If you have been reading some of my recent posts, you are probably aware that I have been talking about some of my exploits and experiences after being assigned to the JITC at Fort Huachuca, Arizona. My story today centers around a subject that is near and dear to my heart, but it is not hunting or running. Sorry to disappoint, if that is a topic you were expecting. But hopefully, my subject will still offer you some enjoyment. Today, I am going to talk about another subject that is near and dear to my heart, the Hash House Harriers. Well, the story today is sort of about the Hash but not really. See, well, actually, you can’t see because I am sort of describing it to you, so you have to visualize it in your mind. But that’s kind of like seeing in a lopsided sort of way. Just not with your real eyes. Here is how this story is about the Hash. If you recall, I mentioned in previous posts that I am a member of the Hash. Okay. That’s neat. That’s great. That’s keen. That’s fine. Well then, there was this guy named Chuck Bone who happened to be a Sergeant Major in the United States Army, stationed at Fort Huachuca at the same time I was stationed there. . Okay. That’s neat. That’s great. That’s keen. That’s fine. No. He wasn’t a chuck steak, bone-in. He was a real live person. His Hash name was Swab D Bone. I am not exactly sure why or how he got that name. But it probably had something to do with his last name being Bone. He was coming due for a reenlistment in the Army and he asked me to conduct the reenlistment ceremony. I was honored. But at the same time I was puzzled. Usually, a reenlistment ceremony is something that is conducted by a member of your chain of command, especially for somebody so senior. However, the Army allows NCOs and senior NCOs of any rank to choose whomever they desire to reenlist them or to promote them for that matter. As I previously stated, I was honored that my Hash friend had selected me to perform the ceremony. Then, he told me where he wanted to do it. He said that he wanted to be reenlisted at the top of the water tower just inside the main gate to Fort Huachuca. Okay. I’ll do things before I state my objections. I believe I have previously posted about how the mountains surrounding Fort Huachuca got their name. Huachuca means thunder (loosely translated) in the local Native American parlance. And the Huachuca Mountains live up to their name. But usually, the thunder and lightning strike at the most inopportune time. Yeah. I also believe that I talked about the time that I got caught with my shorts down (figuratively, not literally) underneath my red Chevy van during one such event. When the lightning struck at the wrong time. Oh yeah. Bad. Very bad. I am not afraid of heights. That water tower was not that high. We could have easily defeated the cheap lock and chain that secured the metal ladder to scale the side of the tower. And there was a platform running around the circumference of the tank at the top of the tower. And that platform was equipped with a railing to keep rational adults from falling off of the platform. Of course, no railing is going to prevent a drunken fool or stupid idiot kids from falling to their deaths on the hard desert floor below. And the drop had to be a good fifty or sixty feet from the platform to the ground below. I didn’t measure it; I was just guesstimating. But an estimation was good enough, in this case, because the platform was one helluva long way from the ground. Anybody who fell from there was in for a hurtin’ for certain. The kind you don’t recover from. But I wasn’t really worried about getting rattled by thunder and getting knocked off the platform. Oh hell no. But then there was the wind that we had to contend with. See, well, you can’t really see wind, but imagine that you can feel the wind blowing off those damn mountains. That damn wind was usually blowing at thirty miles an hour with gusts up to 65 to 70 miles an hour. I wasn’t really worried about the thirty miles an hour. But that sixty-five miles an hour had me a little concerned because that shit could move you around, especially when you are up at altitude. And did I mention that the water tower was made out of pure steel? No. Well, it is. And steel has iron in it. And what is iron? You guessed it. Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! A great conductor of electricity. There was no way in hell that I was climbing up on top of that water tower to get my ass fried like a roast chicken. Okay. Maybe chicken was a bad choice of words. But you get the idea. As a result, I suggested to my good friend Swab D Bone that perhaps he re-think his choice of venues for the reenlistment. Cuz he wanted to do it in the afternoon, followed by a beer bash afterwards, which left it highly susceptible to the thunder and lightning show. I merely suggested that climbing up on the tower was not the best choice for a reenlistment venue. He agreed with me, but he still wanted to do it at the water tower. As a result, I was able to reenlist Sergeant Major Bone in front of the water tower at Fort Huachuca, without any exercises in futility.
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