SGT Robert D. Pryor, U.S. Army (1967-1969)

TWS Battle Buddy Felipe Brown was “Mr. IMC” because of his speed with International Morse Code.  Ronald “Tiny” DeMello certainly wasn’t tiny.  TWS Brother Robert “Bru” Taylor assimilated the ways of the Bru people, speaking their language.  James “Missing” Mitchum was sometimes hard to find.  William “Grit” Pomeroy spoke fluent Southernese with a native tongue; however, I called him Billy.

I earned my Special Forces nickname on our last day of training.  It was during a Field Training Exercise (FTX) conducted in a civilian environment, where some would help us, some would feed us, and other civilians would turn us in.  Our objective was to simulate bridge destruction using blasting caps, but with fake charges to prevent damage.  Guys from the 82nd Airborne Division guarded the bridge to stop us.

While reconnoitering the bridge, an unexpected opportunity presented itself.  At one end of the bridge, a country market stood near an intersection.  A teenage girl rode up on her bicycle.  The men from the 82nd were whistling and pledging their love.  She ignored them, got off her bike, and entered the market.   I stripped down to my trousers and rolled them up to look like shorts.  Barefoot, unarmed, shirtless, baby-faced, and a runt, I looked like a child.  Exiting the bushes where I had been hiding, I entered the store.

Once inside, I explained what we were doing and recruited her into my guerrilla force.  She exited the store with the soft drinks I had purchased.  Riding her bike onto the bridge, she stopped by the GIs, told them they looked hot and miserable, and offered each a cold beverage.  The guards and the referee eagerly took sodas and chatted with her as they drank.

I walked onto the bridge as they finished their sodas.  The guys from the 82nd and the referee ignored the approaching country bumpkin, who looked about 13 or 14 years old.  The girl was the only one to speak, saying, “Hi, Bobby,” and I nodded.  That was her signal to hand my hastily written note to the referee.  It simply said, “You’ve all been poisoned.  The G-chief.”  I then gave him my military ID, identifying myself as the G-chief.  He roared with laughter and ordered the guys from the 82nd, “Stack your rifles and meet Private Pryor, the man who just killed y’all.”  They were no longer allowed to participate in the exercise.

I signaled my teammates to join us on the bridge, where I was given my nickname.  Upon arrival, Billy said, “Report.” After a brief pause, he smiled broadly and added, “Kid.”  From then on, I was known in Special Forces as “The Kid.”

Billy and I set our fake charges and returned to the others.  The girl incredulously asked if I was really a Green Beret.  The blasting caps then detonated.  Before I could answer, the referee interjected, “He is now.  The Kid was just a trainee when you asked.  This exercise is over.”

After the Vietnam War, Billy became a Special Forces Chaplain.

On our FTX, I was soaked with perspiration.

Thirty-six years after earning my beret and nickname, despite growing 4 inches taller, I was still a runt compared to classmates “Demo Dan” Courtney (left) and “Slim Jim” Day (right).

Read the Military Memories of our Runner-Ups.