A Devotion to Duty 

Memoirs of General Jimmy D. Ross 

U.S. Army, Retired 

Written with 

Dr. Mary Magee 

Dr. William Moye 

and Others 

Historical Office 

U.S. Army Materiel Command

U.S. Army Materiel Command
Library of Congress Control Number: 2007937358 
A Devotion to Duty 

Memoirs of General Jimmy D. Ross 

U.S. Army, Retired 

Deputy Chief of Staff for Logistics, U.S. Army 

1987 - 1992 

Commanding General 

U.S. Army Materiel Command 

1992 – 1994 

U.S. Army Materiel Command 

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This work is a memoir that reflects the author’s present 

recollections of his Army experiences and also the history of 

his family for five decades. It documents changes in the 

logistics operations and programs of the Army.

It is dedicated to 

my wonderful wife Pat, 

my family, 

all Army spouses, 

and 

The Men and Women of the Army Logistics Family 

 General Jimmy D. Ross was born in Hosston, Louisiana, on 23 

May 1936. Upon completion of a Bachelor of Science degree in 

Education from Henderson State University in Arkadelphia, Arkansas, 

in 1958, he was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in the 

Transportation Corps. He holds a Masters’ degree in business 

administration from Central Michigan University. His military 

education includes the Basic Officer Course at the Infantry School, the 

Transportation Advanced Officer Course, the U.S. Army Command 

and General Staff College, and the Industrial College of the Armed 

Forces. 

 His initial company grade assignments were with the Infantry and 

Transportation Corps units at Schofield Barracks, Hawaii; Thailand; 

Fort Eustis, Virginia; Fort Campbell, Kentucky; and Fort Bragg, North 

Carolina. In 1964, General Ross served in Vietnam as an Infantry 

Battalion Advisor in the PBT (Phuoc Binh Thanh) Special Zone, III 

Corps. 

 From 1967 to 1969, he was assigned as a JTF-11 Staff Officer, 

United States Strike Command, MacDill Air Force Base, Florida. In 

1969, General Ross returned to Vietnam. During his second combat 

tour, he served as the S4 and later the S2/3 in the 101st Airborne 

Division Support Command; and then commanded the 10th

Transportation Battalion at Cam Ranh Bay. 

 Upon his return to the United States, he was assigned to the Office 

of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Logistics at HQDA (Headquarters, 

Department of the Army), in the Financial Resources and the Materiel 

Acquisition Directorates. He served as the Assistant Director of the 

Army Staff in the Office of the Chief of Staff, Army, from 1973 to 

1974. His next assignment was as the Deputy Comptroller of Oakland 

Army Base, California, and later as the Commander of the Military 

Ocean Terminal, Bay Area. 

 In 1978, General Ross transferred to Germany, where he 

commanded the 4th Transportation Brigade and 2nd Support Command, 

VII Corps. He returned to the Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff for 

Logistics, HQDA, as the Director for Transportation, Energy and 
U.S. Army Materiel Command, from 1984 to 1986 and the 

Commanding General of the U.S. Army Depot System Command, 

from 1986 to 1987. In June 1987, he was assigned as the Deputy 

Chief of Staff for Logistics, U.S. Army, where he served for four and a 

half years. General Ross returned to AMC as Commanding General 

from 1 February 1992 to 11 February 1994. 

 His awards and decorations include the Distinguished Service 

Medal (with Oak Leaf Cluster), the Legion of Merit (with Oak Leaf 

Cluster), the Bronze Star Medal, the Meritorious Service Medal, two 

Air Medals, the Joint Service Commendation Medal and the Army 

Commendation Medal (with Oak Leaf Cluster). He has also been 

awarded the Combat Infantryman Badge, the Master Parachutist 

Badge, the Ranger Tab, and the Army Staff Identification Badge. 

General Ross retired from the Army in 1994. 
Table of Contents 

Preface................................................................................................iii 

Chapter I The Early Years, 1936-1958...................................1 

Chapter II We’re in the Army Now, 1958-1959 ......................21 

Chapter III Cruising to Hawaii, 1959-1962...............................29 

Chapter IV Fort Eustis, 1962 .....................................................49 

 Fort Campbell, 1963 ...............................................53 

Chapter V Vietnam, 1964-1965 ...............................................59 

Photos Early, Hawaii/Vietnam ...........................................92 

Chapter VI CONUS 1965-1969.................................................99 

 Fort Bragg, 1965 .....................................................99 

 Fort Leavenworth, 1966..........................................105 

 Strike Command, 1967-1969..................................108 

Chapter VII Return to Vietnam, 1969-1970 ...............................117 

Chapter VIII Pentagon and Oakland, 1970-1978.........................151 

 Army Staff ..............................................................151 

 Early Views of AMC ..............................................163 

 Industrial College of the Armed Forces, 

 1974-1975 ...............................................................168 

 Military Traffic Management Command, 

 1975-1978 ...............................................................171 

Chapter IX Germany, 1978-1982 ..............................................177 

Chapter X Return to the Pentagon, 1982-1984 ........................195 

Photos Later, Germany/DCSLOG/AMC............................215 

Chapter XI U.S. Army Materiel Command, 1984-1986............221 

 Army Depot System Command, 1986-1987...........227 
ii

f 

Chapter XII Army Deputy Chief of Staff for Logistics, 

 1987-1992 ...............................................................237 

 Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm....................241 

 Logistics Issues .......................................................252 

 Watercraft ............................................................257 

 Aircraft.................................................................259 

 Strategic Mobility ................................................261 

 Uniforms ..............................................................265 

Chapter XIII U.S. Army Materiel Command, 1992-1994............269 

Chapter XIV Reflections ..............................................................291 

Epilogue .............................................................................................305 

Appendix A Jim’s Gems; Command Philosophy........................307 

Appendix B. Pat’s Pearls; Advice for Military Spouses ..............315 

Appendix C Family History ........................................................321 

Endnotes.............................................................................................329 

Glossary of Terms..............................................................................341 

References..........................................................................................351 

Index ..................................................................................................359 
iii

f

 In May of 1958, on the football field of a small Arkansas college, 

my wife, Patricia L. Cox Ross pinned a set of gold Second Lieutenant 

bars on my shoulders. It was graduation day for the ROTC cadet. 

Washed in the afternoon sun, we peered into a future neither of us 

could have imagined. 

 During thirty-six years in the Army, I went from Second 

Lieutenant to four-star General, from the jungles of Vietnam to sands 

of Desert Shield/Desert Storm, and from Hawaii’s statehood 

celebration to the coming down of the Berlin Wall. At each turn in the 

journey, we encountered exceptional Soldiers and their families. 

 My Army career began with a vision of serving as an Airborne 

Ranger and returning to Henderson State Teachers College to coach 

football. Step by step, the Army diverted me onto the logistics and 

materiel path, leading me to become a “Soldier serving Soldiers.” My 

career, which began in the Infantry, ended with two wonderful years as 

Commanding General of the United States Army Materiel Command. 

 In our Florida home, the walls of my office are filled with 

photographs and mementoes. They are daily reminders of how our 

lives were enriched by the fascinating people whom we met. The 

Airborne Ranger Infantry training with Colin Powell; South 

Vietnamese battalion commander, Captain An, and myself; Manfred 

Rommel in Stuttgart, Germany; Barbara Bush in Army camouflage 

visiting troops in Saudi Arabia; President George H.W. Bush with Pat 

and me at a Washington, D.C. function; President Bill Clinton; 

Elizabeth Dole with me at the American Red Cross; a piece of the 

Berlin Wall; crossing the finish line at the New York Marathon and 

another at the Boston Marathon; Pat and I in Saudi Arabia and Egypt; 

and Teresa Katherine “Katie” Cripps Kelley, our granddaughter, in her 

West Point uniform. 

 As I worked through the process of putting my life on paper, many 

people helped. I thank them for their support and hard work. This 

began with an oral history interview conducted by Colonel Thomas W. 

Sweeney at the Army War College. Dr. William T. Moye and Mr. 

Jeffrey Hosmer, historians at Headquarters, U.S. Army Materiel 
iv

Magee, writer and psychologist, added family genealogy and history, 

as well as editing and revising the material many times. Dr. Diane R. 

Gordon, professional editor, revised the manuscript and offered many 

helpful suggestions. Ms. Wilma J. Fields, writer/editor, AMC History 

Office, produced the final layout. Without the support and guidance of 

Dr. Robert G. Darius, the Command Historian, U.S. Army Materiel 

Command, there would be no book. Last but not least, the 

contributions by my wife, Patricia L. Ross, were invaluable. 

 Others whose contributions have been invaluable include Ruthie 

Hiett, Colonel Luther Verdon Kennedy (U.S. Army, Retired), Joyce 

Carlock, James Magee, Robert Ross, Ross Hiett, and Lieutenant 

Colonel Harry Hiett (U.S. Amy, Retired). 

 I frequently spiced the narrative by relating conversations 

regarding activities and events. It should be noted that I provided 

these quotes and stories from the best of my memory and make no 

claim that each quotation is absolutely accurate as attributed. 

Furthermore, the opinions and views that I express are entirely my 

own. 

Jimmy D. Ross 

September 2007 
p

The Early Years, 1936-1958

 I came into the world during tough times in the United States. My 

life began in the 1930’s when money was scarce and the last phase of 

the Great Depression still had a strangle hold on the American 

economy. When I was very young, I remember my parents singing 

praises of gratitude for our president who, they said, cared about the 

average man. Franklin D. Roosevelt became president in 1933 and 

immediately began to find relief for the factories, farms, and the 

unemployed through his “New Deal.” 

 While Roosevelt dealt with economic problems in the United 

States, unrest in Europe was stirring, and by 1935, Hitler announced 

that he was rearming Germany. This act was a blatant violation of the 

Treaty of Versailles. In 1936, he continued to violate the restrictions 

that followed the Great War by announcing the mobilization of 

German troops in the French-occupied Rhineland. With no opposition 

from the French or the British, Hitler concluded, and rightfully so, that 

his defiance of the Treaty of Versailles would be tolerated. Mussolini 

in Italy, having invaded Ethiopia and received only a feeble, 

ineffective slap on the wrist from the League of Nations, formed an 

alliance with Hitler. 

 As Hitler planned acts of aggression, he was developing symbols 

of progress to both distract and impress the German citizenry. In the 

small picturesque village of Oberursel, just north of Frankfurt, an 

educational farm was established under the auspices of Frankfurt 

University to teach gardening, bee keeping, animal husbandry and 

general farming techniques. In essence, the farming camp was a sign 

of German prosperity and redevelopment after the depression that 

followed World War I. Little did the citizens know that Hitler was 

planning to later convert that land to a military post. Decades later, on 

that same land, I would become the commander of a U.S. military post 

and the 4th Transportation Brigade. 

 To my parents in Hosston, Louisiana, the remote European unrest 

seemed to have little to do with their lives. I was born in the oil 

boomtown of Hosston on May 23, 1936 on a spring day that felt more 
as an oil field worker when so many were out of work and drifting 

from place to place without homes. My mother, Lucile Pontious Ross, 

was a homemaker who spent her days gardening, homemaking and 

raising their first-born son Bob, who was eight years old. My big 

brother Bob was already showing signs of growing larger than the 

typical Ross man grows. Most men in our family, being of Scottish 

and Irish descent, resembled Braveheart, built tough, but “low to the 

ground.” 

 My dad, Horace, was a roughneck in the oil fields, a pumper, a 

pipe-fitter, a roust-about. My mother hated the term “roughneck,” but 

the fact remained, that’s what he was. He followed oil production and 

my older brother Bob was born in Smackover, Arkansas, on June 10, 

1928. Oil was discovered along the Ouachita River fault line in 

Smackover in 1921, and in July 1922, the Richardson Number 1 

brought in another large discovery. This small village of less than 

100 boomed to 25,000 in a matter of months. In 1925, for a period of 

five months, the forty-square mile Smackover field ranked first among 

the nation’s oil fields in production. 

 In spite of a disability, my mother Lucile managed as though it 

didn’t exist. She was hearing impaired, partially deaf, and had been 

since childhood. She could read lips and handled communication 

quite well, especially when my brother and I were misbehaving. It 

must have been difficult for her to establish a new home with each of 

our many moves, but I never remember her complaining. 

 My earliest memories are of living in Hosston, just outside Bossier 

City in a small, unpainted house on stilts with natural gas lamps for 

lighting and an open breezeway through the center. We called it a 

“shotgun” house because a gunshot through the front entry would go 

straight through the front door and out the back. The kitchen was 

fairly modern for that time, with an indoor hand pumped water system. 

However, we still had an outdoor privy. It didn’t matter whether you 

stood on the front porch or back porch, the scenery was the same, 

acres and acres of oil derricks. Dad made $98.00 a month, about three 

dollars a day at a time when the annual average salary in the U.S. was 

$114.00 a month, about $1,368.00 per year. Unemployment stood at 

25 percent. 
 I have great pictures of my dad standing on top of wooden oil 

derricks. He has a pistol strapped on his hip. All roughnecks wore 

pistols, and as a kid, I thought it was a cowboy thing. One day when I 

was a teen, I asked him about this. He said, “Oil field workers are 

targeted by muggers because it’s the Depression, and we’re making 

money. My work keeps me in the fields all hours of the day and night, 

and there is a constant risk of being knocked off. This pistol is for 

protection.” 

 In the late 1930’s, as I toddled around our shotgun house playing 

cowboy, the winds of war were blowing across Europe. On September 

1, 1939, German troops swarmed across the Polish border and 

unleashed the first Blitzkrieg the world had seen. 

 

 On December 7, 1941, I was five years old, and my brother Bob 

was thirteen. That Sunday morning, the bombing of Pearl Harbor 

shook our country out of isolation and into the war. Everything in the 

United States was about to make radical shifts and changes. 

 Two days after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor; the President 

addressed the nation over a world-wide hookup. Through five-yearold eyes that night, I watched the faces of my parents move from 

nervous uncertainty to strong determination as President Roosevelt 

spoke of the atrocities Hirohito of Japan, Hitler of Germany, and 

Mussolini of Italy had committed in Europe and Africa. 

 My thirteen-year-old brother felt the stirring of a patriotic call to 

arms, and I was touched by the passion the speech evoked in my 

family. Almost overnight, our family’s little world in Hosston, 

Louisiana, became dominated by war. Dad continued to work as a 

roughneck in the oil fields, but the oil he helped drill was targeted for a 

new customer base, the country’s military operations. 

 I began school in Hosston about the time supporting the war effort 

permeated all aspects of life. Rationing affected the food people ate 

and the clothes they wore. Automobile production ceased in 1942, and 

scrap drives for steel, tin, paper and rubber were held to collect metal 

for war supplies. I remember Mother giving up some of her pots and 

pans, so the boys fighting for our freedom would have helmets and 
consumed. Much of what we ate in winter came from Mother’s spring 

and summer gardens. She had always canned and preserved fruits and 

vegetables. Now she did it with a new purpose. Lucile Pontious Ross 

was doing her part to support the war by being self-sustaining. She 

was feeding her family from her Victory Garden and helping to win 

the war. Meals from her garden were delicious, and the chili sauce she 

made from tomatoes, peppers and onions was outstanding. 

 Citizens did their part, and to support the war effort, my dad 

became a defense worker. He left the oil fields, and we moved from 

Louisiana to Curtis, a small town in Arkansas near his birthplace. He 

worked in construction, helping build Pine Bluff Chemical Arsenal. 

It’s interesting to note that my dad helped construct the Pine Bluff 

Arsenal, and fifty years later, it was an Army Materiel Command 

(AMC) Arsenal under my command. 

 In 1942, Bob was fourteen and six-foot-two-inches tall. He was 

becoming more and more restless. Recruitment posters with a rather 

punitive-looking Uncle Sam proclaiming, “I want you for the United 

States Army” were everywhere. Bob looked liked a twenty-year-old, 

and home life was becoming difficult. He and dad had huge verbal 

disagreements. To a seven-year-old kid, the arguments were loud, 

long, and serious. 

 As adults, my brother and I have talked about our dad being so 

distant. Neither one of us really knew him. Perhaps it was because his 

father, Jack Ross, died when Dad was nine. His mother, Alice, moved 

to California with her sisters and left Dad alone in Arkadelphia to fend 

for himself at about age twelve. Dad’s maternal uncle, Dr. Sam 

Bourland, who was a noted physician and doctor in South Arkansas, 

lived in Arkadelphia and offered some support, but Dad lived alone at 

a very early age. I loved my dad, but there was not much of a 

relationship between him and his sons. 

 As disagreements continued between my teenage brother and my 

dad, Bob began going to recruiting offices trying to join the Army, the 

Navy – any branch of the service. Recruiters turned him down time 

after time. Checking his records, they would soon discover that he 

was only fourteen. 
 Bob found what he called a “fourth service,” the Merchant Marine. 

They were operating thousands of ships and needed personnel. There 

was no detailed search into a person’s past, and with Bob’s adult 

appearance, they didn’t question his age. He left home and joined the 

Merchant Marine at fourteen. 

 The U.S.S. Omaha carried military cargo to Australia. Bob’s 

assignment put him on that ship. The Omaha was the first American 

Merchant Marine ship to arrive in Newcastle, where it was met by the 

mayor and a band. As an impressionable teen, Bob witnessed 

Australia’s eagerness to participate in the war against tyranny. His 

crew was making preparations for General Douglas MacArthur’s 

campaign. As commander of our forces in the Pacific, he planned to 

start back through the Pacific Rim from the Allied bases in Australia. 

 At seven years of age, I thought my big brother had gone too far 

from home to get back. Australia might as well have been on another 

planet. In the meantime, we were on the move. From Curtis, 

Arkansas, we moved to Kingsport, Tennessee, where Dad worked on 

the Holston Ordnance Ammunition Works, and then to Greenville, 

Mississippi for construction of the Army Flying School. In the 1990’s, 

Holston became a part of my command at the U.S. Army Materiel 

Command (AMC). I finished first grade and started second grade in 

Port Arthur, Texas, where Dad was back in the oil fields. He was now 

working for Standard Oil of New Jersey. In one year, we had lived in 

five different homes in five different states, and I had attended five 

different schools. 

 It was a tough year for Mother. She was worried sick about Bob. 

I’m sure my mother longed for time to put down some roots, literally, 

to establish a Victory Garden, but 1942 and 1943 were far too mobile. 

I wanted to stay in one school for more than a month or two. Making 

new friends every 15 minutes was wearing on a little squirt. Our 

nomadic year came at a time when the whole country was worried 

about our troops scattered across the world. Was this in some way 

preparing me for the Army? 

 Toward the end of my second grade year, Dad, who was back 

working for Standard Oil, was transferred. We moved again, this time 
been a real pain, but I had not experienced any academic problems. 

When I got to California, the end of my second grade year was tough. 

Because of either the constant moving or greater expectations in the 

California school system, I had fallen behind. 

 Bob’s 15th birthday arrived as his ship, the U.S.S. Omaha, pulled 

barges up and down the Australian coast, from Newcastle to Cairns. 

This big strong teen did the work of several men. He was a self-starter 

whose physical strength, strong work ethic, and intelligence caught the 

eye of the ship’s skipper. The Merchant Marine wanted to move him 

to Army Transport Services and in the process of arranging for the 

move asked for his draft card. Bob, of course, had no draft card 

because those weren’t issued until a person’s 18th birthday. That led to 

the discovery of his true age. It didn’t take long before the Merchant 

Marine had no choice but to reluctantly release one of their best 

workers. He was released in Seattle. 

 A half century later in 1992, I read an article about men who had 

served in the Merchant Marine during World War II and had been 

awarded medals for outstanding service. The Department of 

Transportation published the article. I sent a copy to Bob; he produced 

the necessary documents and submitted his name for consideration. 

Soon he received several much deserved medals and awards. It was a 

sweet gift and validation of his time in the Merchant Marine. It didn’t 

matter that it came 50 years after his service. 

 To the delight of my mother (and father although he had difficulty 

expressing it), Bob joined us in California when he was released from 

the Merchant Marine. I was eight and remember how much older and 

larger my 16-year-old brother looked. He had grown into a man, and 

his entrance into a room seemed to fill all the space. 

 I was in third grade in California in April 1945 when President 

Franklin D. Roosevelt died. Japan surrendered only after atomic 

bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Finally, victory 

belonged to the Allied Forces on September 2, 1945. The United 

States emerged as a world superpower, challenged only by the 

U.S.S.R. (Union of Soviet Socialist Republics). 
back to peacetime production levels. Standard Oil Company was 

laying off people right and left at a time when GIs were coming home 

looking for work. Dad decided to leave California and return to 

Curtis, Arkansas, near his place of birth. Our family faced another 

move just when I was catching up with my class at school. 

 We were back in Curtis for the second time in my life. I was 

enrolled in the Arkadelphia Public Schools and rode the bus each day 

to finish third grade. My maternal grandfather, Grandfather Pontious, 

owned many acres around Curtis and gave my parents 48 acres. Dad 

built a store, tourist court and home on the land. Finally, we were 

putting down roots. Our family would make no more moves. My 

parents eventually built another, newer home on the land and remained 

there until their deaths. 

 South Arkansas was a beautiful place to grow up. The land was 

thick with pine forests dotted with oak, elm, cypress, sweet gum, 

redbud, and dogwood trees. The rolling hills were abundant with 

streams and wildlife. Children were freer then to roam on bikes or on 

foot because there was little crime. Everyone in town was a surrogate 

parent who looked after all the children. Everybody knew everybody. 

 Junior high brought football and girls into my life. I got down and 

dirty with football. The squad elected me co-captain, and learning the 

game totally consumed me. The girls I admired from afar. The very 

first time I remember seeing Patricia (Pat) Cox, my future wife, was in 

about eighth grade, and I was smitten. Here was this cute girl with 

long auburn hair who looked like an angel. At that point, I wasn’t sure 

how to approach her, so I didn’t. After all, she was an older woman, a 

ninth grader. I love to bring that up. The difference in our ages is a 

massive ten months. 

 Pat was born to Syble J. and Leon R. Cox on August 1, the hottest 

day of 1935. She lived with her maternal grandparents in a small 

house in Hartsville Community that is now 22nd Street in Arkadelphia. 

The Great Depression forced many families of that day to combine 

resources and share homes. Her grandfather, William Columbus 

Lively, was a gentleman farmer and a staunch Republican. Her 

grandmother, Mary (Mimi) Caroline (Collins) Lively was a 
suffered from a broken hip, which she received in a fall. It didn’t heal 

correctly. 

 Leon, Pat’s father, was a carpenter trying to support his family on 

an income of about ten cents an hour or one dollar a day. The 

Depression took its toll on the construction business. Very little 

building of any kind, new or remodeling, occurred during the 1930’s. 

Pat’s mother was a homemaker, doing most of the housework and 

meal preparation because of Mimi’s health. When Pat was in first 

grade in Arkadelphia Elementary School, her only sibling, Brenda 

Gail, was born. Patricia wanted a brother but got a sister and called 

her “the April Fool baby” because she was born on April 1, 1941. 

 One day during junior high, I was downtown with several of my 

friends and fellow football players. We saw a short, cocky, Army 

Buck (three stripes) Sergeant. We were awe-struck with how sharp he 

looked. His pant legs were bloused around the tops of his boots, his 

service cap was cocked to one side, and he had on an “Ike” jacket, a 

British model, hip-length jacket the Army adopted for semi-dress wear 

on garrison duty. General Dwight D. Eisenhower wore this jacket 

when he was the Supreme Allied Commander in Europe. 

 In our conversations with the Soldier, he mentioned, “Look at my 

parachute wings.” Now that was impressive. We weren’t sure exactly 

what airborne meant, but we knew what a parachute was. If he had 

been sloppy and unkempt, he would have left the opposite impression. 

Instead, his demeanor caused us all to want to be like him. 

 The young Sergeant may have planted a seed that day in my 

teenage vision of the future. I liked the confident way he carried 

himself, his personable, self-assured demeanor, and what his uniform 

stood for. I certainly admired my brother who served in the Merchant 

Marine. Those images left lasting impressions, and years later, I 

volunteered for the Infantry, Airborne and Ranger School. 

 While making the progression through junior and senior high 

school, athletics grew in importance in my life. Attending college was 

something I really wanted to do. My parents had meager resources, 

and an academic scholarship was not a viable prospect. I wasn’t 
decided to work toward the equivalent of what is now an athletic 

scholarship. 

 Arkadelphia was, and is, home to two universities, Ouachita 

Baptist University and Henderson State University. Many of our high 

school teachers were wives of the college professors. We were treated 

to an excellent public school education. 

 The coaches and teachers in our schools were exceptional. How 

fortunate we were to have dedicated, caring, and highly professional 

role models shaping our lives. When I learned that Arkansas ranked 

48th out of 48 states in academic excellence, it came as a shock. The 

education I received from Arkadelphia Public Schools was top-notch 

and served me well through the years. 

 Coach Jack Bell was our high school coach. He was more of a 

mentor than a coach. He would look us straight in the eye, talk to us, 

talk to us some more, and tell us what we were doing wrong. Coach 

Michael “Mickey” O’Quinn (who to this day remains a close friend) 

followed Jack Bell our senior year. My first insights into leadership, 

discipline, and the importance of character and team play certainly 

began here. Mrs. Hazel Cooper, one of my high school teachers, 

remained a dear friend until her death in 1994 at age 94. 

 During those wonderful teen years, Pat and I formed life-long 

friendships. Jimmy Baker was our quarterback in junior and senior 

high school. We played football, basketball, and ran track together. 

Charles Orr and I have known each other since grade school and 

played many years of football together. We dabbled briefly in politics 

on a scale so small that it was a mere blip on the screen. He was the 

class president and I the vice-president our senior year. Jimmy and his 

wife, Lynda, and Charles and his wife, Laverne, are our good friends 

today. 

 Our high school was small, and the same 20 or so athletes played 

football, baseball, basketball and ran track. We moved around within 

the teams, playing different positions. Jimmy Baker and Roy Dale 

Meadow were our talented quarterbacks. Bobby Joe Francis was our 

running back. College coaches were recruiting Bobby Joe, but it 
with his exceptional speed and cutting ability. Instead, he chose to 

stay in Arkadelphia after high school, marry, and go to work. When 

we see each other today, we go out and run six or eight miles and talk 

about the “good old days.” 

 The next thing that happened was elating, disturbing, exciting, and 

just plain nice. Patricia Cox, that magnificent redhead, asked if I 

would be her escort for the Thespian Banquet. Was I cool? Was I 

suave? Was I speechless? I have no idea. This senior, this older 

beautiful young lady I’d secretly admired for three years, asked me for 

a date. I don’t have a clue how I responded or what I said. Somehow, 

I accepted, and we went to the Thespian Banquet; young, fresh, and 

sparking like new jewels. I in my in suit, cuff links, bowtie, and 

boutonnière, and with Pat in her evening gown, wrist corsage, and high 

heel shoes. It was an amazing evening, the inception of a friendship 

and love that would last a lifetime. 

 Pat graduated from high school in May, 1953, and immediately 

began summer classes at Henderson State Teachers’ College. She paid 

$65 tuition. That amount wasn’t per hour; it was $65 for the entire 

summer session. Pat and I were “going steady.” As a symbol of our 

new relationship, she wore my football letter jacket and my high 

school ring on a chain around her neck. 

 During high school summers and my first college summer, I went 

to Oklahoma to work the wheat harvest. Several boys from 

Arkadelphia spent summers with the Colmers family from Hobart, 

Oklahoma. They had a wheat harvest business with five combines, six 

trucks, a big maintenance truck, and a house trailer. (I certainly hope I 

have spelled their names correctly; it’s been 50 years.) They were a 

wonderful pioneer type family, the salt of the earth. 

 From Hobart, Oklahoma, we drove south to the Longview, Texas, 

area where the wheat was just beginning to ripen. We cut wheat 

through Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, and Colorado. By the time we 

reached South Dakota, it was the first of August, and I had to get back 

to football practice and school. The others continued through North 

Dakota and Canada, completing the harvest season sometime in 

September. 
 I made big bucks as a wheat harvester, and there was no place to 

spend it in the middle of a wheat field. Actually, Mr. Colmers paid us 

at the end of our work term. We slept either in the house trailer with a 

bunch of men or under a combine on a cot. Mr. Colmers maintained 

the equipment, and Mrs. Colmers prepared the meals. We cut wheat, 

oats and rye from sunup to sundown everyday. If it rained, we lost a 

day; if there was heavy dew, we started late. Twenty-one days straight 

was our record. The farms were 500 to 1,000 acres. Harvest work 

was profitable ($1.25 an hour), and I also began learning something 

about organization, discipline, maintenance, and work ethics. 

 Because my class and Pat’s class were so co-mingled in high 

school, it is difficult to remember who was in which class. In our 

school annual, under Pat’s senior picture, it noted her membership in 

Thespians, Drama Club, Junior Classical Club, Pep Club, and Glee 

Club. She was also band majorette, assistant librarian, and Freshman 

Maid at Junior Carnival. 

 Our class missed her class when they graduated. Pat was among 

the few that remained in Arkadelphia, and she and I continued to date 

as she attended college. 

 That year an article appeared in our local newspaper, referring to 

me as the “Iron Man” of our football team. I also made the All District 

team as center, but played many different positions over the years. 

One year I even played at fullback. I was voted “Most Valuable 

Player” my senior year. Coach Mickey O’Quinn later said, “Jimmy 

Ross was one of the toughest players I’ve ever known. If I picked out 

one guy that was perfect to coach, to demonstrate a stance or position 

or a technique, was a hard worker plus an outstanding player, it would 

be Jimmy Ross.” Coach O’Quinn occasionally gave me a ride home 

to Curtis after practice. 

 Duke Wells from Henderson and Rab Rogers at Ouachita were 

among the coaches who approached me about playing football for their 

college team. I received offers from nine colleges. They were not 

permitted by state law to give actual scholarships, so athletes were 

expected to have jobs around the college to earn money. 
distinction of being the only Arkansas college which had been 

controlled by both church and state, and the only public one named for 

a person. It opened as Arkadelphia Methodist College and changed its 

name to Henderson College in 1904 in honor of Charles Henderson, a 

prominent businessperson and trustee. It was a sister college to 

Hendrix (Methodist) College, but became a state college in 1929, 

taking the name Henderson State Teachers College. The historic 

buildings had a certain appeal, especially the Administration Building. 

 I graduated from high school in May of 1954, lettering in football, 

basketball, baseball and track. It had been fun being a top-dog kind of 

guy. I had been president of the “A” (Lettermen) Club, Senior 

Representative for the Student Council, FTA (Future Teachers of 

America), co-captain of the football team, Senior Homecoming escort, 

Senior Carnival King, Senior Class Vice-President, a member of the 

Drama Club and Thespian Club, and on the yearbook and newspaper 

staff. I was the first in my family to attend college. 

 Transitioning from home to college and from wheat harvest to 

football was immediate. A football player’s scholarship was verbal, 

nothing written. It was based largely on the barter system. All players 

had jobs and duties to perform to earn our college keep. I cleaned up 

the gymnasium. Not only was I the “gym janitor,” I was there at nine 

o’clock each night, except when football kept me away, to help close 

the gym, turn off lights, lock doors, and check everything. 

 The townspeople loved their college football and supported the 

players. Echols’ Cleaners provided services. Orr Men’s Clothing 

Shop supplied shirts and slacks. A gas station supplied us with fuel. 

A gallon of gas cost about 28 cents. At Gable’s Café, each player had 

an account. We could order anything off the menu until the account 

was depleted. Sometimes I’d take Pat on a date there and use up my 

account dollars twice as fast. It was absolutely worth it. 

 Coach “Duke” Wells, my college football coach, was a legend in 

his time. In high school (1932-34), he played football, basketball, and 

baseball. He was “All-State” and “All-Time All-State Team” in 

football. At Henderson, he was head basketball coach (1941-1949) 

and head football coach (1941-1961). He coached teams in two 
1959) and was the Arkansas Coach of the Year in 1950. He was the 

Athletic Director at Henderson State University (1962-1979) and was 

inducted into the (National Association of Intercollegiate Athletics) 

Hall of Fame in 1971. He was inducted into the Arkansas Sports Hall 

of Fame in 1970. 

 My good friend, Jimmy Baker, also went to Henderson. A 

quarterback in junior and senior high school, he became a single wing 

tailback in college. After ROTC (Reserve Officers’ Training Corps), 

Jimmy joined the Army as an MP (Military Police) and later was the 

football and golf coach at Lake Worth High School in Lake Worth, 

Florida. We still see Jimmy and Lynda several times a year. 

 The uniformed Army cadets around campus were impressive, and I 

was glad to be a part of ROTC as a freshman. It was 1954, and our 

detachment had a number of Korean War veterans who were also 

football players. I was fortunate to be one of two freshmen who 

“started” on the team. The mature, “married-with-kids,” older 

veterans accepted me as a valuable member of the football team, and I 

loved it. These fellows wore their battle scars in the form of missing 

teeth and broken, crooked noses proudly. The camaraderie was 

motivating and rewarding. 

 College was a major crossroads, a platform on which I stood to 

view career paths. I’ve always been fascinated with history. ROTC 

was feeding us lots of military history. Why we saw so many World 

War II movies and had nothing on the recent Korean conflict, I’m not 

sure. Films on the Monte Casino battle and General Mark Clark’s 

campaign in January 1944 from Anzio to Rome were intriguing. We 

watched poor quality black and white, amazing films and had 

discussions that made the end of class an intrusion. Years later, during 

the 1990’s, I would work with General Clark’s son, Bill Clark, in the 

Pentagon. 

 One day, the film we saw about the Japanese-American Nisei 

(second-generation Japanese-American) battalion, the “44 deuce” 

(442nd Regimental Combat Team), the “Go for Broke” unit, was so 

powerful that it haunted me for weeks. The story of such brave men 

touched many of us and drew us toward a career in the Army.1

 
 I narrowed my professional possibilities down to two: Army 

Lieutenant or football coach. Coach Wells advised, “Go ahead and do 

your Army tour. A young man should serve his country. After the 

Army, come back to Henderson as an assistant coach or find a job 

coaching in a local high school for a few years; then move from high 

school to Henderson later.” 

 Pat’s career choice had been determined long ago. She wanted to 

teach English and literature. An academic whiz, she was well on her 

way to finishing college in three years by going straight through, both 

summers and winters. Isn’t it just like a girl to always finish first? 

 On a bright winter day just before Christmas, Pat and I were 

married. December 18, 1955 arrived with gentle breezes and sunshine. 

That afternoon, we said our vows in what all the girls referred to as 

“the most beautiful wedding.” St. Andrew’s United Methodist 

Church, built by Pat’s father Leon, was filled with friends and family. 

The church was dressed in Christmas colors of reds and greens, 

poinsettias and white candles. Our friends serving as attendants 

looked gorgeous. The bridesmaids sparkled in holiday green velvet 

dresses. The best man was Charles Orr. Emily Cooper, a Fulbright 

Scholar, was the organist. The groomsmen looked scrubbed and spitshined. As we stood before the minister, the sanctuary seemed 

especially warm in the cozy glow of candlelight. I had finally won the 

heart of the beautiful redhead and was filled with joy and aspirations 

for our future. Pat was 20, and I was 19, so young. 

 Coach Wells arranged for us to move into Garrett Hall, the married 

couples’ dorm, where most of the football team lived. It was a fun 

time in our lives. Perhaps it was being around all those married folks, 

some of whom had children that influenced our fertility. Pat became 

pregnant. 

 In July, Pat graduated from Henderson with a Bachelor of Science 

in Education degree, had her 21st birthday on August 1, and gave birth 

to Russell Douglas Ross seven days later on August 8. Our precious 

little Russell was not doing well. He was premature and tiny. We 

brought him home. Parents and grandparents fussed over him. He got 

worse and worse. One day Pat noticed that the tips of his fingers were 
we learned that his heart and lungs were under-developed. Then came 

the most dreadful news imaginable, “There’s nothing we can do.” 

Open-heart surgery wasn’t done then. 

 We had thirteen days with our beautiful baby boy before he died 

on August 21, 1956. He was buried in Arkadelphia. Close friends and 

family were there to support us. Just recently, Russell Douglas Ross 

was moved from his burial site in Arkansas to Arlington Cemetery. 

The burial at Arlington was a simple ceremony with only Pat, an Army 

chaplain, and me present. Years later, our daughter Dede asked if we 

objected to her naming their first son Russell to honor our Russell. We 

were thrilled. 

 The following year we were back at Garrett Hall. I went to school, 

played football, and kept up my gym janitor duties. Pat, having 

graduated, taught English at Arkadelphia Junior High School. After 

she again became pregnant, she worked as a secretary at the Methodist 

Church, putting together the weekly bulletin, typing letters for the 

minister, and doing general office work. The Methodist minister for 

whom she worked, the Reverend Clint Burleson, who officiated at our 

wedding, later became the superintendent of all the Methodist 

Churches in the state of Arkansas. 

 Exactly one year from the date of Russell’s death, God gave us a 

beautiful daughter. Sabra Gayle was born on August 21, 1957. She 

was a gift from heaven to ensure that August 21 would be a day of 

celebration and would no longer be unbearably sad. 

 Early in the summer before Sabra was born, I went to ROTC 

summer camp at Fort Hood, Texas. ROTC was an extension of things 

I learned in sports. There were lessons in dealing with stress, 

leadership, motivation, and competition strategies. Thirty-two 

graduating seniors from our small college attended the camp. 

 Summer camp exercises involved field activities, physical fitness, 

and academics. About half the time was spent in the field, with 

tactical strategies on maneuvering units. I began to feel like I was 

back on the football field, but this time I was coaching the players. It 

felt right, natural. Physical fitness training was my forte; I thrived on 
Military Graduates. Shortly after, I was selected to be a co-captain of 

my college football team. Life was good. 

 Many of the men from my ROTC unit remain friends today. Ralph 

Dunn, who was one of the veterans in college, entered the Army 

through ROTC a second time. Don Ruggles became a medical 

evacuation pilot during Vietnam and today owns a medical evacuation 

company in Texarkana that services Texas and Arkansas. With 

several aircraft, his company meets the needs of area hospitals and 

accident victims. Both Don Chunn and Billy Jones also entered the 

Army and became Army pilots. 

 Colonel Rucker was our ROTC Professor of Military Science, 

followed by Lieutenant Colonel R.B. Galbreaith, and a young 

ordnance Captain, Captain C. V. Christian who served as his assistant. 

When we needed clarification on something, Sergeant First Class 

(SFC) Funk and SFC Lynch came to our aid. Colonel Rucker was a 

fatherly figure who had been through World War II and Korea. He 

always looked so sharp in his “pinks and greens,” a semi-dress winter 

uniform that surfaced between the World Wars. In 1954, the Army 

adopted a green uniform, and there went the “pinks and greens.” We 

were not exactly ecstatic with the change in uniform. 

 We were comfortable taking any academic problems, or other 

problems for that matter, to the ROTC staff or coaches. They offered 

helpful advice in an unhurried manner, which made us feel important. 

We were blessed with superb mentors. 

 At that time, ROTC had a battle groups organization. As 

Distinguished Military Graduates, Clyde Avery became our 

commander, and I served as the executive officer (XO). Clyde was an 

excellent math student and went on to be an engineer in the Army. 

Besides those I have mentioned, this ROTC Class had great future 

Army officers such as Havis Halloway, Jim Nelson, Donnie 

Whitmarsh, Sam Hutcheson, Don Avery, Tommy Westbrook, Berlon 

Brown, Virlis Wasson, Bill Sherron, J.C. Rothwell, and many others. 

 ROTC cadets were obligated for a three-year term of service. Our 

plan, Pat’s and mine, was to spend three years in the Army and return 
football and Pat taught school. The only decision to make was which 

branch. When we began to look at different branches of the Army, I 

was drawn to the infantry, “The Queen of the Battle.” The attraction 

was probably because serving in the infantry involved an athletic 

challenge, dealing with people, leadership issues, and military history. 

 The ROTC cadre scheduled appointments for each of us to discuss 

branch assignments. Infantry was my first choice, and Transportation 

was somewhere far down the list. The assignment I received puzzled 

me. It was for two years in Infantry and the third year in 

Transportation. I also was not too excited about the plan. The unusual 

assignment was like drafting a football player to play pro ball, playing 

him for two years, and the third year putting him in charge of supplies 

and arranging transportation and equipment for the team. I was not 

sure about this. Many years later, I knew it was the right career path. 

 That September, as teachers greeted classes in Arkadelphia, Little 

Rock students awoke to an empty Central High School surrounded by 

state National Guard troops. Arkansas Governor Orval Faubus was 

protesting the 1954 Brown v. Topeka Board of Education integration 

law. He called out the Guard, not to protect the nine Black students 

scheduled to integrate the school, but to keep them out. 

 We had read and heard since 1954 that our state was one of the two 

southern states working diligently on integration plans to comply with 

the new law. The Arkansas University Law School had been 

integrated since 1949, and by 1957, the two Arkadelphia colleges, 

Henderson and Ouachita, were integrated. In fact, eight of the nine 

state colleges were integrated. Little Rock had desegregated its buses, 

parks, zoo, and libraries. The school board had voted unanimously for 

a plan that integrated the high schools in 1957, the junior highs the 

next year, and the elementary schools the following year. The state 

seemed to be peacefully moving toward integration. 

 The first Black students enrolled at Henderson during my college 

years. I tried to talk the former quarterback of the Arkadelphia Peake 

High School, John Taylor, into playing college ball with us. In John’s 

high school senior year, (remember the high schools were segregated), 

the Peake High School went to the state finals in football, baseball, and 
quarterback and was enrolled at Henderson. 

 “Come join the team,” I urged one day. “The Reddies need you. 

Why don’t you come out for football?” 

 “You’ve got to be kidding,” John said. “Those guys would kill 

me. It’s one thing to go to school here. It’s another thing to try out for 

the football team. There has never been a Negro on a Henderson team. 

The fans would boo me off the field just before the opposing team 

killed me!” 

 The transformation from separate schools for Whites and Blacks 

found our generation taking integration strides one baby step at a time. 

As a result, John did not play football in college. He was an 

exceptionally talented athlete. If we’d had John as a quarterback, no 

telling what we could have done. The timing for him playing college 

ball was all wrong. He did join me in ROTC though and served his 

three years in the Army. When he came through Hawaii going to 

Korea he called just to say “hello.” He decided not to make a career of 

the Army, which was the Army’s loss. 

 John and I were in ROTC at Henderson on September 2, 1957 

when Governor Faubus called out the National Guard to surround 

Central High School and prevent any Black students from entering 

school the next day. On September 25, 1957, the nine Black students 

entered Central High School under the protection of Soldiers of the 

101st Airborne Division of the United States Army. 

 Life slowly began to return to some semblance of normalcy. At 

Henderson, ROTC cadets breathed easier and returned their attention 

to studies and football. Our family refocused the majority of our 

attention on our new baby girl, Sabra. Pat trained her eagle education 

eye on her junior high students. They could finally concentrate on 

English instead of current events. 

 Graduation from college and receiving my commission both came 

on the same day, May 23, 1958, my 22nd birthday. The joint ceremony 

took place at Haygood Field, the Henderson football field. Pat and the 

other ROTC wives were in a special section of the bleachers. After 
and join their husbands. There were 32 of us. The beautiful redhead 

pinned on my new golden Second Lieutenant bars. 

 That was a proud day for us. At 22, I had fulfilled a dream of 

earning a college degree. The officer status as Second Lieutenant was 

like icing on my dream cake. My wife and adorable nine-month-old 

daughter beside me were the stabilizing loves of my life. 

 Of the 32 ROTC officers, 28 stayed in the Army, serving a 20-year 

career. Perhaps the reason for the high number making the Army their 

career was the limited opportunities in Arkansas at that time for 

college graduates. Whatever the reason, we were about to embark on 

an adventure that would take us all over the world and far beyond my 

wildest expectations, to the four-star level. 

 The first drop of rain to fall on the parade of budding young 

military careers came a few years later when Captain J. C. Rothwell, a 

Medical Corps “Dust Off” Pilot, lost his life. He was flying a HU1A 

(“Huey”) helicopter in Korea at night on an emergency medical 

mission under terrible weather conditions when the aircraft crashed 

with fatal results. 

p

We’re in the Army Now, 1958-1959

 In the late 1950’s the United States was riding a wave of success 

and prosperity. The average annual salary had doubled, rising to 

$2,992.00. Unemployment was down, life expectancy was up (women 

71.1 and men 65.6), and Americans were buying goods not available 

during the war. With an unprecedented energy, industry expanded to 

meet peacetime needs. 

 Our little family of three prepared to make the move from college 

life at Henderson to Army life at Fort Benning, Georgia. As Pat and I 

began packing, we heard on the radio that the first Black student, 

Earnest Green, was graduating from Little Rock Central High School. 

I backed a U-Haul trailer to our apartment door at Garret Hall as faint 

strains of Elvis Presley’s Love Me Tender and The Diamonds’ Little 

Darlin’ rode waves of summer heat across the Henderson campus. 

During the day, while loading clothes, linens, dishes, baby crib, high 

chair and our few belongings into the trailer, we said goodbye to 

college friends who stopped by. 

 We were young, and a lack of funds seemed irrelevant. What a 

great time in our lives. We were among friends, another ROTC cadet 

and family, who were in the same boat. Don and Jo Chunn were also 

going to Fort Benning on their first assignment and had a baby, Donna 

Jo, who was Sabra’s age. Among the four of us, we probably had 

$200. 

 Unlike the new Soldiers of today who embark on their first 

assignment, we were not provided assistance with housing. The 

unmarried Soldiers lived in barracks. The few of us who were married 

were left to our own resources to secure housing. Thankfully, today, 

there are a multitude of services provided military families, everything 

from school information for the children to where to obtain goods and 

services. Housing information is abundant. Even copious listings of 

special activities and events are provided for a variety of interests and 

ages. 
outside the front gate at Fort Benning. We were just off Victory Drive 

at Number 41 Matheson Road. Our funds were too limited to buy 

furniture, so we rented a few pieces. When I asked Pat about her 

favorite recollections from our early Army days, she talked about that 

apartment. “I’ll never forget the place because all our friends lived up 

and down that street,” Pat reminisced. Lieutenant Bob Rose and his 

wife lived next door, and Lieutenant Park Chrisenberry and family 

lived just down the street. Park and I went on to Ranger and Airborne 

schools together. 

 “We had such great fun there,” Pat said. “I knew that the Army 

was going to take us out of the poor economic situation that had 

dominated our youth. We were raised in a poor part of Arkansas. The 

riches in our lives were our family and friends. Now friends were 

enriching our lives daily, and we were starting a life of adventure that 

held a far more secure economic future.” 

 The minute I set foot on the grounds of Fort Benning, I felt at 

home. From the Infantry Center, you could see the parachute jump 

towers. Their imposing figures rose 250 feet above the ground. The 

memory of the Sergeant standing on the Arkadelphia street corner in 

his jump boots and his “Ike jacket” kept coming back to me. I would 

look at the towers and remember the impression the Airborne Ranger 

made on my teenage friends and me with his confident walk, wearing 

his hat cocked to one side. 

 For the next seven months, I trained at the U.S. Army Infantry 

School that had confirmed its place as the premier school of arms. My 

training led me through Airborne school, teaching me to engage in 

battle from the sky and Ranger school where I would learn the latest in 

squad and platoon tactics and the skill of living off the land. I was 

about to follow a training program that had developed the likes of such 

military leaders as five-star Generals Omar Bradley and Dwight D. 

Eisenhower. The grounds on which I trained were named for a 

Confederate Brigadier General who fought with General Robert E. 

Lee. 
had framed and hanging on my office wall for decades. Many of the 

statements in the creed are also in the Ranger Creed. 

 I was anxious to get started. That first week of June, 1958, I stood 

in front of the Infantry School. Gazing at the famous bronze statue of 

the infantryman, Follow Me, holding his rifle high, and leading men 

into battle, filled me with desire to be the best Soldier I could be. 

Another young Soldier approached me. 

 “This is going to be tough,” he said. “You have to run two miles 

every morning.” 

“The Soldier’s Creed”

I am an American Soldier. 

I am a Warrior and a member of a team. I serve the people of 

the United States and live the Army Values. 

I will always place the mission first. 

I will never accept defeat. 

I will never quit 

I will never leave a fallen comrade. 

I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and 

proficient in my warrior tasks and drills. I always maintain my 

arms, my equipment, and myself. 

 

I am an expert and I am a professional. 

I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy the enemies of the 

United States of America in close combat. 

 

I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life. 

I am an American Soldier. 
 “You haven’t met the coach I had in college,” I said. “He followed 

Bud Wilkinson’s2

 training plan in the summer where you’d do three to 

five miles each day and then wind sprints. I could do two miles 

backwards.” 

 “Well, you know, there’s something called Ranger School, but 

they have to run five miles a day during the first week. They use that 

to eliminate the weak ones.” 

 “Not a problem,” I thought. Because of athletics, I had been in 

excellent physical condition for about four or five years, so this would 

be no big deal. I was accustomed to training all summer, whether for 

track or summer baseball. I signed up for both Ranger and Airborne 

School. 

 The arrangement for entering the Army at Fort Benning was a bit 

puzzling at first. I was told, along with several others, that I would be 

classified as a Reserve Officer for a few weeks. Eventually, it became 

clear that this was to my advantage. The classification allowed me to 

receive the officer’s clothing allowance of about $300 to buy uniforms 

as a Reserve officer. The Regular Army officers did not have that 

privilege. Being a Reservist for a couple of weeks kept me from 

spending over a month’s salary to properly clothe myself. 

 A few were just beginning to show up for Infantry Officers 

Leadership Course (IOLC) training. In the interim period, I was given 

a temporary assignment to the Chemical, Biological, and Radiological 

(CBR) Committee, teaching in the instruction area of the Mine 

Warfare Committee. I was on the mine warfare staff, and my job was 

teaching new Officer Candidate School (OCS) candidates about mines 

and laying out minefields. 

 I was assigned an office so tiny there was barely space to walk 

around the two desks that occupied the room. It was a 12 by 12 foot 

office I would share with another in-coming ROTC Second 

Lieutenant. 

 My new office mate looked so sharp in his fatigues, I was sure they 

were tailored to be the same size as his legs and torso. He was a tall, 
Unlike schools in the South, the Army had passed the desegregation 

stage and was fully integrated. He was not married and was living at 

the bachelor officers’ quarters (BOQ) on base. 

 My first impression of this handsome Soldier was of a friendly 

outgoing person. But I kept thinking, I’m going to be in this teeny tiny 

office with a Black officer from New York City! I wondered if he was 

thinking, I’m going to be in this cramped space with a White hillbilly 

from, of all places, Arkansas! 

 “I’m Colin Powell,” said the self-assured young man, introducing 

himself. 

 “I’m Jim Ross,” I said. I could tell by his demeanor and 

handshake that we were going to get along just fine. His personality 

bridged all fears. There was something special about him, and he 

seemed calm and mature beyond his years. He talked about his 

experiences in the “Pershing Rifles,” an ROTC drill team, at the City 

College of New York. 

 I told him about the small ROTC unit at Henderson, and we 

discussed the fact that I was already married with a child at the age of 

twenty-two. Colin said he must not have met his dream girl yet. 

During the next few days, I observed what a gifted speaker he was. He 

had amazing leadership skills. And he’s funny. Colin has a great 

sense of humor. 

 

 “Ross, what do you think about our being ‘saved’ to go through the 

basic course with West Pointers?” Colin asked one day. 

 “Worries the heck out of me,” I said. 

 The scuttlebutt was that we were to go through the eight weeks of 

Infantry Officers Basic Course with West Pointers. To say that we 

were a little worried was like saying a lobster about to be thrown into a 

pot of boiling water was “a little worried.” 

 We were about to be thrown into the pot with folks we thought 

were going to outshine us in every category and be our undoing. 
being the best, and we were no exception. To our way of thinking, the 

West Pointers were royalty, and we were the serfs. I was sure we 

could match them on physical fitness, but I was not so sure about the 

military studies. 

 We were certain that the West Pointers were going to be smarter in 

the ways of the Army, look better in their uniforms, and generally do 

everything better than we did. We guessed that all their fathers, 

uncles, and grandfathers were Colonels and Generals! 

 We focused on lesson plans for our mine warfare courses. For six 

weeks, until the West Point class came in, we reported to our little 

office and worked on the same stuff. 

 

 “Look at me,” I said one morning. “Do I have my uniform on 

right?” 

 “Looks okay to me,” said Lieutenant Powell. “Do you think mine 

is according to regulations?” 

 “Aren’t we a pair?” I laughed. “We don’t even know if we’ve got 

our uniforms on right, and we’re teaching Sergeants! I’ll bet the West 

Pointers know precisely how to wear theirs.” 

 As it turned out, our fretting was for naught. When they finally 

arrived, the West Pointers were like fine racehorses after a race, ready 

to romp in the pasture with the rest of the herd. On June 10, 1958, we 

stood shoulder to shoulder with the West Point graduates and were 

sworn into the Regular Army by the oldest Colonel in the Army. 

 Although he never complained, life for a Black man in 1958 

Columbus, Georgia, was complicated. As Colin stated in his book, My 

American Journey, “The Army was becoming more democratic, but I 

was plunged back into the Old South every time I left the post. I could 

go into Woolworth’s and buy anything I wanted, as long as I did not 

try to eat there. I could go into a department store, and they would 

take my money, as long as I did not try to use the men’s room. I could 

walk along the street, as long as I did not look at a White woman.” 

Lieutenant Powell’s manner of handling the racism, which was 
with it on a daily basis, and didn’t let it rule his life or divert him from 

his goal of being the best Soldier he could possibly be. 

 My life intersected with Colin Powell’s many times over the years. 

Our military careers began at the same time in the same place in the 

same way. However, our careers took different paths, beginning when 

the West Pointers arrived at Fort Benning. After sharing an office and 

teaching together for six weeks, we were separated for Infantry 

Officers Basic Training. The West Point class was atypically large; 

there were so many infantry, it was necessary to divide them into two 

units. The ROTC officers were spread around in both units. Colin 

was assigned to one, and I was assigned to the other. 

 In 1992, our paths crossed again at Fort Myer, just outside of 

Washington, D.C. We were next-door neighbors in the General 

Officers’ Quarters there; our homes were next to each other. He had 

been the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) since 1989 and 

was a four star General. I was the Deputy Chief of Staff for Logistics 

(DCSLOG), living in Quarters Number 5. In 1991, I had been 

nominated for my fourth star. We frequently saw each other, 

especially in the yard between our quarters. During one of those first 

visits, he leaned over, looked me directly in the eyes and said, “How 

come it took you so long to make your fourth star?” What a 

competitive BS’er! The two of us were among the youngest to reach 

four-star rank. 

 My nomination to four stars was approved and supported in 1991 

by the Chief of Staff, Army (CSA) General Gordon Sullivan, Secretary 

of Army Michael P. Stone, and Secretary of Defense Richard Cheney. 

After that, the JCS Chairman, General Colin Powell, and President 

George H.W. Bush approved and sent it to the Senate for final 

approval. 

 We reminisced and wondered if any of the West Pointers out of the 

Class of 1958 were still on active duty. I learned that there were only 

a few. The last from that group were General Carl Stiner, who retired 

in 1993 as Commander of the U.S. Special Operations Command, and 

General William G. (Bill) Tuttle, who retired in 1992 as the AMC 

Commander. Major General William (Will) Roosma, who retired as 
member of that great class and a life long friend. Norbert Grabowski 

was a Ranger buddy who retired as an Army Colonel. Norbert has 

wonderful stories about World War II and growing up in Germany. 

 Thirty-six years later, Colin Powell autographed a copy of his book 

to me noting, “To Jim and Pat, with best wishes, deep admiration, and 

fond memories of our service together, to include laying out mine 

fields at Fort Benning where it all began.” I am honored to have 

served our country with such an outstanding Soldier and statesman. 

 At Fort Benning, when we finished IOLC Number Four, almost the 

entire class went on to Ranger School and then through Airborne 

School. Injuries claimed 20 to 30 percent, but thankfully, I made it all 

the way through without a problem. Traditionally, during the Ranger 

School, a few are selected as top graduates. It is customary for the 

company commander and all platoon leaders to be those top graduates. 

I was one of four platoon leaders, something I am still proud of today 

because it meant that I had the honor of being one of the five highest 

scoring Soldiers completing Ranger School. 

 How proud I felt to be an American Soldier that day we all stood, 

ready to receive the symbols of our endurance, our courage, and our 

fortitude in the face of danger. We had all weathered the tests of 

training and stood taller for it. The paratrooper wings and the black 

and gold Ranger tabs shone in the sun, knighting us authentic, 

certified, bona fide, specialized, expertly trained Airborne Rangers. In 

the emotion of the moment, I felt the presence of the young Airborne 

Ranger from my youth who had taken the time to visit with awestruck 

teens on a street corner in Arkadelphia. I was not an ordinary Soldier, 

not an ordinary infantryman; I was a member of the elite Airborne 

Rangers. The only thing missing was an overseas service cap at a 

cocky angle and an “Ike” jacket. An Airborne Ranger could really 

strut in that uniform! 
p

Cruising to Hawaii, 1959

 In 1958-1959, many changes occurred. Dr. Jonas Salk’s vaccine 

was conquering polio; the beginning of an interstate highway system 

was emerging; Explorer I, the first U.S. satellite, had successfully 

orbited the earth; and the first domestic non-stop jet-airline passenger 

service was beginning between New York City and Miami, thanks to 

National Airlines. 

 In our cozy apartment near Fort Benning we were awaiting orders 

that would direct our move to the next phase of life in the Army. I 

answered our ringing phone, and it was the assignment officer with my 

orders. “Lieutenant Ross,” he said, “congratulations, you’ll be going 

to the 69th Armor Battalion at Fort Hood.” 

 “As in Texas?” I asked, not amused. “Are we talking about the 

Fort Hood with the dust, heat, rattlesnakes and scorpions, where I 

spent six weeks at ROTC summer camp?” 

 “That would be the one,” said the assignment officer. “We thought 

you would want be close to your home state of Arkansas. If you’d like 

to look at other options, there’s Fort Riley in Kansas and Fort Carson 

in Colorado. I thought you’d want to go to Fort Hood.” 

 “I’m going to be an infantry officer,” I explained. “I’m not sure 

that sending me to an armor unit fits that plan.” 

 “Well, then,” he said, shuffling papers, “an infantry assignment is 

available in the 25th Infantry Division.” 

 “The 25th,” I pondered. “Where is the 25th?” 

 “Hawaii,” said the infantry officer. 

 “Hawaii,” I replied, “as in the Hawaiian Islands; the United States 

Territory Hawaiian Islands; the islands we are considering making a 

state; those islands?” 
a slight problem though,” he continued, “we don’t fly anyone to 

Hawaii anymore. The cost is prohibitive. All personnel assigned to 

Hawaii have to take a ship.” 

 “That could be a problem,” I said. “I’m married, with a young 

child. An Army ship wouldn’t be suitable transportation for them.” 

 “Oh, no, that’s not the case,” explained the assignment officer. 

“You’ll have to go on a cruise ship, one of the Matson Line Ships. It 

takes about four and a half days to get there, and you have to drive to 

California to catch the ship.” 

 I could hardly contain my excitement and amazement at the turn 

this phone conversation was taking. Wait until I explain this to Pat, I 

thought. As I explained the Hawaii assignment to her, she also began 

to grin. Because Mommy and Daddy were smiling and laughing, 

Sabra began to smile. Pat’s smile spread across that beautiful face, 

and she uttered the words I have never let my English teacher wife 

forget, “This Army ain’t bad!” 

 I wasted not one millimeter of a second in calling the officer back 

and confirming the assignment to the 25th Infantry Division. The more 

I read about the 25th Infantry Division, the more impressed I became.3

 We began the process of saying good-bye to friends who were 

being scattered across the globe. Colin Powell had been assigned to 

Gelnhausen, just outside of Frankfurt, Germany. We were going off in 

all directions. 

 There is something about Army training that creates an unusually 

tight bond between humans. We jumped from planes together. We 

faced physical hardship and dangers together. We pushed ourselves to 

the limits together. I’d experienced the same kind of bond in sports 

when a group of men form a team or unit and give their all for a 

common goal. It was hard to say good-bye. 

 After the Christmas holidays and New Year’s Day, we again drove 

from Arkansas to California. Sabra made the trip like a little trooper. 

The interstate road system was not in existence in 1959, and the trip 
through the day and 50 or 55 at night. Thank goodness, it was 

January. Our car had no air-conditioning, and desert driving in 

summer with a baby would have been a real endurance test. 

 Before the assignment officer’s call, I am not sure that Pat or I ever 

imagined us on a cruise ship, sailing to Hawaii. That was something 

straight out of the movies. An Affair to Remember, starring Deborah 

Kerr and Cary Grant, was a popular 1957 movie that had been filmed 

aboard the United States ship, the Constitution. For five days, we 

were Deborah and Cary sailing the romantic seas, with one slight 

variation on the theme. We were married, poor, and had a baby. To 

22 and 23-year-olds from Arkansas who had never seen the ocean, 

much less been cruising on it, it was an exciting adventure. We heard 

other people talk about the hassles, trials, and tribulations of their 

moves within the Army. Pat kept saying, “Why in the world do people 

complain about this?” 

 We arrived at the island of Oahu, Hawaii, at Aloha Tower Pier on 

February 2, 1959, found a place to stay for the night, and I reported for 

duty at the post. The good news was they were delighted we had 

arrived. The bad news was I was such a junior officer that Schofield 

Barracks had no space for us. My name was placed on a waiting list 

for quarters. We were again faced with the fact that most Army 

personnel were single. Married housing was practically non-existent 

for a Second Lieutenant. I was given directions to two or three little 

nearby towns where I was to “find my own quarters.” It was a year 

before we had quarters on base. 

 We found a duplex on the river side of Riverside Drive in 

Wahiawa where the rent was $112.00 a month. That was the cheapest 

I could find. In 1959, my monthly salary was $222.30, which did not 

leave much of a balance. There was a housing allowance of $49.00, 

and a basic living allowance for food, etc. of about $50.00. We had no 

furniture except Sabra’s baby things, so we had to buy the basics. 

Now we had furniture payments of $60 a month. With the basic need 

of shelter taken care of, there was not a lot left for food, clothing, and 

other essentials. 
back to work. She found a job teaching in the Basic Secondary 

Education Program (BSEP) at Schofield Barracks. It was a program 

for military personnel designed to prepare them for taking the General 

Equivalency Degree (GED), the equivalent of a high school diploma. 

The classes were held in the afternoon and evening, after military 

exercises and duties were done for the day. 

 Pat and I would meet on the sidewalk in the late afternoon. She 

would hand over Sabra, giving me last minute instructions on feeding, 

bathing, and such. At the same time that we were in this mode of 

operation, a popular television cartoon depicted two dogs passing each 

other on the street, saying nothing but, “Hi, George” and “Hi, Fred.” 

We began to feel like those two dogs, too tired to say much except, 

“Hi, Pat” and “Hi, Jim.” 

 Our early years would have been far leaner and more problematic 

had Pat not been a teacher. After 20 years in the Army, Pat had state 

teaching certificates in nine states, Germany, and the Hawaiian 

Territory. She reminded me of my mother in that she was the parent 

who was always there, managing the house and being caregiver to the 

kids while I was off on field exercises. Home was always wherever 

Pat was located. I have the utmost respect and admiration for what Pat 

and other military wives do on a daily basis, year after year, to enable 

their husbands to serve our country. 

 Even though Pat was working, our monetary situation was tight. 

We would throw our spare change in a jar, and at the end of the week, 

go buy a carton of beer or some other treat. Those Saturday nights 

were a fantastic reprieve; we lived it up. 

 My first assignment in the 25th Infantry Division in February 1959 

was in A Company, 14th Infantry Regiment, 1st Battle Group. My first 

company commander, Captain Hominy, was a Korean War veteran 

whose scarred arm bore witness to the numerous times he had been 

wounded in battle. He had a consummate understanding of companylevel leadership and tactics. 

 Upon arrival, everyone had to pay his respects to the regimental 

commander. I reported to the regimental commander on that first day. 
looked around the commander’s office. Approaching his desk with the 

huge chair and array of flags behind it was akin to approaching a king 

on a throne. The knocking in my knees knocked the last bit of 

Airborne Ranger strut from my stride. 

 Standing stiffly at attention I saluted and said, “Lieutenant Ross, 

reporting for duty.” 

 The infantry full Colonel did not look up. He left me there, 

standing in the throne room at attention. The silence was deafening. 

He was looking at what appeared to be my military file, my record, my 

history. With less than a year in the Army, I didn’t have a history. He 

finally put me at ease. 

 “I see that you played football in college,” he said. 

 “Yes sir; four years there, four in high school and two years in 

junior high,” I said in a voice that seemed several octaves above my 

usual speaking level. 

 “You were ‘all-whatever this thing is’, ‘all-something’ in college,” 

he continued. “What is this thing you were ‘all’ of?” he asked. 

 “”All AIC,” I explained. “That stands for All-Arkansas 

Intercollegiate.” 

 He said, “Well you were all-something, and I want you to play 

football on our regimental football team. All the officers in this 

regiment play football.” 

 “Sir,” I stammered, “with all due respect, I’d prefer not to play.” I 

was beaten up pretty badly playing college ball. I had over forty 

stitches in my face alone. My nose was broken several times. 

 “Lieutenant Ross, we are the best in this division, and my officers 

play football,” he said, completely ignoring what I had said. “ALL my 

officers contribute to our football team. We win the Commander’s 

Cup in football every year, Lieutenant. This being February, our pre-
excused.” 

 And that was that. Not a word about all the honors and top awards 

I’d worked so hard to achieve in the past eight months. Football! 

Again? This was not what I had traveled half way around the globe to 

do. Tromping up the stairs, flashes raced through my brain of the 

night in 1957 when the doctor had put ten stitches in my face at 

halftime so I could play the last half of the game. When I asked him if 

I would be able to play in the next game, he said, “Sure you can. 

We’ll take the stitches out in about a week. That should be long 

enough for the cut to heal.” Two weeks later the same place was hit 

again, causing a split along the same cut line. 

 Here I was in the Army about to do it all over again. Upstairs I 

found the equipment room. Nine different colleges were represented 

among the eleven starters. There was an All Big East player, 

Lieutenant Flynn from Cornell. Lieutenant Jim Pitt from Texas 

Christian University played guard. Lieutenant Spangler from the 

University of South Dakota was our middle linebacker. All of them 

were “all big something.” 

 They kidded me unmercifully about the All-AIC. “You were an 

All-what from where?” “What the devil is an Arkadelphia? Is that 

like an armadillo? Is that something you eat or what?” One of the 

players who had not gone to college was an NCO (Non-Commissioned 

Officer) who played end. He made the traveling squad with the Rams, 

but was eventually cut. He didn’t like being drafted into the Army, but 

he loved playing football. The quarterback was a high school AllAmerican from Oklahoma, about 6’3”, a quality player. 

 Among the company officers were three seasoned veterans who 

had been through Korea as combat leaders, a Black, a Hawaiian, an 

ex-NCO who had been a drill instructor and had a court martial that 

was expunged, a West Pointer, and three of us who were ROTC or 

OCS. It was the most diversity I had been exposed to in any group. 

As platoon leaders, we often met for discussions on leadership and 

training. Each one of these men brought his own talent and area of 

expertise to the discussions. I was like a sponge, soaking up different 

points of view and learning from our multi-cultural group. 
 The company executive officer was Lieutenant “Pete” Peterson, a 

no-nonsense, by-the-book infantry officer. Lieutenant Cobb, a Black 

officer at a time when Black officers were rare, was an exceptional 

platoon leader. His appearance was striking. He was about 6’2” tall, 

neat, trim, and fit. His wife had been a model for Jet Magazine, and it 

was our opinion that Lieutenant Cobb could have been a model 

himself. 

 Lieutenant Charles Anderson, an ex-DI (drill instructor), had gone 

to Korea as a noncommissioned officer and come back with a direct 

commission. He was a tough, by the book, “standard-setting-with-nodeviation” trainer who had once been court-martialed for excessive 

disciplinary action. The system recognized their error, and he was 

exonerated. Lieutenant Anderson was a strong, no-nonsense platoon 

leader with valuable combat experience. 

 Lieutenant Fragas, a local Hawaiian who was very friendly and 

outgoing, was a graduate of the University of Hawaii. Lieutenant 

Follansbee, a West Pointer, came into the company about the same 

time I did. He was our thoughtful, academic-oriented platoon leader 

who really wanted to be a doctor. He later returned to school, earning 

a doctorate in psychiatry. 

 The acting First Sergeant, Master Sergeant Williams, had gone 

through Korea, advanced to Major, and was RIF’d (dropped in rank 

because of a reduction in force) after the Korean War back to an E-7 

(Sergeant First Class). He didn’t seem bothered by the fact that he was 

no longer a Major. He taught all of us important, practical, 

compassionate lessons about caring for Soldiers. Sergeant Williams 

was always available to talk, help with problems and stressful 

situations, and offer advice. 

 There are times when a film, a fragrance, scenery, a novel, 

something triggers a flood of memories of a slice of our own lives. 

Reminders of my time with the 14th and 27th Infantry are captured in a 

classic film. That is the 1953 film, From Here to Eternity, based on a 

novel by James Jones. Jones had been a member of the 27th Infantry 

Regiment and had witnessed the attack on Pearl Harbor. The setting 

for the film was Schofield Barracks. It concerned a boxer who refused 
tournament. Deborah Kerr played the company commander’s wife, 

and Burt Lancaster played the company First Sergeant. The film was 

nominated for many awards and won a Golden Globe for actor Frank 

Sinatra and an Oscar for director Fred Zinneman. 

 Certain moments and things in that film can take me back to my 

time at Schofield Barracks. Little things like the playing of reveille. 

We had reveille every morning, and all officers attended. A Soldier 

actually played reveille on a bugle. It was much better than the CD, 

tape, or record with scratches that Soldiers listen to today. 

 In 1959, tourists would wander into Quad E (a barracks 

quadrangle) and ask, “Is this where Frank Sinatra and Burt Lancaster 

were?” We would direct them over to Quad D where parts of the 

movie had been filmed. But we would add, “You can take a look 

around here if you like. All the quads are similar.” 

 It seemed our group could not lose. Everything we did, from 

sports to training exercises, was done with focus and drive. Whether 

baseball, basketball, football, or boxing smokers, we won. Our NCOs 

made it happen. We trained hard several months in advance to make 

sure we performed the best on training exercises. East Range, 

Kahuku, Summit Trail, Black Junction, and Hawaii, the “Big Island,” 

became familiar training locations. 

 We averaged about 12 days a month in the field, locations away 

from Schofield Barracks. Training back at Schofield, which was 

called “in the quads,” ended at lunchtime. We spent afternoons in 

A&R (athletics and recreation). Soldiers worked on their battle 

group’s sport. Ours, of course, was football. We also had boxing 

smokers every Wednesday night. 

 It was inspiring to be part of a unit such as the 14th Infantry that 

had so much history. The insignia of the 14th is a gold imperial 

Chinese dragon placed against a red Spanish castle with the motto, 

“The Right of the Line.” That phrase comes from a much prized 

remark made by General George G. Meade, commander of the Army 

of the Potomac during the Civil War. When asked where the 14th

should be placed in the Grand Review celebrating the Union victory, 
in battle and deserves the place of honor.” 

 The motto of the 14th is, “I’ll try, sir.” Private Calvin P. Titus 

uttered those words in 1900 in Peking, China, during the “Boxer 

Rebellion”. The Boxers were dissident young Chinese who had 

formed a secret fighting group. They were opposed to Western 

influence in their country and began attacking foreign missions and 

embassies. 

 An international force that included the 14th responded and 

rescued diplomats trapped in Peking. Two companies of the 14th

were pinned under heavy fire near the wall of the Chinese City. 

Volunteers were called to attempt the first perilous ascent of the 

wall. 

 A musician, Trumpeter Private Calvin P. Titus of E Company, 

immediately stepped forward, saying, “I’ll try, sir!” Using jagged 

holes in the stone wall, he succeeded in reaching the top. He was 

followed by the rest of his company. In the face of continued 

heavy Chinese fire, the colors of the American flag broke out in 

the August breeze as a sign that U.S. Army troops had achieved a 

major step in the relief of the besieged legations. For his 

courageous and daring deed, Titus was awarded the Congressional 

Medal of Honor and received an appointment to West Point. 

 The Chinese dubbed the Americans the “Golden Dragons” for their 

fierce fighting spirit. The Chinese Government, grateful to the 

American troops for helping defeat the Boxer Rebellion, presented 

several bars of silver bullion to the 14th. The silver was molded into 

cups, a ladle, and a regimental punch bowl, which was named the 

Calvin P. Titus Bowl. Once a quarter, we had what were called 

“Dining Ins.” We put on our white dress uniforms, stood in a 

formation of a “V” with the commander at the point of the “V” while 

the history of the 14th was read. 

 Of course, as a Second Lieutenant, I was pretty far down one side 

of the “V,” kind of the last guy in line. While we were there, every 

officer in that “V” had his name engraved on one of the cups. My 
memory of my time of service with the 14th Infantry. 

 Temporary Duty Assignments (TDY) trips began taking me away 

from home quite a bit. At one point, I was the “Officer in Charge” for 

the Jungle Warfare School for about six months. It was actually duty 

away from the 14th Infantry, but many of the staff members were from 

the 14th. The Jungle Warfare Center taught all kind of jungle tactics, 

from “how to survive in the jungle” to rappelling, to strategies for 

patrolling in a jungle environment. 

 While I was away, Pat was getting her first real taste of life as an 

Army wife. There were lots of military wives and small children in 

our neighborhood. When their husbands were away on TDY trips, 

they relied on each other. They were a cohesive support to each other, 

gathering for social visits, helping each other with childcare and daily 

chores, and assisting in shopping trips to the commissary and the PX 

(Post Exchange). 

 All wives were expected to join the “Wives Club,” later called the 

“Women’s Club,” and today called the “Spouses Club.” Pat was 

involved in the Officers’ Wives Club. While I was in the jungle, 

rappelling down a sheer cliff, she was playing bridge every third 

Wednesday and going to luncheons every fourth Thursday. While Pat 

was dressing in a suit, hat, and gloves, shaking hands with the 

commander’s wife, smiling, and pouring tea, I was smearing grime on 

my face, wearing the same uniform for days, and hacking my way 

through jungle foliage. 

 The Army Officers Guide became her protocol bible. There was a 

code of behavior for everything. She learned proper etiquette for how 

to word dinner and coffee invitations and how to address the 

envelopes. 

 Wives were expected to be available at all times for Officers’ 

Wives Club functions in the daytime. The wives who worked were 

primarily teachers, teaching at the base education centers or public 

schools. Pat was in the minority as a working wife. Although it meant 

juggling a heavy schedule of homemaking, raising Sabra, and 

teaching, Pat continued to don those stockings she thought were a 
Club Meetings. The wives did a lot of good, charitable work, a service 

that continues today. 

 In those days of the Selective Service, the draft pulled men who 

had not finished high school into the Army. One rule in A Company 

went something like this: if you don’t have a high school education 

when you arrive, you will before you leave. Pat was teaching the 

English-speaking recruits basic English, some French, history, math, 

and a little science; just enough to get them through the GED test. 

 Then there were the Hungarians. The 1956 Hungarian Revolution 

brought immigrants from that country to America. The Russians had 

overrun Budapest. Many of those who fled were young men. They 

were intelligent, well-educated people who could not speak English. I 

think they had been offered American citizenship if they would stay so 

many years in the Army. Eight years, I think. 

 I had several of the Hungarians in Company A, and they were 

exceptional Soldiers, the best. They were a few years older and knew 

how to work. One of my BAR (Browning Automatic Rifle) Soldiers 

was Hungarian. He had a high desire to excel, very dedicated. Just as 

Pat was doing in her teaching, we were using lots of hand motions and 

gestures to communicate because of the language barrier. They knew 

a few words like “Sergeant,” “grenade,” “rifle,” but that was about it. 

 The Hungarians were with me during the day for military training 

and in class with Pat from six to ten at night learning English. Their 

English vocabularies were slowly increasing on a daily basis. One 

night during the rainy season, Pat walked into her classroom, dripping 

wet from a downpour. 

 “It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” Pat exclaimed, wiping water 

from her clothes and books. 

 The Hungarians started to laugh hysterically. They thought that 

was the funniest expression they had ever heard. She spent 20 minutes 

trying to explain some of the unusual analogies we Americans use. 

They were still chuckling as they left class that night. 
Hawaii became a state. In June of that year, a primary election was 

held to vote on several statehood propositions. Following the 

certification of election results, Hawaii was admitted as the 50th state 

by proclamation of Dwight D. Eisenhower, President of the United 

States. We stood with our diverse group of friends and many 

Hawaiians in front of the Ali’Iolani Hale Palace, the House of 

Heavenly Chiefs.

4

 

 That day, Pat and I were thrilled to see the raising of the American 

flag to a cheering crowd. Since statehood, on the third Friday each 

August, Hawaii celebrates “Admissions Day.” 

 About five months after Hawaii became a state, Pat gave birth to 

our second child, DiAnna Lei, born January 27, 1960. Nicknamed 

Dede from the start, our Hawaiian baby was born at the Tripler Army 

Hospital in Honolulu. Mother and daughter surfaced from the birthing 

ordeal glowing and healthy. Two and one-half-year-old Sabra had a 

little sister, and Pat had her hands full. 

 

 Thank goodness we had helpful neighbors and friends. Jan and 

Duane Smith, whom we met in Hawaii, are still good friends today. 

They had two boys about our girls’ ages. Jan grew up on a ranch in 

Texas where quarter horses were raised. Jan’s sister was married to 

Dan Blocker who was “Hoss” on Bonanza. Duane played basketball 

for the University of Texas. He had also gotten one of those 

“recruiting” calls from the commander, “I see where you played 

basketball. Were you an all-something?” 

 Hawaii had an influx of young Soldiers from the Philippines, 

Guam, and Samoa. I served with these men as well as the Czechs and 

Hungarians. The 25th was a melting pot and multi-ethnic group from 

across the Pacific nations. It was an amazingly diverse group, and I 

learned so much from all of them. There was even a Samoan prince 

among the Soldiers. In spite of the “Private” classification, other 

Samoans treated him royally. 

 During that first assignment in A Company of the 14th Infantry, I 

was privileged to serve with and learn from Captain Hominy, 

Lieutenants Cobb, Anderson, Peterson, Fragas, and Follansbee. Later 
Company D or E, who was a well-decorated Korean War veteran. Still 

later, Major General Charles M. Murray and I also served at the 

Pentagon together and are still good friends. 

 As stipulated in my orders, after serving for two years with the 14th

Infantry Battle Group, I was moved to the 33rd Transportation 

Battalion. This assignment was at Schofield also. The change meant 

I’d be relocated within the base. It was not a family move. I was not 

thrilled to be leaving infantry to go to a technical unit. Infantry fit like 

a glove. The things at which we excel are the things we love to do. A 

technical unit like transportation looked like a gross misfit to me. 

 After about two months with the 33rd, an unusual summons left me 

with no doubt that my guardian angel was on the job. I was at 

“Division Trains,” the predecessor of today’s DISCOM (Division 

Support Command) when I got the news that Colonel William 

McKean, 27th Infantry commander, had asked for me by name. I was 

being handpicked for something. I would not stay long with the 33rd

after all. Good-by, transportation; hello, infantry.5 

 The special detail was with the 27th Infantry. We were called into 

a gymnasium for a meeting. Officers and senior Sergeants made up 

the group. The doors were closed. Soldiers were posted at each door. 

This was certainly different. “You’ve been chosen for a special 

mission,” the officer in charge said. “You’re going to Southeast Asia, 

to Thailand,” he continued. 

 Thailand was part of an area we called Indochina when I was in 

high school and college. I had been training in the Philippines near the 

Bataan peninsula of World War II distinction. I had trained on the big 

island of Hawaii, in Okinawa, and in Taiwan. Thailand would be a 

new adventure. 

 “Air Cobra is part of a SEATO (Southeast Asia Treaty 

Organization) exercise,” the officer continued. “Because of the 

secrecy of our mission, you may not tell your wives and family where 

you are. Tell them you’re going on an exercise in the Pacific. You’ll 

be given special instructions regarding mail. Any letters that you write 

will have to be censored before they’re mailed.” 
 “How long will this mission last?” someone asked. 

 “We can’t be sure, probably weeks,” answered the officer. 

 At the conclusion of the meeting, I was instructed, along with 

several others, to report to USARPAC (U.S. Army, Pacific) to receive 

special briefings. Several other junior officers, Lieutenant Colonels 

and Colonels were in the meeting. In this briefing I learned why I had 

been handpicked. They needed a Transportation Corps officer with 

infantry experience. Basically, our task was to verify bridge, road, and 

airfield data in that area. We were to be the first in and build a 

compound in Korat that would later be called “Camp Friendship.” 

 I also learned the reason for this exercise. In response to 

increasing insurgency on its northern borders, the Royal Thai 

Government had requested assistance from the United States. The 

U.S. was concerned about the security of that area near Laos and the 

Mekong River delta area, due to the continued unrest in Laos and 

Vietnam. The Geneva Treaty of 1954 divided Vietnam at the 17th

parallel into two political zones. People in the north lived under the 

Viet Minh government and in the south under the Ngo Dinh Diem 

government. Anyone living in one zone, who wished to relocate to 

another zone, had 300 days to make the transfer. Hanoi and Haiphong 

remained free until May of 1955. 

 

 At the First Lieutenant stage in my military career, I wasn’t given 

enough information to understand the big picture. Perhaps all the “Big 

War Coming” signs were there, and I just chose not to read them. Or 

perhaps I was too focused on my assigned task to want to envision our 

presence there as anything more than the routine building of another 

base. 

 As I understood my piece of the puzzle for the Air Cobra 

Thailand exercise, I was to verify bridge, road, and airfield data using 

ESSO maps. That’s right, ESSO Oil Company maps. They were the 

fold up kind of maps we used to plan a road trip before computers and 

“Mapquest” enhanced our lives. They were the only maps of Thailand 

available. In 1959, we had no military maps of that country. 
evening. 

 “How long will you be gone?” she asked, not asking where. 

 “I don’t know. They think a few weeks,” I said. When I uttered 

those words, I had no idea that I’d be involved with Air Cobra for nine 

months. 

 The wives had a great intelligence system. It didn’t take them long 

to know where we were going, but they knew they couldn’t talk about 

it. Later, Pat said she was amazed there was no publicity in the paper. 

Troops left daily, nearly 2000 men in all, and she combed the 

Honolulu newspaper for weeks. Never did she see one printed word 

about the exercise. 

 We were given a book called How to Speak Thai as we boarded the 

C-124 Globemaster plane. We stopped in Wake Island, Guam and the 

Philippines before landing in Bangkok, Thailand. I think by the time 

we reached Bangkok, I had learned the days of the week, the colors, 

and how to count to ten, but that was about all the language any of us 

knew. Thai with an Arkansas accent might prove a bit tricky. 

 The plane was met by Thai military who took us to Korat. Today 

Korat is a large metropolitan area in the center of Thailand. Our 

region was east and north of Korat, and it was a show of force. We 

literally took almost 2,000 troops up on the border, not all at one time, 

but in sufficient numbers so that anyone watching from Laos was 

aware that the Americans, British, Australians, and New Zealanders 

were there in strength. 

 My job in Thailand consisted solely of verifying maps. There were 

four or five teams of two people each. My team consisted of an 

engineer Sergeant and myself. We were issued a jeep and assigned a 

particular part of Thailand. Using our stack of ESSO maps as a 

starting point, we began to tour our assigned area. Every bridge we 

crossed, we calculated how much weight that bridge would hold. 

Would it hold only two-and-a-half or five-ton trucks? Measuring the 

beams, measuring the length, we would gather enough information to 

use a standard algorithm for the calculations. My engineer worked 
many tons could travel across any given bridge. 

 When we found airfields, we measured the distance of the strip by 

jumping in the jeep, driving the length of the runway and checking the 

odometer. If there were any warehouses or buildings, we made a 

written description of them. We took soil samples and compared them 

to a “shade” chart of different types of soil, from clay to black dirt to 

sand. With the information we collected, we were able to determine 

how the runway soil would react to the pressure of landings of 

different aircraft. There were no paved runways in Thailand at that 

time besides Bangkok and Korat. 

 For the next several months, we drove throughout Thailand. My 

region was all the way east to Ubon Thani, south through Khon Kaen, 

and on down to Udorn. We would launch out for a week or so, living 

where we could along the way. With our C-rations, a shave kit, and at 

least one clean uniform for a change midway through the week, we 

surveyed the roads. 

 The local people were a great help. There would be days when we 

knew an airfield was somewhere near by, but the road ended before we 

found it. Returning to a village and asking the local people always 

brought results, and with their help, we would locate the airfield. One 

of our more interesting trips was to Sattahip, as far south in Thailand 

as we could go in our region. We surveyed a tiny little airfield. Years 

later, that little airfield turned out to be a B52 base. Fighter bases were 

built on fields we surveyed near Ubon and Udorn, and one near Khon 

Kaen became a “Jolly Green Giant” base, a base for the big helicopters 

that went on search and rescue missions when a pilot was down. That 

base was far north and east, so close; it was just a short shot across a 

very narrow part of Laos, and they were into Vietnam. 

 When we were taking soil samples and measuring runways, the 

grass runways averaged about 2,000 feet long. A short time later, the 

short runway was replaced with a concrete, 10,000 foot runway for 

jets. In Udorn, there was a corrugated tin roofed hut with a PSP 

(pierced steel planking) ramp and small runway. Later it was 

converted into a base with a long runway to accommodate fighters. 
each excursion. He sent the information packet back to Hawaii to the 

U.S. Army Pacific Headquarters. A unit there was assembling data on 

roads, bridges, and airfields in Thailand for mapping and planning 

purposes. We didn’t know at the time that President Kennedy had 

started a grand design to look at Thailand as a base to support 

everything in Vietnam. 

 The Thailand exercise lasted nine months, a bit more than “several 

weeks” as I had told Pat. Being Ranger qualified, I got to participate 

in training patrols with the Thai Ranger Battalion along the Mekong 

River, which winds its way along the border between Thailand and 

Laos. It was difficult to tear myself away from verifying maps, but I 

forced myself. This was a training program for all Lieutenants. 

 What a thrill to have the opportunity to participate in an infantry 

exercise. My two Thai patrols came when we were back at camp to 

collect supplies for the next map-surveying excursion. In those days, 

the infantry carried either M-1 or M-2 carbines. The M-2s were fully 

automatic versions. We each had a 45-caliber pistol as a sidearm. 

 The patrol was led by a Thai officer who had just completed his 

West Point assignment in the states. He was a very bright young man 

whose English was better than mine. We came across a campsite near 

the Mekong River. 

 “Vietnamese camped here,” said the Thai officer. 

 You can look at an entire campsite as a footprint, making mental 

notes of how they slept and built their fire. Traces of what they 

cooked, scraps and bone that remain are so telling. The officer began 

discussing with the other Thai. I kept hearing them say, “Vietnamese, 

Vietnamese.” 

 “What tells you the people here were Vietnamese?” I asked. 

 “The bones,” said the officer. “These are the bones of monkey,” 

he said pointing to bones lying beside the burned logs and ashes. 

“Those are dog,” he said pointing to others. “Only the Vietnamese 

people eat monkey and dog. We do not.” 
 Later, when I served in Vietnam, I would understand. The 

Vietnamese were so very poor. They ate whatever was available. 

 On one patrol, we were told that some of the loyalists called 

Laotian Royal Loyalists, sympathetic to the government, were coming 

across the Mekong River. They had been pushed into a “Pusan 

perimeter” situation and were escaping across the river. This was the 

first of many experiences to follow, seeing children involved in war. 

Many of the people escaping into Thailand looked like 12 and 13-yearold kids. One of them was carrying an M-1 rifle, and the rifle was 

almost as tall as he was. The butt of the rifle hung down past his 

knees. 

 We understood there were to be Army units coming across from 

Laos with the blessing of the Thai. It looked more like a disorganized 

group of young people made up of whomever they could pull into 

service. The entire scene was surreal for me. The unit’s Colonel was 

crossing in a boat, one of the long Asian type boats, and there was 

something big and strange looking in the boat. When we got a better 

look, we realized it was his bed. The boat contained the Colonel’s 

four-poster, brass bed. He was probably the only one in the regiment 

who had his bed with him. 

 To a 24-year-old rookie, it was a bizarre, eerie, sad sight. Children 

with guns, put in harm’s way, running and swimming from death, a 

phenomenon that would become far too familiar in the years ahead. 

 The Laotians appeared desperate, and the situation chaotic. They 

were pulling children into service. There were no standard uniforms 

or web gear. Most had some sort of pistol belt on, former U.S. web 

equipment with an occasional canteen. The Pathet Lao were better 

organized and were being far more aggressive during that period. 

 In 1961 and 1962, not yet touched by brewing turmoil, the 

innocence and beauty of Thailand was captivating. The country was 

peaceful and quiet with a majestic sense of harmony among its people 

and the land. The scenery from the mountains near Chiang Mai to the 

Mekong River in the east, to the south at Sattahip was breath taking. 

The people were beautiful, honest, and openly friendly. 
 On one of our map surveying excursions, we lost a duffel bag from 

the back of our jeep. A young Thai in his mid-thirties walked about 

ten kilometers to bring that duffel bag to us. The bag had not been 

opened. Nothing had been touched. Hearing that story, other Soldiers 

said they didn’t think that would have happened in many places along 

the Pacific Rim. Someone remarked, “If that had been Korea, it would 

have been gone, and you would never have seen it again. The Black 

Market would have gobbled it up.” Everyone agreed that Thailand 

was different. It was a step back in time to a slower, simpler, sweeter 

style of living. 

 I bought Pat jewelry at “Johnnie’s Gems” in Bangkok where you 

could get beautiful, unusual jewelry for an inexpensive price. Chiang 

Mai was where most silk was produced. In downtown Korat and 

Bangkok, there were a few cars, mostly Lambrettas. The main means 

of transportation was the bicycle. Two short years later, when I was 

back in Thailand for R&R (rest and relaxation) from Vietnam, things 

were different. Prices were up, cars were everywhere, and Black 

Market vendors were on every street corner, trying to exchange your 

money for theirs. The country was in a building boom, much of the 

building being done by American contractors. 

 I had been in Thailand for about nine months when I found out I 

had been selected to go to the Advanced Course. It was customary for 

people with the rank of Captain to go to the Advanced Course, which 

was the second academic phase of the Army’s continuing education 

program. I was still a First Lieutenant, not yet promoted to Captain. 

The course, about 90 percent academic and 10 percent field exercises, 

was designed to give the participants a view of the bigger picture, a 

higher level of organizational structure and function in the Army. 

 Watching while Soldier after Soldier in Thailand had their new 

orders delayed or killed, I began thinking I wasn’t going anywhere. 

Soldiers were not returning to the states because of the priority of the 

mission. Our SEATO mission may have had the highest priority in the 

government at that time. The British, the Australians, and the New 

Zealanders were also giving the mission a very high priority. It was 

already June, and the course started at Fort Eustis in August. There 

were signs everywhere that suggested I would not be going. 
 Pat, however, had her assignment to move us, and that is what she 

was doing. With the help of a friend, she took the car to Honolulu Pier 

40 port. Giving the person in charge the orders, she said, “I’m going 

to Fort Eustis. Ship this car back to the states. It needs to go to Fort 

Eustis, Virginia.” Back at our quarters, she scheduled packers and 

began planning the move without knowing when or even if I would be 

coming back. In the midst of it all, Sabra graduated from kindergarten 

wearing a little cap and gown and looking so grown up. That was the 

first of many milestones I missed and had to relive through pictures 

and the re-telling by my family. 

 The approval for my new assignment surprisingly arrived at what 

seemed like the last minute. In 1962, our aircraft didn’t have the range 

they have today. From Bangkok, we could make it to the Philippines. 

We would then fly to Guam, then to Wake and finally to Honolulu. I 

was concerned that one of the aircraft would break down somewhere 

along the way, and I wouldn’t be home in time to travel with the 

family. One of Pat’s letters gave me the date she was scheduled to 

leave, and I knew she and the girls would go whether I was there or 

not. 

 Every aircraft performed as it should on every leg of the trip, and I 

was home in Hawaii about a week before the move. After welcome 

hugs and kisses and preliminary chatter, I said, “I’m so glad to get 

home. Now I can help pack and get ready to move.” 

 The thermostat on Pat’s voice dropped a few degrees to chilly 

when she said, “Your timing is way off for that. I’ve already done it 

all.” I wasn’t sure whether to thank the Army or curse it. For her 

sake, I cursed it. 
p

Fort Eustis, 1962

 A few days before we left our Hawaiian home in paradise, I did 

something I regret to this day. I asked for a branch transfer out of 

Transportation and back into Infantry. The transfer request, in and of 

itself, was not so bad. It was the things I said in the request that, years 

later, I expected to come back and bite me. I thought it could end my 

career. 

 Looking back at that moment, I see an athlete who was arrogantly 

fighting to remain in an athletic world. I was a 26-year-old, rock solid 

competitor in top physical condition whose claim to fame was being a 

leader of men. My self-image was wrapped tightly around leading 

men through feats of physical strength and stamina to reach a common 

goal. The act involved a mental toughness and cunning that kept men 

motivated and striving toward the goal while outwitting opposing 

forces, whether the opponent was another team, a dangerous enemy, or 

the environment. 

 At that moment in my short life, I was like a thoroughbred ready 

to spring from the starting gate and lead men through amazing 

physical trials in battle for our country. I had done it on the football 

field for years and now had a taste of using the same management and 

competitive strategies in Army training and field exercises. Such 

times were exhilarating, awakening every nerve in my body. They 

were challenging, with rapid-fire thoughts of options to outwit the 

enemy. They were exhausting; the kind of exhaustion that brings a 

sense of peace in having given your all. Most of all, such times felt 

natural. 

 Nowhere in my thinking did I fit into a category of a desk-bound, 

sedentary, scholarly type. I was a Soldier, not a “sitter.” My request 

letter was worded a bit more carefully than these thoughts, but not 

much. It is surprising that the letter, which remained in my file, did 

not hamper promotions or render them non-existent. I wrote in the 

letter that, as an Army Airborne Ranger who had served in an Infantry 

company, both in Hawaii and Thailand, I did not want to move to the 
years. 

 

 The Army’s terse answer to the infamous transfer request was still 

in my file in 1994, 32 years later. It said, “The Transportation Corps is 

short of officers, and you cannot apply for a branch transfer until you 

finish your detail. After two years, contact us again.” 

 By this time, my initial three-year ROTC obligation in the Army 

was complete, and I was in for another three years, this time, it 

seemed, in Transportation. The end of the first three-year obligation 

had come when we were in Hawaii, and I was selected for the 

Thailand special assignment. I could not turn that down. If I was 

going to Thailand, it meant staying in the Army. Pat and I agreed on 

another assignment for three more years. If my division assignment 

remained Transportation, then I’d leave the Army at the end of this 

period. The coaching job in Arkansas was beginning to look like a 

good alternative to the Army when the next two years were done. 

 Later, when I was involved with the 33rd Transportation Battalion 

and Colonel Richard W. Aronson, and still later Lieutenant Colonel 

Alton G. Post (who became a two-star General), I found they were just 

as productive, hard working, and served just an important a role as 

Infantry. It was simply a different culture to learn. 

 Lifelong friends grew from the officers with whom I served in the 

Transportation Corps. Lieutenants Duane Smith, Robert T. (Terry) 

Oliver and Floyd B. (Buddy) Mayes served across several companies 

in the 33rd. We migrated toward each other as Infantry and Armor 

officers who had not yet been to the basic course. I will always regret 

putting in for that branch transfer. 

 At the time of my personal great unrest, the whole world was 

going through a period of unrest. Turmoil was seeping into the surface 

of life in all directions. Cracks in the conservative lifestyle of the 

fifties were giving way to the revolutionary ways of the sixties. We 

had entered the age of youth, as 70 million children from the post-war 

baby boom became teenagers and young adults. 
Cold War with Russia, and Fidel Castro’s communist regime in Cuba. 

At home, the Civil Rights movement, led peacefully by Martin Luther 

King, Jr., was growing and turning violent. Women, American 

Indians, and Hispanics asserted themselves in courts and protests. The 

Supreme Court decided that prayer in the public schools was 

unconstitutional. College students, led by respected professors, started 

to experiment with drugs, mystic eastern religions, and sexual 

freedom. And the ever present “rock and roll” was cranked out by the 

likes of Elvis Presley, who had returned from Army duty to the music 

scene, Jerry Lee Lewis, and talented Motown artists. 

 In the summer of 1962 we were on our way to Fort Eustis for nine 

months to attend the Transportation Advanced Course. The Bay of 

Pigs6

 ill-fated mission was a year old, and the Cold War grew more 

threatening daily. To my way of thinking, something was definitely 

wrong with this picture. My Soldier antennae were sending signals 

that did not fit with sitting in a classroom day in and day out. 

 Fort Eustis is in the Hampton Roads area of Virginia. It and its 

satellite installation, Fort Story, are home to the U.S. Army 

Transportation Corps, the Transportation Regiment, Army 

Transportation School, NCO Academy, Army Aviation Logistics 

School, 8th Transportation Brigade, and the 7th Transportation Group. 

Fort Eustis is a virtual city within itself with a shopping mall, bank, 

credit union, post office, hospital, chapel, United Service Organization 

(USO), Red Cross, and many other facilities. 

 In the historic triangle of Williamsburg, Yorktown, and Jamestown 

there are more than a dozen museums within a 20 mile radius. 

Hampton Roads was a resort and vacation destination of the East 

Coast, so abundant activities were available for our leisure time. Pat 

stayed very busy with Dede and Sabra, who were two and five. 

 I attended the Advanced Course for nine months. To my surprise, 

my contemporaries were much like me. They came from Infantry, 

Armor, or Artillery. In later years, I reminisced with General Carl E. 

Vuono, then the Army Chief of Staff, about the wise training strategy 

of putting young Lieutenants in combat arms before moving them to a 
the experience of having walked in the Soldier’s shoes. 

 That fall, while I was in class, the world hovered on the brink of 

nuclear war. In October, U.S. spy planes spotted Soviet missiles in 

Cuba. We now know that President Fidel Castro had requested 1,000 

missiles and Moscow had only offered 40, with more aboard near-by 

submarines. A major threat to U.S. security was in our backyard. 

 Later, in a secret 1968 speech to his Communist Party’s central 

committee, Castro commented on that time. “We were in the 

antechamber of the holocaust, and we were cracking jokes... Of 

course we knew that we would be made to play the part of the dead 

man, but we were determined to play the part.” 

 In a televised address on October 22, 1962, Kennedy, backed by 

Defense Secretary Robert McNamara, confirmed the presence of 

Soviet missiles and announced a blockade of Cuba. Soviet ships 

carrying strategic missiles to the island turned back on October 27. It 

was a tense time. Kennedy was still considering bombing or invading 

Cuba as late as October 26, but the crisis ended on October 28 when 

the Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev announced that he had ordered 

the removal of the missiles. 

 Meanwhile, I was trying to put the disappointment of being a desk 

jockey aside and do the best job possible with the Advanced Course. 

Still dissatisfied with my career path, I requested an airborne 

assignment. It seemed fitting since I had already gone through jump 

school and was an Airborne Ranger. 

 We were living in a brand new set of K-part housing. As the first 

occupants of the home, Pat was busy working out the “bugs” and 

decorating the new house. Back in those days, there weren’t many 

ceremonies for promotions at the Captain level. Notification of a 

promotion simply arrived in your mailbox cubbyhole and said 

something like, “Today you are being promoted to Captain.” 

 I couldn’t believe it. The promotion notice was resting in my 

mailbox one day. After work, I rushed home to tell Pat the good news. 

I arrived to a chaotic scene of Pat and the girls trying to find the source 
the new house had not secured the pipes upstairs. Whatever the cause, 

water flooded the upstairs and was pouring down the stairs to the first 

level. We had our own waterfall. I looked in the dining room. The 

light fixture was filing with water. 

 There is an old Army tradition called “wetting down the 

promotion.” Soldiers being promoted poured beer or whiskey over the 

new rank in a wetting down ceremony. As I went out to the street, 

found the main water valve and cut it off, I thought, my rise to Captain 

has been “wetted down” all right. Instead of whiskey, it was bathroom 

water. 

 Returning to the house, I made the mistake of announcing, “I was 

promoted to Captain today.” Bad timing. Really bad. 

 “Don’t tell me about being promoted,” Pat said. “We’ve been 

flooded! What are we going to do about all this water?” 

 We fixed the leaky pipes and mopped and sopped water until 

things were relatively dry. The new house delivered no more surprises 

and we went back to our typical routines. I was secure in the fact that 

every aspect of my “wetting down” ceremony for achieving Captain 

status was unique and original. 

Fort Campbell, 1963

 Upon completion of the Advanced Course in June, I received 

orders to report to Fort Campbell with the understanding that I’d be on 

the post side a few months only. Within a year, I was supposed to be 

up for a jump slot with the 101st Airborne. There were no slots open at 

that time. 

 Again, we made arrangements to move our belongings, which had 

grown considerably, and we moved to Fort Campbell, Kentucky.7

 

Two thirds of the 105,000 acres of Fort Campbell are actually in 

Tennessee, but the post office is located in Kentucky. The post is 

located 60 miles northwest of Nashville, Tennessee, on the KentuckyTennessee border. 

 
Lieutenant Colonel Walter B. Cochran, the battalion commander. “I 

see you were in the Infantry and you had a company, A company, 33rd

Transportation Battalion,” he said. “I need a seasoned company 

commander to take over a medium truck company. You have the 

experience I’m looking for. You’ve been a company commander, and 

you have served in the infantry. You’re just the person we need down 

there.” 

 I began the command position as a new Captain. Although my job 

was to “turn the company around,” I found it was a good company. It 

was perceived to have many problems, but had good NCOs and some 

excellent Warrant Officers. I went to the 534th Medium Truck 

Company as a new “wetted down Captain” and the company 

commander. 

 The Battalion Sergeant Major William Jackson from Hattiesburg, 

Mississippi, and I became very good friends. He spent a lot of time 

with us because of the perceptions about the poor performance of the 

unit. Over time, he agreed that it was really a good company after all. 

 In July and August, we participated in a series of exercises 

designated “Swift Strike.” The exercises were held in the South 

Carolina/Georgia area. The 82nd opposed the 101st in war games. It 

was a valuable learning opportunity for a newly promoted Captain. 

 Pat was again teaching in the BSEP at Fort Campbell. Sabra was 

in first grade, and Dede was three years old. Our lives settled into a 

routine, and we explored the surrounding area on weekends. 

 At one point that fall, the 534th Transportation Company was 

assigned to an operation in Oxford, Mississippi, called “Operation 

Rapid Roads.” James H. Meredith was about to become the first Black 

student admitted to the University of Mississippi. President Kennedy 

mobilized federal marshals, as well as active-duty and National Guard 

troops, to secure the admission of Meredith and to ensure peace at 

Oxford. 

 In our briefings for the assignment, we were warned about putting 

Black Soldiers in positions of security guards or in visible infantry 
low profile for their safety. According to official reports, the Oxford 

riot preceded our arrival. It was a large unruly crowd turned violent. 

There were two deaths, and a number were injured, 166 marshals, 48 

military, and 31 civilians. 

 We were a part of the military build up that followed, which 

consisted of approximately 30,600 troops. About 7,400 Soldiers of the 

101st Airborne Division participated. We were in Oxford for about 

three weeks. The force was reduced to 502 Soldiers in November, and 

the entire force was withdrawn in July 1963. 

 November 22, 1963 was a dark day in our country’s history. 

President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas. 

President and Mrs. Kennedy, accompanied by Texas Governor and 

Mrs. Connally and Vice President Lyndon Johnson, were in a 

motorcade traveling through Dallas on their way to a sold-out 

campaign luncheon. Evidence at the scene pointed to a book 

depository order clerk, Lee Harvey Oswald, who had worked at the 

depository for only one month. Oswald was arrested for the 

assassination. Jack Ruby killed him in full view of television cameras 

before he could go to trial. 

 The bizarre events unfolding on our television screens painted 

scenes of a culture unraveling. Vice President Johnson was sworn in 

as President. Everything was moving at the labored pace of a 

bewildered country in shock. We were stunned, sad, appalled. 

 The next morning, we held a tribute to our President on the Fort 

Campbell “Screaming Eagles” parade field. It was touching and 

magnificent. Both the division and all the non-divisional units were 

on-line. There must have been 20,000 plus Soldiers in formation. We 

had rehearsed only once in the late afternoon of the 22nd. The 23rd, the 

day of the memorial, the temperature was in the low 30’s, windy, and 

very, very cold. The division commander, the chaplain, and others 

made a few remarks. There was a moment of prayer and a solemn 

pass in review. All artillery and weapon systems were on display. 

The Screaming Eagles were honoring our fallen leader in the best way 

we knew. It was an awe-inspiring, magnificent display and a fitting 

tribute to our Commander-in-Chief. 
 As our time at Fort Campbell was ending, I was initially told I 

would be going to the 101st Airborne, the assignment I had requested. 

Then the orders were changed to Korea with the 8th Army 

Headquarters in Seoul. Because Korea was considered a command 

sponsored tour for families, Pat and the girls could go with me. 

 This move was our third experience with household packers being 

around for a few days. This time we would not be allowed to take all 

our household goods and furniture. We had packed “hold baggage” 

which was five footlockers, the authorized allowance to Seoul, Korea. 

Our other belongings were to be stored until we returned from Korea. 

The Korean bound footlockers were shipped four weeks in advance. 

All this was becoming routine in our mobile way of life. The packers 

were there when I received a phone call from my assignment officer at 

OPO (Office of Personnel Operations). 

 “You’re not going to Korea,” the officer said. It was a no-notice 

change of direction. I would be going to Vietnam, and the family 

couldn’t go with me. We had so little time to re-adjust and make 

plans. 

 “Hold everything,” Pat said to the packers. “None of these 

household goods are going into storage. Everything will be shipped to 

one place.” 

 We just weren’t sure where that place would be. I had 15 days to 

get a flight to Vietnam, and during that short time, we had to decide 

where my family would be during my absence. The OPO said it 

would probably be a one-year assignment. I kept thinking about the 

three-to- six week mission to Thailand that turned into nine months. 

 My family was not allowed to stay at the base while I was gone. 

When orders said that a husband would be “overseas,” meaning 

hazardous duty, no provisions were made for the family. A family 

could not stay in quarters without the husband/father present, period. 

We were on our own. 

 Pat considered staying where there were other military wives with 

husbands away on overseas assignments. After looking at all the 
where she had a support system of family and friends. 

 We were able to find a house quickly, and Pat and the girls began 

getting settled in Arkadelphia. Saying goodbye was very sad. It was 

too rushed, and we had no time to acclimate to the sudden separation. 

What I felt that day for Pat and her role in our Army life went beyond 

gratitude, beyond appreciation, beyond our everyday mutual respect 

for each other. There were no words to express how glad I was that 

she was in my life. 

p

Vietnam, 1964-1965

 Family farewells were difficult as I left for Vietnam. I departed 

from Little Rock, Arkansas, in June 1964, almost six years to the day 

after I entered the Army. From there I reported to a contract flight at 

Los Angeles International Airport (LAX). On the flight to L.A., I 

reviewed what I knew about my assignment. Since 1962-3, when I 

was in Thailand, men from North Vietnam had begun viciously 

infiltrating peaceful South Vietnam. Special Forces teams from the 

U.S. Army had a small presence in Vietnam at that time. America 

increased its aid to the South Vietnamese at the urging of President 

Ngo Dinh Diem in 1960. In 1962, military advisors had gone to 

Vietnam to assist the South Vietnamese in their struggle against 

communist guerrillas, the Viet Cong. In 1963, the Viet Cong (VC), 

who had infiltrated South Vietnam, defeated units of the ARVN 

(Army of the Republic of Vietnam), and President Diem was 

overthrown and killed. 

 Divisive problems in Vietnam were the legacy of France’s failure 

to suppress nationalist forces in Indochina after World War II. The 

post-war years found France struggling to restore colonial dominion. 

Lucrative rubber plantations were the main driving force for a French 

presence in Vietnam. Ho Chi Minh led a revolutionary movement 

against France. His Army, originally known as the Viet Minh, waged 

a political and military struggle for Vietnamese independence. 

Ultimately, the result was the ouster of France from the region. 

 

 In a final stand at Dien Bien Phu against the guerillas, France 

asked the United States to intervene. President Eisenhower, listening 

to the advice of General Matthew B. Ridgway, Army Chief of Staff, 

decided not to aid France in this endeavor. He concluded that such an 

effort would severely strain Army reserves and resources and possibly 

lead to a wider war in Asia, which could include China 

 The fall of Dien Bien Phu on May 7, 1954 led to France’s 

disengagement from Indochina. This left Ho Chi Minh, once again, 

with little resistance to his persistent efforts to take over Vietnam. 
 In 1961, President John F. Kennedy sharply increased military and 

economic aid to South Vietnam to help Diem defeat the Communist 

forces. Facing trouble spots in Latin America, Africa, and Southeast 

Asia, Kennedy took a keen interest in the U.S. Army’s Special Forces. 

He believed their skills in unconventional warfare were well suited to 

countering insurgencies in these areas. During his first year in office, 

he increased the strength of the Special Forces from about 1,500 to 

9,000 and authorized them to wear a distinctive green beret. 

 That same year, he greatly enlarged their role in South Vietnam, 

first under the auspices of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), and 

then under a military commander. In addition to Army Special Forces 

and wide use of helicopters, Kennedy expanded the entire American 

advisory effort. He placed advisors at the sector level for training 

purposes. U.S. military strength in South Vietnam was about 700 at 

the start of 1960. It rose to almost 24,000 by 1964 during my time 

there. Later, the number grew to over 500,000. 

 Political turmoil and a critical state of rural security erupted after 

President Diem’s death. This prompted the United States to expand its 

military aid to Saigon. General Paul D. Harkins, Commander, United 

States Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV), and his 

successor, General William C. Westmoreland, urgently strove to 

revitalize pacification and counterinsurgency. They retained the 

concept of fortified hamlets as the heart of a new national 

counterinsurgency program. 

 To help implement the new program, Army advisers were assigned 

to the sub-sector (district level) for the first time, becoming more 

intimately involved in local pacification efforts and in paramilitary 

operations. That was where I came in. 

 

 The OPO assignment officer had said they scanned files for 

officers who had completed an infantry assignment and were Airborne 

Rangers. They were looking for officers who had finished at the top of 

their classes in training. I was part of the first team of battalion 

advisors sent to Vietnam by President Lyndon Johnson. It was a time 

when few Americans even knew where Vietnam was. 
friends she hadn’t seen in several years. They asked if she was 

visiting. She explained about the house she had leased for her and the 

girls and my assignment to Vietnam. “Where is Vietnam?” they 

asked. Pat explained that it was a country in Southeast Asia. “Sounds 

exotic,” some would say, “sort of like your time in Hawaii. When are 

you joining him?” 

 Pat again explained, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to join him there. 

Army families aren’t allowed to go to Vietnam at this time.” 

 Then they said, “Well, I’m sure he’s having a wonderful time. 

We’re glad to have you back in Arkansas for a while.” 

 Boarding the flight at LAX, I saw many familiar faces. Friends 

from Ranger and Airborne School were there. We were all given 

small books titled Basic Vietnamese. “I’ve been here before,” I 

thought. Flashbacks of my flight to Thailand interrupted my thoughts 

as I took the book. It contained overview information about the 

culture and country, and some basic words and phrases in the 

language. 

 As the plane engine hummed through the night, the Vietnam map 

in the section of our little book made me think of our ESSO maps in 

Thailand. Had the map surveyors been as exacting and diligent as we 

tried to be? I would soon find out. The plane was taking me back into 

a part of our world I had grown to love in 1961 and 1962. My 

experiences would highlight the fact that 1964 Vietnam was not 1961 

Thailand. 

 The confinement of the 36 hour flight gave us time to visit, catch 

up on each other’s lives, and study. Stops in Hawaii, Guam, Wake, 

and Saigon were welcome escapes to stretch, walk around, get the 

blood flowing. We were by no means fluent in the language when our 

plane touched down on Vietnamese soil. The well of Vietnamese 

vocabulary we dug for ourselves in 36 hours included counting to ten, 

the days of the week, Sergeant, rifle, bayonet, halt, take cover, etc. 

Our knowledge of the Asian culture had grown from minuscule to 

mighty little. 
are on direct flights into Kuwait. No stops. When Baghdad calms 

down, they will fly straight in there. There will be no little books 

designed to introduce the Soldiers to the culture and language. The 

aircraft are equipped with multiple laptops on which programs 

designed to familiarize the Soldiers with the country’s terrain and 

potential battle areas are loaded. No foldout maps, ESSO or 

otherwise. The laptops have the latest satellite photos for the area of 

their mission. The maps they see on their computer screens are threedimensional. Computerized training exercises lead the Soldiers 

through mock-ups of their assignments and missions. By the time they 

arrive, they not only know the area very well, but they are wellrehearsed. 

 We flew into Bien Hoa, South Vietnam’s III Corps MACV 

headquarters, which was responsible for the approaches to and the 

defense of Saigon. The North Vietnamese Army used the Ho Chi 

Minh Trail to establish and supply base areas in War Zones C and D to 

the north of Saigon. Dating from before U.S. involvement, War Zones 

C and D were inexact terms used to describe major Viet Cong guerilla 

areas. War Zone D included an area north of Bien Hoa about 70 miles 

from Saigon up Highway One, parts of Binh Duong, Phuoc Thanh, 

Phuoc Long, and Long Khanh Provinces. 

 After our arrival in Bien Hoa, our reunited assemblage was again 

split and scattered across Vietnam. My group was assigned to III 

Corps, which was located in Saigon near Bien Hoa. On arrival there, 

we met with an old, crusty Colonel who looked ancient to my 28-yearold eyes. He welcomed us into his office. 

 “All of you will be battalion advisors,” he began. “You will work 

with what we would call back home the National Guard/Reserve. 

Here they are the regional or popular forces. You will work in a 

district military advisory capacity. What we think of as counties in our 

states are called districts here. Most of you originally came from 

Infantry. We are detailing you back to Infantry, Armor, or Artillery.” 

 I could not believe my ears. Had he said we were all going back to 

our original branches? I loved it. I had asked for a branch transfer 

back to Infantry. I’d been in a “give-up” state of mind, resigned to the 
infantryman. 

 With the words of this wonderful old Colonel, “We’re detailing 

you back to Infantry,” a most sought-after gift dropped into my lap. 

By some strange quirk of fate, I was going back to Infantry. It was 

difficult not to jump around the room in a frenzied dance of joy. 

Before we left his office, we were shedding our current brass and 

replacing it with Infantry, Armor, or Artillery brass. What a hoot! I 

was once again Infantry! One goal accomplished without warning or 

fanfare. 

 My assignment took me 70 miles north of Saigon to the town of 

Phuoc Vinh. It was a multi-province (state) headquarters known as 

PBT (Phuoc Binh Thanh) Special Zone. Our Regional Force/Popular 

Force operation stretched as far north as the Hon Quan area and as far 

south as Tan Uyen and almost touched Zone C, Ben Cat to the west. 

The area was the combination of three provinces, Phuoc Long, Binh 

Long, and Phuoc Thanh, north of Saigon that included much of the old 

French Zone D, a much-feared area that South Vietnamese didn’t want 

to go near. Advisory Team 88 was located in the city/village of Phouc 

Vinh, the provincial capital of Phouc Thanh. Song Be, also to the 

north, was one of our reinforcing mission areas, a back up arrangement 

to be used only if the Advisory Team was in trouble. 

 Captain Rex Searson was the first person I met at the PBT 

Headquarters, and he gave me my first operational and intelligence 

orientation on my arrival. Later Rex retired as a Major, Signal Corps, 

after having served in WWII, Korea, Vietnam, and the Cold War. He 

was truly a great Soldier. 

 

 My team for the Phouc Vinh Regional Force and Popular Forces 

consisted of five men. I was a Captain at that time and was team chief. 

My assistant was First Lieutenant John Wilcox. Specialist First Class 

Julio Guiterrez was the NCOIC (Non-commissioned Officer in 

charge). The team also included a radio operator and an extremely 

talented Medical Specialist 5th Class. Time has erased their names, 

but not their efforts, dedication, and professionalism. I reported to 

Major Robert Chambers through Major Ed Levine. We all reported to 

the PBT Special Zone Commander, Colonel John Hill (later Major 
intelligence officer. We were also provided with a Vietnamese 

Sergeant that could speak English who served as our interpreter. He 

also knew French. Because of the pervasive influence of the French 

over so many years, many of the locals spoke French. 

 Our ex-Special Forces Master Sergeant was a real Soldier’s Soldier 

and a wonderful person. The young Specialist 5, our medic, was a 

very talented high school dropout, who had gone through medical 

training for small injury, gunshot wound surgery, that kind of training. 

We could walk into a village, and if there was a gunshot wound, he 

could treat it. If someone needed a tooth pulled, he could do it. 

Pulling teeth almost painlessly without Novocain was his dental 

specialty. He was worth his weight in gold, and I’ve wondered what 

became of him. As a Black, he didn’t relish the thought of going back 

home to all the race riots tearing at our country in 1964. I encouraged 

him to stay in the Army, finish high school (GED), and get into the 

medical field as either a Warrant Officer or an officer. 

 We arrived as Advisory Team 88 in Phuoc Vinh. Introductions 

were made to the battalion commander that I would advise. I will 

never forget him. Dai Uy (the Vietnamese phrase for Captain) An was 

how he introduced himself. An is a very common name, like the Ross 

name in the United States. The first order of business for Dai Uy An 

was not military issues, but to introduce me to his wife and children. 

Although Captain An looked very young, he was over forty. He 

married late in life and had a very young wife and two small children. 

 Before our conversation turned to military matters, Captain An 

wanted to discuss politics, his politics, not mine. It was so important 

to him that he help me understand where he stood on Vietnamese 

issues. During the year we spent together, I would hear many times 

about the experiences that brought him to his convictions. 

 “I’m a Nationalist,” he said as we drank tea, “not a Communist. 

Early in my youth, I fought with the Viet Minh. I love my country and 

want it to be free. I was fighting the French so that I could live in a 

country where the people rule themselves. Our struggles for freedom 

have been many. Now I spend everyday in combat against the very 

group I was once a part of. When Ho Chi Minh took over and started 
toward becoming a Communist state, and I did not want Communism 

for our country. There were many others who sympathized with my 

Nationalist point of view. We left the Viet Minh and started what is 

now the South Vietnamese Army.” 

 “You’ve been a Soldier for a long time,” I said, validating his 

many years of military experience. “Your struggles to be free are 

much like my own country’s Revolutionary War with England.” 

 “Your ancestors fought Soldiers dressed in red who marched into 

battle in open fields,” said Captain An. “We fight elusive phantom 

sneaks that kill our people and burn our villages in the dead of night. 

Then they vanish without a trace. It’s not quite the same.” 

 I nodded, all the while thinking, “He knows more about my 

country’s history than I do of his. It’s going to take some doing to 

gain the trust and respect of this seasoned Soldier.” Aloud I said, 

“You must be very proud to be a battalion commander, a Captain in 

your Army, fighting for your country.” 

 He, in turn, gave an understanding, concurring nod. I wondered 

what he was thinking. It was probably something like, “Now I must 

fight my battles and drag this American along each step of the way.” 

 My role was an unusual one. I was part of President Johnson’s 

“Pacification Program.” We were to maintain a training and 

supportive presence with the commander to whom we were assigned. 

I was to guide him in military tactics and the training of his battalion. 

The plan was not to do his thinking for him, not to take over his 

command, but to lead him to effective ways of battling the North 

Vietnamese and Viet Cong aggressors. 

 Johnson’s advisors in Washington were determined to defend 

South Vietnam’s independence through air strikes ranging from 

immediate massive bombardment of military and industrial targets to 

gradually intensifying attacks spanning several months. The interest in 

using air power reflected lingering sentiment in the U.S. against again 

involving American ground forces in a land war on the Asian 

continent. The thinking was that a carefully calibrated air campaign 
guerillas and least likely to provoke China. 

 While air attacks were carried out in North Vietnam, aircraft were 

dropping leaflets in areas thought to be the territory in which the Viet 

Cong and the North Vietnamese were operating. President Johnson’s 

message in the leaflet campaign was “Come forward, and we will give 

you freedom. You will not be hurt.” 

 The next morning Captain An introduced me to our Soldiers. 

Foremost in my mind was the fact that I was there to help, not to 

command. I was there to consult, not to take charge. There were 

about 700 total in our battalion, not all present that morning. Our 

Soldiers were a mixture of nomads from the mountains, village people, 

and Soldiers. 

 My introduction to Vietnam had come in 1962 on a quick trip 

from Thailand. On that trip two years before, the small stature of the 

Vietnamese people had been surprising and intriguing. On this June 

morning in 1964, I found myself surrounded by petite Soldiers with 

quick, fluid movements. For once in my life, I was by far the tallest 

person in the group. It was a welcome change of pace but for the fact 

that it made me the easiest target in battle. I might as well draw a 

bull’s eye on my forehead with a sign reading, “I’m the American 

advisor.” 

 In those days, our jungle uniforms came with nametags on the 

front shirt pocket. The tags were white with black lettering. Towering 

above the others with a white tag over my heart was stupid and asking 

for it. We all wore white t-shirts as well. Additional aid to the enemy 

was a metal belt buckle, which in boot camp and training we polished 

until it sparkled. The buckle reflected light in the faintest of 

moonlight. In sunlight, it was a beacon. At 100 meters, we were clear 

targets. We stopped wearing white t-shirts, marked out the white label 

with colored markers, and began wearing our shirts out to cover the 

buckles. 

 After talking with some of the Vietnamese, I was convinced there 

were large “Dragons” out in Zone D. You should never go out there I 

was warned; because they had watched their friends go into War Zone 
were big VC units in there with large supply bases. I began to try to 

imagine what they saw. A huge “Dragon” that gobbled up units came 

to mind. Any time orders involved Zone D, my Vietnamese battalion 

commander got uptight, and his fear was well founded. The history of 

the area gave warning that this was a very dangerous place. 

 Our base compound for Advisory Team 88 was a small area dug 

out of the jungle. We had a runway that served air traffic for the three 

provinces. The South Vietnamese, at one time, tried to build a capital 

city for the three provinces, but it did not work. There were still 

remnants of their attempt, one being a capitol building of sorts. About 

four months before we arrived, the VC captured the leader; you might 

call him the governor of the three provinces. They cut off his head. 

When the Nationalist troops overtook the building, they found their 

leader’s head in a toilet. That was one of my “Welcome to Vietnam” 

stories. The atrocities of this war were going to get worse. We just 

didn’t know it then. 

 The battalion was an operating unit and was also used as a 

reinforcing unit for any action in the PBT Zone. As an advisor, I 

picked up three districts in local popular forces, the local militia. 

Training and outfitting the Soldiers was the first priority after our 

arrival. More often than not, the standard issue uniform brought the 

Soldier his first pair of shoes. The training was primarily in squad (9 

to 11 men) tactics. We kept it very basic. There was a minimum of 

platoon training, which involves several squads. Our Popular Force 

District Soldiers were all neighbors, working in the fields during the 

day and going on missions at night. 

 With the aid of my ever-present interpreter, we cleared a place in 

the jungle. One of our projects was to build a training area. We 

constructed a berm with targets for firing range practice. The Soldiers 

knew only one way to fire a weapon, standing straight up. We went 

through practice in all the basic firing positions: lying down, kneeling 

on one knee, standing, and so forth. We trained on the proper sight 

picture for an M-1 or a carbine. We worked on known distance firing. 

 The most fundamental instruction consumed much of our initial 

training. BRASS. We needed to start with BRASS: Breathe, Relax, 
were using the 60-millimeter mortar, the smallest kind of mortar. 

Before we arrived, they just set their mortar up out in an open field and 

fired. We taught them to dig in a little bit, squat down and fire so they 

wouldn’t be wiped out. Eventually they got doggone good. 

 As we distributed weapons to the troops, I had the nagging 

suspicion that these might be the same guys we were fighting at night. 

I wondered if they changed clothes and became the enemy after dark. 

It was impossible to know. The military arrangement was loose, with 

people going off to work in the fields or going home to be with their 

family at night. 

 I had to keep reminding myself that this was a “pacification 

program.” I was only here to consult, train, assist, and help. I was 

there to save the South Vietnamese from Communism and deadly 

aggressors who were invading their land and destroying their homes. I 

was to do it not by commanding, but assisting Captain An and his 

men. 

 Night operations meant being away from the post. At the 

completion of the operation, Captain An directed us to the best house 

in the nearest village, and that’s where we would reside for the night. 

That was the way Captain An worked, and the village people seemed 

to understand and respect that. Normally the Command Post was the 

closest village, but it was interesting to experience the hospitality of 

the Vietnamese village people. They appeared to be honored to have 

the battalion commander and his men in their home. 

 The arrangement gave us the opportunity to spend time in many 

Vietnamese homes. As advisor to the battalion commander, I lived 

with him and his family at his home and Command Post. We slept on 

mats rather than beds. At the base camp in Phuoc Vinh, I had my own 

room in the Advisory Compound. Rarely did we find ourselves 

without a decent place to sleep. 

 I learned much from Captain An. It was interesting to watch a 

battalion commander’s strategies for command and control. As an 

advisor, I could step back and watch how he ran the battalion. He 

assigned his stronger, more aggressive Soldiers to the lead companies. 
observe the leaders and learn. I have them watch as we use the strong 

ones, and then train them more. They learn by example instead of me 

telling them. Then one day they are stronger and can lead.” 

 Initially, I did not have his confidence as an advisor. He was 

clearly a seasoned veteran, having fought as an officer for the Viet 

Minh for 10 years and for the South Vietnamese another 10. I was 28, 

and he was over 40. I was unfamiliar with the land. He knew every 

inch of it. My Ranger training was about to pay off. 

 Training in Hawaii, survival training, jungle warfare training paid 

off in many ways. The Vietnam jungle, however, was like none other 

I’d experienced. I’m not sure there’s a way to properly prepare for 

war in a triple-canopy jungle without growing up there. Towering 

trees, stretching 100 feet toward the sky, soared above smaller trees 

straining for sunlight. Beneath the canopy of trees, the jungle floor 

grew thick with bushes, tall grasses, vines, and smaller trees. 

Claustrophobic vegetation blocked out sunlight, restricted airflow, and 

generally seemed hell bent on choking everything. 

 There were places where you could not see more than 10 or 15 feet 

in front of you in the daytime. Night was impossible. With assistance 

from the North Vietnamese, our enemy, the Viet Cong, cut multiple 

trails and tunnels through the jungle. They built way stations for 

storing food and medical supplies. In the blink of an eye, they could 

disappear into a tunnel. If we didn’t know where the capstone for the 

tunnel was located, we would never find them. As time passed, we 

found tunnel areas, and because most of the supplies were stored 

above ground, we found those, too. 

 We were moving the battalion on a three-day field operation 

through the jungle. Our mission involved looking for VC units and 

their supply locations. These Viet Cong are not to be confused with 

the North Vietnamese Army Soldiers who would come later. The 

local VC seldom moved in units larger than a squad (9 to 11 men). If 

we spotted a platoon, that was a great concern. 

 Our three companies were moving, getting close to the objective 

area. As we deployed off multiple jungle trails into line formation, 
front of the line companies. They must have been on an easier jungle 

trail to negotiate than the rest of us. I could tell they were moving out 

in front of us because our radio communication was becoming fainter 

and fainter. The mortar section was a headquarters weapons section in 

a support role to us and was to remain behind our unit. If they got too 

far out in front, we were in danger of losing them to the VC. On this 

particular night, my frustration level got a thorough test because I was 

not able to take command. I made suggestions to Captain An that fell 

on deaf ears. 

 Attempts to advise him that the headquarters mortar section had 

moved forward went beyond futile. He kept looking at me as though I 

was a royal pain in the backside who didn’t know squat about jungle 

warfare. 

 Finally his response was, “They have not moved ahead! 

Absolutely not! That’s not the case.” 

 “Well, let’s go check,” I said through clenched teeth, towering 

over him. “Lives are at stake here, theirs and ours. Let’s go together 

and check.” 

 Reluctantly, moving as though he knew it was a waste of time, he 

agreed to investigate. As I knew he would, he found our mortars 

ahead of a nearby company. The look on his face was one of 

astonishment. “How could you know?” he whispered. The surprised 

expression dissolved into a smile. He nodded an appreciative nod. I 

hoped he was thinking, “The kid may know something after all.” 

 From that day forward, I seemed to stand in a new light with the 

battalion staff and commander. He looked upon me as a different 

person and began to take my advice. Our personal relationship 

expanded and deepened with respect and admiration over the year we 

spent together. 

 The Battalion had one artillery section to support the entire unit. It 

was a two-gun section of 105s. The 105 has a 10,000 meter range. 

One cannon was positioned to provide artillery support out as far as 

10,000 meters. We took the second cannon out about 9,000 meters, 
gun covered the second gun and gave us about 19,000 meters in which 

to operate. 

 I watched his judicious use of artillery. His two 105s were like 

crown jewels to him. He jealously guarded his ammunition. I think it 

must have gone back to Viet Minh days when he was fighting the 

French and there was a shortage of ammunition. In our case, we didn’t 

have a shortage, but, like our generation that went through the 

Depression, he needed his storehouse of ammunition. He needed it to 

maintain his personal security level and, I suspect, for prestige 

purposes as well. We actually got all we asked for, and it was 

generally under our control. 

 Captain An never, ever, went outside the artillery fan. In Zone D, 

the infamous land of the “Dragons,” we discussed at length exactly 

where our location was in the jungle. Should we find ourselves too 

close to the maximum limit, we stopped and turned around. The 

“Dragon” was beyond that, and the “Dragon” was going to get you. It 

was simply a given that we did not cross that imaginary line the two 

howitzers covered. 

 Not to say that Captain An wasn’t a courageous man. I cannot 

imagine anyone who knew him describing him as weak or afraid. He 

was quite brave and understood how to move through jungle areas. 

Using his strategy, he accomplished much, and he brought his men 

back alive. Unfortunately, we had wounded, but they were alive. 

Other battalions operated a bit differently. Ours did not move outside 

the artillery fan. That was a hard and fast rule not to be broken. 

 We had a “commando platoon.” This platoon carried out the 

functions of a reconnaissance element or a cavalry unit. The more I 

learned about the commando platoon, the more I worried about them. 

They were all captured ex-Viet Cong. In fact, they were ex-VC that 

our battalion had picked up. Through a little counseling by Captain 

An and money, they switched sides. I wondered how much their new 

monthly pay had to do with the decision to change allegiance from 

North to South. 
way to get some high impact weapons. I managed to get a case of 12-

gauge shotguns that used double-aught buckshot. Those weapons cut 

a big pattern. A shipment from Bien Hoa included M-3 submachine 

guns, which I thought were useless. Most of the weapons went to the 

commando platoon because they were our lead group. With the 

knowledge that all our men were behind them, they shot at anything 

that moved in the bush. 

 The commando platoon became expert marksmen and an effective 

squad. It was slightly unnerving at times to be led by a group of 

Soldiers who had once been prisoners of war. Nevertheless, Captain 

An was convinced of their loyalty to the Nationalists and the South. 

They remained our lead platoon. 

 It was also unusual to have a woman accompany us on operations. 

In 1964, women were seldom involved in combat situations. I first 

saw the woman the men called “Tiger Lady” late one afternoon when 

we returned to the base camp. Visually scanning the camp as we 

entered, I did a double take when I saw her. Were my eyes deceiving 

me? Was that a woman wearing a set of camouflaged fatigues with a 

“tiger stripe” design? Did I see a woman dressed as a Soldier carrying 

a weapon? 

 Captain An approached her, and they greeted one another. The 

men held back. The manner in which they looked at her suggested she 

was known and feared. “She’s killed more VC than anyone else,” said 

one of the Soldiers. “Everyone knows Tiger Lady.” I later learned 

that indeed, everyone in our three provinces knew about Tiger Lady. 

She regularly made rounds at all the militia camps. 

 I was introduced to the famous “Tiger Lady,” and using broken 

Vietnamese, French, and English, we attempted a conversation. She 

was trim, fit, and clearly a tough woman. I could see why the men 

called her “Tiger Lady.” The image was enhanced by her uniform 

with a pattern that somewhat resembled the skin of a tiger. 

 The next day, we received word from Xuan Loc, a compound that 

had been overrun. As was our usual procedure with a problem 

anywhere in our three provinces, we jumped into action. For me, it 
to respond to the attack. In fact, it was downright bizarre. However, 

there she was. She carried her own pack and weapon and did better 

than keep up. I would describe her as an unorthodox and amazing 

disciplinarian who was devoted to the Nationalist cause and a free 

Vietnam. She was serving her country and was deadly serious about 

it. 

 Some of the Soldiers weren’t moving fast enough to suit her, and 

she kicked the heck out of them. Responding to her as a mother 

figure, they moved a little bit quicker. All the Soldiers were scared to 

death of her. She was a big help when we arrived at Xuan Loc. The 

sight was grim and gut-wrenching. The compound had sustained 

intense fire, and the devastation was extensive. We were too late. A 

helicopter bringing in re-supply items had been shot down, the pilots 

wounded, and several Americans killed. Instead of fighting the VC as 

we anticipated, we were cleaning up the carnage left in their bloody 

wake. 

 We spent the better part of a day with the villagers who managed 

to escape death one more time. Our medic worked his magic with the 

wounded. The rest of us went to work along side the survivors 

restoring order and making repairs as best we could. “Tiger Lady” 

was everywhere consoling her people and ordering Soldiers to do this 

and do that. Late in the afternoon she said her good-byes and moved 

on to the next camp. 

 As part of our country’s pacification program in Vietnam, military 

advisors spent time in every village to help, to advise, and gather 

information. Monthly reports to III Corps that our PBT Special Zone 

submitted included map verification on gigantic foldout paper maps 

and a written report about each area. U.S. AID (Agency for 

International Development) was also involved. We would go into 

villages together, helping in various ways. 

 Large rubber plantations were scattered about in our three 

provinces. They were the plantations that had been controlled by the 

French for so many years. French influence permeated the lives of 

every living thing in the area. Most of the villages were Catholic, and 

before anyone did anything, the priest of the village had to give his 
leader, or the commander of local militia, the priest’s approval was 

necessary prior to taking action on just about anything. 

 Using the strategy “when in Rome, do as the Romans...,” the first 

order of business in each village was to meet with the priest. We 

would request his approval for whatever project we wanted to 

undertake and then enlist his advice and consent in the process. 

Incorporating that method assured his okay with our actions and 

tended to endear us to the villagers. 

 Initially the villagers were suspicious. They wanted to know why 

we were there and what we were doing. After a few months, 

relationships with everyone in the village developed. Kids came 

running toward us as we entered a camp, wanting to hold our hands. 

Holding hands was so commonplace in their culture, a gesture of 

friendship and trust. Grown men wanted to hold hands. Even the 

priest wanted to hold hands. I was never comfortable with that, but, 

“when in Rome...or Vietnam.” 

 I was struck by the respect for elders that prevailed in all of the 

Asian countries I had the privilege of visiting. The people of Vietnam 

were no different. They gave their elders positions of great influence. 

Advice from the elders was sought on everything, from the smallest to 

the most crucial of decisions. Elders were included in every problemsolving and decision-making discussion. They had the ultimate 

authority, except where the priest was consulted, in which case his 

word ruled. 

 Respect for parents and grandparents in Vietnam clashed with an 

emerging disrespect shown to elders in the U.S.A. Conservative 

conformism was cracking under the weight of the 70 million teens and 

young adults populating our country. News from the states came in 

the form of letters from Pat. I was unaware that the continuing racial 

protests she mentioned in her letters were only the tip of an iceberg of 

unrest, rising from an overwhelming sea of youth. Big changes, unlike 

any I had witnessed in my lifetime, were about to alter my country’s 

culture forever. 
different country, walking a tightrope between military operations and 

teaching the villagers how to raise pigs. Yes, pigs. We quietly joked 

about pigs giving their lives to save the endangered dogs and monkeys. 

Part of the AID program involved agricultural instruction. The 

civilian AID advisor brought with him fast growing rice, vegetable 

seeds, materials to build homes and pigpens, and pigs. We always set 

aside a couple of hours each day to help the community. 

 As Soldiers, we worked with the AID advisor and the villagers, 

constructing pigpens, building homes, and sowing rice and vegetable 

seeds. We built concrete pads with low fences and a small hut at one 

end for the pigs. The animals would provide a source of meat. Fast 

growing rice was introduced in an attempt to double the harvest cycle. 

We taught them how to build an insulated house. Adobe type 

structures were framed with tree limbs and filled in with a mud 

mixture. 

 The villagers were deprived, destitute, and most appreciative of the 

cooking oil and canned products among the AID supplies. I turned the 

medic loose to provide medical care where needed. He was 

everywhere giving shots, pulling teeth, and distributing vitamins and 

soap. 

 One day I asked him, “Why do some of the villagers have black 

lips and teeth? Is it malnutrition?” 

 He explained that the people you see with black lips are chewing 

betel nuts, which are highly addictive, and the people must get a high 

similar to cocaine when they chew them. 

 “It’s sad to see them smile,” I commented. “It’s such an empty, 

depressed smile.” 

 The medic not only treated the Vietnamese, he also treated us. I 

had dysentery my entire first tour of duty in Vietnam, and so did all 

members of the five-man advisory team. We all lost weight. I lost 50 

pounds that year. Our medic ordered cases of something like Maalox 

or something that treated the symptoms, and we drank gallons of it. 

We always had a bottle of the white stuff in our pockets. The 
washing their hands or pots and pans. To this day, I’m occasionally 

revisited by the problem. 

 We ate with the Vietnamese, which meant eating what they ate. 

Because I was the commander’s advisor, I lived and ate with him. 

Captain An was concerned and quite diligent about the safety of his 

food. The cuisine safety net covered poison, not dirt and germs. The 

same trusted person prepared all the meals for him and his family. I 

wasted my breath encouraging our cook to wash his hands before 

preparing our meals. The same went for the pots and pans. Lengthy 

explanations about soap and hot water combating germs went to no 

avail. The cook simply went to a stream, sort of rinsed out the pans 

and let them dry in the sun. Each pot had rings inside and black rings 

on the outside from the open flames. 

 

 Our hosts were exempt from effects of the lack of cleanliness. 

They were decidedly immune to the disruptive bug that invaded our 

bodies. There were times when I offered C-Rations as my contribution 

to our dinner. C-Rations were the Army prepared meals, the 

nutritionally balanced combat rations, eaten when a Soldier could not 

get back to his base kitchen for a hot meal. Pork and beans, beef stew, 

and mystery spaghetti were among the dining choices. The pound 

cake with peaches was a favorite among American Soldiers. 

 Captain An and his family admitted that they considered my food 

weird. The heavy fat- and calorie-laden preparations in no way 

pleased their palates. With sincere expressive apologies, they chose 

their own food over C-Rations. Remembering the teachings of my 

Southern mother, I acquiesced and did the Southern gentleman thing. 

I ate the food offered by my host, secretly suffered with dysentery, and 

drank endless bottles of white stuff. 

 The mainstay of our diet was rice. The cook was adept at making 

rice balls that he wrapped in leaves. They stored nicely in my pack 

when we were on maneuvers and would keep for a couple of days. 

The balls nourished, satisfied, and fueled energy without leaving me 

feeling stuffed. Rice nurtured and nourished the Vietnamese. I was 

learning it could do the same for me. 
it, fresh fruit. The cook’s method of preparing chicken may have been 

the gastric culprit. The chicken was de-feathered and the inside 

cleaned out, sort of. Then he ceremoniously stretched it out on his 

chopping block and, with his cleaver, whacked off its head, threw that 

away and proceeded to chop, chop, chop down the length of the body. 

This method cut the bones, meat, and whatever was left inside into 

small pieces. All this went into the pot with the rice. Bits of bone 

clung to every piece of chicken. 

 Several times, I offered the cook advice. When I was growing up, 

I learned how to cut up and cook a chicken. I met with Captain An’s 

cook and my Master Sergeant who spoke Vietnamese. As 

diplomatically as I knew how, I suggested alternative ways to cut up a 

chicken. I pointed out the different parts (leg, breast, thigh, wishbone, 

and wing) and explained how to cut it into large pieces. Leaving the 

bones in larger pieces made them easier to discard later, I explained. I 

showed him how to de-bone the bird so that only the meat went into 

the pot. We spent hours with him talking about cutting up a chicken. 

He would smile and get out his cleaver. 

 Cook politely complied with my teaching while I stood beside him 

and his pots. As soon as I left the cooking area, he returned to his 

customary mode of operation. After my tutorial, I would see the cook 

smiling and nodding in my direction just before he stretched out a 

chicken, whacked off its head, threw it away, and chop, chop, chopped 

away. I had to laugh. I grew to love these people, chicken bones and 

all. 

 Small deer lived in Zone D. They were about three feet tall, much 

smaller than our American deer. Occasionally Captain An, Cook, and 

some of the Soldiers would smile and say “We have deer tonight.” 

They had a lot of fun with us smiling and reporting, “We have deer 

again tonight.” 

 I would go along with the joke, saying, “You damn guys are 

cooking dog again, aren’t you?” Truth was never told, but I suspected 

the deer was actually dog and monkey more than I wanted to know. If 

there was a dog in a village, it usually wasn’t around when we left. If 
that monkey was on somebody’s rice that night. 

 One late afternoon as the first day of a three-day operation was 

winding down, Captain An said to me in broken English, French and 

Vietnamese, “Want to go fishing? It’s the end of the day. No Viet 

Cong are out. It’s safe.” 

 A nearby river made me think of the Arkansas streams I used to 

fish. We could probably find something to use as a pole, line, and 

hook. Nodding approval to An, I decided late evening fishing might 

just be the kind of tranquil activity we all needed. I thought of home 

as I watched the gently flowing water glide over river rocks. Along 

the banks, Soldiers were pulling off their gear, resting along the edge 

of the water, and squatting to go to the bathroom. Well, maybe it was 

not exactly like home. 

 Captain An pulled a grenade from his vest, walked to the edge of 

the water, pulled the pin, and threw it in the middle of the river. Then 

he pulled off another grenade and threw it in. Startled, I ran for cover. 

Both grenades exploded, and dead fish floated to the top. “Fishing. 

Got one,” he grinned in my direction. He sent two Soldiers into the 

river to collect the fish. So much for some quiet, late afternoon 

fishing. Any VC within hearing distance knew where we were now. 

 Phoning home to Arkansas from Vietnam was a major happening 

during that year, and second-grader Sabra loved it. She enjoyed our 

phone conversations with all the “over” and “over and out” phrases 

involved. Letters to Pat were filled with stories of the poverty of the 

South Vietnamese with whom I now made my home. Pat, working at 

St. Andrew’s United Methodist Church in Arkadelphia, organized a 

clothing drive at the church, asking for children’s clothes of all sizes. 

For the most part, those contributing knew nothing about Vietnam. 

What they did know was they had a hometown boy in a third world 

country in Asia, and his hometown wife was collecting clothes for the 

needy children there. 

 During that year, Pat shipped box after box of clothing to me for 

welcome distribution. The villagers were grateful for every article Pat 

sent. I have pictures of Vietnamese children, three or four years old, 
kids that even our baby-sized clothes were too big for them. Watching 

them as the items were distributed softened my reserve and brought 

the ache of separation from my own family sneaking to the surface. 

 Christmas was near, and I could not go home. I would not be with 

Pat on Christmas for the second time since we married. Sabra’s 

second grade class would have a Christmas program. Dede was four 

and would be very excited about Santa. I was going to miss it all, but 

this was no time to get sappy. 

 Showing their appreciation to Pat for the clothes, several sent her 

Christmas cards. Some who sent the cards were Buddhists. In spite of 

their beliefs, they were honoring Pat’s religious celebration and her 

gifts to them. The people of my three provinces included Catholics 

and Buddhists. Hamlets and villages most influenced by the French 

were Catholic, the rest remained Buddhists. It was in the Catholic 

villages, of course, that we consulted with the priests before taking 

action. In the Buddhist areas, we worked with the local militia. 

 Smaller outlying villages surrounded the larger villages. They 

were about five or six kilometers apart, similar to a city with suburbs. 

The trails between the villages were better than most. It occurred to 

someone that traveling between the villages would be much easier on a 

bicycle. We started a “Bicycle Brigade,” and with help from various 

sources, we managed to buy bicycles. Once the villagers learned to 

ride and saw the benefit of the bikes, they loved it. 

 The local police and Popular Forces in each village wore black 

clothing that looked like pajamas and were similar to National 

Guardsmen in a city. It was not uncommon to see a local policeman 

flying along on his bicycle, warning the outlying villages of coming 

danger or peddling happily along making routine rounds. The bicycle 

was a quicker means of transportation than running and didn’t leave 

them as breathless and tired. The occasional bike races we organized 

were a hoot and a break from the worries of VC attacks. 

 Each month, I continued to send through PBT Headquarters 

corrected maps and reports to headquarters. Headquarters compiled 

the information they received from advisors spread across the country. 
of our “pacification” program. The maps resembled a Rorschach test. 

What looked like ink blots or splotches on the maps indicated areas 

that had been “pacified.” Pacification was considered successful after 

two goals were reached: (1) when an area was victoriously defended 

by local popular forces and (2) no VC contact had occurred in a 

specified length of time. The pacified area became an inkblot on our 

maps. 

 The Phuoc Binh Thanh Special Zone was led by Colonel Hill, who 

later went to III Corps at Fort Hood to be the chief of staff. (He made 

Brigadier and Major General). Major Robert Chambers was 

operations chief and was my rating official. He gave operational 

guidance to all the unit people, whether it was a battalion advisor or 

the district regional/popular force. He was at Leavenworth as an 

instructor some time in the late seventies or early eighties. Major 

Edward Levine, deputy to Major Chambers, was also there and was a 

friend and mentor. 

 Colonel Hill and Major Chambers personally worked on 

pacification plans for each province. I don’t remember a lot of 

guidance coming from III Corps. Perhaps it was because we were 

blazing new trails in the world of “pacification.” We were making it 

up as we went along. There were discussions about how to deal with 

the local villages and priests and about training the regional forces, 

popular forces, and local militia. But there was little about “lessons 

learned” or techniques for actually doing any of it. I was blessed with 

a great Special Forces Master Sergeant who came up with many 

creative and effective ideas. 

 My best guess is that, in late 1964 and early 1965, about 25 percent 

of the provinces were considered pacified. Our efforts were slowly 

beginning to pay off when, in August of 1964, the probability of a 

conflict between the United States and North Vietnam increased. 

North Vietnamese patrol boats attacked U.S. naval vessels conducting 

surveillance of North Vietnam’s coastal defenses. The U.S. military 

promptly launched retaliatory air strikes. At President Johnson’s 

request, Congress passed the Southeast Asia Resolution – also called 

the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution – authorizing necessary actions to 

protect American forces and to provide for defense of the allies in 
stake in the war. 

 It was about this time we began a process of relocating some of the 

villages. In the years since my time there, I have tried to reconcile the 

conflicted reasoning behind this particular assignment. The villages 

were being relocated due to their proximity to VC re-supply routes. 

Well-meaning personnel from headquarters were attempting to save 

people by moving the entire village (people, homes, everything) out of 

harm’s way. The people of the village had lived there for decades. 

Generations of their ancestors made their homes in that spot on that 

ground. 

 The graves of their ancestors and loved ones rested in that earth. 

Fruit trees, planted long ago and lovingly cared for down through the 

years, had to be abandoned. Favorite banana trees, which loyally fed 

the villagers, were left behind. It was a heart-tugging, heart-wrenching 

thing we did, but we were trying to do the right thing. We were saving 

their lives by moving them away from the deadly bullets and 

destructive torches of the North Vietnamese Army’s killing machine. 

I’m not sure we understood the historical implications of uprooting an 

entire village and replanting it at a place of our choosing. 

 The line of reasoning went something like this. “If we can’t rip up 

the enemy, push him back into his own territory, and close off his 

invasive supply routes, then we’ll evacuate the people we’re defending 

away from the invading enemy.” The villagers never took that idea 

kindly, nor did they understand, when we approached saying, “It’s not 

safe here. We’re going to move you over there where it’s safe.” Our 

announcement was always accompanied with gifts. As an enticement 

to the local militia to encourage the villagers to move, we gave them 

uniforms, weapons, ammunition, and training. The AID representative 

followed that with bags of corn and flour and cans of cooking oil, all 

bearing the red, white, and blue U.S.A. signs. 

 I watched as people began migrating back to their original 

location. They were sneaking back home. Our strategies to make 

them safe were not working. Ingrained traditions in their culture did 

not mesh with the “head ‘em up and move ‘em out” kind of mobile, 

cowboy culture of ours. The gifts of flour, corn, and oil began to leave 
with the help of protective advisors who didn’t appear to understand 

much about their culture. As protective consultants, we, the advisory 

team, were growing frustrated with the trial and error approach to 

“pacification”. 

 On the one hand, the South Vietnamese were making their own 

military decisions and fighting their own battles, with our help and 

advice. We by no means had the last say in that area. On the other 

hand, we took total control of where they lived. In this, they had no 

say. Not losing face was an integral part of their behavior and daily 

lives, and all interactions were influenced by fundamental, unspoken 

principles of saving face. Moving villages meant the militia wasn’t 

doing its job; they weren’t protecting their people. It meant losing 

face. Relocation of villages made about as much sense as anything 

else during that year. It fit nicely into a world where priests had the 

authority to make military decisions, ex-prisoners of war were our lead 

Soldiers, and a woman called “Tiger Lady” dropped by to kick men 

into action. 

 Along with the advisory team, I was using every inch of the right 

side of my brain finding imaginative solutions for what seemed 

unsolvable problems. Creative strategies were the order of the day 

with bicycle brigades, black uniforms for the local militia, and Pat’s 

clothing drive for the kids. Shotguns for our commando unit and boots 

for the Soldiers were procured in very imaginative ways. The 

regulation M-3 submachine guns we were sent scared the hell out of a 

lot of birds and monkeys, but they were ineffective with the enemy. 

At least we never found anyone injured or killed by an M-3. My 

thoughts about procuring and using shotguns paid off. Shotguns were 

much more effective than M-3s. 

 The most intense action I saw that year occurred when the 

battalion was asked to go to Hon Quan. As Hon Quan was under 

attack, an airborne battalion shipped in first, then a Ranger battalion. 

As a reinforcing unit, we arrived last, and the action was totally over. 

It was a near miss that had us all concerned. The Hon Quan U.S. 

Army advisory compound had been overrun. In the middle of the 

night, infiltrators the VC called “sappers” got inside the high wire 

fence surrounding the compound. They threw explosive charges all 
recoilless rifle lined up to fire straight through the plywood billet area 

where the advisors were staying. These were plywood huts all neatly 

lined up. 

 The attack began as many people were inside having late evening 

coffee. Countless individuals were injured, and several were killed. 

When we arrived, the 57 rounds had transited 200 feet of billet area 

where officers, NCOs and advisors lived. I took note of how 

vulnerable the compounds were. Even with berms, high wire fences, 

and guard towers, it was a false security. Avoiding the watchful eye of 

the guard in the tower, the sappers simply cut the wire, crawled over 

the berm, and were inside. 

 There were certain villages that somehow endured attack after 

attack. We started putting spikes, branches with one end whittled into 

a sharp spike, around each village. Even the gate area had spikes 

sticking out of it. Then we put barbed wire behind the spikes, so 

intruders could not crawl under. This arrangement made the villagers 

feel a little safer, a little more secure. 

 

 Our advisory team received operational guidance from Majors 

Chambers and Levine, and the AID civilian advisor shared ideas about 

giving help and support to the local villages. Through an innate 

concern and caring for people, we discovered ways to help the most 

poverty-stricken souls we had ever encountered. The Vietnamese 

people with whom we worked and lived evoked a natural sympathy 

and compassion from all of us. 

 In the PBT Special Zone, we received minimal intelligence reports 

on VC activities. Oddly, the reports seemed aimed at the platoon-size 

activities and larger. In our operations, we encountered only small 

size VC groups. Timely and accurate intelligence was rare. 

 Months later, assigned to PBT Special Zone headquarters for a few 

weeks, I noticed a rather unusual looking civilian who had meetings 

there every now and then. He wore a khaki uniform, trousers bloused 

at the boots, and a pistol, John Wayne style, hanging down the side 

from one hip. His crew cut was crisp and clean, and he always carried 

a briefcase. We guessed Secret Intelligence Service and later learned 
our Colonel and the Colonel’s Vietnamese counterpart. At his request, 

U.S. officers would vacate the premises when he questioned 

Vietnamese civilians. We suspected the witnesses were paid for 

information. He was an interesting character to watch. 

 The spring of 1965 found the VC continuing their bombardment of 

South Vietnamese rural areas, trying to disrupt pacification and oust 

the government. They made deep inroads in the central coastal 

provinces, the Delta, and critical provinces around Saigon. Committed 

to a static defense, American government forces were unable or 

unwilling to respond to attacks against rural communities. 

 By the summer of 1965, I felt a shift in the status quo, a subtle 

undercurrent laced with foreboding signposts of danger and death. 

South Vietnam became a more treacherous place with larger VC units 

and the appearance of the first North Vietnamese cadre. The U.S. 

build up was just beginning with the 173rd Airborne, the 1st Infantry 

Division (1st ID, “Big Red One”) and the 1st Cavalry Division. I had 

friends in both divisions, from Ranger, Airborne, and Infantry Basic 

Officers Course. 

 The era of pacification and advisor teams was about to end. It was 

being consumed by the monster of war. President Johnson, frustrated 

with the situation in what he called “that damned little piss ant 

country,” was at last giving General William C. Westmoreland what 

he had requested for months. The American commander in Vietnam 

was getting American combat troops who would do more than 

defensive duties. They were authorized to begin attacking and killing 

Viet Cong. 

 The 2nd Brigade, 1st ID deployed to Vietnam in July 1965, and the 

rest of the division deployed in October, after I went back to the 

States. Colonel Lloyd L. “Scooter” Burke, a brigade commander, was 

in the first group. It was a small world after all. Scooter was from 

Tichnor, Arkansas, and graduated several years ahead of me from 

Henderson State Teachers College. I didn’t know him, but I certainly 

knew of him. 
Vietnam. As a First Lieutenant in Korea, he received the Medal of 

Honor for his assault on three Korean bunkers near Imjin River in 

October 1951, and was later severely wounded in Vietnam.8

 

 Years later, when I was the Department of the Army Deputy Chief 

of Staff for Logistics (DA DCSLOG), Colonel Burke was in the Office 

of the Chief of Legislative Liaison. I remember reading a statement 

from Congress when he retired. It said something like, “We don’t 

understand why such an outstanding Colonel never received the 

promotion to Brigadier General. If the House had the authority, we 

would honor him in that way. An outstanding Soldier who is highly 

respected in both the Army and Congress is retiring.” 

 The last 45 days I was in Vietnam, I moved up to division to be an 

Assistant Chief of Staff, G-3 Operations and Plans advisor, 10th

Division. Ironically, the Vietnamese are suspicious of the number ten. 

To them, ten is bad. It’s the worst. I was hoping the VC would not 

choose to attack us simply on the basis that we were Division 10. 

 During those last days I was in several liaison meetings with 

Colonel Burke for the purpose of discussing terrain features and 

strategies for operating together, Vietnamese and U.S., in the jungle 

environment. We had an upcoming operation where we could work 

side by side. I was looking forward to working with and getting to 

know this legend from my college. 

 From our initial meeting, relationships between the incoming 

infantry officers and the outgoing advisory teams were strained. In 

another time, another place, things would have been different. 1965 

was a pivotal year in the course of our country and a strange year that 

affected us all. We were weary and literally worn thin by life in the 

jungle, ready to share what we had learned. The incoming officers 

with whom we were to work seemed reserved, unresponsive, and 

suspicious of our readiness to collaborate. 

 At home, the chaotic pot of race riots was boiling over in the South 

and spilling onto our college campuses and our city streets. For the 

first time in the history of our country, youth outnumbered their elders, 

and they were snubbing all traces of authority. No longer did, “Do it 
preacher” bring about obedience. Everything was questioned. Drugs, 

debate, and free love were the latest trends. 

 Politically, the country was recovering from the assassination of 

President Kennedy. President Johnson had promised that “American 

boys would not be sent to do what Asian boys ought to be doing for 

themselves.” His resolve weakened, and he began giving 

Westmoreland more and more combat troops while continuing his 

Great Society programs at home. 

 In that climate, Congress authorized military action in Vietnam by 

passing the Gulf of Tonkin resolution. The question of how best to use 

large numbers of American ground forces was still unresolved on the 

eve of deployment. The concept that was eventually agreed upon was 

largely defensive in nature. Johnson was advised to leave troops in the 

rest of the world in place and rely on Reserve forces to take a more 

aggressive, direct route to stop enemy infiltrations. 

 Against the advice of his military chiefs, Johnson chose American 

escalation in South Vietnam, which consumed our best in military 

personnel and equipment. Instead of mobilizing Reserve and National 

Guard units, as had been advised, and decisively dealing with the 

problem, he pulled our finest from their posts across Europe and the 

Americas. Along with thousands of draftees, they were sent to 

Vietnam. With our wisest and most experienced officers went the 

highest quality materiel. A trend by the White House of choosing not 

to heed military advice continued throughout the war and proved 

unfortunate. A minute glimpse of military strategies and planning 

gone awry presented itself during the initial meeting with the 1st ID 

officers the summer of 1965. 

 Sitting across the table from Scooter Burke and the other incoming 

officers that first morning, we were ready to share the wealth of 

knowledge we’d amassed while living with the South Vietnamese 

Army for almost a year. We were eager to help coordinate operations 

for the combined U.S. and South Vietnamese forces. My Master 

Sergeant was concluding his second Vietnam tour. He had a wealth of 

information that could save time, money, and most importantly, lives. 

We were elated for now we could attack the enemy instead of advising 
and elation soon faded. 

 Information shared with us by the 1st Brigade officers was 

minimal. They explained that much of their operation was classified. 

“How are we to coordinate an offensive if we don’t know your plan of 

action?” was a question that repeatedly surfaced in our meetings. It 

soon became clear that we were not coordinating anything, or at least 

much of anything. 

 We attempted to work on a fire support plan, but they would not 

share supporting fires. “It might be useful if we knew your plans and 

you knew ours in order to provide fire support,” I suggested one day. 

There was to be no sharing because we were back to “classified.” We 

wondered if they thought we were too close to our Vietnamese 

counterparts and would tell them things we shouldn’t. Did they think 

we advisors had been there too long and were too sympathetic to the 

Vietnamese to be effective? 

 Whatever the reasoning, it was frustrating to be on a parallel 

operation with no mutual support, no fire support, no planned 

exchanges, no call signs, and no radio frequency exchanges. 

Everything was kept separate. For all practical purposes, we were 

separately fighting the same enemy, in the same place, at the same 

time with no communication or cooperation. 

 There were things we didn’t do well during that time in Vietnam. 

We didn’t know it, but it was the beginning of a trend, the start of a 

series of things not done well. I learned valuable lessons early about 

coalition warfare and the importance of exchanging information and 

using liaison teams for coordination purposes. Back then, we were 

just learning how to deal with those kinds of issues. Years later in 

Desert Storm, coordination within the Coalition was a major factor in 

that operation’s success. Fire support plans and backup logistics 

support were integral factors in strategy. We exchanged language 

teams with the allies who literally could converse in the other Army’s 

language. In Desert Storm, the attacks were unified, coordinated down 

to the last detail, and precise. Quick in, strike, and get out. 
Headquarters, I filed requested reports on my jungle time. The reports 

discussed the differences in Catholic and Buddhists villages, 

explaining the leadership position of the priests in the Catholic villages 

to the point that the local militia wouldn’t move without the priest’s 

blessing. I wrote of the Buddhist villages where we dealt with the 

local military. 

 The reports included information on our aviation support. While 

advising Captain An, we had American helicopters, light and heavy 

Hueys, that we relied on. The Vietnamese could not call for helicopter 

support. Our copters were always on alert and were nearby at Bien 

Hoa. If we got into a firefight or even suspected enemy sightings, we 

called our Hueys. I grew to love those guys flying our helicopters, and 

we never knew who they were. The light Hueys had rocket pods with 

12 rounds of 2.75-inch rockets on each side. Heavy Hueys had 24 

rocket pods on each side. 

 Not long after our first few requests for air support, I realized the 

VC were listening in on our radio networks. If our radio message gave 

a plume of green smoke as a marker on which to base the grid 

coordinates, there would be two plumes of green smoke, a fake one 

our enemy created and ours. We stopped giving tree lines or a 

specified feature as a coordinate over the radio. I even stopped 

including Captain An in our radio coordination plans, for fear one of 

our Soldiers might be tipping off the VC. With our pilots, we precoordinated a natural land marker from which to calculate targets, and 

we pre-determined smoke color. After that, our radio messages 

sounded something like, “From our pre-designated, pre-agreed marker, 

300 meters on an azimuth of...” The pilots could see our smoke, 

calculate the target area, and soon we’d hear them come whipping 

right over the top of us. Often they were firing right above our heads. 

We’d hear the rockets zinging into the target area out in front of our 

patrol. The power of that sound never fails to grab your attention. 

 We also had an A1-Sky Raider, an American-made fighter aircraft 

that was a twin- seat plane. The United States Air Force was training 

Vietnamese Air Force pilots, and in the back seat of every A1-Sky 

Raider was an American pilot. If we went into Zone D and had a 

serious area, I always requested an A1-Sky Raider, usually without the 
The plane had amazing capabilities and could loiter in an area for four 

hours. I would see them make lazy circles, then take off and be 

replaced by another one. We could call them back if the precoordinated time had expired. We never had to engage them as 

firepower during 1965 because we weren’t encountering large enemy 

forces at that time. 

 However, we did use the Hueys a lot, and I had the greatest respect 

for those pilots. A college friend of mine, Don Chunn, who was a 

Huey gunship pilot, was there about the same time. Dick Stephenson, 

another friend who retired as a two-star General, was also there. I 

knew friends who were flying Cobras. We never received Cobra 

support because we never had the priority, but we used the heck out of 

the heavy Huey team with the 48 missiles. 

 After I returned to the States, I learned that Scooter Burke had 

been seriously wounded. As a brigade commander, he had his own 

Huey, in which he carried an M-79 grenade launcher. During a 

flyover, he saw what appeared to be a VC ducking into one of the 

tunnels. He turned out the door and fired his M-79. The grenade 

clipped the skid of the Huey, and part of the back blast perforated his 

lungs and injured the pilot. Burke was medically evacuated and spent 

his recuperative time in a Veterans Hospital in Little Rock, Arkansas. 

He returned to duty after his convalescence concluded and continued 

to serve his country. 

 By the fall of 1965, Vietnam continued to grow more volatile. It 

was a difficult struggle in a confusing time. The U.S. buildup was 

beginning. After I returned to the States, I heard about the Battle of Ia 

Drang. Ia is the Vietnamese word for river. It was the first battle in 

the Vietnam War in which the U.S. Army engaged large-scale North 

Vietnamese units. Lieutenant Colonel Harold G. Moore, Battalion 

Commander of the 7th Cavalry Battalion of the newly constituted U.S. 

1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile) fought the 32nd, 33rd, and 66th North 

Vietnamese regiments in the Ia Drang valley of the rugged Central 

Highlands. In the 34-day bloody campaign, 305 young American 

Soldiers lost their lives.”9
son, Steve Moore, to Lieutenant Colonel. As we visited, he explained 

that the equalizers in the battle of Ia Drang were the M-16s, the Huey 

helicopters, the new battalion radios, and most importantly, the 

amazing cavalry Soldiers. The battalion received the M-16s as they 

were shipping out on World War II era troopships for Vietnam. To 

familiarize themselves with the guns, they fired them off the fantails of 

the ships. The M-16s proved to be better weapons than the AK-47s 

and were a real asset on the battlefield. General Moore also talked 

about how the Hueys saved their lives over and over again. The Hueys 

re-supplied the battalion with food and ammunition, as well as 

evacuated the wounded continually, night and day. 

 In late June of 1966, when Moore’s tour was up as commander of 

the 3rd Brigade, he hoped his next assignment would be to the Infantry 

School at Fort Benning. He had learned so much to pass along to the 

young officers headed for combat in Vietnam. As it turned out, only 

one of the hundreds of officers who had gone through Airmobile 

training and had field time was assigned to Infantry School. Instead, 

Moore was sent to Washington, D.C. and a desk job. The frustration 

he felt reminded me of the frustration we, as advisors, experienced 

when the 1st ID officers didn’t care to listen to what we had learned 

after a year of living with South Vietnamese commanders and fighting 

the Viet Cong. 

 We did so many things poorly during that time. One mistake was 

not using valuable experience and the lessons we learned for teaching 

and for making decisions that affected thousands of lives. President 

Johnson was trying to pacify the American public by representing 

Vietnam as some little police action that our powerful nation had no 

trouble handling. In so doing, his administration decreed that the tour 

of duty for Soldiers would be one year, only 12 months. Battalion and 

brigade commanders were limited to six months. About the time a 

Soldier, if he survived, learned how to fight in the treacherous 

environment, he went home and was replaced by a new draftee. Just 

as a commander learned the terrain, and his troops, and found 

strategies that worked in this unusual war, he was sent home. All our 

experience and expertise left in a vicious cycle of replacements. 
up the “catch 22” mind set of the Vietnam War. The quote came from 

someone working near Robert S. McNamara, Secretary of Defense, 

and John McNaughton, Assistant Secretary of Defense, both brilliant 

men, as they struggled without success to get a handle on the war and 

pacification process in Vietnam. The witty and sad summation 

regarding what was happening in Vietnam was, “Although we have 

redoubled our efforts, we have lost sight of our objective.”10

 

 As I departed Vietnam in 1965, I was presented with the Bronze 

Star medal, the Air Medal, the Vietnamese “Medal of Honor,” and the 

Combat Infantryman’s Badge. 
Following photos are from GEN Ross’s personal collection. 
Cadet and Mrs. Ross at Military Ball, 

Henderson State University, 1958 

Right guard on 14th Infantry Regiment 

football team 
Young Lieutenant in Hawaii 

Young Lieutenant in Hawaii 
LT Ross with winning BAR Team, 25th ID, 1961 

CPT Ross receives Bronze Star, 1965 
Dinner Vietnam style. Dai Uy An in the 

middle 

Weapons training with local popular 

forces. 
Screaming Eagles DISCOM staff in 

Vietnam (MAJ Ross on left) 

Advisor with “Tiger Lady” 

p

CONUS, 1965-1969

Fort Bragg, 1965

 The contract flight that was to take me away from Vietnam sat on 

the tarmac. Because most airlines were not flying into Saigon, 

contract airlines such as Tower, Evergreen, and others were cheaper 

for the Army to use. As I boarded the plane, contradictory thoughts 

crowded my mind and tugged at my weary spirit. I was sad to leave 

Dai Uy An and the many friends I’d made. Yet, going home to Pat 

and the girls was a precious gift I could not wait to open. I still felt 

frustration with an absence of venue in which to share all I had learned 

during my year in Vietnam. That frustration was topped only by the 

irritation of trying in vain to coordinate operations with Scooter Burke 

and the 2nd Brigade. In the same instance I reflected on these 

frustrations, I felt relief to be moving away from the endless stream of 

errors we were making in our Vietnam efforts. Underneath it all, 

nagging at my very soul, was a poignant desire to help all of the 

Captain Ans of his country free themselves and their citizenry from 

tyrannical, deadly oppressors. 

 Sinking into the airplane seat, I was completely spent, suddenly 

extremely exhausted. I think I relaxed for the first time in months. As 

the airplane gained altitude, I said a silent farewell to the beautiful 

landscapes rushing past below and experienced a sudden and 

unexpected tightness in my chest. Pulling my latest Civil War history 

book from a flight bag, I prepared to distract my thoughts by reading. 

The soothing hum of engines soon lulled me to sleep. Instead of fitful 

dreams of war atrocities or Civil War battles, I dreamed of the 

beautiful city of Saigon. I was back at the Cercle Sportif savoring a 

perfectly prepared steak and a nice bottle of red wine. 

 During the previous year, every two or three months, most advisors 

in the south went to Saigon for a combination business and R&R 

break. We stayed at the Columbia Hotel, which was near the Saigon 

River, not too far from the port and Tu Do Street. Saigon at that time 

was an innocent, quaint, and beautiful city. French influence could be 

seen everywhere in wrought iron telephone posts and streetlights and 
lined the charming streets. Graceful, unhurried, petite women in silk 

dresses and men in suits and silk shirts strolled along the 

thoroughfares. 

 There were very few automobiles, even fewer than in Thailand. At 

each intersection, a uniformed man with white gloves directed traffic, 

much like a maestro conducting an elegant symphony. Cars, 

Lambrettas, bicycles, and bicycle taxis flowed with a quiet, easy 

cadence at the maestro’s direction. The rhythm of the city was 

spellbinding. It was almost as though some bend in the time 

continuum, had allowed me to spend a day in the Asian version of 

turn-of- the-century Paris. It was like taking a trip back in time. 

 When I first arrived in Saigon, I was given a tour of “Cercle 

Sportif.” a well-designed and finely manicured French Country Club. 

There were tennis courts and an architectural masterpiece of a 

clubhouse that served fine international meals with white table cloths, 

candles, china, and linens. During R&R trips, the first thing we did 

after checking into the Columbia Hotel was take a long, hot shower. 

Then we’d go to sleep on a real bed with real sheets and wake just in 

time for dinner at Cercle Sportif. It nurtured the weary spirit and at the 

same time was a little unnerving. After all, we’d just come from the 

jungle where we spent our days washing down salt tablets and rice 

balls with the white stuff for “Ho Chi Minh’s revenge,” trying not to 

get shot, and wearing the same sweaty clothes for days. On the rare 

nights I was fortunate enough to dine at Cercle Sportif, this Arkansas 

boy was in tall cotton indeed. The only thing missing from the 

experience was having the love of my life by my side. In my dream on 

that flight away from Vietnam, the fanciful dream images of dining at 

Cercle Sportif included Pat. As fate would have it, in real life I was 

never able to show Pat Saigon as it was on those unforgettable visits. 

 Sadly, when I returned to Vietnam in 1969, the city had changed 

drastically. It had gone from grace to greed in a matter of years. Tu 

Do Street became famous for all types of illegal activities. Open 

Black Market activity, prostitution, and drugs were everywhere. In 

1964, a person might cautiously approach in an attempt to engage in a 

money exchange. By 1969, hawkers brazenly walked down the street 
greenbacks, U.S. dollars. 

 Even sadder was the involvement of Vietnamese and most likely, 

U.S. Soldiers in the Black Market trade. If an item could not be found 

at the PX, you could get it on any street corner. American products 

were for sale everywhere. We assumed the merchandise was taken off 

the hundreds of ships that arrived daily and then sold on the Black 

Market. Beautiful parks were sacrificed for weapons systems, 

foxholes, trenches, and bunkers. The flowing unhurried rhythm of a 

quaint city had become a loud, frenzied beast of a sin city. The beauty 

of Saigon was lost in the alterations of war. 

 During that long flight back to the States from Vietnam, I 

alternated between fitful sleep and reading, anxious to see my family. 

My flight ended in Dallas. The Army contract flights typically 

couldn’t provide service to the Soldier’s door. Instead of flying into 

Little Rock, I was routed to Dallas. Pat and the girls drove down from 

Arkadelphia to meet my plane and were shocked when they saw me, 

especially Pat. 

 “He looked terrible,” I have heard Pat tell people so many times. 

“I hardly recognized him because he lost 50 pounds and looked so 

sick. All he did for two weeks when he got home was sleep, play with 

the girls a little, talk to me a little, eat, and fall asleep again.” 

 Even though I was tired and had residual dysentery, it never 

occurred to me that I might look scary to my family. I had 30 days 

leave, during which I tried to rest, get my health back to normal, and 

gain a little weight. One afternoon I was resting in a chaise lounge and 

reading in our backyard. Pat dropped the mail on my book. A letter 

from the Department of the Army (DA) lay on top. 

 It was, in fact, an assignment to the XVIII Airborne at Fort Bragg. 

This news lifted my spirits for two reasons; it was an airborne 

assignment, and General Bruce Palmer11 was the corps commander. 

As I continued to read, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I 

re-read the last paragraph and stared at the letter in shock. I had been 

selected for an early promotion to Major. 
because I went early to Vietnam and Thailand, it made a monumental 

difference in my Army career. At the time, I was young, eager, and 

enthusiastic. I had no idea how these assignments would play out over 

time. I call the fast track promotions I enjoyed the “Vietnam Effect.” 

Remember, military personnel were staying for only one year in 

Vietnam with Johnson’s “one year and out” policy. The two Vietnam 

years (1964 and 1969) set me up for “below the zone promotions” to 

Major, Lieutenant Colonel, and Colonel. 

 The service to my country (almost three years in the Indochina 

area), serving in that area when others were requesting assignments 

elsewhere, and the honors, medals, and badges I was awarded made a 

huge difference in my career development. My hope is that this 

explanation doesn’t appear egotistical or arrogant, because it is in no 

way intended to be. During those years and still now, I strongly 

believe in fighting for one’s country and for freedom. 

 When President Kennedy said in his inaugural speech, “We shall 

pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, 

oppose any foe to assure the survival and success of liberty,” I took his 

words to heart. Much later, in 1979, I made the Brigadier Generals’ 

list after being in the Army barely 20 years. I had no idea of the 

eventual long-term influence the “Vietnam Effect” would have. Was I 

lucky? Was I in the right place at the right time? Was someone 

watching over me? Yes, yes, and they must have been. 

 With the news of our new assignment, we were on the move once 

more. Pat made all the arrangements, and our family of four left 

Arkadelphia for Fort Bragg in Fayetteville, North Carolina. Sabra 

entered third grade, and Dede, age five, began kindergarten. With the 

coming promotion to Major and an Airborne slot too, it meant a raise 

in pay. The officer’s jump pay alone was $105 per month. Pat 

decided to leave the school teaching and church work to others. She 

enjoyed a year of volunteering and spending more time with Dede and 

Sabra. Fort Bragg was not too far from the Atlantic Ocean and warm, 

sandy beaches, which pleased my girls. 12 

 The XVIII Airborne Corps has its headquarters at Fort Bragg.13 

Reporting for duty, I found myself among men whom I had met in 
Vietnam. I quickly got the word that the division and corps 

headquarters were going into the Dominican Republic. The Corps 

served as the headquarters for U.S. forces personnel sent to restore law 

and order, prevent a communist takeover of the country, and protect 

American lives. The mission was known as Operation Power Pack. 

Everyone was going. I broke the news to Pat that I’d be leaving soon. 

“So what’s new?” was her reply. “Here you go again just when you 

were starting to gain a little weight and look like yourself.” 

 Arriving in the Dominican Republic, we were met by Colonel 

Myron “Iron Mike” Murley, the G-4 (Assistant Chief of Staff) for the 

XVIII Airborne Corps. He seemed a little surprised to see us. 

Because we had recently returned from Vietnam, he arranged the 

award of the Armed Forces Expeditionary Badge14 for us and sent us 

back to Fort Bragg. Of all my tours of duty, the Dominican Republic 

was the shortest, about one day. Pat and my girls were pretty pleased. 

 Back at Fort Bragg, General Palmer was centralizing a new office 

to do all contingency planning for the XVIII Airborne Corps. He was 

organizing planning positions from the G-1 (Assistant Chief of Staff, 

Personnel), G-2 (Assistant Chief of Staff, Intelligence), G-3 (Assistant 

Chief of Staff, Operations and Plans), and G-4 (Assistant Chief of 

Staff, Logistics). I was one of the three G-4 planners and was 

responsible for Dominican Republic, Haiti, and Cuba plans. 

 At the same time, I was assigned to a parachute position. The 12 

months at Fort Bragg were thoroughly enjoyable. My enthusiasm for 

jumping carried over into our home with Sabra and Dede. They loved 

playing “jump” in the evenings. We’d line up the dining room chairs, 

and I put them through the drill. Pat usually played along too. They 

were the parachutists, and I was the person who stood in the door and 

helped them out of the plane. “Stand up,” I’d command. They’d stand 

at attention. “Hook up,” I shouted causing them to hook on their 

imaginary lines. One by one, they’d make the pretend jump and roll 

on the floor. We’d all end up rolling around on the floor giggling and 

laughing. They loved it. Years later, at Strike Command at MacDill 

Air Force Base, they would walk out on the drop zone and help me 

recover my parachute. 
briefings to the Corps staff and to General Palmer. A major briefing, 

for me, was accompanying General Palmer to the United States Strike 

Command (USSTRICOM, later the U.S. Readiness Command) to brief 

the commander, General Paul D. Adams. It was hard to ignore all the 

stories about General Adams’ reputation as a “real bear.” Word had it 

he would throw two or three briefing officers per day off the stage. I 

think that even General Palmer gave a sigh of relief when we skated 

through that briefing. We briefed plans for the Dominican Republic 

and Haiti. They were small and generally straightforward. Cuba was 

the big plan in 1966, and General Adams had very few questions, 

ending with “good job.” Whew! 

 Others would then ask me, “How do you brief General Adams and 

stay alive?” 

 I’d generally reply with, “I used the KISS principle: ‘Keep it 

simple, stupid.’” 

 It was interesting to me to note that, during every exercise I was on 

at XVIII Corps, someone from Strike Command was there. A 

representative from Army, Navy, Air Force, or Marine Corps was 

there to monitor the staff. There was usually also someone from the 

logistics area. For example, we might parachute into Peterson Field 

across from Fort Carson, use the hangers at Peterson Field, and for the 

purpose of the exercise, pretend it was a foreign country. There was a 

Strike Command officer there. Even General Adams, as the 

commander, came to Fort Bragg at least twice during that year to visit 

our field operations. 

 Parachuting into Peterson was more than just another jump. We 

were told that the Peterson field runway was about 4,000 feet in 

altitude. Our jumpmaster said, “You will notice that you are dropping 

at a faster rate than jumping at Fort Bragg and at sea level.” Was he 

ever right! It seemed that the ground was just flying up at you. The 

jumpmaster forgot to mention the multiple bounces your body made 

on impact. 

 We were at Fort Campbell once when General Adams visited and 

had the entire division on-line so he could talk to all “troopers.” He 
personality, he was certainly involved in almost every aspect of his 

command. Many times I would hear, “General Adams would not 

approve that. That’s not the way he does business.” Even with many 

layers of officers between General Adams and us, the strength of his 

leadership reached from Strike Command to every Soldier. 

 During that year, I was able to watch General Palmer as the corps 

commander and see how he dealt with the 82nd and 101st Airborne 

Divisions. When there were 82nd and 101st exercises, we went along, 

parachuting in with them. We jumped all over the United States in 

many exercises. One month before leaving Fort Bragg, the official 

promotion to Major came through. I received my Senior Parachute 

Badge with Star with over 40 parachute jumps as I departed Fort 

Bragg. Eventually, I completed 117 jumps in my career. My 

daughters received homemade Junior Parachute Badges for the 

thousands of jumps they made from the dining room chairs to the 

floor. 

Fort Leavenworth, 1966

 After only a year at Fort Bragg, we were relocating again, this time 

to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. I received orders to attend Command 

and General Staff College (CGSC) there. We said farewell to the 

close proximity of the Atlantic Ocean and nearby beaches, and moved 

to the middle of the country. As we arrived at Fort Leavenworth, it 

was being designated a Registered National Historic Landmark. A 

portion of the fort was placed on the National Register of Historic 

Places.15 

 Even though I had not previously attended the Officers’ Course, I 

had been using the CGSC Reference Books for some time. Back at 

Fort Bragg in my logistics support plan duties for Cuba, the 

Dominican Republic, and Haiti, I was expected to know what the 

tonnage per class of supply per Soldier was per day. I needed to know 

what the density of the equipment was; how much ammunition per 

weapon system per division, brigade and battalion, we were planning; 

and the requirements of three types of fuel. The set of Leavenworth 

Reference Books were dog-eared and had many marginal notes by the 

time I left Fort Bragg. 
 Lieutenant Colonel Max Thurman16 was in my section for one of 

the class rotations. He seemed older and far more mature than the rest 

of us. It was clear he was marked for leadership. It was such an honor 

to be selected to attend Leavenworth. All my classmates felt it was a 

special privilege to be there. 

 I was, once again, one of the youngest officers in the class. I was 

so junior that we didn’t have “on post” quarters and lived the entire 

year in the city of Leavenworth. The following April, just two months 

before graduation, I had worked my way up to number one on the post 

housing list, but we loved where we were. We didn’t move. We lived 

in a townhouse in a new area, Stone Leigh Court, with a swimming 

pool and tennis courts. It was a very nice neighborhood. All those 

who didn’t want to stay on post for some reason or were too junior to 

move on post ended up at Stone Leigh Court. We studied together and 

partied together. It was a great group with terrific camaraderie. We 

called our little community “Leavenworth South.” 

 Leavenworth had its share of tornadoes. Living on the third floor, 

Pat thought it prudent to join our neighbors in the basement laundry 

room for tornado watches. We began going there to wait out tornado 

watches and warnings. All would bring toys for the kids, wine and 

beer for the adults, and even the family dogs and cats. At the first 

notice of a tornado watch, Pat would bag our Persian cat, Princess, and 

the parade of kids, moms, dads, dogs, and cats would head for the 

basement. I never remember a tornado alert that we didn’t enjoy! We 

were fortunate they were only alerts. 

 Pat shared my interest in history and attempts to learn about the 

surrounding area. She was introduced to the many stories of Fort 

Leavenworth hauntings. There are several old officers’ houses on 

the historic fort grounds that are said to be haunted; faces seen in 

the back of fireplaces, the sound of tea brewing in an empty parlor, 

knocks on doors when no one is there. It is said that the spirit of a 

young priest burned in a church in 1875 can be seen walking up 

and down stairs in a house built from salvageable building material 

of that church. Even General George Custer’s spirit is reported to 

roam the first floor of the General’s Residence because the fort is 
mistreating his troops. 

 The old Disciplinary Barracks had 12 towers, not all of them 

manned, and the number eight tower was closed off, rendering 

access extremely difficult. Guards reported something moving 

inside the tower, and a patrol car reported seeing someone standing 

in the tower pointing a rifle at them. No one was in the tower. 

Long ago, a Soldier committed suicide in the tower by shooting 

himself in the head. In building 65, which was once the prison 

hospital, an unused elevator was said to be haunted. According to 

legend, German POWs were executed in the elevator shaft by 

hanging. Screaming, coming from the old elevator, was reported 

by guards, while on the third floor, sightings of a ghostly man in a 

wheelchair being pushing by another ghostly figure were reported. 

 The houses in Sumner Place are said to be haunted by the 

benevolent spirit of a woman in a black woolen dress and shawl, 

who was reportedly the housekeeper and nanny and lived in the 

attic of one of the houses. One child told his parents that this nice 

lady read him stories before he went to sleep. A book was found 

in the child’s room that didn’t belong to the owners. The ghost of 

Catherine Sutter is said to walk among the tombstones of the 

National Cemetery, located just beyond the prison walls of the 

Disciplinary Barracks. In 1880, Catherine, her husband, and two 

children stopped at the fort on their way to the Oregon territory. 

One day her husband sent the children out to collect firewood, but 

they never returned. Catherine became a familiar figure at the fort, 

spending many hours walking in the snow, calling out to her 

children. Catherine died that winter and was buried in the 

cemetery at Fort Leavenworth. 

 Halloween that year at Fort Leavenworth scared the starch right 

out of our shirts. What a ghostly night, with our goblins roaming the 

streets past “haunted” houses and buildings. We continue to laugh 

about our friendly ghosts from Fort Leavenworth, but mention of the 

hauntings still manages to make the hair on the back of our necks 

stand at attention. The main thing nine-year-old Sabra remembers 

about Fort Leavenworth was the snow, especially the night our family 
seemed like a foot of new fallen snow covering everything. 

 Classes in the Command and General Staff Officers’ Course were 

interesting but tough, and pressure to perform was high. I never set 

any records, but remained a consistent, solid, middle of the class 

student. I felt at home at Fort Leavenworth and believe my past Army 

experiences were a major asset. I got a kick out of the “blue goose” 

which was an exercise planning task document, and having to be the 

G-4 logistics officer a dozen times. It was hard work, but most of us 

were comfortable with it and had fun. 

 Twenty-four years later, when I was the DCSLOG, I met the Army 

Chief of Staff from Tunisia. He was inducted into the “Honor Roll” at 

Leavenworth. The “Honor Roll” was for those foreign students who 

rose to important positions in their countries. Spending time with him 

was similar to my Thailand experience with the Thai Lieutenants who 

had been to West Point. Clearly, this four-star General from Tunisia 

had assimilated, after only a few years in the United States, many of 

the values, ethics, and sensitivities of our society. In 1991, he returned 

to the states as the Tunisian Chief of Staff, and I had the opportunity to 

meet him with General Carl Vuono when he had his Honor Roll 

Ceremony at Fort Leavenworth. He commented that since 1966, he 

considered the time he spent in the U.S. very precious. 

 The time at Leavenworth was special for our group as well. Our 

class of 1967 was fervent about serving our country in a time when 

that attitude wasn’t popular. They were a group of very enjoyable 

guys. I remained in touch with many from that class throughout my 

career. About 15 of them became general officers. In March of 1967, 

we received our June orders, our assignments after graduation in May. 

More than half of the class went to Vietnam that June. Most of the 

Army pilots returned to Vietnam for their second tour. Twenty were 

killed in Vietnam and are greatly missed. 

Strike Command, 1967-1969

 I thought I might be assigned back to Vietnam, but instead went to 

MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida. The base was activated in 

1941, and its first task was training pilots on B-17 and B-26 aircraft for 
plane crash near Washington, D.C. in 1938. 

 Pat and I bought our first house on Mornay Circle in the “Town 

and Country” subdivision in Tampa. It was a spacious four bedroom 

home that set us back a whopping $27,000. My sun worshiping beach 

girls loved being back near the beaches on the Gulf of Mexico. Sabra, 

now eleven, and Dede, age eight, both became involved in competitive 

swimming and were on swim teams. Pat did substitute teaching at 

Hillsborough High School in Tampa. Life was so good. Florida living 

was like a dream come true for the family. 

 I was assigned to the U.S. Strike Command in J-4 (Logistics 

Directorate), and worked in the transportation division. It was quite 

bizarre to find planning documents I had sent to Strike Command 

when I’d been at XVIII Airborne. The documents were now in 

staffing. I was there as they started planning for the transition from the 

Strike Command to the U.S. Readiness Command. 

 General Adams retired in November 1966, and when I arrived, 

General Theodore J. Conway was in command. He was a brand new 

four-star, an airborne Soldier, a skydiver, and he loved to jump. His 

reputation of being a very good troop leader preceded him and was 

soon verified. Lieutenant General Benjamin O. Davis, Jr. was the 

deputy to General Conway. General Davis was the son of WWII 

Brigadier General Benjamin O. Davis17, the first African American 

general officer in the U.S. Army. Our Brigadier General was Fred C. 

Allen. I have continued to know and respect General Allen over the 

last 30 years. 

 I was in the J-4’s transportation division where an Air Force 

Colonel, Colonel Pisarek, was the Division Chief. Also in the division 

was Colonel Bob Virlakas, a Greek-American who was shot down 

during World War II. He was only 18 years old when he joined the 

service and flew twin-tail P-38’s. Colonel Virlakas loved showing his 

favorite wartime artifact, the Plexiglas windshield from one of the P38’s in which was engraved, “The Hat in the Ring.” He had been in 

the “Hat in the Ring” squadron, and when he was shot down, he 

removed the Plexiglas from his demolished plane and had his 

squadron’s emblem and name engraved on it. 
 Colonel Jim Ray was a sports parachute enthusiast and assisted 

General Conway many times during his parachute jumps. The General 

had over 300 jumps and would go out on weekends and make four or 

five jumps for entertainment. For his military jumps, he needed a 

jump master-qualified person and in that milieu, I prepared and 

assisted his jumps. 

 This experience was my first “joint” assignment. It required 

understanding service culture, service concepts, and terms from other 

branches of the Armed Forces with which I was not familiar. I learned 

the joint language over time and began to understand the different 

cultures of the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marine Corps. It was 

imperative that I understand the other services thoroughly in order to 

support their programs. 

 Strike Command was organized into two joint task forces (JTF) 

and had about 300 people on jump status. One task force was 

designated JTF 7 and covered an area north of the Sahara. Our 

division line was an imaginary geographical line through the Sahara, 

and my group, JTF 11, covered an area south of that line. Not only 

was I working in the J-4, but also, for exercise purposes, we launched 

out with XVIII Airborne Corps. We went almost monthly on exercises 

all over the United States, Africa, and Korea. Anytime XVIII 

Airborne Corps deployed, we went. If Military Airlift Command 

(MAC) was doing something, we deployed with them. It was the same 

with the Navy. 

 On one exercise, we launched from MacDill to Liberia by C-141, a 

military cargo plane, and landed at Roberts Field about 50 miles from 

Monrovia. We had with us a “jackpot” (later dubbed an “I-Beam 

package”), a joint communications package that was housed in three 

communications vans aboard another C-141. The purpose of the 

“jackpot” was to facilitate communications between Strike Command, 

the Commander in Chief, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS). The 

“jackpot” was configured to fit precisely into a C-141 with everything 

in vans, on wheels. An early goal for the” jackpot” was to link into the 

C-141 communications system, so that even from the air it was 

possible to communicate to air, land, and sea. It took mere minutes, 
running. 

 There was one problem. The load was so heavy that when we 

landed at Roberts Field, it felt as if there was damage to the aircraft. 

After landing, we walked back to take a look, and the C-141 had torn 

up the landing field. Huge ruts were left for about 40 to 50 feet where 

the rear tires on the C-141 dug in. A Russian IL-28, a Russian 

cargo/passenger airplane, had to circle the airstrip until runway repairs 

could be made. What high adventure! I loved it. We were in Liberia, 

and there was a Russian aircraft circling overhead. In 1968, we were 

still in the Cold War stage with the Soviet Union, and I had never seen 

a Russian aircraft up close and personal. 

 During this same period, President Johnson had promised to 

withdraw a substantial number of Soldiers from Korea. In return, the 

U.S. would reinforce Korea within 24 hours with our rapid deployment 

Airborne Divisions (82nd and 101st). Our first deployment with over 

70 C-141 aircraft from Pope AFB near Fort Bragg launched with an 

airborne brigade. The air traffic route took us from Fort Bragg to 

Elmendorf AFB, Alaska, then to Kadena AFB, Okinawa, and finally 

we parachuted into a drop zone south of Seoul along the Hahn River. 

I’m not sure that President Johnson knew we didn’t make it in 24 

hours, but we were close; a little over 30. 

 With a total flight and refuel time of 30 hours, plus ground time in 

Alaska and Okinawa, we had been up for almost two straight days. 

We all felt terrible. Most Soldiers were sick or just plain exhausted. 

Finally on the ground, the intense jet lag left us with thoughts of 

breakfast while the Korean Soldiers were having dinner. The jet lag 

was 13 hours. In spite of the conditions, it was amazing to be there. 

Our 70-plus C-141s were joined by over 30 C-130s from the Korean 

Airborne and Special Forces. Imagine watching over 100 aircraft drop 

troops and equipment. Tired or not, we hit the ground with no injuries 

and ready for a three-day exercise. The Koreans had cut the top of a 

small hill near the drop zone and installed grandstands. As we 

jumped, we heard applause from the crowd of Koreans. That will cure 

any jet-lag and get your adrenalin pumping. I was more than ready for 

my C-ration breakfast. 
exercise with the Korean Army and spent a day cleaning our 

equipment. It was January 12, 1969, the date of the third Super Bowl 

back in the States, and we were in Korea. As I sat in the Mess Hall at 

Camp Humphries at 6:30 in the morning having breakfast, loud 

speakers in the hall began to broadcast the game. With the 13-hour 

difference, we were listening to a late evening Super Bowl broadcast 

over radio loud speakers. What a great diversion for us and a gift from 

our Korean counterparts who seemed to enjoy it as much as we did. 

 Domestically, these years marked a very difficult time of racial 

violence and civil unrest. The draft was accelerated, and anti-war 

sentiment grew. College students organized anti-war protests, draft 

dodgers fled to Canada, and the hippie movement of drugs, rock 

music, mystic religions, and sexual freedom soared. The Civil Rights 

movement, which began peacefully with Martin Luther King, Jr. 

leading sit-ins and peaceful protests, turned violent with Malcolm X 

preaching Black power, and grew more violent under the antiSemitism of the Black Panthers. 

 Martin Luther King was assassinated in 1968 in Memphis, 

Tennessee. On April 4, 1968, the night of King’s assassination, Robert 

Kennedy spoke to a group in Indianapolis, Indiana. He began by 

saying, “I have some very sad news for all of you, and I think sad 

news for all of our fellow citizens, and people who love peace all over 

the world, and that is that Martin Luther King was shot and was killed 

tonight in Memphis, Tennessee.” Kennedy went on to say, “For those 

of you who are Black and are tempted to be filled with hatred and 

mistrust of the injustice of such an act, against all White people, I 

would only say that I can also feel in my own heart the same kind of 

feeling. I had a member of my family killed. . . we have to make an 

effort to understand, to get beyond these rather difficult times.”18 

 

 Lyndon Johnson was blamed by many for the war and racial unrest 

and announced that he would not run for re-election in 1968. Robert 

Kennedy campaigned for the nomination for President, and he, too, 

was assassinated en route to a press conference in Los Angeles after 

winning the California Democratic primary. Robert Kennedy’s words, 

“Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years 

ago: to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this 
mourned yet another Kennedy death. 

 The urban riots of 1967-1968 reached a climax during this period 

of social and class conflict. More than 160 civil disturbances occurred 

in some 128 American cities in the first nine months of 1967. Massive 

rioting broke out in Black ghettos in 19 cities after the assassination of 

Martin Luther King in April 1968. It was during this time (1967-

1969) that “Garden Plot,” a National Civil Disturbance Plan, emerged 

at the Pentagon. Members from police, military, and intelligence units 

created the joint task force that initially dealt with the race riots. The 

task force was prepared to move in massively, if needed, to squash 

urban rioting. Operation “Garden Plot” has evolved into a plan to 

assist civil authorities in matters of civil unrest with airlift and 

logistical support. The support is intended to restore law and order 

through appropriate military channels in the 50 states, the District of 

Columbia, the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico, and U.S. possessions 

and territories. 

 My first “Garden Plot” assignment was with the 82nd to 

Washington D.C. in April of 1968, following Martin Luther King’s 

assassination. The corps commander, Lieutenant General John L. 

Throckmorton, was at the 14th Street police station, which was used as 

headquarters for the XVIII Airborne Corps. The key units included 

the 82nd Airborne and the 4th Infantry Division. We were placed in a 

tent city at Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland. With more than 50 

Greyhound buses at Andrews, we were in “ready reaction force” 

mode, poised to move into the District on command. 

 Rioters had already pillaged and burned the 14th Street corridor and 

Soldiers from the 82nd were being rotated into that area. President 

Johnson called directly into corps headquarters with orders, “Do this. 

Do that.” Just as he had done in so many instances with the war in 

Vietnam, he was giving direct orders to our General about our military 

operations. We had our direction straight from the President. 

 Our orders were, “Do not take aggressive action. This is only a 

show of force. No ammunition will be issued.” Many Soldiers had 

served in Vietnam and wore patches on both shoulders of their 

uniforms that announced to everyone who noticed that they had served 
of rioters with no ammunition and with orders to take no action. At 

the same time, we wore an extremely unpopular badge across our 

chests. The entire scenario posed a serious dilemma. Our Soldiers, 

however, followed the direction of the White House and stood by, 

watching rioters loot and steal. The looters would break glass and take 

whatever they wanted from a store. 

 A priority was to protect Soldiers through any means we could 

find. We began ordering chicken wire and wire cutters for all our 

jeeps. The wire cutters were placed on the front of the M151 jeeps. 

We learned from years past, since the operation “Rapid Roads” in 

Oxford, Mississippi, that chicken wire over the top of a jeep protected 

the Soldiers from objects being thrown by demonstrators. The wire 

cutters mounted on the front of each jeep provided protection from 

low-hanging wires and ropes. 

 

 Finally, the orders changed. The directive to XVIII Airborne 

Corps was, “Stop the looting.” As commanded, the Soldiers of the 

XVIII stopped the looting. Ammunition was also issued, but not used 

except in rare occasions. With permission to do their job, the Soldiers 

quelled the riot activities. 14th Street looked worse than anything I’d 

seen in Vietnam. The rioters destroyed all the businesses in an area 

around U and 14th Streets that once housed “Black Broadway,” clubs 

that showcased the amazing talents of such musicians as Duke 

Ellington, “Jelly Roll” Morton, and Pearl Bailey. During the three 

days of terror, fire and smoke filled the sky, thirteen people died, and 

thousands were injured. 

 Our planes barely touched down at MacDill Air Force Base when 

we turned around and went to Chicago, which also suffered rioting that 

April. We were housed in huge aircraft hangers at O’Hare Airport. 

The weather was very cold and the wind was terrible. Not one Soldier 

was used. I, again, turned around in less than three days and went 

back to Strike Command. 

 Riots were breaking out in several cities across the nation. The 

next alert was in Baltimore. It seemed like rioters were burning down 

our cities, and the ever-present television cameras were capturing it all 

and broadcasting our chaotic lawlessness across the world. As 
patriotism and pride in our country, we had answered the call to 

defend freedom, justice, and the democratic way of life. In Vietnam 

we were fighting for the Captain Ans who simply wanted their homes 

to be safe and free from tyranny. At home, our duty was to protect our 

citizenry and insure domestic tranquility. 

 Most of us had served in Vietnam and other disturbances around 

the globe. We had experienced first hand the struggles of the 

oppressed and tasted the impoverished life in various other countries. 

Such experiences magnified the gift we were given at birth of living in 

the United States. We were men proud of our nation and our flag. To 

see some misguided, confused, drugged, and defiant hippie burn the 

American flag or carry it upside down made our blood boil. And yet, 

we were sworn to defend that citizen’s right to be free and express 

himself. I’m surprised and grateful that joint force Soldiers, with 

extremely few exceptions, didn’t “lose it” and become violent during 

the “Garden Plot” operations. 

 The integrity of that group was amazing. In the face of folks who 

could not or would not separate their hatred of the war from the 

Soldiers who were sent there to fight it, we managed to remain 

steadfast and dedicated to our mission. In the face of jeers, taunts, and 

physical attacks, we stood our ground without unnecessary violence 

and rebuttal. We were damned if we did and damned if we didn’t. We 

found ourselves caught in a quagmire of political perplexity and civil 

instability. Dedicated to our cause, we stood tall and bore the abuse 

and hatred in silence. The ties that bind the band of brothers grew 

strong and tight, for we could speak only to each other. It was a tragic 

time that left deep scars on our Soldiers and our nation. 

 Ironically, many of our daughters’ favorite childhood memories 

come from this turbulent time in history. School, friends, and swim 

meets diminished the chaos around them. Looking back on those 

years, Dede remembered that she and Sabra spent most of their free 

time at the Town and Country Community pool with swim team 

practice and meets that seemed to last all day long. “Mom would pack 

boxes of sugared Jell-O that we ate straight out of the box for energy 

between heats,” Dede said. “Back then, we never even cared about 

what effect all that sugar had on our health! Going to Brownie and 
bike to Town and Country Elementary School was such fun. I still 

have that old Indian arrowhead I found in the sand one day parking my 

bicycle at school.” 

 Sabra remembered Tampa as a great place to live and the swim 

team being “the best.” “The ex-Marine coach, with his pot-belly, 

doing the back stroke; now that was a sight!” 

 Dede reminisced, “The summer of 1968 brought a pleasant 

surprise for all of us when Mom found out she was pregnant with 

Tony. Sabra and I ran down the street yelling, ‘Our Mom is going to 

have a baby!’ to all the neighbors. If they didn’t know before then, the 

entire community found out that day. Here I am an adult and back in 

Tampa. When Danny (Dede’s husband) retired from the Army (his 

last duty station was MacDill AFB), there was no doubt in my mind 

we would stay here in Tampa forever. I drive by that old house on 

Mornay Circle sometimes, and all those memories of 35 years ago 

come flooding back.” 

 For Sabra and Dede, the dark, chaotic, and worrisome events 

taking place in our country in the late sixties were unimportant in the 

fresh, glowing light of their happy, young lives, and the prospect of a 

new baby in the family. 
p

Return to Vietnam, 1969-1970

 On April 19, 1969, Pat and I were blessed with the birth of our son, 

Tony, at MacDill Air Force Base Hospital. I stared into that new 

young face and wondered what this little “tow head” would become. 

Sabra and Dede quickly became substitute moms, forever fussing over 

their new brother. His mother and sisters noticed an early trait, a great 

personality. Our lives seemed so perfect at that moment. What more 

could we want? We had two beautiful daughters and now a bouncing 

baby boy to carry on the Ross name. We were homeowners (along 

with the bank that held the mortgage) in the gorgeous state of Florida. 

We were a very happy family. 

 On the heels of Tony’s birth, however, sad news arrived in the 

form of orders from the Department of the Army for my immediate 

return to Vietnam. We knew it meant I would be away for at least a 

year. That letter put a damper on our happy spirits, and let the grim 

reaper get a toehold in the back door of our thoughts. 

 Trying to make light of an unhappy situation, Pat began to tease 

me about arranging the orders. “It’s pretty bad when you’d rather go 

off to Vietnam than stay home and change diapers,” she teased. 

“You’ll be over there playing Tarzan of the jungle while I’m up all 

hours feeding a hungry baby.” 

 We did our best to joke and make light of the assignment, but we 

were both scared. Now that we had our own home in Tampa, the 

decision was made for Pat and the children to remain there while I was 

away. Pat was substitute teaching at Hillsborough High School, and 

caring for our new addition was demanding. The girls were happy 

with their schools, friends, and swim teams. 

 Sabra and Dede were well on their way to becoming excellent 

swimmers for the Town and Country swim teams. We all loved our 

neighborhood, our friendly neighbors, and the proximity to the beach. 

The best part of the entire scenario was not uprooting the family 

AGAIN. 
the Tampa airport. We all said our goodbyes. Pat told me later that 

they stood and waved at the plane through take-off and until it was 

completely out of sight. As she turned away from the spot in the sky 

where the plane disappeared from view, she told herself, “Life must go 

on.” Throughout my time in Vietnam, they watched news of the war 

on television every night, looking to see a familiar face and never did. 

 Tony was six weeks old when I left our home in Tampa for my 

second tour of duty in Vietnam. I had enlisted assistance with 

arranging an assignment to the 101st by making the request through 

letters. My time in the 101st back in 1964 had been cut short, and it 

was my desire to join them in Vietnam. Colonel Bill Bradley, whom I 

had met and jumped with at the Strike Command, was a brigade-level 

commander with the 101st Division Support Command (DISCOM). I 

thank Colonel Bradley, who assisted by pulling me through the 

personnel system. 

 I arrived in June of 1969 at Long Binh. Following the advice of 

Colonel “Iron Mike” Murley, I went immediately to the 101st desk. 

The 101st NCO looked up my records and said, “Yeah, we’ve been 

expecting you.” The NCO, wearing a brand new flight jacket, took 

time away from his wheeler/dealer activities of swapping and selling 

all kinds of things to give me directions. 

 During the multitude of “swap-meet” interruptions in our 

conversation, I had time to reflect on the division I was joining. The 

101st Airborne Division was formed in August 1942. The first 

commander, Major General William C. Lee, promised his new 

recruits, “The 101st has no history, but it has a rendezvous with 

destiny.” “Rendezvous with Destiny” became the motto of the 101st

and as a division; it never failed that prophecy. 

 “Here’s your aircraft connection,” the NCO said. “You’ll be up at 

the ‘Rendezvous with Destiny’ within 24 hours.” He was right. In 

just one day, I arrived at Camp Eagle, near Hue and the Phu Bia 

airfield. 

 The division and DISCOM headquarters were housed at Camp 

Eagle, which was a huge firebase within itself. It was located in 
the Huong River about nine miles west of the China Sea. The old 

historic relic of a city had once been the capital of the Nguyen dynasty 

(1802 to 1945). 

 On January 31, 1968, seventeen months before I arrived in 1969, a 

four-day cease-fire halted the fighting in the Vietnam War. The truce, 

which was agreed upon by both sides, was called so that Vietnamese 

citizens could celebrate Tet. Tet commemorates the Vietnamese Lunar 

New Year. I first encountered a Tet celebration when I was in 

Thailand in 1962-1963. I would again encounter such a celebration 

when a Korean Army Division near Cam Ranh Bay celebrated Tet in 

1969-1970. It was an important holiday tradition in many Asian 

countries, including Thailand and Vietnam. Tet falls in February and 

relates to the start of the new lunar cycle.20 

 In the darkness on the 1968 Eve of Tet, some 84,000 North 

Vietnamese Communists broke the truce and attacked 36 provincial 

capitals, five autonomous cities, 34 district capitals and 50 hamlets. 

They penetrated deep into ten cities, including Saigon and Hue. 

 The attack followed a familiar pattern of military strategy used by 

the North Vietnamese Army (NVA). In years past, the North honored 

Tet Eve truces by not fighting. They observed times of cease-fire just 

enough to ease the Southern forces into a complacent, false sense of 

safety about times of truce. The massive attack was unexpected, and 

the South Vietnamese were caught off guard. 

 In spite of the surprise, the South Vietnamese Army reacted 

quickly, clearing most cities, but fighting in Saigon and Hue was 

protracted and the Communists controlled Hue for almost a month. 

Hue streets were suddenly, frighteningly filled with Soldiers from the 

North in baggy olive uniforms and pith hats. The controlling Soldiers 

set up provisional authority sites. To these sites, they called in South 

Vietnamese Soldiers, civil servants of all services, political party 

members, and college students. The terrified citizens’ names were 

registered in “control books.” They were then allowed to return home 

unharmed, having been promised safety. The same people were made 

to report several times during their captivity and were unaware that 

they were being lulled into a misleading sense of security. 
 In late February, the South Vietnamese infantry, the U.S. Marines, 

and the 101st conducted bloody counterattacks and recaptured the 

whole city after many days of fierce fighting that forced the enemy to 

withdraw. Shortly after their withdrawal, several mass graves were 

found in which hundreds of bodies of those who repeatedly reported to 

authorities were buried. Most were tied to each other by ropes, electric 

wires, or telephone wires and shot, beaten, or stabbed to death. The 

death toll was more than 2,000. Several thousand more remain 

missing. A U.S. Navy warship carries the name “Hue City” in honor 

of those who suffered and died there. 

 The Tet offensive shed new light on the unscrupulous, 

unprincipled minds of the North Vietnamese leaders. The 1968 

massacre in Hue brought a sharp turn in the common attitude toward 

the war. After South Vietnam fell to the Communists in 1975, the 

unofficial number of boat people of Hue origin made up a greater 

proportion among the refugees than those from other areas. 

 As I flew over the beautiful, historic, and fascinating city of Hue 

that day in 1969, I was reminded of all who lost their lives there. 

From the air, I had a clear view of the geographic area around Hue, 

Phu Bai, and Camp Eagle. It was a coastal plain with much rice 

cultivation. The flat land of the plains quickly erupted into a 

mountainous region that extended to the Laotian border. While most 

units didn’t have 500 plus helicopters, the 101st did. Probably one-third 

of them were at Camp Eagle. Later, after the war concluded, the 

airfield which accommodated the aircraft would become the Phu Bai 

airport, serving the city of Hue. 

 Camp Eagle was surrounded by a wide barbed wire barrier fence. 

Behind the fence line there was a large berm, an earthen wall that 

reached heights of 30 feet along several areas. Firing positions from 

molded bunkers rested on top of the berm. They were manned every 

night. Unlike my experiences in 1964, new technology was providing 

additional security. The fence contained a sensor system designed to 

detect any motion, sound, or seismic vibration. 

 It was on the berm that I would first encounter the “Starlight 

Scope,” an infra-red night vision device. Towers were erected on the 
Starlight Scope. Heretofore, at night a Soldier was at the mercy of 

nature, moonlight, and starlight. Cloudy nights were pitch black. 

Sometimes you could not see your hand in front of your face. This new 

technology was like something out of a science fiction movie to me, 

but was real and saving lives. 

 The Starlight Scope literally took the star’s light and magnified it 

many times. On the perimeter where we were, I could look out 

between 100 and 200 meters and see any heat-producing thing, 

whether it was equipment, animal, or man. Heat would illuminate 

whatever was there to the point that I could see something as small as 

a dog. When the seismic sensor equipment picked up something, it 

sent an alarm back with sector position information, and I could look 

through the night vision device and see what it was. It’s all 

commonplace now, but it was like a miracle tool back then. Decades 

later, we started producing uniforms that would diffuse heat from a 

human body so that we couldn’t be seen with night vision gear. 

 The division artillery still fired nightly harassment and interdiction 

(H&I) fire. These were pre-selected targets, fired at random 

throughout the night at suspected enemy locations. If anything was 

sighted, Cobra helicopters were immediately in the air to defend and 

protect. We didn’t need night vision equipment to see the Cobra fire 

its mini-gun. It looked like a stream of fire of tracer bullets piercing 

the night sky. 

 I arrived at Camp Eagle in June of 1969, one month after the battle 

of “Hill 937.” Some of the Soldiers who fought there dubbed it the 

battle of “Hamburger Hill.” The battle took place on Dong Ap Bia 

(Mountain) in the rugged, jungle-shrouded mountains along the 

Laotian border of South Vietnam. Rising from the floor of the western 

A Shau Valley, the Ap Bia Mountain dominates the northern valley, 

towering some 937 meters above sea level. Snaking down from its 

highest peak is a series of ridges. The entire mountain area was a 

rugged, uninviting wilderness, blanketed in double and triple canopy 

jungle, dense thickets of bamboo, and waist-high elephant grass at 

ground level. 
General (later General) Melvin Zais, commander of the legendary 

101st Airborne Division. Intelligence provided little evidence as to the 

enemy’s actual strength and dispositions. Masters of camouflage, the 

NVA completely concealed their bases from aerial surveillance, 

moved at night under the cover of the triple-canopy jungle, and 

conducted their command by runner and wire, leaving no electronic 

signature for the Americans to monitor or trace. 

 Experience, again, reflected a consistent pattern of behavior for the 

NVA. They would resist violently for a short time and then withdraw 

as the Americans brought overwhelming firepower to bear against 

them. That did not prove the case in this battle. The entire 29th NVA 

Regiment, nicknamed the “Pride of Ho Chi Minh,” was in the A Shau 

Valley looking for a big fight. Treacherous terrain and an enemy that 

knew how to exploit it continually threw off the tempo of American 

tactical operations. Airborne infantry battalions were “ground-bound” 

in the jungle, maneuvering at the pace of their foot Soldiers. Not even 

the ever faithful Huey helicopter, the transcendent theme of American 

technological superiority in this war, offered much hope of speeding 

up maneuvers. Steep gradients and dense vegetation provided few 

natural landing zones near the mountain. 

 The rugged terrain also masked the NVA positions, making it 

nearly impossible to suppress enemy air defense fire. Throughout the 

battle, unseen NVA Soldiers maneuvered in the jungle around the 

American landing zones and shot down or damaged numerous 

helicopters with small arms fire and even rocket-propelled grenades. 

The dense terrain covered the movement of enemy forces so 

completely that it created the effect of a nonlinear battlefield. The 

NVA continually slipped behind the American lines, hitting logistical 

support landing zones and command posts. 

 The effectiveness of U.S. forces was further constrained by the 

very steep, narrow trails, dense jungle, and wild, irregular contours of 

Ap Bia. Movement was slowed to a crawl. Command of fire support 

suffered. The close range fighting taking place on the mountain was 

confusing to supporting aircraft. Difficulty distinguishing friend from 

enemy in the intense and chaotic battles produced no less than five 

incidents of air-to-ground fratricide over a ten-day period. In at least 
more than a kilometer off their intended target. 

 At the height of the battle, the 101st Airborne Division commander 

experienced a new and uncomfortable aspect of battle command, one 

with which modern commanders have become increasingly familiar. 

The Associated Press (AP) discovered the battle at Dong Ap Bia and 

sent correspondent Jay Sharbutt to investigate. Sharbutt met with 

General Zais and in the course of the interview, challenged the 

General’s decision to pursue and continue the battle. Zais answered 

politely and honestly, but the journalist was not satisfied. His 

subsequent newspaper accounts of “Hamburger Hill” stirred up a 

storm of controversy that swept the nation and resounded in the halls 

of Congress. For the next four days more and more journalists poured 

into the Camp Eagle firebases, headquarters, and landing zones. 

Commanders found they had a new and largely unwelcome duty: 

conducting public relations while also fighting a battle. 

 Samuel Zaffiri in his book, Hamburger Hill, May 11-20, 1969,

states, “On May 10, 1969, the 3rd Brigade of the 101st Airborne 

Division, the 9th Marine Regiment, and the 3rd ARVN Regiment 

moved to the northern end of the A Shau to kick off Operation Apache 

Snow. The next day men from B Company of the 3rd Battalion, 187th

Infantry made initial contact on the lower reaches of Hill 937. 

...Finally, on May 20th, at the end of a four-battalion assault, 

Americans stood atop Dong Ap Bia.” 

 During those ten days, 70 Americans lost their lives, and 372 were 

wounded. Over 630 dead NVA were discovered on and around the 

battlefield. Many more undoubtedly covered the trails leading back 

into Laos. American Soldiers and the South Vietnamese troops that 

fought beside them had been to Hell and back and won an impossible 

battle against impossible odds. Lieutenant Colonel (later Brigadier 

General) Weldon F. Honeycutt, commander of the 3/187th Infantry, 

was a key ingredient in the success of the mission. His drive and 

determination kept his battalion fighting despite crippling losses, 

sagging morale, bad press, and crushing pressure from his chain of 

command. His strength of will (with support from Colonel Joseph B. 

Conmy, commander of the 3rd Brigade of the 101st Airborne and 

General Zais) overcame every adversity the terrain, weather, enemy, 
successful conclusion. 

 Questions raised by the press concerning the necessity of the battle 

stirred controversy for weeks after the fighting stopped. The issues 

flared up again when the 101st Airborne, under orders from the White 

House, quietly abandoned the hill to the enemy in June. “The Faces of 

Death in Vietnam: One Week’s Toll” (Life Magazine, June 27, 1969) 

called attention to the loss of life involved in the 101st Airborne 

Division’s taking of Hill 937. Until the media exploded with negative 

press about the battle at Hill 937, I think the division felt they had won 

a very impressive battle. 

 The publicity that highlighted Major General Melvin Zais 

lambasted the 101st and Zais’ judgment in squandering men in the 

middle of nowhere for no reason. This was not exactly true or 

accurate, but talk among young officers was that the incident would 

end his career. General Zais was relieved of his command of the 101st

in August 1969 and became the commanding General, XXIV Corps, 

Vietnam until February 1970. Most from the 101st in Vietnam felt it 

was the Life Magazine article that ended his command. Two other 

Generals there at the time were Major General (later Lieutenant 

General) Edward Flanagan21 and General John Hennessey.22

 My first impression that early June as I arrived at Camp Eagle was 

that the entire division had been mauled during the now infamous 

battle of “Hamburger Hill.” The number of injured people (bandages, 

crutches, slings) was alarming. In amazingly good spirits, they just 

kept saying, “If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.23

 Settling in at Camp Eagle felt good for several reasons. I was 

impressed that all the newly arrived officers attended the Division 

Commander’s General Officers Mess. Even a lowly Major, such as 

me, was invited to attend. It was a nice gesture that created great 

camaraderie. Mess with white tablecloths and silver seemed a bit out 

of character for our circumstances but was an infrequent, enjoyable 

treat. It provided an opportunity to restore old friendships and make 

new ones in a comfortable, traditional setting. It was a piece of home 

in a very untraditional, uncomfortable wartime venue. 
parachute “Gold Century Wings” and were considered “special 

people.” I was in that “special treatment’ category and, this may seem 

foolish, but it felt great! Past friends and members of the 101st 

welcomed me like a long lost brother. The warm reception helped 

ease the pang of sadness and case of nerves over leaving Pat with our 

new son and two daughters. Any old “master-blaster” that showed up 

was still special even though jump slots were being eliminated. A 

“master-blaster” was an airborne Soldier that had a wreath around the 

star on his Master Jump Wings, usually indicating over 100 jumps. 

Not only were jump slots being cut, the unit was trimming to one 

airborne brigade, moving to an “Air Assault” division structure for 

future brigades. In 1969, there were one airborne and two air assault 

brigades. We were reducing from fifteen down to six firebases as I reentered the 101st and the Vietnam War.

 In 1969, Soldiers in the 101st were called “troopers.” Actually, 

they were “SERTS” until they had gone through the Screaming Eagle 

Replacement Training System (SERTS). Once they graduated from 

the in-country school and orientation process, they became “troopers.” 

 As I had known would happen, Colonel Myron Murley, a mentor 

and friend from Fort Bragg, was leaving, and Colonel Bill Bradley, 

with whom I’d previously worked when he was the senior J-3 

operations officer at Strike Command, was arriving. He was the new 

DISCOM commander in Vietnam. I was to serve as the S-4, the 

person who did all the logistics in the day to day operations. Our 

mission was to provide the supply distribution and maintenance 

support. I had previous logistics planning experience with Class I 

(subsistence), Class III (petroleum, oil, and lubricants, POL) and Class 

V (ammunition). This was the first time I’d dealt with Class II 

(clothing and individual equipment), IV (construction materiel), VII 

(major end items), and VIII (medical items). 

 At first look, it might appear that the distribution of fuel and 

ammunition was our most difficult task. That was hardly the case. 

One of my major challenges was the distribution of food. The division 

commander wanted every Soldier in his division to have a hot meal 

everyday that included ice cream for dessert; that’s a HOT meal and a 

FROZEN dessert. There was a dairy plant nearby for making ice 
long days and nights (especially during the rainy season) trying to 

determine just how we were going to meet the commander’s mealtime 

orders. 

 Using Styrofoam from the shipping boxes for artillery, our Warrant 

Officers, who could do anything, stuck the Styrofoam inside shipping 

containers used for exporting (CONEX). We were building iceboxes. 

With the help of our homemade iceboxes and dry ice, the ice cream 

arrived at its destination still cold, not exactly frozen and maybe a little 

mushy, but still cold. The hot meals were transported in mermite cans, 

insulated food-carrying cans the Army used to transport hot meals to 

the Soldiers in the jungle. 

 By CH-47 helicopter, the entire CONEX and mermite containers 

were airlifted to firebases where it wasn’t safe to cook meals. In areas 

where cooking was safe, some of the firebases had their own kitchens. 

Some kitchens were even in bunkers, but when possible, they preferred 

to cook their own meals. Using the makeshift iceboxes, we managed 

to airlift fresh meat, vegetables, and cooking supplies to the firebase 

kitchens. Was this a major challenge? Absolutely. Was it worth it? 

Absolutely. The hot meals and ice cream were a primary and much 

needed boost to the Soldiers’ morale. 

 Letters to Pat were filled, along with questions about Dede, Sabra, 

and our new son Tony, with stories about my friends and logistics 

work. They were also my release, my way of coping with the initial 

frustration of not being one of the officers in the field. Instead of 

confronting the enemy, I was providing for those who were 

confronting the enemy. I was the supply guy, not the frontline Soldier. 

It was through our letters that I finally gained an appreciation for my 

job. The interwoven, individual threads that created the tapestry of 

war were all important pieces of the whole. My section of threads, 

supplying needed goods, determined how strong, or weak, each 

Soldier’s performance was. 

 The importance of teamwork began to influence the way I looked 

at the overall task of logistics work. Not only was the timely delivery 

of supplies an integral and significant component in combating the 

enemy and saving lives, the task was accomplished through the 
my work was shifting, and a newfound enthusiasm was leaking into 

the day-to-day coordination of our efforts. It was Friday night all over 

again, and our team had to get the job done, sometimes in the face of 

seemingly impossible odds. 

 Our division commander was absolutely right in thinking that 

every trooper in that division deserved a hot meal everyday, and it was 

the DISCOM’s mission to make that happen. That may seem like a 

small task, but with problematic weather and terrain conditions, 

monsoon rains, and enemy interference, it was very difficult. I don’t 

remember anyone ever complaining about the directive. Whether it 

was the 426th Supply and Transportation (S&T), the 326th Medical 

Battalion, the 5th Transportation Aviation Intermediate Maintenance 

(AVIM), or the 801st Maintenance units, everybody wanted to do their 

part to make it happen. A special kudo goes to Lieutenant Colonel Bill 

Foley, Commander of the 426 S&T Battalion and his supply Soldiers. 

 The 5th Transportation Battalion, commanded by Lieutenant 

Colonel Jim Hesson (who later retired as a Brigadier General), ran the 

AVIM. I think Colonel Hesson and his group worked endlessly, 24 

hours a day, keeping the 500 plus helicopters up and in good running 

order. We were worried about our long-range reconnaissance patrols 

(LRRP) because they were going out for seven to ten days, and we had 

to get food and rations to them so they wouldn’t have to carry so much 

around on their backs. 

 In a long letter to Pat, I tried to bring her into my world by 

describing my work and my frustrations. I began by explaining how 

previous job experience was helping me. 

 “The experiences I had at XVIII Airborne Corps and the Strike 

Command are paying off. The division position for Aerial Delivery 

Officer (ADO) is vacant, and I’m doubling in that spot while doing S4, day-to-day logistics work. Because of being one of the few jump 

master-qualified officers who has completed aerial delivery training, I 

didn’t hesitate to call on the Air Force and the 837th Wing for 

assistance. I found two friends there, Colonel Pisarek, my boss at 

Strike Command, and Lieutenant Colonel Bob Virlakas, the friend 

from ‘The Hat and the Ring’ organization in WWII.” 
 “I asked Bob Virlakas to design some drops in the A Shau Valley 

when weather won’t permit our helicopters to fly. Even more critical 

than that, I asked if he had a way to supply the long range 

reconnaissance patrols who had been out for an extended time and 

were out of food and water. With the help of Virlakas and Pisarek, we 

set up two airdrop programs. One program for C-130s with the 837th

Air Force Wing involved each C-130 carrying 16 loaded containers 

(A-22), each filled with food and water and weighing a ton (2,000 

pounds). This program made all drops into the A Shau Valley to 

firebases.” 

 The second program used a directional system called ‘Arc Light’ 

in our CH-47 Chinook helicopters to make precision drops to our longrange patrol Soldiers. ‘Arc Light’ is the same triangulation system that 

allows the B-52s to triangulate and provide precision bombing. We 

installed the ‘Arc Light’ system into our Chinooks that can fly at high 

altitudes above the weather, 5,000 to 8,000 feet. We’ve even had one 

drop in weather that took a CH-47 up to almost 9,000 feet. The A-22 

containers have netting up both sides and honeycomb underneath. We 

put strobe lights that last about 24 hours completely around the 

perimeter and attach a strobe chute. The chute, which is about ten feet 

across, slows down the drop to something like fifteen feet per second. 

 The purpose of the strobe lights was to aid the troopers in finding 

the container if our drop is off target. Our guys and the system were 

so good, that seldom happened. 

 I continued to explain to Pat in my letter. “So far, we’ve not hit 

anybody. The major complaint has been that the drop pulverizes the 

C-rations, especially crackers. There’s no way we can drop hot meals 

to long-range patrols, so our containers are packed with C-rations, 

water, and other supplies. The heavy drop mixes the C-rations food 

and fruit cans far too well. But the water makes it. We’re having 

great success using plastic expandable containers for water that 

survive the shock. The Soldiers come in telling us how grateful they 

are for those drops. I may not be directly slaying the enemy, but I’m 

making sure the troopers who are out there get what they need.” 
DISCOM logistics takes their job very seriously, knowing that 

Soldiers are out there, walking around in mud in lousy weather doing a 

thankless, life-threatening job that has most folks at home hating them. 

It’s a miserable situation, and we view our business of re-supplying 

their needs as a critical one, especially the long-range patrol guys. The 

small postal detachment sorts tons and tons of mail for the 101st, and 

that is airlifted along with the food.” 

 The Vietnam experience emphasized the strategic importance of 

firebases. I tired to explain this to Pat from several thousand miles 

away. “We have one very large firebase along the A Shau Valley, 

‘Rendezvous’ that Lieutenant Colonel (later Lieutenant General) 

Charles W. (Bill) Dyke runs. This firebase has a significant geographic 

feature that allows the unit and Soldiers to look across the valley, 

across the Laotian border, and see the Ho Chi Minh Trail. We lifted 

enough timber by Chinook in there to build a small city. It’s within 

mortar range of the Ho Chi Minh Trail, and there are exchanges of fire 

back and forth on a regular basis. When we can’t fly into Rendezvous, 

either because of weather or enemy action, we take a C-130 military 

cargo plane, use the A-22 cargo containers, and make the drops. Many 

times, we’ve dropped as many as 16 containers at one time and never 

have more than three of the 16 outside the firebase perimeter.” 

 “We also provide support for firebase ‘Charlie’ just south of the 

demilitarized zone (DMZ). It has 175-mm guns and fires deep into 

North Vietnam. There’s an effort to make sure they have all the 

support they need.” 

 I put my pen down, raised the glass of beer to my lips, and took a 

sip. The warm beer had grown even warmer. We didn’t have the 

luxury of cold beer in Vietnam. As I stared into space, lost in thought, 

I pondered our aviation maintenance problem. We’d asked for help 

and gotten it in the form of a “contractor,” a non-military aircraft 

maintenance company willing to put up shop in Vietnam. Trying to 

re-supply so many places was easing me into my first experience with 

contract logistics. The Army contracted with an outside agency to 

help the then 5th Transportation, now an aviation intermediate 

maintenance battalion (AVIM), keep the aircraft going. The 

contractor’s assistance was proving a godsend in our over-stressed and 
something about contractor logistics support (CLS) from an 

exceptionally qualified outside entity. 

 The hot beer didn’t taste so good, but I absently mindedly 

continued to drink it anyway. Leaning back in my chair, arms bent, 

head resting in my hands I considered an aspect of our supply system 

that still bothered me. It was our policy to send major repairs on 

aircraft engines and transmissions back to the States. The minor 

repairs we were handling with great success through 5th

Transportation. There were rare exceptions when the major repairs 

were managed in our maintenance and 801st maintenance. Typically, 

however, the disabled aircraft or vehicle in need of major repairs was 

grounded and rendered useless far too long. It was a waste of our 

equipment. We tracked some of the repairs to the depot and found 

they would not have returned during our twelve-month tour. This was 

in not only aviation and vehicles, but also most overhauls and depot 

maintenance of all equipment was done stateside in this timeconsuming manner. Eventually, some aviation maintenance essentials 

came in the form of a floating depot aircraft maintenance ship called 

the Corpus Christi Bay off the coast of Vietnam. 

 Leaning forward over the desk again, I surfaced from day 

dreaming about aviation maintenance, picked up the pen, and finished 

my letter to Pat. 

 “This operation has proved to me all over again how important 

joint training and joint operations are. I see it pay off everyday for the 

101st. We get airdrops that I suspect others don’t. It’s a great lesson in 

re-supply, points of re-supply, and requirements development. It’s all 

so critical to combat operations. The division is spread out over 4,000 

square miles, and the Chinook, CH-47, has become our workhorse. 

It’s doing a hell of a job. Our maintenance team, the 5th

Transportation Battalion that works along side the contractor, is 

performing a mammoth task supporting 500 helicopters.” 

 “It helps that we are in direct communication with the firebases in 

the A Shau Valley. We have a radio network in the Logistics 

Operations Center (LOC) and we talk to every firebase. I’m beginning 

to recognize the worth of what we do. It’s a major undertaking to 
organizational puzzle, and everyday brings new challenges. The 

DISCOM team is getting fairly good at finding creative solutions for 

tough problems. The best part about the job is the men I work with. 

They’re becoming a cohesive, hard working team. I’d put their 

performance against any group of men.” 

 My thoughts drifted from work to my first time in Vietnam. “Just 

wish I could get some news, anything, about Captain An,” I wrote. 

“Nothing. It’s as if he and his family disappeared. The task of 

locating South Vietnamese Soldiers here, especially with hundreds out 

there named ‘An,’ is practically impossible. But I can’t give up. I 

want to introduce you to him and his family someday when things are 

different.” 

 “Glad to hear that our son is rolling over on his own. He’ll be 

kicking a football before we know it. I’m so proud of our swim stars, 

winning medals and ribbons at their swim meets. Of course, they’re 

making good grades in school. They’re your kids. I contributed the 

athleticism and striking good looks to our gene pool. The straight A’s 

are your fault entirely. Give hugs all around,” I wrote in closing. 

“Don’t forget to hug yourself. I miss you more than you’ll ever know. 

Your loving husband, Jim.” 

 At DISCOM headquarters, we had two daily briefings, one early in 

the morning and one late at night. The purpose was to give the 

DISCOM Commander and his staff a current status report and update. 

There were also evening meetings with first, General Zais, then 

General Wright, and then General Hennessey at the Division Tactical 

Operations Center (TOC). 

 Much later in my life and career when we entered Desert 

Shield/Desert Storm, Generals Thomas B. (Tom) Arwood, James W. 

(Jim) Ball, Jere (H.) Akin, and I sat around a table and averred, “We 

aren’t going through again, what happened with our equipment in 

Vietnam. If we have anything to do with it, we aren’t going to let that 

happen.” 

 We pressed hard to move contractors onto the battlefield in Saudi 

Arabia. Instead of an eight or nine month turnaround on an engine or 
day turnaround in the desert. That’s what we did with 76 contractors 

on the ground. We literally lined them up by weapons systems. AMC 

deserves great credit there. I know Tom Arwood gave it special 

emphasis. Given our Vietnam experiences, Jere Akin, Jim Ball, and I 

were determined to be more responsive this time. In Desert 

Shield/Desert Storm we not only saved valuable time, we cut the 

transportation cost of sending the major assembly back, having it 

repaired stateside, and turning around and shipping it back. It was a 

win/win situation. 

 That particular evening the questions were about our forward area 

supply and support systems. This was before the Army had a Table of 

Organization and Equipment (TOE) for forward area support 

coordinating officers and Forward Area Support (FAS) teams. Our 

solution to this particular organizational problem was to take the 

Executive Officer (XO) out of every battalion and put him in charge of 

running the forward support systems. He’d run the support systems 

for several firebases in his area. That included our refuel and rearm 

sites for helicopters. We’d scattered these refuel/rearm sites all over 

the division area. There was even one near, and later in, the A Shau 

Valley, so the Cobras heading up and down the Ho Chi Minh Trail 

could fly in, refuel, rearm, and be on their way. 

 We didn’t realize it then, but we were developing the forerunner of 

the Forward Support Battalions (FSB) concepts. We took a small team 

from medical (326th Battalion), a small team from supply and 

transportation (426th Battalion), and another from maintenance (801st

Battalion), and they became our FAS team. Our ad hoc system 

worked very well in Vietnam. After pushing and promoting this idea 

for ten years, the Army started using this type of forward support unit 

sometime in the 1980’s. 

 During the seven months I was at DISCOM, we had three 

commanders, about one every two months. It seemed we couldn’t 

keep a commander. DISCOM, I soon learned, was an interim position 

for a commander while he waited for the next brigade to open up. 

Every six months they changed, so our unit became a resource pool. I 

was convinced that the frequent command change wasn’t a good 

policy. In fact, the Majors and one Lieutenant Colonel ran DISCOM 
of the business. Knowing they would only be there for a couple of 

months didn’t provide much incentive to educate themselves about 

what we did. Their entire focus was their upcoming brigade command. 

But most learned quite a bit about an area that they’d had no need to 

explore in the past, logistics. 

 They served as mostly a buffer between the DISCOM and Division 

Headquarters, and we ran our LOC. The morning and night meetings 

were an attempt to keep the current boss up-to-date. Having said all 

that, the new brigade commanders went out to their new command ten 

times better off having had a little logistics training. Our team 

managed to handle all the responsibilities, and we kept things running 

smoothly. The burly iron Majors, our Warrant Officers and Sergeants 

in food service, maintenance, supply, medical, and ammunition were 

wonderful. They made things work. 

 Colonel Bradley and I had a great relationship because he took the 

stance that we knew what we were doing. He’d say, “Handle it,” and 

we’d handle it. Colonel John Sigrist replaced Bradley, and his call 

sign was “Charging Bear.” He was about 6’3”, weighed about 270 

pounds, and couldn’t possibly have passed anyone’s fitness standards. 

Colonel David E. Grange (later Lieutenant General) arrived as I was 

departing. 

 At this time, our S-3 officer left, and I became the S-3 and S-4 

officer. Later, I even became an XO for about 30 days. I was a Major. 

Quite soon, my name appeared on the promotion list for Lieutenant 

Colonel. I was moving up the chain of command, seemed to be 

assuming new jobs hourly, and was working 12 to 15 hour days. 

 In February, the Army granted me a week of R&R, with the choice 

of going to Australia, Thailand, Hong Kong, or Hawaii. Most of us 

who were married chose Hawaii because it was halfway between the 

States and Vietnam, making the travel time much easier on both 

parties. Pat arranged for her mother, Syble, to travel to Tampa from 

Arkadelphia to be with the children while Pat met me on Oahu. Pat 

was gone from home about two days when Syble became 

overwhelmed with the solitary task of caring for Sabra, Dede, and ten-
down here. I need some help.” 

 Pat arrived in Hawaii a day before I did. Our travel packages were 

arranged by the Army and included bus transportation to a luxury hotel 

along Waikiki Beach. Those were the days before the Army owned a 

military hotel in Hawaii, and R&R participants were lodged in 

extremely nice hotels. An orientation meeting was held the following 

morning for our wives during which they were forewarned of changes 

that might have occurred in each of us due to wear and tear on our 

bodies and the tremendous mental and psychological strain of war. 

That afternoon, I arrived from Vietnam in better shape, both mentally 

and physically, than after my first ‘Nam tour. Pat had been prepared 

for the worst, remembering 1965 when I had come home sick, 50 

pounds lighter, and completely exhausted. When I arrived home then, 

she had not seen me for over a year. This time only ten to fifteen 

pounds were missing and I wasn’t sick. I was very tired, but not sick. 

The military bus took us straight to the hotel, and I don’t think that Pat 

and I emerged for at least a day! 

 We were euphoric at being together again. In our endless talks, Pat 

told me about the first steps Tony had taken, walking a short distance 

between Dede and Sabra. “It’s something the girls will never forget,” 

Pat explained. “They worked with him forever and were ecstatic when 

he finally took off on his own. Actually, it’s amazing that he walked 

at all because Dede carried him around everywhere all day, everyday.” 

Our days in Hawaii were wonderful; the only complaint was that it 

didn’t last long enough. Before we knew it, we were on flights going 

in opposite directions back to opposite sides of the world. 

 In late 1969 and early 1970, Nixon began pulling back U.S. ground 

troops from Vietnam. Our overwhelming nightmare of a task came 

when the Marines began pulling out just south of the DMZ between 

North and South Vietnam. As the Marines left their firebases, it was 

my job to go up and take over that property. We were taking over 

bases with such names as “Rock Pile” and “Vandergrift.” I know I’m 

prejudiced, but I’m not sure whether any other division could have 

pulled that off and covered all that turf. It gave the 101st 4,000 square 

miles, an area 40 miles by 100 miles. To this day, I’m filled with pride 
DISCOM organization. 

 Watching the magic we performed for large companies returning 

from field operations was nothing short of amazing. The bedraggled 

troopers lumbered wearily into our support area at DISCOM in filthy, 

torn clothes they’d been in for a week to ten days. Their weapons 

were dirty and rusty, and some had lost their hats, their dog tags, and 

pieces of equipment. 

 We literally put them through a “Super Trooper” assembly line. 

They turned in their weapons, including small arms, to a repair team, 

and hit the hot shower of a bath unit. Out of the shower, each trooper 

was issued a complete set of everything, fresh and clean. The 

uniforms weren’t new but had been run through a reusable system 

where they were laundered. There was a place to shave, and barbers 

were on hand for haircuts. Lost dog tags were replaced, and each 

person got a new or clean pair of boots. 

 Communications troopers turned in their radio equipment. Their 

equipment was being cleaned while each Soldier went through his own 

personal cleansing. At the same time, batteries in the radio equipment 

were replaced. Cleaned, polished, and shined, with equipment to 

match, the trooper was ready for his “sit-down in a chair at a real 

table” hot meal. There were always steaks. If we were really lucky, 

which meant someone had been to a port area and sold or traded 

something for them, we served lobster. The lobsters normally went to 

Saigon, but occasionally found their way to us for the troopers. 

 It was a treat to see the weary troopers rejuvenated, spit-shined, 

and relaxed a bit prior to returning to the field on their next 

assignments. Before this second tour in Vietnam, I had been steeped 

in high personal appearance standards. General Paul D. Adams 

wouldn’t have accepted anything less at Strike Command. During the 

late 1960’s and early 1970’s I saw the deterioration of those standards. 

Troopers were wearing “boony hats” in a special style that was not 

regulation, headbands, and beads. They wore peace signs, trinkets, 

and things tied around their foreheads that represented the same 

cultural icons seen in the hippie culture in the states. 
influx of Hispanics and Blacks. There was an undercurrent of struggle 

and frustration with attempts to better understand and appreciate the 

different cultures. A trooper could wear a headband and his beads 

during off duty hours, but while on duty, it was forbidden. Yet, I saw 

Soldiers doing shift work wearing inappropriate clothing. Officers 

were trying not to be so hard-line in certain areas, but they were still 

death on the use of drugs. If anybody in the 101st was caught using 

drugs, he was in deep trouble. 

 During those seven months, I remember sitting in operations center 

meetings listening to two-stars, Brigadier Generals, and Colonels 

discussing President Johnson and the White House literally selecting 

targets and personally having to approve B-52 targets in Vietnam. It 

was all vastly intriguing to a Major whose main problem was trying to 

keep the 101st in supplies. Those discussions would typically come 

around to the subject of “only trying to keep parity with the enemy.” 

“We’re not trying to overwhelm him and win decisively. It’s a 

political war.” 

 It sounded to me as though the Army had one hand tied behind its 

back because there was so much control from Washington and the 

Pentagon. The “Pacification Program” was almost gone at that point, 

but we weren’t going all out for the win either. 

 I met and made new friends during that time, one of whom was 

Lieutenant Colonel Bill Dyke, who was Assistant Chief of Staff, G-1 

(Personnel). He was offered a battalion, the “No Slack” 327th

Battalion. It distinguished itself for its fighting spirit and held the 

record for the longest continuous combat service in Vietnam of any 

infantry battalion in the U.S. Army. He then returned to Division 

Headquarters as Assistant Chief of Staff, G-3 (Operations and Plans). 

 We had an Assistant Division Commander (ADC) named Jim 

Smith. At that time, he was a Colonel and serving his seventh year in 

Vietnam. He didn’t go home for seven straight years except for the 

War College and short R&R leaves. Jim had, I think, six children. He 

was one of the Fort Rucker commanders in the seventies and retired as 

a two-star. He was a great Soldier, and I still run into him 

occasionally. 
 As the new acting Executive Officer of the DISCOM, I took most 

phone calls. In January, 1970, I received a call from Lieutenant 

General Walter J. Woolwine’s office and staff at 1st Logistical 

Command. 

 “We’re got an opening for Battalion Commander at the Cam Ranh 

Bay Support Command working for the 1st Logistics Command,” said 

the voice through the wire. “We need you here in 24 hours and 

absolutely no later than 48 hours.” 

 “You may have the wrong man,” I said. “I’m a Major, and 

battalion commanders are Lieutenant Colonels.” 

 “You are Major Jim Ross, the DISCOM XO, aren’t you?” the 

voice asked. 

 “Yes,” I replied, puzzled. 

 “Then you’re who they want,” the voice said, sounding weary. 

 The wheels were turning, and I was silent for a moment, 

wondering if the previous battalion commander had been wounded or 

even killed. 

 “If you want this battalion, you need to get there in 48 hours at the 

latest, and you’ll have to be the one to get your release from the 101st

and arrange arriving at the Cam Ranh Bay Support Command,” he 

said, sounding ever more exasperated. 

 In that split second of indecision, the words “He who hesitates, 

loses,” came to mind. “I’ll take it,” I blurted. With these words, I was 

on the move again. It was customary for a Lieutenant Colonel to 

receive an offer for a battalion command after nine months to a year, 

and the command period was for six months. This practice ensured an 

extension of a one-year contract of Vietnam service to 18 months. I’d 

only been in Vietnam for seven months and was a Major, but hey, 

who’s counting and checking rank? It certainly wasn’t going to be me. 

Underlying the enthusiasm, however, a little red flag of concern was 

vaguely waving in the deep shadows of my mind. Is it possible the 
seven months is that it is a monster job with hideous problems? Nah. 

I shoved that worry down and buried it deep. 

I was off to become the commander of the 10th Transportation 

Battalion in Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam.24 

 With the help of friends on the division staff and the assistant chief 

of staff for personnel, I began the process to rush my transfer. General 

Woolwine’s office was also instrumental in the early release. I made it 

in 48 hours, which was nothing short of amazing. In the blink of an 

eye, I was about to take my first command. It was exciting, 

challenging, and completely overwhelming. 

 Flying into Cam Ranh Bay was intriguing because it had a Miamilike appearance with white sand beaches and swaying palm trees lining 

the coastline. It was the largest deep-water port in Vietnam, 200 to 

300 feet deep in some areas, so that dredging was not required. An 

inland harbor, it was protected by a peninsula against the sea. The 

harbor area itself curled back around the peninsula creating a safe 

haven from open, turbulent seas. 

 Cam Ranh Bay was a huge U.S. military installation. Personnel 

strength involved about 9,000 Army, 7,000 Air Force, 400 Navy, and 

13,000 Vietnamese. In addition to its two10,000-foot runways, it was 

a vast storage site for large munitions and POL. The peninsula was 

almost entirely sand which, I would soon learn, caused the roads to 

deteriorate more quickly. Road maintenance was constant during my 

days there. 

 There was a village of Vietnamese people, who had lived for 

decades on the peninsula. The Army put up concertina and large 

barbed wire fences, eventually even a pierced steel planking wall, 

around the village. It was an attempt to keep them safe and separate 

them from military operations. At night, the area took on an eerie 

yellow half-light because of lights from the village and night 

operations of the 10th Transportation Battalion. 

 I reported to newly frocked and pinned Brigadier General Henry 

Richard Del Mar. He was Commanding General (CG), U.S. Army 
commanded the Military Traffic Management Command (MTMC).) 

In what was my shortest interview, five minutes or less, I think I only 

uttered “Yes, Sir” two or three times. Very unusual. 

 “Your predecessor is no damn good,” said General Del Mar by 

way of introduction. “He has done the worst job of any battalion 

commander I have ever seen. He’s leaving. I don’t want you to spend 

any time with him. I don’t want you to pick up any of his bad habits. 

You have a couple of hours to get your change of command straight. I 

want you out there in command today.” And that was that. He stood 

for the entire short meeting. Welcome to Cam Ranh Bay and your first 

command position, I thought. I made my exit a few short minutes 

after entering. 

 “Okay,” I said to myself as I left his office. “So much for polite 

conversation to break the ice. No easing into the command to get my 

feet wet and learn my way around. I was about to dive in headfirst. 

What kind of unit was this I would inherit in two hours? Had I made a 

huge mistake? The tiny red flag surged from the shadows in my brain 

flapping wildly to the forefront. Oh, boy! 

 Like a rope to a sinking man, a good friend of mine, Lieutenant 

Colonel (later Lieutenant General) Edward (Ed) Honor, appeared in 

my path. The sight of him was a welcome relief. “Hey, I heard you 

might be coming over to command one of the battalions,” he said. 

“When did you get here?” 

 “About ten minutes ago,” I laughed. “I’ve already met General 

Del Mar and have two hours to get my change of command squared 

away.” 

 “That sounds about right,” Ed said. “I’ve got the truck battalion. 

Yours is the mixed battalion of military police, infantry, stevedore, and 

boat units. Am I right?” 

 “That’s what I hear,” I said. Having Ed there made me think I’d 

not made too grave an error by accepting the command. I wasn’t 

feeling the effects of jet-lag, but I certainly felt the full brunt of trauma 

from General Del Mar’s terse comments and the sadness of leaving a 
me to be a bit emotional. 

 Somehow, I got through the rest of that day, took over command of 

the mixed unit in the 10th Transportation Battalion, and started to learn 

about my new job. The 10th had a total of around 1,300 Soldiers and 

300 local Vietnamese stevedores, laborers who load and unload cargo 

on vessels at port. All our civilian stevedores had a basic security 

clearance, but we still had to search them each night as they left the 

port because they would steal whatever they could carry with them. 

 There was such a shortage and need for basic food items in the 

Vietnamese community, but we couldn’t have them stealing cargo. 

Once a woman managed to conceal, sort of, thirty oranges under her 

clothes, and she was a very petite woman. I had no doubt that she had 

many children at home to feed. I let her keep a couple of the oranges, 

but insisted she return the rest. Any type of fruit, pizza, canned goods, 

and cereals were the items of choice for theft. 

 Cargo documentation was 100 percent paper in 1970. There were 

no computers or electronic devices to assist in keeping up with cargo. 

This made it even more difficult to determine how much theft and 

pilferage was taking place. A team of cargo documentation NCOs 

checked and double checked everything that came off the ship against 

a shipping cargo manifest. Shortages were reported, but little recourse 

was available. Most of Cam Ranh’s cargo came from Oakland, 

Concord, San Francisco, Sharpe Army Depot, and Long Beach 

California; the Pacific Northwest near Seattle; and from the East Coast 

through the Panama Canal and up to Vietnam. 

 My new responsibilities included 24 hour, 7 day a week command 

of the five Cam Ranh Bay piers. Because we were round the clock, 

everyone in the battalion worked either a day or night shift. Each pier 

had two sides, and at peak times, two ships were simultaneously 

loading and unloading from the same pier. There were three stevedore 

companies for off-loading, and a heavy boat company to re-supply 

north and south into Phan Thiet, Phan Rang, Da Nang, and other 

places. 
miles from the others. The separation distance and safety radius 

depended on the explosive capacity of the ship and its ammunition 

cargo. We needed to insure the safety of Soldiers and village people in 

the area. There was also a POL tank facility. During my time there, 

Viet Cong and North Vietnamese fired mortars and rockets into the 

ammunition and POL areas. The POL point was hit only once with a 

mortar, and we lost a majority of POL stored there. The ammunition 

storage sites were so well secured with berms, we never lost any 

ammunition. 

 Port security also fell under my responsibilities. Our security force 

consisted of a standard light infantry company and a military police 

company. Together they controlled all entrances and exits day and 

night and had defensive points around the Cam Ranh Bay area. These 

men were unsung heroes in every sense of the term. 

 I was just beginning to meet some of our battalion that first day. 

Sergeant Major James (Jim) Smith said after we introduced ourselves 

to each other, “Where are you from? There’s no mistaking that accent. 

I know you’re from the South.” 

 “I’m from a small town in Arkansas that you’ve probably never 

heard of,” I said. 

 “I may have,” Sergeant Major Smith replied smiling. “Try me.” 

 “It’s a college town in the South not too far from Hot Springs with 

the unusual name of Arkadelphia,” I said. 

 “I grew up there,” he laughed. “My wife is still in Arkadelphia.” 

 In a military office, half way around the globe, two boys from 

Arkadelphia shared a few minutes of sweet reminiscing. We knew 

many of the same people. What a gift from home it was for each of us. 

He had joined the Army about the time I went to Henderson and now 

here we were, eleven years later. He proved to be one of my closest 

friends and confidants. What a great Soldier. 
Crowder, a good friend and great officer, to work with me in six 

assignments over 20 years. I first met Bill in Cam Ranh Bay where he 

was the 97th Heavy Boat Company Commander. He became my 

battalion S-3, probably the single most critical position in the battalion. 

In the 1970’s, he was at Oakland Army Base, as was I, and when I 

joined the 4th Transportation Brigade in Germany, there was Bill. In 

assignments in DA DSCLOG, Bill first worked in Strategic Mobility 

and later became the Division Chief. He is one of the most astute, 

savvy, and effective officers I know. The XO was Kent Modine, who 

later retired from the Army as a Colonel. 

 Included among the 15,000 hardworking Soldiers and Vietnamese 

of our battalion were a large number of people from “Project 

100,000.” About 60 percent of our total personnel came from the 

project’s “alternative Army personnel.” Secretary of Defense Robert 

McNamara launched “Project 100,000” under Johnson’s Great Society 

Program. Under his direction, an alternative Army was systematically 

recruited from among those who had previously been rejected for 

failing to meet the armed service mental and medical requirements. 

Starting in 1966, the plan was to accept 40,000 men under the new 

alternative Army relaxed standards and 100,000 each year thereafter. 

 Recruitment screenings were based on the Armed Forces 

Qualification Test (AFQT) composed of verbal and mathematical 

questions. Based on these scores, recruits were divided into the 

following five categories: 

 Category I – 93rd percentile to 100th percentile (Superior) 

 Category II – 65th percentile to 92nd percentile (High Average) 

 Category III – 31st percentile to 64th percentile (Average) 

 Category IV – 10th percentile to 30th percentile (Below Average) 

 Category V – 1st percentile to 9th percentile (Significantly Below 

Average) 

 In the Army, Categories I and II are considered to represent above 

average trainability, Category III is considered average trainability, 

and Categories IV and V below average. The Army, prior to “Project 

100,000,” didn’t accept recruits who tested in Categories IV and V 
enough to be autonomous and helpful to the military. 

 The “alternative Army personnel,” which McNamara was calling 

the “New Standards Men,” in our unit were primarily from Category 

IV. The test placed them in a category of being less “trainable” than 

70 to 90 percent of the United States population. In other words, 

between 70 to 90 percent of the people in our country learned, thought, 

and worked more quickly and efficiently. Unfortunately, the number 

of Black men from urban ghettos and southern rural communities 

made up a disproportionate number of the “New Standards Men.” 

These men were not lazy and definitely not inherently mentally 

deficient. They simply had not had the opportunity to acquire the 

skills and education to pursue an Army career. 

 Struggling with inherent problems in the program, Department of 

Defense (DoD) submitted a proposal to Congress for a smaller, more 

direct, six-month remediation program and extended combat training. 

Upon successful completion of the Special Training Enlistment 

Program (STEP), the “New Standards Men” could then join 

operational units. Congress decided not to fund the program, but 

“Project 100,000” forged ahead anyway. The extra time and 

remediation in STEP would have allowed the men to enter the Army 

on a more even performance level with other personnel. 

 The battalion’s senior NCO, Sergeant Major Smith was a 

compassionate and creative Soldier, leader, and trainer. He decided 

our “New Standards Men,” only working 12 hours a day, would start 

battalion school to work on GEDs. He found officers and NCOs with 

teaching experience, and we started our own school with the help of 

Cam Ranh Bay Education Center. Initially, we thought classes at the 

sixth grade level would fit our needs. We were far off base. 

 Almost immediately, we discovered that reading and writing skills 

were at a first to third grade level, with some being able to read and 

write only their names. Discussions about checkbooks and controlling 

personal money were a waste of time without basic math skills. The 

Education Center advisor said, “You’re trying to teach at too high a 

level. Start with the basics in reading, writing, and math and build 

from there.” The Soldiers complained and griped about having to 
since then, however, have expressed gratitude for the experience, 

especially those who went on to earn their GED. 

 “Project 100,000” became very unpopular. To some, it appeared 

as though President Johnson was fearful that calling up Reserves and 

abolishing student deferments would further inflame war protesters 

and signal that we were having an all-out war with Vietnam. It was 

after McNamara began privately declaring that the war was unwinnable that he devised “Project 100,000.” It made it look to some as 

though instead of calling up our reserves, we were putting our less 

fortunate, less capable in harm’s way for a very unpopular cause. The 

project became yet one more step toward Johnson moving out of the 

White House. 

 In our battalion, dealing with the results of the project was a 

struggle, both for the Regular Army and for the New Standards 

recruits. Nevertheless, we worked together to find solutions, and 

learned and grew from the experience. We found that some of the men 

had never been given a real chance to learn. It seemed no one in their 

lives had expected them to be able to read more than their name. We 

started with the assumption that they could all learn enough to pass the 

GED test. It might take them a little longer, because the older we are, 

the more difficult learning new skills becomes. But we knew they 

could do it. 

 The “Project 100,000” experience prejudiced my thinking on the 

draft. I hope we never institute the draft again. Today’s Army is 

comprised of almost 100 percent high school graduates and is a smart, 

educated Army. I used to worry that we wouldn’t have a good cross 

section of the nation without the draft. I thought we wouldn’t have a 

good mix of high, middle, and low socio-economic levels. But, we 

have that now without the draft. The people in today’s Army are 

volunteers, and they want to be there. That’s extremely important. 

Today’s Army has to be the best our nation has ever had. If I were 

asked to rank on an Order of Merit List (OML) the world’s Best 

Armies, I would rank the U.S. Army Number One. That was my 

opinion in 1994 when I retired and remains so today. 
vast difference the characteristics of the 10th Transportation were from 

any unit I had ever been with, certainly the most recent one, the 101st. 

Pride in the unit, in missions accomplished, in doing a good job, and 

most important, pride in self were evident in most aspects of the 101st. 

They were missing in the 10th and perhaps it had something to do with 

being on the rear end of a combat zone. Even working 12 hours a day, 

7 days a week, the Soldiers still had too much time to find trouble. 

 I viewed the 10th Transportation Battalion as a very large, blue 

collar, racially diverse, very complex unit. The Soldiers appeared to 

look listlessly down a long tunnel of days filled with hours of hard 

manual labor, and no end in sight. I had been accustomed to a lowlevel hum about drugs over at the 101st. At the 10th, drug use was 

rampant, and addiction problems grew to astronomical proportions. 

For a time, our battalion held the record for the most Soldiers in the 

Long Binh Military jail. I wasn’t sure whether the drug culture in the 

States mirrored the drug culture in Vietnam, or it was the other way 

around. The drugged Soldiers were constantly setting fire to 

something, creating disturbances, and in one case trying to overrun the 

depot staff. And these were our Soldiers! Our Soldiers wanted to 

destroy their own base and officers. 

 All too soon, I also learned what caused the quick departure of my 

predecessor. There was an Enlisted Club on base with no controls of 

alcohol consumption or hours of operation because of shift work. 

Soldiers would go to the club after work and get drunk (often in 

combination with drug use) because there was no limit on beer. Prior 

to my arrival, a metal chain beating of a young Soldier by another 

Soldier nearly resulted in his death, and a knifing nearly killed another 

Soldier. The events occurred at the club and did not set well with 

Brigadier General Del Mar. Nor did he take kindly to a large group of 

Warrant Officers getting into a huge brawl and wrecking their club. 

About half of those men were punished. 

 My predecessor became so worried about being “fragged” that he 

sequestered himself in his “hootch” at sunset and didn’t come out until 

sun up. The term “frag,” most common in Vietnam, meant to 

assassinate an unpopular member of one’s own unit by dropping a 

fragmentation grenade into the victim’s tent at night. The story of 
officer. A “hootch” is a Vietnamese dwelling in which rural farmers 

or peasants live. The battalion commander had Soldiers sandbag a 

barrier higher than his head around his hootch, making it a small 

fighting castle. He was leaving little possibility of being fragged while 

he slept. I’m not clear on whether he was relieved or sent packing. He 

just left. Del Mar did not want him in his area. 

 General Del Mar was very visible across his Cam Ranh Bay 

Support Command. He was all over the area, making rounds day and 

night. He’d appear at two o’clock in the morning and then again be 

out and about at ten. In my opinion, he was doing the right thing. 

Soldiers would see the General, feel his presence, and I admired him 

so much for that. We became lifelong friends. He and his wife died 

within a few days of each other in February of 1994. 

 We tried a variety of programs to discourage so much drinking and 

drug use. They were simple, little things, but some seemed to help. In 

the hottest part of the year, we started taking cold drinks and Kool-Aid 

to the Soldiers several times a day. We shifted from hot meals to 

sandwiches, serving lighter things, experimenting with different foods 

to find the most popular. We were trying to make the place a little 

more like home. Because the Soldiers worked round the clock, we had 

the cooks on shifts round the clock. Soups and beverages would go 

out to the different pier locations throughout the night. We also served 

the infantry Soldiers and MPs that were pulling perimeter security 

duty. I’d seen what a morale boost the hot meals and ice cream had 

been to the 101st Soldiers. I hoped that implementing the same kind of 

thing would somehow impact the Soldiers in that environment. 

 We even attempted to bring in outside entertainment. We were 

unable to get big names to Cam Ranh Bay, but we did orchestrate 

special entertainment in the form of trips to Qui Nhon and Da Nang to 

see some local entertainment. Our deep-water harbor and beautiful 

beaches were probably the best in all of Vietnam, so we started a scuba 

diving program. Securing scuba gear and locating a certified 

instructor in our diving detachment, we started to teach Soldiers how 

to scuba dive. In the process, we discovered lobsters and other 

seafood in the deep cool waters of Cam Ranh Bay. We saw little signs 

of progress in everything we tried. For whatever reason, after several 
the most Soldiers in the stockade! 

 When I first arrived, there were two truck battalions, one of which 

was run by my friend Ed Honor. He organized and operated the 

distribution system within the central region area. Our large depot 

complex allowed the supplies that we didn’t move forward to be stored 

in depot stocks. 

 The problem-solving aspects of my job were endless, and I found 

myself thinking more and more about the containerization of 

ammunition, of all things. Brigadier General (later Major General) 

Peter G. Olenchuk and the AMC staff were conducting a mega-test at 

our port in “containerization of ammunition.” The whole intent of the 

project was to streamline the process of off-loading ammunition from 

ships at port and direct shipment straight to the Army division. The 

current practice involved manual double and triple handling of the 

ammunition, which was too time-consuming. There were times when 

the ship contained 10,000 tons of ammunition, and the off-loading 

took eight to ten days. Our goal was to find more efficient ways to 

package or “contain” the ammunition for shipment and manage the 

off-loading by handling the ammunition only once. 

 As we put our procedures, which had been used since WWII, 

under a microscope of scrutiny, we discovered some very interesting 

facts. One thing that came to light was the fact that we were shipping 

as much lumber as we were ammunition with each load. The lumber 

in each ammunition container was arranged so that it stabilized the 

ammunition during the ocean-going voyage. By the time I had been in 

Cam Ranh Bay a month or two, we had a mountain-size stack of 

lumber that had been broken down and stacked in a field. Typically, 

the wood was burned, but I just could not bring myself to do that. It 

was brand new lumber! 

 I was reminded of the story about Henry Ford who originally 

ordered some car parts from Europe to put in his Model T. He sent 

specific orders to the manufacturer regarding the type wood and size 

of boards to be used in building the shipping box. Henry’s agreement 

to buy the machine part depended on the shipping container being built 

precisely to his specifications. When the parts arrived, Ford and his 
reused the wood to make the running boards for his cars. The boards 

were the perfect size, shape, and type of wood Henry Ford needed for 

his running boards. 

 As hard as I tried to think like Henry and find a use for our lumber 

somewhere in our battalion or find a place to sell it, my success was 

limited. It was too costly to ship back for re-use. We had more 

shipping containers than we’d ever need for our shipping purposes. 

The Vietnamese didn’t want to buy it and couldn’t have afforded it if 

they did. I even tried selling it to a Korean division nearby, but they 

had no use for it. We used what we needed for our building projects, 

but that barely made a dent. The rapid movement of ammunition was 

huge, and my mountain of lumber quickly grew into a monster. 

Finally, I was forced to begin burning some of it to make way for more 

that arrived on a daily basis. 

 Another thing we did during the “ammunition containerization 

test” was study how other ports handled their cargo procedures. From 

Concord Ammo Port in California and others along the West Coast, 

we observed the practice of shipping in large forty-foot containers. 

For example, Concord might hold a container for Cam Ranh Bay for a 

week until it was completely filled with ammunition for that precise 

unit or destination. At that point, it shipped. When it arrived, we 

didn’t have to unload it onto pallets, move the pallets, and then load it 

into a truck. The whole container could be placed on a “container 

trailer” and trucked straight to the division. The efficiency and 

productivity of this was obvious. 

 The shipment of ammunition remains somewhat an issue even 

today. Some twenty years later, as we entered Desert Shield/Desert 

Storm, we were still talking moving ammunition by container and still 

looking at containerization tests. During Shield/Storm, I brought in 

the previous Deputy Chiefs of Staff of Logistics (Lieutenant Generals 

Joseph M. Heiser, Jr., Fred Kornet, Jr., Arthur J. Gregg, and Eivind H. 

Johansen, and General Richard Thompson), especially those who’d 

served during the Vietnam and post-Vietnam era, for an update on 

what we were doing. One of the areas I thought we absolutely failed 

in during the Shield/Storm operation was the effective use of 
enough. 

 As I mentioned, I admired General Del Mar for getting out of his 

office at Cam Ranh Bay on a regular basis. I’m big on officers getting 

to know their people. Each night and/or early morning, Sergeant 

Major Smith and I visited each work area to see the Soldiers and so 

they could see us. Executive Officer Kent Modine took my place 

when I couldn’t go. That way we could cover work sites the entire 

night and entire day. 

 One night as I walked past a ship, I noticed smoke coming from 

the lower decks. Calling to the senior NCO, I said, “What do you 

suppose is causing that haze? Do you think the ship might be on fire?” 

 The NCO jumped up, said, “Holy cow!” (Actually, he didn’t say, 

“cow.”) He ran to check the source of the smoke. I followed. It was a 

“chill and freeze” ship loaded with food and was in the process of 

being off-loaded. We scared the “cow” out of some Vietnamese 

workers who had a little fire going to cook pizzas. They had stolen 

pizza from the ship, removed the pizza from its cardboard containers, 

and started a fire on deck with the containers. They had a make-shift 

bake rack with a pizza on it over the fire. Several uncooked pizzas 

were nearby. 

 We thought the ship was on fire, and it was just a pizza party! The 

NCO broke up the party on the spot. The fire was put out, and the 

mess cleared. As we walked back to the dock, I said, “That pizza 

smelled so good.” 

 “I was thinking the very same thing,” the NCO said. “That’s 

exactly what I want for breakfast when my shift is done.” 

 From the many good people in our outfit at Cam Ranh Bay, I 

learned so much. By the time I’d been there six months, I felt good 

about the direction in which the battalion was growing. My first 

command wasn’t leading brave fighting men into battle against the 

enemy, but our group was certainly doing its part to support those who 

were. 
me. That Christmas was lonely for us all. Pat and the kids stayed in 

Florida with no family making the trip to visit them. Pat wrote of that 

morning, “We got up on Christmas morning, opened our gifts, and 

thought of Dad-O. As much as I tried to keep everything upbeat, we 

missed you too much, and it was lonely. Our constant vigil of the 

Vietnam news reports has yet to give us a glimpse of you or any or our 

friends there.” 
p

Pentagon 1970-1974 and Oakland 1975-1978

Army Staff

 Departing Vietnam in June of 1970 bore little resemblance to my 

departure five years earlier. In 1965, I was physically drained and ill. 

Back then the nagging concern for Captain An, his family and his 

troops invaded every thought for months. As their advisor, I’d had 

been responsible for them, and felt as though I was leaving fledgling 

children behind. Mentally drained from a year in the jungle, my spirit 

was in desperate need of seeing, touching, holding, and being with my 

own flesh and blood family. 

 Great differences accompanied this departure with one exception, 

longing for family. In the quiet of my Cam Ranh Bay office, I packed 

the last of my possessions into a briefcase. Among the papers resided 

a document promoting me from Major to Lieutenant Colonel. It had 

arrived only a few weeks earlier. The Army finally made “an honest 

man” out of me with advancement to a rank that fit the job. Taking 

command of the 10th Battalion had been a frustrating, challenging, 

growing time, and I would miss the good people with whom I’d shared 

my days. 

 I would not, however, miss the job. The programs we’d begun 

would continue to benefit the hard working Soldiers in the 10th. 

Break-bulk ships, container ships, ROROs (Roll-on/Roll-off ships), 

The LTC John U.D. Page (a beach discharge lighter Army vessel) 

carrying vital military supplies would get loaded and unloaded with or 

without me. The 73rd Transportation Company would continue their 

tug and heavy lift support by towing, berthing and unberthing ships 

and operating heavy waterborne lifts with floating cranes. The 97th

would continue to work their magic moving cargo from port and ships 

at sea onto the shore. The 155th would continue to use their ship and 

shore platoons to offload and upload ships. The 149th, the Heavy 

Crane Detachment, would continue to lift heavy cargo. The 556th

would continue to truck supplies from Cam Ranh Bay to any military 

site within a two-day drive. All the hard working people of the 10th

would carry on, supporting our Soldiers in the field. Immersing 
hold Pat, Sabra, and Dede, and become better acquainted with my new 

son, Tony. 

 I was leaving war-torn, weary Vietnam at a time when the home 

papers and magazines were urging us to get out of the war. Not only 

were our boys being wounded and killed in a fragmented Pacific Rim 

country, militant, war-protesting students at colleges like Kent State in 

Ohio were losing their lives in heated protests. Hatred for the 

American military was exploding from a boiling cauldron of national 

rage and rebellion against a war that made little sense to them. Did I 

wear my uniform for the flight home? In 1965, I proudly wore my 

uniform and ribbons home. But now, times were different. Was I a 

hypocrite to my principles, my standards, my job, my country if I did 

not? Should I wear it and brave the verbal and possible physical abuse 

through long hours on planes and walks through a maze of terminals? 

My homecoming would be the opposite of the WWII Airborne Ranger 

that had influenced me as a teen. Young boys wouldn’t be gazing at 

me in admiration. Seething contempt was the emotion my uniform 

was likely to evoke. 

 News articles reaching Vietnam about Los Angeles and San 

Francisco’s anti-war protestors and hippies were unnerving. In the 

beginning, those of us traveling back to the states were uncertain as to 

what to wear because Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Seattle were all 

entry ports for Soldiers returning from Vietnam. When I arrived 

outside Saigon at Tan Son Nhut Airfield, we were told not to wear our 

uniforms for the flight back to the States, and with that, the decision 

was taken out of my hands. We went to the PX and selected a civilian 

shirt, aloha or golf shirt, for the trip home. The irony was that I still 

had a crew cut and wore military glasses. I don’t think my golf shirt 

fooled anyone, but I felt more comfortable, and there were no major 

incidents. 

 Homecoming with the family in Florida was like healing salve to 

an open wound. As always, Pat had the home front well in hand, 

putting our beloved house in the Town and Country neighborhood on 

the market and selling it before I arrived for about $28,000. Much 

later in life, I would spend more than that for a car. My family hated 

to leave Tampa, our great neighbors and friends, and schools the girls 
left and was now sixteen months old and walking. I noticed he seemed 

to prefer a baseball to the other balls I was constantly rolling toward 

him. Both girls thought of their little brother as their own personal 

doll and were great babysitters for Tony. Both were very active on the 

Town and Country Swim Team, swimming year round and winning 

many ribbons and awards, each amassing over 50 awards and 

competitive enough to go to the Florida Junior Olympic trials and 

scoring well. Dede was ten, would be in sixth grade, and was best at 

the backstroke and freestyle. Sabra’s thirteenth birthday was just 

weeks away. She would be in eighth grade and had mastered the 

butterfly and freestyle. Their swim team friends made no bones about 

how much the girls would be missed, which was equaled by Sabra and 

Dede’s reluctance to leave. 

 Many sad good-byes preceded our departure to Washington, D.C. 

where we stayed in hotels for a few days while making a final decision 

about a new home. Dale City, about 25 miles south of Washington, 

was a planned community (schools, shopping center, churches, etc.) 

and was affordable to military families. We bought a small house, and 

Pat began to work her magic, making the new address our home. The 

decision to build a pool in our back yard was a big one, but with the 

“fish” we were raising, seemed a necessary expenditure. One of 

Tony’s earliest childhood memories is looking out the back window of 

the house while the workers dug the hole for the pool. 

 Soon after my return to the States, I was in a waiting room at a 

dentist’s office and caught sight of a June 12, 1970 Life Magazine. It 

had become my practice to avoid reading current news pumped full of 

negative press about the war. Criticism of the war spilled over on the 

Army, and reading discouraging articles about one’s work did not 

bring joy to my heart and a song to my lips. The cover of this 

particular issue however caught my eye, and I picked up the magazine. 

 Young, angry appearing faces of shouting boys, dressed in combat 

fatigues, holding automatic weapons stared back at me in full color 

from the cover. Eight to twelve-year-old bodies standing in platoon 

formation were frozen in time by the click of a photographer’s camera. 

Memories of armed Vietnamese children pierced my thinking, but 

these weren’t children of Vietnam. The caption read, “Palestinian 
Jordan.” Staring at the cover, I thought, war is horrible enough 

without throwing children into the mix. While a large portion of our 

youth are primed for peace, love, free sex, and drugs, the Arab youth 

are being primed for war. Little did I realize the photographer had 

captured a little window into the future. 

 On June 1, 1970, I began the Logistics Executive Development 

Course at Fort Lee25. It was a 19 week course that proved to be 

informative, pertinent, interesting, and perhaps my finest Army 

training. The classroom lessons applied straight to my job. I was very 

impressed with the transferability of class material to the workplace. 

Having completed the course, my next assignment took me into 

Washington, D.C. Family life in Dale City was worth the trouble of 

the fifty-mile round trip commute to and from the Pentagon each day. 

 I was assigned to the office of the Assistant Deputy Chief of Staff 

of Logistics for Supply and Maintenance (ADCSLOG-S&M), headed 

by General Darrie H. Richards at the Pentagon, the world’s largest 

office building.26 Initially, the daunting task of learning my way 

around my office area, security practices, and parking procedures 

consumed a large part of the mornings. 

 My job, specifically, was working in the Financial Resources 

Directorate for Supply and Maintenance, a small organization under 

Colonel Carl Krueger. Colonel Krueger’s strong suit was field 

operations and the importance of the department’s support for troops. 

As an action officer, I spent lots of time with Brigadier General (later 

Major General) Homer D. Smith, Deputy to General Richards. Smith 

later became famous as the last General in Vietnam. As the Embassy 

was closed in Saigon, he was one of the last to catch a helicopter flight 

from the top of the building to a waiting ship in the South China Sea. 

 During 1970 through 1972, one of my many tasks was “book” man 

for budget account programs in No. 7 supply (7S) and maintenance 

(7M). Our group put together the “books” used by General Richards 

during question and answer sessions with Congress. We were 

responsible for anticipating every conceivable question that a board of 

Congressional Representatives might ask about Army supply and 

maintenance logistics and then collecting up-to-date and accurate 
“books” used during what we called the “murder board sessions.” In 

session, when a question was asked, we were expected to provide the 

page in the “book” with the related information “post haste.” 

 Vietnam was constantly in the media and on everyone’s mind. 

From 1970 to 1974, I watched the slow agonizing demise of Vietnam. 

Logistics support was being reduced as we slowly began to pull out of 

the war. Although support was decreasing, there were still emergency 

arrangements to be made and a battle staff that operated in the LOC. 

A full-time duty officer and battle staff were on duty round the clock, 

seven days a week. As the Lieutenant Colonel staff duty officer, it 

wasn’t unusual to spend nights sleeping on a cot in the office of the 

DCSLOG that I would later occupy as a three-star Deputy Chief of 

Staff for Logistics. 

 I remember one weekend when DCSLOG staff received an 

emergency request for an ammunition shipment to Vietnam. It was 

Sunday. We quickly briefed General Heiser and were sent to also 

brief General Creighton W. Abrams.27 Because we had a staff on 

duty, the special request for 105-mm ammunition was approved, filled, 

and shipped immediately to Vietnam. Back then, the DCSLOG staff 

had more than 1,100 in personnel. Seventeen years later, that number 

had dropped to 500. 

 Many fine, top-notch DSCLOG Colonels with whom I worked 

became Army Generals. Among them were Eivind “Ivy Joe” H. 

Johansen and Duane H. Stubbs (later Major General), Supply 

Management; Major General Chester M. (Chet) McKeen, Maintenance 

Management; and Arthur J. Gregg, Troop Support Division. 

 When Brigadier General Peter Olenchuk came in as Director of 

Materiel Acquisition (DMA) in DCSLOG, I was selected to be the 

Executive Officer. Watching Major General George M. Bush (no 

relation to the presidents) and, later, General Olenchuk prepare for 

Congressional hearings in which they would be defending all five 

appropriations: missiles, aviation, wheel and combat vehicles, other 

procurement, and ammunition, was a lesson in and of itself. 
from the command of an Army Lieutenant Colonel to a civilian 

position. The Aviation Division had about 50 people working there 

because of the large number of aircraft we had in Vietnam. Lieutenant 

Colonel Joseph P. Cribbins (later a civilian, GS-16 and SES) became 

the Division Chief and was one of the few that exceeded 50 years of 

total service (military and civilian). To his credit, he was a very 

effective leader and was indispensable in his position there. 

 Fixed-wing aircraft and helicopter use was greatly expanding in 

the military during this time, and aviation was big business for the 

Army. About 20 general officers came out of that one office in the 

Pentagon. Donald R. (Don) Williamson, the Aviation System 

Commander, retired as a Major General. James M. (Jim) Hesson also 

retired as a Brigadier General and Aaron L. Lilley, Jr. retired as a 

Major General. Charles F. (Chuck) Drenz, who was the project 

manager for the Apache and the Blackhawk and later the Test and 

Evaluation Commander (TECOM), retired as a two-star (Major 

General). Down the hall from me were Major Leon Salomon, who 

later was AMC Commander, and William N. (Bill) Farmen (later a 

Major General) and the XO for Brigadier General Garland A. Ludy, 

Director of Army Transportation. 

 As a junior Lieutenant Colonel among all the “top dogs”, I was 

thoroughly impressed with all the action officers. There were Majors 

and Lieutenant Colonels working in the “trenches,” in areas C, D, and 

E-rings on the first floor off Corridor Five in the Pentagon. The 

DCSLOG is still there today, and they still call it the “trenches.” 

 

 Across every directorate at the Pentagon, there were high quality 

people, all dedicated to doing the best job they could. To say the 

Vietnam era was a difficult one is an understatement and, as I’ve said 

before, we made mistakes. It was during this time that high-ranking 

officers sat around a table and determined who commanders of 

brigades and battalions in Vietnam would be. There was no “order of 

merit” roster from which to work at that time, because the 

commanders on the ground (in the field) made the selections for the 

new commanders. They chose the best candidate for the job from the 

information they had. The fallacy was that they didn’t know the best 

candidate from across the entire Army. Today, the selection process is 
centralized Command Board at the Army level from all eligible 

officers from the entire Army. It’s a far more equitable procedure. 

 Forty-eight months was my tenure on the Army Staff, which was 

lengthy but not uncommon. Those four years were another wonderful 

span of time in my life and that of my family. Our home and pool in 

Dale City were perfect for our growing family. Sabra became a 

teenager, Dede a pre-teen and early teen, and Tony grew into a 

toddling pre-schooler. They all swam like fish at every opportunity 

until we were forced to close the pool for a few months each winter. 

Tony would run off the diving board while playing “cops and 

robbers,” hit the water, and swim as fast as he could to the other side 

of the pool, where he was “safe” from the imaginary bad guys. We 

were raising another “fish.” 

 One evening at dinner, after listening to what the kids had done 

that day, I said, “Ask me what I did today.” 

 “What did you do today, Dad-O?” asked Dede. (The girls loved 

their nickname for me, “Dad-O.”) 

 “Thank you for asking. I was among three action officers selected 

by General Heiser as nominees for a position in a special part of the 

Army with a code name of ‘Snow White and Seven Dwarfs’.” It’s in 

the Director of the Army Staff’s office, previously known as the 

Secretary to the General Staff (SGS),” I said proudly. “They were 

looking for officers who had tenure of at least three years on the Army 

Staff, that’s me; had been a division or office chief, that’s me; and an 

XO, that’s me again,” I said. “The three of us were interviewed, and I 

got the position. No applause needed. I’m now the logistics 

representative in the Army Chief’s office, and I’ll be working for 

General Creighton W. Abrams, Jr. Each of the three star deputies 

picked an officer from their Deputy Chief’s office to work in General 

Abrams’ office, and I’m the one from logistics.” 

 “PLEASE,” I teased, pleading loudly, “hold the applause until I’m 

done. This is such an unbelievable honor. General Abrams is a legend 

in his own time, He’s the pinnacle of professionalism, a role model we 

all aspire to be. I’m going to learn so much working in his office.” 
 The family was appropriately and politely responsive, giving me a 

round of dinner table applause and congratulations. Tony, in his very 

literal, four-year-old way, said enthusiastically, “Yea! Dad-O’s going 

to work with the seven dwarfs. Can I go too?” 

 The following morning I moved down the hall at the Pentagon into 

an office where there were seven action officers, six others and me. A 

smile escaped as I recalled the ineffective, yet lengthy, bedtime 

explanation to Tony about becoming one of the dwarfs. He hoped I 

would be “Happy” because that was his favorite, and he definitely 

didn’t want me to go to work everyday as “Grumpy.” 

 In the hierarchy of command, each of us represented one of the 

seven three-star deputies directly under General Abrams. Major (later 

Lieutenant General) Michael F. Spigelmire, represented Lieutenant 

General Donald H. Cowles, who was Deputy Chief of Staff of 

Operations (DCSOPS). Major Bobby Maddox (later a Major General) 

was the representative of Assistant Chief of Staff for Force 

Development (ACSFOR). Later ACSFOR became part of the Deputy 

Chief of Staff of Operations, but then we had a separate deputy for 

force management. Major Hank Hagwood (later Major General Henry 

Melvin Hagwood, Jr.), represented the Comptroller of the Army. Dale 

Griggs represented the Office of the Chief of Research and 

Development (OCRD). Chuck Williams represented the Deputy Chief 

of Staff for Personnel (DCSPER). I regret I cannot recall the second 

DCSPER representative at that time. Lieutenant Colonel Bill Dyke, 

with whom I served in the 101st Airborne Division and who was about 

to become a Colonel, was our Office Chief. I was the dwarf who 

represented DCSLOG. 

 The entire Chief of Staff of the Army’s office was blessed with 

superb and first-rate officers. Among these were Lieutenant General 

Charles W. (Chuck) Bagnal, General Crosbie E. Saint, General Robert 

M. (Bob) Sennewald, Lieutenant General Dave R. Palmer, and 

General William J. (Bill) Livsey, who was General Abrams’ XO. All 

were hand-picked for their specific positions. General Abrams 

surrounded himself with the best and brightest. Most were Lieutenant 

Colonels or Colonels in 1973-1974 and went on to the three and fourstar level. 
 As the Logistics Staff action officer to General Abrams from 

General Heiser, my responsibility was to review and summarize every 

logistics paper that went upward to the Army Chief of Staff (CSA) or 

Army Vice Chief of Staff (VCSA). The “white tail,” a 6”x 9” notesized paper that contained a summary and my recommendation on the 

issue, was designed to save time. I learned to condense volumes down 

to a few information-laden, concise sentences on the “white tail.” 

General Abrams did not have the time to look at the whole decision 

paper or document on the issue, just the heart of the matter. 

 After reading the “white tail” and listening to my two-minute 

verbal briefing, the CSA or VCSA would make his decision by 

initialing the paper. My task included sharing options in the matter 

and making recommendations. Typically, General Abrams or General 

Frederick C. (Fred) Weyand, who followed Abrams as chief, trusted 

my synopsis on the action. They knew that what I said represented 

General Heiser and the DCSLOG Staff, as well as my own take on the 

issue after having thoroughly researched the matter. It was a unique 

and serious responsibility, which all seven action officers worked long 

diligent hours to fulfill. 

 AMC’s involvement with the “white tails” followed two 

procedures. If the issue was funding or resources, support of the 

DCSLOG, General Heiser, was gained before the matter went to 

General Abrams’ office. The conceptual issues, suggestions for new 

and improved methods of conducting business, went directly to 

General Abrams with a copy to General Heiser in Logistics. 

 Occasionally, General Abrams visited the office where the seven 

of us dwarfs could be found buried under a mound of paperwork. At 

the time, the Army was in the process of changing the uniform from 

brown poplin shirts, which were worn under greens, to a light green 

shirt. He was usually wearing one of the new prototype shirts, jacket 

open and unbuttoned, and had his constant companion, a cigar, in the 

side of his mouth. Hearing war stories directly from the source of this 

larger than life military hero was thrilling and awe inspiring. 
years, four years as a cadet at West Point and 38 years as an Army 

officer. A veteran of three wars (WWII, Korea, and Vietnam), his 

favorite stories were of playing football at West Point, his early 

cavalry days, and World War II. He was with the 4th Armored 

Division almost from its inception in 1941, participated in every 

campaign the division fought as battalion commander and then combat 

command commander. Abrams became widely known as one of the 

Army’s most aggressive and successful Armor commanders. 

Lieutenant Colonel Abrams, in a conference on the banks of the 

Moselle, pointed east and remarked, “That is the shortest way home.” 

A tank unit called Task Force “Abe” led the thrust across the Moselle, 

and a tank unit commanded by Abrams broke the German 

encirclement at Bastogne. Abrams’ unit tore from Bitburg to the 

Rhine, including an attack of over 40 miles in less than two days. 

Time and time again, Abrams led the thrust across the German 

homeland and into Czechoslovakia, often at the head of the column. 

His World War II commander, General George S. Patton, Jr., once 

said, “I’m supposed to be the best tank commander in the Army, but I 

have one peer, Abe Abrams. He is the world champion.” 

 One day, as he shared WWII experiences with us, he talked about 

the maintenance problems with the M4 tank. His battalion was turning 

north to Bastogne with little time to prepare due to the highly intensive 

march east through France. They had lost tanks, many to maintenance 

difficulties, and arrived at the 101st with only a couple of tanks still 

operating. They formed an armored column by interspersing trucks 

with the tanks. The ploy tricked the Germans who misguidedly 

thought the column consisted entirely of tanks. He loved relating that 

story. When we pointed to the December 1944 historical poster of 

him, half visible from the turret of a tank that was traveling down a 

snow covered trail toward Bastogne, he would modestly reply, “It was 

my job.” 

 For the four years General Abrams commanded in Vietnam, it was 

his task to reduce direct U.S. military involvement and to transfer 

increasing responsibilities to Vietnamese forces, as they became 

capable of assuming them. By the time he left Vietnam in 1972, that 

job had been virtually completed. He became Chief of Staff in 1972 

with the principal challenge of knitting together an Army that had 
repositioning of forces. Adding to the challenge was the death of the 

draft as the Army shifted to an all-volunteer footing. 

 Spellbound by his incredible stories, we watched the direct, plain 

spoken, highly respected general work, and saw the actions that flowed 

from his guidance increase the readiness and effectiveness of the 

Army. At the same time, the Army saw morale improve and 

disciplinary problems subside, as people responded to a firm hand at 

the top. His major objectives at this time in his life revolved around a 

“readiness” mission, rethinking the Army’s role, and taking care of the 

Soldier. When he was struck with lung cancer, he was setting in 

motion a program to increase markedly the Army’s combat capability 

without increasing its total strength. It was done the Abrams way, by 

cutting out entire headquarters, by making other headquarters – 

including his own – much smaller, and by making every element in the 

Army count toward the overall mission. 

 General Abrams, in the fall of 1973, directed the formation of the 

first battalion-size Ranger units since WWII. He recognized the need 

for a highly trained and highly mobile reaction force, declaring, “The 

Ranger Battalion is to be the most elite, light, and proficient Ranger 

battalion in the world, a battalion that can do things with its hands and 

weapons better than anyone. The battalion will contain no ‘hoodlums 

or brigands,’ and if the battalion is formed from such persons, it will 

be disbanded. Wherever the battalion goes, it must be apparent that it 

is the best.” 

 The farsightedness of General Abrams’ decision, as well as the 

combat effectiveness of the Ranger battalions, was proven during the 

United States’ deployment on October 25, 1983, to the island of 

Grenada to protect American citizens and to restore democracy. 

During this operation, code named “Urgent Fury,” the 1st and 2nd

Ranger Battalions conducted a daring low-level parachute assault (500 

feet), seized the airfield at Point Salines, rescued American citizens 

isolated at True Blue campus, and conducted air assault operations to 

eliminate pockets of resistance. The operation demonstrated the 

effectiveness of the Ranger battalions, prompting the Army to increase 

the size of the active duty Ranger force to its highest level since 

WWII. 
 On September 4, 1974, General Abrams died of lung cancer in 

Washington, D.C, the first Army Chief of Staff to die in office. He 

was buried with full military honors in a special plot in Section 21 of 

Arlington National Cemetery. I’ve heard him described as honest, 

frank, sincere, completely dedicated to the Army and the highest ideals 

of service, tactful but firm, “without peer,” and “the best.” The 

privilege and honor of learning from a man who helped reshape and 

build a better Army with determined, intelligent grace remains a high 

point in my career. 

 As I worked in the CSA and VCSA’s offices during the late winter 

and early spring of 1973 and 1974, I remember several occasions when 

he was absent from his office because he was at Walter Reed Army 

Medical Center (WRAMC) for surgery or treatment related to lung 

cancer. At that point, General Frederick C. Weyand was the VCSA 

(1973-1974) and later became the CSA from October 1974 to 

September 1976. He and Lieutenant General Donald H. Cowles, 

DCSOPS, assumed more and more responsibility as General Abrams’ 

health issues took him away from his office. The XO, Colonel Bill 

Livsey, often made twice daily runs to Walter Reed to take paperwork 

to General Abrams. All “dwarfs” were asked to select only the 

priority issues for his review and to be prepared to make a trip to 

Walter Reed to brief the General if necessary. 

 During a brief time following surgery to remove a portion of lung, 

General Abrams was released from the hospital, but wasn’t doing very 

well. Because of his continual cigar smoking, we suspected that his 

cancer was directly related to smoking. Slowly, General Weyand 

began taking over Abrams’ duties and moved in as the next CSA when 

Abrams died in September of 1974. It was a truly sad day for the 

Army and clearly a day of mourning a fallen hero and piece of the 

Army’s great history. 

 During the year I was privileged to spend in General Abrams’ 

office as his logistics staff officer, there was never a meeting that he 

didn’t talk about taking care of the Soldier, the welfare of the Soldier 

always being his utmost goal. At the conclusion of the most grandiose 

and impressive presentations purporting a change or addition in 

resources or concepts, Abrams would ask, “What is this going to do 
going to improve a Soldier’s life.” 

 The General constantly reminded everyone who entered his office 

and especially his staff officers that “the Army is people.” He made it 

clear that everyone’s job was to work for the benefit of the Soldiers, 

because that is what the institution of the Army was, our Soldiers. It is 

that concept I tried to keep uppermost in my thinking throughout my 

Army career. 

 It was customary for each “dwarf,” upon his departure, to receive 

an autographed photograph of General Abrams. With his illness and 

more frequent stays in Walter Reed, I assumed this would not happen 

as I left. I was so honored and amazed when the framed photo was 

presented to me with the inscription: “To Jimmy Ross, with 

appreciation and best wishes. Creighton W. Abrams, Jr.” The photo 

remains a treasured memento of an exceptional leader and hero. 

Early Views of AMC

 Several years earlier, April of 1961 to be exact, the DoD conducted 

a study to examine how the Army’s organizational structure responded 

to changes in the threat environment. The resulting Hoelscher Report 

(October 1961) recommended the creation of a “materiel development 

and logistics command.” The new command, U.S. Army Materiel 

Command (AMC), replaced a system of individual supply and 

technical services that had been in use for almost 200 years. 

Lieutenant General Frank S. Besson, Jr., later promoted to General, 

was the first Commander of AMC, serving from August 1962 until 

March 1969. 

 Many major organizational changes have taken place since 

AMC’s inception. In 1973, as I worked as an executive officer to the 

Director of Material Acquisition, the acquisition function moved down 

the hall and consolidated with OCRD, and at that point in time, 

became the Office of the Chief of Research, Development, and 

Acquisition (OCSRDA). I had previously worked with General 

George Sammet, Jr., who was then in charge of OCRD. He later was 

the CG of AMC from February 1977 until May 1977. 
this proved true when research and development acquired the 

additional task of acquisition. They learned about acquisition from 

those of us familiar with AMC, and we learned about research and 

development from them. This type sharing and learning continued 

throughout my career. It facilitated the networking and allowed all 

those involved to be up-to-date on current and pertinent issues. 

 My impression of AMC began as a DISCOM staff officer in 

operations and logistics (S-3/S-4) for the 101st Airborne Division. I 

concluded that the majority of all support, whether it was ammunition, 

supply and maintenance support, or depot support was from AMC. 

Field maintenance technicians were around in the seventies, but I don’t 

recall Logistics Assistance Representatives (LARs) back in the 1970’s. 

Now we have them in every division, and that link is a vital and 

necessary asset. 

 When I was in Vietnam, it seemed that there was this huge, megaorganization out there somewhere in the United States, called AMC, 

providing all our resources. We worked with them on everything from 

retrograde of repairable items to the disposal of materials returning to 

AMC. When I went to the 10th Transportation as commander, 

everything except the fresh fruits, vegetables, and food stocks, such as 

pizza and steaks, came from AMC. The execution of 90 percent of 

Army dollars for supply items and materiel happened in AMC. 

 In Vietnam, we knew how to contact the maintenance contractors 

who represented AMC and strongly suggest they quickly repair our 

engines and transmissions. If the contractor in 5th Transportation 

could not make the repairs in the field, we knew that part was headed 

for the aviation repair ship off the coast of Vietnam or the depot in 

Corpus Christi, Texas, or some other depot to be overhauled. Those 

repairs proved time-consuming and costly because of the months it 

took for the part to make the round trip back to us. The long repair 

delays left equipment sitting idle and useless for far too long. That 

experience is precisely the reason Generals Arwood, Ball, Akin, Elam, 

and I vowed to put maintenance contractors on the battlefield behind 

every weapon system during Desert Shield. We had learned our lesson 

in Vietnam. 
seeing AMC from a different side. I had become a part of the supply 

rather than being one of the supplied, a sender rather than a receiver. 

In the CSA’s office, I relied on the valuable operational experience the 

two Vietnam field tours had provided. Having budget level experience 

in Supply and Maintenance was also an asset. We programmed, and 

AMC executed. All product/program managers were in AMC. Again, 

being in Materiel Acquisition, I viewed the system from a different 

perspective, the research and development acquisition angle. 

 Then in 1973, when I moved to the Chief’s office, I brought to the 

position a great deal of operation, procurement, and budget experience, 

as well as a strong resource management background. Again, my 

guardian angel had placed me in the right place at the right time with 

the right credentials to be chosen by Joe Heiser and the Chief’s office 

as the logistics “dwarf.” The honor came with challenges and difficult 

responsibilities. Resources for Vietnam were being reduced, and cuts 

in services and materials came across my desk daily from Major 

General John E. Murray, Director of Logistics, MACV. It was 

obvious that he was emotionally involved and thought support to 

Vietnam programs was being severed too quickly and severely. I think 

history will indicate that this was an accurate assessment of the 

situation. It was extremely difficult to receive and issue “fall on the 

sword” kind of messages. 

 My last year in the Chief’s office, Brigadier General Homer Smith 

brought a different tenor and personality to the situation. I watched as 

he received his second star and left for Vietnam with the task of 

literally closing out the U.S. presence there. Making the journey with 

him were two very sharp officers: Major (later Major General) Jim 

Ball and Lieutenant Colonel (later Lieutenant General) Benjamin F. 

Register, Jr., whom I would exchange jobs with on two future 

occasions. 

 On April 28, 1975, after numerous valiant attempts by the South 

Vietnamese Army to hold back the invading North Vietnamese Army, 

the new president of the South, General Duong Van “Big” Minh 

appealed for a cease-fire. The appeal was ignored. The NVA shelled 

Tan Son Nhut Air Base near Saigon, killing two U.S. marines at the 

compound gate. Conditions deteriorated rapidly as South Vietnamese 
Frequent Wind, the evacuation of 7,000 Americans and South 

Vietnamese by helicopter from Saigon. The pre-arranged code signal 

for the start of the operation was the radio broadcast of the song, 

“White Christmas.” 

 Years later, Jim Ball and Homer Smith would recount their last 

hours in Vietnam. At Tan Son Nhut, frenzied civilians began 

swarming the helicopters, and the evacuation relocated to the 

walled-in American Embassy, secured by U.S. Marines in full 

combat gear. In spite of precautions, the scene deteriorated, as 

thousands of civilians attempted to get over the walls into the 

compound. Off the coast of Vietnam, three U.S. aircraft carriers 

waited, ready to transport the incoming Americans and South 

Vietnamese. In frantic confusion, Vietnamese pilots began landing 

on the carriers, flying American-made helicopters. At 8:35 AM, 

on April 30, 1975, the last Americans, ten Marines from the 

embassy, left Vietnam, and our presence there ended. By 11:00 

AM, the red and blue colors of the Viet Cong flag could be seen 

flying from the presidential palace. In a radio message of 

unconditional surrender, President Minh officially ended the war. 

 Jim Ball’s account of those last frantic days in Vietnam will 

elevate your blood pressure and raise the hair on the back of your 

neck. He relates how they were charged with destroying 

everything, phones, maps, documents, and calculators. Thermite 

grenades went into the computers, and they hurriedly shredded 

millions of dollars of paistres, the Vietnamese currency. Jim didn’t 

have time to collect personal things from his quarters, but he 

deserves our thanks for taking the American flag out of the 

command conference room and later sending it to the Chief of 

Military History (CMH). He recalls seeing a framed photograph of 

an ineffective U.S. admiral thrown to the floor and crushed under 

the boots of the scurrying officers. The admiral had created 

problems, had been difficult to get along with, and had never 

earned the respect of his men. In those last frantic, terrifying 

hours, the act of continually tromping over the face of the surly 

admiral gave them a target for displaced anger rising from their 

desperate situation. 
North Vietnamese on the embassy conference table. Much earlier 

Ben had worked on a new Officer Personnel Management System 

(OPMS) for the Army that evolved into a three-inch, complex 

document that had large fold out and pull out displays woven into 

sections of its pages. The pages contained complicated milestone 

charts on reaching the ultimate objective, an Officer Personnel 

Management System. Ben’s personal working notes were attached 

to various parts of the document. In the officers’ maddening rush 

to shred all documents, they came across this one and decided the 

North Vietnamese needed it. By leaving it in the middle of the 

conference table, they hoped the invading Soldiers would consider 

it important and try to implement it in their Army. Jim and Ben 

were of the opinion it could screw them up for years to come. 

 Jim Ball described getting on one of the last Hueys (HU1A) 

from the top of the Embassy amidst continuous ground fire. He 

thought if they could make it to the Saigon River and hover over 

the river before the damaged Huey lost altitude, they could swim 

for their freedom. They were fortunate, made it to the ship, 

disembarked, and had to push the helicopter over the side into the 

sea to made room for other incoming aircraft. The act of shoving a 

$250,000.00 helicopter over the side of the ship was another 

indicator of the desperation involved in that evacuation. 

 Homer Smith, the last American General out of Saigon, later 

made a two-hour video, in which he talked about how they worked 

on the last minute details of evacuation for months. It’s a 

wonderful tape in which he spoke of his actual departure by the 

last Hueys out while watching the North Vietnamese tanks and 

infantry approach the compound. 

 America’s longest war was finally over. The 15-year military 

involvement saw more than 2,000,000 Americans serve in Vietnam 

with 500,000 seeing actual combat. There were more than 57,000 

killed in action, including 8,000 aviators and 10,400 non-combat 

deaths. Another 150,000 were seriously wounded, and that included 

amputees. 2,400 American POWs and MIAs were unaccounted for in 

1973. In the early 1990’s, the total Vietnam related documented 

deaths exceeded 58,000. 
 With each reminder of the Vietnam War, I think of Captain An and 

the thousands of determined, brave South Vietnamese Soldiers who 

spent their lives fighting for freedom. I think of the brave American 

Soldiers who fought valiantly in a half-hearted, unpopular, quagmire 

endeavor that our country had the misfortune of sliding into sideways. 

We never seemed to face Vietnam head-on. So many costly, deadly 

mistakes resulted from misguided efforts to give lip service, to posture, 

to pacify, to placate, to pretend to carry on a war, when the truth 

revealed young Soldiers meeting the enemy with one hand tied behind 

their collective backs. There was never a clear objective with maps 

and guides for winning. 

 When a battle was actually won by the sheer determination, grit, 

and bravery of our Soldiers, we kowtowed to the pressure of the press 

and public opinion and gave the territory we’d won in the blood bath 

back to the enemy. The absurd events that followed the battle of 

Hamburger Hill 937 are surely unprecedented and must set some sort 

of “fickle finger of fate” award for total disregard of established 

military procedures. The one positive that came from this war was a 

series of lessons on how NOT to conduct military business. 

 With every fiber of my being, I’m proud to have served with the 

exceptional men who fought in Vietnam and hope that the light of 

gratitude for what they endured will brighten with each passing year. 

They deserve an apology for mingling a willingness to serve their 

country by risking their lives in a maddening jungle half-way around 

the world with the hatred for the war itself. The Soldiers were doing 

their duty, serving their country, and fulfilling their obligations, while 

their own citizens cursed their actions and burned their flags. To each 

one who served, I repeatedly extend a heartfelt thank you, for our 

Veterans of Vietnam are truly a deserving band of brothers. 

Industrial College of the Armed Forces, 1974-1975

 The Army has “lists” for everything. Seeing your name on a “list” 

could be a good thing or, with the military downsizing in 1974, it 

could be a bad thing. After we were officially out of Vietnam, NCOs 

and officers were being asked to leave the military in droves. I hoped 

to avoid making an appearance on that particular list. 
 Life was good at the Ross household, but doubts about being cut 

and having to make a forced career change nibbled around the edges of 

my days. I was 38 years old with a mortgage and family, and enjoyed 

my work immensely. Pat was quite involved with teaching 

“homebound” students while Tony was in kindergarten. My girls had 

blossomed into gorgeous teenagers, Sabra a senior and Dede a 

freshman. We were a very busy, happy family, and a career change 

did not fit into our schedule. 

 During a moment of doubt, a list crossed my desk. Great joy and 

celebrating commenced immediately, upon learning that my name 

appeared on the “ICAF list,” the list of officers chosen for Senior 

Service College and, in my case, the Industrial College of the Armed 

Forces. My name on that little white piece of paper meant that I was 

not only staying in the Army, but being sent to college for more 

training. It also meant that we would be staying in the Washington 

D.C. area for another year. Sabra could finish high school with her 

friends of the past four years. Dede and Tony could continue in their 

schools, and Pat’s homebound students would have their teacher a 

while longer. Best of all, we weren’t moving out of our pretty, 

comfortable Dale City home with its inviting backyard pool. 

 ICAF offered a ten-month master’s program in multiple 

disciplines. The course of study was designed to prepare military 

officers and civilians for senior leadership and staff positions. The 

postgraduate, executive-level courses and associated research dealt 

with the resource component of national power, with an emphasis on 

materiel acquisition and joint logistics. We were to learn to think 

strategically and understand the interdependence of economics, 

acquisition, logistics, technology, and mobilization in various 

industrial sectors that support the nation in both peace and conflict. 

 I had worked for seven years, going to night school to pick up 

hours toward a master’s degree, but with frequent interruptions, I 

feared losing some of the hours due to time lapses between classes. 

The Industrial College, a college under the DoD’s National Defense 

University (NDU), awards graduates a Master of Science degree in 

National Resource Strategy. With extra courses during the ten months, 

I could also complete the master’s degree I’d been working toward. 
Examination (GRE) at American University. 

 George Washington University (GWU) was my college of choice, 

but based on GRE test results, only 32 were accepted into their 

program. My name did not appear on that list. I was accepted into the 

graduate program at Central Michigan University (CMU) and 

following my daily ICAF classes and a two-hour break, I returned to 

the same classroom and began Central Michigan evening classes. 

There were 30 in our program, with representatives from Army, Navy, 

and Air Force. 

 After meeting with a course counselor, discussing the pros and 

cons of the Master of Business Administration (MBA) and the Master 

of Arts (MA) and reviewing the list of graduate courses I’d completed, 

I chose to enter the program in business management. The counselor 

called the MBA the “green eyeshade” degree and suggested that 

business management offered a broader skill and discipline plan of 

study for a Colonel-to-be in the future. “You have all the math courses 

for that already,” the counselor explained. “All you lack are a few 

organizational, behavioral, and personnel management classes and 

you’ve got yourself a master’s degree.” 

 Those words were music to my tired ears. “Put my name on that 

list,” I said. It was soon apparent that the day studies, the ICAF 

curriculum, shared much in common with my evening classes. 

Lieutenant General Woolwine was the College Commandant that year. 

After his visit to Newport, Rhode Island and the Naval War College, 

he implemented many aspects of the Navy program, including frequent 

institute examinations, written requirements, and a thesis requirement. 

The college experience, the number of analytical management classes 

and math related classes included techniques that would be very useful 

at the Lieutenant Colonel level. As we were graduating, General 

Woolwine left, and General Theodore Antonelli became the new 

commandant. 

 Antonelli was a Major General, who had been an Assistant 

DCSLOG in the Army. It was like having one of the family take over 

the Industrial College. One section of my study was with a Coast 

Guardsman, Hank Bell, who later became a two-star in the Coast 
W. (Chuck) McKinnon, Jr. was one of my tablemates. Approximately 

20-plus of our Vietnam-era class went on the General and flag officer 

level. 

 Some of the first POWs released from North Vietnam came back 

as we started ICAF. Three joined our class, one of whom was an Air 

Force Lieutenant Colonel who talked of his experience in the “Hanoi 

Hilton.” Of the three, only one seemed to be dealing with 

psychological problems. It was an honor to have them in our class and 

listen as they shared their experiences with us. 

 The list of lecturers who came through the college that year was an 

impressive one. Senior Diplomat W. Averell Harriman, whose service 

included U.S. Ambassador to Russia during the Truman 

administration, and later Ambassador to Great Britain, Secretary of 

Commerce, special assistant to the President in 1950-51, an American 

representative on the NATO Committee, and director of the Mutual 

Security Agency, provided personal insight into many historical 

events. General Alexander M. Haig, Jr., military assistant to Henry 

Kissinger, assistant to the President for National Security, and later 

Vice Chief of Staff of the Army and Secretary of State, was one of our 

better speakers. The Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman and all the service 

chiefs came. 

Military Traffic Management Command, 1975-1978

 The year at ICAF, 1975 will forever remain the year of the “lists.” 

My name was published on the most significant list for that period in 

my life. The first list was, of course, being chosen for ICAF. The 

second list to bear my name was a list of those being promoted to 

Colonel. The third was a Colonel command list. In spite of my desire 

to serve as a DISCOM commander, I was happy to serve as deputy 

acting comptroller for Military Traffic Management Command 

(MTMC) on the West Coast. The personnel officer said “You’ll be a 

Colonel commander within a year, and can serve two needs there. 

Along with deputy acting comptroller for MTMC, you’ll also serve as 

the Commander of the Military Ocean Terminal for the Bay Area in 

Oakland (MOTBA).” 
family after five consistent, non-mobile years in our Dale City home in 

Woodbridge, Virginia. Our only move during the last five-year span 

had involved moving to a larger home in the same area while the kids 

continued in their same schools. My new assignment took us to the 

Oakland Army Terminal, and we would be living at Fort Mason in San 

Francisco.28 I started talking up the San Francisco area to Pat and the 

kids who were understandably reluctant to relocate. 

 Sabra had been accepted by the University of Arkansas and didn’t 

think it mattered whether we were in Washington, D.C. or San 

Francisco. “The two places are equally far away from Arkansas,” she 

said. However, she thought that San Francisco sounded like fun, and 

she had seen so much of Washington over the last five years, it would 

be a nice change to have a new place to explore during visits home. 

 Only Dede was having trouble catching the enthusiastic wave of 

emotion. She would be in tenth grade when school started and was 

leaving her friends of the past five years. Pat and I talked up the fact 

that her blonde hair and perpetual tan from swimming and sports made 

her look like a California girl already. But the fake smile didn’t fool 

anyone. The move was not good timing for Dede. 

 At the time of our move, Lower Fort Mason was a large complex 

of warehouses and piers with white stucco facades and red-tiled roofs 

reminiscent of Spanish Colonial architecture on a grand scale. In 1985, 

ten years after we lived there, that portion of the fort was designated a 

National Historic Landmark. A group of seven sets of officers’ 

quarters was added to the southern portion of Fort Mason around 1941 

and we made our home there in Quarters Number 41. My office was 

at Oakland Army Terminal across the Oakland Bridge on the Oakland 

side. 

 Major General Henry R. Del Mar was the commander of MTMC, 

and I would serve as the Deputy Comptroller, then acting comptroller 

for MTMC on the West Coast. I had worked for General Del Mar in 

Vietnam and was there when he received his first star. We had already 

established a good working relationship, and he remained a great 

friend until his death in February of 1994. 
Logistics Director (J-LOG), United States Pacific Command, became 

the MTMC commander for the West Coast ports. Those ports 

included MOTBA in the Oakland area, the Pacific Northwest out-port 

near Seattle for all shipments going out of the northwest, including 

Alaska, and the Southern California out-port near Long Beach. 

 The comptroller position introduced me to many new components 

of resource management, including revolving funds and the Army 

Industrial Fund (AIF). Each workday found me up to my elbows in 

debits, credits, and accounts receivable/payable. A collection of 

capable and talented young people worked in resource management in 

the Western Area, and we learned a great deal from each other. 

 In 1976, Metheny retired and General Orlando E. Gonzales came 

in as the new brigadier commander. He had been the 7th Group 

Commander at Fort Eustis. Years later, I linked up with General 

Gonzales when he was the Research, Development, and Engineering 

Chief at AMC Headquarters, followed by becoming the Aviation 

Systems Command commander. On schedule, I became the Colonel 

commander for MOTBA. General Gonzales, General Metheny, and I 

formed a great relationship as I became the Colonel commander for 

the Oakland Terminal. General Gonzales, who lived near Mount 

Vernon, Virginia, and I remain in contact and are good friends to this 

day. 

 During those years, 70 to 80 percent of all cargo moving off the 

West Coast went through the MOTBA. My work in the terminal port 

area was, again, very similar to commanding the 10th Transportation in 

Vietnam. The same methods of management and processes for 

moving cargo were in operation. Through the manual process, 

civilians would plan the arrangement and placement of cargo for the 

entire ship, and a shipwright carpenter contractor did all the blocking 

and bracing. The same carpenter had been working in that capacity in 

Oakland for over 20 years and knew that job well. 

 As I arrived in Oakland on the first day to take over my new 

position, I noticed a large number of civilians demonstrating in front of 

the headquarters. One carried a “dummy” dressed in an Army green 

uniform with a piece of tape across the uniform that read, “Del Mar.” 
placed the dummy in a cardboard coffin, and carried it away. 

Witnessing that display wasn’t the welcome I’d expected. I thought, 

“Good Lord, what type of outfit have I gotten myself into this time?” 

 I soon learned that the Western Area was being “downsized,” and 

an announcement had been made a few days prior to my arrival stating 

that all civilian stevedores would be released, and the positions would 

go to civilian contractors. The DA civilians had a very strong union 

with shop stewards in every division and an organization on the 

Oakland Army Base. The Del Mar ritual had been a demonstration 

that was planned and carried out by union members. I understood that 

they were upset about losing their jobs, but it was unfair to target 

General Del Mar. He was doing what the Army asked him to do, 

downsize. MTMC expected the shift from DA civilians to contractors 

to produce a net savings. Over time, I watched the cost of each 

contract rise and the initial savings evaporate. 

 Within a year, I moved to commander and was directly responsible 

for seven contractors working for the terminal, stuffing 40-foot 

containers, and performing all port work off Pier 7. My 

responsibilities were the day-to-day management of the contractors 

while the procurement responsibilities rested with MTMC 

Headquarters back in Washington. The situation was almost identical 

to the one I’d had at the 10th in Vietnam, and I was very comfortable in 

that environment. 

 During our three years in San Francisco, we remained in the same 

quarters, which was great; we loved our home. We had come to San 

Francisco with a first grader, Tony, and a college freshman, Sabra, 

away at the University of Arkansas, and our very reluctant tenth 

grader, Dede. Our house was situated in a circle at Fort Mason with a 

medium sized grassy open area in the center of the houses. Tony had a 

lot of fun running and playing in that grassy area. A recreational 

center was located just a few hundred yards away from our house. 

That’s where Tony learned to play billiards and actually grew into 

quite a “pool shark.” 

 Pat’s suspicions had proved accurate about the public school 

situation in our particular area of San Francisco. The kids in the 
to our country’s public school system, she had to give in for the first 

time and put the kids in private schools. Dede, totally miserable 

because she had to move away from all her friends in Dale City, went 

to school scared for her safety each day. Pat enrolled her in Sacred 

Heart Cathedral High School that, at the time, was for girls only. 

 Tony’s leg was broken at school in what was loosely called an 

“accident,” and Pat enrolled him in St. Brigid Elementary School. 

Tony remembered, “I guess the downfall of San Francisco was when I 

broke my leg. During recess, I remember hearing the bell to get in line 

to go inside. I ran up next to a schoolmate who got aggravated for 

some reason, as kids do most of the time. He kicked me in the leg 

with his steel reinforced boots, and the next thing I knew, I was in pain 

and being carried up to the nurse’s office. I stayed in the hospital for a 

couple of weeks with DiAnna (Dede) and Sabra bringing me comic 

books and candy bars to help ease my pain. Having to keep my leg 

elevated above my waist for long periods was tough on a seven-yearold. 

 “I attended a fairly strict Catholic school after that and had a very 

special teacher named Sister Bonaventure. The school was situated on 

top of one of the many steep streets in San Francisco. On weekends 

and holidays, it was fun to fish along the waters of San Francisco Bay 

with my friends. One sunny day, a gentleman approached us and 

indicated that he was from the San Francisco Chronicle newspaper and 

wanted to take our picture and write down our names. I ran home 

telling you and Mom what happened, and the next day our picture was 

in the paper.” 

 In August of 1977, Sabra was married in Arkadelphia, in the 

same church (St. Anthony Methodist) that Pat and I were married in 22 

years before, with the same minister officiating (the Reverend Clint 

Burleson). The wedding was planned long distance from California 

with much help from Pat’s parents in Arkansas. When Pat wasn’t 

planning weddings and helping the children find a good fit in schools, 

exploring the California area provided family fun. However, my 

sunbirds in no way got used to the weather that never seemed to rise 

above 65 degrees in the summer. Pat was fond of quoting Mark 
summer in San Francisco!” 
p

Germany, 1978 – 1982

 My third year at Oakland was approaching when I received a call 

from Lieutenant Colonel Duane Smith from the Military Personnel 

Command, a friend with whom I had served in 33rd Transportation in 

Hawaii in the 1960’s. He was a family friend and was currently 

working in the Colonels’ Branch of personnel in Washington. 

 “You’re being alerted to go to Germany,” Duane told me. 

 

 When I recovered from the news, I said, “Wonderful. I think that’s 

tremendous.” 

 “It’s not definite, but looks likely,” he shared. “Yours is one of 

nine names nominated for a second Colonel-level command. I saw 

(Major) General Alton G. Post today and outlined the contenders who 

have previous experience commanding at the Colonel level. There’ll 

be a meeting soon to choose the top contender to go to the 4th

Transportation Brigade in Germany. It’s an ‘unsupported’ Brigadier 

General position, meaning it will be filled by a high potential Colonel. 

They usually promote a Colonel commander there as part of the 

second Colonel level command. With the current move toward overall 

downsizing, the Army most likely won’t support a Brigadier General 

for that position,” Duane concluded. 

 It was such exciting news because of the work experience and 

prospect for advancement in the Army. For the family, it was a unique 

opportunity to live abroad for several years, travel, and see Europe. I 

could not have been happier and very much wanted the position. Pat 

shared my excitement. With both parents thrilled at the prospect of 

going to Germany, Tony, who was nine at the time, caught our 

enthusiasm. Dede was eighteen and had graduated from Cathedral 

High School in San Francisco. She planned to go to Henderson 

College in Arkadelphia, our alma mater, where she would have her 

maternal grandparents as a family support structure. Our independent 

Sabra was now married and living in Fayetteville, Arkansas. 
worked together in 1962 when I was with the 25th Division in Hawaii, 

and he became the commander of the 33rd Transportation. Some links 

like this one last a lifetime. As the selection procedure progressed, 

Duane provided updates of the latest development by phone. At each 

step in the process, my phone would ring, and Duane would report, 

“General Post has done this today, and you look good for the 

command. General (Lieutenant General Oren Edwin ‘Buzz’) DeHaven 

has done that, and you’re still the man. General (George Samuel) 

Blanchard has done this, and you’re practically a shoe-in.” 

 The final call was, “You’ve been selected to be the 4th

Transportation Brigade Commander.” I was elated! It was a great 

command, more than 5,000 Soldiers scattered across more than 40 

locations in Germany. Many thanks go to Duane Smith for his 

friendship, advice, and counsel. 

 I went to Oberursel, Germany, outside of Frankfurt, in April 1978 

to change command of the 4th Transportation Brigade with my good 

friend, Colonel (later Lieutenant General) Vincent M. Russo, the 

departing commander. We had been together in the DCSLOG office. 

He had worked his way up to XO of DCSLOG and was returning to 

the States to be promoted to Brigadier General. As I took command, it 

was a bit odd to be a Colonel, and share exactly the same rank as chief 

of staff, movement manager, and theater movements control center 

manager. There were a bevy of Colonels, some of them senior to me, 

but rank among the Colonels really didn’t mean much, and everyone 

was supportive and helpful. Colonel Jim Dunn, Colonel Walter F. 

Musial, and Colonel Donald H. Conner were great friends who did a 

superb job and were truly professional transportation officers. Many 

had previous tours of Germany and thoroughly understood the 

movements’ management programs within U.S. Army, Europe 

(USAREUR). 

 Pat moved us into the brigade commander’s quarters at Camp King 

and enrolled Tony, who was in fourth grade, in the American School 

in Frankfurt, a 45-minute bus ride away. She even had our piano 

shipped to Germany, hoping that Tony would keep up the piano 

lessons he’d started in San Francisco. He complied and continued 

taking lessons, but hated it. Now, as an adult, he wishes he had kept at 
basketball programs, becoming quite an athlete. 

 Pat was very busy, exceptionally busy, and incredibly busy in a 

new role as the brigade commander’s wife. Thrust into a manic 

whirlwind of German-American dinner parties, organizing volunteers 

to run a thrift shop, Women’s Club, Army Community Service, and 

Red Cross, my pretty redhead barely had time to unpack. In addition 

to the “commander’s wife” nonstop responsibilities, Pat was also 

teaching military personnel at the BSEP in Frankfurt. Family 

responsibilities were a priority, as always, and took top billing on her 

busy daily schedule. 

 Winters were colder than we were accustomed to, but we braved 

the freezing weather to go skiing and snow sledding. The hill behind 

our house was great for sledding, and Tony and his friends loved it. 

Tony started Boy Scouts in San Francisco and continued with them in 

Germany, enjoying many camps and activities. The love of scouting 

continued when we returned to Virginia where he earned his Eagle 

Scout Honor. The helicopter landing field was just down the hill from 

our house. I took frequent day trips to other Army facilities. Tony 

would hear the helicopter coming, bringing me back to the office from 

a trip, and say to Pat, “Here comes Dad!” He’d run down the hill, a 

great welcome home sight, and walk me back to my office. 

 The opportunity of living and working at Camp King nourished my 

love of history.29 In 1961, the U.S. intelligence group was redesignated the 513th Military Intelligence Group, motto “the Vigilant 

Knights,” and remained at Camp King until 1968 when it relocated to 

Munich. In 1968, the 107th Transportation Brigade and the U.S. Army 

Traffic Management Agency moved to the post to form the U.S. 

Transportation Command that later became the 4th Transportation 

Brigade. That is the command I assumed in 1978. 

 During my command, we had several interesting troop train trips 

through East Germany to Berlin. Documents of agreement drawn at 

the end of WWII divided Germany into four occupation zones, leaving 

the city of Berlin divided. The city became the archetype of the Cold 

War as four different commanders-in-chief from the United States, 

Great Britain, France, and the Soviet Union shared control. With the 
Berlin, tensions escalated. Refugees began flocking out of East Berlin, 

destabilizing the regime. The atypical Berlin situation became 

difficult, and relations between the countries deteriorated. Ultimately, 

on August 12, 1961, the Russians officially closed the border between 

east and west. To secure the border, the infamous Berlin Wall went up 

on August 13, 1961. 

 By the time I went to Germany in 1978, the Cold War was in full 

swing, and the Russians had made vast improvements in the security 

of the Berlin Wall and in border control. The Russian guards’ 

authoritative power made even a sanctioned crossing of the border a 

hair-raising experience. Once on an overnight trip into East Germany 

with the family, we boarded the troop train late in the afternoon, had 

dinner, and retired to our very nice compartment with pull down 

berths. We were told that early in the morning we would pass through 

Potsdam and stop to change to an East German engine. A stern 

warning not to raise the window shade in our compartment during the 

slow-down was issued. 

 Our son Tony, being very awake and quite curious, raised his 

shade a bit as the train slowed, and his father, also curious, peered out 

with him. As a guard walked back and forth beside the slow moving 

train, Tony looked up at him and waved. The guard waved back about 

the time the train picked up speed, and we moved away from the 

Potsdam area. Our peek out the window revealed strands of barbed 

wire behind the guard. Chained dogs ran along the wire for maybe 30 

to 40 yards, barking. Beyond that tier of wire was another and yet 

another tier, all with chained barking dogs. The rows of wire appeared 

to be staggered with the dogs running in gaps between them. They 

were all German police dogs, and we wondered if they were to keep us 

from leaving the train and exploring the area. 

 Later we learned that the purpose of the wire and dog arrangement 

was not to keep us on the train, but to keep the East Germans off the 

train. As the train paused near Potsdam, the American engine that 

pulled the train was exchanged for an East German engine. It seemed 

the East German authorities did not want an American engine pulling 

the troop train with its Soldiers and families through East Germany. 

As the engines were exchanged, the dogs kept East Germans from 
experience for my impressionable young son and me. 

 The 4th Transportation Brigade served military locations that 

stretched as far north as Bremerhaven and as far south as Stuttgart and 

Nuremberg. The brigade was comprised of 37th Group, three 

movement control regions, as well as a Chinook Company for moving 

nuclear weapons in theater to their locations. During that time, we 

were fielding the Lance missile warhead. As I arrived, Colonel Philip 

Smiley, commander of the 37th Group, was changing command with 

Colonel James B. Barron. Colonel Ed Honor, a buddy from Cam 

Ranh Bay back in 1970, was the European commander of MTMC. 

The commander of Rotterdam commanded not only Rotterdam, but 

also Bremerhaven, and had the over-watch for Nordenheim, an 

ammunition port. He also supervised Mediterranean ports such as 

Turkey, the Piraeus in Greece, Fleixstowe in England, and Camp 

Darby (Leghorn) in Italy and others. 

 Europe was a very active area during the Cold War in the late 

seventies. Colonel Honor and I reestablished a relationship, and 

working together, the 4th Transportation trucks and movement region 

controlled the transfer of cargo out of the Bremerhaven//Rotterdam 

area. He was a great Soldier and made the valuable act of working 

hand and glove easy. 

 USAREUR was having a Return of Forces to Germany (called 

REFORGER) during that time. It was a major effort to implement and 

execute movement of a number of ships transporting 20 to 30,000 

Soldiers, pull needed equipment, and move that over German 

highways to objective exercise areas. The Army’s overall downsizing 

movement was not readily apparent in Germany. Personnel in the 4th

worked diligently to make the massive organizational task flow 

smoothly. 

 I reported directly to the Deputy Commander in Chief for Europe, 

Lieutenant General Charles J. Simmons. Shortly after my arrival, 

Lieutenant General Patrick W. Crizer, who had been the 3rd Infantry 

Division Commander, replaced Simmons. General Crizer and I 

worked well together on many special projects. We analyzed the 

Heavy Equipment Transporter (HET) situation because the U.S. Army 
intelligence files as part of our research was intriguing to a history 

buff. The information contained in the files gave us valuable 

information about various strength levels that resulted in a directive for 

increasing our HETs truck fleet. 

 Again in 1990, during Desert Shield, I encountered a similar 

situation, but this time the Army had a budget line item for HET, with 

Colonel John Stoddard as acting HET project manager and program 

executive officer (PEO). By 1990, the Army was using a German 

Army truck model for the HET trailers we were producing. The trailer 

had five articulated wheels in the rear, enabling it to weave through 

very tight places in the forests or through tight, narrow small village 

streets such as those in southern Germany. We copied the clever West 

German engineering to produce a more effective and maneuverable 

trailer. 

 During the Cold War period in the late seventies and early eighties, 

our 48 HETs were each capable of transporting a 60 ton load. We 

began receiving M1 tanks for transporting to various locations 

throughout Europe. Fully uploaded with fuel and ammo, the M1 

weighed close to 70 tons. With care and at slow, turtle paced speed, 

the tanks were hauled to their destinations using innovative techniques. 

The combination of HET and tanks weighed about 90 tons and proved 

too heavy for crossing most European bridges. With no other route 

available, our Soldiers would approach a bridge, stop, back the tanks 

off the HET, drive the HET across, drive the tanks across separately, 

reload the tanks onto the HET, and proceed. It was a novel method, 

and effective for our situation. 

 The Warsaw Pact research indicated that we needed a HET for 

every two M1 tanks. The East German strategy had involved a HET 

behind every two tanks, allowing the battalions to merge into HET 

regiments. The method involved driving the HETs to the point of 

small arms fire and backing the tanks off the trailers to engage the 

enemy. It saved fuel and maintenance repairs to the tanks, and the 

tank drivers and crews weren’t worn out from driving and riding in the 

tank to the defense position. 
Panzers to one HET. In 1978 across Europe, our ratio was twelve to 

one. This information raised the awareness for Generals Blanchard 

and Kroesen about our need for more HETs. It took about 14 years 

before the production and acquisition of a sufficient number of tractors 

and trailers was accomplished, but by 1994, we were moving towards 

“First Unit Equipped” with the needed amount of HETs per tanks. 

 In November 1979, Pat and General Frederick James Kroesen, Jr. 

pinned on my first star, and I became a Brigadier General. General 

Julius W. Becton, Jr., who had been on my brigadier board, selected 

me to the 2nd Support Command at Oberursel at the 4th Transportation 

Headquarters. When I moved to VII Corps to work with General 

Becton, I replaced an old friend, Brigadier General Benjamin Register, 

who had been the Mainz Army Depot commander at the same time 

that I was commanding the 4th. In 1978, Ben and I would lunch 

together and discuss the distribution of our workload because we were 

receiving the depot maintenance work from Mainz for transportation 

purposes. It was our trucks moving tanks and equipment out of the 

depot. Ben Register received his second star a year later. 

 Holidays and joint festivals with Oberursel, our host German city, 

frequently began with the uncorking of a beer keg. As commander of 

Camp King, I sometimes had the honor of making a “kick-off” speech 

for the occasion and, with a mallet the size of a streetlight, whacking 

the stopper from an Olympic-sized wooden beer keg. The stopper was 

quickly replaced with a spout, and, as custom dictated, beer steins 

were filled, initiating a series of toasts. The Germans loved their 

beer—didn’t we all?—and why not, they make excellent brew. 

 Each winter, November 11th, at the eleventh hour and eleventh 

minute (the anniversary of the Armistice that ended World War I), the 

Fasching Festival opened its festive arms with a parade of citizens 

dressed in wacky costumes. Fasching is to Germany as Mardi Gras is 

to New Orleans and is an immensely popular carnival time there. 

Fasching, derived from the word Fastnacht, the eve of forty days of 

fasting for Lent, dates back to early Roman times. It has evolved to 

officially opening on November 11 for a one-day event and then 

postponed until January 6th, unofficially giving the Fasching societies 

time to prepare for the coming “Crazy Period.” It was a November 
the camp and briefly imprison him for a transformation from a 

uniformed commander to a costumed figure. The commander then 

joined the parade by riding on the lead float through the streets of 

cheering, celebrating citizens. I was told by the Oberursel mayor that 

the more bizarre my costume, the better. I wrote home and asked my 

mother to mail my Arkansas Razorback hog hat for the occasion. But, 

at the last moment, the mayor asked that I wear my Army uniform 

after all, because he wanted everyone to know that he had captured the 

commander! 

 About that time we returned to the States for Dede’s wedding. 

During her second year at Henderson, she fell in love with Danny 

Henson, and they were married in December 1979. Following the 

family tradition, they were married at St. Andrew’s Methodist Church 

in Arkadelphia with the Reverend Clint Burleson officiating. We met 

Danny briefly in May of that year when we returned to Arkadelphia to 

visit family. On their way to a military ball, Dede and Danny came to 

Pat’s mother’s home so we could all meet him. 

 Later that year, Danny called us in Germany in September, asking 

for Dede’s hand in marriage. They honored our request to have the 

wedding in December when we could return to the States. Pat planned 

the wedding from Germany, saying, “How will we know which one is 

Danny?” Danny answered, “I’ll be the one standing down front.” 

Dede always said she would never marry a Soldier, but on their 

wedding day, she had to eat those words. Danny served in the Army 

for 20 years and retired as a Lieutenant Colonel. 

 In January of 1980, I was assigned to 2nd Corps Support Command 

(Corps), Nellingen Barracks, near Stuttgart in Southern Germany. We 

lived at Robinson Barracks in Stuttgart, and again Pat wore many 

“hats” as the commander’s wife, attending numerous board meetings 

for Women’s Club and various Stuttgart community activities. 

 The move from 4th Transportation to VII Corps 2nd Support 

Command commander was a rapid one. I was on the Brigadier 

General list in November, went to the school for new BGs which we 

called “charm school” in December, and had my change of command 

around the 10th of January. My chief of staff, the senior of all the 
for a short period until Colonel Eugene Lanzillo arrived. 

 On a rainy day in Nellingen that was as cold as the dickens, with 

the wind blowing off the Neckar River, General Becton passed the 

command flag of the 2nd Support Command from Command SGM 

Head to me. General Ben Register departed to head Armament, 

Munitions, and Chemical Command (AMCCOM). I will be eternally 

grateful to General Becton for his friendship and leadership for over 

20 years. 

 The 2nd Corps Support Command (Corps), where I would serve 

from January 1980 until June 1982, was initially activated on June 24, 

1965. The brigade was one of three support Brigades assigned to the 

Seventh Army Support Command. VII Corps was organized on 

August 19, 1918 at Remiremont, France and served in World War I 

and five campaigns in World War II. VII Army Corps was one of the 

two principal corps of the Army in Europe during the Cold War. 

Much later, it participated in Desert Shield and Desert Storm. Many of 

my friends served with VII Corps over the years.30

 The new command at Nellingen came with obligations to become 

involved with the locals in an effort to create good will among our 

Soldiers and the German citizens. This was never a burden nor done 

out of a sense of duty, but rather one of the perks of my job. I enjoyed 

getting to know our neighbors and loved hearing the locals, who soon 

became my friends, tell old war stories. 

 One such story centered around a small 1930 vintage grass 

runway on the edge of Nellingen, which had been the location of 

one of General (Air Marshal) Hermann Goering’s night fighter 

squadrons during World War II. Goering picked the best of his 

pilots in the Luftwaffe and put them in two “Night Fighter” 

squadrons. One was located in Nellingen, 12 kilometers from 

Stuttgart along the Neckar River. 

 I attended many receptions in Esslingen, a beautiful city, some 

thousand years old. At an evening party at Esslingen, I met one of 

the famed “night fighters.” He talked about going up against the 

British at night, and how the lack of instruments in the 
grass airfield at Nellingen, flying at about 1,000 feet, guided by the 

reflection of the Neckar River. The ground crew built huge 

bonfires along a ridge of this plateau. The crew knew when the 

planes would return, always about two hours after they’d taken off, 

and would light the bonfires at the appropriate time. Along the 

grass runway, the crew placed small cans with sand and gasoline 

that would illuminate the outline of the airfield. The fires guided 

the German pilots back to their base. 

 I was visiting with the Esslingen burgermeister (mayor) one 

evening at a reception and brought up the fact that Stuttgart, after 

16 days of bombing during World War II, had been bombed to the 

ground leaving very little of the beautiful city buildings standing, 

while Esslingen, just a few kilometers away, had sustained no 

damage from bombs. 

 The burgermeister delighted in explaining this phenomenon to 

me. “Well, the Stuttgarters were nothing but horse farmers in a 

village when Esslingen was a major city. Esslingen is the 

equivalent of the senior city in this area. There has always been a 

rivalry between the horse farmers of Stuttgart and the Esslingeners. 

We were not stupid. We volunteered to take prisoners of war, 

French, British, and Americans. We generally put them across the 

city in homes and different places and secured them.” Leaning 

slightly forward to make his point he said, “Do you think they 

would dare bomb Esslingen?” 

 “Great idea, Burgermeister,” was all I said. I also later learned 

that Nellingen was the site of the first transportation cargo 

American helicopter unit to be located in USAREUR in 1954. The 

same grass runway and World War II hangars were used. 

 A tour in Germany was sometimes tough for Soldiers during that 

time. In the early eighties, there was a great influx of women into the 

Army. Our battalions had many excellent women Soldiers. The 

difficulty came when both the husband and wife were in the Army. A 

Sergeant-approved plan for care of the children in case of an alert had 

to be in place. In the event of an alert, each Soldier went immediately 

to a unit to pick up their weapons and moved to an area for 
families have a well-rehearsed plan for immediate and sustained 

childcare. This was not always easy. 

 There were also the very young Soldiers, who were already 

married, sometimes with a young wife and a baby. A Private was not 

authorized to bring his family with him on tour in Germany. 

Nevertheless, the couple’s families often pooled resources or borrowed 

money to fund the wife and child’s flight and pay for their apartment. 

We referred to these situations as “Non-Command Sponsored.” This 

resulted in the Soldier living downtown with his wife and children, 

unable to speak German, and not authorized to use the commissary. It 

made for a very difficult situation, financially and emotionally, for 

these Soldiers. 

 Pat, now busy with commander’s wife duties, had opportunities to 

visit families living in all sorts of situations. Those off base lived in 

four-and-five-level apartment buildings called “stairwells.” There was 

no elevator, and the stairwell was the only means for reaching the 

upper apartments. These families were “Command Sponsored” but 

didn’t qualify for base housing privileges. She often compared their 

apartments to low income housing in the city of Washington, D.C. 

 One evening after having paid a visit to a few families, Pat said, “I 

don’t think we should ever ask our Soldiers and families to live in 

these kinds of conditions, especially this far from home in an overseas 

assignment. We’re asking them to leave most of their furniture, bring 

the bare necessities, and live in drab, low-income-type housing which 

they aren’t allowed to improve. Most of these families just want the 

opportunity to add some paint, wallpaper, or shelving to make the 

place more livable. I don’t think it’s asking too much to allow them to 

spruce up their homes. If we keep a family together in a place they 

can make attractive, comfortable, and livable, it becomes more like 

their own home and adds to their daily lives. I really feel strongly 

about this. Good self-help programs would help, too.” 

 Through our years of service, until I retired from the Army, Pat 

worked toward improving the life of the married Soldier and his/her 

family. Circumstances for families have slowly gotten better. There 

were times in the past when she was worried about the college age 
to visit family in overseas assignments. It wasn’t enough, and she felt 

something should be done about it. In Turkey, she visited an 

elementary school that was guaranteed to be open only one more year. 

At that time, the tour in Turkey was two years, and those people just 

coming into Turkey were assured an education for their children for 

only one year. After that, it was home teaching or it was boarding the 

little children out. Those were tough issues to face for a family who 

has chosen to serve their country by being on alert to put themselves in 

harm’s way for the sake of their nation. 

 That evening in Germany, I could empathize with Pat’s 

frustrations. When we began our Army career, it was extremely rare 

for a Soldier to be married, and times were sometimes tough. Now it 

seemed that the overwhelming majority of our Soldiers were not only 

married, but had started their families. The Army was having trouble 

catching up with the influx of families and the diminishing single 

Soldier. It so happened that I was experiencing some frustrations of 

my own in the new position at 2nd Support Command. I was 

uncovering problems with each working day. 

 As commander of the 2nd Support Command (Corps), I found 

myself in command of the largest corps support command in the Army 

at that time with over 10,000 Soldiers. The command was in 72 

different locations, had 52 companies, and nine battalions in two 

groups. One of the groups was one of three Civilian Labor Groups 

(CLG) in Germany comprised of civilians from Estonia, Lithuania, 

Poland, and other countries. They had moved to Germany in the 

forties and fifties as part of the new civilian labor organization. Our 

corps support command had the responsibility of supporting VII Corps 

as well as a Panzer (Armor) Division that was part of VII Corps. 

 More than two million gallons of fuel and up to 17,000 tons of 

ammunition per day were being used during wartime-simulated 

exercises. Deep into contingency planning, we started laying out over 

30 different areas that we thought were the critical wartime support 

requirements for VII Corps. The question was, in the initial wartime 

start position, with 72 units scattered about in different locations with a 

wartime sector close to 200 miles deep, how would we command and 

control our units? Our old VRC-46 and -47 radio-teletypewriter 
one side of Stuttgart to the other, and long range communications were 

practically impossible. At the extreme, there was a nuclear mission 

about 300 miles away that fell under our support services. 

 As our staff made analyses of the situation, as well as ammunition, 

POL, food, and repair part requirements, it became apparent that in 

order to support VII Corps with the two million gallons of fuel per 

day, we had a major storage problem. Not only was there a need for 

sufficient communications equipment, there was also a need for 

adequate storage to do the task we had been assigned. All supplies 

would be coming in by rail, and our materiel handling system was 

inadequate. There were not enough trucks, very little supply moving 

equipment, and the pipeline system for moving fuel (jet, turbine, 

diesel, etc.) wouldn’t get the job done. From the 15 ammo pre-stock 

points throughout the 2nd Support Command area, ammunition was to 

be supplied to the corps units. There were too few Soldiers to do this 

job. With a shortfall of both Soldiers and equipment, our current 

status could not provide wartime ammunition and medical support. 

 We had to think outside the box and use a multitude of sources to 

solve our dilemma. Through AMC we acquired 10,000 gallon rubber 

storage bags for fuel. General John R. Guthrie, the AMC commander, 

was the one who advised us that contractors were beginning to 

produce assault-line hose, flexible tactical pipeline, which helped with 

transporting our various types of fuel. The local Mercedes dealers 

helped us obtain trucks, and local German businesses helped with the 

acquisition of HETs. We bought a couple of single-sideband radios 

and began communicating for the first time over 200 miles. We 

couldn’t communicate as far as Prague, but we could certainly listen to 

them, as well as other locations across the Warsaw Pact border. 

 Our plan included using additional forklifts from every U.S. Army 

facility and commissary in the area on the first few days in the event of 

war. Local German firms informally agreed to furnish “x” amount of 

trucks with PLS (palletized loading systems) should war break out. 

These were by no means optimum solutions, but would suffice during 

the first few days of combat. General Guthrie was impressed with our 

2nd Support Command logistics initiatives and suggested that we talk 

with AMC and DA about our needs. Lieutenant General Richard H. 
ICAF for briefings regarding our wartime situation and status. 

 With all my slides and analysis data, I flew back to the States for 

briefings at the Pentagon and several other places. It helped fix some 

things. I had taken Ben Register’s plan and quantified it a step further. 

Even he became aware that he couldn’t meet his mission requirements. 

Our plan evolved to the point of pulling 700 to 1,000 personnel spaces 

from other units into VII Corps for the first day of war. What General 

Ben Register started in this area, the command staff fleshed out in 

more detail. Lieutenant General Julius W. Becton, Jr., VII Corps 

commander, was surprised by the inadequacy in Soldiers and 

equipment, and he was on his third year. General Kroesen, who 

showed high approval for what we had done, replaced General 

Blanchard as the USAREUR Commander. Many Majors and 

Lieutenant Colonels who did the detail work on this project deserve 

the tribute and credit. 

 During that period, I had two different deputies, Colonel John E. 

Long, first deputy, and Colonel Jim Ball, second deputy. Both 

achieved Major General status. One of the battalion commanders who 

arrived when I was leaving was Colonel Henry T. (Tom) Glisson. Tom 

ran the 87th Maintenance Battalion, was a quartermaster officer, and 

later commanded the Defense Logistics Agency (DLA). Later still, 

Tom was my XO and made Brigadier General. Colonel (later 

Brigadier General) Frank Cunningham, Jr. was there when I arrived, 

and Colonel (later Major General) James W. Monroe came in to the 

71st as I left. The number of general officers to come out of that group 

suggests that the 2nd Support Command included a highly successful 

group of officers. 

 During a social event at Stuttgart, Pat and I had the privilege of 

meeting Lord Mayor Manfred Rommel. He is the son of Field 

Marshal Erwin Rommel, the “Desert Fox” of World War II fame, a 

brilliantly gifted military leader whose outspoken criticism of Hitler 

was deadly. 31

 Mayor Rommel accepted my invitation to speak to our five 

hundred officers at Nellingen. The first time he talked to our officer 

group, he discussed day-to-day happenings in Stuttgart. Following his 
him about growing up during World War II. He volunteered that as a 

teenager, he was part of the Luftwaffe Auxiliary, similar to our Air 

National Guard. Mayor Rommel discussed loading aircraft with 

ammunition and bombs and being captured as a POW when he was 

only 16-years-old. He declined requests to talk about his father. 

 Later, when I again invited him to speak to our group, I asked, 

“Would you please talk to us about your dad? He is someone we’ve 

admired as a Soldier. I’ve read everything ever written about him. To 

many of our armor officers, he is a role model and certainly a hero to 

many Americans.” 32

 Mayor Rommel spoke to our officers many times, and each time, 

the hall was filled with respectful and attentive Soldiers. He sent me a 

few notes that I still have among my treasured mementos. Even 

though they are simply thank you notes or a note answering a question, 

they remind me of a remarkable, strong man for whom I have the 

utmost respect. 

 My tour with the 2nd Support Command (Corps) lasted about 30 

months, and I loved it. The officers with whom I worked were the 

cream of the crop. The German people were a joy with whom to work 

and socialize, and I made many dear friends such as Siegfried Kugies, 

Vice President of the German Rail System. Among the dearest of 

friends was my civilian secretary, Anne Black (later Laaber). Anne 

has visited us every year or so since that time. The location gave our 

family a rare and privileged opportunity to tour Europe. We took 

advantage of our chance to travel, taking two big trips per year, 

visiting 16 different countries in all, and learning as much as we could 

absorb from each culture. 

 Tony recalls learning to ski during the winter months when we 

went south to Garmisch-Partenkirchen. We toured many castles, 

including the Neueschwanstein Castle in Bavaria and many points of 

interest up and down the Rhine River. We went to the Netherlands, 

Paris, Rome, Italy, Berlin, and Czechoslovakia. We crossed the 

English Channel to visit England and Ireland. Tony loves to tell about 

“kissing the Blarney Stone.” He says, “To kiss the Blarney Stone, we 

were told to have someone sit on our legs or tightly hold onto our feet 
person doing the kissing must lean far back and downward to kiss the 

stone. What a feat for those who actually manage to kiss the famous 

stone for good luck!” 

 The most emotional trip we took was a battlefield tour during 

which we visited the Normandy beaches and coastline in France. The 

Normandy Invasion, code-named “Operation Overlord,” involved the 

Allied forces based in Britain and was commanded by American 

General Dwight D. Eisenhower. On June 6, 1944, the Allies landed at 

five beaches in the Normandy area with the code names of Utah, 

Omaha, Gold, Juno, and Sword Beaches. 156,000 American, British, 

and Canadian troops were able to punch inland in spite of the heavy 

resistance from the German forces defending the area. German failure 

to defend the Normandy area successfully doomed Hitler’s dream of a 

Nazi controlled “Fortress Europe” and marked the beginning of the 

end of the war. We visited Pointe Du Hoc where the Rangers climbed 

a sheer cliff and the American cemetery near Utah Beach that was 

featured in the film Saving Private Ryan. If this area of Normandy 

doesn’t bring a tear to your eye, something is wrong. 

 The chance to explore historical sites in Europe helped make the 

Germany tour one of the best jobs I had in the Army. It also gave me 

the first opportunity (since 101st DISCOM) to work in every class of 

supply and every major logistics function. I’m convinced that we had 

a “hotshot” outfit, and if the Cold War had escalated into a full alert 

operation, we would have accomplished our mission. The credit starts 

with the John Longs and Jim Balls and goes down through great 

battalion commanders, some with well over 1,000 people in them, 

through super NCOs to our Soldiers. 

 However, after 30 months, I had an option. Both corps 

commanders and General Kroesen suggested that I stay in Germany 

for a fifth year. On the other hand, Personnel Support Command 

(PERSCOM) was tugging at me to return to the Pentagon. Although it 

was extremely tempting to stay, we decided to return to the United 

States. We had brought a seven-year-old son to Germany. He was 

now 12. I didn’t want him to forget about his roots. During our stay 

in Germany, we had become grandparents. Sabra’s daughter, Katie, 
August 12, 1981. It was time to go home. 

p

Return to the Pentagon, 1982-1984

 We shared reluctant farewells with a multitude of exceptional 

friends, both German and American, in Nellingen, Esslingen, Stuttgart, 

Oberursel, Frankfurt, 2nd Support Command, and Camp King. Four 

fun-filled, thought provoking, mind-challenging European years were 

ending, and we were going home. How quickly the time had passed, 

and how much we’d learned while sharing our lives with our German 

neighbors. Living in Germany and traveling through Europe left us 

with cherished souvenirs that would enrich our lives forever. 

 Admitting that we were homesick crept into our conversations 

those last days in Nellingen. By the time we actually boarded the 

plane to return to the States, Pat, Tony, and I were ready to come 

home. The first thing on our to-do list once we were home was to 

spend time with Dede, Sabra, our two new granddaughters, and their 

families. We needed a Ross family fix with all our Ross children 

present. Next, during, or possibly even before the family fix, we were 

heading for McDonalds for one of our favorite burgers, and diving into 

a pizza, two American foods we’d desperately missed. Driving with 

the guidance of real, honest-to-goodness interstate signs was sheer joy! 

 As always, mother facilitator Pat was getting us settled into our 

Lake Braddock home in Burke, Virginia, and Tony enrolled in the 

eighth grade. The passage of just a few short weeks saw us slip 

comfortably back into American lives as though we’d never left. Pat 

began substitute teaching in nearby high schools, and our family eased 

into a familiar routine as naturally as one puts on a favorite sweater 

that has been missing for a few seasons. 

 At the Pentagon, I joined DA DCSLOG for a second tour, this time 

as the Director of Transportation, Energy, and Troop Support 

(TRETS). Lieutenant General Richard Thompson was the DCSLOG 

at that time. I replaced Brigadier General Francis J. Toner who was 

retiring because of health problems. 

 Colonel Chester “Chet” A. Kowalczyk, with whom I’d served in 

Germany, was my deputy. He had been a troop support division chief 
had retired from the Army, we arranged a Senior Executive Service 

(SES) position for him. General Thompson worked very hard to make 

that happen. 

 The Army’s strategic mobility job was growing by leaps and 

bounds and I requested another SES position, for the purpose of 

splitting the deputy duties into two sections, a troop support section 

and another for transportation. Among 30 candidates for that job, 

there was one truly outstanding applicant, Arthur R. “Bob” Keltz, 

General Service-13 (GS-13). I received criticism for promoting a GS13 to a SES position, but within a year, those same people were taking 

credit for his selection as though it was their idea. Bob did a 

wonderful job and is the same redheaded administrator who had 

worked in the 4th Transportation automation area. He married Mary 

Lou McHugh, a DA civilian, and later retired. Eventually he became 

my principal deputy at AMC headquarters. 

 The combat feeding system came under my purview of TRETS 

and included the MREs, (meals ready to eat). C-rations (canned food) 

were developed just before World War II. K-rations were first given 

to paratroopers, then to everyone in all the services. After WWII, 

improved C-rations were introduced, and were used all through the 

Vietnam years. It was apparent to me that the Army wasn’t using the 

more modern techniques in food processing and packaging that were 

available. Our ultimate goal was to abide by the Surgeon General’s 

standards set for the Army regarding fat, protein, salt, carbohydrates, 

and calories per day; provide efficient packaging, shipping, and 

preparation methods; and, last but not least, provide meals that tasted 

good. 

 In 1980, the Army began looking at a new way to pre-process 

food, while at the same time, it wanted a streamlined procedure as part 

of moving toward what was being called an “Army of Excellence.” 

This new Army of Excellence movement suggested that the Army 

eliminate about 10,000 cooks and go to a new field feeding system as 

they moved away from C-rations toward pre-processed food. The 

result was a combination of MREs (an individually packaged mealready-to eat), tray-packs (a fully prepared and packaged casserole that 

fed from six to eight people and was heated by cooks in the units while 
dehydrated or freeze-dried). 

 Mr. Kowalczyk and I went to work in 1982 on providing research 

that proved the need to “replace” the 10,000 cooks that had been 

eliminated just two years before. With limited cooks, providing meals 

during field operations could only be accomplished with contractor 

support, often resulting in a greater expenditure than using Army 

personnel cooks. Our efforts saved 6,600 cook positions, but even that 

many often left some companies with only one cook. It took a decade, 

and action by General Vuono on two occasions of putting cooks back 

into units, to return to the original number of 10,000 cooks for the 

Army, which is a workable situation. Our hard work eventually paid 

off, and our position on the matter was vindicated. The number of 

cooks needed to provide a decent meal for our Soldiers was finally 

back in the system. 

 At about this same time, I contacted General Robert W. (Bob) 

Sennewald, who was the past Commander in Chief of U.S. forces in 

Korea, asking if he could run a combat field feeding study for the 

Army. I explained that the study needed to address a variety of areas: 

one, the number of cooks required to provide adequate meal service; 

two, the type of food products that would best serve our needs; three, 

the equipment necessary to transport and prepare the food; and four, a 

training plan for all meal provision areas. It was my opinion that a 

study done by a person from logistics might be received with bias, but 

research by a combat arms General of Sennewald’s stature would be 

bias-free and command the Army Staff’s respect and attention the 

study deserved. 

 General Sennewald accepted the task, interviewed commanders 

from battalion level through the Forces Command (FORSCOM) level. 

The result was an excellent, comprehensive plan that put the Army on 

the right track to recovery in the meals department. The General 

recommended that more cooks be added. His directive included 

suggestions such as, “The tray-pack is a good product, but a system is 

needed for a high mobility, multi-purpose wheeled vehicle to carry the 

equipment to heat the rations. The MRE has all the protein, 

carbohydrates, calories, and amounts of salt and fat required, but a 
the first MREs were sent to Europe. 

 The Surgeon General wanted every active Soldier to have 3,600 

calories per day, so we made sure each meal had a minimum of 1,200 

calories. Most of us would become pretty chubby on that many 

calories, but we were required to provide that amount. Many Soldiers 

didn’t like the taste of the MREs, and others objected to some of the 

ingredients. 

 Because of the dissatisfaction with the meals, we started a product 

improvement program. Mr. Kowalczyk, with Natick Laboratory, set 

about changing the MRE menus with a strong emphasis on Soldier 

testing. If the Soldiers in the test group didn’t like a meal, we threw it 

out. Soon we had completely changed the MRE, and tray-pack 

programs with all new menus that had been Soldier-tested. 

 The MREs were acceptable and were packaged in heavy 

rubberized bags, a brown bag full of several items, some dehydrated. 

The dehydrated items needed water and a means of heating them, and 

the water and heating method were sometimes a problem. The insect 

and rodent issue was a serious problem for storing MREs, and we went 

to work designing methods to address those concerns. 

 Our study and Soldier testing also led to the creation of a 

Humanitarian Ration and Multi-Faith Ration, both in the form of an 

MRE. In these rations, a pork item was eliminated, and because 

chicken was the only meat acceptable across this span, chicken 

became the meat of choice. Secretary of Defense Leslie Aspin33 

provided the Army with funds to develop the Humanitarian Ration. 

 Perhaps one of the Army’s greatest accomplishments was finding a 

way for each individual Soldier to heat a meal when and where he 

wanted. It almost took an act of Congress to get the Air Force to agree 

to let us put small heating pads in with the food rations, but we finally 

succeeded. My plan was to have the Soldier receive his ration and the 

heating pad at the same time, which necessitated their being packaged 

together. I didn’t want the heating pads to end up in some warehouse 

while the rations were being distributed miles away. That much 

imagined dilemma actually happened later during Desert Storm. 
heating pads so that the Soldiers could, if they had two ounces of 

water, prepare a hot meal anywhere, anytime. 

 My experience with trying to make changes was a typical one. 

Even when things aren’t satisfactory, changes are tough. Before we 

eliminated the C-rations, we were hard pressed to find anyone who had 

a kind word to say about them. However, once they were gone, we 

were told repeatedly how wonderful they were and how our Soldiers 

were missing them. No one liked the new MREs, nicknaming them 

various things, including “Meals rejected by the Ethiopians.” We were 

damned if we did, and damned if we didn’t. People get emotional 

about their food. I chalked it up to changes of any kind being difficult 

to make, and the fact that most folks complained about most meals, 

unless their mother made it, and then sometimes that sacred territory 

wasn’t off limits. 

 We stuck with the Soldier testing of menus and continued to test 

everything with experimental groups. If they didn’t like it, we’d pitch 

it. The meals Soldiers wanted in their MREs during the early eighties 

were pizza, hot dogs with cheese, and steak. Natick Laboratory, the 

food research and development group, developed an irradiated item 

using radiation to cure and cook meat so it was shelf stable and could 

be stored for a long period of time. They also developed a pizza that 

our Soldiers liked. Again, the key ingredient in the development of 

menus was Soldier testing. 

 Natick did a wonderful job with the Army’s research and new 

designs. Much of the technology we used came from Natick, which 

has a mission to support the National Aeronautics and Space 

Administration (NASA). The dehydration processes and small items 

with a high caloric content were developed for the astronauts, and we 

used them in our MREs. The tray-pact technology had commonly 

been used across the commercial food system, but with smaller 

containers. 

 Typically, most commanders want to eat as many A-rations (meals 

cooked by a cook in a mess hall) as possible, leaving the MREs for use 

during field exercises. A-rations were meals prepared from scratch as 

you would prepare them at home, starting with peeling the potatoes 
wide range of comedic complaints. Much later, during Desert Storm, 

we didn’t have the production base we needed. We had only four 

producers, and one went into bankruptcy. This continued to be an area 

of concern. In fact, there was still a production base problem when I 

retired in 1994. 

 As usual, we were a busy family, and time was flying past. In 

1984, Tony was in his tenth grade year, very active in sports including 

basketball, indoor and outdoor track, Boy Scouts, bowling every 

Saturday morning in a league, and playing in a Youth Club Basketball 

League. Dede and Sabra were both married with families of their own. 

Tony, Pat and I were thoroughly enjoying Virginia life. 

 “We’re in a good place right now,” Pat agreed. “I’m enjoying 

everything I do. The only thing missing is seeing our daughters more 

and finding a way to sub in one of Tony’s classes before he graduates 

or the Army moves us someplace that doesn’t need substitute 

teachers,” Pat laughed. Tony lived in fear of Pat filling in for one of 

his teachers. 

 At DCSLOG, the last major thing that consumed my workdays 

was the battle dress uniform (BDU). Again, change is so difficult for 

all of us. About a year before I left VII Corps in Germany, we were 

asked our uniform size for the purpose of supplying us with prototype 

uniforms of an experimental new design. The thought was to use us, 

the Generals and senior people, who were in the forefront making 

speeches, conducting briefings, and such, as models so that the 

Soldiers grew accustomed to seeing them. 

 Feedback at that time suggested that the rest of the Army was not 

accepting the new look. The new uniform was worn with the shirt out, 

not tucked. It looked “sloppy” and “baggy” were the comments. 

General John Adams Wickham, Jr., CSA, (July 1983-June 1987), saw 

the uniform and declared, “It’s the baggiest looking thing I’ve ever 

seen.” To correct the baggy appearance problem, the Army put some 

tabs on the sides, so that it could be cinched up a couple of inches, 

giving it a slimmer look. The tabs were named “Wickham tabs” after 

the General who inspired them. The uniform was also hot, because the 

fabric held in heat. It had dual patches on the knees, elbow, and seat, 
nightmare. It was very easy for Pat, though. She never touched them. 

My pants went to the cleaners, and it was their problem! Again, 

change of any kind is hard, and this was no exception. 

 When I inherited the uniform, we had a production problem. The 

industrial base used to produce the uniforms was inadequate. Small 

businesses had been awarded the uniform contracts, with one 

contractor literally making them out of his garage. The sample jackets 

we were receiving had one sleeve two inches shorter than the other, 

and some pockets sewn on upside down. Quality control was a 

problem. 

 DLA and the Defense Personnel Supply Center (DPSC) in 

Philadelphia shared control over the quality of the finished product. 

DPSC had also gotten in the procurement business by assuming the 

responsibility of buying millions of yards of material and then 

providing it to whatever local bidder had the job of transforming 

massive bolts of fabric into uniforms. 

 The result was a very inferior product. The uniforms shrank; the 

crotches were too short, which made it tough to sit for any length of 

time; and the color faded with each washing. Through working 

closely with DLA and briefing General Thompson, the DCSLOG, we 

finally agreed to give the contract to a contractor who had total 

responsibility for all aspects of production. DLA also agreed to send 

their quality inspectors into the plants to check the process of each of 

the productions. It took about two years to, at last, start seeing quality 

battlefield dress uniforms. That happened around 1984. 

 My task was to introduce the new, rather unpopular, uniform in a 

morning news conference broadcast on a major network. At that point 

in my career I had become a behind-the-scenes administrator. My 

current military role seldom led me in front of cameras for televised 

news conferences. The unusual morning stint in front of major media 

led to a few friendly, teasing phone calls to our home. One of our 

friends, Janet Lynn, wife of Brigadier (later Major General) Robert G. 

Lynn, called. 
answered the phone. 

 “No, I have no idea,” said Pat. 

 “Jim, your husband,” said Janet. 

 “Okay,” laughed Pat. “Dede just called. She said that Sherry, her 

toddler daughter, was sitting on the floor watching Good Morning 

America and calmly turned to her mother and said, ‘Mommy, G.G. 

(The grandkids call me G.G., short for General Grandpa.) is on TV’. 

So I think my husband is in lots of bedrooms this morning!” 

 In the Time Magazine issue of January 9, 1984, an article appeared 

that didn’t help endear the new uniform to anyone. “Combat Couture 

under Fire” by Kurt Andersen stated: 

 “American servicemen do not expect to make the cover of 

Gentlemen’s Quarterly, but they do want their combat wear to be both 

practical and neat. The half-nylon, half-cotton outfit, with its amoebic 

pattern of green, brown, tan, and black is unacceptably hot, even in 

temperate climates. It was designed to be an “all-service, all purpose” 

uniform, but clerks, mechanics, and drill Sergeants alike bemoan its 

uncomfortable cut and slovenly look.” 

 The article went on from there to quote every gripe made by 

servicemen about their new uniform. It added fuel to an already 

building group of brush fires. We were working to correct the 

problems. Having learned our research lessons from the “meals ready 

to eat” experience, we began field-testing variations on the current 

BDU with Soldiers in tactical units. Both the 1st and 4th Infantry 

Divisions were in temperate climates and did some field testing with a 

medium-weight BDU. Someone suggested we pull from the Vietnam 

years and use the old “rip-stop” lightweight uniforms. We sent the 

lightweight BDUs to units in Hawaii and Panama. 

 Natick, again helping with the research, received good response 

from the testing. After considering all input from our various sources, 

the lightweight, camouflaged BDU, almost the same BDU we had 

during Vietnam, was chosen. The seat and knee patches were 
on each side, eliminating the “Wickham tabs.” This final result is 

probably the most popular uniform in today’s Army. Most Soldiers 

wear them, even in winter, because they comfortably transition from 

mild to cold temperatures. In cooler climates, some Soldiers wear the 

Army green field sweater under the jacket. 

 During the early eighties, the Gore family of Delaware offered the 

Army a laminated fabric with three layers that allowed the body to 

perspire and the heat to escape, and yet didn’t allow the penetration of 

rain and wind. It was truly a state-of-the-art, high-tech material. This 

amazing cold-weather fabric was being patented with the name GoreTex. We began producing the Army’s first Gore-Tex jacket and 

trousers and tested them in Special Forces units. The cost of one 

Gore-Tex uniform was running around $600 and did not last through a 

single field exercise. The knees, seats, and elbows were tearing out. 

As we worked with the Gore family to produce a more durable fabric, 

Senator James Sasser, Democrat from Tennessee (1977-1995; later 

Ambassador to China under the Clinton Administration), was very 

helpful. As the fabric’s durability improved, we started fielding the 

Gore-Tex uniforms across the Army. 

 The 6th Infantry gave the Gore-Tex uniform its toughest test. 

During a March winter field exercise in Alaska called “Exercise Brim 

Frost,” 3,500 Soldiers were wearing the Gore-Tex uniform when the 

temperature dipped below 70 degrees below zero. During the exercise, 

a C-130 crashed, and many Soldiers were injured. The 6th Infantry 

division commander, Major General Harold Tom Fields, Jr., called me 

to report that out of all of his Soldiers in the field, there were only two 

incidents where the new Gore-Tex jacket failed. In both cases, 

petroleum had been spilled on them, causing them to freeze quickly, 

and the fabric to split. With those two exceptions, all other Soldiers 

were adequately protected from the frigid climate during the exercise. 

I was extremely pleased with the General’s report on the performance 

of our uniform and walked, more like jogged with joy, down the hall 

to tell General Vuono and the Vice Chief of Staff of the Army the 

good news. A scarcity of good news about our uniform came our way, 

and we needed to celebrate every accolade, no matter how small. 
lightweight material that would whisk away the perspiration from the 

body and keep it dry during the most strenuous workout. Runners, 

mountain climbers, and backpackers had used polypropylene for years. 

We used this new fabric to replace the old World War II era “long 

johns” and made the Army some new underwear. With the Gore-Tex 

jacket and pants, the polypropylene underwear, and a pile liner for the 

jacket, Soldiers were able to exist frostbite-free for several days in 70 

degree below zero weather. 

 A companion to the cold weather outfit was our new Gore-Tex 

sleeping bag. The current arctic sleeping bag was filled with downfeathers. I remembered my mother saying, “If you get a down pillow 

wet, the feathers will hold that moisture for a long time.” She was 

right. When the current sleeping bags got wet, they retained moisture 

for weeks. Many a field Soldier, myself included, wondered why we 

were always so cold in our arctic bags, and down feathers were the 

reason. When a bag with a Gore-Tex outer layer was filled with 

synthetic material that repelled water, we had a winner. Natick 

Laboratory came to our rescue again and developed the new arctic bag. 

For display purposes only, we cut a bag open to show Soldiers how 

they were lined and filled. We began the sleeping bag work in 1982, 

and it finally fielded about 1989. It was a major improvement! 

 When I was in Germany in VII Corps, we were buying insulated 

boots from the shops in Germany to keep our feet warm and dry. It 

always chagrined me that we had to buy German boots because the 

Army issue included a pair of un-insulated boots and a pair of galoshes 

to put over the boots. The galoshes were cumbersome to stow and 

carry, and clumsy to pull on over boots. And the fact was that 

galoshes were only good to about zero degrees. Below that, they were 

trouble and ineffective. General Vuono agreed that we needed 

something, but that it wasn’t the right time to implement a new winter 

boot program. However, we began to investigate the boot problem as 

early as 1982. I must give a pat on the back to Congressman John P. 

Murtha, Democrat from Pennsylvania who, through the Soldier 

Modernization Program (SMP), gave us funding to develop insulated 

boots. 
insulated boots on the market. After Soldier-testing them, the best 

features from each were incorporated into a Natick developed 

insulated boot. In fact, the first contract went to the top two 

contractors because we couldn’t produce the required product quickly 

enough. Finally, in the early 1990’s we had two different models, and 

50,000 sets were sent for use in cold weather areas. They worked 

well, but today, we now issue an Army standard insulated boot. The 

Soldiers who went into Macedonia in 1992, a very cold European area, 

all received one pair of insulated boots. In January 1994, on a trip 

through that region, General David M. Maddox asked me to help get a 

second pair for each Soldier, because even insulated boots get damp 

and must have time to dry out before being worn again. Around that 

same time, 3rd Battalion, 325th Infantry was in Vicenza, Italy, on a cold 

weather mission, and we provided insulated boots for them as well. 

 One day in the late eighties, I was sitting in my DCSLOG office 

when I received a call from an irate four-star General. He’d been in 

Brussels, Belgium at a NATO function in which military from four 

nations were on parade. It was a rainy, damp day, and the Soldiers 

wore raincoats. “The British, Belgians, and Dutch looked great, so 

sharp and military,” the General shouted. “The United States looked 

terrible in that little gray tent they wear for a raincoat,” he continued. 

“It was embarrassing! Do something about that sloppy tent!” 

 Personally, I had always thought our military raincoat looked 

unprofessional and slovenly. The garment started out some shade of 

black and faded to a gray. The irate General had seen our guys in their 

“gray tents” while the other nations wore more fitted military 

raincoats, with double breasted buttons and a belt. 

 “Sir, let me visit with General Vuono about this and we’ll work on 

the raincoat problem,” I said. And I did just that. “Chief, we should 

take a look at going back to the raincoat the Army was wearing in 

1958, but changing the color to black. I think black would better 

complement our current uniform by matching the black stripe on the 

trousers and the black shoes.” It was the raincoat I wore when I first 

entered the Army. It was fitted with double breasted buttons, a belt, 

and had that sharp military look. 
with pictures, specifications, and patterns of the old uniforms. In 

centuries past, a shooter’s pad, a circular patch, had been sewn on the 

right shoulder of jackets and coats. You see the patch on some 

London Fog jackets. We wanted this coat to be built on history and 

tradition. After coming up with three designs, we modeled the 

prototype coats for the Army chief, using Soldiers from the Old Guard. 

He selected the military raincoat that we have today. The amazing 

thing about this coat is that it took less than two years from the irate 

General’s phone call through the research phase to the finished, massproduced product. It typically took six to eight-plus years to get a 

uniform related item from drawing board into the field and worn by 

our Soldiers en masse. The production of that raincoat surely set some 

kind of performance record for turn-around time on an Army project. 

 We also designed and implemented a green shirt with a heavier 

weight that would hold its appearance, so now personnel can chose 

from two weights in shirts. General Vuono returned from a visit to 

Guatemala saying, “The U.S. officers looked like crap! It was hot and 

humid, and everybody was drenched in perspiration. It came through 

the uniforms and their shirts wilted.” 

 He was comparing the U.S. officers to the Central Americans who 

had adopted our heavyweight brown shirts and pants that we had 

gotten rid of in the seventies. The old heavier weight held its 

appearance and military creases. “Damn, they looked good and they 

were wearing our old uniforms. Fix that shirt!” Vuono ordered. So 

we fixed the shirt. The second thing we did in the shirt department 

was to fix the green short-sleeve shirt. The old one was designed to 

wear open without a tie. It had what the clothing industry called a 

“pajama collar” because it lay flat against the shirt. We designed a 

new shirt with a regular stand-up collar, so it could be worn either 

open or buttoned with a tie. 

 There was also a DA policy that we couldn’t wear ribbons on that 

green shirt. This was yet another concern of General Vuono’s. We 

had Soldiers coming back from overseas who were proud of their 

units. You would see an Air Force airman in the airport, and he would 

have on all his ribbons. You would see a Marine, and he would have 

all of his ribbons. Then you would see an Army Soldier, and he’d 
else, we fixed that too. Now our Soldiers can wear their ribbons like 

all the other branches of the service. 

 As long as we were making uniform changes and trying to steep 

our uniforms in history and tradition, I mentioned my favorite uniform, 

the “pinks and greens,” to General Vuono. He agreed that we should 

investigate. That uniform had been worn in World War II and Korea, 

and in 1954 when I first joined ROTC. The green jacket was belted, 

and the pants were a grayish, mauve looking color. I suggested that we 

find the specifications on the “pinks and greens” and design something 

a little jazzier than our green uniform that looked more like a bus 

driver’s uniform than a military one. In an archive at an Air Force 

Base in Ogden, Utah, we found the specifications. They were loaned to 

us under threat of death if we did not return them in good order, and in 

a timely fashion. 

 From the specs, DPSC produced eight authentic uniforms with one 

exception; we couldn’t afford the elastic material the “pinks and 

greens” were originally made from. The uniforms were made from 

our currently used, affordable fabric. They looked great with a belt. 

Each of the three-stars on the Army staff, the Army Chief, the 

Sergeant Major of the Army, Julius William (Bill) Gates, were among 

those who wore the prototypes as test models. Many times Sergeant 

Major Gates and I went places wearing our belted uniforms, and I also 

wore mine for all speeches. On one occasion, when I briefed all the 

Major Command (MACOM) Sergeants Major, Eighth Army, Europe, 

we were overwhelmed with requests for uniforms like ours. The field 

research suggested that going to this type of uniform would be 

favorably received. The retired community and the overweight 

personnel got the project vetoed. Normally, chubby people don’t want 

to have to wear a belt, and that’s understandable. The specs were 

returned to the Utah archives, and we moved on to our other concerns. 

 A discussion of whether or not to wear a beret seems appropriate 

here. I was at DCSLOG, and General Vuono was in his second year as 

Army Chief (1989). One day he announced, “We’re eliminating 

200,000 to 300,000 Soldiers from the Army.” We actually suspected it 

would be even more. “During this time of downsizing, I want to bring 
ordered. 

 My thinking was that in our present state of losing personnel, this 

might give the Soldiers something positive. When I served in 

Germany, the Panzer division had berets, the French had berets, the 

British had berets, and we had field hats that weren’t very attractive on 

anyone. The beret looks good with most military uniforms. Mr. Chet 

Kowalczyk, still a deputy in TRETS, was working with me, as well as 

Colonel (later Lieutenant General) Henry T. (Tom) Glisson, who had 

returned and was my XO, as a quartermaster Colonel. Colonel Jesse 

Tolleson was the troop support division chief. Colonel Bill Meadows 

had left, so Lieutenant Vallie Rosner was the food and clothing person 

and our textile expert. 

 In our investigative scheme, we first looked at color. There were 

many requests for branch colors, but in a parade field division line-up, 

the rainbow of color would be confusing and not look uniform. The 

final recommendation was to go with a black beret. The black color 

did not tread on the Special Forces green berets or the 82nd Airborne’s 

maroon ones, but the Rangers were wearing black. General Vuono 

said, “Call Buck.” When I contacted Colonel (later General) William 

F. (Buck) Kernan, Ranger Regimental Commander and a good friend, 

to alert him to the “beret” project, I offered him a change of color if he 

wanted. Buck decided to go with a sand-brown color because it was 

the Special Air Service (SAS) color, and an international color during 

World War II. He thought that it was most closely aligned with the 

Ranger mission and special operations. With this change, all Special 

Forces, Airborne, or Rangers who were currently wearing berets, 

would be distinguished from the rest of the Army in their black berets. 

 General Vuono was wearing a maroon beret with his uniform 

during our investigative period. While visiting the 82nd Airborne 

Division, he had a snapshot of himself wearing the beret. Upon his 

return to the Pentagon, he began showing the snapshot around saying, 

“Look at this. By God, I look good, don’t I?” 

 I said, “Chief, you look great, and I think the Army is going to 

look good. We can keep the BDU cap for patrol operations and longrange patrol units, and issue each Soldier two berets, one for work and 
young officers to buy and they never use.” Our study showed a cost 

analysis trade-off of almost completely funding the beret from 

resources we saved by getting rid of three caps. I thought the project 

was a shoe-in at that point. 

 Even the week before General Vuono retired, he had us back in his 

office to discuss fielding a MACOM (USAREUR) or FORSCOM with 

berets. We had an industrial base problem, worked that out, secured 

the funding, and arranged to have the specified number of berets 

produced in six months. But in the end, he said “I can’t authorize the 

beret production.” I think it may have been pressure from the retired 

community that killed it, and it must have been hard because it was his 

idea in the first place. There were rumors that the opposition thought 

an all-beret Army would change the culture and tradition of our field 

Soldiers. Other rumors spoke of jealousy of the beret by the Special 

Forces who were currently wearing them. Yet others said that there 

was opposition to spreading the Airborne and Special Forces image 

across the entire Army. I don’t know what caused two years worth of 

research, sample production, finding funds, and planning to go down 

the tubes. 

 Much later during the 1990’s, the topic resurfaced. At that point, 

we had a friend who, as surprising as it may seem, probably lost a star 

over the beret issue. A little company in Arkansas called Bancroft 

could produce the beret we wanted. The only other company we knew 

about was in Canada. You have to use a certain type of sheep wool 

that will retain the beret’s color and shape. We could not afford the 

berets for the 800,000 Soldiers we had then. So later, the Army Chief 

asked Tom Glisson, who had been my XO as a Colonel and was now a 

three-star General and DLA commander, to revisit the files we had on 

using a beret. “I want the beret brought in by the Army’s birthday on 

14 June,” the Chief said. That was six months from then. “We’ll all 

change on the Army’s birthday from our present hat to the beret.” 

 Financially, the only way it could be done that quickly was to go to 

Romania, China, or Indonesia for production. The Chief of Staff of 

the Army and Tom went together to Congress to the House committee 

for approval of the project. When asked why the Army wasn’t having 

this done in the U.S.A., the chief didn’t stand up for Tom by 
In fact, he implied that Tom was the culprit. 

 Tom was attacked verbally. The hearing was broadcast on CNN, 

so there were tapes of the hearing shown everywhere. Tom retired 

shortly after that, at a time when he was up for his fourth star. It was 

such a waste and a stupid political move. We trained Tom to be a 

General, and he was a good one. He was just doing his job, arranging 

to acquire all those berets by a certain time, a requirement he didn’t 

initiate. The Army Chief was the one who decided when all the berets 

had to be in the hands of troops. We lost a great Army General over 

berets. It all worked out fine for Tom, however, as he has done quite 

well in the private sector and is our neighbor, living just down the road 

from us in Orlando. It was the business world’s gain and the Army’s 

loss. 

 Around 1982, the Army began to look at the potential requirement 

of having to deploy into a Southwest Asian country. Our relationship 

with Iran was at an all-time low, and we knew that water support 

equipment would be terribly important. Luckily, during the 1980’s, 

we were able to test a lot of this equipment, concepts, and doctrine 

during annual exercises, known as the “Bright Star” exercises, which 

paid off handsomely during Desert Shield/Desert Storm. The study 

began before I arrived as the TRETS Director in 1982. I want to credit 

the military and civilians in the Water Support Teams office, 

specifically Chet Kowalczyk, who was a division chief and ran the 

Water Support Task Force. His tenure and continuity through several 

DCSLOG commanders made the water equipment support programs a 

reality. 

 The Army built water support units and detachments to use the 

equipment. The procedure involved starting in the Pentagon by first 

building a Program Development Increment Package, and then a 

Support of Management Decision Package to carry the resource 

programs forward. All that was necessary to produce the equipment 

we needed on schedule. As we worked with policy and procedure 

types of issues with the Logistics Center, now Combined Arms 

Support Command (CASCOM), we had two main questions to answer. 

What kinds of equipment and training were needed to make each 

division self-sustaining in Southwest Asia (SWA), a totally arid and 
to bring such a mission into full operation? 

 Our evaluation led us into researching military operations in the 

desert. We even went back to World War II records and looked at the 

U.S. Army’s operations in North Africa and Field Marshal Rommel’s 

experience in Egypt. We conducted interviews with Egyptian and 

Israeli officers about equipment and procedures. We worked with the 

Quartermaster School, scrubbing usage levels very carefully, coming 

up with 21 gallons of water per Soldier per day. We learned that it is 

difficult to get a Soldier to drink sufficient water in that climate. We 

even resorted to fruit flavored water I called “kool-aids.” A brigade 

commander told us that if a Soldier became a heat casualty while in 

training or on a mission, it was an automatic 30-day, Article 15, a unit 

level disciplinary action against that Soldier. It was vitally important 

to the Soldier’s health to drink the daily ration of water. 

 The Army was working toward a Tactical Water Distribution 

System (TWDS) in ten-mile increments, with flexible pipe and a small 

generating or pumping station to transport water over variable 

distances. Our goal was to be able to use any kind of commercial, 

indigenous truck or our own Army truck. We designed a 3,000 gallon 

bag that was lovingly called the SMFT (Semi-trailer Mounted Fabric 

Tank) and, with the use of belts, could be tied to a stake and platform 

trailer. It quickly became apparent that some driver training would be 

required to maneuver one of these little jewels. After 2,000 of the 

3,000 gallons of water had been dispensed, the water would shift in the 

tank during travel, causing the trailer to flip over. This was a 

dangerous scenario. 

 Water storage systems grew from our 20,000 gallon bags to 50,000 

gallon bags, which are very large containers. That gave us a storage 

farm of systems that could be linked with a tactical water distribution 

system. This would be supplemented by our cute little SMFTs, which 

would move and distribute the water. We were studying various 

environments, both chemically and biologically contaminated water, 

from the extreme of salt water down to the water one finds in a puddle 

or small pond that has stagnated, brackish water. We first developed 

what we thought would be an appropriate requirement for a division: a 
later placed on wheels for movement. 

 Already in 1982 and 1983, we had pre-positioned ships out at 

Diego Garcia. At that time, we placed the water equipment on board 

the ships, and we wanted it all stored together, the Reverse Osmosis 

Water Purification Units (ROWPU), the chemicals, and the over-pack, 

which contained all the repair parts. Much later, as the ships pulled 

into Desert Storm, the water purification equipment was already an 

integral part of the supplies. At that point, we went to the other 

services asking if they wanted to “tag” on. The Marine Corps 

immediately bought in, and we found the Air Force to be supportive as 

well. 

 Then we approached the situation as though no water was 

available, none, period. That led us to look in the area of waterdrilling rigs. We knew that, in the west Texas environment, they had 

what they called “wildcatters,” rigs on trucks that could pull into an 

area, put up their drilling rig, and within a matter of hours begin 

drilling. Their rigs were used for drilling oil, of course, but water 

drilling used much of the same technology and principles. We began 

looking at the requirement to bring in 10 to 15 of the rigs capable of 

drilling 1,000 feet down, as part of war reserve or operational project 

stock. As I recall, we centralized somewhere around 600 feet, but with 

a 1,500 foot extension kit. The Navy already had a course being 

taught in well drilling. We tagged onto their training system and 

trained some of our detachments. 

 It’s hard to believe and rather mind blowing that at one point, the 

Mormack Star, one of the ships at Diego Garcia, did nothing but store 

water. We were paying 10 million dollars a year to store a ship’s 

worth of water. And you think it’s silly to pay a dollar for a bottle of 

water! Before I retired from the Army, the cost was more like 16 

million a year due to a rise in contractor fees. We were so concerned 

about the contingency requirements during that period that the ship 

was kept at Diego Garcia for years until we had the water support 

equipment, a distribution and well-drilling systems, with which to take 

care of our own needs. The fact that we were storing water on a large 

ship speaks to the concern that the Army, Joint Chiefs of Staff, and 

other services had about our deploying to that part of the world. 
 During that same period, there was a need for several small barges. 

We took one and put two commercial 150,000 gallon water 

purification units on it, moved it to the Mediterranean area, and 

eventually to Diego Garcia. In a matter of minutes, a tug could pull in 

a water barge. During Desert Storm, that barge was pulled into the 

Ad-Dammam area, but it was moved up to Al Jubayl to support the 

Marine Corps and produced water there where it was needed. When 

Saddam Hussein released oil into the Persian Gulf to damage the 

desalinization plants, the water barge went up and provided water for 

the Marine Corps. 

 On the petroleum issue, we felt that many Army units did not have 

the capability to deploy and support themselves in that area. At the 

last minute, about two or three months before crossing the border into 

Kuwait, we determined we could not meet the petroleum needs of a 

division on the move, so we started lifting Heavy Expanded Mobility 

Tactical Truck (HEMTT) tankers out of the Oshkosh plant in 

Wisconsin straight into Desert Storm. 

 In 1982 - 1984, we started a concerted effort to build a petroleum 

equipment package. We wanted to pull storage capability together that 

would permit a division, or echelons above division, to store large 

quantities of fuel. We had 5,000 and 10,000 gallon bags for fuel 

storage, as well as a 5,000 gallon barrel bag, and we began looking for 

even larger bags. We found it. It is a 210,000 gallon bag that is the 

size of a basketball court and about seven to ten feet tall. We found a 

mega bag! 

 In World War II and Korea, our procedure was to build huge steel 

and, later, aluminum tank farms. We can’t operate that way any more 

because we have to be far more mobile and flexible. In Desert Storm, 

we went into the area and laid the huge petroleum bags out. The 

tactical petroleum terminals, as they were called, were shipped into the 

22nd Theater Area Army Command (TAAC) for their use to support 

the divisions and corps. 

 The Army also started looking at pipes. For years, we had used 

steel pipe, six-inch or eight-inch pipe to transport petroleum over long 

distances. It was a slow and tedious process to lay steel pipe, so we 
We had some early problems with it snapping at its joints. In a test at 

Yuma and later at Yakima, east of Fort Lewis, we actually laid a 

contingency-level of pipe across the system. We got away from 

having to screw down each of the joints, where Soldiers would spend 

so much time just putting two pieces of pipe together with a very 

complex joint that had to be screwed in. We went to something called 

a quick-lock coupling. The “victaulic coupling” literally would fit 

over the two ends of the aluminum pipe. It snapped down, and the 

connection was complete in a matter of seconds. We came up with 

some very innovative things: from steel to aluminum pipe; from very 

slow, screw-it-together to “victaulic quick-lock couplings.” 

 The pipeline system the Army developed was capable of pumping 

about a million gallons per day. That’s enough to support two heavy 

divisions. It’s also quite noteworthy that almost all of the whole force 

structure providing the water and petroleum in Desert Shield/Desert 

Storm was either Reserve or National Guard. There was very little 

active Army component. 

 Making improvements through our ever-advancing technology was 

my mission at DCSLOG. From victaulic quick-lock coupling to GoreTex uniforms and sleeping bags to polypropylene underwear, we 

chased dollars and turned the scientists loose to explore new and better 

ways to assist and help our Soldiers create the best Army possible. 

The staffs at Natick Laboratories, the Quartermaster (QM), Ordnance 

and Transportation Centers, and the LOGCENTER (later CASCOM) 

deserve huge thanks for their great ideas, innovative concepts, and 

pursuit of excellence. 
Following photos are from GEN Ross’s personal collection. 
BG Ross in Germany with GEN Kroesen 

BG Ross in Germany with GEN Becton 
BG Ross in Germany with Manfred Rommel 

BG Ross in Germany with GEN Guthrie 
GEN Ross and Mrs. Ross with GEN Thompson, 

CG, AMC 

GEN Ross with GEN Tuttle, out-going CG, AMC 
GEN Ross and Mrs. Ross with President George Bush 

GEN Ross meets President Clinton, MG Raffiani and 

MAJ Hatch observe 
Jim and Pat 

Jim and Pat 
p

U.S Army Materiel Command, 1984 to 1987

HQ AMC, 1984-1986

 Our family was growing. Sabra, now 26, married and living in 

Little Rock, had a daughter Teresa Catherine, whom we nicknamed 

Katie, and a new son Charles Michael, born September 13, 1984. 

Dede, 24 and married to Danny Henson, had a daughter Sherry. 

Though scattered, our family managed to remain in touch by 

telephone. Tony was a blur of activity, running track and playing 

baseball at Lake Braddock High School. He made great friends 

through school, sports, and Boy Scouts, earning the coveted Eagle 

Scout rank in 1986. 

 During this time, I had the honor of being inducted into the 

Henderson State University Distinguished Alumni. Making the 

presentation was my good friend Dr. Charles Dunn, President of HSU. 

Much later, in 2004, Dr. Dunn and his wife, Jane, would again be with 

Pat and me when I was inducted into the Sports Hall of Fame at HSU. 

They cited my lettering in two sports, both football and baseball, as 

well as making first team “All Arkansas Intercollegiate Conference” 

(AIC) back in 1957. Dr. Dunn’s leadership and strong, visionary 

intellectual guidance have played a major role in the success and 

sustained growth of my alma mater, HSU. 

 About a month before General Donald Keith retired as the 

commander of AMC, I left DCSLOG and joined AMC. My move in 

departments in the summer of 1984 saw our family untouched by the 

change. I still went to work at the Pentagon; we were not making a 

residential move; and Pat and Tony’s lives continued undisturbed by 

my shift in assignments. I moved to AMC with General Keith to set 

the stage for General Richard H. Thompson to come in as commander, 

replacing General Keith. At that point, AMC’s total strength was 

about 127,000 people. 

 I first met General Thompson in 1982 when I was in VII Corps 

running the Corps Support Command. He was the DCSLOG then, and 

had the reputation of being a tough, taskmaster. He came through VII 
want you to come back and join me in the Department of the Army 

when you finish your tour in Germany.” Colonel John Long had been 

my deputy in Germany and was now General Thompson’s XO, and the 

idea probably started with him. 

 A master manager of detail, General Thompson expected those 

serving with him to perform their duties to the best of their abilities 

and in a timely fashion. Those who did not perform, he could eat alive 

in an abrasive, unforgettable manner. Some people had a hard time 

with him because he was blunt and made people produce. Having 

been raised by a Ross who didn’t mince words, I could work well with 

General Thompson. 

 About six months after meeting him, I received orders to return 

from Germany to the Pentagon where I worked for him for 18 months 

before he was promoted to General and was moved to AMC. It was 

then he told me he wanted me to go with him to AMC as his Chief of 

Staff. That position was typically filled by a two-star General, and I 

think he knew I was up for that promotion long before I did. In 1986, I 

was awarded the second star, becoming a Major General. Pat and 

General Thompson pinned on my new Major General’s star. 

 AMC was not entirely new to me. I became familiar with them 

when I was in 2nd Support Command and in 4th Transportation. 

Working with various AMC commands had been a frequent 

occurrence during the past several years. When I was in VII Corps, 

Major General Donald M. Babers was the CommunicationsElectronics Commander. If we had a problem with communications, 

General Babers had personnel on their way to lend a hand almost 

instantly. One of the most responsive AMC commanders that I dealt 

with was Major General Robert L. Moore, of Missile Command, and 

later the AMC Deputy Commanding General (DCG). When we had a 

missile problem, I know of at least four times when General Moore 

had people on aircraft within three hours of our call, in-bound into 

Germany to solve our missile problem in VII Corps. General John R. 

Guthrie was the commander of AMC then, and he used to visit me in 

Germany about every six months. My Pentagon assignments made me 

very familiar with AMC, as did the Cam Ranh Bay and 101st

experiences. I mentioned that I was in the Material Acquisition 
acquisition. My area of least exposure was research and development. 

 General Thompson had served several times in AMC and going 

back as commander, his intent was to make an impact from the very 

first day. “Let’s review each part of AMC and decide in which areas 

we have questions,” he said to me before going to AMC. Knowing 

him as I did made it relatively uncomplicated to review the vast 

organization of departments and decide where he would have 

questions. 

 Four weeks before General Thompson took command he began 

writing notes to those soon to be in his charge. He chose blue notepad 

stationery on which to address individual questions and tasks, dating 

them the day he was to take command. We developed over 600 “blue 

notes” from questions evolving from our study and review of AMC. 

General Thompson personally hand wrote every single one of the over 

600 “blue notes” which were delivered to the AMC HQ staff on his 

first day as commander. There was a person who did nothing but 

manage the blue notes by keeping an up-to-date log on the status of 

each one. Some on the staff called them “Blue Bullets” or “Blue 

Bombs.” 

 The notes were General Thompson’s way of reminding people to 

do their job. If he discovered someone was not performing, that 

someone got a wake-up call in the form of a blue note; and that note 

more often than not created a scrambling, “find-a-way-to-get-your-acttogether” situation. The recipient of the note was expected to respond, 

either in writing or through an oral briefing within a given period. 

Those who were slow to learn, or resistant to change, found 

themselves constantly writing papers or briefing the General, which 

can not be described as a pleasant experience. The fortunate folks who 

quickly found remedies for the blue note queries would, on infrequent 

occasions, be graced with a note of blue just to make sure they knew 

that he knew they still must perform. 

 Thompson’s expectations of others were exceeded only by his 

standards for himself. He was a taskmaster who worked harder and 

longer than those under his command. We worked every Saturday. 

He set an example for those from whom he asked so much. It was his 
only one day, attached a ribbon to each, the streamers would touch 

almost every floor and office of the AMC Headquarters and most 

directorates. 

 The commanders, all ten two-star Generals, did not receive blue 

notes. The General picked up the phone and placed a personal call if 

he had something to discuss with one of his ten commanders. If he 

was unable to make the call personally, the calls fell to one of his two 

deputies. Should both deputies be out on travel, I placed the calls. It 

was his approach to keeping the accountability chain tight. 

 General Keith, with whom I worked those few months prior to the 

command change, employed a very different command technique. He 

had been DCSRDA for the Army, and I watched as he spent most of 

his time with those directorates and far less with sustainment and 

readiness. He conducted most of his business through staff meetings 

and talking with people in person, face to face. I do not recall ever 

hearing General Keith say a bad word. To the contrary, I am 

convinced that in many of General Thompson’s staff meetings, people 

were concerned to speak, offer suggestions, or ask questions for fear of 

incurring the General’s attention in so public a forum, should they say 

something he considered stupid. 

 During General Keith’s command, everyone on the staff worked 

for one of the two three-star deputies. One of the major changes that 

General Thompson made involved following, to the letter, the 

Leavenworth Model that resulted in all staff personnel working 

directly for the Chief of Staff. At that time, there were about 2,400 

people at AMC Headquarters. The several deputies on the Material 

Readiness side included Lieutenant General Lawrence F. Skibbie, and 

later, General Peter G. Burbules. I worked with General Robert (Bob) 

Moore, a three-star deputy, and his deputy, Mr. Robert Black, a super 

civilian. Each time I found myself entangled in a task or procedure 

with which I had no experience or engaged in a difficult period, I 

would walk down to General Moore’s office; he would invite me to sit 

and discuss the situation with him; and he’d share his thoughts on the 

issue. His help and guidance were invaluable. 
Procurement areas in which Darold L. Griffin and Jack Jury worked. 

Talk about a work ethic, Jack Jury had one, a very strong one. In fact, 

we became concerned about his health because he worked such long 

hours and too many days. We merged the Procurement and Industrial 

base because of the linkage between the two and created a new 

General officer position for the Deputy Chief of Staff of Procurement. 

Brigadier General Michael J. Pepe was one of the first men to fill that 

position. General John B. Oblinger, Jr. supervised the Research, 

Development, and Engineering (RD&E), followed by Orlando 

Gonzales, and later Lieutenant General Robert D. Hammond. Bob and 

I were old friends from years past. During those days, all project 

managers, over 100 of them, worked for AMC. That was in the days 

before the “Program Executive Officer” (PEO) period. 

 Sundays became precious given a six-day work week, On an 

especially glorious Sunday evening in the spring of 1986, Pat and I 

were dining at our favorite Virginia restaurant, Rafiani’s. 

 Pat fairly glowed in the candlelight. I was still in love with this 

gorgeous redhead after 30 very mobile years of marriage, three 

children, and three grandchildren. I know it sounds corny, but her 

eyes were actually twinkling as she chatted about our children, 

grandchildren, and the children’s letters to the president she had 

read that day. Among my wife’s varied activities, she was now 

volunteering at the White House to help read the thousands of 

kids’ letters sent to President Reagan each day. 

 “We get letters from children of all ages,” Pat was saying. 

“Some are from teenagers working on a project for school and 

have questions they need answered. Younger children write such 

wonderful letters. They ask questions, such as, how many rooms 

are in the White House or how many dogs do you have?” Often the 

letters are from entire classes. A teacher will suggest as a class 

project the students write to the President. We get stacks of those. 

Every letter is answered. A booklet about the White House with a 

cover letter goes out in response to each letter.” 

 “A letter came in this week that we just couldn’t file without 

sending it on to President Reagan to read,” Pat continued. “A 
Beautiful’ and she made a booklet from their pictures which she 

sent to the President. There were pictures of glorious blue skies, 

grain waving in the breeze, majestic purple mountains, and a 

priceless picture of an airplane with fruit painted on the wings. It 

was the fruited plain,” she laughed. “A little boy wrote to Reagan 

saying that he had the same birthday as the President, was having a 

party, and if the President happened to be in the neighborhood, 

would he please come to his party. The letter contained a 

postscript asking President Reagan to please call first because his 

mother would want to clean the house.” 

 “There was one from a 12-year-old boy,” Pat continued. “He 

had solutions for everything, poverty, war, environmental issues, 

everything. At the end of the letter, he said, ‘If you need anymore 

help with anything, just call. I’m in school during the day, so call 

there. Don’t worry; if you call they’ll get me out of class.’ He 

probably waited for months for President Reagan to call,” Pat said 

smiling. 

 “So many of the letters make me laugh,” she was saying. “And 

some of them make me want to cry. When I read a letter in a 

child’s handwriting that describes desperate, depressing 

circumstances and asks for help, it breaks my heart. A 12-year-old 

girl from the West Virginia hills wrote saying she had hardly any 

clothes, no shoes, lived with her grandparents, and couldn’t go to 

school because she was too embarrassed.. She asked if the 

president could help her. We had welfare personnel there within 

24 hours. My gut reaction was to go find her myself.” 

 “I know. I wanted to bring half the Vietnamese population 

home with me,” I said. “Some kids are raised in difficult and 

dangerous conditions. And look at how many manage to grow into 

decent, responsible adults. Amazing.” 

 “Well anyway, I love volunteering at the White House,” Pat 

said as our entrées arrived. “Back in 1983 when I volunteered to 

tally contributions to the Reagan/Bush campaign, that was also 

fun. Even though it meant doing math and filing all day, I enjoyed 

it. Never have I seen so much money on one table in my life. 
in, responding, and adding that person or group’s name to a 

database of contributors. I never realized the huge work load 

donations create and I’ll never forget the woman who sent a letter 

with two pennies taped to it, saying that she wanted to add her two 

cents. 

 We talked on through the main course and dessert, and when our 

coffee came, I decided I could not put off my news any longer. What I 

had to say was going to spoil the mood. I had no idea how Pat was 

going to receive my telling her I’d been named the new commander of 

Depot System Command (DESCOM), which meant moving to 

Letterkenny Army Depot near Chambersburg, Pennsylvania. She was 

pretty darn happy with her life right now. The move would not take us 

far; we would be 100 miles from D.C. instead of 20; but adjustments 

in our daily lives were unavoidable. I was particularly concerned 

about Tony, who was about to embark on his senior year of high 

school in the fall. 

 “Is early retirement out of the question?” she finally asked after 

what seemed a season of silence. “You could be a marathon runner for 

hire and coach football, and I’ll teach. How does that sound?” 

 “It won’t be forever,” I said as soothingly as I could. “It will, more 

than likely, be for just one year.” 

 “Tony’s senior year,” Pat said. “Let’s get this over with,” she said, 

pointing to the check and placing her napkin on the table. “Let’s go 

home, and tell Tony.” 

Army Depot Command, 1986-1987

 Tony took the news the way Pat had. We kept our Lake Braddock 

home, as we had done with the home in Dale City, and leased it with 

the thought of moving back there. We moved from our practically 

new Virginia home to a 220-year-old stone house, complete with 

ghost, reserved for the Army Depot System Commander and family. 

Pat and Tony waded through the all too familiar task of relocating as if 

they were Soldiers caught in a slow motion time warp. Their hearts 
they held dear. 

 Trying to convince herself and Tony there were positive things 

about the move, Pat began to study the history of Chambersburg. 34 

As we worked on getting the 220-year-old house on the National 

Historic Register, we found whiskey receipts documenting that the 

original owner of the home had produced whiskey on the premises for 

about 30 years. 

 During a reception at our home which involved my senior 

leaders and the town’s leaders, I was approached by a gentleman 

who asked if I had seen Fred. “No,” I replied. “Does Fred work at 

the depot?” 

 “No, he’s in this house,” he replied. 

 “I don’t think so,” I said. 

 “Every family who has lived in this house during the past 

century has seen Fred,” he explained. 

 “You mean the ghost,” I said. “I think we’ve felt Fred. There 

are spots in the house that are cold winter and summer. The house 

is so old that over the years some of the doors and windows have 

shifted. They open and close during the middle of the night, and it 

is maddening and very eerie. There are places such as the attic and 

basement that neither Pat nor I can be for very long without feeling 

as though someone is watching us. In fact, Pat’s explanation is 

that there are a couple of bodies buried in the basement!” 

 One evening, I was sitting in the den reading. The staircase 

ascending from the entry hall was in full view. Halfway up, the 

staircase made a ninety degree turn. At that turn was a large 

painting that, when pulled forward, revealed a room that had once 

been a part of the Underground Railroad for escaping slaves. It 

was so well concealed; no one would suspect that the painting hid 

an entire room. It was twilight, the television provided the only 

light, and I glanced up from my work to see a lady floating up the 

staircase. She had on a long skirt down to her ankles, puffy 
Then she was gone. That really bothered me! As I scurried around 

the house turning on lights, I made the decision never to tell 

anyone. 

 Years later, long after my duty at Letterkenny had concluded, I 

had occasion to visit with one of my successors. “Did you ever see 

anything out of the ordinary in the commander’s home?” he asked. 

 I said very cautiously, “Why?” I wasn’t about to admit 

anything first. 

 “A ghost-like woman that seemed to float up the stairs,” he 

admitted. 

 We both agreed that her dress was a kind of tan, cream color 

with puffy sleeves, a long skirt, and a high collar. Because we 

only briefly saw her profile, we didn’t really know what she looked 

like. 

 “That scared the crap out of me,” he said. 

 I concurred and was glad to have a partner in silence to the 

eerie goings-on at the Letterkenny commander’s home. 

 Through the summer, both Pat and I tried to convince Tony to stay 

with us, and friendly Fred, in Pennsylvania, but he could not fathom 

missing his Lake Braddock senior year. Our good friends, Bob and 

Anne Lund, their son John who was Tony’s best friend, and his 

younger sister, graciously offered to let Tony live with them for the 

school year. Bob was an Army Colonel working in JCS and was 

Tony’s Scoutmaster. The Lunds were lifesavers, taking Tony into 

their family and sharing their home. The experience taught Tony a 

valuable lesson about sharing and living with siblings, and it couldn’t 

have happened in the arms of a more loving and caring family. His 

own sisters were much older and married. His life had been that of an 

only child for several years. We knew he was in the best of hands, but 

it was difficult, especially for Pat. Tony had declared his 

independence, and we were empty nesters before we expected. 
of our depot. The Army made plans around 1941 to build 12 new 

Ordnance Depots because of the need to control a surge of emerging 

war materiel. Letterkenny was chosen as an ordnance depot site 

because of its proximity, and yet safe distance, from the Eastern 

seaboard and our nation’s capital. The topography of the land lent 

itself to ammunition storage; it was close to railroad access, water, 

power, and energy. The greatest asset was the people who had 

historically shown great courage and perseverance. Opposition to 

having a munitions depot on their land diminished after the bombing 

of Pearl Harbor, but the nickname the locals gave the area, “the 

dump,” stuck long after the depot was in full operation. The citizens 

of the area objected to using the agricultural land as a military storage 

site, thus the unflattering name. Originally, construction included 798 

underground igloos, 12 above ground magazines, and 17 warehouses, 

many made from remodeled farmhouses, barns, and chicken houses. 

In 1976, the U.S. Army Depot Command was established and 

headquartered at Letterkenny. The two-star command remained there 

until 1995. 

 In 2002, Letterkenny celebrated 60 years of supporting Soldiers 

and the Army. The depot has unique tactical missile repair 

capabilities, repairing a variety of defense missile systems, including 

the PATRIOT ground support and radar equipment. Comprising over 

17,500 acres, a large land portion of the depot is used to conduct 

maintenance, modification, storage, and demilitarization operations on 

tactical missiles and ammunition. The depot remains one of the top 

three employers in Franklin County, Pennsylvania, fueling an 

economic engine that pumps over one-fourth of a billion dollars 

annually into the regional payroll, contracts, and retiree annuities. 

Letterkenny has proudly served the American Soldier from WWII 

through Desert Storm/Desert Shield and Just Cause in Panama, 

wherever the mission was located. 

 In 1986, our Army industrial base area included 21 ammunition 

plants, three arsenals, and DESCOM had 21 depots. This number was 

down from 45 at the end of World War II. As I arrived at DESCOM, 

the 21 depots had been trimmed to 19, but still had 41,000 people 

scattered over 30 states working for the command. If a light division 

is considered 10,000 Soldiers, you can see that this was a large 
work force in Germany fell under this command. There was pressure 

to downsize trickling from AMC to DESCOM. We started designing a 

soft downward trend. Our goal was to eliminate any areas currently 

deemed unnecessary and stick to only vital and obligatory missions. 

When I left DESCOM, we still had 19 depots and were down to 

38,000 people, but were on a downward slide to 10 depots. 

 A major mission was to build theater-oriented distribution centers. 

During the information gathering stage, I visited Corsicana, Texas to 

learn how K-Mart’s distribution center worked. I studied J.C. 

Penney’s operation in Dallas. Teams were sent to almost every large 

distribution center in the United States to study the automation 

systems, and the techniques they employed. The strategies were 

observed, studied, revised to fit our needs, and utilized to become 

more productive while downsizing. 

 I was among the local congressional representatives, mayors, and 

others at New Cumberland, Pennsylvania, who, in 1986, turned the 

first shovels of dirt to start a new 200 million dollar facility. It was to 

be the most modern and largest distribution center in the United States. 

The New Cumberland site started as the Marsh Run Storage Depot in 

1918, storing and distributing supplies to and from Europe during 

World War I. Over the years, it served in numerous capacities, 

including an aircraft hanger and maintenance shop. The Army’s goal 

was to create a state-of-the-art facility on the 800 acre site. Land for 

the site lay along the Susquehanna River in New Cumberland about 

five miles south of Harrisburg. 

 Distribution requirements were doubling due to Air Line of 

Communication (ALOC) in Europe, Korea, and Panama. The ALOC 

program involved high priority parts being flown to a unit, so that the 

weapon system could be brought back to operational standards on site. 

Utilizing this process saved shipping the entire weapon system to a 

maintenance facility in the States. At the same time, the Army’s 

distribution demands doubled, we were attempting to, through 

automation, meet those demands without increasing personnel. I was 

deeply involved in shaping the new distribution system at New 

Cumberland. As our creation evolved, the efficiencies gained through 

automation of warehouse functions paid off. 
 The Army’s strategy for meeting distribution needs involved 

strategically located depots within the states. A new distribution 

center at Sharpe Army Depot in California served the West Coast and 

Pacific area, while New Cumberland served the East Coast and 

Europe. The Red River Army Depot in Texarkana, Texas, served the 

Central states, Panama, and Central and South America, which was a 

huge slice of the Army’s dispersal requirements. 

 In most depots, our storage arrangements were straight out of the 

forties and fifties. Few changes had been made since that time and we 

attempted to bring them into the present with ten new Automatic 

Storage and Retrieval Systems (ASARS). The automation capabilities 

were awesome, computer-driven with the latest inventory control 

features. Through the electronic networking of machinery, the 

computer and the material handling equipment talked to each other 

about where an item was stored, and how many of those items 

remained on the shelf. Workers who lived through the transition from 

our antiquated, handwritten arrangement to the technological system 

were awestruck. 

 The physical appearance of the new system reminded me of a 

gigantic replica of my old erector set. Some of the storage racks were 

seven stories high. It was damned exciting to ride in one of the 

equipment handling machines to the top. We speculated as to how 

you’d get a person down from there if all the equipment failed. It 

wasn’t quite high enough to issue parachutes. The backup system was 

a maze of ropes and pulleys that looked rather archaic and would take 

a repelling expert to manage. To my knowledge, we never had a 

major problem and left someone stranded indefinitely in the penthouse 

section of our vertical labyrinth. 

 In a quest to standardize the automation system across AMC, our 

study led us to the realization that growing computer technology 

would soon replace hands-on paperwork. The goal was to relieve the 

task of producing handwritten Depot Maintenance Work Requirements 

(DMWRs) manuals by moving to computer-generated manuals. 

People spent hours writing and drawing in manuals, explaining 

specifications for a weapon system, a component, a part for a weapon, 

a major assembly, and so forth. We were just beginning to understand 
data interchange would allow us to pass the current handwritten, 

mailed information through our system in an automated form, saving 

many worker hours. 

 Several of the depots are testing flexible computer-integrated 

manufacturing (FCIM), the capabilities of which would save hundreds 

of worker hours, facilitating an amazing turn-around-time from order 

to product. For example, suppose a tank part was required at 

Anniston, Alabama. The specifications for that part were at Rock 

Island, Illinois. The specs were passed electronically to Anniston. 

Using the specs, Anniston produced the part according to quality 

control standards within a matter of hours, all done without paper or a 

single stroke of a pen. The programs started in the mid-eighties, 

automated storage and retrieval systems, software, electronic data 

exchange, and new distribution centers were paying off handsomely. 

The Army’s supply system was becoming a well-oiled machine. 

 In the years after my time as Army Depot System Commander, I 

watched the gradual expansion of the DLA take over the supply 

functions of that command. Since the Revolutionary War, the mission 

of supply of weapons systems had been the responsibility of the Army; 

the Army had always taken care of its own weapon supply. I had 

observed other nations consolidate their logistics services and forces 

and learned it was not an optimal arrangement. From eight to ten 

years following consolidation, they would return to the original format 

of having each branch of the service, once again, resume responsibility 

for functions that had been merged. 

 The idea of a centralized supply system for defense sounds great in 

theory, and it has been around for decades. Former President Herbert 

Hoover, after WWII, recommended centralizing management of 

common military logistics support and as a result, a joint Army-NavyAir Force Support Center was formed. For the first time in history, 

1952 witnessed all military defense supplies being bought, stored, and 

issued using a common organization, the DoD. It was also in the midfifties when the management of commodities, consumable items, was 

parceled out among the different branches. The Army managed food 

and clothing; the Navy managed medical supplies, petroleum, and 

industrial parts; and the Air Force managed electronic items. 
 The single manager concept did not provide the uniformity 

envisioned by Hoover, and in 1961 Secretary of Defense, Robert 

McNamara ordered the single manager agencies consolidated into one 

agency, the Defense Supply Agency (DSA). The agency’s 

responsibilities grew as they assumed the tasks of defense overseas 

property disposal operations and worldwide procurement, management 

and distribution of coal and bulk petroleum products. In 1977, the 

organization’s name, Defense Supply Agency, was changed to 

Defense Logistics Agency. The Goldwater-Nichols Act of 1986 

identified DLA as a combat support agency, and in 1988 it began 

assuming management of the nation’s stockpile of strategic materials. 

 Preparations began for DLA to assume our systems. Among the 

systems being transferred to them was ALOC, which was an essential 

part of our operation and deadly critical during wartime. Time 

efficiency and top quality control were essential factors in our well run 

ALOC system. Major General Thomas B. Arwood spent countless 

hundreds of hours encouraging DLA to continue the ALOC operation 

as it was. Explanations from a variety of perspectives were offered, 

urging them to accept what they were calling a “unique Army system.” 

 The original plan of reassignment called for the transfer of over 

200,000 lines of common items to DLA. For a variety of reasons, we 

did not do that, and the final total was somewhere around 150,000. 

After Desert Storm, we retrieved some items that we had previously 

transferred to DLA and brought them back to the Army. From the 

Desert Storm experience, the redeemed items were considered 

weapon-system-critical, and under DLA’s management, supply had 

been lacking. It was crucial that the Army manage them. Time will 

tell us whether that was the right decision. 

 Perhaps I’m one of those people I mentioned earlier who is 

resistant to change to the point of clinging to things that are obsolete or 

inefficient. Maybe I was too close to the situation, but my mode of 

operation has always been, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Why do 

folks have the inclination to tinker and change things that don’t need 

changing? Of course, one goal of consolidation and often the bottom 

line is to save money. If you can do that and not cut quantity and 

quality of service and supply, then it has my vote and my avid support. 
cannot see the logic. 

 The transfer of items to DLA broke a Title X35 responsibility that 

belonged strictly to the Secretary of the Army and the Army Chief, 

and to our way of thinking, endangered our wartime readiness. We 

thought we were breaking something that worked. As DLA continues 

to assume supply responsibility from our depots, Army control 

continues to dwindle. DLA has about 60 percent of the Apache 

helicopter and 90 percent of the Heavy Mobility Multi-purpose 

Wheeled Vehicles (HMMWV). In the not too distant future, our 

weapons systems will be totally supported by the DLA. To an old 

Soldier who wants to take care of the new Soldiers, it feels as if we 

don’t control our own destiny. 

 My problem with the consolidation set-up involves the fact that it 

is not a military chain of command. Their DoD over-watch rises to 

John M. Deutch’s36 level, who was Under Secretary of Defense for 

Acquisitions. We are constantly worried about lack of control. A 

number of problems arose during Desert Shield/Desert Storm that 

were traced back to DLA. A significant problem was poor 

documentation of shipped supplies. So many times, we had no idea 

what the containers held that came straight from DLA depot and 

contractor/vendor locations. DLA, I know, worked hard to straighten 

out their problems. It is my hope that the problems do not repeat 

themselves. 

p

Department of the Army Deputy Chief of Staff for Logistics, 1987-

1992

 Our year at Letterkenny came to a close the summer of 1987, and 

what a summer it was. Tony graduated from high school, I was 

reassigned to the Pentagon as the DA DCSLOG, and Pat moved us to 

Executive Officers Quarters 27A at Fort Myer, Virginia.37 Fort Myer 

sits on a high bluff overlooking the Potomac River and the nation’s 

capital. Our home was around the corner from the 26 Victorian-style 

homes lining the street of what is referred to as “Generals’ Row.” The 

homes were reserved for the Armed Services’ high-ranking officers. 

 The Army’s oldest infantry unit, the 3rd U.S. Infantry (The Old 

Guard), is assigned to Forts Myer and McNair as the Army’s official 

ceremonial unit and security force in the Washington metropolitan 

area. Fort Myer is also home to some of the Army’s last cavalry 

horses, the 3rd U.S. Infantry’s Caisson Platoon, which are housed in 

the post’s century-old stables and cared for by Old Guard grooms and 

blacksmiths. The U.S. Army Band, “Pershing’s Own,” and the U.S. 

Army School of Music moved to the post in 1942 and were later 

joined by the U.S. Army Chorus. Attending a ceremony in which 

these units participate is the ultimate thrill for a patriotic citizen. 

 When the move to Fort Myer, Quarters 27A, was complete, Pat 

drove to Orlando, Florida, with Tony and two of his friends to enroll at 

the University of Central Florida. Pat left them on their own the next 

day and said many prayers for the Orlando townhouse she had rented 

for the boys. They were good kids, but on their own for the first time 

and free of parental constraints. She prayed all the way home the 

townhouse would survive undamaged, and the boys would set the 

curve in all their classes. 

 Meanwhile, I was settling into the DCSLOG office. I had slept in 

this same office as a Lieutenant Colonel in the seventies when the U.S. 

was pulling out of Vietnam. In those days, on occasion, I was the 

“book” man for budget account programs in supply and maintenance, 

did my share of battle staff duty, and when required, was on duty 

round the clock. The situation called for long hours, working seven 
DCSLOG Staff Duty Officer. That cot happened to be in the first floor 

office off Corridor Five in the Pentagon. 

 I served four years and seven months as Deputy Chief in 

DCSLOG. Time raced past like a blur of countryside flying past the 

window of a speeding train. Desert Shield/Desert Strom, the Panama 

invasion, and the tearing down of the Berlin Wall, each in its time, 

captured my thinking and pulled me into my work with thought of 

little else. 

 To my knowledge there was only one other Deputy Chief of Staff 

for Logistics who served longer then I did. Colonel Tom Glisson 

brought that fact to my attention. He discovered that Lieutenant 

General Robert W. Colglazier (July 1959 - July 1964) spent four more 

months than I did as the Deputy Chief in that office. A few more 

months, and I would have broken a record. 

 Desert Shield/Desert Storm was the most critical, most significant 

event, and the high point of those years at DCSLOG. In reflection, it 

was as though all my training from company grade through field grade 

through General officer was specifically designed to prepare me for 

Desert Shield/Desert Storm. Within a week of my arrival, Operation 

Prime Chance (1987-1989) was initiated to protect military and 

civilian ships passing through the Persian Gulf. Near the end of the 

Iran-Iraq War (1980-1988) Iran started using naval mines and 

Silkworm missiles to endanger oil tankers passing through the Strait of 

Hormuz and the Persian Gulf. In July 1987, Operation Earnest Will 

was initiated to provide a naval escort to tankers passing through the 

dangerous waters. Soon it became apparent that the mere presence of 

U.S. Navy ships would not be enough of a safeguard, and MH/AH-6 

helicopters, patrol craft, and SEAL platoons became involved. The 

Special Operations helicopters in Operation Prime Chance were 

DCSLOG’s responsibility, and it was important to keep the repair 

parts flowing to those platforms in the Persian Gulf. That was my first 

challenge as Deputy Chief. 

 In 1988, the planning and execution of another operation raised the 

intensity of our job and played a part in preparing us for Desert Storm. 

XVIII Airborne Corps launched Operation Golden Pheasant to counter 
Elements of two divisions were dispatched on a no-notice deployment 

exercise and show of force to ensure that the sovereignty of Honduras 

would be respected. An 82nd Airborne Division Brigade task force of 

two battalions conducted a parachute insertion and air-land operation, 

which was billed as a joint training exercise. However, the 

paratroopers deployed ready to fight, causing the Sandinistas to 

withdraw back across their border. 

 In 1989, Hurricane Hugo, a Category Four storm, slammed ashore 

at Charleston, South Carolina. Damage from the storm extended from 

the Caribbean through South Carolina. The DCSLOG staff activated 

our LOC, and XVIII Corps was airlifted into the Caribbean to serve in 

many capacities. The Corps Support Command commander, Colonel 

John Zierat, based in the Cayman Islands, and I were in touch daily to 

assure an effective logistics structure to support the effort. 

 The Berlin Wall also came down in 1989. By a strange fluke, I 

was there to witness that historic event. Pat and I were there that day 

because of a business trip. Work related travel was unavoidable as 

Deputy Chief, and one of the rewards of the office was the opportunity 

for Pat to accompany me on several of my tours. She had joined me 

for a quick-paced, almost round-the-world trip during which it seemed 

every minute was strictly scheduled. I flew to a destination; went 

directly to an appointment; either gave a speech, had a meeting to 

address a problem, or toured a facility; and returned to the plane to fly 

to the next destination. The agenda was so tight that we had to start 

scheduling time for me to go the bathroom. Pat often had the same 

kind of schedule, meeting with wives of dignitaries, touring schools, 

family quarters, hospitals, and historic sights of the region. 

 An overnight stop in our journey found us in Heidelberg, Germany 

on November 9, 1989. We were in the guest quarters at Patrick Henry 

Village, which is just outside of Heidelberg, next to the Officers’ Club. 

We were exhausted and had gone to bed early. A knock on our hotel 

room door awakened us at 10:00 PM. It was one of the Soldiers from 

V Corps Headquarters. 
excited. “The East Germans are helping,” he said with a huge smile. 

“I’ll be back at 0500 to pick you up.” 

 At five the next morning, I was aboard a Black Hawk helicopter 

flying to the East German border. There were military towers along 

the West side of the wall and with the technology we had there,38 it 

was possible to look deep into the area on the East side of the wall, 25 

to 30 kilometers. What a sight! Looking out at this little road, there 

were people lined up as far as we could see, Yugos, bicycles, people 

on foot. A wrecker from the village had been chipping away at a spot 

on the wall, digging at the mortar, preparing it for removal of the first 

piece. We watched spellbound, knowing we were witnessing an 

incredible event in history. The first piece came out to cheers, then 

more and more pieces. The first people walked across to freedom, and 

an Army Sergeant was standing there. 

 Perhaps it was because he was the first American or free person 

they encountered. Perhaps it was because they felt so liberated and 

full of joy. Perhaps it was because they were thankful to the 

Americans. Whatever the reason, they hugged him. They reached up 

and hugged this big Soldier and said something to him in German. He 

stood there for two hours, shaking hands and hugging people. 

Eventually, we had to move him because people were squeezing him 

and wearing him down in spite of everyone’s jubilation in the moment. 

The scene was indescribably amazing, and the sight that brought tears 

to both our eyes was the vision of East Germans and American 

Soldiers shaking hands. 

 Philipstahl was a little town near Fulda, and the burgermeister was 

quite pleased that the wall had come down in his county. He was 

watching television, seeing East Germans at a farmers’ market, 

marveling at fruit they had never seen before, such as grapefruit. Later 

we saw kids in the back seats of cars, wearing McDonald’s hats, 

probably having just experienced their first taste of a McDonald’s 

Kid’s Meal. Another big deal was coffee. For the first time they could 

buy coffee. Many of the things we take for granted, they were 

experiencing for the first time. It was such an honor to be there as 

witnesses to an event that neither Pat nor I will ever forget. It certainly 

made us proud to be Americans and decidedly thankful that we live in 
tightly woven itinerary was set back that morning. The world was 

watching through the eyes of television. 

 In December 1989, U.S. troops were deployed into Panama for a 

number of reasons. They went to protect U.S. civilians, secure key 

facilities, neutralize the Panamanian Defense Forces, and restore the 

elected government by ousting General Manuel Noriega. Our ground 

forces consisted of combat elements of the XVIII Airborne Corps, the 

82nd Airborne Division, the 7th Infantry Division, the 75th Ranger 

Regiment, a Joint Special Operations Task Force and the U. S. 

Marines. The action was quickly brought to a close with a 

combination of airborne, helicopter, and ground assaults on multiple 

objectives. Corps elements began returning on January 12, 1990, 

while units of the 16th Military Police (MP) Brigade remained to help 

restore and maintain law and order in support of the Panamanian 

people and their elected government. Manuel Noriega is still our 

nation’s guest in a Miami jail. 

Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm, 1990-1991

 Operation Desert Shield39 began in 1990 when the Arab Gulf states 

refused to endorse Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein’s plan to cut 

production and raise the price of oil. This left Hussein frustrated. He 

had incurred a mountain of debt during the war with Iran that lasted 

almost ten years. Hussein thought that his Arab brothers were 

conspiring against him by refusing to raise oil prices. He began 

positioning troops along the Iraq-Kuwait border and accusing Kuwait 

of various crimes. In the early hours of August 2, 1990, Hussein sent 

seven divisions of the Iraqi Army into Kuwait. An invasion force of 

120,000 troops and 2,000 tanks overwhelmed Kuwait, causing it to 

become Iraq’s 19th province. The United Nations responded quickly, 

passing a series of resolutions that condemned the invasion, called for 

an immediate withdrawal of Iraqi troops from Kuwait, imposed a 

financial and trade embargo on Iraq, and declared the annexation void. 

 President George H.W. Bush ordered warplanes and ground forces 

to Saudi Arabia, after obtaining King Fahd’s approval. This was in 

response to Iraqi troops that had begun to mass along the Saudi border, 

at some points crossing the border, and fosteriug the impression that 
actions were viewed a threat to the U.S. interests in oil production 

capability of the Persian Gulf region. 

 Operation Desert Shield, the U.S. military deployment to defend 

Saudi Arabia, grew rapidly and became the largest American 

deployment since the Southeast Asia Conflict. The Gulf region was 

within U.S. Central Command’s (USCENTCOM} area of 

responsibility. Eventually, 30 nations joined the military coalition, 

with a further eighteen countries supplying economic, humanitarian, 

and other assistance. 

 During a six-month period, the United States and its allies amassed 

a powerful force in the Arabian Peninsula. Carriers patrolled the Gulf 

of Oman and the Red Sea. U.S. Air Force interceptors deployed from 

bases in the United States. Airlift transports carried U.S. Army 

airborne troopers to Saudi. The Navy began maritime intercept 

operations in support of a U.S.-led blockade and United Nations 

(U.N.) sanctions against Iraq. Equipment and supplies for all military 

operations were shipped to the area. 

 On January 17, 1991, when it became clear that Saddam would not 

withdraw, Desert Shield became Desert Storm. 

 When Desert Shield began in 1990, the Army’s senior leaders had 

developed good cooperation and continuity. It was as though 

everything leading up to that point caused everyone to “notch-up” his 

or her level of expertise so that we were prepared. I must give kudos 

to the many people who worked so hard during that period. They 

include Major General Jere Akin, Director of Plans and Operations 

and the officers and civilians in Plans. Major General Charles Murray 

and Major General Jackson E. Rozier, both from Director of Supply 

and Maintenance (S&M) were so helpful. Later, Major General Jim 

Ball was part of Desert Shield/Desert Storm. 

 Brigadier General Paul C. Hurley was there originally as the 

Director of TRETS, followed by Brigadier (later Lieutenant) General 

William G. Pagonis. As a prelude to Desert Storm, Brigadier General 

Pagonis deployed to Saudi Arabia to lead the logistics effort. 

Brigadier General Stephen M. Bliss was with us for a while on a 
and Fred Elam spent the Desert Shield/Desert Storm time with me. 

SES civilians Bob Keltz, Chet Kowalczyk, Joe Cribbins, Bill Jackson, 

Bill Neal, David Mills, Billie Tremaine, and Frank Besson were 

always there when I needed them. 

 What sticks in my memory about that time is a team that worked 

well together and got along well. We were all good friends, whose 

relationships went beyond the Pentagon, as well as teammates whose 

work styles complemented each other on the job. 

 Mr. Cribbins, Mr. Jackson, and I first worked together in 1970 and 

had a friendship that spanned 20 years. Major General Tom Arwood 

from AMC was there everyday, seven days a week, for seven straight 

months, each time we needed him. It was difficult to tell that he didn’t 

work directly for me. Neither Lieutenant General Frederick Hissong, 

Jr., DCG for AMC or Lieutenant General Marvin Brailsford (who 

followed him), could have been closer better friends and supporters 

during those trying times, through the exercises leading up to and 

including Desert Shield/Desert Storm. 

 One of our programs involved bringing in all retired four-star 

Generals for special Desert Shield/Desert Storm updates. During the 

seven month period, we had two briefings, which were attended by 

about 40 Generals, some in their 70s, 80s, and 90s. During the same 

period, we held update meetings for active four-stars. From these 

meetings, I got the idea to invite my predecessors to several updates. 

Due to their locations and schedules, it was not possible to have them 

all in at a certain time on a particular day. We eventually evolved to a, 

“When you have time, drop by, and we’ll stop what we’re doing and 

fill you in,” type arrangement. The briefings were mutually beneficial, 

in that it kept our retirees informed. They offered suggestions for 

solving problems which came from a vast well of experience. 

 Three-star Generals began dropping by as well. A lot of time was 

spent on management schemes for each of the classes of supply. We 

talked about relationships between DCSLOG and AMC; 22nd Theater 

Area Army Command (TAACOM), General Pagonis and DCSLOG; 

Lieutenant General John J. Yeosock, commander of U.S. Army 

Central Command (ARCENT) and DCSLOG; and to some extent how 
Central Command Logistics Director. 

 As we continued to update the different groups, I thought it 

beneficial to lay out the problem areas we were having to the active 

and retired four-stars. For my DSCLOG predecessors, the language 

changed from “problem” to “failure,” and I gave them more detail. 

We were dealing with 11 areas in which things were not running well, 

and a continual common thread wove its way through each area, a lack 

of “total asset visibility (TAV).” The term, TAV, was one we used to 

describe the proper labeling and tracking of all equipment and 

materials acquired, stored, and shipped. Our goal was to track all nine 

classes: food, water, clothing and individual equipment, POL, lumber, 

barrier material, ammunition, end items (trucks), medical, and repair 

parts. 

 On a very small scale, imagine moving your family to a new home, 

which involves packing existing items at the old home and possibly 

acquiring new items from furniture stores, appliance stores, and 

cabinet shops. You stay at the old house, and your family, the movers, 

and all your new and old items arrive at the new house. The movers 

are placing containers in rooms according to the outside labels. What 

happens to the boxes that aren’t labeled properly? More than likely, 

they go into the garage to be dealt with later. Your wife calls and says, 

“The movers need your tools to assemble the new furniture and 

reassemble the old. Where are they?” You’re still back at the old 

house and have no clue, because you didn’t see the movers label the 

boxes and aren’t there to look for them. You say they must be in a box 

on the truck, because you don’t see them here at the old house. 

Because you have no method of tracking each item, the tools are 

missing, maybe in the garage buried under stacks of boxes. In Desert 

Shield, I didn’t want any of our shipments going to the garage, but if 

they did, I wanted to know it immediately. Every repair part, piece of 

equipment, and container of supplies was a vital component in 

preparedness for war. 

 During the Desert Shield phase, we received some 10,000 

requisitions every 24 hours for four straight months. It was our task to 

see that all requested supplies, equipment, etc. were located, ordered, 

shipped, and received as close to required delivery dates as possible. 
IX, were costing over 20 million dollars a day during those months. 

At one point, when we were preparing to cross the border, major 

assembly and repair part requisitions greatly increased. 

 During the month prior to the border crossing, we exceeded 40 

million dollars a day in repair parts alone, and 12,000 requisitions per 

day. AMC was the most responsive organization in the Army, filling 

90 to 92 percent of its requisitions in the average day and providing 

tremendous support. DLA’s numbers always ran a few percentage 

points behind, around 88 to 90 percent. Our team knew how to push 

the execution of orders and make arrangements with contractors. 

Whether we were shipping from contractor locations, DLA, General 

Services Administration (GSA), or AMC depots, AMC was efficient 

and effective. 

 On the distribution end, we were a tiger team, but a problem arose 

with tracking the items once they were shipped. In a conversation one 

day, General Pagonis pointed to an area in the desert of Saudi Arabia 

and related seeing many 40-foot containers stacked there. “I suspect 

there are at least 5,000 containers there with poor or no 

documentation,” he said. “They weren’t marked when we received 

them and we didn’t have time to unload them. In an effort to stay on 

schedule with our mission, we shoved them aside. We couldn’t spare 

the manpower to unload something that wasn’t labeled,” he concluded. 

 5,000 containers! It was the boxes-in-the-garage debacle. Who 

knows how many hundreds of millions of dollars were sitting in those 

containers; how much AMC and DLA time and effort had gone into 

kicking those things out quickly; how many Soldiers were in need of 

those parts and equipment. 5,000 containers arrived and were moved 

to a staging area because they weren’t properly labeled. In spite of the 

sickening awareness of waste that clouded my mind and gnawed at my 

gut, I made myself look at the situation from General Pagonis’s point 

of view. This was preparation for war on a huge scale, and he and his 

men were stressed too. They looked at the containers that were not 

properly marked, and if they couldn’t guess what was inside, they 

were shoved aside to a staging area. It’s easy to understand why my 

number one priority became TAV. During that time, TAV was my 

mantra, my focus, and my mission. 
 General Heiser, with whom I had worked in DCSLOG in S&M 

during Vietnam (1970-1974), stopped by to visit one day. He looked 

at the charts spread around the office with the priority objective of 

TAV on every single one. He said, “Those are the same ones I had in 

Vietnam. Looks like you haven’t fixed them yet.” 

 I really felt great about that! However, my years of experience with 

General Heiser may have helped illuminate the need to better organize 

and manage certain operations. Our problems stemmed from a need 

for improved automation and communication in regards to TAV. 

Being unable to track an item and communicate its whereabouts to the 

intended receiver was frustrating and of growing concern. A 

component of TAV we called “item-in-transit visibility” involved 

tracking items such as a repair part from AMC, DLA, or a contractor 

through its journey to a destination such as a forward supply point or 

SSA. 

 Of the 2,200 Prescribed Load List (PLL) clerks in Desert Storm, 

700 had no automation. I observed young Soldiers filling out 

requisitions the same way we did 30 years ago when I first entered the 

Army. The cause of the problem lay with all of us in senior 

leadership. Thanks to General Jere Akin, the PLL clerks without 

computers each received a laptop and the software necessary to do 

their jobs. At last, they were off and running. I cannot stress enough 

to those who follow that we must have the assured communications 

and automation tools to efficiently and effectively address the 

problems of distribution of supplies. It is critical in wartime. 

 Then we faced the problem of parts clerks who were unable to find 

a way to send requisitions due to their Brigade Support Area (BSA) 

because the area was 60 kilometers away. We had no Internet hook up 

at that point, forcing the clerk to hitch a ride either by land or Black 

Hawk to submit a requisition for supplies. If the clerk was without a 

computer and still produced paper requisitions, he often tried to radio 

his supply request. We found units with radio communication systems 

that were 1960 vintage, VRC-46 and -47 models. They were not long 

range and were often not reliable. Here again, the clerk had to 

scramble to find a way to deliver his requests to the support area. We 

termed this problem “Sneaker Net” because it was delivery of 
term again. 

 In the area of transportation (methods of transporting in theater 

materiel), we were back to the need for HETS, HEMTTs, High 

Mobility, Multi-purpose Wheeled Vehicles (HMMWV), and Palletized 

Load Systems (PLS). Logisticians had been talking about the need to 

modernize Army transportation equipment for years. In 1978 and 

1979, Generals Blanchard and Kroesen supported a major effort to go 

back to the DA and raise awareness for these very items. In 1990 and 

1991, we were still in the same situation. This time when we asked for 

the items, we got them. 

 The situation that may have caused the final breakthrough came 

when seven divisions lined up to look across the Saudi/Iraq border and 

realized there was no sufficient method in place for transporting the 

fuel and ammunition needed to do their jobs. This awareness finally 

sank in two months before we were to cross the border. Our 20-yearold request was about to be granted. We teased about this being 

“forced modernization.” We literally pushed new M939A3 trucks 

with central tire inflation straight off the production line. We asked 

for all the HETs we could find, including East German and Czech 

HETs. PLS production was not far enough along. But by 1994, our 

first unit was fully equipped with both HETs and PLSs, so thank God 

we’re there. 

 During Desert Storm, we activated Reserve Units, and 72 percent 

of all the logistics units were manned with Reserves. Most Materiel 

Management Centers (MMC) at a rank higher than the corps were 

Reserve Components. Back to the TAV problem, we needed someone 

on the receiving end of our supply chain to see what was coming in, 

how it was received, if a problem existed, and report back to us. It was 

November before the 22nd TAACOM’s Material Management Centers 

gained theater-level visibility. The major reason for delay was our 

Reserve Components. At that point, we had one corps on the ground. 

VII Corps had begun to move in. We never gained materiel 

management visibility of supplies and equipment during Desert Storm. 

The requested Theater Army MMC arrived too late in November, 

1990. We had no oversight of materiel coming in until November 

when the first theater level MMC arrived. Way too late! 
 It was difficult to get the people in charge to understand the 

importance of having our people on the receiving end of our materiel 

supply mission. We’ve now made progress in this area with a concept 

called “Split Base Operations” which involves sending an eleven-man 

team with state-of-the-art laptops and software over on the first aircraft 

of a mission, so that from day one we have total TAV. 

 At one point during Desert Storm, we trained a TAAC unit, the 

377th Theater Army Area Command in New Orleans, for a SWA 

mission. They went to five straight Operation Bright Stars, which are 

joint multinational exercises that bring together military forces from 

several nations. They had head-start Arabic classes to learn basic 

language and culture and studied the SWA contingency plans. 

Nevertheless, when it came time to implement the mission, they were 

not sent. It is quite possible that the most emotional message I sent 

during the seven months of Desert Storm to CENTCOM involved a 

very strong recommendation that the 377th be allowed to execute this 

mission. They did not go. In my opinion, we broke faith with a lot of 

Reserve Component units with whom we had built good relationships. 

 Then we had the problem of “containerization,” for a single unit, 

which refers to grouping supplies and re-supply items for a specific 

unit together. This area of concern had made only marginal 

improvements since Vietnam. We needed to do better than that. Our 

minimum goal in any deployment should be 70 percent. That involves 

packing in one container 100 percent of the materiel needed by a 

particular unit. Using this method, when a unit hits the port, that 

container can be offloaded and moved all the way forward to the BSA. 

A side issue here involves the tactical environment accommodating the 

use of a Roll On-Roll Off (RORO), side-loading vessel. The contents 

of the container never have to be unloaded from the trailer to a pallet, 

which creates a situation where pallets of repair parts are pushed out to 

a division. Moving pallets of repair parts around in a tactical area 

demands more man-hours, creates more opportunities for errors, and is 

less easily managed in a tactical arena. It simplifies the process if 

everything, Authorized Stockage List (ASL) and PLL, can be loaded 

in the container and go straight to the division area in the same 

container. That eliminates wasted man-hours and saves money. 

We’ve made progress in this area, but not enough. 
 Our TAT (turn-around-time, a measure of time starting when a 

repair part is ordered and ending when it arrives in the unit) was 

another problem. That has now been audited, and on an average day it 

took us 12 to 50 days from the time we received a request to get a 

requisitioned repair part to Saudi Arabia. The Army was using a 

system called the Object Supply System (OSS). Our slow order-ship 

time was costing us. If the estimate of 20 million dollars a day is 

accurate, it’s easy to understand how important a quick order-ship time 

becomes. If we could eliminate 12 to 15 days, the savings in dollars 

would quickly add up. Now AMC has a system called Objective 

Supply Capability (OSC) that involves sending in a laptop, a modem, a 

Satellite Interface Device, and a satellite dish. A parts clerk punches 

in requisitions that are received in National Inventory Control Points 

and acknowledged within two minutes and 55 seconds, straight from 

the desert. Colonel Terry Chase was a part of the team we sent into 

Saudi Arabia. The new system saved, no matter how you look at it, 11 

to 14 days times 20 million a day. I walked around thinking, “I told 

you so.” But all I said was, “See, it can be done, and we try.” 

 During Desert Storm, AMC successfully sent 28 portable satellite 

systems linked with the International Maritime Satellite (INMARSAT) 

system into the desert. Early in Somalia, the Army used a MARSAT 

system and of the first 500 requisitions, only 16 got through. It was a 

cumbersome arrangement, a jerry-rig system that simply did not work. 

The Army needed a system that permitted the normal use of satellite 

technology for requisitions. Later with OSC, we had a standard 

system that allowed order ship-time to be kept at a minimum by using 

automation, communication, and satellite technology. 

 Another problem was the shipping expense the Army incurred. 

During Desert Storm, the Army was using on average 200 ships or 

more a day, with 80 to 100 coming from outside the U.S. and our 

military organization. The undue expense of leasing ships or shipping 

companies from the foreign flag market to support our country seemed 

unnecessary and was a major concern of mine. In 1991 and 1992, the 

Army approved the Army Strategic Mobility Plan (ASMP), which 

ordered the needed ships. The two Navy contracts were let in 

September 1993, the keels were laid, and the ships were built. General 
to be there as the work started on the first new ship. 

 These are the major Desert Storm concerns I encountered in my 

part of the operation. There were times when the retired DCSLOGs, 

such as Generals Heiser, Fuson, Thompson, Johansen, and I met in the 

DCSLOG area. It was usually an emotional time, during which we felt 

terrible because we were still dealing with the same set of problems 

after 20 years. With the exception of the use of Reserve Components, 

we had active plans to make improvements in most of the problem 

areas previously mentioned. I continue to worry about my number one 

concern, TAV. Funding has been dramatically cut by 30 to 40 percent 

in this area, and my apprehension arises from seeing myself in the 

same kind of meeting 20 years from now, still trying to help the 

Soldier through automation and communication improvements. 

 When General Vuono gave a presentation to the War College class 

in November 1990, he mentioned and complimented the DCSLOG 

staff. Referring to Desert Storm, he said, “This was a logistics 

operation. All the logistics people on the back benches stepped up to 

the table, keeping us in the game, keeping us informed.” It was 

refreshing to hear, especially coming from the Army Chief. We 

educated so many senior leaders in matters of logistics. After a few 

months, many people joined our camp, coming to see our perspective 

and understanding its vital importance, as it dawned on them that the 

deployment, employment, the pre-mobilization deployment, and post 

deployment was a logistics exercise. All divisions of the operation 

were interdependent with logistics being the connecting link, and this 

held true for both civilians and military involved in the mission. 

General Vuono, the Vice Chief, and certainly the Deputy Chief of 

Staff for Operations (DCSOPS) knew that. It was through our 

briefings, meetings, calls, and conversations that we educated others. 

 As Americans, we look at Desert Shield/Desert Storm from the 

perspective that it was a quick and decisive victory. As a part of the 

military machinery working round the clock to achieve the most time 

efficient and cost efficient (in terms of injuries, lives, and cost) victory 

possible, we could have done better. I am so very proud of the men 

and women with whom I served and the miracle jobs they performed 

in a stressful environment of the highest magnitude. Under the 
job. I hope that our concerns will be addressed in the future, leading to 

operations that are more efficient. 

 During the four-plus years as DCSLOG, and especially during the 

period of Desert Shield/Desert Storm, I was submerged in work. Most 

of my days and many nights were spent at the Pentagon. My buddy 

and life partner took the absences in stride and generally ignored it 

when work related stress turned me into a grump. Pat kept busy, as 

usual, with her many projects, including serving as program chairman 

for the Women’s Club at Fort Myer. It also seemed we were 

constantly entertaining, both with job related functions and with visits 

from family and friends. Being home during those functions, and 

attending dinners and events elsewhere, added to my overtaxed 

schedule. I love a good party and immensely enjoy socializing, but 

work had to come first. During high alert or emergency periods, Pat 

carried the social ball for both of us, and I stayed at the Pentagon. 

 She also moved us again. In 1990, we moved around the corner to 

Quarters 5 on Generals’ Row, a larger home traditionally assigned to 

the DSCLOG. It was an amazing home that overlooked the Lincoln 

Memorial, the Washington Monument, and the Capitol. Pat and I 

would sit on our large front veranda some evenings and gaze at the 

city’s illuminated monuments. Our next-door neighbors were General 

Colin and Mrs. Alma Powell. We enjoyed all our neighbors, the view 

of our beautiful nation’s capital, and living in our grand home on such 

a historic site. 

 For the first two years at Fort Myer, 1988-1990, we lived at 

Quarters 27A. There was an alley behind our quarters with detached 

garages. One snowy afternoon the doorbell rang and I opened the door 

to the Commander of the Post. He said, “Don’t want to alarm you, but 

we are closing the alley for security purposes.” Later a van drove into 

the driveway, and tumbling out of the van amid falling snowflakes 

were President George and Barbara Bush’s grandchildren. 

Accompanied by several adults, the snow bunnies romped and played 

all afternoon in the alley and on the hill behind our house, dressed in 

their brightly colored snowsuits. A photograph of the scene would 

have resulted in a Norman Rockwell painting, capturing a playful 

piece of Americana. 
Logistics Issues

 

During the eighties, I was awarded two promotions. In 1986, I became 

a Major General, receiving my second star while commander of the 

Depot System Command. And in 1987, as Department of the Army 

DCSLOG, I became a Lieutenant General, receiving the third star. 

Arriving in DCSLOG, my priorities were: 

(1) Support the Soldier. 

(2) Improve supply and maintenance. 

(3) Improve strategic mobility and distribution. 

(4) Modernize the use of logistics automation. 

(5) Replace aging watercraft. 

 In August of 1990, we learned that the logistics planning in which 

we were heavily involved would quickly become more serious. 

 At 1600 hours on August 6, 1990, President George Bush 

announced the deployment of U.S. combat and logistics forces to 

Saudi Arabia. He gave the DoD and the JCS three distinct missions. 

Mission number one was to deter further Iraqi aggression. The second 

was to defend Saudi Arabia, and the third was to improve the defense 

capabilities of the Arabian Peninsula. 

 The Desert Shield phase (August through mid-January, 1991) went 

off without a hitch. As I discussed before, new records were being 

made almost daily in moving units, logistics tonnage, and closing units 

into Saudi Arabia. Desert Shield deployments were a magnificent 

achievement, when you consider these were the farthest air and sea 

projections and the most rapid buildup of military forces in the history 

of our nation. Then as we crossed the border into Kuwait and Iraq, the 

logistics support permitted our combat forces to quickly achieve an 

overwhelming victory. We all cheered the 100-hour victory! 

 I believe several factors contributed directly to the Army’s 

logistics successes. First, we had about 200 days, or slightly more 
of Supply” on the ground before we crossed the border. Second, the 

air and sea lines were absolutely safe during deployment. Third, we 

had almost unlimited modern air bases and seaports in Saudi Arabia. 

Fourth, the Saudi government and other coalition partners provided 

extensive host nation support. Fifth, the “Big Five” programs of the 

1960’s and 1970’s, as well as Army modernization programs, provided 

the Army with some of the world’s best equipment and weapon 

systems. And sixth, last but not least, we had some of the most well 

trained and led logistics Soldiers, Sergeants, and commanders I had 

experienced in my Army career to date. 

 Early on, as the first units arrived in Saudi Arabia, the 100-degree 

heat of the summer created problems. Initial euphoria and optimism 

began to wane as basic logistics systems were just not working. About 

this time, the “Seven Executive Agent” responsibilities for the Army 

arrived from Defense and the JCS to support CENTCOM and all

deployed forces. Clearing airfield ramps and seaport docks put a 

premium on the need for forklifts. Providing food, water, clothing, 

building materials, bulk petroleum products, conventional 

ammunition, and second destination transportation out to all service 

locations illuminated the fact that we were lacking a sufficient logistics 

infrastructure. 

 Host nation support became an immediate high priority. Reliance 

on Army Reserve and National Guard components became essential. 

In the 1990’s, 70 percent of all Army logistics capability rested with 

our Reserve Components. It became clear that Desert Storm could not 

have enjoyed the success it did without very heavy reliance on our 

Reserve and Guard logistics Soldiers and units. The sum total, as I 

recall, was mobilization of over 1,000 Reserve Component units and 

activation of more than 150,000 personnel. This was a major 

achievement! Our stated goal was to support seven and two-thirds 

divisions, and two Army Corps (VII Corps and XVIII Airborne 

Corps). 

 At first, there was a lot of discussion about what unit to use as the 

TAACOM—typically a three-star General logistics command. Should 

the Army use the 21st TAACOM (Theater Area Army Command) from 

Germany, the 377th from New Orleans, or the 310th from Fort 
new TAACOM, designated the 22nd TAACOM, commanded by Major 

General (later Lieutenant General) Gus Pagonis. Gus had worked in 

DCSLOG as the Chief of Plans and Operations and later as Director 

for TRETS. We launched Major General Pagonis on short notice in 

the summer of 1990 with eight of our super Lieutenant Colonels to 

FORSCOM to begin early planning for Desert Shield. Shortly after 

that, Gus and his team were in Saudi Arabia beginning their early 

TAACOM mission. 

 The Army CSA, General Carl Vuono, decided we should take an 

early trip to Saudi Arabia in the fall (September – October) to see how 

things were going. General Gordon Sullivan, Lieutenant General 

Dennis Reimer, and a few others were included in General Vuono’s 

party. When we arrived, we dispersed to different units to make 

assessments and gather information. During that time, I visited and 

reviewed as many logistics units as time allowed. 

 Early systemic problems were already developing in an infant 

theater that would grow to number of over 500,000 troops. Many 

positive things were occurring, but there were also nagging, early signs 

of difficulties surfacing in a variety of areas. 

(1) Standard Army information systems, such as SAILS-ABX, 

along with others, had difficulty operating over large areas 

and in the heat and silicon based sand. 

(2) Shortage of Materials Handling Equipment (MHE) and 

forklifts at air and seaports was painfully obvious. 

(3) The first 500 repair parts (Class IX) requisitions took weeks 

to get out of the country. 

(4) A shortage of all types of trucks began to occur. 

(5) Aviation Maintenance Units, whether AVIM (Intermediate) 

or AVUM (Unit), seemed to have a variety of problems, 

ranging from an overload of maintenance work to an 

insufficient capability to move themselves. 
becoming an issue. Every class of supply was arriving incountry, but moving them on to the right destination in a 

timely manner was a problem. Every unit was concerned 

with whether their very necessary supplies, ASL or PLL, 

were properly stocked, and if their requisitions would be 

filled on time. The huge theater magnified our shortage of 

trucks. 

(7) Water was perceived as a major problem, and units were 

shipping massive amounts of water in with their equipment. 

To our surprise, Saudi Arabia had nine de-salting plants that 

were able to meet our needs, plus local Bedouin tribes had 

used many deep wells across the desert for centuries. Water 

was available. 

(8) Effective management of commercial 40-foot containers 

from their arrival and on to their final destination was an 

issue. Without clear, concise documentation precisely listing 

the container’s contents on the outside of the container as 

well as a duplicate copy on the inside of the container, 

distribution of the container’s items was hampered. An 

effective organizational system for identifying and dispersing 

the railroad-car-size containers contents was needed. 

Containers with re-supply for multiple units became difficult 

to break down and forward to the right units. Time and 

resources were a real problem. 

(9) Clothing and individual equipment became another area of 

difficulty. Production of uniforms and boots couldn’t keep 

up with the demand to meet the needs of Soldiers. Whether 

the Soldiers came from Germany or Stateside, or were 

Reserve, Guard, or Active, our supplies were insufficient. 

The variety of uniforms on the battlefield looked strange, and 

we knew the need for cold weather gear, once December and 

January came, would surpass our production capabilities. 

(10) Even in the fall of 1990, we began to experience major repair 

part shortages. Direct Supply System and ALOC were being 

used. These had their origins with Lieutenant General Joe 
However, once the supplies and materials arrived in-country, 

the process slowed to a halt. 

 Many units needed additional equipment such as trucks, tankers, 

and MHE, as well as Soldiers to meet the overwhelming challenge of a 

mammoth supply system pushing high tonnage into theater each day. 

Containers were flowing in by foreign and military sealift ships at 

seaports as Air Force aircraft delivered pallets (DSS ALOC 4631) to 

the airfield ramp. High priority receiving and dispersing requirements 

(RDD “999”) increased daily. In spite of the determined Soldiers and 

Sergeants who did their best, the intra-theater distribution slowed to a 

crawl. Then I knew that the distribution process had to be fixed and 

would take infrastructure, resources, and dedication by the Army 

leadership to make it happen. 

 These ten issues were the top areas that the Army DCSLOG staff, 

CENTCOM J-4, ARCENT, and the 22nd TAACOM began to address 

seriously. In spite of massive efforts by so many, the size of the force, 

the difficulties with the battlefield, and harsh conditions hampered and 

slowed improvements. Even with a massive infusion of host nation 

support by our coalition partners, all problems were not solved. 

 Areas like Class V (Ammo), food service, Class III (fuel), 

multifunctional logistics units and water support seemed to work very 

well. It was hard work, ingenuity, initiative, and just plain desire by 

Soldiers, cooks, drivers, mechanics, supply personnel, and Army 

civilians that managed to make things work under the worst 

imaginable conditions. 

 Despite everyone’s best efforts, many of the problems persisted 

throughout Desert Storm. I finally asked each commander of a 

DISCOM (Corps Support Group, Corps Support Command and Area 

Support Commands), and the 22nd TAACOM to send me their “lessons 

learned.” Major General Jere Akin, Director of Plans and Operations, 

collected these, added our DA view, and published the findings in a 

book titled Operation Desert Storm Sustainment, Spring, 1991. 

 The publication led to a DA level Task Force to review and 

prioritize all logistics problem areas. The VCSA, General Dennis 
Samuel Wakefield, Combined Arms Support Commander, led the 

study effort. All the problem areas above, plus many more, were 

reviewed and prioritized for funding purposes. GAO chimed in with a 

December 1991 report entitled, “Operation Desert Storm —

Transportation and Distribution of Equipment and Supplies in 

Southwest Asia.” The GAO noted the shortage of forklifts, lack of 

knowledge of incoming air and sea shipment manifests, material 

arriving before the units had arrived, limited capability to store and 

retrieve equipment and supplies, in country logistics forces being 

overwhelmed by the volume of pushed supplies, shortage of surface 

transportation capability, and the shortfall of theater transportation of 

material. It was clear that the distribution system and TAV was a 

serious problem. 

 General Reimer’s approval and Lieutenant General Wakefield’s 

hard work paid off, and about 60 to 70 percent of the problem areas 

were addressed and funded. As Desert Storm dimmed in our 

memories, in five years the funds to remedy these problems slowly 

diminished. Logistics did not rank high enough in many of the tough 

DA level of modernization programs to stay funded. Many of the 

issues uncovered in Desert Storm persist today, and logisticians are 

hard at work trying to solve the same old problems. 

Watercraft

 During the years from 1987 to 1992, I became immersed in Army 

programs involving watercraft. The Army had more boats than the 

Navy. The Navy took Soldiers near the shoreline, but it was the Army 

that got them to shore. In the opening scenes of the World War II 

movie, Saving Private Ryan, the ships seen taking Soldiers ashore 

were Navy. However, the Navy did not want the mission. Years later, 

this intra-coastal and over-the-shore mission was given to the Army, 

and then to the Transportation Corps. 

 Sometime in the early eighties, I received the charge to help 

modernize the Army’s watercraft fleet. We had a lot of old watercraft 

from the World War II era in the way of tugs and support equipment. 

By 1987, we had large modern ships we called Logistic Support 

Vessels (LSVs) to support the Army. We also had Landing Craft 
LCU 2000. It was much larger and more capable. 

 We even brought in a Navy causeway system to help with our 

concern in the Persian Gulf area. In many places along the Persian 

Gulf, the water from land out to sea for two to three miles was only 

about three feet deep. Our watercraft could not operate in such 

shallow conditions. We borrowed from the Navy and Marines and 

introduced a causeway system that was built by literally dumping 

sections overboard, connecting them, and creating a low cost, strong, 

and effective causeway. Some had a power unit that allowed the 

causeway to become a barge or tug for transporting equipment. 

 We began looking at developing something larger than the lighter 

30-ton Air Cushioned Vehicle, the LACV-30. The LACV-30 was the 

most versatile hovercraft we had and would maneuver on snow, desert, 

ice, water, riverbeds, and swamps. It operated in extreme weather 

conditions and extreme temperatures, was easy to transport by ship, 

truck, air, or rail and required no docks, ports, berthing, or cargo 

mover systems. Its drawback in many situations was that it only 

carried 30 tons. We needed something that would carry the new M1 

tank, a 70-ton load. We managed to get funding for the research and 

prototype development, but not funding to produce and field it. It 

wasn’t supported by the Army, so the LACV-30 had to do. 

 After years of repeated requests, old, worn out, high maintenance 

watercraft were being transferred to the Reserve Components, and 

approval for new watercraft was granted. Our plan was to develop a 

vessel that was as versatile as the LACV-30 and would carry a tank. If 

I had been able to see into the future to know that ten years later the 

Army would be involved in the development of a watercraft superior 

to any I could have imagined, I might not have been so cheerless. The 

craft was called the Theater Support Vessel (TSV). An Australian 

developed the hull catamaran design. The vessel I would be working 

on would travel across the ocean at 40 to 50 miles per hour, lift above 

the waves, and have great cargo capacity. Inside would be an office 

complex with satellite link capabilities enabling troops to rehearse 

their mission while in route. Laptop computers linked to the satellite 

would provide pictures of the target area giving them a last minute, upto-date mission rehearsal. The huge advantage of knowing where 
avoids surprises and saves time and lives. The training would work 

through a laptop software program and provide the highest form of 

mission rehearsal training, mimicking onboard, aircraft training 

programs. 

 Years later, we learned valuable lessons regarding ocean-going 

ships in Desert Storm. When we peaked at using over 200 ships, more 

than 50 percent of those came from foreign flag owners. It would have 

saved time and money if we’d had our own maritime fleet. Military 

Sealift Command and the Ready Reserve Fleet provided sealift. The 

limited resources of the Military Sealift Command made it a major 

issue and the Army set up a project office with the goal of modifying 

the first Sea-Land SL-7’s, the fast sealift ships coming into the fleet. 

In the mid-eighties, Lieutenant Colonel Dave Whaley, later a two-star 

General and commander of Fort Eustis, was the project manager. The 

SL-7s had been previously owned by the Sea-Land Corporation. The 

goal was to modify the eight we had acquired by giving them wider 

doors, heavier ramps, and stronger floors. We needed a side-loading 

ramp so that equipment could be driven on and off the ship and a 

helicopter landing deck on top. The joint project was co-managed 

between the Army and the Navy, with the Navy doing all the 

procurement. 

Aircraft

 While that was going on, the Army was vigorously supporting the 

Air Force in an endeavor to acquire an aircraft that would later be 

known as the C-17. It was to be an airplane capable of rapid strategic 

delivery of troops and all types of cargo directly to forward bases and 

capable of performing airlift missions when required. It would take 

off and land on a runway as short as 3,000 feet and as narrow as ninety 

feet. In the 1980’s when I was in Germany, the Air Staff came 

through and surveyed the number of airfields in VII Corps in southern 

Germany that were C-141 and C-5 capable. They showed us the 

potential design specs for the new C-17 at that time, saying that the 

aircraft would triple the number of airfields that could be used in VII 

Corps. 
turn provided the information to the Air Staff that helped build the 

early requirements package for the C-17. Through numerous meetings 

in the early eighties of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations and 

the DCSLOG staff, we projected a united front with the Air Force in 

strong support for acquisition of the C-17. The original requirement 

was for 200 aircraft. With cutbacks and downsizing, the number was 

eventually reduced to 120. One of the last things Secretary Aspin did 

was to trim that order to 40. The Army and Air Force were very 

disappointed. The further reduction in number was an unwritten 

message from Secretary Aspin to McDonnell-Douglas, which was 

producing the planes, to straighten up their management and get the 

aircraft costs within budget. 

 I hoped that the first 40 were only an installment toward the 120 

we required. If we were going to try to implement our power 

projection plan, which involved locating 82 percent of our Army 

within the United States by 1996, we needed those planes. The C-17 

was operated by a crew of three (pilot, copilot, and loadmaster), loaded 

through a large aft door that accommodated military vehicles and 

palletized cargo, and could carry all the Army’s air-transportable, 

outsized combat equipment. It could also airdrop paratroopers and 

cargo, manage a payload of 130,000 pounds, cruise at an altitude of 

28,000 feet at 450 knots, and had a fuel range of 5,200 nautical miles. 

To me, one of its most amazing features was the ability to practically 

turn on a dime. On short narrow runways, the C-17 could turn around 

using its backing capability while performing a three-point star turn. 

The C-17 made its maiden flight on September 15, 1991, some ten 

years after I had seen the early requirements in Germany. 

 In 1992, the Army Strategic Mobility Plan (ASMP) and power 

projection plan developed by General Fred Elam and the DCSLOG 

staff needed that kind of aircraft capability. The plan called for a light 

infantry brigade to be on the ground and closed by the fourth day of a 

mission. Twelve days after the campaign start, we wanted the rest of 

the division closed. At the same time, the loading of two heavy 

divisions, armor or mechanized, would begin, with the goal of being 

able to close those divisions (light, heavy, and air assault) within 

C+30, thirty days after the start of the campaign. By C+75, we would 

have added two more along with the rest of the non-divisional units, 
Support Command and a five-division force. In the year 2000, CSA 

General Eric Shinseki would accelerate these goals. 

 Major General William A. (Bill) Stofft and later Brigadier General 

Harold (Hal) Nelson, Chiefs of Military History (CMH) for the Army, 

reviewed the Army’s force closure during Desert Storm. They 

confirmed that the Army broke records with the deployment to Saudi 

Arabia. The end of the first month, the Army had equaled the first five 

months during the buildup year for the Korean War, and by the end of 

the second month, we had equaled the first buildup year during the 

Vietnam War. The Army broke every record but did not move as fast 

as the ASMP indicated. To meet the requirements of the plan, we 

needed 120 C-17s. We also needed new ships to work in concert with 

our SL-7 fast sealift ships. The plan called for an additional 12 ships. 

 Military Sealift Command had to go outside the Navy for over 50 

percent of the fleet used in Desert Shield and Desert Storm. The Civil 

Reserve Air Fleet (CRAF) was activated for the first time in its 38 year 

history. In fact, DoD and TRANSCOM activated CRAF at Stage I, for 

minor regional crises and moved on to Stage II, which is reserved for 

major theater war. Finally, DoD approved and moved into Stage III, 

utilizing their total U.S. commercial airlift capability. This was done 

because we did not have the airlift capability to move our troops into 

Saudi Arabia without using the commercial air fleets. Desert Storm 

and Desert Shield illuminated the situation of a shortfall in air and 

sealift potential to the Department of Defense. During that time, 

Major General Fred E. Elam, Bob Keltz, Colonel Bill Crowder, 

Lieutenant Colonel Dave Lyon, and others deserve kudos for the hours 

they spent briefing General Powell, his staff and Mr. Atwood, the 

Deputy Secretary of Defense. The bottom line rested with the 

tremendous value of a strategically mobile defense system. 

Strategic Mobility

 After serving in Hawaii, Germany, Thailand, Vietnam, and 

Airborne exercises in Korea, I realized the importance of strategic 

mobility. It took on more importance after my experience in Germany 

with REFORGER exercises. The exercises were designed to prove 

U.S. commitment and ability to move conventional military forces 
was born in 1968 when the U.S. agreed, to demonstrate a continued 

commitment to NATO, through a large-scale force deployment of not 

less than three brigades of a single division to Europe in an annual 

exercise each year. 

 The 1st Cavalry Division became the first unit to train as a division 

size element in Northern Europe. All the training, modernization, 

planning, and operations culminated in REFORGER ’83 when the 1st

Cavalry Division deployed nearly 9,000 Soldiers to Holland, drew prepositioned equipment, moved to a staging area, and conducted exercise 

“Certain Strike” on the plains of Holland. The success of the exercise 

proved that the division was fully capable of performing its wartime 

mission. That was the first U.S. deployment to Holland and Northern 

Germany since World War II. 

 During 1982 to 1984 when I was the Director of TRETS, strategic 

mobility was a major program within the Army. Colonel (later Major 

General) Richard (Dick) Larson was the division chief during that 

time, Mr. Bob Keltz was the SES, and we had a number of great action 

officers in Colonels Bill Crowder, Dave Whaley, Roger Thompson, 

Frank Tricomi, and others. 

 During Desert Shield and Desert Storm, we met seven days a week 

at 0600 with the DCSLOG staff and at about seven each morning with 

the Army Chief. On many weekends, we invited Mr. Atwood or the 

Chief of Staff of the Air Force or Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) to 

attend our updates on the air and sealift positions. This helped educate 

the senior leadership, not only Army but also the DoD staff, as well as 

other services, and gain their support. 

 General Colin Powell personally supported the ASMP, which was 

also supported by the Air Force and Navy. At a time when budgets 

were coming down more than 30 percent, Congress also supported our 

plan and appropriated the funds, which by the end mounted to three 

billion dollars. Everyone was aware that America’s maritime fleet was 

in decline, and we needed to upgrade. By 1994, we had contracts to 

produce new ships and aircraft. The Army also began to conduct 

Emergency Deployment Readiness Exercises (EDRE) for sealift. 
now the need for sealift EDREs was recognized. 

 I was at Fort Hood with Major General Wesley K. Clark, 

Commander of the 1st Cavalry Division in the fall of 1993, when he 

prepared the 1st Cavalry for rail transport to Beaumont, Texas to be 

loaded aboard a fast sealift ship. We could not have had a discussion 

of such an operation in the early eighties, and here we were in the 

early nineties with the operation a reality and becoming a common 

practice. I hope that in the next ten years, the Army and Air Force will 

have acquired the additional C-17s and ships it needs. If plans 

continue for returning to an Army that is based primarily in the United 

States, the additional air and sea craft are needed to support our allies, 

our coalition partners, and ourselves. 

 A thorough study in sealift capabilities includes a look at the 

principal port of Saudi Arabia, the King Abdul Aziz Port, Dammam. 

Cargo from all over the world enters the Eastern and Central Provinces 

of the Kingdom through that port, which is the main gateway. Ad 

Dammam is fully self-sufficient with its own administration offices, 

mechanical marine workshops, electrical, telephone, and marine 

communications networks, and water refinery. It has its own clinic, 

fire department, and a large housing complex for port employees, with 

mosques and a supermarket. 

 As I stood there one day, looking at the modern Ad Dammam port, 

it reminded me how antiquated we were at Cam Ranh Bay in Vietnam. 

Ad Dammam was probably a mile long, with a huge warehouse that 

had open sides down the pier area and a large wharf for material 

handling equipment and staging areas with huge gantry cranes to 

handle all the containers. At Cam Ranh Bay, we had the harbor, our 

piers that were DeLong piers, portable metal port facilities. Much of 

the material we used had been stored in the Japan area and towed into 

place during the sixties. Large cylinders were jacked into the surface 

under the water and the pier itself was jacked up into position. The 

DeLong piers were of great benefit for building a pier complex in 

Vietnam, but they were quite antiquated even for that period. 

 In the beginning of Desert Storm, the DoD had only eight Fast 

Sealift Ships that the Navy purchased for direct Army support. We 
War II and all the old 1940 vintage break-bulk ships for deployment 

purposes. They were used in the re-supply effort when time allowed. 

Our eight ships were SL-7s, a 1976 vintage, that were used for 

deployment of our first early deploying divisions. Each division 

required from 12 to 14 ships, and because they had more speed, we 

would rotate them from the Persian Gulf area for the divisions to use. 

The SL-7s could be tracked by satellite, and we watched as they 

moved across the Atlantic or Mediterranean at 20-plus knots. They’re 

fast, but have old technology with very high fuel consumption. The 

new ships have a different engine that is far more fuel-efficient and is 

designed to travel in the 25 knot range. 

 When two of the SL-7’s docked in the Port of Savannah to load the 

24th Infantry Division from Fort Stewart, it closed down the port 

because of the size of the ships. The 1990’s began the shift to use 

RORO cargo ships. The Military Sealift Command had to put a 

number of ROROs in the Ready Reserve Fleet. The ROROs and our 

eight SL-7s gave us a much greater sealift capability. The problem 

arose in activating the ships. We spent millions of dollars a day to 

bring back ROROs and break bulk ships of World War II vintage to 

operating standard for the Merchant Marines to operate. It was our 

best alternative versus going outside our nation to fulfill our needs. 

Today, the goal is to eliminate all those old ships and bring in close to 

50 new or converted ships for the Ready Reserve Fleet. In 1994, the 

SL-7s remained on a 72-hour string for contingency purposes. They 

had 72 hours from the first alert of an emergency or incident to prepare 

for action. 

 SL-7s are strategically berthed around the United States. A small 

on-board staff is required to steam to a designated port within 48 

hours. In port, the rest of the crew arrives and helps load within their 

maximum, outside time-period of 96 hours. Some of the SL-7s that 

sailed to Savannah were berthed in the river north of New Orleans. 

They started steaming almost immediately at the beginning of Desert 

Shield and found themselves arriving early, to the advantage of the 

Army and to Savannah. We’re looking at future locations near 

Savannah on the river rather than New Orleans. Part of the ASMP 

designates strategic Army ports and the future locations for SL-7s and 

other sealift assets. 
 In 1992, funding at DoD had been set aside to improve not only the 

Army division out-loading installations, but also to upgrade the wharf, 

pier areas, rail facilities, staging areas, and lighting at strategic ports. 

Much later, I was in Savannah and Fort Stewart and witnessed the 

upgrading in lighting, the ramp area, the rail-loading area, and the outloading staging areas. The improvements were also made at Fort 

Hood, Beaumont, Fort Campbell, and Jacksonville. Early deploying 

divisions each have a strategic port. These were funded with the 

strategic mobility plan for airlift, sealift, and port modernization 

packages. 

Uniforms

 Uniforms were also in need of revisions, and from 1987 to 1992, 

the Army made many life saving improvements in uniforms. An event 

during Panama brought to light a need to revise the flak jacket. 40 The 

Army had parachuted the Rangers and 82nd Airborne Division into 

Panama on Rio Hata, a drop zone I used to jump. During the invasion, 

a Sergeant that later worked for me ended up in the center of the 

Panamanian Compound because they overshot their landing site. It 

was three in the morning and the Panamanians were all wearing the 

night vision gear. They were shooting at him as he came down, and he 

was shot in the shoulder. It had been raining, and he hit the ground 

and lay in a muddy mess going in and out of consciousness. The last 

thing he remembered was a Panamanian walking over to him, aiming 

an AK-47 at his head, and firing. His Kevlar helmet saved him. The 

round went right around his head, missing him. It set a crease across 

his scalp but never penetrated, and he lived to tell about the narrow 

escape from death. I began to invite him to join me for speeches that 

addressed the new body armor for the head. 

 We selected the Kevlar German-looking helmet because of a threeinch wide band across the back of the head from ear to ear. When 

wearing the old style WWII (steel pot) helmet, the Soldier’s head was 

exposed in the area in which 33 percent of the Soldiers’ head wounds 

occurred. There was criticism for producing a helmet that looked like 

the German helmets, but the design, no doubt, saved lives. 
tired. The new Army works 24 hours a day. They don’t sleep. They 

were dead on their feet. I walked into a medical unit tent where there 

were seven thoracic surgeons. The surgeons were on the ground or 

operating tables sound asleep except for one who got up, staggered 

over to me, and began to apologize. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We’ve 

been operating straight through for days and just finished a few hours 

ago. The parachutists left North Carolina where it was winter and very 

cold and flew to Panama where it was 80 degrees. To cool themselves 

off, they opened their flak jackets. The area that was left unprotected 

was the thorax. The first Airborne trooper wounded came in 30 

minutes after the Soldiers began parachuting in.” 

 After that, Natick Laboratory looked at a new flak jacket design 

with a solid front with side openings. The flak jacket now has a 

protective plate in the front with side openings that Velcro and allow 

for circulation. Kevlar is a magic material and stops most small 

caliber bullets up to AK-47 bullets. That is why we started putting an 

aluminum oxide plate in front about the size of the chest. The plate 

can be removed for light duty, but goes in for something more serious. 

Then there was the problem of the weighty plate when in water, which 

could lead to drowning. Natick changed the plate insert to a bottom 

opening instead of a side insert. That allowed the Soldier who found 

himself in water to rip the plate pocket open from the bottom allowing 

gravity to cause the plate to drop out of the jacket. 

 The Kevlar jackets were lighter than the old flak jackets. The 

Kevlar jacket and our new helmet saved countless lives in Desert 

Storm. In Somalia, one Soldier was standing in a doorway. An RPG 

(rocket propelled grenade) hit him right in the chest and blew him 

through the door. His Sergeant thought he was dead and was telling 

other Soldiers to carry him, when the downed Soldier got to his feet. 

The plate in his jacket was shattered and his chest was badly bruised, 

but he got up. Pat and I both heard this story when we had an 

opportunity to talk to the pilot of Black Hawk Down, CWO Michael 

Durant. 

 The 10th Division Infantry commander told me of ten Soldiers who 

were hit in the chest in Afghanistan in a terrible battle in Operation 

Anaconda. The Americans were surrounded by Al Qaeda (Arabic for 
killed many of the enemy, escaping with only ten wounded. All ten 

were shot in the chest and saved by a new version of their Kevlar 

vests. The vests from that Afghanistan skirmish were sent to the Army 

museum for everyone to see. The uniform improvements continued to 

save life after life, and it seemed appropriate to share the good news. 

 The Army had come so far with improvements since 1958 when 

my Army career began. Back then, we were still using World War II 

arms, rifles, equipment, clothing; all the old materials carried us 

through Korea and beyond. No one spoke of a “modernization 

program” in the fifties and sixties. We had antiquated old stuff with 

which to train, and yet the 25th Infantry Division was the nation’s 

Strategic Pacific Reserve. 

p

Commanding General, AMC, 1992-1994

 On January 31, 1992, I became the commander of Army Materiel 

Command. 1992 was a most notable year in the Ross family. Tony 

graduated from the University of Central Florida in Orlando in the 

spring, and during that year, I received my fourth star. In January, 

General Bill Tuttle and I changed command at AMC, and the family 

moved from the historic home in Fort Myer to a grand and beautiful 

home in Fort Belvoir, Virginia, overlooking the Potomac River.41 

 For many years, the post served as the Army’s Engineer School, 

training more than 700,000 officers and enlisted Soldiers. Fort Belvoir 

is now a strategic, power-projection support installation. It provides 

essential administrative, logistical, and contingency support to the 

nation’s capital and the Military District of Washington (MDW). 

 Before assuming command of AMC, I met with the Army Chief to 

clarify objectives for the command. To my advantage, I was already 

familiar with AMC and its inherent requirements, having served two 

previous tours in AMC, plus having just served as the Army 

DCSLOG. The result was a five page, single-spaced letter from the 

CSA, outlining goals for my command at AMC. Colonel Larry 

Taylor, who was working with me at the time, moved to AMC at my 

request. He and I worked together to draft much of the document, 

filling the letter with my thoughts and ideas, as well as the wishes of 

the Army Chief. Other members of the Army staff also provided input 

into the letter. The Chief, as he saw the future, predicted dramatic 

changes in the size and composition of the Army. We were 

approaching an unsettling time unlike the rather consistent “Vuono 

years.” 

 Shortly before the change of command, the Secretary of the Army, 

the Honorable Michael P. Stone, cornered me and said that he felt 

there was no “business orientation” in AMC. He implied that AMC 

was not a well-managed organization. I took what he said to heart, 

and because our current focus was downsizing, I began meeting with 

several industry CEOs and presidents to discuss their reduction 

strategies. I learned that the bottom line for all downsizing methods 
factors in the organization that made it strong, identify the pillars, and 

leave those sections intact 

 We invited the Pennsylvania State University and Sloan School of 

Business to come to the Pentagon and scheduled regular sessions with 

the faculty. General Sullivan, the CSA, and General Dennis J. Reimer, 

VCSA, attended some of the sessions. The Penn State philosophy 

seemed a fit for our organization and we adopted it in theme and form. 

My task was to build our reduction vision, making sure our core 

competencies—Acquisition, Logistics, and Technology (Research and 

Development) that made us unique in the complex setting of the 

Army—were secure, and sell that vision to those involved. As I 

worked through this process, a personal philosophy of command 

evolved, along with the areas of concern I wished to address. Thus, 

before the change of command, a clear vision for our future focus was 

established and contained not only my objectives, but also those of 

Secretary Stone and General Sullivan. 

 The change of command ceremony at Fort Myer took place on a 

Friday. The following morning I asked my two-star commanders to 

meet with me at Fort Belvoir. During the meeting, I covered the 

cultural shift in our organization that would be required of AMC and 

our goals of looking toward the future and discerning what was 

important, what made us critical, and what value AMC added to the 

total Army picture. The major goal was to reshape our organization, 

making it run as a business and as efficient and productive as possible. 

I asked for a commitment from each to become a team player toward 

that objective. 

 General Tuttle was supportive. We had been friends for many 

years, from our Colonel days. Our wives and families were friends, 

and it was enjoyable and comfortable to have a transition with a good 

friend who had done a superb job. AMC excelled during Desert 

Shield and Desert Storm. Thirty days after the change of command, he 

came back to answer questions, offer suggestions, and make sure the 

continuity factor was still high. 

 The Army issued Program Budget Guidance (PBG) in September 

1991, asking the Army to reduce by 25 percent. I took command in 
must be cut from the structure of AMC. Experience taught me to tread 

gingerly with personnel cuts. Reduction-in-Force (RIF) tears at the 

fiber of an organization, morale slides down hill, and everyone begins 

to feel demoralized. Major General Johnnie E. Wilson, AMC Chief of 

Staff, Lt. General Leo J. Pigaty, AMC Deputy Commanding General, 

and I were committed to meeting our reduction requirements without 

RIF, or with as few personnel cuts as possible. We survived 1992 with 

minimal cuts; small pockets of six people here and eight people there 

had to go, but there was no major RIF that year. 

 The Program Budget Guidance (PBG) for 1993, however, 

specifically recommended the removal of 13,000 jobs. Originally, the 

cut called for 7,000, and for that 7,000, there was no funding to pay for 

associated costs. For that reason, we took 5,000 personnel out of the 

next year and brought that savings forward, raising it to about 13,000, 

so it could be self-financing. We knew our work force was aging, and 

if our timing was right, we could eventually reduce our work force 

through early retirement without a major RIF. 

 Presentations to plead for incentive packages for early retirees 

were made to Congress in 1992, and if necessary, we were ready to 

approach Congress again in 1993 asking for incentives to induce 

people who were retirement eligible to leave. As an argument for our 

position, AMC offered statistics from Major General Joe Raffiani and 

a Tank Automotive Command (TACOM) survey that involved 500 

people. It concluded that a comparison of savings between RIF and 

early retirement incentives represents a three to one ratio in favor of 

early retirement packages. Congress deserves the final kudos for 

approving an incentive package of $25,000.00 per person. Granted 

this left a civilian with about $18,000.00 after taxes, but it was a far 

better arrangement, for both worker and employer, than being fired to 

accommodate downsizing. 

 One day, when some 20 people were departing, a farewell gettogether was in progress, and people were saying their good-byes over 

cakes, cookies, and punch. Some were even AMC employees who had 

come with General Frank S. Besson, Jr. in the early sixties from T-7, 

the early home of AMC in a World War II building near Ronald 

Reagan National Airport. Because most people viewed me as the 
joining them, even though I had friends in the room. When I walked 

in, the greetings were cordial; I detected no sarcasm or darts. I’d 

known most of them since the mid-eighties, counted them as my 

friends, and it was a good meeting. Of those retiring, 90 percent 

received the early retirement incentive package. None felt that the 

$25,000.00 was enough to transition to a new job or career. 

 More than half of the people leaving wanted me to know how 

proud they were of their service with the Army; proud of what they’d 

accomplished during Vietnam, Desert Shield/Desert Storm, Panama, 

and Somalia. AMC was a tight community with a family atmosphere, 

and their focus on the job and working as a team was high. I entered 

the room that day apprehensive and left feeling so good about our 

group and proud of our people. 

 AMC headquarters is a terrific group of survivors. When I was 

Chief of Staff there in the mid 1980’s, we had about 2,400 people. By 

1994, it dropped below 1,000. Sixty percent of the headquarters staff 

was gone. It was quite emotional to let go over 20,000 people. One of 

our great civilians, Mike Edwards, verified that reduction touched 32 

states. From 1992 to 1994, as I explained to the Army Chief and Vice 

Chief, we took the equivalent of two light infantry divisions out of 

AMC. Through all this, the people were courageous and wonderful. 

Reshaping is difficult and I hope that AMC is now over the hump. My 

goal was to achieve our objective and at the same time take care of our 

people, our most important and precious resource. 

 During 1992 to 1994, AMC established two new commands, 

STRICOM (Simulation, Training, and Instrumentation Command) and 

CBDCOM (Chemical and Biological Defense Command). Both 

evolved from needs inherent in operating with a smaller Army. In the 

spring of 1992 in Orlando, Florida, we raised the newly approved 

STRICOM flag and activated the Army’s Simulation Center of 

Excellence. Lieutenant General Billy Thomas, the outgoing AMC 

Deputy Commander, deserves a lot of credit for working all the details 

and building the new command. STRICOM involved combining 

several Program Managers (PMs) and Training Aids and Devices to 

provide simulation-training experiences. This organization is the focal 

point of all simulation in the Army. They interact with contractors to 
tactical trainer, or the close combat tactical trainer. 

 Simulation training has been used in the aircraft industry for years, 

training pilots through a mock up of an actual plane, giving them 

critical experience in the cockpit that duplicates the act of flying 

without the consequences of errors. Our children replicate driving a 

car when they play video games with a driver’s seat, steering wheel, 

accelerator, brake pedal and gear shift. The video screen provides 

feedback as to their driving performance. Our Army training 

simulators, although more complex, operate in the same manner. The 

learning curve is much higher and competency is achieved much faster 

through simulation training because of the immediate and precise 

feedback to the trainee. A Soldier fires at a tank during a simulation 

exercise, immediately sees whether or not his target was hit, sees the 

tank’s reaction such as rearing back from the impact, and observes the 

damage the hit caused. 

 Another area in which simulation is beneficial involves design and 

production of equipment such as tanks. Computer programs that 

facilitate research, development, test, and evaluation save hundreds of 

man-hours and material. In spite of the obvious benefits of simulation, 

persuading “Hill staffers” to fund a change from the current methods 

was a hard sell. They kept referring to a public law allowing live fire 

testing, indicating, “There will be live fire testing.” They wouldn’t 

accept the simulation initially. I was again up against the basic human 

principal of “change is always difficult and resistance to change is a 

given.” Major General (later Lieutenant General) Ronald Hite 

deserves major credit for the highly successful Test and Evaluation 

Program at TECOM. 

 Trying a bit of humor, I related the story about a live fire 

testing situation that involved an M1A1 tank. The objective was to 

observe and examine the damage done to our tank by the 

ammunition strikes. Unfortunately, the tank in this particular 

exercise was the first M1A1 tank to roll off the assembly line. A 

formal christening ceremony was held for the tank, in which Mrs. 

Abrams, the widow of former Army Chief of Staff General 

Creighton Abrams, christened the tank with champagne. 

Somehow, that tank ended up in the live fire testing exercise, and 
Dynamics had taken that tank, and it was the first one to go to “live 

fire testing,” we were mortified. We scrambled about saying, “Get 

that tank out of there and repair it!” 

 The Association of the U.S. Army (AUSA) sponsored a large 

winter symposium in Orlando with over 2,000 attendees and some 40 

defense contractors, military, and civilians in attendance. In an 

attempt to gain support for simulation, AMC set up one of the big 

symposium centerpieces for General Gordon Sullivan, our new Army 

Chief. The theme of the presentation was shortening the acquisition 

cycle, reducing the amount of time from drawing board to finished 

product. We demonstrated, using a simulation process, how 

production time could be cut from twelve to about eight years. 

Because we were downsizing the CSA, General Sullivan had 

suggested we look at going to a smaller version of the M1 tank with a 

three-Soldier capacity rather than the usual four-man crew. In only 

two weeks, Major General Joe Raffiani at TACOM and I returned with 

a simulation of a three-person, 35 ton tank, half the size of the M1A1. 

 In 1992, the area of Chemical and Biological Defense had not 

changed since 1984. There were chemical-biological missions 

scattered all over AMC, and no one was in charge. These fragments of 

units covered work from chemical-biological projects to engineering, 

research, and development. As early as 1984, Brigadier General 

Bobby Robinson, before his death, spoke out about the lack of synergy 

and organization in the Army’s chemical-biological area. I wanted to 

complete that mission AMC had started back in 1984. 

 Brigadier General Jan Van Prooyen started the action. He pulled 

together the first package used in briefing Mrs. Susan Livingston 

(Assistant Secretary of the Army, Installations, Logistics, and the 

Environment) and Mr. John Shannon (Under Secretary of the Army). 

Brigadier General George E. Friel, who had previously worked for 

General Robinson when I was the AMC headquarters Chief of Staff, 

joined me at this time. He and his staff did 99 percent of the work, 

creating a vision for the future with a well-organized Chemical and 

Biological Defense Command, with all of AMC scattered functions 

centralized into one headquarters. General Friel did dual duty during 

those years, as my senior chemical and biological staff officer and 
provisionally activated the new command, complete with new flag and 

crest, with the raising of the flag and the presentation of a command 

flag to General Friel. 

 By the time I became commander of AMC, I had been involved in 

foreign military sales and security assistance for ten to twelve years. 

A major organization within AMC was the U.S. Army Security 

Assistance Command. Major General Bill Fitzgerald was the 

USASAC commander and traveled with me on every foreign trip. He 

had run the Office for Military Cooperation (OMC) in Egypt and 

thoroughly understood the foreign military sales and security 

assistance process. Bill was a great friend and avid runner. We used 

to say that we held the record for running in more foreign countries 

than anyone. 

 The Defense Institute of Security Assistance Management 

(DISAM) provided professional education, research, and support to 

advance U.S. foreign policy through security assistance and 

cooperation. DISAM covers projects from education and training, to 

support programs for equipment operation and maintenance, to foreign 

policy for providing security assistance to other countries. In 1994, I 

learned that the Office of Secretary of Defense cut DISAM’s 

International Military Education and Training program by 50 percent. 

From my prospective, the cut was extreme and could potentially harm 

us in foreign relations. How many future chiefs of staff from which 

countries did we eliminate through that cut? Which friendly foreign 

countries would have helped us through diplomatic channels in the 

future? The cut diminished many important foreign connections. 

 At the same time, the security assistance program had grown to be 

the largest foreign military sales in U. S. Army history. In October 

1992, the Army Chief asked that I represent the United States Army in 

Sweden as they looked at procuring a new Army tank. We were 

competing with France and Germany to sell military tanks to Sweden, 

and he was unable to attend the meeting. I agreed and, accompanied 

by a small Army team, traveled to Sweden to sell tanks. The German 

Chancellor personally represented Germany and the Leopard tank. 

The Premier from France represented his country and the LeClerc 
we had a good chance of making the sale. 

 My Swedish counterpart in the negotiations was Major General 

Green, a senior acquisition, research and development, and 

engineering staff General. During our three days of discussions, 

General Green asked if I could get his deputy into the American Army 

War College. 

 My imagination raced to an image of him signing on the bottom 

line to buy our tanks. Should the sale go through, Sweden would buy 

400 M1 tanks. The three billion dollar program package would touch 

over 30 U.S. states. I knew exactly the desk that arranged foreign 

military education and called that office directly. The request was 

approved within 24 hours. 

 Alas, in spite of our best endeavors, the Germans won the Swedish 

tank contest. I had argued that the German tank had not been proven 

in battle like the American M1 had proved in Desert Storm. Our 

presentation included battle statistics, color photos, and examples of 

how our M1 rolled over the Iraqi Republican Guard units and blew the 

turrets off half their tanks. We had not disabled the tank; we’d blown 

the turret away. I think what defeated us was history and tradition. 

Sweden traditionally aligns with the European market, and buying 

from the U.S., especially in a transaction with a billion dollar potential, 

was unpopular politically. In the end, they were afraid not to do 

business with the Common Market. 

 During my command at AMC, our lives decidedly moved up a 

notch on the amenities ladder. Our home in Belvoir was expansive 

and beautiful to accommodate the status and entertaining that came 

with the job. Pat took it all in stride, gracefully decorating our new 

home, managing a small staff, and creating elegant, yet comfortable, 

dinner parties and other entertainment occasions. Sergeant First Class 

(SFC) Willie Harmon and MSG Don Inman provided invaluable help 

to Pat with all household responsibilities and became fast friends 

almost immediately. An Army aircraft, a Gulf Stream IV, and staff 

were at my disposal, due to the extensive travel demands of the job. 

SFC Mark Balazs, whom I met in Germany, was my security guard 

and driver and traveled with me everywhere. Mark was a Military 
with me for morning exercise during my daily runs. Major Rick 

Hatch, my aide, who later was promoted to Colonel, and had been with 

me since the early 1990’s, also ran with us. Our staff was more like 

family, all hard workers, dedicated to their jobs, and genuinely nice 

people. 

 Each day of every trip was tightly scheduled and involved various 

meetings, speech-making, and touring facilities. Pat accompanied me, 

at times, with her own eight-hour plus agenda of visiting schools in the 

area and making diplomatic calls on hospitals and housing areas, 

primarily those populated with American families. Pat became my 

humor control officer (HCO). When I was overly obsessed, stressed, 

and concerned about an issue, Pat managed to find someway to relieve 

the situation. 

 The key to making this team of Sergeants and officers into a 

cohesive unit was my Executive Officer, Colonel Robert Shadley. 

Bob was one of the Army’s great Colonels and had served as the 

DISCOM Commander for the 1st Infantry Division, “The Big Red 

One.” Bob accompanied me on every visit to an Army division 

around the world. 

 We were on an almost around-the-world trip once, with days of 

meetings in different locations scattered about the globe. Many of the 

stops involved stressful meetings, and our stop in Saudi Arabia was no 

exception. The Saudi government was in arrears on payments to the 

U.S., and I was the glorified messenger and bill collector. 

 

The debt occurred from the purchases they’d made just after the U.S. 

Army’s successful campaign in Desert Storm. On purchases such as 

this one, the weapons we sell are about 80 percent of what we actually 

have in weaponry. 

 That day in 1993, as our plane touched down in Riyadh, the 

temperature had to be well over 120 degrees. The Generals rushed up 

to greet me as we deplaned, ignoring Pat. I was whisked away with 

pomp and handshaking to a beautiful area that looked like a palace and 

was graciously offered several different types of hot tea. Not exactly 

my “cup of tea” in such heat. Lynn Rhame, wife of Major General 
customary dress of Saudi women, and carrying a paper bag. Pat and 

Lynn moved to an out-of-the-way place about 200 feet from where the 

men were meeting. No one greeted them, they had no chairs in which 

to sit, and were offered no tea. 

 The women were not allowed to ride in the same car with the men. 

I was in one of a series of military armored cars while Lynn and Pat 

followed in what Pat described as a “tuna can.” Finally, that evening, 

we were together again, alone at last in the plush VIP suite of the 

Saudi Officers Club/Hotel. Pat told me how her little car was caught 

in a mob of people, a monstrous traffic jam caused by what seemed 

like thousands of pedestrians dressed in white. The guide explained 

that the crowd was made up of Muslims returning from their 

pilgrimage to Mecca. They were dressed in simple white robes, each 

and every one of them. The guide explained that the robes strip away 

distinctions of class and culture so that all stand equal before Allah. 

 “All two million of them had our little tuna can of a car surrounded 

today!” she concluded. 

 We wandered around the suite, marveling at the expensive, plush 

furniture, and marble bathroom with its gold fittings and fixtures. I had 

been assured that there was no need for a key to our suite. 

“Everything will be safe,” the Saudi had explained. “There will be no 

need to lock away your possessions. No one will intrude or bother 

your belongings.” The reason may have been that we had a Soldier 

with a machine gun standing guard outside our front door at all times. 

 On such trips as this one, the entire staff routinely met around 6:30 

AM. We walked through every issue and answered every possible 

question about the issues of the day. All critical issues were 

thoroughly discussed. The staff was multi-disciplined with each 

person representing a different area of expertise. Typically, a senior 

foreign military sales person, Bill Fitzgerald, a two-star, was always 

with me. In Saudi, a senior Army Colonel, Geoff Prosch, a part of the 

Saudi Arabia National Guard (SANG), joined us. Geoff later became 

an assistant secretary of the Army. 
that was on the suite’s large veranda, discussed the business of the day, 

had a lavish breakfast and were on our way to the first meeting by 

7:45. Pat was on the opposite side of the suite and after we were gone, 

went to the outer room to retrieve her breakfast. There was nothing 

there. She called downstairs. 

 “This is Mrs. Ross, and I would like to order breakfast,” Pat said to 

the man on the other end of the line. 

 “General Ross has already eaten,” the voice said. 

 “Well, Mrs. Ross would like to have something to eat,” Pat 

insisted. 

 “General Ross has already eaten,” the voice repeated. 

 “Mrs. Ross has not eaten,” she replied. 

 “General Ross has already eaten,” again came the slightly irritated 

response. 

 “Well, General Ross would like something more to eat,” Pat said, 

changing her tactics. When in a man’s world, give the man credit for 

everything, she reasoned. 

 “Yes, yes, it will be right up,” the voice said, changing from 

irritated to accommodating. 

 On this trip I met the Crown Prince Abdullah, heir apparent to 

King Fahd, who at that time was the senior prince among about 500 

Saudi princes. He was very articulate, very smart, probably in his late 

fifties, early sixties. Most Saudis with whom we dealt were quite 

sophisticated, some had their doctorates, and had been educated in the 

Untied States or England. In Saudi Arabia, no one paid for education, 

not even college, and medical treatment was free. 

 Rare informal gatherings that included our wives were most 

interesting. In public, the Saudi women we encountered wore their 

abayahs. At home, they took off the black robe and had the most 
expensive, exquisite jewelry. It was an eye-opener and a contrast to 

lifestyles of the majority of women there. 

 We quickly learned to be very careful about compliments. If you 

said you liked something, they would give it to you. A friend of mine, 

Lieutenant General Gus Pagonis and his wife were there. Gus was the 

Army’s senior logistician during Desert Shield and Storm and did a 

great job leading and integrating the logistics missions for ARCENT, 

CENTCOM, and the Army. It was an amazing feat in which we all 

took pride. They were admiring one of the Saudi’s cars, and he tried 

to give it to them. Gus misunderstood and thought the Saudi wanted to 

let him drive the car, which was a Mercedes 450SEL. 

 When Gus finally understood that the man wanted to give him the 

car, he said he could not accept. “Well, give it to your son,” the man 

said. “I have many more at home just like it.” 

 The overwhelming generosity of the Saudis was difficult to miss 

and no doubt an extension of the enormous wealth they enjoyed. The 

opulence was apparent in most aspects of the lives of Saudi men and 

stood in stark contrast to the cloak of suppression under which the 

abayah-clad women of their country went about their public lives. The 

women have no rights and the majority live under complete control of 

their fathers and husbands. 

 The next day, we concluded our business in Saudi Arabia and flew 

to Egypt. The task of our staff at this stop was to discuss why we were 

not selling the Egyptians a particular classified tank ammunition 

round, which at that time was probably the best in the world. Even 

though we would not sell them the round, they insisted someone from 

the U.S. military come to Egypt to discuss it with them. Since Egypt 

was allowing us to form a base of operations in their country, it was 

important for us to meet with them. This also came at a time when we 

were building an M1 tank plant outside of Cairo that would produce 

500 tanks. We were in the process of getting that started and were 

shipping huge boxes of parts to that area: engines, turrets, tracks. 

Once the operation was up and running, the process would be like 

putting tinker toys together, except that the final product would be a 

tank. 
 Our plane touched down at the Cairo International Airport, and a 

group from the American Embassy literally grabbed me as we 

deplaned, explaining that they needed a meeting prior to my speaking 

to anyone in Egypt. In their haste and urgency, I was rushed away to 

the Embassy, leaving Pat, whose feet had barely touched Egyptian 

soil, behind. My Embassy meeting was a long one in which my staff 

and the Embassy staff discussed all aspects of all issues to be covered 

during my visit. The primary concern was Egypt’s request for the 

ammunition round. We covered what we, the Army, had said, and 

what they, the Embassy, had said, making certain we were on the same 

sheet of music at every turn. A brain storming session followed, 

covering possible questions and our answers. It wasn’t until we had 

exhausted thinking through all possible scenarios and planning a 

strategy to address each one that we felt comfortable about our unified 

position. 

 Meanwhile, Pat was met at the airport by a limousine from the 

hotel. Our accommodation was in what had once been a grand palace 

and was now a Marriott Hotel, with all the royal grandeur preserved. 

The hotel was expecting Pat and me both to be arriving in the 

limousine, and they actually rolled out a red carpet from the door to 

the limousine with great pomp and circumstance. Pat said later, she’d 

never been so embarrassed in her life. Amid all the royal treatment 

and hoop-la, one small Arkansas woman emerged from the limo. She 

was escorted to the top floor, ushered through large double doors into 

a cavernous suite, which was probably bigger than any house we’ve 

ever owned. The living room was huge with spacious sitting areas. 

Fresh flowers were everywhere, seven gigantic arrangements in the 

living room alone. Pat was led through a dining room where the long 

table was laden with trays of petite fours, hors d’oeuvres, tea 

sandwiches, and chocolates. 

 When the tour was complete, and the attendant was gone, Pat was 

left alone. With no meetings or tours until the next morning, Pat found 

herself in a rare moment of solitude with no scheduled agenda. She 

fairly danced around the beautiful suite, amazed to be in such a place, 

and happy for a few moments totally to herself. She examined and 

smelled every flower arrangement. Through the course of the 

afternoon, Pat sat in every chair, tasted every type of goodie from tea 
as she reveled in her few free hours of total solitude. 

 Meanwhile, at the conclusion of my meeting, the Embassy staff 

told me that I would be staying in the Presidential Suite at the old 

palace which had been converted to a Marriott. Those are extravagant 

accommodations, and you will very much enjoy being there, they 

explained, but be careful about what you do and say. The suite, they 

believed, had been equipped with sophisticated surveillance 

paraphernalia, not only audio, but also video. 

 I asked about my morning staff meetings that I held for 

coordination. The embassy advisor suggested using the balcony as it 

overlooked the Nile River, and there was a street below. “At 6:30 

every morning, there will be all kinds of street noise,” he said. 

“Conduct your meetings there.” 

 The first thing I did when I arrived at the hotel was usher Pat to the 

balcony and explain the surveillance system. She was mortified. “I’ve 

acted a fool,” she explained, “and it’s all on tape.” 

 The Egyptians knew that I was one of four touchstones through 

which they could receive anything. AMC literally bought 92 percent 

of everything the Army bought. They would go to Defense, then 

State, and even to the President in the form of a letter requesting the 

goods they wanted. The Egyptians wanted a tank round of depleted 

uranium. It’s probably the hardest metal, comparable to titanium. Our 

tank round has a rod in it, and we can get the speeds up to near hyperspeed. When the rod hits an Iraqi tank two or three miles away, it will 

blow the turret completely off. Fins help stabilize it as it is propelled 

at hyper-speed. 

 Egypt’s situation was complex, and both State and Defense felt 

that we could not let them buy the tank rounds. The potential for 

technology transfer to other non-friendly countries was a serious 

governmental concern. Before the Egyptian request came to the 

Army, the matter was processed through highly detailed inspections. 

The CIA and the Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA) were all involved 

in such matters. By the time the request reached me, enough 

information had been gathered to make a decision based on our 
could not sell Egypt the special rounds. 

 Domestic issues, as well as the foreign ones, consumed my time. 

The hurricane season of 1992 brought the massive tropical storm of 

Hurricane Andrew on land just south of Miami Beach, packing winds 

up to 155 miles per hour. It left a path of destruction in its wake from 

Florida to Louisiana, with Florida being the hardest hit. Andrew was a 

Category Four storm that virtually flattened the communities of 

Homestead, Culver City, and Florida City. More than 60 people were 

killed and scores more injured. 117,000 homes were destroyed or 

suffered major damage and close to two million residents had to be 

temporarily evacuated. Flooding and high winds destroyed thousands 

of acres of crops, and the storm’s total cost was estimated at 20 billion 

dollars. 

 Hurricane Andrew was a great example of how the Army and 

AMC work in peacetime. The mission started on a Sunday afternoon 

when General Sullivan called saying, “The governor of Florida has 

asked for federal assistance. Let’s get our people out there.” “Our 

people” was a small team that went with Major General Tom Arwood. 

AMC’s mission was a federal one, and we were there to support all 

Armed Services, all federal agencies, and all national relief 

organizations in Florida. The federal agencies included the Federal 

Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), the Forestry Department, 

the Department of Interior, and the Department of Transportation. The 

national relief organizations were the Red Cross, Salvation Army, 

Helping Hand, and Second Harvest. We also coordinated with the 

state and local officials as required. We used a new group we referred 

to as the Logistics Support Group (LSG). 

 The LSG evolved from the need during Desert Storm to develop a 

single organization for various projects and missions AMC was doing 

piecemeal. During Desert Storm, we began sending over Anniston and 

Red River Depot civilian workers. Artillery civilians were going from 

Letterkenny. Communications repairpersons were sent from 

Tobyhanna and aircraft maintenance went from Corpus Christi. The 

efforts were not coordinated. General Vuono commented that our 

efforts in these areas needed to be coordinated and organized under 

one umbrella. He also stated that he no longer wanted to send a 
comments, the LSG organization was born. General Vuono wanted 

the 30 separate organizations, all from AMC in Saudi, under one 

command. He wanted one person, a single commander, in charge of 

them all, and the LSG became that organization. 

 Another area of reorganization that was accomplished during my 

command at AMC was in the Research and Development area. The 

roots of the effort began back in the early eighties when AMC had 

over 20 laboratories under the name of Laboratory Command 

(LABCOM). The laboratories were scattered and working 

independently of each other. General Bob Moore, as the DCG of 

Research and Development, was given the task of pulling together the 

various laboratories and related laboratory elements, which also 

involved corporate-level laboratories. 

 Later, we took the next level of labs and aligned them to each of 

the two-star commands. They are aligned by commodity command, 

giving each commodity a Research, Development, and Engineering 

Center (RDEC). There were RDECs for aviation, missiles, tank 

automotive, communication and electronics, and armaments. The 

centers were in their commodity commands, but all linked to the Army 

Research Laboratory (ARL), the old LABCOM. The culmination of 

our efforts came in February 1994 when the Defense Performance 

Review Office designated ARL a National Reinvention Laboratory. In 

March 1994, ARL’s Draft Performance Plan under the Government 

Performance and Results Act of 1993 (GPRA) was forwarded to the 

Office of Management and Budget. Our model and pilot program was 

one that would meet the standards of Vice President Gore’s program in 

the productivity and streamlining area. 

 I’m proud of ARL. It became the Army’s “flagship” in DoD, a 

state-of-the-art organization. Should the Army be successful in 

another Desert Storm in the future, the high technology that would see 

us through would emanate from ARL and RDECs. We advertised 

Army-wide, Department of Defense-wide, government-wide, and 

industry-wide for a new director of ARL. We had over 90 applications 

that cut across industry, government, Army, and other services, and the 

clear candidate was Dr. John Lyons, who took ARL to a new level of 

excellence. Reorganization from LABCOM to ARL required no 
higher level of productivity. The key goal in this project was to effect 

synergism. Research in isolation tends to be less effective than in an 

atmosphere that lends itself to collaboration and shared ideas. In this 

case, we envisioned that the sum of the parts would be greater than the 

whole. 

 Credit for building the LABCOM organization goes to General 

Thompson, General Moore, Richard Vitali, and Bob Black who 

worked on it in the mid-eighties. George Singley, Major Generals 

Malcolm O’Neill and Jerry Harrison, Senior SES Darold Griffin and 

many others who were involved in building ARL in the nineties also 

deserve credit. In the early nineties, we built two ARL facilities, one 

at Adelphi, Maryland, and another at Aberdeen Proving Ground, 

Maryland, each costing around 100 million dollars. With the new 

facilities, we had state-of-the-art laboratory facilities. It was an 

exciting area in the development of new technology. 

 We also incorporated a refined budget system into our accounting 

practices during that time. Several months before I arrived at AMC, 

Secretary of the Army Stone asked that we meet in his office to 

discuss his concerns regarding the lack of good business practices in 

the AMC organization. From his concerns grew our procedure of 

tracking every dollar from the highest AMC level down through the 

organization to the activity cost center, such as a depot, arsenal, or 

laboratory. Through the efforts of many, and especially Lieutenant 

General Leo Pigaty, AMC established a process that is consistent with 

Best Business Practices. Later, in 1994, when Mr. Stone was working 

in the private industry sector, I continued to keep him updated through 

notes and brochures of our progress that began with his concerns that 

afternoon. 

 Darold Griffin was the intellectual leader and was highly 

instrumental in developing the Army’s acquisition-streamlining 

program. In the early 1990’s, Army acquisitions worked through a 

major maze of bureaucracy before anything was acquired. We had 

more guidance from Congress than anyone deserved on how to buy 

equipment. My first experience with this was in the early seventies 

when I was in the Director of Materiel Acquisition of DCSLOG. This 

office handled the procurement budget for the Army. We tracked all 
Bradley Fighting Vehicle, the Apache Helicopter, the Multiple Launch 

Rocket System, and the Patriot Missile) averaged 12 to 15 years to 

produce, with one example of an 18 year production time. We simply 

could not function effectively in this mode. We could not stand for the 

bureaucratic practices and delays that we had in the producing and 

acquiring equipment. 

 We set about to rectify this problem, and in 1992, AMC was 

leading DoD in the acquisition area. Through dealing with the Air 

Force and the Navy, I recognized that of the branches of the service, 

our system was far ahead. We presented our Acquisition Challenge 

Strategy papers at an Atlanta conference to the cheers and best wishes 

from CEOs from industry. We addressed dealing with the new 

environment, achieving efficiency in productivity, and dropping 

unnecessary and cumbersome bureaucratic barriers between the Army 

and industry. 

 A plan on paper is all well and good, but can be worthless if not 

successfully utilized. We set about educating and training our work 

force in the new procedures. General Billy Thomas, AMC DCG, and 

Lieutenant General August M. Cianciolo, Military Deputy in SARDA 

(the Assistant Secretary of the Army for Research, Development, and 

Acquisition) led an AMC-SARDA team, to put our plan into practice. 

They called the four to six hour discussions to large audiences in post 

auditoriums their “Road Show.” The presentations to educate were 

followed with the necessary training and our new plan became a 

working reality. 

 In 1992 the last of our children married. Tony, having graduated 

from the University of Central Florida, was working for Lockheed 

Martin Corporation and had fallen in love with a young lady, also a 

UCF graduate, who worked just down the hall. He and Cyndee were 

married in Orlando. 

 The year of 1993 ushered in a new administration. President 

William J. (Bill) Clinton’s team brought with it Colleen A. Preston, 

Deputy Under Secretary of Defense (Acquisition Reform), Anita 

Jones, John Deutch, and Bill Perry. They were quite interested in our 

acquisition plan and designed a new DoD Acquisition Streamlining 
thought that spoke rather highly of what AMC had accomplished in 

the acquisition/procurement area after all the years we spent defining 

and redefining our procedures. 

 AMC was also given a major mission order by the Army Chief to 

change the direction of AMC in order to make it a power projection 

resource for the Army. Under the revised plan, all war reserves 

belonged to AMC. AMC picked up all strategic war materiel and 

stocks. All pre-positioned materiel that had been configured to unit 

sets (POMCUS) belonged to AMC. Desert Shield/Desert Storm 

brought to the forefront a need to empower logistics procedures during 

wartime. Folks now understood that the most vital component to 

organizing and projecting a major combat force was projecting major 

logistics support. A Soldier’s effectiveness is highly dependent on his 

weapons and equipment. Ingenuity and determination can carry a 

Soldier far, but a well performing weapon and high tech equipment 

saves valuable time and countless, priceless lives in a war. 

 Many, including Mr. Bob Keltz, Major General Tom Arwood, and 

now Major General Frank F. Henderson, accomplished a major change 

in the way AMC operated in wartime and all deserve great praise. The 

work of so many SES employees, such as David Mills, Michael 

Sandusky, and James Emahiser, helped secure the change. 

 During Desert Shield/Desert Storm, the Army was given the 

requirement of supporting all services. That included a total of over 

500,000 Air Force, Navy, Marines, and Coast Guard. General Norman 

Schwarzkopf, Jr., Commander of Operation Desert Storm, made the 

request, and General Colin Powell, JCS Chairman, gave the Army the 

responsibility for seven executive agent areas: food (Class I), clothing, 

tents, barrier materials (limited Classes II and IV), bulk fuel (Class III 

bulk, packaged products were being handled separately), conventional 

ammunition (Class V), clearing the Air Force airfield ramps of cargo, 

and second destination transportation movements of service supplies to 

the Army, USAF, Navy, or Marine locations (Class VII), and limited 

(Class IX) repair parts. 

 The Desert Storm directive and the one involving Hurricane 

Andrew primarily facilitated the creation of LSG. Those are the two 
AMC logistics support. With the U.S. Army Training and Doctrine 

Command (TRADOC) and the DA staff, we worked on Field Manual, 

Operations 100-5 (June, 1993), which is the umbrella field manual 

from which all other regulations emanate, incorporating lessons 

learned in AMC’s massive endeavors. The 20-plus new areas we 

addressed were a joint staff effort between the TRADOC commander, 

General Fred Franks, and me as AMC commander. 

 Within the logistics side of the Army, we took pride in the 

accomplishments made during that era. There were external factors, 

however, that bothered me. The massive centralization philosophy 

coming from the Department of Defense at the time was disturbing. 

Centralization has its merits in many cases, and I am an advocate of 

consolidation when it results in more efficient and effective 

productivity. Removing the supply functions and all the commissaries 

from the Army, however, didn’t result in savings or improved 

productivity. The supply function targeted over 200,000 common 

items of consumables. Then the maintenance depots were merged into 

AMC’s commodity command. I was concerned, not only about the 

reduced efficiency of day-to-day operations, but about the demise of 

Title X and public law. 

 The reduction in military and civilian forces that we were 

experiencing was very difficult. In the fiscal year of 1990, the total 

budget for the Army exceeded 90 billion dollars. The Defense 

Department had over 90 billion to use for Army programs. By 1994, 

the budget dropped to 61 billion. While I was at AMC, the Army, 

which was pushed by DoD, targeted the procurement and research and 

development areas. AMC’s budget dropped from 15 billion to 6 

billion dollars. The results were devastating. 

 If asked if we were continuing to modernize, I’d have to answer 

“no.” We aren’t buying any more weapons systems. There were only 

two left on the board, the Comanche Helicopter (RAH-66) and the 

Advanced Field Artillery System (AFAS-Crusader). These two 

programs were being sub-optimized and reduced each year. To the 

surprise of no one, both were eventually killed. New high tech 

packages like the Inter-Vehicular Information System (IVIS) for the 

M1 tank are being inserted into the old platform. Our plans include 
Kiowa Helicopter (OH-58) will go to the D Model, which arms it with 

Hellfire, Hydra 70s, and Stingers. The Army modernization program 

was reduced to technology insertion into old platforms. 

 In retrospect, the AMC command was a time of positive change, in 

spite of major cutbacks and reductions. I’m proud of the men and 

women with whom I worked to effect the changes. Each one served 

his or her country in a unique manner, contributing from a personal 

well of talent and expertise. AMC’s combined efforts effected the 

changes and produced results in all major logistics areas: supply, 

maintenance, transportation and distribution, ammunition, and foreign 

military sales. 

 After 35 years and nine months, I retired from the Army in March 

1994. Pat and I moved from the spacious, historic, beautiful home on 

the Potomac River to a small 14th floor apartment in Arlington, 

Virginia, overlooking Washington, D.C. My Army career had not 

evolved as I had imagined in my youth. Instead of an infantryman on 

the frontlines, battling an enemy that dared threaten the security and 

freedom of our county, I became a behind-the-scenes logistician who 

nurtured the Soldier with food, fuel, clothing, lodging, ammunition, 

maintenance, equipment, supplies, transportation, and improved 

technology. Just as the tapestry of puzzle pieces make little sense until 

the picture is complete, the purpose for each piece of my career 

became clearer with time. Every phase taught me what I needed to 

know for the next level. In March 1994, the Army picture complete, I 

was filled with a sense of awe at where the forks in the road took me. 

I could never have designed our Army life as well on my own. 

p

Reflections

 It was official. I was no longer the Commander of AMC; not even 

in the Army anymore. After almost 36 years, I was again a civilian. 

Sitting alone in my home office, I could not bring myself to get up and 

take off my uniform. The quiet stillness of the house echoed my 

resistance to move. Listening to the uncommon silence around me, I 

actually felt my heart beating. Pat had been exhausted and gone to 

bed. Rick, my aide, and Mark, my driver and security Sergeant, my 

two constant companions, left an hour earlier. Family and friends had 

gone home hours ago after the Change of Command Ceremony and 

my retirement reception. The uniform had grown to represent who I 

was, and taking it off this time meant shedding the Army skin forever. 

I was not ready yet. 

 Leaning back in the chair, I closed my eyes and let my thoughts 

wander with no sense of purpose or direction. Visions of all the ports 

of call from Hawaii to Saudi Arabia floated past. A noise outside my 

office window brought me abruptly out of my daydreams of 

deployment and improvement packages. I walked to the window and 

peered into the darkness at what looked like the white tail of a deer 

scurrying out of the yard. The gentle rolling hills of our Fort Belvoir 

home were beautifully landscaped with lots of azaleas. They were 

budding early this spring. “Looks like the deer are coming up for a 

late dinner,” I thought. I remembered the time I’d called Pat from the 

Pentagon and she’d answered breathless after many rings. 

 “Are you okay?” I asked. 

 “No. I’ve been out in the yard with the broom chasing the stupid 

deer away from my azaleas,” she’d said. “I haven’t scared them into 

sneaking around after dark yet. They come to snack on my blooms 

and bushes in broad daylight all hours of the day.” 

 I smiled to myself at the memory. I needed to go to bed, but I 

couldn’t face taking off my uniform. My eyes rested on the picture of 

Barbara Bush with the troops on Thanksgiving Day during Desert 

Shield. It was signed, “Whoopee. General Ross, everyone loves my 
House called me, requesting a uniform for Mrs. Bush to wear when 

she visited the troops, the spokesman said, “We’ve got to get Mrs. 

President the right attire.” 

 “Check on sizes. We’ve got to get the absolute right size because 

we could royally screw this up if we don’t,” I said. We sent two sets, 

and she wore them. The Soldiers loved it. What a trooper. Her 

husband wore only the desert hat. 

 So many memories flooded my tired brain as I glanced around my 

office at the framed documents and pictures. One was a certificate 

declaring “Major General Jimmy D. Ross” day because of the work I 

had done with Congress. Congressman Hanson of Utah signed it, and 

a good friend of mine, Michael Stone, at that time the Secretary of the 

Army, made the presentation. Michael was an avid bird watcher, his 

favorite hobby, and sadly he died on a trip to the Amazon. 

 Neatly framed and hanging near the Ross Day certificate was one I 

had never considered achieving back when I was a young junior 

officer fresh from Arkadelphia. It was the document stating that I was 

a four-star General. The General (4-Star) Certificate included a formal 

endorsement by Secretary of Army Stone, General Colin Powell, JCS, 

Secretary of Defense Dick Cheney, and President George H. W. Bush. 

 And there was the picture of Pat and me with President Clinton. It 

made me think of the day General Barry McCaffrey was walking 

down the hallway at the White House to meet the President. He 

passed one of the President’s aides, who appeared to be in her early 

twenties. Barry spoke to the aide saying, “Good morning.” She 

replied, “I don’t speak to military.” 

 The comment was overheard by other people, and later the 

President apologized to General McCaffrey. The incident somehow 

made its way into the Washington Post, and the news spread all over 

the city of Washington and the Pentagon. About a week later, Major 

General Joe Raffiani, my Tank-Automotive Commander, Major Rick 

Hatch, my aide, and I were in the Rose Garden with some 500 people 

for a signing ceremony. I was representing the Army. The President 

looked in our direction, saw some green uniforms, and, like Moses 
obvious that he was trying to demonstrate, especially to the media 

present, that he was a friend of the military. 

 “I lived near your boyhood home of Hope, Arkansas,” I said, 

making polite conversation. “I grew up in Arkadelphia and went to 

college at Henderson. We played Hope every year in football, 

basketball, and baseball. Mr. President, most of the time, we won,” I 

joked. (Later, I realized that he spent his teenage years and attended 

high school in Hot Springs, Arkansas, not Hope.) 

 “Well, you probably did,” he said laughing. “Why don’t you and 

your wife join me some Saturday morning for the radio broadcast to 

the nation at the White House?” he offered. “I’d like you to be my 

guest in the Oval Office.” 

 “That would be nice,” I said, accepting the offer. 

 The Saturday morning of our White House visit came, and we 

were instructed to dress appropriately. I was to wear a Class A 

uniform, and civilian guests were to be in business attire, which meant 

suits. SFC (later MSG) Mark Balazs drove us to the White House. 

Our limousine was greeted by a young, pretty escort who walked us to 

the Oval Office. We chatted as we walked, enjoying the northeastern 

accent of our guide. She said she had worked on the President’s 

campaign in her home state of Connecticut, and this was a follow-up 

assignment. Reaching our destination was most impressive, our first 

and only time in the Oval Office. 

 We sat with the other seven couples, all spit-shined and dressed up, 

excited about being in the Oval Office on a Saturday morning. 

President Clinton arrived late, unshaven, looking very tired, appearing 

to have been up all night, and wearing a rumpled red plaid hunting 

shirt and slacks. George Stephanopolis and Dee Dee Myers were with 

him, both in faded jeans, complete with wrinkles, ragged edges, and 

holes. Pat and I were wishing we had known the dress was casual. 

 I stared at the photo of our rumpled, seemingly rather tired and 

worn president, Pat, and I in our dress clothes, a capsule of 

contradictions caught in a frame. I stared at the two Arkansas boys 
paths to that moment in the Oval Office of the White House that 

evoked in us such different perceptions of the world. 

 When I joined the Army, I had no intention of staying 36 years. 

There had been good offers to go back to Arkansas and coach high 

school football, and what a struggle it had been deciding what to do. 

One of my major role models and mentors was Coach Duke Wells. He 

encouraged me to serve my time for three years, and come back home. 

Had I taken the coaching fork in the road, our lives would have been 

enormously different. 

 Our first assignment was instrumental in selling us on the great 

institution of the U.S. Army. It opened new vistas and horizons we’d 

never dreamed of. Living in the territory of Hawaii before it became a 

state was like moving to paradise. The 25th Infantry was the Army’s 

Strategic Pacific Reserve and responsible for the entire Pacific area. 

For everyone in the division, this led to temporary duty trips all over 

the Pacific, from the different Hawaiian Islands to the Philippines, 

Okinawa, Thailand, and Taiwan. I loved the great history that came 

with the 25th. I was in the 14th Infantry, which was steeped in 

tradition. Private Titus posters are still made today quoting his famous 

saying, “I’ll try, sir,” as he climbed the wall in Peking (now Beijing) to 

help relieve the American Embassy. I wouldn’t give anything for the 

two years with the Golden Dragons of the 14th Infantry, who were the 

last units in China. The movie “55 Days to Peking,” starring Charlton 

Heston, portrayed their exploits to protect the embassy compound. I 

spent almost a year, nine map-drafting months in Thailand, with the 

Wolfhounds of the 27th Infantry, who were the last units in Siberia 

(Russia). 

 The divisions had a way of involving each Soldier in its history, 

sometimes all the way back to the Civil War days, like the 14th

Infantry motto, “Right of the Line.” During the Civil War, the 14th

Infantry was always the anchor and on the “Right of the Line.” 

Everyday we got a dose of history that gave us a glimpse of the 

Soldiers who had come before us and worn the insignias and patches 

that now resided on our uniforms. We liked organizations that 

respected their roots and reflected on their history, so it made it very 

easy for us to assimilate into the Army family. 
 When I look back across the entire scope of my career, I’m struck 

by the range of my assignments. Personal reflection always makes me 

wonder if the path I took was an accident or by design. The road I 

took in the early years may have been by chance. Those years brought 

excellent training. But from the battalion and Colonel command 

assignments to Army staff in the Pentagon in the seventies through the 

nineties, it had to be by design. Each assignment built upon the next in 

perfect preparation for the ultimate test of Desert Storm and 

commanding AMC. 

 As a junior Lieutenant Colonel, moving from the Army staff and 

DCSLOG to being a “dwarf” in General Abrams’ office may have 

been a blend of being in the right place, at the right time, with the right 

set of skills and experience. All the command opportunities certainly 

contributed to my professional development. The experience I gained 

with each job provided a new area of expertise and perspective. Each 

step along the way added to my repertoire as I gained knowledge of 

the full spectrum of logistics support for an Army division. In 2nd

Support Command, my command was supporting the 100,000-man 

VII Corps, consisting of 52 companies, 9 battalions, and two groups. 

That experience provided something you can’t teach in a textbook. It 

involved being in the trenches and getting my hands and boots dirty. 

 The AMC assignments trained me to look at the third and fourth 

tier levels of detail. My DCSLOG Army tours submerged me in 

policy areas, resource programs, and the planning of program funds for 

the field. As Chief of Staff of AMC, I had the good fortune to watch 

Generals Keith and Thompson, and later General Louis C. Wagner. 

They each led and managed one of the Army’s largest organizations. 

Little did I realize when I was executive officer in Materiel 

Acquisition for Generals Bush and Olenchuk back in 1973 that I 

would ever need the acquisition and procurement experience I gained 

there again, but the experience benefited my work at AMC. As a field 

advisor in Vietnam, I was at the very end of the supply pipeline. There 

wasn’t anyone further out there than I was, and the meager support we 

received certainly made an impression. That was always on my mind 

at DCSLOG and AMC, taking care of the Soldier. 
Wells was probably the most influential, beginning in college. The 

last time I saw him, I was a Brigadier General. We sat and talked at 

length. Maybe the term isn’t a common one, but since I was a teen, I 

thought of him as my friend, mentor, and in Army terms, my 

“footlocker counselor.” I could talk with Duke Wells about anything 

and did, from problems and issues of football to growing up as a 

teenager in south Arkansas. Duke Wells was always there and had a 

way of being a good listener. So many people have a way of talking 

so much that they never hear what anyone else has to say. The 

influences of good people last a lifetime. Duke Wells’ advice and 

memory remain a part of me. 

 Maybe the first company assignment is dominant in the minds of 

everyone in the Army. Although they contributed, it wasn’t Fort 

Benning, Ranger, or Airborne School where I learned the basics of 

Soldiering. They gave me some valuable tools, but it was my first 

company, A Company, 14th Infantry, that taught me how to take care 

of Soldiers and how to integrate a variety of actions to bring a training 

focus on what was important. There was no company more 

competitive. No one wanted to excel more, and no one wanted to be 

number one more than that entire company. It was like being part of a 

winning football team. Everybody in that company wanted to be 

number one. It didn’t matter if it was the boxing matches or the Army 

Training Tests (ATTs), being number one as a company or number 

one as a platoon was always the goal. I don’t remember many times 

when the company finished below second. Captain Hominy, 

Lieutenants Anderson, Cobb, and Fragas, and Master Sergeant 

Williams were great friends with whom I had the honor of spending 

time. 

 As a company commander, I started trying to emulate what I saw 

my first company commander doing. The experiences at XVIII 

Airborne Corps and Strike Command (USSTRICOM) were certainly 

important. There were no slow learners at USSTRICOM while Paul 

Adams was there. I arrived as he was leaving, but his legacy was 

there, and General Theodore Conway continued that. General Conway 

said to me, “If you are an Airborne Soldier, you are among the best in 

the Army.” Being one of the few jumpmaster-qualified Majors in 

USSTRICOM was even better. Jumpmaster school was tough, but it 
and had the privilege of being his jumpmaster a few times. 

 I learned a lot from my STRICOM teammates. Army, Navy, Air 

Force, and Marine Corps officers were top-notch. Bob Vrilakas, who 

became a life-long friend, was an Army Air Corps Lieutenant flying P38’s in World War II as an 18-year-old pilot. Colonel Pisarek, also an 

Air Force Colonel, was our division chief. Brigadier General Fred C. 

Allen, U.S. Army, was the senior logistics officer of USSTRICOM in 

the 1960’s. Each one influenced my life. I still see General Allen 

occasionally some 20 years later. Bob Vrilakas, now retired in 

Oregon, and I still correspond. General Julius W. Becton was another 

one from whom I learned. General Becton did an exceptional job 

commanding VII Corps and later running FEMA after retirement. 

 It was my honor and privilege to have great deputies, I thought, 

looking around at their pictures on my wall. In 2nd Support Command, 

I had Colonel Jim Ball and Colonel John Long, both of whom went to 

the two-star level. In DCSLOG, there was Jim Klugh, who brought 

special expertise in the personnel area, chemical area, and the 

manpower area. Major General Fred Elam was a jack-of-all-trades 

and could do anything. The one deputy I had at AMC, Lieutenant 

General Leo Pigaty, was a superb friend and logistician. Most took the 

hint from their boss and took up jogging, running, and the “Army 10 

Miler.” 

 Great civilians crossed my work path like Bob Keltz, Darold 

Griffin, and Dick Chait. I’ve known Bob since 1978. He and I have 

worked side by side on three or four assignments. I have known 

Darold Griffin for about fifteen years. What an influence he had on 

me, teaching me things about the industrial base and production base. 

Do people always worry when an organization is about to lose 

someone with Darold’s expertise, I wondered. Very soon, Darold 

would retire after 30 years of service. Would the entire AMC 

organization self-destruct when he left? No, but he was sorely missed. 

 

 Then there was General Frank S. Besson, Jr. His son, Frank 

Besson III, and I met in my Lieutenant Colonel days. I had been the 

AMC Chief of Staff when we started inviting past AMC commanders 

to meet with us to discuss their command periods. I called and asked 
He was reluctant saying, “I ran the Besson Board, I ran the study that 

created AMC, and I was the commander from 1962 to 1969, but do 

you know how long ago that was? We’re talking about fifteen to 

twenty years. I’m afraid my memory will not be good enough.” 

 I said, “Sir, any of your thoughts about the AMC early days, the 

process you went through to bring the tech services and so many 

separate procurement organizations into one command would be 

extremely helpful to us.” 

 He was hesitant but finally agreed. We had a preliminary 

interview and a second short session when we heard he’d gone into 

Walter Reed Army Hospital. He was 75 and had cancer. “I’m not 

having surgery. No one is cutting on me. I’m going to die with my 

boots on,” he said. He died three weeks later.42 

 General Besson’s accomplishments are many, and his name is 

synonymous with AMC. The day he came into AMC for his first 

interview he was sharp, astute, and quick, remembering names of 

programs that had gone on 20 or more years before. He challenged 

everyone that listened to take a good look at our logistics programs. 

His father had been a West Point graduate and an officer in the Corps 

of Engineers. His son is carrying on the family tradition. It was an 

honor to be part of the selection process, naming Frank Besson III as 

Senior Executive Service director for Security Assistance in DSCLOG 

at DA. 

 Ben Register and I served side by side as brigade commanders 

when I had 4th Transportation Brigade, and he commanded Mainz 

Army Depot and had started the huge buildup at Mainz. We got to 

know each other at work, and our families became social friends. Our 

paths crossed again when he and I changed commands in 1980 at 2nd

Support Command and in 1987 as the DCSLOG of the Army when he 

retired. He was a great logistician and one of those broad-gauged, 

multi-functional people who knew logistics from top to bottom. I had 

superb executive officers at DA and AMC from Ray McCoy, Dick 

Larson, Tom Glisson, Larry Taylor, Dick Beale, Bob Shadley, and 

David Whaley. They were clearly the best Colonels in the Army. 
Heiser who became one of my role models. I was often the “chart 

flipper” for his presentations. Working for him taught me a great deal 

about the logistics business. He was an expert in every branch. Many 

of his innovative programs live today, 20 years later, such as the Direct 

Supply System (DSS), the ALOC, and Logistics Offensives. It was an 

honor that he thought enough of me to send several chapters of the 

book he was writing (A Soldier Supporting Soldiers, Center of Military 

History, U.S. Army, 1991) for my review and critique. 

 I was so honored when my hero, Lieutenant General Heiser, gave 

me a copy of his book with a note on the inside cover that reads: 

To General Jimmy D. Ross, 

Sir, 

Anything of value resulting from this Soldier’s 

Support of Soldiers is due to the dedicated 

effort of yourself and many others. I will 

always be most grateful for your great 

contributions to the Soldiers we served 

together and the privilege of your friendship 

in doing it. 

God speed to you and yours, 

Edie and Joe 

 Chuckling to myself, I remembered the night I’d found General 

Heiser standing in a closet in my home. We were having a New 

Year’s Day reception at which he was a guest in our Fort Myer home 

where he had once lived. During the evening, I realized that I had not 

seen the General in some time and began looking for him. As I 

wandered upstairs, I noticed one of the bedroom doors ajar. Walking 

in, I looked around the room, and was greeted by the General’s fanny 

just visible inside the open closet door. He was bent over leaning on 

the closet windowsill, peering out the window. 

 “General Heiser,” I said. “What are you doing?” 
window again. Do you care? It’s got the very best view of 

Washington.” 

 “No, I don’t care,” I said, laughing. 

 I excused myself and left him to enjoy that amazing bird’s eye 

view of Washington from that closet window. That view aligned the 

Lincoln Memorial, Washington Monument, and the Capitol to form a 

linear nucleus that appeared to majestically balance the rest of the city. 

 Lieutenant General Ed Honor was another contemporary who was 

an ultimate distribution and Transportation Corps expert. He 

understood the mechanisms of traffic management, movements’ 

management, port operations, overland transportation, and 

bureaucratic processes like tariffs, tenders, national agreements, and 

Standardizations Agreements within which we had to operate. 

 AMC’s Commander in 1984 was General Richard Thompson. He 

set the example in work ethic, knowledge of logistics, and endless 

energy. He was an American success story. He rose in rank from a 

Sergeant in WWII to a four-star General in 1984. 

 It was a pleasure to watch AMC’s DCG Bob Moore operate. 

When he retired, I think he had 15 years inside AMC as a 

project/program manager, Chief of Staff of AMC, MICOM 

Commander, and then back as a Deputy Commanding General in 

1984. His expertise was in the area of research, development and 

technological application. 

 AMC used to refer to Generals Besson and Bunker (fourth DCG 

for AMC) as the “B&B Club”. They seemed bigger than their branch. 

They could discuss any facet of a variety of logistics functions, just as 

General Heiser could. They had multi-functional orientations, and 

that’s what it took. Ben Register, Fred Hissong, Lee Salomon, John 

Coburn, Dane Starling, Ken Wykle, and Merle Freitag understood all 

the mechanisms that made the Army run. They all grew above and 

beyond their branches. When I was at Bill Tuttle’s DISCOM change 

of command in 3rd Armored Division, I marveled at how his job 
assignments that cut across the full spectrum of logistics. 

 Throughout my Army career, there seemed to be a constant in 

every unit in which I had success. The success always found a “great 

Sergeant” in the background doing all the hard work that makes the 

Army run smoothly. Clearly, they are the U.S. Army’s backbone that 

ensure military adherence to standards and discipline. I realized that 

everywhere I was successful, there was a First Sergeant or Command 

Sergeants Major standing right beside me, spending long hours and 

doing the tough work taking care of Soldiers. The U.S. Army is the 

best in the world because of great Sergeants like Command Sergeant 

Major Jim Smith of the 10th Transportation Battalion, CSMs Head and 

Tucker in 2nd Support Command, and CSM Michael Pierce in AMC. 

 This night was so hard for me, and I knew it had been extremely 

hard for Pat also. We were leaving a way of life we had known for 

such a long time and were leaving treasured friends who seemed like 

family. Rick Hatch, my aide, was an integral part of our lives. Little 

did I know that night that Rick would later serve as a Senior Logistics 

Officer in Afghanistan, along with his three sons and a son-in-law. All 

the male members of his family served our country. Far in the future, 

in 2005, Rick would call me from the eastern border of Afghanistan 

looking across the border to Pakistan, worried about us in Florida 

because of the hurricanes. And he was calling from a war zone! The 

people the Army brought our way enriched our lives. We would miss 

Rick and his wife Vickie, a special lady who speaks four languages 

(English, German, French, and Japanese), as we would miss my other 

aide, Larry Robertson. Larry now runs the Quality Control area for 

BMW automobiles in South Carolina. 

 I wandered around my office that night reminiscing, daydreaming, 

and staring at photos, overcome with admiration for the amazing 

people the Army introduced me to. There were my Sergeant Majors, 

starting with Jim Smith in Vietnam, Head and Tucker in Germany, and 

Michael Pierce, whom I took with me from Chambersburg to AMC. 

How fortunate to have had the opportunity to serve my country with 

these particular people. And I was more fortunate still to have made 

the journey with the beautiful redhead by my side. Perhaps the era in 
military career. 

 In the forties, Arkadelphia, Arkansas, was very patriotic. It was a 

place where people went away and joined the Army, Navy, Marine 

Corps, Army Air Corps, or Merchant Marine and came home proud of 

their service to our nations. We held our veterans in high esteem. Our 

flag was a proud symbol of our country that, as a school patrol, we 

learned to handle and treat in an appreciative, traditional, and 

respectful manner. I had an uncle who had burns on one side of his 

face from being gassed in World War I, and part of the munitions had 

discolored his face. He was quick to say how proud he was of the 

Army and his service during World War I. I wasn’t the only one who 

admired and respected what he’d done for us. 

 My own brother, Bob, who was desperate to join the service at the 

age of 14, found himself a Merchant Marine and took pride in his 

service to his country. My dad remembered large tent encampments of 

troops that stayed around Arkadelphia for weeks in the late thirties. It 

must have been part of the Louisiana Maneuvers, which was a multistate training exercise in preparation for World War II. The 

encampment brought a sense of high adventure to our little town. 

 I’m a history buff deluxe, I thought to myself. I tell everyone more 

than they ever want to know, but I think they need to know, about the 

history of everything. Now I’m part of the history of the Army. Here 

I sit in the middle of the night, 57 years old, avoiding taking off my 

uniform and going to bed because it may be the last time I’ll ever have 

it on. 

 Forcing myself to stand, my eyes rested on the framed quote by 

John Stuart Mill that hung in every office I’d occupied since first 

seeing it in Colonel Sheriff’s office in the Pentagon in 1973. Colonel 

Sheriff gave it to me when he retired, and I reluctantly accepted it, 

thinking it should remain with his family. But he insisted I keep it. A 

friend of mine in the Library of Congress helped me research and find 

its origin. John Stuart Mill, philosopher, economist, and an 

Englishman who supported the Union Army during the Civil War, 

wrote an essay on war that contained the quotation: 
things. The decayed and degraded state of 

moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that 

nothing is worth war is much worse. A man 

who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, 

nothing which is more important than his own 

personal safety is a miserable creature and has 

no chance of being free unless made and kept so 

by the exertions of better men than himself.”43

 John Stuart Mill seemed to capture my feelings about war with his 

potent words. As a man who never looked for a fight and tried to 

avoid altercations that had no cause, I could never sit by idle and 

watch a person’s freedom threatened or put in jeopardy. 

 A small voice inside my head said, “You can take the boy out of 

the Army, but you can’t take the Army out of the mind, spirit, and 

heart of the boy.” With that quiet reminder, I knew that removing my 

uniform didn’t really strip from me the amazing friends, memories of 

all the adventures, and the valuable skills and knowledge I’d acquired. 

They were in my heart and in my head. It was time for me to move on 

and let another of my brothers manage the care and safety of our 

Soldiers and our country. 

 It would be strange, I thought, facing the day without the Army 

wrapped around me in countless ways other than green cloth, but I 

would get used to a business suit and a different form of service after a 

while. However, selecting different colored shirts and socks could be 

a problem. And I made a mental note to ask Pat to help me shop for 

more suits and civilian clothes. Suddenly I was very tired and ready to 

go to bed. En route to the bedroom, I braved a reluctant imaginary 

peek at the trappings that would be no more once the uniform landed 

in the clothesbasket. No more Gulf Stream 4. This boy would be 

flying commercial. No more Mark. This boy would no longer need 

guarding and would be driving himself. No more Rick to take care of 

all the details. I’d be on my own there. By the time I reached the 

bedroom, I decided, like Scarlett in Gone with the Wind, to think about 

all that tomorrow, and my focus shifted to the next job, the next 

adventure, the next challenge. As heavy exhaustion pulled me into a 

peaceful sleep, twilight dreams held remnants of the past, with fleeting 
Soldiers. 
pg

 When he retired from the U.S. Army, Four-Star General Jimmy D. 

Ross had served 36 years as a military officer. During his service he 

received the Distinguished Service Medal (with Oak Leaf Cluster), the 

Legion of Merit (with Oak Leaf Cluster), the Bronze Star medal, the 

Meritorious Service Medal, two Air Medals, the Joint Service 

Commendations Medal, the Army Commendation Medal (with Oak 

Leaf Cluster), the Combat Infantryman Badge, the Master Parachutist 

Badge, the Ranger Tab, and the Army Staff Identification Badge. His 

last active duty assignment was as Commander of the United States 

Army Materiel Command in Alexandria, Virginia, a worldwide 

command of 95,000 military and civilian personnel and 126 different 

organizations, and 34 Project Manager Offices, represented in 40 

states and six foreign countries at 355 locations around the world. 

AMC is the driving force in service to the Soldier through research, 

development, testing, acquisition, and sustainment, a “One-Stop-Shop” 

for logistics and weapon systems support. 

 Following his military retirement, General Ross was appointed 

Senior Vice President of Biomedical Services of the American Red 

Cross by Mrs. Elizabeth Dole, President. The position involved the 

overall responsibility for modernization of more than encompassed 

Information Systems Management, a new nationwide Human 

Resources Department, Finance and Accounting, Quality Assurance, 

and Regulatory/Compliance Systems. 

 In the summer of 1999, Dr. Bernadine H. Healy, then President 

and Chief Executive Officer, promoted General Ross to the position of 

Chief Operating Officer of the American Red Cross, responsible for 

the overall business operations and a 2.5 billion dollar budget, a staff 

of 33,000, and 1.3 million volunteers in 2,000 locations across the 

nation and six United States territories. 

 General Ross became a Henderson State University Distinguished 

Alumnus during the mid 1980’s. In 2004, he was inducted into the 

Sports Hall of Fame at Henderson State University, cited for making 

first team “All Arkansas Intercollegiate Conference” (AIC) in 1957 

and lettering in two sports, both football and baseball. In the summer 

of 2005, he was inducted into the Phi Sigma Epsilon Hall of Fame. 
 General Ross is currently the past president and Chief Operating 

Officer of Cypress International in Alexandria, Virginia. He serves as 

a consultant with Cypress, and is a member of several corporate 

boards. He and his wife, Pat, have a home in Lake Forest, Florida. He 

divides his time between his Florida home and his work in the 

Washington, D.C. area. General and Mrs. Ross have three children, 

six grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. During non-work 

hours, General Ross and Pat, both avid readers, enjoy traveling, visits 

with family, and exploring historic sights. 

 Sabra, now a single mom, lives in Little Rock, Arkansas, and has 

two children, Teresa Catherine “Katie” Cripps Kelley and Charles 

Michael Cripps. Katie, a 2002 West Point graduate, is a Captain 

stationed at Fort Bliss, Texas. She and her husband, Jason, have two 

children, Colin Ross and Bailey Christine Kelley. 

 DiAnna, “Dede” and her husband Lieutenant Colonel Danny 

Henson (U.S. Army, Ret.), live in Tampa, Florida, and have two 

children, Sherry Michelle and Russell Dale. 

 Tony and his wife Cyndee live in Orlando, Florida, and have two 

children, Savannah Lee and Sarah Veronica. 
pp

General Ross’ Command Philosophy

 During 36 years in the Army, I was truly blessed to serve under so 

many great leaders and field Soldiers. As in most organizations, there 

were also leaders who abused their positions and responsibilities. I 

learned from both, from the negative leaders as well as the positive 

ones. Both kinds of experiences were committed to memory with a 

promise to myself never to repeat the bad examples. Influence from 

positive leaders far outweighed the negative. 

 Imagine observing and serving, as I had the honor of doing, great 

men such as General Creighton Abrams, General John Wickham, 

Lieutenant General Joe Heiser, General Don Keith, General Richard 

Thompson, General Carl Vuono, General Gordon Sullivan, Lieutenant 

General Julius Becton and General Bill Livsey. All were great leaders, 

coaches, and mentors. Many were visionaries with their frontiers 

clearly established. All were concerned about their missions and 

taking care of people. 

 The first time I was asked about a philosophy of command was in 

1970. I was a new battalion commander, a Major with 12 years of 

service. Since that time, I’ve been privileged to speak to battalions, 

brigades, pre-command course classes, Command and General Staff 

College and War Colleges (Army, Navy, and Air) on the subject. The 

philosophy evolved over time from observation, experience, reflection, 

and a desire to be the best I could be and motivate others to do the 

same. 

 A good philosophy isn’t fixed, immutable and static. Within a 

basic moral framework, it remains flexible, growing with changing 

needs. From early experiences as the captain of football teams through 

Vietnam to Desert Storm, the following thirteen points immerged. 

Jim’s Gems 

(1) Become a student of your job. When sharing advice with 

young officers, I always began with, “know more about your 

job than anyone else knows.” Become the expert with study 
that will hone future skills. 

(2) Develop a work ethic. The Army provides rules of conduct. 

To some extent, it is up to each Soldier to develop a set of 

personal values regarding work behavior. A valuable lesson 

in this area presented itself in the form of a South 

Vietnamese, Dai Uy (Captain) An, with whom I spent a year. 

I was 27, a junior Army Captain, and became an advisor to 

Dai Uy An, a forty-something leader of a South Vietnamese 

Infantry Battalion. It was a time prior to the onset of full 

United States involvement in Vietnam. My task was to 

provide military training, counsel and leadership to a 

seasoned veteran. Dai Uy An fought with the Viet Minh 

against the French occupation of his country for 13 years. 

Following that, he battled against the North Vietnamese and 

Communism for ten years. The Vietnamese-speaking 

veteran and the English-speaking youth learned from each 

other in spite of the language barrier. Working to gain his 

confidence during the early days strengthened my resolve 

and personal work ethics. Through the adversities of two 

tours in Vietnam, my work ethic grew stronger. 

(3) Permit mistakes. This principle seems obvious to me, but I 

have watched leaders take a “zero defects” approach, i.e. no 

mistakes are permitted. It’s difficult to agree with that. 

Perfection comes from those who’ve learned from their 

mistakes. Those who are terrified to make mistakes usually 

end up doing nothing. Of course, repeatedly making the 

same mistake can’t be allowed because it reinforces 

inaccurate behavior and bad habits. The purpose of training 

is to find trouble spots, evaluate reasons for mistakes, and 

learn from them. 

(4) Seek responsibility. This point and the next were developed 

and added to the list while I was serving as a Lieutenant 

Colonel and Colonel. I advised young officers not to wait for 

responsibility to come knocking on their door, but to show 

initiative and professionalism by seeking responsibility. 
experience that great leaders never step away when things go 

wrong. They are responsible and accountable for their 

actions whether the result is good, bad, or neutral. Turning 

away seldom results in solutions and usually creates more 

problems. 

(6) Give recognition to subordinates. Everyone who tries, makes 

an honest effort, deserves recognition. Ribbons and medals 

have their place, but sometimes a pat on the back or a simple 

“job well done” is just as important. In 2nd Support 

Command, VII Corps, the command had over 50 companies 

across Germany. During “Commander’s Call,” I asked 

company commanders to look for reasons to reward their 

subordinates. I never understood the tendency of holding a 

little bit of ribbon so tightly to the chest. Well-earned praise 

promotes pride in job performance and motivation to 

succeed. 

(7) Be a good communicator. Developing good skills in both 

written and oral communication is important for a leader. 

Early assignments to the Pentagon (1970-74) taught me this. 

Emphasis was placed on clear, professional, and concise 

communications. Writing, designing charts, selling topics on 

paper and in person were daily activities. There were papers 

from fact sheets, information papers, decision papers, and 

joint papers. With joint papers, when disagreements 

occurred, preparing clearly articulated “non-concurrences” 

was an art unto itself. Action officers lived and died by their 

writing skills. Preparation for being a commander includes 

sharpening communication skills. Effective leaders are good 

communicators. 

(8) Always keep your focus forward. While learning from the 

past is important, we can spend too much time reviewing past 

successes and failures. Find a way to learn from experiences 

and move on. Focus on the next milestone, the next step. 

Always try to stay one step ahead. 
military school from basic infantry courses to the War 

College is “look after the welfare of your people” or “take 

care of your people.” It is so important and speaks for itself. 

(10) Take care of yourself. A leader’s effectiveness is enriched by 

a solid foundation of good mental and physical health. It’s 

difficult to take care of others if you haven’t taken care of 

yourself. A sound physical fitness program will keep the 

body able to work long hours and survive the stress of the 

battlefield as well as the stress of serving at the Pentagon. It 

was this concept that led to the origin of the Pentagon 

Officers Athletic Club. 

(11) Keep yourself spiritually sound. Drifting late into my 

leadership philosophy was a principle regarding spirituality. 

It evolved from experiences with officers who had moral and 

ethical problems. Officers need to have their houses in order, 

for their sake and those looking to them for guidance and 

leadership. All officers, even Lieutenants and Captains, live 

in glass houses. Strive to keep yourself spiritually sound. 

(12) Take care of your family. At one point in my career, I had 

young Soldiers and officers scattered all across Germany. 

That experience taught me the importance of “taking care of 

family.” I’m sure there is a direct link between wartime 

readiness (certainly to peacetime readiness) and the quality of 

life of one’s family. When the spouse and children are well 

cared for, the Soldier does a better job. In 1958 when I came 

into the Army, only three or four members of my platoon 

were married. Approximately 15 to 20 percent in 1959 in my 

first company were married. In 1990, over 50 percent of the 

Army personnel were married. Family has become an 

important issue for today’s Army. 

(13) Have fun. The Army is a lot of fun. Laughter is not only 

good for the soul, it’s good for morale, and it improves 

physical health. Humor is an invaluable communication tool 

and an effective disarmer in difficult situations. Believe it or 

not, professionalism and being true to your personal values 
Soldier is more confident and comfortable with himself. 

Find joy in your work, your friends, your family, your life. 

 This command philosophy was built from having wonderful role 

models, especially the principles involving work ethic, taking and 

seeking responsibility. Lieutenant General Joseph M. Heiser, Jr. was a 

terrific role model, particularly when it came to work ethics. Heiser 

was the Deputy Chief of Staff for Logistics (DCSLOG) during the 

Vietnam War from 1969 to 1973. Twenty years in the future, I would 

hold the DCSLOG position. I was a new Lieutenant Colonel just 

returning from Vietnam, and he was the senior Army logistician, a 

Lieutenant General. He seemed to take me under his wing. On 

several occasions, I was what he called his “chart flipper.” This was in 

the days of “Vu-graphs.” 

 One day as we departed for Fort McNair and the Industrial College 

of the Armed Forces (ICAF), he said to grab all the vu-graphs. That 

was over 80 vu-graphs. Typical of his style of presentations, he would 

judge his audience and decide on the spot what to present to the ICAF 

students. I was in the projection booth and he would say from the 

stage, “Jimmy, let’s talk about ALOC.” That meant find the vu-graph 

on Air Lines of Communications and display it. Being a person who 

tried to always be prepared, this off the cuff manner of operating was 

unnerving. I would scramble through 80 vu-graphs and find the 

ALOC chart. In some interesting ways, the experience was almost as 

stressful as Vietnam. A breath-robbing state of panic would set in 

until I found it. 

 Lieutenant General Heiser never knew what pandemonium this 

caused, and I hope the students didn’t either. Organizing the vugraphs with a labeling system of yellow “stick-on” notes finally 

relieved the pain. Because of his ad hoc style, the students loved his 

presentations. 

 Major General Henry R. Del Mar also taught strong work ethics 

by example. In 1970, I was in Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam. I was 

puzzled as to when this new Brigadier General Del Mar slept. It 

seemed that seven days a week he could be found down on one of the 

piers or port facilities at 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning. One day, he 
became his driver. After that happened, my new driver would get a 

call from my old driver with the report, “We’re on our way to a certain 

place.” General Del Mar then wondered when I slept because no 

matter the time, I was always there when he arrived. During those 

times, the old driver was jokingly referred to as my “CIA/KGB agent”. 

 Family Action Meetings, created in 1980-1981 for VII Corps by 

General Becton and his wife Louise, gave birth to the Family Action 

Program. It was a program designed to help improve Army life for 

families. Mrs. Becton was asked to return to Washington to help 

organize one of the first Army Family Action Plan meetings. It came 

at a time when the Army had yet to crack the code on better services, 

PX (Post Exchange) facilities, commissaries, and quality of life 

programs. Through the hard work of General Frederic J. Kroesen and 

Mrs. Kroesen, General George S. Blanchard and Mrs. Blanchard, 

Lieutenant General Julius W. Becton, Jr. and Mrs. Becton and General 

William J. Livsey and Mrs. Livsey, family services, facilities and 

programs grew and were enriched. Programs such as these 

underscored the importance of “taking care of your family”. 

 A multitude of good communicators crossed my path, far too many 

to name. The Action Officers at the old U.S. Strike Command and the 

Pentagon were among the most articulate and best at briefing I’ve ever 

experienced. When I became the logistics (contingency plans) briefing 

officer in XVIII Airborne Corps, it was important to deliver concise, 

articulate reports. I was constantly looking for techniques and ways to 

become a better communicator. 

 Part of the training program for new Brigadier Generals involved a 

class on participation for press conferences. It was part of a Public 

Affairs Program and was a valuable learning experience. A mock 

press conference using civilians as media and audience was taped. We 

practiced answering questions and giving briefings. Reviewing the 

video allowed us the opportunity to critique ourselves. It was an eyeopener and gave me lots of significant feedback. It was important 

experience and practice for students of communication techniques. 

Much later, it served me well when I found myself in front of over 20 

news media from the major networks reporting on the Army’s new 

battle dress uniform. The uniform wasn’t a smashing success and the 
appreciation for the Public Affairs Program. Becoming a “good 

communicator” can’t be emphasized enough. 

 Lastly, as advice for young officers, visit your men as often as 

possible and never underestimate the importance of the Sergeant 

Major. The Sergeant Major is the barometer in any headquarters or 

staff. Sergeant Major Michael B. Pierce was with me at Depot 

Systems Command and Army Materiel Command. Sergeant Majors 

Head and Tucker were with me during 2nd Support Command in VII 

Corps. What valuable Soldiers these men were. They managed the 

authority and responsibilities handed them with professionalism and 

courage. 

 There is no substitute for visiting with young Soldiers. A strong 

leader stays in touch, emphasizes Soldier-related programs, and gets 

out to see his Soldiers. I tried to do this. At one point, I was the senior 

staff officer for logistics in the Army Staff in the Pentagon and 

endeavored to visit all 18 divisions as often as possible. President 

Abraham Lincoln called it “management by walking around.” During 

the Civil War, he spent almost half his time out of the office, in field 

locations visiting with Union forces. So much can be learned from 

visiting with Soldiers in the field. They’re the foundation of our 

Army. If you want to know what’s going on, ask a Soldier. 

pp

Pat’s Pearls

 As I look back on my life in the Army, many changes have 

occurred for Army spouses and families. During the early years, I was 

an exception to the norm among the Army wives. I was a working 

wife and mother. Few women had military careers in the fifties, 

sixties, and seventies, and most Army wives didn’t work. A career 

was difficult with the multiple moves, but with my particular career, I 

always seemed to find work no matter where we were. Being a 

teacher was an important part of my life’s purpose, happiness, and 

fulfillment, and my paycheck was a necessary component to the family 

budget during our first few Army years. While my family always 

came first, my work was a special and important secondary role. 

 Somehow I managed it all, largely with valuable assistance from 

friends, family, and Jim when he was home. It wasn’t easy to keep all 

those obligatory balls in the air, but I even managed to make most of 

the “Wives Club” meetings and participate in volunteer projects. For 

the sake of history, the Army Wives Seal bears mentioning. 

 In 1976, Ida True Terry designed a seal honoring Army wives. 

Here is her description of that seal.44

The eagle at the top of the circle represents the Army Wife, who in 

protecting her nest, also protects the flag and the future it 

represents. Alert and poised, she is ready to defend either when 

the need arises. 

As the ultimate goal of her husband’s profession is peace, so is it 

hers. The olive branch held by the eagle represents this peace; her 

hope for an end to wars for her husband and her children. 

The lyre, symbol of harmony, gentility and romance, surrounds the 

four phases of her life that she holds dear. 

The cradle represents her children, her Mother – her own 

Motherhood. 
The sheaf of wheat represents the staples and stability she provides 

for her family – her duty. 

The grapes represent the social life, the wine, fun, sense of humor 

– her lighter side. 

The open book represents her individuality and personal selffulfillment thru knowledge and wisdom. The person she is and 

becomes—her personal self. 

The double circle enclosing all is her wedding band, symbol of 

eternity and never ending love. This circle is broken only by the 

eagle, here a symbol of her duty to country. For the Army Wife, 

the break in the circle represents the many separations and the 

possible ultimate sacrifice. 

 Recently, I received an essay on the lives of “Military Spouses”45

that beautifully articulates the day-to-day existence of our special 

lives. The author points to the fact that most military spouses and their 

families don’t consider themselves different from other families. Yet, 

while most spouses get married and look forward to building equity in 

a home and putting down family roots, the military spouse knows 

they’ll be living in base housing or renting, and their roots must be 

short so they can be transplanted easily and frequently. 

 Other spouses say good-bye to their loved ones for a business trip, 

knowing they won’t see them for a week. Military spouses say goodbye to their deploying spouses and know they won’t see them for 

months or for a year. We admit it’s lonely, but we survive, become 

very self-sufficient, and form helping friendships and lasting bonds 

with fellow military spouses. Other spouses can count on participation 

in special events, birthdays, anniversaries, concerts, football games, 

graduation, and even the birth of a child. Military spouses count on 

each other with the foremost thought that service to their country has 

to come first if freedom is to survive.46

 I was asked to offer my thoughts and suggestions for spouses new 

to the military. It goes without saying that spouses of military 

personnel lead a different life from the usual family fare. We aren’t 
year with our children going to the same schools from kindergarten 

through graduation. While other spouses are concerned about their 

child becoming class president or playing first string football, military 

spouses worry whether their child will be accepted in yet another 

school, and whether that school will be the least effective in the new 

city’s school system. 

 Be prepared for a mobile life of constant transplants. However, the 

sacrifices are for the ultimate prize, our country’s right to live freely 

under a democracy that gives us a voice in how we govern ourselves. 

The good friends gathered along the way, and the knowledge that as 

military spouses and children we too are serving our country, make the 

sacrifices worthwhile. Opportunities for enrichment abound in the 

exposure to different cultures and different parts of our own country. 

We have the choice to enhance our lives each day through the 

activities we pursue. There have been days when my military spouse’s 

life handed me a pile of chicken poop, and I had to stare long and hard 

at our country’s flag, remind myself what we were all doing in this 

situation, and get busy making some chicken salad out of the mess. 

Looking back, the rewards far outweigh the messes. 

 When we first entered the Army in 1958, expectations and services 

for spouses were very different. The 1957 edition of The Officer’s 

Guide was our rulebook and reference for everything military. I’m not 

sure it had changed much since it was written in 1930. With the 

exception of advice on the Wives’ and Women’s Clubs, how to dress, 

and how to conduct ourselves in social situations, it addressed every 

facet of the military person’s mode of operation. Times have changed, 

and the military has changed with the times, now offering a wide array 

of services and assistance for military families. Instead of rules about 

always wearing gloves, hose, and hats to social affairs, families are 

provided services that offer assistance with housing, schooling, 

enrichment activities, and childcare. 

 The following are my ten suggestions for finding balance and a 

sense of peace and belonging as a military spouse. 

(1) The family comes FIRST. 
taught for over 20 years around the world and had eight 

different state teaching certificates. I then became a real 

estate agent in Virginia. Developing your own hobbies and 

pursuits keeps you interested, interesting, and wards off 

loneliness. 

(3) Within two days of arriving at your new quarters/home, have 

some semblance of “order” in at least one room. This was 

important during our 25 moves in 36 years in the Army. 

(4) After arrival at your new post, take a walking tour of the new 

neighborhood with your children. We always met someone 

from our Army family that we had known before. 

(5) Be a volunteer in your Army Post community programs and 

projects. Junior enlisted Soldiers and their families will 

always need your assistance. 

(6) Let the children be involved in decorating your new home, 

especially their own rooms. Be sure that they have all their 

familiar toys in the same place as their last room. 

(7) Keep in contact with your old friends. Many life long friends 

are made in Army life. You may not see them for years, but 

they are just like family. 

(8) Seek advice from wives and family members at the new post 

as to what services are available. It’s important to learn what 

is expected of new wives. 

(9) Invite your new neighbors over within a couple of weeks. A 

potluck or backyard cook-out is an easy way to say hello to 

everyone. 

(10) Relax and have fun. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes. 

 In conclusion, I’d like to share a story about a dish that became 

known as “Pat Ross Soup.” 
began making a beef and vegetable soup almost every week. Our 

resources were meager, and this was one of many ways to stretch our 

few dollars. It consisted of ground beef (the cheaper the better) and 

whatever left over vegetables were in the refrigerator: tomatoes, 

tomato sauce, tomato paste, one can of corn, one can of mixed veggies, 

onion, spices etc. And “voila,” Pat Ross Soup. This makes a huge pot 

of soup that can be reheated for days. In fact, it just keeps getting 

better. During Jim’s college football years, the soup seemed to give 

him that boost he needed. It was cheap and certainly kept us from 

starvation. 

 When we were in Hawaii, Duane and Jan Smith and their boys 

were our best friends. In 1961, she asked me to share the recipe with 

her. About 30 years later, we attended Duane’s retirement ceremony 

at Corpus Christi Army Depot. When he introduced Jim and me as 

long time friends, he held up a frayed 3x5-index card on which I’d 

written the soup recipe. Duane’s comment was, “It just keeps getting 

better.” Most cookbooks from places we have lived include a recipe 

for “Pat Ross Soup.” 

pp

Family 

 My ancestral roots rest in a south central Arkansas area that is 

designated by a State Historical Marker declaring, “This was the Ross 

settlement.” Wandering through the trees near Okalona, evidence of 

the 1800’s settlement of homes can be seen in the many house 

foundations that remain and the remnants of a relatively large 

cemetery with a majority of the names being Ross. 

 It is customary for the Army to ask retiring Generals to write their 

memoirs. The request came with an outline to assist in organizing 

thoughts. The first section of my life story was to address the early 

years, the formative years, the years that shaped my character and led 

me to a career in the military. I’ve taken advantage of that request to 

include a bit about my family tree. 

 

 The journey into the family’s past began years ago. Perhaps I 

became interested in our family genealogy because it seemed we 

moved every year during my early childhood; too quickly to establish 

roots. By third grade, when we settled near Curtis, Arkansas, I’d 

attended five different schools. 

 History is a passion of mine and the quest for our family’s personal 

history became a fascinating hobby. The root system of our particular 

Ross family tree is extensive and reaches across the Atlantic to 

northern Scotland and southern Ireland. My brother Bob and I made 

an effort to trace our lineage back as far as possible and in so doing 

learned of our earliest traceable ancestor, David Ross, the treasurer of 

Inverchasley, Scotland, around 1708. In the early 1700,’s the family 

migrated to America, along with seven other Scotch-Irish families, and 

settled in Fluvanna County, just south of Charlottesville, Virginia. 

 One of David’s descendants, David Ross (9/18/1777) was our first 

ancestor with a documented military life. In the 1700’s, it was 

customary for the “first” son to be named for his father. David Ross of 

Virginia served as a Private in the Continental Army during the 

Revolutionary War in 1777. He was a quartermaster Soldier who 

provided support for the Army. David later became a member of the 
owned land and stores in several counties. David’s wife, Susan 

Sutherland, was a remarkable trooper in her own right, having thirteen 

children and living to the age of 100. Susan experienced both the 

Revolutionary and Civil Wars. 

 The family migrated by covered wagon from Virginia to the Black 

Horse Creek area of South Carolina, to Logan County Kentucky, to 

Dallas County Alabama, and finally to what became known as “Ross 

Settlement” in southern Arkansas. Peter Ross (9/18/1770) and his son 

Andrew Jackson Ross (9/25/1814) owned land and were farmers and 

cattlemen. 

 A Civil War hero was also among the Ross clan. Jesse Arendale 

Ross (11/26/1838) was one of five Rosses in several Arkansas 

regiments. He was promoted from Private to Major with the 4th

Arkansas Regiment, fought in the battles at Fannington, Missouri; Oak 

Hills, Missouri; Bragg’s Raid in Tennessee and Kentucky; Richmond, 

Kentucky; Murfreesboro, Tennessee; and the Battle of Chickamauga 

in Georgia. Wounded twice, seriously at the Battle of Peach Tree 

Creek in July 1864, Jesse was awarded a large grant of land in 

southern Arkansas at the conclusion of the Civil War. 

 Jesse Ross and I shared a great-great-great grandfather. My dad 

always linked the success and prosperity of that branch of the family 

with the land grant Jesse had been given some 80 years before. He’d 

comment on their occupations as doctors, lawyers, and community 

leaders, and attribute that to the land Jesse passed on to them. As a 

small child, I bought that line of reasoning for a time because our 

family doctor was Dr. Wallace Ross, a descendant of Jesse. 

 Every family, it seems, has a black sheep or two, and ours is no 

exception. My great grandfather, Robert Carroll Ross (8/8/1847) who 

was also known as “Bob Jack,” must have had a nasty temper or been 

pushed beyond his otherwise even-tempered limit. A cattleman, 

farmer and landowner, Bob Jack got into a dispute with a neighbor that 

resulted in a shootout. Bob Jack won the shootout, killed his neighbor, 

and served five years in a Texas penitentiary for the deed. The 

Arkansas Territory had no federal judge in south Arkansas. Julia 

Crawley (7/7/1853), his wife of 34 years, bore nine children and spent 
write. Bob Jack’s life came to a tragic end. He drowned in the 

flooded Ouachita River herding cattle in Clark County, Arkansas, on 

February 26, 1903. 

 William Jackson Ross (6/22/1873), my paternal grandfather, who 

was also known as “Jack,” married Alice Bourland (4/1/1874) in Clark 

County on March 4, 1901. Jack was a railroad depot agent and owned 

a two-story hotel in Curtis, Arkansas. Jack and Alice had four 

children; two died in infancy. Horace Eugene and Robert Dale were 

the two surviving children. Alice and Jack were married 11 years. 

Jack died of Black Fever (malaria) and an ensuing surgery at 39 years 

of age. 

 My father, Horace Eugene Ross (12/2/1903) was born in 

Felsenthal (Union County), Arkansas. He was eight years old when 

his father died. Two of his mother Alice’s sisters and one brother 

helped raise Horace and his younger brother, Robert. Horace married 

my mother Lucile (9/17/1904) of Delight, Arkansas, on February 1, 

1926. He followed the oil “Boom Town” industry in Arkansas, Texas, 

and Louisiana as a roustabout, pumper, pipe fitter, and steamfitter, 

later moving to Curtis, Arkansas. Horace was very proud of the days 

he worked for Reynolds Aluminum Plant at Gum Springs, Arkansas. 

He worked there 20 years and owned a grocery store near Curtis. A 

homemaker and “jack of all trades,” Lucile ran the family grocery 

while Horace was at work. 

 It was my good fortune to live near my grandparents. My paternal 

grandmother, Alice Bourland Ross, having lost her husband quite early 

in their marriage, lived with her two sisters, in Arkadelphia. As a 

child, I remember my great aunt, Lizzie Eugenia Bourland McAllister, 

whom we called Aunt Jean, talking about how the Bourland family 

came to Arkansas from Alabama. She was in her eighties when I was 

a kid, and she’d gather the kids around and tell us stories. She told us 

that, when they made the long trip in wagons from Alabama, Arkansas 

was a frontier, and Oklahoma was a territory. Their mother’s maiden 

name was Bates. One of Aunt Jean’s stories spoke of a close family 

friend during the civil war period named Samuel Mudd. I later learned 

that Dr. Samuel Mudd was the doctor who treated John Wilkes Booth 
Washington, D.C. 

 The lineage of Soldiering flows through the Bourland family as it 

does the Ross family. Dr. J.P. Bourland’s grandfather, Dewbart 

Bourland, who was probably born in Ireland and one of the early 

settlers of Franklin County Arkansas, was a Soldier in the War of 1812 

and, for a time, a judge of Franklin County. J.P. Bourland, who was 

studying pharmacy when the Civil War began, joined Company B, 

First Arkansas Infantry, and served one year in the Army of Virginia, 

participating in the battle at Manassas. He was afterward transferred 

to the Army of Tennessee, and was wounded at the bloody combat at 

Shiloh. After spending some time in the quartermaster’s department, 

he was transferred to the ordnance department, in which he served 

until the close of hostilities. Other important engagements in which he 

participated were Corinth, Mississippi; Perryville, Kentucky; 

Murfreesboro, Tennessee; Chickamauga, and the engagements of the 

Atlanta campaign. He then returned with Hood into Tennessee, and 

took part in the engagements at Franklin and Nashville. He 

surrendered in South Carolina in the month of April 1865, and at once 

went to Mississippi, where he married Melverta Bates. 

 Aunt Jean’s brother, also an offspring of Dr. J. P. Bourland, was 

Samuel Bourland, who followed in his father’s footsteps and became a 

doctor. The children of J.P. and Melverta Bourland lived on a farm in 

Clark County, Arkansas, and had a planing mill. Dr. Sam Bourland 

was one of the few doctors in south Arkansas in the late 1800’s and 

early 1900’s. He practiced medicine seven days a week, traveling 

from patient to patient in a horse drawn buggy. He delivered babies, 

pulled teeth, performed surgery, and prepared the dead for burial. 

 I also learned from Aunt Jean’s stories and my own research about 

Arkansas’s role in the Civil War. I had an old 1862 photo of a 

Confederate company standing in the downtown area of Arkadelphia. 

It was part of the 3rd Arkansas Infantry Regiment that fought at 

Chancellorsville, Antietam, and Gettysburg. The 3rd normally fought 

in Hood’s division. In several books, General Hood or “Stonewall” 

Jackson talks about the Arkansas regiment always leading the foot 

marches because they were so fast on foot and accurate sharpshooters. 

Some of the sharpshooters in Devils Den were no doubt from the 
Gettysburg, where they were at Antietam, and also at Chancellorsville. 

 One of my distant cousins, Jane Ross of Arkadelphia, is a historian 

and can be credited for the strong historical file on the Arkansas Ross 

family. I’ve done genealogical research on our family since about 

1981, and Jane has been a significant help. 

 The study of tracing my ancestry is a passion because of the great 

sense of family it provides. But nothing can compare with the 

importance of my immediate family. Pat is my best friend and buddy. 

During our life together, she has been my most severe critic and my 

biggest cheerleader. Army marriages aren’t easy. The frequent 

separations are challenging, to say the least, and certainly, the Vietnam 

and Thailand years were extremely difficult. Our relationship extends 

back to junior high and forward through forty-plus years of a marriage 

that survived a roller coaster ride of a career. She was a Soldier right 

along with me enabling me to serve the country while she took care of 

the family and contributed thousands of hours to Army Community 

Service. In Germany, when I was 2nd Support Commander, she was a 

member of 13 different activities, boards, and advisory groups. It’s 

been hectic, elating, sad, exciting, gut wrenching, humorous, 

educational, traumatizing, and rewarding. Through it all, she’s been 

the constant companion by my side. What a great lady! 

 My choice of career was exceptionally hard on Sabra, our firstborn. She experienced all the moves and the trials of the early years. 

In spite of a nomadic childhood, she loved our time in Florida, the 

Junior Olympics swimming period, and many features of being in an 

Army family. But once she attended the University of Arkansas in 

Fayetteville, married, and moved to Little Rock, she stayed put. Sabra 

likes staying in one place. 

 Some of Sabra’s favorite childhood memories include graduating 

from kindergarten in Hawaii. “Wearing that cap and gown! Wow, I 

thought I was all grown up. I also remember the sea and surf almost 

taking away my baby sister. When I was in second grade, my hero, 

Dad, was sent to Vietnam. Getting to talk to you on the telephone was 

the biggest treat, like a walkie-talkie, ‘over and out.’ I’ll never forget 

going to meet you and Mom at the hotel to pick you up after you’d 
much. Those times we would get in the floor with our pillows, 

blankets, and big bowl of popcorn to watch The Wizard of Oz or a 

scary movie two inches from the TV. The family ‘together’ times 

were the best.” 

 Dede, like Sabra, loved our time in Tampa. She adjusted easily 

with every move except one. Dede had so much trouble with our 

move to San Francisco in her sophomore year of high school that she 

cried for six weeks. Once we found the right school for her, she was 

once again our happy Army kid. She married Danny Henson, now a 

retired (2002) Lieutenant Colonel, who was working in the U.S. Army 

Training and Doctrine Command and later with the Special Operations 

Command. He is currently with USAA Insurance in Tampa, Florida. 

Dede is a physical therapist assistant in Tampa and stays very busy 

raising her children. 

 Dede remembers, “On April 19, 1969, Tony was born, and you 

shipped out for Vietnam a few weeks later. I know that must have 

been really hard on you, knowing you would be missing so much of 

that first year of Tony’s life. I remember clearly that fall or winter 

when Mom left to meet you in Hawaii for your R&R. She was so 

excited to be reunited with you! Sabra and I very much wanted to go, 

and just couldn’t understand why the Army wouldn’t send us too. But 

Mom came home and told us all about how you were and that you 

would be back home soon. She was a much braver Army wife than I 

think I could have been in the same situation. You did come home, 

much thinner than when you left, but we were all so proud of you and 

glad to have you with us. I truly feel blessed growing up with so many 

experiences during my childhood years of moving to different states, 

seeing so much of the country. Guess I enjoyed it so much, I married 

a wonderful man that took me through another 20 years of military 

life.” 

 Tony was the only one of our children at home when we went to 

Germany. He thrived on touring Europe, playing baseball, basketball, 

and soccer, and learning the German language. Involvement in sports 

advanced his fluency in German, especially some four-letter words. I 

got a call from Tony one day when he was in ROTC in college. He 

said, “Dad, I’ve been in the Army for 20 years. I think that’s enough. 
against an Army career, and has never looked back. After graduating 

from college, Tony worked for Lockheed Martin where he met 

Cyndee, his wife. They have two children Savannah, born June 6, 

1993, and Sarah, born October 22, 1995. He is now with KPMG as a 

senior defense consultant. As fate would have it, his job often takes 

him to the Pentagon. 

 Looking back on his childhood in the Army, Tony said, “When we 

moved to San Francisco, I remember having a view of the Golden 

Gate Bridge from my bedroom window in our home at Fort Mason. 

Being a small child, I didn’t realize how special that was until I grew 

older. I loved meeting your helicopter and walking you back to your 

office at Camp King. Germany gave me the opportunity to learn the 

German language. Many of the teachers at my school provided me the 

basics of the language. As our family returned from Germany to the 

States, I continued to take German during my high school years. All 

the places we visited in Europe provided a glimpse of a variety of life 

styles and each county’s history. I didn’t realize it then, but each trip 

was an unusual and exceptional education.” 

 Like most Army “brats,” my children can walk into any room and 

have no problem mixing with people. They can start a conversation 

with anyone and knowledgably carry on a discussion on almost any 

topic. Exposure to diverse cultures and a myriad of different life styles 

evoked an early maturity in all three. 

 After Tony’s graduation from college, he and I were involved in a 

conversation with a group, and someone asked him, “Tony, where are 

you from?” 

 Tony looked at me and said, “Dad, where are we from?” 

 Hard question. After 25 Army moves, I guess I’d have to say 

we’re from the United States of America. I’m fortunate to have the 

family with which I was blessed and will be eternally grateful they 

granted me the honor of choosing a career that let me serve this 

country for which I have the utmost respect and am grateful to call 

home. 

 

1

 The 100th Infantry Battalion with personnel of Japanese ancestry from the Hawaiian 

National Guard was activated in June of 1942, just seven months after Japan, their 

mother country, bombed the naval base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. In the fall of 1943, 

they fought in southern Italy with the 34th and later in the Anzio and Casino 

campaigns. Later they joined another Japanese American unit, becoming the 442nd 

RCT. The combined unit participated in the drive from Rome to the Arno River and 

supported the 36th during heavy fighting in the Vosges Mountains in France, before 

returning to Italy for the drive against the Gothic Line. 

 The honors bestowed upon these men speak to their bravery and courageous 

loyalty to their adopted country, the USA. The 100th received three Presidential Unit 

Citations, one separately, two with the 442nd. Four more citations were earned by 

other components of the 442nd, making a total of seven shared. One Asian-American 

from the group received the Medal of Honor during the war. In June of 2000, 20 

veterans of that group received the Medal of Honor. In all, the Soldiers of the 

100th/442nd were given 9,486 Purple Hearts. Amazing service to their country! 

2

Wilkinson, Charles Burnham (Bud) Wilkinson, was born in Minneapolis, Minn. in 

1916. He was an all-around athlete at the Univ. of Minnesota and later was assistant 

football coach at Syracuse University and the University of Minnesota before 

entering the U.S. Navy in 1943. He became assistant coach at the University of 

Oklahoma in 1945 and head coach in 1947. His teams won 31 consecutive games in 

1948-51, and in 1953-57, they won 47 consecutive games, the longest winning streak 

in modern football history. Wilkinson was College Coach of the Year in 1949, and 

his speedy Oklahoma teams were national champions in 1950, 1955, and 1956. 

From 1961 to 1964, he was head of President Kennedy’s youth fitness program. He 

coached the professional St. Louis Cardinals (1978-1979) but left after winning just 

11 of 32 games. Wilkinson died in 1994. (infoplease.com, Encyclopedia) 

3

 The 25th was activated on October 1, 1941, just before the attack on Pearl Harbor, 

at Schofield Barracks, Territory of Hawaii. The majority of its assigned components 

had served for decades with the Hawaiian Division, which had been activated in 

1921. They were credited for participation in four campaigns of the Asian-Pacific 

Theaters during World War II. In 1950, they rushed to defend South Korea, 

following the surprise invasion by the North Koreans. The 25th greatly distinguished 

itself in 37 months of combat in Korea, after which it returned to Schofield Barracks 

to its original mission of jungle warfare and stressed counter-guerilla operations. 

4

 It is the oldest government building in Hawaii, completed in 1874 as a palace for 

the reigning king, Kamehameha. A statue of Kamehameha graces the entrance of the 

building, which today is the home of the Supreme Court of Hawaii. Kamehameha, 

the Hawaiian king who is credited with uniting the Hawaiian Islands in the late 

1800’s and promoting peace and harmony among the islands, is a favorite of the 

Hawaiian people. 
5

 It was again exciting to be entering a battle group with such a marvelous past. 

Their distinctive insignia is a black oblong background with a raised wolf’s head in 

gold above the motto, Nec Aspera Terrent, “Frightened by No Difficulties.” The 

wolf’s head commemorates the regiment’s outstanding service in Siberia. The 

“Wolfhounds,” who were based in the Philippines, fought in Russia in the Siberian 

American Expeditionary Force of 1918-1919. They were literally the last American 

unit to fight in Russia. 

6

 The Bay of Pigs Invasion was an unsuccessful attempt in 1961 to overthrow the 

government of the Cuban premier Fidel Castro by United States-backed Cuban 

exiles. Eisenhower had broken off diplomatic relations with Cuba in January of 

1961. On April 17, armed with U.S. weapons, about 1300 exiles landed at Bahia de 

Cochinos (Bay of Pigs) intending to cross the island of Havana and reclaim their 

country. Castro’s army stopped them in two days. When the fighting ended 90 men 

had been killed and the rest were prisoners. The failure was a serious embarrassment 

to the Kennedy administration. 

 

7

 The fort, opened in 1941, is named after William Bowen Campbell, a statesman 

and Brigadier General in the United States Volunteers during the Civil War. The 

101st Airborne “Screaming Eagles,” stationed at Fort Campbell, have the distinction 

of being the only Air Assault Division in the world. They have a rich history and the 

shoulder patch is based on a Civil War tradition of Wisconsin. The eagle alludes to 

“old Abe,” an eagle carried into combat by one of the regiments of the old “Iron 

Brigade” from the state of Wisconsin. 

8

 In the famed Korean incident, Lieutenant Burke’s company was pinned under 

intense enemy fire. He made lone charges on two bunkers, killing the crews. He 

threw grenades at the third bunker while catching several enemy grenades in midair 

and hurling them back at the opposition. Then his men overran the position, but 

were again pinned down by fire. Lieutenant Burke secured and set-up a light 

machine gun, pouring crippling fire into the ranks of the enemy, killing 

approximately 75. Although wounded, he ordered more ammunition and continued 

firing. Cradling the weapon, he led his men forward killing 25 of the retreating 

Soldiers. None of his small band of 35 Soldiers were killed. When the firing 

stopped, and the objective was secure, Burke had killed 100 of the enemy. 

 Like Alvin York in World War I and Audie Murphy in World War II, Scooter 

Burke was a rare breed of hero whose name was known only to the band of brothers. 

In the late eighties, his wartime exploits were featured on an episode of Heroes on 

A&E. His military decorations included the Distinguished Service Metal, the 

Distinguished Service Cross, the Silver Star, three Bronze Stars, four Army 

Commendation medals, the Joint Service Commendation, and five Purple Hearts. In 

1978, he retired as chief Army liaison to the House of Representatives. 

9

 Long after the war, General Moore went to North Vietnam and talked with his 

opposing regimental counterparts from the battle. Senior General Vo Nguyen Giap, 

Lt. Gen. Nguyen Huu An, and others, spent hours in cordial, professional meetings, 
generously sharing diaries, maps, and information about the battle. General Moore 

learned much about combat strategies from their point of view. Just as the Ia Drang 

Alumni in the U.S. have dinner before Veterans’ day in Washington and a lunch 

where the 1st Cavalry Division Association holds its reunion each summer, old 

Vietnamese Soldiers gather at coffeehouses to talk among themselves and talk about 

their days in the Ia Drang. Comrades find pleasure, comfort, and healing in each 

other’s company. 

10 Lieutenant General Harold G. Moore (Ret.) and Joseph L. Galloway, We Were 

Soldiers Once . . . And Young (New York: Random House, 1992), p. 406. 

11 General Bruce Palmer, Jr., commanded U.S. troops deployed to the Dominican 

Republic in 1965. Palmer commanded the XVIII Airborne Corps (1965-1967), prior 

to becoming the Deputy Commanding General, United States Army, Vietnam, in 

1967. He served as Vice Chief of Staff (1968-1972) and as Acting Chief of Staff 

(July-October 1972). He has written two books: The 25 Year War: America’s 

Military Role in Vietnam (New York: Da Capo Press, 1990, and Intervention in the 

Caribbean: The Dominican Crisis of 1965 (Lexington: The University Press of 

Kentucky, 1989) 

12 Fort Bragg came into existence in 1918 and was named for Confederate General 

Braxton Bragg, an artillery officer and North Carolinian. All five airborne divisions 

of World War II were trained at Fort Bragg. Upon its return from Europe, the 82nd

Airborne Division was assigned there, and in 1951, the XVIII Airborne Corps was 

reactivated there, causing Fort Bragg to become known as the “Home of the 

Airborne.” Today Fort Bragg and nearby Pope Air Force Base form one of the 

largest military complexes in the world. Fort Bragg is a rapid deployment post with 

a mission of being ready to fight anywhere in the world within 18 hours. 

13 The XVIII Airborne Corps was originally activated as the II Armored Corps at 

Camp Polk, Louisiana, January 17, 1942. It was re-designated XVIII Corps October 

9, 1943 at the Presidio of Monterey, California. On August 25, 1944, the Corps 

celebrated its birthday, added the blue airborne tab at Orbourne, St. George, England, 

and assumed command of the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions. Within a month, 

Major General Matthew B. Ridgway, the first Corps Commander, sent his men into 

action in Operation Market Garden, the Allied invasion of the Netherlands during 

World War II. 

Today, the XVIII Airborne is the Army’s largest war-fighting organization, 

the only airborne corps in the defense establishment of the U.S., and exercises 

control over approximately 88,000 Soldiers. The Corps operational tempo remains 

the highest in the Army, and its role as a quick reaction force has been the key to 

success in numerous crises. 

14 The Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal is given for non-combat operations such 

as the Dominican Republic Operation from April 18, 1965 to September 21, 1966. 
15 Since 1966, a series of wayside pedestals at 17 historic sites have been erected on 

the fort. Each stone pedestal displays beautiful artwork and a narrative, as well as a 

recording, explaining the historical significance of the site. 

 It was from Fort Leavenworth that traders and wagon trains began their long 

journeys west in the mid 1800’s. The army camp that Henry Leavenworth began in 

May of 1827 was the first settlement in Kansas territory and the oldest active Army 

post west of the Mississippi River. Huge corrals and supply camps were located 

nearby; a branch of the Oregon Trail led up steep trails away from the Missouri 

River; and a branch of the Santa Fe Trail led away from the post. Early Soldiers 

protected wagon trains hauling supplies over the trails as far west as the Pacific 

Ocean. 

 During the Civil War, the regular forces from Camp Lincoln at Leavenworth 

formed the foundation on which volunteer forces were built. The “Buffalo Soldiers,” 

the first Black regiments which were formed and trained at Fort Leavenworth, earned 

praise and repeated honors for battles such as the one fought in Cuba along side 

Theodore Roosevelt and his Rough Riders in 1898. In 1874, the fort housed a U.S. 

Disciplinary Barracks, a military prison, and in 1882, the Army established the 

“School of Application for Cavalry and Infantry” at the post. This school was the 

forerunner of the U.S. Army Command and General Staff Officers’ Course, which I 

would be attending for the coming year. 

16 Maxwell Reid Thurman was promoted to Brigadier General in 1975. General 

Thurman served as Vice Chief of Staff (1983-1987), Commanding General, U.S. 

Army Training and Doctrine Command (1987-1989), and Commander-in-Chief, 

U.S. Southern Command (1989-1990) during “Operation Just Cause.” 

17 Lieutenant General Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., graduated from West Point in 1936, 

joining his father as only the second African American officer in the Regular Army. 

With his promotion to Brigadier General, Davis became the first Black to earn a star 

in the U.S. Air Force. He retired as a Lieutenant General in 1970. His father, 

Benjamin Oliver Davis, Sr., was the first African American general officer in the 

Regular Army and in the U.S. Armed Forces. He joined the military as a volunteer 

in 1898 during the War with Spain, was mustered out, and enlisted as a Private in the 

Regular Army in 1899. He was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant of Cavalry in 

the Regular Army in 1901. He was promoted to Brigadier General in 1940. 

18 The History Place, Great Speeches Collection, “Robert F. Kennedy on the Death 

of Martin Luther King,” http://www.historyplace.com/speeches/rfk.htm. 

19 Ibid. 

20 Local villages celebrate for an entire week, and the excitement begins many weeks 

prior to that. They view the lunar, celestial event as a new opportunity to start again, 

to renew and celebrate their lives. (In the United States, this festival is usually called 

“Chinese New Year.”) It seemed very similar to our New Year’s celebration in the 

United States, which involves setting goals for the New Year. It was a time for 

families to gather with gift giving, folk dances in traditional costumes, traditional 
food (one was a sticky rice with beans and pork dish), musical performances, and 

fireworks. The fireworks always made the U.S. Army nervous. Was this a Viet 

Cong or North Vietnamese Army attack, or just part of the celebration? A beauty 

pageant was held in Saigon during Tet to select the Vietnamese beauty of the year, 

Miss Saigon. Even those of us visiting from outside the country would be brought 

into the festivities and given gifts. 

21 General Edward Flanagan was Assistant Division Commander, 25th Infantry 

Division, Vietnam, from January 1967 until February 1967 when he became 

Director, Training Directorate and Special Assistant to the Commander, U.S. 

Military Command, Vietnam (MACV), until February 1968 when he became Deputy 

Chief of Staff, Operations, III Marine Amphibious Force, U.S. MACV until July 

1968. His next stop was Fort Bragg. 

22 General John Hennessey was the Assistant Division Commander, 101st Airborne 

Division, Vietnam, from September 1969 until May 1970 when he became 

Commanding General, 101st Airborne Division, until February 1970. 

23 The 13th Valley, by John M. Del Vecchio, is a great book that chronicles fighting in 

the A Shau Valley. Del Vecchio was drafted and sent to Vietnam in 1970 and served 

as a military combat correspondent for the 101st. In 1971, he was awarded a Bronze 

Star for heroism in ground combat. He is also the author of Darkness Falls, Carry 

Me Home, and For the Sake of All Living Things. 

24 Since its inception on July 6, 1942, the 10th had a proud history of serving as a 

departure port for men and equipment, first from a military port in San Francisco, 

and then from Italy to the Southern Campaign against the Axis powers. A special 

group of 10th support port Soldiers was organized to support Operation Dragoon, the 

invasion of Southern France where they were “uncomfortably close to the front.” 

The 10th continued to operate the port at Leghorn through the end of the war, and 

was inactivated on January 31, 1947. On August 23, 1954, the 10th Transportation 

Battalion was reactivated and allotted to the Regular Army. On September 19, 1965, 

the 10th began operating the outposts of Phang Rang and Phan Thiet that supported 

the Cam Ranh Bay Terminal. 

25 The site that is now Fort Lee, Virginia has a long military history that began 

during the revolutionary war when a battle between the Tories and the British took 

place on the land where Fort Lee now stands. Four historical markers indicate where 

General Grant’s railroad crossed the post during the Civil War. The first Camp Lee, 

named after General Robert E. Lee, was constructed shortly after the United States 

declared war on Germany and entered WWI. It became a state mobilization camp 

and soon after a division training camp. After WWI, it became a game preserve and 

later portions were incorporated into the National Military Park of Petersburg. The 

second Camp Lee was constructed in 1941, serving as the center for both advanced 

and basic training of Quartermaster personnel throughout WWII. After the war, the 

camp was retained and re-designated as Fort Lee. It is now under the control of the 

U.S. Army Training and Doctrine Command. 
26 Physically entering the vast defense building of our nation is overwhelming. The 

Pentagon consists of five concentric rings connected by ten corridors that run like 

spokes from the inner to the outer ring. The rings are separated by interior 

courtyards that provide light. The corridors are 17 and one-half miles long with a 

building gross square footage of 6,500,000 square feet. There are 3, 800,000 square 

feet of offices, storage, and concessions. The five-sided center courtyard covers five 

acres. Now you know why people that work in the Pentagon complain of headaches! 

 Ground was broken in Arlington, Virginia for the Pentagon on September 11, 

1941, exactly 60 years before the September 2001 attack. Since five roads 

surrounded the site, it was decided that the building should be five sided, thus giving 

it the name, Pentagon. An architectural continuation of this theme resulted in a 

building that has five sides, five layers, and five floors above ground. It was 

completed on January 13, 1942; just 16 months after construction began. Including 

the outside structures, the building cost 83 million dollars 

The complex contains a shopping concourse, numerous snack bars, 

cafeterias, banks, and a bus platform making it a “city within a city.” The Pentagon 

is synonymous with our nation’s Department of Defense, and the Defense Post 

Office there handles 1,200,000 pieces of mail each month. 

27 Creighton Williams Abrams, Jr. was promoted to General in September 1964. He 

was Acting Vice Chief of Staff and Vice Chief of Staff from August 1964 until April 

1967. From Deputy Commander, he became Commander of U.S. Military 

Assistance Command, Vietnam, 1967-1972. He was the Chief of Staff of the Army 

from October 1972 until his death in September 1974. 

28 Looking into my new assignment, I learned that Fort Mason was established in 

1860 as a costal fortification but is best known as headquarters of the San Francisco 

Port of Embarkation between 1910 and 1963. During World War II, 1.6 million 

troops and 23 million tons of cargo passed through the port administered facilities 

and were ferried to the Pacific Theater through the immense pier and dock system at 

Lower Fort Mason. During that war, the New York Times Magazine commented, 

“This port has one main commodity to send abroad. It is exporting war.” 

 Fort Mason played a large role providing relief aid after the great earthquake 

and fire in 1906. The controversy that surrounded the relief effort had to do with 

following a chain of command. The massive quake hit San Francisco at 5:13 AM 

on April 18, 1906, and at 6:30 that morning a messenger arrived at Fort Mason with 

orders from General Frederick Funston28, the Commander of California stationed 

with his command troops at the Presidio, to send all available troops to report to 

Mayor Eugene Schmitz at the Hall of Justice. Funston’s direct superior, Major 

General W. Greely, Division Commander, was in Chicago at the time attending his 

daughter’s wedding. Both the mayor and Funston were criticized for their actions 

during the relief effort. By 3:00 PM that day, uncontrolled crowds rushed along the 

waterfront and into the city, drinking, looting, and refusing to help with fighting 

fires. This prompted Mayor Schmitz to say to his appointed Committee of Fifty, 

which was quickly formed to manage relief efforts: 
 “Let it be given out that three men have already been shot down without mercy 

for looting. Let it also be understood that the order has been given to all Soldiers and 

policemen to do likewise without hesitation in the cases of any and all miscreants 

who may seek to take advantage of the city’s awful misfortune.” 

 Neither Funston nor Schmitz had the authority to take many of the actions they 

took during that time. Funston took command of both local relief and law 

enforcement and, in the process, directed the dynamiting of buildings to create 

firebreaks. In spite of their lack of state and national authority, both men were 

instrumental in the establishment of communications, sanitation, medical facilities, 

housing, and reestablishing general order in a destroyed and chaotic city. They were 

both chastised for their actions and, at the same time, given credit for saving San 

Francisco. General Funston’s wire to the War Department at 8:30 PM on April 20 

advised that Fort Mason had been saved, some looters had been shot, and that most 

casualties were in the poorer district south of Market Street. He stated that not many 

had been killed in the better portion of the city. Again, Funston’s choice of words 

left something to be desired. 

29 The camp has a long and fascinating past, beginning about 1936, the year of my 

birth. Prior to World War II, Camp King had been an educational farm under the 

auspices of the University of Frankfurt, as mentioned previously. The model farm 

was especially important as it played a role in the German Army Retirement System. 

Soldiers could retire after 12 years if they agreed to cadre for new troops. The 

retired Soldiers were paid a small stipend and given a small plot of land to farm, 

usually on the eastern border of Germany. For three months out of each year, the 

Soldiers reported to a Kasern near the farm to train the new troops and, in turn, the 

school educated them in agricultural skills. 

 During World War II, the German Air Force needed a place to interrogate 

downed Allied pilots, and part of the farm was converted to military use. Most 

Americans and Allied prisoners call the interrogation camp, known as Auswertestelle 

West to the Germans, “Dulag Luft.” Three barracks were soon added to the farm, 

and in 1942, an interrogation building and the “cooler” were built. The “cooler” was 

a building with a series of one-man cells, four by eight feet, in which the temperature 

would sometimes reach 119 degrees Fahrenheit or be freezing in the German 

winters. Heat or frigid temperatures and isolation were reportedly the interrogation 

methods, and most prisoners have stated they were well treated. 

 During my tour at Camp King, former U.S., British, and French pilots that were 

held captive at “Dulag Luft” came back to see the cell they had lived in as a POW. 

One was an Air Force full Colonel, Hess, which I served with in San Francisco. 

 The area was rumored to have been concealed as a goat farm, but a World War 

II aerial photo shows two of the camp buildings clearly marked as “POW” buildings. 

The goat rumor had a morsel of truth. The report appears to have come from a feisty 

goat that occupied one of the fields and tenaciously guarded his territory. During the 

course of the war, an estimated 29,000 Allied prisoners were processed through 

Camp King. 

 As the war ended, the Americans accidentally found and occupied the camp. 

Now under U.S. military rule, it was called Camp Sibert after General Edwin Sibert, 

senior intelligence officer for the U.S. Zone. Mobile field interrogation units moved 
in to serve at the Army and group levels. On September 19, 1946, the intelligence 

camp was officially named Camp King, after Colonel Charles B. King, Infantry. 

Colonel King, an intelligence officer, was killed in Normandy on June 22, 1944 as he 

accompanied a patrol bringing back prisoners. 

 Camp King became an important intelligence post and the “Gehlen 

Organization,” as well as the European Command Intelligence Center, was based 

there. The Gehlen Organization was a fledgling German intelligence organization 

that later became the German equivalent of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). 

Thanks to the organization’s leader, General Reinhard Gehlen, the group was 

allowed to continue operating in spite of being captured and denazified in exchange 

for German intelligence information. The arrangement proved advantageous to both 

parties, and the Gehlen Organization, which had a presence at Camp King until 

1952, became a valuable asset to the CIA, assisting with covert operations in the 

Soviet Union. General Gehlen, who authored a book about the POW camp, is now a 

U.S. citizen, and lives in Los Angeles. 

30 Friends also serving in VII Corps include Commander, Lieutenant General Fred 

Franks; CO Corps Support Command, Brigadier General Bob McFarlin; VII Corps 

Artillery Officer, Brigadier General Creighton Abrams, Jr.; CO Major General 

Ronald Griffith and ADC Brigadier General Jay Hendrix, both 1st Armored Division; 

Colonel Montgomery Meigs, 2nd Brigade, 1st Armored Division; CO Major General 

Thomas Rhame and ADC Brigadier General Bill Carter of 1st Infantry Division, 

Mechanized; and 1st Infantry Division Support Command, Colonel Bob Shadley. 

31 The name “Desert Fox” came from Rommel’s highly successful exploits in World 

War II battles in North Africa. Later he was put in charge of all German Armies 

from the Netherlands to the Loire. He was unable to prevent the Normandy 

Invasion, however, and after being wounded, returned to Germany to convalesce. 

He became increasingly outspoken in his criticism of Hitler’s leadership and, on 

October 14, 1944, was ordered by Hitler to take poison or face trial for complicity in 

the July 20, 1944 plot against Hitler’s life. He chose the former course. 

32 Mayor Rommel was hesitant to discuss his father, but in the end, he did anyway. 

When he talked that day with the 2nd Support Command officers, with between 300-

400 in attendance, you could have heard a pin drop. He shared what life was like 

with the “Desert Fox” in the Rommel family home near Ulm, not far from Augsburg. 

When he began discussing the last time he saw his father, it was very emotional. I 

think it was still difficult to discuss, even after 40 years. On that morning in 1944, 

young Rommel knew there was something unusual occurring. His father got up and 

began looking for his “Afrika” gear: his pants, boots, Africa hat, and leather jacket. 

When he began looking for his field marshal’s baton, his son knew there was 

something incredibly abnormal happening. He saw that his mother and father were 

being very emotional in the kitchen and then he heard his father say that he would 

not be coming back. He wanted to say goodbye. I don’t think there was much of a 

farewell between father and son 

 At the appointed time, a sedan showed up, and two officers with knee length 

leather coats arrived, SS officers in civilian clothes, to pick up his father. He 
watched as his father got into the car with the men. That was the last time young 

Rommel ever saw his father. Mayor Rommel then said, “My father committed 

suicide. He could have gone to Berlin and been court-martialed by the civilian 

tribunal, but committing suicide ensured that the family would be fully taken care of. 

It also ensured that he would have a state funeral and be treated as a German hero. 

Choosing the latter guaranteed the family financial stability and saved them from 

living with the disgrace of his court martial. Of the two choices that Hitler gave him, 

my father chose to commit suicide.” 

33 Leslie Aspin served as the first Secretary of Defense under President Clinton, 

resigning in December 1993. Previously he was a Congressman from Wisconsin for 

more than twenty years. He died in 1995 after suffering a stroke. 

34 The founder of Chambersburg, Benjamin Chambers, emigrated from Antrim 

County, Ireland. “A town founded by a fellow Irishman has got to be a special 

place,” she said. 

 Benjamin Chambers joined other Irish, Scottish, and German settlers in the 

Conococheague Settlement and found the Falling Spring area suitable for his 

gristmill and home. In 1755-1756, an Indian uprising, incited by French influence, 

caused Chambers to build a fort around his gristmill and home with which he 

outfitted with cannons, protecting Chamber’s business, dwellings, and neighboring 

settlers. The Conococheague Creek powered the mill, provided water, and helped 

protect the structures from fire attacks by the Indians. The settlement survived, grew 

strong, and in 1764 the town of Chambersburg was founded. 

 The raid on Harper’s Ferry was planned in Chambersburg by John Brown, using 

the alias Isaac Smith. He was staying in a rented room somewhere on King Street. 

Later during the war, Generals Robert E. Lee and A. P. Hill met in the center of town 

and made the decision to go on to Gettysburg. The biggest hullabaloo for 

Chambersburg happened in 1864 when General John McCausland demanded that the 

residents of Chambersburg come up with a ransom of $500,000.00 in paper money 

or $100,000.00 worth of gold. He threatened to burn the town if they didn’t hand 

over the payola. They refused to pay, and McCausland set fire to the town, 

destroying over 500 buildings. The people in Chambersburg were strong folks, 

sticking to their convictions in the face of that kind of danger and of losing their 

homes. 

35 Title X is legislation, U.S. Code, which states the Army will recruit, train, 

organize, and supply forces of the Army. The base line document is the authority for 

the Army. 

 

36 John M. Deutch later went on to become the Director of the CIA. 

37 Fort Myer and Arlington National Cemetery rest on land once owned by the family 

of Confederate General Robert E. Lee’s wife, Mary Anna Randolph Custis Lee, 

granddaughter of George Washington Parke Custis. The Custis-Lee mansion and the 

land known as Arlington Heights in the 1800’s were confiscated in the Civil War for 

burial of Union war dead. Custis was Martha Washington’s grandson and the 
adopted son of George Washington, to whom he made his mansion a memorial 

shrine. When Robert E. Lee was a young Army Lieutenant, he married Mary Custis 

and in 1858 helped rescue the estate from financial disaster. When Lee became a 

military advisor to Confederate President Jefferson Davis in 1861, the Lees left their 

Arlington home. Lee later commanded the Army of Northern Virginia and never 

returned to Arlington. 

 The first military test flight of an aircraft was made from the Fort Myer parade 

ground in 1908, when Orville Wright kept one of his planes in the air for one minute 

and eleven seconds. Alexander Graham Bell filmed the flight for posterity, and 

visitors touring the post can see the film that includes pre-flight footage. The second 

test flight ended tragically in a crash after four minutes aloft. Wright was injured, 

and his passenger, Lieutenant Thomas Selfridge, was killed, becoming the first 

powered aviation fatality. Selfridge’s name is on a gate at Arlington Cemetery near 

the site of the crash. 

38 The Army had “look deep” systems, new technology similar to powerful, invasive 

binoculars, which in 1989 only the CIA and border posts had. 

39 Operation Desert Shield is the period from August 1990, when the first American 

troops were deployed to defend the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, until February 1991, 

when Coalition Forces launched Operation Desert Storm, the 100-hour offensive to 

drive Iraqi forces out of Kuwait. 

40 “Flak” is a German word from World War II. “Flying through anti-aircraft flak” 

was the term given flying through heavy fire. The pilots flight jackets became “flak” 

jackets, and the term stuck. 

41 Fort Belvoir’s history is a rich one, the land once being part of a grant from a 17th 

century English king. The land was handed down through the Culpeper family to 

Thomas, the sixth Lord Fairfax, who persuaded his cousin, Colonel William Fairfax, 

to come from England to oversee the family’s holdings. 

 Colonel Fairfax’s home was on 2,000 acres that is now part of Fort Belvoir. His 

mansion sat on a high bluff overlooking the Potomac, and Colonel Fairfax named the 

estate Belvoir, which is French for “beautiful to see.” The Fairfax family made 

Belvoir a center of culture and aristocratic elegance in the Virginia wilderness. One 

of Fairfax’s sons, George William, befriended a 16-year-old George Washington, 

who had moved to Mount Vernon to live with an older half-brother. Eventually, 

George William Fairfax and his wife returned to England, and the land was leased. 

In 1783, the mansion was partially burned and, in 1814, was destroyed by British 

cannons from ships engaged in a battle with U.S. naval forces after the burning of 

Washington. 

 Some 30 years later, the Otterback family converted the site to one of the largest 

fisheries on the Potomac River. In the early nineteen hundreds, the District of 

Columbia purchased 1,500 acres for a proposed prison. Due to the objection of local 

citizens, the prison never materialized, and the War Department inherited the site, 

establishing a rifle range and training camp. 
42 The Corps of Engineers put General Besson’s oral history together from speeches, 

a 1973 Military History Institute (MHI) interview, and a 1980-81 series of 

interviews. He was Director of the Third Military Railway Service in Iran during 

1944 and 1945, ensuring the flow of war materials to the Russian forces through the 

Persian Corridor. Promoted to Brigadier General at 34, he became the youngest 

general officer in the Army Ground Forces. General Besson directed the 

rehabilitation of the Japanese rail system during Japans first year of occupation, 

moving more than 200,000 troops and 150,000 tons of supplies in the first two 

months. 

43 "The Contest in America," Fraser’s Magazine (February 1862); later published in 

Dissertations and Discussions (1868), vol.1, p. 26, from 

http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/John_Stuart_Mill. 

44 From 

http://www.armywives.com/index.php/component/option,com_content/task,view/id,

1757/Itemid,409/. 

45 Colonel Steven A. Arrington, “The Difference,” in Jack Canfield, Mark Victor 

Hansen, Charles Preston, and Cindy Pedersen, Chicken Soup for the Military Wife’s 

Soul (Deerfield Beach, FL: Health Communications, Inc, 2005). 

46 Ibid. 

y 

A-1 Sky Raider U.S. fighter aircraft 

A&R Athletics and Recreation 

ACALS Army Computer-aided Acquisition and 

 Logistics Support 

ACSFOR Assistant Chief of Staff for Force 

 Development 

AD Aerial Delivery 

ADC Assistant Division Commander 

ADCSLOG Assistant Deputy Chief of Staff for 

 Logistics 

ADCSOPS Assistant Deputy Chief of Staff for 

 Operations 

AFAS Advanced Field Artillery System 

AFB Air Force Base 

AFQT Armed Forces Qualification Test 

AIC Arkansas Intercollegiate Conference 

AID Agency for International Development 

AIF Army Industrial Fund 

AK-47 Assault rifle, developed for the Soviet 

 Army 

ALOC Air Line of Communication 

AMC Army Materiel Command 

AMCCOM Armament, Munitions, and Chemical 

 Command 

ANGLICO Air and Naval Gunfire Liaison Company 

AOC Army Operations Center 

AOE Army of Excellence 

AP Associated Press 

ARCENT United States Army Central Command 

ARDEC Armament Research, Development, and 

 Engineering Center 

ARL Army Research Laboratory 

ARTEPS Army Training and Evaluation Programs 

ARVN Army of the Republic of Vietnam 

ASA (FM) Assistant Secretary of the Army for 

 Financial Management 

ASARS Automatic Storage and Retrieval System 

ASL Authorized Stockage List 
ATCOM Aviation and Troop Command 

ATT Army Training Tests 

AVCOM Aviation Command 

AVIM Aviation Intermediate Maintenance Unit 

AVSCOM Aviation Systems Command 

B-52 Stratofortress Long-range bomber 

B–rations Boxed and canned rations 

BAR Browning automatic rifle 

BASOPS Base Operations 

BDREC Belvoir Research, Development, and 

 Engineering Center 

BDU Battle Dress Uniform 

BG Brigadier General 

BOQ Bachelor Officers Quarters 

BRASS Breathe, Relax, Aim, Sight, Shoot 

BSA Brigade Support Area 

BSEP Basic Secondary Education Program 

C-rations Dehydrated, freeze-dried meals 

C-130 Hercules Tactical aircraft 

C-17 Globemaster Cargo aircraft 

C-141 Starlifter Airlift and transport aircraft 

C-5A Galaxy Airlift aircraft (Air Mobility Command) 

CALS Computer-Aided Acquisition and Logistics 

 Support 

CASCOM Combined Arms Support Command 

CBDCOM Chemical and Biological Defense 

 Command 

CCT Close Combat Tactical Trainer 

CBR Chemical, Biological and Radiological 

CECOM Communications-Electronics Command 

CENTCOM United States Central Command 

CG Commanding General 

CGSC Command and General Staff College, Fort 

 Leavenworth 

CH-47 Chinook helicopter 

CIA Central Intelligence Agency 

CINC Commander in Chief 
CLASS II Clothing and individual equipment 

CLASS III Bulk fuel. See also POL. 

CLASS IV Construction material 

CLASS V Ammunition 

CLASS VII Major end items 

CLASS VIII Medical items 

CLASS IX Repair parts 

CLG Civilian Labor Group 

CMH Center of Military History/Chief of Military 

 History 

CMU Central Michigan University 

CNO Chief of Naval Operations 

COCARC Continental Army Command 

CONEX Container for Export 

COSCOM Corps Support Command 

CP Command Post 

CRAF Civil Reserve Air Fleet 

CSA Chief of Staff of the Army 

CWO Chief Warrant Officer 

DA Department of the Army 

DA-DOMS Department of the Army, Director of 

 Military Support 

 Support 

DAR Daughters of the American Revolution 

DAS Department of the Army Staff 

DATS Director of Army Transportation 

DCG Deputy Commanding General 

DCSLOG Deputy Chief of Staff for Logistics 

DCSOPS Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations 

DCSPERS Deputy Chief of Staff for Personnel 

DCSRDA Deputy Chief of Staff for Research, 

 Development and Acquisition 

DESCOM Depot Systems Command 

DI Drill Instructor 

DIA Defense Intelligence Agency 
 Management 

DISCOM Division Support Command 

DLA Defense Logistics Agency 

DMA Director of Materiel Acquisition 

DMG Distinguished Military Graduate 

DMWR Depot Maintenance Work Requirements 

DMZ Demilitarized Zone 

DoD Department of Defense 

DPSC Defense Personnel Supply Center 

DRB Division Ready Brigade 

DROPS Demountable Rack Off-Load and Pickup 

 System 

DSA Defense Supply Agency See DLA. 

E-7 Sergeant First Class, E-7 

E-8 Master Sergeant 

EDI Electronic Data Interchange 

EDRE Emergency Deployment Readiness 

 Exercises 

ESC Executive Steering Committee 

FAS Forward Area Support 

FASCO Forward Area Support Coordinating Officer 

FAST Forward Area Support Team 

FCIM Flexible Computer-Integrated 

 Manufacturing 

FEMA Federal Emergency Management Agency 

FIREBASE Fortified base center of operations 

 (Vietnam) 

FM 100-5 Field Manual, Operations 

FMT Field Maintenance Technicians 

FORSCOM U.S. Army Forces Command 

FSB Forward Support Battalion 

FSC U.S. Army Field Support Command 

FSS Fast Sealift Ship 

FUE First Unit Equipped 

G-1 Assistant Chief of Staff, Personnel 

G-2 Assistant Chief of Staff, Intelligence 
 Plans 

G-4 Assistant Chief of Staff, Logistics 

GAO General Accounting Office, Government 

 Accountability Office 

GED General Equivalency Diploma 

GPRA Government Performance and Results Act 

 of 1993 

GRE Graduate Record Examination 

GS General Schedule (civilian grade) 

GSA General Services Administration 

GWU George Washington University 

H&I Harassment and Interdiction 

HEMTT Heavy Expanded Mobility Tactical Truck 

HET Heavy Equipment Transporter 

HMMWV High Mobility, Multi-purpose Wheeled 

 Vehicle 

HQDA Headquarters, Department of the Army 

Huey Light-lift utility helicopter, UH-1; search 

 and rescue 

ICAF Industrial College of the Armed Forces 

ID Identification 

ID Infantry Division 

IL&E Installations, Logistics, and the 

 Environment 

IMET International Military Education and 

 Training 

INMARSAT International Maritime Satellite 

IOC Industrial Operations Command 

IOLC Infantry Officers Leadership Course 

ISM Integrated Sustainment Maintenance 

IVIS Inter-Vehicular Information System 

J-3 Joint Operations Directorate/Director of 

 Operations 

J-4 Joint Logistics Directorate/Director of 

 Logistics 

J-LOG Joint Logistics Director 
JCS Pub. 4.0 Doctrinal Logistics Publication 

JTF Joint Task Force 

K-rations Dehydrated meals served during World 

 War II 

KD Known Distance 

LABCOM Laboratory Command 

LACV-30 Lighter, Air Cushioned Vehicle 

LAR Logistics Assistance Representatives 

LCAC Landing Craft, Air Cushion 

LCU Landing Craft Utility 

LEDC Logistics Executive Development Course 

LOC Logistics Operations Center 

LOG Logistics 

LOGCENTER Logistics Center 

LRRP Long-range Reconnaissance Patrol 

LSE Logistics Support Element 

LSG Logistics Support Group 

LSV Logistics Support Vessel 

M-1 Garand Rifle 

M-1 Tank 

M-2 Carbine automatic rifle 

M-16 Assault rifle (U.S.A.) 

MA Master of Arts 

MAC Military Airlift Command 

MACOM Major Command 

MACV Military Assistance Command, Vietnam 

MARSAT Maritime Satellite System 

MBA Master of Business Administration 

MCC Movements Control Center 

MDEP Management Decision Package 

MDW Military District of Washington 

MEDEVAC Medical Evacuation 

MH/AH-6 Helicopter 

MHE Materials Handling Equipment 

MHI Military History Institute 

MIA Missing in Action 
MKT Mobile Kitchen Trailer 

MMC Materiel Management Center 

MOTBA Military Ocean Terminal for the Bay Area 

MP Military Police 

MRC Major Regional Contingency 

MRE Meals, Ready-to-Eat 

MSC Military Sealift Command 

MTMC Military Traffic Management Command 

MUCOM U.S. Army Munitions Command 

NAIA National Association of Intercollegiate 

 Athletics 

NASA National Aeronautics and Space 

 Administration 

NCO Non-commissioned Officer 

NCOIC Non-commissioned Officer in charge 

NDU National Defense University 

NICP National Inventory Control Point 

NPR National Performance Review 

NVA North Vietnamese Army 

OCLL Office of the Chief of Legislative Liaison 

OCRDA Office of the Chief of Research, 

 Development, and Acquisition 

OCRD Office of the Chief of Research and 

 Development 

OCS Officer Candidate School 

ODS Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm 

ODCSLOG Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff for 

 Logistics 

OH-58 Kiowa helicopter 

OIC Officer in Charge 

OMA Operations and Maintenance, Army 

OML Order of Merit List 

OPM Office of Personnel Management 

OPMS Officer Personnel Management System 

OPO Office of Personnel Operations 

OPS Operations 

ORB Officer’s Records Briefs 
OSD Office of the Secretary of Defense 

OSS Objective Supply System 

PACOM J-4 United States Pacific Command Logistics 

 Director 

PBG Program Budget Guidance 

PBT Phuoc Binh Thanh (Vietnam) 

PEO Program Executive Officer 

PERSCOM Personnel Support Command 

PF Popular Forces (Vietnam) 

PFC Private First Class 

PLL Prescribed Load List 

PLS Palletized Load System 

PM Project Manager 

PM, TRADE Project Manager, Training Devices 

POL Petroleum, Oils, and Lubricants 

POMCUS Prepositioning of Materiel Configured to 

 Unit Sets 

POW Prisoner of War 

PSP Pre-Stocked Points 

PSP Pierced steel planking 

PT Physical Training 

PX Post Exchange 

QM Quartermaster 

QUAD Quadrangle 

R&D Research and Development 

R&R Rest and Relaxation 

RA Regular Army 

RAH-66 Comanche helicopter 

RATT Radio-Teletypewriter 

RDE Research, Development, and Engineering 

RDEC Research, Development, and Engineering 

 Center 

RDT&E Research, Development, Test, and 

 Evaluation 

REFORGER Return of Forces to Germany 

RF/PF Regional Force/Popular Force (Vietnam) 
RORO Roll-on/Roll-off 

ROTC Reserve Officers Training Corps 

ROWPU Reverse Osmosis Water Purification Unit 

RPG Rocket Propelled Grenade 

RRF Ready Reserve Fleet 

S&M Supply and Maintenance 

S&P Stake and Platform 

S&T Supply and Transportation 

S-2 Intelligence Officer 

S-3 Operations and Training Officer 

S-4 Logistics Officer 

SANG Saudi Arabia National Guard 

SARDA Assistant Secretary of the Army (Research, 

 Development, and Acquisition) 

SAS Special Air Service 

SeaLand SL-7 Sealift ship 

SFC Sergeant First Class 

SGS Secretary to the General Staff 

SEATO Southeast Asia Treaty Organization 

SELCOM Select Committees 

SERT Screaming Eagle Replacement Training 

 System 

SES Senior Executive Service 

SM Supply & Maintenance 

SMFT Semi-trailer Mounted Fabric Tank 

SMP Soldier Modernization Program 

SOCOM United States Army Southern Command 

SSA Supply Support Activity 

SSF Single Stock Fund 

STANAG Standardization Agreement 

STEP Special Training Enlistment Program 

STRICOM Simulation, Training, and Instrumentation 

 Command 

SWA Southwest Asia 

T-pack Tray pack 

TAACOM Theater Area Army Command 

TAC Tactical Operations Center 
TAMMC Theater Army Materiel Management Center 

TAQ Total Army Quality 

TAT Turn-around Time 

TAV Total Asset Visibility 

TDY Temporary Duty 

TECOM Test and Evaluation Command 

TITLE X U.S. Code, Armed Forces 

TOC Tactical Operations Center 

TOE Table of Organization and Equipment 

TPT Tactical Petroleum Terminal 

TQM Total Quality Management 

TRADOC U.S. Army Training and Doctrine 

 Command 

TRETS Transportation, Energy, and Troop Support 

TSARCOM Troop Support and Aviation Materiel 

 Readiness Command 

TSV Theater Support Vehicle 

TWDS Tactical Water Distribution System 

UH-1 Huey helicopter 

UN United Nations 

USAF United States Air Force 

USARPAC United States Army, Pacific 

USAREUR United States Army, Europe 

USCENTCOM United States Central Command 

USO United Services Organization 

USSTRICOM United States Strike Command 

VC Viet Cong 

VCSA Vice Chief of Staff of the Army 

WAC Women’s Army Corps 

WRAMC Walter Reed Army Medical Center 

XO Executive Officer 
f

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Approved Soldier’s Creed http://www.infantry.army.mil

Studies in Battle Command, Faculty, Combat Studies Institute, 

“XXXIV. The Battle of Hamburger Hill: Battle Command in Difficult 

Terrain against a Determined Enemy,” Lieutenant Colonel Douglas P. 

Scalard, http://www.ehistory.com/vietnam

10th Battalion article, “10th Transportation Battalion,” 

http://www.geocities.com/Pentagon

“Tet, 1968” The Silent Tears in Hue City, http://www.vietquoc.com

“Timeline of the San Francisco Earthquake, April 18 to 23, 1906,” The 

Virtual Museum of the City of San Francisco

http://www.sfmuseum.org/hist10/06timeline.html

U.S. Army Materiel Command Historical Office, “A Brief History of 

AMC, 1962-2000,” March 24, 2003, http://www.amc.army.mil/amc

U.S. Army Materiel Command Historical Office, “General Frank S. 

Besson, Jr.,” February 19, 2003, 

http://www.amc.army.mil/amc/ho/amc

U.S. Army Quartermaster Corps Historian, Fort Lee, Virginia,

“Hurricane Andrew Relief,” August 24, 1992, 

http://www.qmmuseum.lee.army.mil/historyweek

“Vietnam, Hue” MS Encarta Encyclopedia

http://www.greatestcities.com/Asia

“Vietnam 1945 to 1975: Timeline” BBC News article, 

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1

 “Wilkinson, Charles Burnham “Bud”, Infoplease Encyclopedia, 

http://www.inforplease.com

World War II, A Digital Library, Historic Government Publications, 

Southern Methodist University, Central University Libraries, 
http://worldwar2.smu.edu

XVIII Airborne Corps and Fort Bragg, http://www.bragg.army.mil

XVIII Airborne Corps and Fort Bragg article, “Panama, Operation 

JUST CAUSE,” http://www.bragg.army.mil

XVIII Airborne Corps History, 2003, http://www.bragg.army.mil
A

A Shau Valley · 121, 122, 128, 129, 130, 

132 

Abdullah, Crown Prince · 279 

Abrams, Jr., Creighton W. · 157, 158, 

159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 273, 295, 307 

Adams, Paul D. · 104, 109, 135 

Ad-Dammam · 213 

Advisory Team 88 · 63, 64, 67 

Afghanistan · 266, 301 

Agency for International Development · 

73 

Air Line of Communication · 231, 234, 

255, 256, 299, 311 

Airborne Rangers · 28, 60 

Aircraft 

AH-1, Cobra helicopter · 41, 42, 43, 

89, 121 

C-130 cargo plane · 111, 128, 129, 203 

C-141 cargo plane · 110, 111, 259 

C-17 cargo plane · 259, 260, 261, 263 

C-5 cargo plane · 259 

CH-47, Chinook helicopter · 126, 128, 

129, 130, 181 

OH-58, Kiowa helicopter · 289 

RAH-66, Comanche helicopter · 288 

UH-1, Huey helicopter · 19, 89, 90, 

122, 167 

Akin, Jere H. · 132, 242, 246, 256 

Al Qaeda · 266 

Alabama, Anniston · 233 

Alaska · 111, 173, 203 

Allen, Fred C. · 109, 297 

American Red Cross · iii, 305 

An, Dai Uy (Captain) · iii, 64, 65, 66, 68, 

70, 71, 72, 76, 77, 78, 88, 99, 115, 

131, 151, 168, 308 

Anderson, Charles · 35 

Antonelli, Theodore · 170 

Arabian Peninsula · 242, 252 

Arkansas 

Arkadelphia · 302 

Little Rock · 59, 89, 306 

Ouachita River · 2, 323 

Pine Bluff Chemical Arsenal · 4 

Smackover · 2 

Arlington National Cemetery · 162 

Armament, Munitions, and Chemical 

Command · 185 

Army Chief of Staff · 51, 59, 108, 159, 

162, 273 

Army of the Republic of Vietnam · 59 

Army Research Laboratory (ARL) · 284 

Army Staff · 151, 157, 165, 197, 260, 

305, 313 

Arwood, Thomas · 132, 243, 283, 287 

Assistant Chief of Staff · 85, 103, 136, 

158 

Associated Press · 123 

Atwood, Donald J. · 261, 262 

Australia · 5, 133 

Aviation Division · 156 

B

Babers, Donald M. · 222 

Baker, Jimmy · 9, 13 

Balazs, Mark · 276, 293 

Barron, James B. · 181 

Basic Secondary Education Program 

(BSEP) · 32 

Beale, Dick · 298 

Becton, Jr., Julius W. · 183, 185, 190, 

297, 307, 312 

Belgium, Brussels · 205 

Bell, Hank · 170 

Bell, Jack · 9 

Berlin Wall · iii, 180, 238, 239 

Besson, Jr., Frank S. · 163, 271, 297, 298 

Black (Laaber), Anne · 191 

Black, Robert · 224 

Blanchard, George Samuel · 178, 183, 

190, 247, 312 

Bradley, Bill · 118, 125 

Buddhists · 79, 88 

Burke, Lloyd L. · 84, 85, 86, 89, 99 

Burleson, Clint (Reverend) · 15, 175, 184 

Bush, Barbara · iii, 251, 291 

Bush, George H.W. · iii, 27, 241, 252 

Bush, George M. · 155 
California 

Richmond · 6 

Sharpe Army Depot · 140, 232 

Cam Ranh Bay · 119, 137, 138, 139, 140, 

141, 142, 143, 146, 147, 148, 149, 

151, 181, 222, 263, 311 

Canada · 10, 112, 209 

Caribbean · 239 

Castro, Fidel · 51, 52 

Catholics · 79 

Central Intelligence Agency · 60, 84, 282, 

312 

Chambers, Robert · 63, 80 

Chase, Terry · 249 

Chief of Staff, Army · 27 

China · 37, 59, 66, 119, 154, 203, 209, 

294 

Chrisenberry, Park · 22 

Chunn, Don · 16, 89 

Chunn, Jo · 21 

Clinton, William J. (Bill) · iii, 292, 293 

Cobb, Lieutenant · 35 

Coburn, John · 300 

Cochran, Walter B. · 54 

Cold War · 51, 63, 111, 179, 180, 181, 

182, 185, 192 

Colglazier, Robert W. · 238 

Colmers family · 10 

Combined Arms Support Command · 210, 

214, 257 

Communications · 135, 222, 283, 311 

Communism/communists · 65, 68, 119, 

120, 308 

Congress, relations with · 80, 85, 86, 123, 

143, 154, 198, 209, 262, 271, 285, 

292, 302 

Conmy, Joseph B. · 123 

Conner, Donald H. · 178 

Conway, Theodore J. · 109, 110, 296 

Cooper, Emily · 14 

Cooper, Hazel · 9 

Corpus Christi Army Depot · 319 

Corpus Christi Bay · 130 

Cowles, Donald H. · 158, 162 

Cox, Brenda Gail · 8 

Cox, Leon R. (Pat’s father) · 7 

C-Rations · 76 

Cribbins, Joseph P. · 156 

Cripps, Charles Michael (grandson) · 306 

Crizer, Patrick W. · 181 

Cuba · 51, 52, 103, 104, 105 

D

Davis, Jr., Benjamin O. · 109 

Defense Logistics Agency · 190, 201, 

209, 233, 234, 235, 245, 246 

Defense Supply Agency · 234 

Del Mar, Henry Richard · 138, 139, 145, 

146, 149, 172, 174, 311 

Demilitarized Zone · 129, 134 

Department of Defense · 143, 163, 169, 

233, 235, 252, 261, 262, 263, 265, 

284, 286, 288 

Department of the Army · 85, 101, 117, 

142, 174, 189, 195, 196, 206, 222, 

237, 247, 252, 256, 257, 288, 298 

Depot System Command · 227, 230, 233, 

252 

Deputy Chief of Staff for Logistics · 27, 

85, 108, 155, 156, 158, 159, 170, 178, 

190, 195, 200, 201, 205, 207, 210, 

214, 221, 223, 237, 238, 239, 243, 

246, 250, 251, 252, 254, 256, 260, 

262, 269, 285, 295, 297, 298, 311 

Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations · 

158, 162, 250, 260 

Deputy Chief of Staff for Personnel · 158 

Desert Shield · iii, 131, 132, 148, 164, 

182, 185, 210, 214, 230, 235, 238, 

241, 242, 243, 244, 250, 251, 252, 

254, 256, 261, 262, 264, 270, 272, 

280, 287, 291 

Desert Storm · iii, 87, 131, 132, 148, 185, 

198, 200, 210, 212, 213, 214, 230, 

234, 235, 238, 241, 242, 243, 246, 

247, 248, 249, 250, 251, 253, 256, 

257, 259, 261, 262, 263, 266, 270, 

272, 276, 277, 283, 284, 287, 295, 307 

Deutch, John · 286 

Diego Garcia · 212, 213 

Distinguished Military Graduates · 16, 26 

Dole, Elizabeth · iii, 305 

Dominican Republic · 103, 104, 105 

Dunn, Charles · 221 

Dunn, Jim · 178, 185 

Dunn, Ralph · 16 

Dyke, Bill · 136, 158 
Edwards, Mike · 272 

Egypt · iii, 211, 275, 280, 281, 282 

Eisenhower, Dwight D. · 8, 22, 40, 59, 

192 

Elam, Fred · 243, 260, 297 

Emahiser, James · 287 

F

Fahd, King · 241, 279 

Faubus, Orval · 17 

Fitzgerald, Bill · 275, 278 

Florida 

Lake Forest · 306 

Orlando · 237, 272, 306 

Tampa · 108, 306, 326 

Foley, Bill · 127 

Follansbee, Lieutenant · 35 

Forces Command · 197, 209, 254 

Ford, Gerald · 166 

Fragas, Lieutenant · 35 

France · 59, 160, 179, 185, 192, 275, 330 

Normandy · 192 

Francis, Bobby Joe · 9 

Freitag, Merle · 300 

Friel, George E. · 274 

From Here to Eternity · 35 

G

General Equivalency Diploma · 32, 39, 

64, 144 

Geneva Treaty · 42 

Georgia, Fort Benning · 21 

Germany · 1, 3, 28, 32, 41, 142, 177, 178, 

179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 186, 

187, 188, 192, 195, 200, 204, 208, 

222, 231, 253, 255, 259, 260, 261, 

262, 275, 276, 301, 309, 310, 325, 

326, 327 

East Germany · 179, 180 

Fasching Festival · 183 

Frankfurt · 30 

Heidelberf · 239 

Stuttgart · iii, 184 

Glisson, Henry T. · 209, 238, 298 

Goering, Hermann · 185 

Gonzales, Orlando E. · 173, 225 

Grange, David E.  133 

Great Depression · 1, 7 

Green, Major General · 276 

Gregg, Arthur J. · 148, 155 

Grenada · 161 

Griggs, Dale · 158 

Guam · 40, 43, 48, 61 

Guatemala · 206 

Gulf of Tonkin Resolution · 80 

Guthrie, John R. · 189, 222 

H

Hagwood, Jr., Henry Melvin · 158 

Haig, Alexander M. · 171 

Hamburger Hill · 121, 123, 124, 168 

Hammond, Robert D. · 225 

Harkins, Paul D. · 60 

Harmon, Willie · 276 

Harriman, W. Averell · 171 

Harrison, Jerry · 285 

Hatch, Rick · 277, 292, 301 

Hawaii 

Oahu · 31, 133 

Pearl Harbor · 3, 35, 230, 330 

Healy, Bernadine H. · 305 

Heavy Equipment Transporter · 181, 182, 

183 

Heavy Expanded Mobility Tactical Truck 

· 213 

Heiser, Jr., Joseph M. · 148, 155, 157, 

159, 165, 246, 256, 299, 300, 307, 311 

Henderson, Frank F. · 287 

Hennessey, John · 124, 131 

Henson, Danny (son-in-law) · 116, 184,

221, 306, 326 

Henson, Russell Dale (grandson) · 306 

Henson, Sherry Michelle (granddaughter) 

· 306 

Hesson, James M. · 127 

High Mobility, Multi-purpose Wheeled 

Vehicle · 235, 247 

Hill, John · 63 

Hirohito, emperor of Japan · 3 

Hissong, Fred · 300 

Honeycutt, Weldon F. · 123 

Hong Kong · 133 

Honor, Edward · 147, 181, 300 

Hoover, Herbert · 233 

Hungarian Revolution · 39 

Hurley, Paul C. · 242 
Hurricane Hugo  239 

Hussein, Saddam · 213, 241 

I

Ia Drang, battle of · 89, 90 

Illinois, Rock Island · 233 

Indochina · 41, 59, 102 

Indonesia · 209 

Industrial College of the Armed Forces 

(ICAF) · 169, 170, 171, 190, 311 

Inman, Don · 276 

Iran · 210, 238, 241 

Iraq · 238, 241, 242, 247, 252 

Ireland · 191, 321, 324 

Italy, Rome · 191 

J

Jackson, William · 54, 323 

Johansen, Eivind H. · 148 

Johnson, Lyndon · 55, 60, 65, 66, 80, 84, 

86, 90, 111, 112, 113, 136, 144 

Joint Chiefs of Staff · 27, 110, 171, 212 

Joint Special Operations Task Force · 241 

Jones, Anita · 286 

Jones, Billy · 16 

Jungle Warfare School · 38 

K

Kansas, Fort Leavenworth · 105 

Keith, Donald · 221, 224, 295 

Kelley, Bailey Christine (great 

granddaughter) · 306 

Kelley, Colin Ross (great grandson) · 306 

Kelley, Jason (grandson-in-law) · 306 

Kelley, Teresa Catherine "Katie" 

(granddaughter) · iii, 192, 221, 306 

Keltz, Arthur R. · 243, 261, 262, 287, 297 

Kennedy, John F. · 45, 51, 54, 55, 60, 86, 

102, 330 

Kennedy, Robert · 112 

Kentucky, Fort Campbell · 53 

Khrushchev, Nikita · 52 

King, Jr., Martin Luther · 51, 112 

Kissinger, Henry · 171 

110, 111, 112, 160, 197, 207, 213, 

231, 261, 267, 330 

Seoul · 56 

Korean War · 13, 32, 35, 41, 261 

Kornet, Jr., Fred · 148 

Kroesen, Frederick James · 183, 190, 192, 

247, 312 

Krueger, Carl · 154 

Kuwait · 62, 213, 241, 252 

L

Lanzillo, Eugene · 185 

Laos, Pathet Lao · 46 

Laotian Royal Loyalists · 46 

Larson, Richard · 298 

Lee, William C. · 118 

Levine, Edward · 80 

Liberia · 110, 111 

Life Magazine · 124, 153 

Lilley, Jr., Aaron L. · 156 

Lincoln, Abraham · 313, 324 

Lively, William Columbus · 7 

Livingston, Susan · 274 

Livsey, William J. · 312 

Logistics · 51, 103, 109, 130, 148, 154, 

155, 159, 164, 165, 173, 210, 244, 

252, 257, 270, 274, 283, 299, 301 

Logistics Executive Development Course 

· 154 

Logistics Operations Center · 130 

Logistics Support Group · 283, 287 

Long, John E. · 190 

Louisiana, Hosston · 1, 3 

Ludy, Garland A. · 156 

Lund, Anne · 229 

Lyon, Dave · 261 

M

MacArthur, Douglas · 5 

Maddox, Bobby · 158 

Maddox, David M. · 205 

Malcolm X · 112 

Maryland, Aberdeen Proving Ground · 

285 

Materiel Management Centers · 247 

McCaffrey, Barry · 292 

McCoy, Ray · 298 
McNamara, Robert S.  91 

McNaughton, John · 91 

Meade, George G. · 36 

Meals Ready to Eat · 197, 198 

Mekong River · 42, 45, 46 

Metheny, Orvil C. · 173 

Military Airlift Command · 110 

Military Police · 13, 241, 277 

Military Sealift Command · 259, 261, 264 

Military Traffic Management Command · 

139, 171 

Mills, David · 243, 287 

Missile Command · 300 

Mississippi 

Greenville · 5 

Oxford · 54, 114 

Modine, Kent · 142, 149 

Monroe, James W. · 190 

Moore, Harold G. · 89 

Moore, Robert L. · 222, 284, 300 

Mormack Star · 212 

Murley, Myron · 125 

Murray, Charles M. · 41 

Murray, John E. · 165 

Murtha, John P. · 204 

Musial, Walter F. · 178 

Myers, Dee Dee · 293 

N

National Aeronautics and Space 

Administration (NASA) · 199 

National Defense University (NDU) · 169 

National Guard · 17, 18, 54, 62, 79, 86, 

191, 214, 253, 278, 330 

National Historic Register · 228 

Nauman, Al · 64 

Neal, Bill · 243 

New Deal · 1 

New Standards Men See also Project 

100,000 · 143 

Non-Commissioned Officer · 34, 51, 118, 

143, 146, 149 

Noriega, Manuel · 241 

North Carolina 

Fayetteville · 102 

North Vietnam · 59, 62, 65, 66, 69, 80, 

81, 84, 89, 119, 120, 129, 141, 165, 

167, 171, 308 

Oblinger, Jr., John B. · 225 

Officer Candidate School (OCS) · 24, 34 

Okinawa · 41, 111, 294 

Oklahoma 

Hobart · 10 

Olenchuk, Peter G. · 147, 155 

Operations 

Garden Plot · 113, 115 

Just Cause · 230 

Prime Chance · 238 

Urgent Fury · 161 

Orr, Charles · 9, 14 

Oswald, Lee Harvey · 55 

P

Pagonis, William G. · 242, 243, 245, 254, 

280 

Pakistan · 301 

Palmer, Bruce · 101 

Palmer, Dave R. · 158 

Panama · 140, 202, 230, 231, 232, 238, 

241, 265, 266, 272 

Patton, George S., Jr. · 160 

Pennsylvania 

Chambersburg · 227 

New Cumberland · 231 

Pentagon · 13, 41, 113, 136, 151, 154, 

156, 158, 190, 192, 195, 208, 210, 

221, 222, 237, 238, 243, 251, 270, 

291, 292, 295, 302, 309, 310, 312, 

313, 327 

Pepe, Michael J. · 225 

Philippines · 40, 41, 43, 48, 294 

Pierce, Michael B. · 301, 313 

Pigaty, Leo J. · 271 

Pisarek, Colonel · 109, 127, 297 

Post, Alton G. · 50, 177, 178 

Powell, Alma · 251 

Powell, Colin · iii, 25, 27, 28, 30, 251, 

261, 262, 287, 292 

Prescribed Load List (PLL) · 246, 248, 

255 

Preston, Colleen A. · 286 

Program Executive Officer (PEO) · 182, 

225 

Project 100,000 See also New Standards 

Men · 142, 143, 144 
Raffiani, Joe · 271, 274, 292 

Rations, improvements in · 76 

Ray, Jim · 110 

Reagan, Ronald · 225, 226 

Red Sea · 242, 293 

Reduction in Force (RIF) · 35, 271 

REFORGER · 181, 261, 262 

Register, Jr., Benjamin F. · 165, 167, 183, 

185, 190, 298, 300 

Reimer, Dennis · 254, 257 

Reserve Officers’ Training Corps (ROTC) 

· iii, 13, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21, 24, 25, 

27, 29, 34, 50, 207, 326 

Rhame, Lynn · 277 

Rhame, Thomas G. · 278 

Richards, Darrie H. · 154 

Ridgway, Matthew B. · 59 

Robertson, Larry · 301 

Rogers, Rab · 11 

Romania · 209 

Rommel, Manfred · iii, 190 

Roosevelt, Franklin D. · 1, 3, 6 

Rose, Lieutenant Bob · 22 

Ross, Alice (grandmother) · 323 

Ross, Anthony "Tony" (son) · 116, 117, 

118, 126, 134, 152, 153, 157, 158, 

169, 174, 175, 177, 178, 179, 180, 

191, 195, 200, 221, 227, 228, 229, 

237, 269, 286, 306, 326, 327 

Ross, Bob (brother) · 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 321 

Ross, Cyndee (daughter-in-law) · 286, 

306, 327 

Ross, DiAnna Lei "Dede" (daughter) · 15, 

40, 51, 54, 79, 102, 103, 109, 115, 

116, 117, 126, 133, 134, 152, 153, 

157, 169, 172, 174, 175, 177, 184, 

193, 195, 200, 202, 221, 306, 326 

Ross, Horace Eugene (father) · 2, 323 

Ross, Jack (grandfather) · 4 

Ross, Lucile Pontious (mother) · 2, 4, 323 

Ross, Robert (uncle) · 323 

Ross, Russell Douglas (son) · 14, 15 

Ross, Sabra Gayle (daughter) · 15, 18, 21, 

30, 31, 32, 38, 40, 48, 51, 54, 78, 79, 

102, 103, 107, 109, 115, 116, 117, 

126, 133, 134, 152, 153, 157, 169, 

172, 174, 175, 177, 192, 195, 200, 

221, 306, 325, 326 

Rothwell, J.C. · 16 

Ruggles, Don · 16 

Russian aircraft · 111 

S

Saigon River · 99, 167 

Saint, Crosbie E. · 158 

Salomon, Leon · 156 

Sammet, Jr., George · 163 

Sandusky, Michael · 287 

Saudi Arabia · iii, 131, 241, 242, 245, 

249, 252, 253, 254, 255, 261, 263, 

277, 278, 279, 280, 284, 291 

Schools 

Arkadelphia Elementary · 8 

Arkadelphia Junior High · 15 

Sea-Land Corporation · 259 

Searson, Rex · 63 

Secretary of the Army · 235, 269, 274, 

285, 286, 292 

Selective Service · 39 

Senior Executive Service (SES) · 156, 

196, 243, 262, 285, 287 

Shadley, Robert · 277 

Shannon, John · 274 

Sharbutt, Jay · 123 

Shinseki, Eric · 261 

Sigrist, John · 133 

Simulation, Training, and Instrumentation 

Command · 272, 297 

Skibbie, Lawrence F. · 224 

Smiley, Philip · 181 

Smith, Duane · 40, 50, 177, 178 

Smith, Homer D. · 154 

Smith, James · 136, 301 

Smith, Jan · 319 

Somalia · 249, 266, 272 

South Carolina, Charleston · 239 

Southeast Asia · 41, 60, 61, 80, 242 

Southeast Asia Treaty Organization 

(SEATO) · 41, 47 

Southwest Asia · 210, 248, 257 

Spigelmire, Michael F. · 158 

St. Andrew’s United Methodist Church · 

14, 78 

Starlight Scope · 120, 121 

Starling, Dane · 300 

Stephanopolis, George · 293 

Stephenson, Dick · 89 

Stiner, Carl · 27 

Stoddard, John · 182 

Stone, Michael · 27, 269, 270, 285, 292 

Strait of Hormuz · 238 
Stubbs, Duane H.  155 

Sullivan, Gordon E. · 27, 250, 254, 270, 

274, 283, 307 

Super Bowl · 112 

Supplies, organization and distribution · 

257 

Sweden · 275, 276 

T

Table of Organization and Equipment · 

132 

Taiwan · 41, 294 

Tank Automotive Command · 271, 274 

Taylor, John · 17 

Taylor, Larry · 269, 298 

Tennessee 

Holston Ordnance Ammunition Works 

· 5 

Kingsport · 5 

Nashville · 53 

Tet · 119, 120 

Texas 

Corpus Christi · 164, 283 

Dallas · 55 

Fort Hood · 15 

Longview · 10 

Thailand · 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 49, 

50, 56, 59, 61, 66, 100, 102, 108, 119, 

133, 261, 294, 325 

Bangkok · 43 

Theater Area Army Command · 213, 248 

Thomas, Billy · 272, 286 

Thompson, Richard · 148, 195, 196, 201, 

221, 222, 223, 224, 285, 295, 300, 307 

Thompson, Roger · 262 

Throckmorton, John L. · 113 

Thurman, Max · 106 

Tiger Lady · 72, 73, 82 

Time Magazine · 202 

Title X · 235, 288 

Titus, Calvin P. · 37 

Toner, Francis J. · 195 

Total Asset Visibility · 244, 245, 246, 

247, 248, 250, 257 

Tremaine, Billie · 243 

Tricomi, Frank · 262 

Tuttle, William G.T. · 269, 270, 300 

U.S. Air Force · 242, 287 

U.S. Army 

101st Airborne · 18, 53, 54, 55, 56, 

105, 111, 118, 120, 122, 123, 124, 

125, 129, 130, 134, 136, 137, 140, 

145, 146, 158, 160, 164, 192, 222 

107th Transportation Brigade · 179 

10th Division · 85, 88, 266 

10th Transportation Battalion · 138, 

140, 145, 301 

14th Infantry Regiment · 32, 36, 38, 40, 

41, 294, 296 

173rd Airborne · 84 

187th Infantry · 123 

1st Cavalry Division · 84, 89, 262, 263 

1st Infantry Division · 84, 86, 90, 277 

1st Logistics Command · 137 

22nd Theater Area Army Command · 

213, 243, 247, 254, 256 

24th Infantry Division · 264 

25th Infantry Division · 29, 30, 32, 

267, 294 

27th Infantry Division · 35, 41, 294 

27th Infantry Regiment · 35 

2nd Support Command · 183, 184, 185, 

188, 189, 190, 191, 195, 222, 295, 

297, 298, 301, 309, 313, 325 

325th Infantry · 205 

326th Medical Battalion · 127 

33rd Transportation Battalion · 41, 50, 

54, 177, 178 

37th Group · 181 

3rd Armored Division · 300 

3rd Infantry Division · 181 

3rd U.S. Infantry (The Old Guard) · 

237 

426th Supply & Transportation 

Battalion · 127, 132 

4th Armored Division · 160 

4th Infantry Division · 113, 202 

4th Transportation Brigade · 1, 142, 

177, 178, 179, 181, 183, 184, 196, 

222, 298 

513th Military Intelligence Group · 179 

534th Medium Truck Company · 54 

5th Transportation Battalion · 127, 129, 

130, 164 

69th Armor Battalion · 29 

6th Infantry Division · 203 

73rd Transportation Company · 151 

7th Cavalry Battalion · 89 
7

 Transportation Battalion  51, 54 

801st Maintenance Unit · 127, 130, 132 

82nd Airborne Division · 54, 105, 111, 

113, 208, 239, 241, 265 

8th Army · 56 

8th Transportation Brigade · 51 

97th Heavy Boat Company Command · 

142 

U.S. Army Central Command · 242 

U.S. Army Infantry School · 22 

U.S. Army Materiel Command · iv, 4, 5, 

27, 132, 147, 156, 159, 163, 164, 165, 

173, 189, 196, 221, 222, 223, 224, 

225, 231, 232, 243, 245, 246, 249, 

269, 270, 271, 272, 274, 275, 276, 

282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287, 288, 

289, 291, 295, 297, 298, 300, 301, 305 

U.S. Army Support Command · 139 

U.S. Army Transportation Corps · 51 

U.S. Army, Europe · 178, 181, 186, 190, 

209 

U.S. Army, Pacific · 42 

U.S. Central Command · 248, 253, 256, 

280 

U.S. Congress · 80, 85, 86, 123, 143, 154, 

198, 209, 262, 271, 285, 292, 302 

U.S. Navy · 120, 238, 330 

U.S. Readiness Command · 104, 109 

U.S. Special Operations Command · 27 

U.S. Strike Command · 104, 109, 296, 

297, 312 

U.S.S. Omaha · 5, 6 

Uniforms, changes in · 265 

United Nations · 241, 242 

Universities 

Central Michigan University · 170 

George Washington University · 170 

Ouachita Baptist University · 9 

University of Arkansas · 172, 174, 325 

University of Central Florida · 237, 

269, 286 

V

Van Prooyen, Jan · 274 

Viet Cong · 59, 62, 65, 66, 69, 71, 78, 84, 

90, 141, 166 

Viet Minh · 42, 59, 64, 69, 71, 308 

Vietnam 

Binh Long · 63 

Dien Bien Phu · 59 

129, 132 

Hon Quan · 63, 82 

Ngo Dinh Diem · 42, 59 

Phuoc Binh Thanh · 63, 67, 73, 79, 80, 

83, 88 

Phuoc Long · 62, 63 

Phuoc Thanh · 62, 63 

Phuoc Vinh · 63, 64, 68 

South Vietnam · iii, 59, 60, 62, 63, 65, 

67, 68, 69, 78, 82, 84, 86, 90, 119, 

120, 121, 123, 131, 134, 165, 166, 

168, 308 

Tan Son Nhut Air Base · 165 

Xuan Loc · 72, 73 

VII Army Corps · 185 

Virginia 

Alexandria · 305, 306 

Fort Belvoir · 269 

Fort Eustis · 48 

Fort Myer · 237 

Virlakas, Bob · 109, 127, 128 

Vitali, Richard · 285 

Vuono, Carl E. · 51, 108, 197, 203, 204, 

205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 250, 254, 

283, 307 

W

Wagner, Louis C. · 295 

Wake Island · 43 

Wakefield, Samuel · 257 

Walter Reed Army Medical Center · 162 

Warsaw Pact · 182, 189 

Washington Post · 292 

Washington, D.C. · iii, 27, 90, 109, 153, 

154, 172, 187, 289, 306, 324 

Water, distribution of · 210, 211, 212, 255 

Watercraft · 257 

Wells, Duke · 11, 294, 296 

West Point See U.S. Military Academy · 

iii, 25, 26, 27, 34, 35, 37, 45, 108, 160, 

298, 306 

Western Area · 173, 174 

Westmoreland, William C. · 60, 84 

Weyand, Frederick C. · 162 

Whaley, Dave · 259, 262 

White House · 86, 114, 124, 136, 144, 

225, 226, 292, 293, 294 

Wickham, Jr., John Adams · 200, 307 

Williams, Chuck · 158 

Williams, Master Sergeant · 35, 296 
Wives (Womens) Club  38, 315 

Woolwine, Walter J. · 137, 138, 170 

World War II · 6, 13, 16, 28, 41, 59, 85, 

90, 109, 160, 185, 186, 190, 191, 196, 

204, 207, 208, 211, 213, 230, 257, 

262, 264, 267, 271, 297, 302, 330 

Wykle, Ken · 300 

Yeosock, John J. · 243 

Z

Zaffiri, Samuel · 123 

Zais, Melvin · 122, 124 

Zierat, John · 239 

Zone D · 62, 63, 66, 71, 77, 88