In The Navy (Boot Camp), Part 2.

So all of the hard stuff was done, I thought. We were mustered outside the medical hall in the early morning Illinois chill, sounding off as our names were called. It was just getting to be light outside and we all had our gear jammed into our issued duffel bags.

This was the first time we met the Chief. If he had a real name, I have suppressed it. To us, he became only “The Chief”. He quickly sorted us into two rows side by side and didn’t even bother trying to get us to march together. Two rows were hard enough. He led the procession of shaved head (yeah, they shave you) white and black q-tips down the road, staying at the front right of the pack. He herded us off to our Barracks. We were placed on the second floor of a long rectangular building made up mainly of cinder blocks. The outside had some insulation and a wood siding over top, all painted white. The place had that moldy smell too.

The Chief was about 6 foot tall with a dark beard and moustache, maybe dyed. If you ever met him out of uniform, you would think “This is a salty sailor”. He oozed that persona. He scared the hell out of everyone, quite by design. He immediately took to a few guys he saw to be weak or trouble and had them cleaning toilets.

We got our first trip to the mess hall, which was decked out in a serious 60s decor. Lots of plastic. The food was new to me. Ever cook a whole package of bacon with out separating the strips? It comes out ½ raw, half crispy. The eggs were always scrambled and the toast mostly burned. We ate it though, we hadn’t had a bite in what seemed a full day. A few guys that were probably soda junkies tried the “bug-juice”. This was a bit like Kool-Aid, but just a little nastier. Full of sugar though. I was never a fan of it and there is not a base or boat (ship if you like) in the Navy where you couldn’t find it. It was called bug-juice because if you spilled it, it attracted flies.

After we ate we were kind of marched back to the barracks. We sat down in front of our Navy gray painted metal bunk beds and began the arduous task of stenciling our names into every bit of gear we had been issued. We did this one item at a time and with total/complete direction from the Chief. He told us where to stencil precisely and wandered around watching over everyone as they completed each item. More than one of the recruits had a problem with his white or black ink pen (these things were shaped like a sharpie, but the tip was a ball point and prone to jam/clog). The ink, which is more like paint and has a distinctive latex paint like odor, would clog or jam the pen head.

The Chief would get furious with whoever was last to finish an item and berate them with things like “Can’t spell your own name you maggot?”, or “You been suckin’ too much cock to learn how to write?” It was pretty devastating when a pen clogged or dried up, but I think it was by design too; provides the opportunity for the Chief to strike fear into the hearts of the whole group.

I was lucky to not have a very long last name, the shorter the better in this case. Mine was still pretty long and I found the cardboard stencil getting soggy after a while and had to be very careful not to let it tear or fall apart. It was all a test of nerves really.

The first night was surreal, every person in there had to be thinking the same thing I was, "hat the hell am I doing here?"

Not more than a day later, the Chief began calling us the “Saginaw Queers” and daring us to do our best. I don’t think we were the first Company to have that moniker.

Like an idiot, I started smoking in boot camp. Great idea, considering I had had Pneumonia years earlier, which scarred my lungs to some extent. Some donkey offered me one when we had a break and me trying to be cool, took it. I had tried smoking tobacco a few times in Middle/High School, but never liked it. I was hooked in two days and still smoke today.