I have affectionately talked. Raved? Raved seems like such a strong word. So no, not raved, rather, talked. Yeah, that’s it. I have talked about my commander at Fort Benning before. And you will learn that we had a love-hate relationship. To be fair, the love was not all his and the hate was not all mine. In order to understand how we came to be such great acquaintances; you have to know how I came to be at Benning’s home for boys to start with. I entered the Army and took Basic and Advanced Individual Training at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. When I was in basic training, I turned down my chance to go to the West Point Preparatory School. I had received a nomination to West Point out of high school which meant that I had to go to the Prep School after training. Well, my company commander in basic training was from the Point, and he pretty much changed my mind for me about attending the Point. Every time I saw him, I thought, “If everyone that comes from West Point is like this box of rocks, I really don’t need to associate myself with them or that school.” Then something happened in basic (something so bad that I will never tell a story about it) that forced me to testify at a court-martial. My wonderful company commander used a technicality to get the charges dismissed. What I saw him do with that court-martial, knowing that the alleged events had indeed transpired as alleged, had totally disillusioned me toward certain Army leaders and West Point. Then, he called me into his office for two reasons. The first, to explain why I had to let the court-martial go. He said, “Someday, son, when you’re a commander, you’ll understand what I did was for the greater good.” All the while he was talking, he was beating his ring against his desk. People from West Point do that, hence they are called “Ring Knockers.” I replied, “Sir, the only thing I understand right now is that you are beating the hell out of your desk. What’s with that?” He said, “Son, you’ll earn your own ring in due time and then you’ll understand. That brings me to the second reason I called you in here today. I need you to sign these papers.” “What papers are those, sir?” “Your request for orders to attend the West Point Preparatory School.” “I see.” So, what do I need to do?” “Essentially, you sign here, check these boxes, initial here and here, and sign and date the second page.” “That’s it?” “I believe so, yes.” “Okay, great, sir.” I picked up the forms and tore them up and threw them in the trash. “Sorry, sir, ain’t no way Jose! NO, SIR. Won’t go. You can’t make me. See you later, sir.” And out the door I went. Three months later, I got shipped to Fort Benning. Surprise! Surprise! I was supposed to go to Germany. How the hell did that happen? Actually, I had a pretty good idea how the hell it happened. A private cannot just tell the Army to go pound sand up its rectum without repercussions. When you tell the brass to take a flying fiddler’s rolling dive through a swinging donut, you can bet your biffy that there will be hell to pay. I was about to find out just how big the bill was. When I got to Fort Benning along with three other soldiers from my training brigade, we were told we volunteered for airborne school. Now, I was pretty young but I wasn’t born the day before I got there. And I had not just gotten off the boat from a foreign country. I just knew airborne school was the kind of school you sorta had to VOLUNTEER for which meant you had to sign a piece of paper or something. I simply said, “Oh hell no! Show me the paper I signed. I ain’t stupid enough to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. Are you insane?” Well, one of us four was intimidated into joining airborne school, but not me. No sirree. Hell no. The thing is, the folks in charge always have a way of getting even, if you know what I mean. They sent the rest of us over to the infantry. Yeah, we’ll fix those smart-ass privates, they seemed to be saying. And wouldn’t you know it? I got sent to a company with another company commander who was from West Point. But wait, it gets better. Not only was he from West Point, but he was also an Airborne Ranger as well. I had not been in the company two days when I was summoned to his office for the first time. Captain Perry, affectionately known to a few of us as “Ranger Ricky,” asked me to sit down. After I was sitting, he said, “I hear that you’re afraid to jump out of airplanes. Is that true?” I said, “Permission to speak candidly, sir?” He said, “Go ahead.” “Well, sir, it’s kind of like this, I’m not stupid enough to jump out of perfectly good airplanes unless they are on the ground. In a war, people floating down out of the sky are like ducks waiting to get picked off.” “Oh, the rules of war state that combatants can’t shoot at noncombatants.” “Oh yeah, and the North Koreans, the North Vietnamese, the Vietcong, and the Chinese all abided by those rules of war, right? And I’m sure that there are other potential enemies that would do so as well. No thanks. If a plane I am on starts to crash and there are chutes available, I’ll figure out how to use one. Until then, no way Jose.” Then he switched gears. “What is this I heard about you refusing to go to the Preparatory School?” Damn, news travels fast. I didn’t tell anybody about that. “Well, sir, I had a change of heart while in basic.” “Bullshit! You need to go up to brigade headquarters and see Maj Hanohano.” “Maj Hanohano, sir?” “Yes, he is going to get you signed up ASAP.” “Yes, sir,” my mouth was saying as I was thinking, “Like hell I am. Is there really someone in the world named oneone.” Hano means one in most Asian languages, so extrapolating – Hanohano meant oneone. Anyway the whole process was just another exercise in futility because I was not going to go to West Point, period, end of the story.
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