From time-to-time I like to check out our local GI Surplus store here in Beaumont. Granted, the store isn’t of the Col. Bubbie’s magnitude — which apparently survived or came back from the wrath of Hurricane Ike in 2008 — but few military surplus stores I have seen match Bubbie’s level.
I like browsing through the various military and paramilitary garb these days. Of course, they have camo clothing out the wazoo at my local GI Surplus as well as the pocket-laden BDU-style pants the entire military and many of the country’s police are wearing these days. The store I visited had a hot sale going on winter clothing such as the big heavy foul weather coats and flight jackets. The prices weren’t bad.
But it’s some of the stuff not for sale, items on the hard-to-reach top shelf which really makes my trip worthwhile. These items included various guns, military garb and decorations, a sled that was dropped from a plane for soldiers trapped in the snow, and of course they have the missiles and the big gun outside. One could almost imagine loading that sucker up and putting a few new potholes in the middle of U.S. 90. Talk about mayhem! Of course, I would never do something like that. That’s just fantasy all you NSA, FBI and other more local agencies out there scouring the Internet for trouble makers.
I suppose that visiting GI Surplus helps bring out the little kid inside us, inside me. I used to love going to these stores when I was a child and I still like going every once in awhile.
Growing up with family whose lives were heavily affected by World War II, it shouldn’t be surprising that one of my favorite pastimes as a kid was playing soldier.
I would be occasionally fighting the Krauts, especially on the dunes of Algeria after watching the “Rat Patrol” on TV.
But most of my war was fought on some nameless island in the South Pacific against the Japanese. That’s where a couple of my uncles served during the war. My father also sailed in the North Pacific, to Russia, and he used to talk of his ship enduring Japanese fighters on the trip to Vladivostok. I suppose some of the younger people, now parents, who grew up without any close family members who were sent to war might be aghast at such play. But then, what would you want your kids to pretend they are when they’re playing, stockbrokers? Bernie Madoff perhaps?
You would think with such a background and such a lifelong fascination with things military and war-oriented that I would have been a gung-ho type in the service. You would think wrong.
I was part of the Vietnam Era-Post Vietnam military and I guess, perhaps, I might have been a little bit of a stereotype of that time. I would grow my hair, beard, mustache or anything else I could grow to the limit. I was a bit of a slob. But the thing was, I performed my job very well and my superiors would let me slide on my appearance most of the time. It was all teenage rebellion as I joined the Navy in my teens. I was also touched by the anti-war movement. Sometimes we were treated like s**t by the civilians and so I took it out on the establishment. I know. It was kind of dumb. But I was lucky that I was so diligent in performing my job. I managed to escape Captain’s Mast or perhaps even the brig on several occasions.
The truth is, the military has been an important part of my life, especially in the first 25 or so years. I was surrounded by World War II veterans as a kid. Later as a reporter, I interviewed many who fought in that war. Also, my Dad was in the Merchant Marine during that war. Two of my older brothers served in the Navy before me in the early to mid-1960s, one brother spent a tour in Vietnam.
So I come by my military fascination honestly. I also like looking at and firing big things which go “boom.” I’m 54 years old right now, so I don’t expect to change. At least for that part of said intrigue, I won’t grow up either Mr. Pan.