Recollections of the World's Oldest Living Hippie

I can't really say how long its been since I sat down to put my thoughts to paper in this way. I received a copy of a journal written by an old and dear friend. The presence of his journal was something that I never suspected (not that it would have changed anything).

I'm writing this on a PC clone that was donated to me by a caring former Army buddy using software donated to a starving Mass Communications student by a compassionate journal writer. And printing it on an obsolete Star NX1000 Dot Matrix printer acquired in payment for a gambling debt. This is somewhat of a step up for me as I've been using an Apple IIe for about 10 years and this is almost the command deck of the Enterprise by comparison.

As this is being started, I'm looking my 49th birthday in the beady eyeball in 12 days or so (funny, it doesn't seem so).

To begin this saga I have to go back in time to another birthday many years ago (wellll not maybe sooo many years ago). The year was 1963 and everyone was bopping to the rock and I had been cooped up in a small New England Town for all of my formative years.

After not too few years of a remarkably undistinguished school career I finally managed to become a five year graduate of a four year high school. I distinguished myself by finishing about 375th of 385 or so students in my adoptive class.

Faced by the awesome choice of following in my father's footsteps and working at the GM plant or jerking sodas for a couple of years I took the only logical choice. I went to the post office and stood equidistantly between the recruiters from the Army, Air Force, Navy and Marine Corps (actually closer to the latter and further from the former - stupid I'm not) and yelled, "I'm here and I'm a High School Graduate"! The Army type being just a little quicker, managed to tackle me and drag me into his office.

After a great deal of conversation, I decided that I would join a branch called the Army Security Agency (after all, I was promised my own cloak and dagger). The next barrier was getting my folks to sign a consent form as I was not yet 18. After much wringing of hands and coercion on my part, I was on my way to Basic Combat Training at lovely Fort Dix, New Jersey. Followed by a sojourn at Fort Devens, Massachusetts where I was trained to be a Communications Security Analyst (can't say, its still classified).

Just shortly after the assassination of JFK (after which, I walked guard around the Officer's Club with a loaded M14 to repel what we were told would be an invasion by red commie fifth columnists - interesting but a tad on the chilly side.) Around Thanksgiving of 1963 the Army in its infinite wisdom sent me to Korea.

After spending two weeks or so there, I was called in and told that I would be spending six months or so in an exotic land called French Indochina (later referred to as Viet Nam). After spending six months alternatively sweating and ducking (there was a joke going around "What is the difference between a dead advisor and a dead GI? Answer - None after three days in the sun), I returned to Korea in time to be sent to Germany.

In Germany, I met a man who was to come as close to a brother as an only child can have - Mike Mullins. After many misadventures (published under separate cover as "travels of Two Broke GI's or Europe on Whatever is in Your Pocket). I finally bade the Army Goodbye in July of 1967.

Upon my return to Framingham, Massachusetts, I soon realized that I no longer fit into the accepted mold that "townies" were supposed to be in. I couldn't trade off of my "combat experiences" as did the "old" soldiers from WWII and Korea did and my saleable skills were meager and hardly qualified for minimum wage.

I then had a letter from my old buddy Mike who was due to get out of the Army soon and return to Wilmington, Delaware. He was slated to get his old job back at Cathedral Cemetery as a grave digger. He said that there was a job for me there and all I had to do was come down. Thus began my stint as an "Above Ground Intombment Specialist" (read that as a file clerk for dead bodies). Needless to say, the job got old in a hurry and, after eight months or so I was ready to quit.

In Germany, both Mike and I had worked as instructors in an Army Photo Crafts Shop and we both felt that we were God's gift to the photo craft (it has been said that the both of us had some talent.) One night after working a second job at the Blue Boar Inn as bouncers we collapsed into bed and commiserated that there had to be a better way to make a living.

Mike had the bright idea that we should go to college. But where? He talked about a good school for photography in Rochester, New York and how we should apply there. We made a pact that if both of us applied and one was turned down, neither would go (rather childish but it was important to us at the time.)

As it turned out, both of us were accepted and off we went in my old 1963 Chevy II with the trunks strapped on the roof and our dreams tucked into our pockets.

On arrival at Rochester Institute of Technology in the fall of 1968 we were plunged into the world of academia. Wearing silly little brown derby hats during freshman week and getting acclimated to a campus which was totally new (a well documented rumor at the time was that they were going to change the name of the school to South Henrietta Institute of Technology but backed off when someone pointed out what the letters on a sweatshirt would spell).

One of the endearing features of the new campus was its brick construction and almost windowless facades. One wag commented that it resembled a place that Jimmy Cagney could have been filmed running away from in his persona as a gangster.

During those first hectic few weeks, both Mike and I met some people who would change our lives forever. In a microcosm of misfits a small group began to form. The members were Stu Rubin (a reformed jew from Long Island, New York), Sam Falk (an orthodox jew from Long Island, New York), Denny Harrod (the self styled HNIC ((Head Nigger In Charge)) from Washington D.C.), Bob Freund (a Quaker from New York City) and Mike and I. Over a remarkably short period of time we had a name (Minorities Incorporated) and a slogan "With two Jews, a Quaker, Two Irishmen and a Nigger, what else do we need"?

It was about this time that I began the seduction of Dianne Schneider. Finally I got her into a motel room at the Holiday Inn only to find out that some of the group had supplied her with a pair of doctor denton pajamas (drop seat and all). I was never able to talk her into Greek style or oral sex so that ended that for the night. We were, however, to establish a working relationship and moved in together in an apartment in Rochester's third ward (read that ghetto) ((don't laugh, the rent was all we could afford)).

That apartment became a crash pad for the members of the group and subsequent wannabes such as Bill Max (a drunken ex marine who rates a whole chapter to himself kittens in the freezer and such). During this sojourn my first child Howard was conceived (what a surprise that was).

At the end of the first school year, we all went our separate ways and Dianne and I stayed in Rochester. At the beginning of the second year of school, Mike and I decided to rent a Town House just off of campus and acquired a third boarder named George LaCourse who became known as "George of the Jungle" and became famous for his ability to trip up stairs.

By that time Dianne was swellin' and we were tellin' and subsequently got married. Howard was born on December 14th of '69 and four in the town house became five.

One of the fondest memories from that time was the morning after a long night of cramming. Howard was screaming for a bottle (he did that well) and Dianne was getting breakfast ready for an indeterminate number of people (count heads and water the soup). Denny walked into the kitchen and asked if he could help. Dianne handed Howard to him along with a bottle and told him to feed the kid. Denny's response was that he didn't know how. Dianne told him to just stick the bottle in the end where the noise was coming from as I recall, he got it right because Howard still walks fairly well.

At the end of the second year of school, my financial resources had hit rock bottom (as had my academic achievements) and Dianne and I moved back to Framingham, Massachusetts. After a series of boring jobs, I returned to Delaware in 1972 in search of my fortune and found only another series of dull boring jobs. After being fired from a job at a furniture store for reasons which are still vague, I put in for unemployment only to be told that I didn't qualify.

Being too proud to go on the public dole I began to work two or three part time jobs and was barely managing to make ends meet. At that time, I was contacted by an Army Recruiter who told me that the Army was actively seeking prior service soldiers for return to active duty. I fell for the line and, after moving my family back to Massachusetts, spent a lovely eight weeks in basic training at - you guessed it -- lovely Fort Dix.

After training, I was Immediately sent to - you guessed it

the "Land of the Morning Calm" - Korea. After finishing that tour, I returned to the United States and began my stay at Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn, New York.

After a time, the Army in it's infinite wisdom deemed me ready to move again and I was sent to Okinawa. This was an island paradise which totally captivated me. While there, my second son Michael was born (another total f'ing surprise). I wanted to stay for another tour but Dianne was homesick for the US and I accepted a tour at Fort Hood, Texas.

During the tour at Fort Hood, my mother became gravely ill and I was called home. She had surgery in 1966 to have an artificial valve placed in her heart and the successive strains resulted in her eventual demise from three strokes and a cerebral hemorrhage. Before her demise, I was given a compassionate reassignment to Fort Devens to participate in what became a death watch.

After my mother's demise, I was sent to the Azores (for the unenlightened, this is a fly speck in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.) As was her wish, Dianne and the kids remained behind in Massachusetts. After six months or so I returned to the states to be the best man at the wedding of an old high school friend named Bob Celeste.

On my arrival, I found my father in a considerably weakened state complaining of chronic tiredness. I forced him to go and see the internist that had cared for my mother as Doctor G (nobody could spell or correctly pronounce his given name) was the only doctor that my father truly trusted.

My father was diagnosed as having a rare disease called Aplastic Anemia and the doctor gave him a year at the outside to live. Once again, I was given a compassionate reassignment and began a new death watch.

After my father's passing, I received orders to report to the Military Traffic Management Command in Washington, DC. Again, Dianne refused to join me and I took up the life of a monk.

After a year or so, Dianne told me that she could get a job with the company she was currently working for in Washington and wanted to join me. She came to DC and we went to the Transportation Corps Ball and house hunted. The hunting did not go well and she returned to Framingham.

After a month or so, I found a townhouse in Woodbridge, Virginia which was perfect (and didn't cost the national debt in rent) and plans were made to bring the family back together once again.

In December of 1987 I took leave and returned to Massachusetts to supervise the packing of the Maguire family's worldly possessions for shipment to Virginia the hope was to spend Christmas in Massachusetts and the New Year in Virginia.

This hope was partially doomed as on the 14th (Howard's Birthday) Dianne announced that she wanted a divorce. Without details (it became very messy) the kids and I did, indeed, spend the New Year in Virginia.

After a couple of years, I got orders to go to Germany and prepped the kids and myself for the big trip. Unbeknownst to me, Michael did not want to go though he said otherwise. He called Dianne and I found myself back in court in a custody battle. Actually, if Mike had told me he didn't want to go I would have acceded as he was a real pain in the ass as a kid.

Dianne got custody of Michael and I was ready to go to Germany with Howard in tow. Little did I know that he too had a hidden agenda. He wanted to remain in Virginia to finish High School and I granted his request, finding people for him to stay with.

Needless to say, he never joined me in Germany.

I arrived in Germany and was assigned duties as a First Sergeant in a truck company. The average IQ of the soldiers in that company was in the double digits and I determined to hang in for the requisite year (ticket punching) and bail out while I still had some remnant of my sanity.

My request to move on to other duties really pissed off the Sergeant Major who felt that being a First Sergeant was the highest calling an NCO could have. Grudgingly, I was reassigned duties as the Operations NCO for the Battalion (with over a thousand soldiers and over 600 trucks traveling all over Europe, it was a real challenge to my management skills.)

That was my life for the next two years or so. But, though it could have been a lot of fun there was a large fly in the lemonade. The Sergeant Major (a black guy named Garner) turned out to be a racially prejudiced bigot. He was very sly about the whole thing but the majority of senior NCO's (Black, White, Hispanic all of us) knew he was a bigot but couldn't prove it.

As I worked in the headquarters I was a close in target and my life became a living hell where I spent all of my working hours looking over my shoulder and waiting for the next shit storm to blow in.

All of this was a firm lesson in the adage "if it doesn't kill you, it makes you stronger." As well as an education for a white male on the real impact of racial prejudice.

Along came Desert Shield and Desert Storm and off I went to Stuttgart to run the night shift of the Air Movements Control Center an organization that coordinated the arrival of aircraft and troops and their equipment at airports to be sent down the chute into Southwest Asia.

An interesting interlude which strained my abilities and, after two years in a moron asylum, a welcome change. The majority of troops finally arrived and my job was over or so I thought. I was sent to Seventh Army Headquarters in Heidelberg and spent the rest of the "war" ten stories underground in a command bunker.

After the festivities were completed, I went back to Mannheim determined to retire. I had always maintained that once the Army stopped being fun, I'd quit and so I did.

My retirement was effect 30 September 1991 (the certificate hangs in an appropriate place - directly across from the commode in my bathroom.)

While I was in Germany I met a fellow by the name of Wayne Frennier who retired a couple of month before I did. He came from a small town in New Mexico called Las Vegas. When we parted, he told me to drop in after I pulled the plug meet his wife and hang out for a while.

I arrived in Las Vegas to find that Wayne had started school at New Mexico Highlands University. He got me to go to class with him a few times and I was hooked. The Fall Semester of 1991 I started school and have been there ever since as a Mass Communications Major with a concentration in Television Production. Somehow or another, I've been able to maintain a 3.8 to 4.0 average and have been having quite a bit of fun.

In September of 1993, I finally reestablished a dialogue with Howard (not having spoken to him or his brother since leaving Virginia.) He was living in New Hampshire and was jobless and getting hungry (not enough quarters for unemployment).

I made him an offer he couldn't refuse - I would pay for a one way bus ticket to New Mexico and get him into school. End of deal, I couldn't pay for it that was his problem. In short, he accepted and arrived here on the 13th of December (one day before his birthday.)

He started school in the Spring 1993 Semester and has been doing fairly well. He has shifted his interests to Mass Communications and may well shift his major.

Howard does not live with me but resides in the dorms while school is in session returning to the house with large piles of dirty laundry and an appetite that would do a flock of locusts justice every weekend (such is the fate of the parent of a college student).

On 20 Feb 93, I married a lady that I met in Germany. Her name is now Dorothy Barbara Maguire and she's still on active duty with the Army as a Staff Sergeant though she may be able to retire early and join me here in Las Vegas and become another professional college student.

Last spring (1993) I joined the local Masonic Lodge and have been raised to the third degree. The lodge gives me a social outlet and a chance to things other than eat, sleep and go to school.

All for now (31 Oct 93) - the saga will continue...........