A memoir of a Vietnam veteran
I stopped for gas before getting on the four-lane road that went through Williamsburg and on to Ft. Eustis. Evening was creeping in slowly, taking the swelter out of the day. I was mentally ready to report and have my adult life begin. I changed into my khaki uniform and put the top down on the Camaro. The car bored into the thickening Virginia night, the pine woods of the Great Dismal Swamp closed around me, the heavy, damp air tugged at the sleeves on my uniform.
Just before the Ft. Eustis exit the trees pulled away. A lane of pale blue light from a string of street lamps reached out toward me, beckoning me to the red brick guard station. I sat smugly in my seat as the white-gloved MP motioned me forward. I knew he had to be taking in the black body with the white bumblebee stripe and trim. I knew he had to be looking at the bright red interior and thinking, “Damn, is that car slick or what?”
“Excuse me Sir, would you pull your car over there…” He pointed to a parking lane on the far side of the entrance, “…and then step in here in a second, please? Oh, and bring a copy of your orders with you.”
I was disappointed in his less than reverent tone, but I quickly complied. I had placed my briefcase on the passenger’s seat at the Richmond gas station. I opened it, grabbed a copy of my orders and stepped into the guard shack.
“Lieutenant, you have a problem with your uniform. You see, the bar goes on the right shoulder and the TC wheel goes on the left. Oh, and both are supposed to be parallel to the bottom of the collar.”
I felt my face turn a color close to the scarlet bucket seats in the Camaro. I had been sent an outdated pamphlet on how to wear the uniform. The only khaki shirt in it was the one that had been worn during the era of “pinks and greens” the World War II/Korean War uniform that had been phased out in the late fifties.
The MP reached up and corrected my errant brass, barely keeping the smirk off of his lips. He then turned around and handed me a map of the post, showed me how to find the BOQ and the O’ Club. “Hope you don’t mind the correction Sir, but it’s better to have me catch you than than to walk into the Officers Club out of uniform. Some grouchy old Captain would have you for lunch.”
I slumped back to my shiny steed, mounted up and rode for the safety of the BOQ.
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