A MAN’S GOTTA DO
WHAT A MAN’S GOTTA DO
Alexander H. Martinez
Copyright 2011 Alexander H. Martinez
Smashword Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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ISBN Number: 978-0-9840114-1-4
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011939275
w w w . a l e x m a r t i n e z 2 0 1 2 . c o m
Gotta Do Publishing
Houston, TX
2011
Project Coordinator — Rita Mills
Editorial Team
Peggy Sue Skipper, Development & Shirin Wright, Grammar
Cover Design — Rebeca Eigen
Text Design — Rita Mills
Cover Photograph — Pat Buron
Dedication
To American patriots everywhere: May we succeed in putting a halt to America’s decline.
To Glenn Beck who I consider a founding father in his own right. His courage and motivation was instrumental in giving me the courage to run for president.
To Rush Limbaugh for providing listeners like me a fundamental understanding of the issues of the day.
To my little sister Elizabeth who unknowingly gave me the idea to run for president.
With very special thanks to my beautiful wife, Mary, for believing in me. Her support and encouragement is what made all the difference.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 Making It to America
Chapter 2 Life After Graduation
Chapter 7 Working for the Union
Chapter 9 The Bell System Breakup
Chapter 10 Getting Back to Business
Chapter 11 The Start of a New Decade
Chapter 13 Making the Best of Things
Chapter 16 Love Takes Another Step
Chapter 17 Good Times and Bad Times
Chapter 18 Another Sad Start to a New Year
Chapter 19 Grandchild Number Four and First Wife
Introduction
Hello, my name is Alexander H. Martinez and, with your help, I will become the 45th President of the United States of America.
That’s a mighty big statement coming from an unknown individual a little more than a year before the election. That’s why I need your help. If you have read this far, then you know there is something I have to do.
I believe our country is in serious trouble. Make no mistake about it; there is an extremely powerful force within our government that is trying to destroy America. The current President of the United States, the occupier of the most powerful office in the world, is the leader of a band of marauders that is systematically undermining and attempting to overthrow our system of government. I can’t stand idly by and let that happen.
I feel it is imperative that this president does not get a second term. It would be disastrous for America if he did. Someone needs to run against him who has a strong enough appeal to win the next election. I don’t believe anyone in the current group of declared candidates has what it will take.
I don’t have it either…yet. That’s why I wrote this book. It’s my life story of who I am and what I am. As you read it you will learn how I came to this decision and why. Included is a section on my political and social beliefs, what I would like to do as president, and what I stand for and against.
I invite you to come with me on this journey for self-preservation, prosperity, and freedom.
Respectfully and sincerely,
Alexander H. Martinez
CHAPTER 1
Making It to America
Before I get into the details of my family reaching America, I think I should provide a small amount of background information regarding my parents.
I’ll begin with my father, Anibal Martinez Jimenez, born in Santiago, Chile, South America, in 1896. His dad was from Spain and his mom was from Italy. Why and when they migrated to Chile is unknown. At age eighteen, my father entered the Catholic University of Chile, from where he graduated as a civil engineer. As the story goes, dad was a restless nomad. After graduating from college, he left home to seek his fortune. I often wonder if he knew he would never return to his homeland.
Around 1918, Dad’s adventures brought him to the island of Cuba. While there, he became a professor at the University of Havana, teaching mathematics. After that ran its course, he traveled to the United States and worked at different jobs. Two jobs that I know of were with Westinghouse Electric & Manufacturing Company, and with Electrolux. While on vacation in Monterrey, Mexico, he met his future wife, my mom, Aurora Martinez.
Mom was born in Monterrey, Mexico in 1911. She belonged to a comfortable, middle-class family ruled by her very strict father. She was the oldest of seven children (four girls and three boys). Her life centered around her sisters and mother because of her very protective father and brothers. Anyone wanting to call on her had to go through them. When Anibal was given the approval to court Aurora, the courtship resulted in their eventual marriage in 1936. Monterrey was where they made their home.
In due course, Laura, Carlos (Charles), Irma, and Miguel (Mike) were born. During this time, Dad had been traveling to the U.S. to prepare for immigration and in 1949 he moved his family to Houston, Texas. Dad got a job with Grogan Lumber Company, which still operates from its original location in the Heights. Meanwhile, the family was adjusting to a new country and a new language. No one except my dad could speak any English. Before too long, my brothers and sisters were enrolled in school and making friends. Learning English was not so hard, and from what they told me about those early days, they liked their new lives. Speaking of new lives…in April 1950, I was born.
During the 40s and early 50s, Grogan Lumber Company also built homes. Since my father was working there, he was able to buy one of the new homes. We were the first Mexican family to move into this particular Heights neighborhood. Not long after settling into our new home, my little sister Elizabeth was born. She was also an April baby and we were barely a year apart.
Things seemed to be going pretty well for the Martinez family until about 1954. That’s when the bottom fell out.
Coping with Adversity
It was late summer in 1954 when, under the cover of darkness, my dad decided he had to leave. He had made some bad business decisions during these first few years and, apparently, he didn’t have the courage to stay and deal with them. He left a wife and six kids without any money and he was behind on the mortgage. Our family was devastated! I was way too young to really know what was going on, but I knew something had happened.
This type of event, when you have been abandoned by the family’s patriarch, its only bread winner, can and will change your life. What would we do now? Go back to Mexico? Why not? One of our uncles, Uncle Raul, had made Mom an offer that was very tempting. Things were going very well for him in Mexico and he invited us back. He offered to take care of us. His offer actually made it much more difficult for my mom to make a decision about whether to stay. It would have been so easy to go there and be with family who could help us until we got back on our feet. My oldest brother, Charles, remembers discussing the possibility with our mom, but his vote was to stay here…he liked it here. After giving it some real careful consideration, my mom came to the gut-wrenching decision to stay in America.
It wasn’t long before our situation became known to our friends and neighbors. Many came forward and offered to help. All Saints Catholic Church, where my siblings were going to school, began dropping off bags of groceries and clothes. The church even waived the tuition fees so my siblings could remain in school. Meanwhile, a state welfare representative had come to the house and enrolled us into an assistance program. We were getting the help we needed, but these were only short-term solutions; something more permanent had to take place. We needed some steady income of our own.
About this time, Mr. Zanelli, a friend of my dad, came over and asked Charles if he wanted a job. Charles was sixteen at the time but knew the answer was yes. Mr. Zanelli put Charles in touch with a Mr. Newhouse, owner of South Ports Forwarding Company. Mr. Newhouse offered Charles a messenger’s job for $25 a week. In 1954 there were no faxes or e-mail, so there was a real need for messengers to deliver documents to the different businesses in town. But before Mr. Newhouse would hire Charles, Charles had to agree to go to night school and get his diploma. All school-related expenses would be paid; he just had to agree to go to school and graduate. Charles accepted the terms and went to work. I wouldn’t know until years later that he was the second person in my life to show me an example of what it’s like when “a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” He sacrificed his young adult life for all of us. He did what he had to do. He took responsibility.
The next order of business was to see about staying in our home. Since there was some steady income now to add to what Mom was making from ironing at home, she asked for a meeting with the mortgagor to see if he would lower the mortgage payments to a level she could afford. If he would do this, she could assure him he would get his money, that she would make the payments on time. Convinced his investment was safe, the mortgagor agreed. This was a tremendous relief for my mom and she couldn’t thank God enough. She knew we were in a good place, with good neighbors and good schools. Getting a chance to stay in our home was a huge blessing for all of us.
Things seemed to settle down some and my oldest sister, Laura, was able to graduate from high school a short time later. She only had a year and a half to finish high school and soon after graduation, she got a job with the State Welfare Office, working as a typist. She too sacrificed her life for all of us by refusing to get married so she could stay and contribute. This was another example for me to learn from. Now our family had two steady incomes. We were making it work. We would come home from school and Mom would wash our clothes so we could wear them again the next day. God took care of us, we were doing all right.
As we got a little older, my brother Mike and I would canvass the neighborhood for yard work. We would take our lawnmower and rake. Since I was younger and smaller, he would have me go to the door and ask for the job. He thought we would stand a better chance of getting hired that way. It seemed to work for us and we were able to do our part in contributing to the household budget. This went on for several years until Mike was able to get a job at an ice-cream parlor; then I was on my own.
My School Years
Elementary
Since my sister and I were just over a year apart, the school administrator placed her in kindergarten and me in first grade. I can remember both of us crying on that first day of school as we waved goodbye to Mom while the teachers took us to our respective classrooms. Elizabeth and I had never really been apart, and certainly not away from Mom, so it was a little traumatic for us that day. We adjusted just fine once we realized it was only for a few hours a day and that we would get to see our mom again.
I don’t remember much about the first through the third grade except for my teachers and some areas of the school. The fourth grade did produce some long-lasting memories, though. It was right about then that I started to realize how some people could be friendly and others could be mean. It was the mean ones that made the biggest impression on me. These were the guys and girls in the “in” crowd, and some guys that were just plain bullies. Then there were those that didn’t like Mexicans. Being a Mexican, I found out, had its drawbacks.
I remember feeling inferior to most of my classmates because I was different and I didn’t dress like them. We didn’t have the latest in clothes or a lot of them, and you could see we wore our shoes a long time. We didn’t eat pancakes and waffles for breakfast; we had eggs, beans, and tortillas and we spoke Spanish at home. The only thing that did make me feel good was to be around others who treated me well. That was the easy part, but how was I going to deal with the other kids who didn’t like me? I couldn’t go ask my dad for advice, he was A.W.O.L. I hardly ever saw my oldest brother, Charles, because he was either working or going to school, and my other brother, Mike, had his own issues to deal with. Mom was a girl and she wouldn’t know about this sort of stuff. It seemed like we were all kind of going in our own directions, too preoccupied with our own lives. No, this was something I was going to have to figure out on my own.
I was fortunate to have some neat kids on my block that I got along with. We would get together and play after school and just have fun. A couple of these kids were a little bigger, and sometimes we would get into wrestling matches. Even though these guys could pin us down easily and keep us there, they weren’t the mean sort, they never really hurt us. It turned out to be a blessing for me because it made me stronger and I learned a few things about hand-to-hand. As we all got older, the bullying at school became more prevalent and I decided it had to stop. There was this one guy who never seemed to give it a rest, and he got a big kick out of being a loud mouth. His friends would laugh and egg him on. I decided that I was going to have to face this guy to get him off my back. One day after school, it happened. He said something, then I said something and the next thing I knew, he was on the ground and I had his arm behind his back, and I was telling him to say Uncle. Some of his friends were there and saw this, and when he said Uncle, that changed everything. I got some respect that day for myself. Yes, I got respect from those other schoolmates as well. Even though they still didn’t like me; they left me alone after that. What this did for me was immeasurable. Standing up for myself was a lesson I would never forget. It taught me there are times when you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. It also gave me a total dislike for bullies, and to this day, I can’t stand a bully!
Junior High
By the time I made it to junior high school, things had changed at home. Charles had graduated from night school and had earned some promotions at work. One of these promotions required him to transfer to Dallas. When he announced that he was moving, Mom was devastated. She had grown to rely on him so much in the past decade. But she knew she had to accept it—he had done his part, and now it was time for him to spread his wings and fly. The rest of us would have to step up to fill the gap, not an easy thing to do. We were proud of our brother and wished him well. Charles went on to be a very innovative and successful entrepreneur in the freight-forwarding business.
I was lucky enough to have had a good nucleus of friends in junior high. There were about seven of us who stuck together most of the time. I still keep in touch regularly with four of them. We just had a blast during those years. We were old enough to have some independence, yet young enough to not have too many responsibilities.
Remember me telling you we were all kind of going in our own directions? Well, it wasn’t until junior high that I found out what brother Mike had been up to. He was quietly building a reputation as an intimidating lineman on the football team. He was three years ahead of me, so by the time I got to junior high, he was entering senior high. He had already made All-District and All-City honors, and he had given the Martinez name some recognition.
This name recognition trickled down to me and little sister Elizabeth. When people heard my name they would ask if I was Mike Martinez’s brother. This seemed to impress them, which made me feel good. It also provided us some measure of protection. Nobody wanted to mess with Mike Martinez. At the same time, it put pressure on me to live up to the reputation he had developed. I was a scrawny kid, not big and strong like Mike. How was I going to follow that act? The only answer I could come up with was I would have to try out for the football team.
In junior high, I ended up making the junior varsity and varsity teams, but as a second stringer. I got my nose broken a couple of times and had my bell rung too. These kinds of things made it harder to love the game. But I was determined to stick it out, for I was a Martinez. It wasn’t until my varsity year that I was able to break into the starting kick-off and return teams. This helped my self-esteem and gave me some much needed confidence.
Easy come, easy go. My confidence suffered a setback when it came time for the school’s football banquet. The coaches said we could bring a date or come alone, either way was fine. Someone asked what the dress code would be and the coach said casual. When I heard that, I was relieved because I didn’t have a suit. A few days went by and it seemed like a bunch of guys were going to bring a date. Where did that leave me? I had never been on a date. I didn’t even have a girlfriend. Who could I even ask? After struggling with this for a while, I decided I would take a chance and ask this girl to the banquet.
Her name was Brenda and I had had a crush on her since the sixth grade. She was really pretty. To my complete surprise, she accepted! Wow! I had a date! But whoa, how was I going to get her there—on my bike? I thought maybe brother Mike could take us in the family car. I was able to get approval from Mom, and Mike agreed to chaperone, so I was set. Now all I had to do was get my clothes. The coach said casual, right? Well, Mom gave me some money to go and buy a new pair of jeans and a nice shirt. I was ready. Banquet night arrived and we went to pick up Brenda. She looked beautiful in her very pretty dress and I remember her mom pinning on the corsage that I brought for her.
So, off to the school cafeteria we went. When we got there and went inside, I experienced the biggest embarrassment of my life. Every one of my teammates was wearing a suit. I felt like a stupid, poor Mexican kid, and I wanted to just turn around and leave, but I couldn’t. What about Brenda? It must have been equally embarrassing for her! There was nothing I could do but just take it. That was the longest night of my life and I couldn’t wait for it to be over. I’ve got to hand it to Brenda, though, she was a perfect lady to me that night and she never said a word about it after that. I never had the courage to ask her out again, so that was the end of our courtship. This was one of those life lessons that I never forgot. It taught me the importance of being properly dressed for the occasion.
Since I wasn’t much good in the dating department, I hung out with my friends a lot. Sometime in my last year of junior high, my friends and I were walking home one night from the Heights Theater, and trouble came looking for us. As we were walking on the sidewalk, a car went by and someone hollered out, “Queer!” As a reflex reaction, my friend Sam hollered back, “Whore!” We all laughed and just kept on going. Before we had walked another block, we heard a honk and someone say, “Hey…do y’all want some sh##?” Then there was another honk and a similar statement and then another honk.
Apparently, the first car that had yelled at us went and got some friends and came back to hold us accountable for Sam’s remark. Sam replied that we didn’t want any sh## because nobody likes sh##! This answer didn’t seem to be acceptable and one by one the cars began pulling into this parking lot behind the hot dog stand that we had reached on our walk. My eyes got bigger and bigger as I saw what was happening. These cars were pulling into the lot in the shape of a half circle. I counted seven cars! As the guys were starting to get out of the cars, I told myself, no one is going to believe this happened, and I started counting them as they were coming toward us. I counted 27 before the apparent leader asked if we had said anything to them.
These guys were obviously high school age. Many were bigger than us and some were wearing cowboy hats, which made them seem even bigger. My friend Sam answered no, we were just talking loud. About that time a smaller guy made his way to the front and said we shouldn’t be talking so loud. It must have ticked me off because I responded with, “It’s a free country.” That comment got a lot of jeers from these guys and then the smaller guy got in my face. I told him that I didn’t think he’d be so brave if he didn’t have all of these guys to back him up, and then I suggested he and I go around the corner and settle it that way. At that point, the leader said “Come on, let’s go, there’s nothing here for us,” and they turned around and got in their cars and left. We just stood there for a second or two in a state of shock and then we got the heck out of Dodge before they changed their minds. As we continued to walk home, we joked and laughed about how we scared them off. We definitely dodged a bullet there.
After I got home, I had a chance to think about what had happened. I guess it was because I didn’t get stomped into the ground that I was feeling proud of myself. I had managed to stand up to a stronger force and live to tell about it! Looking back on it now, I wonder what got into me. Was it my genuine dislike of bullies, or was it the influence of my Western heroes that had shown me that good always prevails? I believe it was both. I loved and admired the cowboys who always took on the bad guys and made things right. You know the ones I’m talking about…the Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers, Cheyenne Bodie, The Cartwrights, Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie, Gil Favor, and Rowdy Yates, just to name a few. As part of the entertainment, these shows also taught the values of honesty, bravery, humility, and justice. This was also a time when World War II was still fresh in people’s minds, and war movies were being made that told the stories of heroes, and why some had died for our freedom. This was the American way and I was an American. This was a free country. Whatever it was that made me take that stand, I’m grateful for it because it gave me that much more confidence to believe in what I believed in. I think that’s called having the courage of your convictions.
High School
By the time I got to high school, brother Mike had become a football legend in his own time. He had grown to a respectable size and just had a knack for smacking his opponents and instilling fear in them. He was offered, and accepted, a scholarship to Southwest Texas State University. This was another feather in his cap as he became the first of us to go to college. My sister and I continued to benefit from Mike’s talent and reputation, and we did our best to not mess up the Martinez name.
Like most kids, I gained confidence as I progressed through the grades and I remember some girl said that I walked with a swagger. I probably did because I was Mike Martinez’s brother and I was getting a little full of myself. By now I was part of a group called The Big Five and I was on the JV football team. The Big Five was the creation of a friend of mine named Jimmy, who had the reputation of being a good guy, but a tough guy. He also had a knack for telling stories. He would come to school on Monday and tell these whopping tales about what we had all done over the weekend and people would believe him. He would say we tore up this place or that place, got into some unbelievable fights, and we did it all while we were drunk. Pretty soon he had guys wanting to be in the group. We decided to let some into the group, but since there could only be five in The Big Five, they had to be Pluses, like you’re Plus One and you’re Plus Two. It was okay for them; they just wanted to be a part of it. We went on to have some great parties, but that was pretty much what we were all about…just having a good time.
Being on the JV football team in high school was a lot like being on the junior high school team. I crushed my nose this time and had to have a synthetic bridge placed inside to fix it. As for the game itself, there was one main difference: I finally learned how to play the game of football. I know that may sound strange to some, but I never really had a good, clear understanding of how to play the game. It wasn’t until a spring training game that something just clicked. I was playing right defensive halfback. I watched the quarterback take the snap and begin to drop back when suddenly the play went into slow motion. I had never experienced anything like that before, and have only experienced it one other time since. Both times it was awesome!
I was able to see the quarterback’s eyes and who his intended receiver was. When the quarterback threw his pass, I jumped in front of the receiver and knocked the ball down! Wow! That was something! At the time this happened I was near our team’s sideline, and looked over toward the shouting. One of my coaches was clenching his fists, jumping up and down in a frustrated sort of way, pointing down the sideline and hollering at me about why I hadn’t intercepted it and run it back for a touchdown. Heck, I was just thrilled I had knocked it down! I nodded back like I understood the message and lined up for the next play, still trying to process it all. After that play, I played like I belonged. I earned my starting spot that night and I got the best compliment I could have ever gotten…Brother Mike was in the stands and later told me I had played a good game.
Up until now I haven’t mentioned much about girls and girlfriends, mainly because there weren’t many. I liked some of the girls and I was friendly with many, but I was way too timid and self-conscious to pursue anyone. I did luck out once and had a date with a popular girl, but that was about it. All of that changed one day when an acquaintance asked me if I wanted to see a picture of his girlfriend. I told him that I would and he promptly pulled out his wallet and showed me a picture of the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. He told me her name was Judy and that she went to our school. I told him she was really good-looking and made him feel good for having picked such a pretty girl. I didn’t tell him this, but with just that one look at the picture, I knew she was the girl I would marry.
One day at school, I crossed paths with them in the hallway and he introduced us. I guess it was obvious that I enjoyed meeting her and I remember getting that look from her…like, I like you too. It wasn’t long after that I found out they had broken up. Judy and I would pass each other in the hallways and smile and wave, and my friends would egg me on to do something.
By this time in my life I was entering the twelfth grade and I had a 1949 Ford I had bought for $300. I had worked as a sacker and grocery clerk in a couple of different stores, so I had the means to have a girlfriend. I worked up the courage to ask Judy out, and she happily accepted. We hit it off right away and became an item. We were going steady. We continued dating through my senior year and she was my lovely date for the prom. This time I didn’t have a problem with how I was dressed because I rented a tuxedo like everyone else. Life was good.
CHAPTER 2
Life After Graduation
After graduating from high school in January 1969, I decided not to go to college because I wanted a break from school. I don’t know why, but I didn’t like school. I liked to learn, I just didn’t like school and from what I heard, college was a big commitment, both in time and money. I guess I wasn’t ready for such a commitment after twelve years of education. I was going to continue working and try to get a good job somewhere, like at the police or fire department, the post office, or maybe the phone company.
My counselors, both at school and at home, advised me to go to college so I would be exempt from the draft. There was a war going on in Vietnam, and young men without deferments were being drafted on a fairly frequent basis. I gave it some careful consideration, but decided to stick with my plans and take my chances.
I first went to apply for work at the police department. They told me I wasn’t tall enough and suggested I try the fire department. So I went over to the fire department, and they had a height requirement of 5 feet 8 inches. I got on the scale and the interviewer asked me to stretch it out a little more. I stood as straight and tall as I could and came up a quarter inch too short. He said “Grow a little more, then come back and see me.” I got off the scale and went home. Strike two.
Next on the list was the post office. When I went down to apply, they accepted my application and gave me some information to study for a civil service exam. If I could pass that, then I would be considered for employment. I took the information back home and studied it until I felt like I understood it well enough to pass a test on it. They called me back and gave me an appointment to come in and take the test. I hadn’t grown much by this time, so I went and took the test.
While I was waiting for the results of my test to come in, I got a call from Jimmy’s girlfriend. She had a lead on a job with Southwestern Bell and her contact was waiting for my call. Wow! This was great! I’d much rather work for the phone company than the post office! So I made the call and it led to an interview. The interview led to a series of tests, which I passed. The next thing I knew I was a full-time employee of Southwestern Bell!
During my involvement with Bell, I was contacted by the post office and told I had passed the exam, and was invited back to discuss a job position. The only thing I knew to do was to keep them in a holding pattern until I knew the outcome of the Bell opportunity. Once I had secured the job I wanted, I respectfully declined the post office’s offer.
It was now June 1969 and I was in a new world. The increase in my income from grocery clerk to telephone frameman allowed me to contribute more to the family coffers. The pay was great and the benefits were fantastic. I was learning on the job and being sent to classes. I was learning about insurance plans and pay scales and being in a union. It was really neat. It wasn’t long before I was able to upgrade from my ’49 Ford to a ’57 Chevy. There was also some talk of Judy and me getting married.
Things were rocking along pretty well there; we were still having parties and doing our thing when Jimmy got his draft notice. This was a big blow to all of us because he was our leader…and the parties were at his house. Once he got into training camp, he would write to us and tell us what was going on. It sounded pretty bad, all that marching and yelling. Meanwhile, the rest of us were working and wondering if we were going to get called up next. On the news we heard reports that some young men protesting the draft were burning their cards and/or moving to Canada to avoid the draft altogether. These guys were being called draft dodgers.
Well, we didn’t have long to wait. It was February 6, 1970, and the call to duty came. I was at work and that afternoon my best friend Rusty called me (he had worked the night shift) to tell me he had received his draft notice. My reaction was “Wow!” Then I figured that if he got one, maybe I had too. So I called home and asked my mom to check the mail. She did, and told me I had gotten a letter from the Selective Service System. I asked her to open it and read to me. It started out with, “Greetings…You are hereby ordered to report...” I stopped her and said thanks and told her that was enough, that I knew what it was. Little did we know how profound and life changing this order to report was going to be.
We reported as ordered and were interviewed and given physicals. We passed all the tests and once we were sworn in, we were inducted into the U.S. Army. The term was for two years of active service and four years of reserve duty. On the day of induction, an official with the army came to speak with us and advised us of something that got my attention. He said that since we were being drafted, if we were sent to Vietnam and had less than five months to go to complete our two-year obligation upon returning to the U.S., we would be eligible for an early out. This was called the Early Out Program. I viewed this as something important to remember because I could already tell I wasn’t going to like being in the army. Only time would tell if it would ever apply to me.
It was a stroke of pure luck that my best friend since the fourth grade had managed to get drafted at the same time that I did. I think having last names that began with letters that were close in alphabetical order (H and M) may have had something to do with it. We were given the same orders to report and sent to the same place for training…Fort Polk, Louisiana.
We arrived there about 3:00 a.m. that unforgettable morning and began our indoctrination. It was cold and damp and even more so once our heads were skinned. We spent a good portion of that first week in the “Reception Center” getting our shots and gear and pulling KP (kitchen patrol). Rusty and I got lucky again and were assigned to the same company for basic training. Within that company, we were assigned to the same platoon, and within that platoon we were assigned to the same squad. Unbelievable!
Settling-In to Basic Training
The barracks themselves were of two stories, designed to house 60 or more people. For some reason we were divided into two groups: regular army and draftees. Regular army meant you had enlisted, either for a regular four-year term, or that you had joined the National Guard. They placed all the regulars downstairs and all the draftees upstairs; why, I don’t know. What I do know, and what was so surprising to us, was that the draftees were openly treated better than the enlisted men. On more than one occasion it was mentioned that the draftees didn’t ask to be here. So, because the enlisted men volunteered, they got most of the attention. We learned very quickly that you did not want to volunteer or draw attention to yourself, period. Once they knew your name, it was going to be a long eight weeks.
Each floor of the barracks had two rows of bunk beds with a large space between them for the drill sergeants and the captain to walk down. The floors were covered with some type of linoleum and were so shiny, you could see your reflection. They let us know in no uncertain terms that we had to keep them that way. During the grand tour, they showed us where we would be bunking and, when the time came, Rusty took the bottom bunk and I took the top one. We were pleasantly surprised when we learned that two of our junior high school friends would also be in our platoon. Their names were Michael and Reynaldo.
Next, we were introduced to our company commander and the drill sergeants and given our mission statement. We were in the army now and they were going to turn us into men! They were going to be our mamas and our daddies and girlfriends. We were not to worry, for they would take care of all our needs. The captain also told us in no uncertain terms that we were confined to the property, a small area called the “Company Area.” Under no circumstances were we allowed to cross the boundary lines! At this point the captain turned it over to the drill sergeants. Our drill sergeant was Drill Sergeant Thompson, a decorated Vietnam combat soldier with a Purple Heart, spit-shined Airborne boots and starched fatigues. He wasn’t very big or tall, but you knew he was all business.
Basic training for me was like football practice on steroids. Early to rise, calisthenics, run, run, run, march, march, march, and crawl, crawl, crawl. There was competition, there were goals we had to meet, and tactics we had to learn. At the end of training, you had to be able to pass a physical test or you couldn’t graduate and you would be held back. Nobody wanted that to happen.
The Flag
As we got into weeks five and six, we were beginning to get the hang of it. We knew what was expected and what we could get away with. We were starting to get a little cocky. In the final week before graduation, I got an idea. There was this 300-foot tower on our base and it had a big, red blinking light on it. Wouldn’t it be neat to make a flag with our name on it and place it on that tower just below the red light? Man! That would be something! But could we do it?
Fort Polk was divided into two parts: North Fort and South Fort. One could see this tower from anywhere on the base. To get a flag up there was going to take some planning because we were going to have to break some rules. I talked to the few guys I knew I could trust about my idea and they were all for it, they just didn’t know how we could pull it off. One thing led to another and a plan began to form. First we had to pick a date and time. We chose a night when Rusty was going to be on C.Q. duty. C.Q. duty stands for “Charge of Quarters” duty, which is overnight desk coverage for the main office. He’s kind of like the man in charge that night. Next we had to make a flag. We decided to make one out of a sheet, and I drew in big letters, “A-5-2, Mighty 4th Platoon.” By this time the whole platoon knew about it and everyone was sworn to secrecy. Some of the guys helped color in the words and the excitement was beginning to build.
The next big hurdle was to figure out how to actually do it. The goal was to get to the tower, place the flag just below the red blinking light and return to the barracks, all without getting anyone hurt or getting caught. What we needed was a volunteer who could climb. That man stepped forward. His name was Ron and he was from Oklahoma. He had worked on oil derricks back home and therefore was an experienced climber. Another man stepped up. His name was Michael and he wanted to be a Green Beret. He assured me he could handle it. So now we had our volunteers. This was great; together they would get the job done.
Now I had to come up with a safety plan in case someone slipped. Falling from such a height would be life threatening at worst, and cause serious bodily injury at best. Having limited resources, the only thing I could come up with was to form a human buffer zone around the base of the tower. That way, if someone fell, we could at least break their fall somewhat.
Was I stupid or what? This was a crazy idea! We could get in big-time trouble! It didn’t matter! The idea was firmly implanted in our heads and we were invincible…we were the Mighty 4th Platoon!
I decided to recruit seven more guys to go with us. That made a total of ten that had to get there and back without getting caught. We planned and planned until we were certain we had thought of everything and we could complete our mission. On the night of the attempt, Rusty was on duty for the night. The ten of us going painted our faces dark and we waited until 2 am. Once we got the all-clear from Rusty, it was on! We snuck out the back and one by one we made our way to the tower, running, crawling, and dodging the MPs (military police). Our adrenalin was pumping! It took us about 30 minutes to get to the base of the tower. Ron and Michael got themselves ready to begin their climb while the rest of us took our positions around the base. We were all in agreement that if it was not doable, they would just come on down. At least we had tried. The guys were confident, though, that they could get the flag where we wanted it.
When the coast was clear, they begin their climb with Ron leading the way. Slowly they made their way up, and about the halfway point, there was a problem. Michael had gone as far as he could go. He was hugging the tower like there was no tomorrow. Ron noticed he was in trouble and began to climb back down until he got even with Michael. After a few tense moments they decide to tie the flag right where they were and then begin to climb down. Once they were on firm ground they told us that was the best they could do. We all said fine and stepped away from the base and looked up. When we saw the flag flying in the breeze at the halfway point, Ron looked at us and said “Naw! I’m going back up there and put it up higher.” We were all stunned as we watched him begin his second climb. Now mind you, these guys had no security belts, they just used their arms and legs to hang on. We watched in amazement as Ron kept climbing and climbing, untied the flag, and climbed some more. He climbed to just under the big, red blinking light and tied off our flag! We couldn’t believe it, it was done!
As much as we wanted to celebrate, we couldn’t because we had to watch out for Ron as he came down. He must have been pumped because it seemed like it didn’t take him any time at all, and all of a sudden, he was on solid ground! That’s when the party started, and this time when we looked up, we went “Yeah!”
Once we calmed down a bit, we went back the same way we had come. We reached the company area and then our barracks where we had a big reception waiting for us. You could see our flag flying from everywhere on the base. Everybody was going crazy. We did it!
I let Rusty know we were back and that everything was okay, but it would be morning soon and we had to get ready to face the music. I gathered all the men on one floor and told them that when we lined up in the morning, sergeants were going to ask us who put the flag on the tower. I reminded the men that the flag had our platoon’s name on it and therefore we all had to take responsibility, and there was only one way to do that. I went on to say that when the question was asked, we must all, at the same time, raise our hands. That way no one man could be singled out. Whatever they decided to do to us would have to be done to all of us. I repeated myself and stressed the importance of this single action. They all nodded in agreement and the pact was made.
Morning came soon enough and it didn’t matter that we hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep, for we were an anxious bunch. Reveille sounded and we all rushed out as usual. All four platoons lined up in their assigned places with their respective drill sergeants standing at parade rest in front of each platoon. You could feel there was something not quite right and this time the company commander was standing at the podium. That in itself was a bit unusual. The senior drill sergeant would normally be the one addressing the company unless there was something special going on.
The captain wasted no time in singling out the 4th Platoon and said, “All I want to know is who put up that flag on that tower,” as he pointed in that direction. Then it happened, just like we rehearsed it. With a snapping sound, every man in the platoon, more than 50, raised their right hands in admission. We were all smiling when we did it; it was just too cool to be doing this, standing there with chips on our shoulders proud as we could be, yet respectful. When the hands went up, we watched as the captain’s jaw dropped open in disbelief. At this point, our drill sergeant turned around to see what had happened. At first he was surprised, but then a big, wide smile appeared. He said to us that if we were going to stick together like that, then he was going to stick together with us, and with that, he turned back around to face the captain, raised his right hand high and said, “I’m with them!”
So there we stood, the Mighty 4th Platoon with all of our hands in the air, standing just as tall as a patch of Louisiana pines. Seconds later, the captain just smiled and shook his head and said, “Okay, Okay” as he motioned to put our hands down. “Listen…the General’s office called this morning and told me that if I didn’t get that flag down, the cadre would have to pull guard duty around the base of the tower twenty-four hours a day until it came down. I don’t care who put it up, I just want it down! Will somebody just please take it down?”
“I will, I will,” shouted out a 4th Platoon member. “I’ll take it down!” The captain gave his approval and a couple of guys ran off. We all watched as they climbed the tower and removed the flag, being careful not to drop it. Within a short time they were back and had folded the sheet like you would fold a real flag and presented it to the Captain. He graciously accepted the flag, stating he would hang it in his office on the wall behind his desk. I don’t know if he was all that honored by it, or if he was just glad he and his officers weren’t going to have to pull guard duty. Maybe it was both, but in either case he hung it up and we were all proud as hell.
Later on, our drill sergeant told us he had never seen a group of guys stick together like that before and he was proud to be our drill sergeant. He went on to explain that in the army, it’s all about sticking together and acting as one…especially if you are in combat. I guess he paid us the highest compliment he could have when he said, “I’d be proud to lead you all into battle.”
This was definitely a Kodak moment for me. I love this story. I love it because it’s true. We were just a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears youngsters playing soldier. It was a foolish thing to do, no doubt, but we did it anyway. Thankfully, it had a happy ending, and I’ll be forever grateful for the experience in being a part of something that brought so much pride to our unit. That is something that can never be taken away.
Graduation and Beyond
Week number eight finally arrived, and that meant graduation. We spent most of the week rehearsing for the ceremony, with a lot of marching and drilling. We were supposed to look sharp for the guests who came to see us on our big day. Once you graduated, you would receive your orders for the next phase of your training. Some would get to go home for a few days and others would move on to their new assignment.
A couple of days before graduation, they gave us a questionnaire. They wanted to know what we thought of our experience while we were there and who we thought would make a good leader from our particular squad. We were to complete the questionnaire and turn it in ASAP.
I can’t remember if it was before or after graduating, but I was told that I had gotten the most votes from my fellow squad members and that it qualified me for Leadership School. This meant that I would be going to a two-week leadership course; if I successfully completed it, I would be a squad leader when I got to my new company for advanced training. I have to be honest here and admit I wasn’t happy. Yes, it made me feel good that my fellow squad members thought that way of me, but I wanted to go home, I needed a break, but I didn’t have a choice. When you are in the army, you have to follow orders, so I packed my duffle bag and reported for my next assignment.
Rusty and Reynaldo did the same thing. Rusty received orders to go to Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio for medic training, and Reynaldo got orders to go to Fort Sill in Oklahoma for artillery training. This marked the first time since we had become best friends that Rusty and I would be separated and going in different directions. We were wondering if we would ever pick up where we had left off. Our other friend and leader, Jimmy, was already in Vietnam, assigned to the Fourth Division.
Leadership School
Once I got to Leadership School, I met a guy from Beaumont, Texas. When you are in the service, being from the same state practically makes you related, so we hit it off right away. His name was Claude. He was tall and lanky, but very likeable. He seemed to be more experienced at life than me, and I would find myself tagging along like a little brother. He provided me with a different perspective on being in this school. He said it was a stroke of luck. As squad leaders we would be giving orders to others and we wouldn’t have to pull any guard duty or KP duty. That sounded good to me and it got me to re-think it and helped me improve my attitude.
Armed with a new attitude, I was doing my best to keep my head on straight. I hadn’t seen my family or girlfriend in quite a while and I was homesick. The last thing I needed was bad news, and it came in the form of a letter…a Dear John letter. Judy was breaking up with me. I couldn’t believe it. It crushed me. I was crazy in love with her. How could she do this to me?
As much as I tried to get her to change her mind, it didn’t work. We were through. My heart was broken, but I had to find a way to deal with it. If it wasn’t for Claude trying to keep my spirits up, I don’t know how far it would have dragged me down.
The two weeks were over soon. Claude and I successfully completed the course and were given our new orders. We were assigned to the same company and we would be staying at Fort Polk to attend Advanced Individual Training (AIT) for Infantry.
Advanced Individual Training
The new place looked a lot like the old place—same dirt, same type of barracks. Only this time Claude and I and the rest of the leadership group were given black arm bands with sergeant stripes on them to wear over our sleeves. Then we were introduced as “your squad leaders.” The drill sergeants stressed the fact that an order from one of us, was like getting an order from one of them. Now more than ever it seemed like having gone to this school was the best thing that could have happened to me.
There was one more surprise waiting for us squad leaders. We were shown where our squads were to bunk down and then we were shown to our private rooms where we would be sleeping. These private rooms had doors! We couldn’t believe our luck. Our own rooms? No way! It definitely brought home the reality that rank has its privileges.
Once we all got settled in, training began with a purpose. It was still very physical, endurance-type training, but there was now more hands-on training with different types of weapons. Camping out seemed to be a way of life.