Inquisitive Quest

The 1st nuclear missile The Corporal

Mission accomplished, the ten members of the corporal missile electric material maintenance class having accomplished 8 months of training, issued a certificate of proficiency from the Army Artillery Missile School, and a 214.1 M O S designation as a Corporal Missile Electric Technician,  But Private First Class gary willson was crest fallen,  a lone Exception and a sense of inanition prevailed.   the entire compliment of his corporal missile electric maintenance graduation class would traverse overseas to Germany,  but the soldier would remain, his new assignment, firing battery  2nd missile battalion  80th artillery,  one of two corporal missile units at Fort Sill.  His envision of a world adventure having been banished,   a relatively prosaic province having ascended and commissioned a prisoner

Reporting for duty,  the new arrival discovering the 2nd Missile Battalion building almost vacant,  being informed the unit was in the field on an exercise, but could find the duty officer in the mess hall..  Sitting in the mess hall was an elderly looking Warrant Officer,  the WO introducing himself as the firing battery’s technical advisor, and was aware that gary would be arriving.  The soldier retrieving his duffel bag,  following the WO to a large second floor bay, assigning an empty bunk and locker.  The WO continued his introduction to the unit with a brief walk thru, then requisitioning a jeep,  the two traversing to the battalions exercise location on the west firing range.  The jeep coming to a halt,  dismounting they approach a group of officers. Gary surprised at being introduced to the battalion commander, the WO later explaining,  Gary’s arrival filled the required compliment of four battalion missile technicians, two for each missile platoon.

Gary discovering a missile battalion size was  smaller than a field artillery battalion with 500 to 800 men,   the missile battalion slimmed down to a compliment of less than 300,  the battalion consisting of  a headquarters and service battery, a firing battery and Medical Section. The firing battery consisted of 2 firing platoons and a guidance platoon. The firing platoons included, assembly, testing, servicing and firing sections The headquarters & service battery are just what they implied, all the ancillary services, personnel section , mess, supply and maintenance section. The one element missing from a missile application found in a field artillery battalion was a combat support company giving it the ability to defend its location

The 2nd missile battalion 80th artillery was initially flagged the 246th Missile Battalion.  the 246th was one of the three original corporal  battalions inaugurated in 1956.   two being deployed to Europe and the 246th to Fort Bliss as a reserve unit, later redisignated and sent to fort sill.  The newly calibrated PFC entered his new surroundings,  anticipating an aura of proficiency and deference,  instead finding apathetic complacency prevailing,  sensing an impassive attitude, beginning to question if those who served with the battalion from the onset, might have developed a vexation for the battalions ongoing reserve status and the fact that the corporal was being replaced.  The trial of guard duty and KP once again infiltrated his established routine, spoiled by the 33 weeks of abstention during his missile training.  the fraternal atmosphere that inhibited the previous months of school having vanished,  replaced by authoritative territorialism

PFC Clark was married and living off post,  having completed CEMMC school the previous year, and appeared reconciled to receive the newly acquired  soldier.   Clark found his daily work rather mundane, appropriating it to  a 8 to 5 job, Gary could understand why, the cabling up practice drills were without challenge, but the missile battalion Unit concurrence was.   The battalion’s field exercises  were coalesce with artillery units presenting a show of force,  capturing the various battalion’s weaponry convoys, their parading numbers generating an acquisition of showmanship for an array of visiting VIP’s.

Specialist E-5  Crow was the peremptory of the motor pool and was diligent in his duty of insuring every truck returning from the field was properly imbued.   Upon instructions,  Gary was ordered by Crow to facilitate the wash-rack with his and Clark’s assigned  5 ton test-van.   The PFC un-ceremonially having to decline,  the consternation of the E-5 was apparent until being informed by PFC Willson that he didn’t possess a military driver’s license and it would be a violation for him to get behind the wheel.   Arrangements were scheduled, finding  Spec-5 Crow instructing the PFC to report for instructions and a driving test on the 5 ton.

Willson, tongue in cheek,  pleading  inhibition difficulties with the shifting of the 5 speed 3 speed brownie and 2 speed axle, a somewhat frustrated Crow looking at his watch, saying they would render further instructions that afternoon until achievement was accomplished. It was during the second journey of instructions, the PFC, the son of a truck driver,  deciding it was time to halt the ruse, relenting, double-clutching  thru the gears,  utilizing the 3 speed brownie and engaging the 2 speed axle, then thwarting the test van back to the motor pool.  Disembarking from his now washable charge, trying not to acknowledge the look on the face of an astringent instructor, realizing that he was now a marked man on Spec 5 Crow’s duty list.

The town of Lawton was imperceptible, now devoid of acquaintances, the CEM C-2 likeable menagerie having departed.  Gary as of yet hadn’t discovered any collective substitutes, but a long neglected keyboard friend was available, an understanding mentor of solace and a comforter of charge.  His fingers moved,  beckoning a response, questioning, would it still kindle recognition and free the bonds of certainty.   Immured not, it knew no horizon, lifting its inner confines to the outreach of Nirvana,  he harnessed the challenge contending its compulsion,  and alas, it was again instilled, his friend the piano acknowledging.

The Fort Sill service club and music room filled the PFC’s evenings several nights per week.  This particular night, a well dressed person in civilian clothes entered the enclosed music room, sitting, listening to various structured musical sounds emitting from the piano.  Upon conclusion, the person introduced himself, addressing the virtuoso about the possible financial reward for executing these very same expressions in town.

The young soldier sitting at the piano declined the offer,  but later, something within,  an intuitive feeling emerging, recalling a passage he had once read, “the past may dictate who we are,  but we  determine what we can become”.

Air conditioning was a necessity during the many coalescent summer months at Fort Sill,  the stifling heat and humidity would search out the motorized vehicles utilized for transportation. The 5-ton Missile Test-Station,  a stationary presence when cabled for operation,  accommodating numerous telemetry  test panels, oscilloscopes, evaluating readout platforms and screens, all consisting of vacuum tube operated circuitry,  requiring a prostrate of lower temperatures to sustain tolerance levels, air conditioning an absolute requirement.   A quandary developed among the ranking personnel members of the firing battery when Gary was approached by the Warrant Officer, inquiring about security and adjudged to enforce a previous disregarded  regulation.

The Test-Van by directive was allocated to staff having secured a secret clearance,  which were officers and certain accessing personnel. but  Gary’s and his co-worker PFC Clark had adhered to their predecessors disregard, allowing all firing battery  NCO’s and Gary’s nemesis,  Spec 5 Crow to access the Van and partake of the air-conditioned atmosphere.  Upon manifestation of circumstance, a change was initiated, many of the line staff the NCO’s and others were not happy, as they could no longer experience a brief escape from the heat or help themselves to the presence of a coffee pot.

The 2nd Battalion 80th Artillery was deployed to the west range on a setup station adjacent to  a 8 inch howitzer battery,  the ground vibrating with every barrage ,  sending the visible 200 pound projectiles hurtling across the expanse.  During the multi-fold field exercises,  a sense of  competition prevailing between the  two missile firing battery platoons, on the time it would take to cable up, test and certifying the missile’s acquisition.   Gary discerning that his and Clark’s competitive counterparts in the 1st firing battery test van were E5  journeyman of the old 2 46th,  to exceed their proficiency would require a marked attempt by the younger two of the 2nd firing battery.

 </a

Cabling completed, Clark opening the thick procedure manual preparing to read the power-up agenda, a step by step check list to verify all testing equipment was activated and functioning correctly. Gary intervening, mentioning the procedure was still indelibly imprinted from his daily test station powering up at school.  The PFC beginning to activate the procedure from memory, accelerating the equipment to an online status. Clark voicing a disapproval but acknowledging that the equipment was up and running in half the time.  The shortened procedure time didn’t win the competition, the more experienced 1st firing battery test station technicians were more seasoned,  Gary concluding not to use the memory power up procedure again, reasoning that expediency should only trump deliberation in competing sporting events.

Payback was suspect,  the Firing Battery having blundered with Clark and Gary, failing to issue a weapons upon their arrival,  both remaining silent about this anomaly.  Once a month at 16 hundred hours, always on a Friday, a cleaning and weapon inspection prevailed, but because the two were never issued a  weapon,  they were exempt from the roster, conveniently disappearing from sight.

Spec5 Crow,  Gary’s nemesis encountered the discrepancy augmenting the electronic technicians with 30 caliber carbine,  Gary mentioning to crow that they hadn’t qualified with the 30 caliber carbine, but with the 30 odd six  M1 Garand in basic training    The E5 wasn’t deterred, checking their 2 oh 1 file,  arranging for the two to qualify with the carbine and additionally, the  army holster-bearing, Colt 45,  a required test van weapons.   Crow making arrangements, the two  transported to the post small arm firing range.  The PFC’s with their newly acquired weapons qualifications, not only having their names now posted on the cleaning and weapons inspection roster but serving double duty with two weapons to service for inspection,  all to the recreational gratification of Specialist 5 Crow.

The person whom Gary incurred at the service club music room months earlier, making reference to his piano nimbleness had returned.   His name was Loren Glenn Froman, an artillery unit supply clerk and soon to be civilian.  Glenn proclaiming music credentials as a lyricist and drummer,  having in the past submitted material to various artist before being drafted in Indiana for his military calling.   In the service club music room, again questioning the pianist about his music and this time a possible consideration to play the piano with two other musicians in an impromptu session, just to see the possibilities.     Gary was content with his monogamous conversation and collaboration with the piano’s narrative portraits,  but Glenn’s question spurred an interest, hesitant but finally accepting his proposal out of curiosity, having never played with accompanying instruments and conceivably would enlighten the shadow of a long-standing question concerning a possible sequestered music certainty.

Glenn having arranged for the four to meet Sunday afternoon at Chester Burke’s Diamond Horseshoe Club, 5 miles west of Lawton, the club having a piano.   Gary being introduced to Jimmy Clay, a rhythm guitar player with a Neil Sedaka repertoire and Carl Wright, a Korean war sergeant from fort sill.  Carl a somewhat lead guitar player and vocalist.  With the arrival of the two,  Glenn on drums, and Gary at the piano, the impromptu session began. Gary finding no difficulty with the simplified chord structure of the commercially popular songs. The session may have been impromptu, but Glenn apparently was an anomalous promoter having arranged to get the four together at a private club with a piano, on a Sunday afternoon and the club owner present.   the proprietor was impressed upon hearing the group, making a financial offer.  The group agreeing to perform  the subsequent Friday and Saturday nights and arranging to get some rehearsal time at the club prior to the weekend.

Friday night the impromptu musicians making their debut,  Gary abreast of the turn of events and the apparent new direction it was headed, an unexpected page suddenly appearing in the book of life, questioning whether to remain steadfast on his course or venture down this unexplored path.

The 6:30 a.m. Army reveille formation was adhered to but because of his off-post endeavors the PFC sometimes standing in civilian attire which was permissible, his military activity beginning to  assume the portrayal of an assignment rather than a duty.   The new-found music involvement having attracted the scrutiny of the units hierarchy and their disquisition was communicated with an overt direct aversion to his off base participation.  The military superiors instilling  discipline in many forms of accessory duty to compel compliance with their appraisal.   The soldier tolerating the aggravation , accepting  what amounted to calumniatory punishment, finding his name three-fold on the KP and Guard duty rosters, Gary assuming  the professional soldiering upper ranks were  prejudicial about enlistee’s nonmilitary activity.

Gary’s introduction to the anomalous world of Glenn Froman and the subsequent forming of a musical 4 piece band was just a beginning.  With Glenn’s active military duty about to expire,  he entertained a joint partnership with Gary to lease a small vacant 3 2 beer nightspot called the Baltimore Club,  located in the basement of the Baltimore Hotel,  located on the southwest corner of 1st & C.    The club,  across the street from the negro section of Lawton,  with a whites only sign posted above the outside downstairs entrance door.  Lester Prestige,  the owner allowing the two to operate the establishment on his 3 2 beer license.

One of the attributes of the club was an old upright piano, Gary updating his repertoire from the jukebox.  When questioned about his ability he referred to himself as an apprentice professional, knowing that an apprentice professional is a misnomer but still an accurate chronicle of self-appraisal, the  assessment of a non-existent product until realized  should be perpetually addressed,  instinctively corrected,  consecrated without interruption to the ambiance.  The young musician finding this a precedent in his musical ambition,  freedom of expression wasn’t commissioned  but structured,  he was a novice to the vocation,  but authoritative in his craft,  waiting for the edict to emerge.

The tall lanky sandy haired musician Troy Elledge and his lead guitar player Jerry Willis introducing themselves to Gary at the Baltimore Club.  Troy mentioned that they had sampled the pianist ability one night while he was performing weekends at the Golden Horseshoe Club with  Glenn and Jimmy Clay,  and was wondering if he would be willing to sit-in with them,  explaining that their band,  The Rythm Tamers’ was competing in a talent contest broadcast on Lawton’s  KSWO  TV,  Channel 7, on  Saturday afternoons.   The band having prevailed in the first preliminary contest,  and the addition of a pianist would enhance the band in the next round of competition.  There was  no hesitation from Gary, affirming confirmation, it was an inducement to experience a degree of professionalism with a local,  but imminent established  band.

The Rythm Tamers’,  with Gary’s addition,  now a  sextet for the contest, winning the second series of the televised talent contest, but on the third  competition losing the write-in ballot vote.  The Pianist discovering a new resolution having the opportunity to work with this accomplished group, making an inquiry about the Rhythm Tamers’ base of operations and how often they performed.   The community of Frederick being the residential home for Troy and Jerry, the band engaging in musical enterprise on weekends but with  occasional week day gigs, their music expertise centered around country,  blues and of course Rock.   Troy the featured vocalist playing rhythm guitar,  accompanied by a Chuck Berry Fender man emulator,  lead guitarist Jerry Willis, with  Floyd Davis on bass,  Winly  a serviceman stationed at Altus Air force Base on tenor sax and an accompanying drummer.

The provocation of the fast changing events was at an essential stage, Gary suffering a privation of conscience, a need to remove himself from the situation,  applying for leave, planning a trip home to pause and reflect.   Tom Holt, a Rickenbacker guitar playing friend also in the military at fort Sill  offering to lend Gary his 1949 Ford,  but noting that when returning from a recent visit to his home in Minnesota,  the Ford started to burn an excessive amount of oil,  a quart to every tank of gas, stating he doubted the car would make it to California.  Gary hesitating but accepting Toms offer, filling the trunk with and an ample supply of bottled recycled oil, and extending an invitation to Penny, a lady friend from Cement Oklahoma who had worked at the Baltimore club as a waitress,  to join him on this impetuous journey

The Ford providing an uneventful mode of transportation on the non-resting journey until reaching the California border.  the  six cylinder engine refusing to start unless pushed or stopped on a downhill slope. Once this began, the remaining venture to the Bay Area found the car having to remained running when purchasing gas and adding oil.  Gary’s arrival with his undisclosed companion causing some family consternation,  but Penny’s presence was accepted

Their stay was brief but satisfying, joining the family for an extended weekend at their Pioneer cabin building site on Highway 88.  Gary recalling his boyhood ventures in this sierra mountain eminence of tranquility.    The couple’s stay about to conclude,  Gary looking into the fords problem, replacing a missing valve spring keeper, the car effectively had been operating on five cylinders, but Like Tom, Gary was skeptical about the ford able to make another 16hundred mile journey.

Approaching Fresno,  the Ford began acting up again,  a decision was made, the ford would best remain in California.  Arrangement with Tom for the title transfer and a sale could come later,  Greyhound would empower the return  to Oklahoma.

Arriving in Lawton the travelers finding the trip somewhat exhausting,  Penny continuing  on to Cement, Gary undecided whether to spend the night in town or return to base.  The experience of playing with the Rythm Tamers’ weighing heavy, Gary awarding a decision to journey southwesterly to confer with Troy in person about his addition to the band.  At the Frederick turnoff south of town, Gary having no trouble finding a passing rural farmer to provide transportation to the small rural Oklahoma community. The towering grain elevators  blossoming on the horizon, the small township coming into view.   Frederick, once a bustling Mecca during the second world war,  a home for  The Frederick Army Air Base,  a training facility for twin-engine aircraft pilots.  this once prestigious town now just a small sleepy rural agricultural placard like many others in Oklahoma.

Gary finding a pay phone at what appeared to be the remnants of a once vibrant bus station,  knowing  Troy was steadily employed and a family man with children, deciding to place a call to Jerry Willis the Rythm Tamers’ lead guitarist.  He was somewhat hesitant in calling Jerry,  the two having only worked together on the television talent show.   Jerry answering,  offering to pick him up,  relating that they would have to wait until Troy returned home from his day job.  The two returning to Jerry’s parents residence, Jerry living at home since fulfilling his navel enlistment.  Meeting in the late afternoon with Troy,   The pianist professing his admiration for the band and his desire to play with the Rythm Tamers’,  the Band Leader without hesitation giving an affirmation,  never questioning Gary’s proposal.  The young musician aware of his conflicting military circumstance,  but for the time being accepting the path of consequence,  willing to chance a venture down destiny’s road,  a sequestered certainty beginning to make itself visible.

k

video at:   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yahDweWBA28

Troy Elledge & The Rythmn Tamers

Frederick Train Depot

It was a night off for the Rhythm Tamers band in Frederick, Gary, guitarist Jerry Willis and a wanna-be vocalist named Harry Babich, were  somewhat indecisive of how to spend the evening.   The town of Davidson, two miles from the Texas line, was an exiguous twelve miles south and the Oklahoma hamlet of Manitou, eight miles north,  both on Highway 1 83,  the musicians were not interested in the boulevard that aphotic night,  but in the spur line of the M-K-T, better known as the Katy Railroad.   They were planning an escapade,  contingent upon Jerry’s 1952 Oldsmobile and the M-K-T railroad tracks.

1952 Olds

It was a little known reality, the 1952 Olds wheel base was compatible with the width of the rails addressing the Missouri Kansas Texas line.   The three harlequins were about to accost a crossing in Frederick and attempt to position the four-wheeled transport, the 1952 Olds, on the tracks, either heading south towards Texas,  or north to Manitou.  A discussion deciding that it might be better to remain in Oklahoma,  the decision being confirmed,  Jerry aligning the vehicle on the tracks in a northern direction.   A final procedure remained,  lowering the tire pressure to allow the tread to better augment the tracks, the car fitting perfectly.

All three aboard,  the Oldsmobile making that clickety-clack sound reminisce of the rhythmic posturing of a train.  The three vagabonds traversing north, the scenic view of the farming landscape all bathe in the twilight of the setting sun passing in review.   Jerry, hands clear of the steering wheel, leaving their four wheel transports acuity to the amaranthine rails.   The group knowing there were six mile-section crossing between Frederick and Manitou, a discussion about exiting before entering the Manitou trivial station was entertained.  A more novel approach would be to cruise thru Manitou, waving and sounding the horn, seeing the reaction of the station master,  but a decision was already applicable.

Then it was noticed, looking down the tracks the brilliance of a large approaching light, its  distance was closing, an oncoming train.   The next mile-section found the opportunity to disembark from the tracks, but hesitating they noticed that the suspected locomotive had chanced to a standstill.   It was discerned,  the engine must have paused at the Manitou station, the three acknowledging it was either time to get off the tracks or remount the rails heading south back to Frederick.  The decision was made, remounting the tracks once again, the clickety-clack resonated as the Oldsmobile picked up speed and all seemed well.   Suddenly there was a jolt and all that could be seen was tall grass advancing by the car door windows and then an eery silence as the Olds came to a halt.

Gary and Jerry

Jerry and Gary opening their doors the two surveying the situation and it appeared arduous,  the rear of the car extended over the tracks,  the front reclining against an embankment.   There remained no driveable exit, the car was caught between a rock and a hard place.  Jerry was anxious, walking back and forth repeating several times,  “the train, the train.  Searching the horizon, a light in a farm-house was determined just across the bordering pasture, Gary suggesting to Jerry that he arouse the occupants and inquire if there might be a tractor available to extract the car from its precarious position. Jerry hasten up the slight embankment and immediately headed toward the country abode.  It was then Gary noticed, the large arrested light down the tracks was again acquiring adjacency, the train had resumed it travel.

The derailed Oldsmobile was about twenty yards from the mile-section crossing and it was apparent, the lower profile of the tracks in the intersection more than likely contributed to the derailment.  In the moonlight Jerry could be seen returning,  crossing the field with another person,  Gary going to the mile-section crossroad waiting to flag the slow-moving freight to a halt.  The approaching train coming to a standstill, the farmer and Jerry arriving as the engineer and fireman disembarked, both appraising the circumstances with a humorous grin.  Not the case with the conductors’ arrival, a harden look on his face, commencing a dissertation on the legal infractions and threatening a radio invitation to the highway patrol.

The Katy-line crew huddling, the conductor instructing the engineer to maneuver the locomotive to within ten feet of the car,  producing a length of chain from the train, fastening one end to the Engine the other to the rear bumper of the Olds.  With the car in neutral, the lumbering locomotive slowly backed toward the intersection,  dragging its captive.  The conductor continued with his articulation,  penning Jerry name and information in a notebook,  finally the forlorn auto was clear of the off-road tracks now residing at the intersection.  The conductor serving notice that if he ever confronted them again the results would be different.

The M-K-T diesel locomotive with it host of cars once again resuming its journey  south,  the two musicians thankful there were no casualties.  But still something wasn’t right, with all the excitement they suddenly remembered, they were missing someone, having totally forgotten, a questionable look on their face, “Where’s Harry!?  From out of the bushes a disheveled Harry Babich appeared, having remained in hiding throughout the precarious incident.   Later with some forethought about the episode,  Gary concluded,  irresponsibility can accommodate a derailed conclusion.

Frederick Oklahoma’s Cal Rector was an itinerant big man, 6′ 2” 298 lbs, with a good portion of his weight displayed around his waist.  The Rhythm Tamers bandleader Troy Elledge and  lead guitarist Jerry Willis having known the local man forever.   Big Cal was a town fixture and sometimes would accompany the band as a roadie, helping load and unload the musical equipment.  It was 2:00 a.m, Gary and Jerry consummating a Saturday night engagement at the Pink Elephant club in Altus.  Troy and the other members of the Rythm Tamers having departed, Big Cal joining the two for a ride back to Frederick.

It was a typical warm summer Oklahoma night,  Jerry chauffeuring the 52 Oldsmobile with windows down,  traversing  the zig-zag coarse thru Tipton, turning  south then east towards  Frederick.  The pungent smell of fresh-cut hay filling the moonlit night sky,  the mellow silence broken by the hushed  muffled sound emitting from the cruising transport.   The steady drone of the muffler was broken  as Jerry slowed the car,  volunteering a question, “Do you smell that?”   the aromatic bouquet engulfed the effulgence shrouded  night,  bequeathing recognition to its source,  the perception was answered,  “watermelon”.

The plan was simplistic in satisfying their new-found appetite,  the only obstacle was the presence of a farmhouse 100 yards up the road.  It was decided the two musicians would disembark to retrieve the flavored melons,  Cal was to drive past the farmhouse, up the slight raise, turning around out of sight and returning to recover the performers with their agricultural gifts.  Jerry and Gary exited the car,  Cal now  occupying the driver seat, the conception was initiated,  but immediately the two encounter a problem.  The fence surrounding the watermelon endowed field was barbwire and difficult to traverse.  The two finally entering the field,  hastily securing the assets,  but then it was noticed,  although Cal had bridged the rise to turn about, the cars headlight beams struck the farmhouse reflecting a presence.  The sound of a dog barking pierced the muted night and the farmhouse lights suddenly appeared given notice of an awakening.   Muscling their water melon burden thru the barbs,  the musician noticed a figure emerging from  the farmhouse, haste was of consequence.   With the cars arrival,  their bounty secure, they drove a hastily exit towards Frederick,  mission accomplished.

On the way back a brief discussion ensued, the decision was affirmed, the three would journey to Troy’s house in Frederick and share the fruits of their labor.  Troy and his family were quartered as caretakers on a large farming estate a mile north of town.  They resided in a two bedroom abode above a six-car garage adjourning the vacated manor-house.  The Oldsmobile entering the long sweeping drive into the estate grounds, the lights from Troy’s residence a sign that they were still up.  With their arrival the group assembled,  Troy and his wife Shirley joining the outside festivities to partake of the ill-gotten gains,  the juice from carving of the melons spotting the pavement.   The atmosphere was convivial, exuberance reigned in relating the episode of retrieving the melons, when they noticed a pair of headlights turning off the highway entering the long sweeping drive entrance.   It was a Black and White,  the Highway Patrol.

Immediate pandemonium, watermelon chunks,  rinds,  pieces, all hastily gathered and deposited in the bushed out of sight from the approaching eyes of the law.  The hard evidence was dispersed, but the tell-tale liquid from slicing the rinds was visible.   The hesitant group stood disconsolate as the police cruiser halted, the car door opened,  the officer approached to relate his presence.   The two musicians suspecting,  that somehow the melon farmer had noticed the license plate on the Oldsmobile and reported their actions.   Expecting the worse, the patrolman smiled and politely began disclosing, a neighbor noticing the lights and activity was concerned about Troy’s wife Shirley,  knowing that Troy was absent weekend nights.

The highway patrolman culminating his explanation.  As the patrol car traversed up the sweeping drive,  the groups exuberance for watermelon had been quenched, Gary concluded from the experience, a subtle reminder that transgressions brings consequences.

The wrath of nature lighting up the night sky

Mom’s 24 hour Cafe in Altus was the concluding  gig  for some members of the Rythm Tamers Band after playing the Pink Elephant or Colony Club.  The band found  the name of the  pleasant elderly lady  behind the counter,  who everyone addressed as Mom,  was very fitting.   Most often the band members  would enjoy breakfast, including Mom’s famous  “Sop’in  gravy”,  before beginning their highway travel.   It was nearing 3:30 a.m., the weather remaining stormy,  tornado watches having been in effect thru most of the night.  Guitarist Jerry Willis having made a decision to travel home to Frederick instead of returning to Lawton,  providing Gary could determine a means of  transportation.  The Pianist concluding with the rain abating,  he could thumb a ride at  the junction,  four miles east of town, where Jerry would turn south towards Tipton and Frederick.

Disembarking at the Junction,  watching as the tail lights of Jerry’s recently purchased Ford Convertible faded  from view.   Gary taking notice, the  wind beginning to gather some momentum and a rumbling in the distance, the sound of thunder giving notice of another  approaching disturbance.  Confident of thumbing a ride,  the only destination of consequence traversing  east on highway 64 was Lawton and with a presumed certainty,  he knew that availability would soon appear.

Across the highway standing solitude was  the remains of a once proud service station,  its reason and purpose forgotten,  the pumps long ago removed,  a shattered building still erect,  standing watch over its domain.  On the corner by the station rested a derelict wooden wagon, standing barren,  its tongue affixed,  hounds still fastened,  a reminisce of a by-gone era,  yet still baring witness to reality.   The night sky suddenly coming alive,  a crackling,  the forked spears of lightning cresting the shadowed clouds with their transient illumination.  A blue flash,  a bolt  having struck nearby,  the atmosphere vibrating with a thunderous sound, a wind filled gust,  blatant movement being disclosed, the regal wagon regaining  its heritage and beckoned before the wind to signal its  display of esteem.

Sequestered on the highway,  the rain once again resuming  the night sky a showplace,  natures caliber on exposition, the figure still awaiting passage east but to no avail,  then twice the approaching glow of headlight, but traversing west the direction he had departed from.  The volley from the heavens descending its fury with rapture, the musician scurrying,  seeking  shelter,  the relic from the past, the remnants of the gas station according  hospitality, an  asylum from the liquid profusion.   The structure shuttered with the gale, the sky perforated with suffused streaks of radiant spears,  the resolute wagon continuing to stay its post,  the scene finally broadcasting a conclusion.

Another hour having advanced and again oncoming headlights, but as before approaching from the east, a quick decision made to acknowledge an excursion back to Mom’s Cafe.   Once again at the cafe, the ascendancy of sunrise finding Gary having no difficulty securing transportation to Lawton.  ‘Mother nature having indelibly inscribed a lasting presentation.

The Rythm Tamers band was in turmoil, while playing a club date in Lawton, Troy Elledge suffered what appeared to be a nervous breakdown just before starting the last set.   Don (Red Eye) Kinder a long time friend and promoter of Troys musical aspirations was in attendance, intervening and taking Troy to the hospital.  Gary’s friend, drummer and once business associate Glenn Froman having been discharged from the service at Ft. Sill remaining in Lawton making Gary an offer to join him in reorganizing his band.  The drummer desiring to replace Carl, a sergeant and veteran of the Korea War who was a guitar playing wannabe vocalist more interested in the female activity off the bandstand than the music. Glenn also having secured a sax player named Fred that was in the military and whom like Gary was from Oakland California.  Glenn proposing and Gary finding it difficult to decline the opportunity to change bands, questioning Glenn covert conspiracy to also coax’s the unsuspecting guitarist Jerry Willis away from a semi disabled Troy and the Rythm Tamers band.  Gary relenting, Glenn having rented a two bedroom house on Oklahoma St, not the best neighborhood but sufficient for the musicians, Jerry soon followed Gary’s lead giving Troy notice, the Glenn’s Hi-Liters having a new look and sound.

Gary discovered accordingly,  club dates can be difficult, especially when involving a piano.  There’s a built in handicap with having a pianist in a band,  most clubs or dance facilities were often deficient in having or providing a piano,  and if by chance they did,  the instrument was often out of tune.  Gary discovering the purchase of a hand-held accessory, a tuning lever in most cases resolved the first predicament,  enabling a slightly discoursed piano to sound disciplined.   The second asperity was mitigated with a purchase of an inexpensive antediluvian upright piano to be transported for provisional installation, to insure the bands integrity.

The biggest difficulty to be confronted,  was a means to transport the heavy musical burden.  The piano rested in mundane silence at their Oklahoma St. address,  its worn ivory giving vestige to past accolades.   it was waiting to be summoned,  but the custodians of the appendage desired more than just another performance from this heirloom from the past.    A decision was made, a striking new finish to garnish its exterior,  something to instill conversation,  promote awareness,  and broadcast its appellation.   The artistic coating was completed,  the stenciled name of the group  embolden in black letters, ” The Hi-Liters”   standing captive on the side of the lustrous brilliant,  Pink Piano.

Innovation was Glenn’s middle name when it came to relocating the piano from the Oklahoma St. residence to a performance venue,  as the Hi-Liters normal transportation was limited to a passenger car status.    When necessity intervened, Glenn would scourer the newspaper ads,  selecting pick-up trucks for sale ads,  and inquire as a prospective buyer,  asking permission to afford the vehicle to his brothers residence across town for approval.  Leaving his car parked with keys in it at the marketeers,  to still their concern about  Glens character,  time consumption,  or  aspirations,  the drummer returning the pick-up after moving the piano , with an apology for declining to buy.

The Pink Monster,  an apropos designation for the exceedingly heavy upright piano was residing on stage at the Colony Club in Altus.  There was electricity in the air,  never have the Hi-Liters performed before an anticipated crowd such as this,  only the congested throng wasn’t present for them,  but for the one and only,  Jerry Lee Lewis,  whom would perform that night.   The Hi-Liters entered their break-song,  halting at 10:30 to begin moving their equipment backstage for the coming gala performance.   Gary and Glenn commenced to roll the Pink Monster behind the offstage curtains,  securing room for the clubs slightly out of tune baby grand piano at center stage.

The arriving entourage consisted of four,  Jerry Lee, a drummer, a bass player, and his manager.  The drummer and electric bass player rose without hesitation, approaching  the stage to assemble the band equipment,  while Jerry Lee and his manager remained surrounded by enthusiast,  mostly of the female gender.  Gary could tell from Jerry Lee’s appearance, the glassy eyes giving notice of something more than alcohol having been consumed by the entertainer,  either inhaled, or digested.

It was showtime, the Great Balls of Fire celebrity strutted on stage,  the manager shouting over the mic, “Let’s hear it for the great Jerry Lee”.   Jerry leaning on the grand piano,  plunking a few notes on the keyboard and then to everyone’s start, rising up and  disappearing off stage behind the curtains.   The crowd silenced by his departure beginning to murmur,  then a rustle of a curtain stilled the air, from behind the drapery enter the commanding presence of a Pink Piano,  being pushed by the pretentious Jerry Lee Lewis to center stage.

With Jerry Lee at the ivories, This was the Pink Monsters finest hour, boisterous, exclamatory, melodious,  the keyboard punctuating a convergence with never felt before dexterity.  The acoustical electricity accompanying the vivid choral vocal lyrics of Jerry Lee,  exploding the perceptive club atmosphere with song.

Jerry Lee was not concerned that the front cover of the piano had been removed,  exposing the strings and rows of hammers,  he soon realized the purpose for its absence,  reaching up and pulling a hammer loose when it refused to return,  it was almost as if the two were acquainted,  Jerry Lee and the piano  having been together before.  The Hi-Liters finding Jerry Lee a hard act to follow, but were resolute with their dance music.  The second show was repetitious, a quick and robotic presentation,  a realization that the young Jerry Lee  performance showed that he was only interested in obtaining the meager monetary compensation and moving on.

It was almost understandable, the accomplished musician having fallen from the pentacle of success rivaling Elvis for the title of King of  rock-n-roll, all because of the public’s perception of scandal,  Jerry Lee marrying his 1st cousin once removed,  13-year-old Myra Gale Brown.  The Colony Clubs evenings extravaganza a success,  but the true star remained on stage that night,  having provided its acoustical gift to the performer and the audience, the star, the Pink Monster.

Band members Gary and Jerry having discovered drummer Glenn’s two bedroom rental  on  Oklahoma Street very convenient.    During their practice  sessions,  the band would conveniently leave the front door  open,  the melodious sound of the session resonating for the neighbors to hear.  and on occasion  the neighborhood children would arrive at the door bearing homemade delectable’s and song request..   Their lodging did present one concern, but it was more like an occupational hazard, when returning from an out of town engagement, discovering acquaintance’s frequenting the house, not minding so much their crashing,  but not appreciative of the raid on the refrigerator.  A decision was made, it was time to padlock the house,  but a problem still remained,  many of the windows refused to lock and on occasion an unexpected guest could find  an alternate entrance.

Glenn was in need of further transportation, his  52 Chevrolet having  “given up the ghost”.   Jerry’s 53 ford convertible the sole surviving mode for getting around.   Gary wasn’t surprised one Saturday afternoon when Glenn drove up in a roughlooking 1953 Nash,  his one thought,  “how did you come up with this wreck”.   Glenn’s explanation was to the point ,  “I found the cheapest car on the lot,  offering to put a hundred dollars down and sign a promissory note for the balance”.

The Hi-Lighters soon discovering,  besides providing transportation,  it possessed another much needed trait,  Nash being one of the first Detroit cars with 90 degree reclining front seats.  On warm nights,  when discovering their beds taken by various guest after returning from their weekend gig,  gary and glenn would grab a blanket and partake of the cars reclining seats.  The downside of the automotive resting place was,  not only waking to the sun shining in your face, but the neighbor kids staring at you thru the windows.

The invention was a “God Sent”  for road-traveling piano playing musicians.   It’s first notoriety was sculptured by Ray Charles utilizing the instrument for his number one national hit,  “What’d I Say”,  the acclaimed musician introducing the Wurlitzer Electric Piano to the spotlight of  prominence.  The city of Lawton having two prevalent music stores,  the multi-generational  ‘Hardy Suggs Music’ and the much newer store  ‘Lawton Music’,  the band preferring business with the elderly Hardy, but discovering Lawton Music was the Wurlitzer Piano distributor and just happen to have one in stock.

Gary immediately seizing the opportunity to  bring the piano into the fold,  the Wurlitzer #110 model becoming the newest member of the band.  The piano having a 64 keyboard range,  about a octave shorter on either end of a regular piano keyboard,  Gary soon discovering  the bottom octave could be utilized as a keyboard bass by splitting the sustain bar from the pedal action and plugging into an amplifier with the bass setting turned up, adding a much-needed sound to the band.

A Saturday night, the band loading the equipment in the Nash,  Glenn at the helm  Gary riding shotgun,  Jerry following in his Ford, their destination once again, The Colony Club in Altus.   The 55 mile drive very uneventful,  except for the last five miles, both Glenn and Gary hearing a new sound emitting from the Nash  Airflight six cylinder motor.   It wasn’t loud, but telling, both having experienced this sound before, it was the beginning voice of a cylinder rod bearing in distress.   The sound seemed to mellow and with their destination just a few minutes away they continued on.

The club performance coming to a conclusion,  loading the band equipment in the Nash, the return trip  beginning,  Jerry following in the ford.   the sound they had first heard on the drive down didn’t sound as threatening as before,  giving raise that the trip could be completed.   About 30 miles from Altus their sense of security began to wane, as the slight tapping sound from the engine  increased in volume becoming noticeably louder.  Glenn beginning to slow down, a knocking began,  then increasing echoing like a hammer striking metal, but then abruptly, silence,  and for an instance the motor was smooth, the only noticeable sound was the wind through the open windows as the Nash continuing down the highway.

The silence wasn’t lasting, another knocking began,  and like the first,  its sound raising in volume reaching a crescendo, a sudden jolt and once again  silence,  but this time it was short-lived,  immediately smoke began to fill the traveling vehicle.   A third rod began protesting,  its knocking voice straining to be heard, windows being rolled down, the smoke making it difficult to see and breath, the Nash’s forward progress rapidly descending.  The two riders bearing witness to a motorized death, the Nash coasting  to the side of the road.

Jerry who was following in the ford stopping, excited and aghast at what had  happen,  relating how it was difficult to see the road because of  the smoke bellowing from the Nash.   Transferring the band equipment to the Ford, the three leaving the Nash at its resting place,  making the decision to return with a rope and tow it back in the morning.

The next morning finding the three back on the highway towing the disabled car to Lawton.  Once back at the oklahoma street,  rental, Glenn lifting the hood to perform a visual autopsy,  the oil bathed six cylinder motor providing an unreal sight,  the left side of the engine block destroyed,  a gaping hole where the cylinder rod traversed,  exiting its domain.   Gary well aware of the bands dire financial situation,  inquiring  Glenn as to a remedy for the situation.   Glenn shaking his head, replying the only alternative would be to stop making his payments, leave the keys in it and let the dealer repo the Nash.

It wasn’t too much  later when as expected the dealer showed up,  approaching the house,  his knock at the door unanswered, returning to the car, sitting behind the wheel attempting to start it. Glenn watching as the dealer drove away,  soon afterwards a tow truck arrived.  Gary somewhat concerned about the dealer being a victim, but Glenn responding,  he was the victim, the dealer selling a car knowing the inevitable.

The day of reparation having arrived,  a representative of concern about Gary’s military commitment approached the Oklahoma Street residence,  requiring the pianist to accompany him.  Gary accepting his repression and subjection to a hearing of his indiscretions,  acceding to its outcome and discipline that was to be instilled.  Interned in the Fort Sill post stockade,  a General Court Martial convened , the outcome to be upheld by the convening authority but subject to review by the Military Court of Appeals.

Gary being dispatched and flown in an army de Havilland Beaver to United States Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Leavenworth Kansas, known as The Castle., a maximum security facility situated on 2500 acres, its center rotunda with  eight wings,  25 out-buildings and 26 buildings within it walls,  providing residency for up to 1777 discredited members from all branches of the military service and staffed by 752 military and 158 civilian personnel.

On entering,  the interned soldier was introduced to the  3rd wing of The Castle, an  8 tier edifice for new arrivals for indoctrination, clothing acquisition, work skill evaluation   and  permanent placement location.  The new arrival soon discovering that the incarcerated  remained subject to military protocol and discipline, being issued brown military type uniforms, boots and subject to a military haircut with mustache and beards strictly prohibited.  Their 6 X 10 living space included of a lavatory slash commode, metal bed, standing locker, fold down table,  and upon departure for work, their area was to be ‘inspection ready’, bed made, clothing stored properly, much like basic training.

.

Gary accepting his newfound circumstance, transferring to the 2nd tier of cell block 4, discovering a silver lining in his new environment, the opportunity to audition for a fulltime work assignment with the 12 member Castle Dance Band.   A sense of anticipation as he mounted the stairs to the  bands working environment,  the upper floor in the confines of the smaller administrative 8th wing.  Having secured an interview,  introducing himself to the Band Director Sergeant First Class Demand,  the sergeant inquiring about his music experience, and then asking the enviable question,  can you read music, a shadow cast upon his hopes.   The pianist giving a yes and no answer, elucidating he was an intermediate,  able to reed sheet music but was hesitant at sight reading.   The brief interview coming to a close with no acknowledgement,  Gary following the Sergeant into a large adjoining room.

The room laden with musical instruments,  standing before him a group of men of various age,  apparently the members of the band.   The NCO giving no introductions, but pointing to an anteroom,  instructing Gary,  ”there’s a piano in there,  go in close the door and play.”    Gary entering  the room, closing the door, realizing he wasn’t auditioning only for the sergeant, but for the members of the band assembled behind the closed door.   The pianist seating himself before a console piano,  starting  his selections,  encompassing a variety of music, from Debussy to the Bumble Boogie and Stardust,  demonstrating his versatility.   The door opened, a somber looking bandleader instructing that he could return to his billets,  Gary hesitant, then noticing the slight grin on the NCO,  “welcome to the band  ”you’ve got the job Willson”.

A new outlook prevailed,  the musician analogized his confinement and the experience of a new spectrum in the world of music,  one construed as a detriment,  the other as an asset,  but even that was subject to change.   As a member of the band and his low risk infraction,  his status was changed to minimum risk and he moved from the rotunda 8 tier cell block complex to Building 462,   a  3 story billets with its own mess hall.

A new perseverance of music ascended the aspiring musician,  the orchestrated sheet music arrangement.   Gary finding the members of the band all professionals, entertaining years of musical accomplishment,   and most having been exposed to the streetwise life that is part of a musician experience.

Gary was impressed,  the bands instrumentation was congruent with the published stock arrangements provided for each of the instruments,  clarinet, alto, tenor and baritone sax’s,   trumpet, trombone, piano, guitar, bass and even drums.   Sergeant Demands’  trumpet adding  additional brass when called upon.   The repertoire was  reflective of the NCO’s age,  composed of classic popular standards,  The Way You Look Tonight,  All The Things You Are,  The Nearness Of You,  and the regimented enterprise was highlighted with a vocal quartet with current popular hits by the Marcel’s,  Coasters and the Platters.

The auspices of the post NCO and Officers Club were regular host,  the band members provided sport coats, white shirts and ties from a band room rack to enhance their appearance,  the patrons savoring the nostalgia music from the past and the flavoring of the present.  Gary looked forward to when they were in concert with the full orchestration contingency of the Post Military Band for ceremonial gatherings,   giving insight to the big band era of Count Basie,  Glenn Miller, the Dorsey Brothers.

The bands daily activity wasn’t always confined to music,  on occasion they were called upon by other departments for menial task.  Gary and another band member were completing a minimal chore in the Castle’s power building when they happened upon a raised wooden platform with 13 steps, immediately recognizing for what it was,  the gallows. It was common knowledge,  the sentence of  Private John Bennett,  for the rape and attempted murder of an 11-year-old Austrian girl, was soon to be carried out, death by hanging

Gary accepting his environment, coming to realize his punishment of  incarceration was instead,  a once in a lifetime journey into an another aspect of the music world.  The Musician savoring his learning experience and being a part of this melodious group.        

With the passing months, the day of appraisement approaching,  Willson was called to report to  the DB’s Judge Advocates office.  The staff officer informing him that the Military Appeals Court in Washington DC had reviewed his case and had determined that the sentencing instructions given to the  Court Martial Panel was in error,  the results of his Court Martial have been set aside and he is to be restored to active duty with all back pay benefits, Gary was stunned.

The Officer detailing,  he would be assigned to a retraining group for six weeks, reintroduced to a missile battalion, but because of his record would no longer retain his M O S having lost his secret security clearance, his service time would be extended as there was no credit for absence or incarceration time-served,  and his military record would reflect his past activities.

Gary having totally forgotten,   the Court of Appeals automatic review of his Court Martial and a return to duty was the furthest thing in his mind.  It wasn’t that he wanted to continue,  although in some respect he would miss his repertoire with the band and his recent discovered musical arrangement infrastructure.  He discovered a total lack of enthusiasm to return to military life,  especially after eight months of incarceration, it would be like a continuation of punishment

G

ary seeking Sgt. Demand’s help in seeing if it would be possible to speak to someone from the Judge Advocates Office concerning his return to duty.  At the Judge Advocates office,  questioning the representative about the possibility of a discharge,  the JAG officer informing him that his record reflected no justification for a discharge, then interposing something that almost sounded intentional that raised a flag, adding,  unless one was subject to a judicial process for an infraction during his retraining.

The move from the Castle didn’t entitle far to go, the training unit was located in the 3 storied MP Headquarters Building directly across the street from the west wall and Building 362 of the Disciplinary Barracks.  His introduction was reminiscent of the past, much like basic training, the groups billets was a second floor bunk lined bay, the participants standing at attention as a SFC informed them of their good fortune and the opportunity to return to duty,  then discharging  the pleasantries,  bellowing the ‘what not’s’  of discipline that would be instilled during their stay, including not to converse with anyone but those in this unit.  During the first nights  evening mess, Gary recognizing some the MP cadre as Castle guards, including Sergeants Demands well liked assistant Corporal Jim,  Gary acknowledging his hello with a nod,   saying Hi.  Upon returning upstairs to the bay, he found the SFC waiting for him, lambasting him for breaking the rules on his first day,  speaking to someone in the mess hall,  then listing the removal of future privileges as punishment.

That night in bed found Gary struggling with his conscious, whether to even attempt to travel down this once traveled road again,  there has to be another way.  Returning from the mess hall that first morning, the group once again standing at the foot of their beds awaiting inspection from the duty NCO, all the beds properly dressed and displayed save one.  The NCO halting at Gary’s bed, questioning him why the bed wasn’t made, instructing him to make his bed,  then asking “ are you refusing to make your bed?”   Gary breaking his silence with one word. “yes”.   It was repeated three times, “Willson I’m giving you a direct order to make your bed”,  Gary refusing to comply.  The sergeant escorting his charge down the hall to the duty officer, giving an explanation, the Lieutenant looking somewhat perplexed having never experienced something of this order before.

The officer reiterating,  that by his noncompliance of a direct order,  charges could be filed and he could be returned to the DB to await court martial proceedings.  Gary having made his decision, finally making a statement  “I would rather be there, than here.”  His restoration to duty preparation having lasted less than 24 hours,  handcuffed and escorted to the DB’s  basement solitary confinement.  His stay was short lived,  the second day being transferred back into population to a cell on the ground floor  of the 4th wing cell block,  being assigned as a minimum security custodian,  responsible for maintaining the cleanliness of the 8 tier edifice.

The justice system at Fort Leavenworth moved swiftly, a special court-martial was convened in less than 30 days, unlike the large hearing room with a convening judge and six man panel board for a General Court Martial, the Special Court Martial was held in JAG office almost like an informal hearing with a presiding officer and a three officer panel.  Gary agreeing to answer questions about his infraction and able to  summarized that it would be best that he would be separated from the service.  The sentencing was delayed, Gary being interviewed several time, given a battery of test, including physiological and a IQ test.  Once again ordered to report to the JAG office, the staff member conferring the intrinsic results of his Special Court-martial,  in brief it gave notice that Pvt. Gary Willson would be issued a 257A General Discharge Under Honorable Condition and separated from the service on August 29^th.

The day of restitution having arrived,  but for some reason its reception was without fanfare, there was no feeling of contentment, a cloud of solitude engulfed Gary as he made  the rounds picking up his fitted summer weight  ‘jody suit’, white shirt,  tie, and new shoes.  Boarding a jeep at the gate, his only possession being a small satchel containing what few personal item he had,  questioning the driver why he was being handcuffed as they were going to the Post Out processing center, the driver saying one word, regulations.

A glance back at  The Castle,  knowing the catharsis effect it had on those lives  it appraised, but also knowing that it would take time to adjust to his departure from the confines of regiment, and obtain an exit to ambiguity.