November in Chicago—not the best time to show up for Navy Basic Training! As the bus full of new recruits unloaded at the entrance to the Great Lakes Naval Training Center, the first thing I noticed was the wind. I had gone to school in Wisconsin, so cold and snow didn't bother me. But, as I stepped onto the pavement, I was almost blown over by a gust of wind.
After the obligatory screaming by Navy personnel greeting us, we were lined up and marched off in a bit of a shuffle to get outfitted for our new lives. We worked our way through long lines of tables where we were handed dungarees, denim shirts, socks, belts, underwear and other bits and pieces that we hurriedly stuffed into duffle bags called "sea bags." While halfway through the lines, my sea bag was already overflowing. Since we weren't given the time to carefully pack everything away, I found myself dragging the bag with other items piled on my outstretched arms.
My problems began when I came to the window for my new navy shoes and boots. I was a size 13 and that was kind of rare back in the 60s. I was given boots that reached just above the ankle and dress shoes. I was not given time to try them on. It was only later that I was to find out that the shoes were way too tight for my 13-D width. The largest they had in dress shoes was a 13-C. Fortunately, I would not have many occasions to wear the dress shoes. My boots were a different story. They were too wide and my feet slipped around in them. Blisters became my constant companion.
My father had the same large feet, only larger (14-C). When he went through Basic also at Great Lakes, he had to wear his civilian shoes for a couple of weeks while they special ordered his shoes. Since he was only 17 when he enlisted and was a high-school dropout from a poor family, I can't imagine that he could afford very comfortable civilian shoes, especially for all the marching and running that you do in basic training.
The next step in the process was a dental exam. The Navy has always had top-notch dental care. Of course, this was my moment to shine! I quickly found myself in an exam chair surrounded by officers. It seemed like the entire Great Lakes dental team wanted to see my mouth. I was missing 7 adult teeth. They just never grew in. As such, I had extensive bridgework, much of which was cutting-edge for 1969.
After my starring role in the dentist's chair, having already visited wardrobe (!), I was marched off to have my hair done Navy style! We are all familiar with the buzz cut that is the proud possession of every new recruit. Of course, I was a long-haired hippie . . . but, I got haircut in Louisville before getting on that bus. I didn't need anyone to know that I had been a hippie. Basic was going to be difficult enough without drawing that kind of attention to myself! Little did I know that it would be my newly discovered faith in Jesus that would draw all kinds of the wrong attention. More of that later!
I had made a few acquaintances standing in line that day, but once we came away from the barbers, we all looked alike. I couldn't tell anyone apart. We had to reintroduce ourselves over the next couple of days. Since we all had shaved heads and were wearing the same uniforms, skull shapes, mouths, ears and noses became the easiest way to pick out acquaintances in a crowd. Since I had a nose that was a little more prominent than most of my gentile compatriots, I was easy to find. Just look for the guy with a big nose and big feet—that would be me!
Somewhere along the way they sent us to the mess hall. Finally, at about 10:30 pm, we were marched off to our new barracks home. While on the "processing" side of the base, until we were formed into companies and marched to the "training" side of the base, we would be housed in ancient wooden barracks. When comparing notes with my father, I discovered that I was in the same barracks that he had been in during his training in 1943. These buildings were o-l-d!
This drafty old building was the source of my first real problem. The first evening there, I came down with a terrible cold. Colds are trouble for all of us, but here I was trying to stand at attention, march, and drill with a rifle, etc., while sniffling, sneezing, and trying to sneak in an occasional wipe of my nose.
The next morning, I had to go for sick call. That drew the wrong kind of attention to me. Our chief petty officer (CPO) pulled each one of us out of the sick call line to determine just what our excuses were! When he got to me, he growled, “What the hell is wrong with you, you skinny wimp? I bet you are one of those freaks who trying to get out of serving his country. Give me 50 pushups, you skinny traitor!”
After struggling through about 20 sloppy pushups, he yanked me to my feet: “ You are just a weak skinny thing aren't you? What is your problem?”
I responded, “I hab a cod, sir.”
“You have a what? You can't even talk right, you freak—get out of my face and get over to the corpsman. You better not goof off anymore. I am gonna be watching you!”
Still suffering the next morning, I was in the sick call line again. Guess who was there to greet me? Yep!
By this time, I was so full of cold that I was a walking Kleenex vending machine. I had tissue stuffed in every pocket. I was coughing, sneezing and drooling—you know the symptoms. But one symptom that I had never experienced before was severe dizziness, and the beginnings of what felt like the onset of an LSD trip. Now, I hadn't had any LSD, marijuana or even a beer in 6 months. I ended up at the base hospital, but didn't say anything about what had to be a "flashback."
The next few days were spent in drilling with our rifles, learning to salute, march and studying various manuals. We had to memorize our "standing orders" which I found to be easy, and in some ways, I began to excel as a recruit. Learning rifle drills, marching and memorization were all easy for me. I just couldn't shake this darn cold and the periods of dizziness seemed to be increasing. I was also experiencing frightening dreams that kept me from resting at night. I relived bad LSD trips in my dreams and could not seem to wake up from them quickly in the morning. It was like I was being drugged at night and awakening with a hangover. And each morning I would take my place in the sick call line. I missed breakfast due to sick call for about two weeks.
We had a series of lectures by representatives from different elements of Navy life. I was very interested in the lecture on Underwater Demolition Teams (UDT). I had always been a strong swimmer and used to experiment with how long I could hold my breath underwater. The elite UDT teams attracted me. After I finished the first part of my basic training, I might be able to move over to UDT training. That excited me.
Other lectures concerned personal hygiene. The Navy was strong on this. Aboard ship we would be sleeping with our faces only a few inches from someone else's backside. Fresh water would be limited while at sea, so we had to learn how to take showers the Navy way, turning the water off and on between washing and rinsing. We had a lecture from one of the base chaplains. This chaplain was from the Pentecostal denomination, the Assemblies of God. Of course, he wasn't talking to us about spiritual matters, but about personal matters and offering the counsel of the Chaplaincy if we should ever need it.
A lecture that caught me by surprise was one by one from the CID (Criminal Investigation Division). Of course, I hadn't ever been in trouble with the law, and because I had at one time considered becoming a lawyer, I was very interested in what he had to say. As he was wrapping up his lecture about all the ways we could get into trouble and recommending we stay out of trouble, he added a comment that made me sit bolt upright:
“If any of you made any false statements on your application to join, we will find out about you and kick your butt out of our Navy.”
Remember that this was during Vietnam and most people were drafted straight into the Army. Not everyone could get into the Navy. You had to "qualify" and the standards were much stricter than today. Just before I was officially sworn into the Navy at the recruiting station in Louisville, I had to fill out some last minute paperwork to attest that I hadn't been arrested. Well, it turned out that I had been arrested in July for sleeping overnight in a condemned building during a thunderstorm.
There was a field where hippies and others were allowed to sleep on the outskirts of Boulder, Colorado. I had left my tent at a friend's apartment that morning and did not have time to go back to retrieve it before nightfall. So, I rolled out my sleeping bag in the field. When it began to rain heavily around midnight, all of us took refuge in a youth hostel that was still under construction next to the field. Stumbling around in the dark and rain, we did not see the small two foot square sign out front that prohibited entry. We just walked through the open spaces where walls were planned and sheltered ourselves under the section that had roofing.
About 4:00 the next morning we were awakened by a half-dozen police officers and carted off in a bus to jail. I spent the rest of the morning in a jail cell and found myself before a judge just before noon. I happily pleaded guilty to "sleeping in a condemned building," paid a $36 fine and was on my way.
Sitting in the Navy recruiting station, just before I was sworn in and got on the bus for Great Lakes, I put all those details on the sheet of paper before me. So, I was good, right? Well, yes, but I suddenly remembered that there was a question about drug usage on the original set of recruiting papers that I had filled out just after returning from my 7 days in May trip to Santa Cruz. I had answered that I had never used drugs. No one in their right mind, or even in their wrong mind would ever answer positively about drug use. Drugs were illegal and society was not as forgiving about recreational drug use as it is today.
I walked out of that meeting thinking that there was no way anyone could prove that I had smoked marijuana or taken LSD. I had never been caught—I was fine. But as my cold refused to get better and the dreams/flashbacks continued, I found myself once again in the sick call line with my favorite chief petty officer.
I asked if it would be possible to have a chat with the chaplain about a personal matter. His eyes drilled through my head as he screamed: “You weakling! I bet you are one of those conscientious objectors trying to get out of serving! Are you a conscientious objector, you wimp?”
“No, Chief Petty Officer sir. In fact, I am a born-again Christian, and as a Christian, I believe it is my responsibility to serve and to be the best sailor in the company.”
“Oh really! I am a Christian too, boy. I am an elder in my church. What church do you belong to?” He actually had a smile on his face and a pleasant tone in his voice. Maybe I wasn't such a wimp after all.
“I am not a member of any established church sir. I just was born-again a few months ago and was in a Christian commune that had some contacts with the Christian World Liberation Front.”
Oy! That was a mistake. The smile left his face replaced by a scowl worse than any I had seen before.
“The Christian World Liberation Front? I know all about them. I live in San Francisco. They are just a Communist front organization. You aren't a Christian—you are a Commie!”
“You go on and see the chaplain you miserable sack of crap! I hope he gets you out of my Navy!”
The next day, I found myself in the office of that Pentecostal chaplain. Now, the Jesus freaks I had known had been anti-charismatic. They believed that anyone who spoke in tongues or preached about "signs, wonders and healing" was dangerous to me as a young disciple. But this was a Navy officer and my only chance to clear my conscience about having lied on my application.
I began with the dreams and what I believed were flashbacks. He counseled me that prayer was the best prescription for dealing with these terrifying experiences. He said, "I am sure that when you pray that the Holy Ghost will come upon you and help you." He asked me if I was currently using drugs. I explained that this had all been pre-enlistment, but that I was worried that the flashbacks and my trips to the hospital might lead to my application falsehood being discovered.
He thought for a minute and then asked me to give him a day to look into the ramifications of it all. He would arrange for another appointment the following day.
Oh joy! Just what I needed! Another day facing my CPO about another appointment with the chaplain!
To my amazement, I had a different CPO the next morning. My growling/scowling CPO had gone to the training side of the base with his new company of recruits. So, when the chaplain's office called for me, it was no big deal.
When I got to his office, the chaplain had his serious face on. “Son, it looks like you are going to have to come forward with the information about your drug use. And, it may mean that you cannot stay in the Navy. Now, there is a drug rehab program that will be starting, but it may not be in time for you to take advantage of it.”
“You will go on with your training, but at some point, you may have to talk with CID. Now don't worry, since you are coming forward on your own accord, this will not go against you or your record. You would be discharged under ‘honorable conditions.’ This may take about a month, so just go on with your training and do your best.”
Let's be honest here. I was of two minds, one that drove me to do my duty to my country and the other that said, "I can get out of the military? Great!"
Within the week, we were assembled with our fully-loaded sea bags and ready to meet our new company commander who would take us to the training side of the base. As we stood at ease with our sea bags at our sides, our commander asked for those who had any college credits.
When mine was the only hand raised, he called me out of the formation to talk:
“Recruit Wasserman! Your records say you have over two years of college. You are tall—that's good. You will be our Recruit Petty Officer Chief (RPOC). Have your men hoist their sea bags on the shoulders and move out single-file to the vehicles over there. You ride in the front of the truck as RPOC.”
Well, this was an interesting development! I had gone from being a commie wimp to the chief recruit, responsible for the 120 men in our training company. Now, if I could just figure out how to get this incredibly heavy sea bag onto my shoulder! The CPO showed me how to put my foot under the bag to kick/hoist it onto my shoulder. I did it once, but had to set it down to show everyone else how. I was very skinny. I used to have to run around in the shower to get wet! If I turned sideways you couldn't see me! Well, not that skinny, but I didn't have a lot of upper body strength in those days. While everyone else was trying to get their bags on their shoulders, I just dragged mine over to the truck and the driver grabbed it, and with a smirk on his face, tossed it in the back of the truck. I climbed in the front with him and we were off!
We are not quite ready for our day on the frozen beach. First we need a divine wakeup call.
Next: 15 — Wake-up Call from Above (Great Lakes: Nov 1970)
