US Army Active Duty and the Army Reserve
My military career actually began in my junior year of High School. These were tumultuous times; Vietnam was beginning to make the headlines almost daily. This was 1965 and things were really starting to heat up. The selective service draft had been in process since the Korean War days and every male between the ages of 18 and 36 incurred a 6 year military obligation. Many were drafted into the US Army for a period of two years active followed by 2 years of active reserve and 2 years of inactive reserve. In 1965 there was a high degree of patriotism and my senior classmates were enlisting in the armed services. The Marine Corps was an alternative to the Army draft and some found this to be their calling. Others enlisted in the Air Force or Navy but that was not always easy. By 1965, the war was escalating and the Army found itself short on manpower. The Navy and Air force quotas were full and unless you had a college education, entry into these branches often took the form of a waiting list. The difficulty was that while you sat on the waiting list, you also were listed in the selective service system and once 18, were eligible for the draft. The exception to this was what was called a student deferment. While there we various kinds of deferments, the college deferment or 1D was the most popular. Many graduating high school in 1965 became enrolled in a college immediately. Those who elected to take a year off from school and got jobs risked getting draft notices in the mail which made it too late to enter school or obtain a deferment.
It wasn’t long before the escalation of hostilities in Vietnam began to worry many of us.
The Army Reserve
I was born in 1948 so by the time I reached high school graduation in 1966; the Vietnam War was in full swing. Many of my classmates were off to college and received deferments for their higher education pursuits. I, on the other hand decided to forgo college to pursue a vocational career of becoming an auto mechanic. Ironically, I became an apprentice and received the same, if not better deferment than my contemporaries who went off to college. Anyway, here I was working at Monaco Ford learning the automobile trade while my buddies were sweating out the draft. My father who was a WW2 veteran was concerned about his son becoming drafted and heading off to war. He encouraged me; even helped me to join the National Guard or Army Reserve in the hopes I could avoid being shipped off to Southeast Asia.
I attempted to gain entry into the guard/reserve with little success. I recall my father calling his old CO to help and he coached me in the art of “name dropping”. During one of my visits to the reserve, I was to say something along these lines “That Colonel House was speaking to General Gray and suggested that I might be interested in pursuing a career in the Army and that starting here in the reserve would be the best thing.” You can imagine that a young man of 18 was not very well versed in this sort of thing so I’m certain my attempts at this were quite clumsy. Much later in my business career, I did learn that many of our career advancements depended not so on what you knew , but who did you know. Timing is also critical.
As luck would have it my timing was bad and nothing came of these initial attempts to get into the Guard. While 4 to 6 months of active duty was still better than 2 full years, the thought of going away to basic training was not as strong enough inducement to explore other avenues once these few were exhausted. However, my father continually brought up the subject as the war in Southeast Asia was daily headline news.
One day at the shop a buddy who worked with me at Monaco’s mentioned that he was in a motor pool in an Army Reserve unit in West Hartford and he understood they were looking for mechanics. Eventually, he introduced me to a fellow named Jim who was a lead Sergeant in this motor pool. Jim was helpful and provided me with some direction of who to see. He also said that he would speak with the higher up’s and let them know I was coming. It was my first “inside” help which later turned out to be a critical first step.
The following weeks found me at 700 South Quaker Lane sitting in a classroom with about twenty or thirty others just like me trying to get into the reserve. We would report in every Tuesday and sit in the classrooms from 7-11pm basically doing nothing but “waiting”. Every once in awhile someone would be called to the front desks to be “interviewed” and after a few weeks of this I decided to take a bolder step and approach this officer. His name was Captain Samuels and he was in charge of the “Reception Station” which is where all recruits initially begin their Army careers. He took my information and said I would be placed on the”list” but I needed to be patient. I can’t recall if I ever mentioned Jim and the motor pool but since that was my “inside track” I’m sure I must have. Anyway, it made little difference as I continued to sit in these classrooms and watch the clock, week after week. This went on for a few months and eventually, my co-worker asked me how I was doing with “getting in”. I told him very little had happened and I was beginning to believe it never would. He promised he would speak with “Jim”. The following week I sat in the classroom listening to a very senior “Master Sergeant” named O'Brien who was relating army stories. He began by explaining what our first few weeks would be like at “basic”. It was at least interesting and gave us a glimmer of hope that someday we might in fact be “shipping out” en-route to basic. Then my name was called! “Bednarz, Joseph H.” and I raised my hand. Suddenly everything changed with Captain Samuels and at once he began handing me papers to fill out. I filled out form after form and later that night I was sworn into the Army Reserve. So after spending months in a classroom for free, I was now a member of this unit and destined to soon be headed off for “basic”. From that point on everything became more interesting. At one point, we were even brought down to a supply room and given some old uniforms. Boots were ordered and soon mine came in. Another friend who had spent a few years in the Marines showed me how to “spit polish” these boots and I worked on them for a week. You can imagine attending my first drill in uniform with the shiniest boots around.
Weeks turned into months and still no word on when I would head off for basic. Others that came in with me had already left. I was again spending time in a classroom being taught army customs and procedures by a couple of young, West Hartford Sergeants named Elevoich and Google. Sgt. Elevoich was a men’s clothing salesman and Google, well I was never very sure about him other that the fact he looked the part. Later, this Google fellow would become very well known in the Connecticut area and responsible along with two others for what turned out to be one of the biggest financial real estate scams in the country which destroyed the fortunes of hundreds, if not thousands of unwary investors. Eventually, the friend who first introduced me to the reserve asked me when I was going to the motor pool. I replied that I was still waiting for basic training. I was off and running! However, as weeks turned into months, I had still not received my orders for basic training. I attended drills and still being a “recruit” or as we were affectionately called “REP 63’s”, they really didn’t know what to do with us. Most of the time we were sitting in classes or in the drill hall learning some basic marching maneuvers. Most of the time we were simply watching the clock and waiting to the drill to end but always appearing to be busy doing something.
As weeks turned into months, summer was approaching and that meant the reserve unit would be going out for annual training. The group of “Rep 63’s) were concerned as to what would happen to them during the 2-week camp. Rumors were flying that as being “trainees” we would be subjected to a period of “basic training”. The prospect of that frightened most of us because we had a pretty good idea as to what would be happen to us. The “Reserve” Drill Sergeants who have fun training us poor souls and we would go through a bit of hell that wouldn't even count towards our “real” basic. We were still all sitting around in classrooms with not much to do except “look busy”. When someone would discover there was a group of soldier sitting in a room, they would find all sorts of task for us to handle. One day I happened to finally run across Staff Sergeant Jim McCauley, the fellow who arranged to get me in. He was quite surprised to discover I had yet to attend basic. He asked what I’d been doing all this and when he leaned I was wasting away in a classroom, he assured me it would be “taken care of”. He went to someone in Headquarters and soon after I was called out of the classroom and told to report to the First Sergeant Markow. Now here was a loud, boisterous army sergeant who aside from being tough and a bit scary, actually took a liking to me. He sent me out to the Motor Pool when I finally met up with the person who was responsible for getting me into the Army; Staff Sergeant Jim McCauley. Sergeant McCauley introduced me to a number of mechanics and to the Motor Pool Sergeant, Sgt Messier or more commonly referred to as “Messy Joe”. He was a character as I would learn much later but it was not long before he asked me to look at a transmission on one of their 2 ½ ton trucks.Life was suddenly so much better. That went on for a few months with me working side by side with the other mechanics and drivers. Occasionally some of the guys would ask what would happen to me at annual training and if I would be with them in the motor pool. The rumor of the “2 week basic” had been spreading. A couple of the shop foremen took me under their wings and said they would put a word in for me to see if I could remain with the motor pool. A few weeks before our departure the word came down that all “Rep 63’s” would attend a pre-bootcamp training on AT; no exceptions. I was depressed and worried. Even with that decision made, the guys in the motor pool kept pressing the issue and one day I heard the warrant Officer inform the shop foreman that “Bednarz with be with the Rep’s and that ‘s the end of it!” I resigned myself to a bad two weeks at Fort Dix New Jersey. The morning we left, the unit formed up a convoy of trucks. It was broken into 5 serials of about 15 trucks each. Those who did not ride on the convoy were directed to commercial busses. It was a long ride and I had too much time to worry what was going to happen once I got there. About 5 hours later, we pulled into Fort Dix. Fort Dix was located just outside or Wrightstown New jersey, a typical military town with bars and pawnshops everywhere. (later I would find myself having a few beers at the “Pig N Whistle”) Alongside Fort Dix was McGuire Air Force Base. This facility supported a large squadron of military transport aircraft that spent the day practicing take offs and landings.
Eventually the buses pulled into a parking lot and we all unloaded. I grabbed my duffle and headed off towards my old Reception Statio platoon where the rest of the Rep 63’s were congregating. The Battalion First Sergeant was a very loud and rough sergeant named Markow. He was standing in the center of the parade ground waiting for the battalion to form up. He called us to attention and reported to the Battalion Commander, Major Marone. After a few welcoming words, he turned the battalion back over to Sergeant Markow to dismiss us to report to our respective sections. As the Reception Station was forming back up, and the Rep63’s getting ready to march off with me with them, Markow called over and I heard, “Bednarz, you are a mechanic..you fall out with the motor pool!” I could not believe my good fortune. Somehow my friends must have made all of this happen. As it turned out, we worked hard in the Maintenance section and they put my skills to good use. One of the trucks we borrowed blew a head gasket and I was tasked to pull it apart and repair it. Normally, that level of work is sent to a support shop but since resources were not available, we were given the OK to fix it ourselves. The truck was so old, there were no longer used by the active military units. A trip to the Air Force base next door located a similar truck used for air drops. The Air Force let us take it for parts and long as we agreed to returned the “carcass” so it could be used to parachute out of an airplane during training exercises. Back in the late sixties, most Reserve units were equipped with older, used military hardware. In fact our unit used M-14 rifles as the M-16’s were all being sent to Vietnam. Later, in the 1990’s, when the bulk of our national defense shifted to reserve forces, it would be the reserve units who would get the new equipment and the regular Army would use older versions. To keep all this antiquated hardware operational, we had to revert to the age old military tactic called “scrounging”. Maintenance Officers and Motor Sergeants would “trade” with other units to keep their supply of spare parts available keeping these vehicles operational.
The second major repair was a transmission overhaul in a jeep. One of the guys was fooling around and the blew the transmission in another borrowed M38A1 jeep. I pulled it out and disassemble the transmission completely. We were able to scrounge parts again from the Air Force and put it back on the road. I guess I was proving my value to the group. Later, I learned the Rep 63’s did not fare as well as they were put through a rigorous and demanding period that some felt was overdone. In fact one of the Sergeants (Elovich) objected over the treatment and refused to continue the training. I never heard how that was resolved but I understand he got in quite a bit of trouble over the incident.
I returned from that first “camp” much more aware of Army life. I spent 15 days on a regular Army post, eaten Army chow and gained some valuable experience that would help me when I finally entered active duty.
Life suddenly took on a different perspective. I was working a full time job with my military obligation firmed up without too much worry about having to serve on a full time basis. (In those days, the chances of a reserve or Guard unit being called up for active duty was pretty remote.) John Dillon and I were involved in the race car although a freak differential failure resulted in the loss of the engine during early time trials one day at Connecticut Dragway. By this time, I was getting more and more involved in racing and was beginning to see myself as doing something with this professionally. That turned out to be more dream than reality. While I became involved with a number of race cars over a 4 year period, the business end never actually progressed much beyond my working on local cars and helping friends.
Almost one year to the day, I was finally called to active duty for the Army. My orders came in late summer of 1969 to report to Fort Bliss, Texas for Basic Training. My orders also included advance individual training to be conducted at Fort Huachuca, Arizona followed by two more months of Tracked vehicle training at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Wow, I’m scheduled for the full six months of training when most from our unit were only going for four months. I wound up my business at Monaco’s, sold my new 1969 Ford Galaxie 500XL convertible that I had purchased in November or December of 1969.
Tuesday morning on the 30th of September, 1969 I found myself preparing to take my very first trip in an aircraft. I possessed a one way ticket on American Airlines departing Bradley Field to O’Hare in Chicago where I would board another American flight to El Paso, Texas all courtesy of the Army. I traveled light, carrying only one small carry on bag of personal items. I recall how bright and colorful the Boeing 707 interior was and how friendly (and cute) the airline stewardesses were. (Back in those days they were still called “stews”.) The flight seemed much longer than it does today. They served a full breakfast which as I recall was pretty tasty. After a long wait, we boarded a flight in Chicago for Texas. Here is where I met my first “Basic Trainee” buddy, a young college pre-med student called Abrahamson. We chatted on the flight down and discovered we had the same set of orders, at least for basic training. Upon arrival at El Paso, signs for military personnel were everywhere. We were put in small vans and transported to the reception station at Fort Bliss. My first impressions of Fort Bliss were scene right out of a Southwestern John Wayne Western. Lots of Spanish people and adobe and tiled roofs. These I discovered later were just part of the headquarters area where all new recruits reported in. Once off the van, we were assembled in a group, checked in with our papers and marched off to the mess hall for a meal. So far, so good. We were assigned a Spec 5 who would march us around the reception station as we were tested, examined, clothed and fed. While other “Sergeants” started teach the raw recruits some basic military deportment and customs, our Spec5 must have been a short timer and was in no mood to make us miserable. Everywhere we went; it was “Rout Step”. Soon we received our uniforms and were required to place all our personal items in a box to be mailed home. Clearly, we’re in the Army now! After about a week of this reception station routine we began to get ready for the day our basic training would commence. Up until this point I had never seen a real live drill instructor, those guys wearing the “Smokey Bear” hats. On the day were to ship out to our BT site, word traveled that there we actually two BT training areas. Once was called the “country Club” while the other was called the “Heights”. The Heights we were told were old WWII style wood barracks located in an older section of the post in a very hilly section. It was thought to be the tougher area of the two. The “Country Club” was located in a flat section of the fort in modern, 3 story concrete buildings surrounded a parade field. Soon the busses arrived along with 6 or 7 very tough looking drill sergeants. One our group made the mistake of call one of them “Sergeant” and was roughly informed they were to be call “DRILL SERGEANT”!
We boarded the busses and on the way over to our BT site, the guys kept saying” Country Club”. Then the bus would make a series of turns and it looked as though we were climbing. It then switched to “Heights” and back to “Country Club. That switched back a few more time before the bus finally pulled up alongside a row of concrete block buildings. Welcome to the Fort Bliss Country Club!
I thought I was prepared for the “military” experience and what to expect. All my friends who had previously endured “boot camp” regardless of which military branch, described it as a living hell; tough but limited in duration. Having always been somewhat on the heavy side and uncoordinated I fully anticipated that my physical stamina and endurance would be tested and overcoming my physical limitations would be my biggest hurdle. It was also understood that boot camp could (and would) successfully change my physical ineptitude and I would be “transformed”. To a certain degree, I was looking forward to becoming “hardened” and for once in my life, be able to do the things others seemed to find so easy. Well, I was not going to be disappointed.
Our first week of boot camp was considered a “zero” week, a period of endless “details” from barracks cleaning, range preparation and issuing of field gear. Actually, little training was conducted except for the seemingly endless “running” as the preferred mode of getting from one place to another. In fact walking was forbidden within the company area. Everywhere you went, you ran. Each morning we would be awakened at 0500 and reveille was at 0530. After our morning formation, our Drill Sergeant, Sergeant Ho would run us around the parade field, double-timing and singing those crazy Army chants:” I wanna be an Airborne Ranger, I wanna lead a life of danger, all the way, up the hill, over the hill, Airborne, Airborne, Feels good, wine No good, whisky so good , one, two three four!” You’re left, right, left!
It wasn’t long before Sergeant Ho realized I was not in the best physical shape and I was immediately placed in a group that would volunteer for extra PT (Physical Training). In addition to our normal PT each day; this group would meet at 1600 (4 o’clock) for an extra hour or so of specialized physical training. Running, push ups and the ever present low crawl was the normal fare. Aside from all this extra training, I was also made permanent “road guard”. Now, the road guard is the second person in the front and rear columns of a platoon. When approaching an intersection, the NCO calling cadence would yell out “Road Guards, POST” at which time the aforementioned souls would break out of the formation and run to the center of the intersection, effectively stopping any vehicular traffic from interfering with the troop movement crossing the street. That there was rarely any traffic at that hour of the morning was of no consequence. Rules are rules and being a road guard, I was to shag my ass out there. That was the easy part. The difficult part came when the NCO would command “Road Guards, RECOVER” By this time, the platoon has passed the intersection and the road guard would need to run like hell to catch up and resume his spot in the column. Generally, as soon as this was accomplished, there would be another intersection and the process would repeat itself. You can see right away, the road guard received more than his fair share of extra running which is undoubtedly why I was “selected’ for this dubious honor. While the troop movement was marching quick time, the road guard got a pretty good workout. However, when the platoon was “double timing” (the military term for running) the catch up phase of the road guard was downright brutal, not to mention the verbal harassment he would get from the NCOs if he was but a second too late in getting his tired butt out to his post or, heaven forbid, back to his spot after being told to RECOVER! I entered boot camp at around 215 lbs. After six weeks of this treatment, I was down to 185 with a 36 inch waist! The Army way, proven success over years of tradition!
Aside from all the physical training were the endless classes in just about every aspect of soldiering; fighting, shooting, marching and military customs as well as map reading, first aide and hand to hand combat. It was during these classes that I would resume my favorite pastime: daydreaming. I dreamed about Radio Control Piper Cubs and how they would look flying across the horizon. Fort Bliss contained numerous roads interspersed among open fields giving the appearance they were paved concrete runways designed for nothing else than R/C airplanes. It helped pass the time and it took my mind off the boredom of military life. Of course, if the subject matter was of some importance, my attention would be directed to the instructor and I would fight off the tendency to daydream.
Smoking was the other diversion; a break in the normal routine. Occasionally, while “waiting” someone would command “Smoke em if you got em” and most would “light up” Waiting was our favorite pastime and now I know why the Army coined the phrase “Hurry up and wait”. The year 1969 was long before there would be any real serious effort to curb smoking. Actually, it was enjoyable, not so much for the smoking, but for the diversion it created. It was also a social thing. A group of us would get together and go outside for a “tube” and at the same time, talk about the things we would do when we got “out”. Now, you must remember, many of us were Reserve or National Guard with 4-6 months of time to serve on active duty. Still, there were others that were “US” or draftees and those guys were looking at 2 years minimum, plus a likely tour to Vietnam. Occasionally there would be a little tension between the “ER’s or NG’s and the “US” soldiers. The reservists knew exactly when they would be headed home and what their training was likely to be. A reservist generally had 4-6 months of active duty for training with the majority these days only serving the four months because the Army’s need to train draftees for service in Vietnam. The draftees on the other hand knew full well they would be spending 2 years on active duty and these days “Nam “tour was almost a sure thing. This was the end of ‘68’ and the ‘Tet’ was already history so the need for troop was increasing at an alarming rate. The number of casualties was also on the rise so many of the ‘US” guys were wondering if they would actually make it back home. When you are side by side with people who had a good chance of getting killed, the opportunity for conflict between us was high. That is not to say all the draftees were that way. In reality, most were common folk just trying to do the best they could and finish up the two years. I recall one particular individual; a Mexican named Gil Balboa. Nice guy and a draftee. All he wanted was to have a family once he returned from his tour. He made the best of a bad situation and sometimes I would find myself thinking what it would be like if I were ‘US’ The common joke amongst the regular army guys towards reservist was the fact they were less like to have someone “piss” on them walking the streets. By this time, anti war demonstrations were commonplace back home and reservists and guardsmen were often called in for civil riot duty. Sometime confrontations between the “hippies” and the soldiers would erupt and a common thing was having some hippy urinate on the troops. As we were going through some of our jungle training, the RA guys would say the closest we would come to a rice paddy was the West side of Chicago!
Basic Training was 8 weeks, down from the 12 before Vietnam. For me, Christmas break was coming right around the last 2 weeks of basic. We all were given a 7 -10 day leave to visit home. While most of us were excited to get home and dump this Army crap for awhile, it did extend our time spent at basic. For me, the challenge was staying in shape so I could pass the required physical PT tests. A week at home drinking beer and eating Mom’s cakes and pies was bound to take its toll on my fitness “trim”. Getting up each day and running for a couple of miles couple with 30 minutes of calisthenics thrown in was hard to replicate at home. So was getting out of bed at 0500! Our last exercise before the Christmas break was a bivouac in the Texas dessert. As I can recall, we were trucked to the dessert marched from more area to another for specialized training. After the evening meal, we made camp the first night and by 10:00pm we were all snuggled in our “pup” tents. This was December and the Texas dessert was really cold at night. The tents were small and finding a comfortable position was not an easy task. These were two man tents and my tent “partner” was also my size and taking up lots of space. It was a long night and when daybreak came, I was glad to see the sun. It remained however, very cold. We spent that entire day training out in the “field”. Our exercises included a night live fire where we had to low crawl through the desert with live .50 caliber machine gun fire overhead. Along with the machine guns were artillery simulators going off around us that were loud explosions with dirt flying all over the place. The purpose of this exercise was to introduce us to what it would be like when a live enemy would be shooting at us so that we could deal with the situation. It also taught us how to move and advance in the field while protecting our teammates as one group would advance while the other would provide cover fire.
Prior to this night live fire maneuver, we were allowed to throw a live hand grenade. In WWII, hand grenades were constructed from cast iron and resemble pineapples. This cast iron “frag” would explode and blanket the area with shrapnel. The grenades made in the sixties resembled baseballs and while packed with explosive, were comprised of a sheet metal exterior and wound spring steel coils inside. When these exploded, this fine wire shrapnel would decimate anyone within a 50 foot radius of the target . Me and my basic trainee classmates spent the better part of the morning training on the grenade. We knew that in the afternoon, we would all be given an opportunity to throw a “real” grenade at a target. No more of this training grenades with “caps” inside as an explosive! Finally, the moment arrived as I stepped into a concrete bunker. The instructor explained that I would follow the procedure for arming and throwing the grenade. On the floor of this bunker was a trough and a slot in the concrete structure. In the event a grenade was dropped, it would roll into this slot and disappear into a concrete container where it would explode without killing either the trainee or the instructors. The Instructor hands me the grenade and instructs me to go into the arming position. My hands are sweaty and I’m nervous but the constant training rings in my ears and I follow the instructions to the letter. I pull the ring, extend my right arm to its full length and in one fluid motion, hurl the grenade towards the stack of old tires that were in the field and used as targets. I’m told to crouch down below the concrete barrier so I never see the grenade explode. (Think about it, only John Wayne watches the grenade explode!)
Eventually, the live fire exercises and bivouac are over and busses pick us up for transport to the main barracks. We arrive around 11pm and everyone is dog tired. I pull guard duty at 3 am! The good news is, we are all leaving the next day for the airport to go home for Christmas. I’m so exhausted, I slept through the early morning wake up call for guard duty so everyone after the 3 am got a break. Since there was no guard checking, no one was the wiser!
Two weeks later, I returned to Fort Bliss to finish up basic training. I passed the G-3 testing and by the end of January was off to my next assignment; AIT at Fort Jackson, South Carolina.
Once out of basic, we were treated more like soldiers than as whale shit. Fort Jackson was a school for me; Wheel Vehicle Mechanic Course - an 8 week series of classrooms and practice exercises teaching us the Army’s way to perform 2nd echelon maintenance on Jeeps (M151A2’s to be precise). Here at Fort Jackson was my first experience in military leadership as I was selected to become a squad leader. With the temporary rank of corporal, I now had to direct others to do work, rather than do it myself. I was a “supervisor” and along with that came special privileges. I was no longer “detailed” for extra work. I treated my troops with respect and while most were from the deep south and still arguing the civil war, they appreciated me even though I was a “Yankee” from the North. It was here I met a group of fellows from Boston. Paul Cobuzzi was one of the guys and Paul would remain with me not only at Jackson but later, to Fort Sill Oklahoma. More about that later!
This course was a snap for me. My biggest challenge was learning to do thing the “Army Way” which is not always the fastest and most expedient. It was some tough lesson and the Army was big on process. They also had their quirks. For example, we were taught basic electricity and how to troubleshoot using what the Army called a Low Voltage Circuit Tester or LVCT. While discussing the principle, the instructor made a point of explaining current electrons flowed from Negative to Positive. While that is still debatable in many scientific circles, the Army has it’s reasons. I was beginning to be known as a person who often questioned things. One day, the instructor was making a point and someone referred to the powerplant in a jeep as being the “motor”. That erupted into a wholesale dressing down by the instructor who defines engines as being internal combustion and motors as being electrical. He made this point over and over much to the dismay of the hapless soldier who called it a motor. I let that go on for a bit and when it was finally resolved, I decided to help out the student who was publicly chastised for incorrectly referring to the engine as a motor. I raised my hand and the instructor acknowledged me. I simply asked if all this were true, then why does the Army call the lubricant “Motor Oil”? Needless to say, the instructor had the wisdom not no answer and let it drop but I did get a wink from the other student. He felt vindicated.
Fort Jackson was the Wheeled Vehicle school and the program ran a little over eight weeks. A little more than ½ way through a holiday came up and we were given a 3-day pass. I’d learned from basic training that anyone who hung around the barracks on a weekend was sure to be tasked with a “detail” so it was im my best interests to disappear. Thee of my buddies were from Boston and another from Philadelphia and we put our heads together as to what we would do. I don’t recall who but one of us came up with the idea to take the train all the way to Boston! Even though that would be a long ride from Columbia, South Carolina, the train had a”Club” car and a “smoker” so at worst, we could drink a few beers and smoke all the way home without fear of some sergeant putting us to work, Furthermore, it would give us an opportunity to see our friends at home even if it was only for a day or so. The plan soon came together, the timetables were checked and fares calculated. We did discover one hurdle and it was a big one. In the Army, a three day pass comes along with a travel restriction; usually a 100 miles from the base. Boston was 900 miles! To complicate matters, the Battalion had experienced a high number of trainees going AWOL (absent without leave) so everyone was sensitive to that issue especially the Company Commander, Captain Turner. We decided to seek the advice of our First Sergeant. He and I got along well as I was a squad leader and he must have felt I was doing a good job. Our First Sergeant or “Top” was one of the youngest First Sergeants in the Army but he knew his business. He was tough, but understanding and fair. We found him in the orderly room on Thursday finishing up some paperwork. We made our case and he just sat there and looked at the five of us like we had just landed from a distant planet! He told us we were crazy (as well as a few other things) but in the process, the door the the Old Man’s office was open and he overheard the conversation. He called out to the First Sergeant “What’s going on?” and Top replied” Oh, these five boneheads want to go to Boston on a 3-day pass!” Captain Turner came out and looked us over. I think he knew we were all reservists and doing a good job. He referenced the AWOL problem and the regulations limiting our travel to 100 miles. He then looked at us and said “OK, I’m going to give you your 3-day pass with authorization to Boston. But if you are just one minute late to Monday’s morning’s formation, you all will be considered AWOL and punishment will be dear. Are you willing to accept those terms?” We did and within a few minutes had our passes. On Friday morning we boarded our train around 5 am. It was the Silver Meteor which ran from Florida to Boston. Our military rates gave us special pricing so as I recall, the round trip was $50. The ride was fun for awhile but soon became boring. The train broke down a number of times and occasionally just crept along. The ”Club” car gave us access to beer and we spent the day looking out the back of the train drinking beer and relaxing but it seemed the trip would never end. We arrived at the 33rd Station in Philly and Mike Peronti got off to visit his family. We traveled on and arrived in Hartford 23 hours after we started!. The three Boston guys continued on. Since no one knew I was coming, I took a taxi home from Hartford. The cabbike knew I was Army and gave me a break on the fare. Boy, was my mother surprised as she saw me walk across the front lawn! It was good to be home even if it was for less than 24 hours! I spent the time with a few of my friends and the next night I was back on a train. I figured we would once again have the Club car and I could get food aboard. No luck, this was not the Silver Meteor but some southern states local and it had nothing except a soda machine. It was a long trip but around 3 am it stopped for a crew change at some southern town, probably somewhere in North Carolina. I got off and found a sleepy hot dog vendor and finally had something to eat. No beer! Eventually, I arrived at Columbia and hitched a ride on a military vehicle heading back to the base. I returned in plenty of time for the morning formation and was happy to see the rest of my travel partners were also back safe and sound!
As we approached the end of the course, many of my classmates were looking forward to going home. When I left in November, I understood I would attend not one but two schools and would be gone the full 6 months. Since this was the height of the Vietnam conflict, schedules were being cut and most of the fellows were going home after four months. I was hopeful. The day of graduation, we were called to the company area and the company clerk was passing out orders. I got mine was hoping it would be directing me home. My original orders were to Fort Knox. What I had in my hand was neither home or to Fort Knox but to attend the Tracked Vehicle School at Fort Sill Oklahoma! Track vehicles were tanks and we had no such equipment in my reserve unit. It had to be a mistake. Then one of my buddies says to me, ”Hey Joe, you ARE going home, see.” He showed me his orders and a few lines below his name mine appeared saying I was being released from active duty! Hooray, I’m going home. I rushed to the company orderly room and showed the orders to the “Top”. He got on the phone and started raising hell. “I got a man here with two conflicting sets of orders, what gives?” Before long I would understand. We found that the ouders sending me home were number 126 and the orders sending me to Oklahoma were higher. The higher number superseded the lower. I was leaving the next day for Oklahoma along with one of my Boston buddies, Paul Cobuzzi. “Eight more weeks!”
The next day we boarded a Delta flight to Fort Sill, saying goodbye to South Carolina. Fort Jackson was OK, certainly better than Basic at Fort Bliss but was was already tired of the Army and wanted to get back home to my friends, family and cars. I arrived at Fort Sill. This is the Army’s artillery school. It is also the school for OCS cadets, recruits becoming officers. In other words, Fort Sill was loaded with officers and we would wear our arms off saluting.
Track School was interesting. There were about 50 of us in the class. They had a lots of seasoned troop including a number of E-5’s and even one E-6, Staff Sergeant Anderson. Some of these guys had returned from Vietnam as well. The company area was in the old adobe and tile roofed building, looking like they belonged in Mexico! At chow time, we learned the mess hall were all civilian KP's That was a relief, no more KP (kitchen police) duty. The first day of class, the instructors explained what we would be doing for the next 8 weeks. Each week was a module and at the end of each week, we would take an exam. We were also informed that as of then, we all had a thousand points! However, each time we missed a question, failed a practical exercise or committed a safety infraction, we would lose points. The soldier graduating with the highest number of points would receive a promotion to the next highest grade! I was by then a PFC for the next promotion would make me a “Spec-4”. We were also told that while the school was some 40 years old, nobody had ever, ever maxed the course with a perfect score. I guess that must have resonated with me for some reason. We were then marched off to a building where we would be issued books; Technical Manuals for each piece of equipment we would be trained on. The stack of books was 4 feet high and we all platooned them back to our barracks along with our first assignments. Now, back at Monaco’s, I used to bring home the Ford service manuals and study procedures. This is how I learned. The Army manuals were far better than Fords so it was easy to read about what you needed to learn. I immediately settled into reading and studying routine. The end of the first week came fast and I was handed my first exam. I forget the lesson now but the exam was comprehensive and was worth 100 points. The next day, I got the results back and our temporary platoon Sergeant, SSG Anderson passed them out. I got a hundred! This process went the same from week to week. During the day we would do practical exercises, like removing the power pack from a tank or self propelled personnel carrier, perform the maintenance on it and reinstall it back into the vehicle. It was real hands on training followed by a written exam. Each Saturday, SSG Anderson would pass out the previous weeks results. He and I never really got along well for some reason. Perhaps because he was regular Army and I was a reservist. There were tensions between these two groups, probably because of Vietnam as regulars were going off to fight and the reserve and national guard guys were going home to face civil riots rather that than Viet Cong. Well, somewhere around the 5th week a rumor started to circulate in the school. There was one student of the class that so far, had a perfect score. That student was me. Maybe it was my imagination but I sensed a little more friendliness from Anderson. From that point on, when the Saturday results were distributed, everyone would ask what I received for a score. We were now just finishing the 9th weeks and I still had all of my 1,000 points. This, I’m told was unheard of and especially coming from a reservist. Even the school instructors were excited. Finally, Friday came and we were handed our final exam. I was sweating because now I had all these guys pulling for me and if I messed up, I would not only disappoint myself, but my classmates as well. The final exam was about many subjects including a short section on the use of winches cable and pulleys used to extract stuck tanks. The exam and one four part questions, asking to define the name of the various lines in an extraction cable set-up. I finished the exam and turned it in. Everyone wanted to know how I did. This time however, they decided not to pass out the results but would wait until our graduation ceremony. The following week the school and the classes were assembled on the parade ground. The head of the school was a full Colonel and as he stood before us, commended us for our diligence and the value to not only the school but the Army as a whole. He then began to call of the names of students who were receiving special recognition or awards. Names were read and fellow students stepped up, saluted and received their certificates. Finally, he called “Specialist Fourth Class Joseph Bednarz, front and center”. As I approached and saluted, he read the citation; “ Specialist Fourth Class Bednarz completed the class and received a final score of Nine Hundred Ninety Nine point Seventy Five and his hereby promoted to E-4 and is known as the Honor Graduate! I found out later that I had missed one part of that 4-part question on recovery. Well, the school’s reputation remained intact, no one had yet to max the course but it was the first time anyone had come this close, and a reservist to boot! After the ceremony, the Army made a pitch to me to extend my enlistment and go full time, promising I would be promoted to Sergeant (E-5) by the time i shipped out overseas. I weighed the options and thought it over carefully. Another 18 months and I would be home for good rather than spending 5 more years in the reserve. But after 6 months of Army life, I knew it was time to go home.
I remained in the Army Reserve until November of 1974, completing my six year military obligation. Upon my initial return from Active Duty of Training, we were stationed in the Berry Rosenblatt USAR Center in West Hartford. About a year later, they moved us to Phelps Road in East Windsor where we took over a military installation that was once a National Guard Nike Missile launch site. The property was exactly the same condition as the Guard units left it. No missiles of course but the launch and storage areas were still operational including these huge elevators used to store the launch system underground. We even experimented with putting Jeeps in the elevators figuring we could store them underground during the winter. It was a good idea until one day we lost power and the underground launch areas were flooded because the pumps were not functioning. Later, welders from Fort Devens arrived and welded all the elevators shut. During that stint in east Windsor, I received two more promotions and when I finally bid the Army goodbye, I was a Staff Sergeant E-6. I was also married now and in 1973 had been promoted at work to a manager level. The Army Reserve just didn’t look attractive to me anymore and I figured I did my time and was ready to move on. My first wife had an Uncle; a Doctor who was retired from practice and was working as an adjudicator for the Veterans Administration. He was also a retired Captain in the US Naval Reserve (equivalent to a full Colonel in the Army). When he learned that I had separated from the reserve, he began pointing out all the benefits I would be giving up if I stayed for another 14 years. Besides, as he said, it was easy money. I thought it over and a year after getting out of the reserve, I was back in but this time, at the 76th Division Headquarters in West Hartford and in the personnel section. They had restored my rank as Staff Sergeant E-6 and assigned me to a slot in the Adjutants General section. I spent the next couple years visiting various reserve units and helping correct their personnel records. We performed what were called “team assistance visits” to units that were about to be inspected by the regular Army. This brought their files up to date and the division would not get a black mark on their evaluations. These trips took me to Northern New Hampshire to the Bronx in New York City. The division had units scattered everywhere. Our team was led by a Warrant Officer named Al Martyn. I served with his brother John in the motor pool during my previous stint with the reserve. These Warrant Officers commanded a lot of respect. First, most we all former enlisted men who served their time. Second, they were experts in their jobs. Even the generals liked them because they could be depended on to do good work, especially of a technical nature. The enlisted liked them because they came up through the ranks and knew what the enlisted men had to endure. It was an ideal rank and enjoyed benefits of be an officer and the respect from the enlisted. The other Warrant Officer I came to know very well was Mr. Rubenstahl. He was the Maintenance Officer in the 76th Division Motor Pool during my first enlistment. He had close to 40 years of service and everyone knew and respected Al Rubenstahl or “Rubby”. These two fine officers would one day help guide me as I extended my career in the reserves.
Working in the Division Headquarters afforded me some opportunities that would have probably never made it out to the units. One day I was approached by a Sergeant by the name of John Kane to join a unique group that would be making a movie. John was affectionately known as “Machine Gun Kane” as he was a NBC news photographer and had many years in the Army Reserve filming and photographing soldiers. John had proposed to the Army the idea of filming a documentary film showing the Army Reserve and what they do in their units during their annual training exercises. This occurred a few years after all the majors news outlets switched from using newsfilm to straight video tape. John had all the this older news film equipment and cases of 16MM news film that was already outdated and was going bad. He would donate this film in exchange for a tax write off and agreed to form a military crew, teach them how to film and shoot this movie! It was an ambitious undertaking but John was not only persuasive but resourceful as well. We formed up about 6 or 7 reservists and spent the winter learning how to be cameramen, soundmen and lighting directors. We would learn how to film and product cutaways, how to edit and script scenes. By the time summer rolled around, we were ready. John put together a schedule of when units within the division would go for their training and where they would be. We would be given extra orders (and pay) to travel to these locations to film. One day we traveled to Gettysburg and filmed an Army Reserve officer and a couple of soldiers on location of a civil war monument. They read from a prepared script and referenced how the reserve units of today were actually created as milita back in the days of the civil war. These too were citizen soldiers just like us. It was not only fun but highly educational. What we learned that year about filming was enough for us to get jobs on a New York news crew if we were interested. John was a real artist and he knew the power of public relations.
On one trip, we traveled to Indiantown Gap in Pennsylvania to film a group of our units doing their AT on that base. John discovered the base was just a few miles from Hershey Park, a large amusement park like Disney World. John worked his charm and called the PR people at the park and a few days later, we had a dozen soldiers as actors spending a day of enjoyment at the park while we filled them! It was sort of a recreation segment of what Reserve soldiers do with their spare time while on AT. I recall one particular shot where I was serving as the cameraman and filming a ride called the La Flume, a water action ride where people sit in a floating log and travel down a water roller coaster. I was allowed to actually go into the ride and situated myself on the supporting structure to get the proper shot when the soldiers came down the “chute”.
During the rest of the summer, we traveled from location to location filming units in artillery practice, mortar firing and conducting basic training classes. The following fall, we traveled to the NBC studio in West Hartford to use their editing equipment to produce the actual video. The original film print was transferred to video for editing and making the final cut, just like they do in Hollywood! The film came out great and John spent the year taking that movie to show to other units and various audiences. It was a fantastic learning experience for all of us.
As I continued working in the Adjutants General section of the Division we would one day meet up with another Officer that would greatly define and shape my military career. The Adjutants General office is the administrative personnel section of the Division. It falls under the command of the G-1 of the General's Staff. The G-1 was a strict and precise Army officer by the name of H.K Seymour. He was tough and there was no bullshitting this guy. He paid attention to details and he knew the regulations. He ran the G-1 office with an iron hand. Some disliked his style and those were usually the ones trying to get away with something. Others, who did their jobs, received fair treatment from Colonel Seymour. As summer approached we began preparing for our annual training (two weeks) that was going to be held at our mobilization station; Fort Campbell. Since the 76th Division is a training division, in the event the “balloon went up” our job would be to take over Fort Campbell and relieve the 101st Airborne so they could deploy. Our division would begin training new recruits. Fort Campbell and the 101st Airborne were steeped in tradition and Colonel Seymour wanted our division to understand the protocols and local customs so as to reflect positively upon the G-1 Section and the division. An example of this related to the local greeting and response when saluting on Fort Campbell. The greeting would be to present the salute and say “Air Assault”. The other person would return the salute and respond “All The Way”. Knowing this small piece of information allowed our people to blend in and merge with the 101st as if we’d been there all along. The Colonel was also very much into physical fitness. Each morning we would engage in a PT routine. We even had a design made up for our Gidon (section flag carried while drilling). I commissioned our local artist at AAA to come up with a design and even had tee-shirts made up with this design that we all wore during our physical training. Coming up with that earned me a 6-pack of 55 Beer. It also marked the beginning of a long friendship with Colonel Seymour that continues even today. He was indeed a unique officer and served us well. Unfortunately, some of those he came in contact with were rubbed the wrong way and eventually that probably cost him a promotion to General rank that many felt was very much deserved. Some didn't realise how good we had it was until he was reassigned to the 365th Supply and Service Battalion in New Haven.
I continued to serve in the division headquarters and attended another two week summer AT at Fort Campbell. During this time I had even applied for a Warrant Officer promotion as an opening came up in the Division for a computer technical position with the rank of Warrant. I went through the process but now I know I was never really considered qualified and besides, there was already a Master Sergeant who was a shoo in for the assignment. Ultimately he got the position and I ended up working for him. How ironic.
Then one day, Colonel Seymour paid us a visit at the Division Headquarters. It was on a Tuesday night and he approached me asking me when I was coming down to the 395th. I responded by saying “yes sir, as soon as you have a Warrant slot open”. Well, in fact that is exactly what he had. The 395th had a couple of what were called PERC units as part of their battalion. PERC was an acronym for Program to Enrich Reserve Components. This were high profile units with a “real world” military assignments that were to maintain readiness at all times. These units even had a number of full time active duty personnel assigned to them and were part of Presidents Carter’s Rapid Deployment Forces. Two of these units were under the Colonel's command and one was the 439th Petroleum Supply Company. That unit’s mission was to store and pump bulk petroleum stored in huge 50,000 gallon rubber and fabric bags laid out on the ground and interconnected by hoses and pumps. This kind of operation required a lot of equipment including bulldozers, cranes, tankers, tractors and the petroleum pumping equipment. It also had a slot for an Automotive Maintenance Warrant….and that position was presently open. Here was my chance and I lost no time in applying. I submitted the paperwork and began preparing to meet with a selection board that would be conved in a short time. when Colonel Seymour needed something, things happened. Part of this was probably due to the fact this was a Rapid Deployment PERC unit and the idea was to keep these units close to full strength. A month went by and finally I was called before the board. It consisted of 5 officers, one being a Warrant who grilled me for a hour or so about my military experience, my work experience and generally what was going on in the world. I passed the local board and my application was forwarded on to First Army at Fort Meade Maryland where the Army would make the final decision. In the meantime, the Colonel wasted no time in getting me transferred out of division and down to the 395th. He wanted me to get right to work even though I was not yet promoted. I spent the next 6-8 weeks traveling to New Haven and becoming immersed in the 439th even though officially, I was part of the 395th. I was still a Staff Sergeant but most people knew I was awaiting a promotion to Warrant. We were a few weeks away from the 439th heading out on their two-week Annual Training at Fort Gordon, Georgia. The Company Commander, Captain Salmone wanted me to have that bar! Then, on a Friday evening right after work, I got a call from Colonel Seymour at home. He invited me and my first wife to stop by his house for a drink. He then said, “oh by the way, when you come, please come in your dress uniform!” That was strange, but knowing the Colonel was a stickler for military tradition, I figured he knew what he was doing and said “Yes Sir”. Then he told me that he had in his hand, my orders promoting me to Warrant Officer one (WO1) and he would do the honors of swearing me in as I took the oath. I had arrived.
All told, I spent 6 or 7 years in that unit and promoted to Chief Warrant Two (CW2). In November of 1990 the Army conducted an operation that would mobilized a large number of reserve units and bring them right to their deployment station. Basically doing everything right up to preparing to put us on a the plane. This included hiring commercial transportation and bringing everything we owned from New Haven with us to the exercise at Fort Devens, Massachusetts. I went along on this assignment and did my best but I was in trouble. My left leg began giving me trouble and I could no longer walk any real distance without extreme difficulty. Our Company Commander was a young Captain by the name of Gordon Foss. Captain Foss was a Chemist in his civilian job and worked for a company called Perkin Elmer. Hhe and I got along quite well. He was a smart fellow and had a PhD in Chemistry. We spent long hour discussing how to make explosives!
During this two week training, we were constantly being evaluated by teams of people from the regular Army. We had all our equipment on hand and were given the opportunity to set up our fuel distribution systems and pump bulk petroleum. The unit had 15 or so 5,000 gallon tanker trailers to transport fuel. Each of the tankers was equipped with a small diesel pump to load and unload fuel. Some of these ”pony motors “ while new, were a bit difficult to start. While the Army manual said not to use it, some guys would spray ether into the intake to get them started . While that would work, once or twice, the added heat from the burning ether would burn out the glow plug. When that happened, it made the diesel pump more difficult to start and in cold weather, impossible to start. We were to find out just how difficult soon enough.
A few days later, the word came down we were going to have a big evaluation over our ability to move from one area to another and to transport our own fuel using our 15 tankers. We were up early that morning but it was very cold (it was mid November ) The Company Commander and I were standing in the middle of the assembly area flanked by Army evaluators observing us getting ready. The first order of business was to hook up the tankers to the tractors and light off the tanker pumps so they could take on fuel. Afterwards, they would fill up with diesel l and the Army would evaluate our ability to distribute product to the new petroleum site previously constructed. The 5-ton tractors were all running, as they were warming up. Black smoke pouring from their exhausts. Alongside were the tankers. The drivers began to start the tankers to warm them up as well.The problem was, it was now 20 degrees and no of the tanker pumps would start. All 15 of them had failed (because guys had used ether and burned out the plugs). I saw the company commander go white. Things were falling apart, the evaluators were making notes and things didn’t look good for the 439th. The Commander looked at me and said “Chief, what are we going to do?” This very intelligent Phd was in a pickle and it was up to me as the Maintenance Officer to find a solution. I stood there watching the tractors warming up. Then an idea formed in my head. Alongside the tractors was some spare 6 inch petroleum hose line sections. It was spare pipe. I looked at the not black smoke coming from the exhaust. I look at the dead tankers and noticed the air inlet section of the motor had a short pipe coming off so the tanker could ford a river with the pump still allowed to run underwater. What happened next was pure luck but the Army would call it a “field expediency”. I directed the tractor to be pulled alongside the tanker. I had a couple guys grab a petroleum hose and stick one end on the tractors exhaust stack. The other end was placed over the inlet pipe of the tanker pump motor. I directed the tractor driver to raise the rpm of the tractor. Hot black smoke poured from the pipe. A few minutes later, I reached over and hit the starter on the pump. It cranked over a few time and started! Once we did one, I had a bunch of guys go down the line to all the other tankers and repeat the process. The Captain came over to me with wonder in his eyes. All his tankers were running and the evaluators were making notes. Later, I confessed that while I looked confident and acted like it was just routine, I had no idea it would actually work. I figured the pre-heater in the tanker diesel is to warm the intake air to aid in the compression ignition of a diesel. It raised the inlet temperature. I figured I could do the same with hot exhaust gasses - a similar principle and it worked. We made it appear like a normal process and fooled the evaluators. The Captain felt better and I was sort of the hero of the morning. However, maintenance was my responsibility and the fact that all 15 tankers had burned out glow plugs probably didn't look so well to the evaluators. But, accomplishing the mission it what is important and we made that happen. It was a moment that I never forgot. I learned another valuable lesson about the Army..all you need to do is “look” like you know what you are doing!
After this near winter 2 week camp, I went to the Doctor and was given a number of vascular exams. I was finally diagnosed with a 100% blockage in my left femoral artery that would require a byass. I was 39 years old. I was out of circulation for a few months and missed a large number of reserve drills. Finally one day I received a call from Division Headquarters by another old Warrant, Bernie Corona advising me the 395th had transferred me to the Army Reserve Control Group because I was no longer attending drills. Essentially, this placed me on inactive reserve duty and was the final step to being released from service. An interesting side note: The Control Group was a Nike Missile Battery located at Fort Bill Texas. This is where I took Basic training so my military career both stated and ended at Fort Bliss!. I spent a few years in the control group until receiving a letter from the Secretary of the Army placing me in the Retired Reserve. So, technically, I’m still a Retired Army Warrant Officers and authorized to wear the uniform.
In total , I spent 21 years in the Army Reserve. Because some of those years were in an inactive control group, I did not earn the required minimum 50 retirement points per year. So, even though I have 21 years and am in the retired reserve, I will never collect a military pension. I don’t regret that one bit. I enjoyed my time, was paid fairly and served my country. I am fortunate to have a good civilian job and my retirement should be fairly secure.