Four-Leaf Clover 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

They called Korea the Land of Morning Calm for a good reason; there seemed to be a slight fog hanging over the rice paddies, and only a couple farmers were moving down to check on the water flow through the paddies. It was early May 1967, and the country was warming up from a chilly spring. The sun was warm as we walked up the hill to the operations building. 

“It looks like it will be a warm day,” I told Truman as we walked along. I had to consciously lengthen my stride to keep pace with my tall friend.

“Some of the old timers were saying that we will have good weather now until the monsoon rains start sometime next month,” Truman said as we checked in at the guard station.

Mr. Neal, the new warrant officer in charge of maintenance, was waiting for us when we got to the shop.

“I have been waiting to talk with you, Larsen,” Mr. Neal said. “Major Dillon, the new CO, has decided that he wants to have an honor guard for the 177th.”

“That sounds like a bunch of military BS,” I said.

“Yes, you’re probably correct, but you have to put up with those things from time to time in this man’s army,” Mr. Neal said. “Anyway, the shop has to supply a body, and since we moved you to your new job as the quality control NCOIC, it looks like your schedule is the one with the most free time. So, Larsen, you’re the body. You are to report to supply this afternoon and pick up all the uniform additions. Then you will have drill practice every day at eleven.”

“I guess I don’t have any say in this selection,” I said. 

“Major Dillon has an open door policy every Tuesday evening,” Mr. Neal said. “You are free to go talk with him if you would like. But my guess would be it won’t do you any good. His plan is to have an honor guard performance every time we have the big brass visit. It won’t be a big deal for you, Larsen, just give your house boy an extra ten dollars, and he will take care of your uniform, brass, and boots.”

Mr. Neal was right, of course. Major Dillon would not budge an inch on my participation in the honor guard. I spoke with him every Tuesday evening at six or eighteen hundred hours. His story was always the same, I was doing a great job, and it would only help my career in the Army. 

My house boy was ecstatic. He had been on an honor guard when he was in the Korean Army, so he knew all the tricks.

“You will be the best dressed on the honor guard,” he said with a bit of a puffed-up chest. “I know all the tricks to make things shine.”

Per capita income in South Korea in 1967 was about twenty-six dollars a year. The Army paid These house boys well, and then they were tipped five dollars a month by each of the twelve guys he cleaned house for. An extra ten dollars a month was a significant increase in his pay.

I picked up my stuff from supply, and my houseboy went right to work. When I got back to my room that first evening, my silver helmet was on my nightstand, shining in sunlit, filtering through the window.

Then drills started. We worked hard, and in the summer heat, I was tired when I got to the mess hall for lunch.

The routine at each practice was the same. The close-order drill was easy for everyone to pick up. Some of the tricks with the rifles were harder to master, but we were coming along.

As the summer progressed and the monsoons were approaching, the days were hotter, and the humidity was high. We started taking a break in the middle of the practice.

On one sweltering morning, everyone sort of melted to the ground when break time came. I laid on my back for a few minutes and then rolled over. I noticed that I was lying on a small patch of clover when suddenly, a four-leafed clover caught my eye.

I plucked the clover and got to my knees as I showed it to the other guys. Then I looked at the patch of clover a little closer. Nearly all the clovers had four or more leaves. 

Now the whole bunch of us were going over this small patches of clover, maybe six feet in diameter. The drill sergeant came over to see what we were doing. I handed him a clover with seven leaves.

He looked at it closely. Then he sort of surveyed the area where the parade field was located.

“You guys know, they fought a war right here not too many years ago,” the sergeant said. “I wonder what was dumped on this sport to cause this abnormal growth in this clover patch?”

Everyone looked around, and we all sprang to our feet at the same time. That was the last time we took a break on that parade field.

My stint on the Honor Guard lasted until my departure at the end of October. Major Dillon was true to his word and placed a letter in the personnel file attesting to my outstanding performance on his honor guard. It was probably a bit overstated, but it was likely helpful in my promotion to E-6 the following September in Germany.

Photo by Djalma Paiva Armelin on Pexels.