This was all just a couple of days before the picnic began.  We had to wait for assignments to a company.  We did police calls, night watch and talked of what we might expect.  The rumor was already going around about the one dreaded shot we’d be given.  It sounded like a story you get when a fresh face starts to work for carpenters and they tell you to go get a board stretcher.  There is no such thing.  But with a bunch of new guys we were already wondering which meal it was that we ate containing saltpeter.  The dreaded shot was supposedly the “square needle in the left nut” shot.  After we started getting shots I almost think sometimes I maybe could endure that one better than a couple of the ones I did get.

Well, the time came.  We gathered up our duffle bags, donned our baseball caps and headed for formation.  Everyone up to this point had been somewhat bearable.  Go here, go there, do this, do that in a forceful, yet respectful manner.  After all, losing my hair and civilian clothes was shock enough let alone they made me a couple of pair of bcg’s.  The glasses that are so ugly a woman would leave you alone.  The letters stand for “birth control glasses”.  I think they didn’t come until I was in my company.

We were all standing in an informal formation when three trucks with cattle trailers pulled up.  The gates were let down and we were told to get on.  We were headed for our training company.  Excitement was beginning to mount.  Everyone’s ears and eyes were very aware of all that was going on.  The trucks took off toward our eight weeks of hell.

In a matter of ten to fifteen minutes standing in the back of a cattle trailer shoulder to shoulder with other apprehensive young men brought us to the end of any semblance of civilian life.  The trucks all turned onto a side street and began to creep along.  We were all looking ahead to about halfway the street to the next corner and there on the left side stood five or six drill sergeants with their hats all cocked forward with hands on hips and feet apart in a stance that looked menacing enough to not want to get off the truck.  Maybe it was all a mistake by my draft board.  Maybe if I just went back with the trucks and explained to the staff at the reception center I wasn’t supposed to be here they would send me back home.  But nope, that’s not what happened.  The brakes squealed to a stop and those drill sergeants were at the back of our trailer opening the gates and began screaming obscenities that could only be delivered by the saltiest of salts, although they were Army.  They were ordering us out of “their” truck.  They were saying things like “What are you doing on MY truck?!”, “Get off my truck!”, what are you still doing on MY truck?!”   And they were saying it repeatedly as each one of us grabbed our duffle bags and stumbled off the truck.  As we got off there was no standing around.  There was a big wide open area we were directed to get in immediately in no uncertain terms.  There were white marks on the pavement and we were told to each find one and stand on it.  This was the first formation of Company C, 2nd Training Brigade, 2nd Battalion.  Company Captain Douglas Neiford came out of the company administrative building and we were ordered to stand to attention.  Well, stand to attention the best we knew how at that moment.  The enthusiasm was there to do so, but the proper order of doing so was quite lacking.  After all it was our first call to attention for an officer.  Captain Neiford began to address us as new recruits and was quite harsh to us.  I had an old man who could be quite harsh at times, so I pretended it was him.  It made it more bearable.  Each of the drill sergeants were introduced to us and my first one for the 4th platoon was just a buck sergeant, but I don’t remember his name.  See about for weeks later he was busted for a fight in town and we got a replacement.  I didn’t forget his name.  He was a little Italian guy about five feet three inches tall.  If he yelled at any of us he had to get a stool to see us eye to eye or we’d just look down at him.  His name was SSgt Anthony Cifelli.  But let’s get back to that first day.  Once the formalities were done with the Captain we were directed to our barracks and separated into squads in the platoon and assigned bunks.  Mine was with my platoon leader and I was top bunk.  My platoon leaders name was David Owens.  Before you start wondering how I remember names so well remember this.  I still have my book with all the pictures of everyone in my company to this day.  To give you some ideas of some of the people we even had a guy names Richard Cunningham.  Okay, Richie Cunningham for those of you who remember The Fonze and Potsie.  But we had a guy named Richie, like in Happy Days.

After we dumped our duffle bags our drill sergeant ordered us back outside to sit around him in front of the barracks building.  Here he gave us the speech about for the next eight weeks he’d be our mommy, our daddy, our brother, our sister, but he wasn’t going to be our girlfriend or wife.  A small chuckle came from the group, but with a hard look from him, we shut up pretty quick.

The next day was the baseline day for us.  The lights came on early, yelling at us to get our butts out of bed and get dressed and outside for formation in five minutes.  I don’t think I’d ever gotten dressed so quickly in all my life.  It would take me that long to get on those combat boots laced up and my fatigue pants bloused.  But in five minutes there we were, stumbling out to the company area.  The most rag tag bunch you’d ever seen.  Some still buttoning shirts, putting in shirt tails in, some stooping to finish lacing boots, and some still yet trying to figure out how to fasten the new fangled belt buckle that was make to fit any waist.  Well, at least one thing.  We didn’t have to worry about combing our hair and stuff.  Don’t forget this whole scenario is played out with five of so drill sergeants and their little imps that were given temporary rank of Corporal.  We don’t know where they came from until later.  Once they got us to finally stand still it was a sight.  There was every size person imaginable.  Most of us would slowly make the grade, but there was the “fat squad” that would eventually be culled out for extra PT instead of mess.  But today, they were seemly going to try to kill us for sure. 

Then instructions were given to listen to the lead drill sergeant and not screw up.  The order was given to left face.  Each squad in each platoon was marched into the street and column left’d to head down the street until all 120 of us were in running formation.  Then the order was given to follow cadence.  We started off slow to the corner and did another column left and once we rounded the corner the pace picked up.  To me this was going to be easy.  The hard part was the harassment from the drill sergeants.  We only ran down a block then left and down to the next corner.  Then we went one block past our street and turned at the next left.  By this time guys were huffing and puffing and stumbling.  When we reached halfway this street we were stopped in a parking lot and told to run in place for a bit and then told to halt.  The drill sergeants then spread us out enough that when they gave the order we were told to drop down and assume the position for pushups.  A count of four pushups only counted as one and they wanted twenty of them.  This was where I saw quite a few end up getting the stinging of their lives from a drill sergeant for giving up after about four or five of them.  Remember, that was about twenty pushups.  This is when my country boy living kicked in.  I didn’t give up.  I went till they said stop.  I won’t say I wasn’t shot.  I was about to die or at least I thought so. 

Then they made us all get back up into formation, close quarters as we were before and finished running us about another half block back to the company area.  Then the drill sergeants gave us their glowing report of how well we did.  I’m being facetious here.  We were told we were essentially lower than whale crap.  Then we were told to go shower, shave and be ready for morning chow in short order.  Guys and girls, this wasn’t a pretty picture.  The heads (bathrooms) were wide open.  The commodes were in the open.  The showers were worse than being in the shower in gym at school.  We all lined up buck naked, butt to fronts with soap and wash cloth in hand and herded throw the showers.  We each in turn watched the next guy shower while waiting our turn and the drill sergeant and his little imp would determine when we were done and tell us to move it out for the next guy. 

There is a lot of psychology to all this.  You were only able to crap in view of everyone, shower in front of everyone.  Everything you did was visible to everyone.  The purpose was to bring us all on an even plane were we all were equals.  Teamwork had to start somewhere and it started here. 

After we got cleaned up we were dressed in clean clothes and sent to the mess hall for breakfast.  This is another area I learned something.  There was regular Army of which I was.  There was Army Reserve and then there was National Guard.  We, each to our own designation, were told to sign the roster we were in correctly or it meant trouble.  I signed the wrong one once and had to mop then entire supply area in the administrative building and that place was about the size of a two car garage.  Another thing I learned broke my heart.  I’m being facetious again.  You’ll get this as I go along.  But really, out of 120 of us in Company C 180 of us were Texas National Guard.  These suckers were going to graduate boot camp, go to their military occupational skill (MOS) school and then go back home.  Man!  That sucked.  That meant out of all these guys only forty were left to dole out to training for Vietnam.  My heart sank.  Counting those meal sign in sheets is what gave me this revelation.  Well, enough for the rabbit trail.  Breakfast was great.  All the fixin’s and milk you could drink in five minutes.  Then it was off to police call as soon as we hit the back door going out.