{"id":101544,"date":"2012-12-19T21:39:57","date_gmt":"2012-12-20T02:39:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/friendburst.com\/blog-new\/101544\/that-uncle-that-no-one-wants-you-to-talk-about\/"},"modified":"2012-12-19T21:39:57","modified_gmt":"2012-12-20T02:39:57","slug":"that-uncle-that-no-one-wants-you-to-talk-about","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/friendburst.com\/blog-new\/101544\/that-uncle-that-no-one-wants-you-to-talk-about\/","title":{"rendered":"That Uncle that no one want’s you to talk about."},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/p>\n

West Point and Crazy Uncles:<\/p>\n

\n

I went straight from the farm to the Army without realizing what a good life the farm had been. I was never shot at during my enlistment, although there were times, I wished I had been. At least I could have shot back. I wasn’t in the service long enough to get into serious trouble, but was coming perilously close to it near the end. My reaction to being controlled developed to an art form during this time and still has not abated. It is considered a net negative upon my character by people that claim to care about me. On the plus side, I was honorably discharged a little wiser than if I had just fallen off the turnip truck. I left the Army, pretty much the way I went into it, a thoughtful patriot. I am well described by that expression to this day.<\/p>\n

Among the things ER13565356 learned was: <\/p>\n

1. To despise standing in line for anything. Often, to my family’s chagrin, I react with predictably open hostility towards it.<\/p>\n

2. Free medical care is considerably overpriced. <\/p>\n

3. Girls don’t like soldiers. Their Mothers like officers.<\/p>\n

4. The food was quite good because the Army trained its own cooks and if you were to beg pitifully enough there was plenty of it. “Pleas sir, may I have some more gruel?” would reduce the most battle-hardened mess Sergeant to tears. <\/p>\n

5. A running rabbit, even one in full trespass of a live firing range, is hard to hit with an M-1 Garand. The use of military ammo for such frivolity is highly frowned upon.<\/p>\n

I have zero tolerance for the mere suggestion of collective guilt and react with the full velocity of an angry hammer towards it. I cannot abide management that tries to punish everyone for the perceived misdeeds of a few. This was an Army specialty and it still drives me overtly ballistic. Save the fact that it gave me a lot to talk about; the Army was an experience that I was glad to have behind me.<\/p>\n

So why am I at Walter Reed hospital a year later, trying to convince a Medical Corps Psychiatrist that I am something less than crazy and, as such, would make a good candidate for the US Military Academy at West Point?<\/p>\n

It goes back to when I mustered out at Fort Knox, Kentucky. The captain of our company was a West Point grad and acted the part. He was an imposing figure with impressive military bearing and demeanor, a born leader. I respected, admired, and even liked him, so when he approached me about reenlisting I wanted to let him down easy. “Sir, I’d be happy to stay in the Army if I had those bars on your shoulders. Spending my life as an enlisted man is not my idea of a career.” <\/p>\n

It was the first time I had seen him laugh. “You can’t have mine,” he said. “I’ve worked too hard for them. If you would like a set of your own, I can contact your congressman and ask him to consider you for the next academy appointments.” I was headed home tomorrow and thought the polite thing to do was humor him. “Thank you, Sir”. I saluted and turned away. It was our last meeting.<\/p>\n

A year had lapsed and I had a position as a lab tech for a major chemical company. My chemistry studies were coming well and at 21 years old the future seemed assured. This was an opportunity that most young men said they wanted. I could afford to look for a wife now that would love me almost as much as the last boyfriend who dumped her. We could add the proverbial 2.8 children who could share her contempt for me. I might even afford a station wagon and spend the rest of my life dreaming about a motorcycle. <\/p>\n

If I minded my studies and kept my nose clean, I could spend my allotted years, die in my own bed, and be buried in that well groomed cemetery on the north side of New Martinsville. The world would scarce notice my existence or passing. One day, my predestined Hell seemed temporarily averted when a letter from congressman Arch Moore arrived inviting me to take the competitive test for academy appointments in Wheeling next week. <\/p>\n

I showed up for testing at the appointed place and time. I was not alone. There were at least 150 of us, all vying for the same few spots. My recent chemistry studies were much too specialized to be of help on such a test and I never thought of High School as a place to prepare me for anything. The faculty at Hundred High probably felt the same way. Worse yet, much of my competition graduated at the top their class. I finished several hours\u2019 worth of tests feeling that I had not done well at all. <\/p>\n

The following week, a neighbor came running over with the morning paper in her hand. Apparently, I had been chosen as 1 of 4 to go to Washington DC and spend 3 days of physical and academic testing for the final appointment to West Point. Two would receive appointments and two would return home losers. I arranged for a week off and decided that it was time to get myself in better physical shape and begin studying for the test. Running a mile or so every day would do the job physically, but what to study. The answer came quickly. My name being published had the side effect of putting me on every prep school in the country’s sucker list. <\/p>\n

The mail came in bundles. “We have a 95% appointment rate! The courses only last 18 months and the cost is a reasonable.” It averaged $8,000 plus books and living expenses. The solicitation details varied, but the message was the same. “If you want to be a soldier and your parents have money, we’re here to help.”<\/p>\n

I didn’t consider the prep schools for two reasons. One was that I wasn’t totally sure I wanted to be a soldier any more, having been there once. There is an old Infantry saying: “The only thing lower than a 2d Lieutenant is whale shit, because it’s in the bottom of the ocean.” The real reason, I suppose, was that I couldn’t have afforded the extra schooling anyway. West Point and I would just have consider our relationship buck naked and decide if the match was made in heaven or hell.<\/p>\n

The testing lasted 3 days at Walter Reed Hospital which left me the remainder of the week to see Washington. I spent one of my rare reverent hours at The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Most of my free time, however was spent at the Smithsonian. It was time well spent. <\/p>\n

The physical test was difficult but doable and out of the 300 or so people from around the country, I came in about average. When it came to academics, my English was too much Celtic-Saxon and not enough of the more classical Latin. I passed, but not comfortably. I excelled in geometry, thanks to my high school science teacher, Russell Stewart. I had, however, not yet mastered quadratic equations and paid dearly for it in my algebra score. I had also not been warned that there would be a psychological profile for each of the candidates during this time. <\/p>\n

Imagine, if you can, an officer from the medical corps with a degree in psychology creating files on 300 young men in 3 days. We first met when I was standing in one of those interminable lines. A tall, well presented officer tapped me on the shoulder asking if I had seen the psychiatrist yet. “The shrink?” I smirked, “No”. A microsecond later I saw his Captain’s bars and reflexively apologized. The interview was designed to be brief. He barely looked up from his notes while inquiring if any of my brothers, sister or parents had been committed to an insane asylum. None were. <\/p>\n

He finished the interview by inquiring about the health of my grandparents. “All dead by now, sir. I never knew any of them personally.” “When they were alive, do you know if any of them had any mental problems?” He was already closing the folder. “According to Mom, my paternal grandmother was pretty much out of it by the time she died.” He paused and looked at me. “Exactly what type of problems did your grandmother have?” “Physically, she had consumption, fallen womb, and probably stomach cancer. Her death certificate listed the cause of death as starvation.” He became comfortable again and added a few notes to the file before closing it. He then pleasantly explained that the combination of physical starvation, not to mention oxygen deprivation from consumption and pain of an untreatable fallen womb likely caused grandmas\u2019 loss of reality. He was placing my file in his desk drawer when I agreed and volunteered that she was nothing like Uncle John who was just plain nuts. <\/p>\n

It was almost like turning on the lights. My file was quickly retrieved and laid open. Clean sheets of paper were found and a large cup filled with multicolored pens was obtained from a shelf on the wall. No longer was he the poised military officer, but a child in a room full of new toys. Happiness is infectious. The more toys I gave him to play with, the more excited he became. I gave him lots of toys. <\/p>\n

Uncle John was normal enough, even likeable, most of the time, but could lose control up to and including violence on occasion. During these times, his family suffered considerable pain and on two occasions arranged his institutionalization in the West Virginia Insane Asylum at Weston for a stretch of several months. <\/p>\n

The things I didn\u2019t tell the shrink about Uncle John are things I didn\u2019t know at the time. He was able to work for a living most of the time and eventually retired from Weirton Steel before he died. I am told that an autopsy revealed a piece of steel lodged in his brain for what was probably most, if not all of his life.<\/p>\n

In real life, answers make questions and the questions created were too old to be answered. Was it a darning needle, a piece of wire, a nail from the barnyard? Was it there as a result of tragically careless play among siblings? Or was it, perhaps something darker? Had grandma been overwhelmed at the thought of another child and unsuccessfully tried to employ some homespun remedy for it? Folks said that she blatantly favored her youngest son over the remaining children in all things. Was she assuaging perceived guilt? There are no facts involved here, just questions without answers.<\/p>\n

Had I known then what I now do, there is little I could have done to improve his report. It is my assumption that somewhere in government records I must be considered a security risk to this very day.<\/p>\n

Kinda makes you proud, doesn\u2019t it? <\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

West Point and Crazy Uncles: I went straight from the farm to the Army without realizing what a good life the farm had been. I was never shot at during my enlistment, although there were times, I wished I had been. At least I could have shot back. I wasn’t in the service long enough […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-101544","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-other"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/friendburst.com\/blog-new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/101544","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/friendburst.com\/blog-new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/friendburst.com\/blog-new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/friendburst.com\/blog-new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=101544"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/friendburst.com\/blog-new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/101544\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/friendburst.com\/blog-new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=101544"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/friendburst.com\/blog-new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=101544"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/friendburst.com\/blog-new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=101544"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}