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  After getting woke up by hearing reveille or the yelling from the petty officers and their annoying assistant recruits in the morning, we roll out of bed. They insist that I call it a rack. I would rather sleep in a bed than a rack. We get 30 minutes to use the biggest bathroom I ever saw and ever will. Picture this; I walk into room with one entrance it is 100 ft. by 75 ft. It has no doors just a single opening 20 feet wide. Twenty five feet from the back wall jets out a third wall, it runs from the back wall 65 feet straight up to the entrance separating the room. On the far left wall are sinks and mirrors. Fifty sinks and mirrors. To the right of the sinks and running the length of the floor are fifty toilets, directly behind those toilets were fifty more toilets facing the opposite way. The toilets are six inches apart, no walls, and no doors. Those second set of toilets faced another row of toilets attached to the wall that ran in between the bathroom.

  On the other side of that jetting wall are the showers. It has an opening 25 ft. and a six inch concrete lip on the floor to hold back the water. The room must have a hundred shower heads. It was a surreal experience to say the least. Men craping one foot to either side of you, behind you and in front of you. If not craping, pissing. The stench was like no other. I could see and hear things I hope to forget. Luckily for me I can hold it for two or three days. By now this bathroom is starting to get pretty rank. Too many people using it and nobody cleaning up.

  Once I finish navigating the bathroom I get myself in the breakfast line. If you don’t have your butt in line by 6:30 a.m. you don’t get to go eat.

  The ranks have swelled so much we resemble more of a peace march than a military one. They try to make us march correctly, the seven or eight petty officers and friends. We are a large mob. They are dogs barking around the perimeters. When I’m in the middle I can’t hear or understand a word they say. I get left, right, left, company halt those are easy. About-face, left face hut, right quarter face hut, what the hell is that.

  We stand there for an hour or two. They tell us to separate ourselves by arm’s length, front and sides. They make us stand for a while longer. They tell us to march, we walk, and we talk. They yell. “Shut your piehole worm.” Then they move on to scream at someone else, we talk again. It takes the whole mob 45 minutes to reach the cafeteria, oops the Mess Hall, it is a mess.

  I waited in formation for another hour just to get in the building. By the time I get my food and sit to eat it’s been three hours. Waiting in line for everyone to finish and rambling back to the barracks takes another hour and a half. We eat, we get an hour or less in between then we do it again, three times a day. Later.

  It’s eight in the evening, and I haven’t found any pot. I keep hearing about it, I hear all sorts of story’s and rumors, but no pot. Later.

  November 25, 1972, Saturday

  I like taps, it tells me it’s time to dream I can be somewhere else. I am writing this late at night. I am using the moon light. I am supposed to be in my bunk (rack) I need to be careful because the stripes have tripled the recruits that patrol us at night.

  Last night after dinner I took a shower. My cloths might stink but I can prevent mold from growing on my skin. I washed my underwear by hand. I hung them on my bunk so they would be dry in the morning. I will never know if they dried, they were stolen. They were yellowish and had a hole in them. I guess somebody needed them more than I did.

  This morning was different than the others. There were three times more people yelling at us. There was a sense of urgency to the screaming. The barracks were packed. Men were sleeping on the floors. I had to guard my bunk, if I left it for very long a new recruit would try to occupy it. Fights broke out constantly. I hoped the stench of my cloths mixed with the sheets was a good deterrent. If it wasn’t my own stink, I wouldn’t get near my own bunk. Unfortunately I wasn’t the only guy to suffer from body stink. Over half of us reeked.

  After we rambled back from breakfast they made us stand in formation. After standing for a time we could see why they were holding us. They were tearing apart the barracks looking for drugs, good luck I have been looking from the day I arrived. We stood in line in till it was time to march to lunch. They were finished with the search when we rambled back from lunch. The barracks were trashed, it looked like a tornado blew through. They didn’t find any drugs.

  Before we could get out of formation they had us count off. One to ten. The first person says. “One” The next is two and down the line to the number ten, then it starts over. The ones gather here. The twos there. The threes. You get the idea. They separated us into work parties, then they turned us lose on the barracks. I was given a broom and told to sweep the outside. By the time we finished, the barracks was spotless. I wish I was, the work made me even more sweaty and smelly. Later.

  I could not stand it anymore. I went to the so called master-at-arms. I demanded that he find me a change of clothes or direct me to a laundry facility. This was a big mistake, I didn’t have a chance to inform him that my recruiter assured me that I did not need a change of clothes, or how undignified it was to wear the same cloths for four days. He never heard these points because he was standing over me, yelling how I was lower than worm shit and I had no rights at all. He was having so much fun that his fellow stripes joined in. I had one in each ear yelling and one in my face. I couldn’t understand any of them. What I did understand is, I am ordered to scrub one of the barracks bathrooms, by myself. It was just cleaned, but with four thousand guys, it gets filthy quickly. They led me to the latrine (bathroom) and said I needed to finish cleaning it by the time we formed to eat dinner (they used the word “chow”).

  I am used to cleaning, after all my family had an industrial cleaning service company. I started cleaning at age 13. When I finished cleaning the latrine I smelled worse than a nasty unflushed toilet. I said, “Fuck it.” I got under a shower with my clothes on. I lathered up my clothes and rinsed, I repeated it for good measure. It felt good, I felt clean. I was wet but I was clean. What are they going to do send me home?

  I went to put away the cleaning tools. My plan was to get outside to dry before I was spotted. I saw the master-at-arms he noticed that I was soaked he wasn’t happy or amused. Note: I don’t think this guy can be amused. Was he impressed by my ingenuity? No those weren’t the words that came out of his mouth, I heard. “You fucking maggot shit! No! You are lower that a maggot shit.” And of course when one stripe starts to scream the others come running to join in. It was six stripes to one, me. I stood as straight as I could and stared straight ahead as I was told. They tagged teamed me for how long I don’t remember. I do remember the end results. They made me stay standing in the hall for a period of forever. That’s what they said, “Maggot get your ass out in the hall and stand at attention, forever!” Those were his words. I was hungry but I knew that food was not going to happen.

  As I stood there I was asked two questions by every recruit that walked by. “Where are you from?” And. “How do I get my cloths clean?” Far be it from me to stop the race to cleanliness.

  I told anybody that would listen. “Get in the shower soap up rinse, run around the parking lot and dry off. Don’t forget to spread the word.” I said, “Chiefs are fine with it. They don’t want to be bothered. Am I being punished for it? No! This is for something else.”

  It didn’t take long for the word to spread. It was thirty minutes to formation, the dinner trek. I could hear the showers running. There was no time to run for dryness so they got in line for dinner, wet.

  As the stripes were barking orders at the mob, fruitlessly attempting to get straight lines, they slowly noticed something strange. A few hundred recruits were drenching wet. Water was dripping like a leaky faucet from some of them. After huddling in conference they decided to root out any recruit found wet. They marched the dry recruits to eat. The wet recruits were reassembled and sent to march in circles, forever. They marched I stood there as before.

  The rumbling of over four thousand men could be heard a long t
ime before they arrived. When they did arrive I don’t think that they paid attention to the wet men marching aimlessly on the endless, parking lot. They damn sure didn’t pay attention to my plight. Rumors run fast in the military. Some faster than others. The rumor that you were allowed to take a shower with your clothes on, to get them clean, spread like wild fire. The rumor for the case against cleaning your cloths in the shower and feel the wrath of the stripes was slower to get around. By the time the stripes could shut it down over half the men have laundered in the shower. After getting control, a recruit was stationed at each shower entrance. The master-at-arms had 2,400 wet young men to deal with and he wasn’t happy.

  Night was coming. When the civilians went on holiday they shut off the heat. It was steam heat, produced from a steam plant on the other side of the base. It takes 24 hours to get enough heat to make a difference. We weren’t deemed important enough to have heat at night, the days were warm enough. Now he had a problem and he thinks I was the reason.

  Maggot and lower than maggot were the prevailing words yelled at me. I also heard words to the effect that the officer of the day was on his way and I was in trouble. I stood standing forever like they ordered.

  The officer arrived he looked me up and down. I was dry by now.

  “Is this the lad?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir, this is the worm that caused all the trouble, sir,” he replied.

  I had three stripes standing to my left, the officer to my front, the master-at-arms standing in the doorway to my right, I stared forward. I was flabbergasted by all the attention I have drawn. I wanted to laugh, I knew better. The officer looked at the master-at-arms. “Let’s talk, Chief.” They walked into the office. I could hear them.

  “What proof do you have that this is his doing, Roy?” the officer said.

  “I just know he did it” was the answer.

  “Look, Roy, you yourself told me he has been standing here all afternoon and evening.”

  I could not make out what the master guy was mumbling. I could hear him being cut off. “I don’t have time for the paperwork involved here, Roy. Unless you can prove he started this, we have nothing. Stand this lad down.” He turned and proceeded to exit, he stopped to give me a look of disdain, and he walked away. The master-at-arms called me into his office, the other strips were staring daggers at me. He told me I was dismissed. I walked away as quick as I could.

  So here I am trying to write all this down before I get caught. And get a smoke in. I think I hear a patrol coming I have to go. Later.

  November 26, 1972, Sunday

  Its afternoon and we just rambled back from the mess hall (cafeteria). Today I am with the crew that cleans the Latrine (bathroom). You know the place with sinks and commodes (toilets) and tile walls. (Bulk heads) We get extra yelled at if we don’t use correct navy terminology. Everybody screams at us. Chiefs, petty officers, recruits on work week. The only difference is the recruit’s cloths don’t fit. Dark blue pants. Blue work shirt and white undershirt, all two sizes too large. I call them baggy pants. They have little authority but more than us. We are constantly reminded that we are lower than worm shit. The theory is if worm shit could talk and wear a uniform it would be our superior. That’s pretty fuckin low.

  They put a TV in each wing. It’s football season. The twenty baggy pants that oversee each wing loves this. A twelve-inch black-and-white TV and twenty baggy pants sitting and standing in front of the TV. None of us recruits ever hardly see the TV. Theft incidences went up, as they watch the TV day and night. Who could blame them they haven’t seen a TV in seven weeks. I rolled up my coat to try and make a ball. I tried to play football on the Tarmac (Unstriped parking lot). They shut us down on account it looked like too much like a riot. We spent our days talking in groups, marching to eat and back, cleaning, listing to rumors and searching for drugs that we couldn’t find. Later.

  It’s almost time for taps. Earlier, before dinner a couple of buses drove in, followed by a navy chauffeur driven car. It was followed by a civilian limo. The first bus carried seventy or eighty young men. The second bus carried the press, reporters and cameras. The navy car carried top navy brass. The Limo carried a US Senator and a Congressman. They all got out of the buses and cars. They marched in unison. The young men were ordered to gather in a formation. They stood at full attention. Cameras were catching all the action. Panning between the men, the navy brass and the congressional guys. It was a great show. Now I see how it’s done, that marching thing. These guys know what they were doing.

  Turns out, this is a Texas Company. Every one of them are from Texas. It was a staged event. The Congressional people from Texas needed a publicity stunt for votes to support the war. The opposite of our antiwar marches. They went on a state wide recruiting effort aimed at high school ROTC programs. Join now and be part of a Texans only company of ROTC recruits. Friends joined together, brothers joined together, cousins joined together and all the 18 year olds in whole small towns joined together. Once they had the number they needed they did a state wide bus tour. It’s the government’s way to showcase fresh fodder for the war.

  After the tour they had a televised swearing in ceremony, followed by a plane ride and here they are. They even brought their own flags, two of them, bless their patriotic hearts. A Texas state flag and a flag that looks homemade and tells some sort of story. I could give a crap. It’s is dinner time and this bullshit is holding us up.

  When the press and the Brass left with the politicians the trouble began. Seems that there was no room at the Inn. No problem for the stripes. They just took a portion of a wing. They designated the number of bunks they needed and told the occupants to move their crap out in ten minutes. After ten minutes anything left behind was tossed. Some of the displaced occupants were also from Texas, nobody cared, just move it.

  To add more insult they made us wait in formation. We were already late for the dinner march because of the press. Now we were waiting for the Texas Company to get settled in. 4000 guys instantly hating Texans even the Texans with us hated them. When they did come out they went to the head of the formation. Nobody cared that they knew how to march. Nobody cared that they knew how to stand at parade rest. Nobody cared that they had flags and flag carriers. We cared that they appeared to be getting better treatment than the rest of us.

  They didn’t pay any attention to us when they formed in front of us. They looked cocky when they got to go into the mess hall and eat before us. They felt superior when they stood at perfect parade rest. What they didn’t realize is, first man in means you wait for the last man out. In spite of the screaming and the yelling we ate extra slow. We used the mess hall latrine to the point that we over flowed the toilets, thus causing further delay. We were ordered to clean it up by the mess hall’s master-at-arms. Nobody left until it was spotless. We took our time.

  It wasn’t a single person or persons that decide to do this. We all collectively knew it needed to be done. It took a toll on the Texan Company. A world wind day, a bus ride, a plane ride, the fan fair and standing at parade rest for five hours was too much. Two of them passed out, the rest looked to follow. I’m sure these guys are alright. Once that they hear of the crap we put up with here they’ll come off their high horse. Later.

  November 27, 1972, Sunday

  The rumor of the day is don’t eat the green Jell-O it has the sulfur (they change it from day to day so we don’t know which food it is in). Too much sulfur will kill you, the right amount prevents us from getting horny. That’s what they tell us.

  I get to watch the TV at news time. Not many guys are interested. I see that Nixon is escalating the war again. He plans to conduct the largest military buildup in history. He wants to deploy an overwhelming force. It’s happening now, this is part of that plan to build up the number of troops. Gas is up to 75 cents a gallon from 25 cents six month ago. Something about an arrested burglar that works for the president. After the news its dinner time. Later.

  Those that
wanted to go to church should get into a formation. Six hundred guys decided to take them up on the offer. Before they could march away their bunks were being stolen. Some of the guys that were sleeping on the ground figured since these guys were good Christians they wouldn’t mind giving up their beds. Some of those good Christians didn’t see it that way. When they came back. Fights broke out through the barracks. The Baggy Pants couldn’t control it. Some of them were dragged into the fights. Things calmed down when the stripes showed up in numbers.

  The fights stopped but the snarling and the growling carried on. The stripes couldn’t make out who slept where so they declared “If you have it now it’s yours.” They declared this incident over and went down to their office.

  My bunk was with the group that was here first. We knew who was who. We watched out for each other’s bunks. The newer people were in a no man’s land. Guys missed lunch and dinner to guard their bed that day. It’s a mini war. It is the military after all.

  I just did my first navy holiday, it sucked. Christmas is in four weeks, Oh Boy. Four or five weeks after Christmas I graduate from this hell known as boot camp. Rumor has it after graduation we get two weeks leave, then we go to where ever our schools are. The other rumor I saw on the news. “Nixon threatens to cancel Christmas.” Nixon thinks because of the gas shortage Americans should not put up Christmas lights and displays. It is a waste of energy he says. What a knob he is. Does not the madness end? Who said that? If nobody did then someone should have. I think I am going insane. Time for a smoke and then hit the rack. Later.

  November 27, 1972, Monday

  It seemed like I had just fallen asleep when the barracks blew up with stripes, and baggy pants. They over whelmed us, they seemed to be everywhere. It was 3:30 in the morning. The screaming and the yelling were over whelming. Most of the recruits would do anything to make it stop. A recruit across the way spoke up, I think his name was Doug. “I’m sorry, ya all, I can’t hear you. Did you want something?” Within seconds he was surrounded by seven stripes. Spit and foul words flew everywhere. They weren’t in any mood to tolerate a smart ass. Then Doug said, “I’ll take that as a yes.” I couldn’t help but laugh. What he said was sarcastically funny. I thought I was laughing only on the inside, I wasn’t. Half of them jumped on me like stink on shit. “You think that’s funny you lowlife worm.” I was informed that, they were not here for my amusement. I am here for their amusement. They don’t find me very amusing because a lad lower than worm shit isn’t funny. They went on and on between the two of us for five minutes or more.