1980: My Secret Weapon

David R. Deitrick

Nov 2

It was one of the first service-inspired jokes I heard upon being commissioned an officer in the army:

Q: Who's the most dangerous person on the battlefield?

A: A second lieutenant with a map.¹

No matter the source of their commission, newly minted second lieutenants are universally dismayed at the lack of confidence in their abilities from the officers and NCO's they work with. Common wisdom is that a new officer anticipating his first troop-leading assignment should have some sort of edge or qualification that would bring them a smidgen of credibility for their first couple weeks of duty. Hopefully by then they would have done well enough in their assignments to earn a little bit of respect. Such items of respect include (but aren't limited to):

Ranger tab
Jump wings
Aviator/flight crew wings
West Point class ring

…none of which I had when I was assigned to my platoon at FT Richardson in the early summer of 1980. A previously undetected vision problem cut short flight school for me, and jump school would be a couple of years in the future. All I had going for me was the fact that I was four years older than my fellow lieutenants and had a good amount of life experience working in the oil field and serving a two-year bicycle penance in New England, neither of which earned me any badges. However I had an advantage that had more clout than all those other badges combined.

I had my Beautiful Saxon Princess.

Lori was that rarest of treasures – the hottie that didn't realize she was a hottie², and whenever she was with me life was better, and any job I had at the time got easier. Don't get me wrong – it wasn't like she was just arm-candy all the time – but once the connection was made between the two of us as a married couple, everything got a little easier. I even had senior officers and crusty old warrant officers³come up and introduce themselves to me just so I in turn would introduce them to her.

There were only two times that her beauty failed to work its magic. The air in the room got noticeably frosty when she met the new battalion executive officer's wife at a hail and farewell in the autumn of 1981. The lady was used to being the prettiest face in the group and didn't take it well when all heads turned as Lori walked into the room.

The other time was later at that same party when Major Martin tried to corner her. Martin was the battalion S-3 (operations officer) and was my new boss. Despite the fact that he was sporting the most obvious comb-over EVER he styled himself a ladies man and was making his way around the room chatting up all the ladies. He perked right up when spotted my Beautiful Saxon Princess, but even though he was all smooth moves and slick pick-up lines she paid him little attention.

Finally she turned to him and asked, "Are you one of the privates who works for my husband?"

You know the time-lapse photography they showed in 7h grade science class where you'd see a lengthy process happen in fast motion? My favorite was a flower, a rose that slowly wilted and shriveled up in just a matter of seconds. That shriveling reaction immediately appeared in Major Martin's face (and no doubt other areas of his anatomy) with Lori's remark, and I expected some verbal lash-back, but somehow the executive officer's wife chose that very moment to walk by, and any snarky response the major may have had was lost as he abruptly turned and hurried after her, a subtle clue in a mystery that remained unsolved until the following summer when she left her husband and ran away with the major..

Lori continued to work her magic after we left the army and embarked on a roller-coaster career of freelance art in two and three dimensions. Most notable was the way sales at conventions and acquisition of new clients took off when I started taking Lori with me. We even had clueless professionals pursue her (and fail) like Major Martin did all those years ago. We only stopped working together when I couldn't work at all, and she still helps me, only now it's with wheelchairs and pajamas…

…and she's still the hottie that doesn't know she's a hottie.³

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Notes:

Later on I learned the proper response:

Q: Who's the second most dangerous person on the battlefield?
1. A: The platoon sergeant standing behind him saying "That's right LT".

I'm still amazed that I am lucky enough to be with her. My sisters pass that off as me just responding to her innate maternal/homemaking inclination as (according to them) I have a face only a mother could love.

…including one crusty old aviator who even had the general spooked. When my first battalion commander uncharacteristically maxed my efficiency report my fellow "butter bars" grumbled that he did so because he was sweet on my Beautiful Saxon Princess.

In this age of Internet and Facebook I often come in contact with people I haven't heard from in decades. Invariably the first thing they'll say is "As I recall your wife was quite attractive".