Welcome to the Dance USN Read online

  Welcome to the

  Dance

  USN

  GEORGE LICATA

  Copyright © 2017 George Licata

  All rights reserved

  First Edition

  PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

  New York, NY

  First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2017

  ISBN 978-1-64138-598-5 (Paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-64138-599-2 (Digital)

  Printed in the United States of America

  This a journal from an eighteen-year-old teenager in the 1970s. I was protesting the Vietnam War one weekend. The next week I was headed to navy boot camp. My draft lottery number was 9.

  Nov. 22, 1972, Wednesday

  Three days of goodbyes were, in reality, three days of partying. I don’t know why I went home and tried to sleep; it was useless. I was wide awake. My body was full of drugs that helped me party for those days, no complaints here. I haven’t been home for three days, except for the dinner that I had with the family last evening, and showers, before I headed out again to say goodbye to more friends and more parting.

  My parents, I’m sure, were awake for different reasons. Their eighteen-year-old son is going away. The chances of me getting killed were small. When you’re a parent and your child is put in harm’s way, it could be a big chance or a small chance. It’s all worrisome when the word “chance” is accompanied by “getting killed.” It is a small war; however, to a parent, it’s a war. It is what it is.

  Seven months ago, my friends, who are eighteen-year-olds like myself, were doing what all American eighteen-year-olds were doing. We were glued to the TV watching the draft lottery. This one was specifically for males born in 1954.

  Happily my friends were celebrating; they had high numbers. My number was 9. I knew that night I was either going to get drafted in the army or I could enlist in one of the other armed forces. I don’t have a school deferment, as I am out of high school and had passed my GED. Canada was out of the question. I had too many family ties. I could never give them up.

  In short, I am a street hippie. Growing up in a tough neighborhood in Denver. I don’t know what I like better, getting high or fighting and partying. I decided that it would be cool to have a genuine peacoat—the navy it is.

  My brother Rock is sleeping soundly in his bed on the other side of the room. Brothers Joe and Gary are also sleeping in the room between mine and my parents’. Kenny is sleeping in the basement bedroom. It is a Tuesday; it is a school day for Rock. Joe and Ken have jobs to go to, and Gary is enrolled in college. To them this is a normal day. So what, their hippie brother has a low draft number. By now they were used to my adventures. I was the child who dared to do what they wanted to do, but they had the good sense not to. I took it further and did things that they couldn’t dream of. My neighborhood friends are the same. I was a black sheep in a black sheep family. Hanging with my black sheep friends.

  It is almost six in the a.m. when I got out of bed. I could see the early sun’s white light, pushing its way into the last ribbons of the last black shades of night. The time before it starts to slowly turn from dark blue to light gray, to pinkish orange to white light. I closed the drapes. I don’t want to wake my brother Rock.

  I washed up and dressed. I don’t think I need a shower. I walked down the sixteen stairs to the first floor. I had snuck out in the dark of the night many times before. This was an old house, and it had old creeks in the stairs. I knew where they were, all of them. I could walk down the stairs and not make a sound. This time I didn’t need to.

  As I got to the landing to the last three wide stairs, I could see through the front window. Pulling up to the curb are two of my friends, Jeff and Raymond. They were my ride to downtown Denver.

  Downtown Denver is ten minutes away. The sun is full and over the horizon, but the town is still asleep. We pulled up to the big marble government building. They call it the AFES building. It is filled with government offices.

  I was protesting the war on this same sidewalk four days ago. “Stop the war. Hell no, we won’t go!” We held signs and marched and were gassed by the police. Others were clubbed. Once they dispersed us, we gathered at a park and got high and had heated conversations about how we are going to change the world. And stop the war. Guess that didn’t work out.

  I got out of the car and said my farewells. As the car drove away, I threw up. I wiped my face and went inside. I took the elevator to the third floor. On the third floor, I was given a folder full of papers and forms and told to get in line. After standing in line, I received more papers and forms to put in my folder. I was told to report to room 302.

  Entering room 302, I saw a line. I got in it. When it was my turn at the counter, I was given some more papers and forms. I was told to report to room 333. Room 333 had rows of school desks. I sat down. The next two hours consisted of signing paper after paper. We filled out form after form and signed them. We signed papers swearing to or against something or the other. When we were finished, they told us to remember our social security number because one, it is our official military ID number; and two, it will be used more than my name, memorize it. An officer came in. He said, “Do not lose your papers and forms!” Then he told us to stand and raise our right hands. He made us swear that we would defend the Constitution. We all said we would. We were led to a bus.

  On this big gray bus, the five of us sat alone and in silence. The rest of the people went on other buses to destinations I know not where. I personally didn’t have a lot to say to anybody. I felt like we were five animals off to the slaughter. That atmosphere didn’t lend too much conversation. We smoked cigarettes and rode in silent thought. I’m thinking, what the hell did I just do?

  At the airport the bus driver gave us our airplane tickets. We walked sheepishly to our gate. I had a window seat. As we flew over the city, I could see that it was fully awake. I tried to imagine what my friends were doing. Some were in school, some were getting stoned. Some were at school getting stoned.

  I was starting to get to know my fellow sailors a little. We were seated next to one another on the airplane. We decided that we would take advantage of this plane ride. I told my seatmate I had a hangover. My seatmate Marion told me he never had a drink in his entire life. I told him it was about time he did. If he could get drafted to fight a war, he could drink. Drinks all around. Two other mates joined in. Except for Chris, the fifth mate. He told us we would be in trouble if we did. Of course no one listened to him. Ten o’clock in the morning, who cares. We may not have this opportunity again for a long time.

  We flew into San Diego. When we got off of the airplane, we saw hundreds of military people. Some in uniform some not. You could tell by the short haircuts they sported. We were just a group of lost long hairs. It took us an hour to find the military liaison desk; it was empty, so we sat and waited.

  As we were waiting, the passing military people realized that we were new recruits; they sat on these benches at one time. “Where you from? Where you from?” Over and over that’s what they all said to us. After some time, a guy in a navy uniform shows up and tells us that nobody told him about us. He did some paperwork that lasted for a while; we sat and waited some more.

  Every once in a while, one of the passing military men would stop and chat. After asking us where we are from, they informed us on what to expect. Hurry up and wait, get used to it, which were the first words of wisdom offered. We get to learn how to dress; the food was laced with sulfur to keep us from getting horny. We drill with a piece, clean lots of floors and toilets. We get to cut our hair to a buzz cut. On and on with the advice they went. I just want to get some where we can eat.

  One guy gave us important advice to
remember when we go to the barbers. “They ask you if you want it long or short. If you say long they, cut it short and cut out divots. Now what you want to do, man, is say short.”

  “What happens then?” I asked.

  “They cut it short, but they don’t cut out as many divots,” he answered.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I feel reassured.”

  We were slowly joined by more recruits, our number reached eleven. It was getting late. My only meal today was peanuts. The mixture of airplane peanuts and the booze in flight was taking its toll. Back in Denver we asked to eat. The military guys said they would feed us in San Diego. We waited and then we waited some more. We smoked some more. I was unsure about the cigarette situation, so I brought eight packs with me. I would hate to run out. This would not be a good time to be jones’ing for a smoke.

  Another angry man in a navy uniform walked up to us. He said he was petty officer something. He was pissed because nobody told him about us. He wasn’t sorry that we had to wait all day, he was mad at us for being here. It turned out that we weren’t all here. Five of the group went in search for food. We tried to point that out, but the petty officer wasn’t listening. He ordered us, “Worms, get on the bus!” The bus was waiting outside. He told us to run, he walked and we waited for him at the bus.

  The bus was huge, gray and had seats for sixty eight people. The five of us find seats away from each other; I had the feeling that having space to myself is going to end soon.

  We drove from the airport to the base navy boot camp. It is surrounded by a twelve foot chain link fence. It has barbed wire netting that leaned out to the public. We drove through the guarded gates. I feel like I took my last breath of freedom. There were parking lots everywhere. Parking lots without painted parking stripes. Sailors marching, sailors walking, sailors getting yelled at. Not many cars just the bus. We crossed over a bridge and into a different tall chain link fenced area. I notice the barb wire netting leaned in to the inhabitants, like a prison. This can’t be good.

  The bus passed through the gate and drove to a large barracks. The bus guy tells us to fall into a line and we sort of walk to the front of the building. He tells us to stand and wait. We did. He went into an office. After the obligatory wait he came out with another petty officer. This new guy was even more pissed off than guy number one.

  He was ranting and raving about how he wasn’t expecting us in till tomorrow. Why the hell did he bring us now? The first guy wasn’t having any of it, he told the second guy it’s his problem. Then they realized that there should be eleven of us. They decided to blame us for the missing sailors. That’s right we should have kept track of them. We should have said something because we knew they were missing. We were lower than worm shit. And that was because we were in boot camp. To lose our fellow sailors was lower than that.

  After the petty officers exchanged remarks they agreed, someone other than themselves fucked up. The first guy drove off in the bus. Petty officer number 2 was still mad as hell. He told us to disappear and come see him in the morning. I told him we had not eaten all day and were told that we would get food when we arrived here. I was told tough shit lad! The petty officer walked to his office and slammed his door behind him.

  We looked at each other and decided to look around. We were in a two-story barracks. The main floor had a center stair well and four separate big barracks rooms. Each room was 200 feet long and 75 wide. Each room was filled with bunk beds and bare mattress. I estimated about 250 bunks per room. The upstairs was the same. Except it had a long 200 feet hallway between rooms, shaped like a H. Somewhere around 3,000 bunk beds and not a person in sight. We all stayed pretty close this time. I chose a spot out of the way, on the second floor in the back. The rest of the guys just gathered to that area.

  We sat around, we felt that this was it, we are here to stay. Whatever the reason that we all came here didn’t matter, we were in this together. Except this one guy Chris. He was older than the rest of us, we were just out of high school. Chris was a dick. He was an older guy looking for respect and wasn’t getting it. When I said I was going to find us some food he told me not to. I told him to mind his own fucking business.

  The three other guys and me took off to find anything we could to eat, candy, popcorn a sandwich anything. On the first floor we could smell food. The smell was coming from behind the door that the petty officer was in. We knocked he didn’t answer. We knocked harder, he didn’t answer. I pounded, he opened the door in a rage. He asked us who the fuck we think we are? How dare we bother him? I told him hunger made a man do strange things. He informed us again that we were not human we were worms or lower. The angry petty officer made us stand at attention in a line in front of his desk. He sat down at his desk and proceeded to finish his dinner. In front of us.

  He slowly took his time, after each mouth full he would look up at us and savor the taste, letting some of the gravy run down his jaw before he slowly wiped it. No sleep for three days. No food for over twenty four hours. A lot of booze. Me standing and forced to watch this SOB. All these factored into what happened next. I felt woozy and started to feel queasy. I began to throw up but I was on empty, it turned into the dry heaves. The guy on the right of me feeling dizzy himself began to dry heave. Marion to the right followed suit. His wasn’t dry.

  Marion’s vomit spewed toward the petty officer. The petty officer couldn’t move fast enough. The vomit sprayed on to his desk, food and him. I fled out the door, into the night, out on the parking lot. I could hear the petty officer yelling bloody murder. You are cleaning this mess up he yelled.” You ruined my chow. You mother fucking worms!”

  I stayed away for a long time. I smoked a few cigarettes in the dark. I snuck back into the Barracks right before I heard Taps. I just made it to my bare mattress when I heard it. Taps is something I have heard before, at funerals, or watching old war movies. It had a different meaning now, it calls to me as a real sailor. Not a kid with a sailor hat. I am on a real navy base. Journal I just barely had time to write this down. I don’t have time to read it, I’m sure it won’t make sense tomorrow. However I will try to keep up this journal. At this moment I think I can sleep, finally. I only make one promise. Although I hear it in every sentence said here in California, I will use the word “boss” only once throughout this whole journal.

  November 23, 1972, Thursday

  I was slightly awake, I could remember part of my dream. I dreamed that it was Thanksgiving. I dreamed that I was in a movie, I was the star. I and my many dream costars were in San Diego. We were lost and hungry. Quickly I realized that it wasn’t a movie. I rolled out of my mattress. My clothes were starting to have an aroma.

  Overnight more young men arrived, about a hundred from what I could see.

  Whoever was in charge sent for help. It was in the form of recruits that were further up the chain. After asking where we are from. They told us they were on their work week. We would get our work week later when we cross over from Worm Island. The only thing I cared about right now was eating, Washing and getting a change of clothes.

  My recruiter in Denver told me not to bring anything with me. The navy would take it from you any way and send it home, everything. I had my clothes; my wallet was empty of money. I had my belt my shoes and my coat. My coat was also my pillow and blanket last night. I looked around at all the new guys and asked the new petty officer. “Did you bring these guys here for us to eat? Or is the navy finally going to feed us?” The recruits were confused. “Inside joke” I said. After we explained yesterday to them, they said, “Big deal that’s nothing the suffering has just begun.”

  They told us we had to muster out in front of the building. Get in line. I’ll write later, food finally, I can’t wait!

  Well I am back it is midafternoon. I am waiting with about 400 guys. We are killing time between lunch and dinner. We are bored. Turns out that all the wings of the barracks had new recruits housed in last night. They just keep coming. In the day light when I lo
ok at the barracks that I am living in. I can see they are the same ones used in numerous WWII movies I have seen. I kid you not. Later.

  What a day we have swelled to about eight or nine hundred sailors all dressed in civilian clothes. They did give us some sheets, blankets and pillows. I could use some soap and tooth paste and a pillow case. We did get a towel and wash cloth, I used it in place of a tooth brush. This building is full of all walks of life. Nine hundred guys walking around, asking over and over, “Where you from?” White guys, black guys, brown guys, yellow guys, young guys, slightly older guys. We have city guys, country guys, mountain guys, and dessert, swamp and beach guys.

  The mob marches to the mess hall this morning where we wait for hours to eat. We wait for hours in till every one of the mob eats. Then and only then, do we get to march back to the barracks. The last guy out gets cussed out pretty bad. We rambled back to the barracks, and the brass had some information for us.

  The thing first and foremost on our mind is do we get Thanksgiving dinner today. We are all ears, the announcement went something like this. “As you know we were not expecting this many recruits. Because of that over sight, the base commander as granted the civilian workers a long holiday weekend. That long week end started yesterday. The civilian work force are the people that process the new recruits. That process will continue on Monday.” That sucks, and the bastard didn’t say anything about Thanksgiving I smell so bad. Later.

  We did get Thanksgiving dinner, it was sliced compressed turkey with gravy and all the fake fixings. It was better than the scrambled powered eggs we eat in the morning. If they could fake bacon and sausage they would. Later.

  November 24, 1972, Friday

  It’s four o’clock in the afternoon, I need to make this entry fast. I heard that the guys in the next wing over had some pot. I have to check it out. I sure would like to get buzzed. This is looking more like a summer camp without activities. Rather than a navy boot camp. There are so many of us now. I estimate about 1200 or more men. Later.