2 of 12 Basic Training

I took my basic training at Fort Dix. I did not ask for this military job. I was a conscientious objector and not a patriot of the Vietnam War. The army was not fun. It was depersonalizing, It was humiliating, The time was wasteful, the demeanor was unconscionable and the whole idea was senseless. We got off on the wrong foot and I never did march to the beat of the same drum. The first thing they did there at basic training camp was chop off everyone’s hair with this, only fuzz left, hairdo leaving everyone looking equally stupid.

In Basic Training among other things I was told that there was three ways to survive in this mans army; lead, follow or get out of the way. Didn’t take me long to figure that one out. Slowly and surely I got further and further out of the way. During the first week I found out how sick call worked. After the morning formation I asked to be excused for the purposes of attaining medical attention. I was promptly subjected to assorted yelling and screaming and told I had better be having a near death experience and come back with documentation stating so. If not I was threatened or I would be subjected to the worst time of my life.

After a few days of sick call I could produce my own documentation and hang out in my room while everyone else was running around ten or so miles through the sands of New Jersey in full gear, that is with 50 pounds of stuff on their backs, and experiencing inconveniences like gas attacks, ambushed by other companies and general harassment. I listened to their tales each evening and I was dubbed alias Joker Jim the Wild Card.

I was not completely immune and had to participate occasionally for assorted tests. You had to acquire a performance grade for qualifying with the M16 rifle and make it through some obstacle courses. Without these attendances and a passing grade you would start over again for another 6 weeks of basic training. I did not want to brag about my accommodations and leisurely visits to the mess hall. They were running to the mess hall and given only ten minutes to get out of their. The last 20 or so guys had to do a couple dozen push-ups before they could get in. They were subjected to a scoop of something on bread. It was referred to as shit on a shingle I think. I like my eggs over easy with sausage. The army tea was not for me so I picked up my Red Rose tea bags from town and always brought them to the mess hall with me.

In the early afternoon when the coast was clear, I slipped away in civilian cloths and went to the local town. Cab fare was a quarter to go anywhere at the time. I picked up a few pizzas or other real food from town for the roommates. On the way back their was something called a beer garden. It was an "on base" military establishment that sold beer. The beer was 3.2 or some such low alcohol content beer and they sold it to me with no questions asked. I can't drink beer cause I'm under age. you have to be 21 in Jeresy and I'm only 18. Old enough to kill though.

I made sure the roomies always got to enjoy a beer with there late night snack. I found a place to stash the stuff until evening. I had an ice cooler I snatched from the mess hall and it is still with me today. The electric radiator was perfect for heating up the pizzas. I treated my roommates well and they loved my antics.

I realized that once you’re brave enough to walk around like you own the place the upper echelon and high ranking enlisted sergeants start to believe you do. In my spare time, which I had plenty of; I started collecting information about JAG (Judicial arm of the government), dental, finance and personal appointments. For my six weeks of Basic Training, in a figure of speech, I gave myself a gold star. The army gave me a nice low combat grade and that was good because the top scores were going to AIT (Advanced Infinity Training). Vietnam was always the assignment following AIT.

My scores were high in electronics and I was pretty confident that I had electronic school in the bag. As basic training came to an end orders came for me to go to school and I was going to Fort Devin up near Boston, Mass for my next assignment. I was given 30 days of leave. You are given 30 days off each year. That is a paid vacation to recuperate from the rigorous life of being a military man. Jim Raab

http://jimraab.blogspot.com/