The Military Career of Captain Paul A. Forster
Paul Forster, Captain, U.S. Army, Military Intelligence, served in Vietnam from February 1965 to February 1966. Paul was assigned initially as the Personnel and Logistics Officer for the Special Military Intelligence Activities Team. SMIAT was a counterpart organization to the Army of Vietnam unit, BDST-300, working human intelligence operations throughout Vietnam. In July 1965, Paul was assigned as the Commander, SMIAT Region II, located in Ban Me Thuot - Central Highlands. We were fortunate to have very well trained, competent, and hard working counterparts. HUMINT had mixed success, but a number of our reports resulted in excellent combat results. The most difficult aspect of the tour was witnessing the many casualties being transferred to the airport for their final homeward flight. The Vietnam Memorial in Washington, DC remains a highly emotional place, and always will. I'm enormously pleased that Rolling Thunder has become such a tribute to our fallen friends. The highlight of my tour was returning home safely, to my wife and new son!
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Bio: Forster,
Paul A. – Major (Grad – General Staff College – 1973)
Transcriber: Stan
Surnames: Forster
----Source: THORP COURIER (Thorp, Clark County, Wis.) 02 Aug 1973
Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas – Army Major Paul A Forster, son of Mr. and Mrs. Roy
A. Forster, Route 3, Stanley, Wisconsin, recently was graduated with the
1972-73 regular class at the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College,
Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas.
The 10-month course at the Army’s Senior tactical school prepares the
students for duty as Commanders and as Principal General Staff Officers with
the Army in the field from Division through Army Group, and at field army
support and theater army support commands.
His wife, Coryne, was with him at the fort during this training.
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Bio: Forster, Paul - Childhood Farm Memories
Email: paulforster@verizon.net
----Source: Family Albums & Memories of Paul Forster
I, Faenile
Anno Domini 2012
Most people don’t think of lowly barns as vibrant beings, just something to
stick cows and hay into. But, some
of us are endowed with perception.
We see and sense lots of things, have long memories, and on occasion even show
flashes of humor. Lying here in my
cinders, after some thoughtless lout forgot to put out his cigarette and burned
me down, I was wondering how I could get some of my memories into words.
Then to my great good fortune, I espied a wee, wizened mole, scurrying
through my tunnels seeking refreshment.
Strange dude! Wore
wire-rimmed spectacles, which I suppose is not all that strange since it is said
they don’t see so pretty good. The
main thing, though, was he was carrying a teensy-weensy I Pad!
So, I approached him to see if he might be willing to listen to my
vagaries and put them into digits for me.
Having just finished a tasty morsel and, with me agreeing to point him to
other lucrative areas in my cinders for other delicacies, Thomás (as such was
his name) agreed to be my scribe.
So, here goes!
As barns go, I was fairly underwhelming; some 50 feet high at the gables, and
roughly 80 feet square; pitched roof over the hay mow, and slanting roof over
the cow stanchions, which were about 1/3rd of the south part of me.
Roy and Agnes only milked 12-15 cows.
It always amazed me how they could raise four children on these 60 very
mediocre acres Across the front
were stanchions for 3-4 calves and a stall for the two horses, initially Prince
and Frank, then the sorrel Mighty Jim (of whom more later) and a black whose
name I forget. There was a water
tank above the center door, filled at first by a gas engine, later by an
electric pump. Got cold in there in
the winter. I recall several times
they had to use a blow torch to thaw the pipes enough to get water to all the
cows. A wonder they didn’t burn me
down long ago. There was also a
large wooden feed box, with a scoop made out of tin and rounded wood with an old
broom handle stuck in it. A ladder
led to the hay mow, and I recall L’l Paulie fell from it once and knocked the
wind out of him. Goofy kid!
He used to wrestle with his dog Toby in front of the cows after the
milking was done. It was a wonder
the cows didn’t tear the stanchions out with all the ruckus.
Part of me, with Phyllis and Li’l Paulie
Notice the fancy schmancy bike.
There is a story there. Roy always
had 5-6 pigs around, both to have some delicious pork as well as to make a bit
of extra cash on the litters. L’l
Paulie picked up on that in a hurry as he was memorizing the Sears Roebuck
catalog, with his eye on a nice bike.
So, he started working on Roy to give him a little piglet, so he could
raise it, eventually have it bred and produce a litter so he could sell it and
get enough for the bike. After some
mighty cajoling, Roy finally gave in, and L’l Paulie dutifully fed said piglet
until she was old enough to be bred.
And, in due course there appeared 6 baby pigs.
He took care of them until they were old enough to sell, and got $60
buckos – a prince’s ransom for a little ole farm kid.
Roy honored his agreement, and off they went to Stanley; the Gamble’s
store I think it was. Back home
them came, L’l Paulie proud as punch.
He had, of course figured out how to ride a bike by using Glenn
Rasmussen’s when he could. So he
hopped right on it and sped around, braking amidst a splash of gravel.
Guess he put a couple cards on the spokes with a clothes pin he swiped
from Agnes to make it sound kind of like a Harley.
Yeah, right.
Western me, and L’l Paulie
Me with hay door open, and L’l Paulie
Wagon by Dufus!
I think Lorraine told me once that Roy’s sister, Vi, gave them this wagon.
As you can see, it was never a “body by Fisher” but did look a whole lot
better before Vaughn got hold of it.
One fine day, he thought it would be fun to tie the wagon to a young,
sprightly calf so it could give him a ride, instead of him having to put a knee
in the wagon and peddle with his left;
most unsatisfactory, as well as not very fast.
So, he tied said and aforementioned sprightly calf to the wagon tongue,
got in the wagon, and flicked a little switch on the calf’s behind.
Calf started walking. Then
heard this little rumble behind it, and walked faster.
The noise increased, and so did the calf.
Soon they were headed down the lane, helledy larrup, as Roy liked to say.
Very soon, the calf rounded the end of the lane, the wagon hit a stone;
wagon and Vaughn went buns over teakettle.
Thankfully the wagon became separated from the calf at this point, or
they might be in Nebraska by now.
Sadly, the wagon was non campus mentis, with a busted wheel, and some rumpled
slats. Vaughn, by then quite
knowledgeable of the law of unintended consequences, pulled the decrepit thing
back to the shed, where Roy patiently tried to fix it.
As you can see, he nearly did!
Ahh, the farm life!
I very nearly forgot. One lazy
winter afternoon I was dozing, with the icicles slowly melting from my eaves
troughs, when from the Forster domicile there erupted a God awful squeal, which
persisted some minutes. For a
moment I thought Roy had finally lost it.
Then I heard them talking and it turned out Vaughn The Curious had been
fooling around with Agnes’ sewing machine and run a needle through one of his
fingers. From the sound of things
you’d have thought someone had amputated both legs with a rusty saw!
I don’t know how much more “wisdom” this family can take.
Me in background with Roy and Gus
Part of me with straw pile, & Agnes, L’l Paulie, Roy, Vaughn, Lorraine, Phyllis
For a long time the main horse on the farm was Jim.
He was a sorrel, very spirited and generally quite docile.
He and a black mate, whose name I disremember, would pull the hay mower,
rake, hay wagons and other things.
He was also the one Roy used to clean me every morning.
Cows, you know, poop a lot, so there was always a plethora of manure to
take to the fields. It would have
taken a king’s ransom to put in a barn cleaner, so Roy or one of the boys had to
do it with a stone boat and a shovel.
The stone boat was originally made to pick up stones from the fields, but
with ten-inch high side boards it was also ideal for manure.
Jim would pull it into the barn and, as the gutters were cleaned, slowly
skootch it towards the other door.
At the end, he would have to really strain on the slippery cement floor to get
enough traction to move it, but he always managed.
Perhaps the funniest thing in my short lifetime happened one summer day.
Roy wanted to get Jim into the barn so he could harness him for a job in
the field. Jim wasn’t having any of
it. Roy would go around one side of
the barn and Jim would whinny and prance his way around the other.
During one circuit, Jim paused to lean over the pig pen fence to snarf
some feed from the hogs. He had not
counted on running into the electric fence!
It really startled him; reared up on his hind legs, threw his head back
with a piercing whinny, and charged off down the lane and into the woods,
streaming loud staccato flatuses all the way!
Tears ran off my shingles, I laughed so hard!
Roy, however, was not amused!
In fact, he was big time peeved.
He stalked off to the house and I thought that was the last of it.
But a few minutes later, Roy came out, cradling that old single-barrel,
16 gauge, Iver Johnson shotgun in his arm.
He slammed a shell in, closed the barrel and stomped down the lane after
Jim. By this time, Jim was standing
under a large tree in the northwest corner of the woods.
As Roy approached, he moved to the northeast corner, then to the
southeast corner, with Roy fuming some distance behind.
When Jim got back to the original position, Roy had had enough; raised
the shotgun and let fly. I guess he
was planning to send a slug over Jim’s back to scare him up the lane, but Roy
misjudged and hit Jim in the hip.
That took the smart alecky starch out of Jim, you bet.
His head dropped down, and he slowly limped up the lane, across the barn
yard and straight into his stall.
There he meekly stood, with blood running down his leg.
Roy wasn’t sure what had happened until he got into the barn.
Some choice expletives rumpled my shingles, as Roy bounded to the house
for his wallet, jumped into the car and tore off helledy larrup toward Stanley.
About 30 minutes later he came charging back into the yard, with the vet
hot on his heels. I have no idea if
they ever got the slug out, but fortunately it did not hit any bones.
They cleaned him up, and put on a bandage, gave him a shot, and figured
it would take several weeks for him to heal.
The next day, Roy slowly walked him up to what would become Vaughn’s
barn, and let him loose in the north end so he could munch on hay and oats, and
get some exercise. I learned a lot
that day, like - when Roy wanted you in the barn, you best damn well get there!
Me in background, Jim and Vaughn.
I bet none of you knew that barns could communicate with each other!
No, we never got together for canasta and gossip, but we managed to
“talk” to each other when stuff happened.
Like for ‘zample:
For a long time, Roy had a vintage 10-20 tractor; steel wheeled, and tough to
steer (kind of like the above, only it did not have red wheels.
Vaughn’s barn once told me that Phyllis, then a slip of a girl, was
chugging along a hay furrow in one of Vaughn’s hay fields, pulling the hay wagon
and hay loader, with Roy loading.
Soon Roy noticed there was no hay coming up the loader.
He turned around, and there was darling Phyllis sound asleep on the
tractor, heading for the woven wire fence.
Roy could be a fast little guy when he put his mind to it, but he
couldn’t get to the tractor quite fast enough – and it mulched up about 10 feet
of woven wire fence. Most unhappy, and
chagrined, was she, and no one let her forget it for some time – even to this
day. Fortunately, I am currently
already toast or she would give me a colossal fresh one!
Sleeping while riding machinery that sounded like the trip hammers of Hades was
not all that unusual. Alex
Gutowski’s barn told me of another instance. Roy
used to take the oat binder to help Godwin (cannot now remember his first name,
but he owned what later became Stanley Slowiak’s).
Godwin’s job was to sit on the oat binder, and when the little wire metal
basket got full of oat bundles, he would step on a lever to dump it in a nice
neat pile so the shockers could handle things easily.
Roy happened to look around one time, and discovered oat bundles laying
higgledy-piggley across the field, and then noticed Godwin sound asleep up on
top, bouncing along with not a care in the world!
Here! Tell me how you sleep
on this?
Young Paulie also learned to drive the 10-20 when he was so young he had to hold
the steering wheel with both hands, and but both feet on the clutch.
Roy would then put it into first gear and jump back on the hay wagon.
Then L’il Paulie would VERY S L O W L Y let out the clutch, and off they
would go. After a few misses, he
figured out the arc he would have to make in order for the hay loader to pick up
the swath and things were good. No
woven wire fences for Paulie, but I’ve always attributed that to gross good
fortune rather than skillful driving!
My favorite story about Roy: In the
“olden days” the farmers would get together to help each other with threshing
and silo filling. They would move
the machine from farm to farm picking up the oat bundles, hauling them to the
barn area and run them through the threshing machine.
Well, for several years Broeking’s happened to be the last job.
Farmers tend to act like boys on the last day of school at the last job.
Roy was generally the Instigator-in-Charge.
He would sneak over to Hill Top (a tavern where the Thorp Town Hall now
stands on old 29). There he would
purchase a case of beer and two bottles of the finest Old Crow.
Back to Broeking’s he scurried, cleverly putting the case of beer in the
stock tank to cool, and stashing one bottle of Old Crow in the granary and one
in the milk house. When the guys
came in with wagons full of oats, they would first head for the milk house for a
drink, taking a slug of Old Crow in the process.
Guys who carried the sacks of grain to the granary did the same thing.
By the end of the job, just about everyone was half manure-faced.
As they went in the house for dinner, Roy sidled into the center of the
table, but failed to notice a large bowl of gravy sitting on his plate (the rest
of the table was literally groaning with other stuff).
He also failed to notice the gravy ladle’s handle was sticking out toward
his seat. As he sat down, part of
his overalls caught the spoon and soon he was festooned with the finest gravy!
Much embarrassed was he, and was for several weeks the butt of some
ribbing. Mrs. Broeking and the
others there helping with dinner were most unpleased.
The guys always said the cause of this sad state of affairs was
Broeking’s water! Water, my rosy
red ridgeline! Roy and his Old Crow
were the real culprits.
Bob Rasmussen’s barn told me another one late one night.
The guys were threshing at Pat Jordan’s, must have been one of Bill’s
fields near what’s now old 29, across from Germundson’s little store.
Something spooked Pat’s team and they charged out of the field onto 29
and headed for Stanley. Vaughn
jumped into his vintage pickup and Pat Jordan climbed into the bed.
Down 29 he roared. 29 takes
a curve just west of Roger Creek bridge. Thankfully the horses were getting
winded by that time, and traffic was light – thank the Lord.
As Vaughn edged the pickup alongside the wagon, Pat jumped to the wagon,
grabbed the reins and slowly brought the team under control.
Close call, that! And you
thought The Dukes of Hazard was mere fiction!
Every farm generally had a milk house in those days, and there is where everyone
headed to get a cold drink as they came in with a load of oats or corn.
Everyone also had a communal dipper. Pat
Jordan, for example, had one made out of half a coconut shell. He also had one
of those stupid Studebaker’s and you could never tell whether he was coming or
going! I should talk.
Roy had a 1949 Ford that wasn’t much
better. Anyway, L’l Paulie found
out the hard way that it behooved him to get to that dipper BEFORE the guys who
chewed! Eeeeeooooo!
‘Tis truly said that misfortune begeteth wisdom!
See! We barns “get around.”
Before the Rural Electric Association brought light to the land, everyone milked
by hand. Roy’s cats would sit
expectantly behind the cow and would sit up like little prairie dogs as the
milkers would squirt milk in its general direction.
Said kitty lapped furiously, and then sauntered off, licking his chops.
Contented pussy cats make sound mousers, as the saying goes.
Of course one had to put the milk through a strainer so as to get MOST of the
impurities out. Which currently
begs the question of why are we not all that much better off now that things are
“cleaner”? Anyway, when they
changed the strainer pad, they would chuck it out behind the milk house.
But, Paul’s dog Toby was pretty astute and the pad rarely even made it to
the ground. It would generally hit the
ground the next day
J
In the morning, around 06:30 or so, the Soo Line would come puffing through,
with its little engine belching smoke and snorting along.
Then one day, we hear this marvelous horn, and behold there was a
gorgeous new diesel engine! You
could look around the neighborhood, and everyone was standing next to the barn
looking at this new marvel. And, it
never got old. Every day all those
people would gawk at it. I have to
admit, after barns, it was actually pretty cool.
Then one day, a nice fellow showed up, selling milking machine; Surge and
DeLaval if memory serves. The nice
fellow was an Etton (although I may not be spelling it correctly).
He was from Cadott way. Had
a very nice family, a lovely lass, an older boy (whose name escapes me) had a
voice like an angel, and Henry, about Paul’s age.
Anyway, Roy soon had a Surge milker.
It was a beauty! Of course
they had to put in a vacuum system, next to the water tank, but things went very
smoothly after that. And, Toby
still got his milk pads! Somewhat
sad though to see the hand-milking go by the boards.
It was a good time of day for everyone to sit on a silly wooden stool
with mind wandering about all the fantastic stuff they were going to accomplish
in life. Then, back to shoveling
manure!
I was also the scene of L’l Paulie’s first cigarette, or to be more precise, the
first 2-3 puffs. He had snitched
one from Roy, along with a match or two.
He stood by that old feed box, lighted up and was almost immediately a
basket case! Coughing and wheezing,
with a still-lit match in his hand.
I wasn’t sure which would happen first – him getting deathly sick or me burning
to the ground before my time. Toby
looked on concernedly! Dogs are so
empathetic. Anyway that passed,
with Paulie seemingly having learning his lesson.
However, it wasn’t long after that he tried a mouthful of Red Man while
loading some hay. That was nearly a
disaster too. But the thing that
really got him was the snuff. He
tried a generous pinch of Roy’s Copenhagen one evening and did some industrial
strength commode-hugging for a time!
That cured him for a plethora of moons!
Every couple of years Roy and Agnes would have me white washed.
But, before calling the dude to do it, they had to clean the barn, which
meant sweeping down all the cob webs.
Cob webs, of course, presuppose spiders – without which there ain’t no
cob webs! L’l Paulie got the job of
sweeping. But he was deathly afraid
of spiders, so Agnes always ended up “helping.”
Boy did I look great after the white wash.
You couldn’t see it of course, but I had a marvelous smile on my face and
carried myself straighter for months after a white wash.
From the day school ended until the day it started again, L’l Paulie would go
barefoot – except for church on Sunday of course.
Well, he sometimes wore work shoes to get the cows and when he got them
into the barn he would take them off and set them near the door.
Once, a big old spider crawled in one!
I have never seen a shoe come off so fast; hopping around like he was in
a nest of rattle snakes! Silly boy!
Haying time would show up and Roy would climb up to let the hay door down.
A rope ran along my ridgeline to a pulley at the back, then down to a
pulley at the bottom, then either the horses or a tractor would pull it out
toward the lane until the grapple hook was tripped in the barn.
It was there that more misfortune begat wisdom.
The track of the rope traversed the barn yard, in which were assorted cow
pies. L’l Pauli didn’t think much
about that, until it came time to pull the rope back to the bottom pulley for
the next forkful of hay. Rope
moving over soft and squishy cow pies tends to become – how to say this
delicately – besmirched! Paulie was
a fast learner! Off to the barn he
went, grabbing a shovel and clearing a path through the cow pies BEFORE he made
the next trip. Budding Rhoades
Scholar, that boy!
Green, Green Grass of Home. That is
a wonderful and poignant song. Lots
of people have sung it, but the Tom Jones version really dews my shingles.
Dairy farmers, however, have a slightly different take on Green, Green
Grass of Home. In the Spring, after
the dog days of Winter, and the cows having been sustained on a scoop of feed
over silage, with some dry hay as a chaser, were let out in the pasture where
there was tall, juicy and succulent grass.
And they filled all their stomachs.
This of course had a direct effect on bowels!
L’l Paulie discovered additional wisdom one evening as he walked behind
one of the bossies. She lifted her
tail, summoned up a colossal cough and Paulie was suddenly wearing overalls
covered with raw sewage.
Crestfallen was he! Off to the
stock tank to freshen up.
Birds, bees and calves. Li’l Paulie
frequently asked Agnes where calves came from, and she would mumble about
“later” and tell him to hoe the weeds over there.
So he hoed, and thought, and hoed some more.
Then, one evening as he was herding the cows to the barn for milking,
there – right in front of him – a cow (I think it might even have been that
cheeky Corliss) gave birth to a gangling little calf.
Hmmmmm! As soon as they were
in the barn milking, he told his mother, “never mind about the calf, Ma!
I got it.” Patience too,
doth lead to wisdom.
The Forster family was blessed, as were so many in those days, with a nice
outdoor privy. Quite well made it
was too. Had a cement floor with
comfy throne, well outfitted with choice “Monkey” Ward and Sears Roebuck
catalogs for one’s comfort. That
was well before the days of “Angel Soft.”
Well, Roy and Agnes finally decided to install indoor plumbing.
Roy went to Stanley and bought a large tank and had a guy weld in the
input and drain fittings, then hauled it back to the house.
He, Vaughn and Large Paulie (by this time) dug a hole for it just south
of the house. Then came the drain
which was to go from the house (generally under the kitchen window, under the
driveway to the ditch. About
halfway between house and driveway they hit a LARGE rock.
Would not budge no matter how much they dug.
Roy got vexed. Went into the
shed, found a half stick of dynamite, cap and fuze, and proceeded to wire it up.
He then crawled into the trench, facing the house, fitted the dynamite
under the rock and shoved as much dirt and gravel against it as he could, lit
the fuze and clambered out of the trench.
The three of them stood under the locust tree.
KA-BLOOIE! Once again,
unintended consequences struck this quiet Midwest community!
The rock? Oh, it was just
fine, but the kitchen window was now in the Upper Peninsula, and the siding had
a roughly 10 foot circle of holes made by gravel and dirt!
Agnes, normally the soul of patience and kindness, skewered poor old Roy.
I though the next morning I would see hid hide nailed to the shed.
He went into town, bought 3 bundles of matching shingles and patched
things up as best he could – but you could always see the difference.
Yes, the indoor plumbing was finally installed, although the drain ditch
was a bit lower than originally intended due to the ratz-o-fratzin rock!
A parting thought. You have no
doubt heard the saying, “’til the cows come home”?
Well, truer words were never uddered.
Stupid bovines. Li’l Paulie
would saunter out of the house after dinner to fetch the cows for milking.
Were they in the barnyard, anxiously awaiting to be relieved of their
heavy loads? No indeed.
They were always in the far, far southeast corner of the farm, across the
creek, munching happily, swishing the flies away.
So, Li’l Paulie would gently call them:
“Here, Cowie Cowie. Moo Moo,
baa baa!” Bupkis!
So down the lane he would stomp.
Just this side of the creek, now a swamp because it had rained, he paused
for another round of “Cowie’s.” No
luck. One, that cheeky Corliss,
even brazenly gave him the hoof.
Boy, that sizzled his cheeks.
Across the creek he went, sloshing through the swamp, 300 yards, uphill, both
ways, and slowly herded the recalcitrant bunch to the barn.
And, sure enough, as soon as they were safely in their stanchions, I
heard Corliss bellow a painful cry as Li’l Paulie tattooed her butt with a
switch. Hoof him, will ya?
I have to take a break. I’m getting
choked up over here!
Faenilski &Tomás
**********************************************
Obit: Forster, Paul A.
Sr. (1937? – 2016)
Transcriber:Stan
Surnames: Forster, Sexton, Cash, Dolle
----Source: Obituary provided by Larry Witt
Forster, Paul A. Sr. (1937? – 7 FEB 2016)
PAUL ANTHONY FORSTER, SR. (Age 78), COL, US Army (Ret.), of Clinton, MD, died on
February 7, 2016.
Beloved husband of Caryne R. Forster; devoted father of Paul A. Forster, Angela
Cash (David), Mark Forster (Elizabeth), Andrew Forster and Catherine Sexton
(Geoffrey); dear brother of Lorraine Forster, FSPA and Phyllis Dolle (Robert).
Also survived by five grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.
The family will receive friends at Lee Funeral Home, Inc. 6633 Old Alexandria
Ferry Road., Clinton, MD, 20735 on Friday, February 12 from 5 p.m. to 8 p.m. and
the Church of St. John the Evangelist, 8908 Old Branch Ave., Clinton, MD, 20735
on Saturday, February 13 from 10 a.m. to 11 a.m. at which time a Mass of
Christian Burial will begin. Interment with military honors will follow at
Resurrection Cemetery.
In lieu of flowers, the family request that mass intentions be offered in memory
of Paul through the Church of St. John the Evangelist. Online condolences may be
made at: www.leefuneralhomes.com.
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