Reveille, reveille

The bus from the Newark Recruitment Center arrived at the U. S. Naval Recruit Training Center in Bainbridge, Maryland around 11:00 PM.  It had been a long ride.  The bus was packed with young women, most leaving home for the first time.  Initially it was raucous and loud as we all tried to meet and learn a little about each other, but after awhile we settled down to our own thoughts and fears.  Once we arrived, we were offloaded into a barracks that had been built prior to World War II.  Some women were already there, others were yet to come.  Each of us was assigned a bunk and told where to stow our gear.  We were shown the head (we had a lot of Navy terminology to learn) and told to make up our bunks and get to sleep.  Since more busloads of women continued to arrive until the wee hours of the morning, sleep was not easily achieved.


At 5:00 AM the next morning our Company Commander turned on all the overhead lights and paraded up and down the center passageway yelling at the top of her lungs, "Reveille, Reveille!"  It was a rude awakening.  To this day if I am asleep in a dark room, all anyone needs to do is flip on the light and I will fly out of the bed and begin searching for my clothing.  One of the girls sat straight up in her bunk, obviously not remembering where she was, and screamed "Shut that damn fool up.  I'm trying to get some sleep here."  We all had a good laugh, until we discovered all 73 of us had exactly 20 minutes to get up, showered, dressed, bunks made and mustered for roll call.  We didn't know how to make up an acceptable military bunk, though that was one of the first things we learned that day.  We didn't even know what mustered meant (though I knew it had nothing to do with a spicy yellowish condiment).  After roll call we were assembled in formation (well, not really, but we were trying) and marched to the mess hall.  What a rag-tag bunch of neophytes we were.  And there, in perfect formation in front of us, all dressed in the same uniform, calling cadence as they marched in-step, were hundreds of other young women who had already begun training.  I didn't see how our group was ever gonna look that good, but you'd be amazed what can happen in just a few short days.


That first week we were measured for all of our uniforms.  Each recruit was tested to see if she was allergic to wool.  Now, maybe I'm being a little too logical here, but it seems to me you should test for a wool allergy before you enlist and get shipped off to boot camp.  Since the winter uniforms are wool, it would stand to reason you won't be able to wear it if you are allergic.   Since you can't be in the military and not wear the uniform, those who are allergic have to go.  Why not weed them out before they sign the commitment, er enlistment, papers?  Anyway, since I was so skinny, they made all of my uniforms too big.  When I went back for the first fitting, and everything was way too large, I complained and was told "Oh, you'll put on weight in boot camp.  Your uniform will fit by the time you leave."  Obviously these people had never had the problem gaining weight that I had when I was young.  I actually did gain weight in boot camp, because I was forced to eat three "balanced" meals a day at the same time every day.  They watched everything I put on my tray (and you got no choices, you ate what they slopped up there though an exception was made for my allergy to eggs) and they made sure none of it got tossed in the trash (which in my mind was where the majority of it belonged).  I weighed 117 pounds when I got out of recruit training.  Two weeks later I was back down to 98.  Fortunately, I had a sewing machine, and I knew how to use it.  Once I was no longer a recruit, I altered all my uniforms to fit me.


We also were taught how to march in formation.  It only took two days until we were able to march in-step while calling cadence.  I was amazed.  All that marching caused me to develop a bone spur on my left heel, which made marching a real challenge.  I was allowed to wear one sneaker with the back cut out until the spur healed.  I'm sure you can picture what an attractive mess I made wearing one shined black oxford shoe and one white sneaker, but it made it possible for me to march without being in pain, so I was all for it.


We underwent endless testing to decide our strengths and weaknesses for determining what further training we would receive, if any.  Your job in the Navy was determined by how you did on these tests.  After all the testing, the Recruit Training Commander asked to see me.  Talk about being terrified.  I knew I had done well on most of the tests, so I couldn't figure what could possibly be the problem.  She told me I had done so well they wanted to recommend me for OCS (Officer Candidate School).  I didn't have any college, and it was necessary to have a college degree in order to be an officer in the military, but she said they would pay for my college eduction and send me through OCS provided I was willing to make a longer commitment to the Navy.  Talk about hindsight being 20/20!  If I knew then, what I know now -- well you know how that goes.  I turned it down.  I had found school to be one giant boring wreck and I was not anxious to spend four more years that way.  I also didn't have a lot of faith in my ability to lead.  Not that I'm much of a follower either, but my self-esteem had taken some serious abuse in the last several years and I just didn't have as much confidence in myself as I should have had.  Dumb!  Still, if I had made the choice to go to OCS, none of the rest of my life would have unfolded in quite the same way.  Maybe I would never have known the difference, but I sure would hate to have never met Bud.


We were poked and prodded and checked from head to toe.  We were vaccinated against every possible disease in the world.  I swear they must have given us shots to prevent Bubonic Plague, Yellow Fever, Black Fever, etc.  We received smallpox vaccinations, though most of us had already been vaccinated.  We received polio vaccine.  In my lifetime I have received enough polio vaccine to have given me polio.  I've had the liquid, the sugar cubes, the shots.  I guess we baby boomers came along just at the right time to be guinea pigs for the various methods of administering the vaccine.  I assume all of these vaccines were necessary, but in 1969 women were not stationed aboard ships and only medical types were sent to war zones. There were a few overseas billets, but the rest of us would probably never leave the U.S., and therefore, never be exposed to any weird diseases.  Still, I always went to the front of the line when shots were being dispensed.  I'm the kind of person who wants to get anything difficult or unpleasant done immediately, so I don't have to think about it or have time to stew about it.  And there I was at the head of the line the day they were administering flu shots.  I'd never had a flu shot; I'd never even had the flu.  I knew I was allergic to eggs, but I didn't know the flu vaccine is typically incubated in eggs.  It must have been a good ten minutes after I got that shot before I keeled over.  I got chills, I got fever, I was sweating and shivering all at the same time, I lost everything I had put in my stomach in the last week.  I was rushed to the dispensary where fortunately someone knew immediately what was wrong and took measures to counteract the toxin.  Let me tell you from experience, the LAST place you want to be sick is in boot camp, because if you don't have a signed note from God explaining that you are dead, you are expected to get on about it -- whatever it may be -- marching, cleaning, polishing, etc.  I was sent from the dispensary back to the barracks and told to rest.  Well, that'll never happen to any military recruit.  If you are discovered in your rack in the middle of the day, every Company Commander, Instructor, Officer, or person standing watch who sees you will tear another strip off your hide.  Fortunately, I was sufficiently recovered by the next day to participate in life again.


Jeez, here I've run on endlessly and I haven't even gotten through the first week of boot camp.  I sure am wordy.  Oh well.  Tomorrow, hopefully, I'll pick up the pace a little or this part of the blog will become as long as my three-year enlistment.