American Ramble is a 2023 book by Neil King, Jr., in which he describes a walkabout from his house in Washington DC to Central Park in New York City. He was in remission from several cancers and reflecting on his own whys and wherefores as well as those surrounding the current state of affairs in our country.
Many of the places Mr. King visited were well off the beaten path and some were in absolute disrepair: cemeteries, family farms, industrial parks, and historical sites. He also visited libraries, gated and open communities, a couple of tourist traps, and so on. An overriding idea he came away with was if the collective “you” cared about a place, the “you” would take care of the place. As an example, some cemeteries he visited were overgrown and forgotten with sunken, missing, or damaged headstones and markers; others were well-manicured, showing how much the dead still mean to the living.
Another idea he presented was that sites can become “Memory Places,” a term he used to represent the history of events that either occurred there or were stored there (e.g., libraries, museums, and recreated famous places).
Recently, I and about 40 others finished a three-day Ramble with memory places of our own, a reunion of Air Force security police officers who were instructors at Camp Bullis, TX.
Although an Army post, Camp Bullis is where the AF sent (and still sends) its cops to learn how to defend airbases against ground-level attacks. All ranks are represented, depending on the specific courses of training, which include such things as firing mortars, assaulting built-up areas, conducting ambushes, rescuing hostages, and of course, planning for all elements of airbase defense.
Our particular alumni covered the years from 1974 to 1987, meaning it had been between 49 and 36 years since some of us had been back to Camp Bullis. Like some of Neil King’s memory places, most of the WWII vintage buildings we used were gone or ready to fall down. The building I last worked in was probably condemned, but a couple of us old guys found an open door which entered into a trashed facility full of broken ceiling tiles, old insulation (probably asbestos) and rotten wooden planked floors and walls. None the less, we were able to trace out where our desks had been and identify the offices of former commanders, the first sergeant, the support staff, and a classroom used by the weapons instructors. One of the guys with me said this building should be preserved, but remember what Neil King said about his memory places: if it was cared about, it was cared for. So this building would eventually be razed as the current instructor corps teaches in modern concrete and air-conditioned facilities.
We also took a bus tour of our old field training areas and noticed some of the gravel roads were now paved, and there were even street signs pointing out the way. The motor pool we passed by held Hum-Vees and other modern vehicles, in contrast to the Viet Nam era carry-overs we used 40 years ago: M-151 Jeeps, M-706 Commando Cars, M-113 Armored Personnel Carriers, and M-35 Cargo trucks.
One stop on our tour was a fake town used to teach urban assault methods, and we posed for a group photo there. As we milled about I looked at my comrades and thought: “There is so much history among these men (and with those who could not attend or have already passed on).” We did not ask our tour guide’s age, but I’m guessing most of us had children older than this young security forces captain, although I’m confident he is making his own memories.
We had a dinner event later that night, and again the memories flowed as easily as the alcohol from the bar. There were the standard “this is no BS” stories of their time at Camp Bullis, and others caught us up on what they’ve been doing since they left. We set a private table for the missing and toasted those who have passed on. There were more photos, handshakes and hugs, and promises to keep in contact. There was some initial discussion about when the next reunion might be.
Neil King thought about doing another walkabout in a few years, just as we promised to see each other again soon, but as the saying goes, you can’t step into the same river twice. Right now, we know there will be others of us who will attend their last guardmount before another gathering, just as there will likely be some new attendees who could not make it this time. We also know the Camp Bullis of today is no longer really the “memory place” of our time…it’s a different river.
I am grateful for having the chance to again be surrounded by people who understand what we went through without the need to talk about it at length, people who are comfortable in their own camouflaged skins, people who are confident in themselves and at ease with their own silence. My regards to all instructors who preceded me or followed, and my thoughts and prayers to all of the students who still defend our military installations 24/7, 365.
God Bless You, God Bless America, and let’s be safe out there.
