Stories

Fishugh and Neely

After Jump School, I went to the 82nd Airborne. The Depot assigned me to the 2nd Battalion of the 505 Parachute Infantry. The Battalion Personnel Admin Center (PAC) placed me in Charlie Company. I reported to Charlie Company's Orderly Room to the Operations Sergeant. He filled out my data card, took copies of my orders, and filed my Jump Log. Since I was married, he gave me the rest of the day off. SSG Brown ordered me to report at 0800 to the company formation area the next day.

That is when I met my First Sergeant (1SG), Alfred H. Gainey.

Top Gainey had fought in WWII, Korea, and Vietnam (his headstone only lists Korea and Vietnam, but I think I remember him saying he was in WW-II). No one messed with this man. We thought he was a god. He taught us everything and was a fantastic leader and warrior. He was funny, cool, laid back, and fair. He taught me more than any other person in the Army.

There were only five people at this formation: Operations Sergeant Brown, Supply Sergeant Charlie Johnson, Armorer SP-4 Tony Panasera, another new guy, and me. The entire battalion was at West Point, training the new cadets for the summer. The First Sergeant marched out of the Orderly Room, clipboard in hand, and called us to attention. 

He called the roll.

Brownie! Here, First Sergeant!

CharlieJohnson (one word)! Here, First Sergeant!

Pansera! Here, First Sergeant!

Fis-Hugh! Silence. Fis-HUGH! Silence.

For the first time, 1SG Gainey looked up from the clipboard and looked in the direction of the two new guys. I did not know what in the world I should do, but I knew I wasn't Fishugh.

The other guy,was about my age, looked as confused as I felt. He finally said, "That's pronounced Fis-Cuss, First Sergeant." 1SG Gainey stared at poor Fiscus for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he looked down at his clipboard and boomed in the loudest voice I ever heard, "Fis-HUGH!!"

Fiscus yelled, "HERE, FIRST SERGEANT!"

Back in rhythm, 1SG Gainey called out, "NEELY!"

I yelled, "Here, First Sergeant!"  I am not stupid.

Here began a friendship that has lasted since 1976. "Fishugh" and "Neely" had been given their Paratrooper Names by a legend in the 82nd community.

Steve Fiscus was my first Army Buddy. He came from Texas and was proud of it. He was the best athlete I have ever met. I watched him make unbelievable plays in every sport we played.

During our first few days in Charlie Company, we drew gear at the Central Issue Facility, Panasera assigned us our rifles and protective masks, and SSG Johnson issued our unit items. We did a lot of cleaning. We cleaned the Orderly Room, the Ops Room, the Supply Room, and the Chemical Room. We helped Tony carry weapons across Gruber Road to 782nd Maintenance and cleaned a lot of weapons.

Since the battalion was gone, Top, as we called him, sent us both to schools. First was Driver School to learn to operate and maintain the Jeep, Gama Goat, Mule, 2.5-Ton Truck, and 5-Ton Truck. Next, we went to the Dragon Gunners Course and Unit Armorer's Course. For the Armorer's Course, Steve and I carried M16 rifles, M203 grenade launchers, M60 Machine Guns, 81mm Mortars, and the M2HB machine gun in our private vehicles.

Steve and I graduated as the top students in all of our classes. It established us as Good Troopers in the eyes of the company leadership. 

When the company returned from West Point, we were assigned to platoons, me to Third, with duty as Company Commander's Driver. Steve went to Second Platoon (as I recall), with duty as Company XO's Driver. I drove the CPT Bill McLaughlin, and Steve drove 1LT Bill Epley. Here, Fiscus and I made our mark by keeping the old Jeeps running, being on time, and passing every inspection for maintenance and accountability.

It is easy to see why 1SG Gainey started mixing us up. Before long, he was calling me Fishugh and Steve, Neely. Knowing Top, he probably did this for fun.

This mix-up came to a head one night on exercise.

We were training at Camp McCall, about forty miles from Ft. Bragg, when an unexpected ice storm hit us. We set up pup tents for the first and only time. We always carried a shelter half, five tent pegs, three tent poles, and a tent rope to pair up and build a tent. I hadn't used mine since basic training and AIT. Top told Steve and me to pair up in a tent, get in our sleeping bags, and wait out the storm, which we happily did.

We barely made it. The storm hit us hard, putting about three inches of ice on everything that night.

About midnight, Steve and I heard the 1SG calling out, "Neely, Come Here!" Cursing, I scrambled to get out of my sleeping bag, put on my boots, grabbed my rifle and helmet, and left Fiscus laughing at me as I slugged through the ice to Top's tent. I followed the sound of the 1SG's voice (still calling for Neely) and stuck my head in his tent. When he saw me, he said, "I don't want YOU, Fishugh; I want Neely."

Roger Top! I slugged back to the tent, slipping and sliding, and stuck my head in the flap. "Top doesn't want Fishugh; he wants YOU, Neely!"

Poor Steve had to drive all night, in the nasty weather, in a Jeep with no top or doors. A trooper had hurt himself and had to go to Womack Hospital. They chose him to drive to Bragg and then return to Camp McCall, 80 miles in an ice storm, probably because he was the better driver. Still, it is a wonder Steve survived.

Steve held this against me for a long time, but it wasn't my fault. The 1SG knew who he wanted. I didn't understand that it was a driving mission. It never dawned on either of us that it would mean driving in that shit.

Fishugh got his revenge during another FTX. Captain McLaughlin tasked me to carry the radio for our artillery Forward Area Observer since his RTO was ill. I didn't mind. It was another opportunity to learn new skills. I got diarrhea about one day into the week-long exercise. Nothing the Medics gave me helped. Every time we took a pause, I headed to the tree line. After about two days of this, I was as weak as a kitten, chaffed, and damned uncomfortable. When Steve stopped my Jeep on the road beside me, I begged him, "Buddy. I have diarrhea so bad. Would you carry the radio a while and let me drive, just until my stomach recovers?"

Steve grinned at me and said, "They don't want Neely to carry the radio; they want YOU, FISHUGH!"

And, he drove off.

Steve got out of the Army after his first tour. He became a master machinist and married a great lady back in Texas.