Chapter 5: Call to Duty

[Back then, images guys in the Army miss so dear]

My arrival at my duty assignment in Germany initially turned out glorious and every person, the few standby personnel at the Kaserne, had a great time on me, my skills and my busy “bratwurst”. But now it was time to go find out what my real duties were.

The Army had returned.

I was told to report to the Communication Center, to talk the NCO in charge. I would be assigned to my work whatever that might be. The Army was back in town and the Merrell Barracks Kaserne was loaded with armor, authority and life.

As of yet I had no room assigned to me for sleeping so I showed up at the front door to the Comm. Center and entered with my pressed fatigues on, spit shined boots, dragging along my duffel bag. I looked around and a guy on the other side of a kind of bank window arrangement said “Hi”. “I’m here with my orders. Can you tell me who I’m supposed to see, the NCO in charge?” “Sure. Sergeant Cieslak! Some guy here to see you!”

An older man, a staff sergeant appears looking me over as he opened a half door to let me in. I handed him my orders and he said, “Yeah, you can keep doze.” He had a strong accent that didn’t sound German. He pointed to my right and indicated he wanted to show me the office layout and he pointed to a big bank vault type door with a combination lock dial on the front of it. It was opened and I looked into a room full of all kinds of communication equipment in it and the windows were painted over with thick white paint.

“You know how to type?,” was his first question.

An old joke in the Army was how you never admit you know how to do anything, don’t volunteer. I’d done it in basic training, admitting I knew how to drive a truck and I ended up with an Army issue drivers license to spend one whole weekend everybody else had off, me doing guard duty all night long driving around the base. I knew better than to admit anything now but after taking a moment to think I said, “Yes”. “Good”. He told me where I was going to be sleeping and to take my duffel bag up there to drop off and then to come back down to the Comm. Center to meet the captain in charge. I did as I was told.

The captain was a middle aged guy who seemed quite nice. He told me to report to the company C.O.’s office to take part in soldier of the month competition. “What?” was my mental response.

I literally had just walked in and now I was already competing for soldier of the month, seriously? “You got nice fatigues and spit shined boots,” laughed Sgt. Cieslak. We always have to send somebody up there and nobody has spit shined anything around here. Just go up there and do what they tell you. No big thing.” So I went shyly up to the office, told them what I was sent up for and they told me to wait a minute. I’d be told when to enter the C.O.’s office. Obviously I was nervous as hell.

I entered and there sat a captain behind his desk with another Army guy to the side. They asked a couple of general questions and then asked me who had won the World Series. I answered with the Detroit team that happened to be the professional football team, mixed up the Lyons with Tigers and they laughed at my response. Next Question: “What sports do you like?” “I race flat track motorcycles sir. I don’t really follow those other sports.” I figured I’d throw another manly sport at them they probably knew nothing about and he grunted for me to leave; I was done. I did my best about face and away I went never to enter that guy’s office again until much later in my Europe tour.

I went back to the room I was to be sleeping in to put my things away in the secured cabinet I was given. I needed a padlock for that, first on my list of things to buy. I was alone in the room that held six beds. After that I was supposed to go back to the Comm. Center for a work assignment and I learned how to get in the place on my own, what water to drink and what to avoid, “Non Potable”. I was shown around by the desk clerk and then I went into that bank vault room to see what was going on.

There was a guy sitting in an arrangement of six teletype consoles complete, two were detailed with more gear and four were just teletype receiving units I would learn more about very soon. The fellow working was typing something out that created a punched out tape running across the floor quite a ways. When he finished he used the tape to run through another machine sending that data over the teletype circuit. Then he rolled up the tape on his hand in a figure eight pattern around his thumb and fore finger folding the very end over so that it kind of locked in that configuration. He just threw it across the room into a big pile of them in the corner. I thought that was kind of a funny filing system.

When the clerk left the room to answer the phone the guy smiled at me and said, “You up for this bull shit job?”

I laughed quietly and looked at him for more information. He said he liked the job because of the hours, 12 on and 24 off. “It gives me time to go places and sometimes you trade hours and get more time off. You don’t have to stand inspection ever, don’t have to fall out in the morning first thing. Nobody bugs you and it’s almost like civilian status.