Death of a Military Policeman

Late Weds I received the word that a person that I hadn’t seen in 30 plus years had died. He wasn’t a teacher or a Mentor he was an MP (Military Policeman) like me. In fact he was a member of my squad in the 70’s- 80’s in Germany. The death hit me hard, harder than the death of one of my old comrades normally would. I have heard of other old comrades passing on from this life to the next before, in fact heard of it back in the late 60’s early 70’s but this on effect me more. I have been thinking about why for the past two days.

I have come up with an answer. It is real simple. He was a first for me. He was the first soldier I ever recommended for promotion to Sergeant he was the first soldier I recommended to attend a school, he was the first soldier to come to me and tell me he was going to marry another soldier. Yup a lot of firsts.

He was a big guy to, when I would conduct guard mount inspections, I looked at his throat instead of his eyes.

Remember on one of the first exercises we did in a LTA (Local Training aaea), in preparation for our annual training exercise, we got caught out in the rain. Rained hard very hard. So in the morning when checking the perimeter about 0430hrs checked one fighting position and all I see is water. No soldier no nothing. Second look reveals a punch at the bottom of the position. I think Oh hell he has drowned. This is not going to look good for this platoon especially after what happened on REFORGER. I reach in a pull the punch up and away. Out he pops dry and snug, except where I managed to spill water all over him.

A good solid man as I said, but he died of heart disease. Just reminded me how lucky I have been in this life.

Well Kev enjoy your stay at Fiddler’s Green, you earned it and remember it was always “OF The Troops, For The Troops.”

Published in: on March 29, 2013 at 17:36  Leave a Comment  

Music and experiment

Been wanting to try this for a while so here goes

Last Kiss for the Remittance Girl

Published in: on February 23, 2012 at 10:42  Leave a Comment  

Things I saw before I was 20 (WIP)

AT 14 looked into the heart of a nuclear reactor. two buildings down saw the first heat resistant shields for Apollo and the Voice of Hal 9000 All within 3 hours

AT 12 I ask a rep of Kellogg how two small steel cylinders could make 14 tons of pressure. Battlecreek was not known for it physics students.

At 7 saw a Cow give birth thought there was something wrong ran to tell my Mom and when we got back there was a new calf there.

At 5 tried to lose my brother and at eight put a horseshoe in his head after he did the same to me

At 18 Pissed under Marine one as it was flying over

On 19th Birthday Watched the 82nd Airborne Fly into DC. Wondered why they didn’t use latrines Understood latter there weren’t any. Piss poor playing prevents proper execution

Saw Air America Flights land at Andrews Air Force Base Once a week when 18 and 19

At 19 saw my first third world country no not France Viet Nam. What I remember most the stink the lush green vegetation and the Flares hanging in the sky.

At 14 saw my first M-60 Machine Gun

At 19 fired my first M-60 Machine Gun We had rhythm

At 14 Saw my first teletype machine read the news straight off the wire.

At 14 drove a remote controlled Bull Dozer and saw a Video phone

AT 18 saw the stair way to heaven but felt my first one at 16

At 19 threw my first Hand grenade scared me they still scare me today.

Published in: on June 25, 2011 at 11:19  Leave a Comment  

Things I have to think about (another work in progress) Will I ever finish any who knows

When I see lightening on the horizon I have to decide is it lightening or is artillery fire.
When people use Acronyms have to decide wether they are Military or not.
FUBAR and SNAFU are the natural parts of life
Some people don’t find Skippy’s List funny.

Published in: on June 15, 2011 at 05:28  Comments (2)  

Song titles (WIP)

Yes I am starting another work in Progress. Seems if I don’t [ put a title here I will never do anything about developing my mediocre skills s a writer.

After checking with my two guides I decided on doing a little exercise. The rules of the exercise are simple Take the titles of songs from one artist and try to turn them into sentences then paragraphs then stories. You must be also be able to identify the albums or CD’s they are from They do not have to originals, which means they can be covers.

A sample

When I was young I met a factory girl on tobacco road. ( Note there are three song titles in that sentence)

In my secret life little Queenie is a beautiful new born child.

For Miss Caulker (Roberta) we gotta get out of this place.

The girl can’t help she loves the club a go-go and I’m crying.

I turned forty four inside looking out sending a letter from the county farm

1987 Sitting in the Monterey fair grounds, not dreaming of San Francisco Nights, but of the man who created Little Wing.

Published in: on March 30, 2011 at 06:50  Comments (2)  

Veteran’s day thoughts (wip)

This past Veteran’s day started me thinking about life and death and things in general for veteran’s. You know who they are, or maybe you don’t. There are fewer of us today per capita of the United States population than ever before.

We no longer serve as indentured soldiers to the political whims of our friends and neighbors. The last of those individuals are pushing sixty. I know my brother was the last one who received greetings from his friends and neighbors in this county. He did not have the privilege of being cannon fodder in Viet Nam for Johnson’s Oil Dreams or for Kissenger’s peace prize. That was my honor. When the Demorat’s pulled the plug in 75 they simply said Oops game over and sorry about that.

When the Vet’s from that little debacle for both us and the Vietnamese was over the and started serving in the halls of government we became cannon fodder again. We were losers and as Patton said America would never abide a lose Well he was correct about that

Published in: on November 13, 2010 at 08:56  Leave a Comment  

13 SEPT 70

Once again one of my writing mentors has written something that I must respond to. The last time I did this with RG it was to a story she wrote 30 days before she met me, now I have a some observations written in 1970. The only significance to the date is I was 19 and in Viet Nam which is currently where RG resides.

Here is her poem The Yawning Gulf of Love. Here is mine

13 SEPT 70
2245 HRS.

        You stand here listening to the gentle rain fall on your bunker. For some odd reason it pleases you. It’s just a quiet little rain and you dig it. It reminds you of home in the summer time. It’s like the cleansing rains that use to wash aways the smells of winter and brought spring to life.

        You think it isn’t really that much different over here either. It will clean the air of the stink of the rice paddies and life and death and most important of all the War. You are glad, you want to escape the War for a few hours, minutes, seconds. You think to yourself a man can’t smell the War constantly or he will go crazy. Just a respite is all you want. When it rains you can cover your sixty and other gear. It makes a lump. It hides the bitter reality of death waiting to happen.

        At least for a little while, you can sit back and dream your dreams. You can believe you are back home and going to see your chick in a few minutes. It is cool and you ere thankful for that. It adds to the pleasant illusion. You almost believe it.

        It stops though like all good things must. You come back to the reality of your bunker and your job. You uncover the carefully wrapped sixty, and make sure it is dry. You check everything over to make sure it is dry and will operate if and when the time comes.

        You are ready to work again, but the feeling is still partially with you and you want to regain it all. You can’t though cause the magical element that was there is gone. So you content yourself with what you have now.

        With each passing second though, the illusion is leaving. With each second it becomes more fleeting. Until finally it has gone the way of the winds.

Some additional notes. We weren’t allowed to carry writing material with us. So this was more than likely written on a c-ration box, The sixty I refer to is the M-60 MG, a constant friend . Yes I did notice the date it was written, just noticed it.

Published in: on September 12, 2010 at 10:32  Comments (4)  

Sex Scene

He Climbs on
Strokes Twice
Climbs off

Published in: on July 14, 2010 at 06:42  Comments (4)  

I look into your eyes

A look into your eyes and I melt. (laser vision I think)

A look into the eyes that have frozen in the amber of time.

I look into your eyes and see languid pools of dark words……..
I looked in your eyes and saw a clarity of purpose.
I look in your eyes and the words just twist me.

I look into your eyes and see a sunrise that is a little blood shotI
look into your eyes and am not disconcerted by what I see aqueous humor.I look into your eyes and see landscape to abseil on.
I look in your eyes and there is a stairway to where I know not. Shall I use it ?
I look into your eyes and see coney island of the mind.
I look into your eyes and I see a mix master jumbling words in there
I look into you eyes and see long corridors with occasional bright doorways.
Looking into your eyes there is a box and a fox .
I look into your eyes and think no paper pickles there.
I look into your eyes and wish I was there looking into them.

Into your eyes I look and wonder if I will see the strange words again
I look into your eyes and my lids close
I would look into your eyes but I would be paralyzed.
Someday I will look you in the eyes and say there is sherbet in there.
Just maybe a look into your eyes cause they are there.
Remember one morning I will look in your eyes and say Damn Just damn.
As I look into your eyes and see twisted words in there.
One day going to look into your eyes and say think I will walk back there and clean out the cobwebs.
Remember one day I will look in your eyes and you will close them and capture me.
One day I will look you in the eye and say read to me please.
One day I going to look into your eyes and say how did my heart get in there?
One day I will look into your eyes and say who is that standing behind me

Someday I will look into your eyes and say Huh
I look into your eyes and say what is that doing there.

One day I am going to look into your eyes and say I am tired I am going to bed.One day I’m going to look in your Eyes and say Retweet Retweet and I don’t care who knows it.
I will look you in the eye and say damn you are a helluva writer
I would say I am tickled pink but much rather Look in your eyes and say it one morning
One morning I will look in your eyes and say Who put the ram in the rama dama ding dong
One day will look into your eyes and say Hit replay Please.
I look into your eyes and say that is a lot of strike overs.

Published in: on July 6, 2010 at 11:08  Leave a Comment  

In bound rockets F-4’s taking off

This little story has been knocking around in my head for about 40 years. True events was remind of this by a Poem called Lit from _Monocle_ at. He generously allowed me to try my hand at a different point of view. So here is a poor piece of work.

Rockets coming in
Yellow trails into the night
Lost in the clouds in flight
You scream over the net
Sirens wailing the warning
Up Up and Up they go
F-4’s Roaring down the Runway

The rockets impact
Flares up

F-4’s lift off into the air
avoiding your flares
into the clouds on pink tails of hot spiraling light
Glowing kerosene smell in the air
warmth from the engines
warm first time this night
You sight in on the launch site
You have permission you fire
You can’t reach them cause they are long gone
You feel better
Quickie team responds
fires 90 lighting up the world with its light

and so it goes

F-4 Phantom Night Preparation

Published in: on June 17, 2010 at 05:30  Comments (4)