1975 Revisited, part 2
This is part two of several. Find part one here.
The idea of joining the Navy was a bit intimidating to me, but I'd soon figured out that most of the guys I was traveling with on our way to Boot Camp in Chicago were feeling the same, so there was some relief. My game plan was to keep a low profile and not draw any unnecessary attention to myself. The main advice being passed around among us was to not volunteer for anything. I could speculate why that was good advice, but I'd agree.
I remember being rousted out of bed the first morning in our barracks to the sound of our Company Commander (CC) banging a baseball bat inside a garbage can at a way too early hour. This was our first exposure to him, and if it was his intent to get our undivided attention, he succeeded. This was the real deal, and there would be no hiding or turning back.
In the coming days, we spent a good amount of time standing at attention beside our bunks while our CC walked up and down the two opposing lines of men, telling us the way it would be. You didn't smile or make eye contact with him. I found it best to avoid eye contact with anyone at those times.
The goal of Boot Camp is to remove your individuality and get the group working as a team. Everybody got the same buzz haircut, the same uniform, and the same set of rules. If anyone dared color outside the lines, we'd all pay the price in the form of 'mashing'—intense physical therapy. That's not to say there weren't times when an individual was singled out for extra push-ups. "Get down and give me 50" was a common phrase.
There wasn't much downtime, as they kept us busy, especially the first few days. We had to get inoculations, as well as our uniforms and other assorted gear. Order was the key to everything. Our clothing had to be stenciled with our last name and folded in a particular way. That part would be easy because I'm good at meaningless details.
Early in the first week, some of us were called into our CC's office and separately interviewed for one of several jobs we could volunteer for. There was that "volunteer" word I was told to avoid. During the interview, my CC said that because my penmanship was good, he'd like me to serve as company clerk. What to do? He wanted me for the job, and to tell him no could only work against me in the future. I said yes.
I'll pause from the story to add a photo of my company, Company 405. I scanned this a few nights ago. The image itself is too large to fit in a file drawer, so I've had it sitting on an upper shelf in the closet of our den, underneath my idled Kenwood KR6030 receiver purchased at the Navy Exchange in Subic Bay, the Philippines, toward the end of my enlistment. After scanning it, I dragged it into Photoshop and did some restoration work before uploading it to my Flickr account.
Once I uploaded it, I spent some time tagging each individual in the photo, listing their name and hometown. Thankfully, I had my copy of The Keel with all our individual photos to help me place the names with the faces. Still, it wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. Click here to see the final product. Place your cursor within the photo to see the detail I'm referring to.
It was interesting going through and zooming in on each individual in the photo to match the faces to a face and name in The Keel. That effort brought back many memories I'd forgotten about; memories I had no idea were still a part of my internal hard drive. That gave me the idea to blog about my Navy experiences beginning with Boot Camp.
J. R. Bartling was our CC's name. He'd spent his time in the Navy as an Engineman and was
finishing out his career working with recruits. I recall that his wife was Asian, based on what he'd mentioned about her. I always felt that he was watching out for me. I don't know the motivation behind it, except that I was his clerk, and it was my job to make his life easier by keeping track of many small details. Like I said, I was good at that. I took care of him, and he returned the favor, although I wasn't expecting him to.
There was a time when he was upset with our company's performance in an inspection. It was late afternoon when he entered the barracks and ordered us to stand at attention next to our racks. And so the "mash" session began. We weren't more than a few minutes into it when he yelled, "Clerk! Don't you have some office work to do?" "Yes, sir!" I replied. As I approached the office in front of our barracks, he said, "You smoke, don't you?" Again, I responded, "Yes, sir". "Grab your smokes," he told me.
So there I was, sitting in the office sucking on a Marlboro Light and doing routine paperwork stuff while listening to my company being mashed. It was an uncomfortable position for me, but everybody knew it wasn't something I sought out. I didn't want to stand out from the other guys, but having J. R. Bartling in my corner was a good thing and would pay dividends a few weeks down the road when I found myself in some pretty serious trouble.
To be continued...
The idea of joining the Navy was a bit intimidating to me, but I'd soon figured out that most of the guys I was traveling with on our way to Boot Camp in Chicago were feeling the same, so there was some relief. My game plan was to keep a low profile and not draw any unnecessary attention to myself. The main advice being passed around among us was to not volunteer for anything. I could speculate why that was good advice, but I'd agree.
I remember being rousted out of bed the first morning in our barracks to the sound of our Company Commander (CC) banging a baseball bat inside a garbage can at a way too early hour. This was our first exposure to him, and if it was his intent to get our undivided attention, he succeeded. This was the real deal, and there would be no hiding or turning back.
In the coming days, we spent a good amount of time standing at attention beside our bunks while our CC walked up and down the two opposing lines of men, telling us the way it would be. You didn't smile or make eye contact with him. I found it best to avoid eye contact with anyone at those times.
The goal of Boot Camp is to remove your individuality and get the group working as a team. Everybody got the same buzz haircut, the same uniform, and the same set of rules. If anyone dared color outside the lines, we'd all pay the price in the form of 'mashing'—intense physical therapy. That's not to say there weren't times when an individual was singled out for extra push-ups. "Get down and give me 50" was a common phrase.
There wasn't much downtime, as they kept us busy, especially the first few days. We had to get inoculations, as well as our uniforms and other assorted gear. Order was the key to everything. Our clothing had to be stenciled with our last name and folded in a particular way. That part would be easy because I'm good at meaningless details.
Early in the first week, some of us were called into our CC's office and separately interviewed for one of several jobs we could volunteer for. There was that "volunteer" word I was told to avoid. During the interview, my CC said that because my penmanship was good, he'd like me to serve as company clerk. What to do? He wanted me for the job, and to tell him no could only work against me in the future. I said yes.
I'll pause from the story to add a photo of my company, Company 405. I scanned this a few nights ago. The image itself is too large to fit in a file drawer, so I've had it sitting on an upper shelf in the closet of our den, underneath my idled Kenwood KR6030 receiver purchased at the Navy Exchange in Subic Bay, the Philippines, toward the end of my enlistment. After scanning it, I dragged it into Photoshop and did some restoration work before uploading it to my Flickr account.
Once I uploaded it, I spent some time tagging each individual in the photo, listing their name and hometown. Thankfully, I had my copy of The Keel with all our individual photos to help me place the names with the faces. Still, it wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. Click here to see the final product. Place your cursor within the photo to see the detail I'm referring to.
It was interesting going through and zooming in on each individual in the photo to match the faces to a face and name in The Keel. That effort brought back many memories I'd forgotten about; memories I had no idea were still a part of my internal hard drive. That gave me the idea to blog about my Navy experiences beginning with Boot Camp.
J. R. Bartling was our CC's name. He'd spent his time in the Navy as an Engineman and was
finishing out his career working with recruits. I recall that his wife was Asian, based on what he'd mentioned about her. I always felt that he was watching out for me. I don't know the motivation behind it, except that I was his clerk, and it was my job to make his life easier by keeping track of many small details. Like I said, I was good at that. I took care of him, and he returned the favor, although I wasn't expecting him to.There was a time when he was upset with our company's performance in an inspection. It was late afternoon when he entered the barracks and ordered us to stand at attention next to our racks. And so the "mash" session began. We weren't more than a few minutes into it when he yelled, "Clerk! Don't you have some office work to do?" "Yes, sir!" I replied. As I approached the office in front of our barracks, he said, "You smoke, don't you?" Again, I responded, "Yes, sir". "Grab your smokes," he told me.
So there I was, sitting in the office sucking on a Marlboro Light and doing routine paperwork stuff while listening to my company being mashed. It was an uncomfortable position for me, but everybody knew it wasn't something I sought out. I didn't want to stand out from the other guys, but having J. R. Bartling in my corner was a good thing and would pay dividends a few weeks down the road when I found myself in some pretty serious trouble.
To be continued...
Comments
You used to be one of the "chosen" ones at work too, until recently...
Have a Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas to you and Kim.