Takers & Givers

I served in a peace time Army but this scene from the brilliant documentary, Restrepo never fails to make me laugh and cry at the same time. I have a strange love-hate relationship with the Army that some of you know about. Someone asked if I learned 'Honor' from the army. I told them I learned 'Honor' from the people I served with. If the army doesn't give a shit about an NFL football player they're not gonna care much about Joe Shit the Rag Man -- That is, you and me.

The drive from Ft Bragg to Camp McCall in an open jeep, in the winter, was colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra and was the longest hour I've ever known. When I got cold I liked to sing. Loudly. Mac the Knife was a favorite although I have no idea why. Certainly, this would have not have served me well in the WW III - Soviet invasion of Europe - we all were being trained for. But, on a Ft Bragg range road, at Oh-dark-thirty, singing didn't seem to matter much.

We sang our hearts out to stay warm -- and it worked. A contest to see who could light a cigarette with one C ration match in the back seat of an open jeep doing 60 mph was another way not to think about the cold -- as well as make a few bucks on the side.

At the time, I wasn't very grateful for these moments. I never thought I would look back on them as fondly as I do today. The "Army" was the mean green machine but we were all in the same shit hole and that brought us together in a way the civilian world -- grab all you can then split -- has never come close to.

There are two kinds of people in the world. Takers and Givers. Takers don't do well as soldiers. They're usually found out for what they are pretty quickly. Givers don't do so well as civilians. They're found out as well.

A wise civilian manager once told me, "As long as you stand on a street corner handing out ten dollar bills -- people are gonna take them from you." In team spirit, I brought two large deals to my company but was shoved aside when commissions and congratulations were paid. Sadly, there was nobody to sing or dance with.

Duffle Stories

At Saks 5th Avenue -- I wonder who 'Chad' is?





And whose idea this was?





I got mine for nothing -- Well, almost...



Ft Jackson, Ft Benning, Ft Bragg, Camp McCall, Canal Zone, Griesbach Barracks...





It's not much to look at. It never was. Filled with everything the Army issued, it started on my back at Ft Jackson on the first day of Basic. An insane formation of shaved heads in the front leaning rest with hundred pound duffels on our backs.



Drills yelling, "Get Up! Get Back Down" Getting up, my bag falls off my back and a strap rips my watch off my wrist and sends it flying...never to be seen again. Through the rest of Basic -- I never know what time it is.





The Drills said you couldn't die and go to Hell without a layover in Atlanta. I'd fly in uniform but not for the reason this guy did. WW II vets were always good for a beer and a story in a bar near the Piedmont gates.



I carried it to my dorm room in college and, after graduating, to an apartment on 18th St in Chelsea. The same day a Puerto Rican girl pulled Wonder Bread out of my first bag of NYC groceries and "tsk - tsk'ed" me.



My name and number are barely visible but the stories this duffle conjures up just won't stop. I hope there's room for more.

Humble-Ties

I have a question. I'm a 26 year old working in financial services in New York City. I have a couple Hermes ties and while I love them, they seem too old for me. I also have a number of Vineyard Vines ties but they seem too young. Any ideas? Connor Fused



Dear Con,

You're in a predicament. However, you've provided enough information to work with. A young man (under 35) in an Hermes tie comes off looking, at worse, pretentious -- over reaching at best. Also, older men (over 40) in your office don't like you simply because you're 26. They'll look for anything to disparage and what you wear is an easy target.



I was 21 and driving for a colonel just before I got out of the army. I had known him for about a year, respected him and was flattered he specifically requested me as his driver. Coming out of a G-3 briefing, he climbed into the jeep and said, "Sergeant, I'm so confused I don't know whether to wind my ass or scratch my watch." I'll never forget that or what he told me next.



He told me I was a smart ass. Not so much because of what I wore. Except for his rank and C.I.B., our uniforms and footwear matched perfectly. He told me it was how I walked and talked. He also told me that people would either like me or hate me with no in between. I remember sighing a plaintiff, "Jesus, sir?"



Which reminds me of the time a chaplain in the field was chewing me out for my helmet graffiti which read, "Kill a Commie for Christ." This same colonel came to my rescue and told the chaplain that, "...it's his fucking job to kill Commies and if he wants to kill 'em for Christ, that's his business."



I'm getting off track here so let me wind scratch this up. I said, "Jesus, sir?" and the colonel said not to get him wrong. He loved smart asses but he wasn't everyone. He told me, "You need to be humble. I'm not saying you can't be you -- I'm telling you to be humble 'cause you don't need to wave your flag. It's big enough for everyone to see." I thanked him although I have managed to ignore his advice pretty much the whole of my life.



I don't know if you're a fellow smart ass, Con. But I do have some advice. 'Humble' is not a word you associate with Hermes while 'insipid' is what a designer I know calls Vineyard Vines. If you want something with Hermes gravitas while following my colonel's advice for humility, try Ferragamo. Not the shoes. They're not humble. The ties. As elegant as Hermes but not nearly as in-your-face assertive, the Ferragamo tie walks a fine line of understated style and restraint. Grown up but not middle aged. They're not cheap ($170) but women love giving them as gifts while old farts like me will hate you just a little less.



Update: I have just been advised the colonel retired a major general. I'm guessing I should've taken his advice.

Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot!

Ranger Log - Castillo de San Marcos, St Augustine, FL - 4 August 1984

Night 1964 by John Koch

My Fridge - 22 July 2020

It seems extreme heat has been a companion most of my life. Born in a record breaking August, the early wonder years were spent in the Southwest and Southeast. Basic, Infantry and Jump School were poorly timed and placed over a single cruel Summer at Ft Jackson and Ft Benning.

I saw heat index temps north of 107 as a Summer seasonal park ranger in Florida. Thermal inversions were commonplace with days of 100% humidity and no breeze. Adding to the misery was a paper mill north of town that cranked out a smell so ripe you could walk on it.

Still, truth be told, I'd rather deal with Summer than Winter. It's hard to lose an ear or finger because of the heat. Yesterday, I saw a young couple in their late teens French kissing on the sidewalk at the corner of 56th St and 8th Avenue. I was thinking it's too damned hot until I saw they were wearing jeans and black tee shirts -- Then they were just too damned stupid.

I'm old enough to remember sleeping without A/C and I can feel that John Koch painting like a trickle of sweat sliding down the crack of my ass. Rumors of a black out in NYC this weekend give me serious pause as I wonder if I have enough ice and talc. I'm pretty sure I have enough beer. I hope it ain't warm beer.

Short Sleeves - Short Temper: Ralph's Rant

When we're done with dinner… I'm gonna let you fuck my wife."

Ralph knew there was a problem when the prospective client  didn't call back.  Six months of intense work on one of the biggest accounts in town --  Revenue over a million but there was a 10 year relationship with another agency.   Still, Ralph's ego didn't let him say no when he was approached.

The prospect complained of shitty service over a shitty lunch at his favorite restaurant; a place Ralph detested and thought touristy and pretentious. The prospect told Ralph the 'relationship' had been over for a couple years thanks to a change in 'players' -- Both at his company and at the agency.  Ralph looked at the prospect and saw a wounded Gazelle on the Serengeti Plain hobbling along to keep up with the herd.

Ralph's nostrils flared slightly  at the sniff of blood as he shoved a fork of rare dry aged rib eye across his capped teeth.  All the signs were there but then why hadn't the prospect called back?  Ralph called early in the morning and late in the afternoon to avoid the secretary but he only got voice mail.

Late in the afternoon, on the day of the new contract, the prospect called.  Ralph knew in an instant.  The prospect talked and Ralph, in a fog of anger, depression and confusion, heard little but picked up key phrases "…they really came through" "account manager replaced" "lowered fee" "you're proposal was solid" "appreciate everything…" As Ralph held the phone to his ear, he stopped listening and thought only of what he would say.

"I appreciate that, Tim." Ralph said, "A lotta people worked very hard and very long over here but I can tell you've made your decision and I respect that." Ralph heard Tim stumble along a "thanks" and some at-a-boys and still Ralph didn't know what was going to come out of his mouth next but that was sales.  The best never knew what they were going to say. That's why it always sounded so good. So…fresh.  And Ralph knew he was one, if not, the very best.

Ralph saw the light in his mind and followed it, "You know what, Tim. How about you come over for dinner this Friday night?  My wife's a great cook. Graduate of the Kump school.  She's really amazing.  I've got a case of Krug we can crack into…" Ralph heard the prospect's breathing over the phone turn anxious. Like he wanted to hang up but Ralph wasn't going to let him. "And, Tim.  When we're done with dinner… I'm gonna let you fuck my wife."

The prospect's voice is barely a tremble, "I'm not sure…" He pauses a long beat to let Ralph fill it but Ralph isn't biting.  Tim clears his throat, "I, uh. I'm not sure I heard you right." "No, you heard me right, Tim.  After dinner at my house... I'm gonna let you fuck my wife…because Tim, that's exactly what you've done to me."

Ralph grits his teeth, purses his lips and slams the phone down.  A piece of black plastic flies off the phone and across the office.  Ralph watches the bit of phone come to a rest at the feet of a life sized cardboard Batman next to his credenza.  Ralph smiles, clasps his hands behind his head and knows, as sure as Batman is standing in his office, that he has the best job in the world.