Last time you recalled leaving Westinghouse for the Army.
Yeah. I knew the draft would get me eventually.
So I volunteered for the draft to get it over with. I reported to the designated place. With a bunch of other inductees. They swore us in.
And they issued us all our clothing and stuffed it into a duffel bag.
Then they took us to the place where we would take basic training: Fort Dix, New Jersey.
When we got to Dix we got the first taste of Army discipline. As we got down off the bus we were told to pick up our duffel bags and double-time over to another location. Not walk. Not march. But double-time.
Run?
Right. And with our heavy duffel bags. And then we just stood around until we were told what to do. Hurry up and wait. Again, Army discipline.
And then?
Then we marched to our barracks.
A building lined with double bunks and foot lockers for our stuff. We were First Platoon. One of several in our company. Each of us was told which bunk and locker to take. And do you think they would let us rest for a bit? No way. Our platoon leader, Corporal Leon A., told us to clean up the place. And warned us to do a good job because the company commander, a captain, would come around to inspect the place.
And you did?
We did. At least we thought we did. We dusted. We wiped. Mopped the floor. But when the captain arrived, the first thing he did was get up on a bunk to reach the highest rafter and give it the white-glove inspection.
And?
And he found dust. At least he said hi did. So he told us to clean the barracks all over again. Which we did. Completely. Welcome to the Army, Private Coleman.
How did you hold up to that kind of discipline?
I did okay. ‘Cause I knew they were just training us to take orders. But I was 24 years old. Some of the guys were just out of high school. Maybe even dropouts. And they griped about it.
By the way. I had a camera with me. The film type of years ago. Of course I didn’t get much of a chance to photograph anything, but I did take this one of our company street.
The trooper walking toward me was in our platoon. But you see the guys lined up across the street? They were raw recruits. We, on the other hand, had been in the Army for 3 days already. Old-timers, don’t you know.
I see snow on the ground.
Oh, yeah. It was January. In New Jersey. Plenty cold. But I learned I could take it. Had to. I learned a lot about myself.
Like what?
Like running.
I was never much for running a long distance. Thought I couldn’t do it. But when the sergeant said run, I ran. Or else.
Or else what?
Or else, probably, push-ups. We didn’t like to hear that command, “Drop and give me 20.”
Did you hear that much?
Sometimes. For any infraction. Like being late for formation. Or neglecting to salute a superior officer.
Or if our uniforms didn’t look right. Like a blouse not tucked in correctly. Although, some of that actually was important. Like with our boots.
What about them?
Well, we did a lot of marching.
And other activities. Wore our boots all day. They were on our feet for a long time. So the Army issued us two pairs of boots. And they wanted us to alternate them to give each pair a day to air out and avoid mold or fungus or something.
How could they tell?
It was pretty clever. They had us lace the two pairs of boots differently. One way the laces looked like X’s and the other way they looked straight across. Horizontal.
So, in the morning, we would heard that command, “Attention in the barracks. Fall out in the company street.” Then, when we lined up for inspection, we had better be wearing the right lacing for that day.
Or?
Or a violator would probably have to do the push-ups and go back and change boots.
Any other kinds of punishment?
Not punishments. But just tasks that had to be done. Like, the first day or two, the corporal asked if there were any artists in the group. I didn’t say anything, but another guy spoke up. Do you paint? he was asked. Yes, he said. Okay, he was told. Paint the barracks.
Goes to show you. The old Army adage was right. Don’t volunteer for anything.
Another need was KP. Kitchen Police.
Peeling potatoes?
Well, that’s the stereotypical picture. But there’s more to do in the kitchen to help the cooks do their job. Meals have to be served.
And then there’s the cleanup. You know what I noticed? No sooner had we finished cleaning up from breakfast than we were helping to prepare lunch. It was continuous in the kitchen. Gotta hand it to the cooks.
Hey, here’s a little sidelight for you. Before I went in the Army, I had taken up drinking coffee. And when I did I looked around and saw that everybody was adding milk and sugar. So I thought that was the thing to do.
But then I got to eating in the Army mess hall.
And it seemed the milk and sugar was always down the far end of this long table. And it wasn’t worth the trouble and the wait for it to be passed up the table. So I started drinking coffee black. And I’ve been drinking it that way ever since.
Understandable.
And that’s how great decisions are made.
Well, enough of that. Let’s talk about the training itself.
Okay.
I guess the part I liked the most was target practice. We were each issued a rifle that was designated the M-1.
I read that it had been around since the 1930s. And it was replaced by a newer model a few years after I left the Army.
Figures.
I liked the M-1 well enough, but it had its drawbacks.
Like what?
Mainly, the firing mechanism was so open. If a breeze kicked up some dust, you’d better shield the M-1 or you would have to wipe out the dirt and re-lubricate the mechanism.
Not goof.
No, but I liked it. And I did pretty well at the firing range. I scored well when it came to hitting thr target. You familiar with the three levels of marksmanship?
No.
If you hit the target well enough, you reached the level of Marksman. If you were better you reached Sharpshooter. And the top level was Expert. I reached the middle level of Sharpshooter.
Not bad.
I thought so. But there was another aspect to the firing range. For every one of us firing, there had to be another working the target. Helping with the scoring and patching the target itself, which could get pretty beat up.
What did you do?
We’d be in a pit below the target where we wouldn’t get hit. And we had a stick with a disk on the end, and we would signal to the scorer next to the guy firing where each shot hit the target. And we could pull the target down so we could patch it with stickers between volleys.
What if a shot missed the target completely. Did that ever happen?
Oh, yeah. For each miss we would wave a flag on a stick back and forth
And you know what they called that flag? Maggie’s drawers.
Where did that come from?
Well, you can take your pick of stories. We were told that Maggie was the name of a Fort Dix general’s wife a while ago. But since then I’ve read that the expression goes back to a British beer hall song. Anyway, the flag was something we didn’t want to see when we were shooting. And I didn’t see it too often.
Wan to hear about some other stuff we did?
Sure.
Well, I got to throw live hand grenades. I’d be lying next to a cadre member. Then I’d rise up and throw one.
.
I’d throw a couple of dummies, just to get the hang of it. And then throw a live one. Of course, the trainer was taking a chance, but he knew how to quickly pick up a live grenade and toss it if I should fumble and drop it. Which I didn’t do, fortunately.
It isn’t like, the minute you pull the pin, you have only seconds to get rid of it.
After you pull the pin — that’s the ring that you see — it isn’t “live” until you let go of that lever, which happens when you throw it.
Or drop it.
Yeah, that too. But fortunately I threw it okay.
And here’s a myth-buster for you. We didn’t pull the pin with our teeth John-Wayne-style. We pulled it by sticking the index finger in the ring and yanking.
Got it.
And another fun time was in the gas chamber.
How did that go?
The idea was to show us how to use a gas mask. But also to give us a whiff of what gassing is like. So they line us up outside a little shack where they have the gas jets. They point out that the masks can’t accommodate eyeglasses. So they tell us “put your glasses in a safe place.” Wherever that is.
You have pockets?
Our field jackets have pockets but, in combat, when you’re falling down and rolling over, how safe a place is a pocket? Anyway, we had us go into the gas shack with the masks on, but then they tell us to take them off and sing a song. In other words, open our mouths inside. I did okay, but some of the guys were gasping when we came out.
I’m sure I’ve skipped some other scenes in this thrilling tale of Army Basic Training, but I think that’s enough for this session. Next time I’ll talk about my permanent assignment.
Okay. See you then.