NATIONAL EXPLOSIVE ORDNANCE
DISPOSAL ASSOCIATION

EOD Stories submitted by our members:

Fort Hayes.

On the way to the convention in Tucson, I drove into downtown Columbus, Ohio where I found no sign of what used to be the Ft. Hayes.  There’s a school where, in the late 1950's and early 60's, there was a dusty little Army post in the bustling state capital area.  It was the home of the 71st EOD, sometimes known as the “fun-lovin’ 71st.”  The commanding officer was Art Brochu, whose mischievous nature was actively fostered by Sergeants Gerry Golden and Russ Adams.  The unit had a well-deserved reputation for gags and practical jokes.  They especially enjoyed practical jokes that used a weakness in the victim to spring the trap.  One such gag was sometimes used to initiate a new member by fixing him up with a “special date.”

When a new man arrived, he reported to the Commanding Officer who asked him some questions and told him about the unit (more in terms of how he hoped it would be rather than of how it actually was).  One of the other men would then take him in tow.  He was taken to the personnel and finance offices; assigned a bunk, wall locker, and foot locker; and issued permanent liberty and chow passes.  As he took the new guy around, the old hand told him what the unit was really like - and what to watch out for.  After in-processing, one of the guys would ask him if he’d like to join them for a beer.  With the state offices so close, Ft. Hayes was near many little lounges where young women regularly trolled for husband material.  The guys would drive the new guy to one of those places,  go inside and grab a booth, order a draft, and tell “true stories” for a while.  Inevitably, some nice-looking women would come in, have a cocktail or two, and leave.  If the intended victim seemed to be noticing a woman who was leaving, one of the guys would ask, “Do you like her?”  If the man seemed interested, the next question was, “How would you like a date?”  If he said yes, they would tell him a few imaginary things about “Marie” concluding with, “You know, she’s a real sucker for cold canned beer.  Give her cold canned beer and she’ll do anything.”  The troops then made a big thing of looking at their watches, standing up, and saying how they had to get back to the unit.  This was the critical moment.  If the new man said nothing, it was over.  If he said, “What about my date?”- operation “cold canned beer” went into full swing.  Acting as if they had kind of forgotten about the offer of a date, and that it was really a lot of trouble, they would reluctantly say, “Well, OK, meet us on the corner outside the gate with the cold canned beer at 7:00 and we’ll pick you up.

That evening, at a few minutes after the appointed hour, they would arrive at the corner and pick up the victim who would be standing there holding his case of cold canned beer.  They would then head out into the countryside, drive up to a typical Ohio two story house, and park to one side.  The house was surrounded by a picket fence, and as they entered the gate with our victim in front, they would begin to call out in sing-song voices, “Marie, Mareee-ee.”  They moved closer and closer until the victim had his feet on the first two steps of the three leading up to the porch.  At that moment, the front door would burst open and a man with a large shotgun would come running out and fire two shots in the air.  All the troops would start running for the woods, except one who would fall down and cry out in a fading voice, “Keep running you guys - he got me.”  The new guy would, of course, drop the case of beer and run into the woods.  Being cans, they didn’t break on impact and were ready to be consumed by the unit members who quickly circled back to their First Sergeant’s front porch where there was, of course, no “Marie.”  Sooner or later, the new member would find his way out of the scrub brush, see the car, and cautiously approach.  When he was spotted by one of the unit members (who were having their little beer party on the porch) he’d be warmly welcomed into the group while realizing that he’d been “had.”  After a while, his anger would cool and he’d have a good time with the rest - while beginning to imagine pulling the trick on the next “new guy.”  I don’t know if its true or not, but I was told that one new man was lost out in the scrub for three days before he found his way back to the unit.

Henry (Bud) Engelhardt