As I have already said, my first taste of “military life” began in a small Air National Guard site in Connecticut. It continued on a frigid November morning on Otis Air Force Base, Massachusetts, where our four stripe Section NCO found himself faced with training 15 radio operators. Our mission, you see, was to serve close to the front line, where we would use our radar set to vector aircraft toward ground targets in close support of Army units, or to identify incoming enemy aircraft and vector fighters up to meet them. So, he took us outside on a cloudy 22 degree November day and said:
“Okay, youse guys. Listen up. What I gotta tell ya is important.”
“First of all, there ain’t room in the building for all of youse, so we gotta do somethin about that. An here’s what we’re gonna do: First of all, I want youse all to get lost. BUT! You gotta do it in the right way.”
What did “the right way” mean?
It meant staying strictly inside a “squadron area” consisting of just nine old WWII barracks, a mess hall, and three other small buildings. And not only that, it meant staying outside in freezing 15 degree cold without jackets for our fatigues, which had yet to be issued, and doing it for 8 hours a day during which we were not allowed in the barracks, nor inside anywhere else except for the mess hall during the lunch break.
How the hell do you do that?
Trust me when I tell you that it ain’t easy!
I do remember that two of the 15 men found a long ladder somewhere and carried it on their shoulders, walking around and around the 13 buildings of our squadron area with the ladder and a tarpaulin on their shoulders, but what anyone else did I don’t know, for reasons you will soon see.
One of those 15 men was a kid named Pete who was completely nuts. Why do I say that? Because, as a result of the fact that several days earlier when he was losing in a crap game I happened to walk into the room, and he suddenly began to win; so he actually – yes ACTUALLY! – believed that I was his own, personal, two legged good luck charm, and ever after that he would drag me into the room where he was gambling, make me stay there until the game ended; and would then split his winnings with me – 50/50!
So the first thing Pete did when we were dismissed by our great-hearted Section NCO was to grab me and drag me into our forbidden home barracks, explaining that he had a “great idea.”
What was it?
“I’ll go in the latrine and sit on one of the stools. If an officer comes in and sees you sittin’ on your footlocker, just tell him where I am, and say you’re just waitin’ for me.”
Great idea, right?
Not if, like Pete, you forget to drop your drawers while sitting on the stool reading a magazine.
So?
Two days of Kitchen Police, or KP, for each of us.
And so, having served two days of punishment KP, I found that my name was on the regular roster for KP the next day.
And then a minor miracle occurred.
It will give me great pleasure to tell you all about it next week.
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Keep it Clean. Avoid obscene, hateful, vulgar, lewd, racist or sexually-oriented language.
PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR CAPS LOCK.
Don't Threaten. Threats of harming another person will not be tolerated.
Be Truthful.
Be Nice. No name-calling, racism, sexism or any sort of -ism degrading to another person.
Be Proactive. Use the 'Report' link on each comment to let us know of abusive posts.
Share with Us. We'd love to hear eyewitness accounts, the history behind an article. Real names only!