Ah, the memories!
Day 1, BCT at Ft. Polk, La in 1969. Since I had been held over as a barracks leader, I'd spent more than a week in the relaxed environment of the Reception Station and had decided this Army business wasn't so bad after all.
But, when the open-top cattle trucks pulled up in front of C/2/2, the first thing I saw was a head with a round brown hat appear over the tailgate: "GET OFF MY GD TRUCK!" I knew right then that things had changed.
We spent the next hour or so standing in formation practicing sitting our duffle bags down in unison and being tormented. We also got our first introduction to the "low crawl"...on a gravel parking lot. After they finally dismissed us to the barracks, the Drill's spent quite some time picking up change, cigarette lighters and whatever else had been in our ripped open pockets. We didn't get it back.
PX runs: Every now and then, somebody would take on the challenge of a night time run to the PX with orders from the rest of the platoon for candy and snacks. We weren't allowed to have any.
One night, a Drill caught the runner coming back with his pockets stuffed. He made him eat every bit of it under his watchful eye. Then, he ran him around the parade field out back until he puked it up. Naturally, the barracks then got torn apart and they found everything we had hidden.
So...we came up with an ingenious plan: We buried a foot locker underneath the barracks to hide our stash. The night some guys crawled under and buried it, I was on "guard," looking for the approach of anybody and can remember the clouds of Louisiana dust in the light from the windows. That foot locker served us well through the whole cycle and we were SOOOO proud of our ingenuity!
But, on the day of our graduation, the Senior Drill came up to us and said, "Did y'all get that foot locker out from underneath the barracks?"
The rifle range: Louisiana winters can get colder than you think. One morning, it was drizzling freezing rain all day and our gloved fingers froze to the triggers on the rifle range. The base was shut down...except for our company. The Battalion Commander got word that we were out in it and slid his way to the range where he ate the Commander's azz out right in front of us all. Boy, was he pizzed! I've never heard such a good butt chewin'!
That made the CO and all the Drills mad, so they took it out on us during the march back in. They went berserk. We came to call it, The Bataan Death March. Ever tried marching in formation on half an inch of ice? Anybody who slipped up or fell down got beaten and kicked. One poor fellow slipped and a Drill knocked him into an ice covered ditch, face down, then stood on top of him holding under the freezing water. By the time we got back to the company area, the aid truck was overflowing with casualties.
Marching: One morning, a car sped past our marching troops too fast and one of our least favorite Drills yelled out in his best Drill Sergeant voice: "SLOW THAT MF DOWN!" The car slid to halt and a full-bird Colonel lept out and locked his heels right there in the middle of the road. We loved it!
Sometimes, we'd march past the stockade and the inmate would hang on the fence yelling insults at us. The cadence call would change:
Look to my left and what do I see,
A bunch of s--tbirds lookin' at me.
Finally, graduation was near and they got all we draftees into a classroom where we received our orders for AIT. The sergeant read off a long list of names, noting which Army post they were going to for what training. Then, he finished with, "Anyone whose name I did not call are going to North Fort for Infantry AIT." My name had not been called!
There must be some mistake. I was promised transportation by the guy who filled out my dream sheet. So, I asked the SGT to double check. He did. My name still wasn't there.
I went back to the barracks and cried. Eight more weeks of the same crap and I was STILL at Ft. Polk!
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