Chapter 2| Finally the day came. We were to go up
on the hill to our Basic Training area. We spent the morning
turning in our bedding and scouring the toilets and floors until they shined like mirrors. At about 0900 hours we marched over to a staging area with all our gear and new issue packed into our duffle bags and laundry bags which were tied together so we could sling them over our shoulder while we marched. I expected to see the buses waiting for us, but instead we were loaded onto the back of a flatbed trailer with side panels and benches which folded down off the sides. The A.D.I.s called these trucks "cattle cars". We were to find out this would be our mode of transportation from now on. The ride up the hill was short, and the area we were coming to was beautiful. The barracks were large three-story buildings newly built within the last couple of years. As we came to a stop at our building pandemonium broke out. The tailgate of the truck was ripped off by a hulking staff sergeant wearing a drill instructor's Smoky Bear Hat. There were about ten of them struting around yelling at the top of their lungs. "GET OFF THEM TRUCKS, LADIES! MOVE, MOVE!" We got up and started shuffling to the rear of the trailer. There were no steps to climb down and all we could do was jump the four feet or so to the ground. Now normally this wouldn't be a problem, but we had our duffle bags and laundry bags full of about 100 pounds of clothing and gear hanging around our necks . That, and these big ugly guys yelling at us to get off of the trucks double time. I got to the tailgate of the truck and, as I was about to jump, I hesitated for a moment to adjust the weight of the two bags when one of the D.I.'s grabbed my duffle and pulling it, yelled "GET OFF THAT TRUCK, PRIVATE!" The grab pulled me off balance and I went spinning to the ground landing on my side. As I started to get up the sergeant yelled at me. "GET UP OFF YOUR ASS GODDAMN IT, YOUR HOLDING UP THE WHOLE FUCKING TRUCK! GET OVER THERE AND HOLD YOUR BAGS ABOVE YOUR HEAD! NOW!!" I got up shaken, holding my bags by the ropes above my head. We were all standing in a formation four ranks deep, all with our bags above our head. The pain was unbearable. My arms felt like they were going to fall off from the weight, but I didn't dare drop my bags. The guys who made the mistake of dropping their bags were immediately given the full attention of a D.I. Some were being given push-ups and then had to hold their bags up after that. Just bout the time I was about to drop my bags everyone was off the truck and the senior drill instructor barked orders for us to drop our bags to our sides. My arms felt like they were floating after holding that weight for so long. I was thinking. "Man, this place is going to be worse than reception station," and it was. These drill instructors were all just as mean looking as the next. Even the ones that weren't so big looked big and mean in my eyes, and I was so scared I would have eaten shit if they had told me too. "You soldiers will be here for the next eight weeks and you will be taught basic combat skills, first aid and military protocol." It was sergeant Mattingly, the D.I. who greeted us the first night we arrived at the reception station. He went on, "You will be broken up into four platoons of four squads. By the end of this week you will have your serial number memorized, and by the end of the eight weeks you will have to memorize all twelve of your general orders. You will also..." He went on and on like this for what seemed like hours. We were standing out on an asphalt parking lot and the heat on that summer day made me feel like I was going to blackout. We were still at the position of attention and some guys were already dropping from the heat. No one bothered to come over and help, and none of us were going to even attempt to help. Finally, around noon, we were marched across the street to our barracks. I was hungry and could hardly wait to eat after the mornings events. Sergeant Loggins, a short black staff sergent came over and ordered us to get into single file formation for lunch. We were marched around to the side of the mess hall and lined up in front of what he called the parallel bars. These were like the bars you would find on a school playground where you would climb up some short steps and grab hand-over-hand on each bar until reaching the end and then drop down. The difference here was that these bars had no steps up, requiring you to jump up about 3 feet and when you reach the end we were instructed to cross over to the next set and head the other way. Four sets of parallel bars in all, about one hundred bars to go through. Sergeant Loggins began, "You will have to go through these bars before going into my mess hall. If you fall off you will go to the back of line and start over. If you can't make it through my parallel bars you will wait until everyone is done!" I thought, "no problem." I wasn't fat and I thought this wouldn't be so hard, although I was a little pissed to think I had to do this before I could eat each day. I was about the tenth one in line and I noticed that most of these guys were falling off after the first couple of bars, but I couldn't figure out why. When my turn came, I found out why. I jumped up and grabbed the first bar, got myself swinging, and when I grabbed the next bar, I fell flat on my back. The bars were all loose and turned as soon as you grabbed them. I started to get back on but was told to get to the back of the line, by the four or five A.D.I.'s running around yelling for us to hurry. The next time around I got about half way through before falling off. I was cussing the drill instructors who stood by laughing at us as we tried to get through this obstacle. By the third try I made it through, while others just gave up and decided to wait it out. They found out that it wasn't just a matter of giving up. After we were all done, the guys that gave up were made to double time around the building and then do twenty-five pushups before getting in the chow line. Upon entering the mess hall sergeant Pihana, one of the other platoon sergeants, was standing in the door. He was looking over the different guys as we came in. If a person was overweight he was told by sergeant Pihana not to eat any potatoes, fatty meat, or any deserts. All the other guys who could not get through the parallel bars were given double helpings of vegetables, as most of these guys were very overweight. We gathered outside the mess hall afterward and were divided up into our different platoons. I wound up in the 4th Platoon. We were in Charlie Company, 2nd Battalion, 1st Brigade, or C-2-1-4. Our platoon sergeant was SSG Loggins, the short black sergeant that had taken us through the parallel bars. He didn't look so ominous now. As a matter of fact, I couldn't help thinking how he resembled Sammy Davis Jr. He wore a 1st Cavalry patch on his right shoulder and a had a Combat Infantry Badge (C.I.B.) over his left shirt pocket. We were later to find out that any patch worn on the right shoulder signified a combat division (most likely Viet-Nam), and the C.I.B. meant that a person was an infantry man who had seen at least thirty days in a combat unit. All the drill sergeants. and platoon sergeants. we were now under wore these kind of patches. Sergeant Loggins informed us that we should be very careful around these guys as they would cut their mother's throat for a dollar. By now I was willing to believe anything. I was convinced that the Army was just going to get worse each day, and I decided that if I couldn't get out I was just going to do whatever I was told. By the end of the day we had been issued our bedding and were assigned our bunks. We were still under meningitis restriction and were told that all the upper windows in our dorms would be left open at all times to allow for circulation, because this was such a contagious disease. We were made to sleep head to toe, and slept in bunk beds. The beds were placed exactly three feet from the bed next to it. We each had one footlocker and one wall locker. We would not be allowed to have or to wear civilian clothes for any reason. The dorms were great open rooms about 50' wide by 100' long, with the bunks running down each side. The long runway down the middle shined like glass and was off limits. We were not allowed to wear any footgear while in the dorm, due to the scuff marks boots would leave. So as we entered the dorm we would take our boots off. Of course any time one of the D.I.s came in he would walk right down the middle of the runway trying his best to scuff up the glass shine so we would have to wax and buff it out again. During our last formation of the first day, Sfc. Mattingly came out and addressed Charlie Company for the final harassment of the day. "Each day we will need a certain amount of men for detail. Some of you will be on K.P., others who have valid drivers licenses will be driving trucks when we start going to the ranges. First of all, how many of you are drafted?" About sixty percent of the company raised their hands, I thought the worst, "These poor guys are in for it." He went on, " You soldiers will not be put on any kind of detail. I need your full attention for the next eight weeks, because you men will more than likely be infantry or artillery and you can expect to go to Viet-Nam. Half of you will be coming home in a bag, and I don't want that on my conscience. I just stared at a few of the guys who had their hands raised. I felt sorry for them, these were the hippies that I had seen at the AFEES building in L.A., or they were the educated ones who had dropped out of college or their number just came up. What a thing to say to us on our first day here! Sfc. Mattingly went on, "How many of you are here for your National Guard or Enlisted Reserve training?" This time about thirty or so guys raised their hands. "You people will be put on K.P. first. You Goddamn weekend warriors are a bunch of pussies. You'll only be with us for Basic and your Advanced Training and then home to momma. So I'm going to get the most I can out of you. And now the rest of you, you dumb asses joined my Army and anything you get you asked for. But we're supposed to admire the fact that you had the guts to join with a war going on. So, to show my appreciation, I'm going to let you drop down for fifty pushups before being dismissed tonight. All you ladies will double time the full eight weeks you are here. The only time I want you walking is in my chow line. And when you're in my chow line I want you at parade rest." This was like standing at attention but with our feet spread apart 30" and our arms behind our back, hands clasped, palms open. "I want three feet between each one of you, no talking, no smoking, and when you move forward you will come to the position of attention, move forward and then back to the parade rest position. The rest of the time here you will double time wherever you go! If I find one of you walking you'll be put on K.P. the next day. IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?" "YES, SERGEANT." We were dismissed except for those of us that joined. I got through about twenty pushups before my arms started shaking. By the time I hit fifty my legs were like rubber. I could barely double time over to the barracks to go inside. My dorm was on the top floor and I had to hold on to the stairwell rail to pull my body to the top of the third floor. I fell into my bunk and just lay there. I was thinking, "What the fuck are they going to do to us next?" It didn't take long to find out what was next. About the third day on the hill I was surprised to hear my name called out in the morning formation. "Pvt. Eaton, Robert O." My drill instructor called out. I snapped to attention "Yes, sergeant." "Report to the orderly at 0800 Hours." "Yes, sergeantt." I was trying to figure out what I had done wrong. My boots were shined, I was running everywhere I went, and couldn't remember doing anything unusual. I was feeling pretty anxious about reporting to another orderly room after my first experience down at the reception station. After eating breakfast I cleaned up and ran to the orderly room. As I went inside I was stopped by a hulking black sergeant. He had so many strips on his arm I didn't even try to guess his rank. I said, "Private Eaton reporting as ordered, sergeant." I'm a FIRST SERGEANT, and address me as so," he snapped. "Stand here at parade rest." He then went inside a door that said Commanding Officer on it. I stood there terrified going over and over in my head the last few days. Finally, he came out and said, "Private Eaton, report to Captain Sims, walk to within one foot of his desk, stop, and come to the the position of attention, give a hand salute, and report," "KNOCK FIRST!" he yelled, as I was about to walk right in. "Yes sg.., yes, 1st sergeantt." I knocked on the door and heard the Captain say, "Come in." I walked in and went through the ritual of reporting as ordered. "Parade rest, private." He looked me up and down as if he was inspecting my appearance. He then went on to explain why I had been called in. "I would like to know in your own words what happened to you down at the reception station concerning the shaving incident." I was stunned! How did he find out? "What do you mean, Sir?" "You know what I mean. Didn't you get into trouble for not shaving a couple of days before you came up here?" "Yes, Sir," I replied. I wanted to feel my face to see if I needed to shave again but, I didn't dare come out of the parade rest position. He went on, "We have a report here that you were made to stand in front of a window and shave with a bayonet. Is that true?" "Yes, Sir, but it wouldn't shave because it was too dull. Besides, I had already..." "Was there an officer present?" he interrupted. "I think so at least one of the guys said he was an officer," I replied looking down at the floor. "Well, private Eaton, the soldier who disciplined you was not an officer. These men were detailed as Charge of Quarters and were not authorized to treat you in such a way. They were authorized to discipline you for not shaving, but not so harshly. Please accept the Sixth Army's apologies." I couldn't believe my ears! This officer was apologizing to me! Just when I thought it was all over captain Sims jumped up from his desk, yelling, "NOW, GODDAMN YOU PRIVATE EATON, YOU'RE IN THE U.S. ARMY. YOU'RE NOT SOME MOMMA'S BOY. THE SOONER YOU REALIZE THAT THE BETTER OFF YOU WILL BE! If you don't want to accept that then we can ship your ass back home, right now. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?" "No Sir," I replied. I was frozen, I had snapped back to the position of attention. I was given a chance to go home and I didn't take it, partly because I didn't believe him and, mostly, because that's what I think he wanted to hear. "Well are you going to call your mother every time one of my D.I.'s yells at you?" "No, Sir." "I want you to write a letter to your mother and tell her that everything is okay at basic training and that you are being properly treated. When you are finished with that letter I want you to hand it over to you drill sergeant so he can mail it for you. And if I ever get chewed out by a colonel and have to apologize for the United States Army to you again I'll personally kick you out of my Basic Training Unit. IS THAT UNDERSTOOD, PVT. EATON?" "Yes Sir" "SPEAK UP, LIKE YOU GOT A PAIR!" "YES, SIR," I yelled it out. "Now salute and get out of here." I saluted, he returned my salute, and I turned and walked out. I could feel his eyes on my back as I went through the door. The 1st Sergeant Meyers was waiting in the orderly room. As I walked in he informed me that I would be on K.P. the following morning and that I should tie a towel on the end of my bunk so the C.Q. runner could wake me up at 0300 hours. He also informed me that I was on my own now and my daddy's new name was U.S. Army. I must have looked like I was about to cry, I sure felt like it. I just had my ass chewed out and now I was going to be punished from now on. What a way to start out! That evening I wrote a letter to my mom explaining how the Army was treating me right and was making a man out of me, etc. I was mad at the guys in the reception center for lying to me about being some kind of big shots, and I was mad at my mom for calling the Post Commander and complaining about how I was being treated. I decided I wouldn't tell her of my problems again, since all it did was get me in worse trouble. No more bailouts from mom. Like the 1st sergeant said, I'm on my own now, and I better start getting serious about the situation I was in. I was hating the Army by the minute, and three years seemed like a lifetime away. K.P. came too early. It was a long day and was about the hardest I had ever worked. I was put on pots and pans. I cleaned out pots that were as big as trash cans, and pans as big as dresser drawers, and no sooner would I get one clean than the cook would come take them and leave me with five or six more, always yelling for me to hurry. By lunch time my hands were a wrinkled mess. One of the cooks came out and told me after lunch I would be on D.R.O. (dining room orderly) the rest of the day, because we weren't allowed to wash pots and pans all day for health reasons. Something to do with the hands wrinkling and cracking because of the Army soap. I was so glad to get an easy job. D.R.O.'s just made sure all the tables had full salt and pepper shakers, full napkin holders, and we had to sweep and mop the mess hall after lunch and prepare for dinner. After each meal any milk left over in the milk dispensers had to be dumped down the drain, and all leftover food had to be thrown out. This was for health reasons due to the meningitis virus that may still be lurking about. We would put out new five gallon containers of white and chocolate milk just before the next meal. During the meal we had to help serve the soldiers as they came through. Toward the end of the day I was beginning to like K.P., especially this D.R.O. duty. The cooks were guys like us just doing a job and didn't harass us too much. A few of the guys were assholes, but they even seemed to tire of the harassment after awhile. After dinner I found out that D.R.O. wasn't such a cake job. The whole mess hall had to be not only swept and mopped as with the previous meal, but we also were required to pick up all the chairs and wax and buff the floors. There were two of us for this job and neither of us knew how to use a buffer. We waxed the floor by hand with paste, and then when I started to buff is when I ran into trouble. This machine had one large brush wheel about 12" in diameter. It weighed about a hundred pounds, and when I pulled the lever to turn it on, it just raced over to the right knocking over tables and chairs and anything else it ran into. I was yelling, "How do you control this Goddamn thing?" pulling with all my strength trying to make it come back the other way. I had seen other guys use the buffer and they made it seem so easy. I knew this buffer had to be broken. I was still going around in circles when the mess sergeant came over and yelled out, "Let go of the lever!" I let go and the buffer came to a stop. "This buffer is broke sergeant" I said huffing and puffing from the workout I just had. He grabbed it and said, "Let me show you."Hhe pulled the lever and the buffer started moving back and forth across the floor just as easy as you please. I looked at him in disbelief. This guy was a little Philipino fellow, not more than 5'4" and probably only weighed about 150 pounds. Yet he wielded that buffer like it was nothing. "Here, you try again. This time push down on the handle when you want to move left and pick up when you want to move right." I grabbed hold and pulled the lever. Iimmediately the buffer took off to the right almost knocking the mess sergeant down. "Push down on the handle," he yelled. I pushed the handle down toward the floor and the buffer took off to the left. "Up and down," I picked up and the buffer moved right. "All right," I said as I was getting the hang of using this monstrosity. Back and forth, back and forth. After a few more minutes I had the hang of it. I really felt like I had accomplished something. It took a few hours to get the mess hall buffed. All the other K.P.s had left about an hour earlier, and about 8:00 P.M. we were done. I was walking over to the barracks building totally beat from the day of K.P., my arms aching from the workout the buffer had given me, and my whole body smelled like a grease trap. All I could think about was a hot shower, shine my boots and go to bed. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING WALKING ON MY SIDEWALK, PRIVATE!" Someone yelled out the window and I realized I wasn't double timing. I took off running into the barracks, ran up the stairs and went into the latrine and sat on one of the toilets just shaking my head, "Jesus Fucking Christ, this place sucks!" |
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