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As most of you probably know, soldiers almost invariably start their anecdotes with "This ain't no shit...", so I've titled what I hope will become a long thread of humor in the days to come.
07/09/16 (reply to a story from one of my classmates via email):
_____, you'll like this one - I was at the PX at Bragg with my son a couple of weeks ago, and the old(er) fellow in line in front of me was wearing a Sua Sponte windbreaker. I wasn't trying to mess with him or anything, I just have a big mouth and when I'm bored I talk to strangers, so I asked him "What's that mean, anyway, "Sua Sponte"? That some kind of Latin for something?
Well, this fellow turned around and looked me in the eye like he wanted to do something to me (and I am not a small individual, I've got him by at least a foot and 80 pounds), and he says "Yeah, it's Latin for it ain't braggin' if you really done it".
Now I've read my commission a number of times over the years, and nowhere in it does state that as of May, 1986, I am "an officer and gentleman by act of Congress.". Never one to push the issue, however, I grinned and asked what his class number was - He replied "The last hard class, is what fuckin' number it was. You got any more questions? You can ask 'em outside."
"Funny," I replied, "I always thought mine was the last hard class. That's why they shut down 7th RTB at Dugway three years after my class graduated...Attrition went down overnight, the lords of TRADOC were happy, and they got busy right around then planning to do to the Ranger course what they did to the Basic Airborne Course in the 70's - Lower the standards slowly until girls could graduate. Hell, I only came here with my son today to buy a few tabs so that when my grandsons earn theirs, they don't have to put something that looks like this (see attached image - I bought a couple on etsy.com and carry one everywhere now in case of a coin-check - The hard-ass tosses his coin on the bar / table, I'm gonna toss one of these in the pot) on their shoulders or in their shadowboxes.""
Now he's grinning. "They tell y'all when you jumped into Dugway that if you was lucky enough to find any C rations, MREs, Slim Jims, Beef Jerky, Pabst Blue Ribbon, or other pogey bait while you set up your perimeter you'd better not eat it because of all the NBC testing they did out there - You might get a mouthful of V-agent crystals?"
"They did indeed", I replied in the affirmative.
"You find any good shit?" asks he.
"A beef and rice MRE, a couple of candy bars, and a can of coke, if I remember right", I answered as he paid for his goods with a check.
"And? You eat 'em?" he asked as he waited for the $50 in cash he'd added to the total bill.
"Everything but the plastic wrappers, and I put those in my cargo pockets in case it got bad enough I'd want them later, I told him. I was tabbed out by Dugway, all I had to do was not screw the pooch."
Sour face disappeared, he grinned, shook hands, and said "Don't take no wooden nickels, Ranger."
I paid for the tabs and a couple of sets of under armour for my son (his second son is due in August, and the first one's only 18 months old now, so money's kind of tight for them), and he's shaking his head. "You have to do it, don't you. It's built in, or implanted at one of those schools you went to, but you have to do it. You just have to mess with everybody."
I assumed an expression of feigned shock and replied "Mess with? Son, that was a friendly conversation - That's how people talked before they got cell phones and started texting instead of talking."
"Christ," says he. "I'm glad I never put in a RASP packet, you guys are nuts."
I looked at him innocently and said "Well, there wasn't such a thing as RASP in my day, you had to finish a three-week RIP course successfully with your command, then wait for a slot to open up. Of course, that was only for NCO's like you - When you branched Infantry as a 2LT in the 80's you went to jump school after IOBC," (I went to jump school as a cadet after my sophomore year, so I got to snowbird at the old 192nd Infantry Brigade for three weeks, had a blast on the OPFOR against the students in the course I'd just finished), "...and if you graduated jump school, you got on a bus, waited until it was full, and were carried out to Camp Rogers - The CO of 4th RTB knew he'd have enough attrition by the end of zero week to get those of us motivated enough to send a TWX back to our respective units asking for a packet to be submitted Toot-Sweet, in time to start us with the rest of the class. It was just ticket punching back then, if you wanted to make Major you needed jump wings and a ranger tab. Now you paratroopers at Bragg, jumping out of perfectly good aircraft every two weeks...That's nuts, if you ask me!"
So in exchange for buying him $280 worth of baby foood, baby clothes, under armour, and new dishes and silverware, I got a dirty look and a sulky face when I left on Sunday. God, isn't parenthood a joy?
Take care of yourself brother, we aren't getting any younger.
View attachment 1315
07/09/16 (reply to a story from one of my classmates via email):
_____, you'll like this one - I was at the PX at Bragg with my son a couple of weeks ago, and the old(er) fellow in line in front of me was wearing a Sua Sponte windbreaker. I wasn't trying to mess with him or anything, I just have a big mouth and when I'm bored I talk to strangers, so I asked him "What's that mean, anyway, "Sua Sponte"? That some kind of Latin for something?
Well, this fellow turned around and looked me in the eye like he wanted to do something to me (and I am not a small individual, I've got him by at least a foot and 80 pounds), and he says "Yeah, it's Latin for it ain't braggin' if you really done it".
Now I've read my commission a number of times over the years, and nowhere in it does state that as of May, 1986, I am "an officer and gentleman by act of Congress.". Never one to push the issue, however, I grinned and asked what his class number was - He replied "The last hard class, is what fuckin' number it was. You got any more questions? You can ask 'em outside."
"Funny," I replied, "I always thought mine was the last hard class. That's why they shut down 7th RTB at Dugway three years after my class graduated...Attrition went down overnight, the lords of TRADOC were happy, and they got busy right around then planning to do to the Ranger course what they did to the Basic Airborne Course in the 70's - Lower the standards slowly until girls could graduate. Hell, I only came here with my son today to buy a few tabs so that when my grandsons earn theirs, they don't have to put something that looks like this (see attached image - I bought a couple on etsy.com and carry one everywhere now in case of a coin-check - The hard-ass tosses his coin on the bar / table, I'm gonna toss one of these in the pot) on their shoulders or in their shadowboxes.""
Now he's grinning. "They tell y'all when you jumped into Dugway that if you was lucky enough to find any C rations, MREs, Slim Jims, Beef Jerky, Pabst Blue Ribbon, or other pogey bait while you set up your perimeter you'd better not eat it because of all the NBC testing they did out there - You might get a mouthful of V-agent crystals?"
"They did indeed", I replied in the affirmative.
"You find any good shit?" asks he.
"A beef and rice MRE, a couple of candy bars, and a can of coke, if I remember right", I answered as he paid for his goods with a check.
"And? You eat 'em?" he asked as he waited for the $50 in cash he'd added to the total bill.
"Everything but the plastic wrappers, and I put those in my cargo pockets in case it got bad enough I'd want them later, I told him. I was tabbed out by Dugway, all I had to do was not screw the pooch."
Sour face disappeared, he grinned, shook hands, and said "Don't take no wooden nickels, Ranger."
I paid for the tabs and a couple of sets of under armour for my son (his second son is due in August, and the first one's only 18 months old now, so money's kind of tight for them), and he's shaking his head. "You have to do it, don't you. It's built in, or implanted at one of those schools you went to, but you have to do it. You just have to mess with everybody."
I assumed an expression of feigned shock and replied "Mess with? Son, that was a friendly conversation - That's how people talked before they got cell phones and started texting instead of talking."
"Christ," says he. "I'm glad I never put in a RASP packet, you guys are nuts."
I looked at him innocently and said "Well, there wasn't such a thing as RASP in my day, you had to finish a three-week RIP course successfully with your command, then wait for a slot to open up. Of course, that was only for NCO's like you - When you branched Infantry as a 2LT in the 80's you went to jump school after IOBC," (I went to jump school as a cadet after my sophomore year, so I got to snowbird at the old 192nd Infantry Brigade for three weeks, had a blast on the OPFOR against the students in the course I'd just finished), "...and if you graduated jump school, you got on a bus, waited until it was full, and were carried out to Camp Rogers - The CO of 4th RTB knew he'd have enough attrition by the end of zero week to get those of us motivated enough to send a TWX back to our respective units asking for a packet to be submitted Toot-Sweet, in time to start us with the rest of the class. It was just ticket punching back then, if you wanted to make Major you needed jump wings and a ranger tab. Now you paratroopers at Bragg, jumping out of perfectly good aircraft every two weeks...That's nuts, if you ask me!"
So in exchange for buying him $280 worth of baby foood, baby clothes, under armour, and new dishes and silverware, I got a dirty look and a sulky face when I left on Sunday. God, isn't parenthood a joy?
Take care of yourself brother, we aren't getting any younger.
View attachment 1315
