WOW!!!!!April 1957. A letter from Uncle Sam!!! I had now been on this new job for a year, rapidly climbing the corporate ladder. Now this!! The one letter that I knew would eventually come but hoping they lost the address. Well, I could wait until letter number 2 came or I could request to have my draft number pushed up, go in the Army and get this over with. What shall I do?? Better check with dad. After speaking with him, along with mom and some of my uncles, I decided to go in request to go earlier and get this over with.........Just as long as the draft board did not get the idea that I wanted to enlist for an extra year. Well I made that request and they heard my concern about going for only 2 years but I would still serve in the reserves when I got back home.
July 4th was my appointed day. Off to Lynbrook to the draft center, for my ride to Ft.Dix, New Jersey. Well, leading up to this day was interesting, all my uncles who served, along with my dad kept pumping information into my head. Never volunteer for any soft sounding jobs, always do exactly what I was told, don't screw up!!............ So many things to remember.
The first day was a routine day, shots, haircut (I asked for square back, slightly touching ears, lite trim.) guess they didn't hear me because when I got out of the barber chair, which only took 4 minutes, I was like a cue ball and just as white. It certainly showed off the tan I had. Next stop, clothes, not really a choice and size did not matter, double breasted? Nay, they all look that way they told me I would grow into them. Got my class "A" dress uniform, then sent me over to the tailor. Fatigues, jackets etc etc etc were one size fits all and the tailors did their best to shorten and hem the pants. The rest seemed a little big but like the man said, one tends to fill them out. By the time I left that building, I had one duffel bag filled to the brim with clothes and shoes. Next stop I picked up my dog tags. These are little metal tags you wear around your neck. I found out that the tags have a little niche in one end that is actually there for a reason. If you were to die, they simply put this edge between you front two teeth and kick it into place. This now identifies you.
Finally got to the barracks about 5PM enough time to be assigned a bunk throw your stuff on it and report for dinner. By this time you are so hungry, food even taste good. Still did not recognise what it was. Back to the barracks to try and put some order into this new life. Setting up my footlocker I needed a printed plan so that everything was in the correct space. Lights out at 9PM but you could still see but much to tired to do anything about it.
Day 2-Day 7
Awaken at 5AM by the sound of a large metal pipe hitting against an empty garbage can and some idiot already shaved, and dressed running around yelling and blowing some stupid whistle. GET A LIFE!!! even the roosters weren't up yet. These were perhaps the most demoralizing days of the eight weeks of basic training. POLITICAL CORRECTNESS was certainly not around these days. I was called everything from Pretty boy, im-bo-sill , mama's white baby to I-TAL-LI-ON WOP. I scrubbed the toilet bowl with a toothbrush, learned that real men started off walking with their left foot, that only girly men started a walk with their right foot. I presume that was for the benefit of our drill Sargent, who to me, had some mental limitations. It was an easy way for him to remember ........left....right....left during our marching drills. He also was unable to remember anyones name, so to him everyone was know by either your nationality or mamas boy. I learned that after having a cigarette, you had to "field strip" it. meaning to slit open the paper part of the cigarette with your nail, sprinkle out the remaining tobacco, if it was a filter tip, you learned how to put it into your pocket and save it until you came to a trash barrel. I learned how to smoke a long cigarette in 30 seconds. I learned that you SHOUT OUT your answers to the Sargent and you ended every sentence with SIR unless it was a Sargent then it was SARGENT. Don't talk soft otherwise you were a mama's boy little girl, that I totally did not understand, but as long as they were happy....so was I. The days were filled with trips to the Doctors for more shots and examinations, Dentist for examinations, filling out papers and more papers, learning how to make a proper bed with hospital corners and tight enough to bounce a quarter off of it. Setting up your foot locker with your serial number on everything from socks to underwear all facing exactly the same way. Here I also learned you never use these clothes, they were strictly for show, how to set up you wall unit so that every piece of clothing was lined up by size going from long to short all facing the same direction. I spent hours spit shining a pair of boots only to lean that I had to also spit shine the back end of the boot (heel) otherwise this alerted the inspecting Sargent that if that part was not shined it reflected that you never wiped yourself when going to the bathroom, another one of those things I never forgot especially when the Sargent had one of the recruits pull down his pants in front of everyone so he check that he indeed wiped himself. I learned that you always had to run from one place to another, no lolliputtin around. WOW!!!!
I was totally exhausted every night, even went to bed without supper occasionally, not because I wanted to but I just found myself dozing off at the wrong times.
Well, apparently, I mastered some of these things because as you can see from the picture, I was made a platoon corporal (honorary of course, not actual) guess this meant I was to mentor some of the really dumb guys, that could not master starting to walk with your left foot or that someone thought I would be the next "Stars and Stripes" model for the uniform. Anyway, the day finally arrived when a volunteer was sought after. I remembered what my dad and my uncles said about not volunteering but this sounded so good. The Sargent was looking for someone with a drivers license, I could only visualize driving the commander or such around BUT using my better judgement I just kept quiet. Later that day when out for on one of our usual 5 mile runs, we were taking a little breather and I happen to look over and see "the volunteers" next to their vehicles............large wheelbarrows loaded up with dirt.........they were driving them for one big hole to a equally big pile of dirt. Now the story goes that when the next class of recruits come in their volunteers will drive wheel barrels from the big pile of dirt back to fill up the hole. Just thought to myself, thanks dad. I will never volunteer. The next 4 weeks went on just about the first week. It was now a week before graduation and we were about to find out the results of all we have learned. What will my MOS be? (military occupational specialty) Well, mine was quiet good. I excelled in administration therefore, I became a clerk in administration at a headquarters company. I found out that my second 8 weeks would be in Arkansas......at an artillery unit.........WHAT??? ME????? ARTILLERY?
