John Delach

September 2024

Lt. Gung-Ho

“Oh, we’re the boys from 242, we’d like to say hello to you, hello, hello, hello.” That was our little song that we used as an introduction during summer camp as we arrived at another unit’s  head-quarters to hook them up with telephone cables allowing them to talk to the rest of the 42^nd Rainbow infantry Division.

Allow me to step back at this point. The use of the word ‘rainbow’ has been coopted by the gay community in the same manner that the word, ‘gay’ itself was coopted to identify that community. The 42^nd  Division was formed when America entered World War I by recruits taken from almost every state in the union, sort of a rainbow across America. Hence the name.

On this particular afternoon, our leader, Sargent, Mike M led us into an outfit assigned to us. Besides Sgt M, we had our driver, Jorge , and six cablemen. I was joined by my cousin, Bill, the other Bill, with whom I went through basic training, Freddy B, Rico R. and Steve B. Our job was to install the cable. But, Sgt M, Bill and Freddie all worked for NY Telephone so they did the important work while we did the heavy lifting.

We followed Sgt M into this unit’s camp to locate where our cable was to be hooked up to their telephone equipment. Admittedly, none of us were dressed in full working uniforms. Most of us wore hats, but most of us wore only tee shirts, this being a hot day at Camp Drum.

Suddenly, a 90-day wonder, a newly minted ROTC college trained Second Lieutenant full of piss and vinegar began berating Sgt. M on our lack of dress discipline.

We boys stopped doing anything so we could watch this show. We were all familiar with Sgt. M. He was a quiet man who never raised his voice in anger or used obscenities or lost his cool.

Sgt. M listened to Lt. Gung-Ho and took in his bluster and abuse. He said nothing in response until L:t. Gung-Ho finished his admonition. Quietly Sgt M came to his point and simply replied,  “Lieutenant, it appears to me that you do not wish to be able to talk to the rest of the army. Fair enough, that’s your choice. Boys, back on the truck, we’re out of here.”

Sgt M turned and walked away and we followed him. The Lieutenant, (now renamed) Lt. Dumb ass remained where he was as Sgt. M jumped back in the cab and we climbed into the cargo bay. Suddenly, Lt. Dum ass came to the realization of what was happening and how badly he had screwed-up. He sprinted  after SGT Martin practically begging him to come back. Martin, accepted his apology, ordered us off the truck so we could hook them up to the rest of the army. We didn’t sing our little ditty as we finally pulled out of there, but we now had a juicy story to tell everyone else in Charlie Company.  

Riot Control

Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated on April 4, 1968 in Memphis, Tennessee causing race riots to breakout across the country. Our armory was located in Hempstead, NY, a prominently Black community. Hempstead was not immune to the riots that followed but we were not activated to protect lives or property as we had not received any training in riot control.

But the authorities did note the proximity of our armory to the troubled zone and it was decided to have us participate in anti-riot maneuvers. Of course, even the Big Brains in the National Guard realized that it wouldn’t be wise to let the community know that we were undertaking this training.

They selected an old Navy training base located in Sands Point a trendy upscale community on Long Island’s Gold Coast. And so, on a warm Sunday in June we made our way to this dormant field  that would eventually become the site of Helen Keller Center for deaf and blind students.

One side of the field faced out onto Middle Road, the main drag though Sands Point. We came off our two and a half ton trucks commonly called “Deuce and a half.” We were dressed like we were going to war. We carried unmounted bayonets, gas masks, web belts, entrenching tools, helmet liners canteens and our M-1 rifles. Both companies, B and C that were assigned to the Hempstead armory formed up into our respective formations.

Our officers decided that one company would play the soldiers and the other company would play the rioters. After two hours, the roles would be reversed. C Company would begin as the rioters and we were instructed to stack our rifles and all other equipment, remove our hats shirts and all other gear that we placed neatly on the grass.

The trucks drove off to a parking area close to the shore and tape was used to construct make-believe blocks. We were told to act like rioters and the action quickly deteriorated to a joke. We sat down blocking the make-believe street and nobody knew what to do.

When we reversed the roles, we quickly discovered that being a soldier was far lee comfortable. We were ordered to fix our bayonets and put on our gas masks. We were hot and sweaty and again, the rioters blocked the street forcing us to stand there and wait.

One irony, as the afternoon went by pretty girls and pretty boys drove up Middle Neck Road and parked their Vets, T-Birds, BMW and Mercede convertibles along the side of the road to watch the soldier men do their thing. They seemed to be having a good time until they got bored and drove off only to be replaced by a new set of rich kids.

We finished about 4 PM, picked up our make-believe blocks, reboarded our trucks and headed back to the armory. We never heard another word about that Sunday and, fortunately, we never were called out to play law and order.