Command Influence and what really happened in real life

I wrote a novel, Command Influence,about a young First Lieutenant JAG officer who got in trouble from the first hour he appeared at his first assignment and stayed in trouble for his three year tour.  It is a fictionalization of a real trial and real incidents that happened to me in1961 when I was in JAG, and this Rant/blog tells what really happened.  Command Influence can be bought on Amazon.com.

Friends and Kin:

It’s

28 May, 2007

, starting out as a bluebird day here in

Clearwater

, with promises of more sunshine and heat. That is why this is called the Sunshine state. The good thing is the wonderful wind that keeps everything in motion and dries the sweat.

About fifteen years ago I wrote Command Influence, a novel about an Army JAG Lieutenant who got in trouble the first day he arrived at his duty assignment and stayed in trouble for his entire three years thereafter because of having some integrity.  It is fiction, and though it is out of print, I note there are thirty or more copies available on Amazon, Yahoo and other booksellers.  I intend to revive it and my other novel, Dawn’s Revenge, along with publishing all my other writings this year and will send out notices about them on a website I will put up then.

I had to fictionalize the story, which was set in 1961 when I was at

Fort

 

Benning

, for some things were a bit less than complimentary to some of the personae in the real world.  You have to be careful because you can get sued. I read of an author who described the villain as being fat and bald, with a van dyke beard, whereas in real life he was thin with a full head of hair. But when the book finally came out the guy actually got fat, bald and grew a van dyke beard and sued her for libel and slander. 

The character in the book is named Riggs McCall. I thought the name Riggs had a rebellious sound to it. I was promised by my Congressman Overton Brooks of Shreveport that on completion of law school I would be sent to

Europe

if I joined the Army JAG.  The draft was in full bloom during that time, and those of us in college (or in law, medicine, etc.) had a deferment until completion, and as soon as we graduated they jerked the tether that had been held with just enough tension to keep us aware that our lives weren’t our own until we had served our military obligation.  I didn’t want the life of a private, and preferred the Navy, but the Army JAG acceptance came in first so I thought it wiser to go on to a three year obligation, serving in Europe, the land of my dreams, rather than chance being drafted. So the enticement of

Europe

justified the extra year in the service, and being an officer had a bit more to offer than the barracks life of a private.  Besides the boot camp (the cuisinart mixmaster) didn’t appeal to me if I had a choice, even if I had grown up in the country, hunting and fishing and playing baseball and basket ball and being very physical. The promise of

Europe

trumped everything.

So off I went first to Fort Jackson, SC, to report in, get my uniform, (and I looked pretty good in it if I may say so for in those days I had a

30 inch

waist and six 39 jacket. I was pretty spiff with that silver bar on my collar and on my shoulders. I went from there to

Charlottesville

,

VA

, for “training”, and I say “training” for we were a “special indoctrination” group to fill the emergency gap of lawyers in the Army and got three weeks of school where we learned we were soldiers first and lawyers second and not to forget that when there was any conflict.  In other words, forget the idea of what is right or wrong, just do what is best for the good order of the service as so deemed by the command.  We spent one day at

Fort Lee

doing Jumping Jacks, shooting the rifle at the range, and then back to

Charlottesville

. I did spend lots of time on the range shooting .45 and rifles, etc., but not as part of initial induction training. We were still civilians when we got to our duty assignment.  We had not been put through the cuisinart to get put in fear enough to know that we were no longer part of the civilian community be were in the ARMY and were soldiers. Our civilian attitude had not been stomped out of us when we arrived. We barely knew how to put our brass (insignia) on.

I arrived at Second Infantry Division,

Fort Benning

,

Georgia

, in August, 1960.  I was a civilian in uniform, expecting to be treated as a human being, a man, rather than something else. I learned different pretty quickly.

Fort

 

Benning

reservation is huge, containing two separate military installations. There is the Second Infantry Division out at Sand Hill, and The Infantry Center down at Main Post.  The Second Infantry Division had a shoulder patch of a black shield around an Indian Head, and the

Infantry

 

Center

is a blue shield with a white sword pointing up. John Lennon wore a field jacket with the Second Division’s patch.  I remember seeing Forrest Gump when he was on a talk show, and John Lennon was superimposed on the scene as were the other so cleverly done, and he had the patch on that jacket. I found it a little offensive.

The Infantry is the ground soldier, and the viewpoint throughout history is that the ground soldier has won every war, for they were there to take it over, superceding the Marines, Navy and later the Air Force. So the Infantry has a bit of arrogance in it’s position military, and has the viewpoint that you follow, lead or get the hell out of the way, and I do like that.  But the Infantry (or military as a whole) has no use for lawyers. Lawyers, along with whores, camp followers and mule skinners, are just part of the baggage, and they are trained killers, looking for a justification to do what they are trained for and loving it generally.  Civilians are considered to be “feather merchants,” and lawyer are on the lower rung of that category. The infantry soldier says “shoot him,” and the lawyer says “better not,” citing some arcane authority.  But he is needed in spite of it all.

So I reported in at the JAG office, and was sent directly to the SJA (Staff Judge Advocate) Colonel Sterling.  He didn’t get up, but sat there looking at me with those icy blue eyes set in that florid face that spoke of much gin even that morning.  He was almost bright pink, and you could see the bright skin showing through his snow-white flat-top.  I could read his mind. What the hell did they send me this time? He was hoping for a soldier, and I was one in name and uniform only and that he could tell at a glance. I saluted, and he allowed an instant to pass before returning the salute which indicated he was reserving judgment, but his mind was already made up about me.  I was young looking for twenty five, and young acting for I was just a damn kid fresh out of school with no worldly experience except working at my father’s store, working at Griffon’s drugstore in BR for two years, and several law clerking jobs. Oh yes, I had worked on the pipeline as an oiler on a backhoe one summer in

Washington

 

State

. I wrote a rant about that experience last year.

During the first hour Colonel Sterling told me that I was to plead this corporal guilty to forgery at a Special Court Martial the next morning. I asked if I could see the accused, and was told there was no need, that the next morning before trial was time enough. I had never even seen the inside of a courtroom and knew only that a Special had the maximum sentence as six months in the stockade.  I asked if I could see him that day, and the good Colonel flushed a brighter red and his eyes actually bulged. He seemed to choke when he told me to go see the prisoner in the stockade. I thought he was going to explode.  Uh oh. My first screw-up.

The corporal said he had been signing his friend’s name to chit books at the NCO (Non Commissioned Officer’s) Club (for sergeants, etc.) and he had been given permission and had been doing it for some time.  I knew that permission was a defense, and carried this great news back to my SJA with some trepidation. This news was rewarded by

Sterling

literally going to the ceiling.  He appeared to be in a state of apoplexy, tell me through clinched teeth and tight lips, “You are going to try him by General Court Martial next week. Dismissed.”  I could tell by the demeanor of the private who escorted me to my new very bare office consisting of  only a worn oak desk and dilapidated swivel chair.  I had never seen a court martial, any kind of trial, and had only witnessed an argument an attorney had made to a judge. I didn’t want to be a trial lawyer. I wanted to do taxes and corporations, even though I had been a debate and oratorical champion in high school.

I was alone in that world, and was already personae non grata in the office for I had openly opposed the colonel the first day on the job.  I couldn’t plead this guy guilty if he wasn’t guilty.  I was suppose to have 90 days at this post and then be sent to

Europe

.  Could I last 90 days?  I had already shot myself in the foot. 

I did understand some elementary military chain of command. A Captain, usually a company commander, makes charges against one in his unit. He cannot be wrong, for if he is and the guy is not guilty, this goes on the Captain’s record and can harm the thing he wants most, promotion. The charges to go the battalion Commander, a bird Colonel (with the eagle on his shoulders) who approves the charges, and recommends them on up to the General in charge of the Post, who relying on the data approves and recommends it for trial. It goes to the SJA who reviews and says all is in order and recommends for trial. So everyone on the line-up has to be right. If wrong, it goes on their record and could harm promotion. Everything must be squeaky clean.  Here I was, a mere lieutenant, throwing a monkey wrench into their lives and future promotions.

I wanted some help, and I thought of my old LSU law school classmate, whom I will call Private Kelly, who had chosen to join the Army with a six month obligation which was better than being drafted for two or in JAG for three.  I didn’t realize that you shouldn’t fraternize with the enlisted personnel, and there was even more that I didn’t know about Kelly which, had I known this piece of data, I would have steered as clear from him as I would a charging water buffalo.  He said he would sit in the trial with me, and he had never tried a case and knew nothing, but he was company, even if he was a little goofy acting.

I didn’t know that Kelly had joined for a six month tour, had been already extended because of international tensions during that time (cold war,

Berlin

and Cuban crisis, etc.) and was now on his third six months tour going past 18 months in. He had missed some employment opportunity and was pretty bitter about having been extended and was still a private—and a very outspoken one which you should not be in the army.  Keep your mouth shut and your pants zipped, and salute anything that moves if you are a private, but Kelly was opinionated and pissed.

The Second Infantry Division, supposedly being battle ready, was always having these mini-parades when the Commanding General of the Third Army would come down from HQ at Atlanta and review the troops who stood at attention while he walked along in front of them, smacking his pants leg with his swagger stick,  checking uniforms, having casual conversation with the enlisted men.  It just so happen that Kelly was on the front row when the big man stopped in front of him and asked, “Private, how do you like

Fort

 

Benning

?”  Kelly’s rejoinder was, “Sir, how do you get out of this chicken-shit outfit.”   

Well, being a new arrival, and little better than a raw recruit, I didn’t know that this was the talk of the Division, and Kelly was now the biggest untouchable of all.  It showed in the way he was treated, and the way I was treated, in the trial.

It seemed that the Sergeant whose name was forged was unavailable. I was so ignorant that I didn’t know I could have forced his appearance though he had been suddenly sent away on bivouac. So I only had the testimony of the sad sack corporal. 

Sterling

got the most experienced prosecutor to flay me, and flay me he did. 

Sterling

outranked the panel of officers sitting in judgment and paced back and forth during the trial, giving Johnny McNatt the prosecutor a thumbs up every time a killing blow was made. The array was a Bird colonel in the center, flanked by two light colonels (with silver oak leaf cluster) flanked by two majors (with gold oak leaf clusters) flanked by two captains.  They gave the poor bastard five years.

The following day I told

Sterling

I wanted a transfer.  He told me to catch a MATS (military air transport) to DC and see a woman we called General Burns (a high ranking civilian in charge of all JAG transfers) in the Pentagon.

Sterling

had no use for me, as I was trouble.  He knew it wasn’t over for it all had to be reviewed.  Burns transferred me to main post, Benning. I told her I wanted to get as far away from Sterling as possible, but there was no other vacancy anywhere and she put me as close as possible yet not in his command. 

So I went to Main Post.  When I got there, I learned my Congressman had died of a heart attack, and received an efficiency report from

Sterling

that caused the edges of the envelope to curl.  You get an ER when you are moved from one place to another.  It was bad. I got a call from the Executive Officer of Second Infantry Division, who told me that I should query the report for it was totally off the chart and

Sterling

was a bad actor and they were looking for a way to handle him. He was a big time alcoholic. The Exec showed me how to write it and what to say.  That report and my version of trial went to the Board of Review, which reviews such court martials and they reduced the sentence to time served, which by then was over six months---being what the boy would have served had I plead him guilty to start with.

Sterling

was passed over for bird Colonel, and I was passed over for Captain because of the report.  The rest of the story is in Command Influence where Riggs McCall lands at Main Post and is given shit details in the JAG office there for he had offended the command by causing trouble. But he gets his revenge and captaincy before being discharged honorably three years later after getting the first acquittal in fifteen years by general court martial in a highly visible case that embarrassed the command big time. 

Back to Kelly.  He was extended three times, and was literally crazy.  I saw him while defending this case which was the subject of that novel, and he said “you watch, I am going to get out of this damn place in a month, I know how.”  I watched, and learned a month later that Kelly was indeed discharged.  It seems that he had posted a notice on the bulletin board in the Second Infantry Division Headquarters this note:   Notice, I, Private Kelley, will, as of 0700 hours on 20 November 1962 (I can’t remember the precise date)  I will suck the dick of anybody in Second Infantry Division.”  Kelly was promptly released to return to civilian life.

I went on to get one acquittal after another, really not liking it for it was so damn tedious and stressful, but as soon as I walked into the courtroom things would change for me---I became a damn warrior and things cooled and time slowed to a beautiful easy pace and I was in control. It was like skiing down a smooth slope, like I play pingpong, fast but just right,  when there is no time and everything becomes concentrated to a pinpoint of intention. It was that way when I pitched baseball in high school. Everything disappeared except the batter and that catchers mitt—I even forgot there was a crowd. But getting ready for trial was white knuckles and gritted teeth and knotted guts. There was a kind of magic in walking into that courtroom. I tried over 87 very big jury trials in my time plus over 200 complex multiday judge trials and prepared hundreds which never went to trial. I never wanted to be a trial lawyer. You get what you resist.

So that’s all there is today, boys and girls. I had to write another rant before getting back to my book and other things. 

Here are some attempts at Haiku:

  Hummingbird
in the red blossoms
which is which

morning mist
hangs in trees
drifting

clouds
in puddle
so like the sky

yellow leaf
fluttering
Autumn

Blue Balloons
tug on tether
wanting sky

Lottery
fifty million
dreams of idleness

sweet breeze
bring birdsong
and jasmine

silver buildings
pull down the sky
double vision

early fog hugs my roses
wet kisses

ldsledge

October 05

Look around and find something you haven’t seen before. There’s more there to see.  Tell it thank you for allowing it to be seen.  The Indians and most cultures thanked the kill for allowing it to be eaten, followed by our saying the blessing at dinner. Amazing what happens when you truly appreciate what is around you.

LD

Comments

[Matia]

People should read this.