John Culp, U.S. Army Special Forces (retired)
49 years (and counting) under the flag.
I was always fascinated with the military. I played with toy soldiers
as a kid, like many other boys. I read a lot of military history. I
was interested in guns, particularly military arms. My “namesake”
Uncle John served in WWII, and I would always ask to see the
handguns he had brought back from the war. I was fascinated
with the “Green Berets,” U.S. Army Special Forces.
In 1968, I learned about an extracurricular group called the
Counter-Guerillas (this was 1968-1969) and I was fascinated. I
received an ROTC scholarship specifically to go to NCSU and
join the “CG’s.” I had to enlist in the Army Reserves as part of
the scholarship deal, so I “raised my hand” for the first time in
August 1970. I enjoyed it so much that by year two I was majoring
in ROTC and minoring in the rest of my studies. I managed to pull
up my grades by the end of the year but was still undecided on
goals. I still wanted to serve in the military, so I decided to drop
out of college and enlist in the Army.
I decided I liked the Army, but I thought I might like it better as
an officer, and I wanted to finish college. So, a few months later,
I found myself back at NCSU, once again a student and ROTC
cadet. I had my act together a little better this time academically.
However, I still had a delay before I was commissioned, so I
joined the 11th Special Forces Group (Airborne), U.S. Army
Reserve. I made Staff Sergeant in the USAR before receiving
my commission in Air Defense Artillery in September 1978. I
transferred to the Infantry two years later, serving in Infantry and
Special Forces assignments, and then to Special Forces when it
became an Army “branch” in 1987.
I did two long-term “permanent change of station” (PCS)
assignments in Korea as an Infantry officer and one in Panama
as a Special Forces officer, as well as shorter SF
assignments in Morocco, Egypt, Kenya, Sudan,
Germany, Italy and again in Korea, as well as all over
Latin America. I was in Spanish language training
when Desert Shield started and had just arrived in
Panama when Desert Storm kicked off. I was not
one of the handful taken from Panama to serve in
that conflict, although I volunteered.
The closest I ever came to combat while in the
Army was as a lieutenant, leading night ambush
patrols into the Korean Demilitarized Zone (DMZ)
and then commanding Guard Post (GP) Collier
within the DMZ. I think the brass was more
concerned with soldiers getting hurt than finding
North Korean infiltrators, as we were loaded down
with helmets, old-style flak vests, and other noisy
gear rather than the Ranger-style patrol gear most
of us had trained to conduct patrols in. As a result, we never
saw or heard any NK infiltrators. As a GP commander, we
detected some likely infiltrators on radar but were never able
to vector a patrol to catch them. Good experience, but no
actual shooting.
Towards the end of my military career, however, I was detailed
to the Intelligence Community (IC), and in that role my EOD
experience was critical when I served as an arms inspector in
Iraq as part of the American contingent of the United Nations
Special Commission on Iraq (UNSCOM). I was a UN-designated
“expert” on Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD) and ballistic
missiles. That experience resulted in a second detail position in
the Central Intelligence Agency working counter-proliferation,
which turned into a second career when I retired in 2000.
Ironically, in my second career I did five tours in Iraq and three
tours in Afghanistan supporting military operations, including
serving as an advisor. The final departure from Army service
was almost anticlimactic. I had been working a CIA desk as a
military detailee for about a year. They had formally offered me
a staff position, and I had been in salary and grade discussions
for months. Waiting for all the security requirements to be
complete was the longest part; I rescheduled my retirement
twice waiting to be fully “cleared” to continue the same job
I had already been doing for over a year. Finally, all the boxes
were checked; I put on my uniform for one last time, went
upstairs to the auditorium where a small group of family and
non-IC friends had gathered and a somewhat larger group
of “cleared” colleagues joined us. It was a standard Army
retirement ceremony conducted in a decidedly non-standard
location. When it was over, I changed back into “mufti” and
returned to my desk to continue my work. It was a bittersweet
moment, but brief. I was too busy.
I never really felt my
“service” had ended,
nor do I feel that way
today.
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