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The Police General’s Horse ---------------------------------------------------------newell grant : u.s. army S ergeant Brown of the Army ROTC staff said, “Well, if you don’t sign up for ROTC now, during Freshman Week, you can’t sign up later. But you can drop it anytime during freshman and sophomore years. And you get thirty dollars per month.” Thirty bucks a month . . . beer money, I thought. Not bad. “OK . . . where do I sign?” And that led to two years in the Army as a second lieutenant— ­ a casual decision in that first New Hampshire fall, that last halcyon time. There were courses, ostensibly academic, as part of the ROTC program, but they weren’t of significance. The military history course had more substance and was taught by Louis Morton, who had helped compile the official U.S. Army history of World War II. Roger Hull and I had a conversation, which I vaguely remember, on whether military history was a valid academic topic; I don’t remember if we came to any conclusion. The summer camp after junior year took place at Fort Devens, Massachusetts , where we went up and down a hill, night and day, sunny and rainy, through blueberries and poison ivy. Once, during a night orienteering exercise, we went through a cemetery, across a road, and were told, “What are you guys doing? You’re way off post— ­ you’re lost!” The lesson that has stayed with me is that, no matter how badly you mess up, how poor a job that you may do, there is always someone who is doing worse. Keep at it, and do the best you can. I served during 1965 and 1966, and my first assignment was in the training command at Fort Ord, California, as the “dean” of a school to train supply clerks. As part of assessing the new recruits who arrived periodically , I would try to determine their education— ­ and was astounded to come across a recruit who said he had just graduated from Dartmouth! Newell Grant : 173 I talked to him once or twice— ­ he couldn’t avoid me— ­ and he was non­ committal and evasive. I came to realize he had never gone to the college — ­ he just threw it out. Lesson two: not everything you see or hear is true. Then I received orders to a supply depot in Korat, Thailand, about halfway between Bangkok and Vientiane, Laos. The theory was that if the Communists (or Red Chinese, or whoever) spilled across the Mekong River into Thailand, the United States would fly in troops, start up the tanks, and take care of the problem. This was 1966, and Thailand saw a huge U.S. military buildup, but it was largely Air Force; most of the North Vietnam bombing missions originated from Thai air bases. The Thais, adept at playing the middle game, acquiesced in the U.S. military presence but definitely did not officially acknowledge us. The Army base was a couple of miles from the Air Force base, and we would go over to their officers’ mess from time to time. It was a nice club, while the Army counterpart was just bare plywood walls. There were poker games all the time, with large piles of twenty-­ dollar bills as the pot. That was understandable, since the flight crews were very well paid, had virtually no expenses, and were dodging antiaircraft fire on a regular basis. The tension was evident. A couple of us were having dinner there once, and it seemed to be busier than usual when a pilot walked in with his hat on. The place absolutely erupted into a wild party— ­ the pilot had just returned from a touch-­ and-­ go landing at the Hanoi airfield, braving missiles and antiaircraft fire both on the way in and on the way out. He was a gunslinger for sure. I served as public information officer, replacing a major who was abruptly reassigned. My duty was to publish the unit newspaper, which involved periodic trips to Bangkok, and I wrote about Thai holidays and baseball games. Sometimes I parried with reporters, if they could find me. And from time to time I arranged briefings and protocol for the various military dignitaries who came through— ­ General Creighton Abrams, Admiral U.S. Grant Sharp Jr., and General John K. Waters, to name a few. Lesson: keep your mouth shut, and let the colonels preen. I accompanied the colonel to a festival in Korat once, to a formal gathering...

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