Oh boy, let me tell you about my wild childhood as a U.S. Army brat in the 1950s and 1960s! It was like living in a never-ending adventure, with constant moves, new friends, and exciting experiences. I mean, who needs stability when you can have the thrill of packing up your life every few years?
Picture this: one day you're in Washington, next in California, the next you're in Texas, and before you know it, you're off to Germany. It was like a game of "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?" but with military bases instead of stolen artifacts. And let me tell you, I was the master of adapting to new environments. I could make friends faster than you can say "military brat solidarity."
But it wasn't all fun and games. There were times when I missed having a permanent home, a place where I could put down roots and grow. Instead, I had to settle for making memories in different corners of the world. I'm not boasting, but those memories are invaluable.
Being a military brat meant being part of a tight-knit community. We were like a big, dysfunctional family, always looking out for each other. We shared the same struggles, the same joys, and the same sense of adventure. It was like having a built-in support system wherever we went.
Sure, there were challenges along the way. Saying goodbye to friends became a regular occurrence, and it never got easier. But hey, at least we had pen pals before social media was even a thing. And let's not forget the perks of being a military brat - discounted commissary shopping, anyone? Free medical and dental care. A safe place to live. Great schools, sports, movie theaters, and lots of adventures.
TIMELINE
My parents married in 1947 in Danville, Arkansas. After enlisting in the army, the family was stationed at Fort Hood, Texas until 1951.
I was born in Russellville, Arkansas, in 1951. Shortly after, my father was deployed to Germany. With three children and not yet permitted to travel, my mother stayed in Arkansas with her parents until we were authorized to join my father in Nuremberg, Germany in September 1952.
We returned to the U.S., departing from Frankfurt, Germany, on a Seaboard and Western Airlines flight, arriving in New York City on October 4, 1953. We then retrieved our car, which the military had shipped back, and drove to Arkansas to visit relatives before moving to our new home near Fort Lewis, Washington, with views of Mount Rainier.
In 1955, we relocated to Fort Ord, California, where my father shuttled between there and the Nevada Proving Grounds for nuclear testing. Fort Ord is where my brother was born, and we got a black cocker spaniel.
I began kindergarten in 1956 at Fort Hood, Texas, overcoming separation anxiety from my mother, a tornado, scorpion stings, rattlesnake encounters, and a fall from a shed roof.
In 1957, we moved back to Germany, settling in Mainz, where we had many adventures. My father and Elvis Presley were stationed at the same base, and Elvis would sometimes entertain the troops with his singing.
I witnessed the ruins of Dachau with my own eyes, a haunting memory that still disturbs me.
"Wie geht es Ihnen?"
I learned German and developed a taste for traditional dishes like wiener schnitzel with roasted potatoes and Hungarian goulash. It's unfortunate that after moving to Russellville, I lost my German language skills due to the lack of German speakers. However, I can still prepare German cuisine.
I first discovered my mom's intense fear of spiders while in Germany, which in turn made me fearful as well. At the sight of a spider, she would squeal and dance around in alarm. Ironically, she decided to take us children to a movie called 'The Spider.' Throughout the film, we sat with our feet tucked in worried the spider would get us, screaming at the scary scenes. To this day, I wonder why she chose to take us to that movie.
During our vacation in Holland, we had the unique experience of waiting for a man to herd geese across the road. We also marveled at the beauty of the dikes and tulips. Moreover, my aunt's air force family joined us for the summer, and we spent time doing family activities, which was new to me but immensely enjoyable.
We returned to the U.S. in 1960 and were stationed at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. Elvis visited the base during his army campaign tour, and we all greeted him. I crafted my own skateboard using a plank of wood and roller skate wheels. A vast field beside our apartment complex was where the local kids met to play baseball. My mom shared an amusing tale about the boys arriving at our doorstep, baseball gloves and bats in hand, asking if "Jo" could come out to play. It made me smile because I am Jo; they didn't ask for my brothers. On our way to school, my friends and I would sing rock and roll tunes and serenaded the cooks with "I Like Bread and Butter" as we queued for lunch. They joined in our singing. Those were fun times. We explored the base, observing military drills and parades, and on Halloween, we trick-or-treated at the men's barracks. Caught off guard, they handed out nickels instead of candy. We discovered that slugs from construction sites worked in the coke machine, granting us free sodas until the army caught on and halted our mischief. Additionally, I broke my arm during a family trip to Centerville, Arkansas, and began the 7th grade sporting a large, unsightly cast. The announcement of JFK's assassination left us 7th graders and our teachers in disbelief. School did not proceed as usual that day. Other social activities included Friday night football and summer baseball and softball games. At 13, my sister and I secured our first summer job at a food stand in the neighboring city of Waynesville, Missouri. The stand served a variety of classic fare, including hamburgers, hot dogs, fries, and their accompaniments. Back then, there were no age restrictions for employment.
My father was assigned another tour in Germany. Weary of constant relocation and school changes, my parents decided that while he would proceed to Germany, the rest of the family would settle in Russellville, Arkansas. In the summer of 1965, we established our home in Russellville and enrolled in the local public school. No longer a military brat, I finally had a permanent place to plant roots.
In 1966, my father retired and returned to us in Russellville after being away for a year. All four of us children graduated from Russellville High School and later pursued different directions in life, while our parents established Russellville as their permanent home.
TIDBITS OF MEMORIES
Imagine this: My mother, at the tender age of 21, embarked on an audacious solo journey with her three young children, all under four years old. Her father drove us to the station, and after emotional farewells, she boarded a train in Fort Smith, transferred in Chicago, and journeyed to New York City to board a ship bound for Germany. She managed this feat with her luggage and her children tethered to leashes for safety. Upon our arrival in Frankfurt, my father was waiting to welcome us. I had no memory of him; he had departed Arkansas shortly after my birth, and it wasn't until 14 months later in Frankfurt that I saw him again. We then moved to our new residence at the military base in Munich. I was too young to recall any of this, but photographs have bridged the gaps in my memory.
While stationed in the U.S., our travels from one base to another were always by car. The vehicle was filled with our luggage, our dog, our parakeet, and our family of six, which included two parents who smoked and four children. My mother's parents resided in Colorado, and during one of our journeys, we stopped to visit them before embarking on our second tour of Germany. That visit is etched in my memory. My grandmother requested driving lessons from my father. They practiced in a vast field that contained a solitary tree. Incredibly, my grandmother managed to collide with that lone tree, which promptly concluded the driving lesson. We also captured a few chipmunks, enjoyed some playful moments with them, and then released them. Our trip included a visit to the Royal Gorge, where I discovered my aversion to heights.
Our journeys took us through diverse landscapes, from mountains to the west coast, across the Arizona desert to Fort Hood, Texas, and often between Fort Leonard Wood and Centerville, Arkansas. Our family encountered adventures that were unique and rare for most.
My fondest memories are from our second stay in Germany, from 1957 to 1960. We would walk everywhere: to school, church, baseball fields, stables, and shops. Our apartments were nestled within German neighborhoods. An elderly woman lived across the street, often scolding us children to quiet down and stay away from her property. After telling my mother, she advised giving the woman a gift to make peace. We approached her gate and presented a container of rice, which brought a smile to her face. She gestured for us to wait, then returned with a bag of raspberries from her garden, which we happily ate. It's a cherished memory. My father would recount tales of Elvis serenading him and his comrades at the base. That era also marked the time I received my 45rpm 'Hound Dog' record, causing my legs to shake uncontrollably. Marilyn Monroe dominated the news; I even did a third-grade cover story on her, complete with a newspaper clipping. Living on the fourth floor of the apartment building, I sleepwalked and sometimes pondered the dangers had I wandered out the front door. The local field was where we played endless baseball, and I showed off my athletic skills. During our time in Germany, my paternal grandmother passed away, leaving us in tears and sorrow.
Looking back, I wouldn't trade my army brat upbringing for anything. It shaped me into the resilient, adaptable, and slightly nomadic person I am today. So, here's to all the military brats out there, past and present. We may have had unconventional childhoods, but boy, do we have some stories to tell!
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