The Army’s in My Blood

My brother Darby was born in Ft. Knox and later did his basic officer training there.

I’ve been reminded that my adventures as an Army brat applies to other service brats, like Air Force brats—I knew many of them in Tripoli. Of course, the Air Force started out as the Army Air Force and didn’t become its own service until 1947. Sometimes there was some envy of this “new” service with its blue uniforms and fancier officers’ clubs!

Our Army (or Air Force or Navy or Marines) fathers (not many women in the service years ago) all wore uniforms and these had to be starched, ironed, and kept in excellent shape. My mother was expected to keep my dad’s things in perfect order, and she advised me ruefully never to let a man take me for granted. In other words, don’t volunteer to iron or you’ll be stuck behind an ironing board forever. Thank God Permanent Press was available when I got married, and my husband had elected to stay only in the Reserve Army (two weeks of uniforms in the summer).

Way before the cheap giant stores we have now, the Army provided the PX (post exchange) a version of department store with mostly quality things at lower prices and the Commissary (nicknamed the Co-misery by some) for reasonably priced food. Prices needed to be low since joining the service, whichever one was chosen, was not designed to make your parents rich.  I still have some record albums (remember those?) from the PX in the early ‘60s that only cost $2.35! And a china cabinet full of nice silver and crystal from the PX I got for wedding presents. I could entertain like my parents, but who uses silver trays and bowls, fancy silverware and crystal except for very special occasions?

Entertainment was always a priority in the service; officers and their wives had calling cards and went through all the proper protocol. Officers and enlisted men did not socialize: they each had their own clubs. The Class VI store, on the other hand, was available to those, no matter what rank, who were old enough to imbibe alcohol in its various forms. Cocktail parties, dinner parties, special dinners/parties given by a certain command or military groups were typical to celebrate holidays, promotions, farewells, etc. Each weeknight, if they didn’t have other social plans, my mother would put on a nice dress and heels and greet my dad with Martinis or Manhattans and sliced raw vegetables (pioneers for eating if not drinking healthy) for cocktail hour, from 5-7 p.m., wherever they were stationed. I can’t remember if he got comfortable first and took off the uniform.

Army posts offered tennis courts, bowling alleys, shooting ranges, gyms: you name it. There were always movie theaters and movies were very cheap. Because of my thrifty dad, however, I remember my mother making us kids popcorn and putting it into small paper bags to take to the 35-cent or cheaper films. In the summer, there were usually several huge pools to choose from, an easy bike ride away. And when you became a teenager, there was a teenage club with lots of activities.

Rules and regulations were to be obeyed without protest; everything had certain hours, and in military time. My dad wrote me letters military style while I was away at college: paragraphs were numbered and if he was scheduling a pickup or a visit, it would be written as 0800 hours or perhaps 1600 hours, for instance.

My brother Darby is sworn into Army service by my dad, right after college graduation.

If your dad got orders, it was time to leave, no matter how well you liked the present abode. Moving wasn’t ever that easy, but there were Army personnel to pack up your household goods: until the Army got smart eventually and starting providing furniture, dishes, bedding and the like at the new military destination, especially including Europe. Personal household items didn’t always arrive at the new quarters, arrive on time or in good shape, but that was to be accepted, even if it ended up on the bottom of the ocean, which did happen, although not to us.

Army fathers (as I imagine all service fathers) were used to a regimented schedule. When we went on a vacation in the States, we got up at 4 a.m. (0400 hours) and hit the road. I got a laugh from the scene in the movie The Great Santini when the family got in their car to leave in the wee hours. In the 50s we traveled to Tripoli in what some joked was a putt-putt airplane, propeller-driven and loud. It involved several refueling stops and seats were not all facing the front, which made it easy for my sister to throw up on my brother. Military airplanes in the 50s and 60s made stops in places like the Azores, Morocco, England, Scotland, Newfoundland and Labrador (and that was when you were traveling east). Once off an airplane, you didn’t get your land legs back for at least a day. Until then your ears buzzed and everything seemed to move, even if you were sitting down.

Traveling by ship was more common in the 40s and 50s. I got my “sea legs” when I was four years old: from New York to Hamburg, Germany, and then by train to Munich.

When an Army father retired, he usually picked someplace near a post or base since he could still use the PX, Commissary, medical facilities and space-available air travel. Many times the retirement choice would be the area of his last post or base. When he’d had enough, my mom and dad chose Texas for the warm climate and the close proximity of Ft. Sam Houston, where, ironically, my mother and I had been briefly during WWII when she’d been married to my natural father. My mother left this world from Ft. Sam Houston.

Military life as a dependent involved a great deal more than I could fit into this story, but it gives a general idea.

Being an Army brat was a great adventure, despite the challenges. Living in exotic places was exciting but best of all were the friends you made and kept, if you chose to. My parents kept up with Army couples all over the world until they died, and I always looked forward to reading all the Christmas cards from everywhere. It’s a tradition I chose to cherish and carry on.


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  11. Becky Rizek says:

    Oh so many many correct and ingrained memories of being a “Brat”.. I was first a “Brat”.. Dad , West Point Grad, then an “Angel”, snicker, when he switched from Army Air Corps. to Air Force in the very early fifties.. dad was a Civil Engineer, and was quite the regulated officer.. as you said.. I remember Calling cards.. one memory in partiular re functions required to attend.. How hard it was to don full formal wear,, the men their Mess Dress, the women long gowns.. to greet the commanders on New Years Day, AFTER partying heartily at the New Years EVE Ball and early mornning breakfast either at the same Officers Club, or at a private party! Dad had a 0800hours inspection of bedrooms , before said teenager could even think about departing on a Saturday morning.. But I knew what was expected,, a knowledge that todays teenagers would really benefit from.. Great reporting on all the support systems we had, like the BX, Air Force term, the Commissary,, the large slow military transport plane with bucket seats that brought us to Casablanca , en route to beloved Tripoli, via a stop In Rabat, French Morrocco.. yes,, Viki. as you bring to life so well, we were seasoned travellers at a very young age.. what a ripe fruit for the descriptive arts, that you master so well. Love you, my fellow student, and long time friend. Becky.

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  13. Pat Thelander says:

    Couldn’t wear “pants” on base (got in trouble for that one); restricted areas; “sir” & “mam” – no names; children seen, not heard – oh the good ole days, huh?
    Moving did become a habit – after graduating and returning to the States, I lived in an apt for about 6 months and HAD to move – all the way down the hall but moved just the same. Now I really don’t care to move again – but I will.
    I really do enjoy your writings – somewhat envious, but hope you can keep it up.

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