In Hardin County Kentucky just off of a highway named 31W also known as the “Dixie Highway,” sits a building located on a US federal military reservation named Fort Knox. This single level, alabaster brick structure with an oblate canopy is named after the famed US army general George S Patton Jr. Although the building is formally named the General George S Patton Museum, it has simply become fondly known as the Patton Museum. The Patton Museum was originally opened in 1949, its purpose was not only to honor the famous general to which it was aptly named, but also to preserve many of the historical artifacts and archival items related to Mechanized Cavalry and Armor.
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The sun was furiously bright today, its’ unrelenting yellow and orange rays of light seem to rain down upon everything without mercy. It was simply a scorching hot and humid day, so much so that the average human would probably start perspiring the very moment they dared leave the safe air-conditioning of their automobile. The asphalt only added to the suns relenting glare as it reflected upwards with intensity that only seemed to multiply the searing waves of heat and humidity. As I briskly made hast to exit the parking lot and onto a sidewalk that led to the park, I caught the glimpsed the fleeting image of a small black beetle that was maneuvering itself out of the parking lot and towards some grass that led to the park. Its tiny legs were thin like thread protruding from its shelled body. As the beetle made its pitiful way towards the green safe zone, I contemplated to myself, “how could any living creature crawl across this asphalt and survive?”
The trek upon the sidewalk was short, merciful and without incident, as I approached the entrance to the Armor Memorial Park I could hear the joyful singing of birds from a large oak tree that stood planted firmly to the front of the park on the opposite side of the sidewalk. The sweet chatter of the birds was partially subdued by the intermittent back ground whooshing noise of automobiles as they zipped by going up and down the Dixie Highway. At that moment I truly wished that road and its annoying vehicles was far away. I was really enjoying the song birds and one in particular seemed to strike my fancy with its soothing and passionate calls, I could only assume by the sweet whispers and sensuous vibrations that it had to a lover’s call. My attempt to pin point the exact direction of this melodious treasure was partially in vain due to the insidious and unwavering humming of the Highway. I never did get a chance to gaze upon the one song bird who was giving that wonderful performance of harmony blended with the serene and intoxicating passion of love, I distinctly remember feeling robbed and cheated of something so priceless and free.
As the creatures in the tree went about their daily routines I took in the vast stature of what appeared to be a young yet massive oak, its broad and erect trunk seemed to sprout smaller versions of itself like a hydra sprouting up and out. The barks coarse brown and grey pulp of a skin seemed to stretch around everything in lines like a clay statue would look if its maker was so inclined to do so. The branches seemed to span as wide as the tree was tall and its leaves where full and green as a healthy tree should be during this time of the year. The smell in the air was of freshly cut grass that was clean and slightly tickled my nostrils like a good allergy to pollen or dust. I rationalized how this mighty oak represented and symbolized so many great things, the animals had a vast home where they undoubtedly could thrive and prosper, and its branches like a wide umbrella provided a wonderful shade to which any living being could extradite itself from the punishment of the raging sun. The oak also reminded me of one of those magnificent statues I read about and saw pictures of that were put in front of the Egyptian Pharaohs tombs as if to guard the entrance of the park like a beacon of strength and immortality.
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It was in 1999 when I first visited the Patton Museum; today that seems like an eternity ago. Back then I had volunteered to go to Fort Knox to perform one of the most difficult duties of my career, drill instructor. The arduous nine weeks of training in Missouri that prepared me for this assignment had left its lasting impression upon me and I was ready to in turn make my impression upon others with this newly acquired enlightenment. I remember the museum being a distinguished and somewhat exalted place, in some respects I think it was due to the immense gravity of the history it represented. I was glad to see that the Patton Museum was still here at Fort Knox and had not been moved to Fort Benning Georgia as rumored, there had speculation that the museum could leave as soon as 2010. When the Associated Press finally released the news, "Patton museum to remain on grounds of Fort Knox." Altoona Mirror [Altoona, PA] 26 Feb.2006: D6. Print, a lot of people were happy.
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Just outside the museum sat the Armor Memorial Park which at first glance looked like a cemetery with its precisely arranged marble monuments, some of which seem to loom over ten feet tall in stature. The park was impressive, yet seemed vaguely familiar, its monuments were superlative and absolute, their flawless shapes and achromatic shades of gray and white reminded me of the monuments at the Tomb of the Unknowns in Arlington National Cemetery. I visited Arlington Cemetery and the Tomb of the unknowns in 1990, nearly a decade prior to my first visit to the Patton Museum in 1999. I can still remember everything from the changing of the guard with its impeccable uniforms and precise rifle drill motions to the sheer perfect look and immaculate feel of the marble used in the building of the monuments there. It is not surprising that the tomb and many other monuments there at Arlington were constructed with only the finest marble from the Yule Marble Quarry in Marble Colorado.
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While still stuck in that 1990 frame of mind I also reminisced about the time just a week prior to that visit in Arlington when I had been assigned to travel to a small town in Kansas whose name I can no longer remember, to take part in a ceremony to help place a massive yellow ribbon around an oak tree in the middle of the towns square. The yellow ribbon was a patriotic symbol used to remind everyone who saw it not to forget about those who had gone off to war and had not yet returned. At that time Desert Storm was well underway and I remember the town folk gravitating around me as if I were this powerful magnet. I shook many hands and humbly accepted a multitude of thanks and gratitude for my service that day, I also listened to various stories from the elder gentlemen vets, most of whom with fire and splendor in their eyes recounted the exploits of their military service some many years and wars ago. As I listened to their exploits, it dawned on me once again as before in Arlington just what I was a part of. I remember feeling so proud in my Dress Blue uniform, with its crisp seams and shiny buttons, the sparse medals and ribbons I did have must have paled in comparison to the massive amount of combat medals that these gentlemen have earned in wars prior to my birth.
As my mind moved forward again to 1999, I recount one warm day I spent outside of the museum in the Memorial Park. I along with several of my peers were assigned to act as host to past veterans of our present unit, our unit was now a Basic Combat Training Unit, designed to take raw civilians aged 17 to 38 directly off of the street and transform them over the course of nine weeks to combat ready soldiers. Our unit now devoid of any Tanks and Armor that once gave our mighty regiment the title of mechanize infantry was the intense source of interest for wayward veterans who once wore the patch and drove the tanks that gave the unit its storied past. The veterans were from various times in the past, World War II, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War. Just as I listened to the veterans as a young soldier in Kansas, the veterans at this reunion were more than happy to delight me with the same type of wondrous and exciting tales of valor and hardship that I thoroughly enjoyed.
Present day, all of those memories are still rich in my mind, as I passed by a large sign stating that the museum was undergoing a massive renovation, I thought about an article published by the Associated Press about Elvis Presley’s enlisted service time in the United States Army, “Army Puts Elvis back in Uniform.: Daily News-Record [Harrison, PA] 25 Mar. 2004: 7. Print. I think about how long ago 1958 was and how all of that history would have to wait if the museum and its memorial park had moved away.
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The sun was furiously bright today, its’ unrelenting yellow and orange rays of light seem to rain down upon everything without mercy. It was simply a scorching hot and humid day, so much so that the average human would probably start perspiring the very moment they dared leave the safe air-conditioning of their automobile. The asphalt only added to the suns relenting glare as it reflected upwards with intensity that only seemed to multiply the searing waves of heat and humidity. As I briskly made hast to exit the parking lot and onto a sidewalk that led to the park, I caught the glimpsed the fleeting image of a small black beetle that was maneuvering itself out of the parking lot and towards some grass that led to the park. Its tiny legs were thin like thread protruding from its shelled body. As the beetle made its pitiful way towards the green safe zone, I contemplated to myself, “how could any living creature crawl across this asphalt and survive?”
The trek upon the sidewalk was short, merciful and without incident, as I approached the entrance to the Armor Memorial Park I could hear the joyful singing of birds from a large oak tree that stood planted firmly to the front of the park on the opposite side of the sidewalk. The sweet chatter of the birds was partially subdued by the intermittent back ground whooshing noise of automobiles as they zipped by going up and down the Dixie Highway. At that moment I truly wished that road and its annoying vehicles was far away. I was really enjoying the song birds and one in particular seemed to strike my fancy with its soothing and passionate calls, I could only assume by the sweet whispers and sensuous vibrations that it had to a lover’s call. My attempt to pin point the exact direction of this melodious treasure was partially in vain due to the insidious and unwavering humming of the Highway. I never did get a chance to gaze upon the one song bird who was giving that wonderful performance of harmony blended with the serene and intoxicating passion of love, I distinctly remember feeling robbed and cheated of something so priceless and free.
As the creatures in the tree went about their daily routines I took in the vast stature of what appeared to be a young yet massive oak, its broad and erect trunk seemed to sprout smaller versions of itself like a hydra sprouting up and out. The barks coarse brown and grey pulp of a skin seemed to stretch around everything in lines like a clay statue would look if its maker was so inclined to do so. The branches seemed to span as wide as the tree was tall and its leaves where full and green as a healthy tree should be during this time of the year. The smell in the air was of freshly cut grass that was clean and slightly tickled my nostrils like a good allergy to pollen or dust. I rationalized how this mighty oak represented and symbolized so many great things, the animals had a vast home where they undoubtedly could thrive and prosper, and its branches like a wide umbrella provided a wonderful shade to which any living being could extradite itself from the punishment of the raging sun. The oak also reminded me of one of those magnificent statues I read about and saw pictures of that were put in front of the Egyptian Pharaohs tombs as if to guard the entrance of the park like a beacon of strength and immortality.
Just outside the museum sat the Armor Memorial Park which at first glance looked like a cemetery with its precisely arranged marble monuments, some of which seem to loom over ten feet tall in stature. The park was impressive, yet seemed vaguely familiar, its monuments were superlative and absolute, their flawless shapes and achromatic shades of gray and white reminded me of the monuments at the Tomb of the Unknowns in Arlington National Cemetery. I visited Arlington Cemetery and the Tomb of the unknowns in 1990, nearly a decade prior to my first visit to the Patton Museum in 1999. I can still remember everything from the changing of the guard with its impeccable uniforms and precise rifle drill motions to the sheer perfect look and immaculate feel of the marble used in the building of the monuments there. It is not surprising that the tomb and many other monuments there at Arlington were constructed with only the finest marble from the Yule Marble Quarry in Marble Colorado.
While still stuck in that 1990 frame of mind I also reminisced about the time just a week prior to that visit in Arlington when I had been assigned to travel to a small town in Kansas whose name I can no longer remember, to take part in a ceremony to help place a massive yellow ribbon around an oak tree in the middle of the towns square. The yellow ribbon was a patriotic symbol used to remind everyone who saw it not to forget about those who had gone off to war and had not yet returned. At that time Desert Storm was well underway and I remember the town folk gravitating around me as if I were this powerful magnet. I shook many hands and humbly accepted a multitude of thanks and gratitude for my service that day, I also listened to various stories from the elder gentlemen vets, most of whom with fire and splendor in their eyes recounted the exploits of their military service some many years and wars ago. As I listened to their exploits, it dawned on me once again as before in Arlington just what I was a part of. I remember feeling so proud in my Dress Blue uniform, with its crisp seams and shiny buttons, the sparse medals and ribbons I did have must have paled in comparison to the massive amount of combat medals that these gentlemen have earned in wars prior to my birth.
As my mind moved forward again to 1999, I recount one warm day I spent outside of the museum in the Memorial Park. I along with several of my peers were assigned to act as host to past veterans of our present unit, our unit was now a Basic Combat Training Unit, designed to take raw civilians aged 17 to 38 directly off of the street and transform them over the course of nine weeks to combat ready soldiers. Our unit now devoid of any Tanks and Armor that once gave our mighty regiment the title of mechanize infantry was the intense source of interest for wayward veterans who once wore the patch and drove the tanks that gave the unit its storied past. The veterans were from various times in the past, World War II, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War. Just as I listened to the veterans as a young soldier in Kansas, the veterans at this reunion were more than happy to delight me with the same type of wondrous and exciting tales of valor and hardship that I thoroughly enjoyed.
Present day, all of those memories are still rich in my mind, as I passed by a large sign stating that the museum was undergoing a massive renovation, I thought about an article published by the Associated Press about Elvis Presley’s enlisted service time in the United States Army, “Army Puts Elvis back in Uniform.: Daily News-Record [Harrison, PA] 25 Mar. 2004: 7. Print. I think about how long ago 1958 was and how all of that history would have to wait if the museum and its memorial park had moved away.
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