For sixty-five days and nights I followed these young men and women as they adapted to Navy life. I completed nearly two hundred fifty hours of formal interviews, over ninety of which were tape-recorded and are now part of the oral history archive at the Naval Institute. I solicited nearly three hundred pages of handwritten “reaction papers” from recruits, most composed during their fifth through eighth week of training. Many recruits kindly shared personal letters to and from their families at home. Cdr. Bob Rawls, RTC’s director of military training, permitted me to read and copy hundreds of letters he has received, from both recruits and graduates in the fleet, during four years at Great Lakes. And after the recruits recognized that I was “tame” and wouldn’t add to their distress, they talked openly and at length, and I treasure these informal, unrecorded moments as touching the heart of their boot camp experience.
Journalistic integrity requires two disclosures. The first concerns the nature of my participation with Division 005, which was a lot like that of a parent at an amusement park. I shadowed the recruits as they marched to the gun range, obstacle course, gas chamber, or firefighting deck, and observed them closely (and often enough, with heart in mouth) as they endured the “attractions.” I’d then scoot around and meet them at the exit. I spent a great deal of time with them on the drill deck or in the classrooms, quietly observing their interactions with their division commanders and instructors. And, like any parent, I’d spend the evening talking with them, getting to know them better and soliciting their reactions to the day’s activities.
The second issue concerns language. Backstage at Recruit Training Command, in staff areas not usually accessible to recruits, are signs reminding that “Profanity Is Not Quality Leadership.” I was both embarrassed and chagrined to learn that the Navy, where I once learned to curse like a sailor, had decided that offensive language had lost its ability to shock. Most of the staff did very well in containing the use of profanity, and after a while the recruits did too. The rare use of profanity that did occur has been edited out of this manuscript. However, the book retains the necessary terms specific to the Navy. For readers unfamiliar with Navy jargon, a glossary is provided at the end of this book.
You can read this story from many perspectives. If you’re an old sailor, you can look at today’s recruits and today’s boot camp and say, “Gosh, I remember that,” or “Man, it wasn’t like that back when I went through there.” The French tell us that the more things change, the more they stay the same. It matters not whether it was five years ago or fifty, you can walk back through the gates of Recruit Training Command, and the years strip away. Yogi Berra caught the flavor of it: It’s déjà vu all over again.
If you’re someone interested in the subject of gender integration in the military, you may gain some insight from the experiences of the forty-five women quoted throughout this book. Except for first reference, where name, age, and hometown are provided, I’ve chosen to refer to all recruits by their last name only, and to all petty officers and chief petty officers by their rating or title. Complete gender integration is taken for granted in today’s Navy. You might find it interesting to try to deduce which speakers are men, and which are women. (A complete roster can be found in the appendix.)
If you’re someone concerned about recruiting shortfalls in an age where flipping burgers pays more than military service, or about lowered educational standards in the all-volunteer force, you can take heart from the many special programs designed for recruits with special circumstances. Division 005 was a line division, randomly assembled from recruits who arrived on 3 October, but Master Chief McCalip provided an excellent overview of special programs for recruits with more challenging circumstances (see chapter 6).
If you’re a young man or woman considering a career in the Navy, you may be wondering what boot camp is like, and worried that you might not be cut out for military service. If so, take heart: Everyone who arrived on the night of 3 October felt just like you. They were worried, scared, even terrified, and had the bus been making round trips to the airport, most would have gladly signed up for the return trip. There were some rough moments, and not every minute was fun, but they succeeded and made it to the fleet, and you can too.
Finally, if, like my university colleagues, you’re interested in research methodology and sociological fieldwork, you can approach this book as a participant-observer recording of contemporaneous oral history, in a performance-based, criterion-referenced, stratified-age, and interest-defined cohort, deduced from an emic perspective. Come on, I dare you.
And as for me? Well, it was all of that, of course, but really—really it was a labor of love.
Acknowledgments
If words are bullets in the battle for truth, then a book is a crew-served weapon. No writer—even in a day of word processors, spell checkers, and instant access to millions of facts through the Internet—ever truly works alone.
This book was really written by hundreds of sailors. From recruits to captains, each had a story to tell, and I’ve tried to capture the essence of their experiences at Recruit Training Command. I am immensely grateful for their cooperation, and I’m honored to have known each of them.
There are others whose contributions are less visible, but certainly no less valuable. Without their help, this book would have remained an old sailor’s dream.
Ready! (The Pre-Research Stage)
Mary Ann D. King, Commander USN (Retired), Jack King, LTJG, USN (Retired), and Jim Rose (Lieutenant, USNR 1973-77) for scouring the Internet to find lost shipmates, and for igniting the spark that caused this book to be written.
Cdr. Rob Newell, USN, LCDR Ike Skelton, USN, Lt. Wendy Snyder, USN, Ms. Donna Grace Schwenter, Ms. Kay Este, and Mr. Bill Dermody, all of the Navy Public Affairs organization, for their enthusiasm and cooperation in facilitating this project.
CMDMC (SW/SS/PJ) Mike McCalip, command master chief petty officer at Recruit Training Command, for opening the doors and shining the light that allowed me to experience RTC as few outsiders have ever been privileged to see it.
Aim! (The On-Station Research Phase)
Lt. Oudrey Hervey, public affairs officer at Recruit Training Command, who demonstrated, time and again, the best qualities of an effective PAO: Patience, Accessibility, and Openness.
QMCS (SW) Jeff Atkinson, leading chief petty officer at MCPON Hall. Senior Chief Atkinson knows boot camp inside out. He’s a sailor’s sailor. He called me “shipmate” one day, and I felt good for the whole afternoon.
AOC (AW) Mike Lucas, whose ninth division won the coveted and rarely awarded designation as a Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) Commended Division, a distinction recognizing excellence at RTC Great Lakes. I’d work for Chief Mike Lucas in a minute—and that’s about the highest compliment an old black shoe can pay to an Airedale.
GM1 (SW) Philip Olensinski, who when asked what a gunner’s mate was doing in a Public Affairs Office, smiled and replied, “Well, shooting off my mouth, of course.”
DC2 (SW) Matt Mogle, photographer, facilitator, and all-round good guy. Matt’s unofficial motto is “Journalism is just another form of damage control.” The brief credit lines on the photographs in this book, which sound so sterile and bloodless, really mean that Matt spent countless hours clambering over obstacles to capture the perfect shot. Thanks, Matt.
Seaman Recruit Megan A. Wirsch, recruit yeoman for Division 005. A very special thank-you to Megan who, in addition to all the other miseries of boot camp, was assigned to assist me during her Service-Week period, and who transcribed dozens of audiotapes. I haven’t found an error yet, Megan!
The many men and women of RTC who, although not individually named, contributed both formally and informally to this story.
And, finally, to my own “ship’s company”:
To Margaret, who has endured my sea stories, these twenty-five years past, and who cheerfully read and corrected draft after draft of this manuscript.
To John Joseph, who volunteered
his time to sort and collate more than seven hundred photographs.
To Dennis, who drew on his experiences as a high school teacher to provide keen insight into the minds, music, and manners of today’s young people.
To Mike, without whose computer skills I’d have been forced to draft this manuscript with a quill pen, and who cheerfully performed tedious Internet research, ensured that all legal releases were complete and accurate, and cross-indexed names and events.
And, finally, to Alamo J. Puppytoes, resident Jack Russell terrier, who kept this, the loneliest of pursuits, ever exciting. He thought the “Dog Song” was really about him.
With a crew like this, how could a writer ever go wrong?
Honor,
Courage,
Commitment
1
In the Beginning
I came home one afternoon, and saw an ad that said, “Government Jobs—Train to Be an Air Traffic Controller.” That had to be better than working in a factory in Springfield, Missouri, for the rest of my life. I called the “800” number. Forty-five minutes later, two Navy recruiters knocked on my door.
I first went down to the Navy recruiting office in San Bernardino, California, with my friend. He had been talking about joining the Navy for, like, three years. I just went along for the ride. He decided not to come . . . But here I am.
Our daughter’s college grades kept slipping. The school said she could get her softball scholarship back if she could just raise her grades to 2.0. She came bopping in one day and said, “Well, Mama, I made a 1.9.” I said, “That’s it, child. We’ve been paying for school, your car, your living expenses, everything, and it’s just not working. It ends right now, and you’re going to have to figure out something else to do.” And the next thing you know, she went and joined the Navy.
I was born in Burma. I came to this country as a refugee just a few years ago. America is a wonderful country. I want to be a real American.
From colonial days to the present, young Americans have borne arms to defend freedom and our way of life. Each year, over fifty thousand volunteer to serve their country by enlisting in the U.S. Navy. Eighty-one of them arrived at the Navy’s Recruit Training Command in Great Lakes, Illinois, on the evening of 3 October 2000. This is their story.
If you had passed them on the street, you’d probably not have noticed them. They looked, dressed, and spoke like any other kids you’d be likely to meet in your hometown. One had delivered pizza in a sprawling Californian suburb, another grew up on a ranch in northern Montana. One worked at Wendy’s, another at McDonald’s. Their average age was twenty, yet several had just graduated from high school, and one was nearly thirty-five. A few had parents or close relatives in the military, but most had no connections with the service at all. All were drug free—the military has zero tolerance for drug abusers and screens extensively before enlisting recruits—although a few just smiled when asked privately if they had ever taken a puff in school or on the playground. Some liked heavy metal music and sported tattoos whose symbolism was lost on an older generation; others loved country music and all things western; still others listened to rap, hip-hop, or other artifacts of urban culture. Good kids, every one of them. They might have been your kids or mine.
In an age of gender integration in the military, they were almost equally divided: forty-four young men and thirty-seven young women. They hailed from large cities and small towns in thirty states. One was a college graduate, a few had attended college for a few semesters, yet another left school in the ninth grade. Most were children of the working class; their parents were electricians, truckers, policemen, shopkeepers. Their ethnic and religious identities varied: black and white; Hispanic and Asian; Catholic, Protestant, Muslim, Buddhist, and nonbelievers. Three are named Smith, and two named Williams. They’ve names like Jones and Johnson and Jackson; one was named Gray, and another named Grayer. They are the Navy’s future, they are America’s future. They are America.
Thomas Kelly, 25, Pueblo, Colorado
I was a trucker before I enlisted in the Navy. My wife is twenty-three, and my daughter is five. My wife developed a chronic bone disease called osteogenisis imperfecta, or brittle-bone disease. I joined the Navy to provide a better life for them. I wanted good medical care for my wife, even if it meant being away from home for a while. As an over-the-road trucker, I’m used to that, anyway. I’ve lived all my life in Pueblo, so I’m looking forward to a change. I have a family tradition of serving in the Navy; my grandfather was a sailor in World War II, and my older brother was in the Navy during Desert Storm. He got out about four years ago, but he encouraged me to look into the Navy.
My recruiter was Petty Officer Cliff Martin, in Pueblo. I went into his office one day, and he gave me a lot of details about Navy benefits. I’m a pretty big guy, I’m six foot six and weigh about a hundred and ninety pounds, so Petty Officer Martin suggested that I look into the master at arms rating. The master at arms force is the police department of the Navy, and he suggested that even if I only spend four years in the service, afterward I’d be qualified to apply to the FBI, the Border Patrol, or maybe the Texas Rangers. I figured boot camp would be a good experience. As long as you do what you’re told, you’ll be all right. I knew I’d run into a lot of guys with similar interests. I’m into country music, rodeo, and western things. I’ve driven trucks all over the western United States. I knew I’d be older than most of the guys, but didn’t think that would be much of a problem. What really motivated me is getting the benefits of military service, especially, as I said, the medical benefits for my wife. My mom works at Fort Carson, Colorado, and she told me about how well the military treats its members. My master at arms school will be at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, and it’s long enough that I can bring my wife and daughter down there for awhile. So I said fine, sign me up, and on 3 October I reported to the processing station in Denver. By that afternoon, I was on my way.
Rebecca Anne Freeman, 21, DeQuincy, Louisiana
Well, my mom was telling you about what happened when I got my grades, that last time. I graduated from South Beauregard High School in Longville, and went on to play college softball at Pensacola Junior College in Florida. I was an outfielder on the Lady Pirates team. I’m an active person, and, to be honest, college wasn’t working out for me. I felt I was taking classes just to take them—I didn’t have a major and I didn’t know what I was going for, I was just going to school to play softball. So, when things sort of fell apart, I asked my dad, who was in the Marines, and he suggested that I talk to the recruiters in Baton Rouge. I talked to a really nice guy named Avery Vaugh. I didn’t know very much about the Navy or the kinds of things that they do. My mom really thought it would be better if I went into the Air Force, because she didn’t want me to be on a ship all the time. My uncle had retired from the Air Force. I talked to both recruiters, and chose the Navy because it seems to have more to offer. I want to be a rescue swimmer, one of the people who jump out of helicopters to help pilots if they have an accident. I like to help people, and that seemed to be a good way to do it. As I say, I’m really sports-minded. I’m worried about a lot of things about boot camp, including meeting new people and having the officers yelling at me all the time, but the physical part of it ought to be fun.
Eric Alan Hopkins, 18, Shelbyville, Indiana
I come from a family where military service is expected. I have lots of uncles who were in the service, and I guess we’ve had a member of our family in every major war that America’s been in. Right after graduation, I was sitting at home, watching TV, and, out of the blue, I got a call from the Navy recruiter. I told him that I might go on to college, and he was really nice and said that he wouldn’t bother me if I already had plans. But I said, what the heck, send me a couple of pamphlets and let me read them first. I really liked what they had to say, more so than the other services. I had nearly signed up with the Indiana National Guard, but their recruiter was more like, “Here, take this Natio
nal Guard football, take this National Guard pencil,” and he was really beginning to turn me off with his sales pitch. The Navy recruiter, Petty Officer Drew Dobbins, was really straightforward. He told me about a lot of special programs for electronics and the nuclear field, and about the different bonuses and benefits. He had me take some tests, and I did really well, so he told me that I could have my choice of programs. I was thinking about advanced electronics and computers, but they brought in a nuclear specialist, and he convinced me that that was the best choice I could make. To be honest, when I was a kid, I was more interested in the Marine Corps or the Army. But the recruiter was so straightforward and laid back, and wasn’t pushy about things, that I liked it better than the other choices. I guess I could have gone on to college because my grades were high enough, but my dad’s health isn’t all that good, and I thought this was a better choice for me and my family.
Robert Gildersleeve, 24, Birmingham, Alabama
I come from a pretty straight family. My mother is a registered nurse and my dad is a police officer in Roosevelt City. I have three uncles who retired from the Army, and my dad got out of the Air Force in 1974. I’ve thought about the military since I was in high school. I was going to go to Alabama State in Montgomery right after high school, and be in the marching band. I was in marching band in high school and liked it a lot. But things didn’t develop quite the way I wanted, and I sort of lost interest and jumped into the work field. From the time I was eighteen, I’ve had a lot of jobs holding jackhammers and that sort of thing. Awhile ago, I had a baby girl—she’s just two years old now—and I started thinking that “this life is not me—I can do better than this.” My mind started to steer toward the military. I told my mom one night that I was thinking of joining the service. She said to me, “Robert, how many times have I heard you say that? If you’re going to do it, go do it.” So I went down and talked to the recruiter, and the more I learned, the better it looked.
Honor, Courage, Commitment Page 2