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Yep, it’s that wonderful time of the year where the day I’d just as soon never come round again makes it’s inevitable visit.

Funny enough, I was perusing Katie’s site a couple of days ago and came across this blog entry from 2005 (indeed, it was her first one!) which shall live in infamy forever in which 23 December of that year was when a surprise pregnancy test landed on my desk that would change our lives forever.

Perhaps that revelation that 23 December is more of a mixed bag than I’d remembered was why this particular anniversary nine years in the making didn’t seem as brutally oppressive emotionally as it has been in years past but truth be told, there were other distractions this year which I’ll detail presently enough.

But for the time being, I’ve spun up Taylor Swift’s extended edition of “The Tortured Poets Department” for the first time of really giving it a good listen and I can continue the tradition of sharing stories about life with Dad that no one else alive would ever know.

I’ll confess, the inspiration for today’s post certainly didn’t come easy. Normally, it’s been very easy to pick out a topic but with all of the distractions of late, it was quite the Herculean task. And then all of a sudden it hit me that it’s been nine years since he left so maybe it’s time to tell some of the tales of our time when he was stationed at Ft Leavenworth KS where I’d turn nine years old just before our final PCS of the many we’ve had to Ft Sam Houston TX.

If you look at his Officer Record Brief, I’d understand if you’re hard-pressed to find his tour at Ft Leavenworth from Jun 1978 to Jun of 1979 as a stop amongst his career assignment rota because it’s not in that list. That’s because he was technically still assigned to the US Army Medical Department Activities (USA MEDDAC) from Sep 1976.

The only reference to a rather long detached duty stay at Ft Leavenworth on that rather dense document is in the “Military Education” section in the centre of the form with the entry for “CMD STAFF COLLEGE” which is the world famous Command and General Staff College. Many world leaders (and in some cases dictators and others that’d eventually be not so friendly) and leading military figures have taken that course through the years.

Arrival

As was our custom for a PCS, Dad and I would arrive separately on our new home for the next year about a month or so before school would start for my third grade year.

In this case, Bam-Bam (my grandmother Rose McCoy who was my father’s ex mother-in-law) and I arrived after staying for a bit of holiday in Hutsonville IL. She would end up spending the next few years living with us before Dad’s unaccompanied assignment to Hanau (in what was then West Germany near Frankfurt) in 1982 would see me come back home to North Carolina whilst she was off to live halfway up Pike’s Peak in Manitou Springs CO in her final home.

I’ll be the first to admit that very few people really truly understood that relationship between a relatively young newly single parent officer and his *EX* mother-in-law living with us who was clearly much older than he was. Sometimes I’m not sure *I* can believe that weird state of affairs and I *LIVED IT*.

His exceptionally hard Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) of “single parent officer” would have been effectively impossible without her to be there when I’d need an adult for things I couldn’t do myself like driving and getting utilities sorted. Past that, I had been the accountant of our family (such as it was) for at least the previous three years where I’d manage his books and write the checks for paying his bills and do a monthly reconciliation with his pay and bank statements.

Of course, our first foray onto Ft Leavenworth proper whilst he was elsewhere attending to some details wouldn’t be complete without Bam-Bam making her presence known to the commander of the local MP (military police) detachment which often ended with her making it clear in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t going to tolerate any perceived harassment from the subordinate members of the constabulary. And when she defined the word “harassment”, she meant “MPs taking official notice when she’d drive however she wanted” including driving the wrong way down a one-way street or otherwise offending the traffic code.

Once she was done with establishing the command pecking order to her satisfaction and we had the keys to our corner flat at 67 Fifth Artillery Road, we were able to proceed to our home for the next year on the side of what seemed to be the only hill in the entire state of Kansas.

We were in a corner flat in a three-sided building arrangement around a common grassy area and the car park made up the place where the fourth building would have stood.

It certainly was perched on prime real-estate with an amazing view of the Leavenworth area’s primary industry!

From the front doorstep, we had a beautiful view of USP Leavenworth (the “Big Top”)…the main federal civilian prison in the area. On a clear day, we could see the men’s and women’s state prisons in Lansing roughly ten miles to the south if you looked past the Big Top. And of course, there was “The Castle” (our name for the Disciplinary Barracks which is the main military prison) which you could see looming in the distance above the meadow behind our flat.

People would always ask me if I was concerned about prisoners escaping (which actually did happen from the Big Top a couple of times whilst we were there). I slept quite soundly during those events because anyone who staged a breakout wasn’t coming west toward us (who were armed and trained to deal with them)…they were going to haul buns as quickly as they could to the Missouri River about two miles to the east over flat terrain where they’d be easily visible and easily recaptured.

The entrance to our flat was certainly quite understated and we’d only been there for a couple of minutes when we’d meet our new neighbours to the east.

She Really Did Know Who She Was!

One of the things you learn quickly about an officer’s life is that social events are numerous and compulsory and tardiness is generally frowned upon.

Our new neighbours were in the process of getting ready for one of these fancy dress occasions but were waiting for an important phone call they could not miss.

They saw us walking toward our front door and asked if we’d come in and answer the phone whilst they finished dressing upstairs.

Two things about that:

• It was 1978 and telephone answering machines were quite a luxury and even more expensive and voice mail just wasn’t a thing on a personal phone line.
• It might strike some as exceptionally strange and awkward that they’d ask two total strangers who had literally just arrived on base to come into their flat and answer their phone. That’s the huge difference between living on a military base and living in the civilian world. A Permanent Change of Station (PCS) is hardly out of the ordinary and we were all in the same boat (so to speak, it was an Army base). We looked out for our neighbours and if they needed us to help them out, we’d do so without hesitation.

As it turned out, the phone did indeed ring whilst they were upstairs and Bam-Bam picked up the receiver and this is how the conversation went:

• Bam-Bam: McCoy residence, McCoy speaking.
• Caller: Uhhh…is this really the McCoy residence?
• Bam-Bam: Yes, this is the McCoy residence.
• Caller: May I speak to Mrs McCoy?
• Bam-Bam: You are speaking to her!
• Caller: No, I’m trying to reach Mrs McCoy!
• Bam-Bam: You have! My name is McCoy.
• Caller: Is this phone number (913) XXX-YYYY?
• Bam-Bam (looking at the centre of the phone dial): Yes.
• Caller: And this is really the McCoy residence?
• Bam-Bam: Yes. And this is McCoy speaking!
• Caller: Your voice really doesn’t sound right to me. Are you sure you’re Mrs McCoy?
• Bam-Bam: Quite sure! Do you want me to take a message?

The caller hung up in frustration and then the phone rang again about a minute later and the conversation was a bit shorter but much the same.

By the time the third call arrived, Bam-Bam had gotten through her standard greeting as Major McCoy came down the stairs in his Class A uniform. Bam-Bam was more than happy to hand off her clearly skeptical caller who at least recognised the Major’s voice but couldn’t help but interrogate the Major as to the strange sounding woman who had answered the phone previously.

Major McCoy put his hand over the receiver and asked Bam-Bam what her last name was and when he found out, he about fell on the floor laughing that the person he’d asked to answer his phone coincidentally had his same last name but clearly was not playing for the same team!

The caller was clearly expecting someone of the African-American persuasion to answer the phone…and he most assuredly didn’t get it!

That was certainly one of the most interesting first encounters I’ve ever had. We’d laugh about it from time to time and the other McCoys were really decent people whose son became my first friend at Ft Leavenworth.

Dad Needs New Wheels!

I’d promised a couple of months ago that I’d spill the beans on arguably the most shameless automotive deal I’ve ever been a part of the negotiations. Now is as good a time as any…

Dad and our household goods finally catch up to us in our flat at 67 Fifth Artillery Road and after assuring the McCoys that we really weren’t as crazy as that first day might have made them think whilst he introduced himself to them, Bam-Bam and I had a task that needed doing before the start of the school year.

Dad had been driving a golden coloured Dodge Monaco (he’d always been fiercely loyal to Chrysler products) but by the time it’d been dragged halfway across the country, it was clear that a few years of towing a 21′ boat and the cross-country trip was enough that it needed replacing quickly.

Here’s the story of how that Dodge Monaco became a 1979 Plymouth Trailduster that the dealer wanted $18,000 for but ended up with $9,000 to get Bam-Bam and I out of that dealership before we started haggling for the clothes on their back! 😉

Who Needs Normality?

School soon started at Douglas MacArthur Elementary school and whilst I was navigating the joys that was the third grade with the very delightful Mrs Hall, Dad would spend his days in classes at Command and General Staff College and more than a few nights in Kansas City at Webster University.

It’s truly a miracle the man survived our year in Kansas.

CGSC is a year-long master’s level course by itself that is typically taught to officers who have achieved the rank of Major and that the powers-that-be feel have a good shot at becoming a battalion commander or ending up in the Pentagon as part of the general corps.

Not only was he doing that, he was also starting work on a master’s degree in Psychology which certainly explains more than a few joys of my life growing up with an officer in special ops who specialised as an interrogator and psyops (psychological operations).

Most days were along the lines of “hello, I must be going!” or once my homework was done on days he didn’t go to Kansas City, Dad would repeat the lectures from CGSC he’d received to me in the evening and use me as a study partner and sample test proctor until late in the evening.

That’s how I ended up with a graduate-level education in Army command doctrine that I cherish and use to this day.

Two of the more important lessons were:

• Being in command is probably the most abject form of servitude left on this planet. A good commander is there to serve the needs of those in their command, not the other way round. Your job is to do everything you possibly can to keep your unit well fed, well equipped and armed, mentally fit, and focused on the mission. That means that if there’s something that needs doing and there’s no one available, it’s *YOUR* job to pick up the slack. Being in command is often lonely and occasionally sucks but they’re depending on *YOU* to keep your wits about you so they can keep breathing and if you look after them, they will often serve you willingly and well not because they have to but because they WANT to.
• There are two commanders that you should fear for different reasons. The first one is the one that screams and yells and the second one is the one that is quiet and contemplative. The first one has completely lost control of their emotions and can’t be counted on to keep their wits in combat and are more likely going to get their unit killed. The second one you should fear even more because they do have control of their emotions and they’re already thinking of many ways to ruin the enemy’s day permanently. Be the second one! 🙂

All Work And No Play Is For The Birds!

And in spite of all that workload on his shoulders, he still managed to be there when I’d make an effort at playing goal on Saturday mornings and occasionally would referee the matches. He never missed a match and was always a good sport about us going into Leavenworth after the game for some wonderful hand-crafted root beer and burgers at the A&W (that was fancy eating in that town!).

That fall, we’d make a couple of trips down to Independence MO where you’d find Royals Stadium across the car park from where the Chiefs play American footy. I’ll never forget seeing George Brett and my favourite pitcher of all time Al Hrabosky (the “Mad Hungarian”) playing in their prime and that season they’d end up winning the division for the third year in a row just to be beaten in the ALCS by the Yankees. Thank you 2024 for bringing back *THAT* joyful memory… 🙁

I never did get to see the Chiefs at Arrowhead Stadium but I do love that they’re doing well in a sport I truly do not nor will I ever fully understand.

Every now and then, Dad would bring home a seemingly magical device where we’d fit the telephone receiver into the rubber cups of the acoustic coupler and he’d dial into the mainframe computer to do whatever he needed to do. Fortunately, when he was done with those tasks…he’d bring up game programmes that we’d play on that terminal with the output being printed on the thermal printer. There was a baseball game as well as an adventure-style game that were hours of fun and were my first introduction to computers.

That winter was one of the most brutal on record and it was rare that we didn’t have a massive pack of snow on the ground.

The advantage of living on the one hill in Kansas (OK, I’m being facetious…there are probably other hills but this ridge that had a nice deep ravine that provided hours of fun climbing, running, and hiding was the only one anywhere close to us!) is that with the right kind of sled, you can truly terrorise everyone who thought Flexible Flyer discs were a good idea.

A nice sized green toboggan that was *STEERABLE* was just the thing and wouldn’t you know it, Bam-Bam would exact her revenge on all of the kids who had annoyed her in the previous months by hunting them down mercilessly with that sled. I honestly think she rode that thing more than *I* did. The kids on those little discs didn’t have a chance as she’d be bearing down upon them as the Hungarian equivalent of Cruella de Vil… 😉

Our neighours in the quad had other fun uses for the massive amount of snow. I’ll never forget the day after the Hawthornes went to their neighbour’s flat at the end of their building (where there was a gap between their building and ours) to play poker and also have a few drinks. The Hawthornes must have lost their shirts at the poker table because the next thing we know, they completely filled in their neighbour’s door with snow and you can imagine what happened when they came out to get their newspaper in the morning.

But all’s well in love and war and speaking of love, the newlyweds who had gone to celebrate in Kansas City were awfully surprised to find their entire bedroom ensemble (sheets and pillows and everything) in the courtyard between our buildings courtesy of their friends who had liberated their house keys.

Our quad’s inhabitants may well have been busting their buns surviving Command and General Staff College but they knew the value of a well-executed practical joke. 🙂

The Zambezi Zinger (or The Miracle Of How Dad And I Survived That Day!)

Come springtime, we also went to the local theme park called “Worlds of Fun” where we managed to convince Bam-Bam to ride the Zambezi Zinger roller coaster. To be fair, it really did look like a ride through the trees and jungle because from a certain angle as you approach the entrance, you couldn’t see the circular section that takes the car to the top and then drops it into the roller coaster proper.

If I’m brutally honest, though…talking her past this rather notorious sign that indicated the point of no return was just some straight up shucking and jiving.

I really should be ashamed of being a party to what came next as she’s seated next to me in the first row of the lead car of the consist.

And I really would if it wasn’t *SOOOOOOO* funny at the time.

She gives me this look that clearly said she smells something and it ain’t pleasant.

That look didn’t improve as we did a few circling turns on the climb to the top of the coaster and the drop.

Once we were over the precipice, she made some strangled sounds that sounded something like “WHOOOP, WHOOOP, WHOOOP!” as we plunged down the hill and into the dark tunnel and then the various hills and twists and turns for the rest of the ride.

We come back to the launching station and we manage to get a very shaky Bam-Bam out of that carriage and through the exit to the plaza in front of the ride.

That was when I received what is certainly the most sustained, varied, and *LOUD* lesson in Magyar (the language of the Hungarians) in front of an astonished crowd of onlookers. And these aren’t the kind of words you can share in polite company…suffice it to say that among other things, she made it very clear that I was full of a certain material and that I’d be better served saving those sorts of conversations for someone who cares to hear them. Which was not her.

As it was, she didn’t say anything else to us (in Magyar or English) for about a week. For a place where cold weather and lots of snow and ice are a feature, the atmosphere after that stunt was exceptionally cold and frosty! Forgiveness took a bit longer but eventually she managed to find her way there which given how well Hungarians hold grudges is rather remarkable.

It’s a wonder we ever got her to accompany us to a theme park again.

A couple of years later, she would relent when we’d do a day trip to Astroworld and get onto an innocuous river ride with these big circular rafts that sat twelve people round a central wheel that could spin the thing on its journey (though we didn’t know that before they launched us). The drenching we all got went particularly badly for her…for lack of a better term, she truly did look like a drowned rat once we were finished on Thunder River.

All Good Things…

It seemed like we’d just moved to Kansas before the next set of orders came down for us to move to Ft Sam Houston TX for Dad to do a three-year tour as an instructor at the Army’s Academy of Health Sciences.

If I’m honest, San Antonio is where you’d likely find me if I wasn’t able to live in North Carolina. It’s just an amazing city all round…

But I’ll treasure my time at Ft Leavenworth and the occasional visits down to Kansas City which is a spectacular city in its own right. It was certainly a whirlwind of a year where it seemed we were always on the hop but we certainly were never bored! 🙂