November 24, 1972, Friday

It’s four o’clock in the afternoon, I need to make this entry fast. I heard that the guys in the next wing over had some pot. I have to check it out. I sure would like to get buzzed. This is looking more like a summer camp without activities. Rather than a navy boot camp. There are so many of us now. I estimate about 1200 or more men. Later.

After getting woke up by hearing reveille or the yelling from the petty officers and their annoying assistant recruits in the morning, we roll out of bed. They insist that I call it a rack. I would rather sleep in a bed than a rack. We get 30 minutes to use the biggest bathroom I ever saw and ever will. Picture this; I walk into room with one entrance it is 100 ft. by 75 ft. It has no doors just a single opening 20 feet wide. Twenty five feet from the back wall jets out a third wall, it runs from the back wall 65 feet straight up to the entrance separating the room. On the far left wall are sinks and mirrors. Fifty sinks and mirrors. To the right of the sinks and running the length of the floor are fifty toilets, directly behind those toilets were fifty more toilets facing the opposite way. The toilets are six inches apart, no walls, and no doors. Those second set of toilets faced another row of toilets attached to the wall that ran in between the bathroom.

On the other side of that jetting wall are the showers. It has an opening 25 ft. and a six inch concrete lip on the floor to hold back the water. The room must have a hundred shower heads. It was a surreal experience to say the least. Men craping one foot to either side of you, behind you and in front of you. If not craping, pissing. The stench was like no other. I could see and hear things I hope to forget. Luckily for me I can hold it for two or three days. By now this bathroom is starting to get pretty rank. Too many people using it and nobody cleaning up.

Once I finish navigating the bathroom I get myself in the breakfast line. If you don’t have your butt in line by 6:30 a.m. you don’t get to go eat.

The ranks have swelled so much we resemble more of a peace march than a military one. They try to make us march correctly, the seven or eight petty officers and friends. We are a large mob. They are dogs barking around the perimeters. When I’m in the middle I can’t hear or understand a word they say. I get left, right, left, company halt those are easy. About-face, left face hut, right quarter face hut, what the hell is that.

We stand there for an hour or two. They tell us to separate ourselves by arm’s length, front and sides. They make us stand for a while longer. They tell us to march, we walk, and we talk. They yell. “Shut your piehole worm.” Then they move on to scream at someone else, we talk again. It takes the whole mob 45 minutes to reach the cafeteria, oops the Mess Hall, it is a mess.

I waited in formation for another hour just to get in the building. By the time I get my food and sit to eat it’s been three hours. Waiting in line for everyone to finish and rambling back to the barracks takes another hour and a half. We eat, we get an hour or less in between then we do it again, three times a day. Later.

It’s eight in the evening, and I haven’t found any pot. I keep hearing about it, I hear all sorts of story’s and rumors, but no pot. Later.