MUDSILL TROCITIES Part Deux

THE COMPLETION OF THE UNBELIVABLE, BUT TRUE STORY OF THE BAND OF MISFITS KNOWN AS "THE MUDSILLS" INCLUDING A LIST OF ADDITIONAL ATROCITIES ALONG WITH THE COMPLETE LIST OF "STAY OF EXECUTIONS" AND GRANTS OF CLEMENCY FROM VARIOUS GOVERNORSBy BOB WILLEY

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Bob Willey et., al.
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-7639-6

Contents

Forward............................................................................3Thanks.............................................................................5About The Author...................................................................7Chapter One IN THE BEGINNING......................................................9Chapter Two CARTER'S INAUGURAL....................................................17Chapter Three CAMP CHASE GAZETTE..................................................25Chapter Four PAUL CRAIG...........................................................29Chapter Five HAPPENINGS...........................................................33Chapter Six THE TOP TEN...........................................................121Chapter Seven MUDSILL SONGS.......................................................123Chapter Eight REBUTTALS...........................................................133Chapter Nine MENTAL HEALTH........................................................135Chapter Ten EVERYTHING YOU EVER WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT MUDSILLS.....................141Chapter Eleven THE LEGEND LIVES ON................................................147Chapter Twelve WHERE ARE THEY NOW?................................................149Chapter Thirteen IT'S MURPHY AGAIN................................................163Chapter Fourteen GREAT LOSSES.....................................................165Most Special Friends forever.......................................................187Mudsill Directory..................................................................189Mudsill Reunion Reminder!..........................................................195

Chapter One

IN THE BEGINNING

Why is the origin of the Mudsills being written now and not in the first volume, you ask? It was after reading the first volume that Howard Popowski decided that this should be written so all will know how this incredible group of misfits came into existence. It seems that there was a mass escape from a mental hospital somewhere in Ohio and the escapees decided to band together...................... no, I'd better let Howard tell the story, although I'm probably pretty close. So here is Howard's version:

"The whole idea was to put a full size Civil War Company in the field. 60-80 men all of whom so knew what the hell they were doing-yeah, yeah, I know wishful thinking. In any case, George Derenburger, then erstwhile Captain of the 1st. Ohio, talked to a bunch of other little SVR Regiments about this idea. George being smarter than the average bear, chose those units with vastly more manpower than the average. He gathered together his own 1st. Ohio with about ten members, Christopher Craft's 41st. Ohio with about the same number, those of us in the 38th. Ohio - we were bloody huge with twenty members led by Jim Blue, Bill Combs 2nd. Ohio, John Zaharias and the 6th. Missouri, all the boys from the 17th. Michigan, and all those weird, really freaky fellows from the 44th. Indiana, the 16th. Iowa, 3rd. Wisconsin and the 37th. Illinois. All, in combination gave the requisite 60-80+ men in the line necessary to do company drill ala Colonel Casey. There were a few others, of course, independent perverts and geeks every one. They fit right in, as a rule, but maintained their misguided allegiances to other authentic groups of the day-that is the 100th. Ohio and "Sherman's Bummers."

This was essentially the founding crowd..... no, I think herd would be a more appropriate term, for even a mob has a leader, that put on the first events and took a mere two years to learn how to do "Company Right" and "Company Left" face and "Company Front" semi correctly.

We did some memorable and interesting events. The first two Park Service events were Fort Donelson and Shiloh in 1974. These were the first two events where armed civilians were allowed onto National Park Service property......... ever!

We did a couple of other events that stick to my mind like fresh peanut butter. Wayneburg, Pa. hilly ... sub-zero ... insane asylum. It was there that we first met John Eckhard's Redlegs. It was there that Max Rattay and Russ McClelland kept Charlie Fisk, Carlos Soto, Jerry Powers and me alive by tending a fire all night so that we wouldn't freeze to death. There was Mill Springs, Kentucky, the first time we all had proper dogtents and made real honest-to-God Company streets ... and the local looney who the cops fortunately stopped before he could fulfill his lifetime wish to shoot him a goddamned Yankee.

We grew geometrically. If you count heads in the picture of us making the turn off of Pennsylvania Avenue in the Jimmah Carter Inaugural Parade, you'll see two companies.

By July 4 of 1976 we had enough members to be a mid-war size battalion. We even made the centerfold of a National Geographic Book. It shows us just to one side of the Irish Brigade flag, crouched along a rail fence beside John Eckhard's gun. It was here we learned about a "John Eckhard's Pound." This was a cannon round consisting of a pound of black powder and a pound of flour. The effect was impressive. I was picking dust and splinters from that freaking rail fence out of my uniform for months after the event. Every time John fired, the blast would rain bits and pieces from the fence rails onto and into us. Makes you appreciate the real difference between .577" and 3.000". The tall drink of water with the round hat was our First Sergeant, Rick Davis, who lasted until a little after the Grenada, Mississippi event, where Mike Grant kept the Mississippi State Troopers entertained at the gate with a four hour presentation of Rufus, the Dancing Darkey Puppet. He did it so they would not come into the site and bust all of us for having and consuming alcoholic beverages on State Park property. That was also the event where my original pard, Charlie Fisk, ran full tilt off the parapet.... not a wise move under the best of circumstances, the parapet being twenty to twenty-five feet high. Fortunately Charlie didn't break anything important. Charlie and the rest of the old 38th. Ohio gang, the Powers brothers, Jack and Jerry, Jim Blue, Mike Fronk and Carlos Soto lasted until the SVR National Encampment at Gahanna, Ohio in 1977. By that date Thomas's Mudsills had pretty much solidified into the nucleus that would last throughout its history.

We did take on other elements, for instance some of John Eckhard's Redlegs galvanized to Infantry. Karl Luthin attached as the mounted arm and Brian Baird, Jim Turza and Tom Baker filled out a full size battery. We could field a solid three or four company battalion, a four gun battery and a troop of cavalry, with adjunct impressions to fit- laundresses, hospital, chaplain, brothel, engineers and signal corps.

But the most important thing was that the small local affiliations dropped way down in importance. We started to think of ourselves as PRIMARILY Thomas's Mudsills and we began to develop, without even thinking about it, a group persona. (end Popowski entry).

As the Mudsills began to crawl out of the primoral ooze and learn to stand upright so they could drill (I think I recall George saying that God created the wheelbarrow so that Mudsills could learn to stand upright or was that Irishmen?), they soon learned that they had voices and could sing, if you want to call it that, so naturally we had to have a song to sing. Thus came the first Mudsill marching song. Howard claims that the following was the original Mudsill marching song;

ARMY HOTDOGS

We generally sang this as a marching song at SVR events. Hot Dogs, ARMY Hot Dogs, What kind of FARB eats ARMY Hot Dogs? Fat FARBS, thin FARBS, FARBS that ride on bikes, Tall FARBS, short FARBS, FARBS that go on ARMY hikes, EAT Hot Dogs, ARMY Hot Dogs, The Dogs FARBS love to bite.

The next tune was occasioned at the Gettysburg '76 event when Lieutenant Adolphson, the Supreme High Poobah of the Bummers, told George Derenburger that they would watch us drill and if we were good enough they'd think about letting us join their ranks for the event. That said, George told us about it and we took 47 hand-picked men out to the drill competition (remember drill competitions?) and did a half hour of absolutely frigging flawless company drill ending with one of the three most perfect uniform volleys ever fired on the North American Continent - I mean even the echo ended at the same instant. Following this dead nuts perfect volley we marched off of the drill field to the cheers and applause of the hundreds of spectators who had come to watch and returned to our camp ignoring the rest of the competition. We probably won, but we weren't there to accept the prize. I was there and I remember how we stepped with pride on the march back to camp.

Lieutenant Adolphson, who had shown up with his usual number of less than ten shaved, smooth, oiled young boys to watch us, slinked away into the weeds, never to be heard from again.... After that we picked up some really good members from the Bummers, Gary Carpenter (who many years later in the movie "Gettysburg" would utter the immortal words in a southern Michigan accent to General Robert E. Lee on the big screen, "Let us go back, Gineral, we can whip them this time."), Larry Strayer (whose name I most unfairly left out of the Mudsill Roster in volume one) and Jerry Razer to name three.

Soon another marching tune was added to our repertoire. It is called "The Bummer's March."

THE BUMMER'S MARCH

To the tune "I wish I was an Oscar Mayer Wiener." I wish I was a nifty Sherman's Bummer, That is what I'd really like to be, For if I was a nifty Sherman's Bummer, Everyone would kiss my ass for me. I wish I was incredibly authentic, That is what I'd really love to be, For if I was incredibly authentic, Everyone could kiss my ass you see.

THE TANK

(Popowski Again).

At Shiloh National military Park in 1974, the very first large event we participated in as armed civilians on National Park property, we were counter-cultured with Cleburne's Command. Essentially us, in Southern guise, with about one tenth the living brain cells, but I repeat myself.

I awoke on Sunday morning and being as we were in southern Tennessee - durn near in Mississippi - in April, it was only about 90 degress in the shade before the sun came up. (that makes sense, "in the shade before the sun came up"). So I gathered up my squad's canteens and headed to the well concealed, but conveniently located, water buffalo. While filling canteens, I began to hear this really odd sound coming from the direction of the Reb camp, sort of like a large mosquito straining at stool, and it was getting louder. When I peeked out down the trail between the camps I saw them, whole flights of them. They were skipping in formation with arms outstretched making noises..... Making noises like......making noises just like ... HOLY BATMAN ... just like Japanese Zeros. At 6:55 AM on a Sunday morning. We were undergoing a surprise attack.....AIR RAID! AIR RAID! THIS WAS NO DRILL ... the slant eyed little yellow Confederate bastids devastated our camp. Every tent was bombed. The officer's row was left a smoking ruin.

Revenge was strong in us that morning. How could we repay this infamous act? A TANK! We need a TANK.

Fifty men formed tightly together with the lightest of them, one Luckey Stiles, riding in the open hatch of the simulated turret with a Sibley tent pole as a simulated 88mm and we became a PzKw VI, a Tiger to end all Tigers. Panzer rollen Afrika vor. Down the road we clank-clank-clanked on tin plates and cooking pots, to the heathen Cornfed camp. Target to the right FIRE. Target to the left FIRE. Target to the front FIRE. Forward. We discovered that fifty guys all moving as a solid block can pretty well flatten any number of dogtents that get in the way. Fortunately, the NPS people were sleeping in. But it pretty much solidified our relationship with Cleburne's Command, and until the JDR's (Jeff Davis Rifles) came along in the next decade, Cleburne's boys were our trusted adversaries.

Chapter Two

CARTER'S INAUGURAL

We talked about Carter's Inaugural in the first volume, but we must return to it for a few additional memories.

Put me through to the Prez. Please

We all had been told that we had received an invitation to participate in the Georgia boy's parade and had all made the necessary plans.....vacation days, etc. Then the word came down that we had been un-invited. This was a mere two weeks before we were to hot-foot it down Pennsylvania Avenue. I think it was Chris Craft who called and said for everybody to contact their congressman and explain our dilemma. Here in Indiana I contacted Congressman Phil Sharp (who wasn't very ...) and whoever else I could think of, but it didn't seem I was getting anywhere, so I thought, "what the hell!" and placed a call to Carter's headquarters in Plains, Georgia.

A young lady answered, "Hello, how are ya'all." Trying to sound like one of the good ole boys I said, "Why, just finer then a frog hair," and began to explain our situation, "We were invited and now we're un-invited and so-on and so-on." When I finished she said, "Hold on please," and I thought here goes the old double shuffle routine. Suddenly another line picked up and I heard, "This Jimmah Carta." I went through the same story again (trying to sound important or impotent or something). He listened quietly and then said, Let me check into this, thank you Mr. Willey and ......click, he was gone. I realized that there's probably only one phone in Plains and somebody else needed it to order hog feed or something.

A day or two later we all got phone calls saying that we were back in.

Probably it was Miss Lillian that said over the evening bowl of grits, "Now Jimmah, ya'all get them fine Yankees boys back in ya'll parade or they might come back down here a burnin' and a pillaging' and committin' who knows what other atrocities" like they did before when I was a young girl.

We marched and Howard brings us a few other memories of this event.

THE DUKE

I was the center guide of the first company, about three paces behind George. My job was to keep the center of the company on the yellow line in the middle of the street-which, by the way, I managed to do flawlessly, never once having to raise my voice above 120db to be heard over the freaking Ole Miss Band that was running a race with a shooting star right in front of us. But as a consequence of my important duties, I pretty much missed the frigging parade until we made this half-assed wheel onto another street and these big-assed TV lights came on and there was this big-assed Presidential Seal hanging over the street and George screamed, "Eyes left." So up I looks and there in the bleachers to our left was..........JOHN WAYNE.....the DUKE...sitting right there waving at us...right there next to this little turd with the biggest set of front teeth I've ever seen and a ripple of commentary went up throughout the company asking in effect...."Who's that sitting next to John Wayne"....there you go Jimmah, your fifteen seconds of fame.... And ya blew it.

IT'S SNOW

The NPS put us up in a building at Old Fort Washington, on the Potomac just down a ways from D.C. We had invited some of Cleburne's guys (as I recall, Tim Chadwick - pre Miss Bobbie, Johnny Johnson, the little sawed-off editor, Dave Rushing and his BEEAAUUTTIFUL WIFE Margaret and her brother MONGO (Whit something or other - more on Mongo in a bit). As we pulled into the ice covered fort grounds a decrepit light blue Dodge pick-em-up truck pulled into the same parking area and a whole bunch of scruffy looking types piled out of the back carrying burlap bags. With signs of delight they began picking up handfuls of ice covered snow and stuffing it into the bags yelling all the while, "We're rich....We're rich!!!"

They appeared absolutely crestfallen when George came out and broke the news to them that it was snow (which these southern Mississippi boys had never seen) and not cotton (which they had). At that moment, we all knew that they would fit right in.

PHOTO SHOOT

Mongo's brother-in-law was a for real newspaper photographer on the Lower Greenwood Mississippi Tobacco Drool & Democrat News, or some such newspaper as I recall. After the great parade past the Jimmah we trooped out to the Lee Mansion in Arlington to have our picture taken on the South's great silver Diety's front porch. Mongo's brother-in-law was going to shoot it. (Remember that the Lee mansion was on top of the hill at Arlington and the ground was completely covered with a thick layer of solid ice). Anyway we all lined up and went to Parade Rest just like in the Brady photo. (see the photo on page 64 of volume I). Mongo's brother-in-law is focusing as he backs up to get us all in the picture and falls down the hill, sliding on the ice, all the way to the bottom where he alights on his ass on the JFK Eternal Flame location. We went home. Never trust a Southerner to do a chimpanzee's work.

ROW ROW ROW YOUR BOAT

(This is the George Derenburger version of the fable). After we had run the Middies back onto their buses and paraded past them singing Row, Row, Row Your Boat we boarded our transportation to travel from Andrews Air Force Base to the Smithsonian Mall staging area. Before we were allowed to leave, a Secret Service Man came up and gave everyone a final list of instructions ending with a pointed finger and a firm, definitive, "THOU SHALT NOT SING "MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA."

(Continues...)

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