When I was assigned to the Pentagon in 1971, I remembered all the old timers telling me to never go to the Pentagon. The U.S. was still in Vietnam, but was trying to find a way out of that mess.
When I reported in at my new job, I knew I had bit off more than I could chew. My new title was half a page long.
I was to be the Noncommissioned Officer in Charge of the Message Control Section, Message Distribution Branch, Headquarters Tele- Communication Center Activity of the Communication – Electronics Operation Division of the 2044th Communication Group, The Pentagon.
Heck, at that time I couldn’t spell some of those words.
My new workplace was a huge room that held hundreds of workers on the third floor. I was the ranking enlisted person. We had two captains that looked like teenagers that decoded messages all day long.
The place was very classifi ed. We had a guard sitting just inside our office door, checking everyone’s photo ID card, coming and going.
All messages from all over the world came into our department. Those in code were decoded, all were processed and sent to our typing section and typed up, sent to our printing department and printed.
They were then collated if needed, and sent to our distribution branch, where they were sent all over Washington, D.C., area to the department for which they were intended.
War protestors were everywhere outside the Pentagon, and some were inside the Pentagon. One lady who cleaned the bathrooms took a bomb inside a mop bucket to the men’s bathroom across the hall from my office. It went off and made an awful mess.
The pressure was very bad in our department. One young airman went nuts and threw his large typewriter through a plate glass in his section. Another time one of the workers on another shift somehow put some classified papers in the trash bin outside of our office.
We had guards everywhere trying to find out what had happened.
I had 27 years of good service, and I knew it was time to retire. I put my papers in and was out of that place in 90 days. I missed the Air Force, but the Pentagon was too much for me.
<bb>A cure for a dog that sucks eggs
<b>When I was about 10 years old on our 100-acre farm in Cane Branch, we had an old hound dog that started sucking every egg he could get his mouth on.
My dad took the pellets out of a 12-gauge shotgun shell and filled the shell with cut up newspapers. He put a rotten egg under the porch, and had me take the shotgun under the house, and covered me with a gunnysack, waiting for the hound to find the egg.
It was not long before I saw him looking at the egg. When he opened his mouth to eat the egg I pulled the trigger, aiming at the rotten egg.
The egg exploded in his mouth, and he started howling and running for the hills.
We did not see that hound for about three days, and when he returned he never looked at another egg.