Optimism, The Army's Greatest Lesson!!!

Google says (and Google knows all) that 16,000,000 served in WWII. 

And Google also says that as of D Day, 2014 there were only 1,000,000 of us left and surely much less by now this April of 2015. 

Being one of 1,000,000 doesn't sound very special. But one of 1,000,000 sounds so much better than being one of 16,000,000 so I'll take it, gladly.

The services are great optimism training grounds, especially during war time and in combat. All but the Section 8 candidates were sure of the inevitability of their getting home, sooner or later, safe and sound. And their girlfriends having waited patiently for them. But the ultimate in optimism was the hurry for discharged vets, schmucks like me, to get out of the service and get married.

Schmuck is the Yiddish word for penis which we all know is a really stupid appendage.When a man gets old the schmuck doubles down on stupid and it becomes a fucking dripping faucet. (This is Noah talking about the flood.)

Guys became Section 8 candidates when they started over worrying about their own welfare.Section 8 was for those with mental problems. Anyone looking healthy, going on sick call too often was suspicioned of bucking for a medical discharge including a Section 8. Check the film Patton where Patton slaps the frightened, distraught soldier.

I was accused of bucking for a Section 8 or a medical discharge by a fucking starched up newbie doctor, who just arrived in Saipan from the States. God was he self-important and pompous with shiny new lieutenant bars and freshly pressed uniform. 

As opposed to the officers who had endured Okinawa, Saipan and more. Those guys had, as we all had, learned lessons in mortality.

I couldn't walk up the fucking hill to the mess hall and complained, almost daily about it. It took a pediatrician to read the X-rays and determine that the impact of the bullet had destroyed the inside of my knee.Certainly wasn't cause for discharge. I was happy to get back to my outfit. 

A Section 8 discharge was an appetizing vehicle for the worrier/pessimist. He not only got out of the service but then received a lifetime of disability pay. You never thought consciously about being an optimist when in the service. It came with the territory.

How else could you do a fucking 20 mile forced march in the Sacramento Valley, during July in100 plus degree heat without being an optimist? And get to your barracks which were originally a Japanese detention center with low slung, tar paper roofs? Out of the sun, into a sauna. But optimistically still breathing while trying to cool off in your underwear.

Optimism is endemic in the service. Even when grousing about some impossible to understand directive that showed up. And since your life was totally controlled with the exception of going to the latrine what was there to worry about?

Optimism is the most notable, enduring lesson the Army taught me. Think 'down' and be 'down'... 

~

Okinawa and 70 Years Later

April 25, 2015 marks my 91 1/2 years birthday. At my age, recognizing six months at a time seems right.

There is nothing but gratitude in my heart for my two ex-wives. Neither one followed their strong inclination to kill me.They both had a litany of what was and still is, wrong with me besides my just being alive. And neither was shy in ripping my ass open. Just my being in their presence and talking made everything really bad for them.

But like the classic dumb Jew that I am, I kept trying to please the 'unpleasable'. The most surprised person at still being fucking alive at 91 1/2 is me.

April 12, 2015 is really a big fucking anniversary for me. It is 70 years to the day, on Okinawa, that a bullet made its way, in a hurry, through my left leg. A little higher and that little devil would have gone through my scrotum and would have destroyed my dreams of sexual glory.

Instead it just, thank God, left me with limp. I had hoped that the limp would make me look distinguished. No chance.Use a lift in my shoe.

Not that my first wife considered me to be the last of the Latin or Jewish lovers. She never was an admirer of my love making skills.But then she wasn't even close to hot. Hookers on the other hand never complained. $100-$200 up front, made me King Kong for 30 minutes, more or less. Mostly less.

The real fighting on Okinawa began about a week after the initial landings.The landings began on a beautiful, Easter Sunday, April 1.The cannon fire noise from the battleships was ferocious. Being young and not too fucking smart, I was fearless.

When the rains came, Okinawa turned into an enormous mud hole. Mud, ass high.

My first experience with gunfire taught me nothing.When you're 21 you know, for sure, that if anyone was going to get hit or killed it was going to be the other guy. That time it was Sgt. Hobbs who came from a bifurcated town, Texarkana, part in Texas, part in Arkansas, who caught a deadly bullet.

We were unloading a Landing Craft when the Japanese Zero's came swooping in.We scattered to underneath the trailers swearing at the fucking airplanes.One fatal casualty, lots of damaged egos.

70 years later, at 91 1/2, life for me ain't easy but it's better than the alternative.Optimism, trying to live like I'm 40, are keys to living long and liking it. Keeps me charging.

~