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 Joint Interoperability Test Center (JITC) at Fort Huachuca, Arizona. My story today centers around a subject that, quite frankly, I hadn’t thought about in quite a few years. You might even say that it’s a blast from the past. That’s right. A total shocker. This one caught me totally by surprise. It came out of left field. And when I say that it came out of left field, it looked like it came from the left field bleachers. That’s how far out in left field it was. This blast from the past was. Okay. Do I have your suspense built properly enough yet? I do? Okay. Here is how it went down. I arrived at work one fine Thursday morning (may not have actually been a Thursday) at the Joint Interoperability Test Center (JITC) one morning after my morning running routine to find a message waiting for me from my supervisor. Messages from my supervisor were very rare. That meant only one of two things. Well, possibly three things. First, I had forgotten some very important task and I was going to get my ass chewed. Oh well. If that was the case, I didn’t have much to fear. I towered over my supervisor and pretty much intimidated him with just my appearance. For some strange reason, he always referred to me as “big guy.” I never really understood why until one time when he called me “big guy” in the gym while I was lifting weights with my buddy who I referred to as “Arnie.” After my supervisor had left the gym, I looked at my buddy and mentioned that I didn’t understand why my supervisor always kept calling me “big guy.” My buddy, “Arnie,” mentioned that he thought it was for the same reason that I called him “Arnie.” You know, it’s funny how light bulbs sometimes turn on at the strangest times to enable enlightenment. But I digress. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, the message from my supervisor. Well, if the reason wasn’t because I had screwed up, then it was because one of my workers had screwed up. The bottom line was that I was still going to get an ass chewing. Yay. See discussion above. Can you tell how excited I was to walk across the compound just to see my supervisor’s smiling face. Except he probably wouldn’t be smiling. Cuz he probably wouldn’t be happy to see me because he was going to chew my ass. And if you still don’t understand why, please see the discussion above. But I didn’t mention that there was that third possibility. That third possibility was an outlier. You know. Something that doesn’t normally happen. Something that comes from Deep Space Nine. Yes. That’s right. I’m talking way out there. I knocked briefly on the door to the office of my NCOIC, Master Sergeant Hammond. I told him that I was going to see the boss. He asked me why and I told him that I was probably going to get my ass chewed. He just laughed and said, “Lieutenant Colonel Jones chewing your ass, that would look comical as hell.” I replied, “I have to maintain appearances, so I have to make it at least look quazi-like an ass chewing.” “Can I come and take pictures?” “Be a good boy and stay in your office. You weren’t invited to the party.” “Damnit, Sir. I never get to have any fun.” “Hey, you have to take that up with the boss. I’ll see you later.” Then I headed over to the boss’s office. But I started to mention that there was that third possibility. That third possibility was that there was some kind of bullshit mission that the Navy Captain (my senior rater) thought was too petty to deal with, so he handed it off to my immediate supervisor (the Marine Lieutenant Colonel. Guess what. I was wrong on all three counts. It was neither option one nor option two nor option three. No. After I had reported to Lieutenant Colonel Jones, he told me that he had received an official inter-office communiqué from Fort Wainwright, Alaska for me. After he gave me the communiqué, I gave him a brief update on mission activities and left. When I got back to my office, Master Sergeant Hammond followed me in and asked me about the ass chewing. But I told him I didn’t get an ass chewing. I told him I received some bullshit letter instead. He asked me what the letter was about, but I hadn’t read it yet. I opened the envelope and took out the piece of paper. It turned out to be an official request from an Army captain that I had known at Fort Lewis, Washington. It turned out that the Army captain was being called before a show-cause board to present evidence and mitigating circumstances in his defense to show why he should be allowed to remain on active duty. He wanted me to write a letter on his behalf to the show-cause board at Department of the Army. Here is the back story. At Fort Lewis, he and I commanded sister units at the same time. When the command climate in his unit started to get very stormy and ugly, our senior rater at the time was forced to intervene. The senior rater was forced to intervene because I filed reports with my rater and with the command every time one of his soldiers or lieutenants came to me to document complaints using my open door policy. When it became apparent that my rater was not going to take action, I went up the chain of command to the 1st Corps Chief of Staff. 1st Corps Chief of Staff told my senior rater to investigate the Commander and the First Sergeant of my sister unit, or they would. Well, when someone is backed into a corner, they come out fighting. My senior rater and rater finally decided to investigate. As a result of their investigation, they relieved the commander and the first Sergeant for cause and issued written letters of reprimand to all of the lieutenants and senior NCOs in that unit. My senior rater also tried to issue me a letter of reprimand. Like I said, he tried. I went to my lawyer buddy over at JAG (Judge Advocate General) who immediately wrote a scorching cease-and-desist letter to my senior rater and called him to get his ass over to his office to pick it up. I didn’t know that JAG guys had that kind of clout. But they did. My senior rater showed up at the JAG office and received his cease-and-desist notification after which he called me and informed me that I would not be receiving a letter of reprimand. Fast-forward to the present. Now I get this blast from the past asking me to write a letter on his behalf. Oh, boo-hoo. That sonofabitch almost cost me a letter of reprimand. And he certainly cost me a lot of consternation and pain. As a result, I wrote a letter to the show-cause board all right. But it may not have been exactly the letter he was looking for. I explained to the show-cause board the circumstances of surrounding events, as I knew them, and I attached exhibits as evidence to collaborate my story. Every now and then, justice must be served. In the case of the blast from the past, I escaped with no further exercises in futility.
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