Singleton reflects on military service as local unit departs for deployment

George Buster Singleton

(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere in Time.” The column below, which was titled “Old soldiers wait, remember” was originally published in the Oct. 4, 1990 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

Prior to Dec. 14, 1987, when anything came up pertaining to the call-up of the military, I was right in the middle of it. For 35 years I knew everything that was about to take place; this was part of my life. But today I stood idly by and watched a group of individuals with whom I had been directly associated for the past 25 years leave our county in a convoy, headed for their mobilization station.

I found myself wondering how this could have happened without me being a part of it. Then I remembered that I had retired and such things as mobilizations and call-ups were not my business any more. But it seemed strange that I had not initiated the equipment loading plan and had not been called on to brief the troops on what to expect down the road.

I again had to remind myself that this was not my job any more. Remember, you are retired. You are not part of this unit now. You are a rocking chair soldier now. Your job is to sit and remember and think of how it was in the earlier days. Old soldiers are like old horses; when they become too old and tired to perform, they are put out to pasture. There they just graze and remember, hoping the call will come and that they will be needed once more.

As I stood there and watched the vehicle convoy disappear down the road without me, the memories of a thousand yesterdays passed through my mind as it went back to another time and place.

The flickering lights of a thousand campfires wandered through my mind as the memories burst forth. From the cold, frozen hills of North Korea to the hot, humid jungles of Ecuador, from the beautiful countryside of West Germany to the hills overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Panama.

Echoing through the recesses of my memory were the screaming cries of a charging Chinese army on the fateful Christmas Eve night of 1950, and the happy laughter of joking men sitting around campfires in Ecuador and Panama, telling tales of their beloved families and home.

I thought of the many counseling sessions I had had with some of the very people who were leaving in the convoy. Perhaps I helped with some decisions in serious matters such as marriage, purchase of property and a thousand other things. I was kidded and reminded of how I would have to adorn my “priest’s collar” in times like these.

Several times I was called on to intervene and sit in judgement in family quarrels. These were the times when I would have welcomed going into a combat situation, but I stayed in there and did my best, hoping the decision would benefit both sides.

Through my mind passed many memories of the hot, sultry days at Camp Shelby in Mississippi… Days of seed ticks, red bugs that could bite like a dog, and hot buckeye thickets where we pitched our tents… Times when we would have to go to a nearby lake to bathe because no showers were available.

I remembered the time when I stood out in front of the men in formation and noticed something that seemed unusual about a soldier in the front rank. I looked twice and then a third time before I realized that this individual had on two left boots. I found out later that he had been out on the town the night before and suffered from a bad hangover that morning.

Then there was the time when five of my troopers had been put in jail for fighting in a bar in town. I was informed that they had been arrested and were waiting for someone to come and sign for them. I proceeded to the city jail, spoke to the jailer and then asked to talk to the five men who were in jail. The jailer led me back to the cell where they waited behind bars. I had already made the arrangements to get them out, but I told the jailer in a loud voice that I believed I would leave them in jail until the following Monday.

This was early on a Saturday morning, so that meant two days and nights in a cramped jail cell. The men overheard my statement, and you would not believe the crying and begging of these five men. I finally gave the impression they had convinced me that they had been wrongly accused. I believe I could have gotten their paychecks if I had asked for them, because they were mighty glad to be out and free.

There are many memories. As I stood there and watched the convoy disappear into the distance, I knew that I should be with them. How would they get along without me?

Then I was reminded that there comes a time in everyone’s life when one must step aside and let others carry the torch onward. I had reached that time; I had stepped down. The duty to perform was on other shoulders; they would succeed. This, I knew.

As for myself, I must wait. Perhaps, somewhere in time, someone will start and old men’s war. The call will come, and the old warriors that wait in the shadows will step forth and don their armor and go forth and do battle to defend their honor.

But for now, I will return to my favorite spot, atop Nancy Mountain. If by accident I should shed a tear or two, no one will notice except perhaps the ghost of Miss Nancy. She won’t mind, because the going off to war, she remembers too well.

(Singleton, the author of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of 79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime resident of Monroeville, he was born on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County and served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit from 1964 to 1987. He is buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and all of Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton’s columns are presented here each week for research and scholarship purposes and as part of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)