MANZARALI STATION TURKEY

15TH USASAFS - TUSLOG DETACHMENT 27

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Click on the thumbnail for a larger image.

1. Main gate looking east. (landing strip.)
2. Main gate looking toward mess hall.
3. Barracks. My room, fifth from right. (second. floor)
4. Provost Marshal's office.
5. NCO Club.( Anyone else get drunk here for the first time?)
6. Post theater. (Ben Hur for " free." )
7. Orderly Room. (Gym left background.)
8. Main gate guard shack.( My office)
9. Mess Hall. (Remember S.O.S.?)
10. MP Jeep. (1962 Open House)

Disclaimer

All the stories are true as I remember them. Some of the names have been changed to protect the innocent ... and guilty. Most have been changed 'cause I can't remember them nearly 40 years later.

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HAVE A LOOK!!

Arrival	Cable Yard	Sinop Incident	Shagnasty does Training
Sign of the Times	De Plane De Plane	Ben Hur for "Free."	My Kingdom for a Barn
The Ugly Americans	An American Hero?	Heading Home	Links Write Me

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Arrival

I arrived at Det. 27 in June 1961. I had been an MP at Arlington Hall Station for about a year. Arlington Hall was a spit-and-polish place, and MPs were always trying to get reassigned. I had several GIs offer to switch with me but I was looking forward to seeing someplace new. When I arrived I met two guys I had known in the States -- Driscoll, whom I had met at Ft. Devins, and Dennis "Deke-the Deacon" O'Leary, with whom I had gone though MP training at Arlington Hall. O'Leary would be my squad leader for most of my time in Turkey.

The first night on duty I was assigned to the cable yard. It was the swing shift, and I was given a flashlight and a billy club. I was told the Turks had been sneaking in and stealing cable. My job was to prevent this. About nine or ten o'clock a voice called out from the direction of the OPs building about a 1/4-mile away. "Gibson, is that you?" 

"No," I shouted back.

 "Miller?"

  "Naw, you'll never get it. I'm the new guy," I answered.

 " Oh, OK," he said.

I didn't think much about it until midnight chow, when a GI approached me.

 "Are you the MP that was in the cable yard?" he asked.

 "Yes, that was me." 

" Well, there was a reason I called out to you. The Turks who were patrolling the antenna field saw your flashlight and were getting ready to fire a couple of rounds at you."

Whoa! not exactly the way I wanted to start out at this place.

Over the years I have looked back at this incident, and I believe I was sent to the cable yard as a test to see how I would handle it. I don't recall anyone else being sent there. We did occasionally play some pranks on the "yeni" MPs, though.

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A short time after my arrival at Det. 27 there was an incident at Sinop. This is the story as I heard it. 

There was a disturbance near the main gate of Sinop. A group of Turks were fighting and one of them was shot. When the police came to investigate, they asked what happened. One of the Turks pointed to a GI and said, "He shot the Turk."

 Something close to a riot erupted and the entire post went on alert. We flew two MPs up there to try to help out. By sending these guy up to Sinop we were shorthanded and went on 12-hour shifts: noon to midnight and midnight to noon.

We would work four days on with two days off, so it wasn't too bad. After a couple of months the MPs returned with "Williams," the accused GI. As things were still a little uncertain we put "Williams" in the OPs building, the most secure place on the post. He had a bunk there and we brought him his meals. After a few months he was released to the general population of the post and I believe he was shipped out without further incident.

One of our least-favorite activities was "training." These once-a-month events were usually given when we had come off mids or during the time we were on swings. These "happenings" took up the better part of a day, covering such diverse topics as the $50,000 pencil or how many squares of toilet paper were allotted to each GI in the entire Army. These talks were given by the NCOs, a well-meaning bunch of guys who probably didn't want to be there any more than we did. We used to joke that these were the guys who would lead us on a forced march to the sea if we should have to evacuate Det. 27. We knew most of these guys had trouble making it from the NCO club to the barracks.

The way they would check attendance was to hand out slips that we would fill out with our name, rank and service number. They would collect them and call out your name. You would answer, "Here!"

One time they were calling out names.

 "Shagnasty!"

 Silence.

 "Bolivar Shagnasty?"

Still no answer, but a few snickers.

 "All right, who's the wise guy?" the frustrated NCO asked.

 Still silence.

"OK, we'll figure this out," he said. "As your name is called, stand up and go to the lobby of the theater." 

One by one the GIs got up as their names were called until the only name left was Shagnasty. 

When the sargeant looked up the theater was empty. Where was Shagnasty?

 Gone! Vanished without a trace. No wonder his name is legendary throughout the intelligence community.

My roommate, Ed Larkin, and I were working the main gate on the swing shift one day. 

When we arrived we saw a very fancy sign that had been erected over the main gate. Made of plywood, it was a work of art. Painted white with blue and red trim, it welcomed visitors to Manzarali Station Det. 27 etc., etc.

 We both thought it seemed rather silly to have a sign at this supposedly top-secret post, but what did we know. The sign's design was interesting: perhaps 10 to 12 feet high on each side of the road, going in 3 or 4 feet and then arching to 15 feet or so.

 About 5 to 5:30, as the Turk workmen were leaving on buses and civilians and others were heading out in their cars, a U.S. Army semi with a large piece of equipment was returning to the post.

 The truck came to a halt, and "Cooper," the driver, looked out at the sign and said, "What the hell is that??"

 "It's our new sign," I said. 

"Will I fit under it?" Cooper asked.

 " I don't think so," I said.

 "Stand back!" Cooper shouted as he put the truck in gear.

 I took a couple of quick steps back as he floored it. There was a loud crack and our new sign was now in two pieces. Larkin and I looked at each other in shock. Uh-oh, this could be trouble.

 Sure enough, five minutes later a car drove up with officers and civilians inside. A couple of them jumped out, obviously upset.

 "What happened to our sign?" one of them asked. 

"A truck with a large load came though and didn't make it," I told him.

 "Well, you should have called us and we could have come down and raised the sign." (Sure, every time a truck can't get though stop everything we have to raise the sign.)

 "Sorry, sir."

The next morning we were told to report to the Provost Marshal's office.

 Uh-oh, trouble is a brewing. Larkin and I decided we'd better find Cooper so we could all get our stories straight. We didn't want to hang him out to dry. We found him in the mess hall.

 "Coop, they want us at the PMO about the sign."

"Yeah, I know," he said.

 "Well, what are we going to say?" I wondered.

 "Well, I'm going to say I was on the Turk workman's bus checking passes," Larkin said, thus depriving me of the excuse I was going to use.

 "Well, hmm, let's see," I said. "I was writing down the Turk workman's bus number on the log sheet and saw you coming and waved you through, not noticing the height of your load." 

Then Coop said, "OK. I was watching out for the buses and cars that were around the main gate and didn't see the sign as it wasn't there when I went out." 

Brilliant, I thought.

 We went down to the PMO and repeated these stories and the officers bought it. When we returned to work that afternoon the sign was gone, never to be seen again.

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The road just outside the main gate (see picture one) was used as a landing strip for a single-engine plane the Army used to fly between our post and Sinop.

 Whenever the plane was landing or taking off we were sent to the bottom of the hill to keep cars and trucks from using the road/landing strip. One afternoon when I came into the PMO to start a swing shift, O'Leary told me to take a Jeep to the bottom of the hill as the plane would be taking off in 10 minutes. 

I took one of the Jeeps and drove it down the road to the foot of the hill about a mile from the main gate. I parked the Jeep sideways and waited for the plane to take off. No trucks came along as I was waiting.

 Ten minutes, no plane.

 Fifteen minutes, still no plane. 

After about 20 minutes I figured the plane had taken off, banked to the right and flown away. I decided to head back. 

As I rounded the last turn before the main gate I was greeted by the sight of a small plane headed right toward me. I quickly pulled off the road onto the shoulder and watched as the plane climbed and went over me. He was probably 100 feet high by the time he got to where I was, but I wonder if the pilot's eyes were as big as mine were when he saw that Jeep.

Going to the movies was a good way to pass time. and for 25 cents it was cheap entertaiment.

"Ben Hur" was a big blockbuster at the time and cost $1 to see. I had seen the film when I was in the States at Arlington Hall. 

One day a newly arrived 2nd lieutenant started passing the word that there would be a free showing of "Ben Hur" at l a.m. The film had been showing at the Air Force Base in Ankara and had been sent out to our post by mistake.

 Many of us on the swing shift figured, why not? We arrived at the theater and they were asking for donations for the projectionist because he had to be awakened to show the film. I think I kicked in a dime. 

A few days later when we were getting ready for work the second lieutenant popped into our room. 

"Attention!"

We all stood up. 

"Were any of you at the 'Ben Hur' film the other night?"

 "No, uh, uh, no, sir, not me," we all lied.

 Then he was off to the next room. Since officers rarely set foot in our barracks, we smelled trouble right away. 

We found out later that word had gotten out about this showing and a fee of $100 was due. The lieutenant was trying to recoup as much as he could before dipping into his own pocket. I heard he didn't get too much back.

One afternoon I was in the PMO when O'Leary pulled me aside.

 "I've got a job for you. Take a Jeep, our Turk interpreter Nafiz and Sp4 'Jones.' You're going to go off-post to a local village." 

"What's up, Deke?" 

"Well, Sp4 'Jones' bought a horse in Ankara and is looking for a place to keep it a little closer to here," O'Leary said, rolling his eyes toward the sky.

 "Huh? You've got to be kidding!" 

I got the Jeep, Jones and Nafiz and headed out the main gate and down the main road. After a few minutes, Nafiz told me to pull off onto a road that was no more than a couple of tire tracks in the scrub brush.

 After bouncing along for a couple of minutes we came upon a small village sitting on a hillside with a stream running through at the bottom. Only about 10 or 15 houses, this village appeared quite a bit cleaner than others I had seen. 

We got out of the Jeep and were invited into the "mayor's" house. Though sparsely furnished, it was clean. The "mayor" took down a box from a shelf and passed it around. It was candy wrapped in colored foil. I took one and ate it. It wasn't bad.

 As Nafiz and Jones entered into negotiations, I drifted off with my thoughts, thinking, "Gee, this place isn't that bad, a rather bucolic setting with a babbling brook and animals in the fields and a cool breeze blowing though the open window. Sure, I could live in a place like this."

 "OK, we're finished," Nafiz said, bringing me back to the present.

 We bid our farewells and got into the Jeep and headed back, and to tell you the truth I have no idea what became of that horse.

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Not every incident I remember is a pleasant one.

 In the summer of 1962 we got a new post commander. As an attempt to start off with a clean slate he released a prisoner we had been holding for a month or so. The prisoner's name was "Cox," and he fancied himself as a professional criminal, a regular John Dillinger or Baby-Face Nelson.

 He was fond of wearing a white jacket with the collar turned up and black gloves. "Cox" was picked up one evening trying to break into the post office wearing his jacket and gloves. He was pretty easy to spot.

 I believe he was court-martialed and ended up in our jail. He used to tell some of the MPs that he wished they had sent him to the Air Force prison in western Turkey so he could learn from the mistakes of other prisoners. Such was the mentality of this punk.
So the new post commander released this guy and he hooked up with a newly arrived GI named "Harris."

 It is my understanding that "Harris" was married and his wife in the States was having a difficult pregnancy, so Harris had a request in for hardship leave.

One evening while I was at the main gate a taxi pulled up and the driver got out holding his head and carrying a loaf of "Wonderbread" or some other American-made bread. He was speaking to me in Turkish and I really needed to get an interpreter down to the gate. Our new interpreter, Ali, came down and talked with the driver, who explained that he was bringing two GIs back to the post when one of them said he was feeling ill. The driver pulled over and helped the sick GI lie down on the ground and was giving him some smelling salts when the other GI hit him over the head with a billy club. He said he dropped to his knees but was able to see the two guys running off. When Ali asked him if he could describe either of them,  the driver said one of them was wearing a white jacket and black gloves.

 "Cox," I told Ali, and we got the information to O'Leary.

 Shortly thereafter word came down to the main gate that there had been an incident in Ankara where a Turkish lady of the night had been cut up by some GIs. I was told to start sending all buses and cars to the PMO as the brass wanted to question everyone about this incident.

 I don't know at what point I started thinking that the two incidents might be related,  but it was pretty soon after I got the information. I know at midnight chow most of the MPs who were working the swing shift thought this was probably true. We were all pretty wide awake at this time, as this was the biggest thing that had happened at Det. 27 during our time there, so we all headed over to the newly installed bowling alley.
At about 2 or 2:30 a.m. we went back to the PMO to see if anything new had happened. It was during this time that one of the officers wanted to look at the log from the swing shift. After going over the log he wondered if maybe the two incidents might be related. It seemed he had finally reached the same conclusion most of the MPs had several hours earlier. It was decided that in the morning our squad would spit up into several teams along with several MPs from the day shift. We would go out and search several of the nearby villages to see if we could locate Cox and Harris or find someone who may have seen them.

 Ed Larkin, Pat Baker and I went together and went to a couple of villages without any success. At about noon we went back to post to eat and to map out where we would go in the afternoon. We decided to check out a quarry where they made pottery or bricks, I've forgotten which. It was located near the road that came from Det. 27 into the main road to Ankara. After looking around we decided we better get back as we would need to get ready to work the swing shift.

 As we were about to leave the quarry entrance we saw a couple of Jeeps and an Army staff car coming from Det. 27 heading out onto the highway to Ankara.

"They must have caught them," we all said. "Let's head back."

 When we got back to post O'Leary told us that Cox and Harris were picked up a mile or so behind the ops building. They had on backpacks and were planning on walking to Lebanon. They were turned over to the Turkish authorities. I believe they were sentenced to 7 1/2 years. I wonder if they survived? I heard that Harris's  hardship leave was approved a few days later.

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One of the most interesting people I encountered at Det. 27 was a guy named "Kimble."

 I remember him usually sitting alone at midnight chow wearing his dress greens. He had been court-martialed and busted to private, though he had a hash mark on his sleeve meaning over three years' service. I didn't really get to know him, but I remember Ed Larkin telling me that Kimble had showed him a newspaper clipping that said he was soldier of the month or outstanding soldier or something of that nature and he was quite proud of that.

Kimble's crimes were quite interesting. While we were stationed in Turkey we were allowed to travel to Germany, purchase a car, drive it back use it for the time there and then sell it to a Turk. 

GIs might get a car for $l,000 and could sell it when they left for perhaps $3,000. This was perfectly legal but could only be done once.

 What Kimble did was pay GIs $50 for their power of attorney, bring cars back in their name and resell them. Rumor had it that there were 50 cars sitting in Istanbul when he was caught. I also heard that he bought appliances at the Air Force Exchange and sold them on the black market.

 I had even heard he had sold the same refrigerator to more than one person. It all came to an end and the Army did what it had to do, but the Turks still had to mete out their punishment which was to banish him to a small village.

When I arrived in June of 1961 they were trying to figure things out, and when I left in September of 1962 they still hadn't resolved the issue.

I believe it was the summer of 1965 and I was living in Washington, D.C. A former Det. 27 friend had died in an accident and I attended a memorial service for him. It was there that I ran into several former Det. 27 alumni, and conversation turned to a recent article in either TIME or NEWSWEEK about Kimble. Apparently he was banished to a small village and became quite a hero helping out the villagers and almost becoming "mayor." I didn't see the article but I was told it glossed over the wrongs he had done. I do recall reading some letters to the editor a few weeks later praising him as an American Hero.

BACK TO TOP

In late August of 1962 I was relieved of duty. After clearing post I was put on a PanAm 707 jet along with a couple of other Det. 27 troops heading back to the States. 

We had about an hour and a half layover at the airport in Rome and had a lunch in the restaurant, courtesy of the U.S. Army. We then flew on toward New York, but due to strong headwinds we had to refuel in Newfoundland before heading into the Big Apple.

 I said goodbye to my friends because they were going on leave before reassignment to other posts. I was headed to Ft. Hamilton for separation. I arrived on a Friday and was given a two-day pass for the weekend.

 My 21st birthday was on Sunday. I think I went into New York City and checked into a low-rent hotel but don't recall doing much that weekend. I 'm sure I called home (Baltimore) to let my father know I was back. On the following Wednesday I was separated with a 10-day early out and headed home.

While I can't say my three years in the Army was the greatest time in my life, I wouldn't trade those years for anything in the world. I hope the pictures brought back some memories for any other ASAers who were stationed there.

 If you were stationed at Det. 27 in the 1961-62 era and you are aware of any of these stories I have retold, please forgive me if they aren't quite correct. It's been a few years since all this took place. Please feel free to e mail me with your recollections or just to say hello.

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