In Ireland's County Limerick, near the River Shannon, there is a quiet little suburb by the name of Garryowen, which means ``Garden of Owen.'' Undoubtedly none of the residents realize the influence their town has had on American military history, or the deeds of valor that have been done in its name. The cry ``Garryowen!'' bursting from the lips of a charging cavalry trooper was the last sound heard on this earth by untold numbers of Cheyennes, Sioux and Apaches, Mexican banditos under Pancho Villa, Japanese in the South Pacific, and Chinese and North Korean Communists in Korea. Garryowen is the battle cry of the 7th U. S. Cavalry Regiment, ``The Fighting Seventh.''

Today a battle cry may seem an anachronism, for in the modern Army, esprit de corps has been sacrificed to organizational charts and tables. But don't tell that to a veteran of the Fighting Seventh, especially in a saloon on Saturday night.

Of all the thousands of men who have served in the 7th Cav, perhaps no one knows its spirit better than Lieutenant Colonel Melbourne C. Chandler. Wiry and burr headed, with steel blue eyes and a chest splattered with medals, Chandler is the epitome of the old-time trooper. The truth is, however, that when Mel Chandler first reported to the regiment the only steed he had ever ridden was a swivel chair and the only weapon he had ever wielded was a pencil.

Chandler had been commissioned in the Medical Service Corps and was serving as a personnel officer for the Kansas City Medical Depot when he decided that if he was going to make the Army his career, he wanted to be in the fighting part of it. Though he knew no more about military science and tactics than any other desk officer, he managed to get transferred to the combat forces. The next thing he knew he was reporting for duty as commanding officer of Troop H, 7th Cavalry, in the middle of corps maneuvers in Japan.