Читать книгу Craig Lee's Kentucky Hemp Story - Joe Domino - Страница 14
ОглавлениеYes Sir!
Somewhere in the jungle of Vietnam during 1979
“Beef, beef, beef! Shit on a shingle—I am tired of BEEF!”
I beckoned my bellicose diatribe as a crowd of dispirited first-class privates looked-on in terror. They’ve never seen insubordination like this before. Just this mornin’ I ran into General So-n-So, and he asked me: “Captain Lee—is everything going all right?”
The privates quivered when Major Hooks barged in to investigate the “disturbance.” The Major didn’t have to look far. I continued without missing a beat: “I wish I was back there NOW! I would tell the General about this CHOW! This is the fortieth meal I had with BEEF. I’m starting to wonder if we’re only here to feed the BEEF Machine!”
Meat began spilling from the privates’ spoons in disgust. Major Hooks wasn’t having none of it either. “CAPTAIN LEE—if the General comes in this mess hall—YOU keep your mouth shut—YA HEAR!?”
Everyone thought I’d come down with jungle fever. We were in the jungles of Vietnam, after all. Nothing was implausible. In truth, I wasn’t tweaking out or anything—quite the opposite. My nerves were as stoic as a hummingbird’s wings: “SIR. With all due respect, if the General walks up to me and asks a direct question,” I said, coolly, “SIR, I will give him a direct answer.” Like walking a tightrope, I knew how to get my point across, “SIR, if the General asks me about the chow—I will tell him about the Chow. SIR.” I persisted, “This chow SUCKS, Sir.”
Boiling, the Major’s temper spilled over, “If YOU say anything to the General ‘out of the way’—I’ll see that you’re on KP the rest of the time you’re here!”
I parried, “SIR, you have the right to do that. SIR. And I have the right to address the General if he addresses me. SIR.”
The privates were trembling. Some trembled in anger and some in fear; they all believed I was sentencing them to KP duty, which is as bad as it sounds. They fumed while ruminating, “What the hell is this man doing!?” They couldn’t comprehend what had gotten into me. What these privates neglected to understand was that I was in full control of the situation. In the military, if one follows the right protocol, then one can stand there and talk anyway he or she pleases—just don’t cuss him. Tell him he’s wrong: “You’re wrong, SIR!”
* * *
In complete disclosure, I was ahead of my Army peers when it came to understanding military protocol. I studied the subject while I was at Fort Hood Texas Army Base during my first year in the service. While stationed there, I encountered one ugly Native American from the Blackfoot Tribe. His name was Jim Rose. His story captured me.
Jim deserted the Army after eighteen months of serving. He went AWOL right before his battalion’s deployment. Jim hated the Army and never regretted his decision to leave. Although Jim felt justified in his actions, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life as an outlaw. He decided to turn himself over to the authorities. Equipped with his Army documentation, Jim Rose went to his local sheriff and declared himself a deserter. The sheriff decided to lock-up Jim Rose until he could learn more. After a couple days the sheriff yells to Jim, “The Army doesn’t even know you exist! They have no record of you!”
How could this be? Jim Rose had served his nation valiantly for eighteen months and possessed all the paperwork to prove it—and no one had any clue who he was? To sort out the fiasco, the Army transported Jim Rose to Fort Hood to face trial. And that’s where I’d meet him. On the base awaiting his trial. I volunteered to be his legal aid. My part-time job was to acquire legal books, on Jim’s behalf, from the Fort Hood Military Library. Interestingly, I learned, by law, every military base must maintain a legal library. I got involved because Jim’s case was unique. The absurdity of it all intrigued me: how could the world’s most powerful and sophisticated military on the planet lose track of one of their own? Then one day, out of the blue, a hysterical Indian comes running down the hallway toward me. My first reaction was, “Is this a jail break!?”
Panting, Jim sputtered, “LEE, LEE! I’m a FREE MAN!”
The doggone Blackfoot had done it. He had hit the jackpot too. Not only did Jim never have to go to jail, but he had also flipped the entire system on its head. Because the prosecution had no record of Jim deserting, the courts awarded Jim with an undesirable discharge over the more severe offense, a dishonorable discharge. Furthermore, not only couldn’t the prosecution prove Jim was a deserter, but they also couldn’t prove anyone with the name “Jim Rose” had ever been a part of the Army in the first place. The only soul possessing the paperwork to prove Jim had been a soldier was no other than Jim Rose himself.
Left with few options, the judge ordered the Army to pay Jim two and a half years of backpay and a full pension. I was a seventeen-year-old kid and I couldn’t believe what had just happened. This no-good Blackfoot was being handsomely compensated after committing the military’s cardinal sin.
“LEE, I’m going home! I’m going home with A LOT of money!”
My early experiences within the military greatly influenced my perception on how law and order in this country operates. The U.S. legal system is nothing more than a game and, like any game worth playing, you can stack the odds in your favor through preparation and leverage. Case and point: Jim Rose would never have won his case based on his word alone. No, Jim Rose won his case because he had enough wits to save his paperwork and to have a private fetch him legal books from the Fort Hood Military Library. One thing was for certain—Jim Rose was smarter than he looked!
