Beech Tree News Network

Somewhere I read about a general who wore a black patch over a perfectly good eye.  Growing-up we called this “puttin’-on”.  Sometimes it was “showing-off”, sometimes, “showing-out”.  Now I think it’s known as “cool”.
      Once I asked a young woman what her cousin was “doing now”.  She said, “putting-on, I guess.”
       First wife Bett had an aunt who was a very pretty woman all the days of her life.  Yet she was never satisfied with her “backside”.   Naturally as she got older that part of her body conformation went further down hill.  In desperation she bought herself a set of artificial “buns”.  When Bett’s sister’s husband met the aunt for the first time he asked, “Is there something wrong with your aunt’s hip?  They don’t move when she walks”. 
     A friend of mine played baseball with a guy whose philosophy was, “You can’t always hit that ball, but you can look good striking out.”  Puttin’-on. 
     The general wearing a patch over a good eye… I don’t think it was General MacArthur.  However, it was said that MacArthur would have his orderly take a stiff brush and rough-up the braid on his garrison cap, to make it look service-worn.
     In the Air Force of long ago I guess the most frustrated rank was that of captain.  They seemed to put-on more than usual. I don’t know what it’s called now, back then it was “gung-ho”.  They were only one notch above a first lieutenant, wanting to be a major so badly they could taste it.  This made them a little cantankerous at times.  Funny thing though, if they did make major they mellowed-out a whole lot.  I once had a captain as my squadron commander, a prince of a man.  No puttin’-on…straight as a string, mellowing early; he was shot down over Germany in World War-Two and taken prisoner.
     I once knew this gung-ho captain who wore a full-dress Class-A uniform---wool-suntan, tie, garrison cap, long blouse---the whole nine yards.  Claimed he was perfectly comfortable.  The usual summer uniform of the day, regardless of rank, was Class-C: short-sleeve shirt, no tie, and overseas cap; the work uniform.
     Every now and then there was a gung-ho lieutenant, like Swinson.  Swinson had come up through the ranks.  He was so military he devised suspenders he hooked to the tops of his socks, then to the bottom of his shirttail.  This way his shirt never bloused-out over his belt.  Puttin’-on.
     Occasionally we would have need to “bring Swinson to his milk”---we’d remind him, “Swinson, our date of rank is older than yours…besides, rank among lieutenants is rare as a pig in a beauty parlor…or, here’s a dime, go call somebody who cares.”  This would gall him to no end.
     I can’t recall many gung-ho majors, they seemed happy in their own niche.  They were more like father-figures to young officers.  I said not many…but there was one.  His name escapes me now, maybe that’s because we called him “Major Goofus”…not to his face of course.  Goofus was base executive officer of our first pilot training base.  A base-exec was more or less like a U.S. Vice-President…he could either sit and twittel his thumbs, or go out and try to find some make-work, or go “Mickey-Mouse”  somebody.
     Goofus was heck on garrison caps without steel grommets.  That was his main gripe…he always wore one himself.  A steel grommet in an Air Force garrison cap gave the appearance of that of a Russian KGB officer.  On occasion Major Goofus would have our flight fall-out in Class-A dress uniform…with Garrison cap.  The first thing, he would chew us all out for not having grommets.  None of us did---we all wanted our caps to resemble that fifty-mission crush of the pilots in World War-Two.
     The first thing our gallant second-in-command would tell us that he had been flying for twelve years.  The last thing before dismissing us, he would admonish us to fine-tune a particular manuver:  “In executing an aileron roll, when you pull out of your dive to gain airspeed, make sure your nose comes exactly fifteen degrees---right on fifteen degrees.”  Then his lecture was done.
     Goofus was an odd specimen of an Air Force officer.  He stood about six-foot-two, with a pock-marked face, which looked most of the time like it needed a good shave.  He would have been some taller had it not been for the hump in his back.  To complete his near-clownish demeanor, of course there was always the grommet in his cap; it pulled-down jamming his big ears…sort of put you in mind of Festus Hagan on Gunsmoke.  I don’t think Goofus was puttin’-on.  I think he was for real.
     Precious memories, how they liger---how they ever flood my soul…
                    Kindest regards…..