Army Wife – Army Life

(Circa 1966-1967)

Within 8 months my role in life changed significantly:  from young single to newlywed and now, I was unwittingly thrust into the role of an Army wife, which entailed many unique responsibilities.

UNIFORMS – AND MORE UNIFORMS

One of these responsibilities was taking care of Bill’s uniforms.  Washing them was fairly easy.  However, they needed to be starched – and I mean really, really starched – until they were as stiff as boards.  Then they needed to be ironed – perfectly.  (Have you ever tried to iron cardboard?)  There could be no wrinkles but there did need to be certain creases and they had to be in just the right places.

Every Friday night was spent preparing for inspection the next morning.  We had to polish brass insignias and pin them on his uniform in just the right places.  And then we had to “spit-shine” his shoes until they shone like glass and you could practically see your reflection in them.  There was incentive for being the best in the inspection though – you got a day off, which Bill achieved every now and then.

And then there were the rank patches.  Promotions in rank were always welcomed because they were accompanied by a raise in pay.  But they also came with another chore:  removing old patches and sewing new ones on every – single – sleeve – of – every – single – uniform and they had to be sewn in exactly the right place: 4 inches from the shoulder seam and centered on the sleeve crease.  I usually sewed them by hand, impaling myself numerous times as I forced the needle through the thick embroidered canvas.  Thankfully blood stains don’t show too badly on olive drab fatigues, but were a challenge on his Class A khakis.

A VERY UNHAPPY ARMY WIFE

The Army’s opinion of wives was not endearing.  One evening I had prepared dinner as usual and it was baking in the oven, timed perfectly to be done as soon as Bill walked through the door.  However, he did not arrive at his normal 5:30.  6:00 came and went and dinner was getting pretty crispy.  7:00 came and went and dinner was, sadly, inedible.  Still no Bill.  By 9:00 I was experiencing a curious mixture of rage and worry.  Dinner was now out of the question.  Finally by 9:30 he came sheepishly walking through the door, with his explanation well-rehearsed.  Apparently, his First Sergeant had declared a “GI Party.”  In Army lingo that means, it’s time to clean the barracks.  Even though Bill lived off-base, he was still expected to join the “party”.  So at 5:30 he asked his first officer if he could call home to let me know he wouldn’t be home in time for dinner.  The sergeant’s reply:  “If the Army wanted you to have a wife they would have issued you one.”  That retort still rings in my ears.  I was livid!!!  Humph!!!  The nerve!!!

FAMILY DAYS ON BASE

There were a few events, however, that redeemed the Army in my estimation.  They invited families to Thanksgiving Dinner in the mess hall.  I must say, it was quite a spread.  We feasted on turkey and ham and mashed potatoes and candied yams and vegetables and rolls and every kind of pie imaginable.  It was quite a celebration.  They really outdid themselves.

They also held an open house on Armed Forces Day and invited all the families.  We got to see what our husbands really did.  Bill was a machinist and had his own truck with all the machines and tools set up to make parts for repairs on every piece of equipment.  It was very impressive.  Fort Hood housed two armored divisions which meant there was a whole lot of equipment:  tanks, trucks, jeeps, personnel carriers, etc. that were constantly needing repair so Bill’s skills were a valuable commodity.

One piece of equipment that Bill’s company was responsible for was a HUGE tank retriever.  This thing was big enough to tow two tanks.  Standing next to this behemoth I was dwarfed.  Then, to my surprise, the driver of this thing asked me if I would like to take a ride in it.  Would I!!!  You bet!!  He and his crew climbed into it and started up the engine.  As they did, the earth began to shake and rumble and the noise was deafening.

Now, however, I was faced with a dilemma.  How on earth was I supposed to climb into this thing displaying any degree of modesty?  It didn’t have nice stairs to get into it.  No, the first step was about 4 feet off the ground and I was wearing a dress for the occasion – with a 60’s style tight mini skirt and nylons (and not the pantyhose type but the kind that were held up with a garter belt).  I did my best to climb in discreetly, but, let’s just say, the guys got quite a show.

Once safely in the monster, however, it was quite a ride.  We didn’t go very far or very fast, but it was exhilarating.  This thing was powerful and all the controls and levers were fascinating.  All too soon we were back and I was faced with the daunting task of climbing back out of this thing.  I did it successfully, but noticed more guys watching from below.  As my face turned several shades of red, I longed to become invisible at that moment!

HOW TO BURY A JEEP

Periodically the Army would conduct equipment inspections and each company would have to display just the right equipment, in the right amounts – not too few and not too many things.  If they were missing something, they would have to somehow acquire that piece of equipment.  On the other hand, if they had too many things, they had to get rid of them.  Bill was, happily, the recipient of several surplus things; his favorite being a toolbox filled with tools, which he has to this day.

One company was faced with a dilemma: they had one too many Jeeps.  Now, how do you discreetly get rid of a Jeep?  Two of the officers had a bright idea.  Fort Hood is comprised of thousands of acres of remote “boondocks” on the north side of the property.  So they drove the Jeep into this wilderness, along with a backhoe and proceeded to … BURY the Jeep.  (A prime example of your tax dollars at work.)  They would have gotten away with this deception, that is, until the fort’s commanding general happened to fly over the crime scene in his helicopter at just the right moment.  Let’s just say that it resulted in the captain suddenly deciding to retire and the lieutenant being demoted.  The backhoe operator claimed he was simply following orders.

SWAGGER STICKS AND ASH TRAYS

Bill’s days weren’t always filled with making parts for equipment repair, which left him time to be creative.  There are many odd traditions and practices in the military.  One of those is something called a “swagger stick”.  It originated in the 1800s with the British military and was used as an informal part of their uniform.  Its purpose was a symbol to show authority and was usually made of polished hardwood with an ornamental metal cap.

One of Bill’s friends persuaded Bill to make him a custom swagger stick.  Bill being very creative, designed and made one for him out of various layered metals (brass, aluminum & copper) salvaged from artillery shells and other sources.  He machined them down and polished them until they shone like glass.  He was the envy of all the other men and Bill’s artistic reputation became well-known throughout the battalion.  Bill then expanded his repertoire to include custom ash trays.  He even made a custom ash tray for his First Sergeant to attach to his motorcycle.  As time went on, other men and officers began to persuade Bill to make swagger sticks and ash trays for them too.  Of course, he never got paid for his services but it did serve him well.

You see, the Vietnam War was building up rapidly and troops were getting shipped there on a regular basis.  One dreaded day it came: it was Bill’s turn to get orders to go to Vietnam.  We knew it could happen any time but now its grim reality was staring us in the face.  As our fearful hearts began making plans, Bill was informed that his orders to Vietnam had been cancelled.  Why?  The officers wanted him to stay at Fort Hood to continue making their swagger sticks and ash trays.

He actually got orders to go to Vietnam again and later, for Korea – but those orders were cancelled too.  Thank the Lord for swagger sticks and ash trays!

LOOKING BACK

Looking back, I can see how God uniquely prepared Bill for this moment in time, mercifully protecting him from the horrors of Vietnam.  I believe he came out of the womb, entering the world with an insatiable compulsion to create things and fix things.  One day when he was just a young boy he took his father’s edger apart.  He then proceeded to install its engine on his little go-cart.  When his father came home he got into some serious trouble.  However, behind the punishment, there was a little twinkle in his father’s eye as he proudly thought:  “That’s my boy!”

Bill is also unafraid to try something new.  This was likely instilled by his father, who one day decided to install a sprinkler system in their yard.  Bill asked his father, “Do you know how to do this?”  His dad replied, “Well, no, but when I’m finished I’ll know how.”  And that’s how Bill has approached life.

For Bill to become a machinist was in his DNA and God worked in his circumstances to be able to attend just the right high school to get his training.  During WW2 Burbank High School built a state-of-the-art machine shop in order to train machinists to work at Lockheed Aircraft.  After the war the machine shop remained and that’s where Bill attended.

I believe that our loving God sees the whole picture of our entire life, from beginning to end and uniquely forms and equips us to fit into that picture.  That’s certainly how God formed Bill:  with the desire, ingenuity and skill to make swagger sticks and ash trays.  And that’s how God protected him from danger.

Psalm 139:13-18 says:  For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.   My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.  Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.  How precious to me are your thoughts, God!  How vast is the sum of them!  Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand – when I awake, I am still with you.

So whenever you go through perplexing, dangerous times, remember that God has it all figured out and has equipped and prepared you to make your own “swagger sticks and ash trays.”