Jean and Walt Sehnert in their Fort Sill days (Walt Sehnert) [Click to enlarge]

Sometimes, when one thinks back over a lifetime of experiences, a name will pop up, bringing back memories of a certain person that you met along the way, who played an important part in your life for a short time, and then was gone -- forever.

Sgt. Manus was one of those fellows in my life, during the Korean War.

I was drafted into the Army in 1950, and was sent to Fort Sill in Oklahoma for basic training. The North Koreans had invaded South Korea, and Gen. MacArthur had made his daring invasion at Inchon, but the Chinese had not yet entered the war.

In November, the Chinese did enter the war and swept the South Koreans and Americans back down the Korean Peninsula a second time. My unit was taking its Basic Training at Fort Sill. Our basic was cut short and almost all the men in our unit were sent to Korea, as replacements for Infantry Units, even though we were "Artillery men." By a quirk of fate, my name was left off the list for Korea. Instead, I was assigned, as a baker, in Sgt. Manus' mess hall at Ft. Sill.

Sgt. Manus had gone into the Army right out of high school, in the no jobs, Depression Days of the early 1930s. "The Army offered me a chance to eat regularly."

During World War II, Manus had served as a cook in the Army, and had taken part in the Normandy invasion of France, the Battle of the Bulge, and had been with General Patton's Army when they sped across Germany, then waited on the outskirts of Berlin and watched -- as the politicians allowed the Soviets to occupy the city.

By 1950, Sgt. Manus had become Master Sergeant Manus and supervised the Mess Hall at our barracks and some others in the 6th Armored Division. He was a living proponent of the adage, "An Army marches on its stomach," and the meals we served up were both ample and tasty.

Of course, as a 22 year old, almost everything tasted good to me in those days. But he also believed in the saying "Waste not, Want not!"

He was a bear about wasting food and growled a lot. His station at meal time was at the garbage can, where men leaving the mess hall scraped uneaten food from their trays. He stood at his post, always smoking a cigar and watched. If more than a few teaspoons of food were thrown out he would admonish that soldier, "Take what you want, but eat what you take!"

If a number of soldiers threw out a lot of any one dish he growled at the cooks, "The men don't like that dish. Change it so they'll eat it!" His mess halls regularly led the Division in mess hall efficiency.

Sgt. Manus also always knew what was going on around the camp and with his men. One day he called me into his office. "I hear you got took by Smith for $40 when he went AWOL."

How he heard I never knew, but it was true. I had begun to lend money to certain fellows -- $10 or so, 'til payday, when they would repay me double -- a wonderful rate of return, but strictly against Army regulations. My system was to always lend to Non-coms, thinking that having more rank and more money at payday, they would be more likely to repay the loan. This time, lending to Cpl. Smith was a mistake.

I admitted that it was true, expecting that he would report me. Instead, he sat me down for a little lecture. He explained that he had lent money for years, and had been successful. He demanded collateral, and he always judged his customers. "Smith was good for no more than $10 or $15." You've got to know your man! And one thing more, Save a little bit out of every transaction and every paycheck -- it'll add up in time."

I decided that I really couldn't size up men very well and for all intents and purposes went out of the Army banking business, but continued to work for Sgt. Manus.

When an opening for an instructor at the Army Cooks and Bakers School came up, Sgt. Manus put in my name and ran interference for me through Division Channels, and I was accepted. I was to report to the school as soon as I came back from a two week furlough in June, when Jean and I planned to be married. Everything was great. Jean and I would live at Fort Sill and I would teach at the school until I my discharge in November of 1952.

(It wasn't Sgt. Manus' fault that in October the Air Force took over the School and replaced all Army personnel with Air Force men and I was sent to Korea then anyway.)

In the week that I was supposed to leave on furlough, we got word that the entire division was to go on maneuvers -- all leaves cancelled! What a bummer! Jean and her mother had made all the plans for the wedding, the invitations had gone out -- all was set. I approached Sgt. Manus with my problem.

He listened without emotion. "That's the Army, son," he said. "You'll have to learn not to make any long range plans." But as I turned to leave, he patted me on the shoulder and added, "Let me see what I can do."

We were to begin the maneuvers early on Friday. We were busy up to that time, getting all our gear ready for the field and stocking up rations for the men. We worked our tails off, and since there had been no word from Manus, I had given up hope of a leave. We were actually loading onto the trucks heading for the field when Sgt. Manus called me aside. Without fanfare he handed me my leave papers and said, "Give that bride of yours a kiss for me, and have a nice life. Now get the hell out of here!" I left.

After I began working at the school I only saw Sgt. Manus occasionally. The two times Jean and I invited him and his wife over for dinner did not work out, including just before I left for Korea, but when I went to say goodbye he was cordial, and optimistic, and invited me to stop in to see him when I got back. "I've got something else in mind, and think I'll retire from the Army, but I'll still be at Ft. Sill. Come see me."

After I got home from Korea, and before I got started living in the real world again, Jean and I made an extended tour of the southland, and arranged our itinerary so that we could go through Oklahoma -- and Ft. Sill. By that time almost all of the fellows I had known at Ft. Sill had moved on -- but not all. When I made inquiries I found that Sgt. Manus was in a new bank that had gone in near the Post Exchange. We went there and I asked the receptionist for Sgt. Manus.

"Oh, you must mean "Mr." Manus, our Vice President. He's with a customer now, but I'm sure he'll be free in a few minutes."

From where we sat, I could see "Mr." Manus, in an unfamiliar civilian suit, in his office cubicle, smoking his cigar, and peering across the desk at his customer. I could imagine what he was saying -- "Are you sure you need this much money? Don't squander it. Remember, 'Waste not, want not!"

When we finally got to see Mr. Manus he told us a very interesting story. Seems that a colonel he had served with across Europe in World War II decided to open up the bank at Fort Sill, and needed some investors to make his project work. This was the change that Sgt. Manus had mentioned. His investment was hefty enough that he was made a full partner.

Mr. Manus did not look entirely comfortable in his role as a banker, which he admitted was true, but he was learning and it was getting better. I was pleased. I'm sure he was a good banker, helping people realize their dreams, making good financial decisions. At the same time, his new role assured a good life for Sgt. Manus and his family. Just rewards for a truly good guy!