I exchanged emails the other day with an old friend who gave me some thoughts on my book project, and told me he’d completed a memoir, written primarily for his children. A good idea, and one that undoubtedly belongs on my bucket list. It occurred to me that this much disused blog might be a vehicle to start building the story; write things as they come to me - not necessarily in chronological order - then when I’m ready at least some of the text will be written.
Here is a photo that turned up the other day, reminding me of my rather odd military experience in just five years of active duty service and eight of Army Reserve and National Guard. I served in five Army branches, four of them Combat Arms.
This photo was taken of one of those assignments, at Fort Ord, California in September 1966.
I had just completed Advanced Individual Training (AIT), Infantry, and was “held over” pending my Officer Candidate School start date at Fort Benning, Georgia.
They had to do something with me, and this was it: the 293rd Military Police Company.
Some of the time was spend on gate guard. On the minor gates, alone in little houses we called "guardshacks," usually in the middle of the night. Better times were spent on patrol looking for officers (cars with blue post registration stickers) committing traffic violations. There was always a more experienced (and actually trained) Military Policeman driving the car. What we did - or didn't do - was up to him. Shift inspection. Bailing out the barracks window to avoid hunting for escaped prisoners (a pretty regular occurrence, given the stockade guards weren't going to shoot anyone and the inmates out on work parties knew it). A weekend in Carmel. All stories from that long-ago month, some of which I’ve told, all of which I’ll record in due course.
So, I served in MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) 31B. Emphasis on “served,” since I wasn’t trained, didn’t earn, and certainly wasn’t competent as an “MP.”
Here is a photo that turned up the other day, reminding me of my rather odd military experience in just five years of active duty service and eight of Army Reserve and National Guard. I served in five Army branches, four of them Combat Arms.
I had just completed Advanced Individual Training (AIT), Infantry, and was “held over” pending my Officer Candidate School start date at Fort Benning, Georgia.
They had to do something with me, and this was it: the 293rd Military Police Company.
Some of the time was spend on gate guard. On the minor gates, alone in little houses we called "guardshacks," usually in the middle of the night. Better times were spent on patrol looking for officers (cars with blue post registration stickers) committing traffic violations. There was always a more experienced (and actually trained) Military Policeman driving the car. What we did - or didn't do - was up to him. Shift inspection. Bailing out the barracks window to avoid hunting for escaped prisoners (a pretty regular occurrence, given the stockade guards weren't going to shoot anyone and the inmates out on work parties knew it). A weekend in Carmel. All stories from that long-ago month, some of which I’ve told, all of which I’ll record in due course.
So, I served in MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) 31B. Emphasis on “served,” since I wasn’t trained, didn’t earn, and certainly wasn’t competent as an “MP.”
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