My dad, Al Thompson Sr., taught me that all men in the Army were one color…olive drab…that is to say army green. After the short ceremony to receive our blood wings, we were given orders. Had the good news of assignment to Ft. Campbell. This was the home of the 101st.
We road a bus from Georgia to Kentucky, arriving in late evening. The bunk at the holding company sure felt good. The next morning we ate our chow and stood outside the mess hall to await our unit assignments. At that moment a tall black soldier came up to me and said, “You wait right here, my friends and I have something to say to you.” Lots of things run through my mind. What did I say or do to somehow offend, or what ever? First day at Campbell and I was in a heck of a fix.
Yes, there were three soldiers. The other two were just as tall as the first. I decided to suck it up and take my whopping like a man. I braced for the punch. That’s when the first man got in my face to say, “Thompson (the name on my fatigues), we all wanted to say this to you. We wanted to quit jump school. But we couldn’t quit until you did. You were the smallest man in our unit. You kept returning to put your toes on that line. We just knew you were going ring that bell and quit. We were going to ring that bell behind you. So, when you put on your wings, you put on four sets of wings. We are here today because of you.”
Orders came and we all went our separate ways. Wish I could tell you their names. I was at first too scared and then too relieved to remember much more than what they said. No one had ever remotely stated I had influence upon their lives. On the one hand, they were saying that I didn’t look like much. On the other hand, I had somehow made a difference. I did have the presence of mind to thank them. No one wore the wings without going to Vietnam. I pray they all made it home. Thought about what my Dad said about olive drab. But our drab was silver lined.
Patriotism is better caught than taught. Not all patriots wear military uniforms. However, most patriotic families have given many of their sons and daughters. My Dad was a veteran of WWII and Korea. He received clusters for the Purple Heart and Bronze Star with V device for valor. As the years rolled by, there were many a Saturday morning shared over coffee; a good morning was a two pot day. Now as two vets, I would question him on some point of the Aleutian Islands campaign. Once rolling, we would go Island hopping to the shadows of the Island of Japan. He knew when and why I had my bad days. Dad knew that I loved his stories. Military service was our greatest shared bond.
Reflecting on my first leave from jump school. I think it was about Christmas, because I was quite settled in Airborne ways. In the course of conversation I inadvertently called my Dad a straight leg. This is a derogatory term for non-airborne personnel. Pausing momentarily, my Dad began to speak. He said, “Son, I am so very proud of you.I will accept this one time. If you ever call me a straight leg again, I am going to kick your ass.” From that day on, Dad had altered my vocabulary around his house!
On this 2015 Veteran’s day, I would like to honor my greatest influence and hero.
Slow salute…Dad.
