Once upon a time, not too many years ago, I walked into our bank up in Fredericksburg, VA.  It was Friday evening, right before closing, close to 5:00 p.m.  This is the exact day and time that what I am about to recount to you, on the rare occasion that it occurs, will normally take place.   

It was a tiny little bank, which made the experience all the more strange.  I was simply there to make a routine deposit to our joint account.  You may remember a time when you found yourself in the middle of something that sent chills through you.  This was one of those moments, an-out-of-the-ordinary, really weird, spine-chilling moment. 

As I entered the bank, I found myself amongst a swarm of men in black suits, about a half dozen or so.  Fredericksburg, VA was a casual, small town place.  It was not Washington, D.C.  These men in black suits did not acknowledge my presence.  They said nothing.  They wore faces that were set without expression.  They were dressed so gravely, they were so out of context, that they sent shivers through me.  They made my hair stand on end.  Whatever was happening felt like the Twilight Zone.  The men moved with an air of competence and confidence.  These uniform men in their uniform black suits and uniform expressions were completely and uniformly focused.  They knew exactly what they were doing, and they were getting done whatever it was that they were doing. And whatever it was, I was in the middle of it! 

I approached the bank teller and in a very low whisper, asked the woman behind the window. “What’s happening?”  As I asked the question she looked at me with a pained and contorted expression.  She then burst into tears.  After a moment she regained some composure and went on haltingly, in a sobbing voice, to tell me  that these men were there to take control of the bank. It was a failed bank. It turned out that these men in black suits were the executioners acting at the authority of   the Comptroller of Currency and the FDIC.  They were charged with taking control of the bank’s assets, liabilities, and all of its records and operations. And the best time for them to do that was at the end of the week, right before closing.  

Upon hearing the teller’s words, everything fell into place.   A sense of relief and reality actually washed over me.  The men in black suits now made sense to me.  At that moment, I remembered in the recesses of my brain that I had read or had heard about this process, during my formal education.  Since I had less than $100,000 deposited with the bank, I was unconcerned for my money because I knew that the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC) would protect it.  It turns out, those Men in Black Suits were the good guys, protecting depositors’assets based on regulations passed way back in the 1930’s.  

Times change!  For many reasons, neither the FDIC nor the other regulatory agencies nor an array of checks and balances were able to prevent the 2008 financial markets meltdown. The FDIC in 2008 was overcome by events and by quasi-bank-institutions not under their jurisdiction. While still overseeing the closure of banks, the too-big-to-fail banks and the insurance companies were outside the boundaries of the FDIC. 

Things change!  Change requires renewal, updating, and reform. The basic principals around change are that we accept, embrace, manage change and lead in a way to make change become a positive force in our society.  Not all change is good.  When we see change that is bad, we have to also embrace bad change (in a wrestling hold) and then get it turned around. 

Our Post, Post 134, is representative of those Men in Back Suits.  Dubbed the  Silk Stocking Post, we do have a leaning toward dark if not black suits and we certainly represent the side of the good guys!  

Post 134, founded in 1933, and the American Legion founded in 1919, has seen and dealt with much change since those founding years.  It is incumbent on us to continually deal with change.  Why?  One important reason is that we have to attract and be relevant to a younger generation of service men and women and recruit them to join our ranks. In that way our Post and the Legion can carry on the legacy of those who have gone before.  

An example of a possible change that comes to mind is in our Preamble.  It contains the words “great wars” directly synonymous with WWI and WWII.  The conflicts and wars after WWII are not known as the great wars.  That term is not synonymous with the many conflicts and wars in which later generations of military men and women served.  Should the Legion constitution and preamble be changed?  It has been, and it probably warrants another review and update.  Normal and healthy change was expected and provided for by our Legion founders.   

Let’s carry forward the positive legacy of the past and at the same time let’s tune in to the now!  Let’s discuss and work toward positive changes!  The FDIC’s Men in Black Suits, the good guys, are right now hard at work helping to renew our banking system. Let’s have Silk Stocking Post 134’s Men in Black Suits review and get some suggestions together as to how our Legion’s Constitution might be updated to be more relevant to younger generations of service men and service women.  This is only one suggestion.  You the readers will have your own. 

The overall point is:  Let’s embrace change, work for good change, and make change work for us!

The Nigerian Underwear Bomber did us a favor.  He didn’t intend to do so.  When his crotch bomb failed to do no more than burn his hide on the plane that landed in Detroit on Christmas Day, he showed us how vulnerable we are.  Despite the assumed safety implied in the detailed system of detection of threats, this trained terrorist managed to get through airport inspection in Nigeria and Amsterdam wearing explosives.  This gap in the system shook us out of our complacency, at least for the nonce.           

This terrorist’s act also brought into focus again our decades-- long awareness of the lack of cooperation among our various intelligence agencies. Once again, we wondered if separate agencies thought more of their own turf rather than the safety of our country.            

Our President showed his concern and a touch of anger in his address to the nation about the failure of the system and the people responsible for seeing that it works.  In his expression of concern, the President rightfully reminded us that we are at war with a nimble enemy.           

He was being diplomatic in his remarks about this enemy.  The Islamic extremists are a vicious lot. They are also clever and patient and persevering.  They have been waiting since the days of the Crusades to strike against the non-Muslim world.  They are cruel.    They are without pity.  They blow up men, women, children, fellow Muslims.  Their cause is global.  They want a world that is run by shira, the Islamic law.  Their number is large, over a billion.  Volunteers for martyrdom, then, are easily found.   It’s going to be a long war.           

Where Muslims are in growing numbers in a country, there is violence and political upheaval and hatred.  Look at India and Pakistan and Somalia and France and Denmark and Holland and England.             

Yes, we have read about all the global upsets, but as a nation we have not shown the awareness of the fact that we are a never ending target, that we are the infidel, that we must fight for our way of life, that it’s going to be a long and bitter fight.  Our leaders must “foster and perpetuate a one hundred percent Americanism.”  That’s the reminder that must prevail.  Our country is at stake.           

There is an old Country song that says “my best friend ran off with my wife and I will miss him.”  I still have my wife, but I will miss my friend.  George Hooten is gone.  A friend lost.   

Just now are we beginning to realize the extent of his friendship to so many.  We all knew of his love for our Post and the American Legion.  He was a Past Commander of Post 134. He and Vic Mahoney started the Bugle Call Rag 21 years ago.  Ironically, the last article he wrote for the Rag was typical George urging everyone to pay their Booster Club Dues.   

Among many other Legion offices he held he served as the Executive Director of the National American Legion Press Association for 28 years. In that position he had responsibility for some 1600 American Legion Newsletters.   

He was a Master Mason and a member of the YAARB Shrine Temple.  Remember the red Cadillac convertible he drove in parades.  He flew as a gunner on B-24 s in WW II in North Africa, Italy and France.  Back home he was Commander of the Flying Fez Unit, of the Shrine.  He helped fly burned children to the Shiner’s Burn Centers.   

There are only 5 permanent lockers at the Decatur YMCA.  George’s name is on one of them because of his fund raising for the Y. 

 He was a Deacon at the First Baptist Church in Decatur and a member of the Alert Sunday School Class.  He is responsible for many of our Post members from that class.  He never stopped asking for people to join Post 134 of which he was so proud.    

George was a teacher.  He wanted this Post to have a newsletter we could be proud of and enjoy.   He was teaching me the ins and outs of publishing this newsletter.  He didn’t get finished with that project. 

George’s sense of humor was with him to the end.  When asked how he was feeling, he never complained but, he would always say “terrible, but thanks for asking.”  When about to hang up the telephone he would say “I don’t care what the Commander says about you, I like you anyway.  I will miss hearing those Hooten sayings.   

The suggestion was made some time ago that our Post be named THE GEORGE HOOTEN POST.  We found, at that time, that according to Legion rules a living person cannot have a Post named after him.  It is time to revisit that suggestion.  

I felt a little bitter during Christmas 1991.  I had spent the better part of a year trying to convince an Air Force personnel system that my services were not needed as a newly minted Navigator to an overseas assignment, a week before Christmas.  All my efforts fell upon deaf ears.  I felt like I was in “No-man’s land,” having left military friends behind from my old career field as a GCI controller.  

Making the trek to The Fatherland was uneventful.  The number one task was set in stone; secure housing in order for my family to join me.  My new commander graciously told me he didn’t want to see me during the holidays, which further proved my point that I should be back in the states with my wife and 2-year old child.  Sulking in the lounge of the base hotel, the realization that a Christmas gift had been granted me was offset by the fact that I had no transportation, no German language skills, and knew nobody in the local area.  I did have one small flame of hope.  My old GCI buddy, Perry “Papa” Deneau, had taken on a NATO AWACS assignment in Geilenkirchen, Germany.  Papa was a prior enlisted NCO, and he had to be one of the oldest 2Lt’s in the USAF, hence the nickname.  He and his family had been my sponsor at Luke AFB, and we instantly became good, life long friends.  I wondered if the Deneau clan would take in this dog gone astray for Christmas. 

Managing the German phone system, I connected with Papa, briefly catching up on old times.  Awkwardly, I told him my situation about getting lost from the base for the next ten days.  Not only did Papa say, “You’re spending Christmas with us,” but he said he would pick me up the next day, driving 250 miles roundtrip!  The icing on the cake was another controller buddy, now stationed at Sembach Air Base, was also going to be there.  Marlon Thomas was a good old boy from South Carolina that mentored me at work as an impressionable 2Lt.  We would go camping and skiing together with our families in the mountains of Arizona, or take many float trips together down the Salt River.  He’s the kind of guy that could spin a yarn around a campfire, holding your attention into the wee hours of the night.  How he dropped off my radar screen while I went to Nav. training, I’ll never know, but I was glad he was back on the scope. 

I can still vividly remember Christmas Eve like a frozen scene from a Currier & Ives painting.  The evening sky of the German countryside was illuminated with the glow from a recent full moon.  When the clock struck midnight, you could hear all the church bells ringing from town to town.  There was no doubt that Christmas was here, and on this day our Lord Jesus Christ was born!  Marlon convinced Papa that he would take me back to Frankfurt after I spent a couple days with his family in Sembach, Germany.  I had a wonderful time with both families over the holidays but all good things must come to an end.  Back to business as usual for those living or deployed overseas. 

Within six months after Christmas, I was locked into a dirty war in Bosnia, no longer having time to visit with my old friends.  Marlon had moved to Anchorage, Alaska, to start flying AWACS aircraft, while Papa orbited in his AWACS bird overhead the Adriatic Sea, providing surveillance to the fighters and Herks as they went “feet-dry” across the Bosnia coastline.  Papa’s voice on the radio was soothing, someone I knew and trusted.  Occasionally I would break in on the frequency when our formation was out of harm’s way, and talk to him for 15-20 seconds.  The conversation would always end, “Call me when you have time.” 

As my tour in Germany was coming to an end, I was still heavily engaged to my flying duties in Bosnia.  Having landed one afternoon, my wife informed me that an AWACS aircraft went down in Alaska.  “Do you think Marlon was on board?” she said.  “God, Please, No,” I said to myself as I immediately picked up the phone to call Papa.  He would know because the AWACS community is small.  Papa broke the bad news that Marlon was among the 24 people killed.  Their airplane had hit a flock of 75-100 Canadian geese on take-off from Elmendorf AFB.  The birds were ingested into the two left engines while the plane was low and slow.  Every aviator knows that speed and altitude = life. 

I was heartbroken having never lost anybody in my Air Force family to something like this.  My mind began to race widely with all the fond memories this man bestowed upon me.  It was then I realized that the Christmas spent in Geilenkirchen with Marlon was a special Christmas gift to me, from God.  Christmas is not about giving gifts but spending time with the ones you love.  Take time to reflect and realize the hidden gifts God gives us in our everyday, ordinary lives.  Merry Christmas.