One of the duties that every recruit ended up having to perform a few times during basic training at Lackland AFB back in 1973 was Dorm Guard. I don't remember the exact hours during which the dorm needed to be "guarded", but some some reason I invariably ended up with the 2 AM to 4 AM shift, which meant I didn't get a whole lot of uninterrupted sleep those nights.
Aside: I might have mentioned this before, but the brochure that Air Force recruiters gave to parents assured them that their children would get 8 hours sleep almost every night... Yeah - that happened "never" times. As I recall, "lights out" was around 10PM, and on a normal day we'd get up at 5 or 5:30 AM, but it seemed like there were many days when (for various reasons) the "rude awakening" came a lot earlier...
Of course, before our dorm guard shift started we had to get dressed (which required an extra five or ten minutes), and to make matters worse we were instructed that if we absolutely could not stay awake we were supposed to wake the next guy on the list... Now - I never did that. It just seemed totally selfish, and I could always find ways to stay awake (like walking in circles stepping on the floor tiles in a certain pattern). However, the guy whose name was before mine in the alphabet was not that considerate. And before I get around to that story here's a bit more about guarding the dorm:
There were some obvious duties, like making sure nobody was wandering around and everything was locked up. And there were some less obvious ones, like periodically touching every metal outlet cover to make sure it wasn't getting warm (fire hazard?)... But the main job was to make sure that nobody got into the dorm that wasn't supposed to be there. To that end, there was an "Authorized Access List" next to the door and whenever anyone (other than the members of your flight) wanted in (regardless of how well you knew them) you could not open the door until they held their military ID up to the window long enough for you to verify their identity and check it against the list.
That sounds simple enough, except there were drill sergeants wandering around all night trying to coerce you into letting them in without following proper procedure. They would flash invalid IDs and / or scream obscenities at you and threaten to do unspeakable things if you did not open the door immediately. Yeah - it was a pain in the butt, but at least it broke the monotony :-)
Another aside: One day our drill sergeant told us that the prior evening some people had robbed a liquor store and driven onto the base where a shootout ensued. One of the injured parties had apparently made it to a dorm building and had gone door to door (covered in blood) begging for help, claiming that he was badly injured (true) and was being chased by a crazed assailant (not true)... Of course, all the dorm guards figured it was an elaborate trick and wouldn't let him in...
For years I wondered if that really did happened so I did an online search and found some old newspaper articles indicating that there was indeed a police shootout at Lackland AFB on March 7th (midway through my second week of basic training). It involved 4 "perps" (one of whom was an AWOL airman) who had robbed a liquor store and shot a cop 30 miles away... So yeah - true story...
And on to the main event:
The first time I was assigned guard duty the guy ahead of me woke me up at around 1:15 AM for my 2 to 4 AM shift saying he couldn't stay awake anymore... I was like "whatever..." and finished both of our shifts. And despite having barely gotten 4 hours sleep I somehow managed to muddle through the following day without dozing off... I was really looking forward to a getting some uninterrupted sleep when I discovered that the Dorm Chief (who was in charge of the Dorm Guard rotation) had scheduled the same guys for the exact same shifts again for a second night in a row...
Yeah - as I've mentioned before, the Dorm Chief was only given the job because he was too tall to march in formation... Truth be told, he was kind of an airhead and had somehow managed to lose track of where we were in the rotation. No matter how much we argued, he refused to acknowledge that he had screwed up...
So - that night the guy ahead of me woke me up at 12:30 AM (a half hour into his shift ... that didn't surprise me). Then after I finished his shift, and my shift, it took forever to wake the next guy (he kept falling back asleep) - and when it was all said and done my 2 hour shift had morphed into over 4 hours and I had gotten less than 3 hours sleep...
Now - a day of basic training is tough enough under the best of conditions, but when you are tired to the point of hallucinating it is downright insane... I just kept telling myself that if I could make it through the next minute - and the next - and the next - eventually the day would end. (And it did)... I suspect I may have nodded off a time or two but, fortunately, nobody noticed...
I'd never been stressed (physically or mentally) anywhere close to that degree before. And (much to my surprise) I didn't complain to the drill sergeants about being scheduled two nights in a row, or about getting woken up early both nights. And I didn't "pass it on" by waking the next guy up early... I just did what needed to be done... Who would have guessed? :-)
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Homesick
I suppose that this is as good a time as any to say some words about being homesick during basic training (as opposed to being "home sick", which wasn't really an option).
Aside: They did have "sick call" at Lackland. (As I recall, it was first thing in the morning after chow.) It was kind of pointless though because no matter what you told them was wrong with you they just gave you some Chloraseptic throat spray and sent you back to your unit. (Seriously. It was a running gag among the recruits in my flight. Somebody would hurt their elbow and we'd be like "Better go get some Chloraseptic.") ... I only went twice. Once was for asthma (the Chloraseptic didn't help) and the other time was because my knees were in tremendous pain. They did not prescribe Chloraseptic but the response was something like "Um. You've been running on pavement in combat boots. Of course your knees hurt!" ... So yeah - it was a waste of time.
Another aside: This hadn't crossed my mind in many years, but sometime near the end of basic (late March) they put a bunch of us on a mowing detail (run by civil servants). I told the head guy that the last time I did lawn maintenance I ended up needing emergency medical treatment (allergies) so he let me clean up around the shop for a while, but when he ran out of things for me to do he had no choice but to put me on a mower... Luckily, it was only for a couple of hours and it didn't mess up my lungs too bad, but the main thing I remember was having to wear eye protection, leather gloves and those goofy "steel toe guard" things you strapped over your boots (I didn't even know those existed.) It was like "We got no problem sending you into combat, but we want to make darn sure you don't hurt your toes while mowing"... Ironic :-)
And back to the story:
You'd think that after spending a full year in a German boarding school (at the age of 12), followed by moving almost 20 time as a teenager there wouldn't have been a trace of "homesick" left in me, but basic training was somehow different...It wasn't so much that I was wishing I was back home again - it was wishing that I was "me" again... I mean, I couldn't help but wonder if I was turning into someone I didn't want to be (and whether it was irreversible). When I looked in the mirror and saw a bald-headed soldier wearing fatigues (with my name on them) staring back at me, I couldn't help but think "What the f*** have I gotten myself into???" ... It was an identity crisis the likes of which most people never experience. I would have given almost anything to be back at a place and time when I at least thought I knew who I was.
Most days I was too busy (or stressed out) to dwell on it very much (I'm sure that was by intent), and after "lights out" I was usually too exhausted. But there were moments of introspection while otherwise engaged in a latrine stall. (TMI?) I would take out my driver's license, stare at the picture, and wonder if any part of that "long-haired freak" still existed inside of me. (I really missed him!)
But the worst moments (from a homesickness standpoint) came during chow, and it was all John Denver's fault :-) (I'll get around to explaining that in a moment.)
As I recall, there was one chow hall in the building (which could house up to 1000 recruits). I don't think the building was at capacity, but the chow hall was (nonetheless) pretty darn big and they moved a lot of people through there really quickly... You'd get in line and the drill sergeants would scream "Heel to toe!" at you. (Yes - the toes of your shoes were supposed to be as close as physically possible to touching the heels of the airman in front of you. It was uncomfortably close.) Then you'd grab a tray and"side step" down the food line, then head to a table (in a group) and sit down (in unison). There was no talking during meals and most people seemed to feel like they were extremely rushed, but since I was in the habit of (more or less) "inhaling" my food (it was a boarding school thing) meal times seemed downright leisurely to me...
While I was eating I mostly amused myself by analyzing the symbols and logos on the state flags (all 50 were on the walls of the chow hall)...But every once in a while my gaze would settle on the Oregon flag - and then that maudlin John Denver ballad "Country Road Take me Home" would start playing in my mind (I changed some of the lyrics to be Oregon specific) and it took every ounce of self-control I possessed to avoid breaking down and crying. (There is most definitely no crying in basic training)... The emotion was so intense that even to this day I often get choked up just thinking about it.
So, yeah... Stripping away your civilian identity and replacing it with a new one is (more or less) the central purpose of basic training (brainwashing 101), but I don't think recruits are supposed to be as aware of it as I was... Yet (surprisingly enough) being aware doesn't make it that much less effective (or painful)... Still - I'm happy to say that the "long-haired freak" inside of me has remained alive and well to this day :-)
Aside: They did have "sick call" at Lackland. (As I recall, it was first thing in the morning after chow.) It was kind of pointless though because no matter what you told them was wrong with you they just gave you some Chloraseptic throat spray and sent you back to your unit. (Seriously. It was a running gag among the recruits in my flight. Somebody would hurt their elbow and we'd be like "Better go get some Chloraseptic.") ... I only went twice. Once was for asthma (the Chloraseptic didn't help) and the other time was because my knees were in tremendous pain. They did not prescribe Chloraseptic but the response was something like "Um. You've been running on pavement in combat boots. Of course your knees hurt!" ... So yeah - it was a waste of time.
Another aside: This hadn't crossed my mind in many years, but sometime near the end of basic (late March) they put a bunch of us on a mowing detail (run by civil servants). I told the head guy that the last time I did lawn maintenance I ended up needing emergency medical treatment (allergies) so he let me clean up around the shop for a while, but when he ran out of things for me to do he had no choice but to put me on a mower... Luckily, it was only for a couple of hours and it didn't mess up my lungs too bad, but the main thing I remember was having to wear eye protection, leather gloves and those goofy "steel toe guard" things you strapped over your boots (I didn't even know those existed.) It was like "We got no problem sending you into combat, but we want to make darn sure you don't hurt your toes while mowing"... Ironic :-)
And back to the story:
You'd think that after spending a full year in a German boarding school (at the age of 12), followed by moving almost 20 time as a teenager there wouldn't have been a trace of "homesick" left in me, but basic training was somehow different...It wasn't so much that I was wishing I was back home again - it was wishing that I was "me" again... I mean, I couldn't help but wonder if I was turning into someone I didn't want to be (and whether it was irreversible). When I looked in the mirror and saw a bald-headed soldier wearing fatigues (with my name on them) staring back at me, I couldn't help but think "What the f*** have I gotten myself into???" ... It was an identity crisis the likes of which most people never experience. I would have given almost anything to be back at a place and time when I at least thought I knew who I was.
Most days I was too busy (or stressed out) to dwell on it very much (I'm sure that was by intent), and after "lights out" I was usually too exhausted. But there were moments of introspection while otherwise engaged in a latrine stall. (TMI?) I would take out my driver's license, stare at the picture, and wonder if any part of that "long-haired freak" still existed inside of me. (I really missed him!)
But the worst moments (from a homesickness standpoint) came during chow, and it was all John Denver's fault :-) (I'll get around to explaining that in a moment.)
As I recall, there was one chow hall in the building (which could house up to 1000 recruits). I don't think the building was at capacity, but the chow hall was (nonetheless) pretty darn big and they moved a lot of people through there really quickly... You'd get in line and the drill sergeants would scream "Heel to toe!" at you. (Yes - the toes of your shoes were supposed to be as close as physically possible to touching the heels of the airman in front of you. It was uncomfortably close.) Then you'd grab a tray and"side step" down the food line, then head to a table (in a group) and sit down (in unison). There was no talking during meals and most people seemed to feel like they were extremely rushed, but since I was in the habit of (more or less) "inhaling" my food (it was a boarding school thing) meal times seemed downright leisurely to me...
While I was eating I mostly amused myself by analyzing the symbols and logos on the state flags (all 50 were on the walls of the chow hall)...But every once in a while my gaze would settle on the Oregon flag - and then that maudlin John Denver ballad "Country Road Take me Home" would start playing in my mind (I changed some of the lyrics to be Oregon specific) and it took every ounce of self-control I possessed to avoid breaking down and crying. (There is most definitely no crying in basic training)... The emotion was so intense that even to this day I often get choked up just thinking about it.
So, yeah... Stripping away your civilian identity and replacing it with a new one is (more or less) the central purpose of basic training (brainwashing 101), but I don't think recruits are supposed to be as aware of it as I was... Yet (surprisingly enough) being aware doesn't make it that much less effective (or painful)... Still - I'm happy to say that the "long-haired freak" inside of me has remained alive and well to this day :-)
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