On 21 January 1986, right about the same time I began working for Sherwood Insurance Services as an Accounting Clerk in my civilian job, I enlisted into Company A, 363rd Infantry Regiment, 4th Brigade, 91st Division as a Training NCO, a position two ranks higher than my rank as a Specialist. 

The unit's mission was to train Soldiers on basic Soldier skills in a Basic Training environment and the majority of Soldiers were Drill Sergeants.  

The full-timer was a very cordial and eccentric Hawaiian guy.  His office was extremely disorganized and messy.  To this day, I've never seen an office in such utter disarray or with so many huge stacks of paperwork piled so high.  I didn't know the term "hoarder" back then, but looking back, I'm sure he was.  His office was a maze of paperwork, books and binders stacked at least waist-high.  Of course, I didn't say anything to him about that.

The cool thing, both literally and figuratively, about being assigned to this unit was that it was located in building 1218 on the Presidio and overlooked Fort Scott Field, a big grassy area, very close to the Golden Gate Bridge.  Our office on Ralston Avenue had a good view of the Golden Gate Bridge when it wasn't too foggy to see it.  However, It was foggy there quite often. 

One day, for no particular reason, I had a Forest Gump-like, impulsive moment and decided to take a long bike ride from Makaha, which is west of the Waianae Mountain Range, to Schofield Barracks, which is east.  To get there, I had to ride 28 miles in a west-to-east horseshoe route around the mountain range.

For such a long bike ride, I should have started earlier in the day, because I arrived at Schofield Barracks in the late afternoon.  Someone told me there was a shortcut that went directly from Schofield Barracks to the west coast.  That shortcut was through Kolekole Pass, (famous from WWII, when the Army thought, wrongly, that the Japanese would have to fly over the pass to get to the east side of the tall Waianae Mountain Range).  Since I didn't have a headlight and realized I would not make it back home before dark if I had to ride 28 miles around the mountains to Makaha, I decided it was worth it to investigate the shortcut that would save me many miles. 

I rode up to the top of Kolekole Pass and was met by a lone MP manning a security gate.  He told me no bicycles allowed down the road.  I explained my predicament and begged him to let me go.  He said no, but would check with his supervisor.  After calling his supervisor on the phone, he relayed the answer his supervisor gave him, "no".  I then asked to speak to his supervisor, so the MP handed me the phone.  I proceeded to explain my predicament to his supervisor.  Despite my explanation, the supervisor would not waiver, telling me the same answer..."NO".  With nothing to lose and thinking outside the box, I thanked the supervisor with such a happy and excited tone, as to make the gate guard think the supervisor was actually letting me go.  Lucky for me, the supervisor hung up the phone before I gave the receiver back to the gate guard, so he wouldn't actually know what the supervisor said.  When the gate guard asked me if it was OK to let me go down, I said, "yes", so he let me go. 

The bike ride down the shortcut had quite a steep slope, with gradual switchbacks that allowed me to coast at a very high speed down the mountain for about 10 miles.  I understand why Schofield Barracks had the "no bicycle" policy on that road, because less-experienced bike riders could have definitely wiped out at the speed I was traveling.  It was the most exhilarating and scary ride of my life, mostly because I was a little worried the MPs may have been watching and would stop me at the bottom, so I went really fast.  Lucky for me, I didn't see any MPs.  Interestingly, I passed by numerous bunkers along the road all the way down the mountain.

I made it to Makaha, just as the sun was setting.  In retrospect, I felt a little guilty about what I did, but I didn't think I had any other options, other than to ride 28 miles in the dark without lights or sleep outside with the gigantic cockroaches that came out at night.  Besides, nobody got hurt and everything worked out just fine.  Hopefully, the gate guard didn't get in trouble.

SLOGAN:  Always Ready 

On 8 June 1987, SFC Banister and I, along with some other Reservists, flew in a C-130 Military Cargo Plane from Hickam Air Force Base, Hawaii, to Adak, Alaska, where we landed at Adak Naval Air Station.  

Our mission was to serve on the Observer/Controller Team for a 2-week, classified joint service training exercise, called Operation Fortress Gale. 

My mission was to drive a van for a Major, taking him to about a dozen training sites around the island. 

The Major's job was to monitor and evaluate training at each of the sites and report his assessment to his superiors. 

I'm not exactly sure what SFC Banister's real mission was, but he ended up just riding around in the van with the Major and I, sometimes driving for me when I was too tired.  I was very glad he came along, not only to help with driving, but because he offset the Major's negative energy with his positive spirit.  He made me laugh when the Major made me angry.  If Bill hadn't been there, I probably would have snapped at the Major and gotten Article-15 for insubordination.

As soon as we arrived at our barracks, the Major told us not to take any pictures while on Adak, because the exercise was considered classified.  I thought that was a shame, because the island was gorgeous.  It was one of the strangest, most interesting places I've ever been to.  

Prior to Adak, I had never seen a bald eagle in the wild.  When I ate my first meal at the Navy dining facility,  I saw a bunch of them scavaging food from a dumpster behind the chow hall. 

During our in-brief, we were told the weather in Adak would be cool, windy and overcast.  They said the Aleuts referred to Adak as the "Birthplace of of the Winds".  I could see why.  The wind supposedly prevented trees from growing there.  The only trees on the entire island were one or two in the settled area of the Navy base and a small group of 33 trees, known as "Adak National Forest", which took me less than a minute to walk around.  The sign in front said, "You are now entering and leaving the Adak National Forest".

I didn't sleep much while in Adak, because the night was only about 4 hours long (midnight to 4 am).  Besides that, the Major was so gung ho about his mission, that he had me driving in a perpetual circle around the island to monitor all the sites.  Along with driving the Major, I also shuttled Infantry Soldiers from one training site to the other, so they could get a different training experience and scenery.  We usually slept in the van or in an old, gutted-out mobile home in an area known as the contractor's camp, a place near the civilized part of Adak that had dozens of abandoned trailer houses and junk.

SFC Banister got in contact with a local crab fisherman and arranged to meet at his house when he returned from sea with his catch.  A few days later, on Saturday morning before dawn, we went to the fisherman's house.  Because it was so early and still dark, I figured we would be the only ones there, but we weren't.  However, we were among the first 5 people to arrive, so once the fisherman arrived, we didn't have to wait in line long, because he sold it first-come, first served.   We spent $60 on either 20 or 30 lbs of beautiful Alaskan King crab.  (I can't remember for sure, but it was either $2 or $3 per pound - either way it was bargain). 

So, we had a bunch of crab, but nothing to cook them in.  "How are we going to cook them?", I asked.  Bill broke out his serious face and reminded me, "Bern, when you are Infantry, there is nothing you cannot do".   He took me to the same chow hall dumpster where all the bald eagles were and we found a big, square, steel grease container.  He had a buck-knife or multi-tool that I used to cut the top off, so we could use it as a big pot.  I also wiped and rinsed all the grease out, cutting myself a little on the jagged, razor-sharp edge of the top.  Luckily, the cut wasn't too deep, but it bled quite a bit. 

Bill, or someone else in our 6-member crab-eating party, had a few portable propane stoves that we could use to cook with.  We somehow managed to get another pot, so we could cook rice to go along with the crab.  One of the guys brought a few 6-packs of pepsi.  We set up our kitchen in one of the dirty, old trailer houses and stood close to the propane stoves to stay warm, because it was very cold and damp outside and the trailer had no heat. 

It seemed to have taken a long time for the water to finally boil and I think it was pretty late in the night before we finally got to eat.  But, it was definitely worth the wait.  We ate all the crab we could eat that night.  It was awesome.  I will always remember that crab-eating party as one of the top 10 coolest experiences in my life.  I think what made it so unique was that we were in a training environment, working 20-hour days and eating mostly MREs, but used initiative, enginuity, teamwork and perseverance to enjoy a much-needed, morale-building treat in a cold, damp and windy place.

Although San Francisco was warmer than South Dakota, it wasn't as warm as I would have liked, so I ended up moving to Hawaii in October 1986.  I was still assigned to HHD, 4th Brigade 91st Division until they transferred me on 19 December 1986 to the 456th Replacement Detachment at Ft. DeRussy in Honolulu, Hawaii. 

SFC William (Bill) Banister, a fellow Soldier from the 456th Replacement Detachment, served as the Maintenance Sergeant.  He and I became good friends and we had a lot of laughs together.  He was a real character, about 17 years older and I looked up to him as a mentor or older brother of sorts.  He was raised in the Philippines by his mother, a Filipino, and his father, an American GI who served there during World War II.  

Bill spoke English with a Filipino accent and interchanged the letters "P" and "F", along with "V" and "B", all the time.  For example, instead of saying "fruits", he would say "pruits".  Instead of saying the phrase, "Know what I mean Vern?" (made famous by Ernest P. Worrell, a funny character played by Jim Varney), he would say "Know what I mean Bern?".  We got a lot of "humor-mileage" out of that.  Eventually, we began to call each other "Bern".

Bill was quite proud of having previously served as an Infantryman.  He had a great, can-do attitude and frequently would remind me, "Bern, if you are Infantry, there is nothing you cannot do".  He also was proud of his ability to survive off the land and enjoyed taking me on several reconnaissance missions to find the "pruits" of various trees.  He led me around to find a number of different ones, to include guavas, mangos, papayas, lychee, bananas, breadfruit and avocados.  I found it quite humorous how he role-played these foot patrols with such a serious and clandestined attitude, that he made it seem as if we were conducting important, covert operations.  I had a blast playing along with his gag and learned how to spot many types of "pruit" trees, thanks to his teaching. 

During our 1987 annual training at Schofield Barracks, he led me on a fruit-hunting expedition where we picked fruit from a lychee tree.  I thought this was about the strangest fruit I had ever seen, but it was delicious, with a taste and texture similar to a grape, only different. 

Later, he pointed out some very tall avocado trees with huge avocados hanging from the branches.  I climbed 20'-30' up the tree to pick some, while Bill stood below with a ruck sack to collect all the ones I dropped down to him from the tree.  I never saw avocados this big in my life.  They were the size of softballs.  I picked about a dozen ripe ones, thinking we could use them to make guacamole dip for our pot-luck feast at Haleiwa Beach Park.  Just as I was about to climb down the tree, a stranger came by to advise us that AAFES Commissary had a contract with a company to pick those trees and suggested we stop picking or risk getting in trouble.  So, we left right away with the avocados I had already picked.  

The pictures in this slideshow were taken in April or May 1991