|
STORIES Kenneth Anderson
| Regis Carr I was talking with my bride the other night about some of our memories of Army life together. Among the many we discussed were the frequent separations (not favorite!), reunions in the hangar after extended field exercises, 50-gun salutes on the 4th of July, bottle-rocket wars, formal dining-out ceremonies, European trains and farmers markets, monthly hail & farewells, medieval supper in the Ronneburg Castle, friendships and camaraderie developed at each posting, and Thanksgiving Days overseas. In the end we agreed that one of our very favorite memories occurred while we were stationed in Fliegerhorst, Germany in 1985. At that time I commanded a Blackhawk outfit comprised of men and women ranking from private through captain. Of the total compliment of 150, roughly 40 were single and lived in the barracks. The barracks were superb by any measure and for our unit consisted of a newly renovated, two-story, stucco building with a terracotta-tiled roof. It stood on a line of eight similar buildings with towering evergreens all around making the entire street peaceful and picturesque. It had two floors and a basement. The second floor consisted of approximately 10 rooms and shower facilities for the soldiers, the first floor contained office spaces, and the basement was devoted to storage rooms for weapons, chemical-nuclear-biological gear, routine unit consumable supplies, and a game room with an unauthorized snack bar for the troops. The fascinating aspect of the barrack was that it was constructed in the late 1930s to billet a German Luftwaffe unit. The basement we learned had an entrance to a web of tunnels rumored to extend to the other barracks and to the aircraft hangars almost a half-mile distant. Allegedly the tunnels enabled the German bomber crews to make their way back-and-forth to the airfield under protective cover. In the time since WWII, the space in the tunnels had been occupied with utility pipe and conduit making travel beyond a few feet impossible, not that some did not try. Back to the fond memory... Late on Christmas Eve we assembled outside the barrack having donned red and white, pointed elf hats, carrying a gunnysack and trays of fruit and baked goods. We snuck into the front door, albeit under the watchful eye of the CQ, and went about our frenetic decorating activity. As the women neatly arranged the food and drink the three men emptied the gunnysack of its contents: gifts and stockings. The gifts were marked with the name of a soldier and placed under the tree alongside a stocking with the wrapped, empty boxes pushed to the back of the tree. With our work hastily, excitedly, and not noiselessly completed, we exited the building but not before a quick admonishment to the CQ that he never saw a thing! As much as we wanted to think we had entered and exited the barrack otherwise unseen and unheard, the troops reportedly were quick to descend the stairs soon after our departure to enjoy Christmas together with friends and family...just like back home. By all accounts, the soldiers had as wonderful a time around their tree that special midnight as we six had preparing the night. With that memory in mind and knowing that many of you at Norfolk Southern have friends overseas, know somebody with relatives in Afghanistan, or have a coworker serving in Iraq as we in IT do, perhaps you could make a special memory this Christmas for that person’s unit or another, unspecified unit. If you send a package addressed to “Any platoon leader” or “Any platoon sergeant,” both of whom have responsibility for 30 or more soldiers, you will create a special memory for them and for yourself. And if you send along a disposable camera, perhaps you would get to see the smiles that you made on that morning! |