Back as far as I remember, there have been judges who thought it was the mission of the military to build men...Maybe because in the sixties the Marine motto was..." The Marine Corps Builds Men"...so the judge would give some ot the miscreants the choice of two years in jail or three in the Army. The Marines normally screened these guys out but the Army took 'em. Over the years I came across several of these fellas...but a few stick out in my memory because they really were gangsters.\
There were a few of them in my basic training company...but I didn't have much to do with them. The first one I really got to know was a medic in the Cav in Bad Kissingen. I was sitting in on a bull session in the medic rooms when the conversation turned to how or why we got into the Army. One of the medics was a big scary looking guy with tear drop tattoos and was known for leading satanic type meditation sessions late at night. (When I got to know him better I asked if he really believed that stuff and he laughed and said , "Hell no...but it keeps the sergeants out of our room".) He said he had been involved in a discussion with a couple of Oakland cops that resulted in all three winding up in the hospital. The judge gave him the choice and he took the Army. It happened to be about his 8th or 9th such affair. One of the new medics asked why he was always fighting with the cops. He pulled up his T-shirt sleeve and proudly displayed his 1% tattoo on his left shoulder...then his Hell's Angel colors on his right. His mission was to start a fight with the cops whenever they got stopped so his "brothers" could get away with the dope they were holding. He'd already been in jail so he thought the Army would be a better deal.
One of my favorites wasn't actually mine. Jerry was a Mohawk pilot out of Stuttgart Army Airfield...he flew border surveillance, zooming along the border at low...really low...altitude looking them over with the SLAR. One of his ground crew was a tough looking young fella with a eastern big city accent. Jerry was just making conversation and the subject was money. The ground man drove a fairly new Mercedes and stayed in an apartment in town instead of the barracks. Jerry commented that that must be tight on an E4's pay. This guy said he had an allowance to supplement his Army pay...something like an extra $1500 a month. Jerry said that was a sweet deal and asked if his family had money why was he in the Army. "The judge". "What did you do? " "Some jerk was causing my Uncle Benny problems and he asked me to take care of it"..."How?" "I cut off his face". And for that, Uncle Benny took care of him while he was serving his time.
I had one in my platoon in Mannheim who had been a union "enforcer" on the docks of Oakland. The judge gave him the choice and he wound up in Germany. I was transferred to work in the training office and my life went down hill for months. The E7 who was the acting First Sergeant couldn't find his butt with both hands and every time he needed a scape goat, there I was. One afternoon I was feeling particularly blue about things when my stevadore and one of his cohorts showed up in the training room. They were supposed to be in the motor pool working on trucks but they didn't like the new platoon sergeant so they decided to visit me. They remarked on my bluesy manner and I said that the new Top was on my butt and at that the dockworker jumped up and headed for the door. I asked him where he was going..."If I break his legs he won't be such a pain in the butt, will he?" I assured him that it wouldn't be necessary to take that kind of action (as tempting as the offer was) and after some serious talking down...he finally agreed. But he promised that he would take care of things any time I wanted him to. After they slipped out to find a new hiding place, I sat in sweaty silence at the offer...because he was cold as ice and serious as a heart attack...there is no doubt in my mind that if I hadn't stopped him, he woulda.
I did a short stint as a cook...OH I hate to admit that...and one of the trainee cooks that worked in our Mess Hall was a quiet mexican...medium size...good worker...easy going. The night baker was a pig. He worked on his car at night and came in and rolled our pie crust and formed dinner rolls with those mechanic's grease stained hands...and whenever their paths crossed, the baker would harass the heck out of this mexican kid. The baker was relentless and crude and dirty and as much as I tried to stop him, he layed it on. The baker was easily twice the mexican's size...the kid just endured it without much comment and little to no complaint. One afternoon just before the dinner meal started, two men in suits and sunglasses came in the front door of the mess hall. They wanted to see the mexican trainee. As soon as they walked in, he had headed for the back door, where he was met by two more men in suits. The flashed FBI creds and cuffed him, did a quick pat down then took him out to a waiting sedan. Then two cars full of Feds and one little mexican zoomed down the company street. We didn't find out until a few days later what it was all about. Zintron, the Mess Sergeant, got the low down and waited til Smuda, the night baker came in so he could tell us all at the same time. The quiet little mexican was a convicted murderer who had escaped custody, switched ID with his brother and joined the Army. This is a testament to the quality of criminal thinkers...finger prints??!! But he had gotten through basic and cook school and was in his OJT phase before they caught up to him. And in my many experiences in the Army, one of my very favorite memories is the look that passed across the face of Smuda, the night baker, as he dashed out the back door to lose his lunch all over the back porch.
Sometime in the later part of the seventies the Army, downsizing after Vietnam, quit taking folks with convictions...or so they said. It may have improved the quality of the troops in general...but the troops weren't nearly as interesting.