Saturday, February 15, 2014

The Army I Knew: Panama, Part 2, or, Hootchie Mamas, Push-buttons, and Peace Brides

So if you recall we left young SP5 Chief getting off the aircraft down in Panama in the late autumn of 1985, having asked the Army to send him to Japan or Italy and ending up instead assigned to HHC, 2nd Battalion (ABN)(LT) 187th Infantry when the old 3rd Battalion, 5th Infantry was reflagged as a jump outfit.


Another time I'll talk about what I did during my time there. But tonight I want to talk about who I met there.

The Americans were the usual gang of nice kids, assholes, hardasses, goofballs, tough professionals, ambitious careerists, weirdos, manics, and wild men you find in any military outfit.

It was the Panamanians that were new to me.

They locals came in two basic varieties (like all people): men, and women. The men I'll talk about in the next installment; tonight I want talk about the women.

The women I knew mostly as business girls (since prostitution was one of the major commercial activities of Panama City and probably had been ever since de Lesseps showed up with a bunch of horny Canal diggers) or as girlfriends, or wanna-be girlfriends, of my fellow GIs.
(Here's an odd fact; many of the working girls in Panama were Colombian. One of them claimed that she was, like many of her competitors, working in Panama to pick up enough money for a dowry after which she was going to return to Colombia and settle down. I have no idea if this was true, if she believed it to be true, or whether it was the sort of bullshit a working girl thinks a john wants to hear. But that was her story, anyway)
The working girls were part of the scenery in the GI clubs down on Calle J, "J Street"; the Ancon Inn, the Ovalo (or Ovalvo, I honestly don't recall which; we called it the "Oval-Oh"), the Buffalo Bar, where a chunky young woman once offered me the use of her body for five dollars (and where I recall I gave her the five and recommended she value her favors more dearly if she wanted others to do the same), and the bizarrely-named "Blue Goose" near the edge of the city.

(This photo of the Ancon is from the Sixties, BTW: it looked considerably dumpier when I knew it.)

At this point I should mention one of the freakish parts of this pay-for-play side of Panama was the "push-button".

Here's a very sweet little post about one foreign couple's adventure in a Panama push-button.(
I want to stop here and recommend this blog, Along the Gringo Trail, for anyone interested in modern Panama. Clyde and Terry really do a nice job of describing my old home station, and they seem like fun people, besides. Well worth the visit, and you can say I said so)
Here's another one that's a little less polite.

The bottom line on these places is that they're the Panamanian equivalent of a Japanese ラブホテル (rabu hoteru), a "love hotel", a place where a couple - living in a place where typically all four generations share a shotgun shack and everyone from abuela to the littlest niños know when anyone in the family sneezes, farts, or scratches their ass - could go to knock off a piece in the afternoon or spend a couple of hours romantically entwined.

You basically drove into a garage and pushed a button to close the door. Then you got out of your car and opened a door and there was a room. With a bed.

There was a slot for payments, and usually a sort of small alcove where you could get food or drinks. You did your business, picked up the phone, someone invisible totted up your bill, you payed, they opened the garage door and you drove away.

While I've got you here I should tell you the story of Doc Pollo and the Pushbutton.

One of the 2/187th medics had a sort of salt-lick scheme for Panama dating that involved fried chicken.


I don't know if this is racist or sexist or what but it was a fact: Doc Pollo used to run down to the local Kentucky Fried Pollo (and, yes, that was the actual name; it was your regular U.S.-type Colonel Sanders KFC complete with the red-and-white face of the goateed old cracker on the sign and the greasy fried chicken inside) and pick up a bucket and then go stand on a corner downtown.

He'd take off the paper lid and waft the aroma of the stuff all around and within ten minutes he'd have half a dozen cuties hovering around him. The lucky girl would receive her first wing and she, the wing, the rest of the chicken, and Doc Pollo, would be bundled into his little Ford for a drive to the nearest pushbutton.


One afternoon Doc promised an infantry pal that he'd demonstrate his special catch-and-release methods, and the buckets of chicken were purchased, the designated cuties selected, and the two bold paratroopers and their ladies retired to adjoining garage-suites in the "Fuente de Amor" pushbutton.

Story goes that Doc and his bride-for-three-hours chose to snack first and were reclining on the mattress nibbling and sipping when they heard the first distant cannons of the other couple's 1812 Overture.

The two of them paused, greasy fingers pressed to their smiling lips, as the thunder in the next room rose to a crescendo when Doc Pollo sat up, grinned at his paramour, dropped a half-eaten drumstick back into the bucket, and seized the headboard and started hammering it against the wall.

"Oh, baby!" he roared "Yeah, baby! Do it! Harder! Faster! Wider! Bigger! Ride me like a wild mustang, my mad angel of lust!"

The angel stared at him for a moment in pure incomprehension, suddenly snorted with laughter, and began pounding on the mattress shrieking "Aieeee! Mi caballero! Martillo me como un clavo, mi jinete loco de las llanuras!"

They kept up this din for a couple of minutes, until the noise from the adjoining room had stopped. Then Doc and his giggling chicken-lover slowly subsided.

In the quiet they could hear some scuffling around next door and a faint "What the fuck they doin' over there..?"


Things were calm for a while after that and slowly the couple in the other room began working up a head of steam again.

But when the noises indicated that the two alpinists had almost summited the Matterhorn of Love Doc Pollo and his galpal began their pounding clamor of simulated insane monkey sex.

Again, the noises from the other side of the wall ceased and Doc and his partner quieted down.

This time the only comment from the other rooms was a heartfelt "GodDAMN!"

According to Doc Pollo this alternating attempted-concupiscence and simulated-rodeo-sex went on several more times, until he and his chica finished their chicken and, growing bored with their game, decided to sate an entirely different hunger.

But he says the driving the girls back to their corner, driving back to post, and even for a couple of days after that when he and his pal would run into each other every so often the other GI would just give him this...look.


Aside from the casual encounters with the women of Panama interested in GIs either just for fun or for profit there were other ladies who had more long-term interests in mind.

These were the girls who were the girlfriends, or wives, or wanna-be-wives.

I'm sure that many of these peace-brides probably loved their GI husbands and married them for love. But it's hard not to suspect that at least some of them married for a passport, a ticket to the Land of the Big PX, an escape from the grinding poverty that was life for most Panamanians.

The one of these peace-brides I knew well during my time in Panama was engaged one of my medics, a very sweet kid we nicknamed "Diesel" because he forgot that the M151 quarter-ton jeep ran on Mogas, the Army's version of gasoline, unlike the M792 GAMA Goat ambulance that ran on diesel fuel. He put the latter into the former with predictable results.
(This is the cartoon version of the two of them from something called "Raiders of the Lost Parts" that I drew when I was station in Panama. Have I posted this yet? No? I should; it's very strange.)
Diesel was a sweet, kind of simple kid from rural North Carolina; Panama was the furthest he'd ever traveled outside the town of his birth. He was decent, kind, and not especially clever - as you can imagine from the whole diesel-in-the-jeep thing - and he was completely enthralled by his unparalleled romantic good-luck.

This luck consisted of a drop-dead gorgeous Panameña named Noris; I kidded her by calling her General Norisiega after the pock-marked caudillo of Panama of the time, and she was also razor-sharp, witty, ingenious, and intelligent.

I could no more see her as the wife of a small-town kid from Cornhole, North Carolina than I could see her as the Dragon Queen of Bhutan.

Their entire relationship seemed founded on the fact that they could barely speak to and, thus, get to know each other.

She spoke no more than scattershot English and Diesel spoke no more Spanish than a GI could; cerveza, por favor, gracias, but the two of them rubbed along in their fashion. She was affectionate, and attentive when he needed attention, and whatever they needed and couldn't get from each other they seemed to find amongst their several friends; his platoon buddies and her local pals.

I liked them both dearly but, frankly, didn't think that they had a hope in hell of making it to their tin anniversary.

The few times I spent alone with her General Norisiega seemed to be aware of the the unspannable gap between the two and slightly apologetic about it. But she also seemed determined to make them work and I don't know, or know if she knew, whether this was because of Diesel himself or the opportunity he presented her, or perhaps even a little of both.

The one little vignette of them I still remember, and the one that I want to leave you with, is of Noris driving around Panama in Diesel's Subaru.

This rig was one of those ridiculous early-Eighties "Brat" things that always seemed to me to symbolize the most gooberish qualities of the cars of the time, right up there with the AMC Gremlin and the Ford Pinto.


Apparently her driving combined all the caution of a demolition derby competitor with the sedate pace of a carjacking.

Poor Diesel, strapped into the passenger seat as his novia seemed determined to see how far she could bury a utility pole between the front seats, would bark with fear as she feathered around the trench-like streets of Panama Viejo at speed.

He didn't know how to tell her to suave - "slow down" - or frenos - "brake" - and what little more of her language he knew had been driven completely out of his head by sheer terror.


All he could do was every so often punctuate his panic with screams of BREQUES! BREQUES! - pronounced "bray-kays" - which, so far as I know, in Spanish means absolutely nothing.


Next: The Men of Panama, or, Salto al Pino!

28 comments:

Brian said...

Heh heh heh!

Awaiting the next instalment.

Lisa said...

I enjoyed this take on female - male consortium in the 3rd world.

I especially like "his special catch-and-release methods" and the Subaru mention; I remember thinking them ugly-cute in high school. And yes, Gremlins were horrid, as were most AMC productions (Matador, Pacer, Ambassador, etc.).

...Men of Panama, next!

Big Daddy said...

Random gearhead trivia,in a typically Japanese combination of loving acronyms and not quite fully grasping English idiom, BRAT stood for Bi-drive Recreational Activity Transport. Also on the subject of pollo, the bucket seats in the back of the US market BRAT were Subaru's way of dodging the "chicken tax" on imported trucks.
I love the Army of the 80s stories so please keep them coming.

FDChief said...

Brian: Soon. I want to put the next installment up this week.

Lisa: Ta. I'm always glad to entertain you...

BD: I've heard both of those, yes, and also that apparently the original rear seats were atrocious and killed several people in rollover accidents before the vehicle was redesigned...

And no fear; I've got a bunch more stories from Panama, and then after that it'll be the Army Reserves of the late Eighties and early Nineties, when I got to see the dark underbelly of the "preparedness" crisis of the pre-GWOT USAR.

Ted said...

I was assigned to the 210th Avn Bn, which was later redesignated 1/228th Avn Regt, from Oct 84 to Jan 89. I remember all these places.... fondly! Ancon Inn, Ovalo, Gruta Azul! Ahhh the memories!

Unknown said...

So, I was stationed in Panama (1984-87) with the US Army (193d Inf Bde, 549th MP Co. STRAF/CS Ft Gulick/Ft.Davis on the Atlantic side). My first or second night in country (during the inprocessing week) found a few guys (with whom I had went through basic/mp school) and I at the Blue Goose. The day leading up to that evening is long forgotten, but the night still stays with me! THERE is a near pornographic and very humorous story! :D

Unknown said...

I was also stationed there 2/187th ABN HHC BN Commo '84-'86. Fond memories of that place. We had 1st SGT Willie Williams. Damn good man and dedicated soldier. Thanks for bringing out the memories.

Tom Kratman said...

I was a PL in and XO of B Co-3/5, and Support Platoon Leader for the battalion, Jan 81-Dec 83. Diesel...oh, diesel.

We had a Battalion XO who is dead now so I won't mention an actual name; "nisi bonum," and all. His nickname among the company grades was "Ricochet" or, sometime, "Ricochet Rabbit." I have no fear of correction from anyone in the battalion at the time when I say that he was the most unutterably fucking stupid major in American military history. Example: Ever notice that Building 806 was a little swaybacked? Yeah, the moron ordered a load bearing wall knocked out in the basement to put in a chapel. You can't make this shit up: A LOAD BEARING WALL. Moreover, the spoil was dumped into a dumpster which made it so heavy it destroyed the hydraulics of the dumpster truck that tried to pick it up.

This guy also detested the jungle so would avoid it like the plague. Moreover, he insisted on gravel on the ground under the ALOC tent so his spitshined boots wouldn't get muddy on the rare occasions he came out. Once I recall that he had a Sergeant Dearborn, IIRC, from the -4 shop go to a civilian construction site to steal a 1/2 ton trailer load of gravel for that, after I flat refused to or to let any of my men steal it. Yeah, he wasn't great on ethics, either. Still, the really big thing was his world class level of stupidity.

So, as much as possible, I ignored and avoided the son of a bitch. One time he came out to the trains and wanted fuel. "Let me get the fuel guy, sir." "No time; my driver can fill it up." I shrugged. Then my driver pointed out, "He's about to fill his jeep from the diesel tank." I looked, smiled, and said, "Right. Get in the jeep. Let's go." "Where, sir?" "Wherever he can't find us. The Atlantic side, I think, since C Company's over there and their chain of command is no great shakes at the moment." And I got to listen to the weasel scream and cry into the radio for well over an hour trying to get me to come back so he could commandeer MY 151. Wasn't happening. Moving more ammunition 4.2" and below, for just that one battalion, than the entire 82d used annually meant I and my job mattered to 3/5 in a way that he did not. "So fuck him."

Couple of points:

School of the Americas, now WHINSEC, wasn't especially recent, having been founded in 1946. They didn't teach torture there, though they did teach a not especially heinous interrogation course. If you think about it, what about torture was the US Army likely to know that any given Latin officer didn't already know? No, they taught each other, I am sure, informally (which is to say they traded tips) but we had nothing to teach them. I recall a conversation with Noam Chompsky, circa 2000 (he's a really nice guy and, in his own kind-of-odd way, something of a patriot), concerning School of the Americas and torture. Noam had written somewhere, more technically quoted somebody, that SOA taught the use of the "electric needle." "Um, no, Noam, your informant is ignorant and just making a guess without any actual knowledge. How do I know this? Because there are no "electric needles" in the inventory; I've looked; and because if the US Army were to teach torture with electricity we'd do what we've always done, improvise, which is to say we use field telephones."

Tom Kratman said...

And:

Hookers. In the brothels they're not mostly Colombian; they're hugely and overwhelmingly Colombian, to the tune of more than 90% and maybe more than 95%. Oh, there will be the occasional Mexican, or Bolivian, and there is a sprinkling of Argentines. But Latin girls intending to hook know better, generally, than to shit in their own nests. Panamanian girls will go to Costa Rica or some other place.

The US getting the Canal Zone. No, we didn't strong arm _Panama_. There was a civil war in Colombia, which included Panama, the "Guerra de mil dias." The conservatives won in Colombia. The Liberals won in Panama. This mattered because as a practical matter, Panama and Colombia were not connected. Oh, sure, there was theoretical passage through the Darien; lotsa luck with that one. In fact, communication was by sea. We interfered with that, such that Colombia couldn't reassert sovereignty over Panama, which declared independence, quite likely with a little suggesting from us.

The thing we normally get accused of strong arming was the original Treaty. That wasn't actually our doing either. A frog named Phillipe Bunau-Varilla had worked on the French attempt and made it his life's work to see a canal built through Panama by _somebody_. He wrote the treaty and convinced the Panamanians that it was necessary to ensure that the US would ratify it and thereby undertake to protect Panama from Colombia. It was so unfair that the US senate was originally inclined to reject it. However, since no one offered a better or fairer treaty, and since we did want to build the Canal, we ratified. That's a long way from strong arming. Unfortunately, because the treaty was so bloody unfair we never felt right about it, hence renegotiated it several times until we were finally gone.

Should we have given the Canal up? No, it was the strategic prize of the world. At the time of the treaty, only 3-4 CVs couldn't get through it. Now, as soon as the new locks come on line, they'll all be able to get through it, again. Even if none could, the ability to cut off or disadvantage others' trade at will and enhance our own was worth it. Similarly, logistic support of a deployed fleet or army is much easier with it than without it.

Unknown said...

Oh man. I remember many a weekend going up coast with "Diesel" (Doug) to surf. He always insisted on playing the same Bryan Adams album each time, and at distortion level volume. That dude was cool.

Anonymous said...

I was stationed at Ft Amador just outside of Balboa from 1972-1974 at the age of 19. Being a draftee I thought being in the Army for 2 years was eternity. I was lucky in that during these days Ft Amador was an administrative fort thus I was a clerk typist in the Adjutant General branch. This was great duty because my duty hours were from 7:30 PM-4:30PM Monday through Friday. Transportation was easy getting to downtown Panama via a Chiva bus that circled the fort about every 2 hours. I think the price form the main gate to the front of the Ancon Inn bar was 25 cents. Great nights at the Ancon, Pan Canal , Ovalo and Foxhole bars. As I look back these were the least stressful days of my life. Have often thought about returning to visit but I think the changes would be depressing. We were kings of the country in those days. Harold Harper Building 3, Ft. Amador

Anonymous said...

Wow. I was across the street 536 Engineering battalion and use to go surfing with Doug on the weekends and spend time with him and Norris. He retired from the Army and is currently living in Rosarito Beach, Mexico. I will call him in the next few days and show him this website. Im sure this will bring back many good memories.

Mr. Miguez said...

I must have entered the Doctor Who phone booth coming across this website. My first duty station was Ft Kobbe, 320th Field Artillery, 1986-87. Drill sergeant said I lucked out going to Panama. Boy was he wrong. We were suppose to be a salute battery. Our cherry captain had us humping in the jungle, for weeks, while he drank coke all day and slept back in the barracks. I was an Ancon ranger and would spend all my free time downtown. Had 2 buddies, Vaughn and Roberts, to do special missions at the bars. They called us Huey, Luey and Duey and were regulars on the hot seat. They were definitely strange days. Thanks for posting and letting me chime in.

Anonymous said...

Nice recap. And dead on. I was a Jarhead there for two years. First I was at Galeta Island on the other side. Second year, Marine Barracks attached to Rodman. I Google Earthed the whole place and see how much it has changed. I have some buddies who were buying beach front down there a few years back. Would be cool to go back for a visit. Perhaps a stop on a cruise!

Unknown said...

Diesel Doug REALLY???? LOL aka DOC Aldo HHC 2 187, this story comes to us via Doug Alderson from Fort Bragg North Carolina, born Stuttgart Germany but raised a military brat in Fayettenam... This story come to you from DOC Lawes, beside Rick Silva shown with me on the Gama Goat on Vernado DZ Photo.

Lawes and Silva unlike the other NCO's shaped my 20 year and 4 month military career, which spanned ABN INF in Panama, a brief stay with the 1 504 then rescued by 1st SOCOM, Medivac and a oncore with the US government in FOB GAmberi Afghanistan as a contractor medic advisor/T3 trainer on a six man team, where I got smoked after a couple years after taking the job.

Still here cant kill the Roaster or Diesel Doug as Lawes called me...


Looking for SGT John Lawes, Rick Silva if you ever read this please contact me on FACEBOOK Doug Alderson . same for any other friends.

I can also be found in Charlie Company 1 508th FACEBOOK webpage. Second Platoon was my first...my cherry, as well as for Gatun DZ.

Diesel Doug aka DOC Aldo out!

Unknown said...

Here I was feeling all solo in the world and I find this page which darn near unites us as brothers. I spent plenty a night diving into to The Ovalo. But outside you gatta watch for the Quakos...bess be checkin' for that Adam's Apple (lol). I was down at the Marine Barracks in Rodman, The Big House They would call it back then. I was there from 86-88.with the infamous "SCUFF", Arroyo, Leneghan, Mike Miller, Evans. Thompson, Wallace, Duarte and Tusinowski,"Some more retro-active Brains on table 5 please"!!! This is your BOY, "BEASLEY" Barracks was a little too uptight and longed for the days that I finally rotated to the Atlantic Side of Panama to Galeta Island for duty. It was very chill. Also liked the rustic little province down there; COLON...Oh yeah if any of you can remember the Casanova Bar. One night I'm out at the Nueva Yorker Bar, {(The Raggae Bar, you white people) they actual served tall glass 2/ for one Rum and Cokes for happy hour. Yes 2 for one $1.} and non other then Ziggy Marley walks in with his hit single record and sings for the small crowd of us 8 people. Panama for me was just like that...surreal little situations that may happen only once in a lifetime, some bad, but many good. Thanks for allowing us to holler back on your forum. Semper Fi Brothers, I miss you all.

Tom Connolly said...

I was there as an Air Force Cop from 82-84 at Howard AFB. Knew a lot of guys we hung out with from the 3/5th at Ft Kobbe. We lived at the Ovalo and on J Street in Genral. This made me laugh, you're spot on.

Unknown said...

The memories. Stationed at ft.Clayton 87_89 with the 154th signal battalion. From J street to diving off of ft Sherman to guard duty given the invasion.Truly formative years for me. Proud to have served

Unknown said...

I was stationed in Panama 86 88. 2/187 Bravo Company then 508th 82nd.

GABRIEL ECHEVARRIA said...

Dougie!!! Its your roommate SP4 Gabriel Echevarria (Chevy) we had a great time in Panama together my brother call me 210-846-6155

FDChief said...

Gabrielito, you rascal, you found this place finally - it's become some sort of weird Panama reunion site. You might check for Diesel on Facebook, he's hanging out somewhere on the Baja side of Mexico, has a bunch of grown kids. Sounds like he got beat up pretty bad in one of those green-on-blue attacks in Afghanistan, he's on a disability retirement, I think.

Hope you're doing good in New York - my kid sister lives upstate in some podunk little town (Sidney, I think?). If you're not, I'll call up SSG Randall and he'll help you straighten out!

Your former section SGT 1986-1987

Unknown said...

WOW talk about a blast from the bast ... how the hell did I find this site still trying to figure it out. 2/187 HHC AntiTank 84-87 SSG Scott Lt Rogers SSG Snachez
Remember them all (HEADHUNTERS) and the nights at the Ancon and Howard NCO Club. Every night was an adventure it was lucky if you made back the next day.

Echevarria -- hey roomy what up !!!!! Remember the few double dates we had, cause I could not speak the lingo. We had a blast, Zamora, Seymore, you were our medic. I could go on with the stories, found my stash of pictures brings back old memories.

Guido/Jerry
Signin out from NE PA (STAY ALERT STAY ALIVE)

Panajungla International Class think it was in 86 b

Unknown said...

Some great times at the Ancon in what a blast stationed at ft kobbe 86-87

Allen Watkins said...

I was at marine barracks 1976 77. Also spent a few months at Galeta Island. Served a month at carcel modelo prison for fighting with a few Panamanian le guardia. I had 3 seperate run-ins with the bastards. They didn’t take that stuff lightly. Beat the hell out of me every day and damn near starved me to death. Fish heads and rice a couple times a week. The embassy brought meals to the American prisoners but the guards kept em. I never got one meal. Panama was great and I had a blast 17 of those 18 months. Quite an experience for an 18 year old kid first time out of the hills.

Anonymous said...

I was in the c.z. in 1973. My father was chief of staff of the southern command and head of the 15th naval district. I went to the Ancon Inn. I still have a pack of matches from the place. I had long hair. The reaction of the whores to this was interesting. About half would push their honkers into me and say heepy-heepy, The other half were somewhat charmed, which I later figured was due to my brown hair, youth (19) and brown eyes giving me a passing likeness to Jesus. The same thing happened with a nurse at Gorgas Hospital. That was swell. I had more problems with Army types than with the Panama Guardia. Alot of them were short from Vietnam and were sent to the c.z. to complete their time. I lived at Amador and the few Navy and many Airmen were o.k. The c.z. was pretty much a small southern redneck town. that vibe. but I liked living there. D.E.C.

Tony Sillyman said...

Wow, I was stationed ar Kobbe, B Btry 22nd Fa, from 83 to 86. That was the best 3 years of my life. I was just to young and stupid to appreciate it. From what I can see on Google Earth, the place isn't even recognizable compared to the Panama I knew.
Tony Sillyman.

Devils Guard said...

Stationed there 77-79. Bandidos B 3/5. Remember the mess hall was in A Co. barracks, they would give us legs shit when they were feeling froggy. I ended up at Bragg 81-83, A Bty 2/321 FA Bn. I was downtown Panama City when Pres.Carter and Gen.Torrijos met in the public square for a turn over ceremony. I was one of the very few white guys in the crowd (in civies) Carters limo comes up SS agents riding on it, running in front, sides, back of it, a Huey circling overhead with what looked to me like a long .50 barrel from the door. Remember 4th of July Ave., back then if the Mp's were chasing you, run across the street where they had no authority, if La Guadia were chasing you, run back to the American side, right across from the Ancon in bus stop, to funny. Remember when we they were celebrating some Panamanians scampered up the tresses of the bridge, removed the American flags and dropped them into the water.

Panama was my very best duty station, not only did Alpha Co. think they were hot shit, so did the rest of us. I'll tell you after 2 years of jungle ops, aggressor duties etc. you were in top shape when you rotated out. 10worst (101st) tried ambushing us, but their colored shoulder patch gave them away, I cried out ambush, we did a back n forth, got our 81mm up, machette hacked a tree, threw a couple M80 type fireworks to simulate mortar fire, umpires gave us the victory, 10worst had to pull back. I was fresh out of PNCOC at Ft. Sherman, pulled "Distinguished Honor Grad" so I was pretty motivated. I again spied 2 RB15's full of 101st paddling on the Chagress, set up the 81, did a fire mission on them, our 7th Gp Sf. evaluator SSG.Fraier called it in, they had to then retreat and paddle back up the river, lol, good ol days. I could go on, but the 193rd was a good gig. Loved going under the Hueys on the Stabo rig out n back over the ocean, . Our mortar section we had the M561 Gamma Goats, M151A2's. I was with the 82nd when we jumped into Germany for Reforger 82, we had just got the Kevalrs, 1 st unit to do so. The German nationals lining the DZ were all wanting to get a good look at our fritz helmets as we came running up off the dz. I had already been to Germany 73-76, knew a good amount of German so Comrade and us chattered until we were ready to form up and move out. ETS'd in 83, we were the 1st 82nd unit to the Sinai MFO, 101st was the 1st, we were the 2nd to rotate in. I went with the 2 / 508th, I was attached to the 319th FA as the FSNCOIC, pretty Spartan conditions back then.

Anonymous said...

HHC and A company 536th Eng Bn. 85-88 anybody out there this is Mayo