Race and all that....

All American Means Just That!

Race relations in the 82d – at least from my experience was left up to the individual soldiers. Oh, we had the required classes and such, but people befriended others who had similar likes and dislikes. Don't interpret this posting that everything was rosy and we all got along, there were rifts and antagonisms from both ends of the ethnic/racial spectrum. However, We were all brother paratroopers and with this one exception I rarely heard of any overt racist activities.

Some time in mid-1982 I encountered the most blatant case of racism I ever encountered in the army. A young black sergeant had just PCSed to Mother Bragg from the 1/509^th ABCT – my old unit. We knew each other casually, not buddies by any stretch of the imagination but he was a good enough guy – he was fairly new E-5 and seemed a perfect fit for an open team leader’s slot. But I was advised by my then-platoon sergeant, “we didn’t need to have one of THOSE people in a leadership position. You know what I mean?” Yeah, I understood perfectly. Claude* went to a different platoon.

Most of my mentors were of different races and ethnicity and I still remember the names of the men who were my role models and the lessons they shared with this naïve Iowa Farm Boy. The color of their skin didn’t make one bit of difference.

Another, funnier story about Claude – not long after he got to Fort Bragg was that he got mugged in downtown Fayetteville. To hear him talk about it, he said very emphatically that, “I tell you what, the muzzle on that gun was this big!” He then mimed a dinner plate sized hole to emphasize his point.

The Latinos Weigh In

Race relations weren't always black and white. There were many other ethnicities that fit into this puzzle. There were a couple of Hispanics that got assigned to the company about the same time. I don't remember exactly where they hailed from but I seem to remember it was in So Cal because on their first weekend off duty they dressed like your stereotypical Hispanic gang member. To each his own right? Eventually, after they spent more time in the Deuce, one of them slowly began to integrate in his own right. His clothes, speech and mannerisms became less Barrio gang banger. Despite our differences he and I became pretty good friends. In fact I eventually ran into "Aggie"during my first assignment to SF. Once more the Army's brilliance shown through and a fluent Spanish speaker was assigned to an Asia-oriented Group!

… But I digress….

In the winter of 1982 I attended the Northern Warfare Winter course at Fort Greeley, Alaska, I got to be friends with a few folks from around the army, but also a couple other 82d Troopers who were also attending the course.  One of these guys will play an important part in my Grenada Raider story later on.

When we weren’t training in the Black Rapids training area there wasn’t much to do at Fort Greeley except drink and tell stories. During one of our late night BS sessions one of the other 82d soldiers – a black guy – mentioned something that he witnessed at “The Spectrum,” a club just off Murchison Road. I used to live in a trailer court near this particular nightspot so I was familiar with the establishment. I had never been in there, because it was, well, a black club frequented by African Americans – civilian and military alike and white guys weren’t necessarily welcome. No biggie-da, I didn’t care for the music anyway – come to think of it, I was going through my Country music phase at the time so I was frequenting the Nashville Station (long since closed) on the other side of Fayetteville.

Anyway, after having a few beers, this guy shared a story from one night on the Murch’. He was hanging out with some buddies at the bar when in through the doors walked a white guy. Just like that bar scene in “Animal House,” the music stopped and a hush fell over the crowd until someone spoke up, “That mother-fucker is either crazy or he got a gun.” With that the music started up again and the patrons went back to their drinks.

Or Did It?

When I was a young trooper, new to the company, I worked at fitting in to the platoon the best that I could. However, Woody was about to learn a very valuable lesson one night in the dayroom. 

With no car and little money, I was a bit of a barracks rat at first. One particular evening while hanging out in the company dayroom, I racked up a game of pool on the decrepit beer-stained and cigarette-burned pool table. When in through the doors stumbled a guy from my platoon. It was obvious that he was quite drunk but I called over to him and asked if he wanted to shoot a game of eight ball. "Jim"* was an American Indian and although he wasn’t a big guy,  as I remember, he was an excellent member of the Platoon’s machine-gun squad. Wobbling on his feet, his rheumy eyes finally focused on me with a look of intense dislike and anger. He then leaned over the pool table and with a sweep of his arm scattered the pool balls across the table. With a mumbled, "Fuck you," he took a defiant pose as if to taunt me into a fight. My reaction was one of shocked silence because I had never experienced something like this before, I stood there silently for a moment and thought, "well, I guess he doesn't want to play pool."

As I said, I was a real cherry at that time so I didn’t know that although he  was a pretty good soldier and quite friendly when sober Specialist Jim, pretty much hated white people when he was drunk - which  was as it turned out was most of the time. This was a little fact that no one deemed important enough to share with Private Woods. But, ironically, I WAS warned about a certain AWOL soldier who was up on charges for drug possession, I had been assigned his old bunk and I was warned that if he happened to show up at my room that I should vacate the room as quickly as possible. More on the Jumping Junkies in a later post!

Back in the dayroom

Suddenly, in a lightning move that defied his intoxicated state, he snatched the pool cue from the table and swung it at me. Luckily, I was able to dodge his swing and stood there flatfooted as he mumbled another "Fuck you." He then threw the stick down and stumbled back out of the dayroom leaving a very confused Woody standing there amidst the chuckles and catcalls from other more seasoned paratroopers in the back of the room.

With that, I decided I didn’t want to shoot pool either and headed to my room as well. A short time later, my roommate asked me what the hell I had on my face. I glanced in a mirror and noticed a streak of blue chalk right beneath my right eye. Damn! If that little fucker had been a little faster or I’d been a little slower the night things would have likely ended badly for both of us.

The following day Jim was as friendly as usual, never acknowledging what had transpired the night before.

Some time later Specialist Jim left the army, rumor had it that he’d become a heat casualty during a field exercise and it was found to have had a canteen full of Jack Daniels instead of water. And with that infraction it was just a matter of paperwork to send him on his way back home.

Race Relations at Mother Bragg and in Fatal-burgh

It is customary for each military base to publish a list of off-post establishments that are off limits to soldiers, it is posted prominently on every bulletin board and reviewed frequently to add and delete offenders. Usually a fairly extensive list, it includes known areas of drug dealing and prostitution. Some old-timers referred to it as the Michelin Guide to Fayetteville's night life. However, the list also contained a sizable list of residential areas that were deemed off limits as well. From crooked landlords to high crime literally dozens of trailer parks and residential areas in Fayetteville were verboten. Of course this was before the big cleanup in the 1980s that pushed the prostitutes and dealers elsewhere.

Being down South in the late 70s and early 80s, it wasn't hard to tell that in many areas throughout the Piedmont there were still racial tensions. Having come from white bread America, I quite couldn't grasp what it was all about. The basic fact was that in some places it was percolating just under the surface and the wrong colored face showing up in the wrong area could very easily end violently for a young soldier caught unawares.

This climate of simmering hatred was prevalent throughout the South.  I still remember vividly the one weekend during infantry school at Harmony Church at Fort Benning in 1977, when the entire training battalion's weekend passes were canceled and everyone was restricted to the barracks. Apparently, the Command had been warned of a Klan rally that was going to be held not far away. AIT was also the first time I was ever called a "Cracker," I had no idea what it meant so I asked a couple of my buddies. My education continued apace.

A few months later, after I'd made it to the Replacement Detachment for the 82d, we cherries had the whole weekend off to go exploring. a half-dozen of us piled into one guy's car and off we went. Since at the time Fort Bragg was an "open" post, meaning no guard shacks and gates at the entrance to the military reservation and if you weren't paying attention you could end up somewhere out in Cumberland County without a clue where to go. That's what happened to us, while cruising along drinking beer, long before GPS and without a local map, we kept going hoping to find a road sign - nothing. 

Finally, we saw a billboard in the distance. We all breathed a little bit easier as the gas gauge was getting well into the empty zone. As we got closer we could see figures riding on horses on the sign, "Oh good, a rodeo," spouted someone. One passenger, the lone black guy got really quiet and sunk down into his seat. "Hey, guys we need to get out of here." Finally, we got close enough to read the sign. 

It was an billboard advertising the Klu-Klux-Klan! 

Holy Shit! 

F-U-U-U-U-CK!

We need to get out of here! 

We all got really quiet as the driver tightened his grip on the wheel and increased our speed. 

Eventually, we found a major road intersection and gas station and rushed back to the safety of the Fort and it was some time before we ventured off-post again.

Much later, a young black man showed up in the unit with his duffle bag and a serious case of the ass. Private Wilson* had two heroes: Malcolm X and Bruce Lee. He was okay for the most part, but it seemed that he always steered conversations towards race and discrimination. Many of us would just sit and listen to him, his rants were sometimes informative and always entertaining, he even filed an EO complaint about some of our cadence calls:

"Coon skin and alligator hide, makes a pair of jump boots just the right size...."

As I said, "Wilson" was really into martial arts, Kung Fu to be specific, he would frequently be seen walking the hallway spinning a set of nun-chucks just like his hero Bruce Lee, that is until one of the NCOs would tell him to knock that shit off. Legend had it that one night around 0200 hrs, as the Charge of Quarters was trying to stay awake, all of a sudden someone dressed all in black, wearing a black ninja mask dropped down the stairwell into a crouch staring at the now-wide awake CQ. Before he could say or do anything, the black-clad ninja scurried down the hallway, disappeared into the other stairwell and vanished into the darkness. I don't know if they ever confirmed it was him, but I suspect Wilson AKA "Animal," was the night-warrior in question.

"Animal" seemed to believe that most if not all whites were racist and eventually he separated from the Army in what I would hope was an honorable discharge. I hope he sees himself in this description and gets in contact with me, I really did like the guy despite his anger.

Finally, Again.

As a side note, many years later, a good friend of mine ended up as the First Sergeant of the company in the 82d where Neo-Nazi PFC Burmeister was assigned. Kratz told me about the nightmare that followed when that fuck-knuckle murdered an African-American couple near Hay Street, and if Kaveman gives me permission, I will share that story with you some other time.

* I've changed his name to protect his privacy.