Sig
Make
Your Own Moves 10
Special Forces Medic School Begins: introductions and playing chicken
The first day of class was sobering. Before us stood Beret Doctors and Medics
ready to teach us those skills that would help us save lives. We really
did not yet understand the full extent and expertise our training would
take us, but we were anxiously looking forward to any new adventure, classroom
or otherwise. We had grown tired of sitting and waiting.
The majority of us had never paid attention in high school. I had a 1.9
average and just barely graduated. The significance of a high school education
paled to my fully devoted research of girls, beaches, music and parties.
Not necessarily in that order.
Being one of the most highly rated comedians of our high school senior class
it was my absolute responsibility to make the teachers and myself look as
foolish as possible. I took my role no less seriously than a straight A
student would take theirs. I would sometimes stay awake at night pondering
new opportunities I thought I could get away with in school. As a result,
I often found myself in Siberia-the name of our detention hall.
I, upon occasion, attended Northeast High in Pasadena Md. I was part of
their first graduating senior class. You might say I was a part time student.
We had a fascinating club called AVON-Associated Vandals of Northeast High
School. Someone had actually gone as far as having printed AVON business
cards that we carried in our wallets. We were not knife carrying thugs or
any other type of “bad ass” gang. We were a simple group of guys just out
having some of the best times of our young lives.
Remembering back;
It was basketball season and someone decided that we were going to parade
a real live chicken on the sidelines taunting our rival school during the
basketball game. It was up to three of us to obtain the CHICKEN.
We started off appropriately by asking a local chicken farmer if we could
borrow a chicken? He looked at us as if we had less than average intelligence
and repeated a resounding, “NO. DO NOT BOTHER ME WITH SUCH FOOLISHNESS.
GO AWAY.”
Well, we followed his instructions entirely. Well, that is the part where
we were not going to bother him anymore. We were not going to be denied
the chicken so easily. We had tried the right way, now we were determined
to borrow one, under the cover of darkness. After all, he had hundreds and
one missing chicken would not harm him in the least.
That night we parked a quarter of a mile from the farm and quietly sneaked
into the chicken area. Much to our amazement we saw nary a chicken anywhere!
After a few bewildering moments one of us happened to look up and all the
chickens were sleeping in the trees! We had no idea chickens slept in trees.
Before I could say a word someone had already started climbing a tree to
capture the chicken. Not a good plan. How do you sneak up on one chicken
sleeping amidst hundreds of its friends and family. Yep, you guessed it!
You can’t. We were immediately surrounded by chickens, chicken feathers,
and chicken !@#%$^*#<. This gave an entirely new meaning to being “tarred
and feathered”! You could hear chickens making a fuss 10 miles down the
road.
About the time we had actually secured a chicken, the farmer came running
out of his house across the field and a shotgun went off. We dropped that
chicken and took off in the opposite direction of the farmer and his shotgun,
which just happened to be a swamp. We were quickly knee deep in muck. I
lost my tennis shoes, sucked off my feet by the mud, but I really did not
mind as I could run faster without them. A good two miles latter we reached
the main road. Bent over, gasping for air, we were covered head to toe in
mud chicken feathers. One of my friends actually had a clean spot on his
back. I walked back into the swamp and retrieved a hand full of muck carefully
smearing it over his clean spot. We all had a good laugh since nobody had
been hurt. We just had a good workout.
On the way home, I thought of the farmer and the look he had given us when
we had asked to borrow a chicken. I remembered his expression, the one that
said we had less than average intelligence. I began to wonder, just maybe
he was right.
Our introduction to Beret Medic School went something like this:
Our goal is to teach you to become small town doctors. We will equip you
with the needed skills and abilities to converse via radio and retrieve
any information needed from available medical resources (MDs) to treat any
medical conditions faced in the field. You could be anywhere in the world
“ANYWHERE” and the only immediate medical help your troops can expect will
come from you. What you learn and the skills you perfect could immediately
determine whether your friend sitting next to you lives or dies.
Not all of you belong here. Some will fail.
Anyone who feels they have chosen the wrong specialty may now transfer to
any other specialty you may choose. This opportunity is a one time offer
and expires when I walk out this door. No transferring tomorrow. You fail
this class your out.
I remember four men standing up and walking out the door without hesitation.
The sergeant announced this once more then walked out the door. Our first
but not our last casualties.
Study materials were circulated throughout the class. At first glance I
remember a list of medical words we were going to have to learn. There would
be little difference to learning a foreign language. I barely recognized
any association with the English language. I remember feeling an unusual
kind of intimidation in class. Facing another individual one on one I new
I could now handle win lose or draw I could live with it. But, I did not
know
if I was intelligent enough for this course. I had never really tested my
intelligence. I was actually afraid I might fail. A new and different kind
of obstacle course.
Some of our instructors were Medical Doctors(Mds) who had just spent 10-12
years in school. They had been in college for more than half of my life.
I planned to keep my mouth shut and listen carefully. If they decided to
send me to Siberia I am sure it would carry a whole different meaning than
high school. We soon learned that the Beret Medics would do most of the
teaching. The doctors were actually out playing golf.
Included in our study materials was the Special Forces Medical Specialist
Handbook. On the back it had the:
Special Forces Aidman’s Pledge.
As a Special Forces Aidman of the United States Army, I pledge my honor
and my conscience to the service of my country and the art of medicine.
I recognize the responsibility which may be placed upon me for the health
and even lives of others.
I confess the limitation of my skill and knowledge in the curing of the
sick and injured.
I promise to follow the maxim “Pimum non nocere” (“First, thou shalt do
no harm”), and to seek the assistance of more competent medical authority
whenever it is available.
These confidences which come to me in my attendance on the sick, I will
treat as secret.
I recognize my responsibility to impart to others who seek the service of
medicine such knowledge of its art and practice as I possess, and I resolve
to continue to improve my capability to this purpose.
As an American soldier, I have determined ultimately to place above all
considerations of self the mission of my team and the cause of my nation.
It was time to face the test, one I had not done well with in the past.
I had never really tried education, but what better motivation could I have,
life or death.
Note: Anyone can kill someone. Everyone in any military learns to defend
themselves and kill the enemy to some degree.
Today you read in the newspapers every month some kid has found his father’s
gun in the house and while playing he shoots himself or another family member
to death.
I was given this incredible opportunity almost by accident. I forever look
over my shoulder for that angel that must be there watching over me. Thanks
wherever and whoever you are!
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Chess;
You WILL choose the wrong move and you MUST be able to laugh at your own
mistakes. Do not let those mistakes weigh you down. Do not forget your mistakes.
They are important stepping stones to better chess and better life. It does
not matter how ridiculous they may seem at the time. You will find great
use for them. It will become evident how and when to use them when the time
is right.
These mistakes creep back into our lives and can be a warning or a chance
to relate some of our experiences allowing others a chance to learn. The
chess books we study are filled with professionals who did what? Made mistakes!
Consider your mistakes wisdom builders. Look forward to them! Embrace them!
Breath them in deep and strong with a soft smile. It is all part of the
dance.
Mistakes can make you weaker or stronger. It is up to you. Some you will
have to pay dearly for. Wisdom is not cheep
“People often say that this or that person has not yet found himself. But
the self is not something one finds, it is something one creates.”
Thomas Szasz 1920-
“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent”
Anna Eleanor Roosevelt, 1884-1962
WAITING MOVES; Medic training was not attractive to many of the recruits. It took 40 weeks to graduate. I believe weapons school was only 12 weeks of training. Many of these recruits were half way thru their weapons training classes before we had even started our medic classes.
This realization left us very envious. Many started to think we had chosen the wrong school to attend. Being ready for graduation in 3 to 4 months time looked very attractive. Of course there are the pluses and minuses.
Pluses include: graduating sooner! Upon graduation you are promoted to e5 - Buck Sergeant. Most of us were Privates - E3. Each level of promotion at that time gave you an extra $60.
Minuses: You have the opportunity to go to war much three months earlier.
Once school started we were very pleased with our choice. There was no more harassment unless you fell asleep in class. We were treated like college students. We attended classes all day, with few duties on weekends and no more ambushes. You were allowed to dedicate yourself to your studies unencumbered. Understand their intention was to make you a small town doctor equipped with dental, vetinarian and medical skills.
Waiting allows one to show his personality. Men that chased ladies sharpened their skills. Drunks drank more. Those who used drugs used more drugs. Those that liked to be alone found ways of being alone in a crowed room or new places on the Fort where few ventured. Some would travel to the nearby mountains. Drunks drank more. Those with troubled spirits found more trouble.
Waiting is a fine art not taught in any school. We all have to learn to wait our turn. I remember standing in the grocery line with my mother as she told me we would have to wait. Waiting for traffic can be dangerous these days. I think of the old movies with soldiers waiting to charge onto the beaches on D-Day or Imo Jima, and so many more. Have you waited 4 hours at the emergency room yet? That is supposed the be the average waiting time.
It was our turn to wait for Phase two training to start. There were four methods of service(mos) to choose from. You could choose to be a medic, engineer, communications, or weapons expert. I had chosen to be a medic. It seemed a bit unfortunate at first. Medic school took 40 weeks of training. Whereas, weapons training took only 12 weeks. It is much easier to kill someone than it is to save them.
More recruits would choose the shorter schools in order to graduate faster. Understand, upon graduation not only did you become a Green Beret and all the respect therein but you were automatically promoted to an E5 sergeant. In those days that meant a$100- $150 raise a month for most of us.
Waiting; stop over, down time, free time, the wait,
I was part loner. I kept to myself but upon rare occasion I would venture to downtown Fayetteville and the infamous block of clubs where soldiers would grab a beer, watch a dance and make fools of themselves. Soldiers from all branches of the service would be thrown into a smoky rooms filled with the smell of beer, loud music, a couple of pool tables and a few scantly clad waitresses who would take turns dancing on stage.
This is the street downtown that your parents told you never to go. I can here my mom say, You better not go down there. There is nothing except bad people causing trouble around those places.” So, what is the first place we go when on our own and away from home? Right! Straight downtown where we know our curiosity will most likely get us in some sort of trouble.
It was a carnival type atmosphere, throw in some beer and a few soldiers with short fuses or someone with an attitude just looking for a fight and you can have a dangerous volatile situation.
Several of us arrived in the evening to take in the sights. We felt more like tourists at the rowdy carnival. We broke up into two groups. The 1st group choose a quiet bar so we could at least hear each other talk. The 2nd group went bar hoping. After an hour of watching the people interact I decided to go for a walk as I do not drink, smoke or play pool with any accuracy and I soon had my fill of the dancing. I would soon witness and understand the symbolism of being a Green Beret. As I walked down the street the other soldiers started stepping aside voluntarily. I did not understand at first. I thought these had to be the most courteous drunken soldiers I had ever seen. I soon came to realized it was not me; it was the Green Beret I wore. The legendary stories and mystery of the Beret that had preceded us were well known in the military and hardly anyone wanted any trouble with a Beret.
I was just starting to enjoy my new realized standing when I came upon three soldiers kicking and beating fellow drunken soldier on the ground.
Well here it is, one of the real reasons I joined the Beret. There were two brothers that lived down the street from me in high school who were bent on embarrassing me in front of all the other kids in the neighborhood. I would get pink bellies (holding someone down on the ground and hitting their belly with an open hand until it turned red-no bruises) at the school bus stop in the morning and they would chase me all over the neighborhood whenever they got bored. They were both ahead of me in school thus bigger and the younger of the two was a State Champion wrestler 3 of the 4 years he was in high school. I had no chance of defending myself weighing 110 pounds with no muscles to speak of.
So here I am facing one of my great dilemmas, ignore it and walk away- after all there were three of them, or take them on and stand up for the defenseless drunk.
I decided to test this new found fear of the Beret and hoped it would not be a mistake. I stood in front of the soldier lying on the ground and with the meanest most determined look I could muster I told them to back off. They took a few steps back and I could see they were afraid. Their hands were shaking. I quickly checked out the soldier lying on the ground and he seemed still to be in one piece. He was stone cold drunk and had no idea what was going on. As I was getting him to his feet three more friends of the three I had just confronted showed up and suddenly I was severely out numbered. I could see they were still hesitant. The largest of the group yelled " lets get him" and without a thought I quickly dispatched him by getting off balance and beating his head against a brick wall. He pummeled to the ground and the others backed off again.
As I picked up the drunk I noticed he had no wallet. I demanded the wallet and it soon turned up. I checked and found the money was missing. I simply threw it back to them and said I wanted everything back in the wallet. They quickly put the money back and handed it back while saying how sorry they were. I had nothing to say to these bums.
We had gathered a small crowd by this time and several guys were wanting to help carry him- I refused. Where were they all when he was getting beaten up? I was having a little trouble carrying all this dead weight and right about when I was to ask for help this guy sitting on a motorcycle grabbed his other side and down the street we went to my friends at the bar. I thanked the guy for his help and offered to buy him a beer but he gracefully said no thanks and left. He was a very nice person with a bandana around his head with a funny jacket on that had no sleeves with words on the back that said Hells Angels. I thought that to be an interesting name. I had never heard of them.
We got the guy back to his outfit in one piece. His Sergeant Major happened to be there and thanked us for taking care of him. He also said if we ever needed anything just come and ask.
Once back to the barracks I felt like a good man. I had been tested and passed one more test. I also began to realize that at this level of responsibility we would constantly be tested in and out of the classroom. De oppresso Libra was the Green Berets’ motto. There would be a higher standard required from us to make those decisions necessary in our quest to be the best. One that others would ever comprehend. I was just beginning to understand what I had gotten myself into. I felt proud and a good nights sleep followed.
I watch from the sidelines and see many chess players give up when playing against an obviously stronger player. I often wonder where and what I would be if I had given up on becoming a Green Beret, the seemingly impossible dream. Each time you give up a dream it becomes easier to give up on the next dream. You give up on a game of chess it just becomes easier each game to find an excuse to surrender the next and the next. Your only asset becomes your creativity in making new excuses.
"It is fatal to enter any war without the will to win it". Douglas MacArthur
"Professionals built the Titanic....amateurs the ark." Anomynous
In the last weeks of Basic Beret training the mindset had changed. Instead of being constantly troubled by impromptu surprises and ambushes we remained cautious and yet more at ease looking forward to each days challenge. Confidence took over and as we were becoming a part of this unique outfit the Green Beret. We knew there was still a lot of training before we would be accepted but we had become mentally prepared for MOST anything. The overwhelming fear we initially felt had evolved into a useful tool alerting us to danger and allowing us to react appropriately. I watched closely as the spirit of what was once a group of frightened boys now turned into men with enthusiasm.
We had become so confident that we actually started a few ambushes of our own. We would switch recruits boots while they were sleeping, sometimes switching just one boot. Someone kept putting frogs in my boots and sleeping bag. I never new where frog may turn up. I never did find out who the perpetrator was. Stealing tents while someone was asleep was another favorite. We even got some vaseline from a medic kit and filled gloves with it. We thought of setting some traps for the Beret Instructors but we erred on the side of caution.
We were taught a lot about setting ambushes in the last weeks. The exercise of walking into an ambush leaves you with a lasting impression even when it is training. You learn quickly and you do not forget when you realize how easily death can visit. I remember the details of each ambush I walked into, to this very day. I often thought they were picking on me as it seemed I had the opportunity to walk into more traps than anyone else. But I did not mind. The lesson was important not my pride. There would always be some frog comment about the ”Revenge of the frogs”, or “I was just a tadpole and have not reach full frog status yet”. Suddenly, training was over.
The last night we were told to pack up our gear and be ready to get on the trucks in the morning. Trucks that would be carrying us back to Ft. Bragg. We stayed awake all night anticipating one last lesson. The next morning we never let the instructors out of our sight waiting for another ambush to spring out of the trucks or woods. We were all on high alert with each step an effort surrounded by caution. Where would that last lesson come from? Eyes darted alone the tree line looking for anything unusual while a couple of MEN checked out the trucks.
As we were in the trucks returning to Ft Bragg there was no relief until someone sighted the barracks. We thought this must be how soldiers returning from battle must feel. But many of us would soon learn that this could not compare to returning home from war.
We had passed. It was over. A great sigh of relief with a bit of cheering was finally in order. The whole bunch of us started patting each other on the back. There was some rowdy jocularity as if completing a dangerous mission. A few last frog jokes. Then slowly the last 10 weeks seem to catch up with us and everyone remembered how tired they were both physically and mentally. We each could remember a friend or acquaintance that had quit or was cut from the course. Then we started dozing off from exhaustion.
As the trucks pulled into the barracks parking lot my first thought was how amazed my Dad was going to feel about his little boy being in the Green Beret. Finally I could make him proud of something I had accomplished by myself. Although I still had a long way to go. I also thought about the Taylor brothers who lived down the street and used to pick on me all the time. There would be a time for show and tell with these street bullies.
But, it was not over yet. There was one more ambush as we expected. Upon returning to camp we were getting into our last formation as basic recruits when Beret instructors announced that the results of our written test were now posted on the bulletin board. A long cold feeling crept up our backs and that sickness you feel in your stomach after losing a girlfriend took hold. Another ambush- we had thought all of us had passed. There had been no mentioning of who had passed or failed the written test so we all assumed that we had passed. We never gave the test a second thought the whole time we were in the field.
Some made a beeline to the test and find their results. I stood in the rear and walked slowly as I heard both gasps of relief and saw a few ghostly looks on the faces of others who had failed. That farm boy who had delivered cows and hunted most of his life and was strong as an ox….failed. The drunk passed. I slowly walked up to the announcements when everyone had cleared away and found my name in alphabetical order. My hand was shaking from the anticipation. I could not believe this was happening. It said pass. I had passed. I quickly looked around for one of the Beret instructors but they were no where in site. I wanted to stare one of them down as if to say I am here to stay. You are not getting rid of me so easily.
After the ambush the remnants of us stood in the barracks together. Others had already received their orders and were packing their gear to go to their next assignments. I learned that they did not like those who had failed to hang around very long. There were but sixteen of us left of which I was one. I thought: There were so many others more qualified than the frog killer. Although feeling proud of ourselves there was no real celebrating. We had only completed the first of three training phases. We looked at each other wondering what was so special about us. Some had obvious leadership abilities others did not. We knew there would be more cut from the training before it was over. But who?
For the next 4-6 weeks we would wait and remain busy with KP and guard duty until enough recruits passed to makeup a specialty class. I was to be a medic. The other available classes were engineering, communications, and weapon specialists. Medic training was the longest course. It took over 40 weeks of training.
Next: Beret Medic Training
In chess there are always surprises/ambushes. Just about the time you think you have everything covered someone makes a devastating move you did not think was significant and it suddenly changes the whole game. When this happens it often has a terrible psychological effect on the player. Confusion, anguish begins to reign making it difficult to think properly. Your mind keeps going back to missing that move making it difficult to effectively analyze forward. “How could I have missed that move”. You will lose time on the clock which generates more pressure until the boiler gets too hot and the heat becomes overwhelming until finally the game is over. But, latter when you look back at the game and the pressure is off you usually find a way out of the situation. Often a simple move you cannot believe you missed.
There is an easy way out of these situations. EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED and move on. Realize you will miss stufffff ahead of time and when the ambush is sprung just react with immediate vigor and determination. The psychological effect will be minimal and your ability to find an answer analysis) will increase greatly. The psychological effect can often be reversed when you have fought your way out of an ambush and achieve level ground. Your opponent becomes mystified and confused about what he did wrong letting you out of that trap. Now he is wasting his time going back during the game trying to analyze past moves affecting his ability and wasting his time.
“A certain amount of opposition is a great help to a man. Kites rise against the wind, not with the wind.”
John Neal, 1793-1876
“You may be disappointed if you fail, but you are doomed if you do not try.”
Beverly Sills 1929
It is difficult to write about ones own bad moves.
The fifth week of training we moved camp deeper into the forest several miles away from our original camp. No more buildings just our individual tents. Our remnants were divided into teams of 10-12 men each. Notice I said men we were no longer young adults. Next we would have the opportunity to put into practice what they had been teaching in class.
Each team would take turns setting up ambushes and various traps. Recent Beret grads were assigned to pull aggressor duty. It was their job to walk into our ambushes. I once read that you remember 10% of what you hear, 30% of what you read and 80% of what you actually do. Perfect execution was taken very seriously by the Beret instructors. If you fouled up you could plan on supernatural harassment for days. By the time they were through with your harassment uh training the only way you could forget your error was to die. I distinctly remember during one of our ambushes that I and two other recruits were supposed to curl up on the end of an aggressor convoy and we were late in doing so. Let me see, that was 38 years ago but I still can feel the Beret instructors hand around my throat. I never saw him coming and that was his point. We had left a small gap open in the ambush for the enemy to get through. The instructor had my throat, my weapon, and anything else he wanted with the hold he had on me. I could not move or breath. He was simulating my death as best he could. I felt helplessness, impending doom, I thought of all the adventures I would miss, I thought of my parents and how disappointed they would be. I felt very cold and alone. He leaned over and whispered into my ear, Opresso Libre, Today you have received a special gift. I had no idea what he was talking about until graduation. For the next two days I had that instructor's individual attention. I had to hunt down frogs and keep them for 2 days, taking care of all their needs. Three o'clock in the morning I had to get in the middle of the camp while everyone else was sleeping and curl up into a ball in my underwear lying on the ground. If I were in a similar ambush today I WILL remember to curl up on the enemy from that position or friendlies WILL die. Instructors would be out with one or two teams at a time that left the rest of us with some down time. We were not used to be so inactive after all the intensive training. It is during this time I learned another important lifetime lesson.
While relaxing in the camp one of our team members stood up and with a mischievous look on his face stated that we should take some of the other recruits food from their backpacks. He said it in such a casual jovial way we thought it was going to be a prank. The majority of us immediately went over and grabbed a can or two of food from our fellow recruits. I grabbed a can of food-date nut bread or pudding, I cannot remember-I hate date nut bread/pudding. It had the ability to stop any bowel movements for days. We would always eat some before going out on 2-3 day patrols thus we would be assured of not having to make any pit stops. We ran back to our tents laughing like teenagers who had just raided a sorority of panties.
But this soon came to an abrupt end. As the other recruits started returning a few spoke up really upset that their food was missing. I had this sinking feeling in my stomach I had just done something terribly wrong. As more of the recruits spoke up the Beret instructors became involved and what had started out as a prank quickly turned into a very serious situation.
I had always been honest and would often be the first to fess up to my shortcomings where others would run, hide and lie, but not this day. Anyone who spoke up would have been immediately dismissed. I understood that this may be one of those life or death situations, life in the Beret or possibly death anywhere else. I choose to remain silent and let the cards fall. I said nothing as the instructors searched our belongings for anyone with extra food. They were unable to find anything conclusive and ended up giving the recruits who had lost food an extra C-ration. To my amazement the incident was buried and never talked about again by anyone.
It sounds a bit ridiculous to write about this bad move but please understand, if one can be coerced so easily into stealing a can of food by a fellow soldier during training, what might happen during more serious situations. For me individually, I had always been able to separate myself from other influences and had taken great pride in my not being influenced by the so called 'in crowd' while growing up in high school. This incident put a chink in my armor and made me question how strong I would really be when the chips were down. I felt sick to my stomach for having been so easily manipulated. I have never forgotten and have lived with this decision my entire life. It was another good lesson I carried with me for the rest of my life. A lesson the Beret instructors cannot teach.
Proverbs: 29:24 Whoso is partner with a thief hated his own soul: he heareth cursing, and bewrayeth it not.
So what can all of this have to do with chess? Making your own moves is important. The instructors you hire are there just to guide you not to assist you to memorize each move you make. I see too many players getting the latest opening book and trying to memorize the moves.
One of the main reasons people love this game so much is that it is an individual sport. You are ultimately responsible for both your good moves and your bad moves. Just as in life.
In chess there are no gray areas only a lack of knowledge. You know there is an absolutely best move in every position. The quest is to find that best move. You play an opening that you have studied and are most familiar with its best positions in an effort to win more readily. In life many people do not want to face the right or wrong moves of a situation. They find it difficult to face the truth of a situation (a position) especially if it interferes with their lifestyle. Some place these situations into gray areas and refuse to deal with them at all. They have nice little sayings like 'Live and let live', 'To each his own', while in their hearts they know the true answer be it right or wrong. They do not want to face the right answers. They surround themselves with others who think alike so they can find some compensation. Well John thinks the same way.
Just as in chess, in life if you pursue the right moves you will have a better chance to win. Individuals place so many situations into their grey areas, unwilling to face any conflict, they end up spending much of their daily energy maintaining these grey areas they have created. These gray areas continue to grow until you soon become overwhelmed. Note: The military paints their ships grey because it has been scientifically proven that it hides their ships better than any other color. They do not have enough daily energy left to deal with everyday life. It is all being used to maintain those gray areas they have setup. You can see these people distressed and often on medication of sorts to help bolster that daily energy they have wasted while trying to maintain their grey areas.
Make your own moves. Some will be right some will be wrong. Deal with them and you will learn from your bad moves thus making you a better person through these tests of spirit. Yes you may not like some of the correct answers-kids cannot eat candy all day. Sounds simple but it is not easy. It sometimes demands courage beyond that of a soldier facing life and death. Remarkable as it may sound facing life or death in battle is easier for most. It is simple, you live or die. In chess you win, lose, or draw. Life carries so many more obstacles. The girl you like laughing at you after you invited her out, you suddenly are kicked out of the group that you like to hang with, somebody makes fun of your looks, your cloths, the way you walk, or talk, how small or how big you are, you get caught with your zipper down, your body odor, what part of town you live in, they make fun of the job you or someone in your family has, or maybe you have 6 toes or fingers, not enough hair, to much hair, this is just a few of the embarrassing items people like to choose. You can visit the psych doctor and numb yourself from life with medications. This soon becomes a habit and you find it easier to take the pill and soon will not deal with life at all. There are times when individuals need help and this is appropriate short term help.
Continue to make your own moves. You will be a better person for it. Stronger in spirit ready to deal with most all the game has in store for you, in chess and life.
Just because I wander doesn't mean I am lost.
We had gotten used to Camp McCall being deep in the woods with only the sounds of nature, disturbed occasionally by a Beret Sergeant bellowing out orders for the new recruits. It was most awesome in the morning prior to everyone rising. I would step out amidst the trees and listen to nature living. I was always amazed at the graceful dance between the tall trees and the night breeze that would put most any opera to shame. The more nocturnal players trying to get their last meal before daylight while others were in quick flight back to the nest before getting caught by daylight. It filled me with a certain inner strength and resolve I cannot describe further.
Soon the recruits would start stirring making those endearing obnoxious morning sounds of human kind and all instantly disappeared. It was like someone had thrown the switch. Nature on-Nature off.
As we were taking our time getting into morning formation joking and feeling pretty good about ourselves, having made it through the first 3 weeks of beret training, a loud noise erupted and emerged from the sergeants tent with the pleasantness of a Maddawg, thus his nickname. Yep, Ranger Melvin had finally arrived and our next test had started. The Drill Sergeants always yelled and shouted at us but, Ranger Melvin’s intensity was unmistakably more exact. His look was a true warning, show any weakness and I am going to make sure you were not going to make it through the day. His job was to be sure that anyone who passed Beret training would be fit to stand next to him in battle. You did not have to be a Maddawg but you had to have the Ranger Melvin stamp of approval.
I watched him as he found a couple of recruits who showed fear in their eyes. He slowly broke them down until their fear became overwhelming and they finally quit. After a morning of harassment we were back in formation and Ranger Melvin started walking through the ranks asking each individual recruit “SOLDIER what have you killed and did you enjoy it?” While staring you straight in the eye watching for any hint of weakness that he could attack. As opposed to the Drill Sergeants he wanted eye to eye contact so he could look deep into your soul watching, always watching.
As he started down the ranks I listened to recruits who said they had killed alligators, elephants, one guy from Alaska had killed a polar bear, an assortment of deer hunters - in any case all the recruits sounded like they had been hunting for most of their lives. Then there I was, having lived around Washington DC all of my life my dad was an avid fisherman. I had shot a BB gun once or twice that I had quietly appropriated a pellet rifle from my cousins room, without permission. I caught hell for that. Couldn’t sit down for a week. Now, here I am with one of the most infamous soldiers in the free world staring me down eye to eye asking me “Well Smitty you look like a killer. What have you killed and did you enjoy it?” I was compelled to tell the absolute truth. Any lie about having killed some monstrous animal and he would have seen straight thru my deception. So, I said: “Well Sergeant, I killed a frog once with a firecracker and yes I enjoyed it.” I had said this showing the utmost confidence and truthfulness of spirit. Ranger Melvin took two steps backward and just stared with an expressionless face pondering my answer. I heard someone in the 4th rank behind say “Did he say a frog?” I noticed with some peripheral vision that some of the recruits in our rank were laughing. But I kept vigilant eye to eye contact with Ranger Melvin lest he would think I was making light of this exercise. Suddenly I watched his chest start to heave as though he was going to throw up. Then he broke out in laughter. Well, that was all the rest of the recruits needed and the whole formation was in tears laughing. There were even a few laying on the ground unable to stand erect. I was the only one standing tall. I finally broke down and started laughing with the rest.
It took Ranger Melvin about 5-10 minutes to regain his composure and start trying to get everyone back into formation. But, the harder he tried the more everyone started laughing. It had become a contagious rout of laughter that he was not able to control. He started getting upset with himself for having lost control and so the harassment started again. I had to talk to a tall Pine Tree for an hour telling all the frogs that I was sorry for what I had done to their ancestor. Finally the laughter stopped the exercise was finished and I had been given a new name “Frog killer”.
I would become infamous as the only Beret to make Ranger Maddawg Melvin laugh. Next-Make Your Own Moves 6-The Frog killer name has got to go.
“I am in earnest - I will not equivocate - I will not excuse - I will not retreat a single inch: and I will be hard!” ---William Lloyd Garrison
The Liberator
I have seen so many times a chess player in a middle of a game searching to make the right move to only give up and make a safe move that has nothing to do with the strategy of the position. They simply give in to the stress of the position. This is where you learn the most. Do not be afraid to jump out there and tell someone you killed a frog with a firecracker. As long as it is your best move.
The few weeks that followed our arrival at Beret Training Camp Fort Bragg NC were filled with silly details, such as KP (kitchen police-peeling potatoes and washing pots and pans) that were meant just to keep us busy. But, we were treated with the greatest of respect throughout. I still remember the morning call-”Gentlemen it is 0530 - formation is at 0700 hours” There was no harassment such as running through the barracks, turning over beds, yelling and shouting ect., ect.
We watched our numbers grow until it was announced one Monday that our training would start. Approximately fifty five new recruits were to jump in under the cover of darkness into a place called Camp McCall, an old WWII Air Force Base no longer in use except for training Green Beret. For the majority of us, it was to be our first night jump with full equipment. Well, the anticipation started again but over the last few weeks we had gained enough information to know what to expect. The anticipation changed to simple anxiety. Will I make it. Am I really good enough.
Most of us at this time were checking out our fellow recruits trying to figure out in our minds who was going to make it through the training. I remember a farm boy telling us how he was used to delivering cows and how he had participated in hunting of all kinds. I was sure he would make it. Then there was the drunk. I did not think he had a chance in hell. Most recruits started developing small support groups they thought would be able to help each other get through the training. Myself, just like most of my life, I did not seem to fit anywhere. So I just kept to myself out of trouble and out of sight as much as possible. You learn to become a ghost. You are there but nobody quit remembers if you were or not. I always liked it that way. My picture is not even in my Senior Yearbook.
Before training started it was told to us that at any time we chose to quit all we had to do was to walk up to any Beret Sergeant and tell him so. You would be brought to the sergeants tent and treated with the greatest respect until they would be able to arrange for you to get back to your regular unit. You would not be allowed to converse with any of the recruits from then on.
Monday came: It was pitch black. It was so dark I thought the Beret sergeants had commanded the stars not to shine this night. No moon so when we entered the door of the plane to jump all you saw was darkness with a faint glimmer of a horizon from a town 30 miles away. The mood had become very serious and quite. Every word the sergeant barked was meant with immediate and certain determination to follow commands to the utmost. When you jump with equipment there is a line that is attached to you and the equipment. When pulling that line on your way down it allows your equipment to stay attached to you by that line but the equipment lands at a safe distance from where you hit the ground allowing you to land without interference. This is simple during the day. The problem with such darkness is your not quite sure when to pull the line. If you pull to soon it may get tangled in another recruits parachute and you could get someone killed. To late and you could land on your equipment and break a leg, arm, die or worse (it would be the end of your Beret training-just that quick). You had to be sharp and in control of your wits or you were toast.
After you landed the Beret Sergeants kept you confused and disoriented as best they could. In the darkness you could not see where you were going or where you came from. You simply did as you were told and followed the sound their commands (discipline). I actually found myself smiling and laughing in the darkness where they could not see me. It had turned into a game for me. Others, took it much more serious. Some of the recruits were terrified and actually started crying. The Beret Sergeants stayed on top of these guys and harassed them until they quit. They had no business being here. I found myself hoping these recruits would not make it for if they were that afraid now, just playing games, how would they react when it came time to kick the tires and light the fires.
The first insane night we lost 6-7 recruits. Not as bad as I thought it was going to be. The first week included a lesson in sleep deprivation (3-4 hours of sleep each night). We marched 248 miles the first week which included day and night marches with full backpacks and included classes most of the day. Many would fall asleep in class, a big mistake. Sometimes an eraser would hit you but more often it would be a size 13 combat boot upside your head. Then pushups outside. Worse, you became a marked recruit and they kept a special eye on you to see how much you screwed up. If you sneezed in the wrong direction the Beret Sergeants were there teaching and harassing you on the proper methods of sneezing. During the first three weeks they tried to psych us out with statements such as, “You will be in charge of 100-200 Vietnamese troops and every order you give could determine whether they live or die. Do you think you are good enough. Can you handle it?” Several recruits just got up and quit. We had classes on how too- any and everything. Then a written exam at the end of the three weeks. The results were given to us at the end of the eight week course. What they did not tell us was that if you did not pass the test you were washed out. More about that latter.
During the first three weeks they would also tell us how easy we were having it and that when Ranger Melvin got there it was going to be a lot different. He was not going to show any mercy like they were. They repeated it so much it became a further source of anxiety. You were looking over your shoulder for impending doom. Ranger Maddawg Melvin will be here. Wait till Maddawg gets here. That word Maddawg had a worrisome ring to it. Then one morning we were leisurely walking out to formation and Ranger Melvin came running out of the sergeants tent yelling and screaming obscenities. Here we go again, this time I was not laughing, yet.
Next Doom- Facing Ranger Melvin(Maddawg)
Remember, accumulate the necessary information. Make your own best move. In chess and in life.
“It is an illusion to think that the subjective decision does not really exist- that once the objective truth is established, there will be a smooth transition to subjective acceptance. This illusion is rooted in a profound ignorance of the nature of personal decision-making, and a desire to shirk the anguish of subjective choice.” SOREN KIERKEGAARD, Concluding Unscientific Postscript
Anticipation:
We were now Paratroopers. Fifteen of us were on our way by Greyhound bus to Fort Bragg NC for Green Beret training. None of us knew each other. It was a fairly typical group of soldiers, a comedian, a drunk, a couple of guys who had been in the service for 3-4 years trying to improve their situations, a know it all from New York City, a guy whose whole family had been military forever (but no Green Beret) and then there were a few quiet guys and we were all dying with anticipation of the harassment we would receive upon arrival. The only Green Beret anyone had seen was at the Induction Center. Even the regulars had never really seen a Beret. A soldier thrives on information and when their is no information to be had his imagination works overtime. Most everyone knows the Green Beret now but in 1968 they were relatively unheard of. Not a single person on the bus had any idea of what we would be faced with upon arrival at Beret Training Headquarters.
When the bus reached North Carolina it started snowing. Great, pushups and my friend the dying cockroach in the snow.
The Duffel Bag; Most soldiers had the their entire compliment of possessions in their duffel bags. It seems ludicrous now thinking that just about everything thing I owned I could carry on my back. In preparation for our arrival I dug out my gloves and put on extra clothing not knowing how long I may have to stay out in the cold. The bus was filled with typical joking around and some drinking to relive some of the stress we felt in anticipation of our next great adventure.
As the bus reached Fort Bragg it was night and everyone had quieted down. We were getting mentally prepared to face anything. Except for the guy that was drunk. I knew he was not going to last very long. The bus stopped in front of a large parking lot with several brick barracks on the other side. The bus driver (civilian) said “Time to get off“. Our stomachs felt sick as we prepared ourselves for a full night of harassment. So we collected our belongings (duffel bags) and formed a line outside in the light snow. We could see 2 figures silhouetted in the darkness against the lights of the barracks. You could see the berets on their heads. We cautiously looked around watching and waiting for the ambush of Berets. The two Beret Sergeants stood before us calling out our names. Then they asked who had the bottle of whiskey. I felt Sergeant Doom was about to fall upon us. They told the drunken soldier to get the bottle out. So in the dark, the drunk started rummaging through his duffel bag and eventually found the bottle of whiskey and handed it to the Beret Sergeants. They each took a swig and said thanks. Then they pointed to our barracks and told us to sleep anywhere. They further informed us that we had weekend passes and formation was 0700 HRS Monday morning. Then they quickly turned around and we watched their silhouettes disappear into the same barracks. We just stood there. The first to move was of course the drunk. He started jumping around and ran towards the barracks as we did in complete disbelief. We were being treated as men, human beings.
It was another week before training would actually start. They were waiting for enough recruits to start a class. Each morning you would here gentlemen it is 0530 and formation is at 0700. They would take roll call each morning. Some guys would actually get cold feet and just take off AWOL.
Next newsletter, we start actual Beret Training.
Anticipation
In chess we often anticipate our chances of winning the next round by comparing our ratings. And in anticipation, when your opponent has a higher rating many players resign before the game has actually started. Or, if you have done a lot of preparation in a particular opening but your opponent has chosen a different variation that you are not familiar with, many players just up and quit trying or at the first sign of difficulties they give up trying their best. General George Patton had a way of getting over performance anxiety at the Battle of El Guettar, his first triumph. “Gentlemen, tomorrow we attack. If we are not victorious, let no man come back alive.”
Well, we will not go that far. Here is a game where a 1400 rated player beat a GM.
1995 GM Gabriel Swartzman 2545 vs. Sig Smith 1425
1)d4 d5 2) c4 Bf5 3)Nc3 e6 4)Qb3 Nc6 5)cxd exd 6)Nxd Be4 7)Nc3 Nxd4 8) Qa4+ b5 0-1 GM Swartzman Gracefully resigned. It is autographed hanging on my wall.
Having finished Basic Training I was sent to Medic School. This is akin to winning the lottery in the military. Fort Sam Houston, San Antonio, Texas the country club of the United States Army. The training area consisted of green rolling hills with beautiful trees everywhere. It reminded me much of a golf course without the putting greens. Fort Sam has one of the worlds most famous hospitals known for its burn center worldwide.
I had my first chance at leadership. Troops arrive over several weeks before they have enough to start a medic class. The ones that arrive early go through a leadership course and are acting squad leaders. You get a special red helmet and a room for two instead of the open barracks.
I failed miserably with my first shot of leadership. I abused my privileges and did nothing but yell at the men for 7 out of 8 weeks. The last week I finally realized what I was doing and apologized to my squad. But, they really didn’t care much for my apology and I was shunned the rest of the time by most everybody. It was a great leaning experience that I would soon use to my advantage.
JUMP SCHOOL-
Now we start with the serious work. I have volunteered to jump out of a perfectly good airplane on purpose. Three weeks of intense jump school training, learning PLFs (Perfect Landing Falls), jumping from towers, the physical training was particularly difficult. There was no time for developing relationships. It was every man for himself. There were Marines, Navy mostly Army soldiers (some future Green Beret) combined with the sole purpose of surviving Jump School. Failure meant going back to a regular outfit which most of us had no intention of doing.
I discovered one of my weaknesses. I could not climb ropes or do very many pull-ups. Poorly developed forearm muscles. After a full day and dinner I would go out to the bars and do as many pull-ups as possible. I was in the best physical condition of my life and I could not climb ropes or do more than 5-6 pull-ups. You had to do six to pass the final PT test. I was worried. Weekends I would work on the ropes and pull-ups with little progress. But I never gave up.
There was no mercy at jump school. They crammed as much as they could into three weeks. Some quit because they could not overcome their fear of heights. Others quit just because it was to tuff other simply got hurt and could not finish. But the majority made it through. I have to say that on that first jump, if there had not been someone in front and behind me I am not so sure I would have jumped. But, my personal greatest fear was being thought of as a coward. So, I jumped.
I kissed the ground after I landed. You had to make 5 jumps in school the last jump included all your equipment. Well I made it. The brisk cool fall days in Columbus Ga. where the air smelled like diesel fuel. I now had earned my wings and it was an extra $50 a month and on to Basic Green Beret Training.
Next Month we start the real test. GREEN BERET TRAINING
EMBRACING YOUR WEAKNESSES
In chess each of us have weaknesses. Once you are aware of them you should embrace them do not try to avoid them. I challenged the weaknesses I had in leadership and rope climbing and overcame them. I did not become their champion. I was simply made aware of them and embraced my weaknesses to the point of improving on them and being constantly aware. With all the strengths I had gained in basic training being far above average in all categories that one weakness would have cost me everything.
Many chess players become aware of a particular weakness and will try to play a particular opening or in a manner so that they will have less chance of having to face their nemesis. Avoiding the problem will not conquer the problem. You can be super in many aspects of the game but that weakness will creep in and cost you more games than you should lose. Get it done.
Well, I passed the series of written tests and signed up for a third year to join the Green Beret. Three years seems like a lifetime to a 19-year-old kid.
My next test was dealing with the Drill Sergeant whom I thought I had embarrassed on the parade ground. Everyone is familiar with a pushup but you may not be aware of the dying cockroach-you lay on your back and thrust your arms and legs straight up and remain in that position as long as you can-in between these two exercises I was allowed to take an occasional restroom break and to eat meals.
It was of little consequence to me. For the first time in my life I had a goal. I was determined to become a Green Beret. I was willing to face any kind of physical punishment for the next eight weeks. But I was not prepared for the emotional roller coaster I was about to face.
There are several issues a young man has to deal with when arriving in Boot Camp, many of which are never seen on the surface. The physical training (PT), forced marching with weighted backpacks and running long distances was the easy part for most. The real challenges included, first extended time away from family which left us without a support group, losing your freedom to come and go as you please, the smell touch or simple smile of a young lady, following orders blindly without question. All of these together at one time were overwhelming for some.
One weekend I can remember calling a high school girlfriend and talking to her for 30 minutes. I could tell she understood and she was very sweet to talk so long with me. Her name was Paula Delve. I saw her once a year later when I went home for a visit but I never saw her again. I hope she is well.
There was one more obstacle I had not anticipated. If you are the object of the Drill Sergeants’ attention nobody and I mean nobody wants to befriend you for fear of being noticed by the same measure (The Chosen One).
The Chosen One is allowed to march 11 miles when everyone else does 10 miles. Before breakfast a required 50 pushups and a 10-minute dying cockroach leaves you 5 minutes for breakfast while everyone else has 20-30 minutes. Over the weekend you get to clean the whole platoons weapons. Before everyone else has PT you have to get warmed up by running 2 miles. These are just a few of the privileges a Chosen One is allowed.
One weekend someone had gotten out the boxing gloves. It turned out that there were several recruits that had some training and they were giving a good pounding to anyone who stepped up. The Drill Sergeant was hanging out and saw that I had not participated. That evening I was called out for special duty. The Drill Sergeant had his boxing gloves on and told me to put mine on NOW. I have to admit that there are few times in my life when I was ever struck with greater fear. This guy had the look of blood in his eyes. He told me to hit him as hard as I could and that he would not hit me back. After some thought about running (he would catch me easily) I decided I had no choice. So much for freedom of choice. After much calling of names I finally hauled off and hit him as hard as I could. He mentioned something about me fighting like a girl ect. ect. and then some of his insults really began to piss me off, Drill Sergeants are very adept at finding the right insult for the right occasion. I attempted to hit him again and then I was surrounded by punches that came from everywhere. I soon found myself laying on the ground bleeding from my nose. This was my first experience at actually seeing stars. There would be more. Slowly, he began to teach me how to box. I guess the biggest lesson I learned was to not to be afraid getting hurt. Conquer that fear and you can give some punishment out to the largest of foes by watching for a spot to attack. After two weekends of lessons I had learned enough basics to challenge anyone in camp. And so I did.
The very next weekend I was challenged to box. There was this recruit who had evidently came in second for the golden gloves in New York or so he said). I had been watching him carefully and he had been crushing several challengers by spinning around 360 degrees and catching them with the back of his gloves. I stepped in to the box. I waited until he tried this maneuver and simply ducked down until he came around and gave him a huge undercut that took him off the ground and into the wall of the barracks. He was out cold. You could hear a pin drop. I simply took the gloves off, made sure he was breathing and walked off without a word. I saw the sergeant walking off not wanting to be noticed.
At first you are intimidated and afraid. After a couple of weeks you are no longer afraid, you get angry. After 4 weeks I realized it was nothing more than a game. A very serious game, non-the-less a game whose goals were to make one a responsible human being, instilling enough pride and honor to help one make the tough decisions between right and wrong. Some never learn, but most come to realize its significance.
At the end of Basic Training there is a series of physical tests you have to pass before you graduate. For the average recruit it is not difficult to pass but for some of the more physically challenged there seems to be a portion of the test they always have difficulty in passing. But, with some serious motivation from the Drill Sergeant they find a way to pass. But, then there is the Chosen One. He is not allowed to just pass the test. He has to finish first in every category.
At first I did not have a clue. I knew there was no way I had failed the test but the Drill Sergeant had me take the test again and again. After the 5th time I realized what he wanted-I was a slow learner. After no less than 20 attempts in one day I was allowed to retire to the barracks. I had one more chance the next day before graduation and I was informed that I would repeat basic training if I could not pass. With all the seriousness of a forthcoming battle I mustered every bit of strength and speed I had and passed the test that morning. No pat on the back or congratulations from the Sergeant, just a simple “you passed, get ready for graduation”.
We had heard that several of the Drill Sergeants were shipping out for Viet Nam after graduation. Actually, they had been ordered out the day before and the others had all reported for duty but my Sergeant stayed for graduation. When you graduate from boot camp a small percentage of the recruits are promoted from E1 to E2. The promotions are usually handed out in alphabetical order. This day my Drill sergeant called my name out first. Handed me my papers and my first stripe got in a car and left for Viet Nam. I never saw him again.
I never in my dreams could have embarrassed this sergeant. He knew that I was going to need every bit of training he could muster to make it as a Green Beret. He took a scared kid and made me a young man filled with duty, honor and self-confidence. Most importantly he filled me with the idea that I could overcome most any obstacle.
So what does any of this have to do with chess?
There are many different levels of chess players. Even at the Grandmaster(GM) level there are Super GMs. The next level of GMs have a separate tournament with separate prizes. I do not know the statistics but an average GM stands little chance against one of the Super GMs. A win by one of the average GMs over a Super GMs makes headlines with the words -significant upset.
One of the beauties of chess is that it allows the individual to strive for a long list of goals at many different levels from beginners to Professional Grandmasters.( E, D, C, B, A, expert, Master, FM, IM, GM). Amateurs can pick and choose the level of play they think their abilities and everyday life, will allow them to achieve. There is the kid that wants to become a GM. The social club chess player who just wants to figure out a few puzzles. There is room for everyone.
But for the serious. Joining the Green Beret had to be a dedication of spirit and mind. Nothing was allowed to get in the way, not the Drill Sergeant, not my physical shortcomings, not any psychological mumbo jumbo, nothing! Whatever your goal let nothing stand in its way.
There is the Theory of Infinite Resistance-GM Ian Rodgers: “It is a theory designed to encourage players to fully utilize the defensive resources available in a bad, or even strategically lost position. The theory postulates that when a player makes a serious mistake or reaches a bad position, if he or she continues to try to find the best possible moves thereafter he or she can put up virtually infinite resistance and should not lose...Of course some positions are beyond even perfect defense but there number is far smaller than imagined”.
Do not ever give up. It will only lead to unrealized dreams. Keep as many doors open as possible. Each door you close is a lost dream-lost freedom.
“ If I win I cannot be stopped! If I lose I shall be dead.” General Patton
Make Your Own Moves II-Next month we go through jump school.
In 1968 the Vietnam War was headlines everyday. But, for the high school student it was so far away it was barely given the time of day. An occasional headline in the newspaper or the mention of a previous graduate that was on his way into the military was about as involved as we became.
But soon came graduation for us and the situation became much more serious. The draft was lurking around the corner for anyone who was not in college or disabled. Many draftees went to great extent to fail their physicals so they would be rejected. You have seen many of these hilarious episodes in the movies and they are all true. Others went to college for the sole reason of avoiding the draft. There were some that immediately signed up to defend their country. I was somewhere in between.
To cope with the situation many of us simply resolved the fact that