The Reluctant General

By Billy R. Cooper

Many people have asked me over the years how I became a general. My response is usually reluctantly. Never genuinely believed it might be possible.

In the first few chapters of this autobiography, Cooper recalls events from his childhood, growing up on the farm with his maternal grandparents. The next chapters follow his high school life, and finally, his entrance into the military. Follow Coopers audacious encounters from being a Training Officer, to 1st Battalion, 22d Artillery, to Field Artillery Staff Officer, to Senior Operations Officer, to Deputy Commanding General US Army Recruiting Command, taking him across the United States to Vietnam, Germany and the Persian Gulf.

Alternating stories about his exciting encounters in the field, his own insights and his experiences that will benefit the readers, The Reluctant General proves that what many others may think is a will-of-the-wisp can turn into something real.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465345851

Billy R. Cooper

Brigadier General Billy R. Cooper was born in 1948 in Dallas, Texas, and graduated from Franklin D. Roosevelt High School. He received an associate’s degree from the University of the State of New York, a bachelor’s degree in education from Cameron University in 1977, and a master’s in education from Georgia State University in 1980. Commissioned through Offi cer Candidate School in December 1968, he is a graduate of the Field Artillery Offi cer Advanced Course, the Command and General Staff College and the National War College. His military career has taken him across the United States, to Germany and Vietnam. Of his thirty-three years in the Army, twelve were spent at Fort Sill, OK. Cooper’s assignments include training offi cer, 1st Basic Combat Training Brigade, Fort Lewis, WA; forward observer, then executive offi cer, Battery A, 1st Battalion, 21st Artillery, 1st Calvary Division, Vietnam; artillery tactics instructor, U.S. Army Field Artillery School, Fort Sill, OK; S-1/adjutant, 1st Battalion 22d Field Artillery, then commander, Battery C, 1st Battalion, 22d Artillery, 1st Armored Division, then deputy installation coordinator, Pinder Barracks, 1st Armored Division, Germany. After serving as assistant professor of military science at Albany State College in Albany, GA, he returned to Fort Sill as a fi eld artillery staff offi cer, staff and faculty battalion, then operation’s offi cer, 214th Field Artillery Brigade. He served as research and development coordinator, U.S. Army Material Systems Analysis Activity, Aberdeen Proving Ground, MD; then Commander, 2d Battalion, 1st Field Artillery, 1st Armored Division, Germany. He was senior operations offi cer and later assistant deputy director for operations, National Military Command Center, the Joint Staff, Washington, D.C. in the Pentagon. Again returning to Fort Sill, he was training and doctrine command systems manager for Fire Support Command, Control and Communications Systems in the Field Artillery School and later commanded the 214th Field Artillery Brigade, III Corps Artillery. His next assignment was chief, Fire Support Division and assistant director of requirements, Offi ce of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations on the Army Staff in the Pentagon. After promotion to brigadier general he was assigned to the United States Central Command at MacDill Air Force Base, FL with duty in the Persian Gulf and the Horn of Africa as the joint rear area coordinator. His fi nal assignment was as Deputy Commanding General US Army Recruiting Command. Following retirement from active Army service in 2001, he served as director of two different job corps centers in Cleveland, OH and Morganfi eld, KY for a total of nine years

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Copyright © 2011 by Billy R. Cooper.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011915888

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4653-4584-4

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4653-4583-7

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4653-4585-1

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Forward

Chapter 1 Roots

Chapter 2 Paw and Maw

Chapter 3 Early life in Dallas

Chapter 4 Warsaw Street

Chapter 5 Back to the Farm

Chapter 6 High School

Chapter 7 Off to College

Chapter 8 Life of a College Dropout

Chapter 9 Private Cooper

Chapter 10 Officer Candidate Cooper

Chapter 11 Learning to Lead

Chapter 12 Preparing to Leave

Chapter 13 Vietnam

Chapter 14 Back to the World

Chapter 15 The Double Deuce

Chapter 16 Back to School

Chapter 17 51/13/51

Chapter 18 Back to the Double Deuce

Chapter 19 National War College and the Pentagon

Chapter 20 Life as a Colonel

Chapter 21 Brigadier General Billy R. Cooper

Chapter 22 The Final Chapter

To my extended family, without whose advice, patience, support, and love, I would never have survived to adulthood. To soldiers past and present, who have served in our nation’s wars and continue to serve in defense of freedom and democracy everywhere. And to the spirit of the United States of America, whose founding principles led to the changes necessary to see that a poor kid like me had an opportunity to become a general officer in the United States Army. God bless America.

Acknowledgments

MY YOUNGER SISTER, Dianne Cooper, who provided valuable information on the Cooper side of the family for the periods when I was not around. My aunt Bertha Grant, who provided valuable information about the Beecham family. My very good friend Jillian Russelburg, who typed and formatted several draft copies of the book. She also provided encouragement, pushed me to stay on schedule, and is my agent. My very good friends in Morganfield, Kentucky, who encouraged me to write the book so others might benefit from my experiences. When I was the director at the Earle C. Clements Job Corps Center, they heard me tell some of my family history and talk about things that happened in my life. They called my story the American Dream and said it was too valuable to keep to myself. I am forever grateful for their help, support, and encouragement. Remember, always better days ahead.

Forward

THERE HAS BEEN a lot of talk recently about the perceived decline in the possibility that the next generation might be able to achieve the American Dream. Politicians, news commentators, and business leaders are implying that the American Dream as we know it may not be achievable for our children and grandchildren. Those words seem to always come from those who have already achieved it.

They dumbed down education. They dumbed down politics. Why not dumb down the American Dream. After those in just one generation senior to us have polluted our environment, squandered our nation’s fiscal resources and become financially well off themselves, they now tell us the American Dream may have to be deferred, may not be achievable, may have to be redefined. They say we should condition our senior citizens who have contributed so much to America to accept less in their sunset years. They tell us we should condition our children and grandchildren to expect less from the richest country in the world. Why should we accept their premise? We don’t have to. Notice, those telling us to do those things are already financially well to do.

This book was written by my friend and mentor, Billy Cooper, a retired Army Brigadier General. He is living proof the dream is possible. He dropped out of college. He worked at low wage jobs. He married early. He was drafted into our Army as a Private and, over a long career, achieved the rank of brigadier general. His story provides a glimpse of how a good public education, support from communities and neighborhoods, an extended loving family, and improved decision making can shape a man’s life. It took a village. His story provides a look at survival and growth in a non-traditional family, recovering from poor decisions, and how to handle professional disappointments. By example, Billy showed his soldiers how to capitalize on their skills and talents to become successful soldiers and leaders. He is proof positive that perseverance in the face of adversity pays off. While the statement you can’t have it all now may be true, you can, over time, become very successful and enjoy the riches (not just money) America has to offer. Billy Cooper achieved the American Dream.

America needs heroes. Billy Cooper believes there is a hero in all of us. He wondered if faced with situations in combat, whether or not he would have been able to jump on a grenade to save his friends and fellow soldiers. He wondered if he could have picked up a machine gun and charged head on into an ambush site to save his unit. I believe he was that kind of hero. Billy has taught me to believe there is a hero in all of us which allows us to set the right example, which allows us to defend the weak and helpless, and also allows us, even when things are not going well for us, to help others find a better way and a brighter day. His unique blend of hard work, determination not to fail again, compassion, and humor will cause you to laugh and cry.

Brigadier General Billy Cooper is an American hero. His inspirational story should encourage each of us to find the hero in ourselves.

Jillian Russelburg

House in DeBerry, Tx.jpg

Ancestral Home in DeBerry

Chapter 1

Roots

I WAS BORN TO the union of K. C. Cooper and Beatrice Beecham, both of DeBerry, Texas, Panola County. To that union was born three sons: I am the oldest (1948), KC Jr. (1949), and Ronald (1951). My parents were third-generation postslavery. Both my paternal and maternal grandparents were second generation born after slavery. Therefore, I am fourth-generation postslavery. However, I was born into a segregated south and a segregated country… segregated schools, Colored Only and White Only signs at restrooms and water fountains in public buildings, Jim Crow laws, Negroes to the back of the bus, and so on. Landmark legislation and Supreme Court rulings that would desegregate schools, public buildings, and remove those awful White Only and Colored Only signs had not yet been passed when I was born. I wasn’t born poor. I was born po. We couldn’t afford the or.

My mother, Beatrice, was a tall (5’ 10"), strikingly beautiful woman who was raised on her parents’ 84 acre farm. She was born to the union of Lonzell Beecham and Jewel (Brooks) Beecham, my maternal grandparents. They raised five children: Beatrice (mom), the oldest; Bertha; Cleveland; James; and Lonzell Jr. Mom attended Crossroads School, which was a three-room open classroom-style school where three grades were taught by one teacher in each room. When my children were attending elementary school in Lawton, Oklahoma, open classrooms were being touted as an educational innovation. Hardly so. Mom finished the seventh grade and never returned to complete formal education. For years, I thought that helping operate the farm and the need to assist in raising her siblings did not allow her to return to school in the early years. More recently, however, I discovered she went to school to become a beautician after finishing seventh grade. I think this was a decision she came to regret later in life.

My father, K. C. Cooper, was born to the union of Kennie and Rosie Cooper. He was born on his family’s 62 acre farm and was the youngest of three sons and three daughters. He left school after the seventh grade. He worked the farm as was expected in those days. He enlisted in the army during World War II and served in the Philippines as a truck driver, and he told me he achieved the rank of sergeant. After he separated from active service, he returned to DeBerry where he met and married Mom. Although I spent some time with him, I really never knew much about him. When I needed a solid relationship with him, he was not there. You see, my parents split when I was five years old. Some thirty-four years later, when he wanted to build a better relationship with me, I was married, had two children of my own, and on my way to a second tour of duty in what was then known as the Federal Republic of Germany (West Germany). I was in Dallas to attend the home-going of my brother Frederick. He was only twenty-seven years old when he died. Since I am the oldest, I never expected to outlive any of my brothers and sisters. I told my dad I did not have time for him. The Smith family was grieving—complicated family history explained in greater detail later. I did not realize that day in 1987 was going to be the last day we would ever speak to each other again and the last day I would see him alive. He died of lung cancer in 1989 caused by smoking cigarettes. I deeply regret not having taken the time to talk with him. I did not know he was ill.

As I was told, Mom and Dad ended their marriage when I was about five years old, KC Jr. was three, and Ronald was one. A vivid recollection that still haunts me today is Mom and Dad driving away from his ancestral home in DeBerry with KC Jr. and me in the backseat of the car and Ronald crying as he was being held by Aunt Alma (my father’s older sister, Plu, as she was known). I did not see Ron again for what seemed to be a very long time. My maternal grandparents, Lonzell and Jewel, were given custody (not in the legal sense) of KC Jr. and me, and Ronald stayed with Aunt Alma (Plu). Aunt was pronounced Ain’t, thus Aunt Alma was known as Ain’t Plu. Aunt Alma raised Ron as her son for several years. She was married to Earle Beecham Sr. To their union was born two daughters, Emma and Evelyn (Lucille), and one son, Earl Jr. Aunt Alma had also taken on the responsibility of raising her niece, Nadine, the child of one of her sisters who had died at an early age. Although the farms were only about fifteen miles apart, transportation was scarce. Thus, the three brothers were effectively torn apart. We saw each other during the summers, at annual church gatherings known as Big Days (church anniversaries), and over the Christmas holiday season a couple of times.

I was greatly influenced by my maternal grandparents, Lonzell (we called him Paw) and Jewel (we called her Maw; Paw called her Jewelry). I was their first grandchild. Aunt Bertha left her two daughters, Jean and Glenda, with Maw and Paw for a while as well. Mom and Aunt Bertha, as I discovered later, were resettling in Dallas, Texas. It must have been tough raising another person’s children. But I never detected any hostility or bitterness from Maw or Paw. I think it was something they figured they had to do for their children while they were getting their lives in order.

Paw was tall (about 6’ 1"), slender, mid-forties to the best of my recollection when he took on this responsibility. He wore blue coveralls, which were always covered by the dust/dirt of manual farming. He had two pairs. He usually wore the same pair for a week before changing. He wore an old wide brim tan straw hat, which was well worn from years of protecting his head and face from the sun, dust, and rain. He wore some very old semiboots, which rose just above his ankles. The boots had no arch support and had holes in the bottom, and the soles looked like they were peeling off. He cut pieces of cardboard and inserted them to cover the holes. He seemed to spend very little money on himself. He made do with what he had but always made sure his family was well taken care of. He farmed eighty-four acres: horse/mule-drawn implement farming. Singletree and doubletree plows were the implements. No tractors; no machinery. Man and mule power. We quickly learned, as we grew, what farming in Texas heat can do to you over time. As I grew, it became obvious to me why Paw had ankle, knee, hip, and back problems as he aged.

The house had three bedrooms. Maw and Paw had the master. Jean and Glenda had one, and KC Jr. and I slept in the other. There was a living room with fireplace, a kitchen, screened-in back porch, and an open front porch where we sat and talked spring, summer, and fall as each workday came to a close. We had electricity from the rural electrical co-op, one of those 1950s government programs that worked and benefitted millions of people in rural communities across America. We had gas from a large butane tank in the backyard. The line only ran to the kitchen stove. Heat in the cold months was produced by the wood-burning fireplace and the stove. It was tough getting out of bed winter mornings because I did not want to throw the covers off and put my feet on that cold floor, get dressed, and get started.

The workday started early—4:30 a.m. Paw woke up cussin’ and fussin’ about everything. If he was awake, everybody was awake. If he was miserable, I think he tried to make everybody miserable. I cannot repeat any of the language he used. But he had a way of stringing cusswords together that made it seem like poetry. I learned many, many things from Paw. Cussin’ was easy to learn because I heard it every day. He seemed to ease up on Sundays. No matter the problem though, he got dressed, started the fire in the fireplace when needed, and went about the business of working the farm.

We did not have running water or indoor plumbing. The outhouse was about fifty meters from the house. During the day, this was not a problem—particularly for males. On 84 acres, you can just unzip and let it fly as long as there were no women folk around, as Paw used to say. At night, we were supposed to grab the flashlight and make the trek to the outhouse or use the night pot. Hard to make that trek in the dark when you are a kid. Snakes, pole cats, foxes, and other things that go bump in the night usually caused me to stop behind the smokehouse to urinate (about twenty meters). Used the night pot otherwise. Tough. Odor stayed in the bedroom especially in the winter when all the windows were closed. Had to empty it in the outhouse at first light and wash it out. I learned to appreciate indoor plumbing. There was no air-conditioning in those days. Especially tough in 100-110-degree Texas heat during the summers. We had a well in the backyard close to the house. But it was described as producing hard water (high mineral content) and was not fit for human consumption. With the well water, we washed dishes, washed clothes, and watered the animals, Maw’s flowers, and the vegetable garden when required. We had a 500-gallon tank, which gathered rainwater that we used for cooking, drinking, and bathing. Maw made us bathe every Friday evening whether we needed it or not. She did the scrubbing behind our ears. We had to wash our feet every night before going to bed. It seems running around barefoot on a farm with cows, mules, couple of horses, and hundreds of chickens exposes one’s feet to varying types of excrement. So she made us wash off every day. Although I shower daily today, I still do not like it.

We had no washer. I don’t think dryers existed in those days. Everybody had clotheslines. We had three clotheslines about thirty feet long for drying. I seem to remember going back to the farm by start of third grade; there was a hand crank wringer that would get most of the water out of clothes mounted atop a washing machine. That was tough. Before that, we had to put firewood around this big black pot. This could have been where that old quote the pot calling the kettle black came from. Carry water from the well. For some time we had no detergent, just lye soap. Put shavings in the water as it heated, put dirty clothes in the pot, and agitate with an axe handle. Primitive, but in the mid-1950s, it got the job done. Had to haul more water for rinsing clothes, hand wring, then hang on line to dry. Starching was done the old-fashioned way, clean hot water, starch, white shirts, blouses, and the like. Wash day was a long day. Once I put too much starch in Paw’s dress shirts. When dry, they could stand up by themselves. Had to wash them all over again. I still hate starch.

During extremely dry years due to insufficient rainfall, we had to haul drinking water from Uncle Shib’s (Shib Walton) well. Uncle Shib was married to Mary (Paw’s sister). I don’t think Paw liked him very much. Just my impression. I never asked why. Paw never revealed much about himself. He was a strong, stoic kind of man. You did not want to ask him too many questions. When you did, you probably would not like the answers. Anyway, Uncle Shib’s well had cool, sweet water. Shib’s house was about a half mile away. Sometimes Paw took the mule-driven sled with two large milk cans (about twelve gallons each), and on other occasions, he drove his pickup. I went with him a few times. I discovered it was as much a social gathering as it was a trip to get drinking water.

Chapter 2

Paw and Maw

PAW WAS AN interesting man, beyond the cussin’. He farmed about fifty-five of the eighty-four acres. Had about twenty head of cattle on fifteen. The house, barn, chicken coop, hog pen, and two ponds took up about five acres, and the rest was in timber (pine trees mostly; some hickory and oak). A few of the trees were cut for firewood each fall to heat the house through the winter, and he cut and sold about one to two acres every five years or so for money. He paid for most everything in cash. Hardly ever owed money to anyone and made a profit every year. We had about an acre garden in which we grew peppers, cabbage, tomatoes, peas, beans, greens (turnip, collard, mustard), onions, and more. We harvested these for food spring, summer, and fall. We had an orchard with peach and apple trees. We grew many other crops for sale at Center, Texas, the local market. These included cotton, corn, peanuts, cucumbers, cantaloupe, watermelon, peas, beans, potatoes, and much more. I used to see him talking along the fence line with the county extension agent. Paw understood how to use subsidies to make money—an acre less peanuts, more peanuts, more cotton, less cotton, based on what was funded by the government, to generate money.

He used no chemicals, no pesticides, and only natural fertilizer. After the crops were planted and the seedlings began to grow above ground, it was time to apply fertilizer. That meant grab shovels and rakes and collect all the droppings from horses, mules, cows, and hogs (a full summer, fall, and winter’s worth) from the barnyard and hog pen and load into a mule-driven wagon. Next, to the chicken coop or henhouse and do the same. This kind of situation could be where the old army term shoveling s—t came from. Paw had to remind me several times only shovel the dry stuff, boy. Next, we got into the wagon and busted big lumps into small, small pieces. Paw would drive the wagon to the designated field, and, with the shovels again, we spread the fertilizer on the crops. It took five or more loads to cover everything. When you are a child, that does not seem like work. Thinking back on it, that was work. We had to clean up outdoors. Running water and a water hose would have come in handy. No running water or water hose on the farm. Maw would not let us in the house with crap all over us. Paw had to teach us to shovel it downward and downwind, so the wind would not blow it back into your face. That kind of situation could be where the term s—t faced came from.

Just a few more things about Paw. Since we did not use pesticides or herbicides, weeds would soon begin growing around plants. In the case of cotton, we were required to chop cotton. Okay, this is how it works. You take a hoe and manually chop the weeds away from the cotton stalks. Paw saw me chopping the cotton plants once. He stopped me quickly and showed me the proper procedure. He said, while pointing to cotton and weed in turn, Boy, this is cotton. This is weed. Chop the weed. To which I responded, Paw, I thought we were chopping cotton. He laughed and said, Boy, you don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground. To illustrate the point, he took his hoe handle and poked two holes in the ground and said, This one is your ass, and this one is a hole in the ground. Which one is your ass? I pointed to the one he indicated was my ass. He laughed again and said, Boy, both of those are holes in the ground, and took his hoe handle and tapped me on the butt and said, That’s your ass. Thus, he proved conclusively that I did not know my ass from a hole in the ground. I used the same analogy with my kids, soldiers, students, and some other family members. I think I got it down now. My daughters and granddaughter failed to see the humor in it. One day, I heard Paw say, as he stood admiring his cotton field, That’s tall cotton. That’s the highest compliment I give to anyone today for outstanding performance, That’s tall cotton.

Paw only whipped me once. I was about seven or eight years old. One of our uncles had a car sitting on blocks in the front yard. It must have been a boring day. I managed to convince KC Jr., Jean, and Glenda that we should throw rocks at it and break out the windows. We did. Maw could not save us from Paw. Paw came just before dusk from feeding and watering the animals. He saw the damage and said a whipping was in order. KC Jr., Jean, and Glenda went in and got it over with. I, on the other hand, did not volunteer. I knew it was going to hurt. I heard them crying. I hid under the house. If he was going to whip me, he would have to work for it. He called out for me several times. I could see him walk down to the barn looking for me. He checked the smokehouse. He looked under the house several times. I simply moved to the opposite side of the support blocks when he stopped so he could not see me. He gave up and said, That’s all right. It will be dark soon. You’ll get thirsty and hungry. You will come in, and I will be waiting. His patience was rewarded. When I went inside, he said, ’Bout time. He grabbed my left arm and gave me five or six licks with his razor strap. Then he said, Boy, I don’t believe in whipping other folks’ chullin’. But you had this coming. He let me go. I was crying. I went to Maw. She gave me a big hug and told me it would be all right. She had done the same for KC Jr., Jean, and Glenda. I was privileged to be at Maw and Paw’s fiftieth wedding anniversary. Paw and I reminisced about the cotton. He always planted a few seeds in the yard as a reminder of how tough life had been. He brought up the whipping and how he did not really want to do it. I had it coming. He had to pay someone to repair the damage we (mostly me) caused. I knew it was my fault. I have always regretted doing that.

Paw was a moonshiner. He had a still somewhere in the barn, which I never found. He must have brewed some really good squeezins because, most Fridays, the county sheriff or a deputy would pull up in the yard. Paw would take him around the house down to the barn. They always came back laughing, carrying a couple of jugs. Maw would always