Private D-Bag and Mr. Money Mustache

In 2008 during our first three-week pre-deployment training I was in the bunk next to a perpetual whiner--wheel call him Private D-Bag.  This young, overweight, out-of-shape soldier had many problems in his short life.  One of the biggest, in his eyes, was a lack of money.  He bitched about being broke, wondered how he was going to make it to payday, and generally saw life as a platoon of evil trolls who lived to trip him at every step.

One day I was sitting in my bunk and D-Bag walked in furious that some member of his family refused to loan him money.  He unloaded his pockets.  In seconds his bunk was littered with cigarettes, a high-end cell phone, candy, a wrapper from McDonalds, and an iPod.  He also brought a TV and a PC with him.

(He wasn't this bad, but. . .)

I exploded.  "You are bitching about being broke and you smoke, eat candy, have a cell phone and a $200 iPod.  You could have spent three weeks eating Army food and not spent a dime.  You have no money and your pockets are full of stupid."

If I ever share a 40-man room with another idiot like D-Bag, I will be able to tell him to read the blog Mr. Money Mustache.  MMM is a delightful blog by a guy who retired at age 30 by spending his money as little as possible.  He is an engineer who looks at every part of life as a way to increase efficiency.  The link above is to a recent post titled "The Oil Well you can Keep in your Pants."  

My wife loves the MMM blog and has been reading his posts to me at the rate of one or two a day.  MMM would fit well in a barracks.  He is a great storyteller and his language would help him fit right in.  He does not swear in all posts, but it is odd to hear my wife reading financial advice in her soft voice and read "If you don't have $1,000 saved for an emergency start selling your stuff and stop fucking spending until you do."


http://www.mrmoneymustache.com/

Basic Training Plus 41 Years, One Week

Today is 41 years and one week since I went through USAF Basic training at Lackland Air Force Base, San Antonio, Tx., in 1972.  At the end of the first week, our flight had the first of seven days of KP--Kitchen Police.  At that time KP started at 3am and ended at 6pm.  The first time was just luck--each flight (platoon in Army language) was supposed to have KP once.  We took KP for the seven of the other other eight flights in our group because we failed our tenth-day inspection so miserably.

We never go a weekend off like the other trainees.  It was more than 30 years later that I saw San Antonio.  We had KP both days of the weekend the other flights went to San Antonio.  On Sunday we served a Soul Food dinner.  Among the entrees were Chitterlings or Chitlins.  Pig's intestine!!  I stirred a 50-gallon vat of this southern favorite while it simmered.  

Chitlins cooking smells like boiled urinal!  I had no trouble staying awake on that job!  

Bucket of Raw Chitlins.  Mmmmmmmmm!!!!

Why I Got Out in 1984

In July of 1984 my Army career came to an end.  At least that was the plan.  At the time I was a tank section leader in charge of two M60A1 tanks like the one pictured below.  I really liked playing Army in the reserve unit I was in, but my uncle Jack, a Viet Nam vet, convinced me it was time to leave.

Reserve service is never just one weekend a month for the leaders.  So I was coming in the night before drills, going to meetings the Wednesday night before drill weekends, etc.  It was also time to go to Officer Candidate School if I was going to stay in.  I decided I could not have a professional civilian job and be an Army leader, so I left.

Jack also reminded me that, as a reservist, the retirement money did not begin until I was 60 years old (I was 31 at the time) and that if I did retire, I was subject to recall by the government until age 63.

So I left.

When I came back, I was so old I could no longer go to any leadership schools, so I thought it would really be one weekend a month and two weeks in the summer.

But now I am in charge of our unit's Facebook page.  I just wrote an interview article with the division command sergeant major, I will be writing another one next week after drill.

My part time job is leaking back into the rest of my life.  This time, at least, I knew what I was in for.  But it is funny that as I approach retirement age that my decision 29 years ago led me to a place where I am 60, working well beyond drill weekends and not able to retire because I was a civilian for so long.

Going Legit on Facebook

Some of you know I have a Facebook page for my unit.  The Pa. National Guard does not authorize Facebook pages below the brigade level, so this battalion page is not an official Army page--it is a fan page connected to my personal Facebook page.

This weekend I will be meeting with an Air National Guard sergeant in the Public Affairs Office to make my page legal!  The battalion page will officially become the page of the 28th Combat Aviation Brigade, with the approval of the brigade commander.  So I will be legal as of next week.

Mostly it is a matter of me getting Facebook training and filling out paperwork--it's the Army, nothing exists without paperwork.

So I will be maintaining the brigade page until they put someone in the brigade PAO slot who can keep the page running, or move me to that slot.  There is some possibility that I will officially or unofficially move to brigade.

An Assassin??

Ten years ago, I was an assassin.  Not actually, but according to my daughters' friends I was.  

My daughters were Lifers at Lancaster Country Day School, kindergarten through high school.  LCDS is a small, private school that graduates about 40 or 50 students per year.   the girls were two years apart, played on the same sports teams in middle and high school and had friends in common so they sometimes attended the same parties.

A lot of the girls on the teams had been to sleepovers at our house and knew me as they Dad who sometimes rode to sports games.  They also knew I had a job that took me overseas every month. So the girls would sometimes get calls from Hong Kong or Australia or Argentina.  I was also one of the only parents who had served in the military.  

So at one of the sleepover parties, my older daughter told one of her friends that I was an assassin--that's why I was overseas all the time.  The company I worked for had an office in Paris and often the round-the-world trips I took began in Paris, then continued to Singapore, Beijing, Perth, Hong Kong and other mysterious sounding places.

My daughter told the other girl not to tell anyone which meant within a week every girl and many boys in the school had heard Lauren and Lisa's Dad was an assassin.  It was month's later when I heard about, when the story had been pretty well debunked.  But for a while I was the coolest Dad  at LCDS!  There were a lot of cool Dads--heart surgeons, lawyers, and CEOs, but only one assassin. 

 

Army Sizes Run Small. . .Or NOT

Last weekend during drill I was on a list to go to the Inaugural Ball.  So I needed a dress blue uniform.  I told the supply sergeant my sizes.  He got a uniform in the sizes I specified, but I could not fit in the pants!!!

The new Dress Blue Uniform

Since my supply sergeant could not get the next size of pants, I went to the clothing sales store and bought a pair.  When I went to try them on, the sales clerk said "Army sizes run small."  

Actually, the Army might be the last place with reality sizing.  My Army dress pants are size 36, just like the pants of my older suits.  The pants fight tightly in the winter and loosely in the summer.  

But my Gap jeans are another story.  Six years ago I bought a pair of Gap jeans.  I tried on the 36 waist pair.  I could take them off zipped up.  The 34s fit.  I bought them.  

Last year I wanted to replace those jeans after rips that were beyond repair.  I picked up a 34 waist pair.  When I tried them on it was like the 36s five years before.  So bought 32s.

I have not shrunk.  But most retailers are flattering their customers with waist sizes disconnected from reality.  The Army is in pants reality.  

Not Going to the Ball

No pumpkin is turning into a coach for me.  My First Sergeant called me up to say they are taking a lot fewer soldiers than he first heard and I am one of the many not going to the Inaugural Ball.

Oh well.

Low Rank Might Mean High Life

I might be going to President Obama's inaugural ball!!!  

Is it because I am such an important link in the chain of command in the defense of our nation?  

Not a chance.

It's actually the reverse.  PA National Guard has a few slots for soldiers and their wives to attend the Inagural Ball, but they are mostly for soldiers who are staff sergeants and below.  I am low ranking enough for an evening of very high life.

Of course, nothing is for sure.  I got the email an hour after the very short deadline (my fault, not the army).  But my first sergeant was kind enough to forward my name anyway.  

If we get to go it will be January 21.  I will need a dress blue uniform.  I currently have the old dress greens which are OK for the National Guard for another year, but not OK in Washington DC.

Today I will get the new uniform and start getting it ready--just in case I get the call!

Happy New Year

As this new year begins, the flight companies of my unit are on the way to or are already in Afghanistan.  If you follow me and my unit on facebook you have seen now photos going up in both places.  Several soldiers are posting and sending photos from training and from Afghanistan. Our MEDEVAC unit was in a feature story on army.mil about a new program they are testing to save more soldiers.  Here's the link to the story.

Wish I was along for the ride, but not this trip.  I will continue to write about life in the National Guard until May of 2015 when my enlistment extension is up.

Here a picture from the army.mil story:

Happy New Year!!!

Stewie Caldwell and the Magic Roach Clip

One of my best friends when I was stationed at Hill Air Force Base in Utah was Stewart "Stewie" Caldwell.  He was a smart, funny kid from San Francisco with a bright yellow Superbeetle who smoked a lot of weed.  We worked in live fire munitions testing.  I worked connecting the missiles to the testing equipment, Stewie was one of the ammo handlers who brought the missiles to the test-firing range.

Stewie and I would hang out together in the barracks and went to Salt Lake City almost every weekend so he could resupply his stash and we could meet girls who were possibly more interested in Stewie's stash than in us.

On one of these trips, a sudden Rocky Mountain blizzard blew out of the west turning I-15 white with zero visibility.  Then the gas pedal broke.

The pedal!!!

It came apart and we were idling downhill trying to think of what to do and how to get off the road so we would not be crushed by a semi.  I am not sure which one of us came up with the idea, but the throttle was operated by a cable that went all the way back to the engine in the rear.  There was a bit of cable sticking out of the floor with a crimped piece of metal on it.  Stewie kept his Roach Clip hanging on the dash.  A minute later I was upside down under the dash.  I put the roach clip on the throttle cable and became Stewie's throttle.  This was tricky in the snow with a stick shift, but he would ask for more or less gas and after a while, I could get the throttle in about the right place.

The next challenge was going through the gate.  Stewie showed the air policeman the broken gas pedal and said it was my turn to be head first under the dash.  They let us in the base!

Stewie would never go anywhere without a roach clip before it saved our lives.  Now he also bragged about his roach clip to every girl he tried to impress.

My Unit's Facebook Page Nearing 500 "Likes"

Over the holidays I will be putting captions on family photos.  The pictures were taken at the departure ceremony for Alpha Company and at our unit's Christmas party.

Here's the link if you haven't yet "Like"d the page.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and Happy any other holidays you might like.

Neil

In Sunlight and Shadow by Mark Helprin

On the train to Philadelphia yesterday, I finished Mark Helpin's latest novel, In Sunlight and Shadow.  I came pretty close to crying.  Helprin is a soldier who writes love stories.  In this most recent book, the central love story was vivid, between two people iridescent with love.  The love story is set in New York, from the eastern end of Long Island to the reservoirs north of the city.  And it is a love story about New York City, set in the years just after World War 2.

For those who have read other of Helprin's books, this one is more down to earth.  The exaggerations in A Winter's Tale, in A Soldier of the Great War and A Dove of the East rival Mark Twain in being colossal and very American.  In Sunlight and Shadow, the hero lives for love and honor and finally is caught between the demands of both.  The same choice comes to the hero of many of Helprin's tales, but in the latest novel, the choice is more vivid and final.

If you think modern literary novels have squishy irresolute heroes (if they can be called heroes) and you would like to read a love story with strong admirable characters, this novel is for you.  As is almost everything Mark Helprin writes.

Getting Promoted with a Splash!

Specialist Daniel Krott was promoted to Sergeant at formation today, December 8.  He is being led in pushups by his supervisor, SSG Elizabeth Barger.  Giving him the traditional ice-water shower for new Sergeants is SGT Joseph Diebert and SGT Jeff Guckin.

Three other sergeants read the NCO Creed to the company formation before the big splash.  PFC Robert Woodring on the left read the promotion order.  SGTs Jeana Frederick, Rene Kicklighter, and Francis League read the NCO Creed.

SGT Krott was promoted by CPT Aaron Lippy, 1SG Jeff Huttle and SSG Elizabeth Barger.

Alpha Company Flies to Training Base

On Friday afternoon I was standing on the south side of Muir Field on Fort Indiantown Gap PA watching eight Blackhawk helicopters take off together on their flight to their training base.  Alpha will train for deployment to Afghanistan when they arrive in Texas.

On this bright, clear afternoon I was standing with the families and friends of the eight aircrews flying away from home for a year.  Wives and Moms were the most obviously sad.  Fathers tried to remain composed, but a couple of the grandfathers were very emotional.

I took a lot of family pictures before the final ceremony and will post these on line soon.  If things had worked out differently, I might have been going to Texas with Alpha.

 Families

 Flying to Texas

 Putting away the flags after the Blackhawks disappear from sight

Inside the Two-Ton Bubble

 Once on my daily circuit around the airfield at Camp Adder, Iraq, I was in a sandstorm so strong that it stopped me on the bike.  Because I can “track stand” the bike, keep it upright when standing still, I held the bike in place for a minute then jumped off.

Curled up in a ball, back to the wind, I thought about what to do next.  I could turn around and fly back in the other direction, but I would eventually have to turn the north then back to the east, then get stopped again.  Just then, one of the special ops black Suburbans pulled up and told me to get in.  They said, “Dude, get inside.  This storm’s gonna last all day.”

I got inside and they drove me to battalion HQ. 

Today I was riding in a 20 mph wind with 30 mph gusts.  I was going up a shallow hill at 6 mph—way slower than normal, but straight into the wind that was the best I could do.  Many cars rolled past me on that mile-long stretch of PA Rt. 999.  I was thinking about how many times I heard about people “In the bubble” during the political season just passed.  Here I was, the perfect example of why people stay in a bubble—it sucks being outside!!!!

The people in the cars going past me were getting no exercise, they were missing a clear, cold, clear brilliant late Fall day.  Compared to keeping my bike upright and rolling uphill into a headwind, their lives were DULL.

Let’s assume, most of them wanted it that way.  After a while I did.  I turned back early and rolled to the bike shop to buy a better pair of cold weather gloves and hang out in the warm shop for a while.

For people who are in bubbles of belief, their avoidance of facts has an effect similar to being in a two-ton, two hundred horsepower car in a head wind.

Mr. Bubble, looking out through the windshield, can see everything the guy on the bike does, but Mr. Bubble does not experience the world as it is.  He is in a climate controlled, sound-deadened environment moving fast enough that he seldom sees the messy details of reality. 

One of the great things about serving in the Army is realizing—even in America—that individual freedom can only be preserved by people who give it up.  And that health and safety for many means that some must risk their lives. 

I am sitting in a comfortable, well-lit room, in a centrally heated house writing on my unbelievably powerful computer which is connected to the whole world through an incredibly reliable cable modem.  I love my bubble.  But I know it is a bubble which is more than I deserve and much more than 98% of the world will ever have.

Happy Thanksgiving!

New Layout for a New Year

In 2013 I turn 60.  It will be my a record of some of the highlights and oddities of my last two years as an American soldier.  I decided to switch formats for the two years ahead to one that better suits my life as it is.

For a few hours I had a format called Mosaic.  Friends and family agreed--NO!!!! I could not change back, but this is close. 

These pictures and a million more are my life.  So I will try the new format to chronicle my civilian/military/executive/enlisted/family/battalion life.

New Video on chemistry and War

The American Chemical Society has a chemistry ambassadors series.  They taped me for it in the summer.

35 Army Years Ago . . .

This is a photo of me taken near Fulda, Germany (then West Germany) in 1977.  I was on top of my M60A1 tank.  It was a beautiful day in the neighborhood of more than 200,000 Warsaw Pact troops we thought were going to roll over us like Patton though a Peace Rally.

They never attacked.  

We all came home.  And all of my 1st Battalion, 70th Armor homies are gathering in Wiesbaden Germany next year for a reunion.  I did not sign up because I thought I would have other plans--an all-expense-paid trip to another middle eastern nation.  But I did not go.  

I won't be going to the reunion because we are saving for a trip to Rwanda.  But maybe I'll catch their next reunion in the US.  All those guys look a lot older now!!!

So What Happened with General Petraeus. . .

Last week the election meant I stopped getting questions about Lance Armstrong's drug use.  For many people in my life, I am the only bicycle racer they know.  So they ask what I knew about Lance's drug use.

Not much.

And if they asked about my race results, they would be SURE I was not on drugs, or that I should switch to better drugs.

And now I am fielding questions on General David Petraeus.  "What is going on with Petraeus?" I heard from several people.

I answer by checking my iPhone to see if BFF Gen. P. has txted me abt wazzup!!!

No text.

Really, Gen. Petraeus does not regularly check in with Army National Guard sergeants.  Or colonels for that matter.  If the Army was the Empire State Building, the top generals are right up where King Kong was hanging on and I am on the second floor without a window.

But if David or Lance hits me up on the down low, fshizzle I will update my status.

Enjoying Veterans Day

My wife Annalisa and I both dressed up for Church on Sunday.  I dressed so my sons could say their Dad is in the Army.  My wife put on Peace signs.  

Many people said "Thanks for your service" to me.  I got a free latte at my local Starbucks on Columbia Ave.  I wore the uniform to work today and two of my colleagues took me out for lunch.  

So much better to be a soldier now than during Viet Nam.