As I have already said, my first taste of “military life” began at a small Air National Guard site in Connecticut, and continued on a frigidly cold November morning on Otis Air Force Base, Mass., when our four stripe Section NCO, who, faced with the need to train 15 radio operators took us outside on a 22-degree November day and told us to “get lost” – by which he meant that we should leave the radio shack, but stay in the squadron area in case he was told to send one of us over to the orderly room.
How the hell do you do “get lost” like that?
Beats me!
As it happened, though, one of those 15 men was a kid named Pete who was completely nuts. Several days earlier he was losing in a crap game, I happened to walk into the room, and he suddenly began to win. As a result, he actually believed that I was his personal, two legged good luck charm, and he would always drag me into the room where he was gambling, make me stay until the game ended, and split his winnings with me!
So the first thing Pete did when we were dismissed by our great-hearted Section NCO was to grab me and drag me into one our forbidden 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 you’re Pete, and you forget to drop your drawers when you’re 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.
There I was on my third day of KP, with my arms up to the elbows in hot soapy water as I struggled to scrub a big, greasy, old 20 gallon pot. A laughing voice came from behind me: “Hey, Garrett,” it said. “This is your third day in a row in here. If you like the mess hall so much why don’t you volunteer to be a cook?”
I turned and saw Sergeant Lewis, the Mess Sergeant, a good friend of my brother Bill, who was also in our National Guard outfit. And – right out of the blue – I had one of the best ideas I have ever had.
“Well,” I replied. “I’m no cook, but I did work in a bakery when I was in high school. You need any bakers?”
“Do we? We’re supposed to have six, and we haven’t got a one! You want to volunteer to be a baker?”
“If I say yes, can I throw this damned pot in the sink?”
“You bet! Food service people don’t pull KP!”
Boom! Balloom! Balloom boom boom! One 20 gallon pot hit the bottom of a sink. And I entered a new career in my so far short 19-year-old life, one that paid me far better returns than I expected, and beat the hell out of working for a boneheaded NCO who thought that he could actually get away with telling his men that instead of training them he just wanted them to “go get lost.”
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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!