Young Men
Born in 1931 my father graduated from high school at sixteen. He was accepted to Port Arthur Men's College which has since been renamed Lamar State College in Port Arthur, Texas.
From an early age, he developed an interest in radios and electricity. At Lamar he took classes while also teaching electronics and working for a local television station.
I believe around that time he married his high school sweetheart and she became wife number one. Miss Betty was a beautiful woman in her youth. She is the mother of both of my half-siblings. I know her well and she has aged gracefully. She still remains a beautiful woman.
However, their marriage was troubled and after a few short years, they divorced and he enlisted in the Army and began the first of many years overseas.
Despite being an enlisted man, my father applied to and was accepted into OCS - Officer Candidate School. As a young Lieutenant, he was stationed in Germany at one time. On one cold winter's day he was tasked with greeting a new group of recruits at the train station and furthering the brief indoctrination they had already received at basic training.
As my father told the story, it was incumbent upon him to instill the fear, not only of God, but of the Army in these young men as soon as they arrived. He knew they would be tired from their trip, anxious about being in a foreign land, and homesick for the life they once knew. He also knew they would find no mollycoddling at the base and it was best for them to learn to stifle those emotions to be the best soldiers they could be.
Once the train of recruits arrived, they were lined up at attention along the depot platform and my father greeted them with the harsh reality of their present situation. It was freezing cold, it was only going to get colder, and all activities were carried on irrespective of the cold. Each man better damn well get used to it.
In short, my father was asserting his authority over this group of men. As he explained to me, first impressions were absolutely the most important.
So, the reading of the riot act continued with my father pacing back and forth in front of these men. When he was finished the rant, he asked the obligatory: "Do you understand?" and waited for the resounding: "Sir, yes, Sir!"
And, he got it.
However, at the first moment of silence thereafter, one of the recruits broke ranks, ran up to my father, and hugged him tightly as he asked: "Junior, is that you?"
My grandfather was a Senior and my father was named for my grandfather. Thus, my father was a Junior and family members called him that, rather than his first name.
Private Bailey was a distant and much younger cousin. Basic training had been the first time he had been outside of the State of Louisiana. My father was the first person he recognized from home since joining the Army.
In ten seconds Private Bailey managed to completely undermine my father's authority and rendered his hellfire speech impotent.
My father only spent four years in the service. He was recruited by other federal agencies for his technical expertise and ease with languages. In all, he probably spent twenty-seven years in foreign lands before returning to Louisiana to live out the remainder of his days.
Mr. Bailey and his wife were frequent visitors to my parents' home for much of my life. When my father's health began to decline, Mr. Bailey was there to help my mother take him to doctor's appointments and support her with things that needed to be done.
He was there the day before my father died, as well as the day he actually died. Since then, Mr. Bailey has continued to go by and check on my mother and bring her cane syrup from his farm and fresh vegetables from his garden.
At my father's funeral, I asked Mr. Bailey about that story. In addition to confirming the events as they took place, he told me he was never so happy to see a person in his entire life as he was to see my father at that train station in Germany. He said as soon as he saw my father, he knew everything was going to be all right. He was right.
From an early age, he developed an interest in radios and electricity. At Lamar he took classes while also teaching electronics and working for a local television station.
I believe around that time he married his high school sweetheart and she became wife number one. Miss Betty was a beautiful woman in her youth. She is the mother of both of my half-siblings. I know her well and she has aged gracefully. She still remains a beautiful woman.
However, their marriage was troubled and after a few short years, they divorced and he enlisted in the Army and began the first of many years overseas.
Despite being an enlisted man, my father applied to and was accepted into OCS - Officer Candidate School. As a young Lieutenant, he was stationed in Germany at one time. On one cold winter's day he was tasked with greeting a new group of recruits at the train station and furthering the brief indoctrination they had already received at basic training.
As my father told the story, it was incumbent upon him to instill the fear, not only of God, but of the Army in these young men as soon as they arrived. He knew they would be tired from their trip, anxious about being in a foreign land, and homesick for the life they once knew. He also knew they would find no mollycoddling at the base and it was best for them to learn to stifle those emotions to be the best soldiers they could be.
Once the train of recruits arrived, they were lined up at attention along the depot platform and my father greeted them with the harsh reality of their present situation. It was freezing cold, it was only going to get colder, and all activities were carried on irrespective of the cold. Each man better damn well get used to it.
In short, my father was asserting his authority over this group of men. As he explained to me, first impressions were absolutely the most important.
So, the reading of the riot act continued with my father pacing back and forth in front of these men. When he was finished the rant, he asked the obligatory: "Do you understand?" and waited for the resounding: "Sir, yes, Sir!"
And, he got it.
However, at the first moment of silence thereafter, one of the recruits broke ranks, ran up to my father, and hugged him tightly as he asked: "Junior, is that you?"
My grandfather was a Senior and my father was named for my grandfather. Thus, my father was a Junior and family members called him that, rather than his first name.
Private Bailey was a distant and much younger cousin. Basic training had been the first time he had been outside of the State of Louisiana. My father was the first person he recognized from home since joining the Army.
In ten seconds Private Bailey managed to completely undermine my father's authority and rendered his hellfire speech impotent.
My father only spent four years in the service. He was recruited by other federal agencies for his technical expertise and ease with languages. In all, he probably spent twenty-seven years in foreign lands before returning to Louisiana to live out the remainder of his days.
Mr. Bailey and his wife were frequent visitors to my parents' home for much of my life. When my father's health began to decline, Mr. Bailey was there to help my mother take him to doctor's appointments and support her with things that needed to be done.
He was there the day before my father died, as well as the day he actually died. Since then, Mr. Bailey has continued to go by and check on my mother and bring her cane syrup from his farm and fresh vegetables from his garden.
At my father's funeral, I asked Mr. Bailey about that story. In addition to confirming the events as they took place, he told me he was never so happy to see a person in his entire life as he was to see my father at that train station in Germany. He said as soon as he saw my father, he knew everything was going to be all right. He was right.
posted by Feisty at 11:41 AM
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