Becoming a Journalist - Defense Information School - DINFOS

The Watergate hearings took place the summer of 1973, I was ten going on eleven-years-old.

While the whole fiasco was pay-back for something called "The Pentagon Papers" the actual break-in was initially reported in October '72 by Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward of the Washington Post.

Sometimes art imitates life, at least that is the way television writers get ideas about integrating the newsroom as a workplace and beginning with where Mary Tyler More worked which morphed into Lou Grant (1977) which was my favorite show all through high school.

I loved the idea that journalists could hold powerful people to account for their actions.

So in my sophomore year of high school I took the journalism class and worked on The Norse Notes, our school newspaper, until I graduated in '81.

 

Half way through my senior year (Nov '80) is when I decided I would join the army. I only did so because they promised me I could go to Journalism School.   It was hard to get the school, you had to qualify by submitting writing samples, taking a couple of additional tests and pass an interview.   But when all was said and done I knew what I was going to be doing after I graduated, I was going to be an Army Journalist.

Basic training was an 'excellent adventure'; I would do it again today if I could.  

I got my first taste of being a leader as I was made squad leader right out of the gate and held the position all through the course.

3rd Platoon

Charlie Company, 4th Battalion, 3rd Training Brigade

Fort Leonard Wood, MO

I turned 18 in basic training, had my first 'legal' beers, got to shoot the M16 (a lot), acted like the gas chamber was nothing, and when Drill Sergeant Barber said "smoke 'em if you got 'em" I did just that. For the record, I fired the M203 Grenade Launcher two years before Al Pacino introduced it as his 'little friend', I still don't know how that shot I the movie didn't blow him on his ass too.

Fort Leonard Wood is where the army trains engineers. Some are big machinery operators, some engineers blow stuff up, some are carpenters, plumbers, you get the idea; they are either building something up or knocking it down.

About half-way through basic training my drill sergeant found out I was going to be a Journalist and he was taken a little aback. Ninety-nine percent of the soldiers in his platoon had enlisted with blue-collar type jobs but here I was a lonely standout going to be a writer and photographer. When he heard that he called all the other drill sergeants over who took turns laughing and kidding about this anomaly they found in their ranks. Even the all-female first platoon was made up of mostly those who were going to be backhoe operators, mechanics and alike.

While they kidded and teased me I got a sense that they actually respected it as they knew I had to jump through more-than-normal hoops to enlist. Army Journalists are rare, most who server never meets one.

When I graduated basic training my travel orders to where my journalism training would take place hadn't been issued yet because the next class wasn't going to start for six weeks. So, I was held-over at Fort Leonard Wood and temporarily promoted to the position of "Drill Corporal". It wasn't a big deal, I lead P.T., marched troops to the chow hall, cleared weapons on the firing line, etc. While the job as something to give me something to do while I waited for my school date to start it did give me my first Letter of Commendation for doing the job so well.

 

Anyway, time passed and soon I was off, on my way to Fort Benjamin Harrison, IN. Home of the Army Support Center and the second largest building the US Government owned, the Army Pay Center.

There was a new-found freedom attending the Defense Information School. While we still have the military rituals of morning P.T. and making sure the barracks were clean the atmosphere was more academic than militant. We were issued books, we didn't march to school and as long as we kept up with our school work we were on our own.

When I hear Stevie Nicks' "Edge of Seventeen", the number one song on the radio while I was there, a lot of memories rush back.

We didn't wear the OD Green uniform the rest of the army wore. We were expected to be in what was called "Class B" which was the dress uniform without the coat. We were also issued special name tags to wear which I thought was awesome.

 

OK - I'm eighteen years old, I had gone from a necessarily strict household with eight kids, directly into basic training only to find myself now a comparatively loosely structured environment with money in my pocket and girls everywhere.

Being a "Department of Defense" there were individuals from all branches. My instructor was a Navy Master Chief and my two roommates were Air Force.

The schools is what you think, we learned the proper structure for a newspaper article, how to write radio and television scripts that would fill specific time slots, the basics of photography and running a television camera, all that stuff. But those were just the basics, most of the course was "Public Affairs". 

We learned how to write press releases and how to put a positive spin on information intended for public consumption, to always find the silver lining.

I also learned the job wasn't really that of a journalist. Most of the people who write for Stars and Strips or work at the Pentagon Public Affairs Office were civilian. As a low-ranking army soldier my job would most likely be taking Girl Scouts on a tour of whatever base I would be stationed at or writing press releases to be sent to civilian newspapers.

The idea of being a "crack journalist" reporting on government waste or writing about solving crime is not what a military journalist was going to be doing.

As we were in the middle of the 'television' portion of our training I was called into the school commander's office and nicely told that I would not make a good Public Affairs Specialists. In all honestly, I was still eighteen years old and still had a lot of growing-up to do. They handed me orders to report to Fort Gordon, GA and being training to be a Multi-Channel Communications Equipment Operator.

I had failed the course.
 

In hind sight it was a good thing for me, I went into a field that I found challenging and exciting and learned some skills that I would use later in life.

It was early December 1981. Lou Grant was just a TV show.

 

 

 

Drill Corporate Promotion:

 

 

 

Drill Corporal Letter of Commendation:

 

Christmas Reindeer Games

I have never, in all my world travels, in any friends house I've been do during the holiday period seen anything such as what my step-mother did during the days between Thanksgiving and New Years. Now this is truly saying something because I've been down-town Heidelberg at midnight on Christmas, seen the Eiffel Tower all dressed-up and the craziness that is Rockefeller Center in New York City.

 

When I was a boy Christmas at our house with a big deal.

 

The whole house would get decorated. Garland streamers crisscrossing the living room celling, special table cloths on not just the dining room table but all the end tables too.

 

Everything had a dedicated decoration too, it was purchased or otherwise obtained to garnish a specific item or area. The top of the TV, throw pillows for the sofa, spray snow for the mirrors and windows,  it's a good thing we didn't have a dog because I bet it would have been dressed as Rudolph.

 

Every year the tree would be decorated the same, all blue lights with TONS of silver garland and tinsel to present that 'frozen' look. The curtains in front of the window were held back so all the neighbors could see.

 

Keep in mind we had a blended family with eight school-aged children and everyone of us would receive exactly the same number of gifts.

 

Hours would also be spent in the kitchen too. Dozens of cookies had to be made, mostly sugar cookies with a special frosting and boxes of homemade chocolate candies would be constructed as gifts and holiday hand-outs.

 

Picture an approaching Christmas morning with six to ten gifts for each kid being piled around the tree. Couple that with gifts from the kids to parents, gifts from grandparents, uncles, aunts, and the 'family' gifts like board games and alike.

 

Now our step-mom would not just simply put our names on the packages. If she did that we would constantly be testing the size and shake of the box and make our best guess as to what might be inside.

 

Instead she would put the name of a reindeer on the tag:

 

"To Prancer from Mom and Dad".

 

As Christmas morning approached and the pile of gifts grew we children grew more and more excited.  The house was over-the-top decorated, school was out, we spent the days watching mom hand make chocolate holiday candies and cookies, the anticipation was almost too much.

 

One thing that helped was a set of eight 'countdown' ribbons an aunt put together, one for each kid. Made of red and green felt they were about a foot tall and a few inches wide. At the top was a circular area with a round piece of paper with a pome that went something like this:

 

Just ten days until Christmas

It is so hard to count

The number of candies

Tell the exact amount

 

Remove a candy

Each night before bed

The number of candies

Will show the exact amount

 

Beneath the pome was ten of those red-and-white round candies tied with a yarn bow. It was a ritual that every night we got to remove the bottom candy. The last candy removed was on Christmas Eve.

 

Christmas morning had a specific structure. Sheets were hung at strategic points so we could use the little-boy's room but couldn't see the living room. No one could come out until the grandparents arrived, so there was no running out on Christmas morning and tearing into packages. What was the point anyway, we still didn't know which packages were ours because we didn't know our secret reindeer name.

 

When we were finally allowed to immerge the scene was one to behold.

 

Santa had come during the night and there were bicycles and other large gifts along with the hundred-and-fifty or so wrapped boxes.

 

Each kid found a 'spot' on the living room floor making sure there was enough room to our left or right to stack-up our bounty. Mom, would position herself in front of the tree and begin to dole out the gifts one at a time to the appropriate reindeer. Each kid opening one gift in turn and showing everyone what they had received.

 

The round-robin structure of opening packages would be interrupted now-and-then to let a parent or grandparent open a gift, unwrap a family gift such as a board game or item for the house, and of course there were coffee and cigarette breaks for the adults.

 

It seamed like hours had passed by the time we were finished. There would still be a late breakfast and some cleaning-up to do before we could head out and ride that new bike or skateboard, but all-in-all the experience of family with the excitement of Christmas morning and the joy of being together I've never been able to match.

 

I miss Christmas, I miss my family.

Witness in a Murder Trial

Back in "my day" it was called P.L.D.C. - Primary Leadership Development Course.  Now they call the training "Basic Leader Course".

The six-week long school is meant to take the lowest level army Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) like a corporal or buck sergeant and instruct them on the skills of leading a team or squad in battle.

If you see a soldier with this ribbon on his or her chest they have been through the school.

 

If it comes with a number then they have also been to the higher levels of leadership training reflective of the number.

I attended in a very unique place, a converted WWII prisoner of war camp in the desert outside of El Paso, Texas. A part of Fort Bliss it is also the home of the army's Sergeant Major Academy.

You have to pass the PLDC course if you want your career to continue past the lowest level of NCO; so you keep your head down, pay attention, study, do what your told, and apply yourself.

I was about two-thirds of the way through this course when in an after lunch formation the head instructor called my name out and instructed me to stay behind for a meeting after the rest of the students went onto their afternoon activities.

I had no idea what was going on and if you are thinking that I was expected to be informed of a death in the family or other such notice your right; I mean this is the way these notices are generally given.

The head instructor, a sergeant major in his own right, approached me, gave me the once over as I stood at attention and with a puzzled look on his face instructed me that I was wanted in the Academy Sergeant Major's office right away.

From the way he looked me over I thought maybe I was in trouble.

I arrived at the Sergeant Major's office and knocked on the door jam as the office door was already open. I'm sure my twenty-year-old face looked somewhat like a lost puppy because not only was the Sergeant Major there, but the full-bird colonel who was the commandant of the PLDC and Sergeant Major's academy along with two civilians in suites.

I was standing at attention on the outside but on the inside my mind was running at a hundred miles an hour.

"Sergeant Harris", began the Sergeant Major, "these two men are from the Texas Rangers".

Now this was late 1983, Chuck Norris' show wouldn't be on TV for another ten years so all I knew about Texas Rangers was from stories and of course the masked-man on horseback from radio and TV shows.

"Stand at-ease", the Sergeant Major allowed.

I relaxed a bit; the thought then went through my brain that this is a leadership school, can't let my military superiors know I'm a bit rattled… time for a bit of a 'take charge' attitude.

"Mr. Harris?", asked one of the suited men as he pulled back his jacket enough to show the silver-dollar sized badge pinned to his shirt.

"I am Sergeant Harris", was my retort.

"Sergeant, I'm told you are roommates with Staff Sergeant Lucas Garrett," the Ranger stated.

"It is a temporary arrangement, sir, he is restricted to base as he and his family work some things out," I said.  Garrett was a loud-mouth, quick tempered red head which, because of his course personality, had no real friends. He worked a solitary job in the crypto vault which was manned by a single individual. The vault is typically a job for a lower ranked person, but it was the only place the First Sergeant could put him and keep his personality in check.

"Are you or are you not roommates with Sergeant Garrett?", the Sergeant Major questioned with his command voice.

"Yes Sergeant Major", was my retort.  I faced the senior sergeant and it dawned on me he wanted me to provide simple answers and not volunteer any additional information.

My attention then returned to the Ranger.

"Sergeant this is a summons to appear in Supreme Court for the State of Texas in the case of Texas vs. Lucas Garrett for the crime of murder, attempted murder and a number of other charges."

He started to hand the paperwork to the Colonel, but the Sergeant Major cut him off and took the blue-covered folded packet.

At the time I was assigned to the Headquarters Battery of the 2nd Battalion, 43rd ADA (Air Defense Artillery), a Patriot Missile unit forming-up in Fort Bliss and preparing to deploy to Germany. It was one of the very first Patriot Missile Battalions and I was one of the three allotted communications NCOs.

This blue packet might as well have been a baseball bat upside the head. For all the Sergeant Major and Colonel knew I was involved somehow with a suspected murderer and knowing how slow civilian courts move my unit would have to replace me so they could deploy on time.

After the Sergeant Major gave the paperwork the once over he handed the small stack to me. My initial glance took my eyes from my name, to Garrett's name and then the dates I was to report not to the court but to the District Attorney's office in El Paso. The date was two months away.

The Colonel finally spoke-up, "Can we help you with anything else gentlemen?"

"Nope," said the Ranger who passed the papers. He didn't say 'no sir', I think it was his way of reinforcing the separation between civilian and military authority.

They put on their hats and walked out.

"Dismissed Sergeant," said the Sergeant Major.

I snapped to attention, rendered the Colonel a salute which he returned, executed an about-face and as smartly as I could left the office without it looking I was running.

Walking up the hall I unfolded the papers again. The date was after graduation so I could decided to focus on finishing the course and worry about everything else when the time came.

The rest of the leadership course went without incident. In fact, I graduated in the top ten which helped set me apart from my peers and served me well in the years to come.

After graduation I returned to my unit to find my orders to deploy with my unit were frozen. Instead of getting my soldiers and equipment ready to deploy I was instead working with a new sergeant handing over my responsibilities to him.

I was the odd-man out. The only people who weren’t going to deploy was the women who were pregnant and me, regardless of the reason it was truly a riff between myself and everyone else in the battalion.

Staff Sergeant Garrett wasn't in my room, but his messy stuff was still there. I had been instructed not to move any of his items even though I knew the police and MPs had already gone through everything in the room (including my stuff).

As the date of my mandatory appointment arrived my First Sergeant sent me to the JAG office to look over the paperwork and make sure everything was on the up-and-up. That same day my unit started loading everything on trains and trucks for shipping over the Atlantic. My fellow soldiers started to sign-out on leave so they could spend time with their families before their flights to Germany.

I put on a "Class B" uniform for my appointment with the District Attorney. Back in those days you couldn't go off post in the green work uniform unless you were in route to or from your home.

Aside from the barrack rumors I still didn't know exactly what Staff Sergeant Garrett had done. So with shinny shoes and flashy brass I headed to the city. I took a taxi from the post because I didn't know the streets of El Paso proper and didn't want to be late.

I didn't have to wait once I arrived. I was ushered into a conference room where I was quickly joined by six or seven guys wearing ties and all carrying a legal sized yellow note pad along with various papers in folders. One of them had a copy of my official military record, called a two-oh-one file (201) which surprised me a little and immediately put me into a defensive mode.

As the meeting progressed I found out why they were so happy I showed-up, I was being called as a witness for the defense, not the prosecution; and now, here I was in a room with the prosecutors.

Because my unit was deploying and because I was his barracks roommate it was I who was chosen to be a part of the defense dog-n-pony show. I was going to be expected to tell the people in the jury and the judge how stressful it was to be the guy responsible for all the top-secret crypto keys the Signal Corps used.

The group of lawyers also brought me up to speed on exactly what Staff Sergeant Garrett had done.

One night in a drunken state at home he had used a shotgun to kill his wife, then tried to use a three-wheeled ATV to make his get way only to crash and start shooting it out with the cops.

I knew he was a mean drunk. The reason he was confined to the barracks was he had gotten drunk and broke not one, but both of his wife's arms. I then understood why a Staff Sergeant would be assigned to the crypto room; he was awaiting trial for assaulting his wife and the army was waiting that out as they processed his 'other than honorable' discharge.

Now I was being drug into the fray.  I had been embarrassed in front of a Sergeant Major and Colonel, had to relinquish my squad and equipment, and wasn't going to Germany so I could help a less-than-honorable son-of-a-bitch.

The man was guilty, I was there to help the defense mitigate the punishment, to help mitigate a death penalty.

Before the court date arrived I had to move from my room in my unit's barracks to a temporary housing building. My deployment orders had moved from frozen to canceled and was bored out of my head.

I arrived at the court house in my full "Class A" uniform. The few ribbons I had back then, my expert marksmanship medal, brass and shoes shined. I was ushered to a long hallway and asked to have a seat and not to talk to anyone else. This experience isn't what it is like on TV; if you are a witness you can't be in the courtroom so you can hear what others are saying, and there was an officer in the hallway to make sure you didn't talk about the case with any other witnesses.

After an hour of so I was called in and walked to the witness stand.

I stood at attention while swearing to tell the truth. I sat at attention (yes, that's a thing) as the questions started.

I answered the questions the defense attorney asked about Staff Sergeant Garrett's job in the crypto locker. The answers lead to other questions about the meaning of "Confidential", "Secret" and "Top Secret".

When it was the prosecutor's turn his questions turned to what it was to be a sergeant in the army as opposed to being an officer.

Bear in mind I had just graduated from the Primary Leadership Development Course where the role of officers and non-commissioned officers (sergeants) was very much a part of the circular. Not only was this information still fresh in my head I was an expert.

My whole purpose of being there suddenly changed.

The judge had one of those large pads brought to the front, today I guess they would use a whiteboard. The court officer who brought it up handed me one black and one red marker and I was instructed by the judge to explain to the jury the roles of officers and sergeants and what was expected of them.

For the next thirty minutes or so I held class, schooling the members of the jury about military chain of command, what officers did and how sergeants executed their orders while taking care of the troops, making sure they are informed and properly trained, to function as a team and keep their motivation up so they can accomplish the goals set by the officers.

The judge didn't allow for any follow-up questions by either the prosecutor or defense. I have no doubt the people who made up the jury along with anyone else in the court room had a better understanding on how the military chain of command works.

When the trial was over and "Mr. Garrett" had been sentenced to life in prison I received my orders to Germany. Not to join my previous unit but to the 97th Signal Battalion. I was being assigned to the group who put in the communications for NATO Headquarters, a very prestigious assignment.

To this day I'm proud that I was able to walk a group of civilians through how the military chain-of-command works. It would be cool if this is was the only time it had happened in a court of law. I search the Internet every once in a while for any mention of the Garrett case, but I've yet to find out what happened to him or transcripts of the trial itself.

Zombie Outreach Donations Sought

FOR IMMEDIANT RELEASE

through January 1, 2018

 

Zombie Outreach Organization (ZOO)

2017 End of Year Contribution Drive

 

Cedar Park, Texas - The provincial organization of ZOO has opened their end-of-year online donation booth to further prepare to reach out and help dissuade future zombies from eating human brains.

Funds will go into training volunteers who will be dispatched at the beginning of the zombie apocalypse armed with informational pamphlets informing the hungry dead that human brains really contain no nutritious value.

“The undead need to understand that for every one-hundred grams of brain, seventy-eight of those grams are water,” said founder Lavar Harris. “Only eleven grams are in fact protein. You have to eat a lot of brains before they become beneficial.”

The grass-roots organization bases their efforts on the idea that education and redirection can help the surviving humans the opportunity to coexist with their dead counterparts.

“Done correctly,” Harris continues, “we could bring our departed friends into the productivity fold which is making America Great Again. Most can provide free menial labor which can increase productivity and the overall gross national product of our country.”

Long term plans include guiding the dearly departed so they may participate in the industries of entertainment, transportation, and some low-level blue-collar trades.

“Imagine watching wonders such as Z-Factor, Dancing with the Czars, Naked and Not Afraid,” he continued.

“But we must start with the basics,” he lamented. “The only way this bright future we are planning can happen is if we first change their aplite from human brains to a more supple food source. Done right this could help reduce rodent and other pest populations.”

---------END--------

Long Weekend Recreational High

How people perceive things perplexes me at times.

Tonight is one of the largest party nights of the year. Kids are home from college, relatives are starting to show up, tomorrow is parade, football and food.

Thankfully we have banded together as a people and demanded our government makes sure the food that is in our grocery stores is as fresh as it can be without bacteria that will make us sick. It gets cleaned and inspected where it is prepared, shipped in refrigerated trucks if necessary, all those things we expect.

When this system breaks down all hell breaks loose. We hire lawyers to find out what sickened us and where the blame should be placed. We back scientists on our government payroll to use microscopes and whatever other equipment is necessary to identify the source and take corrective action.

Many states now allow for the personal use of marijuana. Those states have attempted to interject rules not to restrict the growing or sale, but to make sure the safety precautions we expect in our other consumer products are in place.

Rogelio Martinez, a federal boarder patrol officer is one of those people who acts on our behalf to make sure the precautions we take as a people to make sure products are provided us are of a certain quality that we expect.

He was killed doing this on our behalf.

The argument that marijuana should have never been a ‘schedule one’ drug and it should have never been made illegal is moot at this point. Now it is an effort to bypass the rules reasonable people put in place to insure safety and proper taxes are collected.

So as you spark-up this weekend ask yourself, do you know where it came from? Has anyone died in order for you to enjoy your recreational high?

Mexico suffers deadliest month on record, 2017 set to be worst year

ColdFusion is NOT Dead

Inside the Modern ColdFusion Platform

Whole Foods CEO John Mackey Announced as Keynote Speaker at Mitratech’s Interact 2017 Conference

The real story should be that Mitratech is paying John Mackey $75,000 to speak, he has little knowledge of what software his legal department needs or is using.

https://speaking.com/speakers/john-mackey/

Whole Foods CEO John Mackey Announced as Keynote Speaker at Mitratech’s Interact 2017 Conference