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I remember going to the McDermott's in the evening. Their oldest daughter Maudie was drawing a stylized rose design, similar to a leather working design. Her dad, Sgt. McDermott, had supposedly been sober for a whole week, but he got up and went to the kitchen. I followed him into the dark room as I was thirsty and saw him in front of the refrigerator drinking vinegar. Such is the life of a drunk. Another time we were going to our apartment behind the hospital when we spotted something going down the road ahead of us in the dark. It was going from side to side of the road like a cow, but it turned out to be Sgt. McDermott staggering home drunk. Pop Dillon a retired army seargent ran the post filling station. He always had two chairs set up with an up-ended keg between them where the perpetual cribbage game was played. My father was a short man, five foot six at the most. One day we were gassing up at the filling station, and a drunk from the PX stopped by my mother's window and started making a pass at her. I was beside my dad at the right rear of our Plymouth convertible. My dad told the drunk, "Move along Private.". The drunk kept talking to my mother. My father took his glasses off laid them on the trunk of our Plymouth, and said, "I said move along!". At that point Pop Dillon grabbed my shoulders and swung me out of harms way. The drunk looked down on my dad and decided that he had better move on. A smart move. I never saw my father in a fight, he didn't have to, his carriage indicated that he could back up what he said, and he could. His size never dampened his zest for life, nor did I ever know him to long for a bigger body. He was always satisfied with who he was and what he was. We lived in two different upstairs apartments in the quarters behind the hospital. It was here that my father was going through officer training, at that time I don't think there was a formal Officer Candidate School, just promising candidates would be mentored informally. He was a Staff Seargent at the time and would bring his saber home to practice the manual of arms with the saber. I was fascinated by that sword. He was long suffering as I was constantly into one thing or another. One time I thought I would make all our canned goods neater by tearing off the labels. It was a whole month full of supplies. His response was, "Well, we'll just have daily surprises for a month, won't we.". Another time I was sitting behind the wheel of our Plymouth, while my father was working outside of it, waxing the finish. I turned the key in the ignition, the engine started, the car was in low and I was driving unintentionally. After my spanking, he spent quite a while explaining why what I had done was foolish. Another time I was rocking pretty hard in my mother's rocking chair and I was warned by my father to quit before I went over backwards. Two more rocks and I went over backwards, hitting my head on a big urn we had. He picked me up, rubbed the knot on my head and said, "Now you know why I said stop rocking so hard.". That was all that came of it. It was during this time that the second engineers would go on maneuvers to Buffalo, Wyoming. They would travel in a convoy with two and a half ton trucks that had hard rubber tires. I just recently found out that Buffalo, Wyoming was a favorite jumping off place for the Hole in the Wall Gang, including Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. It's possible when the soldiers went into town they rubbed elbows with them. Once we went to Cheyenne Frontier Days and while we were sitting in the bleachers a cowboy sitting in back of us put his feet on our seat nudging my father every time he got excited. My father turned around, gave his look and said, "Put your feet down, cowboy.". There was only compliance. That was my dad. -18-
