A Soldier's Saga

A Soldier’s Saga

Harry Garner

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

Other books

by

Harry Garner

Recollections

The Way We Came

A Soldier’s Saga

Copyright © 2011 by Harry Garner

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

A Soldier’s Saga is a book about actual persons, places, and locales.Some of the characters, incidents, and events portrayed in this book are fictionalized and/or are the product of the author’s imagination.

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ISBN: 978-1-4502-1911-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4502-1912-9 (ebook)

iUniverse rev. date: 01/05/2011

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgement

Prologue

Chapter One

A Call to Service

Chapter Two

The Next Step

Chapter Three

A Test of Unity

Chapter Four

Short and Sweet

Chapter Five

Structure and Order

Chapter Six

The Infantryman’s Companion

Chapter Seven

Physical and Mental Fitness

Chapter Eight

The Soldier’s Creed

Chapter Nine

A Blessed Respite

Chapter Ten

Selfless Service

Chapter Eleven

The Finishing Touches

Chapter Twelve

Turning The Page

Chapter Thirteen

Specialized Training

Chapter Fourteen

New Ground

Chapter Fifteen

New Quarters

Chapter Sixteen

The Mission

Chapter Seventeen

Memorable Times

Chapter Eighteen

Valleys and Pinnacles

Chapter Nineteen

A New Role

Chapter Twenty

A Close Call

Chapter Twenty-One

ETS

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my faithful and loving wife, Charlotte J. Garner; who has loved me, nurtured me, believed in me, and encouraged me in everything I have ever undertaken to do during our forty-four years of marriage. I owe her a debt of gratitude for the countless hours she devoted to proof-reading, not only the manuscript for this book, but, also for my previous books: Recollections, and The Way We Came; and for her keen insights and suggestions, which have been invaluable to my literary endeavors.

Acknowledgement

A much-deserved word of acknowledgement and appreciation

to

Julie M. Gerke,

whose astute eye for details, enlightening suggestions, and the timely manner in which she conducted proof-reading of the manuscript, transformed my faltering attempts at writing

A Soldier’s Saga into a more concise and readable book.

Prologue

When I began writing the manuscript for this book, I did so with the goal of attempting to convey to the reader the emotions, fears, and uncertainties that a young man experienced when he reported for induction into the Armed Forces of the United States on 15 December 1965, ten days before Christmas.

I had only been married for two months and thirteen days when my wife and I sat on the couch, trying to figure out how in the world we were going to get all my affairs in order in such a brief period of time, before reporting for induction. More than that, we agonized on how we would cope with being separated from one another after having been married for such a short time.

The book is a tribute to the officers, non-commissioned officers, and the soldiers of Company B, Second Battalion, Fifth Training Brigade, Fort Polk, Louisiana; and to all the enlisted men and officers of Headquarters and Headquarters Battery, 74th Artillery Group, United States Army.

For those who have never served in the military, this book offers insight into the strict regimen of basic combat training and life in the Army; and gives the reader a private look into the innermost thoughts of a young man who, during a period of war, faces the possibility of having to leave everybody and everything he holds dear in America, and venture into the hostile environment of war in the jungles of Vietnam.

For the reader who is a veteran of the Armed Forces, this book is a stark reminder of the personal sacrifices that each of us made when we left civilian life and entered military service, whether by induction or by enlistment.

Chapter One

A Call to Service

I kissed my wife at 6:30 a.m., Wednesday, December 15, 1965; and said goodbye to her for the fourth time before closing the car door. She wept as she drove away.

The cold, driving rain stung my face as I turned towards 167 North Main Street in Memphis, Tennessee, and begin climbing the steps to the Federal Office Building. When I reached the top step, I turned around and looked at our red Plymouth Valiant which was turning the corner onto Jefferson Street. Although it was raining too hard to see if my wife, Charlotte, was waving to me, I just knew that she was. She was probably still crying, too.

A letter from the President of the United States, which I had received just thirteen days ago, was the reason for my being here today. The letter was brief, but had a great impact on my life. It read as follows:

The President of the United States

To: Robert Harry Garner

2305 Pendleton Apt. 25

Memphis, Tenn.

Dec. 1, 1965

Greeting:

You are hereby ordered for induction into the Armed Forces of the United States, and to report at room 765, Federal Office Building, 167 N. Main Street, Memphis, Tennessee on December 15, 1965 at 6:45 a.m. for forwarding to an Armed Forces Induction Station…

Charlotte and I had only been married for two months, three weeks, and five days; and I was deeply depressed about the prospect of being separated from her. The draft notice stated that I might not be found qualified for induction. I would certainly remember to tell the doctors who administered my physical examination about how prone I am to sleep-walking. Surely, the Army wouldn’t want to send a fellow to Vietnam who might slip out of his sleeping bag some night and sleep-walk his way into a mine field or a booby trap.

I paused and briefly prayed for my precious wife, and for my parents who had tried not to let their worry show during the past few days; but who were, naturally, concerned about my very uncertain future. I also prayed that GOD would give me an extra measure of faith and courage for whatever awaited me in the days, months, and years ahead of me.

Twenty thousand other young men and their families were going through this same ordeal during the month of December, 1965. Rumor had it that 12,000 of us were going to be drafted into the Army, and 8,000 were going to be drafted into the Marines. If this was true it would be the first time since the Korean War that the Marines had drafted men into their branch of the Armed Forces.

I entered the front door of the Federal Office Building and took the elevator to the seventh floor. When I stepped off the elevator, I heard a familiar voice call out to me.

Hey Garner, I saw you getting out of the red car parked at the curb. Your wife finally decided to turn you loose, huh?

It was Wayne Clackum, my buddy who worked with me at Illinois Central Railroad. He received his draft notice the same day I had received mine, December 2nd.

Hey, Wayne. Yeah, she was pretty torn up when I got out of the car. The idea of leaving her is not setting too well with me, either.

Wayne smiled and lightly slugged my right shoulder with his fist. Come on, Harry, we don’t want to be late for our own induction.

It was 6:40 a.m. when we entered the Selective Service Office in room 765. There were thirty other guys standing around with their suitcases and draft notices in their hands…each of them looking like they’d just lost their best friend.

At 6:45 a.m. sharp, a distinguished lady entered the room and took a seat behind a large oak desk in the corner. A red-faced, pot-bellied deputy sheriff called our group to order, and everyone in the room ceased talking.

The lady cleared her throat and said: Good morning, gentlemen. I am Louise Green, the clerk of local draft board #83. You gentlemen will all be processed in our office this morning, and we will provide transportation to the Kennedy Veterans’ Hospital where you will undergo your physical examinations. These examinations will determine whether or not you will be inducted into the Armed Forces later today. Please find a seat, remain silent, and come forward when I call your name. If you are a smoker, and you wish to smoke while you are waiting for your name to be called, you must step into the corridor. Do not go too far, however; and don’t make me have to send the deputy out to look for you.

Mark A. Austin was the first name Mrs. Green called. The young man walked towards the desk with a large paper bag clutched to his breast. Judging by the expression on his face, it appeared that he was headed for the executioner’s chair.

What’s in that sack, boy? the deputy asked, with a smirk and a wink directed towards the lady behind the desk.

It’s my clothes, sir. The draft notice said I was supposed to bring clean clothes for three days. It also said for me to bring enough money with me to last for one month; but, sir, Mama could only spare me four dollars. Will that be enough to get me by for one month?

The deputy replied, If you are inducted into the Army, son, you won’t need any money for a while. The Army is going to give you a new wardrobe, some new shoes, socks, and combat boots. They will also provide you with a rifle and a cot in some nice basic training camp; and you’ll have all the chipped creamed beef on toast you can eat. The only thing you’ll need money for is a writing tablet, some envelopes, and postage stamps, so you can write your Mama a letter once in a while. If you are not inducted today, you can use the four dollars your Mama gave you for cab fare back home.

Mark Austin appeared to be about eighteen-years-old. He took his seat at the desk and began answering the questions that Mrs. Green began firing at him in rapid succession. As he answered each question, she typed feverishly on a form in her typewriter. When she had all the information she needed, Mrs. Green pointed to an adjacent room and told Mr. Austin to have a seat in the first available chair.

Mrs. Green called the next man‘s name: John O. Butler, step forward and have a seat, please.

A handsome, dark-haired fellow with a blue suitcase stood up and strode confidently towards Mrs. Green’s desk. He didn’t seem to be as nervous as the rest of us.

Mrs. Green continued to call the roll and, one by one, she finally got to the G’s, and called my name: Robert H. Garner, step forward and have a seat, please.

I picked up the battered old suitcase that Daddy had pulled down from the attic and loaned me last night: and I hurriedly made my way to Mrs. Green’s desk and took a seat.

A part of me was in hopes that there would be some sort of response that I could give Mrs. Green that would disqualify me from having to get up and go into the next room. There was also another part of me that wanted to proceed with the process and, eventually, wear the uniform of my country and serve my nation in a way that my father had been denied during World War II when he was rejected by the draft, due to hearing loss in one ear.

Mrs. Green bombarded me with the same questions she had asked of those who went before me.

My records indicate that you are married. Is that correct, Mr. Garner?

Yes ma’am. I was married on September 19th of this year.

Good for you, young man. If you are drafted into the Army, they will provide a monthly allotment for your wife.

How much will it be? I asked.

Well, she said, this is not the time or the place to go into that; but be sure you hold onto your marriage license and show it to the payroll personnel at your basic training station.

Mrs. Green dismissed me and pointed towards the next room, which was filling up fast. Then she called the next man in line.

John Harris, step forward and have a seat, please.

When the interview process was over, all the young men who had entered the front door of the office were now seated in the adjacent room.

Wayne Clackum grinned, nudged me, and said, rather loudly: I didn’t really expect that anyone who walked in here with a draft notice in his hand would be sent home, did you? My stepfather says they are drafting the blind, crippled, and crazy, now that the United States is seriously getting involved in that war in Vietnam.

Some of the fellows around us began to laugh, which caused the deputy to give us a stern look and a verbal reprimand. You guys better watch your mouths come tomorrow morning, or you’ll be scrubbing the latrine in your barracks with your toothbrushes. Those Drill Sergeants in basic training don’t take too kindly to wise-crackers!

Mrs. Green entered the room, cleared her throat and said, with a smile, Gentlemen, please follow Deputy Smith downstairs. There will be a bus waiting for you on Main Street which will take you to the Veterans’ Hospital for your physical examinations. If you have any medical paperwork that you feel might enable you to be considered for a medical deferment, be sure you show it to the doctors during the physical examination. I want you men to know that I am very proud of you all for showing up this morning. There are some other draft boards around the country where young men are not reporting when they are summoned to do so, and are running off to Sweden or Canada to avoid serving their country in the military. Good luck to you all, and may GOD bless you and watch over you during the next two years.

A bus driver in a chartered bus was waiting for us when we walked down the front steps of the Federal Building towards Main Street; and thirty-two young men, from Memphis and the surrounding mid-south area, boarded the bus and began a tentative journey into the future.

At 9:15 a.m. our bus pulled into the parking lot of the Kennedy Veterans’ Hospital. I had passed the hospital many times as I had driven past it on Getwell Road. Never did I even consider the possibility that one day I would be paying the place a visit.

An orderly met us at the door and asked us to line up in alphabetical order. He told us to be quiet as we entered the hospital, to stay in a straight line, and to follow him to the waiting room.

As we followed him through the halls, I was amazed at the number of older men I saw on crutches, or in wheel chairs. In the months and years to come, there would be many more, much younger, men who would become patients at this hospital and at the many other Veterans’ Hospitals across the nation.

Our physical examinations began with another series of interviews. Ultimately, we were ushered into a large room with several doctors and male orderlies. The room resembled a high school locker room. The floors and walls were tiled, and benches lined the walls on three sides. One of the orderlies told us to strip down to our underwear and find a seat on one of the benches.

Once we had all stripped down to our underwear, a doctor called off the first ten names on the list and instructed us to line up, side by side, on a white line. Then, he went down the line and had each one of us tilt our heads forward so he could inspect us for head lice. An orderly followed the doctor and marked each individual’s chart. Next, the doctor looked into our mouths, noses, and ears. He also examined our chests, backs, arms, hands, and fingernails.

The next doctor who examined us got kind of personal. We were told to remove our underwear, Then the doctor went down the line and took each man’s testicles in his gloved hand and said: Now turn your head to the right and cough. That’s good, now turn your head to the left and cough.

When he got to the end of the line, the doctor said: Alright boys, now I want you to bend over and spread your cheeks with your hands.

The guy next to me bent over at the waist and grabbed the cheeks of his face with his hands. Some of the guys realized the humor in the situation, and began to laugh. The doctor even seemed to get a kick out of the fellow’s moment of levity.

"That’s real cute of you, sir. Now, spread your other cheeks."

Everyone present burst into raucous laughter. Then the doctor walked behind the line of bent-over men and examined our anal orifices. I must confess, I had never experienced true embarrassment until this moment in time.

We were allowed to put our underwear on and were told to sit down while the next ten men were examined. I was beginning to get hungry; but when the doctor instructed these men to bend over and spread their cheeks, I suddenly lost my appetite. Suffice it to say, we couldn’t see their faces from our vantage point.

Next, each man was given a plastic urinal and told to submit a urine specimen. After this matter was taken care of, another doctor rolled in front of us on a stool with casters and checked our legs and feet. Finally, we were told that we could get dressed.

The next part of the examination involved a dental examination, then a hearing test, and lastly, each man underwent a vision test.

After the physical examinations were competed, we were called, one at a time, to be interviewed once more. Some of the questions we were asked are as follows:

Have you ever been arrested?

If so, have you ever been convicted of a crime?

Do you have any objections to serving your country in the Armed Forces?

At the end of the interview, the interviewer asked me if I had any questions for him.

Well, yes sir, I do. I told the doctor that I had been a sleep-walker and a sleep-talker since I was five-years-old. I was wondering if those are matters you consider when determining my suitability for induction.

The interviewer smiled and said: I’m sorry, but the answer is no. You will make a fine soldier, Mr. Garner. Now, go take a seat and tell the next man in line to come see me.

I did as I was instructed to do. As I sat there on the bench, I was ashamed that I had asked the question about sleep-walking. I wasn’t a coward; but, at this point in the process, I wasn’t exactly gung-ho about the prospect of becoming a soldier, either. My reluctance was the matter of having to leave my wife after less than three months of marriage.

At 1:30 p.m., we were instructed to follow an orderly to the hospital’s dining room. Each man was handed a paper sack which included a ham sandwich, an apple or a banana, and a large oatmeal cookie. We also received a bottle of Coca Cola to go with our sack lunch. Since I have never cared for ham, I passed my sandwich down to Wayne, who gladly accepted it.

At 2:15 p.m., another orderly entered the dining room and led us down a long hallway to an assembly room of some sort. He told us to wait on someone else, who would be coming in to speak to us about the results of our physicals.

During the next hour or so, I milled around the room and got to know a few of the other prospective draftees. One of the most memorable people I met that day was a black guy named Earl V. Washington, Jr., who had resided on Niese St. in Memphis until this morning. Earl was tall, thin, and had large, round brown eyes. He had a joke for any subject which came up in a conversation, and pretty much kept everyone around him in stitches with laughter at his insightful humor.

Earl’s friend, Robert E. Taylor, was another young black man that I immediately bonded with during the thirty minutes or so that I spent at their table. Robert was a fairly quiet fellow in comparison with Earl. He had a round face and kind eyes which belied his good-natured spirit. In the short time I had known him, I could readily see that Earl used him as a verbal punching bag, and needled him by often using him as the butt of his many jokes. Robert appeared to take his digs from Earl without offense, and laughed along with everyone else.

Another amiable young black man I met at the table was Robert A. Davis. The most impressive thing about Robert Davis was that he was here today of his own volition. It didn’t take a draft notice to bring him up the steps of the Federal Office Building this morning. He told me he had enlisted in the Army for three years, in order to be able to serve his country ways that he would be unable to do as a civilian. I admired him for this most laudable stand he had taken for his country; and, in my mind, I decided that I would endeavor to look at my time in the Army in the same light, if I was inducted today.

At 3:45 p.m., a gentleman in a white shirt and tie entered the room and stepped up onto a small stage and tapped the microphone.

May I have your attention, please?

Our entire group became silent (including Earl Washington).

Gentleman, what is about to take place will be the climax of the day for you. I know it has been a day of uncertainty for many of you, especially to those of you who are married. If I call your name, it will indicate that you have been approved for induction into the United States Army. Please stand and step forward to the area in front of the stage as I call your name.

The men in the room were so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop. As the gentleman began calling off the names in alphabetical order, the young men began quietly making their way towards the stage.

"Austin, Mark A.,

Butler, John O.,

Clackum, Wayne A.,

Davis, Bobby J.,

Davis, Robert A.,

Garner, Robert H."

It sounded to me as if my name was being called out from somewhere way off in the distance. It was a surreal experience, unlike anything I had known up to this point in my young life. I didn’t hear any of the other names that were called after my name was announced. My name just kept resonating in my ears like the tolling of a gigantic bell. I stepped forward and lined up with the other men.

At the conclusion of the roll call, our entire group was standing in front of the stage.

At that time, an Army Colonel stepped to the platform and asked us to stand erectly and to raise our right hands and recite with him the oath of induction into the Armed Forces of the United States of America.

I repeated the oath that generations of men before me had pledged:

I, Robert Harry Garner, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.

The Colonel then asked us to take one step forward as a symbol of stepping into our new lives as U.S. Servicemen. The men in our group stepped forward as one. It was a solemn step of unity that would bring me closer to my country, and to the men I would spend the next eight weeks with, than I could have ever imagined.

The Colonel stepped down from the stage and walked down the line, shaking hands with each of us who had just taken the oath. He had a brief word of encouragement for each man.

When the Colonel stepped in front of me, he said: Robert Garner, I am pleased to meet you; and I know that your wife is going to be very proud of you and of your service to your country. Then he shook my hand and patted me on the shoulder and moved on to the next man.

I was nineteen-years-old, married, responsible, and, until two days ago, I had a good job with the railroad. I was, for all intents and purposes, a man; but when the officer shared those brief words of encouragement with me, shook my hand, and patted my shoulder, I suddenly felt like I was more of a man than I was when said goodbye to my wife this morning. I had crossed another threshold in the process of this thing called manhood. Surely, there would be many more to cross in the days, weeks, and months ahead.

**********

Chapter Two

The Next Step

After the Colonel had spoken to each inductee, we were instructed to follow a young Staff Sergeant out to the chartered bus.

On the way down the hallway, I asked: Sergeant, where are we headed now?

You guys will be taken to the Memphis airport where you will board a plane for Fort Polk, Louisiana. You will undergo eight weeks of basic combat training and emerge as fighting men…real soldiers. I will be your escort to the airport, just to make certain that you all arrive there safely and board the plane.

At seven o’clock, I asked the Sergeant when we were going to eat supper.

"My friend, you won’t eat chow until tomorrow morning at Fort Polk. If you have any money on you, you’d better buy a Coca Cola and a candy bar from the vending machine. It is going to be a long night."

When I attempted to open my suitcase to retrieve some change, it was locked. I checked my pants pockets, but did not find my key. I checked my shirt pocket. The key wasn’t there. I checked my jacket pockets. No key. I remembered locking my suitcase this morning after putting my toothbrush and twenty-five dollars into a pouch on the inside wall of the suitcase. I laid the key on the dresser while I finished getting dressed. I deduced that I must have left my key on the dresser. I asked the Sergeant if I could go to a pay phone on the other side of the room and call my wife to see if she could find the key to my suitcase and bring it to me. He granted my request, but told me not to get out of sight.

I called Charlotte at my parents’ home, where she would be residing while I was away in the Army. We had to get out of our apartment lease two days ago, because we knew that she would not be able to afford the $75.00 monthly rent on the apartment, or the utility bills, without my income from the railroad. The Army pay would only be $78.00 per month, and that wouldn’t stretch far enough to compensate for the $375.00 monthly income I had been earning from my railroad job.

My Dad answered the telephone and I asked to speak to Charlotte.

Charlotte‘s voice sounded weak when she picked up the receiver and began speaking: Hello Harry, I didn’t figure that I’d be hearing from you for at least a week. Did you fail the physical exam? Can I come pick you up?

Hi, Sweetheart. I passed the physical and so did every other man who walked into the Federal Building this morning with a draft notice in his hand. I‘m out at the airport. I explained to her the reason for my telephone call and asked her if she would look around for the key to my suitcase.

I found it this morning on the dresser top shortly before noon. Do you want me to bring it to you?

Yes, I would appreciate it. I could break the locks on the suitcase, but then I would not be able to lock it back and keep our marriage license and my spending money secure.

No, don‘t break the locks. I‘ll bring the key to you.

About twenty-five minutes later, I looked up and saw Charlotte and my Dad approaching the waiting area at the gate. Charlotte’s eyes were red and the areas around them were puffy.

I spoke to my Dad and shook his hand. Thanks for coming with Charlotte. I appreciate it, sir.

I’m glad to do it, son.

I took Charlotte by the hand and pulled her aside and hugged her. Are you going to be alright? I asked.

I suppose I will, she replied, but I sure have had a sad old, dreary, rainy day. I stopped at a pay phone and called Mr. Kellogg at the bank after I dropped you off this morning and, naturally, I was crying. He was kind enough to give me the day off and told me to go home and rest. This is going to be so hard, Harry. I don’t know if I can take it.

I wiped the tears from her cheeks and kissed her softly. You’re going to be alright, you’ll see. Each day will get better. Maybe, after I get out of basic training, I’ll be stationed somewhere in the states, and you can come to me and we’ll find a little place off post to live.

Yes, that would be nice. But, what if they send you to Vietnam?

Don’t even think about that right now, okay?

Okay.

About that time, the Sergeant announced that our plane had arrived at the gate, and for us to assemble in a single file, and prepare to board the plane.

I kissed Charlotte goodbye, and told her that I loved her. Then, I went over to my Dad and shook his hand and said goodbye to him.

The Sergeant barked: Okay Garner, shake a leg. Let‘s go!

I hurried over to where the other men were standing and took my place at the end of the line. As we proceeded through the gate, I turned and waved to Charlotte and my Dad one more time. She was smiling, through her tears, and