The Soldier

A Soldier:

I was a private serving in the US army was transferred to the 66 tank battalion in Baumholder, Germany . In 1954 I enlisted in the service and after two months basic training and six weeks of artillery training, I spent eleven days aboard a troop ship headed to Baden, Germany. From there it was a short train ride, followed by a bus ride to my new camp in Baumholder. At that time I was a quiet young man. I was engaged to a cute girl at home so I did not spend my evenings at cantinas or bars. A month or so passed and I was fortunate to attend a radio repair school at an army base in Ansbrook. When I returned to my outfit, I became their radio repair man. The radio repair man I was replacing was being shipped home within the week. As time passed I learned my trade well. The tanks never left the motor pool with a defective radio.

A few months pass by, and my girl broke our engagement. From that day forward I change. I still like working on the tank radios, but I become a problem soldier. I am out almost every night. Trouble follows me constantly. Almost all his time in Europe now is spend mostly on hard labor details. Because I am so good at repairing radios, I am promoted often, however I would be stripped of the promotion within a week or two because of trouble off base. I am interested in three things. Radios, beer and dancing.

At one time I have three court-martials to attend.
One is for stealing army radios and radio equipment and selling them to the Germans. The second is for losing or stealing a complete set of radio repair tools, and selling it to the Germans. The third is the worst. I pushed and threatened a superior army sergeant .

My company commander assigned Sergeant Spargo to be my commo chief. Sergeant Spargo was only seventeen years old when he enlised in the army. He was sent to battle in the Korea war. When he was eighteen years old he had been promoted from private to corporal,to Staff sargent, to Sgt. 2nd, to !st Seargent at Eighteen years old. That is as high as an enlisted soldier can get. He was one hero of the Korean war.

Spargo decides to help me only if I tell the truth about the missing radios and equipment. I tell him I do not know why I am charged with stolen parts. I don't know anything about selling radios or parts. He had me remove all radios and radio equipment from the tanks at night, and place them in my commo room. Then days later we have each tank commander come to the commo room, and sign for his radio and equipment. By the end of the week, all radios and equipment are accounted for except for one radio. Sergeant Spargo left me for about three hours and came back with the radio we need. So that charge has to be dropped. Then Sarge asked what happened to my tool kit. I told him I was out on maneuvers, and left the tools next to a jeep. When we moved out, the tools were missing. I searched everywhere and they were nowhere to be found. He advised me to get a complete list of tools, and buy replacements, which I do. With a week, I showed that the tools were found. Therefore that court-martial would be dropped. But I still have the one pending, which is the worst. I have a friend who heard about my problem. He had spent a year in Leavenworth prison because of a court martial a couple years earlier. He described it as a terrible place and gave me advice. He thought that if I go before the court, and I admit to the charges, apologize to the General, state that I'm a soldier and have no excuses for insubordination, I might have a chance to get a light penalty. I asked Sergeant Spargo what he thought of the advise, and he thought it was good advise.

So, after a few months when my court appearance date arrives I am prepared to offer my defense to the three judges. My clothes are spotless and pressed, the brass was shinned to perfection, my hair is cut military short, my shoes are spit polished, and I appeared before the court without a lawyer. They read the charges against me, and asked if I have anything to say in my defense. I said, “No sir, I have no excuse for my conduct. I realize I am a soldier and have no excuse for what I have said and done. I probably do not deserve it, but I just ask for leniency, and I apologize to the court and the Sergeant involved with this procedure." The three judges discus what to do, and they announce that they can not completely release me from this case without punishment. They did decide to be lenient, and only gave a sentence of guilty with the penalty of six months hard labor and loss of two thirds of pay for such time.

Any one of these three charges could have sent me to military prison. I have only one man to thank, and that is Sergeant Roy Spargo. He helped me three times. A few monthsa ago, I told Grant about Sergeant Spargo. I told him I thought he was not only a great soldier, but a good friend. Later Grant found, on the internet that Sergeant Roy Spargo was killed in action, in Vietnam about six years after I knew him.

After my trial, I went back to the barracks and felt relieved that I was not going to prison. Now, another private I know was going into the court for a minor trial. He was to be discharged from service in two or three weeks. His 1st sergeant told him to get a hair cut a few weeks earlier. He refused and was told two other days to get his hair cut, and he said, "I am being discharged in a couple weeks, so I am not getting my hair cut". His trial was right after mine. He told the court the same story he told me, that he was going home soon and would not obey the sergeant, and the judges sentenced him to six months in Leavenworth and two thirds of his pay for that period. He was escorted to the base jail. All he had to do was apologize, and get a haircut and he would be home in a couple of weeks.

A second short story: Soon after the trial:

After a day working in the motor pool repairing radios and some radio equipment, I enter my barracks and I am told that tomorrow morning there is to be an inspection of the barracks and a full field inspection. That means the room I share with five other GIs would have to be cleaned spotlessly. Our individual wall-lockers and our floor lockers had to be spotless and everything inside in order. Our boots shinned, dress shoes shinned, brass on uniforms had to be shinned, and all clothes clean. The floor and windows had to be cleaned and polished. Our rifles, canteen, ammo belt, and bayonette had to be cleaned. This was going to be an important inspection. BUT, I had plans to go to town this evening. The other soldiers already had the floors and windows finished so all we needed was, to take care of our individual items. I looked in my lockers and thought they looked ok, then my clothes and my brass looked ok.

Well, I figured I only had three more months before I get discharged from the army, I am going to town and I am sure I will pass inspection tomorrow. I get dressed while all my buddies are still cleaning and I head for town for some beer and an evening of dancing. I return about daylight and decide to sleep on the floor. That way I will not have to make my bed in the morning, and I will be able to get a few extra minutes sleep. Morning arrives at 05:00 am and the inspection begins an hour and a half later. I am dressed in my class A uniform and standing for the inspection. Not bad , at first. My locker, dress uniform etc looks ok. Not great, but ok. However, I pass my carbine to the general and he is furious. My rifle was filthy. Someone used my rifle and did not clean it and I never even checked it.

I catch hell from the inspector general, but that is not the worst problem. Now the general raises cain with my platoon sergeant. A master Sergeant 1st Class. After lunch Sergeant Troy I will call him, because I do not remember his name, called me into his office and quietly said, 'pfc Dittmer , you are now private Dittmer and as of tomorrow morning, you will stand a full-field inspection every morning until I decide to stop.' Which lasted over a month, including weekends. I was already on hard labor so this just made every day a very busy day, and no way to get to town for some fun. (Could not complain, I asked for it.) Two months later I was headed home on a four engine propeller plane.

One last short army story:

My last month in Germany and one evening I decide to go to town. I can not get a pass, but I go anyway. It was a good night except the Mps took me to jail because I did not have a pass. A good friend, Sergeant first class Spargo arranged for me to be released and the next day arranged for me to work off my labor. I would have to prepare the commo room and all the radios, and have everything ready for a huge inspection a month later. (I am supposed to be heading home in a month). Spago helped me many times and I knew I owed him. I took two weeks and painted my commo shop. Everything in the room was spotless. I took the third week and checked and repaired every piece of radio equipment on every tank in the motor pool. The last week Spargo and I had a mock inspection, and it looked good to us.

During that time I have been looking for my (orders) to be released. A friend of mine had his orders and said he was leaving Monday afternoon, the day of the inspection, and I did not have my orders yet. I knew I was supposed to go home on his plane. I went to headquarters and found that my orders were not pick up yet and I told them my company first sergeant sent me there to pick it up. They gave it to me and I decided not to tell anyone I was leaving. As long as I have these orders, I am legal.

I did tell Sergeant Spargo and he asked if I would please stand inspection in my commo room. He said it was very important. I could not turn him down. I packed my duffel bag and was ready to leave for home. It was about 11:00am and the general inspected my room. He checked everything. As he left I saw my buddy with a jeep across the street and I grabbed my things and put them in it. Just then Spargo came out and ran up to me. I thought I was in trouble, and ready to leave. Spargo said, "Ralph you passed that inspection with flying colors. The general said it was the best radio inspection ever. He asked how many commo men were in my company," and Spargo said,"just pfc Dittmer." and he could not believe it. I said good-by Sarg, I gotta go. I jumped in the jeep with Burke and headed for Frankfurt to catch a plane. Good-by Baumholder and Hello Chicago.

One last story, I promise!

During that last two weeks the whole company had left the base for maneuvers. I did not go because I was to be released soon, even though I did not receive my orders yet. They already had my replacement who I helped earlier in the week. I tried to explain to him what had to be done in order to keep the radios operating, and I gave him all my notes that helped me when I was in the field repairing the tank radios. I was alone at my company and I was given a job to do while the troops were gone. I had to guard a prisoner. He had just fought with some German police and also with a few MPs. A few were hospitalized. Now my orders were, guard this guy. You will carry a pistol but do not get him mad or, pistol or not, you will end up in the hospital also. This guy was a black private, over 6 foot 6 feet tall, big solid muscle with an attitude. But I liked this guy. He had problems with orders. Hmmmm, we became buddies. For two weeks it was great duty. Listened to a lot of blues and never had a problem. Then they escorted him to prison. That is all, no more army stories.