US Army – The ExhaustNotes Blog

CSM Emory L. Hickman

By Joe Berk

About seven years ago I did a blog on CSM (Command Sergeant Major) Emory L. Hickman, the man who taught me how to shoot a 1911. He passed away several decades ago at the tender young age of 49, a victim of exposure to Agent Orange in Vietnam. Here are the original blogs I wrote about him:

The 1911
Mentors: Command Sergeant Major Emory L. Hickman

I enjoyed writing those blogs, and I enjoyed the time I spent with the Command Sergeant Major. I met him when I was a second lieutenant going to graduate school at Rutgers in 1973. As a brand-new second looey, I didn’t really know what a Sergeant Major was (let alone a Command Sergeant Major). I learned when I went on active duty they are at the pinnacle of the US Army’s noncommissioned officer corps, and I would further learn that they are treated with reverence by soldiers of all ranks (up to and including general officers). CSM Hickman taught me how to shoot the .45 ACP 1911, and he taught me well. I still do pretty good on the pistol range, even as a guy who can properly be considered a geezer.

So where am I going with this?

About a week ago, I received a request to add an email address to our list of ExhaustNotes subscribers. I evaluate every one of those requests, because if I just let any old address onto the list, I would be bombarded with spam emails and blog comments. I sort of get bombarded anyway, but personally approving or disapproving every request keeps the spam bots and Russian bad guys at bay (if there’s a .ru in your email address or any Cyrillic characters in your message, don’t waste your time).

What raised my “likely spam” antenna was that this recent request included an email address based on CSM Hickman’s name. I figured it was one of those spoofing deals, like when you get an email from yourself offering deals that are too good to be true. Those get immediately deleted. I deleted this subscription request and promptly forgot about it.

A week later, I received an email (instead of just a subscription request) from the same CSM Hickman address, with a note that the writer was CSM Hickman’s son. He asked me to call him at the included phone number. I wasn’t about to ignore that, so I called, and in a few seconds I was chatting with Emory L. Hickman, Jr. Wow!

As it turns out, Emory L. Hickman, Jr., is just a few years younger than me. We had a marvelous conversation, we chatted about his dad (the Command Sergeant Major), and we chatted about our kids (there’s an Emory L. Hickman III, too, and he’s the one who found the blogs I previously wrote about CSM Hickman). Emory, Jr., told me that he and his family enjoyed the blogs enormously. That’s good and hearing it made me feel good. I had a lot of fun writing those stories and recalling my days on the Rutgers pistol range with the original Emory Hickman. You know, in that photo atop this blog (Emory, Jr., sent it to me a few days ago), CSM Hickman looks like an imposing guy. To the North Koreans, the VC, and the NVA, he was. But to me, he was simply a nice, southern gentlemen with a quiet way about him. He was a wonderful teacher. I think about him every time I pick up a 1911, including the time when I won the Army’s 38th Brigade pistol championship in Korea.

Emory, Jr., and I talked about his father and I told him one of my favorite stories. CSM Hickman was coaching me and I was getting better, but the improvement wasn’t what I wanted. I asked the Command Sergeant Major if he thought I should get my Colt 1911 accurized.

“May I try your pistol, Sir?” he asked. Here was this guy, a career Army man more than twice my age (at the pinnacle of the NCO ranks) calling me “Sir.” It was heady stuff.

“Sure,” I said. I dropped the mag, locked the slide back, checked to make sure the pistol was unloaded, and handed it to him. CSM Hickman loaded five rounds in the magazine, put the mag in the gun, aimed the 1911, and fired five shots at the tiny bullseye 50 feet away. When the thunder died, there was one ragged hole in the center of the bullseye. You could have covered that single ragged hole with a nickel. I was speechless. I had no idea such a thing was even possible.

“Maybe at some point in the future, Sir,” the Command Sergeant Major said in response to my thought about accurizing the pistol, “but I think it’s good enough for now.”

I thought so, too.

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Season of Change: Part 4

By Mike Huber

I awoke in my tent still buzzing from the previous night’s ceremony. A frequent side effect from ayahuasca is not being able to sleep that well, but even with little sleep I was ready and excited to face the day with a renewed feeling of positive energy. I had not only made it through the ceremony but came out the other side feeling a confidence and happiness that I hadn’t felt in years.

Even though I had this elated feeling I was still cautious not to be too upbeat. I had a final ceremony that evening to go through and I was certain there were still a few things I had yet to process. Hopefully, this evening would be where I would find the purpose that I originally sought, a star to steer by to light a path, even if it was just a few nearly dead chem lights to point the direction. Just something.

I passed the day by talking with the others and listening to their experiences and getting to know everyone a little better. As the day wore on, I began to feel uneasy again as to what that night’s experience would be. With the ceremony starting at 19:30, the two hours leading up to it I spent in solace and went fishing to pass the time (I had two solid bites but didn’t set the hook so off they went).

Upon entering the yurt I sat on my mat and awaited to be called. Since this was the third ceremony and I felt as though I had resolved a lot of what I had come here for I chose a smaller dose. I wanted to be semi-coherent this night so that I could work with the plant, build a relationship, and have her assist me in bringing my purpose into the light.

As I returned to the mat with my cup of medicine, I sat looking deep into the cup for several minutes asking for guidance before I drank the bitter tasting plant medicine. It didn’t take too long before the muscular black panther appeared and strutted up the mat to be face-to-face with me again. As I sat eye-to-eye with this magnificent beast, I noticed behind it was the entire universe filled with an infinite amount of lavender colored geometric fractal patterns. I felt so uplifted and began to repeat “what is my purpose?” It was at this time the panther left and the universe melted into a dark scary funhouse as I began to violently purge into my trusty bucket that was kept at my side. All the while the facilitators were singing and their icaros were resonating through my entire body. It was beyond overwhelming. Every sense in my body was heightened as I was blasted with emotion from every direction.

One of my proudest accomplishments is being a paratrooper in the 82^nd Airborne Division, but on prior occasions taking ayahuasca my prior Army service never entered my hallucinations. As the madness of the funhouse carried on, I looked up through the ceiling and could see an enormous 82^nd Airborne insignia light up the entire universe. I once again was in a dark place and began asking why was I seeing this insignia. Did the plant have a problem with soldiers? Paratroopers? Every time I asked my surroundings just became darker and darker. Every so often it would uplift me for a moment and I would ask about the insignia. Each time I was thrust back into the funhouse of Hell. Obviously, I was asking the wrong questions (I learned this after the third or fourth time purging and visiting these dark places).

I am a slow learner. I managed to refocus for a moment and it hit me. It was almost as if the plant was screaming at me and punishing me for not coming to the obvious conclusion of these signs. I had asked for purpose during that ceremony and that was it. The medicine was showing me what my purpose was. It is to help my fellow veterans in some capacity (this was the conclusion I reached). This was what I had asked for, but I had been too overwhelmed by the hallucinations to focus and obtain that answer.

It’s been three months since I attended the ayahuasca ceremonies. While I am still very mindful of what lessons the plant medicine has taught me, life (as it tends to do) has had me distracted and I find myself backsliding into old habits and losing focus on my new purpose. I am now alert enough to realize this and I have the discipline to push myself back on track. As I continue my path forward I am thankful for having the resolve to attend and learn from this beautiful plant medicine. It is not a magic bullet, but if you follow through on the lessons this plant teaches you there is no doubt you will be a better person.

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The Colin D. MacManus Award

US Army Captain Colin D. MacManus, Rutgers University ’63.

Captain Colin D. MacManus, a US Army Infantry officer and an Airborne Ranger, graduated from Rutgers University in 1963. He was killed in action in Vietnam in February 1967. A synopsis of his Silver Star citation follows:

Captain (Infantry) Colin David MacManus, United States Army, was awarded the Silver Star (Posthumously) for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in connection with military operations against the enemy while serving with Company C, 1st Battalion, 22d Infantry Regiment, 4th Infantry Division, in the Republic of Vietnam.

The New Jersey Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial Foundation assembled this tribute to Captain MacManus:

Colin D. MacManus was born on August 29, 1941 to Mrs. Barbara MacManus in Elizabeth, NJ. He lived in New York and Quincy, MA before moving to Newark, NJ. He graduated from South Side High School in 1959. He attended Rutgers University and graduated in 1963 with a bachelor’s degree in sociology and an award as a distinguished military student. While he was an undergraduate, he was a member of the university’s track team, and Scabbard and Blade, an ROTC honor society.

Following graduation, the captain attended Paratroop and Ranger schools at Fort Benning, Georgia. He was then stationed with the 3rd Armored Division “Spearheaders” in Frankfurt, Germany. While there, his mother explained, Captain MacManus led the rifle team representing the United States at the 1965 Central Treaty Organization games in Istanbul, Turkey. The squad finished second in the contest and received special honors from the U.S. commander.

In a February 22, 1967 article from the Newark Evening News his brother, John, stated “Colin was always very proud of the work he was doing. When we tried to sway him from volunteering from combat duty, he simply said that he had the training necessary to do the job–the type of training ‘those young boys’ with fear written on their faces didn’t have.”

MacManus was planning to marry Linda Neeson, the secretary of his commanding officer in Germany. The couple postponed their plans when he received his orders to report to Vietnam.

He entered the US Army from Newark, NJ and attained the rank of Captain (CAPT). MacManus was killed in action on February 16, 1967 at the age of 25. He was serving with C Company, 1st Battalion, 22 Infantry, 4th Infantry Division.

Captain McManus’s mother stated that her son wrote in his last letter that he was going out in the boondocks and had just reached his goal of being named a company commander, and that he would be unable to write for a while. His mother said that he never mentioned the fighting at all. He received a full military funeral.

There is a memorial at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, NJ dedicated to the graduates who were killed or missing in action from the Vietnam War. MacManus’ name is listed among those killed in action.

To commemorate his life, each year the MacManus family awarded a Colt .45 Auto to the graduating senior who held his Rutgers Corps of Cadets assignment. In 1973, that was me. I never had the honor of meeting Captain MacManus (he graduated before I started my engineering studies at Rutgers), but I felt like I knew him through the Rutgers Reserve Officers Training Corps. We all knew of Captain MacManus. I met the MacManus family when I graduated in 1973, and his brother John (the same one mentioned above) presented the 1911 to me. It was a Series 70 Government Model Colt (the US Army sidearm back then), and receiving that award was a very big deal. It was a big deal to me in 1973, and it’s still a big deal to me today.

My first handgun: The Colin D. MacManus 1911 and a couple of 5-shot, 25-yard hand held groups I fired with it. I had it accurized in the 1970s, and it is still a tack driver.

That 1911 was the very first centerfire handgun I ever owned. US Army Sergeant Major Emory L. Hickman taught me how to shoot my .45 while I was a grad student at Rutgers (you can read about that here). I had a gunsmith accurize the 1911 a few years later when I lived in Fort Worth, and I still shoot the MacManus .45 on a regular basis. I most recently had my good buddy TJ (of TJ’s Custom Guns) go through it to make sure everything is in good working order (and it is). The MacManus 1911 and I go way back. It means a lot to me.

Somewhere along the way during the last 46 years, the MacManus Award fell by the wayside, and when I heard about that, it just felt wrong. So I called the ROTC detachment at Rutgers and spoke to the Professor of Military Science (the commander there). Colonel Cortez agreed: The MacManus Award is something that needs to continue. I did a bit of sleuthing online, one thing led to another, and last night I had a nice conversation with a young man from the MacManus family (I spoke with Colin D. MacManus, who was named after his uncle). We’re going to revive the Captain MacManus Award, and I’ll keep you posted on the status of our efforts right here on the Exhaust Notes blog.

Keep up with all the good stories!

A Pair of Prancing Ponies…and that first No. 1

Good buddy Python Pete and I went to the range a few days ago to let loose with a pair of prancing ponies (that is to say, Colts), in both revolver and automatic flavors. The auto was my tried-and-true bright stainless Colt Government Model 1911; the wheelgun was Pete’s stunning 8-inch Colt Python. Both are stunningly beautiful and both are good shooting guns.

A custom bright stainless Colt, with Baer barrel, Millet sights, and a few other nice touches.

I bought the 1911 you see above at a pawn shop brand new back in the mid-1980s for just over $500. Colt no longer offers bright stainless steel guns, so I guess you could say mine is collectible, and when you see bright stainless Colt 1911s come up for sale (which doesn’t happen very often), prices start at $2,000 and go north from there. I guess you could say I made a good investment (except I won’t ever sell it).

A few years ago the front sight popped off my 1911, so I took it to a local gunsmith to have it restaked. That repair lasted all of 50 rounds, and I realized I needed to see an expert. That’s when I hooked up with TJ’s Custom Guns, and I had TJ revamp the Colt. It’s got a Les Baer match barrel, an extended one-piece guide rail, an engine turned chamber (I love that look), high profile/high visibility Millet fixed sights, and TJ’s exclusive high reliability tune. That last little bit means that my Colt 1911 will reliably feed any bullet configuration (semi-wadcutters, hollow points, etc.) and it will work no matter what. Folks, I’ve put tens of thousands of rounds through my 1911 since TJ massaged it, and it’s never had a failure of any kind (no failures to fire, no failures to feed, and no failures to eject…it just goes and goes and goes).

On to the Python. I’ve known good buddy Pete for more than 30 years (we sort of grew up together in the aerospace industry). Pete owns a Colt Python, a gun that is arguably the finest revolver ever made. His is the super-rare 8-inch model, too.

Revolver royalty…the stunning Colt Python. The Colt Python is perhaps the finest revolver ever made.

Colt no longer makes the Python, probably because they were too expensive to produce. The fit and finish are superior, and the feel of the thing is just sublime. It’s a .357 Magnum, one of the world’s all time greats, and a cartridge that dominated the police market before 9mm became all the rage. Colt revolvers were hand-fitted and involved lots of custom assembly, and I suppose it just didn’t in with the need for low cost manufacture in a market dominated by black plastic 9mm handguns. No, the Python is from another era characterized by highly polished blue steel and finely figured walnut, an age in which I felt more comfortable. Seeing a Python on the firing line again was a treat, and when Pete asked if I wanted to try the big Colt, he didn’t have to ask twice.

Pete and I had four handguns with us (the two mentioned above, plus a SIG 9mm and my Rock Island Compact 1911). I shot my two 1911s offhand for a while, and then I tried my luck with Pete’s SIG and the Python. It was fun.

You can argue about a good automatic being as accurate as a high-end revolver, but you won’t convince me. The Python is a tack driver.

I fired 5 shots of “nothing fancy” factory ammo with the Python, and the accuracy was superb. The targets don’t lie, folks.

I’ve owned two Pythons in my life, and both were back in the 1970s. When I was in Korea, I found out I could order one though the Base Exchange at a substantial discount. I couldn’t believe what the nice lady was telling me at the Kunsan AFB Exchange, so I ordered a 6-inch blue steel Python for something like $150 (it sounded too good to be true). Incredibly, it came in the mail to me in Korea. Before I rotated home, I had to submit a form through the Army to get permission to import the revolver back to the US. I did that, and a few weeks later I had a letter signed by the Director of the Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms Bureau allowing me to bring my Python home. It went into my duffel bag, I produced the letter when I went through Customs in San Francisco, and that was that. Better times.

You know how it goes with these things. When I was back in Texas shortly after my stint in Korea, I saw a Ruger No. 1 single shot rifle in .30 06 I couldn’t live without, and I traded the Python for it (the guy at the store through in a couple of boxes of .30 06 ammo, too). Then I felt a void in my life because I no longer owned a Python, so I ordered another one (this time a 6-inch nickel-plated model) through the Fort Bliss Gun Club. It was under $200. Then I traded that for something else (I can’t remember what). Ah, the mistakes we make. But maybe they weren’t all mistakes. I’ve sent a lot of lead downrange with the Ruger No. 1 over the last 45 years, it’s one of the most accurate rifles I own, and it has stunning walnut.

The Ruger No. 1 in 30 06 I traded the Kunsan Python to get. It’s a 200th Year Ruger. I miss the Python, but I love my ’06 No. 1. Some day I’ll do a blog on this rifle.

Today, Colt Pythons typically sell for something in the $3,000 to $4,000 range. Pete’s would command even more, because it’s the 8-incher, which is a rare item. I’ve asked Pete if he wanted to sell his, but all I got in return was a smile. That’s probably just as well; I couldn’t afford it at today’s prices.

Whoa! More gun stories? You bet, and they’re right here!

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North Platte, Nebraska

A Soldier Never Forgets North Platte. This is a good story that we saw in the Wall Street Journal last week. You need to read it. You’ll be a better person for doing so. You can thank me later.