Under the Sabers: The Unwritten Code of Army Wives

by Tanya Biank

  I’ve heard similar stories over the years from both enlisted and officers’ wives who have had to rescue other wives. What bothers these women most is that their help was expected more than appreciated. How can this be? Some blame the system. One colonel’s wife I know went as far as to call FRGs “adult women’s hand-holding groups,” saying that the system had created “monsters.”

  That’s just one view, of course. An FRG’s main function is to be the official source of unit information for soldiers’ families. From what I have experienced, active FRGs do a lot of good, especially during deployments. They also hold a lot of fund-raisers, which benefit soldiers and families. That doesn’t mean the system works perfectly. There’s usually a she-monster in every unit, who knows how to take advantage, or a young woman who has not learned basic adult life skills. For years a wife and her children were known as “dependents” in the Army. The word was replaced a few years ago with the more politically correct term “family member,” when the Army realized wives could have a lot of responsibilities, too, or perhaps the Army hoped to change a deeply ingrained mind-set. Even so, the old term is still used.

  Delores felt strongly that Army wives had to learn to take responsibility, or they wouldn’t be able to be independent when they returned to civilian life. “Figure out how to do for yourself, because your husband is not always going to be there.” That was Delores’s credo. It was a lesson she knew only too well. She had often been both mother and father to her kids. Ski had missed Cherish’s birth, first birthday, and first Holy Communion; he hadn’t been there for Gary Shane’s high school graduation, or on countless holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries. Delores paid all the bills. She didn’t even know if Ski remembered how to write a check. When he was away she mowed the lawn, maintained the cars, and ran the household. Wives had no choice but to carry the entire load, just as a single mother would have to.

  As she got back in the car, Delores focused on her son once again. He had offered earlier to pump the gas, but she had noticed he didn’t have his coat on and told him she would do it. Suddenly she realized Gary Shane didn’t have his overcoat at all and asked him where it was.

  His expression turned to surprise. “It’s still in my closet.”

  They rushed home and then sped to the airport. Delores didn’t want to cry, but it was hard to fight back the lump in her throat.

  “I really enjoyed having you home, son. It went by so fast,” she said. “Gosh, you’re all grown up. I’m so proud.”

  She dropped Gary Shane off in front of the Delta terminal, then hurried to park the car and ran to his gate. Passengers were already boarding.

  “Are you all squared away with money?” she asked. Gary Shane was always too proud to ask for any.

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  She hugged and kissed him. “I hate to see you leave again.” She pulled an envelope from her purse and gave it to him. “Baby, save it to read during your flight.” It was a Winnie the Pooh card that read, “You’re always in my heart, so I know exactly where to find you.” To that sentiment Delores had added her own thoughts, ending with “Bye for now, angel. May God’s peace and love be with you. Have a safe trip back to Fort Benning. Love, Your Mom xoxo.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll miss you. I’ll be sending a package in time for your birthday. And I’ll see you in March.”

  Gary Shane didn’t have the heart to tell her he didn’t want her or Ski at his graduation. He didn’t want anyone to think he got special treatment because his dad was a command sergeant major, and he certainly didn’t want any harassment because of it. It was bad enough that some of the guys called him “Mini Ski” and “Little CSM.” He just wanted to be treated like any other soldier, to succeed on his own. But he’d worry about telling them later. First he had to make it through the rest of Basic Training.

  “Don’t cry, Mom. I love you, too.” She’d find his belated Christmas card on the fireplace mantel when she got home.

  As he walked away, he turned and smiled and waved. Delores watched his plane taxi down the runway and take off. She stayed until she could no longer see it, crying the whole time.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Rennie Cory rubbed his hands together in the wintry air as the engine of his black Chevy Silverado Z-71 churned to life like a waking behemoth. It was still hours from daybreak, and Rennie had the alertness that comes from adrenaline mixed with a night of restless sleep. He let the truck warm up for Andrea Lynne and returned to the kitchen for a second mug of coffee. Black was the “hoo-ah” way to guzzle a cup of java in the infantry, but Rennie drank his with cream and sugar. He’d joke to his wife that he drank it like he liked his women: warm and sweet.

  It was the morning of January 10, 2001, more than a week since the party. It had been wonderful, he’d told his wife after everyone had left. “Everyone was so relaxed. For the first time someone had a gathering of different field grades merely for the sake of friendship. Nobody needed to do any politicking.”

  This morning the house was still and cold. Rennie walked upstairs and kissed each of his children—asleep in their beds—good-bye. In a few hours he’d be on a plane headed to Vietnam. He and Andrea Lynne had their first fight in years the day before. It had been late afternoon, and Andrea Lynne was in the kitchen cooking halfheartedly. When her son wouldn’t pitch in with dinner, Andrea Lynne insisted that Rennie make the boy help. Before she knew it little Rennie was nervous and crying, and Rennie had angrily popped him on the back of the head. The flare-up was sudden, and it upset them all. Rennie didn’t discipline the children often, and when he did, Andrea Lynne rarely interfered. This time she lashed out at Rennie, and they argued.

  Frayed nerves from the stress that comes with not being in full control of a major life change—like the one the Corys were facing—are not unusual in the Army. So many things need to be taken care of or finalized before a deployment, and an emotional cloud hangs over everything. Misunderstandings, mundane tasks, and innocuous comments can get blown out of proportion and lead to arguments, even for couples as well grounded as the Corys.

  Andrea Lynne could see that her husband and son were hurt by what happened, and suddenly she felt it was her fault. But it was no one’s fault, really. Rennie’s return to Southeast Asia for another six months was casting a gloom on the house that matched the overcast sky outside the kitchen window. All she wanted to do was cry and scream. She sent little Rennie to his room, and her husband went outside. Andrea Lynne stewed for a few minutes. Then she noticed the sun low in the sky, and her heart sank.

  Little Rennie had just turned fifteen, and he had never driven before. She had wanted it to be his dad who took him out the first time, but this was the last day. Where had the month gone? They had so many plans. Rennie wanted to play golf with his son and get the truck serviced and ride his Harley. There were relatives to visit and friends to see. There weren’t enough hours for it all. Little Rennie’s first drive just slipped away. I guess it will have to be me, Andrea Lynne thought. No! she thought. No! It should be his Dad. It was almost dark, but Andrea Lynne opened the storm door and said quickly, “Take Rennie for a drive in the truck. For his first time.”

  “Okay,” Rennie said stonily, but he looked at his wife, grateful.

  Andrea Lynne went back inside and called her son from the bottom of the stairs. “Rennie!” she said firmly, to avoid getting any resistance. Before her son put on his coat, she touched his head where his dad had thumped him and rubbed it softly. “He didn’t mean it,” she whispered in his ear. She knew Rennie had to be feeling incredible stress to get that angry.

  That night in bed, Andrea Lynne and her husband lay on their backs, barely dozing, immobile. They never slept that way, but Rennie was very serious about the coming separation. His humor was gone, and she could see him go into mission mode, as if he were disconnecting. He wasn’t searching for political gain or a heroic destiny. He wasn’t naive about war or danger. For some officers, their careers came first;
for Rennie, his family did. He worried that something could happen to his family without his watching over them. He would carry on like a machine, setting aside his own desires to do the job given him. Professional soldiers had a knack for doing that.

  The night lights from Reilly Street streamed through the window and lit up the wall across from their bed, where Andrea Lynne had hung an Early American–style cross-stitch sampler with the words “Remember June Roses in December.” The needlework was surrounded by dozens of photographs of the couple. Rennie loved that wall.

  Andrea Lynne felt helpless knowing they had run out of time. She lay there numb beside him, eyes wide in the darkness, eventually sliding her left hand near his right, but she didn’t take hold of it. That would have been unbearable—so much passion, too much pain. They stayed like that until the alarm went off.

  Then they rose like robots. Rennie made coffee and showered. Andrea Lynne rinsed her face three times with icy water and dressed slowly. She kept on her denim-blue-and-white-plaid flannel pajama bottoms and pulled a V-neck cotton pullover on top of her white lace-edged tank. She carried her down pillow and lovey to the bottom of the stairs and saw Rennie petting Lad near the door.

  This Christmas had been a sentimental one for the Corys. Andrea Lynne’s stepfather had died in early December. And after two hectic years of battalion command, they were now dealing with a year-long hardship tour. It would be their last year in this beautiful house, too. Rennie was scheduled to attend the U.S. Army War College in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, the following year. Getting selected to the one-year program was important for those who wanted a shot at a brigade command or further promotion. For the Corys, there was no telling where future assignments would lead.

  “It’s time to go,” Rennie finally said, looking up from the dog.

  On the ride to Raleigh-Durham International Airport, an hour and twenty minutes away, the Corys shared the silence and eventually made small talk—the kind that avoided hurtful reality. They talked about the kids and what Andrea Lynne needed to do in the coming week. She’d be starting her first paid job, at Rhudy’s Jewelry Showroom. The place was legendary in Fayetteville. It had one of the largest displays of gold, diamonds, and precious gems in the Southeast. Rhudy Phillips, the amiable owner, schmoozed with the brass and was invited to his share of ceremonies at Bragg. Signed photographs of colonels and generals—all loyal customers—lined the walls of the shop on Murchison Road.

  The showroom had been there since 1961, long before the street turned into one of Fayetteville’s tougher neighborhoods. But thugs and hooligans stayed away from Rhudy’s, deterred by the steel bars, the gate, the cameras, the buzzer that opened the door, and the uniformed cop standing in front of racks of gold chains. For his part, Rhudy loved hiring officers’ wives. They had good taste, were trustworthy, and didn’t need benefits.

  Andrea Lynne had decided to work part-time to pass the time and to earn some money. With their oldest in college, the extra income would come in handy. She knew that enlisted men always thought officers were rich, and, in comparison, Andrea Lynne supposed they were, but that didn’t really mean anything. Sure the pensions were great, but in the meantime there were a lot of social responsibilities to pay for—dinners, golf, luncheons, coffees and balls, gowns, gifts, and decorations. And college tuition had put them over the top.

  Maybe the job would be good for her psychologically, too. She had always been outgoing, yet the last six months, when Rennie was in Vietnam, she slowly began to lose steam. The Corys had been ready to give up command—though exhilarating, it was physically and emotionally draining—but Andrea Lynne had always assumed they would move on to the next thing together.

  (I learned at an early age that it can be heartbreaking to assume anything in the Army. As soon as you start dreaming or making plans, Uncle Sam will go and change them. Army wives, including Andrea Lynne, all know this, too, but it was just too tempting to think about future assignments and what they could mean. That was part of the allure of Army life.)

  Now Rennie would be half a world away, and she was still being pulled into the Bragg insider community through friends and wives—and that damned PTA. Andrea Lynne no longer had the responsibilities of a battalion commander’s wife, but some people still came to her for information and advice, others acted as if she shouldn’t be around any longer, and a few new wives probably wondered who the heck she thought she was. It was as if that black POW flag hanging from her porch symbolically clouded her sunshine.

  Andrea Lynne stopped herself. That flag was a tribute to the soldiers and an important sign of support for the troops. She was so very proud of Rennie and what he was doing in Vietnam. Though he hated the separation, she knew the assignment was important to him, too. His father had served four tours of duty as a pilot in Vietnam, and even before he went to Southeast Asia himself, Rennie had felt strongly enough about POW-MIA issues to be active in Rolling Thunder—a national motorcycle group that helped educate the public. He’d ridden his Harley with them to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington, D.C., over Memorial Day weekend the year before.

  The conversation in the car petered out, and Andrea Lynne and Rennie were left to their thoughts. Vietnam had been part of their conversations when they were both college students at Appalachian State University in the mountains of Boone, North Carolina. The couple had met in the fall of 1979 after Andrea Lynne, a nineteen-year-old sophomore, and her best friend, Julie, pledged CAPERS (Coed Affiliates of Pershing Rifles) as a sort of a joke on their Chi-O dorm mates. Both Andrea Lynne and Julie were very antisorority, so when they saw a tiny CAPERS poster hanging by one pathetic piece of tape, Andrea Lynne said, “Now that is the sorority we are joining.” The girls liked the service aspect of the group, and they decided to stick with it. As part of pledge week Andrea Lynne, well turned out in a gray angora cowl-neck sweater and matching gray cords and clogs, was gathering signatures of key people in the ROTC building.

  Andrea Lynne’s father had been in the military and Vietnam, and she respected the service, but in the late seventies, with Carter in office, a shortage of funding, and the attitudes of society in general, she just couldn’t understand why anyone would join. She dated mostly fraternity boys or jocks, and the boys in the military science building looked like misfits to her. She dutifully collected her signatures, and frankly, she enjoyed the attention of the males who were in testosterone heaven showing off their gadgets and their survival skills.

  Andrea Lynne still needed the “commando commander’s” signature, and one of the students pointed her toward a guy sitting on a table who hadn’t looked Andrea Lynne’s way all week. This guy wasn’t afraid of anyone, she could tell, and he intimidated her a bit. She dreaded approaching him, but she pranced up anyway and asked for his autograph. To Andrea Lynne’s surprise, he complied.

  “But I’m not the commando commander,” he said. “I did that last year. I’m a senior, so I can sign right here.”

  As he got up, Andrea Lynne looked down at the signature and asked, “What is your name?” He looked back at her, smiling for the first time.

  “Rennie—you know, like the dog, Rin Tin Tin? Rennie.” And with that he walked over to the corner of the room where his two friends Larry Kusilka and Roland Johnson were casting a skeptical eye on the pretty coed. Andrea Lynne smiled at the memory of it. Little did either of them know then that after that moment he’d follow her around like Rin Tin Tin for the rest of his life.

  Four months later, on Valentine’s Day 1980, they eloped. When Rennie graduated that summer and was commissioned as a second lieutenant, Andrea Lynne left school and followed him to Fort Bragg.

  When Rennie first joined the Army, he hadn’t planned on making it a career. Though he did well in the airborne infantry and had excelled as a platoon leader in the 82nd, he wanted to work for the FBI. At the end of his three-year commitment to the Army, still in his early twenties, he took an FBI entrance test but did not score high enough on the verbal section
to qualify. His esteem took a bad hit. By the time he was promoted to captain, the Corys had two little girls. Looking for another job did not seem viable. Besides, people had a lot of faith in him as a career officer.

  Rennie returned to the 82nd as a company commander and again stood out. After ten years he had done well enough to stay longer and had been involved with everything from antidrug operations to working with the contras. He oversaw the training of Rangers and had walked the DMZ line in Korea. He had even led a Green Beret Halo parachuting team in Central America when he was in the 7th Special Forces Group. Rennie planned to get out after twenty years, when he could draw his pension. But right when you think you may be headed for the door, the Army throws you a bone: Rennie was selected for battalion command in the 82nd.

  Nevertheless, it was the assignment in Vietnam that affected Rennie the most.

  “This is the first real mission I ever had,” he said to Andrea Lynne after he had first arrived. Helping to heal the nation by searching for the dead and missing—sometimes just a tooth, a sliver of skull, a fragment of bone—and getting them back to their homeland, back to their families. That was the best job he ever had.

  Andrea Lynne had seen him in action in October 2000. During her visit to Vietnam, a gift from her father, she got to witness her husband’s preparations for the arrival of Bill Clinton, the first American president to visit postwar Vietnam. Rennie joked with his men that he needed to send Andrea Lynne home before Clinton could make a pass at her.

  In fact, Clinton’s November tour went off smoothly. The president actually remembered Rennie, who had escorted him in Korea years earlier. Though Rennie, like many Army officers, was a Republican—and told Clinton so—he found the Clintons to be friendly and personable. Rennie even teased Hillary about not being the first American wife to visit Vietnam: “My wife beat you to it. She just left.”