CHAPTER 3| A few weeks after the events in Los Angeles I was beginning
to wonder what I was supposed to do next, when Mr. Shyler, my probation
officer, showed up at my door. My mom was sleeping from working the
night before and I was just taking it easy watching T.V. when I heard the
knock. "Hello Mr. Shyler." I said as I opened the door.
I got an uneasy feeling from the way he walked right in half yelling, "What
are you doing here? Why in the hell didn't you get on the bus to
go to Ft. Ord?" I didn't know what he was talking about and said,
"I've been waiting for someone to tell me what to do next." He just gave
me a quizzical look and said "You were supposed to get on the bus for Ft
Ord, California, the day you went to L.A. You were reported as a
no show, and I'm here to pick you up and take you over to the jail."
About that time my mom walked in and was asking what was going on.
I explained how the Specialist had told me I was done at the AFEES Building
and to go get on the bus. I thought he meant the bus back home (after
all, I did have a round trip ticket). And I heard other guys talking
about how after the physical you would go home and wait for the military
to notify you when to report. Mr. Shyler then told me to get dressed
and we would go down to the recruiters office and see what the story was.
Giving my mom a worried look I said "Will you come with us?" I knew
without her I would be at the mercy of my probation officer and the recruiter.
I thought for sure I was going to jail. She knew what I had gone through
in L.A. and wasn't about to let them at me again without her presence.
When we walked into the recruiter's office he recognized me this time, giving me an annoyed look while listening to Mr. Shyler explain the reason for my not getting on the bus for the Reception Station. He then came over and was talking to me but looking at my mom. He explained that the guys that went home were being evaluated for the draft, and that I was volunteering and was supposed to get on the bus waiting outside the building immediately after the interview. The reason I was given a round trip ticket was in case I failed the physical. "It was an honest mistake," he said in his most sincere voice. I couldn't help thinking how he would be yelling at me if I hadn't asked mom to come with us. "I'll call the Induction Center and get you a rescheduled date. You'll have to go through the Induction process again. And this time I will only be giving you a one way ticket to L.A. so, DON'T COME BACK!" I was relieved that I wasn't going to jail but I was also dreading the fact that I was going to have to go through that awful induction process again. I was given my packet again along with my one-way bus ticket, hotel vouchers, directions, etc. On 13 June, 1967, I walked into the AFEES Building again. This time I was more relaxed about the experience, knowing exactly what was going to happen. To my surprise I was told to have a seat and wait. After a couple of hours everyone had been processed through the first station and my name was called out. "EATON, Robert O." I went over to the guy sitting behind the desk- he was a First Lieutenant. I didn't know an officer from a private, so I didn't bother to show any kind of respect. He seemed to know that I didn't know a thing about military rank or protocol and told me to stand at attention and address him as "Sir." "Eaton, you've already gone through the testing and physical process, so you won't have to go through that again, but you also can't leave this building. You will wait here in the processing area until the other groups are done. So have a seat and you will be told when to board the bus. Is that understood?" "Yeah." I turned to go sit down and was immediately yelled at. "Hey soldier." A Sergeant had come over to me almost running, "WHEN YOU ADDRESS AN OFFICER YOU SAY, YES SIR, OR, NO SIR, NOT, YEAH. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" I was trembling. This guy was huge and was yelling straight into my face. Looking down at the ground, I mumbled. "Yes Sir." "SPEAK UP WHEN YOU TALK TO ME AND DON'T CALL ME SIR, I'M A SERGEANT, I WORK FOR A LIVING." By now I was totally confused. What kind of place is this? Is this what I had to look forward to for the next three years? I wasn't even in the Army yet and I already hated it. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" I almost answered yeah again, catching myself I said, "ye... Yes Sss." Oh, man, I almost said Sir again. How does this gorilla want me to answer? He answered the question in my mind. "YES SERGEANT. NOW GO SIT DOWN!" This time I looked at him and spoke up, finally getting it. "Yes Sergeant!" I spent the rest of the morning sweeping and straightening chairs in the reception area. The rest of the day I sat reading magazines, like V.F.W. and American Legion. The day seemed longer than it did when I was going through the induction process a few weeks before, and I found myself wishing I was up there going through it all again, anything to get off these hard wood chairs. Finally the groups started coming in and we were allowed to board the buses headed for the Reception Station at Ft. Ord, about 400 miles up the coast of California. As we went out the door, we were given a paper bag containing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, potato chips, a carton of milk, and an apple or orange. Our dinner for the trip up the coast. The trip took about seven hours and by the time we arrived at Ft Ord it was about midnight. I was asleep at the back of the bus and was not quite aware of the commotion going on outside the buses as we came to a stop. "GET OFF THAT GODDAMN BUS, YOU MINDLESS BUNCH OF FUCKIN IDIOTS!" I was shaken out of my sleep by a massive Sergeant dressed in green fatigues wearing a smoky bear hat. They were all over the bus jerking us out of seats and throwing us forward toward the exit. "GET OUT THERE AND GET YOUR BAG AND GET IN A GODDAMN FORMATION! NOW! I was fully awake now, my adrenalin pumping, stumbling out of the bus I didn't have any idea what a formation was so I just did what everybody else did. These S.O.B.'s made the guys at the Induction Center look like fairies'. One guy, a Master Sergeant stood in the front of the formation. He was older than the other drill Sergeants. His face was hard and I didn't think this guy was capable of smiling, he had slits for eyes, and was at least 6'2". I was 5'11" and I had to look up to him. He was wearing a smoky Bear hat and his fatigues shined in the moonlight from the over use of starch, which made his clothes look like they were sculptured from green wood. This guy scared me. "I'm Master Sergeant Mattingly, and I'll be with you girls for the next ten weeks. I'll be your mother, father, and goddamn babysitter. If you have any problems take them to these drill sergeants." He pointed to the other sergeants or corporals standing around us. "When you address me or one of my drill instructors, you will call them sergeant. Whenever one of these D.I.'s tell you to do something you better Goddamn do it. Is that understood?" A few of us mumbled yes. "I SAID, IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?" He said it so loud we all woke up again and yelled back "Yes sergeant." "He can't hear you," the other D.I.'s were yelling in our faces now, walking up and down the files. We all yelled in unison. "YES, SERGEANT." We were led into a long wooden building which was filled with school desks. Next to each desk was a cardboard box. I couldn't believe these guys weren't going to let us go to bed. It was explained that we would be given bedding and allowed to sleep after all our packets were collected. We were informed that we would be spending two weeks at this reception station, getting our clothing issued, dog tags, I.D. cards, haircuts, and more testing. We were also told at this point that we would be on a meningitis restriction. It seems that the year before in 1966, meningitis broke out at the fort and scores of G.I.'s died or were incapacitated to the point of being unfit for Military duty. Meningitis is a highly contagious disease that attacks the spinal fluid and nerves. It was said that the close proximity of living conditions and the consumption of spoiled food is what caused the outbreak. Therefore, once we were put into our groups or platoons we would not be allowed to have contact with anyone else on the post including the other three platoons in our company. Only one person in our squad of twelve guys would be able to go to the Post Exchange to shop for the whole squad. We would have to sleep with windows open in our dorms and, worst of all, the only visitors we could have would be, mother, father, guardian or wife- no others, no exceptions, no kids no brothers, sisters, aunts or uncles. There would be no passes or post privileges at all. We were all stunned, we were being put in jail for the next ten weeks. I had never heard of this disease and by now I thought it was just a story to give them an excuse to further harass us. By the time this initial processing was over it was about two a.m. Then came the final cut from civilized life. A short little black drill Instructor stood up to address us. He was wearing a black helmet liner with a white stripe around the base. "I'm Corporal Evans. I'll be taking you over to your barracks before you leave this room. You will put all your civilian clothes and any other item you don't want to throw away in the cardboard box next to your desk. You will then address this box to your home address and it will be mailed home for you. The only items you will be taking up the hill to your Basic Training Unit will be what we issue you." At this, one of the guys spoke up. "What about the clothes we have on?" He was immediately pounced on by two other corporals wearing these same helmets. "Shut your Goddamn mouth, soldier. Nobody told you to speak. Now drop down and give me ten!" Drop down and give me ten. That was the first time I heard this order, but it was not to be my last. He was pushed to the ground and told to knock out ten pushups. When he was finished, his reward was to do them all over again for not counting out loud. "I didn't hear you count, soldier, so you didn't do anything. Do them again and this time sound off!" Some of the guys were laughing and were also dropped down for ten, while some of us were shown another form of punishment called the "dying cockroach." We were told to lie on our backs arms and legs stretched vertically up in the air, backs arched. The pain in the stomach was unbearable. Worst of all, we were put in the "front lean and rest," which was the push up position, no up and down, just holding our weight up until the body starts trembling uncontrollably, the legs would go first then the arms, and you would collapse from muscle exhaustion. One soldier decided he wasn't going to do anything he was told, and he kept mouthing off about Constitutional rights. He was led off and we never saw him again. We were told we would have one more chance to send home the remainder of our "civvies" once we were issued our fatigues. The last thing to do was to turn in any weapons we were carrying. At the end of the room just before going out the door was a large cardboard barrel. It was called the "amnesty barrel," any weapon no matter how lethal, could be dropped into this barrel before exiting the building and nothing would come of it. If anyone was caught with a weapon after leaving the building (this included the smallest pocketknife) he would be prosecuted to the full extent of the U.C.M.J. (United States Code of Military Justice). I had a small pocketknife, but I anticipated something like this and I had put it in my box of items to be sent home. By the time I got up to the barrel I looked inside as I walked past. It was about one quarter full of small pocketknives, large pocketknives, brass knuckles, even a gun or two. Which didn't surprise me. About half of the one hundred or so guys in the room with me were white, Hippie-like fellows, a few blacks and a few Mexicans. Most of them seemed to be from the L.A. County area. And most were draftees. I felt and looked like the youngest kid there. Our platoon was marched over to a row of two-story wooden barracks and taken inside. We were told to pick a bunk. Each one had a rolled up mattress, a mattress cover, (a giant pillow case for the mattress) two sheets, a pillow with case, and two Army style blankets. We had our pick of colors for our blankets. Light olive green or dark olive green. The corporal wearing the black helmet liner, I found out later, was not an actual drill sergeant but was an acting drill sergeant or A.D.I.s sort of like on-the-job training to be an asshole, and we were the ones they were training on. We were told that each one of us would have to spend one-half hour on fire watch during the night, because these wooden structures were pre-world-war-two built and were very fire hazardous. My turn came at about 4:30 A.M. and I slept in a chair for my whole watch, including the next two reliefs. I was awakened by two A.D.I's dumping my chair over and yelling at the top of their lungs. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, PRIVATE? YOU KNOW YOU JUST KILLED EVERYONE IN THIS BARRACKS. JUST SO YOU COULD GET SOME FUCKIN' SLEEP! Get down in the front lean and rest!" Everyone was awakened and herded outside and we weren't allowed to put any clothes on. It was so foggy out we couldn't see a hand in front of our face, and some A.D.I. was yelling about how I went to sleep and killed everyone in the barracks. Most were just groaning after only three or four hours of sleep. So the head A.D.I decided we needed to run around the barracks a few times to wake up. Afterwards we were sent back inside. I was told I would be on fire watch the rest of the night. Little did I know the rest of the night was only another half-an-hour. Just when everyone was settled back into their beds a whole new set of assistant drill instructors came in and started kicking over bunks waking everyone up. "DROP YOUR COCKS AND GRAB YOUR SOCKS. LET'S GO UN-ASS THOSE RACKS. FORMATION OUTSIDE IN 15 MINUTES! I couldn't believe it, this place just got worse as we went along. I couldn't help thinking how juvenile hall was never like this, and I was wishing I was there instead of in this hell hole. We were marched over to the mess hall for breakfast after performing various sets of pushups, dying cockroaches, and front lean and rests. I was amazed at all the activity so early in the morning. There were hundreds of people like us standing in our little formations of platoons of one hundred or so guys. A platoon of guys that arrived a few days ahead of us and had been issued fatigues and been given military haircuts marched by and started taunting us. "You'll be sorry. Run while you still have your civvies." I said to myself half joking, "momma". One of the A.D.I.'s explained, "When you guys go in this mess hall, yell out your prefix to the head counter at the door." I didn't know what a prefix was and, as I got close to going inside, I heard guys yelling out as they went in, "RA," "US," "ER," "NG." These were the prefixes of our I.D. numbers. If you joined the Army, you were an R.A., which stood for Regular Army; drafted you were U.S., for you belong to us; Enlisted Reserve was E.R.; and National Guard was N.G. I didn't know I was an R.A. and I yelled out what the guy ahead of me yelled, which was R.A. I lucked out. A private first class sat at the door with a board with four click- type counters and he would click whichever counter pertained to our prefix. As we moved through the line A.D.I.s were yelling for us to grab it and go, grab it and go. Just as I was about to sit down to eat, I heard it. "EATON GET OUT!" "EATON GET OUT!" "EATON GET OUT!" By now I was so nervous, and tired, anything that happened didn't surprise me. "EATON GET OUT!" "They're kicking me out of here without any breakfast, probably being punished for sleeping on fire watch," I thought as I got up without eating and headed for the door. I was stopped by a fat red headed cook. He was dressed in cooks' whites which were full of grease and his face was full of zits. Sweating he said "What's the matter, don't you like my food?" I started to explain how the sergeant was yelling for me to get out, when I turned and there he was, "EATON GET OUT! What's the problem here?" I was so frustrated by now I just shrugged my shoulders. "You too good to eat in my mess hall, Private?" "What do you think this is, your own private picnic? Get over there and sit down and EAT, AND GET OUT OF MY MESS HALL!!" I was so embarrassed, and yet I was glad I didn't have the guts to tell him why I thought he was telling me to EAT'N GET OUT. I would never have lived it down. After that day, every time I heard that mess sergeant yell "EAT'N GET OUT" I would cringe and wonder if anyone was looking at me, having found out my secret. After that first day, things started settling down. We were issued our military issue, led in one door of a long warehouse, and by the time we reached the other end, we had a duffle bag and a small laundry bag full of military issue. We all smelled like moth balls and new leather. The last stop in the warehouse was the barber. No ifs, ands, or buts about these guys. We were sheared like sheep right down to the skin. As we stood outside in formation, one of the A.D.I.'s said, "Tomorrow morning when you fall out I want you looking like a soldier-anyone with a mustache or beard will be clean shaven. Well, I didn't have to worry about that. Being seventeen I didn't have any facial hair, just peach fuzz on the sides of my face. We still had some rebellious guys in the platoon and they would just disappear. Their name would be called out and they would be led away. I found out on the first weekend after arrival where these guys ended up. I was walking along on my way back from making a phone call home, and I saw one of the guys I had started a friendship with. He was working outside one of the mess halls cleaning out some garbage cans. "Hey Dan, what happened to you, man? The last I remember you were being led away by some asshole." He was surprised to see me and seemed to be more behaved than the last time I saw him. "Hey, Robert, what's happening man? Yeah, they took me to this barracks where a bunch of other guys was being held, man. The D.I. told me I could spend the next two years in the brig or I could start reception week all over again. So I decided to go along with this shit." "Well, what are you doing washing these garbage cans, man?" I asked as we lit up a cigarette. "Oh these assholes won't let me start reception until the next cycle. That's another week away, so they make me pull K.P. every day. It's the shits, man." I started to answer when a cook came out and started yelling. "Who told you to take a smoke break, shit head? Get those goddamn cans cleaned out! And you, get the fuck out of here or you'll be helping him." By now all the harassment was getting to be annoying. It seemed anyone who had been in the Army a day longer than I was authorized to harass. I knew which guys to fear and which guys could cause trouble. Cooks were one of the people who could cause trouble, so I just said "See ya around, man," and walked on. I never saw Dan again. I guess he re-started his two-week Reception cycle after we left. Every time I saw a K.P. while in the Reception Station I couldn't help thinking, "I wonder what that guy did wrong." The day before we were to head up the hill for our Basic Training, we were on our own in the reception station until morning. I was walking by a bunch of newly arrived recruits when I recognized one of the guys standing in the file. It was Bill Wright! A local town bully from Brawley. He was a few years older than me and one night while I was walking down main street just hanging out, he pulled up next to me in his car and yelled for me to come over. I ran over thinking, "all right, I've got a ride to drag main." I stuck my head in the window and felt something slam into my face. I fell backward on the sidewalk half knocked out, and was attacked by this bully. As he was pummeling me, I was screaming, "What did I do!" "This is for robbing Chrissy's dad, Motherfucker." I knew what he was talking about, but I also knew that he had pegged the wrong guy. I used to hang around with a girl named Chrissy, Her dad was a cattle rancher, and, needless to say, had a lot of money. Jay, one of my running buddies and I would hang out over at her house after school. One day we were all hanging out by the pool in the backyard when Jay went inside. I followed, after about ten minutes, as Chrissy was concerned that Jay might be drinking her dad's liquor, and wanted me to check it out. I found Jay in Chrissy's fathers room going through the drawers of his dresser. He was holding a couple of wallets, both with quite a bit of money. "Hey, Robert, look at all the money in these wallets." I just said, "Hey, man, put it back, you're going to get us in trouble!" "O.K., man, I was just looking around." That was the last I thought about it until that night a few weeks later when I got the hell beat out of me for nothing. "Tell Jay I'm going to kick his ass too when I find him!" That happened the summer before in 1966. And here was Bill Wright, just newly arrived and scared shitless. I couldn't resist. I could see the fear in his eyes. I was in my new fatigues, shined boots and bald head. I walked over to Bill and yelled, "ATTENHUT!" He and everyone around him jumped and tried their best to stand at some kind of attention. "Hey, Robert," he said as he recognized me. Trying to sound like a drill instructor I yelled, "HEY" "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HEY, SOLDIER? DROP DOWN AND GIVE ME TEN." He immediately dropped to the ground and started counting pushups. As he was struggling to finish, I said. "Sounds like you've done a few of these already. I think I'll see if I can keep you here for an extra two weeks." He looked up at me like he knew why he was being harassed and, just when I was about to put him in the dying cockroach, I heard someone screaming, "WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING WITH MY PEOPLE FOR, PRIVATE? GET YOUR RECRUIT ASS OVER HERE!" I ran over to the new group's A.D.I. and standing at attention I just said "Nothing, corporal." "Nothing my ass, and what's that on your face?" I felt my face and couldn't figure out what he was talking about. "How long you been here, Private?" "Two weeks corporal. I'm going up on the hill for basic training tomorrow." "Weren't you told to shave the second day you got here?" "Yes, but I don't have anything to shave, I'm only seventeen." "You've got hair all over your face. You report to the Charge of Quarters in the Orderly Room tonight after chow at 1800 hours for discipline." "Yes Corporal," I answered trying to look cool in front of all the new guys I had just harassed. He walked over to the new guys and started dropping them down for pushups as some were laughing by now. But strangely enough Bill Wright wasn't laughing, I think he had enough of a scare for one day. I was dreading 1800 hours. We were talking in military time by now and I knew that 1800 hours was 6:00 P.M. "Why couldn't I get out of here without getting into any trouble?" I thought as I got myself looking as good as possible. The only real trouble I had gotten into was the night I slept on fire watch, not counting the misunderstanding about eat'n get out. And now I was being told to report to the Charge of Quarters for discipline for not shaving peach fuzz, of all things! Well, at least I would be clean shaven when I showed up. I just hoped I wouldn't have to repeat the last two weeks again. I knocked on the Orderly Room door. The A.D.I. that told me to report was there, and said as I walked in. "Knock on the Commanding Officer's door and report." I knocked on the door leading into the Commanders Office. "Come in." "Sir, Private Eaton reports as ordered." I was standing at a rigid position of attention. The A.D.I. was standing next to me along with another sergeant. I felt surrounded in this little room, and I didn't know what was about to happen. The officer behind the desk started in on me. "Why didn't you shave like you were told too, private?" "I didn't think..." "The Army doesn't pay you to think." The sergeant next to me yelled in my ear, "Don't say anything unless we tell you to talk." I was trembling by now, and felt like I was on the verge of crying. And then the A.D.I. Corporal said, "Looks like you shaved! Nobody told you to shave. I said to report to the Orderly Room. I didn't say shave, and then report to the Orderly Room! You better start growing hair right now or your going to be doing the next two weeks right here on K.P.!" The sergeant handed me a bayonet and told me to go over and stand in the window and shave again so anybody walking by can see what happens when orders are not obeyed. I took the bayonet and started to walk over to the window when the Officer yelled, "I didn't dismiss you!" I saluted and he said "Dismissed" I walked over to the window and scraped my face raw for about five minutes when the corporal came over and yelled. "You aren't getting any of it off. Scrape harder!" It was too much, I broke down and started crying. I didn't know what else to do. The officer came in and said. "Goddamn, man, what kind of soldier are you? Can't even take a joke. Give me that bayonet and get the fuck out of here." I handed over the bayonet and ask to be dismissed. The officer just told me to get back to my barracks, and I could hear the three of them laughing as I walked out the door. I went back to my bunk and lay there the rest of the evening feeling sorry for myself that I had let these guys get the best of me. To hell with them, tomorrow I would be going up the hill to my Basic Training Unit and all this harassment would be over. I decided I would give my mom a call and fill her in on the events of the day and what I thought of the Army up to this point. I told her of the officer and the two enlisted men making me scrape my face with a bayonet until I started to bleed, and of the humiliation of standing in the window. She was upset, to say the least, and I just told her to forget it, but I wished that I had never joined the Army. |
CHAPTER 3
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