I had the best job in the Army. I was a "Supply Gofer." Now, for some few in the civilian world, those whohaven't watched any war movies, a little explanation of that nom de guerre is in order.Have you ever seen the t.v. show "Mash"? Remember "Radar" O'Reilley? He was the medical unit gofer. (At least, that was the impression they gave.) As the show progressed through its seasons, he was grew to be more of a personal secretary and clerk for the Colonel, though.
I was originally in the commo section, (communications,) HHQ Divarty, but had the good sense to get a military driver's license early on. Sadly, I didn't get along so well with my commo section chief. (In hind-sight, mostly my fault.) So, a good buddy of mine who was an "acting jack" E-5, got me a transfer to supply. They needed a gofer.
I knew the guys in supply, so felt right at home very quickly. Sgt. Thompson, my new section chief, was an amiable Puerto Rican who took a liking to me very quickly. He would often refer to me as "my private." Yes, I was, very soon, a PFC, but I never felt insulted. I felt he always meant it kindly.
Now, there are different types of "gofers" in the Army, but being "supply gofer" is the best by far. The ideal, obviously, is that you are the guy who, when they need someone to go for something, you are the one they send. Thus, go for, "gofer." It basically means you spend a lot of time behind the wheel of a vehicle or sitting in warehouses and offices waiting to pick up something or to drop something off.
Once, I actually volunteered for New Year's Day duty when I knew our unit was going to get that assignment anyway. I knew for me it meant driving troops to different guard points around the post. I felt sorry, a little, for the guys and gals walking perimeter that cold night while I sweated in my big five-ton with the heat on full blast. I even slept in the cab that night, (when I had time to sleep.) I woke up hearing them looking for me in the barracks and, as I recall, was unsure if I should actually let them know where I was.
In performance of my various duties, I drove several different vehicles for the Army. Everything from a one-quarter ton truck, (a jeep), to a five-ton truck to a six-quarter ton truck, (a gamma-goat.) Yeah, everything in the army is pretty much a truck. (I was licensed for a "deuce-and-a-half," but never actually sat behind the wheel of one.) I was even licensed to operate a couple of types of generators. This lead to me being the mess-hall driver, so, when the battery was on a field-problem, I was the guy who would hall troops, food and supplies in my five-ton or gamma-goat out to the field. I even became assistant driver for the "old man" which meant I was the driver for the Top Sergeant and our captain.
Being supply gopher did have its privileges. I'd be in a warm and dry vehicle while others were in the rain or the cold. I'd often get to return to the "rear" while others were stuck in the field. Sometimes, I would get a hot meal straight from the mess that way too. On one occasion while in the rear, I refused to shower, though I had ample opportunity, because I felt that was somehow unfair to the guys stuck in the field. I don't know, but it made sense at the time. I suppose I wanted to show my solidarity with them.
Yes, there were many perks, but you'd sometimes have to be at places at times when others might not have to be. I never minded it, though. I would simply sit in my jeep or truck waiting on whomever I needed to wait on.
I've heard many a story, especially in war-time, how gofers got a way with metaphorical murder because they were sneaky and crooked and used their job for their own gain and/or that of their friends. My experience was never like that. I guess the most that I abused my job was I bragged that I was about the only trooper in the battery who could ask for a three day pass on Thursday morning and have it approved that afternoon.
Funny, but I was also assistant for a lot of jobs. I was assistant driver for Top and the CO, assistant armorer, assistant R&U, ( Repairs & Utilities,) and maybe something else.(I think I might've just been the R&U guy.) I sure did do a lot of assisting. (I think I recall these correctly.)
On any given day, I would be piddling away at some task in the supply room when the supply SP4 would return from a mission for the chief. As often as not, he would return empty-handed, unsuccessful and all too quickly from whatever enterprise he had been assigned. Sgt. Thompson would always fuss & cuss about the specialist's lack of success. Next thing I knew, I heard something I heard on many an occasion.
"I'll just send my private. If I want anything done around here, I've gotta send my private!"
Then, off I'd go to retrieve some much needed machine, machine part, papers or paperwork or to deliver something to someone that needed it delivered to them or to pick up something from someone who needed it picked up from them. It really didn't matter what, it just mattered that it got done. It didn't even seem to matter how long it took. Hey, a twelve-hour day in the Army is a short day, so, I suppose you've got to be busy doing something.
I'd arrive at my destination to do whatever and it would usually turn out to be a waiting game. I always had the good sense to keep a book in my pocket and got a lot of good reading done. (Everything from Milton to Burroughs.) After however much time it took, I'd hear my name or unit or something familiar called out or someone would just, I suppose, get sick of looking at me sitting there. They'd ask what I wanted and fill my order or accept my delivery or do what needed done. Then, I'd be on my way back to my unit. I'd walk through the door and Sgt. Thompson would ask me if I was successful, I'd reply in the affirmative and he'd smile and say those words I actually loved to hear.
"I'll just send my private. If I want anything done around here, I've gotta send my
private!"
Oh, yeah, it was definitely the best job in the Army! I doubt it, but I might've considered re-uping if there had been an MOS for supply gofer. Then, I could've just whiled the hours away sitting on my posterior, reading my books and listening to my supply chief endlessly singing the praises of his private.
