EARLY IN THE SPRING OF 1966, life was good for this young artillery captain stationed at Fort Sill, OK. Following graduation in 1960 from the University of Richmond (Virginia), including the Army Reserve Officers’ Training Corps (ROTC) program, I entered active duty for the required two years. At that time, it had not crossed my mind that I would still be on active duty six years later. In fact, had such been suggested by anyone at that time, I would have been the first to veto the probability. To fulfill my advanced ROTC service obligation required attendance in the Field Artillery Officers Basic Course (FAOBC) and completion of two years of active duty as a Reserve Officer.

That was fair enough, as I did not have definitive career-oriented plans for my life in 1960.

After completing the FAOBC, my first assignment was with the Field Artillery Army Training Center (ATC), also located at Fort Sill. There were seven training battalions in the ATC. The first five battalions, numbered and identified sequentially, trained basic-training graduates to become artillery cannoneers. To the best of my recall, all cannoneer training was conducted on the 105 mm howitzer M101A1. The 7th Battalion trained recent basic training graduates to be either fire direction manual computers or artillery surveyors. These six battalions were known as advanced individual training (AIT) battalions.

The 6th Training Battalion, known as a basic unit training battalion, received graduates from the other AIT battalions, where they trained for six weeks to learn to function as a complete artillery firing battery. This training fulfilled the six-month active-duty training requirement for young men entering the service under the provisions of the Reserve Forces Act of 1955. Although I did not realize it at that time, I was extremely fortunate to be assigned to the 6th Training Battalion.

The military environment was a hugely different, strange, and sometimes hostile one for those like me who had no previous close family ties or experience with any of the military services. And I had to be one of the greenest individuals ever to receive a commission in the U.S. Army.

The officers in my first unit, B Battery (B-6), consisted of five commissioned officers. The battery commander (BC) was Capt. Thomas W.E. Smith, who served as an enlisted soldier in Germany during World War II and received a battlefield commission during the Korean conflict. The executive officer (XO), First Lieutenant James Moorehead, was an ROTC graduate and nearing the end of his two-year active-duty obligation. The three second lieutenants, Ken Halfacre, Fire Direction Officer (FDO); Bob Stewart, Recon and Survey Officer (RSO); and I, Forward Observer (FO), were assigned to the artillery battery within the previous two months. All lieutenants were ROTC grads except Lt. Halfacre, who was a recent Officer Candidate School graduate. All five officers were Reserve officers.

The battery’s non-commissioned officer (NCO) Corps was populated with an array of intelligent, seasoned, and combat-experienced men who were absolutely amazing trainers. Several of them held battlefield commissions. However, after the war, they had to revert to their highest enlisted rank previously held, usually either because of a lack of a college education or a reduction in the military services after the war. First Sergeant Basil Simmons was one of them. For the first few months in the battery, I must admit that I was scared of the NCOs. They were so knowledgeable and comfortable in the Army that whenever I encountered any one of them, I did not know whether to salute him, call him “sir,” or run and hide from him. Of course, all three were inappropriate responses.

Among those wonderful NCOs was Sergeant First Class (SFC) Alonso E. Jordan. He was a WWII and Korean War veteran who not only had several Purple Hearts but was still carrying some shrapnel in his back and several tiny pieces in his cheek. His job was the chief of the firing battery (CFB). He was affectionately called “Smoke.” No one called him by his name, rank, or job title. From the battery commander to the lowest-ranking enlisted man, he was addressed as either “Smoke” or “Hey, Smoke.” He would not have it any other way.

The day that I drove into the battery parking area to report for duty in B Battery, 6th Training Battalion, in Ft. Sill, OK, in November 1960 set in motion experiences that would guide and change my life from then until this day. Nothing that followed that day was in my life’s plans or wildest dreams. Until that day, this young, naïve, green lieutenant who grew up in Portsmouth, VA, in sight and smell of Scots Creek and the Elizabeth River, fully intended to return to his roots and spend much of his life playing in the creek and on the river.

SFC Alonso “Smoke” Jordan played a significant role in sidelining the plans I had for my life.

First Sgt. Simmons had assigned SFC Jordan to watch for my arrival. As I stepped out of my new 1961 black Volkswagen bug, SFC Jordan bellowed for me to follow him to the BC’s office.

The walk from my car to the orderly room was a short distance. So much happened during that short walk. First, I was expecting a salute from SFC Jordan. He did not salute me. As I was conjuring up the courage to chew him out for not saluting me, the second incident occurred. SFC Jordan told me that I had been assigned to him and that he would make me a good artillery lieutenant if I kept my mouth shut and did what he told me.

Now, I need to say that, at this point, SFC Jordan was unable to adequately express himself unless he laced every sentence with an abundance of profanity. Although I am not a saint, I was not accustomed to so much profanity. He also held me by my left arm between my elbow and shoulder. I was thinking that nothing like this had ever been discussed in the training platform in college, ROTC summer camp at Fort Knox, or FAOBC. It just did not seem right. Before I could muster the appropriate words to rebuke SFC Jordan, we were at the orderly room door.

I was still trying to comprehend the fact that SFC Jordan had not saluted me, not to mention digest all he had said to me and how I should respond, when the First Sergeant (1stSgt) yelled, “Come in, lieutenant.”

What the hell was going on? Things were happening faster than this Virginia boy could keep up with.

I entered the orderly room, and the BC yelled, “Come in, Collier.” Does everyone yell around here? Don’t they know proper military procedure and courtesy? I walked into the BC’s office, and there sat an old man who looked like he should have been buried yesterday. Had he not been chain-smoking cigarettes, I might have called for the coroner.

I saluted and said, “Lt. Collier reporting for duty, sir.”

“Aw crap, sit your ass down, Collier.” He did not return my salute.

Maybe they don’t salute in this training command, I thought. OK, I will stop saluting, too.

That turned out to be a mistake.

Within minutes, this old half-dead-looking captain had me eating out of his hand, so to speak. He seemed to know the state of shock and confusion I was in. Within a 15-minute discussion, he explained the mission of the battery and how the various positions and job skills were supposed to function in order to have a smooth-operating effective battery capable of accomplishing its mission in combat. He made me believe that being the forward observer (FO) was the most important job in the battery. If I did not do my job correctly, then the entire battery would fail to accomplish its mission. More importantly, lives could be lost as a result.

I was anxious to get to my job and do it well. I wanted to make my new father figure (er, maybe I should say grandfather figure) proud of me. He read me like a book! As it turned out, he was a great commander and teacher. He was demanding but fair. And he made fun of his officers’ mistakes but then left it at that, as long as we did not make the same mistake twice. I was comfortable working for and being around him.

The training cycle was six weeks. Weeks one and six were primarily dedicated to classroom instruction. All newly assigned lieutenants were required to take a two-week leadership and platform training instruction course before they could teach in the classroom.

Weeks two through five were field training weeks. The battery convoyed to the field each Tuesday morning and convoyed back to garrison each Thursday evening. Intense training occurred for 18 hours on each of those days. Mondays were classroom instruction and preparation for the movement to the field. Thursday evenings and Friday mornings were recovery operations, which really meant washing the guns and vehicles and accounting for all equipment. Saturday mornings were formal equipment, barracks, and personnel inspections by the battery commander and the 1stSgt.

Anyone coming up short in any area could look forward to spending the rest of Saturday correcting his shortcomings. And those personnel provided the 1stSgt his special duty personnel for his special projects on Sunday. Of course, this was before the Army eliminated Saturdays as a workday.

During field training, the two most junior lieutenants had to jointly perform the duties of safety officer on the guns. We wore helmet liners painted yellow. The proposed firing positions for the upcoming training week in the field were provided to us the preceding Friday. All safety data had to be prepared and approved by Battalion Operations Section by noon the next Monday. Lt. Stewart and I...