Silhouette of a Soldier (October, 1969))2nd Day of a Soldier))

Silhouette of a Soldier
(October, 1969)

Part Two, to; “Last Moment of Light”


1
Reveille

(It is always the sound of the bugle that awakens one in the morning, called reveille, in the Army, the sound to make formation that begins the day, a signal that it is time to get out of bed, summoned to duty. And all one sees in the morning, as one prepares for the second day of duty is shapes and outlines of military personnel in a camp; or so it was for me.)

Silhouettes, that is all they were to me when I first glanced out the window, 2nd day in the Army, soldiers rushing to get into a standing position in what was called a formation, under the autumn sky; the darkness of morning was lifting, an intense darkness it was, a haunting dark blue sky, extra ordinarily cold for a North Carolina morning, it seemed.
I had noticed in the distance, throughout the day, across a field, a club resided, ‘Enlisted Men’s Club,’ to be exact, so I was told, a bar in essence, or so it would be called in my old neighborhood, in St. Paul, Minnesota (called: ‘Donkeyland,’ by the police for its hardheaded drunks, that lived and died at two corner bars).


2
The EM Club


I was particularly thrilled to have discovered it so close by the group of basic training barracks (mine in particular); whereat, when our two Drill Sergeants, our escorts throughout the day were done with us, disembarking for the evening, but beforehand, let us know they’d return at 10:00 PM, to insure lights were turned off, (which was to them, the very ‘last moment of light,’ to be seen within our barracks, lest we wanted to be disciplined))it was really a curfew in essence)): in any case, disembarking for the evening, this would allow me to make acquaintance with the establishment, the EM club. In outcome, I felt a little at home now, likened to finding you are nearby a church, something familiar, if indeed I was a priest.
As I was saying, or about to say, at 10:00 PM, would be the last moment of light to be seen within our barracks, and we stopped work at 7:00 PM, a very full day; I had woke up at 4:00 AM, not much sleep, I was stiff and cold and only half awake, in the morning, and now, in the evening, exhausted, I had my Army green fatigues on, and moved grimly without speaking to anyone, now after duty hours, after having a quick dinner at the mess hall, moved quickly over the field to where the EM club was, it was 8:15 PM, when I arrived there, par excellence in my quick study of the matter, most all the new soldiers had no idea the club existed. Plus, they were too busy trying to be good soldiers, and I was the second oldest person in the platoon (I learned, the younger the easier one can be led).

As I walked across the field, I told myself, “You’ve never been in an EM club before.” How true this was, but I knew bars well, was drinking in them since I was 16-years old, fighting in them, drinking in them, and getting sick in a few, most are the same, smelly, dingy, and alive or dead, plus, I told myself, “You will know in a short time.” Hence, in a few minutes I was walking through the door of he club, yellow flares went off in my head, I acted like I belong there, I always did when I walked into a bar, a strange bar for sure, I was at the time, just turning twenty-two years old.
The insides of the club were small, and formless, nothing special; mostly square, with figures moving about, to and fro, a crackle of conversations, going on everywhere, seemingly sadly suppressed, abnormal for a bar one could say, not lively at all. I was use to deliciously insane bars I suppose, but nonetheless, I was gulping down my first cold Army beer in no time flat.
Everyone seemed to be wrapped in ghostly Army Green, this was to be, I knew the, an unearthly patch of the world, hereon, and forevermore, save, I remained in the Army. (In years to follow, I’d find bars off bases to cater to, rather than the on base Army Clubs.)
I leaned on the bar, drank down a second glass of cold mouthwatering beer, and stared at nothingness.


3
The Corporal


My elbows now on the bar, I got staring at and out the window, the mist had created a moisture onto the bar window, formed a fogginess on the glass; everyone seemed like talking shadows all linked together around the bar, I recognized no one, especially no one from my platoon, that is, ‘D’ Company, 4th Platoon as they called it, called us. I thought briefly about Smiley, a Private like me, a year younger than I, and from the South, I think he said, Alabama, he was easy to talk to, liked to drink, a friend to be found I pondered, a worthy friend, most people I accepted as acquaintances, and only a few select would I categorize as friends.

“You’re the one,” I heard a voice say next to me, I turned, a stranger, Corporal sat about seven feet from my stool.
“You­­ speak to me?” I didn’t care if he had twenty strips on, bar folks get a few drinks in them and try to command the world, this was neither the time nor place to play chief, I told myself.
“Yaw,” he said, a clean shaven kid, couldn’t be over 19-years old I told myself, but he had a few more strips than I.
“What you want?” I asked somewhat brusquely.
“You’re the one I asked for the time, yesterday, I work in the mess hall, and you could get in trouble for being here, because new soldiers, or new recruits, are not suppose to come here, you got a place down by the PX, and you can’t go to that until the second week you’ve been here.”
“So are you going to tell, or what?” I asked. He laughed a bit, and then smiled, “It’s your head, not mine, if they chop it off, oh well.” And I bought him a beer. In time we’d get to know each other, and he’d even give me excuses to use incase I came back after 10:00 PM, for he worked with the Colonel, often after duty hours.

Soldiers’ First Day (October, 1969)

Soldiers’ First Day (October, 1969)

1
Chapter
The Bus

When we arrived at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, Basic Training, Camp, the Fall of ’69, we were greeted (we, being, a number of us who had come from the Minneapolis, Minnesota’s Army Recruiting Station, now coming off the bus), greeted I say, by cynically sneering, and frankly hyper, drunk looking white sergeants, two of them, with a Forest Ranger, type looking sombreros on their heads, I had my ninety pound duffle bag by my side.
My lip did something like a snicker back at them; my hand did something like a fist.
We were like a little wobbly, staggered train coming off the bus, into camp, forming some kind of a zigzagged line in front of the bus. My captors faced me, two white sergeants (one perhaps in his mid twenties, the other in his mid thirties)) one being a Buck Sergeant type sergeant, the other a Sergeant First Class sergeant, so I would learn these ranks within a few days, this being our first real day in the Army)) they faced us, I should say, stood in front of us as we formed this jagged formation of sorts.
Next, they encouraged us to obey them, as they treated us like criminals with beautiful smiles in-between their sneers.
They grinned, and we grinned, at each other trying to figure out what they were grinning about. Then the engine of the bus stopped, turned off, silence seemed to pass over the bus, onto us, and circle the two Drill Sergeants.
At the same time, the sun was coming down, as the two divine sergeants debated on if we should be allowed to eat dinner, while us new soldiers, smiled at one another appreciatively.



Chapter 2
Mess Hall


Now we were being escorted, if not a bit pushed down a dirt path between two rows of barracks, to our so called destiny, the Mess Hall. I balanced my duffle bag on my shoulders, as they had instructed me, but many of the men couldn’t and so they dragged them, another peeve that would come out later with the two sergeants. As this dragging occurred though, the older sergeant got what I’d call a devilish smile with eyes big as silver dollars, and thus, a few insults reached the ears of the many. That is when I got the smell of their strange cologne, and garlic breath. Several faces (perhaps for the sake of sympathy, so I thought at first) looked out the barrack windows—“What time is it?” a voice said, and eyes looking in my direction, I saw corporal strips on him. I didn’t look at my wrist; I think he wanted me to lose balance of my duffle bag for a laugh.
“I said, what time it is soldier?” the same voice, the same eyes, a rougher tone, said a second time, then it added, in a screaming tone “I’ll see you in the mess hall some time, and then…” he left out what might follow, but he didn’t get the time. I remember thinking: you’d think we were in the middle of a war, or comedy play. I did say something back the second time, something I thought was funny, but not him.

I wasn’t hungry, I had eaten with the few friends I had met in Minneapolis, Minnesota, after getting off the plane, and going to a restaurant, we had a pay voucher for $30-dollars, which in 1969, was a lot of grub, between four or five of us, or enough anyways for a healthy meal, and a small tip.
Hence, our divine hosts were pushing us into the mess hall, seating us, and having us grab excessive portions of food to eat, neither one listening to us, or in particular I, when I said I had just eaten, “Eat anyways so you can’t say we didn’t feed you,” was the reply I kept getting.
As I put down several table spoons of whatever it was eating (and I think I was eating spaghetti), along with some bread and milk, I got thinking this is crazy, and looked for the kitchen, and saw a square opening, window type opening, and saw some soldiers putting their trays through the hole, so I got up, looked at the two sergeants, that were looking at me—somewhat (not paying all that much attention really, and I guess not wanting a confrontation), and the other forty odd solders that got off the bus with me (our duffle bags outside), I aimed my tray at the hole, some several feet away, and tossed it like a spaceship, and it landed perfectly on the other trays, gliding over them like a car gliding over ice, and I headed towards the door, to where my duffle bag would be waiting for me.



Chapter 3
Twilight


My reddish eyes and hair were becoming devouring, as I left the mess hall. I had gulped and swallowed what I could, and was feeling overly full, if not a tinge ill from the lack of sleep, and too much food. And now all this unnecessary control; whatever inspiration I had for the Army was now diminishing. I had an inborn taste for revenge almost.
I stood outside the small mess hall in a pig-like position waiting for our leaders, and the rest of the platoon, it was now twilight. I figured I did my best, though protesting in my own way.
I would notice later on that evening, tears in the eyes of a few soldiers, perhaps irritation in mine. The Army never bothered me, only the disrespect I was feeling, or received. I think bachelors are lucky in the Army, confinement less an issue for them, for married folks, to the contrary.
As I was saying, it was twilight, which now had vanished, and turned into night-night, a dark, heavy blue night. My stomach heavy, and most of us now had come out of the trance like fog we had first found ourselves in getting off the bus, now in the barracks. Digestion was settling, and they, the sergeants were settling us like prey into a lull. We were given our blankets and a pillow, with a few grunts of satisfaction we gave back, we took them, taking pain not to show our defeat, as we smiled at one another, wondering what was next.



4
The Barracks



Strange tongues, forty strange grins, bare hands, white, black and brown faces, and feet belonging to strangers, all among one another. Hands stretched out over the beds. This was a new experience for all of us. The central figures, two sergeants now telling us ‘lights out in fifteen minutes,” and another voice saying,
“…let’s hurry up and get a smoke!”
I looked about at the faces, disagreeable with curiosity, and then looked out the window with itching fingers to have a cold beer, and get on with the show.

Written: 3/30/2007