The Royal Order of the Shim

Sometimes it is hard for a civilian to imagine the power an Army commander has compared to his civilian counterpart.  In my last post, I mentioned that as a tank commander, a sergeant in charge of three men and a very large vehicle, I could make my crew go out for gunnery practice after their friends went back to the barracks and on weekends.  If one of my soldiers screwed up--usually involving alcohol--I could put them on as much extra duty as I was willing to personally supervise.

And I was just a new sergeant.  The battalion commander, the man in charge of 54 tanks, 60-odd trucks and 600 men had even more latitude.  Our commander from 77 to 79 in Germany was Lt. Col. Richard Goldsmith.  He was a genial young (mid-30s) commander with a lovely wife, three kids, and an iron will when he was sure he was right.

Rich Goldsmith created a tradition that was carried on until the unit 1-70th Armor was disbanded in 1984:  The Royal Order of the Shim.  Soon after he took command, Goldsmith became convinced that the problem our tanks had with breaking tracks was caused by a mis-alignment of the front road wheels.  He believed that adding a steel shim to the inside of these wheels would cure the broken track problem.

Our motor officer, Mr. Scanlon, our exec officer, Major Roper, and many others thought this was a bad idea.  The manufacturer said the problem was the result of the rubber pads in the tracks for driving on roads.  Goldsmith was undeterred by experts.  Roper tried to dissuade him.  Goldsmith's response, "What part of 'Get it done' did you not understand?"

The shims were installed on two tanks with eight hours of work.  The tanks drove less than two miles before their tracks broke.

It took another eight hours to remove the shims.

These shims, by the way, were 12 inches round and 1/3 inch thick steel rings.  They were heavy.

Mr. Scanlon welded a three-foot length of tow chain to the shim, making a 30-pound necklace.  At the next officer's call, Goldsmith became the first recipient of the shim.  It was passed on at each officer's call for the next six years to the officer judged by the current wearer of the shim as having made the stupidest mistake since the last meeting.

By missing his plane and not showing up for the reunion dinner on Saturday night, Goldsmith became the final recipient of the shim, which was retired to his safekeeping on Sunday morning.

Some of us enlisted men had the motto:

"When we do good, no one remembers, when we do wrong they never forget" stenciled on helmets and other gear.

It looks like the officers had the same motto.

70th Armor Reunion Dinner

Today my kids and I left Georgetown, Kentucky, at 11 am and drove south for five 1/2 hours to Chattanooga, Tennessee, for the 1-70th Armor Reunion Dinner.  Lauren and Lisa both dressed up for dinner.  Nigel wore his best digital camo t-shirt.  I was, as it turned out, in the proper uniform--khaki's and a dress shirt--but the really cool guys and all of the organizers were wearing Land's End polo shirts with Strike Swiftly Tankers logos:

One of the first people I met on the way in the door was Captain Paul Davis, my company commander from the time I joined the 70th Armor in late 1975 until he was reassigned in Germany in early 1977.  Davis was a great commander for a new tanker moving over from the Air Force.  My first assignment was as gunner for Sgt. Ralph Plowman, a tough old guy (almost 30 I think!) from Alabama who taught me a lot about gunnery and taught me by example how to lead a crew.  I got my own tank several months later.  My first crew was, like me, inexperienced.  Davis let me take my crew out for extra training on weekends, after regular motor pool work hours.  He really let NCOs run their own show.  My crew fired Distinguished (top 10%) first time out at least partly because we practiced more than any other crew.

Sitting with Davis was Joh

70th Armor Reunion Dinner

Today my kids and I left Georgetown, Kentucky, at 11 am and drove south for five 1/2 hours to Chattanooga, Tennessee, for the 1-70th Armor Reunion Dinner.  Lauren and Lisa both dressed up for dinner.  Nigel wore his best digital camo t-shirt.  I was, as it turned out, in the proper uniform--khaki's and a dress shirt--but the really cool guys and all of the organizers were wearing Land's End polo shirts with Strike Swiftly Tankers logos:

One of the first people I met on the way in the door was Captain Paul Davis, my company commander from the time I joined the 70th Armor in late 1975 until he was reassigned in Germany in early 1977.  Davis was a great commander for a new tanker moving over from the Air Force.  My first assignment was as gunner for Sgt. Ralph Plowman, a tough old guy (almost 30 I think!) from Alabama who taught me a lot about gunnery and taught me by example how to lead a crew.  I got my own tank several months later.  My first crew was, like me, inexperienced.  Davis let me take my crew out for extra training on weekends, after regular motor pool work hours.  He really let NCOs run their own show.  My crew fired Distinguished (top 10%) first time out at least partly because we practiced more than any other crew.

Sitting with Paul Davis was John Hubbard, our supply sergeant in Colorado Springs and in Germany.  John is three months younger than me.  I met him when we were both 22.  Like many people meeting John for the first time, I thought he was somewhere between 30 and 40 years old.   John was balding and  15 pounds overweight when he was 22.  Thirty-five years later he did not look much different than when we met in 1975.  Things even out with age for some people.  

I'll add more people in future posts.  More than 100 people attended the dinner including 80 soldiers who served with the 1-70th between 1976 and 1984.

Reunion at Pam's House

Today, reunion weekend started with a long drive.  We drove all day to Kentucky and had dinner with Pam Bleuel.  She returned from Iraq six weeks ago after extending her tour to 18 months.  Pam and her husband Mike have three college-age daughters.  In Iraq Pam and I would talk about the joys and difficulties of having college age girls, and the obvious difficulty of being 6000 miles from home.

She posted a picture of us here.

As I expected, Pam's kids are polite, funny, and delightful to be around.  Pam was as tough as motorcycle racing leather in her job training soldiers for convoy security duty in Iraq.  She is a math teacher in a local high school when she is not on active duty in the Army.  Two of her of her former students dropped in while were at Pam's house and told funny stories of Pam scaring local kids who did not do their homework or misbehaved in class.  Like most strict teachers, she has a loyal following of students who love her.

Nigel thought dinner was wonderful.  Two of his favorite foods were on the menu:  barbequed chicken and garlic croutons.  He had thirds on chicken.  He even skipped dessert for another piece of chicken.

Getting Ready for the 1-70th Armor Reunion

Tomorrow I will be driving to Georgetown, Kentucky, with three of my kids on the way to the reunion of the 1st Battalion, 70th Armor.  It's the unit I served with in West Germany from 1976-79.

The reunion is in Chattanooga, but we are stopping for dinner tomorrow with Sgt. First Class Pam Bleuel and her family.  She also has three college age daughters, so dinner should be fun.  Pam extended her tour in Iraq for an additional six months to continue training soldiers in convoy security.  Almost as soon as she extended, she started working at a desk--which did not make her happy.

Next month she will return to work as a math teacher in Georgetown, Kentucky.  I can't wait to make bad jokes with her again and meet her family.

Tattoo Intro on NYC Bike Trail

Yesterday after an all-day conference in NYC, I rode the Hudson River bike trail from Lower Manhattan to the George Washington Bridge.  What an awesome place to ride.

On the way back from the GW, I turned of the trail at 79th St. riding toward Central Park.  While I waited at the traffic light where the trail turns onto the streets, a guy riding in an expensive-looking suit rolled up behind me and said, "No shit! First Armored.  I served with them in '69.  I hated Fort Hood."

We rode a few blocks together.  He told me he was a draftee, served two years and got out.  Judging by the Upper West Side place he lived, he did really well for himself after making $148 a month in the late 60s Army.

As I rode on toward the park, he thanked me for my service, and I thanked him for his.  I am sure I get a lot more thank you's than he ever got.  When I got the tattoo I was hoping for this very kind of thing, running into other soldiers who served--and ride bicycles.

My Weird Work Life

I am in New York City today for an all-day Word-of-Mouth marketing conference.  We are at the end of the second session on creating buzz.  It reminded me of the biggest change in the Army between my first enlistment and my current enlistment.

Back in the 70s and for time immemorial before that, the only people who spoke to the press in the Army were the Generals and designated officer spokesman.  After 9-11 the Army lets any soldier talk to the press.  the only restriction is that they not give future mission info and they stay in their lane.   It turns out people belief young soldiers and leaders and mistrust high-ranking officers.

Anyone who served in the in the last century knows how different the perception of soldiers is now versus the old days.  The Army itself has a much better public reputation than at any time since World War 2.

One big change between the post-Viet Nam army and today is the whole "I hate the Army" sentiment tht was so much a part of the old Army.  To have friends, you had to hate the Army.  I don't think I have heard the old acronym LIFER since I have been back:  Lazy Inefficient F##kup Expecting Retirement.

People who fit the LIFER description still exist--we are govt. workers after all.  But the acronym is not used to describe almost everyone who re-enlisted.