The General's Staff Car
Retired Navy Cmdr. Walt During lives with his wife, Catherine, and two children in Strasburg, Pa. He reports that he can read a license plate a mile away.

Having arrived as a young Marine corporal at the U.S Embassy in Moscow in the summer of 1972, I was most eager to serve my country deep behind the Iron Curtain. I was assigned duties as a Marine embassy guard. The senior defense attaché was Brig. Gen. Samuel V. Wilson, USA.

The Marines had great respect and admiration for General Wilson, a decorated combat officer who had served with bravery and distinction with "Merrill's Marauders" during World War II and then later with Special Forces in Korea and Vietnam. Unlike most other senior officers, he knew each Marine by first name and often thanked us for our contributions to the functions of the embassy. There was little the Marines wouldn't do for "our" general.

Unfortunately for me, I inadvertently tested the limits of that sentiment one snowy evening when I escorted a pretty young lady to the famed Bolshoi Ballet, hoping to impress her. As was the usual practice, I had reserved an embassy staff driver to take us there and back. When I walked out of the theater with my date after the performance, I spied a black embassy car parked near the front entrance. After jumping in, I directed the driver in my halting Russian to return us to the embassy.

I thought it odd when he most emphatically indicated in a fast flow of Russian that he would do no such thing, the reason for which I could not fathom. By now I was getting a little embarrassed in front of my date, so I huffed up to my full 140 pounds and in my very best Marine voice directed him to drive off at once. He stared at me for a moment, shrugged his shoulders, and drove off.

The next morning, I was informed that the general desired my presence instantly. Feeling certain that I had done nothing to cross him, I strode confidently out into the hallway where I was confronted in such manner as only a lowly corporal could be accosted by an angry general. It seemed that the general, too, had enjoyed the evening at the ballet - only to be left standing in the falling snow afterward as he watched his staff car drive away with a certain Marine corporal and his date in the rear seat.

Gulp! In rather colorful language, the general informed me that corporals did not take generals' cars, forcing them to take taxis. Needless to say, I didn't sleep much that night.

However, the next day I was summoned to the general's apartment and was astonished when no sooner had I knocked on the door than he stuck a beer in my hand and sincerely apologized for the dressing down he had given me, realizing it had been a mistake that any addle-brained young Marine could make. For months thereafter my faced stayed roughly the same color as the red stripe on my uniform trousers as everyone in the embassy, including the ambassador, retold the story.

Upon General Wilson's departure the following year, we Marines stood in formation to render our fond farewell. Shaking each of our hands, the general, when he reached me, leaned close, grasped me by the shoulders, and said, "Young man, if there is but one bit of wisdom I would give you, it would be to watch those license plates as you go through life."

Believe me, sir, I have.