Thoughts from Mark "Hat" Rackley

The Lord said to Moses, “You and Eleazar the priest and the family heads of the community are to count all the people and animals that were captured. Divide the spoils equally between the soldiers who took part in the battle and the rest of the community. From the soldiers who fought in the battle, set apart as tribute for the Lord one out of every five hundred, whether people, cattle, donkeys or sheep. Take this tribute from their half share and give it to Eleazar the priest as the Lord’s part. From the Israelites’ half, select one out of every fifty, whether people, cattle, donkeys, sheep or other animals. Give them to the Levites, who are responsible for the care of the Lord’s tabernacle.” So Moses and Eleazar the priest did as the Lord commanded Moses.
The plunder remaining from the spoils that the soldiers took was 675,000 sheep, 72,000 cattle, 61,000 donkeys and 32,000 women who had never slept with a man.

• Numbers 31:21-35

For I myself am a man under authority, with soldiers under me. I tell this one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and that one, ‘Come,’ and he comes. I say to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.”

• Matthew 8:9

Then the officials said to the king, “This man should be put to death. He is discouraging the soldiers who are left in this city, as well as all the people, by the things he is saying to them. This man is not seeking the good of these people but their ruin.”

• Jeremiah 38:4

The photo shows two drink cups that advertise the USO, and the BBQ place always supports military and first responder programs, and veterans flock into the place all the time. They are definitely not Woke, and they are not going broke either. These cups flank the depiction of the Kaiser’s palace that was less than a mile walk from where these memories were made in Karlsruhe, Germany (at the time West Germany).

Participating in the division of the spoils of war can boost morale, but even with poor morale, if the officer says ‘come’ they come, usually, but then we are not Romans.  But in hard times or in boring times, the soldier can become discouraged.  Boosting morale might be necessary.

The United Service Organizations (USO) have been around since 1941.  It is a non-profit organization that focuses on the morale of the soldiers, airmen, marines, and sailors in the field.  I served during peacetime, and we did not have Bob Hope come to our community.  We were a small community although we encompassed a large area of southwestern Germany.  Just south of Mannheim and Heidelberg, just east of Kaiserslautern, just west of Stuttgart, and east and north of the Rhein River (in other words, nothing in France or Switzerland.  But outside the greater Karlsruhe area, there were not many soldiers and most of it was on a “need to know” basis, wink, wink, nudge, nudge.  When I worked for the Facilities Engineer Office, I had to know, on occasion.

But that did not stop our community having a carnival once each year.  All were invited and the Germans loved American ice cream, so I volunteered to sell ice cream so that the carnival, provided by the USO for our morale ended up being a net money maker for the USO.

But only one year did we ever have a stage show tent that was erected.  Oddly, the advertisement of why the tent was there seemed to have missed the soldiers.  It ended up being those who were curious that got to see some real-life celebrities.

For two of the three years that I was in Germany, I was part of a song and dance troupe.  I was the comic relief.  My favorite song was an Allan Sherman version of Hava Nagila, which he called “Harvey and Shiela.”  It was a song that poked fun at everything becoming an acronym, like CPA, IBM, PTA, etc.  Those and many others were in the song, and as the last line of the song went “This could be … Only in the USA.”  I say this because our performances were in the beer tent.  Anything could happen in the beer tent and nearly everything did happen.  But when a drunken Jewish German hopped on stage thinking that I was singing, Hava Nagila, he sang Hava Nagila while I sang Harvey and Shiela.  He locked an arm over my shoulder and taught me the traditional dance.  Hey, after all, we were a song and dance troupe.  Being a local German, he may have known little English, but he was too drunk to know the difference.  When the song ended, his friends gathered him to them and got him off the stage.  The crowd roared.  And the LTC’s wife who ran the troupe said that she had heard of professionals that could not miss a beat under similar circumstances, but that’s the first time she had seen it, and from a lieutenant who volunteered.

It may have been after that performance that I went straight to the ice cream tent to sell ice cream.  Actually everyone bought tickets at one booth and then used the tickets for ice cream and beer, for carnival rides, and for the hucksters that gave you three softballs and then told you that you did not win a kewpie doll until you knocked down four bowling pins, when half the bowling pins were nailed to the shelves.  I lucked out with the ring toss the last year, winning a teddy bear that was bigger than our younger son at the time.  It developed a leak, so I took the stuffing out of the bear and our younger son became the bear two Halloweens later, it was short in the legs and arms, but it fit otherwise.

But on this occasion of volunteering to sell ice cream for the correct number of tickets, I partnered with an officer’s wife that I knew.  We joked and had a good time, and as I wrote earlier, the Germans formed a line due to not being able to get enough of the American ice cream.  And all we had were vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate.

But in a little lull in sales, I heard a voice behind me.  “Lieutenant!”  I recognized the voice.  He was a major at Brigade headquarters.  When in uniform, he was all business, maybe the reason he had this assignment.  I had a problem one time, and he got the problem fixed.  Thus, I respected him and knew his voice.  I snapped to attention and spun around.  We were in a standard medium tent which would hold about 20-30 cots or so if we were on an exercise.  The back half of the tent was basically empty except for a couple of freezers for the ice cream when our small freezers in the sales area ran low.

So, here he was standing at the rear door flap.  He made no effort to enter the tent.  With such empty space, it looked strange and quite awkward. He said, “As you were.”  I relaxed.  “I need you to do me a favor.”  I was taught that the only legitimate response was, “Sir, Yes, Sir!” and that was my reply.  He then held the flap a little wider.  A lovely lady in a formal evening gown walked into the tent and she smiled.  “This lady and her friends that are out here with me are performing in the big tent.  The lieutenant here did a great job performing in the beer tent earlier today.  He is quite the comedian. I say that since he has a strange costume on.”  The lady made a comment that beer tent or big tent, it made no difference when it came to boosting a soldier’s morale.  I looked quizzically at the major.  He said, “They have been singing and dancing, and they need something cold and wet before they go back to the stage.  They would not want beer under the circumstances. Get me eight boxes of ice cream.  Don’t worry about the discrepancy in the inventory.  These ladies are with the USO.”

I explained that our flavors were limited.  All I can remember was that she had two chocoholics and maybe one strawberry but the rest vanilla.  I still had no idea who these ladies were.

But as I walked to the back of the tent with the ice cream, the major slapped his forehead, “Oh, how unprofessional of me.  We have not made formal introductions.”  He mentioned her name, but I had no clue, then he said, “She is the reigning Miss America, and the ladies outside here are her court.  And this is Lt. Rackley.”

Note: I cannot remember the exact date (month or year), but it was probably Susan Perkins, Miss America 1978, thus crowned in September of 1977.  She was a blonde, and my memories have imprinted, beautiful, blonde.

At that moment, the officer’s wife that I was working with ran back to where we were and said, “You forgot spoons.  We only have these dinky wooden ones.”

Miss America thanked us and somehow, the ice cream inventory matched the amount of tickets collected, and then a large portion of the worth of the tickets went directly to the USO.

But as my lady friend and I went back to the sales area, she said, “You lucky dog.  What perfume was she wearing?”

I said, “I don’t know those kinds of things, but I was close enough to figure it out if I did.

In another hour, they had new volunteers come in, and we made a ticket and ice cream count.  They were officially signed in as salespeople, and my friend and I could go home.

I told my wife about meeting Miss America and giving her ice cream.  My wife, who was pregnant with our second child, sat patiently listening to the entire story.

She then shook her head.  “I think you ate some of the profits, especially the chocolate ice cream.  Or some ice cream stayed out of the freezer too long and melted.  But if they bring you up on charges and you stand before the court martial, come up with a better story than the one you just told.  You got close enough to Miss America to smell her perfume?!  Nobody is going to believe that one!”

I may not have the number of the members in her court right, but the story is all true.  And since my wife told me to not tell such a wild yarn ever again, I haven’t told this story in the roughly 45 years since then, until now.

My wife may not have believed my story, or she felt bloated with a baby bump at that moment and simply needed to change the subject.  But she knew that she could trust me.

God tells us we should tell the truth, and even when I write a fictional story, some of it is based on experiences that I have had, or others in my acquaintance.  But sometimes the truth may seem like fantasy.  When it comes to God’s Word, you can trust it.  And you can trust God.

Soli Deo Gloria.  Only to God be the Glory.