Dispatch from a former Hoglidite….

Jeff Mellinger

The F.O.G.'s of War

In response to prodding by Dave Lukoskie a few years back, I wrote the following for Patrolling:

Dispatch from a former Hoglidite….

Arriving at Fort Lewis Washington the week before Christmas, 1974, I drove to the barber shop and got a “high and tight.” Next, I drove up to the main MP gate and asked where the 2d of the 75th Rangers were. The MP on duty gave me a blank stare, and said that there was no such unit at Fort Lewis. He was unimpressed when I showed him my orders, but suggested I try looking on North Fort Lewis, as there were some guys out there that might know something. After meandering North Fort for 10 – 20 minutes, I saw an area which had all the doors panted diagonally black and gold. There were black and gold rocks, fence posts, signs. And one of them said “Ranger.” I asked a soldier nearby for help, and he pointed me to the battalion headquarters. Finally! Grabbing my records, and adjusting my baseball hat, I proceeded to the front door. Upon entering, I noticed a captain working in the first office on the right (turned out to be CPT Sealon R. “Doc” Wentzel). Won’t bother him! Next door is the CSM – Walter Morgan. Surely won’t bother him! Aha! Here’s an E-7. The personnel sergeant. SFC James Eldred. I moved in front of his desk, and stood at parade rest, patiently waiting. A few seconds (seemed like minutes) of silence went by. Nothing. “Excuse me, sergeant.” Nothing. A few more silent moments. “Excuse me …” “I heard you!” And he went back to work. Finally, he put down his pencil and looked me over. “What do you want?” he asked. “I’m reporting in,” I said. “Not with all that hair, you’re not! Get to the barber shop and tell them you want a Ranger haircut!” As I started to beat my hasty retreat, out of another office came LTC A.J. Baker. He looked at me, grinned, and asked how I was doing. I locked up at attention and blurted out that I was fine, but had to go get a haircut. He dismissed me, and off I went. As I drove back to the barber (remember that I had just gotten a high and tight not an hour earlier), I wondered what I had done to myself, getting to a unit where no hair was too much? And when I looked at my head after my first Ranger haircut, I thought to myself that this was going to be a very long assignment! Next day, I began my inprocessing, and one of the first rangers I met was none other than the battalion S-2 NCO, MSG Jan Schalavin. “Hey, paratrooper. You my hero.” If you don’t know about him, I can’t help you much. He was, is and will be, one of the great Rangers to pass through the doors. Now, I had been something of a runner (or so I thought) before I got to Fort Lewis. But on the first morning of PT (everyone ran together, because the companies had not broken out yet). We took off at what seemed like a fast pace, and it only got faster. Now, I won’t tell you about miles per hour, but believe me, it was fast. Runs led by guys like LT Bargewell, LT Lambert, LT Dubik, LT Bratton, LT Magruder. I don’t know how we made those runs, but you’d better not even think about falling out! Days were filled with running, more running, painting, filling sandbags, and other such things. First Sergeant Attaya was looking for a clerk. “Can anyone here type?” he asked a morning formation. Well, I could (sort of), so I stuck my hand up. And so I became the first clerk for HHC. Hog Company. A Hoglidite. 1SG Attaya was the 1SG, CPT Joe Argentieri, Jr., was the commander. And there were so many other notables. But save that for another day. I was in, I had made it to the door, and now the fun began. Perhaps another day another story. RLTW!

Ranger Mellinger ————————

And finally, my Fishing with Wayne story:

Did I ever tell you guys about going fishing with Wayne? You know. Mad Wayne? LTC Downing? Well, seems the Navy had some troublesome Marines out on San Clemente Island, off the coast of California. Surely, you know the place. The Navy also had way too many goats on the same island. They got in trouble with the Granola Heads, Tree Huggers, Yippies, Yuppies, and Save the Whales Foundation for wanting to shoot the excess rather than let them starve. Another time. Well, the President had some trouble, and he didn’t know what to do, so he called on me and he called on the 2d Battalion, 75th. Of course we answered the call, because the 82d had left the Madigan Club for the time being, and we were sorely lacking entertainment. Anyhow, up in the air, down on the ground, plan, rehearse, modify plans. Load the big boats (the Navy hates it when you call their stuff “boats”) full of our motorized assault craft (RB-15s with paddles), and head out. Of course, being from Fort Lewis (if it ain’t rainin’, we ain’t trainin’), we waited to launch the assault until the weather was primo! Ever hear the soft, gentle slapping of the waves as they roll over the sandy beach? Well, neither did we that night. Pitching, rolling, puking, capsizing. Oh, why didn’t we all join the friggin’ Navy? “What’s that roar?” we asked. Why, it’s the surf breaking the rocks into more rocks. No sandy stuff for us. No sir, we’re the Rangers, by God, and we don’t need no stinking beaches to land on. After what must have been too long, we got our boats out of danger (I didn’t say out of the water!), and moved inland. Now thoroughly wet, pissed, tired and hungry, we were on the lookout for Marines. It was their good fortune that we found them out in an open area, all under tents, doing what Marines do best. Sleeping. Up go the star clusters, out goes the smoke. Rat-a-tat-tat goes the M60s. Boom go the 90mm RCLR APERS rounds (well, the subcals, anyhow), in the air go the M203 airburst simulators. Honest, they went in the air. The Marines start yelling something about Rangers not having fathers and mothers, and the war was on. Now the airbursts simulators are going through GP smalls, mediums, larges. Between Marines. Under Marines. Very near Marines. Who’s laughing now? Well, we won, and that’s that. But what about fishing, you say? Well, after a short walk (which Wayne was famous for), we came to the docks on the island, and hastened our departure. We had a long, cold, wet ride back to the mainland. The Navy wouldn’t let us go below deck (probably had a group hug going on down there), so we got to stay topside and keep warm. Keeping warm is always easier when you stay entertained. What better entertainment than fishing on the open sea? Well, we had plenty of simulators and stuff left over. Someone (no names, remember) took a grenade simulator (5 seconds until detonation), pulled the fuze and threw it. Five seconds of drifting put it starboard near the stern. BOOM! Waterspout! No fish! Well, better use more bait. Someone (no names) tied several together, pulled all the fuzes and threw harder. Bigger BOOM! Higher waterspout! Still no fish. Someone (!) bundled many more together, wrapped them with det cord and a cap, added weight, pulled fuze and threw. Just in time to hear that voice (you know the one) say something about “knock that crap off, and there better not be any more of it!” Too late. KA-BOOM! Waterspout sprays the starboard side of the boat. No fish. Big ass chewing.

And that’s the only time I went fishing with Wayne.

Honest.

Ranger Mellinger 2/75