Called to Serve: An Army Lifetime Experience

By Bruce D. Terpstra

While this book gives you a life in Mayberry feeling at its beginning, you must read on. It suddenly moves into more serious, sorrowful and sometimes humorous events. The author is the main character who takes you through the good times and the horrific. The graphically described sequence of events of his experiences in Vietnam, and the six major battles he takes part in, will have you grabbing for your seat belts. While you find humor in some parts, you will tear up in others. There are covert operations brought out here that you may not have ever read nor heard about until now. The many stories vividly described herein will take you around the globe to no less than 21 different countries of Europe and the Far East, not to mention the many states of the U.S. It takes you through American military bases that are not accessible to the average citizen. From coast to coast, from the Gulf of Mexico to the far reaches of Anchorage, Alaska, come along with us on this trip. I think you will enjoy the ride!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 23, 2010
• ISBN: 9781449053512

Bruce D. Terpstra

Bruce D. Terpstra was born the youngest of eight children, on a farm near the agricultural suburb of Fairmont, Minnesota. The family later moved on to Missouri where he graduated high school in the even smaller environment of Mountain Grove. When he reached the age of 21, he was drafted into the Army, where his nomadic life really began. After completing BCT and Advance Individual Training, his first permanent duty assignment took him to Heidelberg, Germany. While there he faced some challenging and sometimes covert assignments which included a trip into the jungles of the Belgian Congo. He witnessed the building of the Berlin Wall and subsequent Iron Curtain. He was also there when it all came down. During his 20 years in uniform he faces challenges of the Vietnam conflict during its most bloody year 1968, starting with the Tet Offensive, on thru 6 other battles in which he participated. Of particular note, were the near death experiences graphically outlined in his book, “Called to Serve-An Army life experience”. His courage and integrity earned him many awards which include The Meritorious Service medal and Bronze Star medal, vaulting him to the top of his grade. His retirement from active duty did not end his involvement with the Army. He went from there into the civilian structure where he again proved to be a credit to the profession, serving several European tours and a key participant in the deployment process for “Desert Storm” (The battle for Kuwait). This author did not just write this book, he lived it. His 46 years of service in support of his country, reflect great credit upon his endeavors and lends credence to the cliché “You can take the man out of the Army, but you can’t take the Army out of the man”.

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Acknowledgments

I am tempted not to name names because I might forget someone. But, having said that let me just thank the many friends who encouraged me to tell my story.

Especially the Officers, Non-Commissioned Officers and Department of the Army Civilians mentioned throughout this book. Had we not met and shared in the events and experiences depicted herein, I most certainly would have had to confine it to a short story.

In the writing, I did not use fictitious names, with the exception of one person, and that was for obvious reasons. If I have not mentioned someone please forgive me. It may be because we either did not work together close enough or long enough to have shared common goals.

I would like to acknowledge my other family, Author House Publishers. I would like to thank everyone there that were and still are involved with the Publishing process and marketing of this book. A special thanks to Senior Consultant Travis Trestler, who initially helped me into the family. Ron Bowles, Marketing, to Stephen (the Artist) who coordinated the cover design, and who offered me so many helpful tips; and to the folks in Client Services with whom I hope to have a long and successful relationship.

Dedication

To my sweet and wonderful wife and long time love of my life, Lena Kristina, whose boundless energy, strong encouragement to keep this book going, enthusiasm for its success, faith in me, are so responsible for seeing me through this book.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1.     Fairmont, Minnesota

Chapter 2.     Mountain Grove, Missouri

Chapter 3.     Mountain Grove

Chapter 4.     Indiana-Michigan

Chapter 5.     Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri

Chapter 6.     Fort Leonard Wood

Chapter 7.     Basic Combat Training

Chapter 8.     Graduation

Chapter 9.     Fort Gordon, Georgia

Chapter 10.    Germany

Chapter 11.    The Belgian Congo and Back

Chapter 12.    Heidelberg

Chapter 13.    Fort Riley, Kansas

Chapter 14.    Fort Benning, Georgia

Chapter 15.    Alaska

Chapter 16.    Fort Richardson, Alaska

Chapter 17.    Presidio of San Francisco

Chapter 18.    Vietnam

Chapter 19.    Quang Tri Province, Vietnam

Chapter 20.    Quang Tri

Chapter 21.    Chu Lai

Chapter 22.    Homecoming

Chapter 23.    Turley Barracks, Mannheim

Chapter 24.    Turley Barracks

Chapter 25.    Benjamin Franklin Village

Chapter 26.    West Virginia

Chapter 27.    Mannheim

Chapter 28.    Spinnelli Barracks

Chapter 29.    Fort Ord, California

Chapter 30.    Fort Ord, California

Chapter 31.    Marina, California

Chapter 32.    Presidio of San Francisco

Chapter 33.    Presidio TMP

Chapter 34.    Marin County

Chapter 35.    Presidio of San Francisco

Chapter 36.    Sexual Discrimination

Chapter 37.    Marin County

Chapter 38.    Lena Kristina

Chapter 39.    Immigration Deflation

Chapter 40.    Presidio

Chapter 41.    Presidio and San Francisco

Chapter 42.    Cross Country

Chapter 43.    U.S. Army Forces Command

Chapter 44.    The Long Hot Summer, 1986

Chapter 45.    Promotion

Chapter 46.    Stuttgart, Germany

Chapter 47.    The end of the Cold War

Chapter 48.    Iraq and Desert Storm

Chapter 49.    Return to Atlanta

Chapter 50.    VII Corps Deactivates

Chapter 51.    Return to Service

Chapter 52.    DETMO Adventure

Chapter 53.    Visit to Pisa

Chapter 54.    Summer 1995

Chapter 55.    26TH Area Support Group, Heidelberg

Chapter 56.    Duties and Responsibilities

Chapter 57.    Some Measure of Success

Chapter 58.    Some Misgivings

Chapter 59.    Jacksonville Florida

Chapter 60.    Trials and Tribulations

Chapter 61.    The Verdicts

Chapter 62.    A Great Year Was Upon Us

Chapter 63.    Retirement Coming - Look Out

Chapter 64.    California, Here We Come

Chapter 65.    On The Road Again

A Psalm Of Life

In the world’s broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act — act in the living Present!

Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time;

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

Introduction

This book is based on a true story. I was a young man who led a James-Dean-like life style while growing up, brought on by the separation of my parents when I was 17 and still in high school. At the age of 21 I was drafted into the Army where I served for 20 years. While the early years bring a bit of humor, there are some follow-on experiences that will keep you wondering.

There are descriptions of the covert operations I was a part of that have never been made common knowledge to the public, from the insurrection and overthrow of the government in the jungles of the Belgian Congo, witness to the building of the Berlin Wall, and assistance provided to the Kennedy’s upon their visit to that wall and the now famous Ich been Ein Berliner speech.

I will take you through my tour in Viet Nam during the most bloody of times in that conflict 1968-69, starting with the TET offensive and through six other battles in which I participated. Of particular note is the near death experiences graphically outlined, that will have you grabbing for your seat belts. One example involves a massive ground attack by the VC against our compound.

About midnight one night in June, the alert sirens blasted and gun fire erupted on one side of the perimeter. This was not one of the many practices that took place from day to day, but the real thing. I was a leader of one of the many Ready Reaction Teams. When the siren went off we had to grab our gear and head towards our pre-designated positions. As soon as I had the jeep fired up and radio going, I checked into the radio net: Rover One, this is Rover 9er requesting permission to enter the net, over.

Roger Niner, are you in position?

Negative Rover I’m on the way, what is that firing I’m hearing?

We are taking sapper fire on the south side of the perimeter. It might be a diversion so be alert. This could be more than just a drill.

When I pulled up to my team, already in position, I got out of the jeep and told them what was up. Gentlemen we are taking fire on the other side of the perimeter so be alert. Lock and load your weapons and be prepared to fire on my command.

At my jeep radio I heard Rover One saying: All towers pop your flares and let’s see what’s out there.

When those 50 flares went off it lit up the field of fire like it was daylight. I was standing by my jeep when the sky lit up. I almost shit my pants. There were a hundred or more Viet Cong on a dead run right towards our position.

Rover this is 9er, we’ve got a large force coming right at us between towers eight and nine; maybe a hundred or more!

Roger that 9er. Towers take targets of opportunity and fire at will! Do not let them get to the fence!

I told my guys to commence firing, as did the towers. All hell broke loose. I began lobbing M79 grenades out there and the VC were dropping like flies. Quite a few of them were getting close to the fence when I noticed my men getting up and making a hasty retreat. Thinking it was going to be just another drill, they had come with only a small amount of ammo.

Rover this is 9er, my men have run out of ammo and are making a retreat and I need backup over here!

Roger 9er, stay put!

Tower eight this is Rover, when they get near the fence blow the Claymores!

There was a dozen or so VC that made it close to the fence when towers eight and nine blew their Claymores. When they went off right in front of my position, they blew a huge gap right through the fence and a hand full of VC came right on in! With no time for anything else I rolled under the jeep and the VC ran right by me.

They were all carrying satchel charges in each hand and were running towards the ammo dump. Rolling from under the jeep I took up a sitting position against the rear tire of the jeep. All I had left were two, 30 round banana clips taped end-to-end which gave me 60 rounds. They were moving away fast so I put the M16 on fully automatic and cut loose. They eventually all went down. During the excitement of it all I had bitten into my lower lip.

The battle field was suddenly quiet and the stench of gun smoke filled the air. When the LT came screeching up in his jeep and saw the blood running down my chin and onto my neck, he immediately thought I had been shot. He began calling for Med Evac. Dust off, Dust off, we have a man down, do you copy?

LT, I’m not hit! I just bit into my lip too hard that’s all! I think I pissed my pants too. Tears as big as horse turds were streaming down my cheeks!

The whole thing lasted only about 45 minutes. When daylight came we began gathering up the dead and putting them along the ditch outside the gate. I never knew what happened to them after that. I was credited with nine kills, the guys with the satchel charges. I know there were more from the many M79 rounds I put out on the field of fire. We did not lose a man. I was the only casualty, a badly bitten lip. We discovered that the VC had tunneled up to the fence and somehow were able to turn the Claymores around, so when detonated they would blow backwards. Probably long in advance of their attack.

Remember the little sign on the top, This Side toward the Enemy?

Chapter 1

Fairmont, Minnesota

Minnesota is a cold and snowy state during the winter months and I’ve been told that it was true to form on January 29, 1937. That is when I came into this world. The event took place in the same four-poster bed where most of my four brothers and three sisters preceded me, the eight and last one born.

It was a big farm house on a three hundred and sixty acre farm that my Dad (Richard) and Mother (Beatrice) had farmed as sharecroppers for most all of their lives, to that point. The name Terpstra and Farming was synonymous and probably still is, originating in the northern part of Holland known as Friesland.

Although the name is quite common in that country, it is rare everywhere else.

My father’s family immigrated to Minnesota and the Dakota’s in the late eighteen hundreds. My Dad was born in 1900. My Mother was born in 1904 and raised in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri, to a mostly Irish brood, the Brown’s. There is some Cherokee Indian in there somewhere, going back to the eighteen hundreds. I have calculated that I am about one eight Cherokee.

There you are Dutch, Irish, and American Indian. How’s that for a mix?

Farming in those days was a backbreaking, sun up to sun down operation, what with the few pieces of sophisticated equipment that is prevalent on today’s farms.

It is little wonder then, that as soon as they were old enough, my brothers and sisters began leaving home for more exciting things, my two oldest bothers, Clarence and Jerry joined the Army. My oldest sister Dorothy, almost concurrently, married a nearby farmer, Irling Bowman. They were disappearing fast!

During my first years on that farm, we suffered a terrible crop loss from an invasion of locusts. Later, a tornado razed the house and surrounding buildings and later still, a fire caused damage to the old farmhouse.

I was five years old when Dad had enough farming and related disasters, sold whatever animals and equipment he owned and moved us into Fairmont; the closest town of any size and County Seat of Martin County. Fairmont was not new to us as it was where all of the surrounding farmers took their harvests and went shopping for those things not raised or available on the farms.

As if all the other disasters were not enough, I had to go and cause another one on the drive into town during that move. We had an older four-door, box shaped car; the kind you see in the old gangster movies. I was riding in the back seat and we must have been going about 40 miles an hour when I noticed the door on my side was ajar. Now, I had seen my Dad open and close his door many times while driving, to correct one that was not fully closed. I thought I was a pretty smart kid, so I figured I should do likewise.

While the front doors are hinged at the front, as they still are, the back doors were hinged at the rear, so when I opened mine, the wind grabbed it and whipped it open pulling me right out of the car. I was thrown into the ditch, bouncing around on my head and shoulders. Looking back, I should have let go of the damn door handle!

Boy, what a panic that caused! They rushed me to the hospital where I was treated for bumps and bruises. I had a considerable lump on my head the size of a softball, as I recall. It was quite a lump, not to mention the horrible blow to my ego.

We moved into a rental house at 322 Willow Street. I was immediately enrolled in Fairmont Elementary School. I am not clear on just how long we lived in that house, but I do remember that my two oldest brothers, who were in the Army, were off to war in Europe. I was rather proud of that, especially the two-star banner my mother displayed in the front window, depicting the fact that there were two sons in the war. There being no televisions back then, the family listened intently to radio reports of the progression of the war and especially those of the airborne units my brothers were fighting with across Italy and Germany.

My Mother was a devout Christian. A headstrong woman, who had all of the family in church each and every Sunday offering up prayers for the safe return of her sons. As a matter of fact, church was mandatory for us every Sunday morning and evening, every Wednesday night and any other time there was service offered. We kids never missed Sunday school and morning worship services, vacation Bible School, Summer Camp, Revivals, Church Socials, even a few weddings and funerals thrown in there.

She wanted us to adhere to a disciplined lifestyle; a faithful church attendance, absolutely no alcohol, gambling, swearing, card playing, or dancing; and complete devotion to God and family. She was strict with her rules and quick to snatch up her stick and deliver bold threats or an occasional lick or two, usually to the backside. No one had coined the phrase Child Abuse yet.

The family worshipped at the Pentecostal Holiness Church, an energetic, full-gospel congregation. As Pentecostal, they believed in a fervent prayer life, the constant nurturing of a personal relationship with Christ, faithfulness to the church and all aspects of its work, diligent study of the Bible, and a loving embrace of other members. Worship was not for the timid, with vibrant music, fiery sermons, and emotional participation from the congregation, which often included Speaking in Tongues, on the spot healing or Laying on of Hands, and a general openness in expressing loudly, whatever emotion the Spirit was pouring forth.

Young children were taught the colorful stories of the Old Testament and were prompted to memorize the more popular Bible verses. We were encouraged to accept Christ at an early age-to confess our sins, ask the Holy Spirit to enter our lives for eternity, and follow the example of Christ with a public baptism. I was baptized in a small creek near the small town of Granada when I was six. I wasn’t all that knowledgeable of this stuff at the time. I thought they were trying to drown me when the preacher covered my mouth with his hand, pinched my nose shut and dunked me under water!

Both Clarence and Jerry were wounded over in Germany and came home on medical discharges in 1944. I remember the family going to the Fairmont Greyhound Bus Station to pick them up.

There were other soldiers on that bus too, and most of the town turned out to meet it. What a scene that was. Unlike today, when the boys came home from the war there were normally a lot of flag waving and sometimes even a parade. I was all of seven years old by then and that was my first introduction to the United States Army.

Little did I know then, the role the Army would later play in my life?

Fairmont is a city surrounded by lakes, laid out in sort of a semi-circle, like links on a chain. As a matter of fact, the local radio station (KSUM) called itself The Chain of Lakes station. These are really big lakes, many of which are so large, you can’t see across them. They are quite negotiable by boat and you can go from one to the other by channels, under various bridges.

If you live in Fairmont, you really should have a boat.

Looking back, I remember that there were nice big channel fish to be had under and around those bridges. In Minnesota we call them Bullheads. You folks in the south call them Catfish. Many of the lakes had swimming and boating facilities and lovely parks where you go for picnics, boating and fishing in the summers. When they freeze over in the winters, it was ice-skating, hockey and ice-fishing. One thing for sure about Minnesota with all of its wonderful lakes, you learned to swim, ski, skate and sled early in life.

My Mom put me in Cub Scouts and later Boy Scouts, where I earned many of my badges in and around those lakes and in numerous summer Scouting Camps. I especially liked the uniforms.

I have always thought of them as identifying you as one of the good guys. Having taken trumpet lessons I was pretty good with a horn, so I was made the Bugle Boy at camp. I stayed with scouting up and through Eagle Scouts.

My father found work as an attendant at a Skelly gas station, downtown, when we first moved to Fairmont. In those days, attendants were required to wear uniforms, and I remember that, because Skelly uniforms were white with back pen strips, similar to the Yankee’s baseball uniforms. The hats were different, however.

Later he changed jobs and became a delivery truck driver for the local bottling company, delivering beer and sodas to restaurants and beer joints in and around Fairmont and the small nearby towns. My brother, David and I got to ride along and help out on a rotational basis. They had an electrically charged, chain link fence around the truck yard that was turned on at night for security because the trucks were loaded in the evenings for next day deliveries.

That fence is forever indelible m my mind. While waiting for my Dad to get his paperwork one morning, I had to take a leak, so I stepped around the corner of the building and splashed away on the corner of that fence. Whoa-man! What a shock to the genitals, and again to my ego! Some idiot forgot to turn off the juice! I soon dropped out of the rotation because sorting and hefting cases of soda and beer turned out to be too laborious for a small guy like me.

About the time I was leaving elementary school, Dad hired on as a printer’s devil with the Fairmont Daily Sentinel and soon after, bought a fixer-upper house across town at 509 East 6th Street. I liked that idea because it was close to the Middle School I would attend later on. They call it Middle School now, but in those days it was called Junior High and was in the same facility as the high school. With help from church friends, my Dad and older brothers built some add-ons to the house and made it quite nice. By then, the only kids still at home were the youngest, Della, David, and me, the runt. Even though I was small for my age, I got interested in sports and tried to go to all the High School games. I had to sneak into most of them for lack of money. I went out for about every sport that was offered but I couldn’t get selected to any of the teams because of my size, except for baseball and hockey.

The new house was quite near the two large canning factories in the city. They were part of the Birds Eye organization, canning and packaging vegetables of every kind you can imagine.

Raising vegetables was a big thing for all the farmers around southern Minnesota and just about everyone in town worked at the canneries.

My sister, Violet, and a girl friend of hers had left Fairmont for Mason City, Iowa where they rented an apartment and found jobs. I guess they chose Mason City over Minneapolis for its proximity to Fairmont, which is located in the southernmost part of the state and closer than Minneapolis. As soon as she turned old enough to do so, they took Civil Service exams and later took Government jobs in Washington, DC and from there, the world! Almost concurrent with her leaving, my brother Dick joined the Air Force, where he spent 20 years or so before retiring and settling in Minnesota’s twin cities. The youngest sister, Della, married soon after Violet and Dick left and was also gone.

It was still the depression years, what with the war going on, and everything seemed to be rationed. For that reason, youngsters didn’t know the term Allowance. I guess, if I were to enjoy the finer things in life, I had to come up with a plan.

My pals in the neighborhood were the Fellerson boys, from just down the street. It is a long time ago, but it seems to me they were Kenny and Donny. Kenny and I decided we were going to become rich, so we spent some time thinking of how we were going to do that.

The first thing we did was to go to the nearby junk yard and found a couple of old bicycles that had been disposed of and we worked on them until they were operable. Now that we had transportation, we each got a paper route, delivering the Fairmont Daily Sentinel, every morning, seven days a week.

Our first profits were spent on buying paint, fenders and other parts to make those bikes look like new.

The newspaper company issued two wheeled, rubber tired trailers to carry the papers in, specifically designed to be towed by bicycles, which turned out to be very useful for other things as well. In the afternoons we would hook up those wagons and head down the highway out of town. We would ride out a few miles on one side and back towards town on the other picking up soda, beer and milk bottles that had been thrown away. They hadn’t invented aluminum cans yet. We were able to sell the soda bottles for two cents each, beer bottles for three and the milk bottles for a nickel.

I think of it as recycling in its earliest stages.

If you needed milk in your household, in those days, it was a practice to place the empty bottles on your front step for the milkman to replace with full bottled milk early each morning. I thought it was pretty neat because the cream was at the top of the bottle, more or less in the neck, and the milk in the larger bottom portion. There you go, two for the price of one!

They hadn’t come up with the cholesterol scare yet either.

Most people put their bottles out the night before because the milkman usually came early. If we were in a hurry to get our money together for the Saturday afternoon matinee, we would snitch a bottle here and there while on our morning paper route, until we had enough empties to finance the movies, a box of Milk Duds and a bag of popcorn, and maybe a comic book or two for after the movies.

Admission to the movies, for kids under 12, was all of nine cents and everything else was a nickel. If you got there early enough and signed up for clean up, you got in free. The manager usually picked four or five of us for this clean up after the movie was over. It consisted of putting the seats up, blowing all the trash from the back row, down to the front of the stage with an electric blower, It was then loaded into big boxes and taken to the dumpsters out back. The lobby duty was the best because all that was required was to pick up any trash laying about and vacuuming the carpeted areas. It saved us the time and the energy it would take to go up and down the highway looking for bottles.

There were normally double features on Saturday, and mostly westerns. I got to know such stars as Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Lone Ranger and Tonto, and of course all of their sidekicks.

John Wayne didn’t come along until much later in life. During the summer months we mowed lawns around the neighborhood and during the snowy months we shoveled snow from sidewalks and driveways. In late November, early December, we also sold Christmas Cards, door to door, and the early spring we did the same with flower seeds, etc.

During the vegetable harvests, the staging yards around the canneries were full of wagons loaded with sweet corn, beans, potatoes, cucumbers, pumpkins, you name it. With our newspaper wagons in tow, we would snitch them full of stuff from the staging yard and sell them door to door too! We were about the only boys our age that always seemed to have some money in our pockets.

During the last two summers we lived in Fairmont, I went to stay with my sister and brother-in-law, Dorothy and Irling Bowman. They had a big farm not far from town. That was hard work! I was put to work helping with milking of about 20 cows, slopping hogs, gathering up chicken and duck eggs, as well as feeding all the farm animals. The milk was taken fresh from the cows to the well house where it was run through the cream separator, poured into milk cans, which were then driven down to the main road to be picked up by the milk company. And this was all done before breakfast. The rest of the day, it was plowing, cultivating, harvesting crops, and planting of things. I learned to drive the tractor and handle a team of horses with ease before I was five feet tall. What a life!

On weekend days, Irling and a neighbor or two would take me hunting with them, especially during pheasant and quail seasons and the deer season. I especially liked deer season, as it was much more of a challenge. They taught me to shoot and handle a gun safely. The first time I fired a shotgun, it knocked me backwards and flat on my young ass. Irling came over and said:

Bruce, you only pull one trigger at a time, not both! When you get good enough at it, you will be able to hit your target with the first barrel and won’t have to fire the second so soon.

Once I did get the hang of it and we flushed up a flock of birds, I could knock down two with one load! Little did I know how much of that early gun savvy would help me later on!

In 1950, my Mom began nagging Dad to return to the Ozarks to be near her mother, who was getting on in years and in failing health. After a fashion, my Dad relented so we began preparing for the move to Mountain Grove, Missouri later that year. I just had enough time to break in my replacement for the paper route and sign over the wagon. I said goodbye to my friends and we headed south. This move would be an eye opener and learning experience for me, to be sure.

It would be 32 years before I would see Fairmont gain.

Chapter 2

Mountain Grove, Missouri

The trip to Missouri was the longest car ride I had ever taken, at that point. We skirted through Iowa into Illinois and down the old Route 66, across the Mississippi River into St. Louis. I was struck by the size of the river and the bridge.

Mountain Grove was a small town in south central Missouri and close to the Arkansas border. When we entered town, the city limit sign told us the population was 3,000. The first thing that came to my mind was that there weren’t apt to be any paper routes here! You could almost throw a rock from one City Limit sign to the next. There was a state Fruit Experiment Station, a state Poultry Experimentation station, and a Brown Shoe Factory. Most everything else was farming.

We stayed with my Grandmother for a while until Dad found a rental place. Eventually he bought into a small gas station operation, just at the edge of town as you came in from the east. Matter of fact, it was just inside that city limit sign we saw on our way in. My brother David and I had to help out at the station, pumping gas, checking oil, changing tires, etc. We even learned how to do oil changes and small repairs, in the shop area.

I found a paper route after all! It was the Springfield Daily out of the biggest city nearest Mountain Grove. I believe it is about 60 miles west. The first couple of months, when I went round collecting for the monthly deliveries, I knocked on doors that I didn’t deliver to, trying to pick up more subscribers. Before long, I had so many I could hardly pull the load with my bike.

It wasn’t too long before my Dad saw this old Cushman Motor Scooter with a For Sale sign on it and picked it up in exchange for a five gallon can of gas. It had stopped running and the guy couldn’t figure it out and was about to throw it away. Being a couple of old farmer guys who had to keep their equipment in running condition, Dad and I tore it apart and more or less rebuilt it there in the shop. I was pretty hot stuff then and could run my route in about half the time it took by bike. It also allowed me to explore Mountain Grove to see what it had to offer a worldly fellow such as myself.

When I went to register for my freshman year of high school, they were all set to put me in the eighth grade? Of course I said:

What is this, I’ve finished junior high?

The counselor, her name tag read Ms. Cady, looked at my five foot frame and said:

You look more like you belong in the sixth or seventh grade! Unless you can bring in some sort of proof, you are going to be placed in the eighth grade!

What do I have to bring in, Ms. Cady?

Birth certification or records from your previous school, was her response. So I went home and told my folks. Ms. Cady was a Guidance Counselor who would later become a valuable friend and mentor for me.

I have always liked school and discovered early that I was pretty good at it, repeatedly scoring A’s and B’s. They hadn’t invented GPA yet.

I don’t know if my birth month had anything to do with that part of it, but despite my size, I was normally older than my classmates. You see, it all started way back in Kindergarten in Minnesota. Check this out!

School starts in September each year and normally ends the following June. You had to be five years old to get in, so, my birth month being in January, I was almost six by the time I entered Kindergarten. Now follow this!

I entered each year, older than most all of my classmates.

I would like to think that that difference influenced my grades. After all, I was eight months smarter than the rest, right?

Once I brought in my previous school records, I entered High School. I was officially a freshman! The first day, I was issued a locker and a schedule with teacher names, room numbers and directions to each. I was amazed at the number of students that turned out until I saw all the school buses. More than half of the students were bused in from the farming community, most of which I hadn’t seen in my trek around town on my scooter.

My freshman year, I had to take four mandatory subjects, one study hall and one elective. I chose health/sports for my elective and signed up for all the sporting programs. The coach picked me up for basketball, because I had a good outside jump shot and could dribble like a mad man. The first two years I was on the B team. It was that height thing, wouldn’t you know?

They also put me in track and field where I eventually ran the 440 (quarter mile) and the mile relay. In baseball I was Bench Warmer. I think I was the third backup catcher. I got to warm up the pitchers in the bullpen. Well, I did get to go to all the away game, free!

David made the football team as a kicker. He was a pretty good one too. I was made Equipment Manager. I got to take care of all the equipment, handing out footballs, getting the uniforms cleaned and sometimes running the chain during home games. And, I got to go to all the away games, free!

Then I met Dale Sanders, who was a neighbor and a bit older, and we ran together a lot for a while. We discovered we both liked to hunt and shoot, so I bought myself a 410 shotgun and we would go out in the country and hunt for rabbit, squirrel pheasant and quail. We usually came home with our limit, not that anybody was checking. We did a lot of our hunting on the Clary farm just outside of town. Gene Clary was a classmate of ours so it was okay. I recently learned that Gene went into the Mortuary business after his schooling. Good thinking Gene, I hear people are just dying to get into your place.

We also got jobs at the theatre where we worked during the Saturday and Sunday matinees. I remember that I was the ticket taker at the door, and when I was interested in one girl or another I would sneak them in free and have them save me a seat. Once the movie got started, I would go sit with them and try to get better acquainted.

Dale’s Dad owned a bar and grill just off the town square. It was called The Past Time. Once in awhile, Dale and I would stop in there when Dale needed to get some money from his Dad. We would always go in the back door and through the kitchen. One day, I was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the bar room while Dale was with his Dad behind the bar, getting some cash. There was a couple at the bar and the lady was sort of draped all over the guy, when another lady came in the front door. I noticed she seemed to be looking for someone. She suddenly stopped behind the couple at the bar, pulled a gun out of her purse and shot the guy in the back of the head. He fell forward into his beer and she walked back out the door. Me? I almost crapped in my jeans!

Of course the police and ambulance were called right away. They were able to arrest the shooter, who turned out to be the dead guy’s wife. To this day, that scene is still very visible in my mind. Later we learned that the shooter was exonerated due to the man’s adulterous ways. They called it Justifiable Homicide.

Dale was a very good artist. He could do cartoon drawings that were just awesome. His dream was to go to California and try to get on with Walt Disney. I’ve often wondered if he ever made it.

In my sophomore year, I started running around with the same group of guys. There was only one of us old enough to drive a car, L.T. Campbell. He was not going to school, having dropped out after the eighth grade. That was allowed in those days and many did it to get started in the work force or provide additional income to their household. L.T. had a car, earned his own money and even smoked! I think he worked at the Brown Shoe Factory. I think that is about the time I took up smoking. Chesterfields seemed to be macho in those days.

The little group I buddied-up with consisted of Don Johnson, Elmo Byerlee, Joe Higby and Ray Hog Hargraves. We spent a lot of time cruising over to Cabool, about 10 miles down the road. We did a lot of cruising, roller skating, chasing girls and partying in general. Trying to grow up faster than really necessary, I guess. Once in a while, when we could get our hands on some homemade brew or White Lightning, we would go to the drive-in theatre outside of town and party! We tried to pick the night they had the special One Dollar a Couple Night. L.T. and one other would ride up front and the rest of us would all get in the trunk so we could all get in for a buck. In those big old cars, you could sleep six in the trunk! We would park in the back row and break out the jug and the smokes. They hadn’t invented drugs yet, thank goodness!

I always seemed to get sick at those events. I finally figured it out though. One night when I was dropped off at home, I had to throw up, so I tried to barf behind some bushes next to the house. I must have gotten some on the house because the next day, the paint had peeled off from that spot. Needless to say, my Mom blessed me with a lot of harsh words and administered a few welts to my backside.

Welts were a familiar thing around our house. For years, we had a motorized, wringer type wash machine, out on the back porch. It was one of those round things. It had two large galvanized tubs, one with preheated water for washing and one with cold water for rinsing. Once loaded with clothes and soap powder, it required filling with previously heated water, which was poured into the machine. There was a one inch square stick, about three feet long that was used to fish out the clothes from the hot water when washing was done, and poked them through the wringers, so as not to burn your fingers. My Mom, being the Bible reading, deeply religious person that she was, believed fervently in Spare the rod, spoil the child. She didn’t spoil any of us, and that old waterlogged stick was her rod!

I tried to stay away from that moonshine after that. The home brew was still tasty though.

Back at school, sophomores had to take three mandatory subjects and two electives. I took speech and dramatics as my electives. I loved them both, and they were taught by the same teacher, who later became a Hollywood actor, Dabs Greer.

I did well in track and field and my game was coming along pretty well in baseball. I was playing catcher quite a bit by now, until I got a broken nose. The batter had tipped it up and I threw off my mask. The batter came completely around and caught me square across the nose with the bat. I was out of commission for a while with two black eyes and a taped up nose. About the time I was able to play again, I caught a fastball right on the end of my thumb on my catching hand. The force of the ball broke the thumb and the bone came out through the skin. Of course it was set and put into a cast, but I gave up baseball after that.

David and I still worked at the gas station but by the end of that school year, Dave decided to quit and go to Illinois to seek better paying work. Our sister, Della and husband, Arlo, were living in Wilmington, Illinois where he worked as a heavy equipment operator in highway construction. Dave stayed with them for awhile until he found work at a paper mill in that town and eventually married a young lady from there.

That made me the last kid at home growing up fast!

During the summer, between my sophomore and junior year, some of us guys heard about summer Jobs for Youth out in the Kansas wheat harvest. We loaded up and went out there to sign up. Kansas turned out to be one hot, dry, dusty and flat place, Amber Waves of Grain country! The work was really tough on all of us but the money was very good. Having worked farming while growing up, and being able to operate most of the equipment, I had the least difficult job. Most of the time, I drove the tractor, pulling wagons of grain from the fields to the grain elevators. During the bailing process, I pulled the windrow that rakes the hay into furrows and then, the hay bailer. This went on from sun up till sun down. Several farmers from surrounding farms would bring their equipment and their wives with them and completely do one farm and then another, until they were all done. The women would whip up these huge meals for the crews, both lunch and dinner. I had never seen anything like it!

What spread! What a feast!

When the harvest was over and we returned to Mountain Grove, tanned and tough, I had magically and finally gotten taller. Over that summer, I had grown to five feet, eleven inches

Almost a full foot! Can you believe it?

I could now look everyone straight in the eye!

I no longer had to look everyone in the belt buckle!

Just recently, I learned that Don and Elmo are two of our old gang that has since died. I learned about Elmo’s death shortly after it happened. Seemingly, he and another man were on the way home from Cabool when they were involved in a head on collision with another car. Four were killed in that crash. Elmo was just 21 years old! I never learned how, or when, Don Johnson died, or what became of the others after high school.

Chapter 3

Mountain Grove

Junior year would bring some joy, many surprises and a load of sorrow for me.

It started out really great! I had saved most of the money I brought home from Kansas. I’m a six-foot giant now, at least I thought so. School was going to be a breeze!

It required only two mandatory subjects and three electives. I took Typing, Drama and World History for my electives. I hesitated on drama at first because we had picked up a new teacher, Mary Turnbeaugh. Mr. Greer had left, but I have seen him in many bit parts over the years on TV.

As it turned out, I liked our teacher and would later win several awards at Speech and Drama competitions under her tutelage.

An elderly lady, Ms. House, who was a real trip, taught world History! She could have been a poster child for the character, Spinster.

I remember her as having bluish-white hair and a lot of makeup and she was a tough old bird. Her classroom had those single wooden desk chairs. They were the kind that had one desktop arm, and was moveable. I always managed to get one from the back row so I could lean back against the wall and get a little snooze.

While teaching, Ms. House would stroll around the classroom with one of those big old Life magazines rolled up in her hand. If she came upon someone chewing gum, whispering or taking a nap, she would smack him or her on the top of the head to get their attention. I had received my share of raps from her, so one day I decided to practice some of the stuff I learned in drama and shake her up a bit. Now, that was an old building and the walls had their share of cracks and crumbling plaster spots that had been painted over about a hundred times. I was leaning back as usual one day pretending to be sleeping. When she came up and administered the smack on the head, I jerked back, purposely hitting my head against the wall, causing plaster to fall loose and falling out of my chair in an unconscious state. Faked, of course! She went berserk!

She summoned the nurse and meanwhile, began shaking and pinching my checks, trying to revive me. When the nurse arrived with her emergency kit and knelt down to administer first aid, I opened my eyes, smiled at her and said: What’s happening? The class thought it was hilarious! Ms. House didn’t think so! She sent me to the Warden’s Office.

I think it was Mr. Weems, in those days.

After giving me the customary What For, he sort of snickered and sent me home for the rest of the day to have a good talk with myself. It was my last class that day anyway, so I went to work.

I don’t remember Ms. House ever smacking anybody after that.

When I got to the gas station, Dad said: We need to go to the salvage yard and pick up some parts for this car I am working on, so get your coveralls on. The junkyard was out west of town, just off highway 60. It was one of those deals where you had to strip your own parts. We found a like car and began getting the parts Dad needed when I noticed an old Model A Ford coupe nearby. I went and looked it over thinking that it would make a neat roadster. I was already picturing it all chopped down with balloon tires, motorcycle fenders up front, V8 engine and all. When we were up negotiating the cost of the parts, I asked the guy: How much are you asking for the model A?"

He says, You don’t want that thing. Its shot, the tires are all rotten, upholstery bad and the motor is out.

That’s okay. I want the body to make into a roadster, how much?

Okay, 50 bucks!

We went back to the shop and got the trailer and I bought that old thing. It was a 1929 Model A coupe with a rumble seat and all the windows intact. I paid for it with some of my Kansas money. I figured I had enough left for the tires, motor and upholstery material.

A few days later, when I showed up for work, my Dad said: Come here, I want to show you something.

We went out back where we had parked the old car. Dad got in and fired it up! I couldn’t believe it! It ran like new!

What did you have to do to get it running?

I took the head off and saw that the timing chain was broken so I put in a new one, cleaned the engine, inside and out, made new gaskets, put oil in it, put a battery in and fired it up. What do you think? I think it sounds great!

We talked about restoring it as