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