As I bounced around in the front seat of the truck, we left behind the WWII barracks and entered a new world. The training side of the base was modern and carefully laid out. Brick and stone barracks lined the road. Four barracks were connected in a quadrangle enclosing a large cement courtyard. We offloaded our gear and made a dash to claim our racks, waiting at attention on the sparkling clean floor.
As Recruit Petty Officer Chief (RPOC), I was summoned to our company commander’s office at the end of our floor. He was a Chief Petty Officer with over 20 years service in the UDT and SEAL teams. Since I was interested in UDT, I was excited to hear that. About 5’7’ and wiry thin, he was the strongest person I have ever met.
[Later that week he demonstrated his strength by lifting me completely off the ground with one hand grasping my shirt collar. We had been struggling with a punishment that had us all standing with our rifles in outstretched arms parallel to the floor. When a number of us (including me) began to lower our rifles as our arm strength reached its limit, he picked me up and held me in front of him. I can hold Wasserman here off the ground with one arm longer than you can hold your rifles with two arms!]
During my meeting with him in his office, he began to go over my duties as RPOC. I had been thinking about my new role while riding in the truck. How could I be RPOC if I might be called in by CID and discharged anytime in the next month? I swallowed hard and said, “Sir, you may want to consider someone else for RPOC. I may be pulled out of training in the next few weeks.”
He stared back at me and did not reprimand me. That was a surprise. He stared down at my records in front of him and remarked that there was a note from one of the chaplains that my training might be interrupted. Apparently, the chaplain was respecting my privacy.
I was dismissed from his office and he called in another recruit and made him RPOC. Since we were all the lowest of recruits, no one questioned the change.
Training was a lot more interesting now. Since the wind was so bad, we could not march outdoors. We practiced our close order drill in our barracks or in a gymnasium. Whenever the “Hawk” (the nickname for the gusting winds) was around, we would be allowed to make our way as best as we could when moving from place to place outside. The Hawk made it impossible to march in unison.
Each evening, we would hand wash our skivvies (underwear) and hang them outside on clothing lines in the quad. The wind wasn’t too bad as the buildings protected that inner courtyard, but it was awfully cold as we stood outside in our fresh skivvies and shower shoes trying to carefully tie our ditty-bags (small laundry bags) on to the clothes lines. Without the wind chill, a few of the nights reached 32 degrees below zero. My cold soon became walking pneumonia and I found myself in the nicer hospital on this side of the base.
As I was waiting to be treated by the corpsman, several of the UDT recruits came in with frostbite on their toes. They had been out running in their swimming trunks and barefooted. This was on the same night that it had reached 32 below. Fortunately, none of them lost toes.
The corpsman who had just finished treating them came over to treat me when the UDT company commander came storming in to check on his men. Guess who was their company commander? My old CPO “Wasserman you are a commie-traitor” friend from my first week on base turned to see me sitting on the edge of a bed.
What the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you to get out of my Navy. Corpsman, what is wrong with “Comrade Wimp” here? Has he been telling you how he has this “special relationship with God”? He is a just a weak hippie and a coward.
Wasserman, you had better stay out of the way of my men! If we see you we will run you over!
And with that remark, he spun on his highly polished boots and stomped out of the hospital with his men following him in their swimming trunks and bandaged feet. I watched the UDT recruits and my dream of joining them exit the infirmary.
I returned to my bunk for a night of coughing, humiliation and discouragement about my future in the Navy. I began to hope that I would be discharged and that it would happen soon.
Each morning we were awakened with a recording of reveille and announcements blaring over the PA system. The announcements usually included some sort of rude remarks to make us aware that we were the scummiest of the scum. They would also advise us of the uniform of the day and if the Hawk was out.
Usually, the announcement following the recorded bugle went something like this:
Reveille, reveille! Wake up you mama’s boys. Get your hands off your cocks and into your socks!
This morning there was a variation in this wake-up call. It started normally with something like what I detailed above, but was followed by this addition:
Wasserman, Wasserman. This is God. Wake up!
My “divine wake-up call” was the voice of my old CPO coming from the PA system above my head. My life had entered a new phase—daily harassment by all the company commanders in our quad.
Next: Playing in sand on the beach.
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