Hey there! Good to see you again, and Thanks for coming by!
So I've been going through some changes the past few months. Life is not like a Box of Chocolates. No. Life is like a Book; You never know what the next chapter has in store for you .... until you turn the page. One of the many new things I'm doing is to register with the Veterans Administration. Usually, Vets do that when they first REFRAD(RElease FRom Active Duty). I did not. There are many reasons why I am just now attempting to find out exactly what benefits might still be available to me, forty five years on. Chief Jim Wright sums up several of those reasons much more eloquently than I ever could. Read Here - but if you read it, read it all to understand. Nonetheless I was able to attain a VA loan on this home here in The Valley without having to go to the VA proper. That was a pleasant surprise and saved me a couple of Grand on down payment and closing costs. Applying for Medical benefits from the local V.A. Hospital is another story. So I took my happy ass down to the Grand Junction VA Medical Center for an application. It's a nice looking place and is rated among the best in the country so I walks in all sassy and shit in a good mood, as is my nature. Once inside I quickly lost most of the pep in my step when I was surrounded by Military types in and out of uniform. The OLD, old guys near the front entrance were holding down the Popcorn Machine Post, talking among themselves. I must have had a 'look' on my face because the oldest looking O.G.(probably a Vet from the Spanish American War) stared me dead between my looking machines and said a little too loudly, "What's the problem, Troop?". I was immediately mentally transported back in time to 1974 when I was released from active duty at Ft. Sill, OK. instantly remembering Capt. Bingham, the Pay Officer I had to report to, in order to receive my final pay owed to me, and, more importantly, my DD 214. Capt. Bingham was an Officer but he was no Gentleman. However, April 26, 1974 I was neither of those things. When I started getting 'Short' I let my hair grow longer than Military regulations allowed. My moustache was a thing of beauty and WAY out of tolerance. I knew that. None of the NCOs in my unit said anything about it, though. Captain Bingham was a desk jockey who's ass never left the Friendly Confines like most REMF who stayed home or 'In The Rear With The Gear'. But Barney Bingham DID have his bars - and probably one bullet in the front blouse pocket of his Class C's. I reported for pay like a strack troop should; solemnly, and with a sharp salute to his Captain's bars. "Spec.4 Johnson, reporting for pay, Sir!". He left me standing at attention, holding that salute while he verbally walked up one side of me and down the other, like I was a turd. He actually called me a turd at least twice. He ordered me to "Go get a G.I. haircut and shave that goddamned moustache OFF!", then gave the "About Face, MARCH!" order. I did both without comment. I walked out of his office at the Release Center, went straight back to the barracks and gave myself a trim. No hair touching my ears and short in the front. I also trimmed my moustache, cutting most of the length and fullness plus making sure it didn't go below the corner of my lipline per regs. I was legit as per Army regulations when I marched back in there to report the SECOND time. "Are you retarded, Johnson?" he asked, as I stood there at attention holding that salute. This time I lifted my gaze from his two silver bars and stared into his narrow set eyes with my most challenging glare. "Sir?" I asked, seeking explanation while holding both the salute and the glare. "You are obviously RETARDED!" he yelled, slapping his palm on the desk. "I said shave that moustache OFF!". "Sir, my haircut and moustache are ...." he cut me off .. "I don't give a good goddamn WHAT Army regulations say! If you want to leave MY Army today get your retarded ass out of my fucking office, go to the BARBERSHOP, get a G.I. haircut and shave that Hippie looking moustache completely OFF!! Do you read me, retard?". I could easily have killed Barney Bingham, and I dropped my salute never taking my eyes off his eyes while I contemplated doing just that. I think he knew what I was thinking, too, because he looked down at his desk and softly said, "About Face, March." then looked, sheepishly, back up and into my glare. When I didn't turn and march out but instead took one step toward him he yelled for his clerk, L.T. Shavetail to step in the office. Shavetail looked about my age but in 1974, at nearly 6 feet and 175 lbs I dwarfed him and Bingham. Yeah, I thought ... I could kill them both. I did not. If I HAD, well, I might not be sharing this last adventure in Capt. Bingham's Army with you good folk. Shavetail nearly fell over himself when I pushed past him heading out of that office. BUT ... I did exactly what I was ordered to do. I went to the post barbershop and paid for a Flattop with white sidewalls ... and had my upper lip shaved smooth. It took me two hours to calm down enough to be able to make myself get that done. But done it got did. April 26, 1974 was a Friday and I had no intention of staying in Capt. Bingham's Army until Monday to get what was OWED me. So I sucked it up one last time and did EXACTLY what my 'Superior' ordered me to do, then went back to Capt. Bingham's office to report for pay the THIRD TIME - one last time. When I got to Bingham's office both he and Shavetail were gone. "Left for the day" I was told by 1st LT Davis, the Exec., "I'll pay you out.". I reported to LT Davis just as I had to Bingham twice prior. He returned my salute paid me in cash like they did in those days and handed me my DD214. I took the form from LT Davis and while I was examining it HE stood up, Saluted ME and for the first time in my life I heard the words "Thank you for your Service to America, MISTER Johnson.". I knew then that Davis had read my DD214 and knew everything about my Service including my tour of duty in beautiful, downtown South East Asia, my medals, ribbons, and unit citations. I returned his salute in stunned silence. 22 year old me damn near broke down and cried. Truth. As I thanked him for his thanks he interrupted me saying, "Bingham is a pencil pushing Dick Head. Fuck him." then he flashed a big toothy grin. I saluted him again as a Civilian, and said "Thank You, Sir." did a sharp about face and marched out of his office. I looked back to the DD214 and noticed straightaway the idiot clerk typist who transcribed my info onto the document had added an S to my middle name. Robert WILLIAMS Johnson it read. So does all the documentation on my new home loan as well as the paperwork the VA sent via mail for me to fill out. I guess I'll be that guy for the rest of my life because I did NOT wait for the Army to find a clerk typist who could read AND type. No. I left Oklahoma and THAT man's Army, 04/26/74, I did.
I told you all of that so I could tell you this. The VA actually called me to set up my first appointment with a Primary Care Physician. They also sent a seven page Patient Medical History form to fill out before my appointment date. There are some very personal questions on that form with a whole section titled Hepatitis C Risk Questions that include questions like "have you EVER had sex with a prostitute, or been diagnosed with a sexually transmitted 'infection'". Also they ask "have you had more than 10 sexual partners" and "Do you have tattoos(after 1950) or any body piercings, have you EVER used intranasal cocaine and have you had more than 4 beers a day, or the equivalent, for at least ten years". WTF does intranasal cocaine use EVER and alcoholism have to do with Hepatitis C risk, you ask? Not a gotdam thing is the answer. UNLESS ... the Captain Binghams are ALSO working at the VA and HOPING to DENY an unwary muhfuh what's OWED him. The Green Weenie still exists and I suppose always will. C'est la guerre, n'est-ce pas? I'm not sure I'll be able to go back for that first appointment let alone drop my Medicare part B and private, out of pocket insurance to get my healthcare from the VA. I MUST go back at least once with two forms of identification to receive my VA Medical Card. I think I can do that. I know I have enough Blue Skies to get me through that, oh yeah. Then, Maybe, as a last resort ... if it ever gets to the point that I have no other choice .... I'll use the VA. Like they used me. I dunno, though. "What's the problem, Troop?" OG asked and fucked my day ALL up. Crazy, huh?
10 sexual partners? EVER had sex with a prostitute? I could write an essay on the Pink Hotel in DaNang and about losing a stripe for going awol for three days in a combat zone. That blows both those questions out of the water! There comes a time, though that's all a body NEEDS.
Uh! I am, in NO WAY, trying to equate my service with Jim Wright's. Nuh-uh. Thanks for listening and please ... No "thangyewforyerservis".
So I've been going through some changes the past few months. Life is not like a Box of Chocolates. No. Life is like a Book; You never know what the next chapter has in store for you .... until you turn the page. One of the many new things I'm doing is to register with the Veterans Administration. Usually, Vets do that when they first REFRAD(RElease FRom Active Duty). I did not. There are many reasons why I am just now attempting to find out exactly what benefits might still be available to me, forty five years on. Chief Jim Wright sums up several of those reasons much more eloquently than I ever could. Read Here - but if you read it, read it all to understand. Nonetheless I was able to attain a VA loan on this home here in The Valley without having to go to the VA proper. That was a pleasant surprise and saved me a couple of Grand on down payment and closing costs. Applying for Medical benefits from the local V.A. Hospital is another story. So I took my happy ass down to the Grand Junction VA Medical Center for an application. It's a nice looking place and is rated among the best in the country so I walks in all sassy and shit in a good mood, as is my nature. Once inside I quickly lost most of the pep in my step when I was surrounded by Military types in and out of uniform. The OLD, old guys near the front entrance were holding down the Popcorn Machine Post, talking among themselves. I must have had a 'look' on my face because the oldest looking O.G.(probably a Vet from the Spanish American War) stared me dead between my looking machines and said a little too loudly, "What's the problem, Troop?". I was immediately mentally transported back in time to 1974 when I was released from active duty at Ft. Sill, OK. instantly remembering Capt. Bingham, the Pay Officer I had to report to, in order to receive my final pay owed to me, and, more importantly, my DD 214. Capt. Bingham was an Officer but he was no Gentleman. However, April 26, 1974 I was neither of those things. When I started getting 'Short' I let my hair grow longer than Military regulations allowed. My moustache was a thing of beauty and WAY out of tolerance. I knew that. None of the NCOs in my unit said anything about it, though. Captain Bingham was a desk jockey who's ass never left the Friendly Confines like most REMF who stayed home or 'In The Rear With The Gear'. But Barney Bingham DID have his bars - and probably one bullet in the front blouse pocket of his Class C's. I reported for pay like a strack troop should; solemnly, and with a sharp salute to his Captain's bars. "Spec.4 Johnson, reporting for pay, Sir!". He left me standing at attention, holding that salute while he verbally walked up one side of me and down the other, like I was a turd. He actually called me a turd at least twice. He ordered me to "Go get a G.I. haircut and shave that goddamned moustache OFF!", then gave the "About Face, MARCH!" order. I did both without comment. I walked out of his office at the Release Center, went straight back to the barracks and gave myself a trim. No hair touching my ears and short in the front. I also trimmed my moustache, cutting most of the length and fullness plus making sure it didn't go below the corner of my lipline per regs. I was legit as per Army regulations when I marched back in there to report the SECOND time. "Are you retarded, Johnson?" he asked, as I stood there at attention holding that salute. This time I lifted my gaze from his two silver bars and stared into his narrow set eyes with my most challenging glare. "Sir?" I asked, seeking explanation while holding both the salute and the glare. "You are obviously RETARDED!" he yelled, slapping his palm on the desk. "I said shave that moustache OFF!". "Sir, my haircut and moustache are ...." he cut me off .. "I don't give a good goddamn WHAT Army regulations say! If you want to leave MY Army today get your retarded ass out of my fucking office, go to the BARBERSHOP, get a G.I. haircut and shave that Hippie looking moustache completely OFF!! Do you read me, retard?". I could easily have killed Barney Bingham, and I dropped my salute never taking my eyes off his eyes while I contemplated doing just that. I think he knew what I was thinking, too, because he looked down at his desk and softly said, "About Face, March." then looked, sheepishly, back up and into my glare. When I didn't turn and march out but instead took one step toward him he yelled for his clerk, L.T. Shavetail to step in the office. Shavetail looked about my age but in 1974, at nearly 6 feet and 175 lbs I dwarfed him and Bingham. Yeah, I thought ... I could kill them both. I did not. If I HAD, well, I might not be sharing this last adventure in Capt. Bingham's Army with you good folk. Shavetail nearly fell over himself when I pushed past him heading out of that office. BUT ... I did exactly what I was ordered to do. I went to the post barbershop and paid for a Flattop with white sidewalls ... and had my upper lip shaved smooth. It took me two hours to calm down enough to be able to make myself get that done. But done it got did. April 26, 1974 was a Friday and I had no intention of staying in Capt. Bingham's Army until Monday to get what was OWED me. So I sucked it up one last time and did EXACTLY what my 'Superior' ordered me to do, then went back to Capt. Bingham's office to report for pay the THIRD TIME - one last time. When I got to Bingham's office both he and Shavetail were gone. "Left for the day" I was told by 1st LT Davis, the Exec., "I'll pay you out.". I reported to LT Davis just as I had to Bingham twice prior. He returned my salute paid me in cash like they did in those days and handed me my DD214. I took the form from LT Davis and while I was examining it HE stood up, Saluted ME and for the first time in my life I heard the words "Thank you for your Service to America, MISTER Johnson.". I knew then that Davis had read my DD214 and knew everything about my Service including my tour of duty in beautiful, downtown South East Asia, my medals, ribbons, and unit citations. I returned his salute in stunned silence. 22 year old me damn near broke down and cried. Truth. As I thanked him for his thanks he interrupted me saying, "Bingham is a pencil pushing Dick Head. Fuck him." then he flashed a big toothy grin. I saluted him again as a Civilian, and said "Thank You, Sir." did a sharp about face and marched out of his office. I looked back to the DD214 and noticed straightaway the idiot clerk typist who transcribed my info onto the document had added an S to my middle name. Robert WILLIAMS Johnson it read. So does all the documentation on my new home loan as well as the paperwork the VA sent via mail for me to fill out. I guess I'll be that guy for the rest of my life because I did NOT wait for the Army to find a clerk typist who could read AND type. No. I left Oklahoma and THAT man's Army, 04/26/74, I did.
I told you all of that so I could tell you this. The VA actually called me to set up my first appointment with a Primary Care Physician. They also sent a seven page Patient Medical History form to fill out before my appointment date. There are some very personal questions on that form with a whole section titled Hepatitis C Risk Questions that include questions like "have you EVER had sex with a prostitute, or been diagnosed with a sexually transmitted 'infection'". Also they ask "have you had more than 10 sexual partners" and "Do you have tattoos(after 1950) or any body piercings, have you EVER used intranasal cocaine and have you had more than 4 beers a day, or the equivalent, for at least ten years". WTF does intranasal cocaine use EVER and alcoholism have to do with Hepatitis C risk, you ask? Not a gotdam thing is the answer. UNLESS ... the Captain Binghams are ALSO working at the VA and HOPING to DENY an unwary muhfuh what's OWED him. The Green Weenie still exists and I suppose always will. C'est la guerre, n'est-ce pas? I'm not sure I'll be able to go back for that first appointment let alone drop my Medicare part B and private, out of pocket insurance to get my healthcare from the VA. I MUST go back at least once with two forms of identification to receive my VA Medical Card. I think I can do that. I know I have enough Blue Skies to get me through that, oh yeah. Then, Maybe, as a last resort ... if it ever gets to the point that I have no other choice .... I'll use the VA. Like they used me. I dunno, though. "What's the problem, Troop?" OG asked and fucked my day ALL up. Crazy, huh?
Uh! I am, in NO WAY, trying to equate my service with Jim Wright's. Nuh-uh. Thanks for listening and please ... No "thangyewforyerservis".
Beej. Fifty words in and I'm thinking Catch-22, Major Major and the crew. Too bad you had no plane to ditch in the currents. Which reminds me of a question I asked myself a couple months ago after watching Full Metal Jacket for the how-manyeth time.
ReplyDeleteThe wars of our history have generated rich literature and film writings up to, and including, Nam. Good, honest words from honest men and women, and often humorously put. Quality prints both paper and celluloid.
But these latest excursions have nothing to offer except their stupidity of origin, and senseless violence. Save The Hurt Locker, which when orchestrated by a woman director, what creative art reflecting these last wars do we have?
Maybe it's because we no longer go to war for any reasons other than greed and the imposition of will. Nam didn't teach the Power Structure a fucking thing.
Fuck Walmart, and I won't be thanking you for your service, no sir.
Hey Mooner, old Buddy, Good to hear from you. I read about the plane crash in Addison and thought of you and the Good Doctor and your jet-setting lifestyle. Casa Del Johnson isn't too far from Addison so I had some concerns. Unfortunately for them they didn't have nearby currents to ditch in like Yossarian had.
ReplyDeleteI was drafted in early April 1971. After 5 or 6 days of taking tests, shots, attending classes on how to wash your own ass, and being outfitted I was introduced to the re-enlistment Sgt., SFC Brown. I told him that I was damn near a 'Conscientious Objector' ... wow remember THAT phrase? ... he told me that with my test scores if I signed up for three years instead of the two I was obligated to serve ... I could pick from several M.O.S.s and he would give me a written guarantee that I would not have to serve in Viet Nam, Republic of. I jumped on that shit, doncha know. After AIT at Ft. Monmouth, NJ, when I got my orders for DaNang I found out Sgt. Brown's piece of paper was only that ... a piece of paper. My first FULL serving of the Great Green Weenie. Though I'm glad there's no Draft NEEDED these days I wonder about the mentality of an all Volunteer force and their impetus for joining. I'll not question ANYONE who served's motive for WANTING to serve, though. The effects of that shit are very evident in Police FORCES across our Nation, however.
If I had a Clerk, these days, I'd probably be like Major Major "The only time I'll SEE anyone ... is when I'm not here."
One of these days I'm gonna watch all those movies; starting with Apocalypse Now. I've made it as far as the scene where the the P.T. Boat stops and boards the small family fishing boat. That's enough for ME at that point and I gotta GO. Maybe I'll check out the Hurt Locker first.
Like Chief Wright sez ... "I had to go through a lot to be me.". Thanks for stopping by, Big Guy. Props to the Missus and Pups!