A Wet Cranberry Surprise

This happened in Fort Dix about 40 years ago. It was a weekend drill in November. Several of us left an APC and moved to find cover. We jumped over a small berm covered with bushes.
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Splash! Right into a cranberry bog.

The way they harvest cranberries in New Jersey is simple. Once the berries are ripe, they block off the bog and fill it with water. The berries float off the bushes. All the farmers have to do is skim the berries off the top of the water.

And so, our squad was a victim of cranberry harvesting. We landed in waist-high water. Yuck!

The only thing worse was falling into a rice paddy. That was absolutely foul!  (Fortunately, I did not have that experience. But I knew people who did.)

Orville and the Karate Man

Beer muscles, Airborne bravado and a fight that ought never have happened. 

Orville (or something like that - I met him briefly 45 years ago) had been a paratrooper during the Vietnam war. As part of his basic training, he had been taught hand-to-hand combat. This was the simplified system O’Neill devised in the early `60s. It employed a few kicks, a few open-hand strikes and some takedowns. Orville took to it quickly.

As he told me, one day he was in a bar hoisting a few. He overhead a couple of fellows talking.  One of them had studied Karate. Orville intruded on the conversation. He pestered the man to “show me your Karate stance.”

All Orville knew of the martial arts was his basic instruction in the simplified O’Neill system.

The man finally obliged. Orville noticed that the man made a fist. This was like a red flag. All the paratrooper knew of martial arts handwork were the open handed chops, finger stabs and palm heels he learned in the Army.

Thanks to an excess of drink and youthful bravado, the young man laughed at the Karate man.

“Karate don’t use fists. You’re lying. I should kick your ass!” Orville said. And before the other man could react, Orville made his move. He was sure that his hand-to-hand training would win the day.

Orville was instantly beaten.

As he told me that afternoon I met him, “I had no idea Karate used punches. Well, I found out!”

The moral of the story is: Don’t poke the bear.



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I met Orville (or was it Otto or Otis or....) one sunny Saturday in Austin, Texas. He was with one of the fellows from my unit who I happened to run across while enjoying a day trip in the city. We had a couple beers and told a few stories before we each went our separate ways. The story stuck with me all these years because it was so funny.