(Another post dragged up from 2004)

Another “What did you do in the war, Daddy?” post

My tour in Germany was not entirely composed of peering intently into the Fulda Gap, waiting for the Red hordes to come thundering through…

By the time I was nearing my last year in the Army, I was in my third year in Germany, and suffering from the damage to my ankles from an old motorcycle wreck. After spending a couple of months with one or the other ankle in a cast, my company commander and the battalion commander decided to move me to an administrative position within the battalion headquarters rather than have me risk permanent injury. So that’s how I came to be associated with the battalion S-1 (personnel) section.

Among my varied duties, I handled legal matters, equal opportunity programs (I was the ONLY white equal opportunity NCO in the Eighth Infantry Division) and was the vehicle commander for the S-1 section’s M-113 armored personnel carrier, a vehicle known affectionately to tankers as a “Dempsey Dumpster” both for its shape and the level of armor protection.

The 4th Battalion 69th Armor was noted for its success at tank gunnery, having been the division champs three years running. Tank gunnery is a big deal for tankers, and accordingly, our battalion fostered a fund from which prizes were awarded to the top scorers, $1000 for the top crew, $500 for second place, $250 for third. This was a sizable chunk of change. At the time I was an army staff sergeant, pay grade E-6, and my pay was like $800 a month, by way of comparison.

In order to raise the money for such prizes, our battalion sold things, somewhat akin to a Sunday School bake sale. For adult (more or less) males. Since I was the senior individual without a real job in the battalion, I was “volunteered” to run these events. I kicked off with a Saturday barbecue. Setting up a pit in the battalion square, I barbecued ribs and chicken and served them with slightly enhanced baked beans… Big hit! How did THEY know I could cook? You have to know that the wafting aromas of Cajun style doctored barbecue caused a stir. I sold out. Had to send somebody to the commissary for more meat. Had German civilians from the neighboring community coming in to buy it. My first event was a success. We were off.

The battalion sergeant major, a great old soldier, was impressed, and I continued. Phase II of our tank gunnery cycle found us in Baumholder, Germany in July. Europe can get hot and dusty, and there I was with an assistant, the S-1 clerk, a spec-4, and the S-1 officer’s jeep and trailer. Wherever a tank company stopped, we were there with ICEY cold drinks and various snacks. Money rolled in. When the battalion was in the cantonment area for maintenance, we had an auditorium set up to show movies. The movies were free. The snacks and beer weren’t. More money.

The capper: The culmination of a tanker’s year in Germany, yes, even the high point of a Cold Warrior’s career in armor, that was the annual trip to Grafenwoehr. You could do tank gunnery at Fort Knox, the birthplace of armor. You could do tank gunnery in Korea. You could do tank gunnery in the States, but every tanker in the Cold War knew that if you hadn’t done Graf, you were just a sad wanna-be.

We’re talking three weeks to a month away from home station, culminating in Table VIII, the tanker’s doctoral thesis. Scores on Table VIII meant a lot…promotions, cushy jobs, and to the high crews, $$$$$.

So I roll into Graf with the S-1 officer and when he’s signing for the transient messhall for the battalion, he also signs for a messhall for me to make into the unit lounge. We’re there two days ahead of the rest of the battalion. I have my orders. The sergeant major gives me $1000 from our previously raised fund and a phone book and we’re up and running. A couple of phone calls brings a juke box and two pinball machines. A trip to the commissary and the PX and we’re set up with snacks and a stove to make hot dogs and other delicacies. And a call to Loewenbrauerei Grafenwoehr, and I’m on the delivery schedule for that nectar of the beer-loving gods, German beer. And when the dusty, tired tankers drag in, we’re open for business. I’m cheap. And there. And we do booming business. It’s almost a captive audience, admittedly, because the main post NCO and enlisted clubs’d rather not have all those dusty transients show up. and we’re only a short walk (or stagger) from the transient barracks.

It was a wonderful time. We’d close at ten every night so the troops’d get their sleep, unless, as happened, one of the first sergeants’d call and tell me he had some guys out late and they’d appreciate something. Mechanics out dragging in a broken-down tank? Gotta be there for the troops. Nothing cuts trail dust like a cold Graf Lowenbrau. And we provided ’em.

Another battalion comes in about a week after we’re set up. Their sergeant major comes to visit and asks if I’d allow his people to come in since his lounge wasn’t on line yet. Sure! More money for our fund. Just make sure he sends a couple of senior NCO’s to ride herd. I told him I’d see that his “supervisors” didn’t have to pay for their beer in exchange for this service. So when MY sergeant major comes in for his nightly inspection, half the people in the lounge are from the OTHER battalion. That’s okay. Sitting at one of the tables is the other battalion’s sergeant major, and they’re old buddies.

We sold hot dogs. The ketchup on the counter was carefully doctored with a little touch of Tabasco sauce. Sold more beer. Salted peanuts at cost. More beer. Pickled pigs’ feet. More beer. The delivery guy for Lowenbrau Graf came by to drop off a load and said I was buying more of his stuff than the main post NCO club. Four tables in back set aside JUST for the pinochle players. And we had flippies! To the old soldiers, a Graf flippey was the ’56 Chevy of beer, that great Lowenbrau Graf in a bottle with a ceramic and wire flip-top. We sold them by the case.

The place was a mess in the morning, but the medic platoon would send a detail over to clean the place up. I saw that they were adequately compensated later that evening when we opened. That kept them cheerful.

And so it went. The unit fund was greatly enlarged, enough to where we were able to not only cover the tank gunnery awards, but also a lot of other niceties such as awards to support personnel like mechanics and such. somewhere along the line I ended up with an official “atta-boy”, a letter of commendation from the battalion commander, for my tireless service in support of the 1976 tank gunnery training…

And that’s a little glimpse of some of the way the war she was fought…