Monday, 4 March, 1968, 163 days.
I woke up at 0530 hrs. and got dressed for reveille, but missed breakfast this morning because of the 4/46th’s IG (Inspector General) inspection. I worked on the hall detail this morning with Gary Williams. I took care of the mop and bucket cleanup. After work formation all I did was take care of the mail, which came in late this morning, as usual.
One of my three jobs with the 3rd Field Artillery and Missile Group is that of Mail Clerk. The other two are Unit Armorer and Repair and Utility (R&U). 3rd Group is a headquarters unit made up primarily of officers and enlisted men (EM) who are either clerks of some kind, or Temporary Duty Assignment (TDY) personnel waiting for orders to ship out, or awaiting their release from active duty (REFRAD).
My job requires me to remain in the barracks all day long, unless I’m distributing mail, or getting supplies for repairs. Most of the time I sit in the mail room which is a large closet containing letter cases that are labeled with the names of each unit member. The only thing that Top complained about today was the hole in my fatigue pocket. I guess to get to be an E-8 you have to fulfill the “RA” expectation of being a “Real Asshole.”
By the time lunch came around I was starving, since I hadn’t eaten yet today. The 4/46th were held up because of their IG so there was no line and I walked right in the door. Holster was head cook today, but even he couldn’t fuck up hamburgers. I can eat them rare or incinerated. After lunch I went back to the barracks and listened to the news with Paul Harvey, like most days.
I’m waiting for the afternoon mail and it’s late again. We got a new guy in today, his name is Angelucci. He’s from Brooklyn, New York and sounds like it with his strong accent. I introduced myself and we talked about how fucked up the army is. After I got the mail I had to go on my dreaded trip to the block house.
The block house is one of the single worst places to be, outside of the actual headquarters for the entire fort. About 80% of the unit’s officers were crammed in there like a secretary pool in a big office. Col. Majors, being a full bird colonel, had his own office, while his second in command, Lt. Colonel Newman had a little cubbyhole for an office. It gave him some privacy, but allowed him to see everything including the front entry door.
To me it seemed like his one delight daily was to taunt me about why he didn’t get a letter from his girl friend. The minute I entered that snake pit I could feel his ice cold gaze lock on me as I passed out the mail. Finally I had to tell him that I had nothing for him or hand him some official looking letter that would evoke his – “Grines, where’s the letter from my girl friend? I think that you’re holding out on me.” “give me a break” I’d think, as I nervously tried to see if he might let me know that it was a joke. How do you joke with a guy who already spent a tour in Vietnam and just volunteered for another one?
After I got off duty I deposited $20.00 in the bank and had .16 interest coming. Just knowing that I’m getting shorter changes my attitude about a lot of the things that normally bring me down. I sat with Rublay and Mitey for chow. They had meat loaf again with mashed potatoes and gravy and corn on the cob, with corn bread. I have Standby Driver Duty (S.D.) tonight, but Stevens took my duty while I went to the NCO club after work with Rublay and Mitey for happy hour. I only had a couple of gin and tonics, since I had to drive 2Lt Alvarado, the officer of the day, to the motor pool.
After I got back around 2030 hrs. from the motor pool, I went into the dayroom. The Monk was in there shooting pool with Mitey. He cut his hair down to the scalp after Top and the BC kept on his ass for the last two weeks to get a haircut. Knowing him there’s some sort of an ulterior or rebellious motive behind it.
The Monk, whose real name is Larry Perry is our unit’s square peg, rebel, nonconformist etc. He’s never done any hard time, but has gotten as close to it as anyone, without actually crossing over the line. It’s hard to figure out if he’s lucky or just smart. He’s the unit’s main connection to weed, and promises that various other mind expanding substances will soon be arriving from his friends back in San Francisco. Larry was a Hippie before anyone even heard about the counter culture. He’s a story teller, so you never knew if he’s telling you the truth or feeding you a line. He said that he let them draft him because of his fatalistic theology. He believes that nothing can happen to you unless it’s supposed to. Like if you went to Vietnam and ended up in the 1st Cavalry or the “Big Red One” it wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t your time. Your entire unit could be wiped out and you alone would remain alive, if it wasn’t your time.
I bowled in the league tonight. Currently I’m the only enlisted man on the team. The rest are officers, including colonel Majors, 3rd Group commander. We all rotate, and sometimes you bowl three weeks in a row, and then other times you skip a week, plus depending on assignments or duty some members have to be absent. I shot a 505 series, with a high game of 201. We took three points.
The unit that I was in before I got transferred to 3rd Group was the 395th Engineering Company. I was the company armorer. When a new guy was transferred into the unit, my job was to issue him a rifle and gas mask. The end of May in 1967 we got a new guy in. His name was Lonnie Pendleton, and he just got back from a 13 month tour in Vietnam. When I issued him his M-14 and gas mask we talked for a little bit.
“In a couple of weeks my wife and two year old daughter will be moving down to Lawton and I’ll be living off base.” He told me. “Until then I’ll be sleeping in the barracks.”
“What platoon are you in?” I asked.
“3rd platoon.” He answered. “I’m a generator repairman.”
“What unit were you in, in Nam?” I asked.
“I was with the 62nd Engineering Battalion at Camron Bay most of the time.” He said. “But I was attached to the 1st Cavalry Regiment for a few months when I first got there. I’ve only got 6 months left until I’m discharged in December, and then I’m going to school to get certified in refrigeration.”
A couple of weeks later we had our yearly maneuvers and war games exercises. Somehow during a mock ambush, live ammo got issued to some of the troops from the 442nd Ordnance Company, who made up the opposing force, instead of blanks. They fired on the lead truck of our convoy, and there were three NCO’s in the cab. All three of them were hit by the rounds, but Lonnie Pendleton was the only one fatally wounded and was dead from a head wound. How crazy is that after 13 months in Nam?
At 0950 hrs. I lit my last cigarette, and lay in bed until lights out, when I dropped my butt in the ash can on the side of my bunk, and went to sleep.
♪Jesus♬Rocks♬The♬World♪ 
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