Everybody Has a Story: Drive with a general becomes a memorable, pleasant day

It was 1966, I was 20 and a specialist 4 in the Army, stationed on a missile battery in the mountains above Pasadena, Calif. Because I grew up in the Los Angeles-area and was lucky to be stationed there after basic training, I applied and was accepted as a duty driver. I drove the pass bus up and down the mountain. I took troops to a football game at the old Coliseum there, and to Dodger Stadium all the time. A couple of times a month, I’d drive the pass bus down to Pasadena.

Every now and then, I drove officers all over Southern California. One particular time stands out far above the rest. It was springtime, we had an exceptionally rough inspection, and I was asked to drive a major general down the mountain to Fort MacArthur in San Pedro. It was usually a 2-hour-plus drive. I had been given strict instructions right from day one: When driving an officer, I was only to speak when spoken to, not to smoke (as we all did back then), keep my service hat on and wear my Class A dress uniform with all decorations.

I made sure the staff car was washed and gassed up. I parked in front of the headquarters building. Out came a group of officers who chatted for a few minutes. Then a major general (two stars) walked toward me. I opened the back door, gave him a smart salute and said, “Good afternoon, Sir!” He returned my salute and got in the back seat. Shortly we were out the gate and heading for the highway.

“Thank goodness that’s over with,” the general said. He sat back, took off his coat and his shoes, opened the top button on his shirt and pulled his tie down. He patted my right shoulder and asked, “What’s your name, soldier?”

“SP4 Thompson, Sir!” I snapped back.

“No, what’s your first name, son?”

“John, Sir!”

“How old are you, John?”

I again shot back, “I’m 20, Sir!”

He lit a great big green cigar and commented, “I’ve got a son your age. He’s in college, thank God.” Then he said: “OK, John, as long as we’re in the car, I’m Bill and you’re John. OK?”

“Yes Sir!”

“No, no, I’m Bill, remember?” he snapped back with a smile.

I kind of laughed. “All right, Bill.”

“Do you smoke, John?”

“Yes I do, uh, Bill.”

“Then light up and take off your hat! Get comfortable, this is going to be a long ride.”

Over the next hour or more, we talked like two men sitting in a car would — man to man about all kinds of things. I told him I used to play football, and he asked what high school I went to. I told him it was only a few miles away, and he told me to take him by! We laughed and swapped stories. He asked me if I knew about Mann’s Chinese Theater in Hollywood. I told him I did.

“Can we go?” he asked excitedly, like a true movie fan, sitting forward in his seat.

“I don’t know if we have the time, Bill.”

“We do, John. I’ve always wanted to see the theater, and all the movie stars’ signatures in the cement!”

It was a sight: a two star general walking around with an enlisted man and all the tourists, talking like ordinary men, enjoying the sights. He hollered things like: “Look, Betty Grable’s signature!” and “Oh wow, Clark Gable’s over here!”

When we were on our way to Fort Mac, the general thanked me for a good day. However, he went on, “When we hit the gate, I’m a General, and you are SP4 Thompson again.”

I replied with a smile, “Yes, Sir!”

We drove through the gate, the guard saluting. When I opened the door for him, I gave him a smart salute. He returned it, smiled, and whispered with a wink: “Thank you, John, for a really nice ride.”

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