Continued from last issue.If I had known better what to expect before going into the Army, I probably would have taken steroids because my arms were on the weak side. I hated to do the long monkey bars in front of the chow hall before I was able to eat. I tore up my hands on those blasted monkey bars. No wonder many years later the widow who lived next door to us called me “a pencil pusher” because I worked in an office. There was a rule that no matter where you went with your rifle in the camp, you had to run with it or you would be stopped and have to do so many pushups with your rifle lying on your hands (another thing I was not good at). Fortunately, I was only caught walking one time….Stupid!
Using the floor waxing machines in the mess hall or in our living quarters was another “treat”! Obviously, the best way to use them is to have complete control over them, just pushing them where you wanted them to go. It’s amazing I didn’t break several table and chair legs the way that floor machine showed me who was boss. It took me a while to figure out just how to have that Beetle Bailey laid-back manner and just glide with the floor machine. Finally, it was fun!
I learned very quickly not to go on sick call unless you were about ready to pass out. This was learned after my first attempt in reporting for sick call. I knew I was running a fever so off to sick call I went. I can’t recall if I was given any medicine but I sure do remember being put out in the hot sun to weed gardens and sweat the fever out of me. Who needs a doctor? It worked and no more sick calls for me!
After Basis Training, it was off to Fort Knox, Kentucky, to learn about the Sheridan tanks, which turned out to be my Military Occupational Specialty (MOS).
Rich and I asked if we could bunk in the same barracks. We realized readily what the answer was when our superiors laughed at us. At Advanced Individual Training (AIT), we had a lot more freedom. There was a gym where Rich and I played many two-on-two games. We did well with Rich, a tall, broad guy swiping the rebounds (shooting well too) and I being able to hit the outside shot. Finding something I was half decent at, I decided to broaden my horizon and attend church choir practice. I had fun until the song leader said, “OK, everyone on their parts.” I knew Legos had parts and I had a part in my hair, but songs had parts, too? Needless to say, I didn’t show up at church the next Sunday.
Near the end of AIT, my wife, Barb, flew to Kentucky from Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving. At the time, Barb was a legal secretary and quite a sewer, making all of her clothes. She arrived in a bright aqua homemade suite with a skirt that wouldn’t pass the then high school dress code because it was so short. Being among hundreds of men who had been away from home for some months, that outfit had to be changed fast.
We were happy when I got a pass so we could stay in a hotel in town for a couple of nights. All went well until about 6 a.m. We heard a flurry of fire engine sirens. Barb looked out the window and saw the fire engines. Then I opened the bedroom door into the hallway and there was no indication of a fire. As I shut the door, the fire alarm went off. We didn’t waste any time – grabbed our shoes, wallet/purse and threw overcoats on and got out of the building. We crossed the street and stood on the corner as the fire engines pulled to a stop. In the cold air, we looked around and we were the only ones out of the hotel! When the all clear was given, we went back into the hotel and all sorts of people were walking down the main staircase to the first floor fully clothed and hair couriered. We eventually found out that the fire was contained to one room at the other end of the hotel and the occupant of the room, who had been smoking, died.
Barb was then able to stay in a guest house (not exactly one star accommodations) on post until AIT was completed the second week of December.
I guess all of us soldiers looked pretty dumb because our superiors constantly told us that we were NOT going to Vietnam. After a leave, nearly all of us packed our bags for Vietnam.
How am I doing so far Private Bailey?
Jeff Hall, Honey Brook, contributes columns to Tri County Record.
