Fort Knox/National Guard Stories

Sometime after I had signed up for Selective Service, something all 18 year old males were required to do, I got a letter telling me to go to the Fort Shelby Hotel in Detroit for a 'pre-induction physical.' Several of us were scheduled from Berrien County, and we were transported to Detroit by bus.

We arrived there by early afternoon and went through some of the physical before we were done for the day. We were to spend the night and finish up the next day.

The Tigers were in town playing the Minnesota Twins that night, and since Tiger Stadium was within walking distance of the hotel we decided to take in the game. My only memory of that game is of standing near the back in the left field bleachers. I don't even remember if we stayed for the whole game or not, let alone who won.

I do remember that we walked back to the hotel by a different route than the one we took to the ballpark. In the morning paper I saw an article about someone being mugged and killed about the time we were going back to the hotel, right on the route we had taken to the ballpark! If we had gone back the same way we came that could have been us!

The army provided breakfast for us, and a couple of sergeants were buttering up some farmboy for eating so many powdered eggs! What a fine soldier he would be!

We went through our paces, going from station to station as our physicals progressed. Then we took a lunch break. I thought it ironic that the lunch consisted of cooked goose!

Later we had a long wait for our buses, and guys were sitting around playing cards and hanging out. I saw some sergeants trying to intimidate some guys into signing something to stay out of trouble, and I wondered how many got hoodwinked that way.

When the government held a draft lottery, in which every birthdate received a number from 1 to 366, including February 29, suspicions were that the numbers and dates weren't mixed up very well, the evidence being that those with birthdays in the latter part of the year tended to have lower lottery numbers. The lower the number the sooner you could be drafted, since the war in Viet Nam was still ongoing. Most people my age I knew wanted nothing to do with going to Viet Nam, including myself.

My birthday, October 22, received the number 123, a relatively low number. I was in college and so had a deferment if my number came up. Every month the government would announce the latest numbers to be eligible to be drafted, and that number kept inching closer and closer to mine.

What seemed inexplicable to me was the fact that I had two friends who had numbers over 320, virtually assuring that they would never be drafted. Yet both of them enlisted in the Air Force! What a waste of perfectly good lottery numbers. Too bad we couldn't trade!

As 1971 arrived I was in my second year at Lake Michigan College, and had an acceptance letter for transfer to Western Michigan University. Even so, I knew I was never going to be able to afford to continue college beyond my second year.

During this time I met Carol Lee, and after a few months of dating we decided to get married the next year. I finished my second year of college in the spring, but my deferment wouldn't be officially over until September, the beginning of the next school year. If my number came up after that I would not be protected from being drafted. The number currently being called was just over 100. I was starting to get nervous.

By November the new school year was in full swing and the lottery number was now at 122, just one short of my number. Even though the draft was winding down it hadn't stopped completely, and it looked like mine could be one of the last, if not the last, number called. That prospect was not in my plans.

It became apparent that joining the National Guard could be the solution to my impending dilemma. There were three units locally, so which one should I join? I decided that to be easiest on myself I should find the one that was the most like F Troop. That was a popular TV show about a bungling army unit set in the Old West, comparable to McHale's Navy, a TV show from a decade earlier, or M*A*S*H, a couple of years later.

The one unit that fit that bill was in South Haven, some thirty miles to the north. So that's the unit I joined in November. They even made my joining retroactive to September, just to be safe, since that's when my deferment officially ended. I was now safe from Viet Nam and planning to get married in the Spring. All I needed now was a good paying factory job.

Since signing up the only thing to look forward to was the day I would get out. In six years. So far away.

My obligation to the South Haven unit would be one weekend a month plus two weeks every summer for six years. At the end of that time my military obligation would be fulfilled. The army wouldn't be able to touch me.

I was scheduled to go to Fort Knox on February 1st, 1972 to begin basic training. Prior to that the government announced that the first three months of that year would be the last three months of the draft. Still, the next number to be called was mine, and I just couldn't take the chance, so I was happy I had been proactive enough to make sure Viet Nam would not be in my future.

My first two weeks at Fort Knox were in what was known as Reception Station where we got processed in. During that time the government announced that for the last three months of the draft, ending the next month, March, no one would be drafted! I couldn't believe it! Just two weeks into basic training and I saw that if I had done nothing at all I would have been fine. My National Guard committment was really for nothing! And I still had almost six years to go.

Reception Station was where, among other things, you got your head shaved. (I had shaved my beard before heading down to Fort Knox.) Actually, you could choose to have your hair about a half inch long, and, as I recall, you were even allowed to have a moustache if you wanted, but those were not good ideas. You didn't want to stand out if you could help it. If anything came up, any work detail they needed bodies for, those that stood out always got picked. Even a little hair among shaved heads got you picked first!

Reception Station was also where you got your teeth inspected and your eyes checked. You also got all your shots, which was quite an experience. We would be lined up in single file with our tee-shirt sleeves rolled up, with techs on each side with what appeared to be air powered shot dispensers that looked like little guns jabbing us in both shoulders at the same time. Being lined up, we got to watch those ahead of us in line go through it. Some flinched when getting the shots, which caused blood to drip down several guys' arms. Some guys actually fainted.

Some of us thought it might be a good idea to jog for a few minutes after the shots to make sure the vaccines we were getting didn't lump up at the injection site, so that's what we did. Whether it helped or not I don't know, but it didn't hurt!

My basic training unit consisted of those who were in the regular army (RA), those in the Enlisted Reserves ((ER), and those of us who were in the National Guard (NG), otherwise known as No Good. In my company there were only two of us that were 21, which was fortunate for me. Almost everyone else was barely 18.

Most of the RAs resented the ERs and NGs, since after basic training and AIT (Advanced Individual Training) we were going home while they were going overseas. Many had enlisted on the promise that they could choose the AIT school they wanted as well as their overseas destination, but few got it in writing. At the end of basic training they would be in for a rude awakening.

Whenever we went out on a long march with full backpacks an ambulance truck would have to go along, and the driver had to be at least 21. Since there were only two of us that age, every other time I got to drive rather than march.

Our longest, and worst, march was at night going up and down some very large hills. I was very happy to be driving that night!

We were about halfway up one hill when another company, having maneuvers on that same hill, inadvertantly started a few fires, so we had to stop to help put them out. The steepness of the hill caused me to use the parking brake, something I rarely used.

When the fires were out we proceeded on, but I forgot to release that parking brake, and since we were barely inching along I didn't notice. That is, until the brakes started to smell hot! When the Drill Instructor sitting next to me realized the problem he turned to me and said, "You sorry d#%&!" Of course I could not respond. Among other things he caused me to be afraid that the brakes might fuse up over night. As we camped out that night in pup tents I did worry about that, not knowing any better, but the next morning they were fine and I continued to drive without incident. At least I didn't have to walk.

As the only trainee in our company with any college, I was made a squad leader right away, a position I lost almost as fast, two weeks later. Was it my fault nature was calling just when we were ordered downstairs for muster, making me late? I guess it was!

My squad was in charge of keeping our latrine sparkling clean. As my own little bit of rebellion I would say "Third quad in the john!" instead of latrine.

This apparently was too much for the other 21 year old in our company, who wasn't even in my squad. He came charging in to the latrine anyway one day and attacked me. Right away he was pulled off of me and both of us were hauled down in front of our Drill Sergeant.

Amazingly, the other guy admitted his attack, defending it because he "didn't like my attitude!" So as the Drill Sergeant was about to lower the boom on him I butted in and asked for leniency for him with the excuse he just need more time to adjust to army life.

The Drill Instructor looked at me like I was nuts but did relent, and from then on my attacker became my best buddy.

It was important for us to have two toothbrushes, one for normal use and a second one for our boots. My squad actually needed a third one, for the latrine. It was important not to get them mixed up!

Our lockers were old and decrepid. As luck would have it, new metal ones that had been ordered perhaps months before arrived just in time for us to have to put them together! In our spare time, of course. So during the next two weeks we would all spend our evenings assembling lockers. When mine was finished it was late and I only had time to stuff all my gear in it and go to bed. I'd get it squared away the next day.

There were other plans for the next day, however. That night our company was to go on an all night training exercise in which we would be dropped off on a road at some point, in three man groups, with our objective being to sneak through this wooded, hilly field for a mile or two to another check point.

There would be another company there, however, hunting us, so we had to avoid capture. If we got caught there was an open containment area, surrounded by barb wire, where we would be taken. If we could escape we were to do so and continue on with our objective.

One of the other guys in my three man group had the compass. We were let off and we headed into the woods. This was after supper in late February, and it didn't take long for darkness to overtake us. Shortly after that we got captured.

The trainees guarding the containment area were doing a poor job, on purpose, I think, so we could escape. But we were separated, and I couldn't find the guys I was captured with. There was a huge hole in the barb wire fence for us to escape through, but I didn't know about that until much later, after I had escaped another way through the fence, ripping my pants in the process.

But now I was in the woods alone with no compass. Even so, I had a good idea what direction to go in order to find the road. Then I'd just walk down it until I found something.

I walked all night long, or so it seemed. It started to rain, and the temperature was just above freezing. The moon was hiding behind the clouds so it was very dark. But I kept walking, through the woods and up and down hills, trying to find that road.

Finally, there it was! Should I turn left or right? I turned right and walked for about a mile or so and saw trucks and lights up ahead! When I got there they were loading up to head back to the barracks. Amazingly, this was the very spot we had originally been let out, nowhere near where we were supposed to end up! How I could come up on the road we had crossed in the beginning I do not know. But at least the ordeal was over. Or so I thought.

We got back to our barracks about 1:30 in the morning, but before we could fall into bed we were all ordered back outside into formation. There were two compasses missing, and we could not go to bed until they were found.

As we were standing there at attention it started to snow. Some of us hadn't grabbed our field jackets before racing back outside, adding to our discomfort.

We all filed back into our barracks as our drill sergeants checked our lockers to see if anyone was trying to steal a compass. When my drill sergeant opened my locker and saw all my stuff piled in there from top to bottom from the night before, he just gave me one of those disgusted looks but then slammed my door shut and moved on without saying a word. I guess he knew I hadn't stolen a compass, anyway.

Eventually both compasses turned up. I'm not sure where they were. All I know is none of us had them.

Protocol was very important at Fort Knox. Drill Sergeants were addressed as "sir" and every statement was preceeded and followed by "sir." And all officers were saluted.

Once a friend and I were about to carry something into the barracks when the CO's second, a young Lieutenant, came up with his head down. We stopped to let him pass and with our free hand saluted him without thinking.

After he passed we realized we had saluted him with our left hands! We enjoyed getting away with that!

As Spring approached our rifle training intensified, and we all had to qualify. Those of us who had never really fired a rifle before were the easiest to train, they said, since we didn't have any bad habits to unlearn. Since my left eye is my dominant, lead eye, I had to fire left handed.

The only problem with that was that the shells ejected from the right side of the M-16, and if you weren't careful one might eject right down your shirt. They did have cloth shields to protect from that, but only sissies used them, don't you know!

One day we were in foxholes firing down the range when one of those shells went down my shirt. Man, was it hot! It felt like it was on fire! My reaction was to immediately drop my M-16 and it landed on the ground butt first right next to me, the walls of the foxhole keeping it upright, I guess. Two Sergeants nearby read me the riot act, saying I was lucky the rifle didn't blow my head off when the butt hit the ground! I had my doubts about that, but I kept them to myself.

We had one session firing hand held anti-tank missles. I got yelled at for passing by too close behind someone firing one, since the blowback towards the back went several yards. Then when it was my turn to fire one at a tank target I got yelled at again for taking too long to aim. But when I pressed the trigger my missle hit the tank exactly where the turret meets the main body. I heard the instructor whistle, so I guess that was okay.

There was a gas chamber at Fort Knox, and we all had to go in it.

Our one day of gas mask training involved going in a gas chamber, ten at a time, with our gas masks off. Then we had to put them on and the chamber was filled with tear gas. We'd breathe with the masks on for a minute or so, and then we were told to take a deep breath and take our masks off.

Naturally, some of us, including me, didn't quite finish taking our deep breath before removing gas masks, and so inhaled some of the tear gas. Immediately we started choking, and thus inhaled even more, and became complete wrecks in seconds!

We were so glad when we piled out of the gas chamber that it was raining! Turning our faces, and eyes, upwards toward the rain, relief came sooner than it otherwise would have!

Early on in basic training we had to take a physical fitness test which consisted of six events worth 100 points each. My first time I had a total score of 478, not too bad, I thought.

The next time we took the test was just before the end of training. This time I scored 100 points for each of the first four tests, and then 70 points for each of the last two, totaling 540 points. Not a bad improvement, I thought, so I was surprised when I got called down to the Drill Sergeant's office, never a good sign.

He started yelling at me, expressing his anger at how my score had gone down from 478 to 440. I said, "Sir, could you re-add those scores, please, sir?"

He did and then, without looking up, simply said, "Dismissed."

The last day of basic training was very traumatic for most of those eighteen year olds who had voluntarily joined the army, as they found out that the promises made to them when they signed up meant nothing at all. The only thing that counted was the fact that the army owned them for the next four years.

When they found out that the AIT course of their choice was not where they had been assigned, nor was the overseas assignment that was awaiting them, some became almost berserk. And their everpresent animosity towards those of us who were going home as ERs or NGs after attending our chosen AITs started to come to a head.

There was a small bunk room next to our main bunkroom in our barracks, and for our final night before moving on it was decided that all the ERs and NGs would bunk in that small room. There were about six or eight of us in there on double bunk beds.

Somehow the word got to us that the RAs were planning to attack us during the night by having an old fashioned blanket party for us. That's where you throw a blanket on someone by surprise and then a bunch of guys start beating on him. I saw that happen once a month or so earlier to someone who probably deserved it.

We didn't deserve it, though. Was it our fault they were so stupid they never got anything in writing? That they never even thought about joining the Reserves or National Guard instead the regular Army?

Our plan of self-defense was this. We would arm ourselves with aerosol spray paint cans. Using our lighters we would turn them into flame throwers. But we only found one can so I took it. I settled in on an upper bunk, we turned out the lights, and waited.

We didn't have to wait long. A few guys came sneaking in and tip-toed quietly in the dark towards our bunks. Even though it was pitch black I could still barely see them, being used to our dark room. They couldn't, having just come in from the light.

When one guy got to within about four feet of me I let him have it. I flicked on my lighter and pressed down the paint can nozzle. The flame was about two feet long and right at the guy's head! I must have just missed him but he had to have felt the heat! Amazingly, no one screamed but they all flew out of our room! And they never came back.

The next morning bright and early we all left for our next destinations. But there was evidence left behind that something had happened the night before. There was a huge black spot on the ceiling caused by my paint can flame thrower. But by the time anyone saw it we were all long gone.

My AIT training, on tanks, would also be at Fort Knox. We were assigned to new barracks that were known as Disneyland. They were brick buildings, much nicer than the old wooden ones we had just come from. Each squad had its own room. It was almost like a fancy hotel.

Our long building housed two training companies, one on each end. The other end was just beyond right field where we could play softball.

As the weather warmed, we organized a company softball team for which I played second base. Our Company Commander had a standing offer for us. If anyone hit a ball through a window of the other company's barracks we would get a case of beer!

One guy hit the ledge just below a window, and I hit one in between two windows, but that was as close as we got. Still, this was lightyears from life in basic training!

Even though I never had a car at Fort Knox I managed to get home for the weekend thirteen weekends in a row! Every week was spent finding out who was going to Michigan, and it was never the same guy two weeks in a row. During the week I never got an inspection gig, or demerit, that would make me ineligible for a weekend pass.

It was about an eight hour drive back to Michigan from Fort Knox, always after a long day and week of training, which made the trip seem even longer. And tiring. Once a guy I was riding with fell asleep at the wheel on the interstate. I thought it odd he was changing lanes for no apparent reason, and then suddenly we were spinning out in the center median.

He quickly became wide awake and fortunately managed to spin us right back on the highway going in the right direction.

Mere seconds later we were on a bridge going over another highway. If we had spun out there it would have been ugly.

More than once we barely made it back in time for Monday morning muster. Sometimes we went straight from the car to muster, making it by mere seconds! But we always made it. They made for long Mondays on no sleep, though.

Toward the end of AIT Carol grew restless of waiting, and so we got married on May 20th, with only three weeks of AIT training to go. I'm sure some thought this meant that she must have beeen pregnant, but when we didn't have our first kid until four years later they probably figured out she wasn't.

It was odd, going home to get married, having our wedding night, and then going back to Fort Knox the next day. What were we thinking?

What was even worse, though, was the fact that the next day, Monday, would be our final physical fitness test for AIT training.

This one included, as one of the events, a two mile run. I was in no condition for that, but I did manage to finish in the time allowed.

The Fort Knox experience was pretty much all over by now. Just coasting in to the finish was all that remained. I had a good job waiting for me, as well as a beautiful new wife. But I also had to report to South Haven when I got home.

I had 90 days to report to South Haven, and I should have taken them all. If I had I would have legally missed my first two-week summer camp at Camp Grayling. But no, I reported right away, and only then realized my mistake. Most guys, during the course of their six year commitment, only went to five summer camps, but I got stuck going to all six, my first one being only two months after of boot camp!

I ended up making several friends who joined the South Haven unit for the same 'F Troop' reason I did. Virtually all of them got married the same year I did, and many of them worked for the same company I did, as well. Quite a lot of coincidences.

All summer camps were held at Camp Grayling, located in the upper third of lower Michigan. During my first summer camp we were driving our tanks in the wilderness, with only rutted tank trails to follow. The second week of summer camp usually meant being out in the field all week, sleeping outside and eating C-rations.

During maneuvers we would have an area in the woods we would return to in our tanks and other vehicles in order to gas up. The intersection of tank trails in the woods made for some very tight corners. Near one of those corners some one had parked a station wagon. How it got there or who it belonged to no one knew. It was a nice looking car but completely out of place.

Early on our tanks were careful not to bump into that car as we navigated that corner. But after a day or so some tank drivers (not me!) became a little less careful, bumping the car and denting it somewhat.

One day we stopped for lunch near our gas up area. In fact, I happened to park my tank right behind that car. The other three guys in my tank crew took off for awhile, but as the driver I had to stay with the tank. It was hot outside, with no air movement, so I ate my C-rations on the tank, right on top of the turret, trying to catch some kind of breeze.

While finishing up, I was eating a can of fruit cocktail for my dessert when one of our sergeants, obviously drunk, came running out of the woods to my tank. Hopping in the front, he fired it up, put it in drive, and ran right over that car! Then he put it in reverse, ran over the car again, and then, putting it back in drive, he parked my tank right on top of the car, smashing it down to about a foot in height! Shutting off the engine, he then hopped out and ran off into the woods again. All the while I'm still sitting on top of my tank eating my fruit cocktail!

Not five minutes later a jeep raced over in a cloud of dust and screeched to a halt right next to my tank, and our company commander (CO) hopped out. He ran to the front, and then ran to the back, presumably looking for a license plate but found none. Then he ran to the side of my tank and looked up at me with his arms outstretched and shaking, but he couldn't get any words out! Then he hopped back in his jeep and took off down the trail.

All the while I'm still eating my fruit cocktail. And as far as I know nobody ever said a word about what had happened.

Toward the end of my Fort Knox training I got promoted from E-2 to E-3, which was private first class. At the end of my first summer camp in Grayling we all lined up to get paid, in cash. When my pay and voucher were given to me, I saw I was paid only $127. E-3 pay was $136. We were told that if there were any discrepancies to go to this other line.

Would it be worth $9 to wait for who knows how long in another line? In 1972 $9 was equal to about three hour's pay, and I had nothing else to do, anyway, so yes, it would be worth it. I took my voucher and stood in line.

Expecting the $9 difference, I was shocked when they gave me $136. My new voucher said that was what I was supposed to get, but the reality was I had been overpaid by $127, the E-2 pay! That didn't quite make up for being there, or for the next six years I hadn't needed to sign up for, but I still wondered if I should fess up.

I discussed it with some of my friends and all of them said I should keep the money, so I did.

I wanted to take this new found money and put it down on a new color TV but Carol woudn't let me. Instead we spent it on things we as newlyweds needed.

Over the next few years I kept waiting for the army to catch their mistake but they never did.

Sometimes the second week of summer camp would consist of a company test against another company doing field maneuvers. We always lost. One year we lost before we ever got out of the starting area! In the middle of the exercise we'd hear guys on the radio saying, "Commo check! Commo Check!" One year someone actually said our code words with their definitions. I distinctly remember one guy saying over the radio that "whirly bird means helicopter." Of course our opponents were listening in!

Rarely did we ever see anyone ranked higher than our own officers at South Haven. But one year it was decided that the Division Commander would stop by to inspect us. We had a few months to prepare, making sure the grounds, building, and everything inside was clean, squared away, and freshly painted whether it needed it or not.

Some of us, however, came up with our own special plan for this auspicious occasion. This was the early '70s, and streaking was all the rage, so we decided we needed a streaker. It wasn't hard to get one. Jeff, a guy in our unit, agreed to do it for $50. Jeff's nickname was Brillo, because his hair looked like a steel wool pad.

Now we had to alert the local paper about this event without tipping off the real reason we wanted a photographer there. Unfortunately the press didn't care and so no one showed up to cover the inspection.

The day of the inspection came, and we were all standing at attention in our dress blues, looking sharp. The Division Commander and a few of his staff were slowly making their way along the ranks when all of a sudden there was a loud CLUMP! CLUMP! followed by many more clumps as Brillo, wearing only combat boots and a gas mask, ran the length of the armory auditorium and out the back door!

Amazingly, no one said a word! All the officers acted as if nothing had happened at all.

Later that year at summer camp there were several divisions present, and we had a field parade in front of some grandstands with what looked like thousands of civilians watching. We again paid Brillo to streak. This time it cost us more, but I don't remember how much more. Part of Brillo's escape route involved running through the parade grounds, again wearing nothing but combat boots and a gas mask, to a waiting boat on a nearby lake.

We went all out, and this time we got a reaction from the crowd. As the audience shrieked with laughter the brass became incensed! Even so, Brillo never got caught.

One year at Grayling I was given the assignment to be responsible for handing out some of the equipment that might be needed, such as gas masks. I was especially instructed to not let anyone have anything without signing for it, becaause if it came up missing it would come out of my pocket.

It was especially dry that summer, and we were to drive tanks in a line a few miles on dirt roads to somewhere. Anyone not near the head of that line would be eating dust the whole way.

One of our sergeants sent a private to me to get a gas mask, but I wouldn't let him have it unless he signed for it. Protesting it wasn't for him, I told him to send the sergeant to sign for it.

He left but later returned saying the sergeant was mad enough to kill me, but still I refused to give in. I knew he was trying to get a gas mask free at my expense. That's why he never came up to sign for it even though he had plenty of time to do it.

His stubbornness caused him to eat a lot of dust, but there was nothing he could do to me without getting himself in trouble.

After a couple of years I was promoted to Spec 4. With summer camp coming up there was a push, especially by some newly promoted sergeants, to have some Spec 4s designated as acting sergeants. This came up right after my promotion, and I was offered that designation and I accepted. This would allow me to drive my own car to summer camp rather than having to go in a military convoy, It also would give me the freedom to leave the base after hours in my own car.

The catch was the lowest ranking sergeants would have to stay the middle weekend. That would include all acting sergeants, the real reason for having them in the first place. We knew this, but went along anyway. Part way.

Once we got to Grayling in our cars we changed our minds, refusing the acting sergeant designation, which was our right. Now we were going to be free for the weekend and have our cars up there as well! What a deal!

Carol came up by bus for the weekend that year and we spent almost all of it in a motel room. We did go out to eat, though!

I don't think the sergeants who had to stay on base had a good weekend, though.

Certain things you only need to learn once. Like never fire your weapon if you don't have to, so you don't have to clean it.

At summer camp during maneuvers we always fired blanks. That first year we learned, as we sat cleaning our rifles while the older guys were heading off to town.

In subsequent years we would always give all our blank ammo to the new guys. Then we would wrap our rifles in plastic trash bags, poke a few holes in them so condensation wouldn't cause any rust, and then wrap them in blankets to keep the dust away. Starting my second year I drove a jeep, so I kept my rifle protected between the front seats,

At the end of the day we'd be showered and on our way to town while all the rookies were still cleaning their rifles. We did this every year.

By now the war and the draft had long since ended and the National Guard was having trouble getting guys to sign up or re-up. So they came up with an offer to allow guys to sign up for only three years. This really ticked me off, since I still had four more years to go. Guys could sign up and get out before I could get out! Plus they would get a signing bonus to boot! What a gyp!

We usually made it home for the middle weekend, although not always very easily. One year I had to ride in the back of a pickup truck with a few other guys during a torrential downpour. Lightning flashed all around during that four hour drive! It's a wonder we all didn't get pneumonia!

In 1975 two friends and I did it right. One of them knew a guy with his own single engine airplane. For $35 each he agreed to fly up on Friday afternoon, pick us up and fly us to the Benton Harbor airport.

When we were released Friday afternoon everyone else ran to their cars in the parking lot but we ran to the airstrip.

The inside of that plane was about the same size as the inside of a Volkswagon Beetle, but we all fit in. The flight took a little over an hour and we were all home by supper time!

One of the guys drove us back Sunday night in his car, so it all worked out pretty well. I don't remember why we never did that again. Must have been the cost.

The end of summer camp was usually a chaotic mess, with people leaving at different times. More than once we realized we could have taken off for home hours before we actually did and no one would have noticed.

At the end of my last summer camp, in 1977, several of my friends and I decided to take off early. Of course, that year they decided to have a final muster before leaving, which we of course missed. We were all busted and demoted a rank. Now I was back to E-3, the same rank I had when I left Fort Knox.

The following month's weekend duty would be my last. I would be out after that. A bunch of us were called into the CO's office where he offered us all our ranks back if we would re-up for another six years. We all said we'd think about it but I doubt if anyone did!

For me, the day I had been waiting for ever since signing up was finally here. My relationship with F Troop was about to change from one of experience to one of memory.

It was finally time to regrow my beard.