The Repo Depot

View Larger MapThe first time I was stationed at Ft. Lewis, I was assigned as a cook to the 525th Replacement Company, A.K.A. the Repo-Depot. This was the first place troops coming to the place went as the got in-processed and sent off to their units.

It was an old building – probably fifty years old at that time. On the above map, if you zoom in a bit, the building I lived and worked in from, roughly, October 1976 to November 1977 is northeastern most section of the building to the southeast of Pendleton and 7th.

This is where I had my Honda 50 Mini-trail. (These photos are of a reproduction model) I road that thing all over the base and back on the logging roads. It was a blast--until I missed a jump over a log and cracked the exhaust right at the head.

I was not well-liked by my superiors here. I was fairly rebellious. And weird. And a young punk. While here, I got busted for possession. I had made a multi-chambered pipe out of several toilet paper tubes and straws. It was wicked bad. I tested it in the room - big mistake, as the smoke it generated was unreal. The Charge of Quarters (CQ) Sergeant came by and was digging through my trash can, trying to find a roach or something. He left, and I thought that was it, though just to be safe, I took all my paraphernalia out to the woods and stashed it.

The next day, I was summoned from work to return to me room. The C.O., X.O, and First Sergeant were there, and they went through my room. They found a bottle of Wild Turkey 101—which I was not supposed to have in my room. That was about it. Just as they were leaving though, the X.O. picked up my jacket. On the sleeve of the jacket I has sewed a NORML patch. As soon as she picked it up, I remembered that I’d stashed a joint inside of it—pushed through a small area where it wasn’t sewn. (Note to Potheads. Stashing drugs inside something that advertises drug use is not a good idea.)

So I got busted. I got an Article 15, which is basically the military form of a plea bargain. It’s kind of like, “sign ze confession, und ve’ll only kill you a little bit.” I was advised to sign. I had no friggin excuse. The funny thing is that having the bottle of Turkey was a bigger crime than the dope – Disobeying a Lawful Order vs. Possession of a Controlled Substance, to wit; Marihuana*. I lost a month’s pay, got a suspended demotion, restricted to barracks and place of worship, and two weeks of extra-duty.

My First Sergeant, a Congressional Medal of Honor recipient, was a mean ass sonofabtich, and much feared around post. As a CMH wearer, he had to be saluted by everyone, even officers (so rumor had it.) I saw him crack down on Majors, even, who were out of uniform, or out of line. After the bust, he called me in his office. I was shitting bricks. But he told me, basically, “You’re a good kid, Raab-Faber. You just hang out with a bunch of hoodlums. Get with the program.” He ended up being an ally later on down the road.

Until then, though, I was something of an outcast. I had a few friends that I hung out with, but nothing big. My roommate was a farm boy from Carnation, Washington, and on weekends he was gone home to work at his girlfriend’s dad’s place. It was just me.

And then, one day….

NEXT UP: Picking with Mike
* It seems that for a while afterward, we all called pot “To Wit”