The Royal Order of the Walking Finger

By F.P. Siedentopf

Humans are social animals, most likely due to a genetic mutation to enhance survival. For the millennia that humans were hunter-gatherers, we lived as much as prey as predator; living in groups gave us an edge for survival. A group of hunters was more likely to bring game back to the clan and while hunting were better able to avoid or repel predators.

After the hunt while the venison was roasting, tales would be told about the day’s hunt and comparisons to prior hunts would be made. After the meal, the male of the species surely found the joy of having an audience to moan, groan, and comment on his flatulence. Farting in solitude is not as rewarding as farting in a group. Camaraderie is everything.

When man first started making tools he began to specialize in the chores of the clan. The best hunters would hunt and the best toolmakers would make knives and spear points. When we started to cultivate grains and fruits and staying in permanent settlements, additional specialties were developed. We still had hunters and tool makers but now we had bakers, brewers, and even before the birth of civilizations, the bane of civilizations appeared; bureaucrats and politicians.

It wasn’t long before the need to socialize led to guilds or unions of artisans and technicians.

It wasn’t until a few hundred years ago that purely social organizations were developed. Most started out as organizations whose members may have political or social agendas that were the same. Others were formed by people who had shared experiences. Still others were formed by people who shared the same hobbies or leisure activities. Most were and are fraternal organizations, the old “Brotherhood” thing. These days there are veteran’s organizations, honor societies, service organizations, choral groups, sewing circles, clog dancers, and I suppose you could include criminal enterprises too. The Yakuza and the Mafia are societies with restricted membership and have their own rules and regulations…as do the Knights of Columbus, The Masons, the Elks, or the VFW. They have different agendas and only the latter are benevolent by nature, but they all serve the purpose of satisfying the human need to socialize and belong. There are very few loners like the Unabomber, Ted Kazcynski, who lived in a one room shack in the woods with little or no human contacts.

There are few organizations that exist just because it's fun but the Turtle Club comes to mind. It has no agenda, collects no dues, is open to everyone regardless of race or religion, has no national office or staff, has an easy membership test, and a simple premise; to break the ice at a gathering. When a member asks a group of people, “Are any of you a Turtle?” or “Is there a Turtle in the house”, other members must respond, “You bet your sweet ass I am”. Failure to do so, if you are a Turtle, requires the purchase of a round of drinks for all Turtles present at the first opportunity.

At Marine Corps Base, 29 Palms, California, a new social organization was born, zany to be sure but with a very restricted membership. It was 1968, and the Marine Corps had just expanded from a total strength of about 170,000 in 1965 to its 1968 peak of 300,000 (Which included about 20,000 draftees.). At the Communications – Electronics School at 29 Palms, several senior electronics technicians in the Marine Air Command and Control Systems (MACCS) schools decided to set up their own social organization. It also had simple rules like the Turtles. There would be no staff, no Grand Poobah, no officers at all. There would be no membership test, and no club meetings. Membership would be limited to MACCS electronics techs, either Staff NCO’s or Mustangs. (In the Marine Corps, officers who started in the enlisted ranks are called Mustangs). All members should be known to each other, each member being a longtime friend of at least five others. Prior service in Vietnam preferred but not required. Once the membership was determined, new members would be admitted on a case by case basis based on total membership consensus.

The new organization was to be known as The Royal Order of the Walking Finger, the ROWF. Its symbol was, and is, a walking finger. Each member was issued a ROWF pin which must be presented to prove membership. The rules of “engagement” and identification between members are simple. When one member flashes his ROWF to another member, the one flashed has ten seconds to respond by showing his own ROWF. Failure to do so requires the one flashed to purchase a round of drinks for all ROWF members present at the next club Happy Hour. The ROWF pin is slightly less than two inches high and is easily concealed. Most members would pin their ROWF’s on the underside of their collar, so if flashed, could show theirs quickly inside of that ten second window. Others kept theirs in their wallets, lest you change shirts and forget to move your ROWF. My ROWF has been in my wallet now for nearly forty years and is showing as much wear and tear as I am.

For the next twenty years until most of us retired and dispersed throughout the country, walking into a meeting was nerve racking. You’d never know which fellow member would flash his ROWF, or when. When I was stationed at the Marine Corps Logistics Base in Albany Georgia, I was the only member of the ROWF there. My job was to provide support to the MACCS community and we constantly had visitors from the field for conferences on equipment modifications and upgrades. At one conference I was giving a presentation on the R & D effort for a replacement radar system, and our Commanding General asked me a question. That was when I was “flashed”. I grabbed my wallet and flashed back and continued my presentation. My boss, a Lt Colonel, was livid. He pulled me to the side to “ream me a new one”, when the General approached. I could tell my boss was nervous since MajGen Schaeffer, known as “Raving Ray” to the troops, was well known for firing junior officers for often what seemed to be minor infractions. In fact, the previous week we heard that he’d fired a Major for not knowing the current production statistics in his area of responsibility. After I’d explained to the General about the ROWF, he laughed and said something about not overdoing it at Happy Hour, and left. My boss just shook his head and walked off too.

The best exchange between ROWF members was during an inspection. The Marine Corps Inspector General visits units every two or three years to assess unit readiness and to ensure all activities are being conducted within Marine Corps guidelines and policies. In the old days, there would also be a personnel inspection. At one Inspection, the Platoon Leader of the SNCO Platoon was a Mustang and our Acting Commanding Officer was the Executive Officer (XO), also a Mustang and both were members of the ROWF. As the Inspecting Officer, accompanied by the XO and Platoon Leader, approached and then stopped in front of the first SNCO, a titter went up from the ranks, accompanied by a few snickers, a guffaw or two, and the distinct sound of one SNCO who tried to suppress his laugh and ended up blowing snot out his nose! One Gunnery Sergeant had his ROWF glued to the side of his hand, opposite from his thumb. When he saluted the Inspecting Officer, his ROWF was presented to the XO and the Platoon Leader. It wasn’t readily visible to the Inspecting Officer. The XO reached up, grabbed his shirt collar and flipped it up and out from under his blouse (Uniform jacket) to present his ROWF, and then tucked it away again, the Platoon Leader did the same. Not knowing exactly what happened, the Inspecting Officer continued on, but you could tell his heart wasn’t in his job. He barely looked at any troop and everyone passed except for one SNCO who had snot stains down the front of his uniform.

In the last twenty years I’ve only had one occasion where I had to respond to a ROWF flash and that was when an old friend came to town for his son’s graduation from Boot Camp at Parris Island. There’s one other ROWF member who retired in the area but we’ve agreed not to flash each other, but just in case I don’t leave home without my ROWF.

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