Patrol Cap Years 1982-2002 (1989)

 
 

           After scanning my first chapter, 1981 — early-winter; Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA; 5th-year undergraduate student at the University of Wisconsin — A friend said to me, “This should be labeled: Preface.”

          I gave her a not too condescending, thank-you-for-criticizing-so-quickly grimace and replied, “I thought if I began my two-decade identi-ficton portfolio: The Patrol Cap Years, A Soldiers Career from 1982-2002, with the year 1981, it would be a smooth way of detailing some crucial information—why I joined the Army—without it being treated the way a morning DJ treats musical intro-stanzas."

          She looked at me with a what's-this-crazy-fuck-saying expression. “You didn’t call it a preface because you didn’t want someone to talk over it?”

          “Yes.” I said, “That’s it exactly. And it’s working so well.”

          Then I moved 1981 to the middle of my two decades.  I read years ago in a how-to book ... or maybe I recall from the movie Adaptation (the grizzled speaker at the script-writing seminar) that every story should begin when the main viewpoint character discovers he is no longer happy with his lot in life.  So my career in the US Army now begins:

          1989 — late-spring; Seoul, Republic of Korea; Military Police Investigator, Sergeant E5, 142d MP Company (attached to the Yongsan CID Field Office, Joint Black-market and Drug Suppression Team) —

Dear Soldiers and Family Members,

      The suppression of black-marketeers and the identification of ration control violators is one of the highest priorities of this command. Military Police assigned as Black-market suppression team investigators are over-worked, vigilant, extremely dedicated to their mission, and not, as one person wrote, “lazy, ineffectual and a waste of taxpayer’s money” (Never Any Banana’s, 10 Apr 89).

     Additional control measures are being put into effect to reduce the purchasing ability of the “racetrack mama’s who daily buy up every frozen hotdog, bottle of Suave shampoo and bar of Ivory soap,” (Disgusted, 30 Mar).

     I have discussed item availability with directors and commanders of the District Post Exchange and Yongsan Commissary. Understandably, some minor distribution problems have occurred. I have been assured, with the recent completion of the new Commissary, that logistics has been vastly improved and sufficient quantities will be available of all high-demand items.

     I would like to take this opportunity to thank all the hard working officers and enlisted MPs in my command who sacrifice countless hours to provide for the safety and security of this community.

     - R. W. Powles, Lieutenant Colonel, MP, Provost Marshal

Commander, Eighth US Army ATTN: Brigadier General Thomas E. Manikins, Assistant Deputy Commander (Movement), Yongsan, Korea
Sir, 
      Yesterday the Pacific Stars and Stripes carried a response written by LTC Powles addressing black-marketing complaints which have been posted in the ‘Letters’ section over the past few months. Specifically, the Provost Marshal (PM) wrote, “The suppression of black-marketing...is one of the highest priorities of this command...”. 
     This statement is misleading and certainly does not conform to the facts. I am—at present and for the last two months—the sole member of the Yongsan Joint Black-market and Drug Suppression Team (JBM/DST). No matter how much I would like to say my efforts are significant, I alone am incapable of effecting black-market and drug suppression in a community of over five thousand. 
      Although there is not a current Letter of Agreement (LOA) between the PM and the Commander of the Yongsan CID Office, (delineating the number of Military Police for BM and DST) the most recent LOA, dated 1987, outlines the attachment of ten MPs. When I began working with CID as a black-market investigator over a year ago, there were eight; four with black-market suppression and four with drug suppression. Through attrition, re-assignment and absorption into the MP Investigations Section (directed by the PM) the JBM/DST has been slowly reduced to one. Me. 
      I suspect the only reason I have not been re-assigned, and the JBM/DST left dormant, is because my application for training as an Apprentice Special Agent, with the US Army Criminal Investigations Division, was approved last year. I have orders to report to CID school in less than six months. 
      I am writing this letter now, sir, because until yesterday I thought my numerous requests for more investigators would soon be met. I recognize I am going around my chain-of-command by delivering this letter to you and I am also aware of the risks of affixing my name, rather than sending an anonymous note. 
      I decided you were the correct person to inform because you are the highest-ranking Military Police Officer in Korea. As to why I didn’t send this letter anonymously: I believe an unsigned letter carries little to no weight. 
- Veach Glines, SGT, MP, JBM/DST Investigator

           “Glines. Hey. How’s it going?” Captain Ruffalo said as I stuck my head in and rapped on his doorframe.

          I approached his desk and handed him a copy of the letter. “Sir. I thought it would be wise to provide you with this. It’s not my intention to bind-side you. I know you’ve addressed the manpower issue with the Provost Marshal on numerous occasions and I ...” The captain had already begun reading and raised his finger to silence me. I sat in one of the green and gray armchairs and looked at the green and gray office equipment which adorned his office just like every other office in the building. The exception, because he was the Field Office Commander, was two crossed flags behind his desk: The stars and stripes and a large blue flag with a gold Criminal Investigations Division crest in the center.

          “You didn’t already send this, did you?” He asked, briefly looking up at me. Maybe hoping to locate a big smile on my face which might tell him I was part of a prank. I was calm and unsmiling. He returned to the page as I replied in the affirmative. I told him how, just before coming to see him, I’d hand delivered the letter to the general’s aide. “This is probably the ballsy-ist, most-stupid-thing I’ve ever seen someone do.” He said as he put the letter down. “You realize I can’t be much help to you, Glines?”

          “I understand, sir.”

          “Since you're not an Agent, it's out of my hands. The Provost Marshal has control over all MPs and I’m pretty sure he's going to exert some of that control on you. And it won’t be pleasant to watch.” He said.

          Three days later I learned from the CID First Sergeant that I was to report to the Provost Marshal’s Office in BDU’s. Getting told to wear the Battle Dress Uniform was supposed to be the strong hint that my world was about to change because I normally wore civilian clothing or whatever would make me blend with my surroundings.

          After a sufficiently lengthy wait in the outer office, obviously intended to make me dread the upcoming confrontation, the MP Command Sergeant Major exited the Provost Marshal’s office and said, “OK, Glines, you need to knock and then report to the Colonel.”

          I knocked. The Provost Marshal told me to enter. I conducted some facing movements which moved me march-step from the doorway to the center point of the room facing a big heavy-oak desk. Once centered on the Provost Marshal, I came to the position of attention, rendered a salute and said, “Sergeant Glines, reports.”

          My eyes were focused straight ahead over the Provost Marshal at the point where two flags crossed: the stars and stripes and a large kelly-green and gold banner which I knew (even though I could not see without moving my eyes) contained Military Police crossed pistols and a gold emblem in the center. I held my salute for a few long seconds. Once I saw, in my peripheral vision, the Provost Marshal return the salute in a sloppy loose-wristed manner, I dropped my hand. He then read my letter to me with asides and comments interjected every phrase or so. He made an enthusiastic point of finding two spelling errors and one mistake in grammar.

          After ten minutes the Provost Marshal slammed his hand on the top of his desk and shouted, “You say here: ‘I recognize I am going around my chain-of-command’. Going around? Going AROUND!? You didn’t go around your chain-of-command, Sergeant, you took out a poncho, threw it over the heads of your entire chain-of-command, and then proceeded to stomp on that poncho.”

          His words were closer together. His breath was becoming audible. I think it was about this point that he became aware of a tactical error he had made at the beginning of my ass chewing. And I hoped it was too late to fix: He had left me standing at the position of attention. He was sitting. Without eye-contact, it was easy for me to just interject brief yes-sir’s and no-sir’s at the crossed flags whenever his inflection raised enough to sound like he needed an amen from the congregation. I wondered how he got dark wood office furniture when the CID Commander got routine-green metal. I surmised it was because the CID Commander was only a Captain.

          He switched tactics. “Sergeant, how many years have you been in?”

          “I joined in 82, sir.” I told the crossed flags; which was not an answer to his question. I would like to be able to boast about mental nimbleness; about how I was so unaffected by his verbal rant, that I instantaneously provided an almost-answer inside of half a heartbeat. Truthfully—though—I was flustered. After my previous one word answers, affirmative or negative, given in response to his querulous statements about the purpose of my letter, my insubordinate tone, and my facts, (which came out: “faacts” by the emphasis in his voice) he had now asked a question requiring more than a simple yes or no. Answering his question required me to subtract today’s date from the month and year I entered the Army. My brain immediately recalled that date and then instead of doing the math myself, which would require a pause for a second or three—a sign of weakness, I relayed the year alone.

          “Are you promotable?” He asked, without slowing.

          “No, sir.” I said.

          “You should have been promoted to Staff Sergeant in your fifth or sixth year. Why haven’t you gone before the promotion board?”

          Uh-oh, I thought. “Sir, for several years CID has only considered applicants in grades E5 and below. This moratorium prevents E5 promotable Sergeants and above from applying to become Agents. I turned down promotion boards because of my goal to become an Agent, sir.” 

          Even with my extra sir's, he lost all remaining composure. I think he must have been hoping to learn of prior misconduct—the normal reason for stagnation in rank or slow promotion. He shouted, “I am going to do everything in my power to insure you never become a CID Agent!”

          I was removed from the JBM/DST and put in an MP Platoon where I held the job of Team Leader (a junior-Sergeant's job, one which I'd held many years prior). I was administered a Physical Fitness Test. I was ordered to be weighed as well as submit to a body fat percentage test. I was directed to piss in a bottle to test my urine for illegal substances. Further, I had to layout all my military gear for inspection. Over the next two days I performed within standard or passed everything. In the community there was a housing complex where lower ranking MPs were assigned to patrol and check ID cards because a Korean College was a short distance down the street and students who hated the US military presence sometimes congregated and became violent. I was a great gate guard.

          After a couple of weeks I spoke with my previous CID Agent-supervisor. He told me that there was nothing the Provost Marshal could do to impede my CID school attendance. He also told me six new MP Investigators were already working with the JBM/DST and two more were scheduled to arrive the following week.

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