You like War stories. Now there is a difference between war stories and combat stories. Combat stories are recall of actual events in combat during war. War stories are memories of specific events or incidents while in the Army or any other Armed Service. My war story goes like this: I was assigned to Company D, 728th MP Battalion in ASCOM, Korea. The year was 1960 (late summer). ASCOM is about 17 miles east of Inchon and about 30 miles southwest of Seoul. We patrolled from Inchon to the Seoul city limits. The city of Seoul was patrolled by another Company for the 728th. I was in the 1st Platoon. Most of the others guys in my platoon where a couple years older then me (23 or 24 years old) and where draftees. I was 21 and Regular Army. To be a Military Policeman then you had to be at least 20 years old. Most of the Military Police in those days were draftees. There were only two others that were Regular Army in my platoon. One warm summer evening our platoon was on break (we worked shift while on patrol). We received a break from duty every nine days. This is the only time that our entire Platoon is off duty at the same time. It was George Jacobs’s birthday. He wanted to go to Inchon and have a party. What the hell lets go to Inchon and have a party. About 11 of us got a bus to Inchon. The Korean Buses where “Off Limits” to soldiers at that time because of there accident rate and being unsafe vehicles. That was first rule we broke that night. Jacobs had a specific Bar that he wanted to have his party at. It was the best Bar in Inchon. Inchon is not the best place for us to have a party. One its 17 miles to our compound and two we policed Inchon and that bar. The island of Waimedo had special security (military policeman). We called them security guards which they resented. The only difference between us and them was our assignment to a military police unit. In the past we have trouble with off duty security guards from Waimedo.
There was bad blood between us. We where in their town and it just so happen that their hangout was the Bar that Jacobs wanted to have his party at. Jacobs like patrolling Inchon. Let me jump ahead a little bit; Jacobs had served with one of the Security Guards from Waimedo back in the states. The two had a dislike for each other. They had some dust ups in Inchon when Jacobs was on patrol nothing serious, just unkindly words. Let’s get back to my war story. We were all ready drinking before we got on the bus and feeling good. We got to the bar and entered. WE had to climb stairs to the second floor barroom. We got a bunch of tables together and all sat down. Mamasan came over to our group looking quite concerned. She tells us that she wants no trouble; she likes all GIs Waimedo GIs and ASCOM GIs. We said no sweat we are not going to cause trouble. I look crossed the dance floor and said “Shit”. On the other side of the dance floor was at 20 members of the Waimedo Security Force. They were having a “going away party” for one of their guys. At that time everybody had to wear a uniform in Korea. Our guys wore a green scarf (Ascot) around our neck with our Battalion crest in the center and we had our ASCOM patch on our left shoulder. It was quite easy to identify us as off duty MPs from ASCOM. They wore a green scarf and their unit patch also. WE knew who they were and they knew who we were. That’s O.K. we will still can have our party. As the night goes on us (they and we) get pretty drunk. Jacobs gets up and crosses the dance floor and asked one of the girls to dance. Next thing we know is that Jacobs is swinging like hell at this guy. That’s all it took. If you were looking from above it was like a movie scene. Both groups advancing towards each and meeting with a clash of fists. Everyone was swinging at each other. You’re looking at the other guys scarf or his patch before you punch him. It was like a “Western Movie Bar Fight” knocking guys over tables, throwing chairs. Mamasan standing by the bar in tears. As quick as it started cooler heads from each side began to stop it. We were out number so we fought our way to the stairs. We did not get beat we just could not beat all of them. We got outside and counted heads, all accounted for. For some unknown reason they did not follow us outside. We checked to see if anybody needed medical help right away. Everybody was O.K., for now. We had some bloodied noses and a few black eyes, at lot of bumps and sore lips. On the bus ride back to ASCOM everyone told their exploits for the night. At ASCOM we went to our compound and our hooch. We all were feeling no pain because the booze. That next morning there was a lot of pain and hangovers. WE found out that Jacobs knew girl he asks to dance was this security guards steady and Jacobs did not ask to dance. I like Korea and the Korean people.

Several weeks ago I visited Wal-Mart. As I entered the store I saw a man about my age sitting in an electric scooter (The kind provided by the store). He was wearing a “Vietnam Veterans” cap and had several US Army pins on his shirt. I approached him and said “What years were you in Vietnam”? That is a questions most Vietnam Veterans ask each other because the War lasted over ten years... He looked up at me quite puzzled. I ask again “When was it that you were in Vietnam”. He reached up and touched his cap and then with two fingers touched the side of his head and said “I don’t have it anymore” I looked in his eyes and saw a blankness with no emotion whatsoever... I said “I understand you have a very nice day” and went into the store to shop. I can only assume that he suffers from some form of dementia. Oh how I empathize with that man. My biggest fear is that some day I will be inflicted with dementia or worse Alzheimer’s. I have talked to a doctor about this and he said “Don’t worry you will not be aware of it”, meaning my mind will be gone before I can comprehended my disease. That guy I meet at Wal-Mart was well aware of his state of being. It must be terrible to lose all memories of your life or even vast numbers of years. I do understand the tremendous burden that these type of diseases places on family members. To look at the faces of your own children and not recount the early years of their lives is hard to even imagine. So far my biggest problem is finding were I put my glasses. But I do have memory loss, it is a natural processing of aging or is it an early warning sign. So far I have been assured that is all part of growing old. Yea, just like the Doc told me I would not be aware of dementia or Alzheimer’s. I guess I will find out.

A retired officer (H.F. Hogan) was complaining about the lack of respect that he received at the local Army Hospital in the Letters to the Editor of the local Newspaper.

H.F. Hogan must be very unhappy with nobody standing at attention when he talks to them or not receiving hand salutes and not hearing the word “Sir” uttered by what he perceives as subordinates. When I visit Fort Gordon, my Identification is checked and when returned; I am addressed by rank and told to have a nice day. I have always received professional service during visits to the Pharmacy to at Eisenhower Army Medical Center. The enlisted persons whom I have contact with have been pleasant and respectful. In fact, they usually used the word “Sir”. During my military service when someone (enlisted soldiers) used the word “Sir”, when talking to me I always told the person “I am not a Sir”. I do not do that now, because there is no way for them to know. I am always in civilian clothes. I have met some Officers like H.F. Hogan during my service. He is not the kind of officer that earns respect of others he is one who demands it. Most all of the officers I served with knew that respect was to be earned and returned. When I was on duty as a military policeman at the main gate of Fort Campbell during the late fifties, we were checking everyone for passes before they left the post. A soldier in civilian clothes was asked to produce a pass. He became very irate that I did not call him “Sergeant” and that I was disrespectful. I asked him how I was I to know what rank he was because he was wearing civilian clothes. I checked his identification card and it indicated that he was specialist and not a sergeant. He said that he did not have it changed yet. He made quite a scene at the main entrance of the post. I reported the incident to the Desk Sergeant. Later, I learned that his commander officer was informed of this sergeant’s conduct at the gate. His commanding officer ordered that he”not wear” civilian clothes for thirty days. When you retire, you should wear your rank in your heart not on your shoulder or your sleeve.

What is a “Smage”? All Sergeants in the army are properly addressed as Sergeant, and Sarge for Short. Only First Sergeants and Sergeant Majors are addressed by their full title. I personally preferred that, but now I prefer “Smage” which is similar to “Sarge”.

You may notice I did not mess with the First Sergeant’s title…… No body messes with the First Sergeant, why; because almost all Sergeants Major were at one time a First Sergeant (two to three years at least). We have great respect for that position and what it entails.

This is a journey for me. It will not be as long as my other journeys thru life. But one I want to get right.

I am a proud American and a Vietnam Veteran. I have served this country for over thirty years in the United States Army. To this day, I cannot visit the “Vietnam War Memorial”. The thought of touching “The Wall” is so emotionally overpowering, I am afraid I would break down and cry. For years, I never understood why I felt this way. But maturation and introspection have helped me understand these strong feelings. I think now, I know why. I feel guilty that I was not hurt or harmed in some way in that war. It’s not that I did not do my duty. I did. But somehow I made it home with no visible wounds or scars. I am not psychologically wounded. I suffer from no syndromes. I just can’t visit “The Wall”, and somehow I do not feel that I am the only Veteran who may feel this way. As a soldier, I think I could have done more and as a nation, we could have done more. It is now over thirty years later and I feel better. It is because of a chance meeting with another veteran at an unexpected moment. It took place twenty-five years after my return from the war, in the University of Georgia’s Sanford Stadium after a football game. As any good fan, I wear school colors in support of our team and a “UGA” cap on my head. This particular Saturday, I felt a tap on my left shoulder and turned to hear a man ask if I was a Vietnam Vet. He had noticed the pin affixed to my cap – a Vietnam Service Ribbon with the year 1969. I said “Yes.” He shook my hand and said “Welcome Home, brother.” We talked a little bit about the service and that was it. But his three opening words had a profound impact. He was the first person to say “Welcome Home” to me besides my wife. Vietnam Veterans have an understanding of each other. There is a bond between us. We did our duty for our country and in doing so we wanted to ensure freedom for America and the Vietnamese people. But, we also know that it was an unpopular war and not everyone went. Many avoided combat duty in Vietnam, protested our service and scorned us. Now anytime I meet a “Vietnam Vet” for the first time, I always shake their hand and say “Welcome Home Brother”. I know he or she knows what I mean and shares my pride. We share a brotherhood created by our mutual respect for our country and our service and sacrifice. We know the price of freedom. I think I can best tell you how I feel by quoting the historian Stephen B. Ambrose. In his Citizen Soldiers, a World War II soldier tells the author, “I am truly not a hero, but I have walked in the company of real heroes.”