Fort Beginning (aka Fort Benning, Georgia)

I enlisted in the Army when I was 31 years old.  Some people thought I was stupid, the rest just thought I was crazy.  Basic Training is for people between the ages of 18 and 25, so I was considered an old man.  Most of the guys in my basic training company called me Dad, Old Man or Pops.  I didn't mind, as long as I pulled my weight, and kept up with the younger troops.

I took my ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery) and had my initial physical examination at MEPS (Military Entrance Processing Station) in Oklahoma City.  No big deal, just answer some questions, turn your head and cough, lift some weights, and normal physical exam stuff.  Not much different than the physical most people take before they can compete in school sports.  One thing that struck me as either humorous was the sign at the weight lifting station.  It had a mark, about 6'-7' high, that said "Army/Marines", and another mark at about 4'-5' that said "Navy/Air Force".  I don't know if there was any truth to the markings, or just someone's idea of a joke.  Maybe the navy and air force recruits only have to lift the weight to the 5' line.  I didn't ask, so it's just a guess on my part.

After all the questions, poking and prodding, I had to decide what I wanted to do.  The sergeant at the desk asked what I wanted for an MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) I had already made up my mind that I wanted to enlist in the Infantry, since I thought any other job would be boring.  Despite having my mind made up, I asked him what he had to offer.  He looked at the results of my ASVAB and laid a book in front of me.  He said, "There are 190 MOS's in the Army, so take your pick".  I stuck with my original idea, and enlisted in the US Army Infantry.  Signing on the line got me a free ride on an airplane to Atlanta, Georgia, and a bus ride to Fort Benning, Georgia.

When I arrived at Fort Benning, we were met at the bus terminal by several Drill Sergeants, and they all seemed to have stayed up too late and maybe even missed breakfast.  We arrived at around 2300.  Some of the recruits were asleep on the bus, but it didn't take long to wake up.  One of the Drill Sergeants stepped onto the bus and started screaming at us to "Un-Ass his bus".  Everyone jumped up and hurried off of the bus to find more Drill Sergeants screaming that we should lay down all of our "Shit" and get in a straight line beside the bus.  As soon as they could take a head count, they had us pick up all our stuff and run to the nearest building, which I later found out to be the Fort Benning Reception Center (Johnson Hall).  Johnson Hall wasn't even close to what I expected.  Everyone was really nice.  They wanted us to be comfortable and fed.  The only weird moment was when each recruit had to take a turn stepping into the "Amnesty Room".  That was our last chance to get rid of any contraband with no repercussions.  Contraband could be anything from Aspirin to cough syrup, radios to pocket knives and candy for sure.  If it wasn't Army issue, you weren't supposed to have it.

Certain things still had to be done, so it wasn't all comfy cozy.  I was assigned KP (Kitchen Police) duty.  I had to scrub the DFAC (Dining Facility) floor and wash dishes until about 0200, and I finally made it to bed around 0300.  Wake up was 0500, so I guess 2 hours of sleep should be enough for anyone.

While at Johnson Hall, all of the new recruits have to get a complete physical to include vaccinations, hearing and vision tests.  It's an assembly line process and it runs amazingly smooth, when you consider that they process 200-400 new soldiers every day.  When I got to the final station, the soldier behind the desk was double checking each 201 file (Army speak for medical file).  Before he handed me my file, he took a big rubber stamp and slammed it on the cover sheet.  When he lifted the stamp, I read "Occupational Hearing Loss".  I said "Wait a minute!  The guy back there said my hearing was perfect."  The soldier never looked up.  I'm sure he had heard the same response a thousand times.  Still looking at the next folder, he calmly said "It won't be perfect in 13 weeks."  I think he was right.  I have had an awful ringing in my ears ever since.  It's so loud that I can hear it even when I'm talking.

I loved the time I spent serving my country.  I don't think any of us, other than those that have made the supreme sacrifice, can ever repay what this country has given us.  You don't have to look very far (just South of the border) to see how great it is to live in America.  Duty, Honor, Country!      

My Little Soldier

I spent a grand total of 10 years in the Army, on active duty, in the Army Reserves and in the Oklahoma Army National Guard.  I have good memories from each of them, but one of my all time favorites is from my time in the Guard.

National Guard drill is normally one weekend a month, sometimes starting on Friday evening, and usually two weeks of annual training.  Some of the soldiers call the annual training "Summer Camp." One of my Summer Camps was spent in Camp Ripley, Minnesota, in February.  That camp was for Winter Operations Training, so it was NOT a Summer Camp. The average temperature was around 40 below zero, and being infantry soldiers, we had the privilege of sleeping in tents and conducting training exercises in wind chills that got as low as 60 below.

Anyway, back to My Little Soldier.  Each drill begins with a formation, to get a head count by taking roll call.  The First Sergeant calls the name of each soldier assigned to the unit.  When their name is called, they must respond with "Here!", "Present", or acknowledge in a military manner that they are present and ready for duty.

On one of these occasions, I took my 6 year old son, Jerod, to drill with me.  I dressed him in his own little Battle Dress Utility (BDU) uniform.  He stood in formation beside me in a perfect position of attention.  When the First Sergeant called "Ryan", there was only silence.  I leaned over and told Jerod, "That's you".  The First Sergeant repeated "Ryan!", this time a bit more sternly.  In his high pitched, six year old voice, Jerod shouted "HERE!".  Every soldier in the formation turned, looked at Jerod, and laughed for several minutes before regaining their military bearing.  Even the tough old, battle hardened, First Sergeant joined in and laughed, if only a little.

Jerod just beamed like he had been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor.  Jerod is now 32 years old, but a small part of him is still in my memory as My Little Soldier.

As a side note, the photos show Jerod holding his Grandpa Jim Long's M1 Garrand, complete with the bayonet.  Grandpa Long carried the M1 while serving in the Pacific as a SeaBee (Member of a Construction Battalion) in the Navy.  Jim helped build runways for bombers and fighter planes after the islands were captured by the Army or Marines.  One might think that a Navy CB would not even need a weapon. After all, a dozer operator isn't a target.  Not true. the Japanese left snipers behind to harass and disrupt. Jim told me that while operating his dozer, he always heard sporadic gunfire and had bullets bouncing off of his armor plating.  Sometimes the harassment escalated into a firefight and the CB's became combatants.  Wish I could remember on which Pacific islands he worked, but sadly I just don't remember.  Anyway, the M1 has seen things that most weapons don't usually see.    

What's A Lock?

I've told you about my Cousin Brother, and a little about my Aunt Mom, so you should know a little about my relationship with my double cousins.

This is just a short bit of information about my Aunt Hazel, and how life should be.

When I was growing up, in the tiny town of Wann, Oklahoma, very few people locked their doors.  Aunt Hazle and Uncle Elmer, and my eleven double cousins lived adjacent to a county road, and about a half mile from Oklahoma Highway 10, so they weren't totally off of the beaten path. 

I asked my Aunt Hazel why she didn't lock her's.  Her reply has stuck with me for more than 50 years.  She said "You never know when someone will run out of gas, or break down."  "They might need to use the phone, or borrow a gallon of gas, or some tools to fix their car."  In hindsight, this is a little strange coming from a lady that never learned to drive.  Most people in this day and time would never consider leaving their home unsecured.  I have a monitored security system on my own house. It's just another reminder of the "good ol' days", when people either trusted others to do the right thing, or maybe they just thought more of others than themselves.  You just have to love the attitude, even if we can't have one like it in this day and time. 

Only Two Things Fall From The Sky!!

When I was in the Army, the Non-Commissioned Officers always said "Only two things fall from the sky, birdsh@#, and fools."  I guess I didn't listen, because I always wanted to jump out of perfectly good airplanes.

I made several jumps and really enjoyed it and continued with civilian jumps at a drop zone, in Cushing, Oklahoma.  Getting married put an end to my skydiving.  For some crazy reason, Peggy didn't want to see skydiving put an end to me.

One of my best skydiving memories took place at the Cushing, Oklahoma drop zone.  I took my son, Jerod with me and he was probably 8 or 9 years old.  

I took him out into the drop zone and told him to stay there.  I told him I would try to land close to him.  We jumped at about 4,000 feet, and when I had descended enough to see Jerod, I started pulling the toggles, which turns the parachute, and the fool hanging under it.  

I would bank left, and then bank right.  Jerod was on the ground, running frantically back and forth, trying to stay under me.  After two or three trips across the drop zone, Jerod shouted "Would you make up your mind where you're going to land?"  

That got me started laughing, and I forgot to brake.  I finally pulled both toggles to brake, but it was a little too late.  I was coming in pretty hot, and my forward momentum sent me skidding along the ground like a duck on a frozen pond.  

Not one of my better landings, but Jerod and I both rolled on the ground laughing.

My Cousin Brother

What in the world is a Cousin Brother?  I'm glad you asked, but you may not be so glad in a bit.   The actual name for it is "Double Cousins", just in case you want to look it up.

I suppose a good place to start is at our parents, or possibly our grandparents.  We share two sets of grandparents.  Lewis and Maudie (Swimm) Ryan, and Uriah and Melvina (Kelly) Hadley.  Joe, my Cousin Brother, was born to Elmer and Hazel (Hadley) Ryan.  My parents are Earl and Dorothy (Hadley) Ryan.

Our maternal and paternal grandparents lived about a mile and half apart.  Our grandma Hadley used to tell her kids not to play too close to the county road, because those crazy Ryan boys drive like they live.  So, instead of being killed by one of the crazy Ryan boys, two of the girls decided to marry them.  I guess they thought it would be better than being run over by one.

Joe's father, Elmer Ryan was the eldest son of Lewis and Maudie Ryan.  My father, Earl Ryan, was the second youngest son of Lewis and Maudie Ryan.  My father was about 20 years younger than his older brother Elmer.  My Dad and his older brother were tighter than bark on a tree.  I think my Dad was convinced that Elmer hung the moon, and possibly kept it shining each night.  My Uncle Elmer was an awesome guy, I must admit.  I always thought the world of him, and would always listen intently to anything he had to say, since there was always a gem of wisdom built into his conversations.  He and Aunt Hazel went through some really tough times, and they did their dead level best to make sure we didn't have to.  Now back to my Cousin Brother.

Joe's mother, Hazel (Hadley) Ryan, was the oldest daughter of Uriah and Melvina Hadley.  My mother, Dorothy (Hadley) Ryan, was the youngest daughter of Uriah and Melvina Hadley.  My mother was about 20 years younger than her older sister Hazel.

Joe's mother and father were married and had three children before my mother was born, so Joe has three siblings that are older than my mother, but Joe and I are the same age.  My mother has one nephew and two nieces that are older than she is.  Since there was such an age difference, I used to call Arthur, my oldest double cousin, Uncle Arthur, and he never corrected me.  After all, he was a few years older than my Mom.  I was probably 10-12 years old before I finally managed to drop the Uncle and just call him Art.

Are you confused yet?  That's okay, so am I and I've lived with this knowledge for 61 years.

When Joe and I were in school, in the very small town of Wann, everyone assumed we were twins.  In many ways, we probably were.  We both enjoyed fishing, hunting, and playing at whatever was in season until it was too dark to play outside.  When it got dark, we would play Monopoly until Joe decided to call it quits and go to bed at around 8:30 or 9:00.  Joe always got up in time to do his chores before school, so he didn't stay up late for anyone.  You could have told Joe that the Worlds Fair was coming to town, and he would say that's great, as long as he didn't have to stay up past 8:30 to see it.  I guess waking up around 4:30 or 5:00 to milk a couple of cows, feed the pigs and chickens would do that to you.  Joe was always a hard working guy, but that's just the way he wanted it.

Joe and I were inseparable until my family moved from Wann to Pawnee, Oklahoma in 1968.  I was 14 years old, and I must say that was one of the toughest times in my life.  I just imagine twins have the same separation issues when they finally have to go their separate ways.

Having a Cousin Brother is a unique experience.  One that I wouldn't trade for a million dollars.  I was lucky enough to have five Cousin Brothers and six Cousin Sisters, and so very fortunate to have an Aunt Mom, but that might be another story.  My Aunt Hazel always treated me and my siblings (my Mom too, for that matter) like we were her own children.  Even though she had eleven children of her own, she always had time for a few more. 

In the photo, our grandparents, from left to right.

 Uriah Hadley, Melvina (Kelly) Hadley, Maudie (Swim) Ryan, Lewis Ryan

 

R2 Deep Freeze aka (R2D2 on Ice)

My daughter, Jennifer, was my best friend, and is still at the top of my list.  Jennifer would ride on my shoulders while I tilled the garden and while I used a push mower on our lawn.  I was raking the leaves on Fall, and buried her in the pile.  I called her Mom, and when she came out onto the back porch, I signaled Jennifer to pop up out of the leaves.  Jennifer laughed until she cried.

When she was around 5 years old, we got a pretty good snow in Pawnee. She loved to play in the snow in our yard, so I pulled her on the sled, had snowball fights (which she won, of course) and built a couple of snowmen (or women. I don't know how to tell which is which).  We built one, and then I decided to shovel the snow off of the sidewalk.  While I had the snow shovel, I shaved the snowman and made him square.  Star Wars was pretty popular at the time, so we named the square snowman, R2 DeepFreeze.