The Ricochet Podcast - The Post of the Week!

Episode Date: July 9, 2021

Ok. We know you’re bummed. There’s no R> Podcast this week because we decided to take the Fourth of July holiday on the backend this year. But don’t despair. Because James Lileks is The Hardest Working Man in Show Bidness™ he still showed up to do his part for this week’s edition of The Best of Ricochet on the Radio America Network (“Check Local Listings,” as the man says…) and is bringing the... Source

FBD doesn't stand for friendly business ducks. Or for the freelance beatbox department. FBD stands for support. We support businesses and communities across Ireland. Visit your local branch to talk to your FBD insurance team and see how we can support your business. FBD Insurance. Support. It's what we do. FBD Insurance Group Limited. Trading as FBD Insurance

is regulated by the Central Bank of Ireland. One of the great things about Ricochet, now, the great thing, is that it's written by the members. It's not a bunch of coastal elites yammering BS boilerplate at you. No, it's folks from all walks of life with lots of interesting things to say. And every week, we highlight a post of the week on the Ricochet flagship podcast. In fact, it's called the Lilacs Post of the Week because I'm the guy who's got to go find it. It even has a classic old radio sounder.

The James Lilacs Member Post of the Week. I'm the guy who's got to go find it. It even has a classic old radio sounder. Pretty neat, huh? Well, this week, it's Me and Sergeant Combs by Ken Forrester. In 1958, I was working for Bell Telephone as an installer when I was drafted into the Army. I didn't want to go. I wasn't cut out to be a soldier. I was a bowler, a pool player, a wiseacre, civilian to the core. So it was with a heavy heart that I showed up at the appointed time at the muster station in downtown L.A. Almost before I could adjust myself to my new surroundings,

I and five, six other schmucks were told to drop our trousers and grab our ankles. With a bedside manner of nurse ratchet, an Army doctor came down the row, sticking his finger up our ears. Never did tell us what he was looking for. Whatever it was, my happy civilian life had taken a sharp turn for the worse. After basic training at Fort Ord, the army sent me to Fort Gordon outside of Augusta, Georgia to learn how to climb telephone poles. That's the army for you. I already knew how to climb poles. I was climbing poles from Ma Bell when I was drafted. I eventually ended up in a Signal Corps outfit in Germany, and that's where I met Sergeant Combs.

He's a big guy, the southern accent and a pot belly, face as black as coal and a skull that had permanently frozen under his face. When Combs was mad at me, which was pretty much all the time, he would call me a motherfucking punk or something like that. Combs was mad at me, which was pretty much all the time, he would call me a motherfucking punk or something like that. Combs seemed to have it in for me. Perhaps he sensed the civilian wiseacre in me and thought it was his job to drive it out. Combs was a forking lifer. Fortunately, although Sergeant Combs had taken a dislike to me, I remained out of his reach for the most part. That's because I ended up as the main clerk at headquarters company,

the equivalent of a white-collar worker who commuted. That is, I walked over from the barracks to my office. Because communications from the 6th Army Big Wigs sometimes landed at my desk, I had top-secret, NATO top-secret clearances. Combs was the equivalent of a blue-collar worker, out there running the troops in the hot sun. I was in a semi-protected place where he couldn't get at me, and I think that frosted Combs' cookies. If you're starting to think I was in a semi-protected place where he couldn't get at me, and I think

that frosted Combs' cookies. If you're starting to think I was a terrible snob, you're right, but I wasn't self-aware enough to know it yet. I let down my guard at least once. One day, my friend Dubinsky and I were sitting in a stoop in front of headquarters company. Deep in a discussion, we didn't see an officer who walked by. Combs came rushing out of the building. He must have been watching from the window, and read Dubinsky and me, the riot act. A long tirade with telling examples and a few choice obscenities for failing to stand and salute an officer. I could tell it was a sweet victory for Combs. Our battalion was on bivouac one week when I ended up, just my luck, in a makeshift shower with Sergeant Combs. Just the two of us. Talk about awkward. I was showering with my

nemesis, a naked Sergeant Combs. I turned to leave when I got a glimpse of Combs' back. Damn! His back was a mass of scar tissue and craters. The guy looked like something out of a horror movie. Next week, back at the bar, back at the base, I was driving Major Yang in my Jeep. I'd gotten to know Yang pretty well, so I asked him about Sergeant Combs' back. He told me that Combs' pitted back was the result of a Second World War II mortar that landed near him and scattered shrapnel all over the place. In fact, Combs was not only owner of a Purple Heart, he'd also earned other medals for valor. Yang also told me that Combs was from a poor Southern family that he had enlisted as soon as World War II broke out.

He re-upped after the war, Yang surmised because the army was probably the best place he'd ever lived. Combs had found a home in the army. I suddenly had a terrible epiphany. Combs was a man's man, and I was just who he said I was, a little mother-forking punk who knew very little about the world and its ways. I felt lower than a snake's belly. Combs' tirades were now a lot easier to take after that day in the shower. Understanding had softened the verbal blows that Combs

ringed down on my head. But yes, this may surprise you, but I'm awfully glad I was once a soldier, and I look back on my service with pride. I wasn't good. I was too immature to be a good soldier, but I did my time and I did my job, and the Army changed me for the better. In case you were wondering, I did get an honorable discharge. In fact, you might say I have two honorable discharges. Six or so months after having served my required two years, I was called out of college back into the Army because of the Berlin Crisis. So I spent nine more months in the Army, this time in Fort Lewis, Washington. There was no Sergeant Combs in Fort Lewis, so I could have done my time standing on my head. Me and Sergeant Combs, Ken Forrester. Just a member.

You can be one too. Ricochet.com slash radio gives you three free months in which you can explore the member site, contribute all you like, comment, join a community of people who've got something in common and an objective to keep. And that is to have a website where we get along and discuss things without going crazy and calling each other names. Well, most of the time. TheRicochet.com slash radio for three free months.

Well, that'll suffice for this week, we hope. Executive producer of the Ricochet Audio Network is Scott Emmergut. The show was produced by Brian R. Johnson with the big help of associate producer Sam Block. Our producer for Radio America, Al Peterson. Have a good week, everybody, and we'll see you next time. I'm James Lilacs, and thanks for listening.