The Officer & The NCO

The Major is on your left. The NCO is on the right. I worked for both of these men and they came from very different places. The Major was from New York City. Erudite and sophisticated...we both shared very close quarters for a 30 day exercise where he told me drinking stories from his college days and shared his future plans with me - - which didn't include the Army. Jump Pay: $110 a month

The Master Sergeant was from Arkansas. That unlit cigar you see never left his mouth and when added to his accent made him impossible to understand. He was the best jumpmaster I ever had and while every jump scared the shit outta me - - I always felt safe with him. He didn't have stories about college but stories were told about his dark drinking days in Vietnam and Germany which were long past. Jump Pay: $55 a month

The four years I spent in the Army do not qualify me as a veteran. With hindsight, they were some the most formative years of my life thanks to men like these and for that I owe the Army. But I also realize I was lucky and someone was watching out for me. And that's as it should be. After all, it was the family business.

12 April 1966

Awards Ceremony in the Central Highlands

My father passes out awards to the top graduates of a political indoctrination class. I wonder where these men are today and what the last 43 years were like for them. These thoughts conjure up lots of others. Most not good. But today is for memories. Good and bad. It's helpful to remember all veterans and not just ours.

To grandmother's house we go...

Another Polaroid. Somewhere in Arlington. Sometime in the 60's.

This picture says a lot about my sisters. And unfortunately me.

This was my paternal grandparents home in Arlington. Grandfather had retired from the Army as a Sergeant Major and was working as a civilian for the federal government. Grandmother forever influenced my politics by telling me Republicans were evil and the only hope for our country was to keep the Democrats in office. I still believe her.

My father took this picture and it may have been his last visit with his parents before leaving for Vietnam. My sisters were very close growing up. They still are. My little sister is deaf. No one is really sure when or how it happened. We know it was shortly after she was born but it took years before we knew she was deaf. We knew there was something wrong. We didn't know what. I look back at this time and remember confusion and a not too sympathetic or helpful Army. And that pretty much defines my role. Too selfish to care and too lazy to make an effort. My main concern was getting my hair to part to the right.

I treasure the memories of these visits to Arlington. It seemed normal.

Army Brat Vacation

A Polaroid. Somewhere in Mexico. Sometime in the 60's.

It appears I already know the position of Parade Rest and my sister knows Attention. My other sister declines to pose due to an interest in the goat. I loved going to Mexico as a kid. The food, the people, the candy. Man, it was like a dream. We never vacationed much as a family. That was usually saved for a transfer. If we moved from Ft Sill to Ft Bragg - - that was the vacation.

There was one vacation not associated with a move. Six Flags over Georgia. My father was miserable. Rides, crowds, lines, screaming kids... leaving the, "No Sticker!" note on the car... He called it, "chicken shit." --I'm amazed he did it.

The Bus Station

John Vachon's Bus depot, Washington D.C. 1951

This image never fails to stop in me in my tracks. Whatever petty thoughts I'm having run for the hills to make room in my brain and my heart for this couple. I know exactly what they're thinking. And I would love to know what happened to them because I feel like I know them. I guess in a way I do.

Movin' on...

I live under a moving cloud. Never in my adult life have I ever thought I would be one place for long. There's always the knowledge - - not an idea or clue or anything else - - but the concrete knowledge I will be moving on. I'm never sure when or how or why. But I do know it'll happen. Pretty much the only constant in my life since I was 18 has been USAA.

I used to know them...

The other home

Like many brats -- when it was time to settle down it was time to find someone who was settled. A good looking crowd they are. All my ex-wife's family. Third generation natives of Chicago's North Shore. The photographer announced the wife's family picture and as my new Irish Catholic relations came from every direction one guest laughed, "When does Rose Kennedy come rolling out in her wheel chair?" I thought it was hysterical. Maybe you had to be there.

I didn't think of looking for a family to go with my wife. That wasn't my intent. With hindsight it's easy to see I embraced my new wife's family and home and became a Chicagoan in short order. Much like moving in the Army - - I quickly absorbed everything in my surroundings.

I was married for 13 years to my wife and to these people. I loved them very much but after the divorce, except for four people in this picture, I never saw or heard from them again. In all fairness to them -- I never reached out. I wasn't sure how. They may feel the same way about me.

A couple of friends are going through a divorce and I always think of how sad it is to not only lose your spouse but their family as well. I lost so many friends in the Army after knowing them for a year or two. It's inconceivable to me to lose people you know for 13 years. When asked recently if I knew someone in this picture - - I said, "I used to." What an odd thing to say and yet it's the consistent theme of my life.