Since today is the vernal equinox I'm going to call it: Winter is over and any weather events to the contrary are seasonal flukes and aberrations. In the last week I've noticed a lot of new shoots sprouting from the local shrubbery, so as far as I'm concerned, spring has sprung.
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And where is Old Dog's remembrance of basic training? I am especially interested in how he felt about the goings on.
I've been giving it a lot of thought and I'm still not sure how I felt about it except that it was my first solo journey into the unknown with no clue as to what was coming next. The first day was spent mostly at that big monolithic building on Van Buren with a lot of waiting. I'm sure I had some paperwork with me but I don't recall what it was; we were broken down into groups depending on what branch of service we were in and where we were going next. My recruiter told me I'd probably be going to Fort Leonard Wood for basic training; most of the folks from Chicago went there and all I knew about that place was from a buddy of mine who told me it was dry and dusty but not nearly as bad as Fort Polk. I already heard about Polk from some guys in college and was really glad I wasn't going there. That's when I learned my first lesson about army life: all rumors are bullshit. A big blackboard displayed the destinations for the different groups of army recruits and they were all headed for Leonard Wood, except for one group that was headed for Polk. "Poor suckers!," I thought, until I looked more closely. Oh, shit! Well, nothing to do about that turn of events, is there? As Mr. Beagles stated, we signed up for this.
The whole day was spent waiting, shuffling some paperwork, waiting some more and striking up idle conversations, filled with speculation (and more bullshit). There was a chow hall in the building and I had my first army meal, which was surprisingly good. Late in the day we were herded onto buses and went to O'Hare where we waited some more, sitting on the floor in a corner of the terminal away from the paying passengers. Finally we went through this one door, down some stairs, and on to the tarmac where we walked to a plane and boarded. By then it was after dark and during the flight I was thinking that I could be flying anywhere. Just because I was supposed to be going to Louisiana didn't mean shit; I didn't know what direction I was headed in. For all I knew I could be going to Cuba. But the flight wasn't very long and we landed at England AFB, a short bus ride to Polk, around 2 or 3 in the morning.
More waiting and paper shuffling at the Reception Station, "Sound off when I call your name!" Kind of relaxed, folks just doing their jobs without a lot of pressure. You spend about a week at the Reception Station, getting uniforms, taking tests, shuffling those damn papers, going through medical with it's own array of shots and exams and, of course, that initial haircut. Before that buzz cut we were all civilians and our hair indicated our class and cultural differences; anything over the ears and you were considered a dirty hippy. But once you left the barber you looked just like the next guy and we all laughed and teased each other because we all looked ridiculous. Funny thing is that the haircuts were a great equalizer, breaking the tension and apprehension. We started to pay attention and learn some stuff even though we hadn't begun our training yet, or met our drill sergeants. The fun had not yet begun.
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I'm trying to get a sense of the time frames of these recent posts. Mr. Beagles was in the army from '63 to '66, near as I can tell, and I started my adventure in August of '68. But when were Uncle Ken's shenanigans in Champaign? It has to be around that same time, I think, maybe '66 or '67?
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