At the same time; the other Stripes and Baggy pants continued to hustle all the recruits and their belongings out of the building. They decided to address Doug and myself later. Doug and I were told to stand next to the wall (bulkhead) by the door. We were instructed to stay put, until they got back. They joined in the fray to move out the troops.
The battle to move over four thousand sleepy men out into the dark wasn’t going very well. Confusion reigned, it was too early and everybody was surprised. Guys were rubbing their heads, guys were scratching their ass not knowing what way to go.
You got yelled at to get out, you got yelled at if you forgot all your belongings and had to go back and retrieve them. If you needed to use the bathroom you were yelled at from beginning to end. God forbid you have to take a dump. Brushing your teeth, forget about it. The occupants of the barracks couldn’t move fast enough. Standing next to Doug, both of us watching the chaos, I said, “You must be stupider than me.”
He replied, “It seems so, ya all. Ya all having a good time?”
“I’ve had better,” I answered.
Doug looked around, and he said, “Nothing like a good rumpus. Back home this is the way mama wakes us up every day.”
“Where you from?” I asked.
He was from Louisiana.
“You know we’re in deep shit,” I said.
He replied, “I’m Cajun, this is nothing.” I told him I was from the Rocky Mountains and I know when you pissed somebody off. He said it seemed to him I also did some pissing off. I said it’s a bad habit of mine.
I heard a recruit scream, a scream of terror. Recruits started stampeding because of it. “I see a fat rat!” He was screaming. The way he was doing it leads everybody to freak out. He was carrying on like the building was burning down, because of rats. The recruits rushing for the door thought the same thing. A mob with a mob mentality. All trying to get out the door at the same time. I saw an opportunity. I slapped Doug on his chest with the back of my hand and I disappeared into the crowd, I assume he followed. They’ll never find us in this massive mob. Nice guy that Doug, I didn’t think I will see him again, too bad.
Outside in the dark we stand in formation. When they think they have the building empty of recruits, they march us to a different building. The Texas Company is nowhere to be seen. In groups of ten we enter the building. The buzz of barber tools is in the air, the vibration sound of the trimmers. When I get to the building every one leaving has divots in their heads. I don’t think this short or long thing is working. It’s humiliating enough when a man butchers another man’s hair. It’s another thing when they laugh at the crappie job they do. Low life sheep shearers.
After the buzz job they marched us to another building. We waited in line to long, we missed breakfast. Ten recruits at a time entered. Ten recruits exited at a time. Emerging wearing new baggy dungarees, and carrying a duffel bag full of our new navy garb. When it was my turn for a fitting I asked the civilian passing out the cloths, why two sizes too large. He told me because most recruits grow during boot camp and you only get free cloths once. Two sizes too large, room to grow. I wonder what else they put in the food.
The next thing we did was stand in line, with this huge 150 lb. duffel bag full of wool clothing and shoes. Blue suits and white suits, coats and underwear and socks. Don’t forget the many hats and neckerchiefs. The next line was the line to send our civilian stuff home. I was ready to send my wallet and crucifix chain necklace home but I didn’t see any point in sending my smelly cloths home. I volunteered to trash them, but the stripes would not have it. What if something was to happen to you and this was all that was left for your parents?” they asked me.
I told him, “If the last thing that the navy gave my parents from me were smelly clothes, then I should consider a career change.” He spit unpleasantries and told me to move on. I filled out the papers and added a note telling my mother that this wasn’t my idea, sorry. Burn the cloths.
The next thing we did was wait in line to eat lunch. It was the first line I was happy to wait in. After lunch we marched to another building and waited outside. A chief petty officer stood in front of us with a mega phone. “When I call your name grab your bag and assemble to the right of the formation, your left side worms! He proceeded to call out names. He called out the company number before each batch of eighty or more names.
Throughout this day I have gotten to know this guy Rodger. When he was eleven years old his parents died. He went to live with his brother who lived in Canada. When he was twenty one he came back to America to attend his grandfather’s funeral. When he went back home to Canada they arrested him at the border. He didn’t know it but he was a draft dodger.
The US Government considered him a US citizen. Even the Canadian government couldn’t convince the US government that Rodger was a Canadian. His lawyer told him it was politics. The US Government was tired of Canada undermining the war effort by accepting our draft dodgers. When they get one back they keep him. The judge said five years in the pen, officer training or enlist. And here he is. A funny intelligent college grad. He could have been an officer, he declined.
It took hours before my name was called. I told Rodger that I hope to see him around. I lugged my duffel bag to where Company 447 was waiting for me. We gathered around a chief petty officer that looked like Berle Ives He has that goatee and the same body type it’s uncanny. He attempts to get us to form some sort of a marching unit, eight men across, some crap like that. After a while he gives up and walks us to our new home.
Our new home is a two company barracks. It sits in a row of many two company barracks. World War II vintage. Two levels, the barracks are joined by a long hallway. Each barracks has 45 bunks up and 45 down. Each level has a bathroom. Each bathroom has 40 sinks and 40 open toilets back to back. Each “head” has a large shower, with the 7 inch concrete lip to keep the water back. The main level has an office, sleeping quarters and private head for the company commander, referred to as the CC.
We are told to take a bunk. Because of a previous rumor regarding recruits that pee their beds at night and the thin mattresses adding gravity to the mix. I looked for a top bunk. I tossed my bag on the top mattress. A guy named Scott, last name Covington, took the bottom. The first question from his mouth was “Where you from?” We were exchanging information when the company was called to fall out for dinner. I was ready. As I waited in formation to eat I saw Doug and Rodger were also in Company 447. We ate together. However, Chris from Denver was in this company also.
After dinner and back at the barracks the CC had us gather around him. He told us that he was going to retire from the navy after he gets us through boot camp. He was a chief petty officer with 40 years in the navy. I did the math he enlisted in 1932 after WWI and before WWII. He told us he could retire at a warren officer’s retirement pay if he had a boot camp commander certificate in his record, more money for him in retirement. Then he passed out blank papers and pens. He said he needed some officers appointed from our ranks. We were to write down why we should be appointed to a recruit officer position. I wrote nothing.
The CC is in his office reading our responses. I am finishing this entry while we have a break. We want to go out and smoke a cigarette. However the “smoking lamp is off” The CC doesn’t think we have earned a smoke, I haven’t had a cigarette all day, neither has anyone else, tensions are rising. Later.
Good news bad news. The CC made Chris the RCO (recruit commanding officer). The top position. He did make Rodger the Yeomen, a very important position. He appointed this large Detroit guy as master-at-arms, Armando. He has the body of the hulk. He was born in Puerto Rico I have talked with him I like him. Randy a Texan was made RO (recruit officer) he was under the RCO. This squirrelly comedic guy named Mark, we call him Frenchy, was the appointed flag bearer. It is two AM we have been awake for twenty three hours, we made our beds the best we could and fell asleep. Later.
November 28, 1972, Tuesday
&nb
sp; At six in the morning, the CC turns on the lights. One of the hanging lights is directly over my head, with only four hours sleep it was fucking annoying.
Last night the CC told us two things: One take a shit when you get up in the morning. No exceptions. Why you ask? Because he has no time to excuses anyone in the day to take a dump. The process is fast and grueling. If worms are running off to crap then chances are worms will miss training. So if you don’t want to shit you pants take a morning dump. Nobody gets out of the formation. If you don’t feel the need to crap. Tough shit. Sit on the toilet anyway train yourself to be regular. Two: come morning when he turns on the lights to awake us we have two seconds to get out of the rack. If we don’t get out in two seconds he pushes the bunk over. He kept that promise this morning. He turned over five racks, quickly. Bodies went flying, after lipping five bunks we were all up. He then turned his attention to the second floor. He added a third thing: when you address me you will start your sentence with sir and you will finish with sir. “Do you worms understand?” he yelled.
We said, “Sir, yes, sir!”
We formed up outside for the march to chow. He commands us to start our march on the left foot. He yells, “Forward march!” Half the company starts out with the left foot. Half start with the right. We go about a block before we stop. He starts over. “Left foot hut” some of us start to march some stand there. He stops. “Left foot hut means to start marching on the HUT!” We all mummer “Oh.” The CC yells “Left foot hut.” Half start with the left foot, half with the right. We go about a block and he starts all over. Sometimes he is joined by passing stripes. They seem more than happy to scream and yell at us. Making sure that we didn’t forget that we are lower than maggots. Heck we are lower than maggot shit. I wasn’t aware that maggots shit. Live and learn. This went on until we reached the Mess hall.
After breakfast we do it all over again. We marched to a commissary. We were allowed to purchase on credit our toiletries. Tooth paste and tooth brush, finally I can hardly wait. I passed on the comb, I didn’t need it. Soap, shampoo, razors, shaving cream each thing had its own place in the kit. It was done uniformly. And heaven forbid that it was different from the rest of the company. The navy wouldn’t allow it. That would be individualism and it wasn’t floating the boat.
We made our way back to the barracks where we were instructed on how to stencil our cloth. Our name, company number, and serial number. As long as we are on Worm Island we will wash our own cloths.
We did the numbers count off. I was picked to be on the crew with the master-at-arms. It was laundry detail. We gathered all the cloths after we stenciled them. All but our two pairs of dress blues and our peacoats aside. (They were wool.) We plugged the shower drain and turned on all the shower heads to hot. We tossed all the cloths in the shower floor with a lot of shampoo. When the water was about two inches from the concrete lip we turned it off. About twenty of us striped down to our boxer shorts and started to circle in the shower, too wash the cloths. Something resembling a human clothes washer. We did this for a half hour. We drained the basin, filled it up and rinsed. We rinsed again. When we were sure that we got out all the soap we hand rung them. We hauled all the cloths to the outside of the barracks to hang dry.
The rest of the company were separated in groups with different cleaning assignments. It was time to march to lunch and another lesson in the art of marching. Later.
When we finished lunch we attended three classes. One was a class on the General Orders, 12 of them, we were ordered to memorize them. At any time we could be quizzed by any stripe for any reason. Incorrect answers were instantly punishable. Push-ups forever were usually the customary punishment. The other classes were about the different ranks and ropes and knot tying. At the weeks end we will be tested on everything we learn for that week. Fail two weeks in a row and get set back in boot camp one week. This could result in a longer stay in boot camp. God knows we want to get the Hell out of here as soon as possible.
We practiced marched to dinner. Chris the RCO is more of an ass than he was before. He is mad with power. We do not like each other. He is on my back as much as he can be. The work details are handed out daily. The Yeomen, Rodger makes up this list. He takes care of me. I never do a night watch. This pisses off the RCO but he has no power over Rodger. The CC needs a good Yeomen to handle the paperwork. Without it the military would crumble. That rule applies down to the lowest of the low, us. Rodger has free rein, the CC needs him. My detail today is to hand out the dog tags. I like this job, it gives me a chance to meet the whole company. After I give the recruit his tags he looks to see if the information is correct, he hands them back to me. Rodger puts them in the desk drawer. Don’t ask, it’s a boot camp thing.
The front outside of the barracks is an oasis. Green grass, bushes, flowers and clean pathways, we are strictly forbidden to step out front, period. The back outside is a wide 75 ft. asphalt alleyway, with blocks apron countless blocks of barracks on either side. It’s a small city, minus cars.
After we clean the barracks spotless. The CC shows us how to stow away our cloths. Each piece has its own way to be folded. One way for everybody all the time. Each piece of clothing has its own spot on the open locker shelves, setting alongside of the bunks. Each locker had its own spot on the floor. All the ninety lockers and bunk beds were exactly the same and had the same placement on the floor measured out to fit precisely. Be off a centimeter and my cloths would be scattered out into the barracks, leaving me to start over.
We learned how to make a bed using hospital folds. The sheets needed to be tight enough to bounce a quarter on. Yes they did bring the quarter. The CC informed us that in the morning we have five minutes to be ready. Each bunk mate worked as a team. We helped each other make the bunk, before we hit the latrine. It’s now lights out. I haven’t had a cigarette in two days. Later.
December 1, 1972, Friday
The last two days have been a blur. We march and we have lectures about the ways of the navy. We march some more because we suck at marching. We get yelled at and we march. We get screamed at and we march. It seems that nobody likes us. We did learn the proper way to wait. We do a lot of it we may as well know how. It’s called parade rest. We stand motionless using our thumbs to lock our hands behind our backs, feet straight out, parallel with our shoulders, chest and chin out.
Everything I do needs to be done perfectly and the same as the guys next to me. The act of standing at attention takes ten or twelve points of self-reference. Right hand extended down to the side of my body, fingers stiff and straight, thumb pointed straight down tight to the index finger, which is parallel to the trouser seem. The palm is flat and there is no gap between the fingers. Head centered, eyes forward. My feet are spread parallel to my shoulders, toes pointed out. Chest out stomach in, shoulders straight, chin out. That’s one of the many things we will be tested on tomorrow, also, marching, saluting, parade rest and so much more.
Marching seems to give some guys a problem. The theory is this: on the verbal command “hut,” we lift our left foot and march. We need to do this in unison or it’s a line of guys walking. Our problem is half the guys wait for the guy in front to move then they start. I can’t get the idiot in front of me to understand that we need to move at the same time. When I lift my left foot, he should also be lifting his left foot, Ads the guy beside me and behind me should be doing. I step on him every time. I will step on his heels until he gets it.
It gets cold at night. They refuse to turn on the heat. That fucking gas shortage and Nixon. We get one wool blanket only. I want to sleep in my cloths but of course that’s not allowed. The CC brings in reinforcements in the morning. There is never a shortage of guys that want to yell at us. He and another chief work the first floor. The other two chiefs work the second floor. Lights on, seconds later the bunks fly. The habitations fly with the beds. Sometime they dump the lockers also for good measure. Having your stuff dumped didn’t excuse you from getting washed, sitting o
n the toilet, shaving and dressing properly in 30 minutes. You stowed your shit away plus. My bunk mate Covington and I can make both beds in 2 min. 48 sec. they timed us. It gives me time to sit on the toilet before the big rush.
One of the guys is named Adams. That’s his last name. Most of us are called by our last name or the place where we are from. Good likeable guy Adams is. Gives me hope that I might make it through this navy world. The RCO Chris is getting more hateful with power. He hates Doug now. I don’t see how anybody could dislike Doug, he is brutally honest, sarcastically funny and a super quick witted guy. He helps me cope with this hell. I have however started to be regular. Sitting on the toilet every morning works. It stinks but it beats the alternative. I’m starting get used to having a conversation with a mate while I’m crapping, very strange.
We finished cleaning, it is one AM and the CC is letting us go to bed. I would rather have a smoke, the lamp is still off. Later.
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