The Dignity of Woman

The events of today occur only about once every three years in my division. The military organization with which we work (and which provides us oversight) had a formal change of commanders, i.e. the High Muckety Muck was leaving, a new Muckety Muck was arriving, and a ceremony was planned to pass the muck. All the bigwigs in our organization and in town were there. The hand-off came replete with wonderful ceremony on the parade field, marches, music, pomp and circumstance, awards and speeches, and, at some points, before and after, just plain food and fun. Well, it would have been fun, except for my pants.

In Honor of Veterans' Day, Belatedly

Having returned recently from a combat zone and having spent my twenties as a military officer, Veterans' Day is a special holiday for me. This year it was a bit more special because of how Continental Airlines treated veterans who were like me traveling that day: they let the veterans board the aircraft first. Although I am a Vietnam Era vet, I did not actively fight in that war (that was before women were permitted in combat, so I was restricted to matters of intelligence and combat support). So, I felt like a bit of a fraud taking advantage of Continental's kind gesture; there are many soldiers, sailors, airman, and marines who served in the hot spots (my few days in Afghanistan, in my mind, do not count). Therefore, I let the others on first and embarked when my zone was called. (Besides, I do not look like a vet; I look like a mother, or grandmother.)

Nonetheless, I have many powerful memories from my eight years in the military and my nearly twenty years providing educational services to those serving Uncle Sam in one way or another. Some of those memories are dramatic, intense, and reflective of the stereotype of what happens in the military. Those of us who have served, however, know those stereotypes to be a bit skewed. I have more humorous memories than serious ones. To celebrate those humorous memories, let me share an anecdote I heard recently. (I am not sure of the source, but I believe it may have been published in Readers' Digest.) I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did.

A sergeant and a lieutenant are sleeping out in the field when the sergeant woke up. He nudged the lieutenant awake and asked, "Sir, look at all those stars in the sky. What does it tell you?"

The lieutenant cogitated a moment, then replied, "It tells me how small we really are, no matter what we think of ourselves, how infinitesimal we and all are affairs are in a grand, capacious universe.

"Well, sir," answered the sergeant. "It tells me that someone stole our tent!"

While the sergeant's unexpected response brings a chuckle, there are some facts of military life that are revealed in this anecdote. In fact, this anecdote does not depart much from my personal experience, and much of what I know to do and do do today can be traced to my military days.

- It was the sergeants and the warrant officers who took me under their wings as a butter bar (second lieutenant in the US Army) and taught me everything I needed to know as an officer.

- The mentoring I received in the Army has taught me to mentor
others, both those who are junior to me and those who are senior to me in rank but not knowledge.

- Success in the military depends on team esprit and working together to take the objective. Success in every subsequent work assignment I have ever had has depended on working collaboratively with others. The best-bonded teams are simply the best teams period.

- Perhaps that easy-and-forever bond comes from having known that your life depended on your fellow soldier and his/hers on you. SMy best buddies are still my military buddies. Many have dropped in over the years when they are in town, expecting to bunk with me without prior discussion; I have done the same.

I could go on, but I think the picture is clear. I may not notice that my tent has been stolen, but I do know who and where my friends are and what a difference the group makes. I would much prefer to be one of the flock of lambs, even the lost hundredth, than the lone wolf.

Happy belated Veterans' Day. Sorry for the two-day delay, an artifact of my life being up in the air so much of the time.

(For a related, heartwarming read, I refer you to a post about the late Mike Mansfield, beloved Senator from Montana, capable ambassador to Japan, and humble marine.)

Letter Home from a Redneck Farm Kid in the Marine Corps

Another goodie from the Internet. I usually don't care for redneck jokes, but, as a former Army officer, this particular letter tickled me. Hope you enjoy it!

Dear Ma and Pa,

I am well. Hope you are. Tell Brother Walt and Brother Elmer the Marine Corps beats working for old man Minch by a mile. Tell them to join up quick before all of the places are filled.

I was restless at first because you get to stay in bed till nearly 6 a.m. But I am getting so I like to sleep late. Tell Walt and Elmer all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot, and shine some things. No hogs to slop, feed to pitch, mash to mix, wood to split, fire to lay.

Practically nothing.

Men got to shave but it is not so bad, there's warm water. Breakfast is strong on trimmings like fruit juice, cereal, eggs, bacon, etc., but kind of weak on chops, potatoes, ham, steak, fried eggplant, pie and other regular food, but tell Walt and Elmer you can always sit by the two city boys that live on coffee. Their food, plus yours, holds you until noon when you get fed again. It's no wonder these city boys can't walk much.

We go on 'route marches,' which the platoon sergeant says are long walks to harden us. If he thinks so, it's not my place to tell him different. A 'route march' is about as far as to our mailbox at home. Then the city guys get sore feet and we all ride back in trucks.

The sergeant is like a school teacher. He nags a lot. The Captain is like the school board. Majors and colonels just ride around and frown. They don't bother you none.

This next will kill Walt and Elmer with laughing. I keep getting medals for shooting. I don't know why. The bulls-eye is near as big as a chipmunk head and don't move, and it ain't shooting at you like the Higgett boys at home. All you got to do is lie there all comfortable and hit it. You don't even load your own cartridges They come in boxes.

Then we have what they call hand-to-hand combat training. You get to wrestle with them city boys. I have to be real careful though, they break real easy. It ain't like fighting with that ole bull at home. I'm about the best they got in this except for that Tug Jordan from over in Silver Lake. I only beat him once ... He joined up the same time as me, but I'm only 5'6' and 130 pounds and he's 6'8' and near 300 pounds dry.

Be sure to tell Walt and Elmer to hurry and join before other fellers get onto this setup and come stampeding in.

Your loving daughter ,

Alice