During my three years in Germany after I helped the printing department get back on its feet, my general called me into his office. I had heard some very nice things about him.
During World War II, since he spoke German, he worked being the German line helping other people like him get money, guns, and anything the Freedom Fighters asked for. He wanted to thank me for all I had done in the little over a month I was there.
He had my records in front of him, and when he read that I was a high-average bowler, he was all smiles. He was captain of his bowling team but they had not won a trophy yet. He wanted me to bowl anchorman on his team, and I told him I’d love to bowl on his team. We won three trophies the three years I was there.
During the first year I was there my colonel loved everything I did. Then he changed toward me, and would not talk to me unless he had to. I was doing a great job for him. Our general noticed what was going on and asked me if he should talk to him. He talked with other officers and high ranked noncommissioned officers.
He called me into his office again and said the colonel was very jealous that the general and I were spending too much time together.
When the colonel was close to the time he would be going back to the States, he wrote a report on me that was not good. The general called the colonel into his office and told him to write a very good report on me for all I did for the printing department while I was there.
The colonel did as he was told.
The general put me on extra duty as the NCO to approve officers’ household good going back to the states. I never thought anything about the extra duty.
When called on, I was at the colonel’s quarters checking his goods that would go back to the States.
A year later when I reported to my new job at the Pentagon, the general who now worked there came to visit me. I’ll bet he laughed for 10 minutes. He told me that the colonel is still looking for his household goods. I told the general I knew nothing about them. The general said, “Sure you didn’t,” and laughed some more.
(Contributing writer Everett Vanover lives in Fairfield, Calif.)