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The days are ticking closer to Dale’s official day when he will hear the following: “The people of the United States express their thanks and gratitude for your faithful service. Your contributions to the defense of the United States of America are greatly appreciated.”

He has not been too upbeat about this approaching date.

I, being the helpful wife, remind him often that if his orders didn’t say that, they would most likely say this: “You are reassigned and/or deployed as shown below and are to return to your permanent station upon completion of the duties in support of this operation.”

The Army has always been consistent in reminding Dale that they can certainly give him orders for something worse. Which is why he often volunteers for assignments he would not prefer.

In spite of this knowledge and in mourning for his occupation of the last 27 years, Dale has been dragging his feet in accomplishing tasks that will make his transition to civilian life smoother.

Over the last year, he has been forced to attend classes that teach him how to blend in with the civilian populous. One such class that he attended taught him how to dress like a civilian. The man who taught the class is a tailor and he makes suits. He guarantees if you buy one of his suits, you will get a job after you retire from the military.

When Dale told me about that class, I insisted that one day, he would be going to see the suit guy. I knew if he did not go to see the suit guy, the other alternative was for Dale (who is color blind) and me (who is lacking in fashion) to walk into the MCX and hope for the best.

Besides, I have always wanted to say “I’m going to see a guy about a suit.”

On Thursday, we went. We entered a small boutique and sat in a waiting area surrounded by ties, cuff links, and liquor bottles. After a few minutes, we walked into the suit guy’s office and he explained that he was also an image consultant. He concluded quite quickly that Dale’s image needed some consulting.

Dale had worn the only suit he owns to the shop and the suit guy immediately had Dale take off the tie. It was too ugly to tolerate. He told Dale that actually, he had not done bad in choosing this suit. It was the right color brown and had some texture. We considered “not having done bad” as a great success.

During his evaluation of Dale, he determined that Dale was once blond and that people would look him in the eyes more if he wore blue colors that brought out the bluish tint in his green eyes. I asked him why Dale couldn’t wear green. This shocking statement was met with complete disbelief. “And how exactly would that work with what we have here?” was his reply.

Dale had color swatches laid over the skin on the inside of his arm. He tried a variety of suit jackets on that we had to look at inside the shop and outside in the sun. The suit guy wanted Dale to wear suits that were a bit more flashy. I convinced him that Dale wouldn’t feel comfortable in a flashy suit. He didn’t like my opinion, but accepted the fact that Dale was more subtle, with the caveat that he could pull off more texture.

He had Dale try on a light silver gray old school (Dean Martin type suit) that I thought would certainly look ridiculous, but Dale actually looked quite good in it. We talked shirts and trousers, cuffs and pockets, fabrics and textures. Amidst all this back and forth, Dale sat there in a bit of a daze, chiming in on occasion, but wishing he were somewhere else.

Then Dale got measured for the suit and allowances had to be made for his “sloped shoulders,” “sunken chest,” and “flat rear end”. The suit guy asked what pocket Dale put his change in, if he wore boxers or briefs, and checked to see if he was bow legged.

When it was all done and the bill was signed, Dale staggered out.

Going to see a guy about a suit…Oh what fun it was…For me at least.

Today is Dale’s 45th birthday.

Happy Birthday!!!

( I really couldn’t type anymore than three exclamation points. I tried. Really, I did. It was too painful. I so very much want to erase the two extraneous ones, but as a special birthday present I’ll leave it. I’ll probably delete them tomorrow.)

Army culture is young by nature and necessity. Kids enlist at seventeen. Anyone in their twenties is called Sarge. Sometime in your thirties, you are called Top. If you are past forty, you are respectively addressed as Sergeant Major.

Officers are called Sir or Ma’am and referred to by their position or rank: the LT, the CO, the XO, etc. until they hit that ancient benchmark of “The Old Man.” This reference title is usually reserved for the Battalion Commander who is past forty. A soldier would say,  “I have to  go see the old man.” (If a soldier declares this, he is usually not going to attend a happy event.)

After the title of The Old Man, you become The Full Bird or The General and by Army standards are considered quite ancient. Most soldiers do not interact with anyone above the old man.

Most full birds and generals are stacked up at the pentagon keeping each other company and coming up with brilliant ideas like capitalizing the letter F in family.

Dale has wandered among them as one of the multitude of LTCs who spend their time running and making coffee. Initially, he was recognized as a LTC, but as the years tick by, it becomes harder to guess.

A few weeks back, he was maneuvering through the locker room after returning from a run. Because he was wearing his running clothes, he was wearing no rank. A fellow LTC looked up when he realized Dale was trying to get by and said “Oh, excuse me, Sir. I’ll get out of your way.”

His rank may not have moved, but apparently his face has moved past old man to ancient.

Regardless of whether or not the Army actually lets someone retire, they require every potential retiree to attend training on how to be a civilian. This training is mandatory and follows the standard operating procedure of all Army training: Conduct training in warm crowded room; Talk in monotone voice; Read off power point slides that are neither updated nor accurate; Spend majority of time explaining how to fill out a form. Civilians would find this standard of training unacceptable and demand it be changed. However, military people have not been trained on how to be a civilian yet, so they just quietly endure.

Dale slogged through his mandatory training with a firm resolve to learn what it took to become a civilian. With excessive quantities of coffee flowing through his veins, he attempted to stay awake and learn something new. It looked dire for days, when suddenly a real live civilian appeared. A well dressed tailor stood at the front and began to explain to the flabbergasted audience how to dress well.

Dale has spent 20 years putting on a uniform according to regulations, but when he changes out of his uniform, he puts on one of two things: jeans and a t-shirt or khakis and a button down shirt. How to dress well has never been his concern. So, he was amazed to learn about thread count, acceptable knots and materials for ties, number of buttons on suit coats, why you need a brown belt and a black belt, and about items strangely termed “accessories for men.”

The tailor informed him that a potential employer will not want to pay him a good salary if he is wearing a cheap suit. Thankfully, Dale was not one of the poor individuals who dared to wear their cheap suits to the class for evaluation. The tailor was a well spoken and forthright man who told the class to spend at least $500 on their suit, and he emphasized very strongly, “the clothes make the man.”

I was considering this point of view as I watched the Chicago Bears new quarterback play last night. When he quarterbacked for another team the last several years, he was really good. We Bears fans entered the season with high hopes with doubts. Bears fans are eternally optimistic and eternally pessimistic all at the same time. As I watched our new quarterback have the worst game of his career, I began to think “it must be the clothes”  No matter how good of a quarterback someone is prior to putting on a Bear’s uniform, once he puts on the uniform, he becomes an awful quarterback. The clothes make the man.

This week, I’m in a course officially titled “Action Office Force Integration”, unofficially it’s called “How the Army Runs”.  This picture shows the Army Force Management Model, basically an overview of everything we’re discussing this week.

How the Army Runs

I had been previously told by several sources that this is a great course with too much information for a 1-week course. I’m not sure why, but I got my expectations up. As with many things in life (and the Army), my hopes have been dashed.

I agree that much of the information presented here is very pertinent to my current job. However, eight hours of Powerpoint presentations in a day may not be the best way to present this information! The Major sitting next to me rested his eyes on several occasions the first three days. This makes my job at the Pentagon seem much more exciting! It’s all about perspective.

I think Mugs believed that once I bought my new car, I would start driving to the Pentagon everyday rather than riding as a slug. But I’m happy to report that I haven’t given up riding with strangers each day. However, I need to drive to work about 1-2 times each week to attend frequent meetings at the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency (NGA) and the Topographic Engineering Center (TEC). With the thought of riding my motorcycle in the middle of a Virginia winter, I bought a Honda Civic. When I got home from the dealer, I took the kids for a drive while Mugs stopped by McDonalds to pick up some fast food. Zeke kept asking “Daddy, is this the Manry family vehicle?” I kept saying “Yes, I bought a new car.” He was very relieved to see Mugs drive up. Pointing to the van, he stated “This is the Manry family vehicle!” After thinking about it for a bit, he declared that the new car is “the slug car.”  So now I drive the slug car to the commuter lot, park, and get in line with the other slugs. On the days I need to drive to work, I stop by the lot and pick up slugs.

Yesterday was a slug day. The line was very short in the morning, and I waited no more than 5 minutes before getting a ride. That afternoon, the line for pickup at the Pentagon was much longer. I probably should have stayed in the office another 30 minutes before getting in line. But you know how we government employees are… always watching the clock! Anyway, the ride home was uneventful, and I had a little nap. Back at the lot, I got in the slug car and drove home. When I parked in the garage and got out, I realized I had left my bag in the car I rode in from the Pentagon. I didn’t have time to do anything about it because the kids’ school was having a skate night at the rink last night. So we ate dinner and went skating. I’m still sore this morning, but that’s another story.

When we got home, there was a message on the answering machine from the driver saying he had found my bag in his car. The tag in the bag had my name and our old Wisconsin address (from Grad School). He looked me up in the phonebook and gave me a call. He offered to meet me at the commuter lot right then to return the bag. Mugs gave me a bar of Swiss chocolate she bought at the commissary to give as a thank you. I met him at the lot 5 minutes later and exchanged 1 bar of chocolate for my bag. He laughed when I gave him the chocolate. Mugs felt sorry for me and gave me a box of Sees chocolates when I got home!