by Phil Rowe (It actually happened about like this …)
Master Sergeant Wilson was swamped by the mountain of paperwork on his desk. He hadn't noticed the chubby middle-aged three-striper standing before him until he heard: "I wanna see the C.O., Sarge. It's urgent." Wilson kept right on shuffling papers, reading some, skimming others and occasionally signing or initialing a few. Paperwork overwhelmed him.
Wilson eventually looked up, though he continued to thumb through more papers. It took him a few seconds to realize that the fellow standing there was Airman First Class Stan Kaminski. But when he did notice who it was, he bellowed "What is it this time Kaminski? Are you in trouble with your wife again?"
"No, Sarge, it isn't that. I have to see Colonel Donaldson about my duty schedule. He said that I could come see him again if it was really important. And this time it's real important." Now Kaminski appeared nervous. He twisted his hat in his sweaty hands, making it look like a wet rag being wrung out.
"Okay, Kaminski. I'll see if the colonel will see you. Tuck in that shirt, straighten yourself up and stop twisting your hat that way." Wilson got up from his desk and headed for the CO's office door, then turned back and said "You wait here."
"Sir, Airman Kaminski requests to speak to you. He's waiting at my desk now. Have you got a minute for him?" Lieutenant Colonel Donaldson paused amid his own stack of paperwork, nodded and responded "Yes. I guess now is as good as any time. Do you know what he wants?"
Wilson shook his head. "No, sir. All he said was that it had to do with his work schedule and that you told him to see you if he had problems." Wilson turned toward the door, to find Kaminski standing right there and not at the desk where he'd been told to wait. Wilson scowled and then barked "Okay, Kaminski. The colonel will see you now."
Even while standing before the colonel's desk, as rigidly at attention as he knew how, Kaminski looked more like a ragged, disheveled bum than a military man. He was probably one of the oldest three-stripers on active duty. Most enlisted men of his age were at least Tech Sergeants or higher in rank. But then Kaminski marched to a different drummer, as it were.
"Sir, Airman First Class Kaminski requests to speak to the colonel, Sir." He saluted and stood before his C.O.'s desk. His appearance was almost comical.
Colonel Donaldson looked up, smiled and returned the salute. "Yes, Kaminski. What is it? Are you in trouble at home again?"
Donaldson recalled that twice before Kaminski had asked for special treatment in his duty schedule, once to request the evening shift, 5:00 PM to midnight, so that he could work part time off base to make some extra money. And the second time he asked the colonel for a signature approving a loan from the Airman's Assistance Foundation, a charity fund to help lower ranking G.I.'s in financial trouble. Kaminski was married and had five kids. Making ends meet on the pay of an enlisted man, one not yet a sergeant, was difficult.
"Well, sir. I'm really grateful for all you've done to help my family. We've tried hard to pay our bills and stay out of trouble. But it isn't easy. I've come to tell you, sir, that we're going to make it now though. My wife and I are running a shoe repair shop over on Benbrook road, out there in the Ladera shopping center. I work on the bench fixing shoes in the mornings and before coming to duty here. My wife tends the store and takes care of the customers, while the little ones stay in the back room. Yes, sir. We're gonna make it. But ..."
"But what? What is it, Kaminski?" the colonel interrupted. He didn't have time to listen to Kaminski's whole life story. Even though Donaldson was sympathetic to Kaminski's problems, and there certainly had been many of those, there were other matters to tend to in running an aircraft maintenance squadron with 350 members.
"Well, sir. Could the colonel see his way to letting me change my duty schedule again. I really would like to work the 7:00 PM to 2:00 AM shift. If that's possible, sir?"
"Kaminski. I've bent over backwards to help you. You are first and foremost a serviceman, you know. And that means your primary duty is here, not out running a business on the side. I cannot have my troops distracted from their duties. You've got an important job here, and that comes first." Donaldson knew that trying to get Kaminski to take his military role seriously was almost beyond hope, especially with his family and financial problems.
"Yes, sir. I know that, sir. I'll work extra hard here and Sergeant Casey, my supervisor, says that I am doing a good job." Kaminski was most deferential and becoming almost pleading in his demeanor.
"If the colonel could just see his way to approve my request. Well sir, this will be the last time I ask for favors. If I could change my schedule that would let me work longer in the shoe shop and the extra business would let me pay my bills. My little boy needs new clothes for school. He's growing so fast we can't keep up with him. He's outgrown his winter coat and that costs a lot of money, you know, sir."
"Okay, okay, Kaminski. You win. But this is the last thing I can do for you. When you re-enlisted last Spring you knew that your military duties come first. It's a good thing that Sergeant Casey tells me you're a good worker, not the neatest but a good worker. I'll pass the word down that you have my approval for a schedule change. Now get back to work."
As soon as Kaminski disappeared beyond the outer door, Sergeant Wilson looked into the colonel's office. Donaldson was shaking his head. "Kaminski get to you again, colonel?" Wilson asked in a knowing way, a slightly smug grin on his face.
"Sergeant, I want you to do some checking on Kaminski. I know from the decline in merchant complaint letters about him that he has made progress in paying off those debts, and he appears to be getting his head above water. But I want to know what he's really doing with this shoe repair business. See what you can find out, will you?"
Three days later, on a Saturday morning, Sergeant Wilson knocked on the open door of the colonel's office. Donaldson looked up and waved his hand for Wilson to enter. The sergeant began, "Got some news for you about our friend Kaminski, sir."
"I'm almost afraid to ask what it is, sergeant. What have you found out?"
"Well, sir. There's good news and bad news."
"Don't get cute, sergeant. Spit it out. What have you learned?"
"Yes, sir. It appears that Airman Kaminski is becoming quite an off-duty businessman. I discovered last evening that Kaminski is now the proud owner of not one, but two shoe repair stores in town."
Donaldson rocked back in his chair. His mouth dropped open and he echoed in surprise, "What? Two stores? This from the guy who couldn't buy his kid a new jacket? Fill me in on the details."
"I drove out to the Ladera strip shopping center to see what Kaminski's shop looked like. He's got a neon sign in the window calling the place Ladera Shoe Repair. It's just a small storefront place, nothing fancy at all. But also in the window was a sign, a hand-drawn poster, announcing the grand opening of a store in the new WestTown Shopping Mall. So I went over there to check that one out."
Colonel Donaldson was becoming more and more curious. "Well? Go on. Did you say WestTown? What else?"
Sergeant Wilson then continued, "Well, sir. I went over to the WestTown Mall with my wife last evening. And there just inside the north door is Kaminski's Shoe Repair Center. It's a really nice new store with fancy furnishings and what looks like all new equipment. It's about the nicest shoe repair shop I've ever seen. And in the mall too.
There behind the counter, working on a heavy duty sewing machine was Kaminski. He didn't see me. At first I thought that he was supposed to be on base, at his duty station. But then I realized that his schedule with Sergeant Casey doesn't require him to be out here on Fridays. For a minute I first thought that I had him on an AWOL charge (absent without leave), but then I realized it wouldn't stick."
Colonel Donaldson was stunned. "Did you say brand new equipment? Fancy furnishings and in that high-priced mall?"
"Yes, sir. It's really a very nice looking shop."
"Nice indeed is it. Well, that son of a gun has bam-boozled us. Pulled a fast one." Donaldson sighed, as he sank back into his chair, "And I fell for his sad stories. The poor little kid without a winter jacket. Sure."
Sergeant Wilson knew better than to say I told you so, so he just stood there and awaited his colonel's decision.
"I want Kaminski here in my office Monday morning. Get ahold of him and tell him that he's to be here without fail at 0800 hours, special duty hours or not. It's time that we got to the bottom of this. I'm beginning to get a little tee'd off by our three-stripe entrepreneur. He'd better have a good explanation."
"He'll be here, sir. 0800 sharp," Wilson responded.
Monday morning, right at the stroke of 8:00 on the clock, the colonel walked into the office. There beside Sergeant Wilson's desk sat Airman Kaminski, his uniform crisply pressed, shoes shined and even his usually unkempt hair neatly combed. Quickly both Wilson and Kaminski stood up at rigid attention.
"Good morning, colonel," Sergeant Wilson greeted.
"At ease. Good morning to you both. Wilson I want to see you first. Please come into my office." The colonel was surprisingly calm, collected and pleasant in appearance. That wholly belied his festering anger. For all day Sunday the more he thought about what Kaminski had done, the angrier he got.
"Sergeant Wilson, please close the door." Wilson pulled the door shut. "Stand easy, Wilson. I want your advice. What do you think we ought to do about Kaminski?"
"Sir, that's not really my place ... er, that is to tell you what you should do about him. But if it were up to me I'd court martial the little S.O.B.. Or if that's not possible, under the circumstances ... of your position and all .."
"Yes, Wilson. I know the problem is partly of my own doing. I fell for his sob stories and the rest. I feel that I was conned by that innocent-looking weasel. That's what's making me so angry. But I am determined to handle this by the book and not let him get away with more of this nonsense. And know this too, I don't want word of this to get around. If you know what I mean."
"Of course, sir. I understand completely." It was all Sergeant Wilson could do to keep a straight face and not reveal his amusement at the colonel's dilemma, self-made or not.
"Well, unofficially Sergeant, what would you recommend?"
"Sir. I'd suggest that we start the paperwork to process Kaminski out ... perhaps under the Unsuited for Military Duty regulations or the like. He is, after all, not really military material. Would you agree?"
"Hmmmmm. Now that's something I'd not thought of, though I did consider a firing squad or something along that line. Yes, that just might be a good way to handle this. Get me that regulation and we'll have a look."
Sergeant Wilson stepped back into the outer office to get the regulation books. "Kaminski. You sit tight. The colonel will be with you when he's ready." Airman Kaminski remained seated in the chair beside Wilson's desk. It burned Wilson that Kaminski looked like a G.I. should, for the first time that could be remembered. He couldn't even chew Kaminski out for his usual messy appearance.
Soon Wilson appeared at the colonel's desk, regulation book in hand and opened to the applicable sections. "Looks to me, colonel, like this ought to do it," he added while laying the book on the desk. He pointed to the section of the regulation pertaining to applicable circumstances.
"Close the door again, Wilson. I'm calling the legal boys to check on this one."
Using the ruse of a hypothetical situation, Colonel Donaldson described a similar dilemma to the major on the other end of the telephone. "Yes, major. That's about it. I wanted to check with you fellows before taking any action. Uh huh ... so you think this regulation applies and will be the cleanest way to handle it. Okay. Thank you." Donaldson hung up the telephone and nodded toward Sergeant Wilson.
"Okay. That's the way we'll handle it then. Tell Kaminski to come in now. I think it's time that we told that three-stripe entrepreneur that he's about to have his chance in the business world on a full-time basis."
So that's the way it went. Within ten days Airman First Class Kaminski became Mr. Kaminski, civilian, businessman and owner of two shoe repair shops in town. Sort of like Corporal Klinger on the M*A*S*H television series, Kaminski got his real wish. He was ushered out of Uncle Sam's service, but not before taking advantage of every opportunity to get his ventures started with the help of his former commanding officer and sympathetic supervisors.
(about 2300 words) _