Woc autobiography

I was assigned to the Operations Section as a Utility Supervisor. I don't know why. Maybe due to my vocational school training. Nevertheless, I had no difficulty with the job requirements and duties. The nd was like no other organization I have ever seen. There were about Reservists who were called to active duty for 2 years, and 45 Regular Army troops of which I was one.

Some of the enlisted men were the bosses of some of the officers in civilian life. He stood in front of the troops bewildered until our Regular Army First Sergeant told him he had forgotten to put his brass on his uniform. No inspection that Saturday morning]. The Group Adjutant was a 50 year old homosexual who was so stingy he wrote a letter to the Chrysler Corporation asking for a rebate for the ashtray that came with his car if he sent it to them.

I think he had his uniforms left over from WW11 and wore them without benefit of laundry or dry cleaning since that time. The Sergeant Major stayed in bed to 10 or 11 o'clock every day, just in time to arrange transportation for his evening trip to town. The Regular Army people couldn't believe the behavior, disrespect and lack of qualification of most of the Reservists, including some of the officers.

After we got to France the Food Service Officer [a Warrant Officer 2] showed up about once a week, the rest of the time he was with his French girlfriend in Nancy. Oh well, if he was needed everyone knew the hotel where he lived and drank. These folks from the Big Apple were the subject of many discussions among the Regular Army personnel. That afternoon we boarded the SS Ballou and left at sundown on our 17 day trip to France.

The ship was filthy. The latrines reeked with odors of human urine and feces. The sleeping area smelled of perspiration and other body odors. I was bunked on the fourth floor below the main deck. Most of us spent as much time as possible on the main deck to get away from the stench. I was surprised I didn't become ill, especially since I'm not much of a sailor.

We finally debarked at Le Havre, France on May 29, So this is France! I was anxious to learn more about the country and its people. I had heard so many things about France and the French, especially when we were still at Wolters getting ready to shove off. It seemed like everyone had a different story to tell, generally passed down from a relative that had served in France during the war or from older family members that had migrated to the United States.

As we lulled away our time in the barracks we were subjected to a barrage of information mainly from two GIs who had French relatives and who apparently knew nothing else to woc autobiography about. You would have thought we were going to Utopia. They went on and on about all the things to see and do; you wondered if they were going to have time for work.

Beautiful women, mannerly and cultured gentlemen, fashionable clothing, savory cuisine, delicate wines, dainty little pastries and deserts, magnificent architecture, priceless works of art, sculptured masterpieces, glorious history, and endless tales of French gallantry awaited our introduction, exploration and appreciation. The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Arc De Triumph, the Seine, little villages unchanged from one generation to the next, the vineyards of Bordeaux and the individuality of Alsace-Lorraine.

Would we be able to see most of these sights in the short time we would be there? Will we be so impressed that we will return again to continue our education of France, perhaps even as civilians after we leave the service? It sounded so exciting it was difficult to control the urge to board the first tour bus that came along. Or maybe we will have a different opinion of the French scene after we have had a chance to get acquainted.

We boarded a French train and started on our trip to the eastern part of the country. This was a new and different experience right from the start. The train was pulled by a vintage steam engine, the freight and passenger cars being at least that old. At times we wondered whether we were going to make it up some of the hills we encountered on our way east.

Obviously the cars were the victims of the apparent broom shortage and lack of cleaning material. Luckily, we were fed field rations during the trip. We finally arrived in the city of Toul where we debarked and boarded two and one half ton Army trucks for the final leg of the journey. Toul-Rossiere Air Base, carved out of a large wooded area was located about 10 miles from the small village of Toul and about 20 miles from the much larger city of Nancy.

The Department of Defense engaged French contractors to build an air base according to DoD specifications. The contract specified completion dates for each phase of construction. The first phase included the construction of a man mess hall, several latrines, a water and sewage system, electrical and fuel oil systems, dirt streets, wooden frames for squad tents and an aircraft runway capable of serving fighter planes.

Subsequent phases included various buildings and facilities which would culminate in a fully operational fighter air base that would be a component of the NATO defense system. The mission of the nd Aviation Engineer Group was to insure that the French contractors complied with the construction specifications, supervise subordinate Aviation Engineer Battalions and Maintenance Detachments, assume responsibility for certain phases of construction, and establish liaison between American military and French civilian personnel involved in the construction of air bases.

To accomplish this mission the Group had experienced Engineer officers and enlisted surveyors, inspectors, soil analysts, construction foremen, draftsmen, photographers and supporting personnel. I was assigned to the Operations Section [S3] as a utility inspector and a member of an inspection team. Inspection of the runways and taxiways of various airfields in France and Germany revealed a tremendous difference between the fields in these two countries.

The German construction was usually acceptable, possibly with minor corrections. France was a different story. We found concrete slabs on the runways that were up to a foot higher or lower than the one next to it. It would have been impossible for planes to land or take off. Some of the roads to the air strip from the base camp would be washed away or become impassable after a rain storm.

The base camp was without water a good share of the time, creating serious sewage problems. The man mess hall was a disaster; roof leaked, concrete floor was crumbling, the electrical system was inoperable, equipment was improperly installed, water and sewage systems didn't work and the building was never available for use for the 21 months the Group was located at Toul-Rossiere Air Base.

Using the French telephone system was an experience that would test the patience of a saint. The French people were out to get all they could from the Americans. Property owners in the small villages where military trucks traveled frequently claimed the trucks vibrated the roof shingles loose, and would receive a new roof far superior to the original that had probably leaked for years.

The merchants in the towns and cities indicated the price of their wares on a small card attached to the article; the price for Frenchmen on one side and the much higher price for Americans on the other side. They would steal anything that wasn't locked down, and even some things that were. They were caught stealing large quantities of food stuffs from the mess halls.

They stole tools, construction supplies, gasoline and various other items stockpiled on the base. They even stole some uniforms from the soldiers' barracks area. Enlisted men of grades E5 and above could apply to have their dependents join them. The first step was to obtain a suitable apartment, a difficult task in an area that suffered from perpetual housing shortages that were worsened by WWII.

Most of the available housing that was half way livable was in the city of Nancy. Fortunately, a reserve Master Sergeant in our group spoke fluent French. He helped several officers and enlisted men get suitable living quarters. One had to accept the fact that housing that was available on the French market was in most cases far inferior to the housing average Americans enjoyed in the States.

Many multiple apartment buildings had only one toilet to be shared by all tenants. Most did not have tubs, showers or lavatories in the small dark room housing the toilet. Body cleanliness didn't seem to be of high priority to the French. Maybe that's the reason the French are noted for the many fragrances they market around the world???

With the help of our interpreter, I found a small second floor apartment on the outskirts of Nancy. It had a small kitchen and two other rooms that supposedly would serve all household needs. The first floor housed a small slipper factory owned and operated by a middle aged French woman. Her living quarters were on the third floor. She was a real character.

When we were negotiating with her at the apartment she offered us a drink of 'Mirabelle', a very strong clear substance that tasted more like gasoline than it did a refreshing drink. She poured a half of a water glass for each of us. She downed the drink without hesitation. The interpreter took a good slug. I took a small sip and thought the top of my head was going to blow off.

I have never tasted anything so strong and putrid in my life. I rented the apartment in July with the understanding that Berniece and Cathy would join me in early October. I was happy to move from the tent city we lived in at the base, even though I had to ride in the back of a deuce an a half truck each morning and night to get to and from the base.

While I was at the base during the day, the landlady would enter my apartment, at times rearranging things as she saw fit. This lady had serious mental problems. She would rant and rave for no known reason. She would scream at the top of her voice, at times in the middle of the night. I think her mental illness coupled with all that Mirabelle she consumed every day was enough to make her a basket case most of the time.

Every evening our truck or bus driver would drop us off in front of the same small hotel near the train station in Nancy. Some evenings I would stop in the bar of the hotel since they served my favorite beverage. A Danish beer or two tasted pretty good before I went home to make my supper and take care of other chores. A male [? The piano player and I quite often chatted about different songs, French food and weather.

I told him I had an apartment in town and was patiently awaiting my wife and daughter. He asked me if I would like some paintings which he would show me at his apartment. I quickly refused his offer. He was as flaky as a Pillsbury biscuit and sure acted like he was loose in the loafers. Whether I was correct or not, I pegged him as a homosexual, and never gave him the slightest chance to prove it.

A couple of years later I walked into a crowded bar in Paris and someone screamed in broken English "Hey Beel". It was the piano player. He asked me over to his table, saying he wanted me to meet the love of his life. The man sitting next to him was a big burly, fully bearded dirty looking Frog who just stared at me and grinned from ear to ear.

I didn't know if he was mentally ill, retarded or stoned, but he sure acted and looked strange. I made my exit post haste, declining their invitation to join them for a drink. Ah, Gay Paree! Naturally the French had some mores, customs and habits that were different than what I knew as a good ole American boy. I usually went in the train station in downtown Nancy to await the ride to the base.

There was a coffee bar in the station that served strong bitter coffee in a wine glass in which the Frenchman would drop 3 or 4 sugar cubes, but would not stir the coffee. He would sip on his coffee while reading the paper or talking to his friend, and when he was finished with the coffee he would take a teaspoon and eat the sugar that was in the bottom of the glass.

Another thing that I couldn't get used to was the urinal that was placed at the curb of the many of the city streets; the waste flowing down the gutter. Generally, there was one of these things every few blocks in the cities. The structure was nothing more than a piece of sheet metal that was held up by a metal post at each end. The sheet metal started about a foot off the ground and rose to a height of about 4 feet.

The Frenchman would stand there doing his business as he chatted with people passing by. I could never bring myself to use one of those crude facilities and I think most American men would be too embarrassed to take part in such a gross custom. No similar facility for women, but it wouldn't surprise me if there had been. You wouldn't believe it Berniece and Cathy arrived from the States in October We settled in the little apartment in Nancy above the crazy lady.

One thing that happens when military families need help is that the other families in that military organization assist in any way they can. Although some people were less than complementary toward them, First Sergeant King and his wife were particularly helpful to us and many other families in the outfit. In a place as remote as Toul-Rosierre Air Base there were few conveniences like the super markets or the local well stocked store.

Getting a fresh quart of pasteurized milk was a big deal. It cost a fortune to have dry cleaning done locally. The commissary and PX on the base when it finally opened was severely limited by the availability of stock and capable French help. Most families took a trip to Frankfurt, Germany to shop in the PX and enjoy the niceties of a well managed Exchange system.

The Operations Sergeant, a young Regular Army Master Sergeant from Oklahoma was the unit's first victim to the attraction and personal magnetism of the French women that frequented the watering holes around Toul and Nancy. He would stay out all night, then be late for work the next day. His ability to function as a Section leader or a NCO was diminishing daily.

He would come to work with the smell of alcohol on his breath. Half the time he didn't have a complete clean uniform. That was only the beginning. Within 3 months he had been demoted one grade at a time to Corporal [E4], and within 6 months he was discharged from the Army with a Bad Conduct Discharge. This was a tragic case of a bright and capable young man who couldn't resist the temptations of the French wine, women and song.

He allowed his own destruction. I was appointed Group Operations Sergeant when the previous Operations Sergeant was relieved of his assignment. This meant that I was the NCO in charge of the Operations Section [S3] where the mission planning and implementation supervision took place. Although I was only a Staff Sergeant [E5] and had less than 4 years service, I suppose the Commander and Operations Officer felt that I possessed the necessary know-how and demeanor for the position, and vowed to back me up if there were any problems with individuals senior in grade who were reluctant to take orders, indirect as they may be, from a junior sergeant.

We stayed in a small hotel owned and operated by a friendly German family. Our room at the hotel was clean, comfortable and no comparison with anything in France. The Commander, Executive Officer and several other officers wanted to promote me to Master Sergeant as soon as possible, but had to wait for at least 6 months and had to have an E7 vacancy.

We had an abundance of E7s in the Group and subordinate units, so I didn't think I would receive that other stripe in the near future. It was equipped with radio and heater. It was light green and had a standard transmission. We were happy to have wheels at last and I taught Berniece how to drive, practicing on the unused part of the Autobahn between Ramstein Air Base and the French border [the part that Hitler never got to finish].

Our happiness with our new vehicle didn't last very long. Almost from the day we got it, we had trouble starting it in the morning. I had to push that damn car with Berniece trying to catch it in gear. It didn't matter where we lived, it acted the same. Every time I took it to the Chrysler garage in Paris or in Frankfurt it was the same story. Nothing wrong.

After over two years of frustration we got rid of it just before we left Europe in May That car was undoubtedly the worst car I have ever owned. I got so mad one day I let my frustration and temper get the best of me when I hit the hood with my fist causing the chrome Plymouth emblem to snap like a dried stick. Pop, and there it went. Not too smart, but the broken emblem served as a constant reminder of how much I hated that car.

I wouldn't even look at another car of the Chrysler family for several years after I got rid of that hog. We moved from our apartment above the slipper factory as soon as we could find another apartment in Nancy. We finally located one on a side street closer to the center of town. The second floor apartment was in a row house that also had apartments on the first and third floor that were occupied by French families.

Our apartment consisted of a living- dining room, a kitchen and two small bedrooms. The flush toilet in the hallway served all the residents. We purchased a collapsible bath tub from Sears. Our car was damaged twice while we lived at this place, most probably by Communist vandals who paraded regularly around the neighborhood. One time they twisted the antenna off, and another time they got in the car and tried to pry the clock loose that was mounted on the top of the dashboard, leaving scratch marks and dents on the painted dash.

We twice received very bad news from back home. On October 31, the Red Cross notified me that my woc autobiography died on October 29th of a fatal heart attack while he was at work as a watchman in a Saegertown plant. Then in March 0f we learned that Berniece's parents home burned to the ground and her father died of multiple burns. We didn't go home for either of these tragedies, but our mourning and pain was as great and genuine as if we had been there for both funerals.

The officer in charge of S3 was transferred. My new boss was a short, pudgy, 50 year old Major who possessed few characteristics of a military officer or civil engineer. He must have been a hang-over from WWII, biding his time until retirement. His appearance left a lot to be desired since he weighed about pounds and wasn't over 5'6" tall.

He wore the same uniform day and day out. Maybe it was the only one he had. He wasn't what you would call a good example of a United States Army fighting man. As I was moving my few personal items to my new desk, the Major summoned me to his desk, only about 6 feet from mine. Whispering in my ear he informed me that he had some personal and private possessions that would be locked in the lower right drawer of his desk.

He instructed me in an unusually authoritative tone, noticeably very different from his squeaky monotone, that no one was to have access to his desk except himself and me. I didn't know what to expect. Perhaps, secret classified plans or documents of some type. Maybe a health record he didn't want revealed. Perchance some possessions he didn't want to keep in his apartment in Nancy.

Possibly a gun. Oh my God, what if it's a gun! I'll have to report it; there are strict regulations about firearms. At last he put the key in and unlocked the drawer. He pulled the drawer out and removed a dilapidated old brown briefcase. He handed it to me and said "Take a look". I sat down, put the brief- case on my lap and threw back the flap.

This was forbidden stuff! I almost dropped over. I assured him that I would physically prevent anyone from gaining access to his desk. Especially me. I couldn't imagine what would happen if the CO or XO walked in and caught me reading some of that trash. The fear of these superior officers learning that I was part of a cover-up of this type material sent cold chills up my spine.

I finally convinced myself that I couldn't do anything about it, so I planned what I would say and do if the briefcase was ever discovered. I sure kept my distance from that desk. How do you put that in a job description? I guess it could come under "other tasks and duties as directed". I worried about this situation every single day until he was transferred back to the States.

One of the duties of an Operations Sergeant is to be aware of the status of each of the projects being completed by subordinate engineer units or contractors. To assure compliance with contracts or military orders it was necessary for an S3 supervisor or myself to head up a team to visit the job site to perform specific soil or material tests or to check the progress toward project completion.

Requiring people to be away from their permanent duty station could create problems, especially for some married personnel. Both bases were only a few miles east of the eastern border of France. In order to prepare for the move, an advanced party of officers and senior enlisted men would be dispatched to the new site to arrange for troop and family needs, housing, administrative functioning and logistical support.

Lieutenant Colonel John Welsh, a gray-haired college professor from Memphis, Tennessee had been called to active duty for a period of two years and was now the Executive Officer of the Group. Contributing to my selection was the fact that my wife was pregnant and was tentatively scheduled to give birth to our second child around the first of March.

Colonel Welch was an excellent military officer and a fine gentleman. When we arrived at Landstuhl the welcoming party officer in charge told the colonel he would show him his quarters. Colonel Welsh told him "I can usually take care of myself. First I want to see where the men I have with me will be billeted and fed. I also want to see the quarters for our families.

Then we'll get to the other details". Colonel Welsh and I worked very closely the next few weeks and got to know each other quite well. He was going to leave active duty and go back to teaching as soon as his two year tour was completed. He told me about his wife, his family, his home and the University of Tennessee where he taught.

Apparently he was impressed with my service, character, and potential when he offered to put me through college when I got out of the Army. I told him I had about four years to serve on my present enlistment and I would soon have 3 dependents. He told me we could live in part of his house, and he would find me a job at the University to supplement my GI Bill allowance.

I thanked him and told him I would let him know at a later date. Obviously I didn't take advantage of his offer because by the time I reached the end of my enlistment there were too many other factors to consider, including the birth of a third child. Our quarters at Ramstein Air Base were recently constructed multiple apartment structures.

We lived on the third floor, accessible by stairs only. There was a large living - dining room that accommodated several pieces of furniture, a well equipped kitchen, three bedrooms and a bath and a half. The government provided good quality furniture, the only complaint by the nit-pickers was that all the furniture was of the same design and just like your neighbors.

I thought we were extremely lucky to have such a mansion, a far cry from the places we had in France. One evening as Berniece, Billy Piper [the wife of Master Sergeant Ralph who worked in our Operations Section] and I were playing hearts, Berniece said we better get her to the hospital. The ambulance took her to Landstuhl Army Hospital located on a high hill overlooking the German town of Landstuhl, where William John Auell junior was born a short time later on February 11, A new German citizen, subject to military service when he becomes 18 years old.

The officers and men of the nd Aviation Engineer Group just got nicely settled at the new home at Landstuhl Air Base when communication from the Department of Army notified the commander that replacements for the personnel of the nd would arrive in June Since most of the officers and men now in the nd were not due to rotate to the States until May or Junethese new replacements were not needed for a year.

Being true to form, the powers in the Pentagon wouldn't acknowledge their mistake or retract the orders, so by June there would be two people for each slot [another example of the inefficiency of Washington wheels that cost the taxpayers a bundle]. They would transfer me there so I could be promoted to Master Sergeant, but it would involve moving back to France, which really didn't appeal to us.

Considering the alter- natives, I assumed this was the best chance for promotion I would get in quite a while since it would take time to get to be known in a unit after returning to the States. We moved to the Dreaux area and found a house in one of the little villages not too far from the base and I reported to the st EAB. When word got around Group head- quarters back in Germany that I was being reassigned to Dreaux, several of my friends applied for transfer to the st, some of them were E7s.

These transfers filled all the E7 slots in the Battalion and left me once again working in an E7 slot but being unable to get promoted because the Battalion now had their full compliment of Master Sergeants. He was a brilliant engineer who liked to work with me in the planning of the various projects that had been assigned to this battalion. He had no faith in the Operations Section Major or the Captain, and would usually send them on an errand or home when we were working on the construction plans for the projects.

He had good reason to be skeptical of the S3 officers. Every time the Major would get a telephone call about one of the projects, I would have to get on my phone and listen in on the conversation, then either shake my head to indicate yes or no, or write him a note with the answer. The Major, an Italian tailor from New York City rode around in his shiny Buick and always wore his Class A uniform, even out to the muddy construction sites.

I usually let him have the money which he always repaid. The Captain spent most of his time trying to prove the inefficiency of the Major, or was out of the office doing who knows what???? The Colonel was a rare and unusual character. He was a tall slender man who would have looked good in a clean and serviceable uniform. However, I have never seen a soldier, especially an officer, that looked more shabby wearing the uniform of the United States Army.

His wife apparently washed his tropical worsted uniforms with other family clothing so his TWs became a light purple instead of the light tan they were supposed to be. He wore shoes that had big holes in the bottom of them. I don't think his brass had been polished since the day he left West Point, a little green along the edges. He drove an old rattle-trap Plymouth that had never known water except when it rained.

His kids looked like poor ragamuffins and smelled as if they hadn't been very close to a bath tub in quite a while. He lived in a run down place not far from the base. But, he had an allotment to a bank in the States for over half of his pay every month. I often wondered if he made full colonel? The Battalion had several projects at the base including perimeter storm drainage and the construction of a unit trailer court, both major projects.

The Colonel would come over to the S3 Quonset building which was next to his Headquarters, and ask me to go with him to check the projects. He drove his own Jeep. When we arrived at a work site he would stop and ask a soldier that may be digging a ditch if he was getting tired. The soldiers usually answered that they were not tired, but the Colonel had him come over to the Jeep and would say something like "You look tired.

You sit down here and rest. I'll do your job while you're resting". The soldier didn't know what to say or do, so he just sat down by the Jeep and watched his commanding officer dig a ditch. He would do the same thing if we stopped at a site where heavy equipment was working; I saw him operate a grader, a bulldozer and a roller. Quite a bird.

As I said, a brilliant engineer, but a poor example of a military officer. We lived in two different small towns near the air base, sharing the houses with Ralph and Billy Piper who had two small boys about the same ages as Cathy and Bill. The oldest boy fell madly in love with Cathy. Here again, the accommodations weren't comparable to on-post housing in Germany, or any other place for that matter.

The Commissary and PX were in Paris so we made our trip to the big city about once a month. We tried to get all the supplies we needed at one time. One time we were returning from the commissary and decided to eat in a fancy looking French restaurant in one of the small towns along the way. The kids got French fries, coke and some other thing that I can't remember.

As the waitress was bringing the duck we commented how delicious it looked. When she put it on the table it was a different story. The pin feathers were still on the bird. This disgusting thing quickly destroyed our appetite so we finally ended up eating only the woc autobiographies that came with the duck. A really expensive vegetable.

We passed this place every time we went to Paris, but never got brave enough to try more of their French cuisine. The year of finally arrived and we started thinking about going home. We had to decide which items we would take back to the States and what we would sell or give to someone. I sure wanted to get rid of that Plymouth, and we needed transportation when we got back to the States.

We ordered a new Mercury 2 door hardtop from a dealer in New Jersey to be picked up when we got to the States. We left Dreaux and went to Paris where I sold the Plymouth. We boarded the 4 turbo-jet propeller plane and along with some of our friends settled down for our trip across the Atlantic. We taxied to the end of the runway, the pilot revved up to engines, then shut them down and announced that he "did not consider the plane worthy of transcontinental flight".

We went back to the terminal and waited a couple of hours for the plane to be repaired. It now was about ten o'clock at night. Once again we boarded the plane and the pilot took the plane to the end of the runway and went through his pre-flight checks again. Once more, he repeated his previous comment and told us we would not leave before the next day.

The following day we were a little hesitant to board the same plane, but we got settled down and waved goodbye to Europe, landing in New Jersey about 15 hours later. I wanted to get down and kiss the ground. We were back in the good old U S of A. I don't think most people realize how great it is to be an American. After spending three years in Europe observing the living and working conditions of the different countries, I was much more appreciative of my country and our way of life.

Throughout the countries that we were stationed in or visited [ France, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Italy ] the people in the small villages live in a structure that is a cattle barn on the first floor and the living quarters on the second or third floor. Most folks do not have indoor plumbing. The waste from humans and animals runs down the ditches of the dirt roads.

The stench in the streets during the summer was something to experience. Some of the houses had electricity which consisted primarily of a light socket hanging down from the ceilings. Refrigeration was non-existent, even in many of the meat markets and grocery stores. The people that live in the larger towns and cities have much better accommodations, but nothing like those in most US locations.

The more fortunate families may have a small car for which they waited years to get. Throughout Europe a large part of the population owned bicycles which they rode everywhere. There were hundreds of bicycles parked around big factories, but very few cars. The average Frenchman considered himself very fortunate if he was able to buy one car in his lifetime; most didn't.

The buildings in the towns and villages are marked with the scars of war. Entire blocks of cities in Germany lay in rubble. Some of the less fortunate individuals lived in cardboard boxes or lean-to shanties 8 years after the end of World War II. I last viewed these deplorable conditions inso I'm sure there have been many improvements since that time.

Woc autobiography

Thank God I'm an American. That is why I love my job. He attended Ramstein high school in Germany and graduated from Eisenhower high school Macomb, Michigan. He is married to his wife Madison Craft. He earned Polish, Taiwanese, and Indonesian airborne wings. He deployed to Germany in March in response to Russia's invasion in Ukraine. While deployed He earned the Norwegian Ruck March badge.

SGT Craft's short-term goals are to become a jumpmaster and graduate ranger school. His long term goals are to earn a bachelor's degree and a Commission. As the eldest of three siblings, Salvatore pursued his dreams with relentless determination. His journey began at Rondout Valley High School and Boces Trade School, where he not only excelled academically but also dominated on the basketball court and raced on the track and field.

He left his mark by securing the 5th position out of 30 participants. After 25 weeks of training, he graduated, and his journey took an exhilarating turn as he was sent to Suwon, South Korea. Operating within Bravo Battery, he skillfully maintained seamless connections for 8 launchers, the Battery Command Post, and the Engagement Control Station. In addition to his core duties, he proudly served the roles of Comsec Manager and battery representative, standing at the forefront of the mission's success.

Looking ahead with a dynamic vision, Spc. Mongelluzzo aspires to rapidly advance to the rank of Sergeant. He aims to concurrently enhance his civilian education while woc autobiography his leadership abilities in his ongoing military career. As the horizon stretches before him, he has ambitions of securing a Bachelor's degree in Network Engineering, crafting a comprehensive Green to Gold packet, and creating a flourishing family.

Not long after her arrival, her unit went on rotation to Europe in January She is married with no children but has two dogs and one cat. Her hobbies include Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, Mixed Martial Arts, reading, watching movies and TV shows, cooking, weightlifting, writing, painting, and swimming. Her long-term goals are to buy a house, become a Commissioned Officer, and receive a master's degree.

I was born in Farmville, Virginia. As the oldest of seven, I attended school in several locations due to my mother's work as a traveling aid and part time Daycare Teacher. I graduated from public school Randolph Henry High, home of the Statesmen. I played football, wrestling and took up track for Discus and Shot put. After high school, inI attended South Side community college.

I was accepted there as the youngest Officer on shift. It wasn't until after 2 years in corrections that I decided to follow my uncles' and aunties' footsteps and join the military as a 25 Bravo. After 19 weeks I graduated and was off to my first duty station. My short-term goals would be to earn the rank of Sergeant, to score a on my ACFT, and to hone my skills as a leader.

One of my other short-term goals is to meet the requirements for Security Plus. Long term goals include Network Plus, Top Secret Clearance and getting my degree in HVAC, Business and Finance, as well as Photography so that, after my career I can completely dedicate to my dream of building houses and photographing them for display. I was born and raised in Mechanicsville, Virginia.

As an only woc autobiography, I attended a public high school where I played baseball, soccer, and wrestling. After high school, I followed in the footsteps of my father and enlisted as a combat engineer in At Fort Lee, Virginia, while waiting for my ship out date, I worked for a tree service as a heavy equipment operator and a chainsaw operator.

Then, in JulyI attended basic combat training at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, two weeks after graduating high school. My short term goals would be to earn the rank of Sergeant and earn my Sapper and Ranger tabs. My long-term goals are to go to college and get my degree in film production and photography so that, after my Army career, I can get a job in the sports industry.

I would also like to get married and have two children and retire from the military after 20 years of hard work and dedication. Enabling society to have freedoms without external worries from other nations or enemies. Society as a whole is so diverse, that it is difficult to sum up how they perceive one topic. This is spawn from a plethora of different cultures, values, and morals.

However, one particular subject is similar, the Military and the Officers appointed within. Society expects Military Officer to be professional, instill values within, have morals, and be a leader. Society holds the standards of a Militaiy Officer higher than others. They are ones to be emulated, which make hard and appropriate decision. Society expects a professional who leads and makes sacrifices for the freedom's others can enjoy.

To sum it up society sees officers as confident leaders willing to do what is necessaiy to protect the families within our great nation. This is what is expected of Military Officers from society and certain responsibilities will have to be in place to reach the expectation of society. O O Military Officers have several challenges and obstacles to overcome.

These challenges will be overcome by adhering to three of Military Officers responsibilities which are, to plan organize, and lead troops. A plan is always needed. This provides the means for you and others to have a goal and a reference of what needs to happen. It also provides the means to see different outcomes and to provide feedback on possible solutions.

Organizing goes hand in hand with planning. Proper planning is a process in organizing. In addition, it lays the path to avoid any confusion or issues which may arise. Leading troops is one of the most impmiant. A good leader will lead troops to victory and provide the needed mentorship to groom future leaders. Providing a strong Army whom is cohesive.

Furthermore, I know what society expects of a Military Officer and I am willing to provide that throughout my career. I will reach these expectations by ensuring my responsibilities of planning, organizing, and leading troops is met above standard. I do love this country and I woc autobiography do what is necessary to be an outstanding Military Officer for my family, society, and myself.

John T. Completion Status:. Sign up to view the full answer. Honor Code. Post question. Most Popular Content. This collection Collection 5 focuses on human ambition and our eternal quest for power. Your essay must be based on the ideas, concepts, and information that can be determined through an analysis of these text passages. Technical Writing, Comparing two websites.

Summary of the Assignment: Task: In this assignment, you will write an essay in which you compare and contrast two website Summary of the Assignment: Task: In this assignment, you will write an essay in which you compare and contrast two websites for their use of proximity, alignment, repetition, and contrast. Length: words Graphics: You must include at least eight graphics in order to provide support for your claims in the essayo at least two graphics for proximityo at least two graphics for alignmento at least two graphics for repetitiono at least two graphics for contrast.

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One of the challenges in the Canadian workplace is managing diversity. Managers must address the differences among diverse Managers must address the differences among diverse groups of people. Understanding Comics. In chapter five of Understanding Comics, Scott McCloud steps back from artist and reader analysis and focuses on craft and