Man, Things Have Really Changed...
It was the Christmas season of 1964. I had been in Bad Kissingen just about 6 weeks. I was amazed to find that the Army went on a half day schedule for the holidays. More time to sit around in the barracks! I was starting to catch on to the mentality of most of my platoon mates. The Army fed us three meals a day...provided a room with a bunk and clean sheets every Thursday...even gave us the winter clothing we needed...and gave us $65.00 a month to buy beer...or whiskey...and cigarettes. A very simple, easy way to get along.
But because of a scheduling glitch, we had to work on Christmas Eve. We were the support platoon...Fuel and Lube, we were called...or "Grease and Bullets", depending on who was calling. Any way, we received bulk fuel shipments periodically by rail. When a rail tanker arrived, we had less than 24 hours to off load it because the Barracks didn't have a rail spur and the bahnhof had limited space. A tank car arrived late at night on the 23rd so we had to do a maximum effort to off-load it by deadline. We had two kinds of tanker trucks. The M49C was a two and a half ton (deuce and a half) with a fuel tank body...the other kind were M35A1 cargo deuce and a halfs with two 600 gallon pods mounted in the cargo bed and a pump arrangement at the front bumper. We set up one of the M35s to suction from the tank car and the rest lined up to get loaded. Simple operation, my first time but it wasn't too taxing. Since it was freezing cold and icy, we took turns standing on top of the rail car to insure the hoses didn't get fouled and that the trucks didn't get overfull. We got loaded, drove up to the Kaserne (our little Post) and emptied into the above ground storage tank in our yard. returned to the bahnhof and got in line to do it all again, about an hour roung trip.. The process would normally take 4-6 hours if all went well. Well...it was Christmas Eve.
Now at this point I have to explain that things have changed in the Army in the last 40 plus years. In the 60's, and for a lot of years before that, we had never heard of "Political Correctness"...the social structure of the Army ran on booze. Black Coffee, Cigarettes, and lots of Booze. There were many NCOs (sergeants) that I worked for who were drunk all day every day, it was no secret, and almost everyone was tippin' at one time or another. I told you that so I could tell you this:
Our Platoon Sergeant showed up in his big Mercury station wagon with a case of coke...cute little 8 ounce glass bottles...and started handing them out. I was on topside duty at the time and my buddy, Benjie, tossed me one of the bottles...already opened...and I was proud to catch it with little spillage. In high school we used to race chugging 16 ounce bottles of coke, pepsi, Dr. Pepper or whatever and I was pretty good at it, so I decided to show off a little and chugged that little coke in one blazing hurry. I say blazing because the bottle was only half coke, the other half was Paul Jones, my platoon sergeant's personal favorite booze. German tank cars are shorter than the ones we see here in the USA, but they are taller. Alot taller...and that one was icy and slick...and I don't know why I didn't die when I slid off of it, bounced off the truck that was being loaded, and landed butt first on the ice packed cobblestones below. But I didn't die. When everyone could control their laughter, they came over to see if I was hurt. I was truly feeling no pain...that would come later. My squad leader told me later that the first thing I said when they came over to me was to request another coke.
I was seventeen, not very experienced in the ways of liquor, I had snuck a taste or two in my errant youth, but this was the first time I was well and truly plowed. I was not allowed to drive any more but I did spend a lot of the day on the hoses...spelled periodically in the station wagon for a cold coke. It was a memorable Christmas Eve, I just wish I remembered more of it. I have snippits of events that happened during the rest of the day...one of my tight buddies, Pablo, a native American from New Mexico, upholding his end of the stereotype...squeegeeing vomit out of the door of the office onto the Lieutenant , who was coming in to wish us all a Merry Christmas...in his Dress Blues...on his way to the O club for the Christmas Reception...Pablo later balling up under a counter in embarassment...and later still...Pablo and I at opposite ends of the office throwing knives...at the cabinets each of us was standing next to...he was teaching me some "injun" skills...Big Jim coming up the hill in his M49, standing on the running board and blowing chunks off to the side...while driving...someone had to take a taxi to the bahnhof to retrieve the platoon sergeant and his car...somehow I wound up incapacitated in the latrine at the enlisted club...and half of the platoon was in the same shape...many of them never made it out of the barracks.
It did have one positve result, though. It was my first Christmas away from home and I was really homesick and feeling sorry for myself that morning...I forgot all about that stuff. And Christmas Day? I was so sick and hung over I didn't even notice Christmas until dinner when we hall trooped over to the mess hall for our traditiional dinner.
I don't even know if we got the tank car unloaded...but we probably did, somehow things got done even when everyone was blotto. Things have changed a lot...I hope.