November 27, 1972, Monday

It seemed like I had just fallen asleep when the barracks blew up with stripes, and baggy pants. They over whelmed us, they seemed to be everywhere. It was 3:30 in the morning. The screaming and the yelling were over whelming. Most of the recruits would do anything to make it stop. A recruit across the way spoke up, I think his name was Doug. “I’m sorry, ya all, I can’t hear you. Did you want something?” Within seconds he was surrounded by seven stripes. Spit and foul words flew everywhere. They weren’t in any mood to tolerate a smart ass. Then Doug said, “I’ll take that as a yes.” I couldn’t help but laugh. What he said was sarcastically funny. I thought I was laughing only on the inside, I wasn’t. Half of them jumped on me like stink on shit. “You think that’s funny you lowlife worm.” I was informed that, they were not here for my amusement. I am here for their amusement. They don’t find me very amusing because a lad lower than worm shit isn’t funny. They went on and on between the two of us for five minutes or more.

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.