Like A Dyslexic Elvis...

...my unit is singing the "I. G. Blues". That dazed look on SGT Elvis Presley's mug is very similar to what most folks in my unit were sporting yesterday, as we completed the final preparations for our Inspector General's (IG) inspection this week. 

For those of you who have never experienced one of these events, you can get an idea of what an IG inspection is like by watching an episode of that reality show, "Hell's Kitchen", where British chef (and hypercritical "Adam Henry") Gordon Ramsay descends upon a troubled restaurant and figuratively blows it up.

I went through a number of these traumatic incidents in my early Army life. Back then, they were called "Annual General Inspections", or AGI for short. A team from Division HQ showed up, usually with several month's warning, and inspected every aspect of our battalion's operations and administration. In the motor pool, vehicle logbook entries were checked against deficiencies found by the maintenance team, and all those excess repair parts a good motor sergeant had accumulated to keep our elderly tanks and trucks running had to be carefully hidden in a neighboring unit's area, or in some cases buried out in the local training area. All the clerk's filing cabinets were checked to ensure every folder was numbered in strict accordance with the file numbering regulation. (Seriously...it was no coincidence that "Army" and "Anal-Retentive" both start with the letter "A".)

All the staff officers and NCOs spent long hours making pretty charts (this was before Powerpoint existed, so everything was hand-drawn by the battalion draftsman), which were compiled into briefing binders. Company Commanders, XOs, and Platoon Leaders micromanaged their First Sergeants and Platoon Sergeants who were busy supervising troops cleaning the barracks, cutting grass, painting rocks, and starching their fatigues/spit-shining combat boots for the in-ranks inspections. Pretty much nobody slept for the 36 hours before the inspection.

While I was fortunate never to be in a unit which failed an AGI, that sort of epic disaster used to occur on a pretty regular basis. If your unit blew an aspect of the AGI, such as vehicle maintenance, then you'd get 30 days to make corrections before the IG team returned to re-inspect that area only. Failing the re-inspection usually resulted in the commanders being relieved, which essentially ended their career.

 So with that historical perspective, I watched with mild amusement as selected case files were "scrubbed" and collected for the inspectors' review, desks were polished, empty computer cartons were jammed into storage closets, the grass and shrubbery surrounding our building was weeded and trimmed, and any cubicle decorations which might be found "inappropriate" were hastily removed. One big change from the "Old Army" is that we no longer have to starch our uniforms, or shine our combat boots. (I can't believe I just wrote that, but just like the WWII and Korean War veterans who still populated the Army when I came in observed, there have been a lot of changes over the past 30 years!) Since only one of my case files was identified for inspection, and I am not assigned any additional duties, nor do I have any leadership responsibilities this time around, I'm definitely getting over. (I did vacuum the office bay where my cubicle is located, so don't think I'm a total slacker, okay?)

While I probably won't report any specifics after the inspection concludes this Friday, there may be an anecdote or two of epic magnitude which I'll be compelled to share with y'all...after "the names have been changed to protect the innocent", of course! 

TURDUCKEN: The Culinary Equivalent to "ManBearPig"?

Anyone who has read through the Cabela's Holiday Catalog is familiar with the unique amalgamation of poultry called Turducken, which combines Turkey, Duck, and Chicken. When I first spotted this  culinary Frankenstein monster several years ago, I immediately thought of the South Park episodes featuring a supposed Al Gore nemesis named "ManBearPig". The difference between these two is that one can be deadly to humans, and the other is a cartoon character. (Oh, I just cracked myself up there with fifth grade wit!)

Seriously, I like pretty much every kind of cooked bird that I've tasted...even the roasted pheasant that I shot with my Dad and Uncles back in the early 70s which was seasoned liberally with lead pellets. (I had made the cardinal sin of blasting that bird just a few feet in front of my shotgun's muzzle due to my excitement at flushing it only seconds after stepping into the beet field.) Thanksgiving dinner, with turkey and stuffing, is my favorite meal of the entire year. So when I learned about the tryptophan-laden combo, which by the way usually contains STUFFING (!), I added that to my gustatory bucket list.

Now while my Spousal Unit rightly accuses me of being prone to making occasional impulse purchases off the internet, the high cost of the Cabela's Turducken...over a hundred bucks...kept me from indulging this particular whim. But as the saying goes, "Good things come to those who wait", and so it was last weekend. While cruising the frozen food cabinets at our local Fred Meyer Superstore, (I was looking for frozen Maryland-style crabcakes, as the last time we dined on the ones from the seafood counter I found a big old deceased housefly embedded in mine.), I spotted a half-shoebox sized package emblazoned with "TURDUCKEN". I checked it out with a cynical eye, because finding such a gourmet treasure at a Western Washington Fred Meyer was surely too good to be true. Examining the box's bona-fides, this definitely looked to be the real thing. The next challenge was convincing my Spousal Unit to make room in our shopping cart for this grocery outlier. She is more skeptical of new, untried products than I am, and I think she even muttered something about being suspicious of any product whose first syllable is "Turd". That concern hadn't occurred to me, but she did have a valid point. On the other hand, she tends to be supportive of my adventurous approach to cooking and eating, so once the Spousal Unit realized there weren't any weird ingredients, she assented.

Once committed to a course of action, my Spousal Unit goes all in, so within a couple of nights she had roasted our bowling ball of bird goodness for Saturday Night dinner. While it had been cooked perfectly, and was clearly comprised of good quality poultry, our first Turducken experience was a bit underwhelming. The meat was a bit dry, and very salty. It was more than edible, but not what I had dreamed of. The remaining couple of pounds of Turducken went into a Tupperware container, awaiting its fate. I admit to a lack of enthusiasm for polishing off the leftovers, but then it occurred to me what this Turducken was missing...the STUFFING! This version featured pork sausage in place of traditional bread-based stuffing, which was good for our low-carb diet, but left us wanting.

Tonight, we rectified this omission with a vengeance. We picked up a box of "savory herb" Stovetop Stuffing and a jar of low-sodium turkey gravy at the market, and after dicing up the slabs o'Turducken we had a savory casserole simmering on the stove. This concoction was definitely "much mo' bettah", though just before she dished it up, my Spousal Unit noted we should have included a small side dish of cranberry sauce to make it perfect. She was right again, but despite that minor quibble, we dined happily, knowing the whole Turducken experience had been nicely salvaged.

I'm not sure whether we will ever buy another Turducken, but it doesn't matter. I've crossed that off my bucket list, and will be able to resist the urge to drop a couple of C-Notes with Cabela's...at least for another Turducken.

Adventures of the "Distracted Detective"

Working out of an Army CID Office has advantages and disadvantages. Most of the cases I'm working require lots of telephone interviews, and that's not how CID usually does things. The open cubicle bays are generally chaotic, filled with jocular insults, loud complaining, and discussions about ongoing investigations or administrative requirements. A couple of times each month, we are tasked with completing internet-based training covering such gripping topics as "Equal Opportunity/Prevention of Sexual Harassment", "Information Security Awareness", and my personal favorite, "Accident Awareness and Prevention"...because the script is a close parallel to that Driver's Ed movie they used to show in high school..."Blood On The Asphalt!!!"

On the plus side, interaction with fellow agents makes the day go by faster, I can get advice on CID procedures quickly and easily, and I really enjoy the seriously funny stuff that comes out of peoples' mouths in the active duty Army environment. My case files, which weigh about 5 pounds each, are within easy reach.  And all the documents saved to my office hard-drive which I haven't found time to upload to the shared-drive or download to a CD (because we can't use thumb-drives or external hard drives) aren't available on my remote laptop. But mostly, I just like the camaraderie.

This morning I was faced with a choice: try to conduct a whole bunch of telephonic interviews from the office, or grab a case file and head back home. I decided on the latter course of action, and I'm glad I did. Not only did I make more progress in one day with this investigation than I've accomplished over the past month, I was able to space my calls out to encompass the post-dinner-hour, reaching more of my contacts than usual. My Spousal Unit was supportive, as usual, and we had zero conflicts over telephone or computer usage, since I was issued an Army computer for home use.

I think this will be an option more frequently...

Remembering Major Glenn G. Jacks, USMC

I grew up in Southern California during the Vietnam War, just a few miles from Marine Corps Air Station El Toro. On our quiet street in Tustin, the majority of our neighbors were Marine officers, and the majority of those were Marine Aviators. Our family always liked our Marine neighbors; the kids had interesting stories of faraway, exotic places like Japan or South Carolina, their moms generally spoke with cool Southern accents and used expressions we native Californians had never heard before, like, "Y'all are some cute lil' boogers!" And of course the fathers exuded the (usually) quiet bravura common to most Marines, and especially the aviators. (Early on, I learned NEVER to call them "Marine pilots"...They were Marine AVIATORS!) To this junior high school guy, these warriors were the essence of awesome. My dad, a World War Two Army Air Force veteran and former National Guard infantry officer, seemed to gravitate to the Marines, and treated them with great respect.

Of all of those Marine officers who were neighbors, the one who made the greatest impression on my entire family was Glenn Jacks. Captain Jacks was one of those people who everyone in the neighborhood instantly liked. The same was true of his wife and two children. This was a family that just seemed to brighten up Chirping Sparrow Way by their presence. They'd always show up to the barbecues, curbside fireworks displays, and block parties, and Captain Jacks would draw folks in with his infectious grin and slow drawl.

When Captain Jacks got orders for Vietnam, it didn't seem that momentous to the non-Marine families; we'd never had anyone go over there and not come back. The war was on TV most nights, presented by Walter Cronkite, but it wasn't REAL. Until October, 1967, anyway. Not too long before, the neighborhood celebrated the news of Captain Jacks' promotion. (I'll never forget his young daughter announcing proudly, "My daddy's a MAJOR!" to everyone she encountered for almost an entire week.) One afternoon, I came home from school to find my mother sitting on the couch, sobbing. She looked up and said quietly, "Glenn Jacks' airplane crashed in Vietnam, and he's dead." I was stunned. How could a man who was so full of energy and confidence, who had only just left about a month ago be dead? 

Soon, we all got to see what a Marine Corps Family is made of. Mrs. Jacks didn't hide; she met with her neighbors and friends one by one, and told us how her husband and his crewman had taken off to fly a mission. When the jet engines failed, Major Jacks stayed with the aircraft to fly it away from the village where it would have crashed had he ejected. He and his crewman crashed into a mountain, killing them both. They didn't make a big deal about his heroism, as if this sort of act was to be expected of a Marine Aviator.

October, 1967 is when my concept of war changed from words and photos in history books, and grainy black and white television pictures, to an actual human face. Every Memorial Day since then, I have taken a moment to remember the bravery, sacrifice, and personality of Major Glenn Jacks, USMC, and that of his family. I shall not forget them, and their service to our nation.

My Review of "That's That", an Irish Memoir by Colin Broderick

I finished reading Colin Broderick's memoir, "That's That" in two, very long sittings. I'm usually suspicious of the reviewer's cliche, "I couldn't put it down", but I even got out of bed two hours earlier than usual (on a weekend, no less) to keep reading this amazing book.

Being of Irish heritage, and having traveled to Ireland and Northern Ireland, I've developed a strong interest in learning more about the place my great-great grandfather emigrated from. Although I have read a number of books about various aspects of Irish history, none grabbed me anywhere as viscerally as "That's That". Colin Broderick is a superbly-talented writer who has the ability to put the reader inside his skin, and his mind. I felt as if I was present during so many of the scene's at home, at school, and at the pubs...so much so that I was a bit mentally exhausted after reading some of those chapters. While I won't pretend to really understand what it was like to grow up in Ulster during "The Troubles", I sure developed an appreciation for what Catholic families experienced for so many decades.

I won't rehash what Mr. Broderick has recounted in perfect detail, as that would surely spoil the tremendous impact of his story. I will say that this is not a book for anyone seeking a pretty, Disney-version of growing up Irish in the 70s and 80s. Colin Broderick's story is painful, funny, and sad, sometimes all at once. I am sincerely grateful that Mr. Broderick was willing to share his story with the world, and highly recommend "That's That" as a Must Read for anyone even casually interested in Ireland.

My Review of "Loopers, A Caddie's Twenty-Year Golf Odyssey" by John Dunn

John Dunn has led a life that I suspect many of us golfers really envy. On the other hand, I doubt that most of us possess the requisite talent and courage needed to live a similar lifestyle portrayed so engagingly in "Loopers". Fortunately, folks like me can live vicariously for a few days through Mr. Dunn's excellent first book.

What I liked best about "Loopers" is the way John Dunn managed to effectively transmit many of his emotions through the way he described his experiences. While many of his vignettes will resonate the most with golfers, for example caddying alongside Masters legend Arnold Palmer at Augusta National, I think non-golfers will be able to appreciate John Dunn's tales for his self-deprecating humor, perceptive observations, and well-crafted paragraphs. Reading "Loopers" reminded me of playing a fast solo 18 holes on a deserted course, when most of my shots go where I intended, and the experience becomes purely pleasurable...no concerns about slow play, competition, or anything else besides my swing, the flight of the ball, and appreciating the golf course. "Loopers" lasted just the right amount of time, never staying on one particular hole too long, but still savoring gorgeous views along the way.

While I've only caddied once in my life, at a local club tournament in Southern California in the early 70s, I've often wondered what it would be like to become a part-time looper in a few years after I retire. John Dunn has made that notion seem a lot more inviting. That's the mark of a good writer, opening our eyes to new possibilities and challenges. But even if I never carry a bag (other than my own) at Chambers Bay, I will always appreciate having been a "Virtual Looper" alongside John Dunn. He deserves a big tip for his work!

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My Review of Alafair Burke's Newest Mystery, "If You Were Here"

Alafair Burke is a talented novelist, which means that she is willing to take some risks with her novels. While she has written several series, one featuring a deputy district attorney (Samantha Kincaid) set in Portland, Oregon, the other starring an offbeat NYPD detective (Ellie Hatcher), Ms. Burke isn’t afraid to produce standalone mysteries. As a result, Alafair Burke is really adept at character development.

If You Were Here, Ms. Burke’s latest novel, requires a great amount of development of her lead character, former deputy prosecutor-turned-journalist, McKenna Wright, and in a hurry. That’s because the novel’s focus is almost exclusively on McKenna, with the rest of the cast remaining two-dimensional for a lot of the story.

I’ll confess that it took me a while to get into this novel, which is unlike my experience with all of her previous books.  I was also a bit uncomfortable with her portrayal of many pre- 2001 West Point (as in the United States Military Academy) graduates actively seeking ways to avoid being recalled to active duty for deployment to Iraq or Afghanistan.  I’m sure that Ms. Burke’s characterization must be fairly accurate, as her husband is a West Point grad of that era, but it sure didn’t portray that group in a very positive light. (My own military experience most certainly framed my reaction, so I decided not to let that get in the way of the story.)

Once I had gotten through a quarter of If You Were Here, the story quickly picked up momentum and plausibility. Alafair Burke excels at braiding seemingly-unrelated plot lines into a beautiful cord, and this novel was no exception. Toward the final third of the book, shadowy characters began emerging in sharper detail, making the final chapters into a perfect, believable mosaic…if a mosaic can be called “believable”.

As a result, I highly recommend If You Were Here.  It is entertaining, well-written, and would serve as a good launching pad for another excellent series, should Alafair Burke be so inclined. (I hope she is!)