In 1967 the Army was phasing out the old M37 3/4 ton truck but hadn't gotten a "permanent" replacement, yet. So they bought a bunch of Jeep Gladiators, put really uncomfortable seats and a silly looking cargo box on them and called them an M755...or something like that. As a tactical vehicle, it was not great but then neither was the old M37. I was an instructor at the truck driving school and was tagged as the primary instructor on this unwieldy piece of ...this new vehicle. I was responsible for teaching familiarization and operation of the new truck to each of our student classes...and the cadre, too. All this happened as I had achieved the status of "double digit midget"...I was getting "short"...had less than a hundred days left in the Army.
As the magic day approached when I would be free of the green...and as was the tradition among the younger instructors...I began to let my hair grow...beyond the required military standard. But we spent our work days wearing shiny black helmet liners that, when the straps were adjusted just so, completely hid the excess hair. This was a cool plan and would have gone totally well if it weren't for one guy...Major General Meyers.
The first part of July the post came under new management. Strategic Communications Command (called "STRATCOM"...we all thought it should be "STRATCOMCOM"... but I guess that would have been too redundant...) moved it's headquarters to Fort Huachuca and MG Meyers was the new commander. The change of command ceremony was designed to be a huge affair with equipment from all over on display. The formation was going to be too huge for the normal walking inspection by the oncoming commander...so they decided he would inspect from a vehicle. One of my Gladiators. I was informed that I would be required to be the driver since I was the subject matter expert...I reminded them that I would only have 10 days left on the day of the parade...they reminded me that I would still have 10 days left on the day of the parade. I was not happy. Why? Cause this story was making the rounds.
Meyers was a very strict interpeter of regulations especially where haircuts were concerned. He moved onto post a couple of days before the ceremony and settled into the position house on the old post. A young teen boy riding his skateboard on the street in front of the house was stopped by an angry looking older man who wanted to know who he was and why he was making so much noise and why he hadn't had a haircut lately. The teen said, 1. he wasn't in the Army and so he didn't have to get haircuts, 2. He lived in the neighborhood and was allowed to ride his skateboard wherever he pleased, and 3. his father was COLONEL So and so and that was all that old man needed to know. The "old man" identified himself as MG Meyers, the new post commander and invited the lad and his COLONEL father to meet with him in his office first thing in the morning. When the Colonel and his son showed up the next morning, they had a little discussion on courtesy, appearance, and who out ranked who...then the general escorted the Colonel and his son down to the Greely Hall barber shop where he ordered them both to get a haircut...and informed the lad that the order applied to him even if he wasn't in the Army ...just ask your dad.
I had to drive this haircut fanatic around that enormous formation...with all that extra hair hiding under my "turtle shell". I was torn. Haircut or no haircut. I had been grooming this for over a month...well beyond what was acceptable...not hippy-ish by any means...but surely enough to get this general fired up ...if he saw it. In the end, I took the short timer attitude and let out the straps a little more, the helmet liner almost reached my shoulders...I couldn't have look dorkier...but I was gonna fly widit.
Day of the parade. My M755 polished for days...white tape wrapped grip bars installed in the cargo bed so the general and his party can stand up in the back and look at all them troops. My helmet liner was spit shined...my fatigues razor sharp...boots like black glass...and here we go. At the appropriate time, I pull in front of the reviewing stand...stop at the designated point...the general and his party climb up into the cargo bed on the specially constructed steps...there is a lieutenant standing next to me in front, holding on to the windshield frame...the General stood right behind him...the colonel stood next to the general and there was a captain on board somewhere, too. I had to pull out smoothly and slowly...no easy task in that particular vehicle...and right away the General starts asking questions. If I hadn't been so nervous about my hair and scared of jerking the truck around, I would probably laughed out loud at the next 10 minutes. The general had never seen one of these trucks before so he asked the colonel what it was. The colonel asked the captain...the captain asked the lieutenant...who asked me. "It is an M755, the interim replacement for the M37...which has been phased out.." The lieutenant repeated verbatim to the captain who told exactly what the LT said to the colonel who repeated it exactly to the general. The General says, "Looks a little like a Jeep Gladiator...is it?" and the question came down the chain to me. I said, "Yes sir, a specially modified version of the commercial Gladiator equipped with tactical amendments and a special drive train". Back up the chain..."What kind of drive train?"...back down the chain..."It has an overhead cam six cylinder engine and a special three speed gear box with a separate transfer case, very similar to the old 3/4 ton" back up the chain..."What do you think of it's tactical capabilities"...back down the chain...and so it went. The whole time I was driving him around the formation, he never once mentioned the troops in formation, the sparkling equipment, the excellent band...all he wanted to do was ask as many questions as he could about that darn truck. What was the funniest think was that he never asked ME a single question...and we were all so close together that we could have joined hands and sung "Kumbeiya".
Huachuca in July is a hot place. The driver's seat of that little Gladiator was even hotter. And all that worry was for not. The General never even glanced my way...never noticed all the diversions I planned to steer him away from my hair...the boots, the helmet liner, the bar soap inforced military creases...I was almost disappointed...almost.