This ain't Hell, but you can see it from here

Author: Poetrooper

  • Pissing My Chances Away

    What the hell…I might as well jump in with both feet and find out whether I’m acceptable here at TAH or not. In all the years that have passed since I came home from Vietnam and married my little West Texas beauty, there have been a couple of things about my own behavior that I don’t quite understand. If there’s a shrink out there among you, I’d love to hear your opinion although there’s absolutely no guarantee I’ll even listen to it being the cranky old bastard I am.

    Two things: the act of standing out on my porch or my deck at night, looking into my home where my wife and animals are happily content has always filled me with a special pleasurable feeling I can’t define. Think that country song “On My Front Porch Looking In,” and you’re getting close.

    Second, I just can’t begin to tell you how much satisfaction I derive from pissing off my porch.

    Yep, you heard me right. There is a singular definition of freedom which I have long maintained is one which will be readily recognized by millions of combat veterans, especially those like me who chose to forgo the lucrative allures of the great metropolises for the freedom of small towns or rural living. Since returning from a tour in Vietnam nearly half a century ago, I fear I have met a certain profile, that of the society-shirking, space-seeking, leave-me-the-hell-alone veteran. I never gave a rat’s ass for rehabilitation programs, choosing to deal with my demons as so many have chosen to do, that is, thinking them through them and figuring them out, recognizing that there was nothing unique, nothing special about the demons I dealt with; they inhabited us all. Any human being who has engaged in lethal combat with other humans, in actions where casualties have occurred, on your side or the other, knows of what I’m speaking here.

    Yes, to make a living I had to be out and about in the world, flying all over the country and interacting with others, who fortunately for me, were mostly military people. But in all those travels and activities, what I always treasured most was my home, with my beautiful wife and our animals. And during all those decades, a thing I’ve always made sure I had is enough space, between my own home and the folks living closest to me, to have the freedom to piss off my own porch. That’s right: let ‘er rip right off my porch. I’ll bet that if you surveyed infantry combat veterans you would find this to be ranked right up there in personal freedoms, a thing that evokes a visceral response from those who have been there and done that. In combat, pissing is something you do with trepidation, knowing that if you do it standing erect you’re an exposed target, unless hopefully you find a sheltering tree. So we’re talking about something that civilians will never have to even consider and most assuredly do not understand: pissing in combat can cost you your life and is therefore, a tight-ass, butt-clenching event.

    For a combat infantry veteran, even one in the burbs, standing on the deck or back porch of his home, the idea of freely pissing off that deck or back porch into those same woods or his small back yard with total impunity and buttocks unclenched, is one of the very basic freedoms he has fought for. I say this with the assurance of one who knows, full well, that sublime sense of satisfaction that accompanies the act of letting it go, whizzing without fear into and onto that property which is yours; and I know full well the two thoughts that flow through the mind: First is, “Damn, that feels good,” and second is, “And I’ve damned well earned the right.”
    Label me rude and crude…there are so many before you that you’ll need to get in line; but those who’ve been there and understand me will know that I damned well speak the truth.
    Just a thought: you suppose there’s any chance of getting Jane Fonda buried right below my deck?

  • Poetrooper’s Inaugural Post

    To Jonn and all of you thanks for the warm welcome to TAH. While I have continued to post at American Thinker since our buddy and webmaster of Old War Dogs, Bill Faith, passed away, the readers at AT are a different audience. Many have never worn the uniform and therefore have failed to gain that subtly different perspective on life, events, politics and even humor that seems to come to those who have served. That difference can be readily discerned by the comments readers leave, and believe me, I do read the comments, and frequently learn from them. Just as no two witnesses to a crime see the same events, no two readers see the same words or interpret them in the same way.

    What I write is what I think to be the correct take on a subject and it takes a pretty insightful comment to convince me otherwise, being the cranky old fart that I am. “Russ, you’re fulla crap,” won’t cut it; but I sometimes read a comment and say to myself, “Sumbitch! Why didn’t I think of that? That could have really nailed my point for me.” That was a fairly frequent occurrence at Old War Dogs because the participants there, were, for the most part, experienced old war dogs, and some were cantankerous old war dogs to boot, myself and Zero Ponsdorf, included. Good to be in touch again, Zero.

    So I’m the new guy here and haven’t read much, but so far it appears, with the exception of Zero, and a few others, you’re a bit of a different demographic, veterans of Middle Eastern rather than Southeast Asian campaigns; and of course, for any among you who are or were special operators, little-known-to-the-public campaigns in such places as the Philippines, Latin America, Africa, etc. Please keep in mind then when you are critiquing my pieces, that my combat experience is almost a half-century past and while certain elements of combat are universal, much of the weaponry and technology are light-years advanced from what I knew. However, I had the good fortune to spend much of my civilian career in military medical marketing, in, on and around military installations all over the country and to a lesser extent overseas. That frequent contact for almost thirty years has allowed me to stay a bit more current than some other vets of my era, with the operative word there being “bit.”

    Couple of quick points here from comments to Jonn’s kind post: Beretverde is correct that there was no 327th P.I.R. During WWII, when Airborne units used the regimental designation, the 327th was a glider infantry unit, G.I.R.. During my service, from 1959 to 1967, regimental designations were not applied to Airborne units, although they existed for purposes of lineages and honors. My units were 1st Bn, 1st ABG (Airborne Battle Group) 327th Infantry, then later, after the Pentomic concept was shelved, 2nd Bn (Airborne) 506th Infantry and in Vietnam, 2d Bn (Airborne) 327th Infantry. Regimental designations were retained although not applied. When I first began writing, many civilian readers confused Airborne with Air Force. No offense to any blue-suits reading this, but those who jump out of airplanes are inordinately proud of that fact and take pains to make that distinction. I decided to use the P.I.R. designation as a means of clarifying the issue for non-military readers. So Beretverde’s sharpshooting is right on target: while the 327th Infantry Regiment was actually a parachute regiment it was never so designated officially.

    And finally, yes, Tactical Trunk Monkey, it was indeed the work of LTC Dave Grossman who inspired the poem, The Sheepdogs. The colonel is a very wise and insightful man.

    I have a request for all of you. Most of the writing I’ve done since OWD has been political and now that I’m no longer calling on military installations my military contacts and references are limited. If you have a topic which you would like to see expanded upon and don’t have time to do so yourself, give me a heads up and I’ll see what I can do. No promises, but I’ll look at it, OK?
    Thanks again to everyone of you for the warm welcome.