Helicopter Son's Sit

Helicopter Son’s Sit

Although in the beginning of what was already becoming a mmusical future, somehow Uncle Sam got wind of it and told mme in no uncertain terms that he needed drummShine even more; off I went, dragged singing Are mme goes rolling along. Little did I know until much later that it was probably the best thing that could have happened – as leaps as far as mmusic is concerned. (Thanks Uncle)

The ARMy men in charged back then were in no way sympathetic to anyone begging for only two years as a regular drafty, they were usually called; butt tolled mme that I had to enlist for three years to receive the reward of carrying a pair of drumm sticks; either that, or if refused then prison doing harder labor would be hard two beats. Like the up and down of hammer ring rolls of rocks.

Butt gladly I turned both cheeks to accept their generous offer of ten needles pricked to each arm, both at the same time when standing in line following everything they ordered left, right, left rite end left for boot camp shortly their after, ”See ya later, pal; oh WAIT, say this pledge then make one step forward… GOTCHA!!” Except they didn’t because I fainted before they could catch mme.

After I woke up, I looked up at a few good mmen as the doo process seized before mme. Six weeks of boot camp during winter immediately followed after entering the service of our country; lucky mme or so it seemed until they threw the well known military discipline at us. It was then I questioned,”… why all the yelling?”

The very next day I woke up at an ungodly and very dark hour to what was basically a fire alarm ringing at reveille. I couldn’t help thinking how I ended up with all these strangers in the same room while another angry guy was yelling at mme to get off the floor I was standing on and get the f- - dressed or else! What?

The next generous offer was a six month training course of most things mmusic. I was a gleaming new cold induced, chrome domed recruit at The Armed Forces MMusic School - in the ARMY and stationed on a NAVY base of course located just outside and miles away from beautiful Norfolk, Virginia; their famous oogling tender mercies beach is; butt, our view slight differently of many men with pants.

We had a great view of the UDT (Underwater Demolition Team) guys daily before lining up for lunch. Their line formed after running towards us while carrying huge inflated rubber boats overhead with another guy screaming at them. How loud one screams in the military didn’t necessarily depend on their height.

When everyone was in place, their in charge guy didn’t ask them to drop down, face in the dirt or mud if it rained. They did this automatically. Waiting for his permission to get up as fast as they could he yelled at them to eat faster so they could then go back to more yelling at them of course wild carrying their boats overhead but even faster still, now that they weren’t hungry any more.

Many daze were spent in a glee full time of practice, studying and even more practice as well as happy times spit shining shoes, toes and over starched clothes blues. UDT? Sheesh, I’d ride in those boats but don’t think I could lift one.

Bedtime for us bonzo’s were the comforts of itchy olive green woolen blankets stretched to test the bounce of quarters as well as many other calls to arms like fall into f’n roll calls place; stand up f’n straight they told us with our f’n hands tucked neatly while holding the f’n crease of our f’n pants between ya f’n so ‘n so on ‘n go f’n forth ya stinking maggots. Many King’s had a hard time distinguishing bugs.

Oh yes another part of the war effort was to weekly GI (General Inspection-none of which ever came) the whole sleeping place with joyful mates ‘n Joe’s just in f’n case the f’n President him f’n self wanted to join us for a f’n snooze, they said.

We had the most fun wild scrubbing off the thick f’n layer of wax we dutifully put on the f’n week before. All these f’n wonderful activities without being af’n ware seemed to change our f’n language habits to match those of the f’n Kings ‘n culprits in charge of all f’n knaves ‘n I. An excellent vocabulary was had bye y’all.

I was on the way to - what the fk? (You see? I’mm STILL not totally cured)… to what I thought was to be a long stay at a military base which happened to be close to home. The Brooklyn Army Terminal closed down three months after mmy arrival when luckily for mme and the boys, we were all shipped to a little town in (no not Bethlehem) Texas. Properly named, Mineral Wells? It’s in the Dallas area.

The front gates were just outside town like lots of military bases they so brilliantly locate; within what would be considered a short walk if in fact it was in saaaay… Africa or in the middle of the Sahara where in some places walks to fetch water are a way of life or death cases many are used to doing for shear survival; not just to get a decent beer or to find what could look like a lover depending on your inebriation. Hopefully the next morning it didn’t turn out to be a tree; sum dazed.

Weeks, days, hours or even a half hour (fuhgeddaboudit minutes?) is the norm for the majority of our military minds to conjure up where the heck to put these bases. I’mm sure the locations have nothing to do with water but with keeping the separation between the church of military and the taste for something more than 3.2 beers; or other bad habits unfit for whatever it’s unfit for military clones. Gum!

Mined you, most bases do have military clubs where any member of said organisation can purchase this grandest of bruise; moistly after hours. At least that was the case ‘in mmy time,’ as they say. Stars and strikes for every SHOULDERRRRRRRRR h’ARMS!! Forget the salute pal, where’s the juice bar?

The base we as a “You Nit!” were transferred, was to Ft. Wolters. As a lot of shut downs go for a cleaner, faster and a more modern fighting force now forced to be a defunct and decrepit place is the only remains of the sad as well oiled base was.

In mmy time, as they say, it was teeming with teams of hundreds if not thousands of what looked like little swarms of dining needles in the sky. “Are those Helicopter’s or bees?” ”Helicopter’s of course ya f’n stew pet privates,” sum said.

Training helicopters they were. Ft. Wolters was a full fledged helicopter training base with thousands of Warrant Officer Candidates streaming in and out of the place. Like dominoes they marched in; sicks months later they marched back out.

Yours truly and a continually revolving door of banned members who played ‘em in and out of the hole place and everything else in between until such time as we dropped in long ass processions of every damn one of ‘em passing bye in re: view; repeating the same march over ‘n over ‘n over ‘n over ‘n over ‘n over ‘n over ‘n over ‘n over ‘n over ‘n you get the idea. Oddly enough the march was titled, ‘The Army Goes Rolling Along,” or marching in this case as they did doo on mmy time.

We paraded for days while some dropped in the hottest noon day sun in what seemed like a forever tail of, “…what did they say he did?” We all of course stood at duty full attention trying to hear the louder tones of soft speakers while they received metals; everything that always included,” above then be warm the call of Dewey.” Sounded like a dated politician must have written it but not altered since.

We also performed in large to small groups which included parties anywhere the Kings said we had to be; in ordered for the comfort and well being of any and all mmusic things two office ears. It was our job too, YES SIRS and mostly know sirs.

All kidding aside. The digital design above this article is mmy personal interpretation of one particular way the visuals, mmusic and or sounds of our helicopter service members could be; and of course dedicated to them as a whole.

There’s nothing more I respect than a military person; now or at any other time if it’s war or peace; Even more so when any time someone puts their lives on the line including and especially if it’s in harms way so we can enjoy the freedoms that we DO have… or most do. Let’s put it this way;

No country is perfect including ours and those who still have a hard time with this statement have that right thanks to lots of reasons ‘fore freedom’s ringing. Thank you very much women and men. Amen, we’re still and always will be with you.

Traveling to and being in a few other countries longer than a day, a week, a month etc… I can tell you or maybe you can tell ‘them,” there’s no other place that enjoys the freedoms we can on our way to a perfect re: union. Whenever that happens, I hope we keep working at it; never stop; when the ball drops pick it up, will you?

In the meantime the following words, an interpretation of one single part of many of those who serve and are our hero’s. Next time you send a letter to someone you don’t know over there, tell ‘em I said so; tops in mmy book, hang in there pals.

These words were composed during the conflict when the military was wondering how effective helicopters would be at the time. We now know how that went and still goes on a daily basis. Words dedicated to the memory of those in whatever small way one in this position could play; mmusic played a small part to help them get from where we were to where some are still now; we see them every day.

Two other thinks; excuse mme ladies of Helicopter land, when I wrote this, being well out of the military loop, had no idea, but it figures, you women too are involved in such things. Amelia Earhart and the like helped get you there so know that I honour you too. Thanks for your service, strength ‘n duty too in tell a gents.

Yes, MMusic too; supports our hero’s everywhere. Yes again, if you didn’t know? Now you do; that’s everywhere they go as well; even in the battlefields where military bandsmen buddies played and some died while performing in Vietnam. No matter what they do, where or who they our, I honour all of those in our military while presenting to you and especially to them:

Helicopter Son’s Sit

Helicopter son's sit
Weighting shores - chained time
Set to strike
Coals heart
Instruction

Helicopter one's with
Gasping engines whine
Death set sites
Soles mark
Destruction

Helicopter run's width
Reigning dazed on crime
Die know might
Holes dart
Reduction

Helicopter won's pith
Spoke in love grounds chime
End of plight
Soul’s heart
Construction

Helicopter son's gist
Sharing hands combine
Know more flights
Wholes start
Education