Welcome to the Dance USN

by GEORGE LICATA

  “Sir, I have five write up for you to sign, sir,” Chris replied. He leaned over and picked up the forms; he handed them to the CC. The CC thumbed through them. “Uh-uh, uh-uh, hmm, Licata should have guessed, uh-uh.” He looked up at the CC. He ripped the forms to shreds and tossed them at the RCO’s feet. “Pick them up, throw them in the shit can, and never give my yeoman another order again. Then get the hell out of my office. Have the company fall in. It’s time for chow.” He started to turn our way, and we be lined it out of there before he realized we were there. Later.

  We assembled after chow. The list for church was thirty recruits last week, this week one recruit. Division wanted to know why. My theory is the fear of God has been knocked out of us. I can hear half the company at night praying for God to rescue them. After nothing happens and things go from bad to worse one tends to think nobody’s listening. The lost sleep isn’t worth the cost of prayers unanswered. It’s time for one of our late night marches. Later.

  December 17, 1972, Sunday

  My bunk-mate is slightly a redneck. Short, stocky, blond hair and on the hyper side. We get along great. He did the ROTC thing in high school. He knows this crap already and he helps me a bunch. I never in my life thought that I could spit shine a pair of shoes so shiny you could see yourself in them. Mind you these are black shoes. I have my strange bunk mate to thank for that. He’s from Texas but I don’t hold that against him.

  He asked me if I heard moaning in the night. I said I’m sleeping at night I don’t have time to listen to moaning.

  Covington said, “I can hear guys beating off.”

  “And what’s your point?” I asked.

  “What if they get tired of masturbating?” he asked.

  I try not to laugh out loud. “Then they either jerked off one time too many and their dick falls off. Or they finished,” I answered.

  “No, no,” he says. “If they get tired of doing it themselves, they will want to crawl in to my bed.” He was serious, which made it harder not to bust out laughing.

  “Well,” I said, “you can do one of two things. Let them get in or boot them out. If you let them in, just don’t shake the bunk, okay? I need my beauty sleep.”

  He was flabbergasted. “I’m not that way!” He indignantly said.

  “Then don’t fucking worry about it,” I snapped.

  “You don’t understand,” he pleaded. “What are we going to do about these queers?” I looked him straight in the eyes and asked, “What do you want to do to them?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “We should have a blanket party,” he proudly said.

  A blanket party, as the story goes. Five maybe six guys, sometimes the whole company. Each puts a bar of soap in a sock. They throw a blanket on a sleeping victim. Head to toe so he can’t see who’s doing the beating. Two guys hold the sides of the blanket tight, penning him down; rendering the victim helpless. The other guys pummel the victim with the weighted socks, usually a bar of soap. One hit each. If everybody takes a blind whack, then everybody is involved; no one tells.

  I find it cowardly. I was asked awhile back if I wanted to give the RCO a blanket party. I told them the same thing I told Covington. If you need to hide behind a blanket, if you need to gang up on a helpless person, if you can’t face your enemy one on one, you’re a chicken shit and you’re the one that needs to get beat.

  I asked him, “When was the last time you got raped by a queer?” He was silent. “When is the last time you heard of somebody that got raped by a queer?” Again he was silent. “I thought so. Now shut the fuck up. I need to go sit on the toilet before we muster,” I said.

  CC was serious about us getting regular. He walked through the barracks, up and down, every morning. Getting in our face, following us to the latrine. “Did you sit on the toilet like I ordered, lad? Come over here, lad. I didn’t see you on the commode yet. Take care that you do, lad.” He would find his next recruit. “You there, lad, stop what you are doing. Get your worm ass to the head and shit. That’s an order! Get regular lads, get regular.”

  It was starting to work on me. Although I didn’t empty out my bowels every day. I sat every day, I think I was crapping 75 percent of the time. One thing for sure, I haven’t had to crap in my pants, some have. When they do, they get a nickname.

  After chow we marched to the division headquarters, a building I am familiar with. This is where we were going to set our Christmas travel plans. There are four Company’s in front of us.

  We stood at Parade Rest for three hours before I sat at the travel desk. We could fly any place in the US. Leave on December 22, 1972, fly back January 3, 1973. After I made my plans with the travel agent. I stood at parade rest for another two hours waiting for the rest of the Company to finish.

  We marched to chow. After chow we marched to a line of phones, about fifty. They ordered us to call home and inform our family’s to expect us for the Holidays. I knew that if I tell my folks I will be home for Christmas, they will cancel the Arizona Holiday. Not because they would rather see me. More because they don’t want to let me have the house for two weeks. “Hello.” My mother answered.

  “Hi ma, it’s me George, remember me?” I was joking, none of my siblings had been away from the family unit this long ever. “I remember you, smart aleck.” Then she yells for my dad. “Roxie, it’s George. Get the other line! How is everybody?” I asked.

  “Fine.” They say in unison. “How are you?”

  “Fine,” I answered.

  “How come you haven’t written?” asked Dad.

  “You remember how you told me that the navy would sit us down and make us write a letter home every week; if we want to or not? Remember you saying that?” I asked.

  “Yes, I remember, why haven’t you?” he asked back.

  “The buildings are the same but the writing home thing is gone.” I inform him.

  “In my day that was the rule,” he said.

  “They must have had more time on their hands than us. Because we get worked 20 hours a day. Believe me writing is the last thing on my mind.”

  “Oh,” he says. “That’s good you should stay busy. It’s good for you.”

  “Hey,” I said, “are you guys going to Arizona for Christmas?”

  “Yes,” answered my mom. “Sorry that you have to spend Christmas in boot camp,” she offered.

  “What about Ken, Gary, Joe and Rock?” I inquired.

  “Ken, Gary, and Joe are old enough to fend for themselves. Rock and his friend Tony are coming with us” She said. This was what I was fishing for. “I knew that the navy wouldn’t let you come home,” Dad said. “They never have done it and I don’t see why they would do it now; Sorry son.” He offered. “Yep, that’s the way it goes,” I said sadly. “When you coming back?”

  “We leave on the twenty-first and come back on the second,” Mom said.

  “Why are you taking Rock? Why can’t you leave him home with Ken, Gary, and Joe? They’ll take care of him. He’s fifteen.”

  “He’s going with us!” My mother cut me off.

  “That’s too bad,” I say.

  “Why is that too bad?” They both ask.

  “Nothing, no reason, It’s just that it seems to me that he would have more fun at home rather than with you guys and Grandma and Grandpa,” I offered.

  “That’s the problem,” said mom. “He might have too much fun.”

  “Mom, tell me, how can you have too much fun? Is there a meter that sounds off when you had too much fun? What’s the punishment for too much fun? Do the rules make you balance out too much fun with abject misery?”

  “You can, George, and you’ve proven it,” Mom snaps.

  “I’ve had too much fun? What is my monthly allotment?” I asked sarcastically. “So what do you say to Rock? Rock, you’ll go over your allotted fun time if you stay here. So we need to monitor fun time. Wouldn’t want you to have too much fun with your brothers. I’m confused what is too much supposed to mean?” I said.

&nbs
p; “It means that you don’t know when to stop,” Dad chimed.

  “That’s your problem, George. The navy is going to teach you when to stop, mark my words.”

  “That’s a relief. I thought my problem was I have too much fun,” I said.

  “Everything doesn’t have to be fun, George!” Dad retorted.

  “Then answer me this.” I pondered out loud. “If I have to do everything. Is it better to make everything fun? Or should everything be no fun? If everything is going to happen any way shouldn’t it be fun?”

  “Shut the hell up, George! You didn’t call to ask me stupid questions!” Dad said.

  I could hear Mom’s sigh of relief that he shut me up. They were never much for deep discussions.

  “You’re right, Dad,” I said. “I didn’t call to argue. I called to wish everybody a Merry Christmas and you have a good and safe trip. Tell everybody in Arizona hi. Is Rock around?” I said. They both wished me a merry Christmas. I waited for them to get my little brother.

  “Hello, George, how are you, man?” he said.

  “Rock, make sure that they hang up,” I said.

  “Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

  I could hear him run down the stairs to check the extension. I could hear him run back up to the phone. “It’s clear,” he said.

  “Too bad they are making you go to Arizona for Christmas,” I said.

  “Yeah, but they are letting me take Tony, and cousin Carl has pot. Me and Tony are staying with him. It won’t be so bad,” he said.

  “It would be more fun if they left you at home and I came home on leave for two weeks, right?” I said. There was a silent pause on the phone.

  “You dog!” he said. “You’re coming home, aren’t you, man?”

  “I am and it’s to cool. I tried to get them to leave you home. They weren’t having none of it. By the way, did you know that you’re near your fun quota this month?” I asked.

  “What?” he replied.

  “Nothing, don’t tell Mom and Dad I’m coming home. But do get the word to Don, Tom, Jim, Ray, and Jeff. Let them know I’m coming home,” I said.

  “Okay, I will. You know Mom and Dad are going to freak out,” he informed me.

  “Sure, by then it’s going to be too late, you guys will be in Arizona,” I stated. “I’ll call on Christmas.”

  “Man, you are a dog, George. Okay, Merry Christmas.” He hung up, and I waited in the formation for three hours more. I didn’t care my mind was thinking of the week ahead, home not here for Christmas. From here in till I board that plane nothing can bring me down, no matter what they do. Later.

  December 18, 1972, Monday

  I went to sleep in a good mood, considering where I’m at. I woke up wanting to jack somebody.

  The CC took off with the yeoman. He was showing Rodger where our new barracks were located. Rodger was getting last minute instructions for our work week. The CCs typically turns the company over to the Recruit Command during work week. Rumor has it we won’t see the CC in tell after work week. When work week ends we fly home. We won’t see him in till next year. I for one won’t miss his yelling. I can hear the RCO screaming at some recruit right now. I have to check this out. Later.

  Ike had been given special permission to read his bible prior to us falling out in the morning. The CC lets him get in some reading while the stragglers are making their way to the formation. When he’s done he puts the book on the CC’s desk and joins the formation in plenty of time.

  The CC and the yeoman aren’t here so the RCO is testing his power. “Ike I am giving you a direct order, give me the bible!” He bellows down at Ike. Ike looking up softly answers him. “Sir, the CC said this was okay, sir.” The RCO doesn’t think Ike deserves the special treatment. He calls him a fairy.

  “I’m in charge, fag, give it up!” the RCO yelled. The guys were gathering. “Give me the book and fall in queer!”

  “Sir, the CC said I can read in till the last man is out, sir.” Chris leans his 6ft. 2in. frame over Ike. He takes a swipe at the Bible. It flies from Ike’s hand and on to the floor. His notes and some inspired drawings were scattered on to the deck. “Pick it up, fag, or you’ll be picking yourself up,” Chris threatened. Ike was shaking with fear and embarrassment as he gathered his precious items. Most of the crowd that gathered were with the CC. They thought Ike was a queer sissy. He may have been a sissy, but he wasn’t queer. Ike picked up the papers and the bible. He handed the bible to the RCO. The RCO snatched the bible triumphantly. Chris may not have been allowed in the CC quarters, but because of regulation he did have a key. Chris took Ike’s book, he unlocked a drawer and tossed the bible in it before locking it back up.

  About that same time Rodger came back alone, without the CC. He walked in the barracks just as Chris was exiting the office. He had no idea what just took place. I walked up to him and said, “Rodger, let me borrow your key to the CC desk.”

  He could tell that he walked into something. He saw the serious look on my face. He handed me the keys. He points to a single key. “This one goes to the CC desk.” I took the keys. I walked to the CC’s desk. I opened it and retrieved the bible. I closed the drawer and relocked it. I gave Rodger back his keys. I walked back into the main barracks to Ike’s bunk. He was slowly getting his shit together. He never took his gaze from the floor. “Hey you need this” I said as I handed him his bible. His eyes lit up like Christmas morning. “You put it away when you’re ready to put to away,” I said.

  “How did you do it? Are you in trouble?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry about it. I can handle that jackass,” I retorted.

  The RCO was in the head when I retrieved the bible. The CC’s few friends ran to tell him what I did. Doug filled Rodger in on what transpired. By now the whole incident was all over the barracks. Everybody dropped what they were doing and came running for the show down.

  I set my self-up in the hall between the two companies. We were allowed to go as far as the utilities closet and no more. I stood by the door. I had plenty of room to do what I needed to do.

  Chris came storming at me like a raging bull. There was a mop bucket on the floor it wasn’t put away. I kicked the mop bucket at his feet. He stumbled ahead slightly. I opened the door and slammed it into his face as he was avoiding the mop bucket. It knocked him to his knees. I grabbed him by his front shirt. I was nose to nose. I looked him in the eyes and said slowly, “There’s a spot out in the forbidden front. You and me alone. So nobody can see you cry. How about it?” I pulled him up with me. I calmly said, “I’m going to enjoy taking your head off.” I turned him loose. I walked backward facing him, to the double doors that lead outside. “Let’s do this.” He looks back at the recruits, who were silent.

  “Licata, I would love to kick your ass. Some other time, we don’t have time now, we need to get marching to chow the CC is waiting for us,” he offers. “No, that’s not correct,” pipes in Rodger. “We have plenty of time. The CC’s not expecting us for a long time. You have time, Chris. Go ahead, unless you’re chicken.”

  There comes a moment when all bullies have to make a decision. Do I get in a fight and get my ass kicked, or do I find a pussy way out?

  “Come on, fuck head,” I demanded.

  “We don’t have time to go out front,” replied Chris.

  “You had time to fuck with Ike. Make time to fuck with me, asshole!” I yelled.

  The RCO’s eyes were bouncing in his head.

  I said, “Fuck it, I’ll do it here.” I charged him. He turned and bolted through the crowd. I gave chase. Armando grabbed me and stopped me in my tracks. He had a grip on my arm; it felt like a vice. “Listen to me,” he said. I knew he wasn’t letting go till I did. “He’s not worth it. Besides, you won without striking a blow. What else do you want?”

  Without hesitation, I said, “Blood!”

  Armando said, “Then get it after boot camp. We go home for Christmas. I don’t want to see you get in trouble and spend the hol
idays in the brig, okay?” I did get it, he was right. He let me go. The RCO is out in the alley.

  “Company, fall in!” he is yelling.

  We did.

  Marching to the mess hall, I feel like the world is in a haze. I wasn’t hungry at all. I was thirsty for juice. The closest thing to juice was orange soda drink. I drank a glass of soda, no food.

  Standing in formation waiting for the company to finish eating, I felt dizzy. I needed to get out of the formation because I am feeling like I am about to vomit. The only way is to ask the nearest recruit officer for permission. Chris was the closest. I waved my hand at him. He was reluctant to come to me. I kept waving, he finally came over to me; it was too late.

  The orange drink in my stomach came flying out. It spewed all over Chris. I figured he knew why I called him over and I was excused. I ran back to the barracks alone, puking a few more times along the way.

  By the time the company marched back I was feeling a little better. Chris bolted to the shower. Rodger gathered us to hand out our assignments for work week. I was assigned to the master-at-arms at the mess hall on Worm Island. Rodger said its easy work. Sit in the office run errands, get coffee. I get to be the go-for-it guy. I start tonight. The RCO approaches the yeoman as he is instructing us. “I can’t find the write up forms. Where are they?” he demanded.

  “We’re out,” Rodger replied.

  “Do what you have to do and get some more?” he ordered.

  “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. That’s up to the CC. And if you were here instead of searching for chits, then you would have heard that we are on our own. I have explicit orders from the CC for this week. The only thing that Chris heard was we are in charge. “Does that mean that I am in charge for the week?” he asked Rodger.

  “Yes, unfortunately you are.” Then he adds, “Get carried away and I’ll sic Licata on you.”

  We fucking lost it. I never heard laughter so loud. Having said that we all went our way preparing for work week and thinking of spending Christmas at home.