I can’t remember who was there, but it was basically a couple of EMTs, a nurse, and a guy on the stretcher we kept in the attic in case it was needed. The nurse was played by Lisa Kirschbaurer (now Jeter) of course, since she was an actual nurse! Some one was in the stretcher all bandaged up with blood and stuff. We also had a twist to the costumes. We took an empty Jack Daniels bottle and filled it with water and food coloring so it would look the real thing. We then placed an IV tube with liquid in it to the bottle top then taped it to the guy’s arm in the stretcher. Thanks to Lisa it looked damn real! Off we drove in the OD green VW microbus to Furth!

We made our grand entrance just like it was a real emergency. Everyone clapped and enjoyed the scene. After we sat down and had a beer we pulled the IV bottle down and took the cap off. Each of us drank as much “whiskey” as we could with full theater dramatics. We gulped and swallowed until the bottle of Jack was emptied. Once again everyone clapped and enjoyed the scene. One of the other partiers, a German, came up to us and said, “You like whiskey, yes?” We all laughed and ordered another round of beers. A good time was had by all at the Ratskeller that night! I don’t have any pictures of that night. I do of the “Chinese” costumes, but not EMT night! Maybe Tony Jeter might have some hidden out he could share!

It was the great winter of ‘69/‘70 and all was quite on the hill as it should be on mids. The snow was sitting about 150 cm and it was very cold indeed. We woke up rubbing the Pilsner out of our eyes; carefully put away our favorite burn bag pillows so they would not be incinerated and made things look orderly for the day shift.

The road was iced over, the hand-pushed snow plow was useless, and no one really wanted to drive the 2½. In fact, everyone refused at least once. When the day shift arrived, everyone was convinced that Newman, who drove the day shift up the hill, should drive again (Newman was considered the best driver). So Newman drove. Three up front, the rest of us frozen turkeys in the back along with a pile of sand and a bunch of windows and frames. Someone was doing a private job and or what!

It was give and take to get off the site. We slid past the German entrance and, hopefully, Newman was reminded that it was very slippery. A few uuhh-aaahhs later, and we had arrived at the most dangerous part of the trip — the 19%. A full stop nearly at the top and a slow start down. After the first curve or during it, the rear end fished out a bit, and swearing could be heard. A few seconds later, one last scream — “Here we go.” That’s exactly what happened — a flying 2½-tonner went off the mountain.

Roughly 30 feet out and 50 feet down we were finally stopped by a very big tree. The front-end was rather bent and the right wheel missing. The truck stayed upright but just barely and leaned over toward the next drop which would certainly been our end. One severe back injury, cuts on window glass and certain parts between my legs were close to my throat after landing on a diesel can. Well, we crawled out and took account, and our shivers were not just from the cold. I guess this spot was about 3 to 4 clicks from the farm house where there was a field phone. Someone had to do it, so off I went jogging down the hill.

I don’t know how long it took, but by the time I arrived I could hardly speak due to a frozen throat and to many previously smoked cigarettes. At the farm house (I could be mistaken ), I believe Pivo was at a table breakfasting while I raised the alarm wheezing out my story. Well, with a flash here and there, action started. Rimbach woke up. Herzo Base woke up. The Kaserne in Kötzting woke up. The evac helicopters in Amberg took flight, and I think I fell over as I don’t remember much until the next day.

The ambulance from Kötzting got stuck in the snow, so they sent another. Everyone got treatment soon enough. Then the Keystone Cops took over. Just how do you retrieve a 2½-ton hanging precariously on the side of a mountain? Ha!

ASA genius took over — a tow truck is needed. I guess before any survey was done by the down-to-earth Army in Amberg (who drove tanks and big trucks), a tow truck was ordered. Needless to say, with slippery roads and well under-strength machinery, a second call was made to get a tow truck for the tow truck and a tank retriever for the other truck.

I did not witness the action on the hill but it was apparently a real circus. Yes, the tank retriever broke down. Who was in the truck besides Newman and myself? At least eight others. A blur of faces, but names are not appearing. Who actually saw what happened that day and subsequent truck rescue?

Snaking was a tradition that started on the LVF site sometime before I arrived. Mostly it was a way to welcome weeds to the cold of the Bavarian forest. But it also turned into a way to punish those who did not do their assigned chores. Six guys living on the Hill alone, we had to take care of ourselves. We worked 12 on 12 off; the off guy was still required to stay on the site. The supervisor, who was more a warm body than a supervisor, could come and go, or let the off man go as he saw fit. But there always had to be two guys on the site. Living there 24/7, we also could not call out to Dominoes for pizza, so we had to cook. The noon to midnight had to plan and cook two meals and the trick supervisor the third meal of the three day trick. The cook had to wash the pots and pans he used, and his plates. Each guy who ate had to wash his own plate. Of course there were also regular house chores each trick had to perform, vacuuming upstairs, or cleaning the bathrooms and hallway, and cleaning on down to the shelter where the equipment was. This was just a little background on where you could wrong and get “Snaked.” Don’t wash your diner plates and you could wind up with dirty dishes under your covers when you come back to relieve the outgoing trick, or get Snaked. Did not vacuum the rugs, you could get Snaked. And on and on, the list would grow. There was never a threat of getting Snaked; you just knew when the crapola hit the fan.

Wurmburg, our sister site, dropped water balloons on their weeds as a welcome to the tower.  But they lived in their tower unlike us. And they were wimps and not very original. I am not sure what they did when you did some work related misbehaving. What ever it was, I am sure it was not as dastardly as the Snake.

So what was the Snake? We had these large coolers, I think 48 quart size. We used them to buy our food at Hohenfels. They were also an important ingredient in the Snake recipe. We would go outside and fill the cooler full of snow. Then back inside and water would be put in to make it a nice slushy mix. When the person who performed the unworthy deed was taking a shower, in we would sneak. The air would be thick with steam and nice and warm. Slowly we would make out way up to the common double shower booth. Both of the wronged coworkers would heft the slushy mix up and dump it on the unsuspecting perpetrator. Down the cold water would splash. The guys with the cooler would run out of the bathroom, yelling “SNAKE!” As the guy on the receiving end would be sucking up all the air in the place!

Some of you might be asking, “why did we yell snake?” Well when you get hit with water that cold, the only way you could get your penis to come out of hiding was to stick your finger up inside your anus and yell “SNAKE,”  hoping you could scare your shriveled member back out again!

Snaking was well known on the Hill. There were never any hard feelings and we each knew we deserved it and life went on after that. But it sure as hell was a long time before we would screw up and don’t do our dishes again

It was during the great winter snows, winter of 1969-1970, and the “Amis” on Hoher Bogen were a bit restless.

We had four tricks (crews/gangs) working rotating shifts to provide 24-7-365 coverage of our mission. Each trick had a name, often somewhat characteristic of the personalities of each group. I can only remember the names of the boring Morgue Trick, the infamous and wacky Animal Trick, and my group, Sugar Root Trick. Trick Chief, as I remember, was Doug Lindberg. Bob (Brother Eu) Eubanks was morale booster and chief priest of the cult of Sugar Root.

Brother Eu, accompanied by myself and another whom I can’t recall, and who may not want to identify himself, traveled to Nürnberg one day to purchase an appropriate Sugar Root icon. The Beate Uhse Sex Shoppe was known to stock just the thing that we needed. I and my fellow acolyte didn’t have the nerve to enter the inner sanctum (back room) with Brother U, so it was up to him to make the selection. And a superb selection it was — a very impressive dildo indeed! It also had a fine case and could be carried about very discreetly like some Native American tribal sacred bundle.

However, the keepers of the Sugar Root icon were guilty of sinful pride and were boastful about it and made the mistake of showing it off to some Frenchmen one night at the Ratskeller. The Frogs made off with our graven image to Sugar Root, and it was never to seen again. (Not that we would have wanted it after it had spent some time in the French barracks). It can only be hoped that they buried the big guy with all due reverence.

That same great winter, we decided to combine a way to pay homage to Sugar Root with an attempt to use Sugar Root to hurl a visual insult at anybody on the other side of the “hranice” (Czech border) who might be watching us with a powerful binoculars. So, right on the edge of the mountain, to the right of the parabolic antennas, we erected an impressive snow image of Sugar Root. (See attachment.)

One look at the photo and you will agree, we did ourselves proud. We thought our choice of location was very much a place of honor and great dignity. Our image was not meant to be crude, but positively reverent and patriotic, considering the Cold War message we were sending to the other side (Hey, Ivan! I got your Scud missile right here!)

Unfortunately for us, we were to receive visitors shortly after the monument’s erection, a team of intelligence people which supposedly would include a British woman. It was obvious that the statue of Sugar Root had to be removed.

A little time had passed and, aided by the application to the statue of a spray of water and some surface melting and freezing, it had become extremely hard. Well, as chief priest, it was Brother Eu’s terrible duty to take Sugar Root down, which he did with great reverence and sadness. (The way I remember it, he needed an ax to cut it down.) It took a couple of guys to roll it around to the back of the ops building. We had hoped that Sugar Root would rise again but it was not to be, as it was decreed by a “tread” messenger of the all-powerful DIRNSA that the graven image of Sugar Root was to be destroyed. Thus it came to pass.

We kind of knew the inspection was going to tough so we got our newly dubbed care, Billy-Bad, ready for inspection, forgetting about the tires.  We drove to Hohenfels and went through the inspection. We groaned and moaned and they let us slide, but he would not budge on the tires. No tires no pass. We also found out this time that “they” would not let us off the base without our temporary tag. Since it was good only for the day to get the car on the base, getting it off would have to have the base command sergeant major’s approval! So off we went to bend his ear. We did not want to let us have it, but we pulled our hardship card.. being on the boarder on a remote site, having it rough and sleeping on the ground..C-rats.. and on and on. He finally gave in with the words, “You f@#%ing spooks, take the tag and get the hell out of my office. Next time I see you three, you had better have your hair cut.”

Off we drove with large smiles, wondering where we were going to get out hands on some cheap tires that could pass inspection.

Low and behold, like manna from heaven, our knuckle-headed NCOIC came up the next day in his Opel, telling us he was taking the sedan to Augsburg for the three days. RHIP. He was going to leave his car on the Hill, even left us the keys in case we had to move it. He had been gone no more than five minutes and we had drove his car to the garage and swapped the tires. The pit crews at NASCAR would have been proud of us! Terry and Todd drove to Hohenfels and Billy-Bad passed inspection. We got the tires swapped back and he never knew.

Billy was a good car. We could come and go as we wanted with out asking. He was short lived though. Terry took a snow covered curve in Koetzting a little too fast and that was the end of Billy. We all loved that car. We did not care if the windows were held up with screwdrivers, or the stereo cost more than the entire car.. it was freedom.

Since we wore fatigues all the time, 1Sgt Cody decided we needed a “Blues” (dress uniform) inspection. Earlier that year, for Fasching, Kurt Laidlaw had purchased a “bald head with fake brown curly hair” wig. Kurt decided to wear the wig under his “saucer cap” to see what Cody or Major Businger would do. As I remember it, we were in the basement of the orderly room (in Pension Silberbauer), Kurt was in the 2nd or 3rd row, but in plain sight of the basement door. In walked Cody who called us to attention. Close behind him was the major. Cody saw the wig and starting turning red with anger, when about that time Maj. B saw Kurt. Just to help matters, Kurt took his cap off and grinned as only Kurt could. Maj. B turned, shaking his head and called Cody after him. So much for the inspection. Thanks Kurt, best formation I never stood.

I remember when the USAFSS unit in Rimbach was being turned into a squadron in preparation for its eventual move to Augsburg. There was a competition of sorts to come up with a unit patch that would symbolize the unit’s mission and designation. The patch that was finally adopted and approved by HQ AF was the one shown below (although it originally said 6913 Security Squadron). The black cat was chosen to symbolize the number 13 and the “black” craft we practiced, but we all agreed there should have been a flame coming out of the cat’s ass (that symbolism was deemed self-explanatory).

As a side note, on the FS Augsburg Web site there’s a list of former 6913th commanders. The real first commander of the 6913th (Security Squadron) was Major Gary Belcher (who replaced Harold J. “Buzz” Businger) when the 6913th was still at Rimbach. I have re-enlistment paperwork from back then showing Maj. Belcher as commander. I also have paperwork showing his replacement, Captain John Reid, as commander in 1975 just before I left.