Back in 1966, after I completed basic training at Ft. Polk, Louisiana, I was assigned to Ft. Hood, Texas and the 2nd Armored Division. Although the Viet Nam conflict was at its height, I was lucky enough to complete my entire military service within 200 miles of home, and commuted to Houston almost every weekend.
As a member of the 2nd AD information office – I was the entire radio-TV section of the public information office – I was attached to the 502nd Admin. Company. This was a company larger than some battalions. Most company members worked in the division offices of personnel or finance, but the platoon I was in was also home for guys who worked in the post office, the chaplain’s office, special services (the gym) and the office of the judge advocate. We shared a hall in the barracks with the company cooks.
It didn’t take long for soldiers in the line outfits – Infantry, Cavalry, Artillery, etc. to figure out that you just didn’t mess with guys from the Admin Company. They might not be the toughest guys in the EM Club that night, but the next day they were the guys handling your payroll, leave time and duty station, and the popular saying of the time was true- Payback could be a bitch.
One of the most memorable members of the company was a Sp4 from the post office. Rene Glaupion was a Creole from so far back in the Louisiana swamps that it’s a wonder he ever found his way into the service. He was dumb as a stump, and after 12 years in the Army, he was finally denied the opportunity to reenlist.
Glaupion was the nastiest man that I have ever met. He was the only soldier I ever knew to actually get a GI shower. He wore one set of fatigues per week – put them on on Monday morning and wore them until Saturday afternoon. If he had K-P on Monday, he wore the same greasy sweat-stained uniform all week, and even after that GI shower (the platoon threw him in the shower and scrubbed him down with stiff brushes and dishwasher soap) he showed up at reveille in the same –still wet - set of fatigues he was wearing when he was hauled into the shower the night before .
Terry Collins was our company supply clerk. He was a really nice fellow, and most of the time his job was pretty easy. His one stress-filled day was Sheet Day – every Thursday, the entire company would remove the sheets and pillow cases from their bunks and line up at the supply room to be issued freshly cleaned sheets.
Imagine several hundred young men, lined up in a not very military formation and all wanting their fresh sheets NOW! They are all in a hurry to get their bunks made in time to get to breakfast before heading for work. Yells, curses and catcalls were the order of the day, along with a generous helping of pushing and shoving. The only thing separating Terry from mob violence is a wooden counter.
In desperation one Thursday, Terry pointed to some sheets on the top shelf– they had somehow got caught in the ironing machine and were baked to a toasty brown.
“Hey! Listen up!” he yelled. “You see those brown sheets up there? Those are Glaupion’s sheets! Personnel can transfer you to Bumfuk, Egypt, Finance can F*** up your pay, but you mess with me and I will issue you Glaupion’s sheets! Now, shut the Hell up and get back in line.”
I don’t think he ever had a problem after that.
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