"Neither his nor hers," I turned to Sergeant Walker starched crisp uniform creaked as he leaned forward, his sun glasses dangling from his pocket. "Just to whom does this child belong?" I pointed to a boy no more than 2 or 3 with straight flaxen hair covering his ears. The little blue overalls and pasty white face completed the image.

"Others" by the way had no pejorative overtone in the army of my time. Many, perhaps most or even all, in the Army assumed the racial label "Other" for one reason or another.

"Other," I told you Sergeant, "that's one of us - - but this boy looks far too angelic to be an 'Other.' Whom does he belong to? Why is he here?"

"My second ex-wife," the Sergeant explained, "decided her talents lay elsewhere - in prostitution." The Sergeant leaned forward, "When she split and I got divorced, I inherited her son. I'm trying to get child support."

"Good luck Sergeant," I smirked. "How do you expect to get child support from a tramp?" "My ex needs to pay her child support to keep her license . . ." The Sergeant explained.

"License? Where the heck is she in sin city, Las Vegas?" I chuckled.

"No Germany," the Sergeant smiled. "Germans have a different attitude - - Licensed, inspected, all as prescribed by law."

"Some things just do not correlate."

"In Germany, there are these little shop windows where the pros - - advertise their wares like a department store," the Sergeant explained.

"It gives window shopping a new meaning."

"If my ex don't pay her child support, she loses her perch," handing me a form, the Sergeant assured me, "All you have to do is 'John Henry' this document?"

"Sergeant," I looked at the form on my desk, "this is in German."

"All the form calls for is name - - age - - height - - weight - - eye color, etc." The Sergeant explained as he pointed to blocks in the form. "It's suppose to be signed by a lawyer or social worker, but in a pinch, I guess a legal assistance officer will do."

I looked up. "Thank you for your vote of confidence."

"German child support isn't cheap." The Sergeant looked hopeful. "The money would help."

"And the Germans will just hand an American the wages of sin." I grunted.

"Regular, predictable as provided by law."

I shook my head as I looked at the strange words on the document. "Okay - - Name, Hans Kruger a.k.a. John Walker - - Age 2 - 3 years - - Height - -" I looked up at the Sergeant. "I don't know metric."

"Just write the English measures." The Sergeant replied.

"Okay Height," I glanced at the child, "2'9" - - weight 40 - 50lbs - - I don't know what that makes him a giant or gnome in the metric system. I don't know how it would translate."

I laughed as I returned to the form.

"Apparent Nationality," the Sergeant prodded.

I looked at the form and stopped.

"German - - definitely," my voice trailed off.

"Then just put it down," the Sergeant pointed to the form.

"In this country, it's good," I continued, "to be an 'Other,' non-descriptive, common, like everybody else, nothing special."

"So - -" the Sergeant asked.

"Lets make it 'German or Dutch, possibly American - - but definitely not - - eh Australian." I picked a long-standing ally at random. "That should be enough to be an 'Other.'"

The Sergeant hid an evil smile.

"Is something funny Sergeant? I guess you can translate my title into German; you seem to know a lot about their country. . ."

Fort Madison was a small installation but it was several weeks before I ran across the Sergeant. One morning brushing past the Secretary, the Sergeant burst into my office. "I heard back from the German court. I have to show you their decision." The Sergeant thrust a form in the foreign script in front of me. I pretended to read it. I recognized one word "Nix."

"What did the Germans do? Laugh your application out of court." I asked.

"Oh no, Sir. They gave me the money. The Germans liked what you wrote."

"Indeed," I was taken back. "A simple form, it was, not a literary effort."

"The decision here says." The Sergeant read from the paper, " 'We have the case of the prostitute who may be, according to an American Captain, the mother of a pig or a dog. We are, however, cheered to learn she did not give birth to a kangaroo.' "