I recently reentered the United States Army as a major in the Medical Corps. After I completed the Medical Officer Basic Course at Fort Samuel Houston in San Antonio, Texas, I reported to my first duty station at Fort Devens in Harvard, Massachusetts.

While stationed there, I constantly sought the advice of a captain in the Medical Service Corps, MSC for short, the administrative corps of the AMEDD, the Army Medical Department. The AMEDD was composed of five separate Corps: the Medical Corps, the Dental Corps, the Nurses Corps, The Medical Service Corps and the Veterinary Corps. The captain was a savvy, young, red-necked military officer, who was Chief of the CSD, the Clinical Support Division.

One evening in early 1983, the two of us were sitting at the bar in the Fort Devens Officers’ Club enjoying a beer. I smiled skeptically at him as I said warily, “You’re telling me, if I go RA, Regular Army, and stay till age-mandatory retirement, I can get a full retirement … with a pension?”

He nodded. “It’s a fact, Doc.”

He finished his beer and held up two fingers to the bartender who set two more bottles of beer on the bar. I placed two one-dollar bills next to them. The captain continued. “Two and a half percent for every year of active duty. RA age-mandatory retirement in the Medical Corps is sixty-two, so you’ll have ten years active duty and start with a twenty-five percent retirement. Not too shabby. Plus whatever credit they’ll give you for your nine years in the reserves.”

I finished my beer and looked quizzically at my mentor. I asked, “But isn’t it extremely difficult to be selected for Regular Army?”

He answered assuredly, “About a five-percent selection rate, Doc.” He poured my second beer for me. “That’s why you’ve got to accomplish as much as possible before you apply. The competition is extremely rough. Start with the Officer Advanced Course in correspondence, and then enroll in the Command and General Staff College, also in correspondence.”

I nodded and said without hesitation, “Consider it done. No one ever told me about this at Fort Sam.” I glanced at him from the corner of my eye as I asked, “Anything else?” I poured his beer.

“So much, I’ll have to make you a list. Have it for you sometime tomorrow. In the meantime, get your application into HSC, Health Service Command, for the Advanced Course.”

I slid off my bar stool and prepared to leave. “Appreciate all your help.” I drained my beer.
He smiled and said, “No problem, Doc.” Then he grimaced and asked glumly, “You gotta leave so soon?”
I frowned. “Afraid so. The drive back to Salem is much too long. Sometimes I barely get home when on-call and have to drive right back here to the Emergency Room.”

He arched an eyebrow and asked, “Why not move on post? The government still owes you a move from when you entered the service this time around.”

I shook my head. “I don’t relish living in the BOQ, Bachelor Officer Quarters. My children like to stay with me once in a while.”

“Talk to our commander. You might get a house. You’ve got dependents, even if you no longer have a wife.”

As I drove back to Salem, I thought about how helpful the captain had been since my arrival at Fort Devens. But he was the exception. I had learned my lessons quickly. Whenever I approached either an officer or an enlisted soldier, in charge of the area in which I required assistance, the usual response was, “Here’s what you’ve got to do, sir.” So I did what I was told to do.

After I had to do that a few times, it finally it dawned on me. Why am I the one that’s always got to do something? Wasn’t it someone’s job to help me? When I asked a major, who was Chief of Personnel at that time, about my application for Regular Army, the major replied, “Here’s what you’ve got to do, sir.”

This time I was well prepared and said, “Major, why don’t we decide what needs to be done first, and then we’ll decide who should do it? If we can’t agree, we’ll ask the commander to decide.”

Without hesitation, the major replied, “That’s okay, sir. I’ll be happy to take care of it for you right away.”

And once when I, the Chief of Surgery, suggested to my NCOIC, my noncommissioned officer in charge, of the surgical clinic, to make a few changes that I thought would improve patient care and facilitate scheduling, his response was, “Sorry, sir, but that would be against Army Regulations.”

I narrowed my eyes and furrowed my brow for a moment in thought. Then I said, Okay, Sergeant, I hear you loud and clear. But first, would you please show me in Army Regulations where what I am requesting is not allowed?”

The sergeant’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped, leaving him with his mouth agape. He stared at me for a brief moment before saying meekly, “That won’t be necessary, sir. I’ll see to your suggestions at once.”

And my mentor was right once again. The commander called Housing, insisting that his Chief of Surgery live on post. Housing did not hesitate to agree. With dependents under twenty-one and still in school, I was authorized post housing. I was also eligible for an amended rank of Lieutenant Colonel, a grade of 0-5, awaiting Senate approval.

So, knowing that, Housing informed me that one of the 0-5 ranch-style houses on Walnut Street, across from Colonel’s Row, would be available after the summer PCS’s. Most PCS’s, Permanent Changes of Station or new duty assignments, took place during the summer. They were not very permanent, however, since service members changed duty stations every two or three years.

After my divorce from a wife of twenty years, I moved from my marital home and purchased a Condo in Salem, Massachusetts, in 1975. Now I had to sell that Salem Condo in order to move into government quarters.

Fortunately, 1983 was a seller’s market and my Condo had appreciated greatly because of the extremely high inflation of the past few years. It was that high inflation rate coupled with extreme high interest rates flooding the nation in the late Seventies and early Eighties that drove me from my civilian private practice of surgery and into the Armed Forces. I guess my new cash position was a way to compensate me.