moved to Fort Leavenworth, he said to think about it.

On June 1, 1990 (when I should have been getting ready to move to Fort Leavenworth), I had purchased another home in Springfield, Virginia (in the shadow of the Mixing Bowl) and was retiring from the Army and starting to work at NHTSA.  After a long day’s work trying to learn about motor vehicle safety, I would come home and cut open some packing boxes.  I should have put that skill in my resume.

My Military Daze, Poems

Bill and Dorris Celebrating Thirty


If you have been keeping track, you’ll have noticed that my poems about military friends have been limited to generals, “Big Daddy’s Seventy-Fifth” (Major General Larry Williams), and “The Clausen Anniversary” (Major General Hugh Clausen).  Before you conclude that I am just a big suck up, please keep in mind that I had retired from the military long before I wrote those poems.  Now, the poem “Fearless Leader” was written about Marc Fleischaker, Chairman of the Executive Committee at Arent Fox, while I was a partner.  In that case, I definitely was sucking up!

This poem is about a JAG officer who worked for me at Fort Riley.  Bill Heaston and his wife, Dorris, were celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary.  At the time of the anniversary, both Bill and I had retired.  So there, it is no longer just generals.

Dorris worked for the Red Cross in Vietnam.  The troops called them “Donut Dollies.”  As a matter of fact, I think they called themselves “Donut Dollies.”  Anyway, Bill was a young JAG captain in Vietnam and that is where they met.  Can’t you just see that romantic scene of the two of them holding each other under a mosquito net?

At Fort Riley, we took PT (physical training) every day.  On Monday, Wednesday and Friday, we would do our daily dozen exercises and then run around post.  But on Tuesday and Thursday, we would choose up sides and play soccer.  Bill and I were usually picked on opposite sides (it worked better that way).  One day, while playing, I ran into Bill and it left a lasting impression.  I played football at the University of Missouri and with a low center of gravity and good balance, I usually ran over people (I was the boss, so no one ever complained too loudly).  When I hit Bill, it was like running into a big Oak tree.  I only ran into him once.

Bill is now general counsel for a telephone company in South Dakota and Dorris is a CPA and a tax consultant.  And, when it is not tax season, Dorris is delightful.  I have no idea what she is like during tax season, because she doesn’t talk to or see anyone.


                  Thirty Years and Counting

Thirty years, yes, thirty years,
Now that’s a good chunk of time.
But Dorris and Bill have traveled the path,
And the anniversary’s about to chime.

It sprang out of war in a far distant place,
A transplanted Donut Dolly with a bright shining face,
And a lawyer soldier, with shoulders so square,
There seemed little doubt they’d end up as a pair.

We  met at Fort Riley in the Big Red One,
Living on Forsyth and did we have fun.
Our seven children were at home – this sometime caused a prank,
They had John, Rita and Eileen and little Ben the Tank.
Dorris gave Carole a witch costume to wear at Halloween,
She still wears the hat in October and it looks just peachy keen.
The only thing Bill gave Jack was bruises and that’s no joke,
When they collided on the soccer field, it truly would bring smoke.

Now the military life’s behind them and the children all are grown,
The guys still practicing law, the gals cruise the shopping zone.
We get together too seldom, but there’s the RAJA gang,
Where memories can be awakened and spring forward with a clang.
So here’s to the next time together, to the laughter and the tears,
Here’s to a happy anniversary, a fantastic thirty years.

P.S. 
Now I’m asking this question to Dorris, I’m cutting her no slack,
After 30 years of marriage, why’s your hair still so black?

The Fox

Bomb Threats at Washington Square

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Arent Fox is located in the Washington Square building in the District of Columbia.  The worst summer I had in that building was the summer of the bomb threats.  I am not sure what year it was.  I think it was 1995 or 96.

Concerned with my journalistic professionalism (assuming there is such a thing), I really tried to go back and find the year.  No luck with the Washington Post or Google.  If you put in Washington Square, all you get from the search engines is Washington Square Park in New York.  That is where 74 year old Stella Maychick drove her 87 Delta 88 Oldsmobile into a crowd in the Park, killing five and injuring 26.  You know what everyone does when that happens?  Sue General Motors!

I can tell you the year that Stella drove into the crowd, but I can’t nail down the summer of the bomb threats.  I checked with my secretary and other friends.  They all remember it, but not the year.

Anyway, things were going well at the firm.  I had made partner and had enough clients to feel good about myself.  Then, at about 12:50 PM, the horns in the building went off.  Usually that meant that a fire had been reported in the building and we had to evacuate.  It was usually a 30 minute drill.  But, this time, after the blaring stopped, the voice said, “Let me have your attention.  Let me have your attention.  There has been a phone report that there is a bomb in the building.  Please evacuate the building immediately.”  Then, there was the obligatory comment about not using the elevators.  I thought, I am really going to be upset if the bomb is in the stairwell.

Everybody got out of the building quickly.  Then, we realized this wasn’t going to be a 30 minute drill.  It took the police two and a half to three hours to go through the building with their bomb-sniffing dogs.  It really disrupted the day.  Then, two days later, it happened again, and then, the next day.  It started happening almost every day.

It got to the place where the first thing I did each morning was to pack my briefcase with things I could work on during the bomb scare.  The wailing of the alarm would make me immediately despondent.  When the notification was given, I would pick up my briefcase and head across the street to the Mayflower Hotel.  They had a number of comfortable seats on the front balcony, but you had to move quickly to get one.  The Mayflower never complained, but I am sure that they were not happy to have hundreds of people filling up their lobby.

During this period, I was working quite a bit with Jerry Curry, the former Administrator for the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration.  He was being retained to testify as an expert witness in certain automobile liability cases.  I was retained to prepare him.  He would show up early (we were both retired military) and we would finish our work around 11:00.  Then, we would go down to Morton’s Restaurant, which was located in our building, and have an early lunch.

If you thought the bomb threat was taking its toll on the office personnel, you can imagine how it was impacting on the restaurant personnel.  The bomb threats would usually come in between 12:30 and 1:15.  You have heard the expression “screwing up a free lunch.”  Well these bomb threats were creating free lunches.  People would be in the middle of their lunch and the restaurant would have to be evacuated.

Jerry and I used to get in and out before the evacuation.  The maitre d’ became our friend.  We may have been their only paying customers.  I called Jerry to see if he could remember the infamous year.  He remembered the events, but not the year.  Jerry is running for President of the United States right now.  No, I am not kidding.  He wasn’t happy with any of the Republican candidates, so he decided to run.  You still don’t believe me?  OK, just Google “Jerry Curry for President,” and see what you get.  You will be impressed.

Everybody knew the bomb threats were a hoax, but it was a Catch 22.  The building administrator could not tell the police, “No, don’t come.”  And, the police insisted the building be evacuated.  You can’t ignore the threat and then expect your insurance to pick up the pieces.

There were probably 15 to 25 bomb threats.  It seemed like three times that number.  At the conclusion, Jerry and I went down to Morton’s.  The maitre d’ greeted us like a brand new daddy.  While he couldn’t discuss the matter, he said that he didn’t expect any more bomb threats.

It turned out that the police had traced the bogus calls to pay phones in a certain area of town.  So, having a good idea as to what time the call would be made, they put a pair of eyes on all the public pay phones in that area.  When the call came in, they alerted on the phone and picked up the culprit.  He turned out to be a disgruntled former employee from (surprise) Morton’s, who had been fired.  He also flipped on a present employee, who was still working there.  They were trying to screw up Morton’s lunch business and had done a pretty good job.

The best thing I can say about that summer is that I got through it.  And, that is important.  If you can get through adversity, then you have that banked away.  When something else disruptive happens, you can say, “Hey, this in not as bad as the bomb threat in whatever year that was.”

Random Thoughts

Internet, Passwords and Foolishness

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Isn’t the internet great?  If you have a question, with very little effort, you can probably find the answer on the internet.  I am so glad Al Gore discovered it.  Or, did he invent it?  I get confused about just what he did.  Well, to prove my point, I went on the internet and found out that while Al didn’t discover or invent the internet, he was one of the Congressional technogeeks who helped fund military projects which led to the internet.  That counts for something.

A few years back, I was at my desk working away, when I received a phone call from Smitty, a high school buddy.  He told me that he was spending the winter in Florida and there was a contest going around the pool.  He wanted to know if I could help him with one of the questions.  The question was, how many spikes are there in the Statue of Liberty’s crown and what do they represent.  I got on the internet and, in no time, found out there are seven  spikes and that they represent the seven seas and the seven continents.  I called Smitty back and gave him the answer.  Then, I realized that Smitty wasn’t as interested in the answer as he was in letting me know that he was retired and enjoying life in Florida, while I was sitting at my desk looking at the snow falling and wondering about the slippery trip home.

Most of the websites that sell stuff (and a lot that don’t) want you to register first.  It is usually painless, unless you failed to notice that they just signed you up for every solicitation they send out.  They want a user name or an email address and, also, a password.  I gave one company George Washington as my user name.  They came back and told me that it was already taken.  Bummer.  I found out that ricequips works.  What a break.  As for passwords, I think most people use their pet’s name.  If your dog is named Spot, you will probably be informed that your password needs at least seven characters.  “Spotspot” will work.  If your cat is named Gertrude, you are in great shape.

My voice mail at work requires a four number code.  I used the last four of my social security number.  How original is that?  After about eight years, somebody decided that we needed to change the code.  So, I switched to the pin number on my ATM.  Then a year later, they want me to change again.  I gave them the last four of my SSN.  But, the automated lady told me I had already used that number.  It doesn’t do any good to scream at her.  So, being a resourceful guy, I punched in the month and day of my birthday.  She came back and told me I could not use my birthday.  That was really creepy.  The automated lady in the phone knows my birthday.  I hung up.  I wasn’t prepared to go further.  But, she knew that I would eventually need to listen to my messages.  She planned on waiting me out.  I decided to see if she knew on what day I was married.  She didn’t.  That solves the problem for another year.  I wonder if she knows my wife’s birthday?

The password on my computer at work has to be changed more often than my voice mail.  It seems like it is every three months, but it is probably more like six or seven.  I started out with my dog’s name, Holly.  Then, I just started through the alphabet changing the first letter to the next consonant.  I started with Bolly, then Colly and Dolly.  Of course, when I needed some technical assistance from our IT department and the guy asked for my password, it was Folly.  What a great password for a serious minded attorney.  When he came back a few months later, my password was Golly.  Some while later, when I needed assistance, I had to stare the guy down and tell him my password was Jolly.  What’s in a password anyway?

If you forget your password, most companies make it rather painless to recover it.  It is like anything else, the first time you have to do it, it’s a little confusing.  I have forgotten passwords so often that I am what you would call a password recovery expert.

My Military Daze, Poems

The Clausen Anniversary


I worked for Hugh Clausen in the Pentagon, and then, of course, when he became The Judge Advocate General, we all worked for him.  He was a lay-back, easy going guy, but when you are that smart, you can act any way you want.

My previous boss in the Pentagon, Brigadier General Tenhet, had been all business and when you were called into his office you knew it was time to get busy.  There was no doubt that a sensitive issue needed to be addressed (most tasks did not require a visit to his office).  I probably never had a meeting with him that lasted much over three minutes.  “Come in, sit down.”  Then he would lay out the facts and the legal issue and what he needed us to do.  Then he would say, “Any questions?”  And, out I would go.

When General Tenhet announced his retirement, I went over to his office to wish him good luck.  He said,  “Come in, sit down.”  I said, “Sir, this is more of a social visit.”  He paused, and then said, “Oh, would you like a cup of coffee?”

General Tenhet’s direct approach did not prepare me for General Clausen.  The first time General Clausen tasked me on an important issue, he wandered into my office, put his feet on my desk and started telling me about having a conversation with his old buddy, the Director of the Army Staff.  He said that something had been mentioned and that if I had a chance, I might want to check into it.  The bad news was that I had been tasked by my boss and because of his casual manner in telling me, I had missed it!  Needless to say, the matter was not handled as it should have been and I just barely survived.  But, like with my earlier writing on “Whoa, Fool me Once,” I never made that mistake again.  We could be having drinks at the club or playing golf, but if he said I might want to look into something, I was all over it.

After General Clausen retired from the Army, Clemson University hired him to be the Vice President for Administration and Executive Secretary to the Board of Trustees.  They hired him, even though he told them he was a grad from the University of Alabama and didn’t care much for tigers.

Well, after they had been at Clemson for a number of years, the University cared so much for Hugh and Betty that they gave them a 50th wedding anniversary party.  While Carole and I could not attend, we sent the following poem.


                       The Anniversary

Listen to the noise, hear all the cheers,
Betty and Hugh together for, yes, 50 years.
A day long remembered, a day of blue skies,
Full of fond memories, shining in their eyes.

So many memories of early days in green,
Traveling round the world, so much to be seen.
Hugh in the Army, of building his career,
Betty with the family, skinned knees and wiping tears.

Hugh rose through the ranks, destined to be a star,
But he still had time for golf, chasing after par.
As the T(ee)JAG, he ran the show, in charge of all but a few,
Betty remained her wonderful self, in charge of only Hugh.

With adieu to the Army and a new life unfurled,
Say hello to Clemson and the academic world.
He helped pick his boss and she picked out the flooring,
For a beautiful house on Hermitage Mooring.
He looks like a Tiger with the orange jacket he sports,
but, if you dig deeper, you’ll find roll-Tide red shorts.

The special day has arrived and friends gather near,
With love in their hearts for two people so dear.
Not everyone can be there, but all understand,
Their thoughts are with them across the land.
So with glasses raised high, we hope you can hear,
Here’s a toast to you both for each and every year.

Political Thoughts

Stupid Statements


When I was in high school back in East St. Louis, we were all taken to the auditorium to listen to what I guess was a motivational speaker.  We probably had a lot of speakers, but this is the only one I remember.  His message was, whatever you do, be the best.  If that was all he said, I probably wouldn’t have remembered.  But to reinforce his thesis, he said, “I would rather be the best cab driver in East St. Louis, than the second best President of the United States.

I was just a teenager, but that got me to thinking.  I figured that the second best President was either Washington, Jefferson or Lincoln, depending on whom you put first.  I figured our speaker hadn’t really thought this thing through.  He sure got my attention.  As I said, I don’t remember anything else a speaker said to my high school class.  Maybe things that are really, really stupid are memorable.  Maybe that is why Ann Coulter said she prefers Clinton to McCain.  Maybe she would also like to be the best cab driver in East St. Louis.

When I attended the Army War College, one of the things a faculty member said to us was,  “Remember, the things that got you here will not make you successful from here on out.”  I’m a little slow, so it took me a while to figure out what he meant.  What I think he meant was that as a junior officer it was important to be uncompromising in the pursuit of military matters.  The mission was decided at a higher level and we were to carry it out.  Now, as senior leaders dealing with other services and political leaders, it was important to find the best common ground.  It may not be the absolute best course of action, but it is better than doing nothing.  The word compromise seemed to be finding its way into our thoughts.

I suspect political leaders are faced with this problem all the time.  Their ideology may have to give a little to get things done.  And, it is important for our country to get things done.  If you are a talk show host or a commentator, you can stick to your ideology and forget about getting anything done.  And, I guess that’s OK, too.  It is just that somewhere down the line, these people need to show some common sense. 

I respect Newt Gingrich as an extremely smart guy.  I don’t always agree with him, but I think he always has a well thought out justification for his position.  And, I probably wouldn’t pass too many litmus tests for these people.  I suspect Newt’s views on most political issues are not too dissimilar to that of Coulter or Limbaugh.  But, I don’t expect to see him attacking Senator McCain.  The Senator may not have been Newt’s choice, but Newt can figure out that McCain is a lot better for our country than Clinton or Obama.  I will be surprised if Newt Gingrich doesn’t endorse McCain and work for his election.

Rush Limbaugh used to start out his show (show is the appropriate word) by announcing how many days the country had been held hostage by the Clinton Administration.  And now, with Hillary or a more liberal Obama scratching for the presidency, he goes chilly on the soon to be selected Republican candidate.  He would probably say that I just don’t get it.  Well, with the outcome of the war and the make up of the Court at stake, I guess he’s right.  I just don’t get it.

Poems

Mom’s 90th Birthday

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For my mother’s 90th birthday, we gathered at our house in Springfield, Virginia.  Bill, my older brother and his wife, Jeanette, came up from Hendersonville, North Carolina and Mom and Karen, my younger sister, flew in from Phoenix.  We spent the entire weekend celebrating.

I mentioned Mom’s older brother, Leslie, in the poem.  Whenever he got mad at Mom, he would tell her he was going out to the garage to sharpen the ax.  As for as we know, he never used it on anyone.

Between Bill and me, we played baseball four nights a week.  It conflicted with the dinner meal, but Mom just made sure we all got fed.  Back then, I didn’t think much about the imposition.  Kids just play and expect to eat.

Karen, Jeanette and my wife, Carole, were all selected as Football Queens for our high school.  It was a big thing at East Side High.

And, yes, we vacationed at Sammy Lane Resort in Branson, Missouri, when the downtown area consisted of one block.  Sammy Lane’s swimming pool was drained every Monday and refilled with spring water.  It was Wednesday or Thursday before you could actually swim in the icy water.

On that weekend, we sat and told the stories that had become legend in the Rice household.  There’s the one where I was talking to Bill and threw my arms up gesturing backwards.  The window screen gave way and I fell out of our first floor bedroom window.  I ran around the house crying and came in the kitchen door.  Mom asked me what happened and I told her and then, pointed at Bill.  I said, “He was there when I fell out the window.”  Bill said, “I noticed he stopped talking.”  It’s tough being a middle child.

Mom will be 93 in July.  A couple of years back, she had a mild stroke, and has made an excellent recovery.  She is back exercising on her treadmill.


                           CELEBRATION

We’re having a  gathering, a significant event,
It’s Mother’s birthday, it’s time well spent.
She is ninety and counting and spry as could be,
Working mind and body, she’s fit A to Z.

She lived through the Depression and the Japanese attacks,
Got along with her siblings, except Leslie with the ax.
Married as a teen and a child when she was 20,
Bill and Jack and Karen Ann and boy that was plenty.

Devoted to her family, of chores we will not speak,
Except juggling the meals, around four ball games a week.
With only one daughter, as mysterious as it seems,
Before it was over, she had three football queens.

Vacation in the Ozarks, bees and wasps a humming,
Cabins weren’t much to look at, but at least they had indoor plumbing.
But the locations got better, and we did cavort,
In the icy cold pool, at Sammy Lane’s Resort.

She’s done her share of traveling, there’s not much fun in that,
It’s not easy with crying kids and tires that will go flat.
Airplanes are not her bag and ships make her shiver,
Yet, she’s rafted, yes, rafted down the Colorado River.

After years and years in Illinois, she moved out to the West,
Then Florida, to Illinois, but Arizona passed the test.
She’s living with Karen and keeps her conservative views,
She watches Fox Broadcasting for “fair and balanced” news.

Now with her children present, we look back through the years,
Seeing all the good times and noticing some tears.
We know that she is special, there really is no other,
The woman that we love, the woman we call Mother.

BOO! I saw you smile!