My first week at Ft. Knox was horrible. Not because of the DS’s, the deplorable barracks or the new lifestyle. I just hated the fact that I had not talked with my wife since I was on the bus en route to Ft Knox. I was worried about her because of her surgery, and becoming a single parent. I could understand if she had given birth to Steven, but in reality, she was his step-mother and when she married me, she became his step-mother and all of the ups and downs to go with it.
There was a court case that was filed before I left. I had to postpone my military indoctrination from July to August to get part of the case heard. Again, I will not go into details.
My parents were also heavily on my mind. My father had a debilitating illness that left him on the oxygen bottle and forced him to retire. My mother had some serious problems with her knees. One was replaced and the other needs to b replaced. Their health and finances were on my mind. I was afraid I would not see my dad again.
To make matters worse, I felt guilty because of some of the things I had done. Amanda and I had our arguments in the past, which is not uncommon for 99.99% of all married people, but I felt responsible for not being a better husband. Maybe I put my own dreams in front of hers and this was a very stupid mistake. I’m 37 years old, what the heck am I thinking? Then it was Steven. I should have spent more time with him than playing on the computer or helping him with his homework. I was just his buddy: not his daddy.
Also, I felt guilty for the death of our puppy. On my 37th birthday my wife got me a Chug puppy. He was part Pug and part Chihuahua and we named him “Shrek”. If you never seen one before, google “Chug” in google images. They are really cute. Anyways, Shrek has some problems defecating and was taken to the vet. To make a long story short, I was late getting home on March 31, 2009 to pick up an anniversary gift for Amanda. When I got home, Shrek was in convulsions and died on the way to the vet.
With all of the down time, there was so much beating on my brain. I went to church services and I cried my eyes out. I really missed my family, but I realized that I had to press forward. Any delays would be costly and the sooner I was with my family again, the better.
That very day, the DS found it within his heart to allow us to make phone calls. Again, the Army likes to see long lines of privates standing at parade rest. There were five payphones and 150 of us. Three minutes was the maximum time allowed. Some got to speak, others were not able to get in touch with anybody and there were some that just decided they did not want to wait. Finally it was my turn and I call Amanda. At first I thought she was not going to answer but then she did. I nearly cried! We had been apart for nearly seven days but to me, it was like seven months.
Our conversation was brief, and what we said I’ll keep it between us. However, I will say it was the conversation that turned me around and motivated me more than the best DS. When I hung up the phone, an NCO that was working in Reception (he returned to active duty after a brief hiatus in the civilian world) was logging everyone’s name so that the cadre would know who made their phone calls and who didn’t. He just saw the smile on my face and he smiled and said “you must have talked to your wife.”
In Reception everybody talks to you like a stray dog. The DS’s, the other NCO’s, the officers and even the civilians in the chow halls all like to make you feel so welcome (not!). In reality that make you feel like you have inconvenienced their lives by joining the Army, at least that was what some of the privates told me. I never took anything personal because it was all part of the bigger scheme of things to motivate us. I even had a DS stop me and ask me how old I was. I replied “thirty-seven” and he said “holy expletive you an old expletive what the hell are you thinking, expletive-head?” But he was being nice compared to what was in store for me and several of us from 216 Series.
The first week sucked and I thought I was at a turning point dealing with my own demons that tortured me. The second week was supposed to be the week that the majority of my series would get selected to be picked up by our BCT DS’s and get out of this Reception Hell Hole. When BCT begins, it would suck at first but got better as it went along and time would fly. Even one of the DS’s in reception told several of us that basic would be a “blur.”
The last thing we needed to do to complete our in-processing was to take our 1-1-1 PT test. The Army’s 1-1-1 was the test which the privates would perform sits and push-ups in one minute and then run a mile. Even though I was thirty-seven years old and my later standards would be age-based, the 1-1-1 was across the board for everyone, meaning I would have to do the exercises as if I was eighteen. It wasn’t bad at all.
The pushups I did well, and came in ten second faster than the prescribe time of 8:30. However, I totally bombed the sit-ups. I came up one short due to a very sore left hip flexor and groin muscle and I could not muster the last one without raising my left leg. No excuses: I was totally unprepared and had I spent more time in the barracks working on my pt, I could have made it. Despite the failure, in the end, it would be for the better. If Reception was Purgatory, then my next stop was Hell and it made Reception look like Heaven. It was FTU.
In the 46th AG Battalion there were three companies: Alpha, which is Reception; Bravo, FTU and Charlie, HHC, Headquarters and Headquarters Company (aka Headed Home Company), the company that separates Reception or Basic Training soldiers from the Army.
Some privates could not pass the 1-1-1 because either they were unable to or they lacked the motivation. In FTU they would (or should) get both. The physical training goes without saying. There was plenty of PT to go around. The motivation part came from persuading these guys they needed to get out. And day one, I learned why.
Some of the guys in my series, to include a seventeen year-old, couldn’t pass the run. His was an example of lack of motivation. He was a good kid but lazy. One of my closest friends had a wrist injury prior to Ft Knox and couldn’t pass the push-ups. Eventually, he would be the push-up king! Another fellow couldn’t pass the push ups either but he was another lazy one. Then we had another that couldn’t do any of it. He would eventually be separated from the Army.
Not long after me and several of my battle buddies found out we were going to FTU, we were told by several others that we would have access to one of two weight rooms, a swimming pool, and we could run a lot. Also, there would be swimming pool training and the chow hall served much yummier eats! Of course, PNN (the Private News Network) was wrong 99% of the time. Yes, there were two weight rooms that we would eventually use only once. Otherwise only the drill sergeants would use it. We did swim at the pool, once, but we were not allowed to have fatty cakes or burgers in the chow hall. Oh, yeah, ten minute phone calls on Sundays! I could live with that.
But, when we came over to Bravo the DS that in–processed us said “this place sucks!” He told us about an illness entitled “the Bravo Bug.” Everyone at FTU seemed to catch it and even the DS himself had the yuck. It seemed everyone at Ft Knox was sick and I was so glad my immune system has always been strong. With the exception of an occasional ear infection in my left ear, I seldom got sick. In the days that followed, the bug would eventually bite me.
We got settled in to our four-man bays, with was a blessing. The large bays was packed full of people who had every type of ailment. Everyone either had a nasty cough or a nasty stomach bug. The entire barracks needed to be evacuated and doused with bleach and Lysol. If I had latex gloves I would have worn them in the shower. We even had those one kid that would not stop coughing for the entire seven days I was there. Although we had been taught to cough into our arms, he would cough all over you. I even lost my cool with him and explained that he needs to keep some things to himself, to include his funk. He just walked off as if I never said anything. That same kid couldn’t perform one push up and the day we swam, he got twenty feet out. Yes, I was the one who latched on to his float and pulled him to the other end. No one else would get close to this guy.
That very day i got back to the barracks and felt like doo doo. I knew that little walking illness got me. My sinuses got stopped up and I woke up with green mucus. My left ear began to pound and I had a nasty sore throat. I knew then and there, I cought the "Bravo Bug."
Again, the meals were good, and the PT was intense. But we had so much down time. We could not sit on our bunks, take a nap or do anything to pass the time except read from the smart books. I read from the smart books several times while I was a “guest” there. Besides the fact that FTU was mainly kids who had zero motivation and/or sick, we had these guys that would walk up and down the hallways known as “Drill Privates.” If they caught you taking a nap, talking or anything else, they would yell at you .These drill privates had no leadership abilities. In fact some were trying to get out of the Army. I know they were thrown into the job, but still, they thought they knew more than everyone else. 99.99% of the time, Drill Privates are usually wrong.
The Platoon Guide and Assistant Platoon Guide both had injuries that prevented them from advancing to BCT. Both were respectable guys. One of them actually lives about fifty miles from my home! Their job was to be the “go between” with the DS’s and the privates.
The DS’s at FTU, to include DS H, were the most fiery DS’s I had ever me, even more so than my BCT Drill Sergeants. It was their job, however. They had so many "Sick Call Rangers" who were little more than guys who were desparate to go home. It was the DS's job to motivate us to get us out. DS S was easy going but DS H was the “Super- Destroyer.” On a Sunday morning, most of the platoon was at church, DS H came upstairs and had fun flipping bunks, destroying rooms and throwing stuff in the hallways. He stopped in my room, looked around and left. My roommates and I were reading our Smartbooks. On that same day, DS H smoked us, probably harder than I had ever been smoked prior to or even after FTU. He also introduced us to the overhead arm clap. I still love that to this day.
DS H was not only a young DS, but he was a veteran with a gruesome catalogue of war wounds. He survivied a head shot from a sniper, he had several surgeries on both knees and the vehicle he was in had blown up. This guy went through hell; I did not want to piss him off.
With all the down time all I could do was to kick myself about being such a jackass to my family, and for the death of my puppy. It was my fault we were broke, it was my fault my son had battle a weight problem. It was my fault and nothing but. In FTU all you had to do was to think.
Between the horrible conditions, the ear infection I finally got, the drill privates, the boredom and stench, I figured out that I was going to pass the next PT test. Me and my battle buddies worked our butts off to get into shape. Seven days after arriving at FTU, we took our PT test and most of us that came into together, passed it. Two of my roommates were left behind (no motivation) and we even picked up some guys that would spend the next several weeks with. The very day took my 1-1-1 re-test and passed it, I was sent back to A Company Reception.
Before transferring back to Alpha Company I reflected on the fact that the DS’s were the meanest I had been in contact with, but DS H really made me realize that I could push myself harder than I ever had before. I can never thank him enough.
The darkness began to dissipate and there was light at the end and before the week was over, the light got brighter. All I knew I would need a good dose of Lysol. I felt for the DS's that worked there.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
Reception: Purgatory of the Army
Hurry up and wait. My first night in the Army was just that. As I mentioned in my previous post, I expected drill sergeants with their “Smokey the Bear” hats to be lurking but I never saw the first drill sergeant until 5:00 am. When we got to the Copple Center is was about 11:30 pm. Many hours of a sleepless night was yet to follow.
An NCO assigned to the 46th Adjutant General Battalion, we’ll call him “Sgt. H” was in a room with a large group. He told us to sit down on the benches outside the room and for us not to fall asleep. He sounded like he was sick, and later, he would confirm that by saying “the reason I’m sick is because guys go to the bathroom, touch their johnsons and do not wash their hands.” One of the wise guys next to me whispered “I touch my expletive all of the time and I don’t wash mine.” I believe to some it would have been “TMI” but not this time.” This guy smelled funky and I was fortunate not to have to sit next to him.
The Reception Company was broken down into large groups called series. Each series consists of privates who would be in-processed into the Army over the next several days. Each series had its own number, and mine was Series 216, and my line number was 120. So instead of the Reception Drill Sergeants calling us by name during accountability formations we would give roll call by saying our line number. For example, the drill sergeant would say “216 Series.” In unison, we would all say “216, Drill Sergeant!” As he would call out the number, the private would say their last name and take a knee. In my case, the drill sergeant would say “120” and I would respond “Holster, Drill Sergeant.”
Back to the first night of in-processing. Sgt H started us in a large room with small desks. We filled out paper work in which would be the start of our military record. I was impressed with the systematic manner that Sgt. H. used. He was very efficient in the way he conducted his duties, and he would indicate this later in the processing.
We went to the amnesty booth and deposited anything that could we could smoke, dip, chew, drink eat, blow up, cut, or otherwise cause the Army to get angry with us. The nice thing about it was that no one knows who put what in the booth. For me, it was a Nutragrain snack bar.
We got our first issue of Army clothing and equipment. It was only a minuscule issue for us to get by on until we would receive our main issue later in the day. It consisted of a set of PT’s (grey shirt and black shorts), a smart book, our green laundry bag, and our companion throughout BCT, the 2 quart canteen. The Army has three things all need to remember. Never forget these three things: 1) Memorize the Seven Army Values and their definitions 2) Memorize the Soldier’s Creed and 3) DRINK WATER) The Army can never over stress the need to drink water and stay hydrated, even in the winter months.
I thought my 2 quart was absolutely disgusting and I did not even bother putting water into it until I had enough time to wash it out with scalding hot water. It had been used by someone who might have eaten a nasty turd or used it as a “pee-can.” It was the one thing a lot of us felt the Army should never re-issue. After all, they do not re-issue underwear, Hooah? We also used the 2 quart like a “man purse,” especially when we were in our PT’s. We stuff our smart books, ID cards, etc, in the pouch, and it was slung over our left shoulder and carried on our right side. Until we turned everything during week nine of basic, we would not have been caught dead without our canteen, even if leaving our bays to go to the latrine (restroom). In mine, I had extra pens, notebook paper that was folded and sealed in a zip lock bag, and none other than hand sanitizer.
Hand sanitizer was another must-have item. Sgt H said “if you guys would clean your hands after touching your johnsons I wouldn’t be sick!” I still haven’t figured out how one can catch a cold if someone else “touches their Johnson.” Hand sanitizer also was part of the uniform.
We sat on the hard floor for over an hour placing items into the green laundry bags, as directed by Sgt H and taking any other items and placing them into our personal bags, as directed by Sgt H. Then we all stood in line and stepped up on a box with a clear, Plexiglas platform and a mirror under the Plexiglas. The purpose was for Sgt H to look at the reflection of our feet to and determine what type of running shoe I needed. He wrote “C” in my “smartbook” meaning I would need cushioned running shoes.
Finally, we were given five minutes to run into the latrine, change into our PT’s and place all of our civilian clothing into our personal bag. Other than the socks on my feet and some personal hygiene stuff, I was completely stripped of my civilian self. We were fortunate to have been able to keep our tennis shoes. We didn’t go to the shoppette until the following day to get our shoes, personal hygiene and other items. A lot of us didn’t get to shave until we made our initial purchase because we did not have any shaving gear
Speaking of shoes, recruiters should not tell their future soldiers “you get your new shoes when you get there” because if taken literal, it would imply that we would get our new running shoes upon arrival. To the contrary, we go to the shoppette when it is open and when our series was scheduled to go there. Unfortunately a fellow, who would later become a very close friend at basic, wore an old pair of cowboy boots to Ft. Knox. And he didn’t have any shoes. He had to march everywhere with his summer pt’s on until we made it to the shoppette.
Prior to marching to the storage barracks to store our personal bags, I finally saw something that caused me to get awestruck. Lean but built like a rock, speaking with a deep, raspy voice and wearing a uniform that was perfect was a soldier that we all wanted to be. On his right lower chest of his Army Combat Uniform (ACU) top, was a black oval shaped badge that said “This we’ll defend.” It was a badge worn by all present and past personnel who have or had the title “Drill Sergeant.” Oh, did I mention that he was wearing a brown, campaign hat?
I’m a deputy sheriff, and I have a hat that is identical in shape. State troopers, park rangers and other professions have hats that are shaped identical to my deputy sheriff hat. However a Drill Sergeant Hat is one thing that made us all “ooh” and “ah.” It is also something one must never touch. The irony is, however, this same drill sergeant would, on a later day, ask me to run to his truck one after noon because he forgot his drill sergeant hat. Being older does have its privileges.
A short time after marching to our new barracks, which smelled like a Pine Sol factory, we were issued our linens. We ran inside the barracks and threw our laundry bags and linens into our locker. I brought a lock with me so I was able to lock my stuff up. We ran back outside and stood in formation. We looked like “hot garbage,” a term drill sergeants was specially trained to use. We could not seem to get ourselves squared away and then, out of nowhere came another drill sergeant, and I’ll call him DSP. DSP was another example of the Army’s finest NCO’s handpicked to serve as a drill sergeant. His voice was raspy, which was the evidence that he had done his share of yelling. And on this day, we would know exactly why his voice was raspy. He told us “Privates today is day 1, so it is uh-oh on me but next time it is uh oh on you. You better get it together because you don’t want ‘Ole Drill’ coming down on you!” I couldn’t see him, just his DS hat.
While standing there in formation, I heard something that really perked me up. In fact, to this day, I will never forget this, despite the day being a blur. A platoon of basic trainees was calling a cadence that I could not get out of my head even if I wanted too. I listened to some cadences on youtube.com but never heard of this one. The cadence itself was great, but to actually hear 50-60 men sound off as one voice, literally made chills run down my spine. The cadence was “Airborne Rangers Lead The Way” and when I first heard, the sound was from several blocks away. It got closer to Reception and as I looked toward the multitude of basic training barracks, I saw the BCT platoon marching down a path, and then it made a column right. The platoon marched in front of our Series’ formation. They were holding their M-16’s at Port Arms and marching perfectly. Their phase banner was blue, meaning they were in their last three weeks or training.
We went to our first breakfast chow. Hurry up and wait would begin as we would have to run in an orderly fashion until we got to the chow hall door. We stood, or were supposed to stand, at parade rest, but most of these kids did not do this. They would be talking and carrying without a care in the world. That is until one of the drill sergeants came through and began to yell. DSC, much larger and more menacing looking drill sergeant, walked through and looked dead at me and yelled “get your butt moving, guy! You think you special.” I was standing at parade rest, eyes forward and standing upright. However, I had a mental laps and failed to notice the guys in front of me had moved up about five feet, and the guy behind me was telling me to move. It wouldn’t be the last time I would get yelled at.
In the chow hall, there were more drill sergeants. The older one, a Sergeant First Class, reminded me of a mix of R. Lee Ermy and Curly from the Three Stooges. He looked like Curly, but had the bushy eye brows and leather lungs of Gunney Ermy. He was sitting at a round table between the food area and the long tables were we were sitting. He yelled every 30 seconds “Hurry up!” The time to eat in reception was about two minutes if you were lucky. The catch, was that you got your food, went to your table and you had to walk fast to get your drink. Then, you walk fast back to your table, eat fast and get out before you got yelled at. However, if you or your battle buddies get caught looking around the entire table was done.
It happened. It had been around twelve hours since my last meal and the show hall food was yummy, but some genius called the drill sergeant by name. A big mistake! As a basic training private, you NEVER call a drill sergeant by their name, or any NCO for that matter. They would say “do I look like your battle buddy?” This drill sergeant said “All right this table is done and you can thank your battle buddy.”
There are procedures for the chow halls, otherwise known dining facility (difac). Without getting into all of them, and there are many, one of the things is you cannot stand up until the food in your mouth has been swallowed, and you cannot get the last drink of your fluids if you are already standing. When the DS says you are done, that means it! Well, yours truly, who is used to eating in a hurry, didn’t know this. I had a big wad of food in my mouth and tried to get the last swallow of orange juice. Big mistake! I got yelled a by, non other than the same DS that yelled at me in the chow line. “You are chewed up private! We are going to have problems with you.” Another DS was standing next to him and said “he’s a a pudgy old expletive. He and going to make it, Battle.” (DS’s referred to each other as “Battle” short for Battle Buddy).
The rest of that day was spent doing some in-processing. We got our first haircuts, did more paperwork, more briefings, and more hurry up and wait. As I was punch drunk from the lack of sleep, the day was a blur. But three things about the day I vividly remember: 1) We went the entire day without a bathroom break, 2) We all got yelled at from either the drill sergeants and/or civilians and 3) It was the longest day of my life. Between the hurry and wait and lack of sleep, hours seemed like days. For example, when we went to the chow hall for lunch, I thought it was the following day, not our Day 1. My mind was playing so many tricks on me. I thought for sure one of the DS’s was going to make mince meat out of me for nodding off. They were screaming at several privates who were nodding off. The DS’s had done this a time or two: good luck in trying to get anything past those guys and if they catch you, your ears may be ringing the rest of the day.
Along with the hurry up and wait, it seemed as if the Army had way more people than the facilities would allow. However, it was revealed to me that the Army tries to pack as many people with fewer resources. After all, it is entirely designed to take us out of our comfort zones. For example, 150 of us had to get our haircuts. There were not enough benches to seat all of us if we sat conventionally. So we straddled the benches and sat “nut to but,” meaning that the guy’s butt in front of you was in your private areas. You had to break all shyness, despite the fact some guys smelled like a manure field during a heat wave. None of us had bathed since the night before, and as usual, somebody had some stinky gas. I’m glad I wasn’t directly behind him.
Also, with so many guys, we stood at parade rest “toe to heal” when standing in long lines. With 150 of us in the 216 Series alone, there were always long lines. Add the other guys who were either in-processing, hold overs waiting to go “down-range to basic” or some, for whatever reason was stuck in reception for indefinite periods of time. I thought the Army must really like this because, as another example, there would be only one ATM. That meant there would be long lines, and it would take forever because some of the guys would make multiple transactions. And about the haircuts, two barbers to shave the heads of 150 or so men.
The last thing we did before dinner chow was march to the Central Initial Issue Point (CIIF) to receive our full clothing issue. We were issued the following: four sets of ACU’s (as well as four sets of Velcro patches that included our last names), two pair of tan, suede boots (summer and winter), two patrol caps, a trouser belt, seven tan shirts, seven tan pair of underwear (yes the “tighties”), seven pair of socks, two sets of summer PT’s (bringing our summer total to three), winter PT’s (grey Army PT jacket, black PT pants, and PT cap/beanie), pair of black leather gloves and two sets of grey liner inserts, an ACU field jacket and a large, green duffle bag that we would keep for the rest of our Army careers. I’m sure I missed something but that was pretty much what we were issued.
The size of my ACU tops was fine, but my pants were too big. However the lady said I could get them exchanged during basic (which didn’t happen). We stuffed everything into our duffle/green back and marched back to the barracks. Finally, we got to eat dinner chow, fix our bunks and crash. BUT!! Fireguard had to be manned and guess who got the 1st shift? I did. And I was pooped!
The rest of the week was spent getting shots, dental exams, filling out more paperwork and more “hurry up and wait.” The rest of the week, like day one, was a blur but it would seem like a month had passed before Friday would arrive. We were all looking forward to Friday because it was the day we would take our PT test that would qualify us to go “downrange” to basic. But, we didn’t go until Monday of the following week.
It was my first week in the Army and I absolutely hated it. By next week, I would hate it even more.
An NCO assigned to the 46th Adjutant General Battalion, we’ll call him “Sgt. H” was in a room with a large group. He told us to sit down on the benches outside the room and for us not to fall asleep. He sounded like he was sick, and later, he would confirm that by saying “the reason I’m sick is because guys go to the bathroom, touch their johnsons and do not wash their hands.” One of the wise guys next to me whispered “I touch my expletive all of the time and I don’t wash mine.” I believe to some it would have been “TMI” but not this time.” This guy smelled funky and I was fortunate not to have to sit next to him.
The Reception Company was broken down into large groups called series. Each series consists of privates who would be in-processed into the Army over the next several days. Each series had its own number, and mine was Series 216, and my line number was 120. So instead of the Reception Drill Sergeants calling us by name during accountability formations we would give roll call by saying our line number. For example, the drill sergeant would say “216 Series.” In unison, we would all say “216, Drill Sergeant!” As he would call out the number, the private would say their last name and take a knee. In my case, the drill sergeant would say “120” and I would respond “Holster, Drill Sergeant.”
Back to the first night of in-processing. Sgt H started us in a large room with small desks. We filled out paper work in which would be the start of our military record. I was impressed with the systematic manner that Sgt. H. used. He was very efficient in the way he conducted his duties, and he would indicate this later in the processing.
We went to the amnesty booth and deposited anything that could we could smoke, dip, chew, drink eat, blow up, cut, or otherwise cause the Army to get angry with us. The nice thing about it was that no one knows who put what in the booth. For me, it was a Nutragrain snack bar.
We got our first issue of Army clothing and equipment. It was only a minuscule issue for us to get by on until we would receive our main issue later in the day. It consisted of a set of PT’s (grey shirt and black shorts), a smart book, our green laundry bag, and our companion throughout BCT, the 2 quart canteen. The Army has three things all need to remember. Never forget these three things: 1) Memorize the Seven Army Values and their definitions 2) Memorize the Soldier’s Creed and 3) DRINK WATER) The Army can never over stress the need to drink water and stay hydrated, even in the winter months.
I thought my 2 quart was absolutely disgusting and I did not even bother putting water into it until I had enough time to wash it out with scalding hot water. It had been used by someone who might have eaten a nasty turd or used it as a “pee-can.” It was the one thing a lot of us felt the Army should never re-issue. After all, they do not re-issue underwear, Hooah? We also used the 2 quart like a “man purse,” especially when we were in our PT’s. We stuff our smart books, ID cards, etc, in the pouch, and it was slung over our left shoulder and carried on our right side. Until we turned everything during week nine of basic, we would not have been caught dead without our canteen, even if leaving our bays to go to the latrine (restroom). In mine, I had extra pens, notebook paper that was folded and sealed in a zip lock bag, and none other than hand sanitizer.
Hand sanitizer was another must-have item. Sgt H said “if you guys would clean your hands after touching your johnsons I wouldn’t be sick!” I still haven’t figured out how one can catch a cold if someone else “touches their Johnson.” Hand sanitizer also was part of the uniform.
We sat on the hard floor for over an hour placing items into the green laundry bags, as directed by Sgt H and taking any other items and placing them into our personal bags, as directed by Sgt H. Then we all stood in line and stepped up on a box with a clear, Plexiglas platform and a mirror under the Plexiglas. The purpose was for Sgt H to look at the reflection of our feet to and determine what type of running shoe I needed. He wrote “C” in my “smartbook” meaning I would need cushioned running shoes.
Finally, we were given five minutes to run into the latrine, change into our PT’s and place all of our civilian clothing into our personal bag. Other than the socks on my feet and some personal hygiene stuff, I was completely stripped of my civilian self. We were fortunate to have been able to keep our tennis shoes. We didn’t go to the shoppette until the following day to get our shoes, personal hygiene and other items. A lot of us didn’t get to shave until we made our initial purchase because we did not have any shaving gear
Speaking of shoes, recruiters should not tell their future soldiers “you get your new shoes when you get there” because if taken literal, it would imply that we would get our new running shoes upon arrival. To the contrary, we go to the shoppette when it is open and when our series was scheduled to go there. Unfortunately a fellow, who would later become a very close friend at basic, wore an old pair of cowboy boots to Ft. Knox. And he didn’t have any shoes. He had to march everywhere with his summer pt’s on until we made it to the shoppette.
Prior to marching to the storage barracks to store our personal bags, I finally saw something that caused me to get awestruck. Lean but built like a rock, speaking with a deep, raspy voice and wearing a uniform that was perfect was a soldier that we all wanted to be. On his right lower chest of his Army Combat Uniform (ACU) top, was a black oval shaped badge that said “This we’ll defend.” It was a badge worn by all present and past personnel who have or had the title “Drill Sergeant.” Oh, did I mention that he was wearing a brown, campaign hat?
I’m a deputy sheriff, and I have a hat that is identical in shape. State troopers, park rangers and other professions have hats that are shaped identical to my deputy sheriff hat. However a Drill Sergeant Hat is one thing that made us all “ooh” and “ah.” It is also something one must never touch. The irony is, however, this same drill sergeant would, on a later day, ask me to run to his truck one after noon because he forgot his drill sergeant hat. Being older does have its privileges.
A short time after marching to our new barracks, which smelled like a Pine Sol factory, we were issued our linens. We ran inside the barracks and threw our laundry bags and linens into our locker. I brought a lock with me so I was able to lock my stuff up. We ran back outside and stood in formation. We looked like “hot garbage,” a term drill sergeants was specially trained to use. We could not seem to get ourselves squared away and then, out of nowhere came another drill sergeant, and I’ll call him DSP. DSP was another example of the Army’s finest NCO’s handpicked to serve as a drill sergeant. His voice was raspy, which was the evidence that he had done his share of yelling. And on this day, we would know exactly why his voice was raspy. He told us “Privates today is day 1, so it is uh-oh on me but next time it is uh oh on you. You better get it together because you don’t want ‘Ole Drill’ coming down on you!” I couldn’t see him, just his DS hat.
While standing there in formation, I heard something that really perked me up. In fact, to this day, I will never forget this, despite the day being a blur. A platoon of basic trainees was calling a cadence that I could not get out of my head even if I wanted too. I listened to some cadences on youtube.com but never heard of this one. The cadence itself was great, but to actually hear 50-60 men sound off as one voice, literally made chills run down my spine. The cadence was “Airborne Rangers Lead The Way” and when I first heard, the sound was from several blocks away. It got closer to Reception and as I looked toward the multitude of basic training barracks, I saw the BCT platoon marching down a path, and then it made a column right. The platoon marched in front of our Series’ formation. They were holding their M-16’s at Port Arms and marching perfectly. Their phase banner was blue, meaning they were in their last three weeks or training.
We went to our first breakfast chow. Hurry up and wait would begin as we would have to run in an orderly fashion until we got to the chow hall door. We stood, or were supposed to stand, at parade rest, but most of these kids did not do this. They would be talking and carrying without a care in the world. That is until one of the drill sergeants came through and began to yell. DSC, much larger and more menacing looking drill sergeant, walked through and looked dead at me and yelled “get your butt moving, guy! You think you special.” I was standing at parade rest, eyes forward and standing upright. However, I had a mental laps and failed to notice the guys in front of me had moved up about five feet, and the guy behind me was telling me to move. It wouldn’t be the last time I would get yelled at.
In the chow hall, there were more drill sergeants. The older one, a Sergeant First Class, reminded me of a mix of R. Lee Ermy and Curly from the Three Stooges. He looked like Curly, but had the bushy eye brows and leather lungs of Gunney Ermy. He was sitting at a round table between the food area and the long tables were we were sitting. He yelled every 30 seconds “Hurry up!” The time to eat in reception was about two minutes if you were lucky. The catch, was that you got your food, went to your table and you had to walk fast to get your drink. Then, you walk fast back to your table, eat fast and get out before you got yelled at. However, if you or your battle buddies get caught looking around the entire table was done.
It happened. It had been around twelve hours since my last meal and the show hall food was yummy, but some genius called the drill sergeant by name. A big mistake! As a basic training private, you NEVER call a drill sergeant by their name, or any NCO for that matter. They would say “do I look like your battle buddy?” This drill sergeant said “All right this table is done and you can thank your battle buddy.”
There are procedures for the chow halls, otherwise known dining facility (difac). Without getting into all of them, and there are many, one of the things is you cannot stand up until the food in your mouth has been swallowed, and you cannot get the last drink of your fluids if you are already standing. When the DS says you are done, that means it! Well, yours truly, who is used to eating in a hurry, didn’t know this. I had a big wad of food in my mouth and tried to get the last swallow of orange juice. Big mistake! I got yelled a by, non other than the same DS that yelled at me in the chow line. “You are chewed up private! We are going to have problems with you.” Another DS was standing next to him and said “he’s a a pudgy old expletive. He and going to make it, Battle.” (DS’s referred to each other as “Battle” short for Battle Buddy).
The rest of that day was spent doing some in-processing. We got our first haircuts, did more paperwork, more briefings, and more hurry up and wait. As I was punch drunk from the lack of sleep, the day was a blur. But three things about the day I vividly remember: 1) We went the entire day without a bathroom break, 2) We all got yelled at from either the drill sergeants and/or civilians and 3) It was the longest day of my life. Between the hurry and wait and lack of sleep, hours seemed like days. For example, when we went to the chow hall for lunch, I thought it was the following day, not our Day 1. My mind was playing so many tricks on me. I thought for sure one of the DS’s was going to make mince meat out of me for nodding off. They were screaming at several privates who were nodding off. The DS’s had done this a time or two: good luck in trying to get anything past those guys and if they catch you, your ears may be ringing the rest of the day.
Along with the hurry up and wait, it seemed as if the Army had way more people than the facilities would allow. However, it was revealed to me that the Army tries to pack as many people with fewer resources. After all, it is entirely designed to take us out of our comfort zones. For example, 150 of us had to get our haircuts. There were not enough benches to seat all of us if we sat conventionally. So we straddled the benches and sat “nut to but,” meaning that the guy’s butt in front of you was in your private areas. You had to break all shyness, despite the fact some guys smelled like a manure field during a heat wave. None of us had bathed since the night before, and as usual, somebody had some stinky gas. I’m glad I wasn’t directly behind him.
Also, with so many guys, we stood at parade rest “toe to heal” when standing in long lines. With 150 of us in the 216 Series alone, there were always long lines. Add the other guys who were either in-processing, hold overs waiting to go “down-range to basic” or some, for whatever reason was stuck in reception for indefinite periods of time. I thought the Army must really like this because, as another example, there would be only one ATM. That meant there would be long lines, and it would take forever because some of the guys would make multiple transactions. And about the haircuts, two barbers to shave the heads of 150 or so men.
The last thing we did before dinner chow was march to the Central Initial Issue Point (CIIF) to receive our full clothing issue. We were issued the following: four sets of ACU’s (as well as four sets of Velcro patches that included our last names), two pair of tan, suede boots (summer and winter), two patrol caps, a trouser belt, seven tan shirts, seven tan pair of underwear (yes the “tighties”), seven pair of socks, two sets of summer PT’s (bringing our summer total to three), winter PT’s (grey Army PT jacket, black PT pants, and PT cap/beanie), pair of black leather gloves and two sets of grey liner inserts, an ACU field jacket and a large, green duffle bag that we would keep for the rest of our Army careers. I’m sure I missed something but that was pretty much what we were issued.
The size of my ACU tops was fine, but my pants were too big. However the lady said I could get them exchanged during basic (which didn’t happen). We stuffed everything into our duffle/green back and marched back to the barracks. Finally, we got to eat dinner chow, fix our bunks and crash. BUT!! Fireguard had to be manned and guess who got the 1st shift? I did. And I was pooped!
The rest of the week was spent getting shots, dental exams, filling out more paperwork and more “hurry up and wait.” The rest of the week, like day one, was a blur but it would seem like a month had passed before Friday would arrive. We were all looking forward to Friday because it was the day we would take our PT test that would qualify us to go “downrange” to basic. But, we didn’t go until Monday of the following week.
It was my first week in the Army and I absolutely hated it. By next week, I would hate it even more.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The End Of One Road Begins Another
On December 17, 2009 I did something I had never done before: fly commercially. My 1st experience on a commercial airliner was a good one. I didn’t get strip searched, nor did I get the same treatment Adam Sandler’s character did in “Anger Management.” I did not have to run from one end of the airport to the other. If I had to complain about anything, it was the high cost for a cheeseburger in the airport. The wait was ok. “Hurry up and Wait” stinks but I’m used to it. It is a good tool to learn patience or to give you an ulcer. My stomach doesn’t hurt so I must have learned patience.
After sitting for hours in St. Louis I finally boarded my flight to Atlanta Ga. Then, I flew again, this time to Mobile Alabama. It was one of the best days in my life. My wife picked me up at the Mobile Airport and drove me home.
Only one thing happened in the five months I was gone. I changed. However, a very wide array of things happened that led to my change. In my previous blog entry on August 3, 2009 I mentioned the fact that I was leaving for basic training and was waiting for my recruiter to arrive. Well, he did and I went to basic training at Ft. Knox and then went to Ft. Leonard Wood for AIT.
The Army’s job, in a nutshell, is to win wars. Period. In these wars or other conflicts, soldiers die or get injured for their country top preserve the freedoms and ideals of the United States of America. The ones who do get injured to the point they can no longer serve, as well as those who are killed, must be replaced. As tragic as it is, it is a serious reality. If the Army never replaced the soldiers who have fallen or been disabled over the history of this country, we would not have an Army. This is not to mention the men and women who retire from service or the short timers who served their time and left the Army. And, there is a much smaller group who are separated from service for whatever reason.
For whatever the reason to replace the old personnel, the Army has to train new personnel. Serving is a privilege but once you’ve signed your signature you are committed to a job you just can’t quit. You can type the most eloquent resignation, with the verbiage that can make great writers to raise an eyebrow, but, nothing; I repeat nothing will help one get out of the armed services in a day. In some cases, longer than a month may be required. You do not want to jump into enlistment without weighing all of the options.
Who wants to go some place similar to a jail, get yelled at 24/7 by a total stranger, be told what, when and how to eat, when to go to the bath room, when to go to bed, when to wake up, what to where; have no privacy, wait in line for a shower and shower with others; get trained to go fight a war where the enemy wants to KILL YOU and do it all for a very meager financial compensation. That is why the needs good sales persons to show what the Army can do for them. These sales persons are called recruiters, and the Army hand picks these personnel and trains them to sell the Army. Recruiters usually hold the rank of E-5 (Sergeant) to E-7 (Sergeant First Class).
SSG Marty Shaw does his job well as a recruiter. His job is to sell the Army to kids fresh out high school, or in my case, older guys such as myself. I do believe I made his job easier because I already knew what MOS I wanted and I fully understood what I needed to do. In other words, SSG Shaw didn’t really have to sell me anything. And I paid for it, but in the end, what I got back in return was worth the price I paid.
Here is the story, and it picks up on August 3, 2009, the day I left off:
Steven hollered “Daddy, he’s here.” I gave Amanda a kiss and told her I loved her. I couldn’t hug her due to her surgery. Steven’s eyes were watery and I gave him a hug and told him I loved him. I felt a chill and not a good one. I knew that would be the last time I would see Amanda and Steven for a few months. “What did I get myself into,” I thought as I stepped through the door. I looked at the window and I could see Steven looking through it. His watery eyes were runny at this point. I placed my hand on his head and told him he was the man of the house, and for him to take care of Amanda. He seemed to perk up at that time.
SSG Shaw was sitting patiently in his car as if he had done this a couple of times. With my backpack slung over my shoulder, I walked out and got into the car. I looked up at the house for the last time and I could see Steven waving though the window. We backed out of the driveway and left my residence. Little did I know, it would be the last time I would see my brick home with the green trim.
Later that day the bus picked me up at the recruiter’s station and we took the ride up to Montgomery. This time we had a driver who seemed to have absolutely no people skills. That was okay considering if there was anytime to get used to “rudeness” the time was now.
That evening I arrived in Montgomery, Alabama and stayed overnight in the same motel that I did in May. My memory of that evening is a blur; I spent most of the evening talking on the phone with my wife and son and with my parents.
The next morning came early and just as I did in May, I ate breakfast and boarded the bus headed to MEPS. When we arrived at MEPS, we received the briefing: do not fall asleep, no tobacco use except in designated areas and absolutely no cell phone use in or around the MEPS building (with the exception of the liaison office).
I took my file up to the Army Reserve liaison and was directed up to the third floor. There, I was weighed and measured for body fat calculation. 226 pounds and 22% body fat. I was in the club. I had been told previously that since the Army was overflowing with personnel, they had turned away people that had already enlisted, for different reasons such as being over the body fat and/or weight that had been documented on their prior visit. I made sure this was not happening to me.
I then spoke with the same physician that gave me the green light to enlist in May, and again, he gave me the green light but this time to ship. The rest of the morning was spent sitting around. I did manage to go to the liaison office to call my wife. I was up there at around 11:00 am when I heard one of the guidance counselors say, “These expletive computers are down, AGAIN!” They didn’t come back up.
A little while later, while eating lunch, I talked with a shipper bounding for Fort Benning say that he had to stay over night because the “expletive computers are down.” I didn’t blame him for being unhappy. Like me, he wanted to get out of Dodge and get the next few months over with. However, the Marine Gunnery Sergeant walking past our table seemed to dislike the shipper’s choice of words. He yelled at this kid and then yelled at me and said “you should have raised this kid better, sir” That was when I noticed the stick on name tag had fallen off of my shirt and into my, you guessed it, chili cheese fries. The Gunney walked on.
At noon, I made it back to the MEPS building. Idling in the parking lot were several large charter buses and a few smaller buses. They were undoubtedly waiting on us, and I knew I would be on one of those buses a short time later. After checking out with the ladies at MEPS, I grabbed my backpack and walked out of the building, but not before receiving a small New Testament Bible. Little would I know how big of an impact that God’s Word would be in the weeks that followed.
There were only five of us going to Fort Knox, so I assumed we would be on a small bus. Wrong! We got one of the larger buses, yes all five of us, and we were greeted by an older fellow who said “I’m your driver. I got two rules: Do not crap in my bathroom. If you want to smoke, sit behind me.” We pulled out of MEPS and I called my wife.
During the trip a couple of the other guys used my phone. They left their phones because their recruiters told them that the drill sergeants threw phones away. “Nice,” I thought. My phone was brand new. I spent the trip pretty much to myself and talked to my wife, my son, my lieutenant at my civilian job, my parents and just about everyone listed in my phone. I also dipped some serious tobacco. I had a chaw in my mouth nearly the entire time. I knew August 4 was going to be my last day of tobacco use, and after 22 years, I wanted that habit to be gone for good. I guzzled a few sodas, knowing they were going to be my last.
Our final meal, in which we and the driver dubbed “The Last Dinner” (The Last Supper was conducted by Jesus Christ and the Twelve Disciples, not us!). I ate a steak, fries and spiced apples. I drank a gallon of sweet tea. I stuffed myself to my face to the point I wanted to die. After our meal tickets were cashed in, we got on the bus with about 130 miles left to go.
I had about three-fourths of a can of chaw left (I bought a second can on the trip) when the driver said we were about fifty miles out. I got a super-size chaw and savored it. I knew this was it. Just prior to arriving at the gate, the driver told us to police our trash and our contraband tobacco and we complied. I threw what tobacco I had left in the garbage, and spit out my last taste of tobacco for the rest of my life. Also I saw the gold depository, well, at least the lights that surround it at night,.
We got to the main gate at approximately 11:30 pm. The driver shut down the engine and we were boarded by the civilian contract police officers and military police. One of the guys said something when the military police looked at me and said “shut the expletive up you!!” I didn’t bother telling him it was me or that I was a deputy sheriff. None of that mattered anymore. I just said “Understood PFC” (Private First Class)
We entered the post and went made a turn here, passed the basic training area barracks there when we made a left turn. It was the Copple Center, the in-processing station for Ft Knox. And I hated it!
Back to the trip before arriving at Ft. Knox, all five of us were singing “Proud to Be and America,” the song made famous by Lee Greenwood and imitated drill sergeants. But when we got to the Copple Center, we shut up! We expected to be boarded by drill sergeants, getting yelled at and being told “get your sorry expletive of my bus!! When the bus came to a halt, there were no drill Sergeants, no screaming or yelling. In fact, there was no one waiting on us. No drill sergeants. No nothing. The driver told us, “here is your new home.
After sitting for hours in St. Louis I finally boarded my flight to Atlanta Ga. Then, I flew again, this time to Mobile Alabama. It was one of the best days in my life. My wife picked me up at the Mobile Airport and drove me home.
Only one thing happened in the five months I was gone. I changed. However, a very wide array of things happened that led to my change. In my previous blog entry on August 3, 2009 I mentioned the fact that I was leaving for basic training and was waiting for my recruiter to arrive. Well, he did and I went to basic training at Ft. Knox and then went to Ft. Leonard Wood for AIT.
The Army’s job, in a nutshell, is to win wars. Period. In these wars or other conflicts, soldiers die or get injured for their country top preserve the freedoms and ideals of the United States of America. The ones who do get injured to the point they can no longer serve, as well as those who are killed, must be replaced. As tragic as it is, it is a serious reality. If the Army never replaced the soldiers who have fallen or been disabled over the history of this country, we would not have an Army. This is not to mention the men and women who retire from service or the short timers who served their time and left the Army. And, there is a much smaller group who are separated from service for whatever reason.
For whatever the reason to replace the old personnel, the Army has to train new personnel. Serving is a privilege but once you’ve signed your signature you are committed to a job you just can’t quit. You can type the most eloquent resignation, with the verbiage that can make great writers to raise an eyebrow, but, nothing; I repeat nothing will help one get out of the armed services in a day. In some cases, longer than a month may be required. You do not want to jump into enlistment without weighing all of the options.
Who wants to go some place similar to a jail, get yelled at 24/7 by a total stranger, be told what, when and how to eat, when to go to the bath room, when to go to bed, when to wake up, what to where; have no privacy, wait in line for a shower and shower with others; get trained to go fight a war where the enemy wants to KILL YOU and do it all for a very meager financial compensation. That is why the needs good sales persons to show what the Army can do for them. These sales persons are called recruiters, and the Army hand picks these personnel and trains them to sell the Army. Recruiters usually hold the rank of E-5 (Sergeant) to E-7 (Sergeant First Class).
SSG Marty Shaw does his job well as a recruiter. His job is to sell the Army to kids fresh out high school, or in my case, older guys such as myself. I do believe I made his job easier because I already knew what MOS I wanted and I fully understood what I needed to do. In other words, SSG Shaw didn’t really have to sell me anything. And I paid for it, but in the end, what I got back in return was worth the price I paid.
Here is the story, and it picks up on August 3, 2009, the day I left off:
Steven hollered “Daddy, he’s here.” I gave Amanda a kiss and told her I loved her. I couldn’t hug her due to her surgery. Steven’s eyes were watery and I gave him a hug and told him I loved him. I felt a chill and not a good one. I knew that would be the last time I would see Amanda and Steven for a few months. “What did I get myself into,” I thought as I stepped through the door. I looked at the window and I could see Steven looking through it. His watery eyes were runny at this point. I placed my hand on his head and told him he was the man of the house, and for him to take care of Amanda. He seemed to perk up at that time.
SSG Shaw was sitting patiently in his car as if he had done this a couple of times. With my backpack slung over my shoulder, I walked out and got into the car. I looked up at the house for the last time and I could see Steven waving though the window. We backed out of the driveway and left my residence. Little did I know, it would be the last time I would see my brick home with the green trim.
Later that day the bus picked me up at the recruiter’s station and we took the ride up to Montgomery. This time we had a driver who seemed to have absolutely no people skills. That was okay considering if there was anytime to get used to “rudeness” the time was now.
That evening I arrived in Montgomery, Alabama and stayed overnight in the same motel that I did in May. My memory of that evening is a blur; I spent most of the evening talking on the phone with my wife and son and with my parents.
The next morning came early and just as I did in May, I ate breakfast and boarded the bus headed to MEPS. When we arrived at MEPS, we received the briefing: do not fall asleep, no tobacco use except in designated areas and absolutely no cell phone use in or around the MEPS building (with the exception of the liaison office).
I took my file up to the Army Reserve liaison and was directed up to the third floor. There, I was weighed and measured for body fat calculation. 226 pounds and 22% body fat. I was in the club. I had been told previously that since the Army was overflowing with personnel, they had turned away people that had already enlisted, for different reasons such as being over the body fat and/or weight that had been documented on their prior visit. I made sure this was not happening to me.
I then spoke with the same physician that gave me the green light to enlist in May, and again, he gave me the green light but this time to ship. The rest of the morning was spent sitting around. I did manage to go to the liaison office to call my wife. I was up there at around 11:00 am when I heard one of the guidance counselors say, “These expletive computers are down, AGAIN!” They didn’t come back up.
A little while later, while eating lunch, I talked with a shipper bounding for Fort Benning say that he had to stay over night because the “expletive computers are down.” I didn’t blame him for being unhappy. Like me, he wanted to get out of Dodge and get the next few months over with. However, the Marine Gunnery Sergeant walking past our table seemed to dislike the shipper’s choice of words. He yelled at this kid and then yelled at me and said “you should have raised this kid better, sir” That was when I noticed the stick on name tag had fallen off of my shirt and into my, you guessed it, chili cheese fries. The Gunney walked on.
At noon, I made it back to the MEPS building. Idling in the parking lot were several large charter buses and a few smaller buses. They were undoubtedly waiting on us, and I knew I would be on one of those buses a short time later. After checking out with the ladies at MEPS, I grabbed my backpack and walked out of the building, but not before receiving a small New Testament Bible. Little would I know how big of an impact that God’s Word would be in the weeks that followed.
There were only five of us going to Fort Knox, so I assumed we would be on a small bus. Wrong! We got one of the larger buses, yes all five of us, and we were greeted by an older fellow who said “I’m your driver. I got two rules: Do not crap in my bathroom. If you want to smoke, sit behind me.” We pulled out of MEPS and I called my wife.
During the trip a couple of the other guys used my phone. They left their phones because their recruiters told them that the drill sergeants threw phones away. “Nice,” I thought. My phone was brand new. I spent the trip pretty much to myself and talked to my wife, my son, my lieutenant at my civilian job, my parents and just about everyone listed in my phone. I also dipped some serious tobacco. I had a chaw in my mouth nearly the entire time. I knew August 4 was going to be my last day of tobacco use, and after 22 years, I wanted that habit to be gone for good. I guzzled a few sodas, knowing they were going to be my last.
Our final meal, in which we and the driver dubbed “The Last Dinner” (The Last Supper was conducted by Jesus Christ and the Twelve Disciples, not us!). I ate a steak, fries and spiced apples. I drank a gallon of sweet tea. I stuffed myself to my face to the point I wanted to die. After our meal tickets were cashed in, we got on the bus with about 130 miles left to go.
I had about three-fourths of a can of chaw left (I bought a second can on the trip) when the driver said we were about fifty miles out. I got a super-size chaw and savored it. I knew this was it. Just prior to arriving at the gate, the driver told us to police our trash and our contraband tobacco and we complied. I threw what tobacco I had left in the garbage, and spit out my last taste of tobacco for the rest of my life. Also I saw the gold depository, well, at least the lights that surround it at night,.
We got to the main gate at approximately 11:30 pm. The driver shut down the engine and we were boarded by the civilian contract police officers and military police. One of the guys said something when the military police looked at me and said “shut the expletive up you!!” I didn’t bother telling him it was me or that I was a deputy sheriff. None of that mattered anymore. I just said “Understood PFC” (Private First Class)
We entered the post and went made a turn here, passed the basic training area barracks there when we made a left turn. It was the Copple Center, the in-processing station for Ft Knox. And I hated it!
Back to the trip before arriving at Ft. Knox, all five of us were singing “Proud to Be and America,” the song made famous by Lee Greenwood and imitated drill sergeants. But when we got to the Copple Center, we shut up! We expected to be boarded by drill sergeants, getting yelled at and being told “get your sorry expletive of my bus!! When the bus came to a halt, there were no drill Sergeants, no screaming or yelling. In fact, there was no one waiting on us. No drill sergeants. No nothing. The driver told us, “here is your new home.
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