Random Recollections Commanders Who Have Influenced My Life

My arrival at Camp Marfa, Texas in early September 1928, following my graduation from West Point, was less than auspicious. The Southern Pacific train, “The Argonaut,” unloaded me at 0200 in what looked to me - fresh from the beautiful Hudson Valley - like utter desolation. The only obvious living person, the telegraph operator, directed me across the street to the St. George Hotel. I floundered through ankle deep dust, dragging my foot locker and suitcase, and banged on the door of the hotel. A voice from above yelled, “Come up.” I found the stairs on the outside of the building. St. George was on high. I was given aroom where I flopped - plumb tired out. Shortly after 0700 the next morning, even before I had a chance to eat, the manager said, “They are downstairs looking for YOU.” I went down the outer stairs and was greeted by a sloppy soldier with a sloppy salute who said, “I’m Private Ike House. They sent me fur yuh.” He awaited me with a shiny buckboard and a pair of beautifully matched mules. After loading my worldly possessions, we set out through the dust, and after about a mile, I was deposited at the front door of Headquarters Camp Marfa and 1st Cavalry. House said, “Leeutenint, I’ll wait.” Entering the building and turning left into a large room marked “Adjutant,” I was first greeted and welcomed by Master Sergeant Bee, the personnel sergeant major. He had me sign in and asked for three copies of my orders. At that time the Army never settled for one copy of anything, and the onion skin copies of every correspondence formed a rainbow - almost. Sergeant Bee led me next to Second Lieutenant Cary B. Hutchinson, the personnel adjutant. He did not greet me, but did say, “I suppose you know you’re a day late,” followed by “NO le hace. Second lieutenants are expendable.” While he was escorting me to Captain Wade Gatchell, the adjutant, I tried to figure out how I was a day late since I had left El Paso at 8:OO p.m. the night before. The captain was pleasant, and after a short briefing on customs and duties in Camp Marfa and notifying me that I was to be assigned to Troop E, commanded by Captain Donald R. 40 ARMOR: The Magazine of Mobile Warfare

“... My arrival at Camp Marfa, Texas, in early September, 1928... was less than auspicious... 8, Dunkle, he said, “Now we’ll go see the colonel.” The CO, Colonel Conrad Babcock, was impressive from the second I walked in his door. He was tall and straight, beautifully groomed and dressed in the finest of boots and breeches, a tailor-made blouse, and a highly polished Sam Brown belt. I turned out my snappiest salute and reported. He said, “Myers, we’re glad to have you in the Black Hawks, the Army’s finest cavalry regiment. If you know your profession, work hard, keep out of trouble, and ‘obey orders with dispatch, you’ll do well.” He left no doubt in my mind what would happen if I didn’t do all those things. I had a very short wait to find out. In the 20s and 30s, there was an extreme shortage of officers, yet all functions of a garrison had to be performed; hence, the term “special duty.” All the lieutenants, especially the new ones, were honored with this additional work. My share arrived at officer’s call about two weeks after my arrival. I was handed three sets of special orders. One appointed me post signal officer, one appointed me post E&Rofficer, and one appointed me Post Exchange officer. At noon mess that day, my older compatriots wasted no time in clueing me in. Behind the BOQ, and about 75 yards away, was a large ramshackle building, much in need of repair (there was no money for temporary buildings), and painted a bilious green. I spent the first afternoon exploring. At one end was a small radio room, where two men kept us in contact with Fort Sam Houston (8th Corps Area) and Fort Bliss (1st Cavalry Division). I had no office there, but did have a great deal of property and the responsibility for the two men. The central and much larger part of the building was the movie theater, which held 200 seats and a small stage where the regimental band performed concerts during inclement weather. The other end was two stories high, housing the library and the chaplain’s office. This is the part of the building on which we will soon focus our attention. On a Sunday morning, shortly after becoming E&R officer, I was peacefully sleeping in when there came aloud banging on my door. It was 7 a.m. I opened the door and there was the colonel’s orderly. “The Colonel wants to see you out back,” says he. Dressing in record tiine, I went out back. There sat the colonel, majestically, on his horse, looking about 19 feet tall and as severe as an executioner. He said not a word, but pointed to the second floor of my building. After looking for an eternity (30 seconds), I did not see anything unusual. He then said, “There is a pane out of the bottom left-hand corner of the first window from the left.” You have one hour until (glancing at his watch) 8:15 a.m. to replace it.” “Yes, Sir,” said I in my best manner, and saluted. He rode off, and I scratched my head and started worrying. The utilities at Camp Marfa, as well as the fire engine, were handled by our one civilian employee, whose name I did not know. His location was equally blank and where he kept his supplies was a mystery. Then I thought of 1st Sergeant Anamosa of E troop, my frequent savior, and I flew to his house. He was up, dressed and, most important, wasnot flustered. He had an idea. He led me to the utilities building near the hospital. It was locked, so he broke the door; we went in, found a pane of glass, some mixed putty, a putty knife, and a ladder. With these items and a lot of energy, we double-timed to the seat of trouble. There I held the ladder, and he went up and put the glass in. At about that time, up on the hill, we saw the colonel come out of his house, so we carried the ladder to the kitchen of the BOQ, where Anamosa also hid, and I got back to the building before the colonel could arrive. He looked up at the new glass and turned to me: “Well done, Lieutenant, well done.” That accolade, the most impressive of my life, is still fresh in my memory 59 years later. * * * Came Spring-of 1929, and it was time forthe annual target season. E Troop was scheduled to go to the rifle range at daybreak on a Monday, but at officer’s call the Saturday before range Monday, Major Herb Watkins, S3 of the regiment, asked me out of the blue if I would like to accompany him and his wife, Geneva, to the Fischer Ranch on Sunday. I was overcome to have such rank show any social interest in me and I accepted with pleasure. I had met Lee and Catherine Fischer onIy once. That Sunday afternoon, we toured the ranch. When we returned to the house, some serious drinking of tequila and grapefruit juice started. Poor stupid me. Here I was, a neophyte trying to keep up with experts. The result was inevitable. Before dinner, I was overtaken with a serious nauseating disease. After cleansing. my innards, I was put to bed. I woke up at 3:30 a.m. and suddenly remembered about the range. 1 asked Major Watkins to please take me into Camp Marfa, but the Watkins and the Fischers were hellbent to watch the sun rise. Finally, Geneva took pity on me and agreed to take me to the post. As we passed the edge of the target range, I saw the troop already near the firing point, so I yelled at her to stop. I jumped out, climbed the fence, and raced the 200 yards to the troop. When I arrived, I found that Sergeant Anamosa had brought the troop out and that the captain had not yet arrived. Most wonderful was the fact that Surouski, my orderly, had brought my horse out. He was on the picket line fully equipped. As the captain arrived, 1 was busy setting up, coaching, and scoring points. I was also relaxing and heaving sighs of relief. I had gotten away with my little indiscretion. But at about 0900, here came the colonel’s orderly a t a gallop. “Lieutenant Myers, the colonel wants you in his office at once!” So I mounted Snow Ball and off we galloped for the headquarters. As I walked in through the adjutant’s office, Lieutenant Hutchinson gave me the old thumbs down and Captain Gatchell glared. July-Au-st 1986 ARMOR: The Magazine of Mobile Warfare 41

After reaching the colonel’s office and reporting, he let me stand rigidly at attention while he looked me up and down. Finally, he said, “That was quite a demonstration of speed and agility which you put on at the range this morning. What were you at the Academy, a sprinter or along-distance man? You showed capabilities of both. To run like that with a hangover impresses me.” All I could say was, “Yes, Sir.” Then he said, “Where were you?” I told him. He sort of squinted and grinned. “I hope you have learned a lesson. Both of those families are noted for their ability to put away and hold their booze. You had better get more experience before trying to go that pace. You have violated no regulations, and you were on the job on time, so I can’t give you a reprimand, either oral or written. However, you need some fatherly advice: Look out for people like that and go easy on the booze. I like my evening drinks, too, but with moderation. Dismissed.” From then on, Colonel Babcock could do no wrong. He was my hero, my example, my guide for life. Why he never became a general, I don’t know. Along about August of 1929, I got the urge to learn to fly. Probably the $100.00 a month flight pay was the principal incentive. In September, I was ordered to Brooks Field for flying training, but by February, I had washed out and was back to Camp Marfa to find Colonel Babcock gone. I never saw him again. The new CO was Colonel Jason

S. Fairweather. In appearance - and as I later found out, behavior - he was almost completely opposite from Colonel Babcock. The new colonel was not a snappy dresser like Colonel Babcock; he didn’t ride much, and, in fact, he made no ripples on the placid surface of life on the Border. But he, too, had a decided influence upon my developing career. During late Fall of 1930, my platoon had to go to Fort Clark for the Draper Trophy Test. Then we had the Escobar Revolution, so I was away a lot and didn’t see the * * * colonel much until March or April, 1931. One day that Spring, I was OD. At about 2:OO a.m. the sergeant of the guard came and woke me up with the news that a drunk coming up the Presidio Road had missed the turn at the corner of the reservation, had plowed through the fence out by the powder magazine, and was now sitting in his car sound asleep. I went out in my car (I now had a Model A Ford) and, sure enough, the sergeant was right. Neither of us had any idea what to do, so I told the sergeant and the sentry to put the man in my car. I took him to the guard house and locked him up with the other prisoners. At about 6:30 a.m., all hell broke loose. This time it wasn’t the colonel’s orderly, but the colonel himself, who pulled me out of bed. Such a cussin’ 1 had never experienced! After awhile, the colonel simmered down and I found out that my “special prisoner” was Pearl Jackson, a rancher and a hunting companion of the colonel. I was told in no uncertain terms to get Jackson out of the guardhouse and never, by God, never to again put a civilian in it. It might be one of the colonel’s friends. * * * By this time, two and one-half years after I had arrived, a few of us bachelors in the BOQ had developed a Saturday afternoon ritual. During the week, we would manage to scrape together enough money to buy a bottle of tequila. So we would call Trini, who was the Marfa combination taxi driver and bootlegger, and soon we’d have our bottle. Then we would sit in someone’s room, dissect the affairs of the week and of the world and split the bottle, mixed with grapefruit juice. A fifth of tequila split four or five ways, once a week, created no drunkards. Sometime during the early summer, a major - who for reasons best known to me shall remain nameless - was ordered to Camp Marfa from Bliss. His reputation as a teetotaler and crusader preceded him. Less than a month after his arrival we, the clique, were enjoying our usual Saturday fifth when in he walked and caught us cold. He dragged out his notebook, took our names, and left with the cheery remark, “You’ll hear more about this.” Come Monday morning the colonel’s orderly made the rounds and invited us all to meet with the colonel in his office at 1100. When we arrived, we found five chairs in front of the colonel’s desk and, after reporting, we were asked to sit down. Then he started. “Major tells me you young men were drinking tequila in Lieutenant Ridge’s quarters at 4:OO p.m. on Saturday.” “Yes, Sir.” “You know that Prohibition is “Yes, Sir.” “I know it too, and I drink tequila, too. But there is a difference - I don’t get caught. Your offense is getting caught. Surely you can do better than that.” As a closing remark, he said, “Ask me next time.” We did, and he came. After that, we had no more trouble, except now we had to produce two bottles. the law of the land.” * * * In July 1931, we were told that the 1st Cavalry was to leave soon and go to Fort Knox to become an armored regiment. The officers would choose - either go to Knox or stay with the horses. I chose horses and was, in August, ordered to the Cavalry School at Fort Riley, Kansas. I graduated in May of 1932 and was ordered to Fort Ringgold, Texas to join the 12th Cavalry. The CO of my squadron, the 2nd, was Lieutenant Colonel Robert C. Rodgers. In keeping with custom, to which I was now accustomed, several “special duty” jobs soon came my way. One of them was post ordnance officer. This duty carried with it one enlisted man, Staff Sergeant Kennedy, responsibility for the powder magazine, and the duty of firing the reveille and retreat gun. The instrument for performing this latter duty was a Navy relic of the pre-Spanish American War, a pedestal mounted, three-inch gun. With it were shell cases, a small supply of black powder, a box of wads, a rammer and sponge, and a box of percussion caps. Ordinarily, it was Sergeant Kennedy who load- 42 ARMOR: The Magazine of Mobile Warfare n Y 1:s “... We had only five rounds left and the general was due any minute..... ed and fired the shells each day. But in October of 1933 an unusual event occurred. Brigadier General Ben Lear, commanding general of the 1st Cavalry Division, announced that he was coming to inspect us and that he was coming in an AIRPLANE! No general had ever done this before; it was a real first. In fact, no one could find anywhere in the files or records any evidence that any general had ever visited Ringgold since Winfield Scott supervised the building of Ringgold Barracks in 1847. The garrison became a beehive of activity and the study of regulations. Sergeant Kennedy and I practiced loading the shells fast and firing a salute for days. We were soon congratulating ourselves on being able to fire around in seven seconds - almost the time required by regulations. Then came the fateful day. We did not know exactly when the general would arrive, but we did know it had to be fairly early to enabIe him to inspect and fly back before dark. Just before 0900, we heard an airplane, so E Troop, the escort troop, readied itself behind the barracks and Sergeant Kennedy loaded around while I stood poised with the lanyard in my hands. The plane landed and taxied toward the hangar. E Troop advanced at a smart trot, executed 4s right into line in front of the plane. Captain Thomas commanded, “Draw saber. Present saber.” And as the sabers came up to Present, I pulled the lanyard. I kept on pulling the lanyard as fast as Sergeant Kennedy could load and had fired eight rounds before we saw the E Troop bugler waving his arms and galloping toward us yelling at the top of his voice. We stopped. He arrived with the news that the plane was from the Coast Guard in Corpus Christi. The pilot had landed to find out where he was. It was easy for E Troop to return sabers and return to its position of readiness. Not so for Myers and Kennedy. We were between a rock and a hard place. We had only five rounds left and the general was due any minute. We rushed to the magazine and started frantically loading more rounds. We had it almost done when we heard another plane. So we rushed back to the gun and got ready to fire. This time it was the general. So I said to Kennedy, “Let’s fire slowly and maybe they won’t count.” There was no immediate reaction to a nine-round salute. I hurried back to my troop. After missing the inspection of barracks, supply room, and mess, I joined my platoon at the picket line where the men were standing to heel prepared to groom. When the general appeared, he at once asked me, “How do you fold a saddle blanket?” Well, the grapevine had told us that the general always asked lieutenants this question, so I had “spec’ed” it cold. I made a max. Then he walked down the picket line and near the end he grabbed a handful of a horse’s skin and pinched. I noticed the skin was slow in returning to normal, but I hadn’t the least idea why. He asked me, and I had to say, “I don’t know, Sir.” He said, “Hidebound. Find out.” Strike Two. Then he went to F Troop. I asked the captain for permission to go help Sergeant Kennedy load shells for the departure salute. “Yes.” he said. “And vou better. bv a damn site, do better than nine rounds.” While at home for lunch, a messenger came with orders to assemble in the colonel’s office at 1:00 p.m. At 1:00 all 12 of the officers were in attendance. The general came in with the colonel, and we were told to line up around the office with Colonel Rodgers on the right, next were three old captains - ex-enlisted men from WWI - then the lieutenants. Many of the old officers did not have their brass qhined, nor were they in neatly pressed uniforms. The general looked them over and sarcastically pointed out their lack of evident pride in appearance. Then he came to me. He looked me over very carefully then said, “Appearance good. But, my God, a nine-round salute!” Then he stepped to the last officer, Lieutenant Neil K. Kane, fresh from West Point. The General looked him over carefully, then said, “Humpfh! You look pretty good, but give you a year or two here and you’ll look as bad as the rest.” He then turned to Colonel Rodgers: “Colonel Rodgers, no departure salute. Your critique will arrive in the mail. You may soon expect anew assignment. Let’s go.”

SAMUELL. MYERS, retired in 1963 after serving as deputy CG, Eighth Army. He served as a cavalry officer in Texas and Kansas after commissioning from West Point in 1928, and with the 26th Cavalry in the Philippines in the late 1930s. During his long and distinguished career, he also commanded the Armor Training Center at Fort Knox. ARMOR: The Magazine of Mobile Warfare 43