Sanzi
It was 1968 in Illisheim, West Germany. We were the 591st Transportation Unit, 3rd Support Brigade, 7th Army Europe. I was in the 1st Platoon, 3rd Squad in the largest maintenance company of the US Army at that time. Our company was supplying two aviation units and the aircraft of the 3rd Armored Cavalry in Nuremberg. We were maintaining so many aircraft that I do not remember the exact number. In addition, we took care of our own aircraft and company area mess hall. We were forty klicks to the nearest anything other than ammo, tanks and guest houses. The 3rd Air Cavalry aircraft was our main job and always had highest priority. We were blessed not to be in Vietnam at that moment.
We prepared for six solid
weeks for our yearly IG (Inspector General) Inspection. This was required for line units in the US
Armed Forces. The day had finally
arrived. It was a Saturday morning in
February. The day dawned rainy but when
it came time to line up in ranks, it had tapered to a light drizzle. As I was walking to the parade area between
the barracks and aircraft hanger, there was mud everywhere. We came to the railroad crossing. At this point, there were cobblestones
between the tracks and to either side.
The tanks used the railroad right of way while heading to the railroad
loading ramp. As a result, you could
not see the tracks. You could only see
mud. If you slipped on the tracks, you
were ruined for inspection. We all went
slowly down the three steel stairs, atop the railroad platform, behind the
aircraft hanger and on to the parade area.
No one jumped off the platform on this messy day as we were all ready
for inspection.
Staff Sergeant Charbono gave all of us
a once-over before we were called to attention. “Griffiths! Take off your
headgear.” I removed it and found it
was covered with bird droppings, fresh bird droppings. I got out my handkerchief and started to
wipe it off the hat. “Leave it
alone! It is an act of God!” Staff
Sergeant Charbono shouted, loud enough for all 274 GIs to hear.
The GI to my right was Specialist, 4th
Class Sanzi. He liked to be called by
his last name even by his closest “issued” friends. His stated goal upon leaving the US Army was to become a war
protester. We loved him. (If I may use that term in the new
millennium.) “You do know what US Army
stands for?” was his favorite question.
“Uncle Sam ain’t released me yet!”
he would always say with a straight face. He was well known to us.
He would spike the 16mm army training films with 10 second vintage
X-rated German 16mm movie clips. This
was done in the heated basement of the barracks, after a day of work out in the
cold. His boss never knew he had done this,
and all we knew was that he was an enlisted man. He always had his buttons sewn on upside-down along with his US
Army crest on the “bus driver’s hat” as we called it. We also referred to it as the Ralph Crapton (Jackie Gleason)
hat. Why would we expect him to correct
himself for the inspection?
We were the first platoon to be
inspected. All was going well except
that the rain had picked up a little.
We were at attention in open ranks.
(We were only limited by a white chain.
This chain was glass held on by white paint over steel. 1st Sergeant Hooper had erected
this chain to keep the drunken GIs off his grass and flowers when in
season. He had earlier posted the duty
roster to include this area for patrolling.
This was the cleanest and safest area in the “Fatherland”. We had live ammo on duty only in the company
area and not on the runway, truck depot or hanger area.) During inspection the Commanding Officer,
Inspector General and 1st Sergeant Hooper would side-step through
the rows of each platoon.
While at full attention, I could see
the Commanding Officer (Captain Cramer, due for Major rank the following month)
from the corner of my eye. (We were
blessed to have such a just and fair Commanding Officer. No one ever said a bad word about him.) Standing in front of Specialist, 4th
Class Sanzi, Captain Cramer’s face went rigid.
As he stood transfixed by the upside-down insignias, I had the honor
of seeing this pale, fifty year old face turn red and solid in a matter of
seconds. The 1st Sergeant
and Captain Cramer were always ready to answer questions from the Inspector
General. They took their cue to sidestep
when the Inspector General flinched prior to his sidestep. All of a sudden, the Inspector General steps
on Captain Cramer’s foot and the Captain came out of his rage-induced trance
to step in front of myself. When they
had all sidestepped to the next man, the Inspector General was now in front
of Sanzi. Captain Cramer was looking
at my hat with the bird droppings now hanging in front of my face. He was in tears, trying to control his anger.
Surely he was praying that the Inspector General did not see Sanzi’s
upside-down buttons and crest, well polished though they were.
“Private Sanzi, how long have you been
in this man’s army?” the Inspector
General screamed in the fog, rain and silence.
There was silence so loud and sweat so cold as 278 wet men awaited an
answer. My ears were ringing from the
general’s bark. “All day sir, all
day.” Sanzi smiled and men strained to
keep from being the first to laugh out loud while at attention and in
formation. Stomachs twisted and toes
bent inside shoes to prevent the laughter from coming.
The Inspector General stepped in front
of me and nearly knocked Captain Cramer off his feet. He had had enough of Sanzi instantly. He was from the 3rd Support Brigade and had to drive
in through fog, as opposed to flying the 220 kilometers from Heidelberg to
Illesheim. He must have been
exhausted. “Specialist Griffiths! What is that on your Class A cover?!” “Bird shit sir, bird shit!” I screamed. I did not mean to scream but I was still
trying not to laugh from Sanzi’s reply.
My stomach muscles were still in a knot. “How did it get there?”
“An act of God sir!”
Two hundred men broke ranks, leaning
on each other as if in a gas attack.
Sanzi and I were at attention waiting for the old Inspector General to
kill us or something. He just broke for
his Jeep and drove off, leaving the rest of the inspection team waiting for
orders. 1st Sergeant Hooper
dismissed everyone except for Sanzi and I.
Staff Sergeant Charbono yelled that no disciplinary action should be
taken until the results of the inspection were known. 1st Sergeant Hooper yelled from atop the railroad
platform that we would both be “grunts in Nam” by that time.
We got the best inspection report of
the battalion two weeks later. To
top that, we were saluted by every private in the company for months. We never made it to Vietnam either. I had two brothers who did: Michael A. afloat on the William V. Pratt-DLG
63 and Donald H. ashore in Long Bin, the Republic of South Vietnam.