I have many memories of Thanksgiving dinners over the years. Some were celebrated at home, others celebrated at the homes of other relatives. For the most part these were fun events, with lots of food, cheer, and play, while others were the scenes of large family arguments. Looking over the years, some of these dinners were wonderful, some not-so-good, and others were ordinary in a comfortable, family way.
But when I think about the best Thanksgiving dinner I ever had, it would be the one I had when I was in jump school in the Army at Fort Benning.
Anyone who has eaten in an Army mess hall won't give the food very high marks. It is cheap, quickly made, and often eaten too quickly for the soldier to appreciate, or even notice it's flavor (for better or worse). Of course, if you happen to work in an Army kitchen, you don't eat what you dish out to the others, the kitchen staff cook wonderful meals for themselves. When I was stuck doing KP, at least I could look forward to a very good meal, and have more than 5 minutes to enjoy it.
Thanksgiving during my first year in the Army was the first which I had not celebrated with my family. I was a long way from my home in the desert Southwest, and had never been away from my family for so long. Having to spend the holidays so far away was difficult.
Thanksgiving happened to occur between cycles at the jump school. I had been slightly injured in training a couple weeks before, and had been recycled to take it a second time. I was fortunate because I was being recycled back to the same company I had been training with. This being the case, I knew all the cadre and instructors by name, and of course, they all knew me. Though I had known these men (and a couple women) only for 5 or 6 weeks, there is nothing like Army training for creating bonds between people.
For Thanksgiving dinner, the mess hall had a special dinner planned, and if we were to eat there, we were required to wear our class A (dress) uniforms. Dinner was served at 4pm, and when I arrived, the mess hall was less than one-half full. Rather than the hustle and noise of at least one hundred ravenous soldiers shoveling down their meals, the atmosphere was quiet and relaxed. There were only few trainees present, as the next class was still a week or so away, and most of the students would not arrive until a day or two before. Almost all the people in the mess hall were jump school cadre and instructors in their dress blue uniforms, along with their families.
I was in first platoon, third squad, which belonged to Staff Sergeant Marshall, a "black hat", or jump school instructor. He was a black man about 30 years old. He was there with is wife, who was a pretty white woman, and their two small children. As I was the only member of the squad present, I sat at the table with him and his family. I had never seen him not wearing his BDU uniform, with it's trademark black baseball cap, with his jump wings and sergeant's chevrons pinned to it. He was wearing an Army dress blue uniform (yes, the Army has blue uniforms as well).
Sergeant Marshall was a genuinely good man (of which the Army has many, but the rest of the world too few), he had been in the Arm for some years, and had travelled the world. He was a good instructor, had a great sense of humor, but with a streak of seriousness which commanded respect. If Sergeant Airborne Marshall was not smiling, you felt worse than if another sergeant was standing in front of you screaming into your face.
At the next table was the Captain and XO. The Captain had enlisted as a young man, served as a Ranger, and Ranger instructor before being recognized as officer material, and sent off to OCS. He had not only the aura of respect which goes with being an officer, but the genuine "I work for a living" experience of a senior sergeant and combat veteran. Nearby was the First Sergeant, a short, serious and careworn black man with a soft voice and very dark eyes (which had seen the jungles of Vietnam as a Marine). Unlike Sergeant Marshall, the First Sergeant had no sense of humor whatsoever, and was thought to be incapable of laughter. Seeing him smile was more frightening than seeing other sergeants frown or yell.
At another table were some junior officers, whom I seldom saw in training, and none of whom I really remember well. The Captain, being a former enlisted man, preferred the company of his senior sergeants, though the officers who served under him gave him careful respect. Having been a senior sergeant and an enlisted man, he had an inbuilt disdain for the officer class, which he was careful not to show, but which could be sensed by myself (coming from a military family), and the junior officers. Unlike other Captains in the battalion, our's was both book smart and street smart.
The dinner turned out to be amazing. There was turkey, ham, goose, venison, there were different kinds of bread and pastries, and deserts of every kind. Every single thing on the tables was perfectly prepared, and wonderfully delicious. I couldn't believe that the same cooks who piled the slop on our trays every morning were capable of making food this good. If I was surprised that all of the cadre and their families celebrating Thanksgiving in the mess hall instead of their own homes, now I knew why.
Fortunately for myself, I had skipped lunch while calling home, and, having a young soldier's appetite and stomach capacity, I was able to enjoy a fair helping of everything which the cooks made. Sergeant Marshall and his wife were fun to talk to, their kids were remarkably well-behaved. The Captain took a seat at our table for a few minutes to share a drink, and say a few words. People from other tables stopped by to chat, and we did the same thing. The children eventually gravitated together and played games, while the adults among us enjoyed the time to enjoy each other's company all together, and informally (despite the dress uniforms). It was the first time in my life that I had experienced such society, an interacted with it.
Dinner lasted for almost three hours, after which people began to leave, as they had to call on the homes of their friends around the post. I left, full, satisfied, and drowsy. I appreciated the meal, knowing that it would be a long time before I was able to experience anything like it again.
Unfortunately, that was the last Thanksgiving dinner I had served by the Army. In the following years I was able to go home, or eat at the homes of friends. Of course eating with family and friends is not a bad thing, but no Thanksgiving I have ever experienced was as good as that one dinner at Fort Benning.
But when I think about the best Thanksgiving dinner I ever had, it would be the one I had when I was in jump school in the Army at Fort Benning.
Anyone who has eaten in an Army mess hall won't give the food very high marks. It is cheap, quickly made, and often eaten too quickly for the soldier to appreciate, or even notice it's flavor (for better or worse). Of course, if you happen to work in an Army kitchen, you don't eat what you dish out to the others, the kitchen staff cook wonderful meals for themselves. When I was stuck doing KP, at least I could look forward to a very good meal, and have more than 5 minutes to enjoy it.
Thanksgiving during my first year in the Army was the first which I had not celebrated with my family. I was a long way from my home in the desert Southwest, and had never been away from my family for so long. Having to spend the holidays so far away was difficult.
Thanksgiving happened to occur between cycles at the jump school. I had been slightly injured in training a couple weeks before, and had been recycled to take it a second time. I was fortunate because I was being recycled back to the same company I had been training with. This being the case, I knew all the cadre and instructors by name, and of course, they all knew me. Though I had known these men (and a couple women) only for 5 or 6 weeks, there is nothing like Army training for creating bonds between people.
For Thanksgiving dinner, the mess hall had a special dinner planned, and if we were to eat there, we were required to wear our class A (dress) uniforms. Dinner was served at 4pm, and when I arrived, the mess hall was less than one-half full. Rather than the hustle and noise of at least one hundred ravenous soldiers shoveling down their meals, the atmosphere was quiet and relaxed. There were only few trainees present, as the next class was still a week or so away, and most of the students would not arrive until a day or two before. Almost all the people in the mess hall were jump school cadre and instructors in their dress blue uniforms, along with their families.
I was in first platoon, third squad, which belonged to Staff Sergeant Marshall, a "black hat", or jump school instructor. He was a black man about 30 years old. He was there with is wife, who was a pretty white woman, and their two small children. As I was the only member of the squad present, I sat at the table with him and his family. I had never seen him not wearing his BDU uniform, with it's trademark black baseball cap, with his jump wings and sergeant's chevrons pinned to it. He was wearing an Army dress blue uniform (yes, the Army has blue uniforms as well).
Sergeant Marshall was a genuinely good man (of which the Army has many, but the rest of the world too few), he had been in the Arm for some years, and had travelled the world. He was a good instructor, had a great sense of humor, but with a streak of seriousness which commanded respect. If Sergeant Airborne Marshall was not smiling, you felt worse than if another sergeant was standing in front of you screaming into your face.
At the next table was the Captain and XO. The Captain had enlisted as a young man, served as a Ranger, and Ranger instructor before being recognized as officer material, and sent off to OCS. He had not only the aura of respect which goes with being an officer, but the genuine "I work for a living" experience of a senior sergeant and combat veteran. Nearby was the First Sergeant, a short, serious and careworn black man with a soft voice and very dark eyes (which had seen the jungles of Vietnam as a Marine). Unlike Sergeant Marshall, the First Sergeant had no sense of humor whatsoever, and was thought to be incapable of laughter. Seeing him smile was more frightening than seeing other sergeants frown or yell.
At another table were some junior officers, whom I seldom saw in training, and none of whom I really remember well. The Captain, being a former enlisted man, preferred the company of his senior sergeants, though the officers who served under him gave him careful respect. Having been a senior sergeant and an enlisted man, he had an inbuilt disdain for the officer class, which he was careful not to show, but which could be sensed by myself (coming from a military family), and the junior officers. Unlike other Captains in the battalion, our's was both book smart and street smart.
The dinner turned out to be amazing. There was turkey, ham, goose, venison, there were different kinds of bread and pastries, and deserts of every kind. Every single thing on the tables was perfectly prepared, and wonderfully delicious. I couldn't believe that the same cooks who piled the slop on our trays every morning were capable of making food this good. If I was surprised that all of the cadre and their families celebrating Thanksgiving in the mess hall instead of their own homes, now I knew why.
Fortunately for myself, I had skipped lunch while calling home, and, having a young soldier's appetite and stomach capacity, I was able to enjoy a fair helping of everything which the cooks made. Sergeant Marshall and his wife were fun to talk to, their kids were remarkably well-behaved. The Captain took a seat at our table for a few minutes to share a drink, and say a few words. People from other tables stopped by to chat, and we did the same thing. The children eventually gravitated together and played games, while the adults among us enjoyed the time to enjoy each other's company all together, and informally (despite the dress uniforms). It was the first time in my life that I had experienced such society, an interacted with it.
Dinner lasted for almost three hours, after which people began to leave, as they had to call on the homes of their friends around the post. I left, full, satisfied, and drowsy. I appreciated the meal, knowing that it would be a long time before I was able to experience anything like it again.
Unfortunately, that was the last Thanksgiving dinner I had served by the Army. In the following years I was able to go home, or eat at the homes of friends. Of course eating with family and friends is not a bad thing, but no Thanksgiving I have ever experienced was as good as that one dinner at Fort Benning.
