Uncle Sam
Ain’t Released Me Yet
Memoirs of a REMF
Copyright©
2016 by Robert B. Martin, IV
All
Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without express
written permission from the copyright owner, except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review or scholarly journal. I have attempted to recreate
events, locales, and conversations from my memories of them.
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Chapter
17
The End is Near
“You’re
off to great places, today is your day!” ............Dr. Seuss
As I previously mentioned, our training
company was the only one not granted any weekend passes during the entire eight
weeks of BCT. We were given PX privileges on Saturday or Sunday afternoons only
after about four weeks of training. Early in the training cycle our company
commander, CPT Spacek, promised us weekend passes during graduation weekend. He
even encouraged us to invite our families to the ceremony so that we would be
able to spend time with them. Carol Ann was about six months pregnant but her
folks agreed to drive her the seven hundred and seventy miles from Toccoa,
Georgia to Ft. Leonard Wood, MO to attend my graduation and spend the weekend
with me before I shipped out to Field Artillery AIT at Ft. Sill, OK.
Graduation weekend came and Carol Ann
arrived. It was April 4, 1969 and CPT Spacek informed us that no passes would
be issued as previously promised. No reason was given and I hated the man for
going back on his promise. I’m glad that I never saw him again. As far as I was
concerned he was a sniveling, little asshole. SGT Lever (the “mean” one), bless
his heart, allowed me to spend a brief period of time alone with Carol Ann on
the evening before graduation but I was not allowed to leave the post and would
have to return to the barracks in time to clean all my gear.
As a graduating trainee, I received a
certificate of completion and a copy of the “Yearbook” for which I had posed at
the beginning of BCT. The yearbook was very much like a high school annual.
Probably the closest thing to one that some of these young kids ever received.
The stock pictures in it seemed to portray everyone having a grand old time.
The weather looked great. It reminded me of summer camp. Except that it wasn’t.
That night after graduation, the night
before we were to leave for AIT, and after I told Carol Ann goodbye, we were up
late cleaning and turning in our weapons and gear. Everyone was in an
exceptional mood. We had graduated and the hell called BCT was over! We felt
invincible. That night I came up with a great idea for a practical joke. It was
SGT Lever’s night to conduct bed check. I’ve already told you how he would wait
until about thirty minutes after lights out before stomping in and turning on
all the lights. I suggested that we stand on our top bunks and unscrew all of
the overhead light bulbs just, not all the way, just enough to keep them from
coming on when SGT Lever flicked the light switch. Everyone thought it was a
great idea and would be very funny. We climbed up on the top bunks, loosened
all of the bulbs, climbed back into our bunks, and waited for SGT Lever to
arrive. I could hear a lot of snickering and it was all I could do to keep from
laughing out loud. This was going to be so good!
Finally, the door banged open and boots
stomped in followed momentarily by a click
- click - click - click. Then all of a sudden there was a piercing scream, “Goddam muthafuckas! I’ll give you to the
count of ten to get these lights back on!”
Blankets were flying and guys were
jumping all over the place screwing in light bulbs as SGT Lever counted down
from ten to zero. Before he reached zero the lights were back on and we were
standing at attention at the foot of our bunks while a furious, red faced SGT
Lever pranced back and forth in front of us.
“Assume the front leaning rest position and
give me fifty!”
he screamed, spit flying from his mouth. We gave him fifty quick push-ups and
then he made us remain in the “up” position while he yelled at us some more. He
wanted to know whose smart idea it was to unscrew the bulbs.
Nobody said a word.
“Gimme fifty more!” he screamed, more
spit flying from his mouth.
We did another fifty pushups and again
he kept us in the “up” position.
“I said, whose idea was this?”
Again, no response.
“Gimme fifty more!”
We were getting very tired and probably
could not do another fifty, but we struggled as best we could. We were also
more than a little curious and somewhat scared about what else he might to do
to us.
Again he screamed, “Whose idea was this?”
I knew that we couldn’t do any more
push-ups so I sucked it up and while still in the front leaning rest position,
shouted as loud as I could, “It was my
idea, drill sergeant!”
SGT Lever’s back was to me when I shouted
and he wasn’t sure which one of us had answered.
He turned around and yelled, “Who said that?”
Forty-nine voices shouted loudly in
unison, “I DID, DRILL SERGEANT!”
He turned, glared at everyone, stomped
towards the door, turned out the lights, and left the barracks without saying
another word.
That’s when I knew what basic training
was all about. We started out as forty-nine strangers but after eight very hard
weeks we acted as one. We had become a unit. The forty-nine Musketeers. “All
for one and one for all.”
I often wonder if SGT Lever wasn’t
actually proud of us. It was not like him to walk out the way he did without
administering more punishment.
Continued in Chapter 18, Field Artillery Training
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