âśSpeaking of promotions," Barbara said to her husband, âśdid you hear that George Rand was selected for brigadier?âť
âśNo," he said, and turned to Oliver to explain. "A classmate." And then turned back to Barbara. "Where did you get that?âť
âśFrom Susan," Barbara said. "She called from Germany. âś
âśWell, I'm glad to hear it," Bellmon said. "George Rand is a good man. But I'd hate to have their telephone bill if she called everybody in the Army to tell them he finally got his star. "
âśShe called me to see what I could tell her about the 11th Air Assault," Barbara Bellmon replied, "George has to report there not later than the end of the month. âś
âśNow that's interesting," Bellmon said. "I wonder what the hell that's all about? So far as I know he's never thought much of aviation. âś
âśMaybe O. K. Wendall asked for him," Barbara said.
"More likely Bill Roberts. They've always been pretty close. âś
âśThey have not," Barbara said. "My God, in 1945, BiIl was a lieutenant colonel at twenty-four, and George was a captain. âś
âśWhat did you tell Susan about the llth?" Bellmon asked.
"Well, the truth, of course," she said, smiling innocently.
"That it's the most important innovation in modern warfare since the internal combustion engine, and that instead of giving it to you and Bill Roberts, two fully qualified aviation types, they turned it over to a couple of parachutists with political influence-âť
âśGod, you didn't?" Bellmon exclaimed, only then realizing she was pulling his leg. "Wait a minute," he said, and looked at Captain John S. Oliver, Jr. "Captain, if you are going to be privy to throne room gossip like this, you're going to have to be officially a member of the palace guard. I'd like to have you as my aide, but only if you want the job. A simple yes or no will suffice." Barbara Bellmon winked at Captain John S. Oliver, and nodded, and smiled encouragingly.
"Yes, Sir," Oliver said. "I would like to be your aide." Bellmon grunted, then leaned forward and pushed his intercom button and summoned his aide-de-camp.
"Jerry, do you know Captain Oliver?âť
âśYes, Sir.âť
âśWhy aren't I surprised?" Barbara asked.
"I always told you, Jerry, to either shape up or ship out," General Bellmon said. "Meet your replacement. See how much you can teach him before you go on Christmas leave.âť
âśYes, Sir. Welcome aboard, Johnny.âť
âśI think that's my line, Jerry," General Bellmon said as he offered his hand to Captain John S. Oliver.
[THREE]
Room Seven, Building T-124
Fort Rucker, Alabama
17 December 1963
Building T -124 was one of a dozen identical two-story, frame BOQ-Bachelor Officers' Quarters-buildings scattered around Fort Rucker. Room seven, which was on the right side of the second floor, at the end of the corridor, and which offered windows on two sides of the building, was one . of the better accommodations available in T-124. So situated, room seven afforded its occupant cross-ventilation while removing him as far as possible from the noises a number of young men living in the same building are capable of making, drunk and sober.
Room seven was actually a suite. By the entrance door, there was a small, narrow room, which was furnished with a GI desk, chair, and bookcase, and which was somewhat grandly identified as the "study." The bedroom had a single bed, an upholstered armchair, a straight back chair, a bedside table, and a chest of drawers. There was also a closet with a curtain hanging over it.
Room seven shared a water closet and a tin-walled shower stall with room six., Before he had become aide-de-camp to General Robert F. Bellmon, room seven had been assigned to Captain John S. Oliver as a perquisite of rank. When he had first arrived .on the base, however, he had initially declined the chance to have his quarters there, since somebody was already occupying the room, even though it was his right-to evict the current occupant by virtue of Rank Hath Its Privileges. Then the other shoe, Rank Hath Its Obligations, had been dropped. Because most captains, for that matter, most lieutenants and warrant officers, were already married and so were- living in family quarters, it turned out that he was the Senior Officer Occupant. And when he was informed that, as such, he would be responsible for maintaining order and discipline in Building T-124, he had reconsidered.
The only changes made to Captain Oliver's quartering situation since his appointment as aide-de-camp to General Bellmon were that he had been relieved of his Senior Officer Occupant duties, and that two telephones had been installed in room seven, leaving him with a total of three.
The installation of the first telephone had been accomplished after what he considered a noble victory over Army discrimination. There had been only two telephones in Building T-124 when he moved in-a handset connected to the post.
switchboard sitting on a small table in the upstairs corridor, and a pay phone mounted on the wall in the downstairs foyer, at the main-side-entrance to the building. Private-line telephones, he had been told, were âśnot available" for bachelor officers living in BOQs. If bachelor officers had to call off the post, they could feed coins to the downstairs pay phone. And if they wanted to make or receive on-post calls, they could use the handset upstairs.
Captain Oliver had already been annoyed at -the special treatment, by policy, given to married company-grade officers. Now that there was nearly adequate family housing on the post (there was never fully adequate housing; that, like
perfection, was an objective never reached), a second lieutenant coming to Fort Rucker who had paused at the Cadet Chapel on graduation day long enough to get married was assigned a two-bedroom home-with living room, two full tiled bathrooms, a study, a fully equipped kitchen, -a washer and dryer, and even a two-space carport to keep the car out of the sun and rain.
As a captain, returning from 'Nam a certified hero and wounded veteran, Johnny Oliver had been ordered into quarters about the size of the second john's family-housing living room. He was forced to park his car in an unpaved parking lot, and he had to share his shower and the crapper with a complete stranger. He had been willing to swallow that, but he found himself unable to accept being told that he couldn't have a lousy goddamned telephone of his own.
And so Oliver went to see the Assistant Post Signal Officer about his problem. But he got nothing for his trouble but a brush off. "It's policy," the Assistant Post Signal Officer told him. "Why don't you just live with it?" he went on. Then he jocularly suggested - that Oliver and a wife and get the whole ball of wax. Johnny Oliver was sorely tempted to tell the Assistant Post Signal Officer, a jolly, balding-mustachioed major, to go fuck himself. But that would have constituted conduct both prejudicial to good order and discipline and unbecoming an officer and a gentleman.
The IG-Inspector General, a senior officer charged, among other things, with investigating and correcting injustices wasn't much help either. He offered the friendly suggestion that submitting an official complaint over something "as frivolous as this" was going to earn Oliver a reputation as a troublemaker.
Oliver had then submitted a suggestion. He tucked four neatly typed pages into one of the Third Army Commander's suggestion program boxes placed, at various locations around the post. He suggested- actually argued eloquently, with lots of polysyllabic words-that since it was clearly Army Policy, -with which he of course had no argument, to provide second lieutenants who happened to be married with far nicer quarters, including private telephones, than the Army could furnish bachelor captains, and since this tended to cause morale problems among said captains, that an orientation program be prepared and delivered to all bachelor captains, explaining to them how Army efficiency and morale was improved by treating married officers better than bachelor ones.
Three days after he submitted the suggestion, two sergeants and a corporal from Post Signal appeared to ask him where he wanted his telephone. He never heard any more-about his suggestion.
; It was - a victory, but- he had wondered more than once if it wouldn't turn out to be Pyrrhic and that he had become known as a wiseass. That worry had been added to his determination not to spend the next two years teaching people how to fly the Chinook. And both worries had been added to his fear that he was now a Certified Troublemaker. All of which was in his mind when two days ago he had been ordered to report to the Commanding General. He had thought then that in deference to his hero badges, he was about to get a word to the wise from the Head Man himself. It had never entered his mind that he would be asked to be the Head Man's aide.
But that had happened. And with his appointment came two more telephones for his room, both personally paid for by General Bellmon: one was listed as the residence number of the aide-de-camp and the other not listed at all. That was the number, Jerry Thomas had told him, that General Bellmon would use when he called Johnny Oliver in the BOQ. The General did not want to find it busy.
Captain Jerry Thomas had also pointed out to him that while it was true that there were some general officers in the Army who had not served as aides-de-camp, there were far more general officers who had been dog-robbers in their youth. It was, Thomas argued, one of the wider rungs on the military career ladder. If Oliver did well as Bellmon's aide, it probably would help him get on the five-percent list for promotion to major. But if he screwed up, got- relieved for cause, he could count on never having to buy a silver eagle for his epaulets, much less a general's star.
Now that the job, to his genuine surprise, was his, Oliver intended to perform it to the best of his ability. And he realized he was as nervous putting the dog-robber's golden rope through his epaulets as he had been the day he had assumed command of the company in 'Nam after the Old Man and the exec had gone in. There had been serious question in his mind then about his ability to deliver what the Army expected of him. And there was serious question, for different reasons, that he could deliver now.
When Jerry Thomas had explained the basic, both specific and general, items that would be expected of him, he'd started with Oliver's wardrobe. An aide-de-camp cannot get by with a faint old gravy stain on his uniform, much less frayed collars or cuffs. But since Oliver was able to wear-simply by having the trousers hemmed-uniforms right 'off the Quartermaster Sales Store racks, he was able to get by with three new sets of greens, and two of blues, that didn't cost him as much as they would have cost someone who required extensive alterations, or even tailor-mades. But the QM didn't sell mess dress, and he winced when he wrote the check for that elaborate, and in the performance of his new duties, essential, uniform.
And Jerry also subtly let him know that the Great Stalk, as Oliver thought of it, would have to be put on ice for a year.
An aide-de-camp did not have the time to pursue a casual dalliance, much less a courtship. And he also understood that the weekends at Panama City Beach, and the all-night poker games, and the happy hour at the club or Annex #1, would all have to be sacrificed on the altar of being a good aide to General Bellmon.
As for specific responsibilities, Johnny's days would begin with his driving to Post Headquarters to pick up the interesting overnight TWXs- Teletype Messages-and to read the FOD's-Field Grade Officer of the Day-Log to see what had come to Bellmon's official attention during the night. This ranged from enlisted men (and sometimes officers) confined in the hands of civil authorities, to airplane crashes, to dependent wives having at their husbands with whatever lethal weapon was conveniently at hand. Bellmon wanted to read these reports over breakfast, Jerry explained, so he wouldn't be surprised when he went to his office.
On the other hand, this particular duty carried with it one of the unofficial perks. Johnny would usually be eating breakfast with General Bellmon, Jerry told him. In fact, he'd be eating a good many of his meals with Bellmon. And most of the time that would be at Quarters #1.
And Jerry went on to explain all the other daily, and weekly, and irregular responsibilities Johnny would be expected to, perform. And then, finally, Jerry gave him a discreet and respectful but thorough briefing about the General himself down even to the General's private wealth.
Bellmon had told Thomas early on that he was fortunate in not having to live on his military pay, and that meant walking a narrow line between taking advantage of the creature comforts he could afford and not rubbing his affluence in anybody's face.
As a general officer Bellmon was entitled by law to an aide, an orderly, and a driver. Out of his own pocket, Thomas told Oliver, Bellmon augmented this staff with a cook and a maid, husband and wife. These were black civilians from Ozark who arrived at Quarters #1 before Oliver did and left at fourthirty-unless there was a dinner or a cocktail party, or something else that required their services. Off-duty GIs took care of the yard and household chores, cutting the grass, sweeping the drive, washing the cars, and serving as bartenders and waiters. But Oliver was expected to keep track of who did what and for how long, and to prepare the checks for Mrs. Bellmon's signature. The Bellmons paid promptly and well, Thomas said, and their staff were both fiercely loyal to them and proud of their jobs.
The first task Oliver performed on his own, without Captain Jerry Thomas looking over his shoulder, was setting up the General's Christmas party. At the time, Jerry was about to move on to his next assignment; he would take a delay en route Christmas leave to visit his family, before reporting to the 11th Air Assault Division [Test] at Fort Benning. Before leaving, Jerry had a few last words for Oliver.
Among these: "It's the General's custom to say a few kind words about his departing aide at the Christmas Dinner," he said with a little grin. At which time he gives him-me, a small present.
"Since I am required to profess absolute surprised," Jerry continued, "I can't be involved in the logistics. Marjorie will help you." Marjorie was Miss Marjorie Bellmon, the Bellmons' daughter. She was not quite a year younger than Bobby, but already through college and working at the bank in Ozark.
Oliver found her delightful, but he was baffled by his physical reaction to her. She was tall, and lithe, and splendidly bosomed, and ordinarily he would have fallen in love with her in about thirty seconds flat.
But somehow that hadn't happened. There had been simply no physical spark, as if Mother Nature had turned off the lust switch. Their relationship had immediately become like brother and sister. A brother and sister who were very fond of each other, which was not, in Oliver's own experience, the way that usually worked. As far as he could recall, he had never liked his own flesh and-blood sister, even as a kid, before their parents had been killed in an automobile crash when he was six. His sister had then been nineteen, and married. After the crash, he had been reared by her and her husband. And that was possibly the reason she didn't like him either. No young bride wants the responsibility for raising a kid.
He had never particularly liked his sister's husband, Charley, either; and though Charley's treatment of him had been decent, Oliver had figured out at fourteen that he was going to have to leave" home" sooner rather than later.
He and his ,sister had inherited, equally, the family business, a medium-sized truck stop. There would not be room for him as a partner in the business, not so much for the money-there was enough of that to divide-but because there was room for only one boss. And his sister's husband occupied that spot.
Consequently, Charley had been glad to see Johnny Oliver go off to Norwich. And he'd been barely able to conceal his relief when Johnny told him he had decided to accept a regular commission when he graduated.
She and Charley had given him a Mustang as a graduation present, a gift tempered by his knowledge that not only had the Mustang been bought with his money, but that it had been given to him in order to delay the accounting he was entitled to by the terms of his parents' will.
When he turned twenty-one, halfway through his last year at Norwich, he had stopped being their ward. Under the law, as well as the terms of the will, he was entitled to an accounting of his inheritance, together wi
th a share of the profits from the truck stop.
There, had been neither. Instead, there was some talk, never put into a specific proposal, that his sister and Charley would buy him out. But whenever he tried to raise the subject (as he had on graduation day, and again when he'd come home from 'Nam), it always seemed to be a bad time to discuss' it.
The Aviators Page 9