Step II - Inprocessing

The sharp notes of Revile roused me from a light sleep and I was in the shower before the sergeant came through the barracks. Even over the sound of the running water, I heard him yelling at the “lazy 'cruits, too stupid to drag their butts out of the sack.” [My words are, of course, a bit milder than what the sergeant had to say.]

It felt strange not to have a uniform to don but I found my way to the street, waiting for someone to point out where we were to form up. A corporal appeared and pointed to a spot. As I moved to it, he asked, “Prior service?” I nodded and he told me I'd be the formation guideon. It didn't take long 'til the others shambled outside, followed by the sergeant still indicating his poor opinions of them.

After the national anthem and raising the flag, we straggled our way to the messhall for breakfast. A lot of GIs have complained about Army food for generations but, the truth is, it's actually quite good. The hot and hearty coffee perked me up while a heaping pile of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, country-fried potatoes, and toast with lots of butter and jam, filled my tray. I found a place to set and watched the others in the room. All but our group already had their uniforms so we naturally stood out. Snickers and asides showed the disdain of those who felt themselves better than us.

After chow, we were marched – or at least the sergeant tried to teach the others how to march – to a building where we stripped down to skivvies and lined up for step one of becoming a soldier – a haircut. [I look at today's fashions and laugh at those who pay to have their heads all but shaved.] From there, we went through another into a large room with tables down the length, each piled high with uniforms. The civilians behind the tables didn't have to use measuring tapes, simply eying each of us and tossing folded clothes at us to dump into a large duffel bag we'd picked up at the door. We went into yet another big bay where he stripped down and changed into military gear.

Our next stop was another bay filled with desks. We went through the process of filling out forms which where then typed up and put into a buff-colored folder – out 201 File, something that would follow us throughout our military service. As we finished, we were led in front of a camera where out picture was taken – I seem to remember we were separated into groups of a dozen. The film went to the lab to be developed and we went into another room to wait.

It there's any military motto, it's “Hurry up – and wait!”

Once the pictures were ready, we were called up to review and sign the small card that was to become our identification card. The picture was pasted to it and it went through a sort of oven where plastic was melted around it. 

 

From there, we were led back to our barracks where the sergeant calmly [Yeah. Sure] told us to sort and use a black marker to put our identification numbers on each – except for the socks. RA19599748. Lord! I don't know how many years it's been since I used that number but it's something one never forgets. Numbers starting in RA meant Regular Army – or volunteers. US meant Draftee, the vast majority of those in my group. We were given until noon to finish that before being marched back to the messhall for lunch.

Another hearty meals with lots of calories. Actually, according to the USDA, a well-balanced meal. Turns out we needed the calories as, after lunch, we got our first taste of the military – an after-lunch stroll at double time! Two miles in length, at least half of the group falling out after one. I still don't know how but I managed to make it the entire length before collapsing to fight from barfing my guts out.

We had no time to recuperate as the sergeant took the opportunity to form us up – I was now the groups guideon – to march us back to the barracks, picking up the stragglers along the way. I am certain it was a hilarious sight as some of the 'cruits couldn't tell their left from their right feet and had absolutely no idea of how to stay in step with the rest of us. We spent the entire afternoon marching. We finally broke for dinner. I have a very faint memory that it was some kind of roast beef, mashed potatoes, vegetables, a large bowl of soup, a desert, and all the milk we could drink.

But, the day wasn't done.

After Retreat – the lowering of the flag - our NCOIC, Noncommissioned Officer in Charge, felt the need to teach us how to put our things in the footlocker and wall-locker at each bunk. He also spend the time explaining the proper way to make a bed. At last, we heard Taps followed by the blaring of speakers all over the area, “Lights out!”

I'd made it through my first full day back uniform.

I spent two or three days in the processing center, fidgeting because I couldn't figure out why they had not published my orders. But, at last, I was called out of formation and told to report to the personnel building. A clerk sat me down and asked if I wanted Advance Leave to go home before reporting to Fort Bliss. “I just came from there, specialist. No need to go back.” He smiled and looked into an army pamphlet with the various travel times from one post to another. [Yes, I once used it too.] According to it the distance was 940 miles. As 500 miles per day, that meant I would have three days to get there. He asked if I wanted to go to the finance office for an advanced pay or perhaps a travel voucher and smiled when I told him I had my car and didn't need any money. It was but a matter of minutes until he completed a mimeograph form, took it to the personnel officer for his signature, and put it on the machine, cranking the handle to turn out fifty copies of my orders. [Didn't want to run short, did we.]

I was ready to go right then but had to wait until the following day to sign out out in Orderly Room. I awakened right after midnight, showered, shaved, and put on my khaki uniform, gathered up my duffel bag, and walked to the Orderly Room. The Charge of Quarter's eyes widened when he saw me but glancing at my orders told him it was okay. I walked to where my car was parked and unlocked it – I only had my door key with me, the rest were hidden under the front seat – and tossed my duffel in the back. Putting my key chain back together, I let out a sigh and started the car. 

 

The military policeman at the gate stopped me, carefully checked my ID and orders, then smiled and waved me on through. 

 

I was on my way on the second step of my journey back in the Army. Off to learn how to become a heavy truck driver.

[Wanna bet yet?]

PART III - WELCOME TO ARMY LIFE

The older part of Fort Ord

Revile reverberated through my skull like the sound of a blacksmith pounding on an anvil. Probably worse as the loudspeaker was directly outside the open window from my bunk. And, it didn’t help that it was scratchy and overcome by the sound from speakers further away.

Of course, our barracks sergeant arrived to admonish us that it was time to rise and shine. “Git yer lazy rear ends outta them bunks! Hit the floor! Ya got exactly fifteen minutes ta git yer stuff done and fall out in front of the barracks!”

Now, I have to admit to my readers my slight advantage over my fellow ‘Cruits. During World War Deuce, my dad had been an LA cop and mom was a Rosie The Riveter. [I still couldn’t get over the fact they weren’t my real parents and had spent 18 years lying to me.] They sent me to a boarding school called Page Military Academy. There, I learned about military life to include all the appropriate bugle calls, military protocols, how to stand and march, even the Manual of Arms for weapons. We lived in barracks-type conditions and went through the exact same things we were being called upon to do.

One of the guys forgot he was in a top bunk and ended up flat on his face on the floor. Of course, the barracks sergeant came to assist him to his feet with a few well-chosen admonitions.  That soldier earned the name of Fall on Yer Face - probably for the remainder of his basic training.

“Boy, they sure keep this place clean. Must have a heck of a janitor.”

I almost choked when I heard one of the Rubes say that. He’d proudly told everyone he’d lived on a produce farm out in The Valley.

I knew what to do and quickly splashed water on my face, brushed my teeth, donned my OG socks, pants and blouse - we never wore shirts. After Lights Out the night before, I’d sat on my footlocker using a small flashlight I’d bought in the Exchange store to finish polishing my brass belt buckle and brown boots. When the sergeant told us to “Fall out!” I was first out the door. I immediately saw the small white lines painted in the middle of the street and found the same spot I’d been in during our march to the barracks. I stood there At Ease while our sergeant carefully instructed the others where to stand, going a bit further to explain the proper posture - as well as “suggesting” what minor infractions in uniform wear certain members had performed.

I knew to stand At East until called to Attention. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind my back, upper torso slightly relaxed, able to look around and talk - UNLESS one was a ‘Cruit at which time one kept his mouth closed.

“Ah-ten-shun!”

When the vast majority of my fellow ‘Cruits had no idea what to do, we went through a fifteen minute lesson on the proper way of standing at attention.

Heels together, toes as a forty-five degree angle. Knees slightly bent. Stomach in. Chin tight. Eyes straight front. Hands down at your sides, thumbs on the seam of your pants. Do not - I repeat - do not look around or speak to the individual next to you.

Our barracks sergeant paid particular attention to Fall on Yer Face as well as others who could not manage to get outside in a timely manner. The rest of us were told “At ease!”

The fuzzy sound of another bugle call brought the formation to Attention, followed by the order “Pree-sent Harms!”

I saw the sergeant cringe at a goodly number of my fellow ‘Cruits who didn’t know which hand to salute with. A couple had watched too many British movies because they tried it with the palm out.

The Star Spangled Banner blurred through the air, overwhelmed by other loudspeakers far in the distance. One note sounded close, then again several blocks over and yet again further on until the last note sounded way up on the hill. And, when it was over where we were, several men in my formation dropped their salutes, the rest of us holding on until the final note sounded from the nether-lands.

“Hor-der Harms!” That was followed by a question. “Who told you to stop saluting? You do not honor our National Anthem? What is wrong with you, ‘Cruit?” That was followed with an order to “Drop and give me twenty!” The ‘Cruit dropped to his hands and feet, struggling to perform the 20 push-ups.

Knowing there was no way the platoon knew how to march in formation, the sergeant finally ordered, “Route Step, MARCH!” and told me to lead the way to the mess hall. Without expecting it, I’d become the platoon Guidon.

Having lived on a ranch, I was used to hearty breakfasts. After getting my tray and utensils, I walked down the line and watched as cooks piled on scrambled eggs, potatoes, bacon, small pancakes and toast. There were pats of butter and maple syrup along with grape jelly. A small carton of juice and a larger one of milk. There were cups and several huge urns for those who drank coffee.

I did notice the sergeants ate the same food as we, even though they sat together in a special section.

At the end of thirty minutes, the sergeant came and told the few who’d not finished to pick up their trays and follow him. There was a place to scrape the left over food from the plates, rinse them in a dirty tub of water, then drop the trays in one place, silverware in another, and our drinking vessels in another.

We spent an hour on instructions how to stand in formation, follow commands and even march. [I had to fight back snickering at the few who had two left feet.] We also heard how we were expected to have shined boots and polished brass. For those who did not understand the latter, they were detailed to polish the metal fixtures in the latrine. For those who didn’t understand polishing boots, they got to polish the floor - on their hands and knees with tooth brushes.

We were then marched to a building where we received cloth name tags. We marched back to the barracks, given five minutes to gather our blouses and jackets, then marched to another building where name tags and patches were sewn on.

With that out of the way, we returned to the barracks where the sergeant individually “instructed” us on how to arrange our footlockers and wall lockers. There was a closet with five steam irons and ironing boards and we were given the opportunity to press our uniforms - at least those who knew what an iron was.

There was no way the barracks sergeant was going to teach us what we needed to do in such a short time. His job was to give us the basics so we wouldn’t make complete fools of ourselves.

Oh yeah, the Rube who’d asked how the barracks had been so clean learned when the sergeant detailed him and others to clean the latrine and polish the floors - yes, they had one of those big floor polishers and cans of floor polish. And one did not simply drape a mop anywhere to dry - there was a very specific way of rinsing it and then placing it in its designated place to dry - along with brooms, dust pans and rags.

Lunch was filling and we had time afterwards to go to the Exchange store to buy a few extra things we hadn’t realized we needed. Most importantly, it was time to follow the drawing on exactly how things were to be placed in our foot and wall lockers. Oh yes, each of us had to buy combination padlocks.

We fell out for Retreat and then marched to the mess hall for dinner. I wondered what we were going to do after that and wasn’t disappointed when they marched us to a theater where we and another platoon of ’Cruits spent two hours watching movies on The Code of Conduct and History of the US Army.

While some guys flaked out on their bunks back in the barracks, I sat on my footlocker reading the field manual they’d issued us along with the rest of our stuff. I also knew that what we’d been given to that point was just a start.

I lay on my bunk thinking about the day just past when the sounds of Taps came through the night air. Somehow the soft, even sad notes, were clear instead of fuzzy like the rest.

So far, so good.