Having a military driver license helped me, even out of basic training. In one of my other stories, I mention Ed and how hard he worked at getting promoted. Basic training ended. In basic training, you fill out a ‘Dream Sheet.’ After basic, you go on to AIT, Advanced Individual Training. You get trained to be a communication specialist, a cook, or whatever. Every trainer hopes to become a company clerk. Almost everyone gets assigned as infantry, which was synonymous with Viet Nam.
We were standing in line waiting to fill out our dream sheets. The trainee in front of me said he had no idea what to pick. I advised you to think of something that nobody else will think to ask for. Work the odds with something like meteorologist.
I had my own plan. I thought meteorologist was stupid. I’d be more realistic. I thought that in Viet Nam they had a lot of helicopters. I was good with mechanical things and there was a big helicopter repair base in the Philippine Islands. I would say I wanted to be a mechanic in the Philippines.
Well, I didn’t get that as an AIT assignment. I was a holdover. A holdover means limbo. You just wait, wait, wait until you get an assignment. As a side note, when I was discharged, I ran into that trainee, I had given advice to. He said he flew on a hurricane chasing airplane for two years. He thanked me and told me he had passed my advice on to the guy in line in front of him that day. That soldier said he wanted to be a Sky Marshall. That’s what he got and flew around the world, dressed as a civilian carrying a handgun in case of a hijacking.
Ed Cleaning
Back to me. Out of Basic, Ed was not promoted. It didn’t please him, that I was. I moved from Buck Private E1 to regular Private E2. Both of us were holdovers and were billeted in a barrack just for soldiers waiting for orders. Someone knew I had a driver’s license, so one night I had to be Duty Driver. A Duty Driver reports, with a jeep, to the fort headquarter building. There must be an officer on duty overnight in case one is needed. The driver drives the officer around or runs errands for him. I reported for duty but spent all night reading a book.
Dawn was upon us. The officer in charge, a Captain gave me a neatly folded American Flag. He said to go out to the flagpole and raise the flag when reveille played over the Fort loudspeakers. The flagpole had three sections of pipe and towered from a cement base twenty feet from the HQ building. The captain stood, with his arms clasped behind him, in front of a large picture window that gave him a view of the flagpole. The bottom section of the pole was about 6 inches in diameter. The middle section was only about 4 inches and the top a narrow 2 inches. A long rope ran from the bottom, through a pulley at the top and back down. Two metal snaps held the fag to the rope.
I got ready for reveille. I held the folded flag under my arm. The two snaps were up at the top of the pole, and a loop of rope was snagged where the top section of silver pipe attached to the middle.
I had to shake and swing, and hake the rope some more, to get the snag past the diameter step. When I finally got the snaps down, I clipped them into the gromets in the flag. I decided I had time to fix the tangle in the rope. The two ends were knotted together. I couldn’t get the not untied, even pulling on it with my teeth. From the time I became a Boy Scout, I’ve almost always carried a pocketknife. I pulled it out and cut the knot. Then several things happened at once.
Reveille started playing over multiple loudspeakers. The knot flew. The rope slipped out of my grasp. I jumped, trying to catch the rope as it whistled up and away through the pulley. When I jumped and grabbed, the flag fell from under my arm. I landed on the flag. The rope landed like a tangle of spaghetti on my head and a tap tap tap sounded on the picture window glass.
First, I looked down at the flag. Quickly I bundled it up in my arms. I turned to the picture window. The stern-faced Captain, with his finger curled, motioned me to come inside.
Wow, I thought a drill sergeant could yell. The volume of the captain’s yelling was incredible. After I saluted a hundred times and apologized a thousand, the captain dismissed me.
I was thankful he didn’t call the MP’s or demote me or something. I needed to take the jeep back to the motor pool, but in my hurry had left my hat inside.
I snuck back in. I passed the doorway to the duty room. The captain was there along with a couple of officers who had just arrived. The captain was telling them a story. They were all laughing.
“And he lands on the flag, with the rope all over him.” The captain wiped his eyes. “We’re going to need a crane to thread the rope back up.”
I grabbed my hat and went out the back door.
Back at the holdover barrack, with no one in charge, twenty soldiers still lay in their beds. I needed some sleep and crawled into my upper bunk.
Having been up all night, it wasn’t long before I fell asleep. I woke up in the middle of a fall to the floor. Glaring and shouting was the Forts Seargent Major, the highest-ranking non-officer. He wanted to know why the barracks was a ‘dump’ and everyone was still sleeping. Someone had the courage to give him answers and explained we were all holdovers. He said our days of luxury had ended and we now all reported to him. He said we were all now on garbage duty.
“What about Blumer,” the brave holdover asked and pointed. “He was duty driver all night.”-
I stood at attention, Instead of standing on a flag, I now stood on a pile of my blankets.
“At ease,” the Sergeant Major ordered. “Everyone but you soldier,” looking at me. “Sorry to wake you son. You’re the only one with an excuse so now you’re in charge. Each morning you make sure this worthless bunch gets up and reports to the garbage dump. After that, you can spend the day however you’d like.” He nodded at me, turned and left.
For the next two weeks, I did what I’ d been ordered. When the barracks were cleaned up and cleared out, I’d head over to the library. “Hi, Ed,” I’d call when I saw him by the garbage cans. I’d listen to music or read some then go to the bowling alley. “Hi again,” I’d yell to Ed, who was at the Alley’s garbage can. Sometimes I’d see Ed five or six times a day.
Finally, Ed got orders to be a company clerk, here at Ft. Campbell. He was so glad he didn’t end up in the infantry or somewhere learning about something that went boom or bang. He told me how finally his hard work paid off as he knew it would. He said good luck with my holdover duties.
My routine changed. My luck stayed about the same. It’s funny how wanting a can of soda can shape your life. But that story is somewhere else.
