UNIFORMED SERVICE: THE SOFT TIMES

The uniformed service is the backbone of every country that uses effective traffic control on their busy streets.

It’s either the guy in a uniform pulling drivers over for traffic violations, for not following the rules of the road, or before traffic lights, a guy in a uniform directing traffic in the street like the flashlight and whistle police at Portland International drop off.

With no help from the constabulary I navigated the Magic Roundabout in Swindon, England, but I did have help from inside the car.

This is an active view.

Now imagine it at night, behind the wheel of an English car, on the opposite side of the road, after a few pops with dinner.

Everyone else on that English road knew the drill and I followed along.

The uniformed service had no business with me on the freeways either, but I could have used a pep talk in the fast lane during an English downpour multiplied by road spray.

If you drive in Oregon, especially I-5, you know the feeling.

You pass a big rig in the rain, a tsunami comes off their wheels and suddenly overpowers your wipers to near zero visibility.

 

I had clear visibility when joined the uniformed service with the idea of being helpful during a soft time.

Vietnam was drawing down and closing out, and the recruiters were scrambling.

They wanted more than the usual cannon fodder, more than McNamara’s morons.

After a year of college, and college wrestling, I was confident I’d pass the tests.

And I did. Make way for the uniformed service people.

We all wore matching outfits like a team.

 

Buddies In Uniform

The big thing about joining a uniformed service like the Army is the ability to follow orders.

As privates we all jumped with every order given.

If one guy didn’t understand the order given, he just followed along like I did in the Magic Roundabout.

Do this, do that, do it again. All in day’s work.

Once I settled into my permanent duty station in South Philly I started meeting career people on their second enlistment.

At Fort Ord everyone was a nervous trainee; at Fort Sam Houston everyone was a student-soldier; at Fort Dix, with permanent-temporary duty in Philadelphia, everyone was a worker.

One of my co-workers invited me over to his off-base place for a beer.

We knew each other, and established man-trust, and he knew everybody.

 

Co-Worker: I’ve never shown anybody this picture.

Hands me an 8-10 of him inside somewhere wearing a tennis hat covering half his face, but it was him.

Me: Looking good. A little blurry.

CW: That’s what they got off the bank camera.

Me: Nice.

Then he hands me a wanted poster for a bank robbery with the same picture.

I look at him; he looks at me.

CW: I’ve got it down. You go in early in the week and check out the cameras, then come back later with the hat. I’ve got a system if you want to join in.

 

CCTV means you might get a decent image of the perpetrator. But that’s only useful if they either strike again and are caught, or if their image is already on record for previous infractions.

And it’s useless if they wear a mask.

As for technology, all the security systems in the world are useless if the person being threatened has access to the money. Point a gun, they hand cash over, and the bank’s insurance deals with the rest.

Arrests are much more likely today than they have ever been, but the crime itself isn’t when people are usually caught. It’s after extensive investigation, and usually only after the suspect makes a mistake.

 

Me: It’s not for me, but I’m loving this bank robber beer. Cheers.

 

Code Of Silence For Uniformed Service

Did I report the part-time bank robber?

He showed me another picture, a brain scan.

His brain.

He said he used to shoot speed and wondered how it affected his brain.

He pointed to a few trouble spots, trouble enough to stop shooting speed.

My guy was a worker, like a worker anywhere, except he was in the Army, a bother in arms.

No matter how shitty he was, the captain of the hospital company was shittier.

Not that it mattered.

This comes around to my understanding of the uniformed services.

No matter what, we are brothers in arms while in uniform.

Out of uniform we’re old and fat and make shit up to feel like we did something more important than what we did.

Was the guy really a bank robber? He seemed convincing to twenty year old me.

But he was an Army guy first.

Put on that uniform and you’re part of the legacy with those who have worn it before you.

Call it pride. Call it history.

It all comes with the territory and it includes responsibility in the end.

 

 

PS: Wear that uniform like it means something, or don’t wear it at all.

 

PSS: No uniform of the uniformed services at any level comes with a mask. I still put my green army shirt front and center, and I’ve given others as gifts for my adult kids to wear when they need that pep talk.

Call me old and fat and out of touch, another baby boomer running his mouth on what he doesn’t know, but pairing a mask with any uniformed service is shameful.

‘Following orders’ is no defense.