Stories

A Girl in Barracks

While soldiering, I kept a running list of things I needed to do around the house. Kady, by agreement, could add to this list during the week but could not add to it after Friday night. I became very good at completing the list on Saturday morning. This routine gave me time to do John's things, spend time with my family, and watch Auburn football.

During my Platoon Sergeant and First Sergeant days, I went to work every Sunday for a few minutes. I stopped at battalion HQ to empty my distribution box, sifting through the fliers, orders, and junk put there by the CSM and battalion staff. I checked the duty logs for any mention of problems with my company, and then I walked through the barracks.

Walking through barracks on Sunday morning was the perfect time to see what was happening with my lads, check for cleanliness, and spot problems. It was always better to catch the Friday Night and Saturday Night issues before the CSM got wind of something stupid.

One Sunday, while walking down the hall in the Mortar Platoon section of barracks, I heard a sweet soprano voice filtering down the hallway from the Mortar and Scout latrine. As I entered the door, I was amazed to see a little redhead, about eighteen, combing her wet hair in front of the mirror across the wall above the sinks. Just out of the shower, she was wearing a short white kimono, which left very little to the imagination. She was a knockout.

I was not shocked that there was a girl in the barracks. Paratroopers are experts at sneaking women past Door Guards, Charge of Quarters, and Staff Duty Officers.

Not wanting to scare her, I gave her a friendly, "Good Morning."

"Oh, Hi," she said, "Good morning. Can I help you?"

"Yes, Ma'am, I hope you can. I am surprised to see you here. May I ask who you are?"

"Of course, I'm Mrs. Penhalighon, Karen; my husband and I live here."

"You do? Is your husband around?"

"Why, yes! He's in our room."

"Thanks So Much."

I went to the Private's room. I tapped on the door, and he opened it. He almost passed out. The color drained from his face, he began stammering and stuttering, and his eyes began darting down the hall as his bride came out of the bathroom and walked up behind me. I said, "Be in uniform and my office in no less than ten minutes."

When I got back to my office, I called his platoon sergeant and told him to get to my office ASAP. Next, I called Kady to advise her that I might be at work for a while.

When Private Penhalighon arrived, I chewed his ass and bombarded him with questions. He and the little girl had been married a few weeks before, and while he looked for a place to live, he decided it would be best to have her stay in his room. Yes, he knew it was against the rules, but what choice did he have? I gave him until his platoon sergeant arrived to get upstairs, pack up all of her things, and get her ready to move.

Not long after that, Karen appeared at my door, walked in, smoking, and put her cigarette out in my prized Canadian Commando coffee cup, liberated from Petawawa in 1982.*

"Just who in the hell do you think you are?" she demanded.

Amazingly, I kept my cool, smiled, and asked her to sit, trying to calm her down.

"Ma'am, I'm the First Sergeant. I run this company. I am responsible for the good order and discipline of everything in this area of the world. By that, I mean I have power over your husband's body and soul, everything from the clothes on his back, the boots on his feet, the room I assigned him, to every red cent he earns. I'm not his boss or his boss's boss, but his boss's, boss's, boss. I can confine him, send you back to your parents, and take a large portion of his paycheck for many months. That is who I am."

I explained the problem as I cleaned out my cup.

It looked like she was about to cry, but she steeled herself and bravely asked, "How do we fix this?" For someone so young, with little or no military experience, she was quick to grasp the situation. I assured her that I knew this was not her fault, that we would treat her kindly, and that we would fix the problem for her, a new member of the 82nd family.

When the Platoon Sergeant arrived, we discussed the situation. I left it for him to execute the plan. He made accommodations for the Private and his wife, helped them find a place to live, and fixed his pay and allowances.

For my part, I briefed the Commanding Officer and administered a Summarized Article-15, making the private my slave for a few weeks.

For her part, Karen got a job, helped pay the bills, became an active member of the family support group, and checked in with me often to ensure her husband stayed on the straight-and-narrow. I found that, though she was young, she was a far better trooper than her husband, who remained a knucklehead throughout his time in the unit.

While on a deployment to Panama in late 1994, Private Penhaligon received a letter from Karen saying that if he didn't come home, she would leave him. I assured him that he was not going home. She was gone before we returned, running off with a soldier leaving the Army.

I often wonder how she fared in life.

*Thanks to my most faithful Paratrooper, Mike Underhill, for reminding me of this part of the story.