A Different Path: The Story of an Army Family

By G.A. Mendoza

After graduating from the United States Military Academy and being commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant, Neal Creighton spent his first five years in the Army in troop assignments in the United States and in Germany. When his Armored Cavalry Regiment returned to the United States in the fall of 1957, they found themselves at Fort Knox, Kentucky. It is at this point that the author begins his story of a 26-year period covered in the pages of this book. At Fort Knox, he meets Jo Ann Hicks, an employee of the U.S. Army Armored School. They become engaged three months after meeting. The marriage ceremony takes place on August 1st, 1958, at Jo Anns familys church.

After a month long honeymoon Neal and Jo Ann return to Fort Knox where they live in their first government supplied family quarters, Jo Ann goes back to her job, and Neal becomes a student for a nine months long class at the Armored School.

In the chapter on their time at Fort Knox, the author describes the life style of the typical young Army family living on a military post in the 1950s. Not long into the school year, they are told they will be going to Spain for a year where Neal will study Spanish in preparation for then returning to West Point where he will teach the language.

Once in Spain, both Creightons initially attend a university in north Spain. In the fall, they return to Madrid where Neal continues as a student and Jo Ann takes a job with a U.S. Central Intelligence Agency office. During the year, they travel extensively throughout Spain and Portugal. At the end of their time in Spain, they make a month long trip beginning in North Africa, passing through France, Italy, Austria and both East and West Germany.

From 1960 to 1963, Neal has his tour as a member of the Military Academy faculty. The Superintendent of the Academy is Major General William Westmoreland and Neal becomes one of Westmorelands tennis playing partners. Jo Ann returns to work as a government employee. However, after a year, she becomes pregnant and leaves the workforce. Unfortunately, she loses the baby while Neal is traveling in Mexico. After she recovers, the Creightons decide to adopt. Shortly before their three years at West Point are up, they succeed in adopting a six-week old daughter whom they name Linda. Several months later, they are informed that their next assignment will be to the Dominican Republic where Neal will be tasked with helping the Dominicans start a Military Academy. Not long before they depart, Jo Ann learns she is once again pregnant.

Arriving in the Dominican Republic in the summer of 1963, the Creightons quickly find a house to rent and Neal begins his work. At this time, the Dominican Republic is trying to recover from decades of domination of dictator Raphael Trujillo, who had been assassinated in 1961. Neal has an early meeting with Dominican President Juan Bosch. In September, a worried Bosch consults Neal about the situation at San Isidro where the Academy is located. Shortly after that, Bosch is overthrown by Neals Dominican boss. The U.S. breaks relations with the new Dominican Government and orders all its diplomats and military out of the country. Before this evacuation takes place, Neal becomes seriously ill and is evacuated to the U.S. Army hospital in Puerto Rico. Jo Ann accompanies Neal because of the seriousness of his illness. Meanwhile, back in the Dominican Republic, the Americans are evacuated by boat, leaving little nine months old Linda in the Creighton house in Santo Domingo alone with the two maids. Jo Ann returns to reclaim her daughternow not an easy process. Finally, Linda and Jo Ann do get aboard a plane for Puerto Rico where they meet Puerto Rican baseball legend Roberto Clementewho then helps the Creightons while they remain in San Juan.

The next stop for the Creightons is the Panama Canal Zone. They are soon caught up in the serious anti-US riots of January 9, 1964 and are lucky to escape without injury. At work, Ne

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 5, 2008
• ISBN: 9781456806033

G.A. Mendoza

Author’s Biography Neal Creighton is a graduate of the United States Military Academy and spent thirty-one years in the army, retiring as a major general. After leaving the army, he had a successful civilian career as the president of a major foundation, college president, and finally as the first campaign manager for the National Museum of the Army. For fourteen years, he wrote Op-Eds for the Chicago Tribune as well as articles for national magazines. For a decade, he was a frequent guest commentator on Chicago television and radio stations. In 2005, his alma mater honored him as a Distinguished Graduate.

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A Different Path

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The Story of an Army Family

Neal Creighton

Copyright © 2008 by Neal Creighton.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

Preface

Chapter I.     The Honeymoon

Chapter II.     Fort Knox, Kentucky

Chapter III.     Spain

Chapter IV.     West Point, New York

Chapter V.     Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic

Chapter VI.     Panama And The Canal Zone

Chapter VII.     Fort Leavenworth, Kansas and The Command and Staff College

Chapter VIII.     Kentucky and Vietnam

Chapter IX.     Northern Virginia and Southern Pennsylvania

Chapter X.     Department of The Army and Department of State

Chapter XI.     Vilseck, West Germany

Chapter XII.     Schweinfurt, West Germany

Chapter XIII.     The Pentagon (Third Tour)

Chapter XIV.     Goeppingen, West Germany

Chapter XV.     The Netherlands

Chapter XVI.     Fort Riley, Kansas

Chapter XVII.     Department of Defense (Folding The Flag)

PREFACE

This book tells the story of a United States Army family over a period of twenty-six years beginning in the late 1950s and ending in the mid-1980s. Their story takes them to several continents where they find themselves having to adapt to different cultures and circumstances. Along the way, they are confronted with anti-American riots, become involved in an overthrow of a Latin-American government, attend foreign universities, live in Spain, the Dominican Republic, Panama Canal Zone, West Germany, and the Netherlands. Neal, the father, serves in Vietnam in 1967 and 1968 during the height of combat in that war. While he is there, Jo Ann, the mother, and the three children, Linda, Lisa, and Neal Jr., await his return while living in Kentucky. As Neal moves up in rank and responsibility, the family lives for over a decade in Europe where the children spend most of their school years attending both Department of Defense overseas schools or an International school. Their stateside assignments are centered on four Pentagon tours in the Washington, D.C., area and at army posts in Kentucky (Fort Knox), Kansas (Fort Leavenworth and Fort Riley), New York (United States Military Academy), and Pennsylvania (Carlisle Barracks). After their marriage in 1958, Jo Ann continues to work for the Government, first for the army at Fort Knox. Then, in Spain, she works at an office of a Central Intelligence Agency Program. Finally, while Neal serves on the West Point faculty, she works in an administrative position for the Military Academy. When the first child arrives, followed shortly by two more, she leaves the workforce and devotes her endeavors to raising the three youngsters. The family takes advantage of their many changes of assignments and travels extensively, up the Pan-American Highway by car from Panama to the United States, traveling by train behind the Iron Curtain in East Germany, camping throughout Europe, and, as the children grow older, skiing in resorts in Austria, Germany, Switzerland, Canada, and in Vermont.

The author, Neal Sr., began to chronicle this family odyssey after he retired from his final civilian job at the age of seventy-five. His original intention was to share the family’s story with today’s younger generation as they were in the process of deciding on a career, hoping that the experiences of the Creighton family might influence some of them to consider a career in the military. However, he soon concluded that so many things had changed for military families after the cold war ended and the tragic events of 9/11 brought on the war on terrorism, the experiences of the five Creightons may not be as relevant to today’s army families as they once were. In consulting with others, mainly historians, he found that they shared this judgment. However, they tended to regard the draft that he showed them as a valuable account of a part of the cold war that has been, so far, neglected, that being how that long-term period of détente affected the lives of the families who accompanied their military sponsor to many parts of the globe far from our homeland.

In the end, Neal made the decision to publish the book, neither for those considering the military as a career nor for historians interested in all aspects of the cold war, but for his wife, the three children, and the eight grandchildren that he and Jo Ann now have. Further, he hopes that it will be a legacy of interest to the offspring of the grandchildren later in the twenty-first century.

However, if others, such as young army families, historians, or the many friends that shared our journey in the army during the twenty-six years this book covers, find it to be interesting enough to read, we hope you, too, will share the joy and fun we had in our different path.

The Creightons: Neal, Jo Ann, Linda, Lisa, Neal Jr.

CHAPTER I

THE HONEYMOON

As 1958 opened, the Sixth Armored Cavalry Regiment had been at Fort Knox for nine months, having returned after a dozen years in Germany in March of 1957. Among those that had returned with the regiment were first lieutenants Andy Wallace, Jack Temp, Bob Wallace (no relation to Andy), and myself, First Lieutenant Neal Creighton. I was serving as a company commander in the regiment’s Third Squadron. Andy Wallace was my Executive Officer. Jack Temp and Bob Wallace were staff officers with the Second Squadron. The four of us had chosen not to live in bachelor officers’ quarters on the post for a number of reasons. First was that it was less expensive to rent a house off post if there were four people sharing the rent. Second, a rented house offered many more amenities that the rather stark accommodations found in the bachelor quarters on post. And third, all four of us were anxious to try life in a civilian community just to see how we liked it.

The community that we had chosen was Elizabethtown, Kentucky, which was located about ten miles south of Fort Knox on Highway 31W. It was not a large town, and in 1958, a significant number of the town’s residents worked on the post. Many families of married soldiers also lived in E-town, as it was known to all that lived in that part of Kentucky. However, E-town was different from many towns that border on large army posts across the country as it was devoid of the usual bars and nightclubs that soldiers frequented. Fort Knox was located in between E-town and Louisville, and most soldiers looking for any type of entertainment went north to Louisville. Besides, E-town was located in Hardin County, which was a dry county.

Our rented home had four bedrooms, two baths, a kitchen, a combination dining room / living room, and a one-car garage. It was located in a newly developing area of the town, and we were the only bachelor officers that lived in the neighborhood.

One week into the New Year, we were all at home in the evening watching television. To us, television was a major attraction as we had been in Germany for three years where this new form of home entertainment was just in its early stages. Besides, almost all the programs over there had been in German, which most of us spoke but not fluently. To us, shows such as those hosted by Ed Sullivan and Steve Allen were novelties that we thoroughly enjoyed.

As I remember, it was a weeknight, and we were watching the Steve Allen Show when the doorbell rang. Reluctantly, I got up from my comfortable couch and went to answer the bell, wondering who it might be calling on us at this time in the early evening.

Opening the door, I saw three young ladies standing there. One of them was to become my wife, the mother of my children, and my life’s companion.

Looking out through the screen, I recognized Mary Lou Bolling, a friend that worked for the army at Fort Knox. She was an attractive, fairly large person who probably was two or three inches taller than I was. I had met her because of a mutual friend, Mary Kenny. Mary was the daughter of an army colonel who had served with my father just prior to World War II. Our families had been neighbors at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Her dad, a West Point graduate, was now serving as the director of the Communications Department of the Armor School, which was located at Fort Knox. Several times during the nine months that I had been back from Germany, the Kenny family had invited me to their house, and it was there that I had met Mary Lou. Mary Kenny was the second lady at the door.

It was somewhat unusual for young ladies to appear at our door in the early evening or at any time for that matter. I invited them in and heard a few grumblings from the other bachelors in the background indicating that they were somewhat annoyed to be interrupted just as Steve Allen and Don Knotts were on the screen. When the three young ladies entered, they graciously forgot about Steve Allen and Don Knotts and turned their attention to the females.

Mary Lou introduced her third companion, whom none of us knew. This is Jo Ann Hicks, and I told her that we just had to come out here and see where you guys live.

I looked at Jo Ann and saw a good-looking young lady of medium height, a nice smile, with long brunette hair, and a fairly trim figure. However, I really didn’t buy Mary Lou’s explanation of the reason for the visit, so I asked Mary Lou, who had never seen our place before, how she even knew where we lived.

Well, she replied, Bob Osborn used to date Jo Ann, and he told her all about this place and all about you guys who live here.

I immediately understood. Bob Osborn, who had been a lieutenant with us in Germany and had left to come to Fort Knox for the advanced course at the Armor School, was a person who could embellish any story. Oz was an outstanding junior officer, but his imagination sometimes ran away from, or should I say, ahead of him. While we were in Germany together, I remember that he often would tell completely made-up stories at some bar or other gathering spot about things he and I had done. I would sit there, knowing that this was all made-up, but I never spoke up and said, This never happened. Actually, the stories were so good that I really wanted to see how they would end. Thus, I had no doubt that he had told Jo Ann some fantastic tales about these four lieutenants and their fabulous home in Elizabethtown. I also really wondered what he had told her about the four of us, especially me. Whatever it was, I knew that most of it would have come from the highly imaginative mind of Lieutenant Osborn. So I refrained from asking what our buddy Bob had said about us.

It turned out that Jo Ann worked at the Armor School as the administrative assistant to my father’s friend, Colonel Kenny. She and Mary, the colonel’s daughter, were also friends. Jo Ann had attended Western Kentucky University for a year and then switched to the University of Louisville because it was closer to home. That home was in a suburb of Louisville, and Jo Ann was currently living there while working for the army at Fort Knox. She had finished two and a half years of college before she opted to go to work as a government civil servant, initially with an Air Force Intelligence office at Godman Field, the air force installation next to Fort Knox. After a year or so there, she had moved over to her administrative assistant’s job at the Armor School. When I met her, she was making more money than I was!

Mary Lou, Mary Kenny, and Jo Ann did not stay long at our place in E-town that night, just long enough for me to ask Jo Ann for her phone number. It must have been apparent to them that our home was nothing like the description that Osborn had given Jo Ann, but they were probably still worried that we might have been as bad and wild as good ole Oz had made us out to be.

Not many days later, I made the phone call. She accepted the date. And three months later, we got engaged, not realizing the irony of getting engaged on April Fools’ Day, 1958. Our marriage was in the Baptist church that her family attended, and the reception was at her parents’ home. It was a small military wedding with the men in their uniforms and the ushers forming the traditional arch of sabers for us to pass through. My West Point classmate Jack Temp served as the best man. Jo Ann’s maid of honor was a longtime friend of hers as were the bridesmaids. I didn’t have much input into all the planning, except one small request I made to the preacher whom everybody referred to as Brother Jones. Not being used to demonstrative Southern Baptists, I didn’t know how to take Brother Jones and his style of addressing the congregation. During our initial interview, or perhaps it was a counseling session, he discussed the words to be used in exchanging our vows. When it came to that part where the bride promises to love, honor, and obey, Brother Jones left out the obey portion. I guess I must have thought that this might be something peculiar to the Baptist religion. Every movie I had ever seen had those three words in the ceremony love, honor, and obey, so I was curious to find out why the omission.

Brother Jones, I believe you left out a very important part of that vow by the bride, I ventured.

Looking somewhat startled that a young lieutenant would challenge the preacher, Brother Jones replied, Well, in today’s world, brides don’t vow to obey their husbands. It’s just not done!

Well, this is our wedding, and we believe it should be done, I answered in my best military tone. As soon as I said that, I immediately began to wonder what Jo Ann had to say about all this. So did Brother Jones, who looked at her for support. However, she said nothing and just looked back at the preacher with a slight smile on her face.

Flustered, Brother Jones finally agreed to include the dreaded word obey. In the actual ceremony a few days later, I doubt if anybody in attendance, except Brother Jones, Jo Ann, and me, realized that this part of the vow was included. I have to say that it was, in retrospect, not worth the effort on my part. Jo Ann never paid the least bit of attention to the obey vow, and all that resulted from including this phrase was that, in future years, it gave Brother Jones and me something to talk about in the infrequent encounters we were to have. I guess he was the only one who considered the vow as binding; certainly Jo Ann didn’t. At that point in our engagement, she probably figured it was an issue better off ignored and one she could take care of later.

A somewhat more serious roadblock to our actual marriage came in a counseling session which she had with her boss, Colonel Kenny. Shortly after she informed him that she had become engaged to marry me, the colonel called her in for a serious talk about this guy she was marrying. He had known me since I was nine years old. His wife and my mother had been good friends. He had served with my father for several years. I had visited his family at Fort Monmouth, New Jersey, when I was a cadet at West Point. So Jo Ann, who admired the colonel, had every reason to take what he had to say as valuable advice. Colonel Kenny told the prospective bride that her fiancé was probably a bad choice for a long-term relationship. He explained that I may have inherited my father’s penchant for infidelity. (My father had three marriages, none that worked out well.) He also said, without identifying his sources, that Lieutenant Creighton had a reputation in the Sixth Armored Cavalry Regiment as somewhat of a playboy who, while a good officer on duty, was prone to frequent bars and other places where young ladies of rather questionable character might hang out. In short, he told her, I think too much of you and your potential to advise you to marry him.

Jo Ann never told me any of this until after we got married. I have no idea why she didn’t heed the well-intentioned colonel’s advice. When she did tell me, I did say that my dad’s conduct was a source of chagrin for me and taught me never to follow that example. As for Colonel Kenny’s other comments, I never have found out who was the person that squealed on me.

At the small reception that followed the church ceremony, I met many of my wife’s relatives for the first time. A great majority of them resided in the State of Kentucky, mostly in the Louisville area, but a number of her father’s kin lived in the western part of the state near Paducah. A few of the males had served in the military, mostly during World War II, but Jo Ann’s father had not. Her mother’s knowledge of military life had come from living near a big army post like Fort Knox and, on occasion, meeting some of the young lieutenants that dated her daughter. Her views on the military weren’t fixed. I had the feeling that she hadn’t yet made up her mind whether she liked this new son-in-law or not. My only experience that gave me any insight into her thoughts was when she presented me with a new suit on my birthday three months after Jo Ann and I got engaged. The card that accompanied the gift gently suggested that I get rid of that old seersucker suit I had been wearing and replace it with this birthday gift. Perhaps that should have bothered me, but I took a look at the old seersucker suit and then at the new dark one she had presented and figured that she was probably absolutely correct. Of course, I never told her that; and to this day, I still try to refrain from ever admitting that she is right and I am wrong, at least not in her presence.

When the reception ended and Jo Ann finished opening the wedding presents, which included a lovely engraved silver tray from the Sixth Armored Cavalry Regiment, we changed clothes and started out on our honeymoon. As a first lieutenant with five years of active military service, I then had a monthly salary of a little over $300 a month. As I remember, I had a total of $40 in the bank. Fortunately, my new wife had been a little more frugal than I had been, so we did plan an extended honeymoon that included a journey into Mexico, which would be, for Jo Ann, her first trip out of the United States.

During the five years that I had been in the army, I had accrued over sixty days of vacation time that I could take, and we would use about forty of those days on this journey. The wedding date had been set with my military obligations in mind. Just before the marriage, I turned over my job as company commander and went on leave status. I didn’t have to report back in until sometime in September, at which time I would officially leave the regiment and become a student at the Armor Officers Career Course at the Armor School at Fort Knox. This was a nine-month course, and after five years of troop duty, I looked forward to a change of routine. Jo Ann also took vacation from her job working for the colonel, but she planned to return to work for at least the nine months of the class duration. After that, we had no idea where we would be.

Departing the home of her parents and getting into the four-door Buick Century that I had bought when I returned from Germany the year before, the remaining visitors threw rice at us, and Jo Ann tossed the bridal bouquet toward her bridesmaids. Sure enough, the one who caught it got married shortly afterward. Up to that time, Jo Ann and I had never had even the semblance of an argument; and now on our wedding day, I didn’t give it much thought when I turned to her and said, You did bring the movie camera, didn’t you?

I’m sure I did but let me check, she replied, sounding somewhat less than positive.

After searching all over the car, she finally concluded that she had left it back at the house. When she told me this, I reminded her, You know that I told you not to forget the camera, and you said you had promised your parents that we would take extensive films on our honeymoon.

I know, she said, but I did leave it there.

Well, I offered, we have two alternatives, go back and get it or buy a new camera.

A new camera would be pretty expensive just as we are starting out on this extended trip . . . probably a lot more than that paltry $40 you have in your bank account, was her somewhat defensive reply.

Then, I guess we will just have to go back to your house, I ventured.

Neal, I am not going to do that, and if you think I would, you are nuttier than I thought.

As we discussed the problem further, it became quite evident that she would not even consider the embarrassment of driving back to the house and face that rice-throwing crowd again. So not only had we just had our first argument, we also then had our first compromise. We stopped at a gas station and called her parents. Fortunately for us, my company first sergeant Joe Larusso answered the phone. He had stayed on to help Jo Ann’s parents clean up after the party. I explained the problem to Joe, told him where to find the camera, and asked him to get it and bring it to the gas station where we would be waiting. Before hanging up, as Jo Ann had directed me, I asked Joe not to mention this task to anyone else. Like the good first sergeant that he was, Joe delivered the goods.

By the time that Joe found us at the gas station and handed over the camera, it was midafternoon. Our plan was to drive the Buick to Biloxi, Mississippi, and spend one day and a night with my godfather Brigadier General Jack Kirkendall or, as I always called him, Uncle Jack. Since the Episcopal Church permitted someone to have two godfathers, my mother chose to play the odds and have two for me. Both of them had been stationed with my family at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, when I was born. The other godfather was Bill Ritchie who was, as was Uncle Jack, a West Point graduate. He also became a brigadier general in the air force. Years before when I graduated from high school, it was Uncle Bill that paid my way though a year of prep school so I could pass the exams to get into West Point. My mother turned out to be right; two godfathers are better than just one.

Jo Ann and I had spent many hours debating how to spend our long honeymoon. Not many people have the luxury afforded us by the army to take sixty days off with pay. This allowed us a lot of options. We finally decided on Mexico as our destination, and from a map reconnaissance, we had picked out the town of Tampico as where we wanted to end up. Beyond that and some discussion about tarpon fishing in the Gulf of Mexico, we had no fixed schedule so it didn’t bother us much that we only got to a motel just across the Tennessee border that first night. The next afternoon, when we pulled into Uncle Jack’s place, Jo Ann had a violent headache and appeared to be very sick. The honeymoon was off to a rocky start!

Uncle Jack was home alone as his wife and daughter were away on a trip. Noting Jo Ann’s obvious illness, he immediately hustled us off to the hospital at nearby Keesler Air Force Base, where he had just recently served as the deputy commander. The doctor took Uncle Jack’s assurance that Jo Ann was indeed the wife of a military officer as she had not yet gotten her military identification card, examined her, and prescribed some medicine and about two days of complete rest. So for the next two days, Jo Ann retired to her complete rest, and Uncle Jack and I sat around and talked about old times. It wasn’t as boring as one might think because Uncle Jack had some really good stories about being a pilot in the 1920s, including fascinating descriptions of flying the mail in open cockpit aircraft. The one story I still remember vividly, mainly because I had heard it several times before from other sources, occurred when he was stationed in Hawaii, serving as the aide to the army commanding general out there. Seems that after work one evening, Uncle Jack retired to the officers’ club with a number of his fellow bachelors. Their conversation turned, probably as it usually did, to flying. Someone mentioned that a civilian had brought a glider to a nearby mountain and planned to fly it from there, and that there probably would be some press attention if he were successful. Uncle Jack related to me that he remembered the conversation but had no memory of what happened next. He claimed he only found out a day later when his picture appeared in the local newspaper recounting how he had gone to the glider where his buddies launched him off the mountain, and according to the newspaper, he set a distance record for a glider flight on the island of Oahu. He did admit, however, that the episode ended his career as aide to the general.

Late on the last afternoon we were there, Jo Ann seemed to have recovered, and we were making preparations to resume our honeymoon. Uncle Jack suggested that we should try a mint julep drink, which Jo Ann declined but I accepted. About that time, Uncle Jack noted that he didn’t have any mint for the drink.

Don’t worry, he said. Just over that wall, there is a convent, and the nuns always have a lot of mint in their garden. I’ll just climb over and get some.

So the retired general went over the wall and disappeared from our sight. Unfortunately, he did this just as a thunderstorm came over us, bringing hard rain and cracking lightning. We waited and then we waited some more. Just as I was thinking about going out to search for the missing general, he appeared, slowly climbing back over the wall and not in possession of any mint. By the time we got him in the house, he was groggy but was coming around somewhat. He then explained to us that, just as he got to the mint in the convent garden, lightning struck a nearby tree and knocked him into a semiconscious state. Being a convert to the Catholic faith, Uncle Jack expressed his conviction that the good Lord must be protecting the nuns’ garden from sinners like himself.

Our visit with Uncle Jack, now fully recovered from the lightning strike and the nun’s vengeance, ended the next morning as we hopped in the Buick headed toward Texas and the Mexican border at Laredo. So far, during our three days on the honeymoon, we had had our first argument, Jo Ann had been sick for two days, and my godfather had gotten hit by lightning. Things just had to get better.

Our trip to the border crossing at Laredo took two days. As we drove toward it, I turned to Jo Ann and asked, Is there anything that you can think of we need to buy before we cross the border?

Maybe, she replied, I do need a bathing suit and some slacks that I could wear when we get to Tampico. Why don’t we stop at the U.S. side of the crossing point in Laredo before we cross over and see what we can find?

You know, Jo Ann, I thoughtfully advised, I’ve only been into Mexico once, and that was when I went with a bunch of my West Point classmates to Juarez when we made a class trip to Fort Bliss. I don’t remember any stores there on our side of the border crossing that sold things like that.

She replied somewhat testily that I probably didn’t remember any stores because I was busy visiting some of those places that Colonel Kenny had told her I frequented. And then she told me that she had read about the border crossings, and that the stores there were like a big PX, army jargon for the post exchange store.

Well, on arriving at Laredo, we found the customs office plus an insurance office where we purchased our car insurance for Mexico, but there was no big PX. Since that was the first instance in our short marriage that I had been right and she wrong, I have made it a point to never forget it. To this day when she tells me something that I think she is wrong about, I calmly say, Yep, just like the big PX. Most of the times, but not always, she sees the humor in this.

Our first night in Mexico things did, indeed, get better. After accustoming ourselves to driving on the Mexican national highway between Nuevo Laredo and Monterrey, and being somewhat relieved that we had taken out special auto insurance as we crossed the border, we spotted a very nice hotel on the outskirts of Monterrey, a lovely town often referred to as the Capital of Northern Mexico. There we experienced our first Mexican meal with excellent beef, which we got set to enjoy by trying a few of the traditional margaritas. Staying in Monterrey for two days, we came to a premature conclusion that we had indeed been right in our choice of honeymoon destinations. The third day, we started south toward Tampico. To this day, I am not really sure why we had picked Tampico, but I suspect it had something to do with a song that had been popular back in the 1940s. I can only remember the words Tampico, Tampico, on the Gulf of Mexico, but I recall that the rest of the song extolled the virtues of this peaceful resort on the beautiful shores of the Gulf of Mexico.

On the way there from Monterrey, we stopped at a Sanborn’s Restaurant, a chain restaurant that had been recommended to us because it was reputed to serve safe food that would not make travelers ill. We had read that a high percentage of North Americans that traveled by car through Mexico in those days became ill with the infamous Montezuma’s Revenge. We carefully chose our cooked food and stayed away from fruits and raw vegetables. Also, we didn’t drink the water. Unfortunately, I unwittingly violated our routine when I drank some orange juice, not realizing that my juice had been watered down. By the time we got to Tampico that night, I could hardly wait to get there because Montezuma had struck. And this revenge lasted for the three days that we were to spend in what turned out to be anything but a resort by the Gulf of Mexico.

Our military friends would consider our choice of Tampico to be the result of what they would call a faulty reconnaissance. I have to take most of the blame because going to Mexico was my idea in the first place, so when we got to Tampico and saw what it looked like, there was no argument over who was to blame. In a pattern that would set the tone for years to come, it was all my fault.

What I should have found out if I had done any real investigation was that Tampico was not the romantic tourist site of the song but, rather, the center of the Mexican petroleum industry, the giant organization known as Pemex. It was an industrial town with few hotels, very little tourist industry, and a port that was filled with oil tankers rather than cruise ships. Adding to that dismaying discovery, we learned while we were at the Sanborn’s restaurant that the city had been hit in recent weeks by a very severe hurricane that had caused major damage.

In late afternoon, we drove the Buick into the city of Tampico. We hadn’t bothered to make reservations at a hotel, thinking we would have no trouble finding a nice resort, so the first thing we had to do was find someplace to stay for the night. We were now far enough into Mexico so that most of the people we encountered did not speak English, and our success in doing anything depended on my Spanish, which at that time was far from fluent even though I had had two years in college and two years in high school. Jo Ann had studied French, which was all but useless in Tampico.

True to what they had told us at Sanborn’s, the hurricane had really devastated the city, causing especially serious damage to the oil refinery areas near the docks. Obviously the storm caused the oil storage tanks and the connecting pipes to break in many places and a thick sheet of oil covered the river, the port, and the outlying beaches. This altered our fantasies of going fishing for tarpon in the river or spending hours on the beach soaking up the warm sun. Even the hotel we did find was almost deserted, and the only other person we met was a rather obnoxious guy that looked like a typical B-movie gangster. He always had at least two other guys with him who seemed to be bodyguards. In addition to that, he took an immediate interest in Jo Ann, which did irritate me enough to almost forget about my Montezuma’s Revenge. So we avoided the hotel bar and restaurant and went other places.

Despite the storm effects, I did cut a deal with a Mexican to take me tarpon fishing in the river. When I arrived at the designated dock, I saw a beat-up boat with an outboard that was probably older than Henry Ford. We shoved off and went down the river where we put our fishing lines into the murky, oil-covered water. As I expected, we had no bites in the hour or so that we were floating around out there. The river did have a reputation as being a good spot for tarpon, but the thick oil covering had driven the fish to other waters. Upon returning to the dock, I paid the Mexican a rather high amount for the hour of futile fishing. My only consolation was that his boat was covered with a very thick layer of oil that would take him days to clean.

As you might expect, we didn’t stay long in the city of Tampico. However, we had made no other honeymoon plans beyond going to Tampico to enjoy a relaxing vacation on the Gulf of Mexico. Actually, we stayed there just long enough for me to recover from my stomach trouble and then we pointed the Buick north toward the Texas border. So far, it had been an eventful eleven-day honeymoon with twenty-nine more unplanned days to come.

Driving back toward Monterrey and the main highway that went north to the U.S. border, we began to notice small signs that advertised a place called El Naranjo, which is Spanish for the Orange. From what I could understand from the signs, based on a limited command of the Spanish language, El Naranjo was a resort on a nearby river that rented out cabins and advertised itself as a rustic place to vacation. Fishing, some shopping, a restaurant, a bar, and a quiet, peaceful atmosphere seemed to be its main attractions. It probably wasn’t the choice for many honeymooning couples.

But since I had been the culprit in choosing Tampico, Jo Ann decided that she would play a significant role in all subsequent major decisions about what would happen during the rest of our journey. She insisted on diverting the Buick toward El Naranjo, and as luck would have it, it turned out to be the most enjoyable and relaxing few days of this long honeymoon.

I guess the best word to describe El Naranjo was quaint. The advertisements turned out to be exactly correct. The cabins were unique, the river fishing was good, and there were shops, a restaurant, and a bar. Not advertised was the hospitality of the people there who made us feel welcome and safe. My Spanish improved somewhat, and Jo Ann found a few items to buy and take back to furnish what would be our first home together.

Toward the end of our second day there, as we sat sipping our San Miguel beer at the El Naranjo Bar, Jo Ann spoke up on an unexpected subject. Neal, she began, don’t you think we ought to have a pet now that we are married?

What kind of pet? I replied since we had never even mentioned pets before.

Well, why not a Chihuahua dog? Aren’t they from Mexico? Since they are so small and so cute, they shouldn’t be much trouble, was her next statement.

I am not even sure we could get a dog back across the border. I remember that being a huge problem over there in Europe, was my retort, hoping to find some reason to get on to another topic of more interest.

But she didn’t change the subject, not even after I advised her that I thought Chihuahua dogs probably came from the Mexican State of Chihuahua, which was to the north and west of us. We, I reminded her, are in the State of Tamaulipas. I doubt if there are any around here.

She remained silent for a while, during which time I secretly congratulated myself on my knowledge of Mexican geography and ability to use this to win my point.

OK, maybe you are right, but let’s go check, was her response after a few seconds. Thus began a day and a half search of the area around El Naranjo to find a Chihuahua dog.

Unfortunately for me, no one in El Naranjo spoke fluent English, so we were left trying to describe a Chihuahua dog in broken Spanish, a description that would probably have been difficult enough even if they had spoken English. All the next day, our accommodating hosts took us to surrounding villages and farms looking for a small, longhaired dog named after the State of Chihuahua. The results turned out to be blank stares and a bunch of funny-looking small dogs for sale that were in no way kin to Jo Ann’s sought-after mutt. It did, however, turn out to be a lot of laughs by all and a lot of fun. I repaid our hosts that evening by buying everyone drinks in the bar and seeing who could make the best sketch of a Chihuahua dog from my broken Spanish description of this elusive animal.

With our honeymoon back on track, our health returned to normal, and a lot of good memories, we made the trip back to the United States in one day, stopping at several roadside souvenir shops to buy pottery and other items to display in our new home, which, of course, we hadn’t yet seen.

We crossed over the border again at Laredo and then began to decide what we should do with our remaining vacation days. One option was to return to Kentucky, but we couldn’t just move back in to the E-town house with the bachelors. Two of them were in the process of moving back on the post, and Andy Wallace, the third bachelor, was getting married in a month or so and leaving the army at that time. As for staying with Jo Ann’s family until my class started at the Armor School in September, she was more against that alternative than I was. So it came down to, What are we going to do for the next twenty or so days? The only real alternative was just to continue driving somewhere for the rest of the honeymoon.

As we drove over toward New Orleans, Jo Ann suggested that we might stop in that city as she had spent a summer there when she was a young girl. She thought it might be interesting just to visit for a day or so. However, as we drove on, we saw signs to Baton Rouge and remembered that Captain Roy Taylor and his wife were now living in Baton Rouge. Roy had been in the Sixth Cavalry Regiment with me both in Germany and in the States. Jo Ann knew and liked the Taylors, so we agreed to stop there and see if we might get in contact and see them for a while. We got to Baton Rouge, rented a hotel room, and called the Taylors. We ended up having a nice evening talking about old times and mutual friends.

We enjoyed that so much that I suggested we stop over in Mobile, Alabama, and see my very close friend and West Point classmate George Haas. George had left the army after serving three years and returned to his native Mobile, becoming an executive with a molasses distribution firm. I had been down to visit George just about two months before getting married when I was attending the Air Observer School at Keesler Air Force Base at Biloxi. I remember that when I finished my course at the Biloxi school, George piloted his own private plane over to pick me up and take me over to Mobile to spend the weekend at his place. His place turned out to be a small but well-furnished home on a large estate within the city of Mobile. That weekend, we spent time on the private yacht of George’s company plus one full morning shrimping out in Mobile Bay. George, indeed, was doing well since he left the army.

I called George saying, George, sorry you couldn’t get to my wedding, but I tell you what I am going to do about it. My wife and I will be in Mobile tonight, and you can congratulate us both then.

George, in his best laconic Alabama accent, expressed no surprise whatever and said that was great with him. He did add, I won’t be home until about seven tonight, so check into a motel, and I’ll pick you up there sometime after that. I’ll take you to dinner.

Jo Ann had never met George, but I tried to prepare her for the experience. George was, in every sense of the phrase, a real character. A quick sense of humor, a slow Southern drawl, fine athlete, talented student, he seemed to be always doing the unexpected. In the military in Germany, he and his buddy Danny Baldwin slipped one of their friends onto an airplane carrying paratroopers on a practice jump. Their friend had never parachuted before. His only training came at George and Danny’s apartment over drinks the evening before. When the friend said, Hey, do you think you guys could get me a jump? they assured him they could if he showed up the next morning at the marshalling area. Sure enough, all went well in drawing the parachute, putting it on, and boarding the plane. The trouble came when the young officer, who was in the Veterinary Corps, exited the plane. To his relief, the chute did open as advertised, but he had apparently never gotten to the instruction phase on how to control his descent. He ended up landing far off the drop zone in a residential area. Fortunately, George and Danny got to him before the jumpmaster did.

George had also served as an aide to an army general stationed in Portugal, an assignment he left early. I never did know exactly why George left Portugal rather suddenly as the only response I ever got when I asked him what happened was met with the answer, Don’t worry, Neal, it was worth the transfer, accompanied by his classic smile and slight chuckle.

We found the motel that George had recommended to us, and not long after seven, the doorbell rang. We were in the process of changing our clothes, and I asked Jo Ann to answer the door and let George in. Jo Ann was almost dressed, but she did not have her shoes on. She opened the door and gasped as George threw his arms around her, picked her up, and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. On putting her down, George stepped back and looked her up and down and then came out with a statement that, to this day, remains fresh in Jo Ann’s memory.

Honey, he said, I know you’re passionate because you got big feet. That was her introduction to George Haas. Believe it or not, she liked him instantly.

The evening turned out to be quite unusual. George had just been named as the king of the Mobile Carnival for the upcoming winter festivities, and he was in a mood to celebrate. I suggested that I bring along with us a bottle or two of the tequila that we had brought back from Mexico, and he agreed that was a great idea. We opened one bottle at dinner as the owner of the restaurant knew George well, as did everyone else that entered the restaurant that night. Following dinner, George suggested that we visit his yacht, which was anchored at the Mobile Yacht Club. The boat, which must have been about thirty-six feet long, was standing a few feet from the pier, and it was necessary to walk a narrow plank to get over to it. By this time, I had had enough of the tequila. One bottle was finished, and Jo Ann and George had opened up another one. I watched somewhat amazed as they both took a shot of tequila and then would jump up and rapidly walk the plank just to demonstrate that they could still do it without falling in the water. Each trek across was accompanied by laughter and shouts of glee. No one fell in, but I have to admit that I had never seen Jo Ann quite so jovial as that night. For George, it was just another night on the town.

By the time they finished the major portion of the remaining tequila, I was the only one fit to drive the car. As I drove back to the motel, both Jo Ann and George fell asleep. On arriving at the motel, I woke Jo Ann and escorted to her bed, which she entered without taking her clothes off. I then went back to my car to retrieve George. George had driven his Porsche sports car over that night, but when I woke him, he was ready to concede he wasn’t in shape to drive it back to his house. Typical for George, he came up with his own solution. I’ll just spend the night with you guys, he said and went through the door of the motel room and flopped down on the other twin bed in the room. Within seconds, I stood looking at my wife in one bed and George in the other, both in deep sleep. I first sat down in a chair and tried to doze off but finally found a place next to my wife who didn’t even stir.

About five thirty in the morning, I was awoken by someone shouting in a high voice, Where am I . . . Where am I?

It turned out to be George who had awoken and, in the dark, had no idea where he was.

Just as I got ready to calm George down, I heard someone else shouting, Who is that? Who is that? These shouts came from my new wife who had been revived by the noise but, like George, didn’t really remember how she got where she was.

With some difficulty, I calmed the two of them down and related the events of the previous evening but not in any great detail. George, now fully awake and able to drive, said he had to go home and get a shower and get off to work. Jo Ann decided that she would just go back to sleep. In all, it was what you might call an unforgettable evening.

When Jo Ann awoke later that morning, we conferred on what we would do next. The decision was to go over to the beach in the vicinity of Pensacola and just sit around and rest for a couple of days. Also, we figured it might be better not to open any more of those tequila bottles until we got back home. Jo Ann was the one that proposed Florida as our next stop because she had often vacationed there as young girl. I had not been to north Florida since I was a cadet at West Point, so I readily agreed.

We spent two uneventful days visiting the beach and other attractions of the Florida Panhandle. This gave us some time to study what we really wanted to do during the rest of this honeymoon trip. Now that we were married and we knew that, in all probability, we would only be at Fort Knox for the nine-month Officers Career Course and then move on, we decided to drive up to Washington, D.C., and visit with my branch assignment office, Armor Branch. That office controlled the assignments worldwide for all Armor officers below the grade of colonel. They were the ones that made the decisions about who would go where, who would get further schooling, who would go on an unaccompanied tour to Korea, who would be assigned to Europe and be allowed to be accompanied by their families, etc. That office and those that served there controlled the career of the service member and the destiny of their young families. They were someone you should get to know.

The evening before we were ready for our journey up to the D.C. area, we decided that we should check on our friend George Haas back in Mobile. I made the call, expecting to talk to a fit and hardy George; but when he answered the phone, he sounded like a guy not long for this earth. He explained to me that his night with us did him in, and that he hadn’t been back to work since. He sounded so bad, I was worried about him. Jo Ann took the phone and talked to him, and I heard her end the conversation saying, Don’t worry, George, we’ll be up there in Mobile and take care of you tomorrow.

As promised, we delayed the Washington portion of our journey and arrived at George’s house at midmorning the next day. George’s house was a very interesting pad for a bachelor. The furnishings were all very expensive antiques. The house itself was small but was part of a larger estate with very plush grounds. When we saw George, we both agreed that he looked to be in bad shape.

George, Jo Ann asked him, have you had anything to eat since we last saw you?

Not really, honey, he answered in his slow drawl.

Then, I’m going to fix you something! she said in a voice that indicated that she was now in charge.

She walked across the room and went in to George’s kitchen. Like the cupboard of Mother Hubbard of nursery rhyme fame, it was almost completely bare. From across the room, I heard her exclaim, George, there’s nothing in here to eat except a can of soup!

George mumbled something that indicated that he would be content with just the soup.

I heard Jo Ann moving around the small kitchen where she had found a pan to heat the soup, and then I heard her say, George! Your gas stove won’t work. It doesn’t get any gas.

You know what, honey, George said calmly, that’s because I forgot to pay the bill last month. They must have cut the gas off. Here was a guy with a Porsche sports car, his own airplane, a yacht, a house full of valuable antiques, and the gas company had shut off the gas to his stove because he hadn’t paid his monthly bill! I don’t know why that shocked me; it didn’t seem to bother George at all.

Well, he replied, don’t worry. Let’s go over to my neighbor’s house. They are not there, but they must have something in the refrigerator that you can fix.

Jo Ann agreed, and she and George departed for the house next door, George in his bathrobe that he probably had had on since we last saw him three days before.

About twenty minutes later, they came back through George’s front door, Jo Ann looking somewhat perplexed. That caused me to ask, What happened?

You won’t believe it, Neal, she started. When we got over there, the front door was unlocked, and George led the way to the kitchen. There was a lot of food in the refrigerator, and I found pots and pans and silverware and started fixing George a healthy breakfast. It occurred to me then that I ought to ask about these neighbors kind enough to let George just come in and eat what he wanted from their kitchen. Do you know what he told me?

Sensing a problem here, I softly said, What?

He sat their eating at their kitchen table and informed me that they seemed like nice people whom he had spoken to several times when they were out in their yard, but he didn’t really know them. He didn’t even know their names!

Again I said, What? but this time a little louder.

I could hardly wait to get out of there, she continued. I could just imagine them coming home and finding these strange intruders in their kitchen!

By this time, George had also reentered his home. He seemed unfazed by Jo Ann’s criticism of his actions in breaking and entering, and then committing petty larceny, at his next-door neighbor’s house. Upon questioning, George simply concluded by saying, Aw, don’t worry. Mobile is just a real friendly town. Nobody is going to mind if a neighbor just borrows a little food.

I thought to myself, Only someone like George Haas could make such an incident seem rationale. I began to understand why Mobile had selected him as their king for the upcoming Mardi Gras. I figured this would probably be one of the most memorable pre-Lent carnivals in Mobile history.

Three days later, Jo Ann and I were seated in the waiting room of Armor Branch at their offices in a government building located in southwest Alexandria, Virginia. We were waiting to see Lieutenant Colonel Root, whom I had discovered was to be my assignment officer for the next year. Behind the door between us and the office area was the answer to a question we would face many times in the army, where were we going to be assigned next year?

The door opened and a lieutenant colonel I did not know inquired, Is Lt. Creighton out here?

Here, sir.

He came over and introduced himself as Colonel Root and then asked if the lady sitting next to me was my wife. I introduced Jo Ann.

Please come with your husband into my office. After all, where he gets assigned affects you as much as it does him, the colonel suggested. At that point, Jo Ann was beginning to realize that, despite not having sworn to anything more than to love, honor, and obey at a marriage ceremony, she was really a part of the United States Army.

After some small chitchat, some about our recent marriage and some about the upcoming year at the Armor Career Course, the colonel got right to the point.

Creighton, you’re headed for Korea when you graduate from the career course next year, he said as he looked over at Jo Ann to see her reaction. Actually, Jo Ann and I had discussed this possibility as we drove in the Buick from Mobile to Virginia and concluded it was a likely assignment. I had been in the army for five years, and it would be six when I finished the career course next year. Our army still had several divisions stationed in Korea even though the fighting had ended in 1953, just as I entered the army. For line officers like myself, the Korean assignment was a thirteen-month-long unaccompanied tour, meaning that Jo Ann would have to stay back in the States. It wasn’t the most enjoyable way to spend part of your first year of marriage and all of the second year separated from your spouse. On the other hand, since unaccompanied tours were inevitable for career officers, separation at this time, when we didn’t have young children, seemed to be a more appealing alternative than going later.

With that in mind, we continued our conversation with the colonel, discussing assignment possibilities upon returning from Korea two years hence. He was pleasant and helpful. As we got ready to leave, we all stood up and shook hands. Shaking my hand, he suddenly said, Creighton? Neal Creighton, right? You know, that name sounds familiar. I think I saw it in my in-box this morning.

With that, he went through a sizeable amount of papers in his in-box, finally coming up with one that, indeed, had my name on it. It was a long list of officers that the Military Academy at West Point was considering for assignment to the faculty. The purpose of the list was to obtain the assistance of Armor Branch in determining the candidates’ availability for the academic year 1959-1960. If I would be among those selected by the academy, I would go straight there and not to Korea.

This was a possibility that Jo Ann and I hadn’t discussed. I did have a vague recollection, on hearing what the colonel had said about my name of the faculty request list, that in my final year at West Point, one of the officers had asked me if I would be interested in coming back to teach Spanish sometime during my army career. I told him yes, but I never thought about it again until that morning in Root’s office.

We sat back down and listened to the colonel. He apologized for not remembering the West Point request sooner and then gave us some details on the West Point opening. "Each year, West Point