June 5, 1997 - Welcome Home?
Note: occasionally during boot camp, I was unable to write a journal entry every day. When that is the case, I will write the next entry and repeat it until we get to the actual, original date it was written. For example, today's post was actually written on June 8.
I honestly don't remember anything that happened on this day prior to heading to our real squad bay. I'm sure we were yelled at; I'm sure we packed up; I'm sure we were yelled at some more. Sometime in mid-afternoon (i.e.: after noon chow; I still hadn't learned to estimate time by the sun or how long since the previous chow, but that skill would soon come), we loaded everything into our seabags and marched over to our new squad bay.
As we entered, we walked along the black lines of the squad bay, my nostrils filled with the tang of industrial cleaner mixed with sweat, and, was that Aqua Velva? I looked down and knew immediately where I was to stand: there was a footlocker with a large 2 and "BAILEY" stenciled onto it. I dropped my seabag onto the footlocker, as I had been told, and stood on line, again, as I had been told.
A Marine officer walked out of a door at the end of the squad bay. I knew he wasn't a Drill Instructor because he wasn't wearing the campaign cover or belt of a DI. He introduced himself as Lieutenant something, our series commander (which meant as much to me then as it probably does to you; I knew he was important). He then called for our Drill Instructors to enter.
It's tough to describe how impressive this moment was to me. Fortunately, due to the fact that my name starts with a "B," I was positioned close to the quarterdeck of the squad bay (the area at the end of the squad bay between the Head, or bathroom, on one side and the DI bedroom and closets on the other; an area that would soon become hated) which is where all of this was taking place. Because of this, I was able to stand at the position of attention, as we were supposed to be doing, while still casting a sideways glance to the quarterdeck and watch what was happening. What I saw was four of the most angry men I'd ever seen march into the squad bay with the most precision and sharpness that I had ever witnessed. They stopped in unison and faced the series commander. Some form of oath-taking ensued, and the Lieutenant gave the platoon to the Senior Drill Instructor and his Drill Instructors. He then walked out of the squad bay.
If you have ever been sitting outside on a calm summer night and watched as the evening instantly turns terrifying, with a flash of lightning and crash of thunder, and a furious storm form nowhere, then you at least have some sense of what happened next. Because the instant transformation of the Senior Drill Instructor and his Drill Instructors from statuesque models of silence and military bearing into living embodiments of chaos and terror can only be compared to an act of God like a summer squall. In the blink of an eye, they were everywhere, yelling at everyone. Everything and nothing needed to be done and it needed to be done at once.
"STOP LOOKING AROUND!"
"DON'T LOOK AT ME!!!"
"WHAT'S YOUR NAME, RECRUIT?"
"I?!?!?!? I?!?!?!?"
That first day was truly a blur of yelling, sweat, frustration, and the occasional lesson. I learned, eventually, how to properly make my rack (bed), for example. Though, every time I, or anyone else, did it slightly wrong, we had to completely strip the mattress and start over, which was fun.
I went to bed eventually that night, filled with uncertainty, but too tired to really think about it.
970608 - On 970605 we were put into our real squad bay w/ our real DIs. They yelled a lot but also taught us a lot. On 970606 we woke up at 0500 and began training. We learned drill + how to clean the squad bay. On 970607 we did more of the same. On 970608, today (Sunday), we went to Chapel after waking up at 0600. The Chapel was so amazing that I was moved to tears several times. The weather (thank God) has been in the high 60s to low 70s and not really humid. I'm enjoying it now as I'm sure it won't last.Our morning began as every other morning had begun thus far: with the lights being turned on and a Drill Instructor yelling for us to get on line. (In boot camp, we slept in an open squad bay. The bunks were all lined up in two columns near the windows, leaving a passageway through the middle. There were two black lines painted down the squad bay; one on each side. When we were told to get on line, it meant that we were to stand in front of our beds, or racks as we called them, on that black line.) On this particular morning, however, everything was different; this was the day we would go to our real squad bay and meet our real Drill Instructors.
I honestly don't remember anything that happened on this day prior to heading to our real squad bay. I'm sure we were yelled at; I'm sure we packed up; I'm sure we were yelled at some more. Sometime in mid-afternoon (i.e.: after noon chow; I still hadn't learned to estimate time by the sun or how long since the previous chow, but that skill would soon come), we loaded everything into our seabags and marched over to our new squad bay.
As we entered, we walked along the black lines of the squad bay, my nostrils filled with the tang of industrial cleaner mixed with sweat, and, was that Aqua Velva? I looked down and knew immediately where I was to stand: there was a footlocker with a large 2 and "BAILEY" stenciled onto it. I dropped my seabag onto the footlocker, as I had been told, and stood on line, again, as I had been told.
A Marine officer walked out of a door at the end of the squad bay. I knew he wasn't a Drill Instructor because he wasn't wearing the campaign cover or belt of a DI. He introduced himself as Lieutenant something, our series commander (which meant as much to me then as it probably does to you; I knew he was important). He then called for our Drill Instructors to enter.
It's tough to describe how impressive this moment was to me. Fortunately, due to the fact that my name starts with a "B," I was positioned close to the quarterdeck of the squad bay (the area at the end of the squad bay between the Head, or bathroom, on one side and the DI bedroom and closets on the other; an area that would soon become hated) which is where all of this was taking place. Because of this, I was able to stand at the position of attention, as we were supposed to be doing, while still casting a sideways glance to the quarterdeck and watch what was happening. What I saw was four of the most angry men I'd ever seen march into the squad bay with the most precision and sharpness that I had ever witnessed. They stopped in unison and faced the series commander. Some form of oath-taking ensued, and the Lieutenant gave the platoon to the Senior Drill Instructor and his Drill Instructors. He then walked out of the squad bay.
If you have ever been sitting outside on a calm summer night and watched as the evening instantly turns terrifying, with a flash of lightning and crash of thunder, and a furious storm form nowhere, then you at least have some sense of what happened next. Because the instant transformation of the Senior Drill Instructor and his Drill Instructors from statuesque models of silence and military bearing into living embodiments of chaos and terror can only be compared to an act of God like a summer squall. In the blink of an eye, they were everywhere, yelling at everyone. Everything and nothing needed to be done and it needed to be done at once.
"STOP LOOKING AROUND!"
"DON'T LOOK AT ME!!!"
"WHAT'S YOUR NAME, RECRUIT?"
"I?!?!?!? I?!?!?!?"
That first day was truly a blur of yelling, sweat, frustration, and the occasional lesson. I learned, eventually, how to properly make my rack (bed), for example. Though, every time I, or anyone else, did it slightly wrong, we had to completely strip the mattress and start over, which was fun.
I went to bed eventually that night, filled with uncertainty, but too tired to really think about it.
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