It was Saturday morning in Seoul South Korea, and I was standing on a busy street corner just outside of Gate 3 for Main Post of Yongsan. I was walking to South Post, Yongsan, where my Quonset-hut barracks was located. My unit headquarters was on Main Post just behind and across the little bridge from Eighth US Army, CFC, USFK Command Building. I had pulled charge-of-quarters duty the night before, so I had the day off. When I had assumed duty the day before, it had been a pretty warm day in the mid to high 70’s. But since it was rather late in the fall, temperatures were rather fickle from day to day. And this morning, it was a noticeably chilly 40 degrees outside. Needless to say, I was not dressed for the weather, and I was freezing my ass off while waiting for the damn light to change. I was at one of the busiest intersections in Itaewon-Dong, Seoul. Of course, I also had my hands in my pockets cuz they were freezing damn cold too. And wouldn’t you know it… It was Ford, my Lord slowing down to take a look at me. No. I wasn’t taking it easy, like in the famous song you may be thinking of, and the Ford wasn’t a flatbed. It was a puke-green sedan with USFK license plates on it. So, naturally, I thought it was some high-ranking civilian with a lot of perks. I didn’t give a shit about him cuz I was freezing my ass. Did I mention that it was freezing cold that morning? Yeah. I probably should have paid closer attention to that Ford cuz suddenly it stopped dead in the middle of the street. This rather old, white haired man got out of the back seat of the car and walked up to me. He said, “Goddamn it soldier, where in the hell is your head?” I thought, ‘That’s a rather odd question.’ I just couldn’t resist the urge. I couldn’t let this opportunity slip by me. So, I took my hands out of my pockets and felt around on my shoulders for a bit as if I were hunting for something in the dark. Then, I felt the shape of my head with my hands and said, “Well, I do believe my head is on my goddamn shoulders.” His face turned beet-red, which, when combined with his Hawaiian shirt and white hair, was one helluva sight. Kodak moment, I wished I had a camera. Then he said, “Goddamn it, soldier. Do you know who I am?” Now, I was thinking, ‘You know, me, there is this small outside possibility that this guy is somebody important.’ But I simply said, “Nope. Don’t have a clue.” Now, he was literally shouting at me, “I am GENERAL GODDAMN VESSEY! I RUN THIS ARMY!” I started thinking, ‘Holy shit. I’m in a serious pickle now.’ And I said, “Well sir, if you want people to recognize that you’re a General, perhaps you ought to display your stars on your car.” I walked over to his car and pointed. “SEE? No stars. No Goddamn stars. How in the hell was I supposed to know you were a General? I can’t read your mind.” “Who in the hell is your commander?” I gave him my unit and commander’s name. He said I would be hearing from him. Damn. Shit. Damn. This ain’t good. (Note to reader: Here is why this is important, lesser ranking soldiers are supposed to salute the vehicle of a flag-rank officer when it passes.) Then, I watched as the General went over to the car and jerked a knot out of his driver’s ass. His driver was a Major. The Major got out of the car and ran around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to get the stars mounted on the car. Then, the Major dropped a whole bunch of papers and had to run around in traffic trying to collect them. If you’ve ever seen the Three Stooges in action. Yep. That was him. He was a lonely stooge. I am not sorry to report that I don’t think he had his job as the General’s Aide for much longer. I ran back to the orderly room and told my First Sergeant about the incident. But he laughed and said don’t worry about it. On Monday morning at 0900 hours, I was ordered to report to Eighth Army Headquarters with my commander. I walked into the General’s office and reported. He asked me to sit, but I didn’t think it would be wise. He said, “I’m curious, how come you didn’t recognize me even without the stars displayed?” “Seriously, sir? All due respect, but I don’t know you from Adam, and I just got into country two weeks ago. I barely know who my commander and first sergeant are.” “Fair enough. Let me speak to your commander alone, young man, and then I’ll want to speak to you.” “Yes, sir,” I said as I saluted and walked out of his office. When I went back into his office, the General said, “Young man, you were quite observant the other day. You caused me a little embarrassment.” “Sir, it was never my intent to cause you embarrassment (maybe a slight misrepresentation of the truth).” “Well, believe me nobody has ever stood their ground and called me out like you did. That took grit. I know a certain Major who wishes you had never been born.” “Sorry about that, sir.” “Quite all right. I needed to have him tested. Your commander probably wishes you’d never been assigned to his command right about now.” “I think you’re wrong about that, sir. He doesn’t let anything bother him. He calls us his children, and he is our master. Did you know that he outranks the 121 Hospital commander?” “I did not. That explains some things. Well, young man, make sure you remember who I am and who my command sergeant major is.” “Yes, sir.” And with that, we parted ways. My run-in with the General had been just another exercise in futility.
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