THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, November 11, 1996 TAG: 9611090059
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Larry Maddry
LENGTH: 77 lines
A FEW DAYS AGO, I glanced at my calendar, saw that Nov. 11 - today - is Veterans Day and thought: Good, we certainly should honor our veterans.
I have always observed Veterans Day by giving thought to our brave military men like Audie Murphy, Sgt. York and others who put their lives on the line in defense of their country.
But a few moments later, I mentioned Veterans Day to The Pilot's Jack Dorsey, who, I believe, is the best-informed military writer in the 50 states. He noted that the day honors all men and women who served in the armed services.
``You were in the Army weren't you?'' he asked.
``Yep.''
``Well, you'll be honored on that day, too.''
I certainly hope not. In fact, in the unlikely event you were thinking about doing that, I beg you not to.
I served for three years in the Army and can't remember a sentence I uttered during that time without a gripe in it. So I deserve no credit now.
From the moment of my swearing-in ceremony until my discharge, I griped, getting better as it as time wore on. When I didn't have a personal complaint, I would take one held by another soldier and use it. In time, I grew to enjoy griping so much that when there was little to gripe about, I griped about that too.
In the last few months before my discharge, I found that I could gripe about anything at any time. I was a virtuoso of the griping art, taking pleasure in my bed of complaints like a dog on its back wriggling to move the fleas.
Before entering the Army, I knew little of griping. But there I was exposed to the soil and climate where griping prospered and fructified, because nothing made sense. Within the first 48 hours in the Army, I was taught to make a bed in a military manner and polish my newly issued dog tags.
``Now men,'' the sergeant said, ``yaw'll gonna make up your beds so that when I come in here again I'll be able to bounce a quarter off the blanket on every one of 'em. Is that clear?''
``YES, SERGEANT!''
Hoo-boy. Why not bounce a dime off it? And what did that have to do with winning the Korean War? Was it possible, I wondered, that we were being taught in small doses how to launch an armor-piercing shell against the enemy, using a bed the size of a football field with a blanket tighter than Marilyn Monroe's jeans?
I griped. Then came the dog tags.
Why?
``We wear dog tags so if you are killed in combat, they will fit 'em between your teeth and we'll know who you are before you get stuffed in a body bag,'' the sergeant said. Then he said we'd have to tape the tags if we got in combat so they wouldn't jingle from the chains around our necks. And, since the tags were government property, we were required to polish them regularly.
Why not carry a card saying who you were in your pocket? They could toss it in the body bag or curl it up and stuff it in your ear? No taping, no polishing. Lots cheaper too. So I griped about the tags. But in those early days, my gripes lacked the velocity that cursing could give them.
You mix a curse word or two with a gripe and you get acceleration. It's the difference between a bicycle and a Harley.
``That's the dumbest %&**!! thing I ever heard,'' was one of my early favorites. I was getting somewhere.
It wasn't until I was shipped overseas to Korea that I learned linkage, a technique that combines two things you disliked that were otherwise unconnected. For example: ``I hate this %&**!! Army weather.''
That was a long time ago. Looking back on it, I realized the Army was teaching me a skill I could use in later life: The expletive-deleted complaint. That skill has come in handy at times, particularly in the newsroom.
But, alas, I never had the decency to write the Army and thank them for it. So when it comes to doing honor to vets on Veterans Day, count me out.
Please. ILLUSTRATION: [Color Photo]
JANET SHAUGHNESSY
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