My Name is Thompson

My name is rarely a problem in group settings. Thompson is not an overly common name and easy to pronounce. However, I experienced my only identity crisis in the first days with the 2/501st PIR. The unit had a Thompson and we were the same rank. No one in the army is on a first name basis. So I was problematic to the rank and file trooper. I remained the ‘other Thompson’ for quite some time.

The PFC Thompson was presently…indisposed. Within the hour, they told me the story of my missing counterpart. I would personally meet him after several months of recuperation.

Thompson went to Hopkinsville KY one night, in search of true love. Paratroopers were deemed high risk and low return by most families within proximity to Ft. Campbell. Although I had the one girl friend at Ft. Sam Houston (Respite of Innocence), my luck ran totally out at Ft. Campbell.

After spending the night in unrequited love, The Thompson decided to end his boredom. He stood up on a table, in the middle of a night club. Thompson pulled out a revolver and emptied it. Bodies flew out of the club for their lives. However, the gentlemen of the club were hardcore civilians, used to the occasional antics of military personnel.  Once determining that no one was hit, they reentered the club. Thompson had run out of blanks and completely out of bluff!

From this point on, the details remain sketchy. Thompson stood alone against a formidable force. Every man punched and kicked Thompson until they were exhausted and confident that it would take awhile for this paratrooper to bother them again.

In the aftermath, several bones were broken and Thompson suffered multiple contusions. In other words, he hurt all over. Surviving within an inch of his life, Thompson became the living legend of the 501st. I had some big boots to fill.  I lived in the shadow of…The Legendary PFC Thompson.

There is no question that paratroopers are crazy. The question is to what degree. Moving along a  continuum of craziness, they can be as insane as the situation calls for. History easily proves that airborne troops create havoc, disruption, and destruction. Where two or three are gathered together, there will be trouble. It’s hard for the military to curb this culture toward appropriate outlets in peaceful times. Perhaps this is why we spent so much time out in the field.

Thompson’s fame created quite a challenge for me. I had to gain my own place in the unit. Over time I managed to find my way. The Airborne Way is the pursuit of excellence, with a twist of crazy. I soon realized that one paratrooper may or may not be much of a threat. However, I learned that a unit of paratroopers was a formidable world class force for whatever stood in the way of its mission.

Eventually, when people talked about Thompson…it was me!